Octavia hung suspended in a pocket of absolute darkness. Aside from the muffled cacophony of distant bolter fire and the intermittent shrieks filtering through the bulkheads, she could hear nothing, and she could do even less.
Hallucinations, bred from Drukhari toxins and sensory deprivation, swirled into kaleidoscopic patterns behind her eyelids. Sotis she felt the rusted bite of the shackles giving way, and she would strain against them with frantic strength, only for the illusion to shatter as her skin tore and fresh blood dripped onto the floor. At other tis, she felt her consciousness transcend the narrow confines of the cell, floating through the corridors guided by the weeping Machine Spirit of the Golden Dawn.
She saw more traitor Astartes rampaging through her ship. The xenos raiders, who had been so arrogant monts ago, were now the hunted; they wailed as they fled toward hull breaches, only to be cut down or ensnared. The cultists she had been so diligently purging had shed their disguises, acting as "loyal" defenders of the ship while simultaneously rushing to complete sacrifices to the Weaver of Destinies, hoping to summon daemons to stall the Astartes.
Even violet-skinned xenos she had never suspected erged from the shadows, causing several Astartes casualties before being suppressed.
The Rogue Trader watched with rapt attention, almost forgetting her own captivity. She prayed silently for news of her companions—for Abelard, Cassia, and Argenta. As if answering her plea, the visions shifted to show her the others.
Nearly everyone had been sequestered. Cassia, the noble Navigator, had been locked in a room by another Astartes; though terrified, she was not being mistreated, and a servant had even been assigned to tend to her needs. Argenta, Heinrix, and Abelard were suspended from racks like captured beasts, but their cells were empty—as if their captors found mortal interrogation utterly beneath them.
Pasqal and his fellow Tech-Priest, Abel, fared slightly better. The traitors seed to require their technical aptitude; after their weapons were confiscated, the two were granted a limited degree of movent to maintain the ship's vitals.
Her vision expanded even further, soaring into the void. She saw the scarred, mismatched cruisers of the Astartes, the jagged Drukhari raiders, and further out, a nearly invisible, gargantuan fleet waiting in the cold dark.
Then, the visions snapped shut. She was back in the silent room.
"Hah... hah..."
Octavia breathed convulsively, sweat pouring from her brow. She hung there, trembling from the weight of what she had seen, her mind racing.
Did I truly see that? Or is it just the desperate fantasy of a captive, hoping for a miracle to sweep this filth into the gutter?
The heavy Aquila pendant swayed against her chest, emitting a faint, grounding luminescence.
The Aquila... Why had the heretics stripped her of her pistols and blades but left the symbol of the God-Emperor untouched?
Octavia looked down at it. In this lightless void, it was the only source of comfort.
Divine Majesty, she whispered fervently in her mind. If You are truly as all-encompassing as the priests claim—if You can manifest miracles in the heart of despair—then grant Your servant a revelation.
A magnificent golden light rippled outward from the pendant, enveloping the Rogue Trader entirely.
A torrent of images surged through her mind.
She saw herself cast into a nightmare world of obsidian spires and jagged towers that pierced a bruised sky. A dying, black sun cast a sickly glow over an arena vast enough to hold millions. Amidst deafening roars from the stands, two figures fought a duel to the death: one was the traitor Astartes from her cell, the other a lethally beautiful xenos female.
"Kill the Mon-keigh! Or die by his hand!"
Spectators leaned forward from the high balconies, their many-limbed silhouettes twisted into expressions of sadistic hunger.
The scene shifted. She saw herself back on Dagonus, ascending the throne after a grueling struggle, though the shadowed agents of the Inquisition watched her from the corners with cold, unfriendly eyes.
Then, she saw a garden world—the third planet in its system—boasting a climate of eternal spring, a vibrant ecosystem, and elegant, white architecture. Walking through it felt like wandering through a myth from the Age of Wonders. A squad of warriors in purple-and-gold plate stood on a high terrace, guarding two titans among n. These giants sat beneath a blossoming canopy, engaged in a ga of regicide. After a long silence, the giant with silver hair and violet eyes turned his head and offered her a small, knowing smile.
The face was so noble, the aura so radiant, that she nearly fainted from the sheer, heart-swelling glory of it.
Go... find... him...
The vision vanished abruptly. In the wake of Octavia's bereft whimper, a final revelation was laid bare.
It was the traitor Astartes—the one responsible for her—running through the corridors of what used to be her ship.
She opened her soul without reservation, drinking in the "revelation" until her physical form could take no more and she collapsed into unconsciousness.
A long ti later, she woke again. Her eyes were clear, sparkling with a newfound resolve.
"So... that is what Idira's spread ant. A revelation from the Throne itself..."
The Rogue Trader whispered to the dark, settling into a patient wait.
After a grueling day of processing logistical manifests, Enkidu retraced his steps toward the interrogation room.
Everything aboard the captured vessel was a ss. There were xenos raiders still hiding in the vents, mortal crewn attempting desperate last stands, and warband "brothers" looting anything that wasn't bolted down. No one was interested in the paperwork required to actually hold a prize.
The Warband Leader was useless; Varex and his sycophants were currently high on various stimulants, hunting down Drukhari stragglers to use in a massive "compensatory" sacrifice. Telax was equally unavailable; since throwing the Drukhari Archon into a cell, he hadn't erged.
Left with no choice, Enkidu had rounded up the ship's surviving mid-level officers. Under his "encouragent," a skeletal command structure was re-established. Food, dical supplies, and prothium were already being ferried over to the Lash of Agony and the Velvet Abyss.
From the officers, Enkidu had also learned a startling fact: this was no re rchant vessel. It belonged to the illustrious Von Valancius Dynasty, a lineage whose Warrant of Trade dated back to the Great Crusade.
More importantly, the Rogue Trader of the dynasty had been aboard when they struck—and was currently "missing."
Enkidu imdiately thought of the mortals he had captured. Aside from the Navigator Telax had claid, the others were all dressed in the finery of the high nobility.
What kind of noble travels in the personal company of a Navigator?
A thin, amused smile touched his lips.
The ceramite door slid open smoothly, revealing the disheveled Rogue Trader. At the sound of his heavy tread, she looked up. She glared at him with the expected fury, but the raw, panicked defiance in her eyes had been replaced by sothing cooler.
"Heretic," she spat. "What do you want now?"
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