A human sat over a desk, peering down at the papers upon it. These papers were reports from his world's military and logistical centers, and this man reading them was a planetary governor of a long forgotten imperial world, his name, Arruns Ontho. For 2 generations his homeworld, the one he fought so hard to protect, Triticum 5, had been cut off with no supplies, no contact, and no acknowledgment even from the galactic spanning empire.
Despite this, however, Arruns tries everyday to re-establish contact with Terra or any world for that matter within the imperium of man, every day he has his best psykers of this world reach out through the warp to attempt contact, only to be met with silence at best, or chaotic corruption at worst.
These attempts of contact of course are what these papers on his desk regard, again, like everyday before then, they read a simple yet verbose message of "no contact re-established."
Arruns sighed as he closed his one biological eye before scratching at the area of skin above his augmented cybernetic eye. He had inherited his title of governor from his father, who had lived to see when the imperium simply stopped coming to the world when he was but a boy. It started off slowly at first, he remembers his father told him, the supply ships would come less often, and the yearly recruitment for the guard would instead happen every 2 years, then the supply ships would come but every year and the recruitment would happen every 5 years instead, and then suddenly one day, the supply ships wouldn't come. His father waited for half of his life for a ship to come back to their backwater agricultural world, but the ships never came. He finally began trying to establish contact with the great imperium, but no one would answer their calls. The father died without ever seeing another supply ship come to the world, his world but a shadow of its former self that the generation before him ruled over, the guard regiment of the world but a ceremonial practice at this point and their faith in the emperor slowly fading with time.
Arruns wished he would be the one to connect his world back to the glorious empire of mankind, but he knew this was unlikely. The imperium was composed of millions of worlds, billions of trillions of citizens, and being under constant siege from filthy xenos empires, tainted rebellions, and horrundess rifts in the fabric of the universe itself. He and his world of but a few hundred thousand was nothing but a speck of dust, a minute rock hurtling through space forgotten by gods and empires.
Or so he thought.
Suddenly the servo-skull next to him's screen lit up. In high gothic read a message, one he prayed he would never read.
"xenos classemque, et odium stamina."
There was a xenos fleet, entering the orbit of his world. He quickly rushed out of his seat as the servo skull followed him, he needed to inform the right channels of this, his worst fears had come true. Someone had finally come knocking on his planet's door, and it wasn't the imperium.