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The peak of Tizca, Daemon World of the Thousand Sons. The Astromantic Spire.
Magnus the Red extended one massive claw and toyed with the glowing threads of fate drifting before him.
Suspended in the air nearby was a twin-headed bird creature. Kairos Fateweaver, the Great Oracle, the Weaver of Fates.
"What do you see, Kairos?" Magnus asked, not looking up.
The left head swayed. "Nothing, my friend."
The right head spoke next, its voice sharp as a blade. "Those two — Guilliman and Lupercal — are nothing but lingering shadows of a dead age. Living proof of their father's failures. They belong in the past, and they should stay there. The future has no seats reserved for them."
The left head cackled. "Oh, but it does — provided a small variable is introduced. The audience beneath the stage has already made his entrance. The Changer of Ways is most pleased to see him join the ga."
Magnus let out a cold, contemptuous snort.
He flicked aside a tangled thread of fate. His single crimson eye was full of arrogance.
"That outsider? I'll grant him this much, he has so shady little tricks. He managed to drag back my forr brother, that Horus who hasn't yet completely rotted through. But he's far too weak. He is, at the end of it, a re mortal. Mortals don't make waves."
Both of Kairos's heads snapped toward him at once, fixing him with an unblinking stare.
The left head said, "Hard to say, my friend."
The right head said, "If he isn't dealt with soon, he will bring far more variables to the Imperium. In this ga of gods, he is a trendous obstacle to us."
"Are you afraid?" Magnus taunted.
The right head didn't flinch. "He is a factor that can turn the tide. Will you kill him, Magnus?"
Magnus threw his head back and laughed. "Of course I'll kill him. Crushing a mortal insect takes hardly any effort. And you, Fateweaver? Will you join the hunt? Help run down my brothers."
The two heads drew together in midair, chattering and conferring in rapid bursts, then separated to deliver their answers.
The left head: "The Changer of Ways does not wish to participate."
The right head: "The Changer of Ways looks forward to your choice."
Typical Tzeentchian politics. Succeed, and the master takes the credit. Fail, and the contractor takes the fall. Not a trace of culpability ever touches the boss.
Then both heads spoke together.
"Do not forget Lupercal and Guilliman."
"My brothers," Magnus said. "I have my own thods for dealing with them."
The Crimson King sneered. Inwardly, though, his confidence was not quite as solid as he made it sound.
Guilliman was easy enough, that psyker-blind muggle had no answer for his sorcery. But Horus was a different problem entirely.
The Warmaster had blazed like a sun during the Great Crusade. Among all the Primarchs, his raw combat ability ranked firmly in the top three.
Still. Magnus knew his weakness. A weakness that would split his focus in battle. And a split focus ant death.
"Then I can only wish you good luck, my friend." Kairos's voice carried a lilting, almost musical warmth. "May fortune favor you in battle."
"One more thing," the daemon added. "He is indeed a mortal, but he is also the audience beneath the stage. I will provide you with the troops and support you need."
Kairos laughed, spread its great bird wings, and departed.
A look of pure disgust settled across the Crimson King's face. He loathed this colleague. Kairos, the other Great Daemons, they were all competitors, every one of them. All of them scrambling for the Changer of Ways's attention and favor, tripping each other up at every opportunity. That was simply how things worked.
"I will succeed."
"I will not repeat the mistake I made ten thousand years ago."
"I have already seen it. My victory. That mortal's fall."
The threads of fate spread out before him. He saw himself close his hand around that mortal's skull and crush it. The image satisfied him deeply.
---------
The expeditionary force bound for Terra had fully assembled.
Guilliman issued his orders to Chapter Master Calgar and the other strategically gifted commanders: begin rebuilding the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, and prepare for the wars that were coming. He placed overall command in Calgar's hands.
Then he made his selections. From the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Companies of the Ultramarines, he chose his finest warriors to accompany him to Terra. 2nd Company Captain Cato Sicarius would lead them. The full roster also included 5,000 Primaris Space Marines, Grey Knights, Black Templars, Living Saints, and Inquisitors. Archmagos Belisarius Cawl joined as well.
Horus and his two companions were not left behind.
Guilliman intended to bring Horus and Kaelen before the Emperor of Mankind.
The expeditionary force chose not to brave the turbulent Warp. They took the Webway instead, faster, and far safer. Two of the Ynnari's death-warriors would escort the host all the way to Luna.
Before the great army moved out, sothing unexpected happened on the landing platform.
A troupe of Aeldari Harlequins appeared out of nowhere, their costus a riot of clashing colors.
The Space Marines on watch imdiately raised their boltguns. Guilliman lifted a hand to stop them, because Yvraine, standing at his side, had already indicated that these visitors ant no harm.
They had co to perform.
A strange, eerily elegant lody rose and spread across the vast platform. The Harlequins, each wearing a different painted mask, tumbled and vaulted and spun through the open space.
It was a battle-drama. Loud, kinetic, and relentless.
Not one of the senior commanders made a sound. Harlequin troupes never wasted a performance on nonsense. Their dance-dramas pointed at fate with unsettling precision.
Kaelen stood on the steps with his arms folded, watching. The longer he watched, the more uneasy he felt.
The drama's core was simple enough: several enormous figures, clearly ant to represent gods and monsters, were tearing each other apart. The kind of battle that shook the heavens.
Then a small figure in a comical mask leaped straight up from the "audience" below the stage and crashed down into the very center of the fight.
The mont that character landed, everything changed. The tragic, world-shaking epic collapsed into pure chaos. The ones who should have died didn't die. The monster that should have won tripped over its own feet. The entire stage spiraled out of control because of one tiny variable.
10 minutes. Then it was over.
Every character froze in an exaggerated final pose. The little "audience" figure stood at the center of them all, and gave a long, slow bow to the crowd.
Then the entire troupe dissolved into a swirl of colored light and was gone.
No ending. No resolution. Who won, who lost, left completely open.
But the aning was obvious enough.
Guilliman understood it. Horus understood it. The psykers of the Librarius and the Living Saints understood it too.
That small figure who had jumped from the audience into the middle of a war between gods.
That was Kaelen.
Kaelen slipped his hand into his pocket. His fingertips worked slowly back and forth across the hard edge of a card.
"Wheel of Fortune. Reversal of fortune."
"The audience beneath the stage."
Intervene in the story. Rewrite the story. The mont you do that, the audience stops being an audience.
He thought about the battle with the Daemon Primarch Magnus that was coming. He turned it over in his mind, and only one conclusion made sense.
That son of a bitch was coming for him.
But.
"Who's hunting whom," Kaelen said quietly, "is still an open question."
He sneered and pushed the card back into his pocket.
The performance was over. The expeditionary force moved out.
The Imperial host advanced in force toward Raphis, entered the Webway, and set course for Luna, the sacred moon of Holy Terra.
➤ Next: The Crimson King Arrives!
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