Several days later.
The Fanes Homecoming Celebration.
Gong—
The Ecclesiarchy's bells echoed between the hive's plazas and spires, signaling the official start of the rites.
Mechanical cherubim with pure white wings drifted across the sky, trailing sacred parchment-streamers of scripture, while countless petals rained down.
The grand procession began.
Hymns filled the air.
A lavish pilgrimage cortege advanced along the hive streets, protected on all sides by the Adeptus Custodes and countless warriors.
Every one hundred and thirty meters, ceremonial salutes thundered skyward.
Eden stood at the center of the procession atop a colossal float-vehicle, with Zhabok, Ansemor, and other high-ranking figures surrounding him.
He took the foremost position on the viewing platform so the hive's crowds could see him clearly—and offer him their worship.
It was an indispensable part of the celebration, ensuring the people knew of the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium.
Eden watched the streets overflow with cheering revelers, watched those smiling faces, and felt a trace of emotion.
"These people on this shadowed world… probably have no idea what fate is about to fall on them."
The people of Fanes believed that once they drove out the xenos and heretics and welcomed the Emperor, they would finally live in peace.
The truth was the exact opposite.
They would all leave their homeworld—leave the land they'd lived on their entire lives—and it would be enforced at gunpoint.
The people of Fanes had no choice.
Once the excavation plan was executed, if they remained on this planet with ordinary human survival capacity, the mortality rate would be essentially one hundred percent.
This was an Imperial priority. No one was allowed to obstruct it—not even the Kalozasa Dynasty itself.
The moment Eden set foot on this world, it belonged to the Imperium. There was no turning back.
No matter the outcome—
Compared to other worlds drowning in misery, the fate of the people of Fanes could still be called fortunate.
Especially in a galaxy this brutally extreme, this saturated with suffering.
"For the Emperor of the Imperium!"
"Long live His Majesty!"
The roar of the crowd pulled Eden out of his thoughts.
He lifted his head, offered the faithful a gentle smile, and raised a hand in a small wave.
That simple gesture drove them into even more fervent devotion, shouting until their throats went hoarse.
For the people of Fanes, it might be the happiest, most glorious day of their lives.
They had seen the great and merciful Emperor with their own eyes.
Yet the colossal procession float pressed forward at speed, leaving them behind almost immediately.
On both sides of the street, the crowd could only see His Majesty for a handful of seconds—after that, all that remained was the opulent silhouette of the float.
That being's steps did not pause. Only a road carpeted in flowers remained in the procession's wake.
Many people, once the cortege passed, rushed into the street to gather blossoms, clutching those beautiful things—now "touched by sanctity"—tight against their chests.
They believed it would bring them luck, a better life.
"O Savior above… please let me live well. Let me eat coarse bread and synth-meat every day…"
A devout hive resident held the flowers like everyone else, praying quietly.
Then, in the very next moment, a shadow swept over them. The sky overhead dimmed.
The resident looked up and saw an airship bearing the Emperor's honor banners.
The banners hung in long drapes, protected by a field, inscribed with the Savior-Emperor's deeds.
Those grand deeds spread through the crowd. Everyone believed His Majesty would surely make Fanes prosper, would surely grant them a better life.
They were filled with hope for the future—utterly unaware that catastrophe was about to arrive.
The celebration lasted half a month. The procession floats never stopped, moving from district to district without rest.
Gradually, the people of Fanes noticed wave after wave of Tech-Priests arriving—along with massive mechanical instruments.
They seemed to be scanning for something.
And beyond the planet's airspace, more and more capital ships appeared, a black sea hanging in low orbit.
Somewhere among them, several Mechanicus Ark vessels could even be seen.
Those iron-built giants blotted out sunlight across wide regions, pressing down like a physical weight.
It made hearts feel heavy.
Fortunately, bright light-screens were cast from the fleet, temporarily replacing the sun—enough to prevent outright panic.
Little by little, the people of Fanes began to understand that something was going to happen.
They continued their labor as usual, but now and then they couldn't help looking up, discussing why the Emperor had dispatched so many enormous warships.
Many guessed that the ships in the sky were stuffed with supplies—His Majesty's reward for Fanes.
After all, a great number of the vessels looked like transport hulls, only absurdly larger than ordinary haulers.
Others guessed they were press-gang ships.
That the Emperor was about to launch a massive campaign, and He needed more troops.
That possibility thrilled many Fanes citizens. They went everywhere asking how to enlist, desperate to serve that being.
