POV: Captain Felixis, Felinid Scouts, uncle of Princeps cadet Nyanko.

  While the Turbulent Star continued to throw its tantrum, the system continued to feel its influence. All across the system, the ghosts of the damned made themselves known.

  The manifestations of the damned weren't just isolated to the bridge. Reports of the phenomena started rapidly flooding both the Vox and the Noosphere from all decks of the ship.

  For a brief moment, the ghosts simply stood motionless, but from the moment they arrived, Felixis knew they would be in trouble. They weren't the composed vestiges of those that came before; they felt wrong, angry, tainted. These were the vengeful specters of the lost and the damned, and his instincts were never wrong.

  The moment of stillness was broken as one of the ghosts lunged for the closest soldier and tackled them to the ground. Felixis drew his sidearm and snap-aimed. As he fired the hotshot-las bolt, he expected to see it strike the entity. That didn't happen; the laser went straight through the specter. "Frak," he hissed.

  His attempts to kick the ghost likewise failed, and it wasn't until he drew his power sword that he managed to strike the thing wrestling with his officer. The moment he decapitated the spirit, it dissipated; however, the screams around them as the other spirits went about their rampage echoed throughout the corridors.

  As he rushed around to aid his men, a priority notification went out. "Attention! The entities attacking the ship are incorporeal. They are dangerous. Force, Power, or sanctified weapons are required!" The voice of a Tech Priest called out.

  Felixis winced as a nearby servitor was ripped apart by three of the strange spirits. Careful swipes of his blade ended the things, but there were hundreds more.

  —------------------------------------------------------

  POV: Venerable Baldos

  Baldos looked down, studying the small horde of ghosts trying to gnaw on his adamantine ankles, much like one might study a particularly oddly colored swarm of insects. Watching them bounce off his warded chassis was only amusing for the first minute.

  "These ghosts only have the strength of normal men." He infused power into his combat claw and removed them with a few deft swipes.

  The Star Dragons, after hearing the message, had distributed power weapons and immediately set to work cleansing the ship.

  Baldos worked his way down one of the main corridors, doing his best to draw the attention of as many of the simple-minded spirits as possible.

  "You, you're worth killing twice," He growled as he encountered the first major specter of a fallen Traitor Astartes.

  —------------------------------------------------------

  POV: Greg Olds, former Guardsman, father of Princeps Candidate Robin Olds.

  Greg stumbled into the kitchen and set about making himself a pot of recaf. Robin was in the living room watching something on her dataslate. He needed a strong cup to help deal with the intense headache he was having, caused by that strange mental pressure from earlier. He wasn't sure what was going on, but something was up. The ship had maintained battle readiness for the duration of its flight from the Turbulent Star.

  According to Clank, the ship's engines were running hot – really hot.

  Greg heard Robin yelp in surprise just as he was almost done and looked over. The strange ghost was back, but before it had looked like a living person, now it was the specter of a desiccated corpse. Something Greg was unfortunately more than familiar with from his time in the guard.

  "Robin, go to your room." He told her firmly as he watched the creature with a stern expression.

  Robin got up slowly, but the moment she moved, the thing shrieked and lunged at her. Robin screamed and tripped backwards on the plush carpet.

  Greg reacted instantly. His hand went to his belt and grasped the closest weapon at hand he had. He pulled out the knife McStabby had given him, the one the man insisted he keep on him at all times, and drove it into the back of the spirit's neck.

  The blade grew hot in his hand, though not quite hot enough to burn, and the spirit fared far worse as it screamed and burned as Greg twisted the sanctified blade free, leaving behind a burning, smoking hole. The ghost dissipated back to whatever hell it came from once enough of the strange wispy substance was burned away.

  Greg made a mental note to get McStabby something really nice and sharp as a thank you.

  Robin looked up at him wide-eyed. Gaping like a fish. "Dad? How did you…?"

  "Stay behind me," He grunted and turned towards the door, which shook violently as something banged on it from the outside. It suddenly stilled, and a second spirit phased through the metal before it lumbered towards them. Greg gripped the knife tightly and looked around for signs of other specters. "Really missing that cup of recaf." He muttered to himself as he rushed the second unnatural horror.

  —--------------------------------------------------------

  POV: Imperial Saint, Solar Auxilia, and the personal bodyguard of Lady Cavalerio, Lael Zyne

  Lady Cavalerio had sent her away to help the rest of the ship. She was more than capable of dealing with the specters in her way with her Force Omnissian Axe and insisted her new defensive artifacts were more than capable of keeping her safe.

