The crimson banners of the Blood Angels fluttered gently in the wind as the golden light of Baal’s twin suns bathed the towering spires of the *Angelicum*, the grand fortress-monastery of the Chapter. Deep within its hallowed halls, carved from stone and forged in iron, stood Lord Commander Dante’s sanctum—a place of solemn contemplation and command, where the weight of centuries and the burden of leadership rested upon his immortal shoulders.

Outside the sanctum, heavy boots echoed against the polished floors. The doors swung open silently, revealing the imposing figure of Chief Librarian Mephiston, Lord of Death, resplendent in his dark armor adorned with arcane sigils and the psychic hood crackling faintly with the restrained energy of the Warp. His presence radiated power, but also carefully maintained control, as the darkness of his past was forever held at bay by sheer will.

Dante, the oldest living Astartes, sat at the war council table, reviewing star maps and strategic reports. His ancient golden armor gleamed even in the dim light; the death mask that concealed his face turned slightly as Mephiston entered. Around them, statues of fallen heroes and relics from millennia of warfare lined the walls. The air was thick with the history of their Chapter, and the weight of Sanguinius’s legacy seemed almost palpable.

Mephiston strode forward and bowed his head in respect to the Chapter Master, his piercing eyes never leaving Dante’s as he straightened.

"Lord Commander," Mephiston said, his deep voice echoing through the chamber, "I bring troubling news from the Warp."

Dante’s gaze did not waver. He had known Mephiston for many centuries, and though the Chief Librarian had risen from the abyss of the Black Rage, the Lord of Death had earned his trust long ago. It was not to be taken lightly if Mephiston had come with a warning.

"Speak, Mephiston," Dante said, his voice weary yet commanding. "What has the Warp revealed to you?"

Mephiston took a step closer, his expression dark and intense, his gauntleted hand resting briefly on the hilt of his force sword. "For weeks, I have felt a growing disturbance—a fluctuation of immense psychic power. It began as a whisper, distant and unclear, but it has since swelled to a torrent of energy unlike any I have sensed in centuries. The Warp is shifting, Lord Commander. It writhes with violent currents, and I fear the storm is only beginning."

Dante’s brow furrowed beneath his death mask. He had lived through countless cataclysms and had felt the tremors of the Warp many times, but the gravity in Mephiston’s voice set his heart on edge. "Is it the Cicatrix Maledictum?" he asked, referring to the Great Rift that had torn the galaxy.

Mephiston shook his head. "No, my lord. The Great Rift still boils with its malevolence, but this… this is something new. The intensity of the fluctuations is concentrated as if something powerful—something ancient—stirs within the Immaterium. I cannot yet discern its exact source, but it is spreading rapidly, and it will not be long before it breaches the material realm."

Dante rose from his seat, the servos in his ancient armor humming softly as he moved. He walked to the massive viewport overlooking the blasted wastelands of Baal, his thoughts heavy. If Mephiston’s warnings were true—and he had no reason to doubt them—then they faced a threat that could dwarf even the devastation wrought by Hive Fleet Leviathan. The Imperium was fragile, battered by countless wars, and another Warp catastrophe could bring it to the brink of annihilation.

"The Imperium is besieged from all sides," Dante said after a moment, his voice low but firm. "We face the xenos, the heretic, and the daemon alike. The Great Rift threatens to tear the galaxy apart, and now you speak of yet another storm on the horizon. Have you any idea what this could be?"

Mephiston’s gaze darkened further, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "I sense a great hunger, Lord Commander. A presence that seeks to devour. It is vast and malevolent—perhaps a shadow of the Great Devourer, or something far worse. I have delved deep into the archives of the Librarius, and even in the ancient texts, I find only fragments that hint at what we now face."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Dante turned, his golden armor catching the light, making him seem as if he were a statue of Sanguinius himself. He stepped toward Mephiston, his hand resting on the table beside him.

"If this storm is as you describe, then we must prepare for its arrival. The Blood Angels will not be caught unawares," Dante said, his voice hard with determination. "But we are already stretched thin. Half of the Chapter is engaged in campaigns across the galaxy, and we have only just recovered from the devastation of Leviathan. We cannot face this threat alone."

Mephiston nodded, his expression grim.

----------------------------------------

Veteran Commander Illmar of the First Battle Company sat in his chamber aboard the Sorrows Way, the glow of the data slate casting long shadows across his scarred face. The report from Magos Toté flickered before him, the cold logic of Mechanicus analysis laid bare, but it was the implications between the lines that troubled him.

