It had been seven days since the Pax Invictor entered the warp, and the ship had not known true silence since. Beyond the Navigator’s sanctum, the Gellar Field hummed like a hymn stretched too thin, while priests chanted through brass vox-grilles and ratings whispered prayers into their sleeves. Lady Lysandra Veyr stood alone before the oculus, her third eye uncovered beneath the golden circlet, watching the impossible tides of the Immaterium coil around the vessel like starving serpents. Candles guttered without wind. Servo-skulls clicked and scratched fresh coordinates onto parchment as blood ran slowly from her nose. The Astronomican burned far ahead, faint but holy, a single golden wound in the madness.

She lifted one pale hand, and the bridge crew beyond the sealed glass waited for her command.

“Three degrees to port. Reduce plasma draw to the Gellar veins. Do not question me.”

The ship groaned as it obeyed. Somewhere in the warp, something vast passed close enough to make every soul aboard dream of teeth. Lysandra did not blink.

“The Emperor’s light remains before us. We continue.”