POV: Farseer Anvial Veilwalker

  Anvial sat in the command throne of the Starlight's Ghost. The absolutely massive Webway gate that would exit them near Lugganath loomed before them. It was flanked by numerous Eldar vessels that had acknowledged his request to discuss passage through the gate and forwarded it up the chain of command.

  The fleet on the Webway side was small compared to the defensive flotilla that awaited them on the far side. The nearby vessels regarded the Drakios ships with caution – well-deserved caution, Anvial believed, having witnessed what the Argent Drake was capable of firsthand.

  Finally, a figure flickered into being: an Autarch of the Lugganath council. The Autarch was old, mostly bald, with tattoos and a ponytail.

  "What is the meaning of this request!?" They demanded scowling fiercely at Anvial. "Absolutely not! We shall not have a Mon-keigh fleet this close to the craftworld!"

  Anvial carefully kept one of his eyes from twitching, "Autarch, I am Farseer Anvial Veilwalker, well met. As I explained, I am guiding this Rogue Trader fleet as a favor. They have no ill intentions for Lugganath or our kin. They will simply pass through the gate and depart for their next destination, well away from you and your fleet. It is best for us all that you permit them to do so. I have foreseen it."

  The Autarch was about to respond when a costumed arm draped itself across the Autarch's shoulders. Anvial watched as the Autarch and all the nearby Eldari froze as the terrifying form of Stillness in Motion wagged a finger scoldingly at the Autarch.

  "Arebennian," One of the Autarch's guards hissed, looking tense.

  "Lord Stillness in Motion, it is an honor to see you again." Anvial bowed politely to his screen.

  "Little Anvial," Stillness in Motion spoke with a rasp. A tilt of his head showed a recent, brutal-looking scar running along his neck. "I spoke with him. I laughed myself sick all the way back to the library after the first act and spoiled the encore."

  Anvial could feel a strange intensity to the solitaire that had not been present previously, even through the communications array.

  "I… see?" Anvial said politely.

  "No. Not yet. You will. Everyone will. It's going to be hilarious." Stillness in Motion half hissed, half cackled.

  Then he seemed to finally remember the Autarch he was holding hostage and poked the Autarch's cheek with his Harlequin's Kiss. "You… who are you again?" The Autarch was turning an angry shade of purple. "Doesn't matter. You… Let the little Fateless one and her fleet go. Yes?"

  "You vouch for the Mon-keigh, Lord Solitaire?" The Autarch asked.

  Stillness in Motion bobbed his head in an exaggerated nod. "Absolutely!" Then whispered just loud enough for Anvial and everyone around to hear, "You're not going to ruin the joke I spent over ten thousand years setting up for, are you?"

  "No, Lord Solitaire," The Autarch said wisely. "Let them through," he commanded his staff. "The Mon-keigh are not permitted to dock," he clarified further.

  Stillness in Motion slid off the Autarch like rain pattering down an umbrella, and by the time he was almost entirely out of view to Anvial, he was just gone, as though he had never been there at all. A faint lingering "hehe-he-hehehe" was barely audible for a moment afterwards.

  "We'll be through shortly. I would like to arrange for a temporary berth for my ship along with your preferred exit vector for the human fleet," Anvial continued without comment.

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

  POV: Arianwyn

  The fleet moved forward, transitioning through the shimmering barrier of the Webway gate to realspace.

  A vast construct of living wraithbone hung against the black void of space. It looked like an artificial moon; its vast, curved plates glimmered with an aurora of different hues. Great spans of wraithbone lattice arced and interlocked, forming mile-wide bridges that shimmered with flowing energy.

  Tendrils of plasma and refracted sunlight rippled across its hull, revealing its shape: a vast crescent, the inner curve gleaming with clustered domes and crystalline towers, the outer armored against the void. Around it drifted escort spires, autonomous wraith-constructs, or smaller waystations, each trailing a faint luminescent wake through the emptiness, and a veritable swarm of Eldar voidships darted around like a school of agitated fish.

  "So that's an Eldar Craftworld? It's amazing," she whispered, her voice filled with awe as she stood just a scant inch between herself and the viewport.

  Her grandfather was much more composed. "I've seen another before. One that was more dagger-shaped, but yes, they are impressive."

