The Reing drifted through the void, a monolith of steel and sorcery. A dreadnought of House Drais, its massive silhouette eclipsed the stars, a leviathan of war. Space itself seemed to ripple in its wake, as if bending to the presence of something beyoeology.

  To the lords of Sorius, it was the mailed fist of their Imperium, the unyielding will of the Emperor made ma. To those who stood against it, it was a harbinger of ruin, a floating fortress bristling with onry that defied the very fabric of ventional warfare. Its hull, an obsidian bastion, bore the reliefs of void-drakes, their petrified wings stretched wide, their fanged maws locked iernal defiance. Along its surface, are circuits pulsed in tandem with the ship’s core, a fusion of engineering and something far older—something not fully uood.

  Is corridors stretched like the arteries of some great beast, silent save for the low thrum of power cyg through its systems. The bridge was not merely a aer but a throne of dominion. Dark pylons twisted into vaulted arches, their surfaces etched with the names of warriors long since falleill remembered. The soles flickered with eerie bioluminesce, their interfaces woven with neural pathways that responded as much to thought as to touch. Manning these stations were bannermen from minor houses, tireless androids, spectral apparitions woven into the ship’s very software, and even undead soldiers, their hollow gaze fixed upon their duties with unwavering precision. The Reing was a behemoth, a relic of war that defied both time and reason.

  At the heart of it all, standing before the main hololithic dispy, was Baron Drakon Vaelinor Drais.

  Encased in the bed steel of his te, purple fiments of energy coursed through the seams of his armor, resonating with the ship itself. His helm, fashioned in the likeness of a void-drake, gleamed uhe ambient glow, the hollow sockets refleg the abyss beyond. He stood motionless, an unshakable pilr amid the shifting holo-light.

  Projected in ghostly blue, Prince Lu Horus Sorius lounged upon his ornate and throne aboard the Radiance. He exuded the same effortless fidehat had made him infamous, though his smirk was tempered with something more introspective.

  "And so, our paths finally diverge," Lu mused, idly swirling a goblet of amase one hand. "I must admit, Drakon, for all the bloodshed and ruin, you remain as unfling as ever. One might wonder if you truly feel anything at all."

  Drakon did not respond immediately. The holo-light cast shifting shadows over his te, but his voice, when it came, was steady as the tide. "The Emperor’s will has been carried out. The campaign is over."

  Lu let out a breath, shaking his head. "Ever the dutiful soldier. But tell me, Drakon, when all is said and done, whears we burn down to ders leave only the cold embrace of the void… what remains for you?"

  Drakon’s gaze was unreadable beh his helm. "House Drais ehat is all that matters."

  Lu chuckled, leaning forward slightly. "Spoken like a true heir to a legacy of iron and ash. I have to say, I’ve grown quite fond of you, Drakon. Stubborless, a touch morbid—yes—but oddly admirable."

  Drakarded him carefully, his wariempered by experience. "I imagi takes oo know one."

  Lu’s smirk widened. "Ah, see? You be charming. Try not to let your bannermen catch you at it, though. Wouldn’t want to ruin your terrifyiation."

  Drakon exhaled, the sound more akin to a sigh than a scoff. "And you? What will you do now?"

  Lu raised his goblet in a half-toast. "Oh, you know me. Off to find another battlefield, another war, aage upon which to py the fool. And who knows? Perhaps our paths will cross again."

  Drakon ined his head slightly. "Perhaps."

  Lu studied him for a moment longer before tapping a trol on his throne. "Until then, Drakon. Try not to raise too many corpses in my absence."

  With a flick of his fingers, the holo-feed severed, and the prince’s image dissolved into static. The bridge of The Reing fell into silence more, save for the ever-present hum of its vast and a maery.

  Drakon turned, staring into the abyss beyond the viewport.

  The stars remained distant, their cold light no answers.

  Drakohe bridge, his armored boots eg through the dim corridors of The Reing. Servitors bowed as he passed, their augmetic eyes flickering in reition. His quarters y deep within the dreadnought, a sanctum of darkeeel and a relics. Entering, he sealed the door behind him and activated the hololithic rey.

  The dispy crackled to life, revealing Duke Dragah Drais. The elder lord stood amidst a dimly lit chamber, his back turned, methodically impnting cyberito an uhrall. His left arm—a sleek, iron prosthetic—moved with calcuted precision, a scalpel in its meical grip. The flickering ntern light reflected off his cloak, adorned in House Drais’ colors—royal purple and gual bck—its edges embroidered with intricate patterns resembling dragon scales.

  He did not turn as he spoke. "Drakon. The campaign has cluded, I assume."

  Drakon ined his head. "It has. Prince Lu departs. Our forces remain intact."

  Dragan tinued his work, his voice calm yet anding. "And what of the Verdant Vale? Our scouts report… anomalies."

  Drakon stiffened slightly. "The Vale is unlike any other world we have entered. There is somethih its surface. The energy signatures suggest the presence of a Starfe."

  Dragan finally turned, his crimson sclera and cyberic pupils log onto Drakon with pierg iy. "A Starfe," he murmured, as if tasting the word. "If true, this ges everything. Wars have been fought for less."

  Drakon’s expression remained unreadable. "Then we must move carefully. Others will seek it. House Fenralis. Perhaps even the Sorians."

  Dragan exhaled slowly, g his iron fiogether. "Then we will ehat we reach it first. Maintain your position. Await further orders. And, Drakon—"

  The Duke’s gaze darkened. "Trust is a spent only ohe prince may seem amicable, but power has no friends—only those who seek to cim it. Do not mistake momentary camaraderie for loyalty."

  Drakon absorbed the words in silence. Dragan’s voice softened slightly. "Greatness is not seized in a sitle. It is fed, tempered, and paid for in blood. I expect you to remember that."

  The transmission ended, leaving Drakon alone in the cold glow of the holo-dispy. He stared at the fading image, his thoughts heavy.

  The Verdant Vale.

  A Starfe.

  And a storm yet to e.