UNKNOWN LOCATION
UNKNOWN TIME
In the black depths of space, distant stars burned faintly in the void, their cold light scattered across drifting asteroids and aimless debris. The silence was absolute, the scene still and eternal—until an unseen force stirred.
Every asteroid and shard of rock in the vicinity halted abruptly, as though seized by some invisible hand.
Then, without warning, they began to spiral violently, drawn into a vast, whirling cyclone that pulled more and more debris into its heart. The sight was both catastrophic and strangely hypnotic, the maelstrom growing until it filled the starfield.
And then—silence again. The cyclone froze.
A soundless explosion of impossible magnitude tore through the void, reality itself splitting open. A crack, vast and jagged, spread outward as though some colossal beast were prising open its jaws to consume the universe.
Light flared from within—blinding, lancing through the black—and the rift began to heal itself, sealing in slow inevitability until the stars were all that remained. The void returned to its cold, indifferent peace.
VOX-CHANNEL: FLEET ENCRYPTION SIGMA-PRIME
BROADCAST SOURCE: Oath, High Command Deck
"All ships—report status."
"Code two-three-four-two-one-zero. Reporting… dzzzzzz—"
CHANNEL SHIFT: STRATEGIC FLEET NETWORK
"Attention: internal maintenance crews, report to Sector 2503-D. Hull integrity checks in progress. Servitors to bulkhead arrays."
Inside the Oath, mortal crew hurried through echoing corridors under the wail of klaxons. Ship-serfs and engineers moved in ordered haste, voices relaying machine-status and damage tallies.
From the Command Deck, officers traded clipped communiqués with the other capital ships of the fleet. Each transmission precise, and disciplined, unmistakably of the Imperium.
"Command, designation, flagship Custodian's Oath — "All systems nominal. Minor efficiency losses in tertiary auspex banks. No casualties."
"Ark Mechanicus Veritas Invicta reporting — "Plasma conduits in dorsal section three require recalibration. Machine-Spirits stable."
"Designation vanguard,Time-Breach Cruiser Spear of Chronos — "Transit turbulence impact minimal. Chrono-coils operating at optimal range."
"Psy-Choir Vessel Voice of the Throne —"Beacon Choir standing by for signal deployment. Veil Choir maintaining psychic occlusion field at 98% capacity."
On the Oath's viewing deck, Tribune Maloris stood at the forward observation bastion, gazing into the abyss. The other Custodians stood in silent formation behind him, gold-clad sentinels whose mere presence lent the chamber a sacred weight.
This was where the Emperor had directed them—the coordinates marked by His own hand, reached only through the mastery of the Spear of Chronos. The journey had been unlike any warp passage. It had felt not like cutting through a current, but like sailing a storm-wracked ocean whose tides looped and twisted back upon themselves.
At last, they had emerged. But… where?
Captain Chalstrom Indelix Kox stepped forward, posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back.
"My Lord, reports confirm fleet-wide safety. Minor inefficiencies, no significant malfunctions. We are currently charting our position for navigational reference. What is our next course?"
Maloris turned to study the mortal captain—aware that for him, this mission was the highest honour a voidsman could dream of. Then, glancing to the Custodian at his right:
"Communications with the other vessels?"
"All brothers report positive compliance," the warrior replied with a single, firm nod.
"Excellent."
Facing the captain again, Maloris gave his next order.
"Have the beacon prepared. We begin the broadcast. Maintain absolute vigilance fleet-wide."
he paused for a moment
" Terminate all signs of mutiny with immediate and absolute lethality."
"Compliance," intoned the Custodian to his left.
The other stepped forward.
"You suspect the approved elements to be untrustworthy?" he asked, confusion evident—after all, the Emperor Himself had sanctioned their presence.
"Not untrustworthy, N'kjaka—variables. My duty is to ensure certainty in finding Atrius. These Astartes chapters are a danger I will eliminate if it means completing my mission. That is why our brothers are stationed aboard every vessel—to observe, to record , to judge."
Maloris' tone was iron. Outside the Emperor's realm, even the loyal could turn.
The astropath of the Oath, pale and shrouded in psychic wards, spoke
"This is beacon A229, designation Oath. Command to all beacons: relay transmission. All beacons are to be activated. Encrypted command as instructed."
The Beacon Choir existed for one purpose—to deliver a psychic signal so precisely encoded that only its intended recipient could comprehend it.
Nearby, Captain Chalstrom glanced at the ship's navigator, who had been silent since their arrival.
"Navigator? Your report?"
The man's voice was uneasy.
"I… can no longer see the Astronomican. I feel blind."
They had been briefed on the possibility. Chalstrom only nodded. This confirmed they were far beyond the Imperium's borders—perhaps beyond the galaxy itself. To him, it was an opportunity: new stars meant new worlds to catalogue… and eventually, to conquer.
He looked up at the towering Custodians on the deck, wondering what they thought—
[Vox static]
dzzzzzzz....im just a regular everyday normal motherfucker...i hate margarine, i quite prefer the taste of butter....im just a regular everyday normal motherfucker.....dzzzzzz
The sound—alien to the grim solemnity of the bridge—froze the command crew in place. Officers turned toward the source, confused. Even the Custodians shifted, their helms tilting fractionally.
It was rhythmic, almost musical. Out of place.
The source: a servo-skull, drifting innocently near a data-terminal.
For a long, tense moment, no one spoke.
The vox-operators stared at one another, brows drawn, hands hovering above their controls as though afraid to touch them. Mortal officers glanced to their superiors in silent question. The bridge servitors worked on unperturbed, for concepts like music and profanity were beyond their understanding.
On the viewing deck, one of the Custodians shifted his weight.
"My lord… was that—" he began, but thought better of finishing the sentence.
Maloris did not turn from the void. His hands remained clasped behind his back, his voice even but edged with command.
"Locate the source of the transmission."
"Source identified," a vox-officer replied, his tone carefully neutral. "Servo-skull Delta-Seven… a maintenance familiar assigned to archive relay functions. However… analysis indicates the signal did not originate from the skull itself. It was received."
"Received?" Maloris' head turned fractionally.
The vox-officer hesitated. "Yes, my lord. The skull's auspex array intercepted it on a narrow-band frequency. Primitive structure. No encryption. Signal strength and decay patterns suggest… extreme age....... Possibly centuries."
A quiet murmur rippled through the mortal crew. Even the most hardened void farers found the idea of a voice traveling unbroken across centuries unsettling.
One of the ensigns stepped forward, speaking softly as if the sound itself might overhear.
"Shall I purge the familiar, my lord?"
"No," Maloris replied. "Preserve it. Catalogue the frequency, isolate the waveform, and store it in the restricted vault. Continue passive monitoring. Nothing leaves this deck without my sanction."
"Compliance."
The servo-skull drifted in slow, looping arcs, its ocular lens dimming and brightening as though caught in some forgotten memory.
Captain Chalstrom glanced at the still glowing auspex readout. he stepped closer.
"Primitive or not, my lord… if this is a stray broadcast, then somewhere, something is speaking." he said in almost a whisper.
Maloris' gaze swept back to the stars beyond the viewing glass.
"Then we shall listen."