Word Count: 9,990
Series: Warhammer
Source: Chatgbt (revised and transformed into an aesthetically narrative novel)
My 'What if' I given idea: same concept in chapter 3
Original Characters: golden knight, witch, cat, etc.
The tear in reality bled violet light, crackling with an eerie hum that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened veterans of the Imperium. It hovered in the void, just beyond a distant system, shifting like an open wound in the fabric of space. The Adeptus Mechanicus were the first to take notice, their long-range sensors screaming about anomalies that defied both logic and known physics. To them, such a thing could only be the work of the Warp—an unstable rift that risked pouring forth horrors beyond reckoning.
The Ordo Xenos caught wind next. Inquisitor Karis Valtor, a man who had burned entire worlds to halt the spread of abomination, was swift to react. He ordered the quarantine of the system, declaring the anomaly a heretical aberration, an omen of destruction yet to come. A strike force of Deathwatch kill teams stood ready, prepared to burn whatever dared to crawl forth.
But nothing came.
Days passed. Then weeks. The rift remained—unchanging, pulsing with silent menace. The Mechanicus, ever eager to decipher the unknown, deployed servitor drones. They vanished upon crossing the threshold. No signal. No return. The Magos were torn between reverence and paranoia. Was this some forbidden knowledge, a test of the Machine God's chosen? Or was it the laughter of daemons, hiding behind an illusion?
Despite Inquisitor Valtor's objections, an expedition was sanctioned. The rogue trader vessel Gilded Hawk, commanded by Captain Alyxius Dorne, was chosen to enter. A ship of risk-takers, navigators with iron wills, and a crew that had smuggled artifacts from the black depths of the galaxy, they were the only ones willing to take the plunge.
The portal yawned open as they crossed, the ship's hull groaning under forces unknown. Expecting fire and torment, the crew gripped their weapons, bracing for madness and death. But as the light consumed them, reality twisted, and then… peace.
The void was gone. Instead, endless skies stretched above, a sun casting golden light over a land unbroken by war. Vast oceans glittered, untamed forests swayed in the wind, and towering structures of forgotten civilizations stood like silent watchers over this untouched paradise.
Then came the creatures.
Gargantuan reptilian colossi, their shells bearing trees of dripping golden nectar, moved in herds as slow as mountains. Winged beasts, draconic in form yet soft in gaze, grazed upon rolling fields, utterly unbothered by the newcomers. Dolphins unlike any in the known galaxy, covered in metallic scales yet smooth to the touch, breached from the waves in joyful arcs.
It was a world so alien yet so pure. No corruption. No war. No gods whispering madness.
For the first time in their lives, those aboard the Gilded Hawk stood in awe—not of destruction, but of something untouched by mankind's endless cycle of ruin.
The vox crackled. Inquisitor Valtor's voice cut through.
"What do you see?"
Captain Dorne hesitated. How could he describe it? How could he make them understand? If the Imperium knew of this place, it would seek to claim it, to break it, to impose its unyielding doctrine upon something that had existed long before them.
He glanced at his crew, saw the silent agreement in their eyes.
"Nothing," he replied. "The rift leads to a void. There's nothing here."
A pause.
"Understood," came Valtor's response. "We will collapse the anomaly upon your return."
Dorne turned off the vox.
They weren't going back.
The decision was made in silence, unspoken yet absolute. Captain Alyxius Dorne turned to his crew, searching their faces for doubt, for hesitation—but he found none. These were people who had seen the worst of the galaxy, who had fought, killed, and suffered under the unrelenting grind of the Imperium's rule. Now, standing in a world free from its grasp, they knew what had to be done.
The Gilded Hawk would not return.
As the rift shimmered behind them, its jagged edges still humming with unstable energy, the crew set to work. Navigation charts were erased. The ship's Astropath, a frail woman named Leora, sat trembling as she severed her connection to the Astronomican, cutting their last link to the Imperium's great beacon of control. Her mind, usually burdened with the ceaseless whispers of the Warp, felt quiet for the first time in years. She wept.
Dorne took one last look at the rift. On the other side lay duty, war, the endless march of oppression. He turned away. "We move forward," he said. "Not back."
The first months were spent exploring. They learned that the land stretched infinitely, that the sky had no stars—only a vast, shifting canvas of colors that changed with no discernible pattern. The seas ran endlessly, plunging into unfathomable depths, but held no true bottom. This was no planet. This was something greater.
The creatures, too, defied everything they knew. The massive reptilian titans, their shells carrying groves of fruit-bearing trees, moved in slow, ponderous migrations, the honeyed nectar they produced sustaining entire ecosystems around them. The dragon-like beasts, though fearsome in appearance, were docile, watching the newcomers with intelligent, unthreatening eyes. The scaled dolphins, both sleek and armored, sang in tones that resonated through the very bones of those who listened.
