When Lox truly stepped into the core of the Old Ones' treasury, setting both feet upon that strange ground formed from pure psychic energy, an unusual calm replaced the excitement and exhilaration he had expected, soaking into his heart like a warm spring.
To reach this place, he had paid an unimaginable price.
The struggle to gather the three divine artifacts, the hardship of rebuilding the Webway shield-borer—every step had been steeped in blood and fire.
The massive remnants of Vashtorr, Lord of the Forge, had cooled beneath his feet. He had conquered Commorragh, the twisted nest of the Drukhari. The Battle of Cadia, which decided the fate of the galaxy, had also ended in his hands...
Yet the force driving him had never been the dazzling treasure of the Old Ones before him.
What had sustained him all along was a simple, pure conviction—for humanity's survival and glory.
This treasure was more like an additional gift bestowed by fate upon one who had resolutely pressed onward, an unexpected blessing added to the bloom.
To gain it was fortunate; to lose it would not shake him in the slightest.
After countless trials by war and interrogations of the soul, he had long shed the uncertainty and desire to withdraw from the world that had plagued him when he first awakened from his long slumber.
Now, he was a true pillar capable of standing shoulder to shoulder with the Emperor and supporting the Imperium of Man.
Lox's gaze swept across the wonder before him, composed of the Old Ones' legacy.
Countless "stars" condensed from pure information and psychic energy floated in orderly formation throughout the profound expanse, slowly revolving according to some ancient and exquisite rhythm, outlining a flowing miniature vision of the cosmos.
"These..."
Lox's gaze suddenly froze. Instinctively comparing