The Standard Tempte struct, or STC, was humanity’s answer. It was a near-mythical mae from the Golden Age, a pinnacle of human iy. The STC was desigo standardize and program the manufacturihods for virtually everything humanity had created. From simple tools to advanced maery, the STC stored detailed instrus, enabling ao replicate Terra’s vast array of products.

  In essehe STC was a foolproof guide. If you could read, you could use it. With enough suitable materials, anyone could create anything—from a bar of soap to a piece of pristine writing paper, from a basic fishing rod to a massive bine harvester. Following its instrus step-by-step, even a single individual could manufacture a tank. Pair the STC with automated maery, and you had the means to mass-produything imaginable.

  The breadth of its database was staggering. Humanity’s teological capabilities in the Golden Age were so advahey bordered on magic. For example, the Titan, the stro war mae in today’s arsenal, were but one of tless teological marvels.

  Humans of that era were bold, innovative, and resourceful. They thrived in a golden era of prosperity and exploration. If history had tinued uninterrupted, the gaxy would have undoubtedly bee humanity’s domain. But this golden age ended abruptly, catastrophically.

  The fall of the Golden Age was as sudden aating as the mythical sinking of Atntis. A massive storm swept through the gaxy, severing humanity’s e to the stars. Unlike a natural disaster, this storm didn’t directly affect the physical world. Instead, it wreaked havo the —a parallel dimension crucial for faster-than-light travel. Navigation became impossible, and attempting to traverse the was suicidal.

  Humanity’s lifeline was cut. Without travel, the vast distances between stars became insurmountable. ies that ohrived as part of a unified human empire were reduced to isoted outposts, each stranded and alohe STetwork, which had eheir survival, was obliterated. Nearly every STC mae was destroyed, and the knowledge it tained was lost.

  The colpse was iable. Without the tools to sustain their advanced society, humanity fell into chaos. For turies, the species teetered on the brink of extin—until the rise of the Emperor. Iermath, the remnants of the STC became priceless relics. Even a fragment of a funal STC could revolutionize aire civilization’s teological capabilities. A fully operational STC? It would be nothing short of a miracle.

  The Emperor's unmatched mastery of teology from the Golden Age and the depth of his uanding had a profound effe the followers of the Cult Meicus. To them, it was unthinkable that someone so well-versed in the mysteries of their sacred craft could be anything but a divine figure. Some whispered, with fearful reverehat the Emperht be the physical embodiment of the Omnissiah—the Mae God's chosen vessel. How else could anyone expin suprehensible brilliance?

  This near-worship made Standard Tempte structs (STC) a particurly sensitive matter. STCs were relics of the past, taining schematics that could unlock teologies beyond pare—if their tents were usable. Without the means to interpret or replicate the data, an STC was little more than a lifeless artifact, destio gather dust in a vault. Its true worth wasn’t in its physical form but in the knowledge it preserved—knowledge that could alter the fate of the gaxy.

  “So, what we actually do with this STC?” Kayvaan asked, his brow furrowed. “There’s gotta be some incredible stuff in it, right?”

  “Like what?” Valyra shot back, raising an eyebrow.

  “You know… massive voidships, orbital fortresses, titanic war maes—things that could ftten whole armies. You’ve gotta admit that’s cool.” His eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought. “Imagine what we could build!”

  Valyra let out a frustrated sigh, clearly unimpressed. “Seriously, Kayvaan? After ten millennia, you’re still like a child gettied ger guns and shioys. Battleships and fortresses sound impressive, but what’s the point? War maes only fuel more war. They don’t build the future; they bury it. You just don’t uand what an STC really means!”

  Kayvaan shrugged, unfazed. “Fine, call me a barbarian. Enlightehen. What’s so special about it besides turning my stone club into something fancier?”

  Valyra crossed her arms, her tone sharpening. “The true treasure isn’t the maes or the relics themselves—it’s the knowledge. That’s where real power lies. It’s not about revering the sacred schematics like the Meicus does; it’s about uanding the sce, the logic behind why things work and how they’re made. Knowledge is the key to shaping the gaxy itself.”

  “Oh, that’s it?” Kayvaan quipped, smirking. “How exactly does your ‘uanding’ upgrade our fleet? Does it bless the engines with more thrust or the hulls with better pting?”

  “More than that,” Valyra tered, her voice firm with vi. “With that knowledge, we wouldn’t just rebuild—we’d advance. Imagine surpassing even the achievements of the Golden Age. A bde, not just sharp steel, but sheathed in molecur disruption fields. Armor that bends light itself. ons that shatter mountains with precision. The possibilities are limitless if we grasp what was lost.”

  “That’s a nice dream,” Kayvaan said lightly, “but you do realize you sound like a heretic, right? If the Meicus catches wind of this, they’ll strap you to a psma engine and send you to the star.”

  Valyra ughed, unshaken. “Heretic? Me? That’s rich. The Meicus are the real heretics. They’ve turagnation intion—ging to superstition and ritual because they fear progress. They destroy what they ’t trol. Sure, they’d kill me if they knew what I thought, but they won’t. That’s the differehey’re blind to what they don’t see.”

  Kayvaan chuckled and shook his head. “You’re deluded if you this st forever. All secrets feel safe at first, but they always e out—especially with the Meicus. Their reach is infinite. Even out here, beyond Segmentum Sor, their influence is everywhere. Fe Worlds, legions of cyberic thralls, and data-spirits watg for the smallest breach.”

  In the Imperium, any church that worships gods other than the God-Emperor is forbidden to exist openly. "Freedom of belief" is not a cept that has ever been aowledged, let aloolerated. The phrase itself has been erased from High Gothic lexis. For the citizens of the Imperium, there are only two types of faith: faith in the God-Emperor or faith in heresy. Pagan cults, when discovered, are eradicated with ruthless efficy by the inquisition, whiforces the Emperor’s divine will without hesitation. The Sisters of Battle take particur pride in purgiid their false gods, leaving only ashes in their wake.

  Yet, uhis iron rule, the Adeptus Meicus tio exist, their position unchallenged within the Imperium. It is a testament to their influehough the Meicus rarely funts its strength, their authority is impossible to ignore—most visibly in the Imperial High cil, where the Fabricateneral of Mars holds one of the twelve seats. Even the Ecclesiarchy begrudgingly accepts the Meicus as a vital part of the Imperium.