But most fascinating were the ruins. Towering monoliths, temples, and vast cities built by hands long vanished. Vines and moss crawled over ancient stone, rivers ran through crumbled avenues, and colossal statues gazed eternally toward the horizon. The architecture was alien yet eerily familiar, as if it belonged to a time before humanity had known itself. The Imperium had records of every species it had exterminated, every civilization it had crushed—yet none matched what they found here.
Something had lived here once. Something vast. Something old. And yet, there was no sign of struggle, no scars of war. Unlike every other dead civilization the Imperium had encountered, this one had simply… faded.
Dorne stood before an archway inscribed with unknown glyphs, running his fingers over the weathered stone. "Whatever built this," he murmured, "it didn't fall to war. It left. But why?"
No answer came.
More weeks passed, and with each discovery, the crew felt something growing within them—something they had never known before. Freedom. True freedom. For the first time, they were not beholden to orders, to doctrines, to the unyielding cruelty of their former masters. Here, in this untouched place, they could begin again.
But the Imperium was not so easily left behind.
The rift, though silent, had not gone unnoticed. The Inquisition had grown restless with the lack of response from the Gilded Hawk. They sent more probes, more servitors, but like the first, they vanished upon entry. Unwilling to leave the mystery unsolved, Inquisitor Karis Valtor took more drastic measures.
He called the Grey Knights.
A strike force of the Emperor's most devoted warriors, clad in silvered Aegis armor, their minds warded against the temptations of the Warp, their purpose absolute. If the anomaly was a threat, they would purge it. If it was a secret, they would bury it.
Their warship, the Exalted Wrath, arrived at the rift's edge. Psychic augurs pulsed, scanning for corruption, for any trace of Chaos—but they found none. This only made them more uneasy. A rift that led to nowhere? Impossible.
Grand Master Thalorian made his decision. "We enter."
The Exalted Wrath pushed through the crack in reality.
Dorne and his people felt it immediately. The sky darkened, the air grew heavy. The world, so peaceful before, seemed to shudder at the intrusion. The titanic creatures paused in their slow movements, the winged beasts lifted their heads, the scaled dolphins ceased their songs. Something had changed.
The Imperium had come.
The decision was made in silence, unspoken yet absolute. Captain Alyxius Dorne turned to his crew, searching their faces for doubt, for hesitation—but he found none. These were people who had seen the worst of the galaxy, who had fought, killed, and suffered under the unrelenting grind of the Imperium's rule. Now, standing in a world free from its grasp, they knew what had to be done.
The Gilded Hawk would not return.
As the rift shimmered behind them, its jagged edges still humming with unstable energy, the crew set to work. Navigation charts were erased. The ship's Astropath, a frail woman named Leora, sat trembling as she severed her connection to the Astronomican, cutting their last link to the Imperium's great beacon of control. Her mind, usually burdened with the ceaseless whispers of the Warp, felt quiet for the first time in years. She wept.
Dorne took one last look at the rift. On the other side lay duty, war, the endless march of oppression. He turned away. "We move forward," he said. "Not back."
The first months were spent exploring. They learned that the land stretched infinitely, that the sky had no stars—only a vast, shifting canvas of colors that changed with no discernible pattern. The seas ran endlessly, plunging into unfathomable depths, but held no true bottom. This was no planet. This was something greater.
The creatures, too, defied everything they knew. The massive reptilian titans, their shells carrying groves of fruit-bearing trees, moved in slow, ponderous migrations, the honeyed nectar they produced sustaining entire ecosystems around them. The dragon-like beasts, though fearsome in appearance, were docile, watching the newcomers with intelligent, unthreatening eyes. The scaled dolphins, both sleek and armored, sang in tones that resonated through the very bones of those who listened.
But most fascinating were the ruins. Towering monoliths, temples, and vast cities built by hands long vanished. Vines and moss crawled over ancient stone, rivers ran through crumbled avenues, and colossal statues gazed eternally toward the horizon. The architecture was alien yet eerily familiar, as if it belonged to a time before humanity had known itself. The Imperium had records of every species it had exterminated, every civilization it had crushed—yet none matched what they found here.
Something had lived here once. Something vast. Something old. And yet, there was no sign of struggle, no scars of war. Unlike every other dead civilization the Imperium had encountered, this one had simply… faded.
Dorne stood before an archway inscribed with unknown glyphs, running his fingers over the weathered stone. "Whatever built this," he murmured, "it didn't fall to war. It left. But why?"
No answer came.
More weeks passed, and with each discovery, the crew felt something growing within them—something they had never known before. Freedom. True freedom. For the first time, they were not beholden to orders, to doctrines, to the unyielding cruelty of their former masters. Here, in this untouched place, they could begin again.
