It was three days before Emrys returned to the waking world.
When the darkness finally receded, his last memory was of sending Elsa into the rift. He recalled the agony of his final act: channeling every remaining spark of strength into the throw of the Impact Lance before his consciousness shattered.
According to Jackal, the immediate aftermath had been a nightmare of diplomacy. It had taken a grueling effort to convince the Avengers Battle Group, who had arrived to find a scene of absolute carnage, that Emrys and his retinue were not a threat.
"If we hadn't been fast enough," Jackal muttered later, "the Honor Guard and the Avengers' vox-officers would have called for Drayne's head on a platter."
Violence had been narrowly averted, and Emrys was stabilized and extracted to a medicae facility. The coma that followed lasted seventy-two hours. During that time, Jackal reported that Emrys's body had been wracked by a violent fever.
His unconscious mind had bled into the warp, projecting localized distortions that nearly tore the hospital wing apart. It took a choir of Imperial Cult priests, chanting litanies of warding day and night, to stabilize his soul and push back the shadows of the Immaterium.
While he slept, the war for Siluria reached a messy conclusion. The Krast Knight House and the Astra Militarum had finally purged the Genestealer Cult from the hive spires. With the High King himself taking the field, the cult's fate was sealed; even a Tyranid Hive Fleet would have hesitated before the Krast's gathered might.
Sensing that the plan to seize the Annihilation Torpedoes had failed, the cult's mysterious 'Master' ordered a full withdrawal rather than face total annihilation.
Thus, through a stroke of blind luck and the intervention of others, Governor Drayne had technically succeeded. He had held Siluria and protected the Dominion Overlord battleship, despite his own incompetence.
He was practically guaranteed a medal for a victory he hadn't earned.
At the mention of Drayne, the veins in Jackal's neck bulged. He slammed a fist into his palm. "If it weren't for that arrogant fool... Elsa... none of this would have happened."
The full story emerged: after Emrys had departed, Morgana had collapsed into a psychic fugue. Elsa, sensing a shift in the Warp, had urged Drayne to reinforce the hive city's secondary defense lines.
He had dismissed her with a sneer, claiming the city was "impregnable" and that additional troop movements were a waste of resources.
Her premonition had been perfect. The Genestealers had erupted from the sub-tunnels, bypassing the primary defenses and catching the Brass Claw regiments from the rear. If not for Drayne's pride, Siluria would never have come so close to falling.
"Let it go for now," Emrys said, placing a steadying hand on Jackal's shoulder. "The time will come to settle accounts with Drayne. For now, we still need his influence."
Jackal hesitated, his gaze shifting to the floor. "Elsa... what happened to her?"
He had been asking for days, but Herbert—the only witness—had remained stubbornly tight-lipped, claiming he was unconscious and saw nothing.
"Herbert is a clever man," Emrys noted with a faint, tired smile. He realized the Knight was protecting him; the truth about the Warp rift was not something meant for ears outside their inner circle.
"Do not fear, Jackal. Elsa is safe. I will ensure she returns to us. I won't let any of you fall."
Jackal looked away, his jaw tight as he fought back a sudden surge of emotion. "I knew I didn't misjudge you back on Loser. You've become quite the leader, kid."
"Don't start with the sentimentality," Emrys sighed, forcing a lighter tone to break the tension. "What else did I miss?"
"Herbert is here. He's been asking for you every day since we arrived. He says it's urgent."
Emrys narrowed his eyes. Was the Knight looking for answers about the rift? Or perhaps something more? "Is he here now?"
"In the drawing room."
"Then we shouldn't keep a noble of House Krast waiting."
Despite his lingering weakness, Emrys donned his formal attire, masking his pallor with the poise of a high-born. He entered the living room with slow, deliberate steps, settling into the high-backed chair with an air of practiced calm.
"A pleasure to see you again, Sir Herbert."
Herbert was the image of solar nobility: a mane of golden hair, eyes like polished emeralds, and a face of such perfect symmetry it seemed carved from marble. Even sitting in a simple chair, he radiated the quiet authority of one who piloted a god-machine.
"Greetings, Emrys," Herbert replied. His tone was gentle but carried the unmistakable weight of his station.
"I must thank you again," Emrys said, offering a formal nod. "Your intervention at the ruins was... timely."
"Think nothing of it." Herbert's lips curled into a bright, almost predatory smile. "I helped you, and now, it is only fair that we discuss how you might help me."
Emrys maintained his composure. This was the dance of the nobility. One did not receive the aid of a Knight House without a debt being called. He expected a request for resources, political backing, or perhaps a formal commendation to his House.
"I am at your service, Sir Herbert. Name your price."
"It is quite simple," Herbert said, his smile widening. "This is a matter only you can assist with."
Emrys felt a prickle of caution. "And what exactly is 'this matter'?"
"Oh, nothing grand," Herbert shrugged, leaning back with an air of sudden, casual liberation. "My family has seen fit to disown me. I have officially renounced my ties to House Krast. I am a Free Blade now—a mercenary of the stars. I was wondering... are you hiring? I'd like to join your retinue."