There are many orphanages in the hab-ledges of Norumo, north of the Spelplex Hive-complex that dominates the northern uplands of Malfi. And there are many more orphanages if you were to count all of Spelplex and its dependents, and if an adept were to try and count every one on or below Malfi's surface...a futile task that would take a lifetime and be obsolete by the time it was completed. What goes on in these orphanages can only be guessed at – some are undoubtedly fine institutions run by idealists – but given Malfian culture that would be the exception.

Instead they are crucibles of agony, hate, and violence. Small festering pits into which children are thrown and from which emerges broken men. Years and years of mental and physical abuse, from their fellow orphans and orphanage staff alike, with no escape in sight, save the unimaginable horrors of the Underhive. No child can endure such hardship without hope and emerge unscathed and wholesome.

This is the world Maximilian grew up in. It made him hard. It made him angry. It made him distant. But it did not break him, not the way it broke the countless thousands that shared his fate. No, Maximilian endured the worst of it; he instinctively knew when to fight and when to give in, he knew when to be loyal and when to betray, he knew when to hang in there and when to run like daemons were at his heels. But most of all he knew how to be useful, without being a threat; and so he enjoyed a sort of status with his elders and the staff, but not so much that he needed to be put down. A most fortunate skill to have for a child in his position...