But the Imperium was not so easily left behind.
The rift, though silent, had not gone unnoticed. The Inquisition had grown restless with the lack of response from the Gilded Hawk. They sent more probes, more servitors, but like the first, they vanished upon entry. Unwilling to leave the mystery unsolved, Inquisitor Karis Valtor took more drastic measures.
He called the Grey Knights.
A strike force of the Emperor's most devoted warriors, clad in silvered Aegis armor, their minds warded against the temptations of the Warp, their purpose absolute. If the anomaly was a threat, they would purge it. If it was a secret, they would bury it.
Their warship, the Exalted Wrath, arrived at the rift's edge. Psychic augurs pulsed, scanning for corruption, for any trace of Chaos—but they found none. This only made them more uneasy. A rift that led to nowhere? Impossible.
Grand Master Thalorian made his decision. "We enter."
The Exalted Wrath pushed through the crack in reality.
Dorne and his people felt it immediately. The sky darkened, the air grew heavy. The world, so peaceful before, seemed to shudder at the intrusion. The titanic creatures paused in their slow movements, the winged beasts lifted their heads, the scaled dolphins ceased their songs. Something had changed.
The Imperium had come.
The Exalted Wrath emerged from the rift like a spear piercing calm waters. Its armored hull, forged for war, looked out of place against the endless skies and rolling landscapes stretching far beyond its void-dark metal. The Grey Knights stood at the ready, bolters primed, minds braced for the horrors they had been trained to face.
Yet no horrors came.
What lay before them was not a battlefield of shrieking daemons nor a blighted wasteland of corruption. Instead, they beheld a world untouched by war, untamed yet serene. Vast plains rippled under golden light, broken only by colossal ruins standing like the bones of a forgotten empire. Herds of massive reptilian creatures moved like slow, living islands, their enormous shells carrying fruit-laden trees, dripping with golden nectar. Winged beasts soared above, their forms fearsome, yet they grazed on the land with the peace of docile cattle. The sea, an endless mirror stretching beyond sight, bore creatures of strange beauty—dolphins clad in metallic scales that shimmered with a soft, otherworldly glow.
No signs of Chaos. No daemonic corruption. No threat.
Silence filled the warship's bridge.
Grand Master Thalorian narrowed his eyes, his mind searching for deception. This place should be wrong. The rift itself had been a wound in reality, a thing that should not be. And yet… there was nothing here that warranted the blade.
"No taint," one of his Justicars muttered, scanning his auspex again as if expecting a hidden horror to reveal itself. "No anomalies."
"Impossible," whispered another. "Something must be concealed. A lure."
"Perhaps the true corruption lies beneath," Thalorian said, though he spoke with less certainty than he wished. "We must investigate."
With the precision of a military strike, the Grey Knights deployed to the surface. Their boots met soft, untouched earth. Their presence felt wrong against the quiet hum of the wind, the rustle of leaves, the gentle lapping of waves on distant shores.
They moved forward in formation, their psychic wards humming against a foe that did not exist. Even the fauna did not flee their presence. A dragon-like beast, its great wings folded as it fed upon the grass, lifted its head and gazed at them with golden eyes—not with fear, nor aggression, but with a calm curiosity.
A Justicar raised his storm bolter. The beast merely blinked.
"Hold," Thalorian commanded. His warriors hesitated but obeyed.
They advanced deeper, finding ruins overtaken by nature. Structures that rivaled any Imperial city in size, now silent. Temples half-buried in earth, their alien scripts worn by time. They had seen countless abandoned worlds before—but never one that felt… peaceful.
One of his men spoke, voice low. "This place… does not feel cursed."
It was a quiet admission, one they would not have dared to say had an Inquisitor been present. It went against everything they had been taught. A rift in reality was to be feared. A world beyond the known stars was to be conquered or purged. And yet, this place did not resist them. It simply was.
And then they found them.
The first signs of humanity—old Imperial banners, worn beyond recognition, draped over the remains of an ancient stone keep. The Gilded Hawk, grounded near the ruins, its hull modified with unfamiliar materials, overgrown with vines and flowers.
And then, the people.
They emerged cautiously—former crew members, now unarmored, dressed in scavenged cloth and materials drawn from the land. Their weapons were holstered. Their faces bore no fear. Only calm.
At their head stood Captain Alyxius Dorne, a man the Imperium had long presumed dead.
Thalorian and Dorne locked eyes.
"So," Dorne said, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "What took you so long?"
Thalorian studied the man before him. A rogue trader, a man who had once served the Imperium's interests, now standing as something else. Something different. Something free.
For the first time in his life, the Grand Master did not know what to do.
