Act II – Shadows of Faith - Mission 1: Shadow of entry
The Argent Reach drifted lifeless in the graveyard of the Shattered Halo, its secrets stripped bare and its captain silenced. From its fractured logs and hidden ledgers, the truth had begun to emerge—fragmented, obscured, but undeniable. The trail led inward, into Imperial space, toward systems watched and recorded by machines that forgot nothing and forgave even less. If the Shadowspire entered openly, it would be marked, tracked, and hunted within hours. So the decision was made. They would not enter as intruders. They would enter as ghosts.
The Outer Listening Post hung in the void like a patient sentinel—an unremarkable structure of grey plating and antenna spires, its cogitators endlessly cataloguing the movement of ships along the fringe. It was not heavily armed. It did not need to be.
Its weapon was knowledge. And that made it dangerous.
“We get in, we alter the logs, we leave,” Jalen Varr said as the boarding craft cut its engines and drifted toward the station’s maintenance bay. “No prolonged engagement. No heroics.”
A faint glance passed between the Corsairs. No one commented.
Behind them, Kai Sho’var adjusted the interface rig at his wrist, his movements stiff. The bruising from the Argent Reach had not yet faded, and the way he favoured one side made it clear he was still far from recovered.
“I’ll need time at the cogitator,” he said. “Once I’m in, I can embed the Shadowspire into their records. After that, we’re invisible.”
Voss said nothing. His gaze was fixed ahead, unreadable. The breach was clean. The approach was not.
It began with a mistake. A single moment. A misjudged strike.
A Corsair slipped from the shadows behind an Imperial security guard, blade poised for a silent kill—but the guard turned at the wrong instant. The strike glanced instead of biting true.
The guard shouted. And in that instant, everything unravelled.
Gunfire erupted through the corridor, las-bolts flashing in sharp red streaks as the alarm klaxons screamed to life. The station, moments ago silent and unaware, awakened with violent clarity. “Contact!” Varr snapped. “We’ve lost stealth—push forward!” The team surged into motion, abandoning subtlety for speed. Pulse rifles answered lasguns, shuriken rounds tearing through narrow corridors as the crew fought their way deeper into the station. The Listening Post had teeth after all.
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| The sniper drone supports Varr in his advance to the cogitator. |
They reached the cogitator chamber under fire.
It was a wide, open space dominated by towering banks of machinery, cables and data-streams flickering in cold light. Imperial troopers had already begun to fortify positions, their shots hammering into the advancing crew.
“Kai!” Varr called. “Now!”
The Pathfinder hacker stumbled forward, sliding into cover behind the central console. His hands moved quickly, despite the tremor in them, interface tools biting into the system as he forced his way past layered security protocols.
“I’m in—” he hissed, then flinched as a las-bolt scorched the console above his head. “—give me time!”
“You have it,” Varr replied, turning to lay down suppressive fire.
The chamber became a storm of motion and violence.
At the far edge of the room, Captain Voss moved.
Without hesitation, he vaulted a low barrier—a meshwork maintenance fence separating the main floor from a service corridor—and landed amidst a cluster of advancing troopers. His power sword ignited in a flare of light, its edge cutting through the dimness as he struck.
The first trooper fell before he could react.
The second tried to bring his weapon to bear, but Voss was already upon him, blade flashing, movement precise and lethal.
For a moment, it seemed as though he would carve a path alone.
Then the weight of numbers fell upon him.
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| Voss is overwhelmed |
A rifle butt struck his side. A shot grazed his shoulder. Another trooper drove forward, forcing him back a step.
The swirl of melee tightened.
Even Voss could not hold against them all.
He struck one last time, driving his blade through a trooper’s guard, then disengaged in a blur of motion, retreating back over the barrier as covering fire from the Pathfinders forced the Imperials to hesitate.
He landed hard, favouring his side.
“I am… not unscathed,” he said quietly.
“Fall back into line,” Varr replied. “We’re not done yet.”
Above them, the sniper drone BF421 rose to gain a vantage point, its optics locking onto targets as it began to pick off advancing troopers with mechanical precision.
For a brief moment, the tide seemed to stabilise.
Then a burst of concentrated fire struck the drone mid-hover.
It shuddered, systems sparking violently as its stabilisers failed. A second volley tore through its chassis, and the machine dropped from the air in a broken arc, crashing against the deck in a heap of smoking wreckage.
“Drone down!” someone shouted.
The pressure mounted.
More Imperial troops poured into the chamber, responding to the blaring alarms. The Listening Post was no longer a passive observer—it was a fortress under siege.
Through it all, Kai worked.
Blood trickled down his sleeve. His breathing was uneven. But his hands did not stop.
“Almost… there…” he muttered, forcing his way deeper into the system. “Just—hold them—”
A final surge of code flashed across the display.
“I’ve done it!” he gasped. “The Shadowspire is in their logs—we’re clean!”
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| Kai at the cogitator under heavy fire |
“Then we leave,” Varr said immediately. “All units—fall back!”
The withdrawal was anything but orderly.
As the crew began to pull back through the corridors, the weight of Imperial reinforcements bore down on them. Shots followed them every step of the way, forcing them to fight for every metre.
Varion Duskrunner was among the last to disengage.
He turned once, firing into the advancing line, buying time for the others. For a moment, he stood alone in the corridor, framed by the flashing red light of the alarm.
Then the return fire came.
It struck hard and without mercy.
He staggered, then fell, his form collapsing amidst the storm of las-fire.
There was no chance to recover him.
No time to mourn.
Veyron was not there to see it—but somewhere aboard the Shadowspire, something would feel the absence.
Varion Duskrunner had followed his brother into the beyond, into whatever awaited the Aeldari dead beyond the veil.
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Aeldari gunner |
“Move!” Varr shouted. “Move now!”
The team broke into a full retreat, racing for the extraction point as the station roared around them.
Ash “Coldshot” Corrin found himself cut off.
A pair of Imperial troopers moved to intercept, one levelling his rifle while the other raised a grenade launcher.
Ash didn’t hesitate.
He fired first, dropping one trooper—but the second launched his shot. The explosion tore through the corridor, throwing Ash back against the wall in a burst of flame and shrapnel.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
Then, through sheer will, he forced himself upright.
“Not today…” he muttered.
The remaining trooper advanced—but Ash was already moving, slipping past him with a sudden burst of speed, ducking low, weaving through the chaos. A shot grazed past him, close enough to burn—but not enough to stop him.
He reached the extraction point seconds later, diving aboard as the hatch slammed shut behind him.
The boarding craft tore away from the Listening Post under fire, engines flaring as it carried the survivors back toward the waiting Shadowspire.
Behind them, the station still burned with alarm—but its records told a different story.
A compliant vessel had passed through.
Nothing more.
Inside the Shadowspire, silence fell heavily.
They had succeeded.
They had entered Imperial space unseen.
But the cost was undeniable.
Varion Duskrunner was gone.
The crew was wounded.
And the war they had stepped into was only just beginning.
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