  Lael had departed with her escort of sisters. Only, her encounters with the malevolent spirits were… underwhelming.

  She stabbed one of the horrific specters with her bayonet, and it immediately burst into golden flames, and screamed before it vanished without a trace.

  Lael turned to look back at the sisters questioningly, but the eager and zealous looks on their faces gave her pause.

  "The Saint is with us! Purge the unclean!" One shouted, and the Order of the Silver Lily went to work. They scythed their way through the spirits. Blessed bolt shells deleted ghosts, blessed holy blades cut them down.

  Lael appreciated the disciplined teams of female warriors, but the strange sisterhood was one she was still getting used to conceptually.

  While some of the ship's armsmen had their las shots go right through the incorporeal foes, her shots struck true, setting the spirits alight with that strangely comforting golden fire that burned them away.

  The sheer number of foes was the main concern, and the fact that they seemed determined to attack the ship itself if left without living targets within reach. The only upside was that the spirits were not replenishing themselves. There appeared to be one for every member of the crew on board. Which meant they had a lot of work to do.

  Lael moved down to the next deck, cutting through a dozen specters chasing a group of terrified children. "It's alright. You're safe now." She told them softly. The little group was staring up at her wide-eyed and awestruck for some reason.

  The youngest of them was the first to speak up, making an adorable attempt at the Aquila hand sign. "Thank you! Pretty glowy lady!"

  Lael blinked in confusion. What glow?

  —---------------------------------------------------

  POV: Carrion Outcast Randolph Cross, aboard the Emergency Repairs III

  Randolph was struggling to process what had happened in the last week and a half. Things had been normal up until the unusual interrogation with the strange Mechanicus girl. He'd been given an official rank, him a Warrant Officer! He even got a full-on naval-style commission. He was getting paid for his work! The contrast between Wrath Umboldt and Lord Drakios was night and day.

  He shook his head at the notion. It wasn't like wrangling the men who had followed him over was anything new. Their new living space was far nicer than their old one. The food, especially.

  The relic ship was a massive thing, but she was laid out in a manner that made finding your way around easy. The other oddity was the Mechanicus faction; they were a lot more friendly. Not the guarded and distant type he was used to. These people didn't sneer when he asked them to speak aloud with their flesh voices rather than binaric cant. Hell, one had walked him through the proper steps to maintaining his sidearm.

  One of the few things he had found scavenging that was worth keeping. Turns out it was just a Lucius Hellpistol, one that had been fancied up, sure. It barely took the Tech Priest a second to identify it. They let him keep it and most of his loot. Most of his men kept their spoils; only a few had a couple of items confiscated.

  He had to turn in the strange hammer he'd found to the Mechanicus, but in exchange, he'd been given a much more suitable Officers Cutlass. The thing had been sharpened to a keen edge and had been part of a large test batch blessed by the fleet saint. Yeah, turns out they had one of those.

  To make things worse for his poor brain, the minor Imperial Saint wasn't even in the top three most important people in the fleet. No, that honor belonged to Lord Drakios, the Archmagos, and apparently the small girl who had personally interrogated him.

  Whom, according to his new Enginseer friend L3-3T, was incomprehensibly important and ranked higher than the Astartes Captain, and the bloody Saint was part of her retinue.

  "Officer Randolph. This one detects that your face is contorted in a manner that suggests you are struggling with your thoughts." L3-3T stated as he walked over.

  "Yeah, sorry to bother you, Three Tee. Just trying to wrap my head around a few things."

  "Regarding her ladyship, the Princeps?" L3-3T inquired.

  "Yeah." He admitted with a guilty shrug.

  "Officer Randolph, we have recently completed transplantation of the Plasma Drive and have rendered the main engines operational on the vessel Cry Havoc as was the directed priority. The Cry Havoc was not claimed by Lord Drakios or the Archmagos. The vessel and its entire contents are the property of Lady Princeps Senioris Cavalerio and her Titanicus Legio."

  "But she's just so… small?" He said, not finding the right words as he stared out at the ship currently cradled in the Emergency Repairs III's gantries.

  "Her size is not a factor contributing to her worth, which to the Mechanicus is nearly incalculable. If you continue to struggle with this line of thinking, may we suggest neural implants to rectify your meat-based deficiencies?" L3-3T asked while their eyes blinked in the way that Randokph had learned meant they were fucking with him.

  "Ha. Ha. My meat is working fine." He grumbled, "Aren't you upset at being left behind here?"