Thalorian's gauntleted fingers flexed, his mind racing through the possibilities. This was not what they had been prepared for. A lost crew, not maddened by the Warp, not twisted by xenos influence, but at peace. The thought was more unsettling than any daemon incursion.
Dorne, arms crossed over his chest, studied the Grey Knights with amusement. He had expected the Inquisition, perhaps even an Exterminatus fleet, but them? The Emperor's chosen warriors, forged in fire to battle the worst horrors of existence? That was… interesting.
"You're surprisingly quiet," Dorne said, his voice casual. "Didn't expect a speech about heresy?"
Thalorian's eyes narrowed. "That depends. Have you turned from the Emperor's light?"
Dorne chuckled. "Oh, we left that behind the moment we saw what was on the other side of that rift. I imagine that answer doesn't sit well with you."
The Grey Knights tensed, hands drifting toward weapons, but Thalorian raised a hand.
The silence stretched. The wind whispered through the ruins, carrying the distant calls of the creatures that roamed this land.
Finally, Thalorian spoke. "You severed your connection to the Imperium."
"A long time ago," Dorne admitted. "Best decision I ever made."
One of the Justicars stepped forward. "You abandoned your duty. You should be executed for treason."
Dorne smirked. "That's the funny thing. When we first came here, we thought we were betraying something. But as the days passed, we realized—what had the Imperium ever done for us, except demand we kill and die for a cause that never ends?" He gestured to the land around them. "Out here, we live. Not just survive. We live."
Thalorian's grip on his halberd tightened. This was wrong. The Imperium did not lose people this way. They died in war, in flame, in duty. They were not supposed to simply walk away.
Dorne tilted his head. "You're different from the usual Inquisition lapdogs. So let me ask you something, Knight—have you ever seen a world that didn't need your protection? One that wasn't at war, or drowning in corruption?"
Thalorian hesitated.
That hesitation spoke volumes.
Dorne's smirk widened. "I bet you haven't." He spread his arms. "Take a good look. No Chaos. No xenos overlords. No suffering. Just existence. That's why we stayed. And that's why we're not going back."
The Justicars stiffened, their faith demanding a response.
"Enough," Thalorian said, voice firm. He looked at Dorne, then at the land, then back again. "…This world is an anomaly."
Dorne shrugged. "So is the Imperium, if you think about it. One big, miserable anomaly that shouldn't work, but somehow does. Except this one isn't built on suffering."
Thalorian exhaled slowly. The logical response would be to execute them all. To burn the ship, collapse the rift, and erase this place from existence. That was the Imperial response.
And yet.
The Grey Knights were not blind fanatics. They were chosen not just for their strength, but for their wisdom. They were taught to think, to understand. And standing here, in a world that defied everything he had been trained to believe, Thalorian found himself at a crossroads.
He looked once more at the rift in the sky, still open, still waiting.
He could return. Report that nothing had been found. Let the Inquisition collapse the gateway.
Or…
Dorne watched him carefully, reading the flickers of thought behind those silvered helm eyes. "You don't have to go back, you know."
A dangerous suggestion. A whisper of temptation.
But was it heresy to want something better?
The Grey Knights had always been warriors of the Emperor's will. But now, for the first time, Thalorian wondered—if the Emperor Himself were standing here, seeing what he was seeing…
Would He burn it all down?
Or would He let it be?
The question lingered, heavy and unanswered, as the endless sky stretched above them, waiting.
The decision to stay—whether temporary or permanent—was left unspoken, but understood. The Grey Knights, ever methodical, set up a temporary encampment at the edge of the ruins, near the Gilded Hawk. The structure was simple, efficient—tents of reinforced fabric, defensive perimeters established, automated scanners deployed. It was an instinct more than necessity; they were trained to fortify, to prepare for battle. But there was no battle to be had here.
Dorne and his people watched with mild amusement. "Still expecting an attack?" he mused.
Thalorian didn't answer. Instead, he turned his attention outward. Exploration teams were formed—Grey Knights and rogue traders alike, an uneasy alliance. Some of the warriors still viewed the crew as heretics, but orders were orders. If the Grand Master wished to see more of this world before deciding its fate, they would obey.
The land continued to defy expectations.
They found creatures unlike anything in the known galaxy. Great, bushy-tailed mammals, the size of arboreal primates, moving in chattering groups through the massive trees. Their fur was impossibly soft, a texture finer than any silk, and they feasted upon the golden fruits growing from the living turtle-groves, leaping from shell to shell as the great titans moved below. One of the Justicars watched in stunned silence as a particularly large one landed on his armored shoulder, sniffed his helmet, and then scampered off, utterly fearless.
Then there were the giants.
The first time they saw one, it had been mistaken for a rock formation—a massive mound, motionless in the sunlit field. But as they approached, its vast segmented body stirred, shifting with the slow, deliberate movement of something waking from deep sleep.
