"Yes," the raven said, its voice a playful lilt laced with ancient knowledge. "I come from beyond your universe. The multiverse is vast, endless—a tapestry of realities far beyond your own. And I, a humble traveler, have the power to hop between them."
As it spoke, the raven tilted its head and opened its beak. A cascade of light poured forth, shimmering beams weaving into a kaleidoscope of images that danced in the air. Some scenes were vivid, playing like a cinematic reel: alien worlds with towering spires, fleets clashing in star-strewn voids, creatures of impossible forms locked in battle. Others were chaotic, fractured—split into multiple perspectives, looping backward or leaping forward in time, as if the very fabric of those realities defied linear understanding.
"Most universes follow a single timeline, like a river flowing forward," the raven explained, its wings fluttering as it gestured at the clearer visions. "But others? Their timelines are multidimensional, branching into parallel worlds or folding back on themselves. Past, present, future—they twist together in glorious chaos."
The Emperor's dark eyes narrowed, studying the flickering images with a mind that could unravel the secrets of gods. "The multiverse is fascinating," he said, his voice a low rumble, "but what do you gain from this? Don't tell me you're offering your services out of charity."
The raven chuckled, a sound both amused and sly. "Sharp as ever, big guy. When you alter a universe's destined path, it releases a unique energy—its origin force. That's my food, my fuel. A fair trade, don't you think? You get power and knowledge from other realities, and I get a hearty meal. Nobody loses."
The Emperor's expression remained a mask of stoic resolve. "I don't ally with unknowns," he said flatly, his tone as unyielding as the mountains of Terra.
The raven tilted its head, undeterred. "Oh? You weren't so picky when you struck deals with the Four Gods, siphoning their chaotic secrets to fuel your ambitions."
For the first time, a flicker of unease crossed the Emperor's face, his golden aura dimming slightly. "How do you know that?" he demanded, his voice sharp as a drawn blade.
The raven snapped its beak shut, and the glowing visions vanished, plunging the chamber back into shadow. "Everything leaves a mark on the universe," it said, its tone turning serious. "I can read those traces. When I entered your reality, I saw your history unfold. On Mordo, you plunged into the warp, bargained with the Four Gods, and stole their power and knowledge to forge your empire. You outwitted them, and now they're furious."
The Emperor's gaze hardened, his hand tightening on the hilt of his flaming sword. The raven bore no taint of the warp, no trace of the corruption that clung to chaos-spawned creatures. Its claim of being a multiversal traveler was unproven, but its knowledge was unnervingly precise.
Beside him, Valdor's eyes darted around the chamber, his halberd raised as if seeking an invisible foe. To him, the Emperor appeared to be speaking to thin air, his sword drawn against nothing. Valdor's enhanced senses, honed by years of training and the Emperor's own gene-craft, detected no presence beyond his lord. He had seen the statue vanish in a flash of light, and now his master conversed with an unseen entity. "What's happening?" Valdor muttered, his voice tight with frustration. "Who's the enemy? The dark gods? Where are they?"
The Emperor glanced at his loyal commander, his expression unreadable. "I'm fine, Valdor."
"But why are you speaking to the air?" Valdor pressed, concern etching his stoic features. "Should I summon a medicae to examine you?"
The Emperor's gaze flicked to the raven, which strutted midair with an almost mocking swagger. "You can't see it?" he asked.
Valdor scanned the room again, his helmet's sensors whirring. "See what, Majesty?"
The raven chuckled. "He can't see me, Goldie. Only those I deem worthy—or those you, as the Protagonist of Fate, permit—can perceive me. It's a safeguard, keeps our little deals private. Not that many in this universe could challenge you, but the mechanism still applies."
"Can you make him see you?" the Emperor asked, his tone curious but guarded.
"Easy," the raven replied. "If you wish it."
The Emperor nodded. "Show yourself."
In an instant, the raven materialized before Valdor, its black wings flaring dramatically. "Hey there, Valdor, noble commander of the Custodes!" it chirped, its voice dripping with mock friendliness. "Fancy a trip to the docks for some fries?"
Valdor reacted in a blur, his halberd snapping up to point at the raven's heart, its arc-lit tip crackling with lethal energy. Protecting the Emperor wasn't just his duty—it was his very purpose, etched into his soul. No threat, no matter how small or strange, would come near his lord.
