Mal'caor lifted his head from its spot on the metal floor and sniffed the air, ignored the usual scents of the room, and picked up on one that only meant one thing. Ta'lok was coming home. The kroothound stood up in an instant and stalked towards the door.

Ta'lok pushed the door open and immediately stepped to the side, letting the hound sail past as it leaped forwards. Ta'lok allowed himself a quiet chuckle and patted the hound's head. "Still too quick for you, eh?" The Shaper nudged the hound back into the Kroot living quarters, a small shuttle they had requisitioned from a past job, and landed at the station for any signs of work.

Ta'lok's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the ship as he swung the door shut, cutting off the noise of shippers and crewmen at work in shipyard behind him. "Shaper. You have returned." Ta'lok recognized the voice as Lo'kai, a medic of sorts for the pack.

"Yes, it seems I have, but not for long. I met someone who needs us. A straightforward task of protection, and possibly more to come afterwards. I will explain more at a later time. For now, I must tell the rest of the pack." Ta'lok said. Lo'kai nodded, and made to respond but a new voice interrupted.

"It will be nice to smell fresh air for a change. We are heading somewhere lively, aren't we?" The voice said, and a moment later the violet skinned Kroot revealed herself from where she stood in the shadows.

"Seri," Ta'lok nodded in greeting, "fresh air will do you all some good. Too long have we kept cooped up in this craft. And as for where we head to, I am not sure. The planet could be the home of the forests and farms of an agri-world, or have ash wastes and volcanoes of a death world. Only time will tell. Oh, and Seri? Please, do not attempt to push the humans when we meet them. I have a suspicion that not everyone will accept us with open arms, and I don't want any unnecessary conflict with them."

Seri nodded and proceeded to start sharpening a knife, already bored with the conversation. Ta'lok moved passed Seri, heading towards the rest of the kin he still needed to tell.

Meenos heard a satisfying thunk as his knife found its target. He was reaching for the next blade when he heard the rap of a cane against the metal door behind him. "Ta'lok? Back so soon?" His words were punctuated with his second knife landing next to the first.

The door swung open behind Meenos, groaning in protest as Ta'lok stepped through, as always he was accompanied by Mal'caor. "Gather your things, Meenos. We are needed. Everything will be explained in time, but for now we must gather the war parties, and join our employers before they depart. They expect us to be ready soon."

Meenos' spirits lifted; it had felt like an eternity since they had last been called upon. "I will be ready, Shaper." Meenos said, already walking towards his target to reclaim his knives.

Ta'lok nodded, and turned to leave Meenos to gathering his belongings. Asides from his own pack, he still needed to gather the warband of countless other Kroot. The Shaper had little time to spend with idle conversation, not when they had a war to go to.

Kai'lo was pouring his vial of gothago, a highly poisonous concoction of his, onto a knife, gently coating the blade in the lethal drink. "Fever, hallucination, paralysis, and best of all, immune system failure." He muttered while carefully setting the weapon in its rack to dry. The Kroot already moved on to the next weapon, but began coating it with a different substance. He had used the last of his gothago on the previous knife. "Artisep: chills, muscle spasms, possible loss of consciousness. Not lethal on its own, but enough to make a gue'la think twice about fighting you." Kai'lo whispered, and put the blade next to the other one in the rack.

The Kroot reached over and grabbed several other vials, cures for the deadly liquids he used, handmade by his brother Lo'kai. Kai'lo always kept cures for his poisons close at hand, in case the wrong person felt their sting. Kai'lo was so devoted to his work that he barely noticed Ta'lok step into his personal quarters. The Shaper brought the same message he had told Seri, Meenos, and Lo'kai, and Kai'lo grumbled to himself as he stowed away his vast array of ingredients and blades. He would have to wait before he could add his poisons to the rest of the weapons. The Kroot grabbed his rifle and slung it over his shoulder once he finished packing up his supplies, and followed after Ta'lok to where the pack was meeting. "Have you told the rest of the pack that we are leaving?" Kai'lo asked.

"There is one more of our pack that I must tell." Ta'lok replied.

The pirate fell to the ground as the fist connected with his jaw. Grulkin stepped over the man, and hammered three blows into a second raider's ribs. The man howled as he felt the bones shatter, and didn't see the follow up swing. Grulkin gave a deep laugh as the man sank to his knees, vainly grasping at his throat, trying to gulp down air through his crushed windpipe. The monstrous Kroot kicked the man over, and turned to face the third assailant. Before the scavver could turn and run, Grulkin had wrapped one arm around his neck and lifted the man into the air. The raider kicked out with his legs, but Grulkin simply laughed again and squeezed harder.

