Klaisus was a frozen world, its constant blizzards making it nearly impossible for Abaddon's forces to track Cawl's evacuation convoy.
But the Despoiler did not give up. He ordered a full planetary blockade and dispatched every ship available to the search.
Chaos flyers swept across the stormy skies, searching in force.
The last three combat-capable Imperial aircraft broke away, drawing enemy fire to buy the convoy more ti.
Hannah's "Kite" was one of them.
She was among the few pilots who'd escaped from Cadia's surface,
and now, she was flying to her death.
Her ship's callsign, "Kite," ca from her childhood—her parents had flown kites with her,
and after marriage, she'd done the sa with her own children.
Kites held her fondest mories.
In the cockpit, Hannah wiped away a stream of blood from her nose—
the result of prolonged high-G maneuvers.
When the Heldrakes appeared, snarling war engines of twisted iron, a fierce battle erupted.
Her two wingmates were soon shot down, their planes exploding into fiery shards.
Hannah's Kite ran out of ammo, took a hit to the tail, and was then mauled by a Drake, tearing open the cockpit.
The plane spiraled down like a falling leaf, a broken kite.
Miraculously, it didn't explode on impact, but a piece of wreckage pierced Hannah's chest, staining the cockpit red.
As life ebbed away, her eyelids grew heavy, mories flashing through her mind.
She rembered being five or six, when Cadia's sky was still blue and the earth unscarred.
Her mother, on rare leave, had taken her to a Rogue Trader's market.
To young Hannah, the Rogue Trader were mysterious—braving dangerous worlds,
gathering strange goods, selling them in temporary markets across the stars.
Kids loved these markets, where they could see exotic plants and animals,
and listen to rough sailors boast of their adventures.
"If only I could grow up faster. Then I could join the army, travel the galaxy, fight the Emperor's enemies, see new worlds."
Such naive dreams always made the adults laugh.
She, too, had imagined herself in Kasrkin armor, fighting evil in the Emperor's na.
Orks with crude weapons, endless swarms of bugs,
silver skeletons in ancient tombs, traitors who betrayed the Emperor.
She also rembered a fortune-teller at the market, a woman with a third eye wrapped in a black scarf—
the navigator from a rchant ship, able to see through the Warp's chaos.
Her mother paid a little for a reading.
The woman studied Hannah, then closed her eyes, caressing a crystal.
"Her future will be happy. She'll have beauty, wisdom, and the Emperor's favor.
She'll finish her studies, fulfill her dreams, et a boy she likes."
"He'll be handso, gentle. They'll be together and have two lovely children."
"But her end will be tragic. Her husband will leave for war and die in the Emperor's na.
When darkness falls, her children will return to the Emperor's embrace, and she'll die in a cold place, her body unburied."
Hannah's mother thanked the woman.
These weren't curses; dying for the Emperor was every Cadian's honor.
A Heldrake landed on the ice, its tal wings raising a cyclone.
Its evil gaze locked onto dying Hannah.
No—
Realizing what the creature wanted, Hannah forced herself to draw a pistol,
preferring suicide to letting her mories be torn out by foul sorcery.
Suddenly, a massive figure crashed down from above—
A giant staff smashed onto the Drake's tal neck, forcing it aside.
Then, a shotgun unleashed a barrage into its belly—seven, eight shots—until the daemon-fused pilot at its core was blown apart.
The Drake crashed, dead.
Hannah's fading eyes filled with peace.
It was the naless Angel of the Emperor.
He had held back the Chaos horde single-handed, buying ti for others to escape.
She saw a strange bamboo copter on his helt—
surely the secret to his flight.
How does such a tiny propeller lift sothing so heavy?
Maybe…it's the Emperor's power.
Datch landed beside her, having seen the question mark on his minimap.
"Is there anything I can do?"
Hannah coughed blood, speaking weakly:
"Angel of the Emperor… can you bless us? Bless every Cadian?"
[Quest: Bless the Dying
To cover the retreat, brave Cadian pilots drew away the enemy, fighting to their last. Now, a warrior lies dying on a frozen world, far from ho—bless them, so their soul may return to the Golden Throne.
Reward: 150 EXP, 150 Points, Reputation 10]
"A side quest?"
Datch accepted, knelt on one knee, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"May you return to the Golden Throne.
May the Emperor's light guide you in death,
May you be spared the tornt of daemons and the Chaos gods."
"Tha—"
Hannah didn't finish; her head lolled to the side, life gone.
A cold wind blew, making her ID tag clink.
Datch read the na: Hannah Keizer, 339th Squadron, age 35.
"Just an AI NPC, but it felt so real…
Once I finish this ga, I have to recomnd it on the forums.
This ga is incredible—
Even if I die, buried in a grave, I'll shout it with my decaying voice."
Muttering, Datch saluted the frosted corpse with an Aquila, then activated his bamboo copter and flew toward Cawl's location.
…
The fuel-exhausted transport landed on the endless glacier.
The evacuees had to cross the eternal ice to reach the place Saint Celestine spoke of.
They escorted Cawl's armored transport,
the House Taranis Knights forming the outer guard,
Celestine leading at the front with the Battle Sisters of the Martyrd Order, every one of them burning with faith.
The few surviving Scions and Cadian remnants led by Creed mingled in the columns,
Inquisitor Greyfax and Marshal Amalrich bringing up the rear.
For the first hours, fortune favored them—
the blizzard and electromagnetic interference kept Heldrakes from spotting them.
But when the storm cleared, the Drakes saw them from above.
A brutal battle began.
…
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