  "A wonder from the Eldar Empire, homes of the Asuryani and Lugganath, is a minor Craftworld. Lord Drakios, out of curiosity, what craftworld was it that you saw?" Nicole asked in a curious voice.

  "Biel-Tan, it was when I was Ari's age. We had gone to Terra to pick up a number of Astropaths for the sector and then strayed further to the Galactic south. Luckily, they were embroiled in exterminating an Ork Warhost and left us to our own devices. We didn't get nearly this close," he said wistfully.

  "I wonder how it works," Ari mused.

  "Well! Actually…" Nicole started, but was cut off.

  Magos Xor cleared his throat loudly, "Ahem! Lady Cavalerio, I ask that you please refrain from elaborating."

  "I can't just explain Wraithbone or the Infinity Circuit?" She whined and pouted. Ari knew of Wraithbone but wondered what an Infinity Circuit was.

  "Yes," Xor replied in exasperation.

  "Ugh. Fine… So, Lugganath is mostly home to two of the Eldar factions, the Corsairs and the Harlequins. The Craftworld is viewed as more of a melting pot than most, and the other Eldar factions typically view them as renegades."

  "Lady Cavalerio is indeed correct," the amused voice of Anvial replied from the holoscreen.

  "Oh! Hi, Anvial, I don't think I ever asked, but which Craftworld do you and your Grandmother hail from?" She asked politely.

  Anvial's smile turned brittle. "Malan'tai."

  "Oh," Nicole winced and made a face. "My deepest condolences."

  Anvial nodded politely. "You have been assigned a flight path. We are forwarding it now. It took some time to arrange, but Lord Stillness in Motion was present and… expedited things."

  "Oh no, he's back?" Nicole asked, pulling out her puzzle to study it briefly, but there was no discernible change.

  Anvial smiled, "He is present, but merely conveys his well-wishes to you and your quest."

  "That's so nice… What did he actually say?" Nicole asked pointedly.

  "He thinks you're hilarious and plans to keep laughing for several years," Anvial replied candidly.

  "That…" Nicole nodded, "I can accept that."

  "This is where we part ways." Anvial bowed politely.

  "Hey Anvial, out of curiosity, how many favors would it take to get you to go find the Khan?" Nicole started to ask.

  "Scion of Silver. Herald of the Dragon. We have our own tasks to fulfill. Such a grand undertaking is beyond the remit of your remaining favors." Krele-Caec interrupted.

  Around them the bridge was stunned to silence by the question. Ari felt so confused. Why would they need Eldar to find a Primarch?

  "Oh well. My thanks for the clarification, Lady Wraithseer," Nicole replied with a smile, though it slipped as her eyes narrowed and her expression turned calculating as Ari watched from the sidelines.

  Anvial went to speak, "Lord Drakios, it has been a pleasure. You were an amicable host. Perhaps our fates will cross again."

  Her grandfather waved him off, "I find the Eldar are mostly tolerable, and it is within my remit to deal with your kind."

  Ari frowned as, before the call could end, Nicole suddenly switched languages to Eldari. She barely followed along, "I tip the scales, Lady Seer. Heed my words freely given. Drazhar, Master of Blades, seeks the head of your herald on Saim-Hann. Iyanden and Ulthwé face upcoming perils. On Iathglas, beware the coming of three sixes for it heralds Hellbane."

  Anvial sputtered, but his Grandmother nodded appreciatively, in Eldari, "Your gift is appreciated. Go forth, Child of the Machine, and may your hunt bleed true."

  The ancient Wraithseer terminated the call, and the provided path appeared moments later.

  Ari was so confused, her grandfather raised an eyebrow at Nicole, but shrugged it off and called out, "Follow that heading, best speed. Get us to the Mandeville Point. Once in place, deploy the Emergency Repairs III. You have two days to double-check everything and make ready for transit!"

  "Yes, Lord Drakios!" the bridge chorused.

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

  POV: Lord of Change, Skra'kalichaust the Schemer

  The moment the Drakios fleet transitioned back into realspace, the Greater Daemon looked up and squinted. The tracking mark had jumped from its last known location to the other side of the Segmentum. He could sense that the blessings of subtlety and obfuscation he had left on his little puppet were deteriorating at an accelerated rate.

  His divination was still greatly clouded by the fateless one, but Skra'kalichaust had consolidated his great feast in the few months since Ur-Haven, just as he had planned.