"Grulkin! Drop the man!" A voice rang out, and Grulkin turned around, already disappointed that his game was ruined. "Shaper," Grulkin grunted, "you missed the fun."

Ta'lok scowled at Grulkin. "Put him down. He's learned his lesson, isn't that right, boy?" Ta'lok asked the man in Grulkin's arms. Grulkin grudgingly loosened his grip enough for the man to vigorously nod his head.

"P-please, lord. I won't bother you again, on my life. Never hear from me again!" The man begged, trying to flatter Ta'lok as fast as his cowardly tongue allowed. Grulkin sighed and dropped the man, who knelt on the ground, gulping down as much air as he could.

"Thank you, Grulkin." Ta'lok said tiredly. "Now you, run off before I change my mind and send the hound." The raider had enough sense to be well out of sight within the next few seconds.

"How did you find me, Shaper?" Grulkin asked, looking down at one of the twitching raiders on the ground. The Kroot nudged the body with his foot before looking back up at Ta'lok.

Ta'lok shook his head before answering. "It wasn't hard to follow after the eight foot tall Kroot. Not when he doesn't bother to cover his trail." Grulkin just shrugged, and added "I didn't think you would be back from your trip to the bar yet. Did you find anything useful?"

Ta'lok nodded, "It's exactly why I am back so soon. The pack has been called to defense, and they expect our arrival soon. Not that my having to hunt you down helped us meet that deadline. Now, I have to go gather the rest of our kin, and I expect to see you at our shuttle. Please, don't disappoint me." Despite the formality of his last remark, Ta'lok wasn't making a request. Grulkin nodded and padded off towards the shuttle.

Ta'lok led his pack towards the Sovereign, already expecting most of his kin to have arrived before him. Word had traveled fast, and kroothounds and kroothawks traveled even faster to deliver the news throughout the orbital station. Ta'lok saw several other packs also making their journey to the ship. Tal'ok recognized other Shapers as well, kindred who owed their allegiance to Ta'lok, and followed his orders before anyone else's.

Ta'lok beamed with pride upon seeing all of his kindred amassed together; over a hundred kroot, dozens of kroothawks and hounds, and several krootox to boot.

"Pech, it truly is beautiful, isn't it?" Ta'lok whispered.

“Lord Sorcerer.”

The voice came from nowhere, and from everywhere at once. It barely disturbed the tranquillity of the Sorcerer’s personal chambers, where up until now he had been meditating. The voice was soft and fragile, and it was one the Sorcerer knew all too well.

“I am here, Circe”, he spoke to nothing in particular, knowing the message would arrive right where it needed to.

“I wish to walk again.”

The Sorcerer sighed. He raised himself from the floor, the servos in his armour softly whirring as he stretched his limbs.

He made his way through the vast halls of the ship to the Astropath’s chambers, where he found her already waiting expectantly. She sat there, her blind eyes fixed on the place where her senses told her his head would be once he opened the door of her sanctum, shivering slightly as the artificial light of the hall touched her skin. She didn’t speak, choosing only to open her arms wide in anticipation. He bowed down to her, put his hands on her waist and heaved her into his arms, before the two of them set off on their walk.

He remembered the first time he had lain eyes upon her fragile, pale form. Once, she was the Astropath of a Black Templar vessel, where she was despised and vilified at every opportunity. Even the Marshal commanding the ship, who had trusted on her sight to guide him and his brethren to yet another war, another Crusade, had barely acknowledged her over the many years she served under his command. Her crippled body had been marked with burns, scratches and bruises, her status as witch drawing the crew’s ire whenever trouble arose.

The vessel had been critically damaged during an engagement with the Wandering Wraith, and the ship’s crew had abandoned her in their flight from the Remnants’ boarding action. She was the only living thing left on the ship, not even the great Marshal of the Black Templars had stayed to die alongside his ship. When they opened her chambers, she had shrunk into a ball, covering her face, shivering as she waited for the expected punishment to be dealt out. The Sorcerer had softly taken her into his arms, using his psychic gift to calm her ravaged mind before carrying her to the safety of the Wandering Wraith.

