The Cabal's base lay hidden deep within a forgotten nebula at the edge of the star system.
It was a warship so enormous that it resembled a moving city, dwarfing even the Imperium's grandest Gloriana-class Battleship. Like a silent continent of steel, it drifted slowly through the void.
Its hull bore the scars of ages: craters left by meteorite impacts, scorch marks from ancient weapons, and savage, claw-like gashes whose origins could no longer be identified.
It did not belong to this age. Its design predated even the oldest records of the Imperium of Man, as though it were a relic that had survived from a previous era.
Erda passed through one heavy airtight door after another, each step landing on the cold metal floor, her footsteps echoing through the empty passageways.
She wore a sand-colored robe, its fabric coarse and plain, its edges marked by dust and the wear of travel.
A veil covered the lower half of her face, leaving only her eyes exposed.
Those eyes were beautiful and cold, like moonlight on a lake on a winter night: clear, yet carrying a chill that kept others at a distance.
Her pace was unhurried as she calmly passed through door after door and corridor after corridor.
At last, the hall appeared before her.
It was a domed chamber of breathtaking grandeur, tall enough to accommodate a small temple.
Countless crystals emitting a faint blue glow were embedded in the dome. Like an artificial starry sky, they slowly revolved, casting ever-shifting patterns of light and shadow.
The walls of the hall were covered in ancient reliefs and runes. Those symbols belonged to no language known to humanity, their lines twisted and unfathomable.
A faint scent hung in the air, like ozone mingled with ancient spices, making one instinctively hold