It was a centipede, larger than a voidship. Its armor gleamed like polished diamond, its exoskeleton impossibly hard. Yet it did not attack, did not acknowledge their presence beyond a lazy twitch of its antennae before settling once more into slumber. Others like it lay scattered across the fields in loose clusters, their colossal forms at rest. Their food source was surprising—grass, soil microorganisms, and minerals from the land itself.
Then they noticed the shedding.
Great sheets of metallic husks, discarded daily, piled around their resting places. The material was dense, stronger than adamantium, yet pliable enough to be reforged. A natural resource, farmable in a way the Imperium had never encountered. A forge world would kill to harness this.
One of the Techmarines knelt, running a gauntlet over a discarded fragment. "This is impossible."
"No," Dorne corrected, crouching beside him with a grin. "This is opportunity."
Then came the forest.
The sound reached them first—a low, resonant hum, shifting in waves like an unseen orchestra. When they entered, they understood why.
The trees were like great wooden flutes, their hollow trunks carved by time and evolution. The wind passed through them, each trunk a different note, harmonizing into an ever-present song. The flowers added high, sharp tones, their petals vibrating like chimes in the breeze. The mushrooms, nestled among the roots, released deep, percussive sounds when disturbed, forming an eerie yet beautiful rhythm.
A living orchestra, ancient and endless.
The Grey Knights, beings of war, had never seen—or heard—anything like it. Some of them, those who had only known battle, stood in uneasy stillness, unsure how to react. Others, those who still held fragments of curiosity beneath their duty, watched in something close to awe.
But the greatest discovery came when they looked up.
Islands floated above, great masses of land hanging in the endless sky. And beneath them, glowing veins of crystal. The structures were vast, their undersides embedded with immense purple shards, raw and pulsing with unknown power. These crystals manipulated gravity itself, anchoring entire continents in the air.
And they were mineable.
Gold, iron, diamonds—wealth beyond measure lay within those floating lands, all held aloft by this one unknown mineral. A resource that, if harnessed, could change everything.
Dorne's expression was unreadable as he gazed upward. "Tell me, Knight," he murmured. "What would the Imperium do with a place like this?"
Thalorian didn't answer immediately. He already knew.
If the Mechanicus learned of this? They would exploit it until there was nothing left. If the Inquisition deemed it a risk? They would burn it all, just in case. The Imperium was incapable of letting things be.
That thought settled uncomfortably in his mind.
This place was beautiful. Untouched. And perhaps, for the first time in his life, Thalorian found himself wondering if it should stay that way.
The camp remained quiet that night. There were no alarms, no nightmarish howls, no signs of hidden corruption. Only the endless sky above, stars scattered like diamonds, and the distant hum of the orchestral forest singing its eternal song.
The Grey Knights, though ever-vigilant, found themselves thinking.
They had fought across thousands of warzones, burned entire planets clean of heresy, seen horrors that would shatter a lesser man's soul. And yet, standing here, in a place where no blood had been spilled, where no war had ever raged… it unsettled them in ways they could not put into words.
Thalorian stood at the edge of camp, gazing across the horizon. Dorne joined him, arms crossed.
"You haven't called for reinforcements," the rogue trader observed.
Thalorian remained silent for a moment. "I haven't decided if I should."
Dorne smirked. "And that bothers you, doesn't it?"
"It should be a simple choice," the Grand Master admitted. "But nothing here is simple."
A few of his men—those who still held strong to their oaths—kept their distance, their unease growing. They muttered amongst themselves, some even discussing the idea of taking matters into their own hands.
"We shouldn't be here this long," one Justicar whispered to another. "The Grand Master hesitates. That is dangerous."
"If he will not act, then we must," another muttered.
Others, however, were starting to wonder.
A Techmarine examined the shed metals from the great centipedes, his fingers running along the impossibly smooth surface. "Imagine if this material were used for armor," he murmured, half to himself. "An endless supply. No more dwindling resources. No more desperate reclamation efforts on dead worlds."
A younger warrior—one who had yet to drown his soul entirely in duty—sat near the great trees, listening. His helmet was off, his features softened in something close to reverence. "This world sings," he said quietly. "Have you ever heard anything like it?"
"No," another admitted, though he sounded uneasy. "And that's what worries me."
Then there was the question no one dared voice.
Why has Chaos not come?
A world like this should be a beacon, a temptation, a ripe fruit for the Ruinous Powers. And yet… nothing. No whispers of the Warp. No daemonic corruption. It was wrong.
Or was it simply the first right thing they had ever seen?
Thalorian exhaled, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "If I report this," he said slowly, "they will come."
Dorne nodded. "And they will take it. Or destroy it."
The Grand Master clenched his fists. "This world is not ours to claim."
"But neither is it theirs," Dorne countered.