  He reached out to one of his brethren closest in the direction the Mark was traveling in. The individual in question was a fellow Lord of Change, M'Kachen, Lord of the Changehost.

  "Ahh, Venerable M'Kachen, the Stillness Between Storms. How resplendent you are, unchanged since the aeon when I first plotted your demise – or was it your ascent? I forgot which succeeded."

  "Both, Little Whisper. You plotted, therefore it occurred. You succeeded, therefore it was a failure. Thus do you remind me why I keep no equals, only mirrors. What is the meaning of this inquiry, Schemer?" Hissed M'Kachen. His voice folded through time, each syllable arriving before the last.

  "Then regard me as such, oh August Reflection! Changehost, my incandescent colleague. I foresaw your arrival at the twenty-third turning of the Wheel, though the Wheel, alas, broke itself trying to measure you. I know you enjoy puzzles and testing yourself against defenses arcane. Tell me, would you be open to doing me a minuscule, inconsequential, trifling favor?" Skra'kalichaust asked, fluttering his plumage.

  M'Kachen turns a single lidless eye towards his fellow Lord of Change. "You scheme, always scheme, echoes of designs, what favor do you seek?" He inquired curiously as his attempt to divine the outcome was rebuffed.

  "Oh, indeed. Collaboration is the finest form of betrayal," he admitted openly. "This task is a simple one. I have supped well recently and would reward you accordingly. A puppet that I favor and have marked is approaching your domain. I would simply ask you to retrieve it and its kindred for me before the spells shielding it from the fury of the minions of the Anathema deplete."

  "You ask the wind to breathe itself. Why send your claw through another's storm when the storm itself may be consumed?" He asked in a voice like a wind whistling through burning libraries.

  "The marked minion draws near your current domain, the Stygius Sector. I profess the wardings in his prison prevent me from enacting workings outside of immediate proximity." A red string representing the Mark manifested in his clawed hand.

  M'Kachen narrowed his eyes, suspicion clear; this request was far too direct for the Schemer. He attempted to trace the tether but was rebuffed again. "You seek my quiet hand, to reach where your own voice falters. For what end?"

  "Purely my own amusement! The mortal is a talented artist! He has such sweet potential for further change! I would have the creature retrieved intact, before the mortals discover my workings within and unmake my amusement.

  "So you have bound yourself into a knot of your own weaving, and wish me to untie it. Tell me, Skra'kalichaust, when I reach into that ship, whose leash shall I pull first? Yours, or your servant's?" An eye opens within an eye.

  Skra'kalichaust bows, wings folding in deference that feels rehearsed. "Whichever pleases you most, oh Great Impassive. I offer the result, not the process. The mortal is but a vessel, a chalice I once borrowed. Return it to me, and the favor shall ripple profitably for us both."

  "There is no us in the calculus of eternity. Yet, I am curious. Curiosity is dangerous, even to those who birthed it," growled M'Kachen.

  "I offer freely the tether to find my minion. Without it, divining them is nearly impossible. They share proximity to an anomaly." Skra'kalichaust held out the string while drizzling out words like honey. "I caution against prolonged confrontation. The host is particularly well-armed, well-warded, and volatile." Skra'kalichaust trilled with nervousness masked by mirth.

  "Then it is agreed. The mortal shall be reclaimed, whole or hollow, as the skein decides. You may wait here, in the echo between outcomes. A favor owed. A favor redeemed, I will require additional forces to expedite the acquisition of the Lord's new domain." He plucks the string, and his gaze trails off as the position is revealed.

  "Ah, a small toll! Paid gladly, when the task is done. Your terms are as elegant as they are inevitable." Skra'kalichaust preened, "Always a pleasure to be unmade in your company, Old One."

  M'Kachen scoffed, "Flattery is a lesser art. I prefer consequence."

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

  POV: Adeptus Ministorum Abbot Clovis Keel

  Abbot Clovis looked around his chapel with a critical eye. There had been several drastic changes to the location over the past few months. A new statue of their new Saint stood by the main altar just under the watchful gaze of the mural depicting the Emperor.

  The candles had all been replaced recently. The effigies were polished to a mirror shine. Faithful had stopped by in much greater numbers. The Sororitas, ever pious, were some of the most frequent parishioners. The Cannoness was… opinionated.

