After a lengthy, but very necessary, conversation with Abelard, I slept for nearly twelve hours. Beds — what a wonderful invention! Waking up, I found out that ship-time was early afternoon, and I hurriedly got washed and dressed in Theodora's ridiculous bathroom. Who needs a small waterfall on a voidship? On the previous occasions I had traveled through Warp, I had been lodged with officers, and we had been quite happy with normal showers. Those were already luxurious compared to the amenities available to common soldiers.

As I wondered about my next step — finding a new Navigator — while wolfing down a sandwich and reading those messages that required my attention, I came across a dispatch from Governor Medineh. He was extremely grateful of my timely intervention that heralded a new era of cordial friendship between Houses Winterscale and von Valancius, and could he be bold enough to invite me to an official celebration for the reinstated peace? I scoffed. Streets wouldn't even be clear of cadavers yet.

I suddenly remembered Master Heinrix van Calox, Interrogator of the Ordo Xenos and all around pain in the ass. Well, I had promised him my earliest convenience, and it wouldn't have been convenient to inflict myself a meeting with him before a long, healthy, nerve-soothing rest. Time to get changed, then, into a dress uniform in the colours of House van Valancius: a dull blue trimmed with silver and a darker navy shade. It felt strange, wearing a greatcoat of a different colour than the neat black and red I had worn for so many years. Decades, even. It was too bright. It didn't suit me — but it was impressive, once I affixed Theodora's pearl rosary on the belt and pinned a van Valancius heraldic brooch on the lapel, as well as a few trinkets I had unearthed rummaging through her things. No other weapon than a ceremonial sabre: mine, that I had managed to keep instead of having it broken in two. I had nicked someone else's for the degradation ceremony. What could they have done, fire me? Inspecting myself in the mirror, I changed my mind: I looked fine. Hello, Lord-captain, said my reflexion. Do you come here often?

While I was in the bathroom, someone, probably a servitor, had cleaned up my apartments. Everything was in order, then, and I sent for the Inquisitor. Well, Interrogator. Who cares.

I waited for him at my desk, feigning to work so I didn't have to look at him enter the room. An orderly — I had gained half a dozen of those — announced him and retreated. I counted to three before lowering my pen and rising in welcome. It was all he would get; not a single step forward of my part.

So I wasn't the only one to have dusted out a dress uniform. Van Calox carried proudly the black and gold inquisitorial ceremonial dress; he must have had it dispatched in a hurry from Rykad Minoris. His red cape, topped with square iron epaulettes, flapped against his boots when he walked towards me. Several rosettes and ribbons of significance adorned his chest. Now that I saw him in a better light — and better groomed — it was obvious the man was handsome, too. What a tragedy that fate would waste such good looks on such a despicable person.

Van Calox saluted me stiffly with the Aquila; I answered in kind and lowered myself on my chair. I counted to three before inviting him to be seated.

'Thank you, Lord-captain, for granting me this audience. Apologies in advance if I unknowingly violate the protocol for conversing with someone of your elevated status. I think a slip in composure is to be expected when one is hosted personally in the Lord captain's study.' My, my, my, had he learned manners? But his voice still had the same proud, slightly overbearing, tone, barely free of an edge of exasperation. With a gesture of the hand, I invited him to continue.

'I wish to extend to you my formal thanks for your help in my mission on Rykad Minoris. It was much appreciated, although I was unfortunately unsuccessful in retrieving the artefact I had been tasked to track.'

'You are very welcome, Interrogator. I am an obedient servant of the Golden Throne. An artefact, you said?' A bad feeling suddenly gnawed at me.

'A sword-hilt, yes,' he said, considering me with suspicion — I must have been too eager in my answer.

Ah, shit. When we had searched the reactor room, I had found a sword-hilt, with part of a broken blade still attached. I cannot tell why, but it had reminded me of the shard that had stabbed me in a dream before ending up on the carpet. When I had touched it, the same splitting headache had seized me — the same impression that I was being watched, that something was crawling over my skin, that I was unclean. So, I did what any sane person would have done: discreetly chucked it into the sun-like fires of the fusion reactor in order to destroy it. The shard had followed right after. It had made me feel much better. The idiot should have told me what he had been after. What kind of incompetent jerk hides such important information anyway?

I crossed his gaze. No, neither an idiot nor an incompetent: a spawn of the Inquisition shrouded in more layers of secrecy than could be counted. He had gambled and lost, but the gamble had certainly had a point. Damn them and their games — I hadn't forgotten Idira's vision. So much for playing the aloof Lord-captain; I had to tell him. Which I did, with as little apology as possible.

