Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 471 Sailing
"What do you see, Azak?" Hathor Mat stood beside the Chief Crow, as if he was looking through Ahriman's eyes, seeing the distant world that this far-sighted psychic master saw. "The past or the future?"

Ahriman was interrupted from his gaze and turned his head, his face darkened with fatigue.

"The past is a preface that has not yet been completed, and the future is an epilogue that has been settled," he murmured, taking the first copy of the Codex Nikaea from his waist and reading the inscription signed by Magnus on the title page. "As for now, I still cannot see the way back to Prospero, Hathor. Even the light of the Astronomican is dim."

"You cannot see the way," Hathor answered.

"I'm trying. We must reunite with the other half of our army, or find out more answers. I think this is the time," Ahriman whispered, and with a gesture, smooth crimson shadows surged through the transparent glass in front of him, the shadow of the vast ocean outlining a tangible manifestation on the glass similar to magnetic currents.

"For the Black Crow's original vision. A shattered vision." Hathor said, and there was something low in his voice, as faint as the muffled weeping of grass leaves on the ground before a storm, which touched Ahriman's heart.

In an instant, the burning pain that penetrated his heart like a dazzling white light came back, half of it was the impression of the fresh snow on Terra in his childhood - the industrial waste settled in the air, and half of it was the sparkling sea of ​​Prospero. These two lights left a deep memory for him. They disappeared briefly in the terrifying moment when darkness fell, and then returned quickly to support his head with his chin raised.

"Yes, there must be a way here that will take us back to Prospero, or through Terra..."

Hathor Mat watched him for a while, until the universe beyond the glass dimmed completely again. Clear darkness, slow darkness, darkness that could not move forward.

"Wish us good luck, Azak." said Liangyu's temple lecturer.

"May we be blessed," Ahriman modified a word in Maat's speech, and when he uttered this word, he was thinking of something other than a prayer.

After Maat left, Ahriman opened the copy of the Holy Scripture and pressed his finger on the place where Magnus had once signed his name. A cluster of fire in the soul ignited super-materially from his fingertips, and a tiny burning sound rang out on the other side of the world.

The signature rose from the manuscript, like a vine of ink growing and extending, winding its way into the void until a line of red fire burned out at the end. Ahriman watched the direction of the fire and snuffed it out the first moment it showed a direction.

Before his father left, he refused his permission to accompany him and told him that he would go to Terra. The most obvious trace of his psychic energy left behind during his lifetime was undoubtedly heading towards Terra.

He slightly crossed the line Magnus had drawn for them, expanding the output and application range of his psychic energy. In this way, he finally saw the only fixed point that could be tracked, a door that could be pushed open.

Ahriman took a deep breath and drew a pattern on his fingertips. His voice instantly spread throughout the entire Glorious Queen-class ship.

"The Primarch-Squire Amon waits on Prospero, and we cannot find a way to reunite with him. But we cannot continue to wander in the darkness for long."

"We, the Thousand Dust Suns, will go to Terra first. I have seen the hidden path. It may be stormy and full of thorns, but we have a direction. There, we will seek everything related to our father, and ask for the Emperor's blessing in this stormy season, and ask for a beacon of light to return to Prospero."

Ahriman paused, sensing an echoing warning that had no source. Was it the fear in his mind, or the sadness that transcended reason?

"I will personally guide the Radiance," he said. "Even if the truth hurts, the path ahead is uncertain."

The echo of his words gradually faded in the ship, and soon he would go to the navigation hall to hold the helm of the flagship. However, he still stood here, staring at the shadows outside the window in this last moment, as if holding on to some hope, hoping that someone would appear in front of him in the darkness.

"Then there is no other way," he whispered to himself, "there is only this one option."

-

"The Emperor shows us the way," said Archimandre, gazing absently at the pool before him, where the artificially projected moon rippled slightly in the water, sometimes brightening to a near-burning brightness, sometimes dimming to the level of a lumen. The moon's phases also changed regularly, as if moving with their swirling thoughts.

The navigator had sent them news not long ago that the light of the Emperor was once again lingering around them after being blocked by violent darkness for several months. Looking from the chaotic and unclear warp, the light of the Astronomican was still dim and difficult to distinguish, but the new, single dark light was touching their hearts, pointing out a clear path with the fragments of restlessness and injury.

Their answers could not dispel the heaviness in the hearts of the Luna Wolves, especially considering the mission they were about to perform...

"What exactly did Primarch Magnus do?" Loken couldn't help but ask.

He had just gone through the ceremony of the Shadow Moon Council inviting him to join, and now he was standing with four other warriors around the edge of the Moonlit Pool. Here he felt a tight entanglement of connection, as if the five of them were connected and entangled by a single thread, ready for what they needed to do—or could do—for the future.

"Oh, I don't know," Torgaddon said, his breath misting across the cooler lake. "I don't know, Gavial. I'd rather believe... there's some misunderstanding."

He said the second half of the sentence calmly, and the others were not surprised. They looked at each other, and then sat down by the lake. Loken caught the faint glimmer in their eyes and sat down next to Sejanus.

"We all have our own opinions," Cyjanus said, looking sideways at him, "when father selected us, he valued our different qualities."

Lorcan realized that this was a request for his opinion.

"You may speak your mind." Abaddon leaned forward and looked at Loken. "You are no louder than Torgaddon."

"I--" he gathered his thoughts, "I think we need to fulfill the Emperor's will and serve as warriors under the Emperor. Just as the First and Sixth Legions did for the Emperor."

"Go on." Sejanus nodded at him.

"But perhaps we can grant some leniency," he continued, nodding to himself in his mind, "We will try to talk to the Fifteenth Legion, and then, if there is indeed room for reversal, if the Fifteenth Legion is willing to repent of their mistakes, if they have no signs of rebellion - we will also report all of this to Terra."