  He'd even been asked to consult on an entire Temple-Shrine that the fleet had recovered from the Processional. It would make a lovely addition to one of the ships at some point.

  His current schedule allowed him to see Saint Zyne once a week, where she would visit to bestow her blessing on various items. She succeeded more often than not and had gotten better at blessing items en masse.

  He was pulled from his reverie as a familiar figure skulked into the chapel. "Back again so soon, young Balthazar?"

  The man in question flinched; few knew, let alone used, his first name. Balthazar Shanks McStabby was a curious individual. He felt sharp, an intensity like a naked blade, but there was no malice behind it.

  "Abbot, I have more knives if the Saint would bless them," he spoke, head bowed slightly lower than necessary as he pulled out a wrapped bundle from under his cloak.

  Clovis clasped his hands behind his back and smiled, "I've heard some interesting stories about you over the past month, Balthazar. You've been giving the consecrated knives to various faithful. Blades that saved them during the incursion of malefic spirits."

  Balthazar shrugged, "They needed them. A blade to guard against the creeping dark."

  "Indeed," Clovis nodded, "You know, before that happened, I was surprised when you first approached me, confused by the second, and concerned by the third. Your actions saved a large number of lives; for that, I am grateful."

  Balthazar looked uncomfortable but remained silent.

  Clovis knew from discreet Auspex scans that the man had a frankly absurd amount of cutlery on his person, but Clovis felt entirely at ease. "We can do two more sets of mass sanctifications, but the Saint plans to move on to some more personal projects afterwards, I am afraid."

  Balthazar nodded.

  "You can place your bundle behind the altar as before. I'll have them taken care of. You can come by after the next mass to retrieve them. Have you been settling in well?" Clovis asked casually.

  "Yes. This ship is a good place. Good air, good food, and safe. A sturdy sheath. A fine-grit whetstone," Balthazar whispered.

  He always seemed to describe things like knives. An odd quirk, but Clovis had seen far stranger in his tenure as Abbot. "Good, good. Things have been a bit hectic these past few months. Hopefully they'll calm down soon."

  Balthazar paused and turned to look at Clovis with a complicated expression. He reached out, placed a steady hand on Clovis's shoulder, looked him dead in the eyes, and said, "You need a knife."

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

  POV: Nicole

  After my little chat with the Eldar, I busied myself with preparations. As soon as the fleet reaches the edge of the system, the Emergency Repairs III extends her gantries. I depart to personally handle the installation of Cobalt Coatl's replacement components.

  It takes just under two days to install the lab and the Gellar field. During which her initial hundred-man skeleton crew arrives to start learning their roles aboard her. She only rejects two of them after observing them for a few hours and compiling psychological profiles, which bodes well. The two she rejected, according to her, show signs that they might crack under extreme stress.

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  "Keep the Gellar field running at all times, as this will be your first time seeing the warp since you were lost, even while you'll remain cradled within the protective bubble provided by the Emergency Repairs III. I'll be aboard the Argent Drake, so within possible teleportation range if you need me." I tell Cobalt.

  "I shall amuse myself by training the crew; the most outstanding of which will be assigned to my bridge," she replies with a flick of her digital forked tongue.

  On the first day of transit, I, with AME's help, fabricated most of the parts Master Doll requested from me. I'm not quite sure what all the parts are for; most of them look to be cybernetic parts. It's just that the selection he's asked for is quite diverse. Plus, his Noosphere tag is marked as do not disturb. So I leave the parts on one of his workbenches.

  I check on the Spyder I'm fabricating, which is coming along nicely. It should be done by the time we reach Mordian.

  With a few days free in my schedule, I can finally have a bit of fun… at the expense of my cadets.

  I call them all to the Pilot Chambers. "Hello, dear students. Now that you all have your MIUs, you can participate in simulated training! First, you will all undergo simulated bonding with an Armiger knight. The top-ranked individuals of your class have my permission to undergo a simulated Ritual of Becoming with a larger Knight if you are feeling bold enough," I say with a mischievous smile.

  "You will have a day to familiarize yourselves with the simulators and your Engines. Then you will all participate in a simple training exercise. Your goal as a class is to defeat me. I will be piloting the Sword of Vengeance. We will set the pain and mental load at ten percent of normal, and it will increase gradually the longer the exercise takes," I explain nonchalantly. Most of the students look confused, only Genta and a few of the top students seem to comprehend how bad this is going to be for them.