But after days of talk, no official word came.
The black fleet remained in low orbit, unmoving.
It watched this planet that had only just staggered out of war.
Stranger still, people began to notice that the hive's guardians were appearing more and more frequently, while many repair-machines abruptly stopped restoring the hive.
Ruins were left as ruins.
Some people began to worry.
Bad news drifted through the air. Rumors spread—one claimed the Imperium was going to drive the people of Fanes off-world. Another claimed the Tech-Priests were installing planet-cracking bombs.
A silent pressure began to seep everywhere.
But soon Ecclesiarchy priests stepped forward.
They urged the people to end the rumors, to trust the Savior, to trust the Imperium's ruler appointed by the Emperor.
Panic stopped spreading.
…
Inside the Hive Crown Palace.
After the procession, Eden rested for a day before showing himself again.
He stepped out onto the palace balcony and looked down at the hive's structures and spires below.
"People are uneasy."
Eden sensed the negative emotions spreading above the hive. Everything that had happened recently had dampened the celebration's joy.
Rumors had multiplied.
But it was an inevitable phase. Everything was being executed at full speed.
"Your Majesty, I have ordered all construction-machines to cease repairing the hive."
Zhabok came forward to salute, reporting on the task's completion.
He did not understand what the Emperor intended to do.
The Necrodermis Governor—the Phaeron—hesitated, then asked anyway:
"The people are afraid. What, exactly, are we going to…"
"You only need to carry out the orders," Eden said, shaking his head and cutting him off without giving an answer.
Small matters are discussed in big meetings. Big matters are discussed in small meetings. Truly crucial decisions are not discussed at all—because once you debate them openly, you'll never reach consensus.
So the most important decisions are often enforced.
Especially when he already held the board and had already made the call.
Eden wasn't executing it in the crudest possible way, either.
He was issuing commands to the Kalozasa Dynasty step by step.
The orders would escalate, become stricter and stricter, training them to accept his presence and obey.
That way, when he finally delivered the last order, even if Zhabok and the others felt resistance, they would have little room left to resist.
In truth, Eden believed that after these arrangements, the odds of Zhabok and the other elites—and the citizens of Fanes—refusing to execute the plan were extremely low.
"As you will it. We will execute your will without hesitation," Zhabok said. His living-metal body tightened slightly as he bowed his head.
He had no right to demand further explanation. He only needed to obey.
After that, he submitted all tomb-world data possessed by the Kalozasa Dynasty.
Then he withdrew.
Eden forwarded the data to the Mechanicus Archmagi.
The conclusion came back quickly: the Necrodermis Governor—the Phaeron—had hidden nothing.
The dataset he submitted matched closely with what the Tech-Priests had detected.
Over the vox-channel, an Archmagos spoke in an awed tone.
"Machine-Goddess preserve us. Verification confirms a colossal tomb fleet—including a Cairn-class Tomb Ship. Its hull exceeds every Imperial record!"
Cairn-class Tomb Ships were generally over twenty kilometers in scale, among the largest Necron vessels.
They carried weapons from an ancient age and possessed firepower capable of casually destroying Imperial battleships.
Some old Imperial accounts even recorded Ork descriptions of such things—Orks claiming they'd seen Cairn-class Tomb Ships larger than space hulks.
That was almost the size of an Aeldari craftworld—an absurd, terrifying claim.
Most researchers believed that was simply Ork exaggeration: take the performance of a Cairn-class Tomb Ship, then add the mass of a craftworld, and the galaxy would have no ship or fortress capable of resisting it.
Even so, the Cairn-class Tomb Ship beneath Fanes was still estimated at roughly thirty kilometers long.
It was noticeably longer than the Glory Queen-class flagship, and it approached the scale of a Blackstone Fortress—its destructive potential beyond meaningful estimation.
"That's probably Zhabok's old throne-ship… a Phaeron-grade Cairn-class Tomb Ship."
Eden stared down at the hive's surface, his blood running hotter.
He was about to claim the Kalozasa Dynasty's tomb fleet.
By quality alone, it would rank near the top of everything he controlled.
And it would bring a decisive edge to the coming grand clusterf—k on Vigilance World.
More important than that, its meaning went far beyond a single battle.
It would accelerate technological research, and a high-ranking Phaeron and tomb fleet defecting would be a massive advantage for any future war against the Necrons.
It might even allow Eden to infiltrate their internal structures and recruit more of the Necrons' deranged diehards.