  "Negative. This task was assigned to me personally by the Archmagos. Should my work prove sufficient to his standards, I anticipate a possible elevation in rank. Possibly as high as Drivemaster of the Cry Havoc," L3-3T said excitedly.

  "That would be a big promotion," Randolph whistled appreciatively.

  "I have fulfilled my social quota and rest period for this shift. I must return to my work." L3-3T said, turning and walking away.

  "See ya, Three Tee!" Randolph waved only to drop to the deck as something… other… screamed inside his head. His vision swam, and he threw up across the deck.

  The immense pressure relents after a few moments; a glance around confirms everyone else had been hit as well.

  He moved over to check on L3-3T, who was leaning hard on his Omnissian Axe. "Do you know what's going on?" He asked as he helped steady the Tech Priest.

  "Emergency transmission from the Argent Drake, the Turbulent Star is awake. The star is hostile." L3-3T replied as he studied the data streams in the Noosphere. "We must begin preparations for transit immediately. Retract the gantries, free the Cry Havoc."

  Randolph froze as the first specter flickered into existence. He had seen the phenomenon before, but never like this. Another specter formed a foul, mangled thing. Each of the ghosts radiated a primal sense of maliciousness. Then more began to appear one after another. "This is not good." He whispered.

  "Another transmission. The phenomena are hostile. Power, Force, or Sanctified arms are required to expunge them." L3-3T thumbed the power field activation stud on the haft of his power axe.

  Randolph watched the first specter rush a nearby servitor and tackle it. He drew his cutlass, praying under his breath that the blessing they had mentioned wasn't a load of grox droppings. He swung as one of the ghosts rushed him like an animal. His blade felt no resistance, but it cut through the dead man's neck cleanly. The remains dissipated as they continued forward for a moment and passed through him; he shuddered.

  Randolph took a breath to steady himself and thank the Emperor, but as he studied the remaining ghosts, he watched one in particular charge past several targets to maul a servitor. "Three tee… that ghost… do you see it?" He asked, squinting.

  "Afirmative." L3-3T replied as he bisected a spirit with his power axe.

  "He looks just like the servitor." Randolph watched similar actions as ghosts charged specific servitors with uncanny resemblances. There was at least one spirit per servitor. "Three Tee… how many servitors are there across the fleet?" He asked with growing dread.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "Over a hundred thousand." L3-3T replied as he moved to save a struggling servitor. Some of the servitors with power field equipped gear could defend themselves, but such units were in the minority.

  "Frak," Randolph said.

  "Frak indeed," L3-3T buzzed in agreement.

  —-----------------------------------------------------------------

  POV: Rogue Trader Arken Drakios

  Arken was on his second dose of stimm. The situation with the ghosts was being handled, though there was a lot of ship to cover. Minor damage to various parts all over the ship, high casualties, but thankfully low fatalities, mostly in the menials and lower-deck crews. Their servitor population, in contrast, had suffered immensely.

  The real problem was the Turbulent Star.

  The moment they crossed the threshold from the Inner Sea to the Outer Sea with the Cobalt Coatl, it seemed to have finally taken notice of them. Thankfully, the entropic solar flares behaved like those from a real star. The massive, wide flares it had launched in its earlier fury were gone, replaced with smaller, vengeful lances that pierced deep into the Sea of Hulks.

  "Twenty-degree Dive!" He called out as the next flare was launched along their current vector.

  Arken was playing a dangerous game, one that had his blood pumping, maneuvering the ship in a subtle pattern and using the flares to help clear the way ahead and ensure the flares were pointed away from the rest of the fleet and the Damned Gateway.

  The entropic lance passed within three VUs of their hull a short time later. Its aim had improved. He could hear the horrific entity's seething hiss in the back of his mind. Feel the pressing fury as they drew further away.

  "Pitch upwards thirty degrees! Yaw six degrees starboard! Thread the needle!" Drakios barked orders, holding course just long enough for the next sensor bloom that signaled another flare as he had them pass between two massive space hulks.

  They were making good time, but keeping the engines running on the edge of redlining was a dangerous dance.

  Then just before they reached the edge of the Outer Sea, something changed. A massive energy spike from close to the star. "What is that!?" He demanded. It took them a moment to triangulate the reading. It was the Gloriana, the ancient vessel had fired her engines one last time, and her reactor had gone supercritical. The flash of light was briefly visible across the entire system.

  The scream from the Turbulent Star was furious, but the flares stopped as it was left blinded and disoriented by the detonation.

  As they passed out of the Sea of Hulks, the horrific eye followed them, watching them go. Arken felt it, not in words, but the impression was clear as a shudder passed over everyone in the fleet. If they ever returned here, the Star would remember them.

