Snowclaw Rain and Icefang Kuai exchanged a glance, seeing a shared resolve in each other's eyes. Taking a deep breath, they straightened their trembling bodies and spoke in unison:
"Snowclaw Rain of the Snowclaw Clan!"
"Icefang Kuai of the Icefang Clan!"
"By the order of the Ice Master, we have come to receive the power to strike down the Greenskins!"
The lead figure in teal robes remained expressionless. Within Sarah's swarm network, he was a Genestealer Patriarch codenamed "Divine Envoy One." His hollow gaze swept over the kneeling crowd—a scrutiny that clearly did not belong to a human. It was a deep scan by the Hive Mind into human physiology and psychology, peeling back layers of psionic influence to examine everything from bone density and blood flow to the depths of their fear and their loyalty to the Ice Master.
Rain and Kuai felt as though their very blood had turned to ice. It was as if they had been stripped of all clothing and stood naked in the arctic wind; from skin to bone, from body to soul, they were being thoroughly seen through. This "scrutiny" lasted a mere three seconds, yet it instilled an indescribable terror in the two battle-hardened Patriarchs.
Finally, Divine Envoy One spoke. His voice remained toneless, sounding like a cold, mechanical creation.
"The will of the Ice Master has been accepted by us. Your loyalty has been witnessed by the Great Frost Dragon."
His gaze shifted to the Ice-Spine Striders beneath them. The majestic beasts were pawing at the snow uneasily, letting out low whimpers. These creatures were the lifelong comrades of the wildmen cavalry, their most reliable companions on the ice plains—from a youth's first hunt to every battle in adulthood.
"But power always requires an equivalent exchange."
Looking at Divine Envoy One, the two leaders felt a sinking premonition. The Envoy pointed a finger at the Ice-Spine Striders, his tone final:
"The awakening of the ice plains requires a living sacrifice."
"The power of the Frost Dragon must be awakened by the cherished loves of the children of the plains."
Silence fell as the two leaders hesitated, a flicker of pity crossing their hearts. But the law of the ice plains never tolerated weakness. Living sacrifice was the oldest form of reverence the children of the plains held for the heavens and earth—trading love for power and sacrifice for survival was a rule etched into their very blood.
After a moment of silence, Snowclaw Rain closed her eyes and reached out to unfasten her mount's reins. This female Ice-Spine Strider had followed her for twenty years; they had fought Orks and beasts together, and the beast had even stood guard outside her tent to ward off snow-jackals while she was in labor. The great beast seemed to sense its master's emotions, gently nuzzling her hand with its rough snout and let out a low whimper. Rain said nothing, simply lowering her head to press her forehead against the beast's cool bridge.
Icefang Kuai did the same. His mount was an elderly male Strider. One of its eyes had been blinded in a fight with Orks, yet it remained the fastest mount in the Icefang Clan. He unfastened the reins and laid them on the snow, his rough palm gently stroking the beast's neck with a tenderness that contradicted his usual gruff persona.
Divine Envoy One watched this play out, his hollow eyes devoid of any ripple. In the world of the Tyranids, there was no "emotion," only "utility." These Striders were among the finest biological specimens on the planet, and within their genes lay the secrets of conquering the ice plains—exactly what Sarah's swarm needed.
After the two strongest Striders were sacrificed, Divine Envoy One waved his hand. The ten teal-robed envoys behind him immediately split into two squads: five followed Rain, and five followed Kuai. Their robes remained motionless in the wind, and as they moved, it did not look like walking; they seemed to glide along invisible rails, silent as ghosts.
Rain and Kuai mounted the steeds of younger warriors. They paused at the fork in the road at the base of the Twin Peaks, exchanging one last look. A thousand words were hidden in that single glance. Without a word, they gave a slight nod, and the two groups went their separate ways, vanishing into the vast blizzard.
Days later, the territories of the Snowclaw and Icefang clans welcomed these teal-robed "envoys." The news spread like wildfire across the ice plains. The wildmen looked upon these bald, purple-skinned strangers who feared no cold with deep suspicion. They had never seen people like this—though, given the variety of mutations in the Hive's underbelly, it wasn't entirely unheard of.
But why did these freaks claim to be messengers of the Frost Dragon? Why did their great Patriarchs bow to them?
The seeds of doubt were quickly crushed by the "miracles" the envoys displayed. In the center of the Snowclaw fortress, a pile of snow-dampened firewood refused to light. Divine Envoy One walked up to the pile and simply extended his hand. There was no fire in his palm, yet the damp wood suddenly erupted with a "whoosh" into a roaring blaze of strange purple flames, dispelling the surrounding chill.
Some clansmen tried to challenge them, but even ten men attacking at once could not last three seconds. They were all struck down before they could even perceive the envoys' movements.
In the Icefang camp, an old woman had been suffering from a high fever for seven days, her skin parched and cracked. The clan's shaman had declared she would not survive the night and told the family to prepare for her passing. A teal-robed envoy walked to the woman's bedside and merely touched her forehead with a finger. The searing temperature dropped visibly; within moments, the old woman opened her eyes and was even able to drink a bowl of warm beast milk.
The shamans witnessed this with their own eyes. The spiritual arts and blessing methods they had studied all their lives seemed like children's doodles before the "miracles" of these envoys. They cast aside their staves and knelt devoutly before the envoys, chanting praises to the Frost Dragon.
Following the envoys' guidance, Rain and Kuai mobilized every warrior capable of moving. Armed and ready, they ventured into every corner of the ice plains to hunt. The beasts of the plains, the cold-resistant flora, and even straggling Ork scouts became their prey. This bounty was continuously transported to altar-caves prepared by the envoys, piling up like mountains.
The envoys said: "The Frost Dragon is not a picky eater. Everything in the mortal realm can become an offering to the Frost Dragon!"
Simultaneously, several Vanguard Army convoys appeared on the borders of the two clans, flying the banners of the Governor's Mansion. Their purpose was to collect the elderly, children, pregnant women, and the wounded, transporting them to the plains within the Manhe River's boundaries.
At the moment of parting, many wildmen grew tearful. They knelt in the snow to bid farewell to their parents, wives, and children, watching the convoys disappear over the horizon. But their hearts were at ease; the Ice Master was a man of his word. He had promised a safe haven for their kin, and that promise was being fulfilled piece by piece.
To the wildmen's surprise, their food supplies actually began to show a surplus. Originally, rations were tight, and while the migrating kin took some with them, the remainder still had to feed the hunting warriors. But since they began sacrificing prey to the Ice Master, supplies from the Hive arrived in a steady stream. The clan warehouses were now filled with starch cans—a gift returned by the Ice Master. Although much of it became further offerings, enough remained to sustain them.
Since the Ice Master had given them hope for survival, they would repay this kindness in their own way. Every warrior was itching for a fight, their eyes burning with morale as they awaited the Ice Master's command. They were ready to use the blood of the Greenskins to honor the Frost Dragon and repay the Ice Master's grace.