  For the test, I have selected a nice close-quarters urban map, one that will be actively undergoing a battle between two Imperial factions, simulating a chaotic civil war, to torment them with.

  Listening in on their discussion once they're all in their pods is amusing.

  "We need larger units. I think I can handle an Acastus. Remember, the more potent the Engine, the more strain you'll be under when the limiters come down. This is going to be a slog. Find something you're comfortable in," Genta suggests, looking around at their digital avatars.

  "We have our pick of chassis… I'm going with a Cerastus Lancer," Z0-0M replies, shamelessly picking the fastest Knight available.

  "I'm gonna try the Cerastus Castigator first… Rumors said the Lady Cavalerio bonded with it in under a minute. I want to know my baseline, nya. Then I might try for a Castellan," Nyanko says seriously.

  "That's a good idea, Nyanko. I want to try that too. If it's not too bad, I'll try for something more exotic, like the Styrix," Robin replies.

  "Gonna try the Atrapos," Yip whispers, getting a few surprised looks.

  "I think she's going to set it up so she has advantageous terrain. I'm going to go for a Paladin," William mutters to himself.

  They move on to discussing tactics before separating to experience the simulated bonding, and I leave them to it.

  They do quite well based on the statistics I have from the archives. Bonding typically took anywhere from an hour all the way up to a day, depending on the Knight. While the rest of the class has similar times for the Armigers, with a few of the decent but not top-ranked students going for larger Knights, a few bite off more than they can chew. Those poor idiots are going to learn the real lesson.

  I slide myself into the pod and upload a list of relevant data on the simulation to the cadets. I will have to see if any of them can glean anything useful from the data.

  None of them are prepared for the fast-paced, chaotic mess of urban combat between the two similar Imperial forces. I chose a civil war simulation on purpose, identifying friendly units from foes quickly but accurately is an important skill they will need to learn.

  I have a little too much fun playing mecha predator with the class once the simulation starts.

  Most of the students behave like textbook greenhorns. Their unfamiliarity with their Knights shows, while I can perfectly maneuver Sword of Vengeance to attack from unexpected angles. I do feel bad for the one student in a Moriax that I 'death from aboved'.

  Genta did manage to bond with an Asterius, which is a good choice, but she's learning the hard way how difficult maneuvering such a large form can be in the narrow confines of a city.

  I push them hard, forcing them to work together and cover each other to avoid getting picked off by me. When they group up or entrench themselves too much, I call in artillery or air strikes on their position.

  I give poor William a first-hand lesson: it's not a good idea to parry a power sword with a chain blade when the chain blade's power field is off.

  I bait both Nyanko and Yip into chasing me through a minefield. Reminding them to keep their Auspex running at all times and pay attention to the environment.

  Genta does well but I collapse a building on her at one point in the combat leaving her stuck for over an hour.

  I slap Z0-0M around a little when he rushes in and tries to duel me in melee. He learns the hard way the difference between theoretical statistical advantages and experienced execution. Once he's had enough, I gently shove him off the raised highway.

  Robin was a fun nut to crack, she seemed to be one of the closest to actually listening to the hints given by her simulated Machine Spirit. Still didn't help her much when I chucked a flaming fuel truck at her, followed by a salvo of bolt shells.

  Those were just the memorable moments to me. The rest of the class was also subject to my bullying.

  I didn't tell any of them, but I also doubled the rate at which they experience time: each hour out of the pod is two inside, further increasing the mental strain induced by the simulation.

  It's also good practice for me as I test out the various types of Castigator-pattern Bolt Cannon ammunition while also practicing my piloting. Given the disparity of numbers, they do eventually corner me in a kill zone and bring me down, but at the cost of nearly half the class's Armigers. A good lesson for me and them about overconfidence and how viciously a cornered enemy may lash out.

  When they emerge from their pods, they look mentally and physically exhausted, eyes bloodshot or glazed over, and they stumble over like zombies to assemble before me. Looking at my unruffled pristine appearance with a mix of newly-found respect and some fear.

  "So, wasn't that fun?" I ask them with a sly grin. "I bet you all learned a lot. Don't worry, you all get a day of rest before we do the next simulation. You get to fill out an after-action report and reflect on your performances! Don't worry, the next one will be cooperative."

