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Within the Webway labyrinth, a prophecy sanctum built of wraithbone hung suspended in the crevice between ti-streams.
The tremor of the Great Rift tearing open the galaxy spread through every branching Webway path, sending scarlet Warp ripples crawling across the wraithbone walls left by the Old Ones.
Yvraine knelt with closed eyes beside the star-chart dais at the sanctum's center.
At her side, Visarch, the Sword of Ynnead, stood with one hand resting on his blade. Across from him, the Harlequins' Great Seer Sylandri traced her fingers across the wraithbone runes of the dais, laying the shattered future-fragnts of the Cadian Sector before the Emissary of the Dead.
"Cadia has shattered. The Great Rift splits the galaxy. Chaos's talons are tearing apart the Imperium's defensive lines."
The Despoiler has succeeded.
The Harlequin's voice carried a rasp beneath her mask.
"The Seventh Path we foretold is closing. The Wolf Shepherd has returned, but he stands alone with no aid in sight. The Emperor of Mankind is trapped upon the Golden Throne. Their Legions are fractured. Without a unified leader, Chaos will devour the entire galaxy — and our final chance to awaken Ynnead will perish with it."
Yvraine did not open her eyes.
Her consciousness had long since sunk into the countless future tilines along the psychic circuits of the dais, pulled deep into the currents of what was yet to co.
She saw Abaddon's black fleet grinding humanity's last resistance to dust. She saw the laughter of She Who Thirsts shattering the Craftworlds that remained to the Aeldari. She saw Ynnead, the God of the Dead, slumbering forever in a sea of spirit stones, never to wake.
Then her fingertip brushed against a faint, resilient thread.
A frozen planet nad Clethus. The last forgotten corner of the Cadian Sector.
There, she saw Belisarius Cawl. She saw the armor of destiny the Archmagos had spent 10,000 years forging. She saw all the secrets sealed within it, everything needed to resurrect the Thirteenth Primarch.
And more importantly, she saw herself.
Saw herself gripping the Croneblade, slicing open the stasis field that had imprisoned Guilliman for ten millennia. Saw the power of Ynnead flowing along the blade's edge, suppressing the divine toxins of Slaanesh, granting the dying Primarch death, and then life again.
"The Whispering God's voice echoes in my ear."
Yvraine finally opened her eyes. Those almond-shaped eyes, unique to the Aeldari, surged with the psychic tides of life and death.
She raised her hand slowly and grasped the Croneblade at her side. The divine artifact, forged from the finger-bones of the Crone Goddess herself, emitted a clear resonant hum. Pale blue light blood along its edge, tracing across the star-chart the coordinates of Clethus, and a Webway gate hidden on that planet, long since forgotten.
"The Hidden Path prophecy spoke true." She rose to her feet, the Croneblade's light illuminating her pale, resolute face. "Roboute Guilliman's awakening is the sole prerequisite for rousing Ynnead and opposing the Bloodthirsty God. Cawl's armor can nd his flesh, but it cannot sever the toxin's binding to his soul. Only the power of the God of the Dead can make him die first — and then live again."
Visarch's brow furrowed.
"Abaddon's black fleet is hunting this human remnant right now. If we act, we stand directly against the Despoiler."
"We never had a path of retreat to begin with."
Yvraine's gaze swept across the warriors of the Ynnari gathered within the sanctum.
Warlocks from the Craftworlds. Shadowseers from the Harlequins. Haemonculi from Commorragh. Every soul chosen by Ynnead tightened their grip on their weapons.
"Once Guilliman awakens, the Imperium will have its backbone again. The Wolf Shepherd will be vindicated. The full fury of Chaos will pour down upon those two, and they will buy us ti. Ti to find the five Croneblades. Ti to fully awaken Ynnead."
Her fingertip traced the Croneblade's edge once more. This ti, amidst the future-fragnts of the star-chart, she glimpsed sothing the prophecy had not accounted for.
An ordinary mortal man. His soul drifted outside the tistream, as though he did not belong to this galaxy at all, yet sohow he held a critical juncture along this path of destiny in his hands.
