Creed was not on Cadia.
As a skilled rogue trader and master of networking, Klein had built friendly ties with several planetary governors along his route. Through these connections, and a generous amount of bribery, he discovered that Creed was currently aboard a vessel called the Path of Faith, rather than stationed on Cadia itself.
After learning the ship's expected supply stop, Klein headed for the designated resupply system and waited.
Following a long and winding journey, the Path of Faith finally arrived.
The vessel was a behemoth, an Ecclesiarchy-sanctioned pilgrim ship retrofitted for transport and defense, its cathedral spires silhouetted against the stars. Great stained-glass windows depicted saints and martyrs bathed in golden light, and the low droning of the choir servitors echoed across the docking ports like mournful hymns of war.
Klein's merchant ship approached the massive vessel under the pretense of selling power armor. While his assistants handled the transaction, Klein boarded and began searching the ship for Ursarkar Creed.
He found him in a bar, one of the ship's dimly lit lower-deck drinking halls frequented by off-duty officers and voidborn crew. The air reeked of amasec, sweat, and lho-stick smoke. The flickering lumen-strips above were half-functional, and a servo-skull floated lazily behind the bar, refilling drinks with mechanical precision.
The walls were plastered with old war posters and faded regimental flags, silent echoes of thousands long dead.
The man sitting at the counter wore Talon-Standard Praetorian power armor, which wasn't uncommon, many rogue traders had managed to acquire surplus equipment over the years. But what caught Klein's eye was the man's signature thick, stubby neck and the worn field cap folded neatly beside his drink. Even hunched over the counter, he radiated the unshakeable presence of a man born for command.
"Creed?" Klein called out as he approached.
The man turned, visibly surprised. "Commander Klein of the 47th Regiment?"
Creed remembered him well, from their earlier inspection of the 47th's troops, all those years ago.
He even recalled knocking out one of Klein's subordinates during a sparring match. The memory brought a faint smirk to his weathered face.
"How the hell did you find me?" Creed motioned for his men to grab a second chair, inviting Klein to sit.
"It was the Emperor's will," Klein said solemnly, handing Creed a sealed letter, a direct message from Qin Mo, Governor of the Talon System.
Creed accepted the letter and ordered them both a drink. Only once it arrived did he ask, "How's Talon faring?"
He had left the System early during the conflict, knowing only that the Hive World had fallen. He knew nothing of what became of the other two planets in the system.
"After you left, the war continued," Klein answered. "We fought until every last traitor and heretic was purged from the System. But then the Inquisition took interest… thankfully, we weren't declared heretics. The Governor, he's now known officially across the sector as the Lord of Talon."
"Then let's drink to him." Creed raised his glass and downed it in one go.
Klein considered pushing Creed to read the letter right away, but before he could speak, Creed began recounting his own experiences.
He didn't speak like a man recounting glories, but like one unburdening a weight. Battle after battle across the breadth of the Imperium.
Creed's voice took on a tone of weariness, not from age but from the sheer magnitude of war. "I've seen Agri-worlds burn. Watched shrine cities fall silent. There's no end, Klein. Only the next fight."
After departing Talon with salvaged power armor, Creed and his fellow Cadians were scattered across Imperial warzones. But the galaxy was cruel, of all who had left, only five survived.
Creed was one of them.
"I'm sorry to hear that, brother." Klein murmured, placing a hand on Creed's armored shoulder. The ceramite was cold to the touch, like a gravestone. He spoke a few words of comfort.
Creed said nothing. Just a short nod, almost imperceptible. He didn't want pity. He wanted purpose.
Eventually, the conversation circled back to the letter. Klein got to the point. "You should read what the Governor wrote."
"What could be so important?" Creed assumed the letter was just sentiment, perhaps a bit of personal correspondence, until he saw Klein's serious expression.
Inside the envelope was a datachip-like device. As Creed removed it, the device scanned his iris, then projected text directly into his field of vision.
"Typical Talon tech," Creed muttered, smiling, until he began reading.
The smile vanished.
His expression slowly turned grim.
The letter warned of two things:
The first was the Plague of Unbelief. Creed knew this all too well. The plague had long ravaged regions near the Cadian Gate, even before Talon began experiencing it. He'd heard stories since childhood.
The second warning… was about the Volscani Cataphracts.
According to the message, the Cataphracts would betray the Imperium. It was vague, only that several years from now, during a mass redeployment of the Cadian Shock Troops back to Cadia, the Volscani Cataphracts would launch a surprise coup, murdering the planetary governor and high command. The betrayal would mark the beginning of a new galaxy-wide invasion by the enemy.
Creed had once fought alongside the Volscani. He always felt something was… off about them, but treason?
"Maybe the Lord of Talon really can see the future…" Creed muttered darkly, lighting a cigar with a flick of his lighter. He then used the flame to incinerate the chip.
Klein raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He'd learned to let silence fill the spaces where trust might grow.
Creed puffed in silence for a long while, brow furrowed. Then he suddenly asked, "So what am I supposed to do with this information? Am I supposed to warn Cadia based on a prophecy? Should I walk into the governor's office and declare one of our most decorated regiments is going to rebel?"
Klein looked baffled, he hadn't read the message himself and had no idea what Creed was talking about.
Creed continued, "It took me forty years to make general. I have command over my own troops, and that's it. I have no authority over the Guard at large."
He leaned in slightly, his voice low and bitter. "They'd court-martial me for less. For all my campaigns, my victories, I'm still just another piece on the board. A big one, maybe. But not the hand that moves it."
In his eyes, the warning from Qin Mo had little actionable value.
The accusation that a regiment might betray the Imperium was severe. If proven false, the accuser would face immediate punishment. Worse, it could ignite internecine conflict within the Astra Militarum itself, potentially even sparking civil conflict.
Creed couldn't imagine reporting this. If he were to relay the prophecy and be wrong, he'd be finished. And even if he was right, he doubted he could stop it.
"The Lord of Talon overestimates me," Creed said with a helpless shrug. "I'm just a soldier."
Klein was still in the dark, but he remembered a final message from the Governor.
"The Governor said he'll support you fully, just remember your earlier promise."
"…Support me in fighting across the Imperium?" Creed exhaled a puff of smoke. "Why does he even care so much about me?"
Then, as the smoke cleared, something clicked.
The letter wasn't asking him to prevent the Volscani uprising.
It was telling him to prepare for it.
"I see," Creed murmured, nodding thoughtfully. He turned to Klein and said:
"Tell the Lord of Talon: I don't know what my future will hold, but I will be ready for whatever comes."
"May the Emperor protect you," Klein saluted and turned to leave.
As Creed watched him go, Klein regrouped with his assistants, who had just finished selling their power armor stock. They were about to board their transport when a group of officers surrounded them.
The officers weren't hostile, just desperate.
They asked when Klein would return, and if they could pre-order the next batch of power armor.
It took Klein quite a bit of effort to politely decline and extricate himself. But just as he turned toward the shuttle, he heard footsteps approaching again.
"We're out of power armor!" he called over his shoulder, stepping into the transport bay.
"I'm not here to buy power armor," came a woman's voice, smooth and melodic.
Klein froze.
He turned and was shocked to see Vanessa, the same woman who had vanished without a trace from the fortress of Talon I long ago. Now, she wore a crisp officer's uniform, specifically, that of the 8th Regiment of the Cadian Shock Troops.
The well-fitted uniform emphasized an air of discipline he didn't remember from before.
Her blue eyes gleamed faintly gold under the bay lights, an almost imperceptible shimmer.
Vanessa removed her officer's cap and saluted. "Will you take me to meet the Lord of Talon?"
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