Time: 011.M42 Perspective: Imperial Navy Reconnaissance Craft Grey Wing · Captain Akir

  In the cold vacuum at the edge of Imperium Nihilus, the Grey Wing has been lurking for over six standard hours.

  To avoid exposing the First Legion's main fleet position, the Grey Wing was pushed forward to a deep space zone about two light-hours away. Such a distance provides early warning and allows the main force to retain tactical flexibility, but it also means one thing—all images and orders cannot arrive in real-time.

  Akir stares at the combat zone ahead through the digital cogitator. What he sees is not an equal engagement, but a process being corrected: about forty Ork scrap ships are besieging five lead-grey behemoths. The greenskin ships charge, turn, and approach repeatedly, while those five unknown warships maintain a geometric formation, advancing slowly, never pursuing.

  The battle has sted for hours, but the rhythm is eerily monotonous. Whenever Ork vessels enter within 0.05 AU of their perimeter, communications, heat signatures, and gravitational readings decay simultaneously, eventually falling into silence. No explosive afterglow, no residual energy jets, just a gradual loss of evidence of existence.

  "Twelfth Ork hull structure disintegration," the Tech-Marine reports.

  Akir magnifies the screen. Those lead-grey hulls are smooth and unadorned, with deep blue geometric etchings looking cold under the starlight. That is not Imperial style, nor does it resemble any known xenos civilization.

  "The area is a complete Warp vacuum," the Astropath whispers. "No psionic fluctuations."

  Akir is silent for a moment, then orders all observation data to be packeted, encrypted, and transmitted back to the fgship—Invincible Reason—at the highest cssification. After the signal is sent, he can only wait, because this image will be hours in the past by the time it reaches the main fleet.

  【Invincible Reason · Strategium】

  When the first batch of complete packets arrives, the Strategium maintains an oppressive silence.

  Lion El'Jonson stands before the tactical terminal, watching the long-range footage. The Ork fleet's operational space is being progressively stripped away, wreckage arranged slowly by drones, the chaos of the entire airspace fttened by some invisible hand.

  That is not fire suppression. It is more like the intervention of physical order.

  "No Warp reaction, no psionic fluctuations," the Lion says. "Only engineering logic."

  Behind him, the tactical dispy of the First Legion's main fleet spreads out. The Invincible Reason serves as the fgship, fnked by battleships and heavy cruisers, with yers of frigates and rapid response fleets on the periphery. The entire fleet maintains tactical distance, fire control systems on standby, but unlocked.

  The Lion orders the transmission of a highest-authority IFF identification request.

  The signal leaves the fgship, heading into deep space. The wait is not short. Everyone understands that the images they see now and the reality happening exist with a time g.

  When the next batch of packets arrives, the terminal updates the content.

  XVIII-N-01 Ember Protocol · Phase III

  No one speaks in the Strategium.

  That identification code belongs to no tactical database, nor the Imperial Navy establishment. It resembles a fragment of history deliberately sealed away.

  XVIII. That number itself expins everything.

  The Lion does not respond immediately. He just quietly looks at the terminal, as if weighing a fact that has already occurred. He orders the source verified again, demanding double confirmation to rule out forgery and interference. The report arrives after another dey; the signal is stable, the source consistent, with no anomalous echoes.

  The terminal subsequently updates:

  Please maintain distance. Main force arriving shortly.

  That does not seem like a real-time conversation, but more like a response prepared long ago, delivered at the appropriate moment.

  The Lion orders the fleet to maintain tactical distance, keep the original heading, and not approach actively, while simultaneously moving the main fleet toward the area marked by the Grey Wing. Under real-space cruising, that distance cannot be crossed instantly. Fleet acceleration takes time; rendezvous takes patience.

  The wait begins.

  【Grey Wing · Deep Space Observation】

  Gravitational readings ahead of the combat zone begin to change. The five lead-grey behemoths are accelerating, yet without propulsion fres. Distant starlight shows subtle stretching, and the mass field curve reveals new fluctuations.

  Then, silhouettes. Three rge formations enter the observable range along the same heading, totaling about sixty ships. They did not arrive via warp jump but materialized slowly from the edge of deep space.

  The central fgship identification stabilizes first. Hearthfire

  Optical observation remains blurry. The naked eye can barely discern those distant outlines, catching irregur shadows only in starlight reflections. But on the data level, their existence is clear and stable. The Grey Wing maintains distance, continuing to observe and transmit.

  【Rendezvous】

  Several standard days ter, the First Legion main fleet gradually enters parallel range. Battleships complete speed calibration first, cruisers and frigates align in sequence, the entire formation moving slowly and with restraint. The Hearthfire and its sixty lead-grey behemoths do not draw near, nor do they send extra signals. They simply maintain speed, allowing their heading to complete a co-directional correction on the data level.

  No ceremony. No broadcast. Only two sets of mass trajectories parallel in deep space.

  Star charts update. A new destination is marked.

  Baal.

  The First Legion fleet begins to turn. Moments ter, the Hearthfire and its formation complete the same correction. The two trajectories slowly converge, pointing in the same direction.

  Deep in Imperium Nihilus, dozens of Imperial warships and sixty lead-grey behemoths travel together in silence. Inside the observation decks, it is still hard to see those silhouettes with the naked eye, but in the gravitational curves and heading data, they exist constantly.

  The fleets begin to accelerate. No decration. Only direction. And that direction leads to Baal.