Aboard the flagship Excalibur, Emrys organized his thoughts.
Vigilus could not be allowed to fall. If the Chaos forces gained control of the world, they would choke the Nachmund Corridor, the only stable passage to the Imperium Nihilus. It would mean the death of the Emperor's light in the dark half of the galaxy.
Furthermore, his family's decline was inextricably linked to his father's final exploration of the "Halo Zones" decades ago. His father, Arthur, had been obsessed with a lost relic—the "Key of Merlin"—which he claimed was vital to the dynasty's survival and its ancient covenant with the God-Emperor. Emrys sensed that the secret of the four Great Rogue Trader Dynasties was buried somewhere in that darkness.
Abaddon the Despoiler's objective was clear: use the Void Claw to rip a massive tear in reality on Vigilus, expanding the Great Rift—the Cicatrix Maledictum—and completely isolating the "Dark Side" of the Imperium.
"I must anticipate his move," Emrys whispered. "If I take or destroy the Void Claw before the Warmaster's fleet arrives, I'll have thwarted the Despoiler before the first shot is even fired."
He allowed himself a grim smile. The thought of Abaddon arriving in the Vigilus system only to find his ultimate weapon missing was deeply satisfying.
"What's so funny?" Jackal asked, rubbing his scarred head. "You've had that unsettling smirk since we left the hive. Planning to ruin someone's life again?"
Emrys gave him a flat look. "I am a servant of the Throne, Jackal. My intentions are purely for the good of the Imperium."
"Right. And I'm a Saint of the Adeptus Ministorum," Jackal shrugged. "Ask Drayne if your intentions were 'pure.' You practically bled him dry of three manufacturums and five hundred tech-servants."
"That was a voluntary contribution to the war effort," Emrys countered. "Now, listen. When we pass through the outer edges of the Vorthrax Sandstorms, I'm going to slip away from the ship. You are to keep the crew silent about my absence. Understood?"
"What?!" Jackal's face paled. "My Lord, Vigilus is behind us. We have the stasis field for Elsa, we have the Silver Templars—there's no reason to go hunting for trouble in a warp-tainted sandstorm!"
Jackal was genuinely terrified. He had seen Emrys' knack for attracting danger from the hives of Roselle to the battlefields of Siluria.
"I beg of you, Lord Emrys, can we just have one quiet voyage?" Jackal pleaded.
"I swear by the Emperor's Throne, Jackal, this is a surgical strike. I'll be back before the navigators even plot the next jump," Emrys promised. "But I have to do this. For the family, and for the Imperium."
Jackal covered his face with his hands and let out a long, weary sigh. "I knew it. You're as stubborn as a Space Marine. Fine. But we're coming with you. If you're going into that storm, you'll need a guard."
"No," Emrys said firmly, patting Jackal's shoulder. "This is a stealth mission. Your task is more critical: take the ship to the Dirkden Sector and escort my father back to the fleet. I can't trust the new Silver Templar garrison with the family secrets just yet. I need you there."
"You're going alone into a storm filled with Fallen and warp-ghosts?" Jackal's anger flared. "I can't let you do that! Elsa made me swear to protect you!"
"I won't be alone. Hilda is coming with me," Emrys calmed him. "And I have... resources you haven't seen yet. If I take a whole squad, we're a target. If it's just me and the Aeldari, we're ghosts."
Jackal remained silent for a long time, his fists clenched. "You mean to say we'd only be in your way."
"It's not that you'd drag me down, Jackal. It's that I need to move faster than a heavy squad allows. And I need someone I trust with my life to hold the ship. That's you."
Jackal finally looked up, his expression one of bitter resignation. "Three days. That's all the time I can hide your absence before the Chapter Master's observers or the crew start asking questions. Don't make me a liar, Emrys."
"I won't. I'll see you at the rendezvous."
As the flagship skirted the howling ochre clouds of the Vorthrax Sandstorm, Emrys activated his master-crafted power armor and engaged the short-range teleporter. In a flash of blue light, he vanished from the bridge.
He materialized on a jagged rock formation amidst the screaming winds. Beside him, the Aeldari Ranger Hilda stood waiting, her long-rifle slung over her shoulder.
"That armor is quite striking," Hilda said, her eyes tracing the ancient runes on his plate. "Perhaps you could find a set for me? Darkened chrome, perhaps with some Drukhari glyphs? It would make the next time I have to infiltrate a Commorragh outpost much easier."
"We'll see," Emrys muttered, checking his HUD.
Hilda's tone shifted, losing its playful edge. Her gaze dropped to the shifting sands. "I am sorry, Merlin. I... I failed to protect Elsa."
Emrys paused, his back to her. "It wasn't your fault, Hilda. Besides, Elsa isn't dead."
Hilda's head snapped up, her pupils narrowing. "What? The life-debt... the prophecy..."
"I told you," Emrys said, turning to look at her, his lips curving into a confident smile. "Fate has no hold over me. The threads are broken, Hilda. Our bet? I won."
Hilda stood frozen. For an Aeldari, whose entire culture was built upon the interpretation of fate and the avoiding of inevitable doom, the idea that a human could simply "sever" a prophecy was world-shaking. A surge of indescribable joy, mixed with shock, welled up in her eyes.
So this was why her father, the Farseer of Saim-Hann, had risked everything on this Mon-keigh. He hadn't just predicted a hero—he had found a man who could rewrite the future.
After a long silence, Hilda took a deep breath, a relieved, tearful smile spreading across her face. "What a pity."
"Pity for what?" Emrys asked, checking his weapons.
"It is a pity I did not meet you sooner, Merlin Emrys."
Hilda's step became light, almost dancing, as she moved past him toward the heart of the storm. "Come. You said time was running out. Let us see if we can kill a few more prophecies today."