'It is unfortunate,' he regretted. 'Still, at least the world is safe from a dangerous Chaos artefact. I also find solace in the fact that Aurora is not a menace anymore. While that was not my primary mission as of yesterday, destroying infidel blasphemy remains my life goal.'

'A worthy one,' I commented with a straight face. I knew from experience that a great deal of suffering would be avoided if the Inquisition stopped obsessing over dogma, and if a few select Inquisitors everywhere took up knitting or a similarly soothing hobby instead of their usual jobs. Interrogators — psyker Interrogators all the more — topping that list. The one sitting in front of me, however, wasn't done wasting my time.

'Lord-captain, I would join your retinue, if you would, until we reach Footfall where I was ordered to go next.'

For someone asking a favour, he didn't look very much the part. I would have been more than happy to lend him a nice cabin somewhere and not hear a peep from him until I could disembark him at Footfall, patting myself on the shoulder for having fulfilled Theodora's last mission. The Winterscale son, for example, hadn't moved from his quarters since I had saved him from a gruesome fate at the hand of that prison warden. Yes, I had been told he spent most of his time crying, but who was I to judge what other Rogue Trader dynasties did in their free time? To each their own.

Van Calox knew, as well as I did, that being part of my retinue meant being privy to every single decision I took on the ship. I didn't have many secrets to keep — not yet — but I intensely disliked the thought of having an official spy at my side. Perhaps he just wanted to keep tab on the new von Valancius leadership. Perhaps Theodora's deals with the Inquisition went deeper than playing taxi. Perhaps I was paranoid and he was a mere busybody with a taste for prying. Anyway, refusing would probably have put me on some sort of list. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, was a saying as old as humanity — so, I agreed.

Soon after, the meeting arrived at its natural conclusion and I ushered van Calox out of my apartments myself. I was headed to the bridge too, after all, and it was as good a way as any to ensure he didn't snoop around. He came to an abrupt stop, however, before Theodora's regicide table — so abrupt that I nearly crashed into his shoulder.

'Do you play?' he asked.

'I'm afraid not. This was my predecessor's.'

We were so close I could see every little detail of him — the even breath that moved his chest, the slight pulse on his neck, the perfect face, the dark eyes, steadfast and unremitting. Once again, I was hit with the urge to humble him, to make him bow to me, to see him kneel — to make him lose any sort of composure. He turned away; the urge passed, we left.

Governor Medineh, when I next saw him, illustrated perfectly the definition of grovelling. So perfectly it was a bit repulsive, but I wasn't above taking advantage of it. Skilled workers were sent to the Emperor's Mercy to replace our casualties (a few astropaths, too) and he tipped me to the existence of an in-system Navis Nobilite station. A fantastic stroke of luck, as I had feared we would have been stranded for weeks or even months at Rykad before a Navigator could be found.

For two days, I endured the most mind-numbing meetings a twisted spirit could have devised, as seemingly each and every member of the local nobility intent on thanking me for saving Rykad Minoris was paraded before my august presence — and they were quite numerous for a backwater planet. They were most probably hedging their bets in case of a change of allegiance. My only reprieve came in the form of the Master of Ceremonies, a rotund woman with a forward disposition who wanted to know what I wanted for my upcoming triumph through the streets of the capital. Really, a bottle of amasec and some time alone would have done it, but the lady made very clear that understatedness wasn't an option. I probably wouldn't have been able to resist her, had she launched a frontal assault, so I had to content myself with limiting the worst of the excess. To her great shock, I asked that children of commoners would be allowed to escort me, instead of the young aristocrats she had in mind. Their blue-blooded parents were driving me mad already, and when I was a child I would have been beyond thrilled to meet a Rogue Trader in the flesh. I was more than happy, however, to lead the parade atop an old and venerable Land Raider decommissioned from the Emperor's service years ago after many glorious battles. I had only ever seen them from the outside, and isn't one allowed a feeble for such iconic weaponry?

Dawn at last rose over the day of my triumphant march. To my great surprise, enough had been cleaned and repaired for the city to be presentable — at least along the convoy route. From my perch — although weaponless, the Land Raider was a thing of beauty — I saluted a crowd who threw flowers and confetti and shouted my name, calling me the saviour of the city. Banners flew from buildings with the dual aim of displaying the von Valancius colours and hiding the worst of the shelling. I had insisted on wearing my everyday gear, weapons included, instead of precious ceremonial clothes, as the image of a courtly lady would clash with that of a warrior; only that last argument had made the Master of Ceremonies relent on that point. She had readied a dress that Theodora, I believe, would have loved and the sight of which gave me cold sweats. The accompanying hairdo alone would have killed me.

