"Erda..."
The name rolled between Lorgar's teeth, carrying an almost tangible weight that seemed to freeze the air in the quiet chamber.
Even when facing vast armies, the whispers of Chaos, or even the blades of certain brothers, Lorgar had never felt pressure so complex and crushing.
Even when matching wits with Saladin, the most dangerous and cunning of his traitorous brothers, the tension of facing an equal had paled beside the cold tide now rising from the depths of his soul before this mysterious woman—a mixture of revulsion and some indescribable tremor.
The Greatsword, burning with psychic flames, shifted slightly, its tip aimed steadily between Erda's brows.
Lorgar's voice lost every trace of its usual gentleness and calculation. All that remained was a cold, metallic rasp, each word seeming to have been chiseled from a frozen abyss:
"Tell me," he repeated, psychic radiance mingling with cold reason in his eyes as he tried to pierce that thin black veil, "what do you want here?"
Silence descended again. Only the psychic flames flickered soundlessly, making the air between them shimmer.
Time seemed to stretch, every second so heavy it made the heart falter.
At last, Erda moved.
Not a step, but the faintest, almost imperceptible rise and fall of her breathing.
Then a cool, ethereal voice, seemingly not of the mortal world and carrying an ancient cadence, sounded from behind the veil, sending faint ripples through the stagnant air:
"I came to see," she said calmly, even... gently? Yet to Lorgar's ears, that gentleness grated worse than the vilest curse. "How my children are doing."
She tilted her head slightly, the gesture almost that of an ordinary mother studying a child returned after a long absence. Though the veil concealed her eyes, the "touch" of her gaze was unmistakable.
"What,"