Ever since then, he had watched over her. The young, fragile girl had never been able to communicate with many others of such psychic potential as himself, and the idea having a kindred spirit had filled her heart with joy. The few moments when their attentions were not elsewhere, the pair enjoyed speaking to one another in the privacy of their own minds.

“I wish to go to Rhadax’s chambers. And to the others, too.”

The death of the Broken Blade, and of those who had crewed it in its charge into the vile Hybrids, had left its mark on the men and women serving aboard the Wandering Wraith. The lost were mourned, even to this day, their chambers left undisturbed and guarded from those who would plunder them.

She visited the chambers of the fallen whenever she had the chance, even those of members who had openly shown their mistrust, sometimes even hatred towards psykers of all sorts. Even the cell of Rhadax, the Night Lord who had plunged the Broken Blade into the Hybrid lines, who had despised psykers even more than he had hated the Imperium during his long life, was a place she often let herself be carried to.

And so they walked, passing chamber after chamber, each one marked with a white handprint. She let her fingers slide across the wall and over the doors of the chambers, small tears staining the metal floor below them.

Circe’s frail fingers softly traced the curves of the Sorcerer’s armour as they walked deeper into the ship’s corridors. Even beneath the many layers of ceramite separating his skin from the outside world, he could feel her frigid touch stroking his chest. They walked, in silence, through the halls of the Wandering Wraith, the ancient ship that had been her home for longer than most could remember. Those who passed the couple made a solemn salute, merely bowing their heads, unwilling to disturb the peaceful silence surrounding the Astropath cradled in the Sorcerer’s arms. Occasionally, she reached out to a passer-by, resting a cold hand on their heads or helmet as she whispered words that soothed their minds.

In the hallway leading to the armoury they came across Zhoran and Gorgyron, who were discussing the state of Lord Breacher’s latest creation.

“I’m telling you, Gorgyron, that power cell will never hold. Even if the machine-beast’s gun doesn’t overheat during combat, the volatile power in the cell will-“

“Have a little faith, Zhoran. I’m sure your Lord knows what he’s doing.”

“I’ve heard you say that before. Like that time we were all nearly killed by a certain experimental plasma weapon.”

“Oh, give it a rest, it’s not like you would have known its previous owner had set it to full charge.”

“That’s precisely my-“

Both Astartes were startled as they were snapped out of their concentration by the Sorcerer’s great shadow falling over them. Their initial surprise wore off once they lay eyes on the half-sleeping Astropath.

“Ah, I see our little princess is wandering the halls again”, Gorgyron spoke, his cheerful tone bringing a soft smile to the Astropath’s pale face.

She raised herself up, allowing Gorgyron to take her hand and push a playful kiss upon her knuckles.

“You haven’t changed a day, Death Guard”, she mused, as she trailed his ashen features.

“I have the blessings of Father Nurgle to thank for that”, he replied, grinning widely.

“If only Father Nurgle could do the same for your aim”, Zhoran joked, slapping Gorgyron on the shoulder pad.

“Zhoran…”, Circe spoke, her voice suddenly alarmed, her eyes darting around as if she were seeing things the others could not.

Her hand grappled in the air, looking for the source of her concern, until Zhoran took her small hand in his and placed it upon his helmet.

She relaxed somewhat after that, her face still locked in a frown as she attempted to make sense of the images flashing before her eyes.

“Lady Astropath, are you alr-“

“Shhh. Listen to me Zhoran”, she interrupted, grasping his helmet tightly, her voice stern and her words laden with a sense of urgency. “Beware of the waning moon and the three stars that follow him. They lurk in the darkness. Don’t let them find you.”

Zhoran took a step back, casting a concerned look first to Gorgyron, then to the Sorcerer and finally to Circe, who was now shivering softly in the Sorcerer’s arms.
A heavy silence fell over the group, as each of them tried to make sense of Circe’s words. Questions rose up in Zhoran’s throat, but before he could utter them, the Sorcerer’s voice broke the silence.

“I will take her back to her chambers”, the Sorcerer announced, fastening his grip on the quivering female. His eyes locked with Zhoran’s.

“And you… meet me in my chambers once your errands are finished.”

With that, he turned around, leaving Gorgyron and a bewildered Zhoran behind, the sound of his heavy footsteps the last thing the dazed Astropath heard before she surrendered herself to the realm of dreams…