After the chaos of suspicion and betrayal, the Fifth Ring looked especially... sacred.
Here stood an immense Pantheon that reached into the heavens. Countless colossal statues towered within it, each depicting a warrior of the Ember Legion.
These statues were flawless, brimming with heroism. Beneath them, countless worshippers knelt, prayed, and chanted their names, praising their deeds.
"Look! That's Yriel! The guardian of Iyanden! He stood against the tide of corruption with his own body!"
"That's the old chieftain of Saim-Hann! His sacrifice awakened his fallen kin!"
"And there's us! We're heroes! We're the saints who saved the Aeldari!"
This was a temptation greater than power-the vanity of being acknowledged, worshipped, and remembered.
For warriors who had fought and sacrificed every step of the way, this "affirmation" held a fatal allure. They saw all their efforts given meaning. They had become legends, become myths.
Some warriors' soul-flames drifted involuntarily toward their own statues, seeking to merge with those "perfect" heroic images.
Yet the moment they entered the statues, their soul-flames would freeze, turning them into real, unthinking statues, forever immersed in this false glory-another collectible in the Pantheon.
"Stay focused! This isn't the end!" Yvraine's will echoed through the legion. A trace of sorrow colored her voice, for she saw her own statue standing among them, worshipped by countless followers of the Reaper Host.
Just as the legion once again faced the danger of falling apart, Liu Zhipeng, the leader who had remained silent all this time, finally acted.
His will became a series of clear, true images, displayed before every soul.
They saw... realspace.
They saw Guilliman leading the remnants of the Imperial Fleet on the outskirts of the Eye of Terror, building a desperate wall with flesh and blood. Countless Space Marines fell in battle against daemons, and