A tomb-like silence reigned over the bridge, but Axion remained indifferent to the shock of those around him. Instead, he studied the planet visible through the viewport with a clinical, detached interest.
A vibrant, verdant world floating independently in the void, far from any star and positioned at the very edge of the galaxy—the sight was an affront to the known laws of biological proliferation.
Axion did not doubt for a moment that this planet harbored something extraordinary.
Calanthus, however, was beset by far more agonizing concerns.
Though he had issued a strict gag order, the echoes of those near-heretical proclamations were now indelibly etched into the minds of the bridge crew. His gaze toward Axion had grown exponentially more complex.
An intrusive thought gnawed at his mind: would it be more appropriate to sacrifice every soul aboard this ship to destroy this Iron Man now, rather than let him unleash the tectonic shifts his existence promised for the future?
Dread sat heavy in Calanthus's gut.
Hadrian chose that moment to return to the bridge. Having just scrubbed the xenos gore from his wargear, he immediately sensed the suffocating tension.
The state of Calanthus, in particular, struck him as aberrant.
Why is he so shaken? Are there hidden foes nearby?
Hadrian scanned the perimeter with a wary eye, his auspex sweeping the bridge repeatedly as he maintained a state of high alert. Yet the bridge remained tranquil; the only figure who seemed entirely at ease was Axion.
Hadrian moved cautiously to Calanthus's side. One hand rested near the grip of his plasma pistol, while the other reached out to clap his brother's shoulder.
"Brother, are you well?"
Despite the casual tone, Hadrian did not relax. Calanthus was an Invictarus, a veteran of uncounted wars, but their recent Warp transit had been unnervingly abrupt. Warp incursions followed a specific pattern: the more one was exposed to the Empyrean, the easier it became for the soul to be tainted, or worse, led into damnation.
He could afford no lapse in vigilance. Should Calanthus display any sign of corruption, the greeting from his battle-brother would likely be a bolt of superheated plasma.
However, Hadrian's fears proved unfounded.
"I am fine, brother. I was merely grappling with the complexities of the instructions the Primarch bestowed upon us."
Calanthus's voice was steady, the confusion in his tone readable and distinctly human.
Though Hadrian had missed Axion's earth-shattering dialogue, he could still tell the atmosphere was deeply wrong. Relieved, he moved his hand away from his pistol and gave Calanthus's pauldron a firm, reassuring strike.
"Do not be troubled. The Primarch's wisdom is beyond our measure. His strategies and intents are not for us to second-guess. Follow his commands, brother. We may not see the destination, but Lord Guilliman has surely foreseen the outcome."
Calanthus felt a jolt of sudden clarity.
What am I doing? Why did I begin to doubt the decree of my Gene-father? Has the Warp exerted some foul influence upon my resolve?
"Thank you, brother. You are beginning to sound like a proper Chaplain."
Seeing his brother return to his senses and even offer a jest, Hadrian exhaled a quiet breath of relief.
"Hah! I am no Chaplain. Theirs is a burden I do not envy."
Calanthus strode away from the command dais, leaving Hadrian with orders to prepare for deployment. He signaled the Captain to dispatch a detachment of mortal recon troops to the surface. With no immediate means to repair the ship, their only choice was to investigate the world below.
Although the Navigator had marked the approximate coordinates where the Astronomican had flickered out, the planet's unique energy field shielded it from long-range auspex scans. Optical reconnaissance confirmed the presence of flora and fauna, but the threat level remained an unknown variable.
Furthermore, the physical source of the suspected beacon had not yet been located. If it could be found, it might yield an unexpected boon.
Leaving the bridge, Calanthus headed straight for the ship's chapel.
It was a standard feature of every Imperial vessel, dominated by a colossal statue of the Emperor. Those belonging to Astartes warships were designed with grander proportions, meant to accommodate the massive frames of the Emperor's demigod sons; otherwise, the warriors would have to pray in shifts.
Calanthus looked up at the towering effigy of the Master of Mankind. He slowly dropped to one knee, removing his helmet and placing it on the floor.
"I am an Ultramarine, a champion of the God-Emperor. Our courage is beyond question! This is a work forged in the soul, stronger than adamantium, as eternal as the Emperor's will. I shall fulfill my duty, with my will as the blade and my body as the haft, offering victory as a hymn to the Golden Throne."
"My fury ends only in death; it is the Emperor's flame, a noble undertaking. My soul shall return to the Golden Throne, and its glory unto Macragge."
...
As Calanthus continued his fervent orisons, the tension in his spirit began to dissolve. His inner peace returned. In a trance-like state, he felt as if a golden radiance flickered before his eyes.
The proud head of the Emperor's statue seemed to shift, its gaze becoming warm yet heavy, staring directly down at Calanthus with the piercing focus of a father's expectation.
The great sword gripped by the statue seemed to ignite with a searing, phantom flame, and the air around him hummed with a faint, liturgical resonance, sung by unseen voices.
Faintly, Calanthus thought he heard a voice that carried the weight of a sigh:
"My child, I watch over you. I know the risks of your path and the hardships that lie ahead."
A trace of Warp-shadow was purged from Calanthus's being. His body felt lighter, his mind sharpened.
But when Calanthus finally raised his bowed head, the statue stood as motionless as ever. The warmth and the voices were gone, as though the entire experience had been a mere trick of the light.
His prayer concluded, Calanthus retrieved his helmet and rose slowly.
His gaze was once again iron-clad; his transhuman mind had recovered its crystalline clarity. All traces of agitation had vanished. He looked deeply at the golden laurel branches on his helmet before sliding it back over his head.
"I shall not fail the Emperor's intent. For courage and honor. For the Five Hundred Worlds and the peace of the Imperium."
Firm in his faith once more, Calanthus strode out of the chapel. Had a psyker been present, they would have seen his soul's projection in the Warp shimmering with a brilliant, holy luster.
"My Lord, the mortal units dispatched to the surface have vanished. We have lost all contact."
The voice of the Captain's adjutant crackled through the vox-channel the moment Calanthus's helmet sealed.
"Understood. I am on my way."
His tone was calm and unshakable, a steady resonance that immediately quelled the adjutant's mounting panic.
As Calanthus stepped back onto the bridge, the mortals present felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of security and awe. It was the same overwhelming shock they had felt the very first time they laid eyes upon an Angel of Death.
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