  A look of relief spreads through their ranks. I don't tell them the cooperative mission will involve fighting defensively against infinite escalating waves of Tyranids to teach them critical threat assessment, ammunition, and energy conservation.

  If they do well enough, we can move on to simulated Titan combat with the class filling out Moderati and secondary roles. I'm even working on one where the entire class can help operate an Emperor-class Engine under my direction.

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

  POV: Head Navigator Lily Nostromo

  She walked confidently into the Navigator's spire. She shed her layers of clothing as she walked, passing the garments off to one of her many loyal attendants. The very last item to go was her mask, which she hung on a rack at the base of the stairs. A familiar ritual as she ascended the cold stairs barefoot before lowering herself into the Warp Sextant submersion-tank.

  She sank to the bottom as she slid the oxygen mask on first. Only when she could breathe freely did she carefully slot a cable into the port on her wrist, connecting herself to the Ship's Auspex. The Witch Auger was functioning properly, the Warp Antenna likewise was functional, but like before, ever since the opening of the Rift, there was no response from the Astronomicon. Then, the newest addition to her suite of tools, the Void Abacus, registered in the system, ready and waiting for her input.

  Only once the chamber outside her tank was empty of staff did she open her third eye and fully take in the current state of the Warp.

  She clicked her tongue and reached out, "Connect me to the other Navigators."

  Within a few minutes, the other Navigators of the fleet had joined in the call. "This is Navigator Primus Nostromo. We are preparing for Warp translation. Let me make this absolutely clear. There will be no deviations. The fleet will follow my directions. If you observe something you believe is critical, you are to pass it on to me. Otherwise, sit and observe. This will be our first field test using the Void Abacus navigational aid. Nostromo out."

  She trusted most of the other Navigators. She had trained most of them herself, though only one was directly related to her lineage. Lily Nostromo allowed herself a moment of nostalgia. She could count the number of people who knew her true age and original House on one hand. She had been serving as a Navigator for nearly a millennium thanks to one of her earliest mutations. The rare and stable regenerative ability had halted her physical development, giving her a permanently demure stature, but it had also allowed her to ignore most of her later negative physical mutations. Though the process for doing so was gruesome and excruciating. Thankfully, the regenerative mutation had manifested after she had gotten her MIU cybernetic augments. Attempts to artificially replicate her success had resulted in abject failure. Horrible, mutated balls of cancerous meat had been some of the best outcomes from that cloning project.

  In the past, she had served aboard other vessels, but that was no longer the case. She would die before she handed over her position aboard the old and venerable Argent Drake. She was simply too used to its wondrous navigational facilities and the pampering the ship's crew gave her.

  With a mental flick and numerous biological checks, she summoned her life's work: her personal Star Charts. The digital collection of Star Charts unfolded before her, projected on the sides of the tank and visible digitally.

  Unlike their planned route from Mordian to Cypra Mundi, which was well documented and typically stable. Going from their current location to Mordian was not a traditional route. Even if they knew of a route, the Great Rift and massive warp storms had spoiled most of the conventional routes.

  She closed all but her third eye and began the simple ritual she favored for Divining the Auguries. With the help of the suspension chamber, she simply extended her psychic senses and felt the conditions in the local Warp.

  "Turbulent but navigable," was her final assessment. She began plotting their course when suddenly the Abacus pinged her. She could hear the faint clacking of beads and grinding of gears, and she found herself bemused as the Abacus offered useful suggestions to her proposed route. It even pointed out a shallow Aetheric Reef they needed to avoid. "Well, aren't you just a lovely little thing?" She muttered happily.

  "Course plotted. Prepare for translation," She Voxed little Arken and the bridge.

  The way she viewed the Warp was, to her, disarmingly straightforward as the ship tore through the fabric of realspace and plunged into the Empyrean. One moment, there had been only the dimmed lights of her submersion tank and the distant thrum of the Gellar field. The next, her perception unfurled, and she stood at the prow of an old sailing vessel that was both the ship she rode and something far older, conceptual, and more primal.

  Before her stretched a sea without horizon.

