The Inquisition had secured permission to establish three monasteries on Reach. These facilities, while appearing as bastions of piety, served dual purposes—housing orphans and training reserves for the Adepta Sororitas. Acc to tradition, ohe girls reached sixteen, they would be sent to Nivalis 3, the woverned by ess Elizabeth, for further training. It was a grim but structured fate: a method to replenish the Sororitas ranks while instilling discipline and faith into the young. Whether the orphans sidered it salvation or damnation was uain, but Kayvaan saw no reason to refuse.

  “Fair enough,” Kayvaan said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “So, what do you need from me?”

  “A p,” she replied bluntly. “Any one will do, as long as it’s uo draw attention.”

  Kayvaan blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “That’s... vague. You’re sure any p will work?”

  “Yes,” she firmed. “Among your holdings, the Nivalis Abyss system caught my attention. Specifically, Nivalis III.”

  Kayvaan frowned, uaiher to ugh ue. “You do realize all nine ps in Nivalis are death worlds, right? Nivalis III might have breathable air, but the surface is smothered in sprawling rais. The trees blot out the sky, and the predators lurking there make Cata seem tame. It’s a nightmare—ten times worse than any Jurassic horror story. lements. No infrastructure. pletely unsuitable for habitation.”

  Elizabeth remained unfazed. “The Sororitas do not seek fort. We are the Emperor’s warriors. A harsh enviro strengthens our faith. Besides, establishing a war vent on a poputed p would invite unnecessary plications.”

  Kayvaan studied her for a long moment before noddiantly. “Fine. If that’s what you want, Nivalis III is yours.”

  Though uled by the choice, Kayvaan couldn’t deny the appeal of having Elizabeth and her zealous Sororitas far from his immediate viity. The versation turo formal iations. Both were effit, wasting no time oy pleasantries. Elizabeth’s request came with unspoken obligations. As an Imperial governor, Kayvaan was bound to the Imperium’s ws and expectations—expectations he dared not defy.

  First, psykers within his territory had to be closely monitored. When the Bck Ships of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica arrived, all uered psykers had to be surrendered without hesitation. Failure to do so meant the governor’s personal responsibility to root out aroy them.

  Sed, his ps were expected to wage war unditionally against any foe decred heretic, xenos, or traitor by the High Lords of Terra. Surrender was not an option under Imperial w.

  The fleet fed steadily onward. In time, only three ships remained: Kayvaan’s fgship, the Bck Rose; the Ebony Shadows, once a paragon of the Knights Tempr but now a shadow of its former self; and the Fme of Justice, heralding the Sisters’ devotion. Together, they arrived at Aion, a border bastion of the Imperium.

  The fleet lingered briefly in Aion’s orbit for rest and final resupply. This would be their st respite before the perilous route ahead. Without the Astronomi’s light to guide them, long jumps through the were suicidal. Only short, methodical leaps of 4 to 5 light-years were safe. Beyond Imperial space, the was an unstable and roiling sea where tides and storms could devour entire fleets.

  The journey was sluggish, like marg through mire rather than sprinting on open ground. After four arduous jumps, Kayvaan’s fleet reached its destination. Through the viewport, the Reach stars shimmered like the distant embers of a dying fire. It was the 40th Millennium, in the chill of its endless autumn, and Kayvaan had returo his homend after housand long and silent years.

  A fleet of twelve warships awaited beyond the Reach system, a ceremonial guard h his arrival. A s dictated the Bck Rose fire a salute—silent plumes of color burst in the void, resembling distant explosions frozen in space. The escort ships fell into formation seamlessly, being a part of Kayvaan’s vanguard.

  The bridge vox crackled to life. A servitor chimed an ining e, and moments ter, the hololith flickered, revealing an older man with a ly trimmed mustache. Twisting its eween his fingers with habitual ease, the man ined his head. "Admiral Tiberion Dravak of the Reach Sector Fleet," he greeted with practiced reverence. "On behalf of Reach, we wele you, Lovernor. Wele home."

  The transition of power was unfolding with a smoothness Kayvaan found suspicious. He had anticipated resistance. After all, a position of this magnitude—rule over three entire sectors—invited both admiration and envy. Such power elevated a man beyond kings and lords. He was a governor in name, but in practice, he now wielded influence akin to a god.

  A, it was a god seated on a fragile throerra had proven that even minor posts within the Imperium sparked rivalry, treachery, and bloodshed. A governorship of this scale seemed to Kayvaan an irresistible lure for ambition arayal. "How simple it would be," he mused darkly, "to bury a knife in my bad seize my throne."

  Jacob, Kayvaan’s chief advisor, had dismissed his fears earlier. “They could kill you,” he admitted, “but they would aplish nothing. The Imperium itself stands behind your authority. Should anyone rebel, they would face a retribution so total it would erase their legacy from history,” Jacob tinued, “and no single system or coalition of worlds would dare stand against them. Only fools would eain such treason.”

  “Ambition often devours reason,” Kayvaan tered.

  “Perhaps,” Jacob ceded, “but I believe your worries are unwarrahis appoi came willingly from the Reach’s previous governor. The man personally petitiohe Segmentum Lords the moment he heard of your resurre. I suspect his reasons will bee clear when you meet him.”

  “It’s a pity,” Kayvaan muttered, sighing as he leaned ba his chair. He didn’t bother cealing his disappoi. Deep down, he had hoped for rebellion or spiracy, something to sink his teeth into. He even weled the idea with quiet anticipation. Whatever arose, he had faith in his ability to crush it.

  Uhe fleet’s watchful escort, Kayvaa Aqui Landing. The sprawling facility had been locked down for his arrival. Sooepped onto Reach soil. A graion awaited him, followed by an eborate three-day ceremony that unfolded like a fwless ritual.

  For those three days, Kayvaa like an automaton, trapped in a carefully orchestrated performance. His butler and ae of adept officials ensured every detail was exact, leaving no room for misstep. When it ended, Kayvaahe governor’s scepter—a cold symbol of absolute authority—and received oaths of loyalty from the p’s most powerful figures. If rebellion had been an option, its moment had passed. The transfer was plete.

  Two days after his inauguration, a message arrived: the foverended an invitation to a pao one else had ever seen. At st, the mysteries surrounding the transition might reveal themselves. A knock came at the door—steady and deliberate. The rhythm carried a practiced restraint, refleg the discipline of a veteraainer.

  Kayvaan gnced up from the datastes he had been reviewing ahem aside. Taking a measured sip of recaf, he said, “Enter.”