And the returned Wolf Shepherd was bound to him by countless threads of fate.
"A variable beyond the prophecy." The Great Seer's voice carried a note of wariness. "Will they ruin our plan?"
Yvraine was silent for a mont. Then she shook her head and drew the Croneblade from its sheath.
"Whoever they are, their objective aligns with ours. Escape Abaddon's pursuit. Reach Macragge. Awaken Guilliman."
She stepped toward the Webway portal at the sanctum's far end.
"Open the Webway gate to Clethus. Ynnari, march forth."
-------------
Surface of Clethus.
The blizzard cut like knives.
"Is there really a way out of this accursed place?"
Black Templars High Marshal Amalrich spat a mouthful of ice-flecked breath, his armor joints frozen and creaking.
Behind him stretched a long column of survivors.
Black Templars Astartes. Sisters of the Order of Our Martyred Lady. Kasrkin veterans. Knight walkers whose every step made the snowpack shudder.
At the column's head, Archmagos Cawl's heavy transport plowed slowly through the drifts, while the Living Saint Celestine hovered above the ground, her golden radiance the only beacon in the howling white.
"Marshal, stop complaining. The God-Emperor's guidance cannot be wrong."
Emperor's Champion Galen stepped closer and clapped a hand on Amalrich's pauldron.
"At least we evaded Abaddon's orbital bombardnt. If we'd traded fire in the void, we'd be cosmic debris by now."
"Hmph. I'd rather board the Vengeful Spirit and twist that top-knotted wretch's head off myself."
Amalrich gnashed his teeth.
His gaze swept sideways and landed on the rear flank of the transport.
An Imperial Guard captain in standard-issue uniform was trudging through the snow, one deep footprint after another, flanked by two giants draped in wide canvas cloaks.
"How did those three get mixed into the front ranks?" Amalrich frowned.
Galen followed his gaze and his expression cleared.
"Ah. So it's them."
"Who?"
"Who else? The three who held the western defense line of Kraft Keep during the first Chaos assault on Cadia. A captain nad Kaelen and his Ogryn attendants."
"So it's them."
The wariness in Amalrich's eyes faded at once, replaced by open admiration.
"Brave mortal warriors. Especially that Captain Kaelen, the things he said. Truly well-spoken. Stirred my blood."
"Marshal, I'm more curious about those two Ogryns." Galen lowered his voice. "Word's spread like wildfire through the Guard. They say these two tore apart Chaos Space Marines by the dozen with their bare hands."
Amalrich studied the two cloaked figures. Their builds were exaggerated to the extre.
Especially the one slightly further back. Those shoulders were practically a mobile wall of adamantium.
"A physique like that, almost matching our brothers in Terminator plate." Amalrich grinned. "Pity Ogryns aren't bright. Otherwise, implanting gene-seed in them, they'd be top-tier material."
Of course, the High Marshal was only joking. Regardless of an Ogryn's physical gifts, gene-seed could not be implanted into them. Imperial decree forbade implanting gene-seed into abhumans, and true Astartes were cultivated exclusively from pre-adolescent males between the ages of ten and fourteen.
Just as Amalrich was wondering why those two "Ogryns" kept their canvas hoods pulled up at all tis,
"WOOOOOO —!"
A piercing shriek tore through the blizzard.
The air churned violently.
Three massive silhouettes wreathed in black Warp-fire burst through the cloud layer.
Black Legion Heldrakes.
These monstrous daemon-engines, fusions of machine and daemon, spread their steel wings wide. Baleful red light locked onto the survivor column below.
"Enemy attack! Scatter!" Amalrich's face twisted. He drew his power sword and roared. "Organize anti-air fire! Shoot those three beasts down!"
The Heldrakes dove through the blizzard, daemon-fire pouring from their draconic maws.
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[Seventh Path]: Also called the Path of Life, the sole non-extinction route for the Aeldari to escape Slaanesh's soul-devouring, reclaim their cycle of life, and ensure racial continuity.
[Whispering God]: One of the titles of Ynnead, the Aeldari God of the Dead.
➤ Next: Rescue of the Harlequins
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