The Imperial Palace Black Cells.
Deep beneath Terra, the distance from the Palace that housed the Golden Throne could no longer be measured in ordinary terms.
Each level of the Black Cells had its own lockdown gates, guarded by the Adeptus Custodes stationed there.
These Custodians had no contact with the outside world, their faces hidden beneath fully enclosed helmets.
Beyond twelve gates lay a circular chamber far larger than the antechamber.
The ceiling was so high that it almost vanished into the gloom, while the floor below had been cast from some dark gray alloy.
At the center stood a column-shaped life-support pod. The air carried a heavy smell of disinfectant and the low hum of continuously running machinery.
Malcador walked along the circular chamber's central passage, his footsteps particularly clear in the empty space.
He wore an unadorned dark gray robe and still held his staff.
Two Black Cells Custodians stood behind him, saying nothing, merely moving in step with him.
Malcador's gaze finally settled on a life-support pod numbered 11.
The pod differed little from the others, except for a layer of grayish sediment on its surface.
Malcador approached the pod and stopped, looking through the glass and liquid at the figure floating inside.
The green life-support fluid obscured part of the outline, but he could see the figure floating in the liquid, arms extended and legs slightly bent.
The figure was taller and larger than even a Custodian. Mechanical structures covered parts of its body, and tubes and cables emerged from beneath its skin to connect to the pod's inner walls.
Decades or even longer immersed in life-support fluid had left the skin around those connections pale, but the overall structure remained well preserved.
Malcador watched the figure in silence for a moment. Then he said,