The black void of interstitial space filled the viewport of the Wayward Spirit as it journeyed homeward back to Betrigon. Antarus found himself unable to look away from it as if something would reach out and snatch him if he were to do so. The amethyst glow of the bridge’s control consoles provided the only light, reflecting off the sculpted bronze and silver walls.

“We are nearing the emergence point, Holy One," Beraxes relayed from the half empty crew pit beneath him. Antarus grunted in acknowledgement. The dull pain growing in the back of his head had told him that already, just as it always did when nearing the Crimson Gate.

“Purificant,” said a voice beneath him, to his right. It was Idarian. “Is there anything else from my findings that you wish to review before we make it to the surface?”

Antarus activated his holo-display and glanced through the images his acolyte had captured during her expedition. “No. These images should suffice. However, I believe it would be prudent for you to accompany me to the Sanctum.”

Beraxes shot a venomous glance at Idarian. “Would it not be better for the entire warband to accompany you, my lord? The Traelich may desire to speak with all- “

“If the Traelich wishes to speak with you, then I will seek you out," Antarus said. “But I will not impose upon his time. His duties leave precious little of it.”

“But Idar-“

Antarus stood and stepped down into the crew pit. He rested his hand upon Beraxes’s shoulder plate, along the impossibly smooth edge of where the automaton had shorn the rest of it off. “I will send for you, if I have need of it. Pray that I do not.”

The acolyte lookedat the floor and wordlessly hunched over his station. Beraxes’s relentless ambition had once won him Antarus’s favor, but the acolyte had only proven to be a nuisance as of late. And to undermine him so openly?

Perhaps I will grant him a command, one that might teach him humility. A battalion of ferals would provide quite the learning experience.

A gong rang three times, warning the crew of their imminent emergence before the blackness filling the viewport slowly filled with color as the vessel transitioned back into normal space. Antarus remained standing as his underlings scrambled for seats. The hull shook beneath their feet, building in strength for several seconds before gradually dissipating.

Antarus felt a slight queasiness as he watched the shifting shapes and colors of the viewport blur and sharpened into a coherent image, a spectacle no mortal mind was built for. The shifting ceased. Before him lay Betrigon, capital of the Idex Ecclesium. A web of lights twinkled from the dark side of the planet’s surface, shielded from the sole luminance provided by the Crimson Gate. The churning mass of black and ruby hung behind the planet like a gaping maw, casting the world into an eternal pink twilight.

“Bring us directly to the Sanctum’s private spaceport," Antarus said. One of his underlings nodded and began conversing with the orbital traffic control to arrange passage. Veins of ships traveled to and from the planet’s surface, crawling as fast as the orbital traffic control would allow. The Wayward Spirit sped past them all. Such were the privileges of a Purificant.

A tightness grew in his stomach as the ship tore through the atmosphere down to the surface. Through the pink mist, vast silhouettes of towers and space elevators flashed past.

You should not have fled. So long as you draw breath, more could have yet been given.

The decision to flee had festered like a sore the entire journey home. It had been a hasty decision but one he had not taken lightly. The force that had driven them off had been pitiful, a small band of Pyreborn and humans. A drop in the flood of souls he had already sent into the void during his time. He could have just as easily taken them alone without the aid of his warband. But for all he had known, it had just been the tip of a greater spear.

He looked at the empty stations within the crew pit, the ache in his head sharpening.

Those lives were the Ecclesium’s to spend, not yours. And all for a handful of images and conjecture.

The pain compounded into a persistent ringing. He ground his teeth and breathed.

‘To despair is to fail.’

At last, you find a true challenge, only to flee from it.

‘To fail is to die.’

How long has it been since you faced the enemy beyond the gate? This galaxy has made you indolent- incompetent.

‘To die is to be damned.’

He felt a sharp heat as his neural connection to the armor hummed, and the pain lessened. No. There had been no choice but to flee. To stay and invite death would have meant leaving the rest of the Idex ignorant of this new threat. He would leave further judgment to the Traelich.