He read the report again as if hoping the words would change. Magos Toté had successfully pierced the Warp storms enough to establish brief contact with Chapter Master Nix on Throne of Galat. But the key detail that gnawed at Illmar’s mind was the time dilation. The Cardinals on Throne of Galat had no idea just how much time had passed here—how the Warp had shifted time itself, slowing their perception while the rest of the galaxy moved on.

Six months.

Six months had passed since Nix and the bulk of the 5th and 10th Companies had set foot on Throne of Galat, but to them, it had only been weeks. What was worse, communication had been sparse, and the longer the Warp storms persisted, the greater the disconnect would become.

Illmar ran a gauntleted hand through his greying hair, his thoughts heavy with the weight of responsibility. As Commander of the First Company, it was his duty to safeguard Bitter Hold and the Chapter’s broader operations while their Chapter Master was away. Now, with the new information from Magos Toté, it was clear that time—precious, irretrievable time—was slipping away faster than any of them could realize.

Illmar rose from his seat, his armor making a low hum as the servo joints engaged. He turned to the console at the far end of his chamber and keyed in a secure code, sending the report directly to the Monastery on Bitter Hold. The command staff needed to be made aware of this situation, and soon. They needed to formulate a strategy to support Nix and the others, or at least prepare for the worst.

The grim thought lingered in his mind: They could be walking into a deeper trap than even they realized. The Orks were one thing, but the Warp’s instability could tear them apart.

A quiet chime echoed through the chamber, indicating the transmission had been sent successfully. Illmar stood for a moment and He sighed, something rare for him, and spoke aloud as if to clear the air. "They have no clue what’s truly happening out here. The dilation between them and us… it’s only going to get worse."

With that thought still in his mind, Illmar strode to the war room, his armor’s heavy steps reverberating through the corridor. He needed to gather the officers and strategists to discuss the implications of this report. If the dilation continued, they might lose all contact with Nix and the rest of the Cardinals on Throne of Galat.

As he entered the war room, the hololithic map of Bitter Hold and its surrounding systems flickered before him. Officers of the First Company stood at attention, their faces hard with the same concerns Illmar carried. One by one, the key members of the Chapter’s command staff would review the report, and together, they would make plans to fortify Bitter Hold, maintain supply lines, and—most importantly—prepare for any eventualities.

Illmar stood at the head of the table and activated the map of Throne of Galat, the grim landscape of the embattled planet projected in three dimensions. He cleared his throat, his voice a deep rumble of authority.

"Brothers, we’ve received word from Magos Toté on Throne of Galat. It seems we’re dealing with a time dilation in the Warp. What has been six months for us has been mere weeks for Chapter Master Nix and his forces. We don’t know how long this will last, but it means their situation is more precarious than we initially believed."

One of the officers, Lieutenant Malcador, stepped forward, his brow furrowed in concern. "How do we respond, Commander? The Warp storms have made it nearly impossible to reach them, let alone communicate consistently."

Illmar nodded. "That’s exactly what we need to address. We’ll begin by reinforcing our defenses here on Bitter Hold. I plan to add a relay station at the edge of our system that will strengthen our signals going out and the ones coming in. I want every serf and battle-brother prepared for a prolonged campaign. We’ll also coordinate with the mechanicus to determine if there’s any way to breach the Warp safely for resupply or reinforcement. We cannot abandon our Chapter Master and the others, but we must also ensure the survival of the Chapter as a whole."

Another officer, Tactical Lieutenant Castor, leaned in. "And what of the Orks, Commander? If the enemy’s position is as entrenched as the reports indicate then beyond the planet orbit in space can’t be as stable, The lord master may be walking into a siege on all fronts".

Illmar’s expression hardened. "Then we’ll make sure he has the tools to break that siege. I’ll draft an order for long-range bombardment support from the Sorrows Way. If there’s any chance we can assist from orbit, we will. But right now, our best option is to maintain what control we have and prepare for the worst."

The room fell silent for a moment as the officers absorbed the gravity of the situation. Illmar, ever the pragmatist, knew that time was against them. The Warp was treacherous, and what little control they had could vanish in an instant.

"Prepare yourselves," Illmar said, his voice firm. "We may need to act sooner than we think."

And with that, the war room burst into action, officers moving to carry out his orders, while Illmar stood at the helm, ready to face whatever the Warp—and the galaxy—had in store for them.