"Your Majesty, the latest projections indicate that if we excavate every tomb and activate the fleet, the damage to Fanes will be even worse than predicted."
The Archmagos delivered the updated estimate.
"At that point, several landmasses on Fanes will suffer severe collapse. Surface destruction will exceed eighty percent.
"It will fall completely below the threshold for human habitation."
Eden nodded, not particularly surprised.
That was an established fact.
Perhaps that was why Zhabok had never activated the fleet in the first place—why he had endured the pressure, fought off the xenos, and sought Imperial rescue.
Otherwise, with a tomb fleet's firepower, he could have easily annihilated the xenos and heretics ravaging the Fanes system.
Zhabok had no choice because he had no additional power to evacuate humanity.
Eden did.
And now it was time to switch that power on.
Over the next few days, Eden waited patiently—waiting for emotions to ferment, waiting for Tarko's moves to mature.
Once the logistics fleet and engineering teams were fully in place, he finally summoned the high-ranking figures—still confused, still uneasy.
And it was an emergency summons.
…
Outside the palace hall.
Zhabok hurried in—and ran straight into Ansemor.
In Zhabok's pale green gaze, a hint of envy surfaced, envy for the other man's right to make pilgrimage to Holy Terra.
Ever since the Rift Lord Chapter had been removed from the Ecclesiarchy's penitent rolls and granted permission to enter the Throne Hall, Ansemor had been strutting like a man reborn.
His new power armor gleamed, freshly repainted in vivid colors. Four or five purity seals were embedded across it, and scripture strips wrapped him like bandages.
The Chapter Master looked like he'd decided to weaponize holy ornamentation out of sheer spite.
After all, when they were a penitent Chapter, they had no right to wear relics, and even their colors had been dull and ashen.
Now they were "loyal" again—so why wouldn't they go all out?
"Governor Zhabok, you're here too," Ansemor said with a broad grin. He barely minded "xenos" anymore.
He understood the Kalozasa Dynasty was now a major ally—like the old relationship between the former Imperial Regent and the Aeldari.
Besides, the "xenos leader" in front of him was loyal now, obeying the great Savior-Emperor.
What else was there to say?
In short: the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, was the new sun rising over mankind—absolute truth, the only correct path.
"I was just about to tell you what the Throne Hall is like. Have you ever seen descriptions in the texts?"
Ansemor's stride was proud as he rambled about the Rift Lord Chapter's plans after the campaign.
Few Chapters in the Imperium could ever receive that honor. For a penitent Chapter, it was unheard of.
He and his brothers couldn't wait.
They wanted to charge straight to Vigilance World, execute every enemy of the Imperium, then head for Holy Terra with stupid, blissful smiles.
Ansemor's blatant showing-off stoked Zhabok's envy into something sharper. Even the cold light in his eyes rippled.
Still, he answered honestly.
"I have heard descriptions of the palace in the holy texts. The most sacred place in the galaxy. A place where you can feel the presence of the Holy God-Emperor."
The Necrodermis Governor—the Phaeron—also longed for such a blessing.
To go to Holy Terra, even if it were only to glimpse the palace from afar.
But he had failed to protect Fanes. He had allowed the Emperor to see a broken world.
No matter how it was explained, it was deception, blasphemy.
It was only natural he had not received the chance to make pilgrimage.
Zhabok and Ansemor didn't talk long. They entered the palace hall at a quick pace to pay audience to the Emperor.
Behind them, more dynasty nobles and court officials hurried in as well.
With rumors spreading, those figures had grown anxious too—desperate to know what the Emperor intended to do.
They all understood:
Something important was about to happen.
Something that would change the fate of Fanes and its people.
At that moment, upon the throne.
Eden's brow was furrowed, his mood heavy with a sharp, restless worry.
But his worry wasn't for Fanes.
It was for Vigilance World.
Something had gone wrong there.
The newest intelligence report said that Marneus Calgar of the Ultramarines had suffered an unknown attack—critically wounded, unconscious.
Across his chest was a deep, razor-edged claw mark. Even the bone had been severed.
"Calgar is practically the strongest being under the Primarchs… who could cripple him so easily?
"Erebus? Abaddon? Or some other unknown presence?"
Eden felt a cold knot form in his gut.
That meant the Imperial line on Vigilance World had entered new danger. His precious blackstone could not be allowed to slip away.
He had to excavate the tomb fleet ahead of schedule—
Then rush to Vigilance World.
(End of Chapter)
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