The Salamanders Legion's flagship.
The Fireforged.
Vulkan stood in the center of the bridge, his figure looking especially tall and solid in the dim light.
He wore dark green power armor, its pauldrons decorated with flame-shaped reliefs, and held an enormous warhammer. He had forged the weapon himself, and ancient runes were engraved on its head.
He gazed through the observation window at the front of the bridge into the depths of the starry expanse.
The Navigator sat at the navigation station at the front of the bridge, his eyes closed and his hands hovering above a Crystal-and-Metal Sphere. Psychic energy flickered at his fingertips, resonating with the warp energy within the sphere.
His brow was slightly furrowed, and a fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He was clearly concentrating fully on sensing the shifting tides of the warp.
"The tides of the warp are settling, my lord," the Navigator said slowly. "The storm's aftereffects are fading, and the energy currents in the warp are returning to normal. There are still some unstable regions, but as long as we avoid them carefully, we should encounter no major problems."
"Good." Vulkan nodded, his voice deep and resonant, like distant thunder.
"We are only a few hours from the Colchis System. Begin warp transit immediately and reinforce the battlefield at maximum speed. Every minute is precious. We cannot leave our Word Bearers brothers to face the enemy's attacks alone."
His orders were quickly relayed.
The Fireforged's engines began to rumble, and the entire warship's hull trembled slightly—a sign that its warp engine was starting up.
Vulkan tightened his grip on his warhammer, his fingers lightly rubbing the haft as he felt the cold metal beneath them.
A trace of worry flashed in his eyes. He did not know what was happening