After their homeworld was destroyed by the Space Wolves, the Thousand Sons came to a world of endless change.
Many Thousand Sons called it the Nine-Sun World, yet the brilliant stars passing overhead waxed and waned unpredictably.
The scholars of inertia proposed name after name, only for the corresponding astronomical phenomena to change afterward, rendering their latest choice utterly meaningless.
In the end, they had no choice but to use the simplest name to describe it—a planet of sorcerers.
Magnificent gilded Pyramids floated in the heavens, countless gears grinding across every surface.
Aetheric lightning spread and grew, while Warp Daemons like shadowy apparitions feasted within Psionic Energy vortices trailing searing brands.
Tens of thousands of manta rays with razor-sharp wings, their bodies glittering with jewels, swept past to melodious songs and stirred up Aether storms.
Aether storms and bursting lightning blasted the entire planet's surface into an unceasing flux of transformation.
Towering black mountain ranges promptly collapsed and split apart.
Whispering jungles were reduced to ashes in an instant by raging flames.
Only the flute-like towers scattered across the land endured. Every soaring Spire had been shaped by the Thousand Sons through immense Aetheric power and supreme will.
Yet they never retained a fixed form, nor did they remain in one location.
Some were built of steel and glass, while others were stacked from crystal and stone.
Ahzek Ahriman, Temple Master of the Corvidae Cult, had once raised a spiraling white-stone structure, but during his brief absence, the tower had become an ugly amalgamation of piled polygons.
The tower's interior had been distorted into a labyrinth, filled with doors leading into lines of thought, extending corridors, and layered sorcerous chambers.
At the tower's summit, Ahriman paced slowly in a circle, carving Runes with a Ritual Dagger.
The floor was paved