Thalorian turned to him. "Then whose is it?"
Dorne smiled faintly. "Ours, if we choose."
The words were heresy.
But the thought was already there, lurking in the minds of every Knight who allowed himself to think.
For the first time in their existence, they had a choice.
And that, more than anything, terrified them.
The journey deeper into the unknown continued.
Despite the grim theories whispered among the Grey Knights, nothing changed. The portal remained an eerie, unmoving rift—a jagged scar in reality that led to a place that was… simply beautiful. Every time they passed through, the stark contrast of its terrifying entrance and the breathtaking world beyond unsettled them further.
But they pressed on.
Structures became more frequent—vast ruins swallowed by nature, their once-proud forms draped in vines and thick moss. Great domes of stone, cracked yet unbroken. Towering pillars standing in defiance of time, their surfaces worn smooth by wind and rain. Some resembled temples, others grand halls. Streets paved with forgotten symbols, now buried beneath layers of earth and leaves.
An abandoned civilization. Old. Very old.
It was a sight the Imperium had seen many times—dead cities, lost peoples, civilizations that had risen and fallen before humanity ever touched the stars. But this one was different. There were no signs of war, no evidence of destruction. No bodies. No bones. Just absence.
"What happened here?" one Justicar muttered.
Thalorian crouched near a half-buried stone tablet, tracing unreadable inscriptions with his gauntlet. "They left."
Dorne stood behind him, arms crossed. "Or they became something else."
That earned him wary glances, but before any could challenge him, movement in the grass caught their attention.
A caterpillar.
Not just any caterpillar—a massive, puffy one. It was the size of a large dog, its body impossibly soft, covered in thick, vibrant fluff. It had large, shimmering eyes, reflecting light like polished gemstones. Its tiny, stubby legs moved lazily as it nibbled at the grass.
One of the Knights reflexively reached for a weapon.
Then another one appeared. And another.
A whole group of them, their round, colorful forms waddling peacefully through the field.
Dorne snorted. "Look at them. Truly, a nightmare beyond comprehension."
Thalorian gave him a withering glance but said nothing.
Then came the slimes.
Transparent blobs of all sizes, wobbling across stones, climbing up ancient walls, shifting lazily through the air like floating jellies. Some were small enough to fit in a palm, others the size of a full-grown Grox.
One absentmindedly slid over a Grey Knight's boot. He didn't move. The slime quivered, then continued on its way, completely uninterested.
Another Techmarine observed one consuming the faint particles in the air. "They're filtering the atmosphere," he noted. "These things clean their environment."
A Justicar grunted. "Even the xenos creatures here are industrious."
Then, the sound of galloping.
A herd of six-legged horses emerged from the trees, their elongated, muscular forms carrying them at incredible speed. Their manes shimmered in the light, their hides sleek and powerful. They moved with effortless grace, their extra limbs allowing them to twist and shift mid-run.
"Fast," one Grey Knight murmured. "Stronger than Terran breeds."
"They eat fruit," Dorne noted. "Of course they do."
The strangest, however, was the snake.
At first, they thought it was a predator. It slithered through the ruins with an unsettling smoothness, its massive, black-scaled body resembling a void-dwelling horror. Some raised their weapons.
Then it shed.
A long strip of glossy, glistening skin peeled away from its body, revealing another fresh layer beneath. The discarded scales, once retrieved, felt strange. Lightly crystalline, yet soft to the touch. Then, as if testing a theory, Dorne licked one.
He blinked. Then grinned.
"It's sweet," he announced.
A Justicar frowned. "What."
He handed the scale over. Reluctantly, another warrior tasted it. His expression did not change, but his silence spoke volumes.
"Farmable," the Techmarine noted. "Every thirty minutes."
Dorne was enjoying himself now. "This is getting ridiculous."
Then came the wolves.
Unlike the rest, they felt… different. Not hostile, but watchful.
They emerged from the undergrowth in packs, their great, moss-covered bodies blending seamlessly with the environment. Their fur was not entirely fur—it had a texture like bark, with leaves growing along their backs, twisting into thick, natural patterns. They moved with the silent grace of apex predators, but their eyes held no malice.
One of them—a massive beast with blue fruits hanging from its mane—approached the group. It sniffed the air, then, with slow deliberation, shook itself. A few of the fruits dropped to the ground.
Dorne knelt first, picking one up. He examined it, then took a bite.
A slow exhale followed.
"…It's good."
A Grey Knight hesitated, then tested one himself. His shoulders relaxed, tension melting away.
Another took a bite. Then another.
For the first time since their arrival, a heavy silence fell—not one of unease, but of understanding.
The Imperium bred its warriors to be unshakable, unrelenting, unyielding. But here, in this place, for just a moment…
They felt peace.
