Anastasia walked at an unhurried pace through the grand corridors of the Word Bearers' flagship, whose interior resembled a traveling cathedral.
Her gaze swept with interest over the enormous oil paintings hanging on the metal walls to either side.
These paintings were not cold, machine-printed products. Artists accompanying the fleet had painstakingly created them with brushes and pigments, their rich colors and brushwork imbued with an almost religious fervor.
Without exception, the paintings depicted the glorious achievements of the Primarch Lorgar Aurelian.
He stood atop the burning ruins of a Xenos city, preaching the Emperor's truth.
He led his dark gray Legion in fierce battle against terrifying beasts beneath the stars.
Under his guidance, the vast expeditionary Fleet sailed into unknown reaches of space like a divine armada...
The scenes were filled with epic exaggeration and idealized radiance, portraying conquest and salvation as sacred Rituals.
"Hmm... interesting." Anastasia's synthesized voice carried an analytical note.
"Compared to the sheer utilitarianism aboard the War Hounds' warships, where they practically want to engrave 'killing efficiency above all' on every armor plate, you Word Bearers have quite a bit more culture. Though, at its core, that culture is a carefully constructed cult of narrative."
From her limited understanding of Lorgar, she knew very well that this supremely pragmatic Primarch would most likely scoff at such artistic expressions of personality worship.
Yet he had clearly tolerated, and to some extent even encouraged, this behavior.
Perhaps it was political wisdom, a means of unifying belief and shaping the Legion's soul. Perhaps there was a deeper reason.
What she did not know was that, while she strolled through the gallery, Lorgar was facing a sudden, momentous development in the heavily guarded private strategy room beside the bridge—one that could change the course of the expedition.
The atmosphere