Though the cruiser's hull had suffered catastrophic damage, its propulsion systems remained largely functional. Nevertheless, to ensure the vessel did not shake itself apart mid-transit, the ratings at the helm maintained a reduced speed.
Nearby, the Navigator responsible for triangulation worked tirelessly. He constantly recalculated the distance to that faint, guttering beacon while scanning the surrounding celestial sea. Yet, no matter how much effort he exerted, he could not precisely fix their position. Judging solely by the prominent position of the Great Rift, he could only determine that they were somewhere on the northwestern fringe of Segmentum Obscurus. Their specific sector remained a complete mystery.
"Captain, I cannot determine our exact coordinates. I can only confirm we remain within the bounds of Segmentum Obscurus, though we are at its very edge. We lack any viable reference planets or systems. However, we are within a few hundred kilometers of the source of that faint beacon."
The Captain nodded silently, sinking into deep thought. He had never heard of another Astronomican existing in the galaxy besides the one on Holy Terra. Even if this one was so minuscule as to be nearly imperceptible, it was still a beacon of the same nature. It was common knowledge that only the Emperor Himself, through His own divine will and the tireless maintenance of the Adeptus Terra, could sustain the Great Beacon that lit the path for the entire galaxy.
How could a remote, desolate region harbor a second, dying beacon? Such a thing would require a massive expenditure of psychic energy, a miracle of the highest order.
As he pondered, a cold dread coiled in his gut. The light of the Astronomican was a clarion call to the Neverborn of the warp, its surging psychic resonance an eternal lure for daemonic scrutiny. Only the Emperor possessed the power to withstand such corruption. Unless... unless this beacon was fueled by the burning essence of a Greater Daemon itself.
As time ground on, a verdant, emerald-green world manifested in the viewports. According to the Navigator's guidance, the beacon was situated on the surface of this very planet.
The battered cruiser performed a cautious orbital sweep of the world, but its sensors detected no signs of artificial structures. Not even a trace of xenos architecture appeared. This only deepened the collective confusion. How could a beacon exist without any supporting infrastructure? How was it maintained? And by whom?
"Ah—!"
The Navigator suddenly let out a sharp, hesitant cry. As the Captain turned a questioning gaze toward him, he saw the Navigator's pale face twisted in profound bewilderment.
"The beacon... it has gone out. I... I felt a roar of an angry, malevolent soul as it recoiled back into the Immaterium."
Below them, the unnamed planet remained lush and vibrant, yet it seemed shrouded in a peculiar veil that defied the ship's scanners. Mystery and the unknown clung to the world like a shroud. There were no space stations, no starports, no orbital docks, not even a single Imperial bastion.
Even with a contingent of Space Marines aboard, repairing a ship of this size was beyond their capabilities. Without a drydock or fresh supplies, the heavily damaged vessel was precariously fragile.
"This does not seem to be the correct location."
Calanthus had returned to the bridge. He studied the massive displays, then turned a dubious eye toward the Captain. He had removed his helmet, his eyes narrowing as if trying to peer into the officer's very soul. He seriously doubted whether the Captain's spirit had been compromised by the warp. Why else would he have opened fire under such irrational circumstances, only to lead the entire ship to a place devoid of any hope for resupply?
Though Calanthus could not summarily relieve him of command yet, the man was firmly marked in his mind. Perhaps the Inquisition would not be necessary after all.
The Captain looked at Calanthus with a face full of grievance. "My Lord, the beacon the Navigator perceived in the warp originated from this planet. And just moments ago, that beacon was extinguished."
Calanthus had never heard of such a thing. "Swear by your faith and by the Name of the Emperor, Captain. There is but one Astronomican in the galaxy. And yet you tell me another exists here? Do you take me for a fool?"
As Calanthus pressed the Captain, the Navigator slowly descended from his high dais.
"Honored Brother of the Astartes, I pray you do not heap further blame upon the Captain. I swear by the honor and name of House Orchallore, I did indeed see the glimmer of a minor beacon. It was that very light, though now extinguished, that allowed me to guide this ship safely out of the Empyrean."
Calanthus's massive frame cast a suffocating shadow, his gaze heavy with the weight of a demigod's judgment. Yet the Navigator did not flinch.
"Orchallore. A prominent Navigator House of the Ultramar Sector. Who are you?"
Calanthus rarely concerned himself with the identities of mortals, but the current situation was too dire; even trust had to be rationed. The ship had only just escaped the warp, plagued by a space hulk collision and psychic miasma. No one knew what hidden rot remained within the decks. Aside from his battle-brothers and Axion, who appeared entirely immune to the warp, Calanthus trusted almost no one.
The Navigator silently pulled back the sleeve of his robe, revealing a pale arm marked with a distinct sigil. Calanthus recognized it instantly. Since becoming one of the Invictarii, he had been stationed in Ultramar to guard the Sanctum of the Primarch. During his service there, he had seen this mark more than once. A Navigator bearing this brand was no mere servant, but a scion of significant standing within the lineage.
"I am Sunard Orchallore. Thirteenth son of the primary bloodline."
Calanthus scrutinized the youth, who appeared even more frail and pallid than the average rating. The warp-eye upon his brow shimmered with a pale violet luminescence so unique that even Calanthus felt a momentary flicker of disorientation.
"The word of a Great House scion has saved you, Captain," Calanthus grunted. He turned back to the task at hand. "Where are we now? Where is the nearest Imperial facility? This ship must be repaired immediately. The mission cannot be delayed."
Before the Captain could answer, Sunard spoke up. "Forgive me, my Lord, but I have not been able to fix our position. I do not know where we are, only that we are on the far northwestern edge of Segmentum Obscurus."
This gave Calanthus a mounting headache. "Northwest Obscurus? We were just at a Mandeville point in the East."
"Curse that space hulk."
Even Calanthus knew that in their current state, attempting another warp jump would be a death sentence. The damaged Geller field could no longer shield the ship; the Neverborn would invade the decks incessantly throughout the transit. And while the Tech-Priests claimed the ship's Machine Spirit had vanished, perhaps preventing the ship itself from falling into sentient corruption, that fact did little to help them now.
"Why have we stopped? Is this planet our destination?"
Axion's mechanical voice rang out abruptly from behind the group.
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