Thalorian stared at the wolves, his grip tightening. Not in hostility, but in realization.
"This place is not a mistake," he murmured. "It's designed this way."
Dorne raised a brow. "So, what? You think someone made all this?"
Thalorian shook his head. "No. But I think whatever civilization came before understood something we never did."
He turned his gaze to the ruins.
The abandoned city held no answers. Only the quiet truth that something had once thrived here, and then… simply left.
And now, standing here, surrounded by creatures that should not exist, on a world that defied everything they had been trained to expect…
The question remained.
Would they leave too?
Or was this the beginning of something else entirely?
The camp fell into an uneasy stillness as the figure approached.
Even from a distance, it was clear—this being was unlike anything they had encountered. Ten feet tall, clad in thick golden armor dulled by time, a heavy brown robe draped over its form. It carried an arsenal fit for a warrior—a massive greatsword, a longbow slung over its back with three quivers full of diamond-tipped arrows, and a heavy rifle that dwarfed even a bolter.
And yet, despite its size, despite its obvious lethality, it moved with no aggression. No tension. Only certainty.
The steed beneath it was just as alien—one of the long, six-legged horses, but larger, built like a war-beast. Its eyes gleamed with intelligence as it carried its rider forward with steady, deliberate steps.
The Grey Knights readied themselves. Even without raising their weapons, their intent was clear. Centuries of war had trained them well—expect hostility, always.
The being regarded them all, his gaze calm beneath the shadow of his hood.
"Hmm," he mused. "You're not from here…"
His voice was deep, smooth—not mechanical, not synthetic, but unmistakably alive. There was no doubt, no surprise, just quiet recognition.
"Are you all perhaps from outside of our universe?" he asked, his tone level, as if this were not the first time he had encountered such a thing.
The gathered warriors said nothing at first. Then, finally, Thalorian stepped forward, his helm still in place. "You are aware of the rift?"
The armored giant nodded. "Of course. It has always opened to other universes. I assume that makes you all human?" His eyes—obscured, yet somehow piercing—swept over them, lingering on their armor, their weapons, the way their hands twitched toward their hilts at the slightest provocation.
He sighed. "You have seen war. Much war, it seems. But have peace in mind here. We do not need needless violence. Just… explain what you are doing here."
Thalorian hesitated. That simple request, explain, was not one he had ever had to consider before. The Imperium did not explain. It arrived, it judged, it acted.
Dorne, however, did not have such restrictions. He stepped forward, giving a half-smirk. "Well, we were exploring, seeing what's what. Turns out, this place is a damn paradise, and my people see profit in that. These guys?" He gestured at the Grey Knights. "They're still deciding whether or not to call in an Exterminatus."
A few of the warriors bristled, but the armored figure only nodded, as if this, too, was expected.
His gaze drifted, settling on the ones who had stayed behind—the scavengers, the Techmarines who had hesitated, those who had lingered too long near the singing forests or stared too long at the peaceful beasts.
"Ah," the being murmured. "Another one that decided to stay."
The weight of his words was not lost on them.
"Don't worry," he said, as if sensing their thoughts. "Many have come here and thought the same. You are not the first to stand at this crossroad."
Thalorian narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
The being turned his steed slightly, glancing toward the horizon, toward the endless sky and lands untouched by war.
"I can explain further," he said. "If you truly wish to understand where you have stumbled."
Another silence fell.
Dorne grinned. "Well, I don't know about them, but I love a good story."
Thalorian did not move immediately. His mind raced—protocol dictated they interrogate this being, assess the threat, determine if his words carried deception. And yet, deep down, something in him wanted to listen.
Not as a warrior. Not as a judge.
But as someone who, for the first time in his life, stood in a place where he did not need to fight.
He exhaled, lowering his weapons. "Then explain."
The golden warrior gave a slight nod.
And so, the story began.
The golden-armored warrior turned his steed and gestured for them to follow.
"Good. Let's walk while we chat—something comfortable for a discussion."
The Grey Knights hesitated. It was unnatural for them to lower their guard in the presence of an unknown force, but there was no hostility here. No deception in his tone. And for all their training, for all their purpose, there was a strange pull to this place—a curiosity that refused to be silenced.
So they followed.
The path beneath them was worn, used many times before. It stretched far, vanishing into the endless horizon. A road walked by many.
"This is a flat universe," the warrior explained as they walked. "Obviously. It has its own logic, its own natural laws." He gestured outward to the rolling landscapes, the skies without end. "We call this place the Infinite Flat Zone. Everything your eye can see is endless—sea, sky, land. Minerals? You can find them anywhere. Food?"
He reached out as they passed a tree, grasping a thick piece of its bark and effortlessly snapping it off. He held it up, displaying the dark, textured surface.
