The Bridge of the Herald of the Holy Word was enjoying a rare stretch of calm.
The main screen displayed the slow-moving Warp currents ahead of the Fleet. Their churning colors resembled an overturned oil painting, swirling, gathering, and dispersing in the endless darkness, over and over again.
The lights on the command platform had been dimmed, leaving blue indicator lights glowing at only a few critical consoles. The ship moved at a steady, unhurried pace, like an enormous heart beating in a regular rhythm.
Lorgar stood at the edge of the command platform, his hands resting lightly on the cold railing, his gaze fixed on the roiling Sea of Souls in the distance.
He remained silent for a long time, as though something in those slowly flowing, chaotic colors were answering his thoughts.
He wore a new suit of armor, thick metal covering his torso. Beneath that armor, beneath even his flesh, the Shroud clung tightly to him, long since impossible to separate.
That fabric had become part of his body. It enveloped his bones, wound around his muscles, and covered his resurrected form, sharing every breath and every heartbeat.
He could feel the fabric pressed tightly against the edges of his ribs, rising and falling gently with his breathing. The sensation was both unfamiliar and familiar.
Footsteps came from the shadows behind the command platform, light and soundless.
Curze emerged from the darkness, his figure looking especially gaunt in that vast space. His long black hair hung down, framing a face whose pallor made him look more like a ghost than a mortal.
He walked to Lorgar's side without speaking, standing there for a while and watching the swirling colors of the Warp with him.
Only after a moment did his voice emerge from the shadows, low and