The Imperial Palace.
Gold and black colonnades stretched through the gloom to the limits of sight, like a forest frozen in place.
Above, enormous carvings and hymns flickered in and out of view amid light and shadow, symbols of the Imperium of Man's greatest glory across countless centuries.
Yet now, that glory seemed veiled in an inescapable shadow. Even the gilded ornaments looked oppressively heavy in the flickering candlelight.
The Emperor sat high upon the Golden Throne.
The enormous seat, built from countless gears, conduits, and overlapping patterns of gold, resembled a mountain suspended alone amid the Sea of Stars.
The Emperor sat upright at the center of the Throne, the light tracing his armor in pale gold, like a statue.
He sat there quietly, his gaze passing beyond the deep shadows between the columns toward somewhere no mortal could reach.
No one knew what he was looking at, and no one dared ask what he was thinking.
Only Malcador stood beside the Emperor, keeping faithful vigil like a shadow that had become one with the Throne.
Within the Webway, the war continued.
Long tunnels wound and intersected like the bowels of an enormous serpent. Their walls were covered in geometric inscriptions alien to humanity, which gave off a faint, breathing glow in the darkness.
The Imperium's forces had discovered an ancient, abandoned Aeldari city within the Webway and built defensive lines around it to hold back the daemons.
Those beings from the Warp poured out of the depths of the shadows, their forms constantly twisting and changing at the edges of reality, their claws and fangs glittering like stars in the tunnels' dim light.
Imperial soldiers built fortifications among the ancient ruins, mounted heavy weapons on the surviving Aeldari platforms, and hung Imperial banners between the inscriptions, pouring fire