The unified roar of the Praetorian Legion rolled upward like a thunderclap, vibrating through the stone balustrade beneath Aurelia’s gauntleted hands. The twelve bronze colossi sounded their steam-horns in deafening response—a deep, brassy bellow that rattled the stalactites clinging to the cavern’s vaulted ceiling.
Aurelia stood tall against the edge of the terrace, the six-pointed crown of starlight hovering proudly above her brow. Beside her, Malakor rested a single hand on the pommel of Void-Reaver, his heavy shadow-wolf mantle billowing in the rising thermal drafts of the bronze furnaces below.
"Legate Vael-Thur!" Aurelia’s voice carried across the caldera, amplified by the resonance of the Six Shards until it rang in the chest of every soldier. "Are the Great Gates unsealed?"
From the head of the central column, the nine-foot commander slammed the butt of his halberd against the basalt floor.
"The northern subterranean conduits have been cleared, My Empress!" Vael-Thur boomed, his voice resonating through the visor of his crest. "The ancient war-roads of the First Empire cut directly beneath the Dragon's Teeth. We bypass the mountain blizzards entirely, emerging into the Glacial Basin behind the Gorgorath vanguard!"
A dark, savage gleam lit Malakor’s crimson-ringed eyes. He leaned his forearms against the stone balustrade, looking down at the mechanical titans with an expert warlord’s eye.
"A subterranean march," Malakor growled, turning his head slightly toward Aurelia. "We deny the hive-drakes air superiority. We march our siege engines into their underbelly before they even register our advance."
"And when we breach the glacial shelf," Aurelia added, her eyes narrowing into cold calculation, "the colossi punch directly through the ice into the brood-vaults. We don't lay siege to the surface; we drown their hives in molten bronze from below."
"A brutal strategy, little star," Malakor murmured, his shoulder pressing against hers, his arm brushing her celestial plate in a brief, familiar touch of shared understanding. "I approve."
With a swift, synchronized command, the front ranks of the Praetorians wheeled into marching formation. The twelve bronze colossi took their first monumental strides, each footfall shaking the mountain’s foundations as their piston-driven joints hissed with superheated steam.
Down the basalt avenue, massive adamantine blast doors—sealed since the First Sundering—began to groan upward into the bedrock, revealing the dark, colossal maw of the Imperial Northern Highway. The subterranean road was wide enough for four colossi to walk abreast, illuminated by faint, dormant crystal lamps embedded in the arched stone roof.
Aurelia turned to descend the terrace stairs, but Malakor caught her by the hand.
She paused, looking back at him.
The warlord pulled her gently back toward the shadows of the antechamber, out of view of the marching ranks below. His crimson eyes were burning with that familiar, possessive intensity that made the breath catch in her throat.
Without a word, he reached up, his rough, scarred fingers cradling the side of her neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin beneath her jawline.
"We are entering the deep dark again, Aurelia," he rasped, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that resonated directly within her chest. "The hive will smell the Shards on you. Every brood-queen and void-feeder within fifty leagues will claw their way toward your light."
Aurelia met his gaze unblinkingly, stepping closer until the polished breastplate of her celestial armor met the blackened iron of his cuirass with a soft ring of steel. She brought her own hand up, her fingers sliding into the dark waves of his hair, pulling him down until their lips were a fraction of an inch apart.
"Let them claw," she whispered against his mouth, her hazel eyes dancing with lethal confidence. "They will have to climb over a mountain of dead titans and the greatest warlord of the Nether-Tribes to touch me."
A low, guttural laugh vibrated in Malakor’s chest. The fierce, possessive hunger in his eyes flared, and he leaned in, claiming her lips in a hard, searing kiss that left them both breathless in the cool mountain draft.
"Damned right they will," he growled against her lips, his hand dropping to rest heavily at her hip, fingers tightening around the leather belt of her rapier. "Now come, my empress. Let us ride to the end of the world."