The three-dimensional projection of floating silver light rotated slowly above the quartz floor, casting long, ethereal shadows across the kneeling ranks of the Praetorian Guard. The crimson scar of the Gorgorath Rift pulsed at the northernmost edge of the map like a festering wound in the world’s flesh, bleeding phantom tendrils toward the continental borderlands.
Aurelia rose from the First Throne.
Her battle-leathers were stained with soot, dried ichor, and the residue of necrotic void-plasma, but the sovereign crown of woven frost and starlight burning above her dark hair made her look untouchable. As she took the first step down the basalt dais, the ancient Praetorian Commander dropped to one knee once more, inclining his towering, crested helm in absolute deference.
"Rise, Commander," Aurelia commanded, her voice calm, clear, and ringing with the unquestioned authority of the Six Reunited Shards. "Give us your name and the state of your garrison."
The nine-foot titan stood with a sharp clatter of celestial plate. "I am Vael-Thur, Legate of the Seventh Sun, My Empress. In this mountain slumber one thousand vanguard Praetorians, twelve siege-colossi forged of living bronze, and the armories of the First Sovereign. Our soul-matrices have attuned to your dawn-light; our blades are bound to your blood."
Malakor descended beside her, his heavy steps measured, the sheer mass of his nether-aura rolling across the platform like a gathering storm. He paused beside Aurelia, resting his forearm on the pommel of Void-Reaver.
"Twelve bronze colossi," Malakor mused, his crimson-ringed gaze scanning the colossal statues lining the shadowed perimeter of the dome. "Can they breach the permafrost of the Dragon's Teeth?"
"They were built to level mountain ranges, Lord of Shadows," Legate Vael-Thur answered without hesitation. "If the Void-Hive has buried itself beneath glacial rock, the colossi will unearth it."
Aurelia stepped closer to the floating topographical map, extending her hand. At her mental command, the silver light magnified, zooming in on the jagged trench that marked the Gorgorath Rift.
"The Brood-Lord we slew at Gorgorath Prime was a herald," Aurelia analyzed, tracing the pulsating fracture lines. "The Hive-World did not simply crash into the mountain; it seeded the subterranean geothermal wells. If those tendrils reach the central molten mantle of the continent, the necrotic rot will poison the water tables of Val-Mora and the Eastern Barrens within three moons."
"Then we strike before the thaw," Malakor growled, stepping into her personal space. His shoulder brushed hers, an unyielding wall of solid muscle and cold iron that radiated comforting warmth against the mountain draft. "Our northern armies—the Frost-Forged Vanguard and Lady Vespera’s fleet—are already mustering at Anchorhead. With the Praetorians and the colossi marching behind us, we have enough steel to turn the Dragon’s Teeth into gravel."
Legate Vael-Thur tilted his head slightly. "An assault on the Rift requires the sovereign seal to be carried to the Glacial Gate. The ley-network must be manually inverted at the World-Anchor beneath the ice to prevent the rift from siphoning our own vanguard into the void."
"I will invert it," Aurelia said quietly.
Malakor’s jaw tightened. He turned to face her fully, his dark eyes narrowing into dangerous slits of crimson fire. His heavy hand reached out, catching her upper arm in a firm, possessive grip that brooked no argument.
"You will not invert it alone," he rasped, his voice dropping low enough that only she could hear the savage protectiveness underneath. "We conjoined our souls on the outer gate, Aurelia. You take no more divine burdens without me bearing half the weight."
Aurelia looked up into the rugged, ruthless planes of his face. The fierce, uncompromising heat in his gaze made the breath catch in her throat. Even surrounded by ancient legions and the fate of continents, he saw only her—his empress, his match, his chosen fire in the endless dark.
A soft, fierce smile touched her lips. She reached up, resting her hand over his gauntlet, her fingers curling tight against the steel.
"Did you think I would leave you behind to guard the chairs, Malakor?" she murmured, amusement dancing in her hazel eyes. "The void gave you to me as an equal. We break the northern gate together."
Malakor’s expression softened minutely, replaced by that predatory, devastating grin that always sent an electric shiver down her spine. "Good answer, little star."
He released her arm, turning back to the waiting Praetorian Commander.
"Legate Vael-Thur," Malakor commanded, his voice booming with the brutal authority of a northern warlord. "Sound the horn of the First Dawn. Wake the bronze colossi, unlock the vaults, and prepare the legion to march. We ride for the frozen rim at first light."