The subterranean highway stretched into the lightless belly of the northern continent like the throat of a petrified titan.
Carved from solid granite and reinforced with colossal ribs of star-metal, the Imperial War-Road had slept in utter silence for ten thousand years. Now, it echoed with the relentless, rhythmic cadence of war. The thousand Praetorians marched in lockstep, their celestial plate gleaming beneath the pale blue glow of reviving crystal sconces. Flanking the column, the twelve bronze colossi moved like walking mountains, the steady thump of their piston-driven strides sending low seismic tremors through the surrounding rock.
At the head of the vanguard rode Aurelia and Malakor.
Mounted upon twin battle-striders—armored bipedal mounts forged of dark iron and fueled by compressed astral embers, retrieved from the lower stables—they kept a steady, deliberate pace.
Aurelia held the reins with easy grace, her white-gold battle cloak draped over the back of her mount. The newly integrated Sixth Catalyst inside her breast hummed in quiet synchronization with the road beneath them, guiding the ancient ley-currents back to life. With every league they crossed, the dormant stone seemed to recognize its empress, the floor beneath their mounts smoothing itself into glass-like perfection.
Beside her, Malakor was an immovable mountain of blackened plate and wolf fur. He sat his mount like a predator surveying a canyon, his crimson-ringed eyes scanning every shadow, every crack in the vaulted ceiling.
"The air is changing," Malakor observed, his deep voice slicing through the mechanical rhythm of the engines.
Aurelia pulled her gaze from the distant darkness, inhaling deeply. "Sulfur and frozen brine. And... something sweet."
"Necrotic rot," Malakor growled, his jaw tightening. "That sickening sweetness is the pheromone scent of the brood-troughs. We are drawing close to the southern edge of the Glacial Basin."
"Legate Vael-Thur," Aurelia called out without turning her head.
The towering commander rode up alongside them on a massive, horned iron-construct, his silver halberd resting upright against his thigh. "Empress?"
"How far to the Primary Inversion Well?"
"Three leagues, Your Grace," Vael-Thur answered. "The highway terminates beneath the Lake of Glass—a subterranean glacial reservoir that feeds the northern geothermal vents. If the hive has burrowed into the basin, the reservoir will be their primary water source."
"Which means their larval colonies will be clustered around the thermal vents," Aurelia mused, her analytical mind piecing the terrain together with surgical precision. "If we deploy the colossi directly beneath the ice shelves, the steam discharge will crack the entire lake from below, boiling their spawning pools before the warrior castes can mobilize."
Malakor turned his head to look at her, a low rumble of amusement in his chest. "Ruthless, little star. You plan to cook them in their own nursery."
Aurelia met his gaze with a cold, sovereign smile that sent an electric thrill through the bond connecting them. "They did not show mercy to the border baronies, Malakor. I see no reason to offer it to their maggots."
"A queen after my own heart," Malakor rasped, reining his mount half a pace closer until his armored knee knocked against hers.
He reached out, his heavy gauntlet closing over her gloved hand where it held the reins. His thumb rubbed the leather over her knuckles, an intimate, grounding gesture that cut straight through the cold military discipline of the march. For a heartbeat, his crimson eyes searched hers, checking the lingering shadows beneath her lashes.
"Are you holding?" he asked quietly, the question stripped of rank or title. "The resonance from the road... it is heavy."
Aurelia relaxed minutely against the pressure of his grip, letting the steady, possessive heat of his presence wash over her spirit. "The road is ancient, Malakor. It remembers the First Sundering. But having you beside me makes the memories easy to bear."
A fierce, possessive warmth flared in Malakor’s dark gaze. He leaned sideways in his saddle, his voice dropping into a dangerous, velvet murmur. "I will be beside you when we shatter the ice, Aurelia. And when this world is finally purged, I will be the one holding you while the embers cool."
Before she could answer, a high-pitched, metallic shriek echoed from the darkness far ahead.
The marching Praetorians halted instantly, halberds snapping into a high guard.
At the edge of the crystal lamps' reach, the ceiling of the imperial highway was moving. Hundreds of chitinous, multi-limbed horrors, their carapaces glistening with bioluminescent violet ichor, crawled down the star-metal ribs of the tunnel.
"Hive scouts," Malakor snarled, drawing Void-Reaver in a single, fluid arc. "The vermin heard us coming."