The Conqueror trembled as it tore through the atmosphere of the nameless world below.
Fire licked across its armored hull, turning the viewing panels into streaks of molten orange before stabilizers engaged and the inferno parted like a curtain. Beyond the reinforced glass of the bridge, a vast expanse of silver-green wilderness stretched endlessly toward the horizon.
Hyppolita stood at the forefront of the command deck, arms folded behind her back, chain-axe mag-locked at her hip. The red glow of reentry reflected faintly against her silver armor, dancing across the scars that lined her exposed midriff. Her expression was carved from stone.
Behind her, the bridge thrummed with anticipation.
Her sons were eager.
Through the vox channels, she could hear their war cries building — a rising tide of snarls and pounding ceramite. The Butcher's Nails pulsed at the base of her skull, responding to the collective aggression. The implants rewarded the mounting fury with sharp bursts of relief.
Normally, she would have welcomed it.
Normally, she would have been the loudest among them.
But today—
Her thoughts drifted.
Back to Terra.
"Hyppolita, wait."
Hathor's voice had followed her down the corridor just beyond the Throne Room's sealed gates. The golden light of the palace reflected off white and gold warplate as the Warmaster approached, her smile warm — but strained.
Hyppolita stopped, though her shoulders remained rigid.
"What is it, Hathor?" she asked, a low growl threading through her tone. The meeting with their mother still burned in her mind. The way the empress had looked at her — not dismissive, not cold — but deliberate.
"…This mission of yours," Hathor began, lowering her voice as though afraid that the shadow themselves might listen. She crossed her arms, posture casual, but her eyes were sharp. "I advise you take extra caution."
Hyppolita's jaw tightened.
"Are you insinuating my Legion cannot handle a simple compliance?" she snapped, turning fully now. The Nails flared faintly at the spike of irritation.
"Of course not, Sister." Hathor lifted her hands slightly in surrender, then stepped closer. A gauntleted hand settled against Hyppolita's shoulder. Firm. Grounding. "I'm worried for you."
That made her pause.
"And why," Hyppolita asked flatly, "would you be worried?"
Hathor's gaze flickered briefly toward the sealed doors of the Throne Room.
"It is the first time in a while since Mother has personally delegated a task to one of us."
Silence lingered between them.The Empress rarely summoned them individually for assignments. Campaign orders were delivered through astropathic channels, through war councils, through bureaucracy.
Hyppolita clicked her tongue in irritation and glanced back toward the Throne Room doors, as though she could still feel their mother's gaze piercing through them.
"I'll be fine," she said finally. "I'll show Mother what my Legion can do. I'll show all of you."
There was challenge in her tone.
And something else.
Hathor's expression softened.
"May your axe strike true, Sister."
Hyppolita had turned without another word.
Hyppolita snapped back to the present as the Conqueror leveled its descent.
The violent tremors smoothed into a steady hum, revealing the planet in full.
Dense groves of towering trees stretched endlessly across the landmass below, their leaves gleaming silver beneath muted sunlight. No hive spires pierced the skyline. No smoke plumes marked industry. No orbital defenses rose to challenge them.
Just forest.
It was too quiet.
Her fingers twitched faintly at her side.
But that did not change their purpose.
"Mistress. The landing coordinates are secured."
Khârn approached from her right, movements steady, posture disciplined despite the distant roar of the Legion's anticipation echoing through the ship. Of all her captains, he alone carried himself with a composure that bordered on unnatural.
"Initial scans show minimal industrial development," he continued. "It… should be a swift compliance."
Hyppolita did not answer.
Her gaze remained fixed on the surface below.
The Butcher's Nails pulsed again.
Not with rage.
With irritation.
Slowly, she turned her head toward him.
"You sound unsure, Captain," she muttered, voice low and edged with warning.
Khârn did not flinch, though a muscle in his jaw tightened.
"Are you questioning my capabilities as well?" she added, the faintest snarl threading through her tone.
"Of course not, Mistress."
"Then what?"
A pause.
"Our radars detected a nearby ship signal," Khârn replied carefully. "Two of them, in fact."
Silence settled over the immediate vicinity.
Hyppolita's eyes narrowed.
"It is… unlike anything we have catalogued before."
"…Ships?" she repeated, the word leaving her lips like a threat.
She turned sharply back toward the viewing deck.
There was nothing.
Only the planet.
And its moon.
Silver.
Still.
Watching.
"Fix that faulty equipment of yours," she growled without looking at him.
Khârn hesitated — only briefly.
"As you will."
He stepped back.
Hyppolita's gaze lingered on the moon for half a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Then she turned to face the rest of the bridge.
Legionaries stood ready at every station. Officers awaited her command. Beyond the bulkheads, she could hear the thunder of armored boots and the revving of chainaxes as her sons prepared to descend.
Expectation filled the air like static before a storm.
"Deploy," she ordered at last.
The bridge erupted into motion.
Drop pods primed with mechanical shrieks.
Gunships powered to life.
Assault ramps clanged open.
Her sons roared — a deafening chorus of violence barely contained by steel walls.
Hyppolita turned toward the hangar bay, rolling her shoulders once as the promise of battle settled across her like a familiar cloak.
"…Hathor," she muttered under her breath, the name was nearly swallowed by alarms and engine thunder. As she strode forward, the radar console behind her continued to emit its quiet, persistent signal that only served as fuel for her rage.