Adrift, voyaging far, our fate was tied to a little boat.
"?"
Trazyn looked up thoughtfully at the species chart on the wall. Most of the tangled, root-like lines had gone dark, while some gleamed like eternal suns.
"Rangdan..."
Trazyn looked toward the tip of the branches, where a faint glimmer flickered in and out.
"The last remnants of the Rangdan have finally gone extinct?"
Trazyn spoke as if to himself, then let out a long sigh.
"Good thing I have an entire Rangdan army in my collection."
"Stop fussing over your little toys."
A distant voice came from afar, as though it had pierced through all space and time. Trazyn chuckled. He was already accustomed to that idiot Orikan's habit of talking as though he were having one of his episodes and trying to show off.
"What is it?"
Trazyn asked casually.
"Has the Silent King finally decided to send out his forces? Or is it something on the Stormlord's end?"
The alarm clock the Silent King had set for the many dynasties had finally rung at the end of the forty-first millennium. That shameless old bastard still dared to return and face his dead subjects?
If it was the Stormlord, however, Trazyn would not have been too surprised. As more and more dynasties awakened, the Stormlord had vaguely shown signs of wanting to assemble a Great Crusade force—provided he could get past or defeat the Silent King.
But, but, but—
Trazyn coughed in a very human fashion. He, Trazyn, amateur collector, had long decided to stir up these muddy waters and make those two idiots suffer a little.
If they suffered, Trazyn would be pleased.
And perhaps he could save those Necrons that still retained their essence.
When the Silent King or the Stormlord returned like lightning,