  It heaved and twisted, its water a roiling fusion of color, memory, and emotion, each wave cresting in impossible shapes: spirals of anger, tides of longing, troughs full of biting cold dread. Some swells broke into showers of shimmering motes that drifted like dust, others collapsed inward, revealing brief glimpses of objects ahead or unnatural things, watching from the seafloor of unreality. All while shadowy, indistinct shapes of great beasts lurked just below the surface, circling them always.

  The familiar golden lighthouse of the Astronomicon was not visible but she had expected that.

  Her vision carried far across the dark warped sea. Distance meant little in this place; the farthest breakers were as clear to her as the closest eddies swirling around the ship's keel. She sensed the fleet behind her, each vessel leaving a faint wake of emotional resonance.

  As the ship surged forward, its prow cut through a rolling crest. The wave did not behave like water. Instead, it parted into flaking luminous glyphs that sputtered into sparks as they met with the hull that was their Gellar field. Spray that wasn't spray rained across her face, each drop buzzing with muted whispers that she ignored.

  She kept her third eye fixed ahead.

  The Warp churned and twisted around her, but she read its moods the way a seasoned mariner reads the sky. The currents of thought, the crosswinds of possibility, the distant rumble of storms forming beyond mortal comprehension. None of it frightened her. It was a living ocean, capricious and hungry, yes, but also predictable to those born with the sight to truly navigate it.

  And so she stood at the prow of a dreamlike ship in a sea made of minds and nightmares, steady and unblinking, as reality's shadow carried her fleet ever deeper into the tides of the Empyrean.

  She would not lead them astray. "Shall we, Argent?" She whispered, feeling a faint, almost indiscernible vibration through her tank in response. Smiling faintly, she purred out, "Let's chart a new route for my collection."

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

  POV: Lord Trader Arken Drakios

  Arken lounged on the command throne as they progressed smoothly through the Warp on their way to Mordain. His gaze moved to the wondrous clock that resided within an alcove. The hands were frozen in place during the initial translation, but as he watched the smaller hand finally moved after a few seconds, in the wrong direction.

  "Milord, if I may be so bold, what is the significance of that timepiece?" One of the newer officers asked.

  This drew a series of amused chuckles from the older staff.

  "Doll, do you want to explain?" Drakios asked his friend.

  "Officer, how well is your comprehension of quantum-logic spectroscopy, optical atomic clocks, and advanced particle displacement?" Doll inquired without looking up from his console.

  "Uhhh…" The officer looked lost.

  "I see," Doll replied in an unimpressed tone, "That clock is an advanced piece of Archeotech, tied to a source on either Holy Terra or Sacred Mars. We never identified where the matching piece resides, only that it does. It measures relative true time independent of external factors, using nuanced quantum mechanics that are beyond you. This is extremely useful when navigating the temporal inconsistencies of the Warp."

  "So… why is it going backwards?" The Officer asked, looking confused.

  "Because we are going to arrive in Mordian before we left," Doll replied flatly. "Do not think too hard on the matter." Doll laughed at the poor officer. "Arken the console has been appeased. I have some matters to handle in my Forge. Preparations I must make for Cypra Mundi."

  "Thank you Doll." Arken nodded as the Archmagos departed. He turned back to the officer. "You'll find with a good ship and skilled navigator temporal incongruities can arise with some regularity. Thankfully we have the time piece to provide an incorruptible reference and context," Arken explained as he fondly watched the minute hand wind backwards.

  "Praise be to the Emperor for temporal fuckery. Always a good way to not miss your anniversary," Lucius replied from the helm drawing some additional laughs from the crew.

  "Lily, how's the Abacus?" Arken asked softly into the Vox.

  "It's absolutely delightful. I love it. It might be the best navigational aid I've ever used. If anyone tries to take it away, have them shot. It's mine now." She replied enthusiastically. "Ah, please deviate two degrees to port. There's another small reef."

  Arken didn't even need to relay the command as Lucius was already adjusting their course.

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

  A few days later, they arrived in the Mordian system, the transit taking them roughly a week. As they ripped their way back into realspace, they emerged at one of the system's Mandeville Points, and it would seem Nicole's warning was warranted.

  There was a large number of non-Imperial voidships active around the planet Mordian and smaller fleets were loitering around a few of the other planets.

  "The plan remains unchanged. All ahead full for Vander's Landing. All hands to battle stations. Auspex, I want as many of those ships identified as possible," Drakios commanded as he studied the enemy movements.