The Wolves looked at each other, and silence spread and deepened by the lake. "This means that we will keep a distance on the edge of the Emperor's orders," Aximander said softly, "If we are not careful, we may also be involved in the risk of possible rebellion. Out of sympathy and old friendship, we do not believe in the betrayal of the Thousand Dust Sun. However, what is the basis for our sympathy..."

"You think we have lost our primarch, so we must be more cautious; if we make a mistake, no one will come to redeem us." Loken said, looking around, his eyes gradually firm, "But we can't change our original qualities just because we lost our father."

"In my opinion, the possibility that the Astropath was wrong is greater than that the Emperor asked us to kill all Prospero. I support Loken's point of view. What if we believed a lie? Yes, we have to ask the Emperor again - what about the Astropath?"

"Astropaths can only receive messages from the Emperor. They are not powerful enough to actively break through the barriers of the Warp Storm. I told you." said Cyjanus.

"Leave it to the Prosperos themselves?" said Abaddon.

"Oh, we should be there soon. And those friends or traitors are indeed psykers, I think-" Tarik Torgadon shrugged and responded cordially, but his words were interrupted by the sudden sound of an alarm, "What?"

Cyjanus straightened up and looked forward, his sound array buttons buzzing at his collar.

"We saw their flagship," he said. "The flagship of the Thousand Dust Sun, the Ten Thousand Lights."

For a moment, Locke's scalp was slightly stung by this unexpected news. This news came very suddenly, and they had not yet made a decision.

Moreover, they were in the subspace, the sea of ​​souls where a thousand changes could occur in an instant, and it was the battlefield where the Thousand Dust Sun was good at fighting. Could it be that the Fifteenth Legion came just for them? Did they really have ill intentions and had plans for Terra?

Sejanus stood still for a few seconds like a sculpture. He was the one who had to make the decision now, and the slightest mistake would lead to irreversible consequences.

And where was Warmaster Perturabo... It was time for a commander above all others to raise his hand, but the darkness of the Warp made everything unclear.

Crescent Moon Sejanus exhaled and lowered his eyes. Under his gaze, the four stood up and waited for the next instruction.

-

What glittering words did those silvery tracks weave? Like a tapestry embroidered in the darkness, faintly burning with prophetic words?
Ahriman looked out the porthole at the patterns formed by the flames that flowed like molten wax in the Warp, and felt a sense of confusion. Which army was that?
He ascended into the gap between meditation and reality, controlling the scale of perception. This was a simple little ritual, he carefully touched the waves outside the force field, and on the premise of avoiding becoming a mass of flesh and blood screaming forever in the subspace, he restored the fragments of time and emotion one by one, and found the bytes intended to be expressed in the voice of the other side's mind.

"For..." He located the first pattern, the initial flash, but the identity of the army that was passing them was still hidden in the mist.

They did not welcome the approach of the Thousand Dust Sun, Ahriman confirmed this through his emotional perception - but what kind of army could be bold enough to sail in the dark and storm? Who could see more clearly than them at this time of year? More far? This was not the pride of the Fifteenth Legion.

"What..." The second byte melted in the dark storm the moment it took shape, and then the third one, "What..."

The fragments shattered like pierced glassware, turning into thousands of scattered sharp clouds, cutting through the vortex on the back of the world, and also turning into the last wake left by the army in this encounter...

He pressed his dry tongue against his teeth, breaking out of his semi-meditation zone, beads of sweat running against his skin.

+You saw it too. +Sky Owl Barak's telepathy came, and the emotions that followed were accompanied by deep confusion. +Why. Who is that? What is the 'why'? +
Ahriman watched as the broken pieces of fire continued to fly out in all directions, and the shells of used ammunition fell out of the Geller field. He recognized the metal fragments of ammunition used by the Empire. It was an extremely bold attempt to do so in the warp, and all kinds of accidents could suddenly occur... Why?
His expression became more and more solemn until a mass of metal wreckage suddenly turned along a new dangerous ocean current and rushed towards the Thousand-foot Light.

-

"We are re-sharing the defense towers of Tizca with you, Iron Warriors," Amon said, resting one hand on the railing on the second floor of the tower, staring at him from behind his blank mask. "Compared to when you assisted the Fifteenth Legion in building the defenses, we have added new psionic measures, as well as the necessary maintenance and iterations."

Blue psychic sparks crackled outside Tizca, gathering into a vaguely visible protective network, and hidden gun ports were exposed on the pillars used for physical protection. Light and lightning were like invisible mist, swirling around the periphery of the city-state, and only when the angle was right could one glimpse the flash of light.

Unknown dangers lurk within the glory of Tizca - like a luxurious and heavy armor to protect against the fatal blow that fate may deliver at any time.

"We'll accept," Fricks said loudly, "but the equipment we brought with us is not up to date and cannot guarantee communication with your system right now. Give us some time."

"I express my gratitude for this," Amon replied, his gaze intense enough to be felt even through his mask.

"But—why?" asked Fricks.

"There are thirty thousand of you."

"We are just passing through. We don't need to defend here. Maybe we will leave within a week."

"It is better to be prepared, Warsmith," Amon said. "Danger could come at any time, and the best teachers of the temple are not here - I have to assume that they will not be able to return before the dark storm is over."

"So what dangers do we face? What do you foresee? An attack from the Warp?" asked Fricks, whose impression of the Black Raven School focused on meditation and precognition.

"I believe it will be a surprise attack from the Warp." Even so, Amon's silence seemed a little longer. "Otherwise, apart from the minions of darkness, who else has the power to destroy Prospero? Another legion?"

(End of this chapter)