The day advanced. There were a few stops, where I successively gave alms to the poor in the Emperor's name, unveiled a plaque celebrating the fallen, and had a cold lunch with some probably important people that I had probably met the day before. My retinue, of course, endured the same fate, although they were walking along instead of riding a tank. Sister Argenta was the only one who appeared to be thoroughly enjoying herself, stating several times with emotion in her voice that such gratitude was a gift to the faithful. Abelard was worrying about the security risk, and Idira was very clearly there for the food (of which there wasn't enough to my taste either). Magos Pascal was his usual inscrutable self. As for Heinrix van Calox, his aura of detachment conspired with his inquisitorial uniform to keep people at a healthy distance.

The afternoon itinerary was to bring us more of the same. Our next stop was scheduled so I could walk in the crowd (of selected people, Abelard had been adamant on that) — but I had barely set foot down the Land Raider that something felt off in the worst of ways. Sunlight, that until then had been ever warm, suddenly failed while there was no clouds, and the planet didn't have a moon, so an eclipse was ruled out too. Sudden blackness — night — the Vox-caster at my belt awoke with shouts from the Emperor's mercy bridge — they spoke of Drukhari, of the sun. Before any of us had time to react, or get accustomed to darkness, a number of spectators pulled out weapons and started shooting. Those innocents who could ran away; the others tried to seek shelter wherever possible.

'I thought we had killed their leaders,' I shouted to Abelard in between two shots.

'They must not have gotten the memo,' he replied drily while swinging his blade. 'For House von Valancius!'

'The world trembles beneath my feet!' I roared in reply.

We repealed the first wave of assailants — but sounds of battle echoed from the rest of the city. We were outnumbered, and hopelessly overwhelmed if we could only count on ourselves. I ordered a retreat to the starport, where shuttles would be able to get us out of this hell hole. A handful of civilians elected to follow us; I didn't have the heart to deny them a chance of escape. An old woman stood out among the rest, rousing them against despair. What could have she become, had she been born to a richer caste?

The only light came from whatever street lamps had survived the systematic destruction of the city at the beginning of the uprising. That is to say, there wasn't much of it. Besides your obvious, run-of-the-mill, everyday warfare, something else was brewing. The Veil was thinning. In places, purple tides of Aether tricked the eye to unsettling views. As we carved our way to the starport, both Idira and van Calox grimaced at times, or blinked, as if something alien assailed their senses, and the more we progressed the worse it got. A Chaos spawn — seething with violent insanity — barred our way; we fought it, and Magos Pasqal reduced it to ashes. We were, by now, near the landing pad, and in the last embers of the spawn's smouldering flesh we saw our enemy, standing still as an iron statue: a Champion of Chaos. A Word Bearer. Corruption incarnate. A traitor of ten thousand years.

By the Throne, was he big.

He had seen us. He must have seen us long ago and waited. I remembered the stories I had heard about these — these pariahs, that were the twisted mockery of the Emperor's Angels, famed for their cruelty in a Galaxy where cruelty was the norm. Something exploded, sending fiery shrapnel behind the Word Bearer's; the Veil was now thin enough that even I could feel the Immaterium's taint upon the solid world. The Renegade at last moved, taking great and deliberate strides towards us — a mountain of deathless flesh and cursed metal intent on crushing us. And he spoke, his voice a rolling thunder that would have silenced macro-cannons to nothingness.

'False believers! You thought you had killed Aurora,' he mocked. 'Tremble, for I am Aurora, the herald of change! Behold the Final Dawn, and die!'

I sheathed my bloodied sword and put down a knee, not feeling the sharp debris that littered the ground. Not turning to look at my companions, I extended a hand towards them and ordered: 'Argenta, your spare boltgun, if you please.'

The Sister of Battle laughed as one fey and handed me the weapon. The storm bolter's hilt was heavy against my palm, but resting my elbow against my thigh would ensure an excellent aim. Argenta herself propped her bolt-rifle against my shoulder. There would be no missing our target — that by now was halfway there, chain-sword raised in menace as he spouted a wordless cry. From the corner of my eye, I saw van Calox ready his two-handed power sword; the blade had been inscribed with sigils proclaiming the Emperor's glory and gleamed red against the night. He muttered a prayer that lit a new fire in my heart, for such is the power of psykers who serve the Golden Throne. Even for people who don't like them very much. Abelard — I think — threw a krak grenade; it dented the Word Bearer's armour. But that armour was one with him, and any damage to the one wounded the other.

'Today we kill!' I bellowed — and lost all hearing in my right ear as Argenta fired her first shot.