The Reckoning drifted through the void, a monolith of steel and sorcery. A dreadnought of House Draconis, its massive silhouette eclipsed the stars, a leviathan of war. Space itself seemed to ripple in its wake, as if bending to the presence of something beyond mere technology.

To the lords of Solarius, it was the mailed fist of their Imperium, the unyielding will of the Emperor made manifest. To those who stood against it, it was a harbinger of ruin, a floating fortress bristling with weaponry that defied the very fabric of conventional warfare. Its hull, an obsidian bastion, bore the reliefs of void-drakes, their petrified wings stretched wide, their fanged maws locked in eternal defiance. Along its surface, arcane circuits pulsed in tandem with the ship’s core, a fusion of engineering and something far older—something not fully understood.

Inside, its corridors stretched like the arteries of some great beast, silent save for the low thrum of power cycling through its systems. The bridge was not merely a command center but a throne of dominion. Dark pylons twisted into vaulted arches, their surfaces etched with the names of warriors long since fallen—yet still remembered. The consoles flickered with eerie bioluminescence, their interfaces woven with neural pathways that responded as much to thought as to touch. Manning these stations were bannermen from minor houses, tireless androids, spectral apparitions woven into the ship’s very software, and even undead soldiers, their hollow gaze fixed upon their duties with unwavering precision. The Reckoning was a behemoth, a relic of war that defied both time and reason.

At the heart of it all, standing before the main hololithic display, was Baron Drakon Vaelinor Draconis.

Encased in the blackened steel of his war-plate, purple filaments of energy coursed through the seams of his armor, resonating with the ship itself. His helm, fashioned in the likeness of a void-drake, gleamed under the ambient glow, the hollow sockets reflecting the abyss beyond. He stood motionless, an unshakable pillar amid the shifting holo-light.

Projected in ghostly blue, Prince Lucien Horus Solarius lounged upon his ornate command throne aboard the Radiance. He exuded the same effortless confidence that had made him infamous, though his smirk was tempered with something more introspective.

"And so, our paths finally diverge," Lucien mused, idly swirling a goblet of amasec in one hand. "I must admit, Drakon, for all the bloodshed and ruin, you remain as unflinching as ever. One might wonder if you truly feel anything at all."

Drakon did not respond immediately. The holo-light cast shifting shadows over his warplate, but his voice, when it came, was steady as the tide. "The Emperor’s will has been carried out. The campaign is over."

Lucien let out a breath, shaking his head. "Ever the dutiful soldier. But tell me, Drakon, when all is said and done, when the stars we burn down to cinders leave only the cold embrace of the void… what remains for you?"

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Drakon’s gaze was unreadable beneath his helm. "House Draconis endures. That is all that matters."

Lucien chuckled, leaning forward slightly. "Spoken like a true heir to a legacy of iron and ash. I have to say, I’ve grown quite fond of you, Drakon. Stubborn, relentless, a touch morbid—yes—but oddly admirable."

Drakon regarded him carefully, his wariness tempered by experience. "I imagine it takes one to know one."

Lucien’s smirk widened. "Ah, see? You can be charming. Try not to let your bannermen catch you at it, though. Wouldn’t want to ruin your terrifying reputation."

Drakon exhaled, the sound more akin to a sigh than a scoff. "And you? What will you do now?"

Lucien raised his goblet in a half-toast. "Oh, you know me. Off to find another battlefield, another war, another stage upon which to play the fool. And who knows? Perhaps our paths will cross again."

Drakon inclined his head slightly. "Perhaps."

Lucien studied him for a moment longer before tapping a control on his throne. "Until then, Drakon. Try not to raise too many corpses in my absence."

With a flick of his fingers, the holo-feed severed, and the prince’s image dissolved into static. The bridge of The Reckoning fell into silence once more, save for the ever-present hum of its vast and ancient machinery.

Drakon turned, staring into the abyss beyond the viewport.

The stars remained distant, their cold light offering no answers.

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Drakon left the bridge, his armored boots echoing through the dim corridors of The Reckoning. Servitors bowed as he passed, their augmetic eyes flickering in recognition. His quarters lay deep within the dreadnought, a sanctum of darkened steel and ancient relics. Entering, he sealed the door behind him and activated the hololithic relay.

The display crackled to life, revealing Duke Dragan Velmuth Draconis. The elder lord stood amidst a dimly lit chamber, his back turned, methodically implanting cybernetics into an undead thrall. His left arm—a sleek, iron prosthetic—moved with calculated precision, a scalpel in its mechanical grip. The flickering lantern light reflected off his cloak, adorned in House Draconis’ colors—royal purple and gunmetal black—its edges embroidered with intricate patterns resembling dragon scales.

He did not turn as he spoke. "Drakon. The campaign has concluded, I assume."

Drakon inclined his head. "It has. Prince Lucien departs. Our forces remain intact."

Dragan continued his work, his voice calm yet commanding. "And what of the Verdant Vale? Our scouts report… anomalies."

Drakon stiffened slightly. "The Vale is unlike any other world we have encountered. There is something beneath its surface. The energy signatures suggest the presence of a Starforge."

Dragan finally turned, his crimson sclera and cybernetic pupils locking onto Drakon with piercing intensity. "A Starforge," he murmured, as if tasting the word. "If true, this changes everything. Wars have been fought for less."

Drakon’s expression remained unreadable. "Then we must move carefully. Others will seek it. House Fenralis. Perhaps even the Solarians."

Dragan exhaled slowly, clasping his iron fingers together. "Then we will ensure that we reach it first. Maintain your position. Await further orders. And, Drakon—"

The Duke’s gaze darkened. "Trust is a coin spent only once. The prince may seem amicable, but power has no friends—only those who seek to claim it. Do not mistake momentary camaraderie for loyalty."

Drakon absorbed the words in silence. Dragan’s voice softened slightly. "Greatness is not seized in a single battle. It is forged, tempered, and paid for in blood. I expect you to remember that."

The transmission ended, leaving Drakon alone in the cold glow of the holo-display. He stared at the fading image, his thoughts heavy.

The Verdant Vale.

A Starforge.

And a storm yet to come.