  "Sir! We're clear, moving to rejoin the fleet. ETA eight hours."

  "Good. Have the teams prepare to hand off the Cobalt Coatl to the Emergency Repairs III. We'll match their speed."

  "Sir, we have a small contact approaching at high speed!" The Auspex operator announced. Even though they were actively moving away, it was rapidly gaining on them.

  "What is it?" Drakios asked warily, though his eyebrows rose at the sheer speed the object was traveling at.

  "It looks like a… probe? It's not broadcasting. It's entering visual range," the officer replied.

  The image flickered onto the holo display. A gleaming reflective metal finish covered the exterior of the oval-shaped probe; its primary and secondary transmission arrays were clearly shorn away, but the secondary receiving array was intact, the whole probe was barely a hundred meters long, and there was a single clear mark embossed on the hull. The Cog Mechanicum.

  "It's using an external light to flash something at us." One of the Tech Priests translated. "B... 4… L… T… Δ"

  Before Arken could make a decision, he got a call. Nicole's excited voice, "The Star can suck it! Probes don't count! That's an ancient Mechanicus cartography probe! Let the poor little guy dock!"

  Arken sighed and shook his head in amusement. "Send the… Probe docking instructions. It can use the port Cargo Bay if it'll fit. If Lady Cavalerio wants it, she can have it."

  "Sir!" The Vox officer transmitted the instructions, and they watched as the zippy little thing complied.

  Within an hour, the probe was safely docked. Though it was a tight fit even in the Argent Drake's normally cavernous cargo bay, which was absolutely packed with salvage.

  Arken put the probe out of his mind, keeping a close eye on the Auspex; he didn't believe the Turbulent Star would let them leave unmolested.

  As the fleet gathered and crept towards the Damned Gateway, he almost relaxed after they successfully transferred the Cobalt Coatl over to the retracted gantries of the Emergency Repairs III.

  "Sir! Incoming Vox transmission!" His Master of the Vox exclaimed.

  "We will be free!" Screamed a panicked, manic voice. "We must escape!"

  On their scopes, an old battered Lunar-class cruiser, the Carrion Crown, flared her drives and started to break away from the Outer Sea. Arken watched as the Star flared.

  "Carrion Crown! Divert course immediately! You have incoming, the Star-" Arken tried to warn them, but the lumbering vessel only started to turn at the last moment, and Arken closed his eyes as the spiteful entropic flare engulfed the ship and consumed it whole. Her void shields flickered once before they collapsed and died, the dark lashing particles enveloping her entirely as the remainder of the flare tapered off halfway into the Fragmented Cloud. There was not a single trace of the vessel left behind in its wake.

  Arken shook his head and steeled his heart. "Contact Anvial. Get us out of here."

  —--------------------------------------------------

  POV: Farseer Anvial Veilwalker

  The awakening of the Turbulent Star was like a slap across the face.

  "What is that?" He asked, horrified as he was forced to double the amount of focus he was putting towards his mental defenses and studied the sensor readouts.

  "That is the Entropic Spirit," His Grandmother stated calmly.

  "It's horrid!" He sputtered, watching as some kind of ethereal entity tried to materialize in the middle of the bridge.

  Krele-Caec Veilwalker raised a hand and flicked her wrist. Her Wraithseer crackled as she banished the strange spirit and warded their vessel against further intrusions. "It is, the ethereal manifestations it is forming as a side effect are quite bothersome," she conceded.

  "They… were successful in their mission, it seems?" Anvial said, pulling his focus away from the cursed star and studying the Drakios fleet.

  "Indeed. Three vessels, give or take some support craft, as she said." Krele-Caec said quietly as she stared off into the void.

  "Are you going to tell me what that was about? With the Yngir?" He asked with a frown.

  "Oh? You noticed?" she replied, glancing down at him.

  Anvial stared up at her with narrowed eyes. "It wasn't exactly subtle, grandmother."

  "We are Ynnari. We focus on Ynnead. The plots of other Gods, those that yet live and those yet to come, are not our concern." She responded, looking back into the void.

  Anvial was about to press when the confirmation from the Drakios fleet came through. He bit back a curse and began the process of activating the Damned Gateway.

  The Starlight's Ghost moved for the first time in the month since they arrived. Moving before the gateway.

  The gate slumbered at first, a dead arch adrift in the void, its surface pitted with aeons of micrometeorite strikes. Then the runes awoke. One by one, the colossal glyphs carved into the pylons guttered into life, filling the void with eerie radiance.