"Rude!" the raven squawked, feigning offense with an exaggerated pout. "I offer you fries, and you point a spear at me? That's no way to treat a guest!"
"Daemon," Valdor growled, his voice a low snarl. "Leave this world."
"Valdor," the Emperor said firmly, pressing the halberd down with a single gesture. "It's not a daemon."
"It's deceiving you, Majesty," Valdor insisted. "Warp-spawn are masters of lies."
"I see no trace of chaos in it," the Emperor countered, his psychic senses piercing the raven's essence. Reluctantly, Valdor lowered his weapon, though his eyes burned with distrust.
The Emperor turned back to the raven. "You claim you can take me to other universes, grant me their power and knowledge. How do I know this isn't a trap?"
"I can't give you guarantees," the raven admitted, its tone earnest for the first time. "But this is your only shot at victory. Your Primarchs, the gene-seeds meant to anchor your new warriors—they were stolen by the gods. Yet you haven't given up. You're still pursuing your secret plans."
Valdor's eyes widened. The Primarch project was a closely guarded secret, known only to a handful within the Imperium. For this creature to speak of it so casually was unthinkable.
The raven continued, undaunted. "I can tell you this: your Primarchs aren't dead. They're scattered across the galaxy, forged by fate's trials. When you launch your crusade among the stars, they'll return to you."
The Emperor's silence grew heavier, his mind weighing the raven's words. It knew too much—far more than any mortal or warp entity should.
"You've envisioned a glorious future for humanity," the raven pressed, its voice soft but piercing. "But you're doomed to fail. No matter how hard you fight, fate's current will drag you toward ruin. You've seen it, haven't you? Your gift of foresight shows you countless futures, most of them dark and hopeless. In the end, you'll lose everything—your empire, your Custodes, your closest allies, and the very humanity you swore to protect. All of it will crumble to a slow, agonizing death."
"You're fearmongering," Valdor snapped, his halberd twitching in his grip, his loyalty warring with his growing unease.
"Am I?" The raven's beak curled into a knowing smile. "Ask your lord if I'm lying. Or does his power of prophecy mean nothing to you?"
The Emperor remained silent, his lack of denial a heavy admission. The war against the gods was a battle against impossible odds. Failure meant a future of eternal war, with no hope of salvation for humanity.
Valdor glared at the raven, his knuckles white around his halberd, but he held his ground. He knew the raven was right about one thing: without the Emperor's command, he would not act. His loyalty was absolute, a living testament to the Custodes' creed.
"If you're willing," the raven said, its tone shifting to one of opportunity, "I'll take you to your first trial—a new universe. Complete its challenge, and you'll return with rewards that will bolster your plans. I guarantee they'll be worth your while."
Valdor turned to the Emperor, reading the faint shift in his master's expression. The Emperor was considering it, his mind calculating risks and possibilities with a precision that rivaled the stars themselves. "Majesty," Valdor urged, "don't trust its honeyed words. What if it's a trap? If you can't return, all our plans—everything we've built—will collapse."
The raven tilted its head. "Even if I'm a con artist, what's the worst that happens? Terra's unified. Your empire's foundations are set. If the Emperor takes a little cosmic vacation, this planet will still be the seed of humanity's rebirth."
Valdor's jaw tightened. "Without the Webway, humanity's doomed. You know this. One misstep, and we're lost."
The Emperor's eyes flickered, a rare crack in his composure. The Webway—the key to safe, superluminal travel free of the warp's taint—was the cornerstone of his vision. Every step, from Terra's unification to the Primarchs and the Great Crusade, was a means to that end. That this creature knew of the Webway, a secret shared by only three souls in the Imperium, shook him to his core.
"Only from beyond your universe can you find the power to change its fate," the raven said, its voice steady. "If you work with me, I can help you secure the complete Webway technology from another reality."
The Emperor studied the raven, his gaze piercing through its flippant exterior. "I need time to prepare," he said at last. "One day to ready myself for this… journey."
"Fair enough," the raven replied. "I need a day to recharge my cosmic batteries anyway. Tomorrow, same time, give me your final answer."
With a theatrical pop, the raven dissolved into a swirl of white mist, leaving the chamber in eerie silence.