Bursting through the clouds, the Wayward Spirit began its descent to the Sanctum of the Traelich. The citadel sprawled for miles, a small patch in a blanket of cityscape. A central spire rose from its center, with several dozen docking bays honeycombing its exterior. The ship’s hull groaned as it entered one of the bays, and gravitic arrestors caught the vessel and slowed its entry into the yawning hangar.

“Follow in silence," Antarus said to Idarian as they hurried across the empty bay and into the adjoining passage, his long strides leaving the acolyte scurrying to keep up. This docking bay was the closest to the Traelich’s chambers, for which he was thankful. His transmission had been succinct, but clearly, his sense of urgency had been understood.

After several twists and turns, the final stretch of their trek ended in a long hall lined with rich, wooden columns carved into figures. Each one portrayed the true form of the Idex, as the universe had crafted them, holding the weight of the citadel above them. Their stoic faces showed no sign of exertion, with their sculpted noses turned upward from Antarus as he strode past them.

“Wait here,” Antarus said, his pace unaltered. Idarian remained in the hall, straining her head to bask in the image of their forebears.

 Antarus felt the heat flare again in the back of his head as he approached the end of the hall, a set of wooden doors flanked by two Idex standing sentinel in their pearl armor, hands clutched around their blades. They were as still as the statues around them, making no move to halt him as he passed beneath them.

Through the doors, he entered a small chamber, sat upon a small bench in its center, and faced the arched alcove at its back. Inside of it was another statue. Like the others, it was wooden but smaller and slightly faded. Robes had been carved onto it rather than armor, made of deep mahogany. The violet gems embossed into its eyes bore into him.

“I sense a weight upon you, Purificant,” said a dry, rasping voice hidden somewhere behind the statue. “Unburden yourself.”

“As you will it, my Traelich," Antarus looked down away from its eyes. “Your archives were indeed correct, there was a Promised World at the coordinates you gave me, but…it was occupied.”

There was a moment of silence. “By whom?”

“By species once thought cleansed, humans and korokti, and I believe others are there as well.” Antarus looked back into the gems. “Neither race was space-faring at the time of their humbling.”

“I take it that the ones who brought them there are why you sit before me, then?”

“Yes, my lord. We encountered only one. It personally slew five of my warriors in our attempt to capture it.”

The Traelich was silent for several heartbeats. “Confess your tale.”

The only measure of time in the Sanctum of Traelich was the beating of one’s own heart, and judging by Antarus’s, many hundreds had already passed by the time he reached the end of his tale. But in the silence that followed its completion, even that metric could no longer be relied upon.

Finally, the Traelich spoke. “A mechanical being of this sort is…it tapped its forehead. Are you certain?”

“Beyond doubt.”

The gems twinkled. “You were right to return. This thing is the work of the Ancients.”

Antarus could feel time pass again. “That was my suspicion, as well. It would explain its armament and the inscriptions on its armor. The language looked like a variation of Illinic.”

“It is likely a successor-tongue, one born from those who remained on this side of the Gate after its closing.," the Traelich said.

“Could our betrayers still live?” Antarus asked.

The Traelich contemplated for a heartbeat. “Perhaps in body, but in spirit…no. If they were, they would have met us in open battle as soon as they were aware of our incursion into this galaxy. They would have been stationed at the Gate itself, in force.”

Antarus nodded in understanding. “Then what could have been their fate? No other race of that era could have threatened them.”

“We have not yet surveyed even half of the Mother Galaxy yet, Antarus. It may very well be that another gate was created and that they simply abandoned this galaxy as they did us. They certainly had the knowledge and the means to.” The Traelich paused and took a labored breath. “These humans…you said that they were able to repair the transit system. They did this on their own, without the aid of the automaton?”

“Yes, my lord. They were able to operate it as well.”

The Traelich made a coarse growl. “I dislike this. And with the Pyreborn pretenders there, as well? This reeks of conspiracy.”

“Human warriors were present among the Pyreborn reinforcements, as well.”

The Traelich sighed. “What was the state of the world? Perhaps time will have denied them the treasure we sought.”

Antarus pulled Idarian’s holo-disk from his belt and held it in his palm. “I am sorry, my Traelich, but the works of the Illinic have endured.”