  The void around it warped, light bending inward as though space itself were leaning close. A low resonance bled across Vox-channels and through psionic resonance.

  The arch filled with liquid brilliance, a sheet of argent fire trembling like mercury. Then it dilated, peeling open into a wound that showed not stars but a corridor of unlight – vast avenues of shimmering geometry, horizonless and disorienting. The event horizon stretched wider still, until entire fleets could vanish into its waiting maw.

  As the gateway fully yawned, and together with the Drakios fleet, they vanished, leaving the Processional of the Damned and the eldritch being at its heart behind them.

  —----------------------------------------------------------

  POV: Nicole

  The specters were being quite bothersome. I had to rush around checking on the storage areas with delicate components. Thankfully, when used as a force weapon, my axe is shockingly effective. Just a poke is enough to destabilize and banish them, which only raises more questions.

  I arrive in the storage area. I can see immediately that the Blackstone Pylon is repelling the malevolent spirits quite well. This is beneficial since it keeps them away from the Titan parts, but also peculiar since the spirits don't feel like a warp phenomenon.

  I shake my head and move on, heading to the main hold that has the probe we recovered. I only briefly got a sense of it through Argent, but its spirit seems friendly.

  Making my way around the large plasma drive to find the round oblong form of B4-LT-Δ. The probe has a reflective finish that resembles chrome. Its engines are still cooling down, radiating a haze from the glowing drive cones.

  I approach from the front and scan the probe. "Poor thing, we'll get your antennas fixed soon," I tell it, reaching out to give it a gentle pat and connect with the spirit.

  I blink in surprise. Balto's spirit manifestation is not exactly what you might expect; instead of a canine, he is a cute, little, and curious looking harbor seal. The little guy seems excited to see me.

  [Authority! Cartographer: B4-LT-Δ. We: Obey!] Slapping his flippers.

  "Adorable," I whisper. Giving his spirit digital pats.

  B4-LT-Δ is technically an AI, but what I would call a dumb AI, maybe even downgrade it to a VI. He's operating roughly at the level of a Warhound Titan's Machine Spirit.

  A vast majority of his hardware is dedicated to data storage.

  My eyes go wide seeing the absolute trove of cartographic data. Balto has been jumping from system to system, getting scans of systems and planetary bodies for millennia. While most of the data is old, Balto has mapped over a million star systems in Obscuras and a few chunks of the neighboring Segmentums.

  Not to mention his chassis is an interesting compact Archeotech design. "Wow. Someone really went all in on miniaturization with you, huh?" I mutter as I study his schematics, which he shares freely with me. In particular, the Warp Drive he's sporting would be an ideal replacement for the Cobalt Coatl if it's possible to replicate it. Despite his design being geared towards surveying, he still has more firepower than frigates ten times larger than him.

  "Good boy! Balto, power down and rest. We'll get to your repairs soon, buddy." I tell him with a smile.

  [Orders: acknowledged! Entering standby mode!]

  I wait till he fully powers down before I step back. I feel an immense sense of relief as we pass through the gateway and enter the Webway. The omnipresent pressure from the Processional vanishes instantly, and with it the remaining specters. The sense of relief is so immense that I stagger backwards and have to close my eyes.

  The exhaustion hits me hard moments after the relief. A month of almost constant activity under that oppressive Star and the stress from meeting the Dragon had accumulated in ways I hadn't noticed until it was gone.

  Without thinking about it, my feet move on autopilot. My mind is preoccupied with thoughts of rest. "Going to go rest," I tell my retinue while multitasking over the noosphere.

  I don't end up in front of my quarters. As I finally think to look around, I find myself in front of a door I haven't seen before in what appears to be a forgotten part of the ship. It's the cylindrical chamber. I place my palm on a bioscanner next to the door, and after a moment, it clicks open.

  Inside, the overhead lights flicker on slowly. It's a set of luxury quarters with an attached workspace. A pair of portable cogitators sits plugged into a central terminal. Several bars of various metals sit on a bench waiting to be used.

  A queen-sized bed sits in the middle of the bedroom, the sheets still made. There is a lovely faux wood desk with a plush chair designed for individuals with spinal mechadendrites. There is a portrait of a younger, doe-eyed me hanging on the wall.

  This was, is my room.

  There is a package sitting on the desk – a modest gift box with a sapphire blue silk ribbon and a literal marquise cut sapphire the size of a golf ball. Sitting on top of the box, leaning against the bow, is a golden letter with a thick wax seal.

  In cursive High-Gothic penned in ornate silver ink, it reads "Congratulations, my daughter."