He pressed its activation trigger, and an image of light burgeoned into being. Projecting from it was the image of a chasm, its bottom hidden by darkness and dust. At first glance, its walls appeared to be lined with causeways and doors, with oddly shaped bridges connecting it to the far side. But as one’s eyes settled, the shapes of cranes and welding arms grew distinct, and the strange bridges took on the silhouette of a vessel. Or rather, the skeleton of one.

“The fruit we once hoped to harvest from this expedition may yet be our poison,” said the Traelich. “These ‘Penitent’ may have more knowledge to offer besides the simple mechanics of trains. Would that I could question one… ”

Antarus set his jaw and clicked the trigger again, this time projecting a hydroponic farm, with green spanning almost out of sight and illuminated by scores of ultraviolet lights. “And this is only the depths directly beneath the area we scoured. Imagine what else might be hidden.”

“And in the hands of our enemies.” The Traelich sighed. “If it were only these upjumped primitives, then I would rest easy. But with the Pyreborn there too…this bodes ill.”

Antarus straightened. “My Traelich, this is an unprecedented challenge, yes, but not an ill-timed one. We have already begun the preparations for new offensives towards the galactic south, but let us instead simply redirect this effort towards this new foe.”

The Traelich was silent in thought for several heartbeats. “But is this threat greater than the one to the south? A hive mind is not something to be ignored.”

“I agree, but neither is letting the secrets of the Illinic be handed over to our enemies. The Pyreborn lack the technology to stand against us, but not the will. And the Compact already possess several other Promised Worlds, inert but merely waiting for a knowledgeable master.”

Hidden fingers pattered behind the statue. “This is truth. We cannot hope to hold our defenses beyond the Gate if our efforts stall here. Fallen, help us. And we are still yet years away from being able to close the Gate itself.”

“Then the choice is clear, then.” Antarus clenched his fist. “We must drive into the heart of these pretenders and claim our birthright.”

“No. It is not.," said the Traelich. “Hadriel’s forces beyond the Gate are in need of reinforcements, but he cannot provide them with the assaults in the South. The hives must be culled. Cleansed.”

Antarus curled his lip. “My Traelich, the Sect of Foundations, is more than well enough equipped to hold the southern line. A hivemind, it may be, but it is a primitive one, just like the rest of the species in this galaxy. All Hadriel must do is simply tow a fortress to the-”

Antarus’s head felt as if it had been set aflame. The gems blazed a fierce light.

“What is your title?” said the Traelich.

“I am your Purificant,” said Antarus, through gritted teeth. “A blade of the Sect of Cleansing avowed to blaze our path to salvation and purify it of those who…” His head flared. “...obstruct it.”

The gems dimmed, and the shroud of pain lifted. “Indeed. A blade. A tool with a defined purpose, to cut and stab, not to block. Use a blade as a shield, and it will chip, bend, and shatter.”

“Yes, my Traelich.”

“A Purificant is a fine blade indeed, masterfully grown and crafted to carve the will of the Idex across the stars…but not unbreakable. Do not presume to know Hadriel’s best course. Not when you struggle to see your own”. The Traelich took several labored breaths. “But this new threat cannot be left unchallenged either, and to allow one of the other Domains to meet it would be a show of weakness.”

Antarus remained silent, knowing better than to comment on the high politics of the Ecclesium.

“This new campaign will be yours," said the Traelich, “But you will meet with Hadriel before it is undertaken to ascertain the best course for the hives as well any logistical concerns that he may have. How you conduct the undertaking is up to you. I only require that the Promised World be taken intact and that some of these ‘Penitent’ be preserved for questioning.”

Antarus straightened and looked into the violet gems. “As you will it.”

“And to aid in this endeavor, you will have a legion of the newest additions to the Preserved at your disposal.”

“You have finished your sculpting of the Sarians, my lord?” Antarus asked.

“Indeed, I have," said the Traelich with warm satisfaction. “As I remember it, they were one of the first to have locked their blades with yours. Or at least their machines were.”

Antarus rose and bowed. “Thank you, my Traelich. I look forward to testing them in battle.”

“As do I, Antarus,” said the Traelich, “Blades may shatter, but one can always melt them down and craft them into something new.”