"Fruits, of course. However…" He broke the bark in half, revealing the fibrous interior—red, marbled, textured like raw meat. He smirked. "Nature itself provides."
With a casual toss, he discarded the bark. The tree-wolves—those massive, moss-covered beasts—moved instantly, snatching the pieces mid-air and devouring them without hesitation.
The Grey Knights exchanged glances.
Dorne let out a low whistle. "Meat-trees. Now I've seen everything."
The golden warrior continued, leading them further down the path. The scenery shifted, the untamed wilderness giving way to something more… structured.
Vast farmland stretched as far as the eye could see. Fields of golden grain swayed under a sky that never darkened. Orchards bore heavy fruit, their branches bending under the weight. The land was rich, thriving, with no sign of struggle or starvation.
"Infinite space means infinite land," the warrior explained. "Many who settle here claim large territories. Some farm. Some build. Others wander."
Ahead, a great farmhouse stood—a structure built from dark wood and stone, sturdy yet humble. Nearby, an outdoor table, large and well-worn, sat beneath the shade of a tree.
The warrior dismounted, moving toward the farmhouse with a familiarity that spoke of years spent here. He motioned for them to sit as he prepared something at a stone stove nearby.
"As for the people who stumble here…" He poured a dark liquid from a steaming pot, the scent of something rich and spiced filling the air. "Well, some stay. Some leave. Some have other intentions."
He set down a tray of cups—large, clearly made for someone his size. The Grey Knights hesitated only briefly before taking them.
"Those who stay…" He leaned back against the table, arms crossed. "It's our job, as locals, to give them a proper tour. A fair understanding of their new home—if they're willing."
He took a slow sip of his drink, watching them.
"But for those who wish to leave?" He shrugged. "That's their choice. Not our problem."
The Grey Knights exchanged glances once more.
Dorne took a sip of the coffee first. He blinked.
Then grinned. "Damn. That's good."
Thalorian held his cup, staring down at the dark liquid. His mind churned. The implications of this place—the nature of the rift, the ones who had come before them—none of it sat easily with him.
And yet…
He took a slow sip.
For the first time in his long existence, he tasted something other than war.
The golden warrior remained calm, the steam from his cup curling lazily into the air. His presence was imposing, yet strangely welcoming—not as a lord or ruler, but as someone who had long accepted this world as home.
He took another sip and set his cup down.
"As for the invaders…" He glanced at the heavy rifle slung across his back, the massive greatsword resting by his side. "Well, you can see what I carry."
He gestured vaguely to the distance, where fields stretched endlessly, where forests sang and creatures moved in peace. "The locals here? They're all great fighters. Every last one of them. But in a place like this…"
He exhaled, shaking his head with a small smirk.
"What's the point of learning to fight? There's no war here. No conquest. So, instead…" He leaned forward slightly. "It became a sport."
A few of the Grey Knights stiffened at that. A sport? Combat, reduced to something as trivial as exercise?
Dorne let out a low chuckle. "So, what—you all just spar for fun?"
The warrior shrugged. "Keeps the body sharp. The mind sharper." He lifted his hand, flexing it into a fist. "Even if we never need to fight, it's a skill worth keeping. But here, there's no… needless killing. No endless slaughter."
Thalorian frowned. "And yet you carry weapons capable of cutting down entire armies."
The warrior met his gaze evenly. "Because sometimes, war comes knocking."
A silence fell over the table.
The Grey Knights, for all their training, for all their experience, were used to war being the constant. The default. A universe where war wasn't needed? Where it was treated as mere sport? It was difficult to process.
The warrior watched their expressions shift, amused.
Dorne took another sip of coffee. "Hells, I think I could get used to this."
The golden warrior smirked. "Many have."
He leaned back, stretching slightly. "So. Now that you know some of what this place is… what are you going to do with that knowledge?"
The question hung in the air.
And the Imperium had no easy answer.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
The Grey Knights had come expecting danger—some abominable corruption, some heretical taint lurking beneath the surface of this impossibly vast, impossibly peaceful land.
But there was none.
No screaming daemons, no hidden warlords scheming in the shadows. No threats. No demands for submission.
Just a choice.
Thalorian stared into his cup, the rich scent of the coffee filling his helm. He had seen a thousand worlds burn, purged in the Emperor's name, yet this one remained untouched—not because it was defended by some great military force, but because it did not need defending.
The golden warrior watched them, still relaxed. Still patient.
He had seen this reaction before.
"I know what you're thinking," the warrior said, his voice calm. "You're asking yourselves if this is real. If there's some hidden cost. If something watches over this place, waiting for you to let your guard down."
The Grey Knights exchanged glances but said nothing.
The warrior chuckled. "It's natural. You come from a universe where peace is a myth. A lie used to lure the weak into complacency. But here…" He spread his arms. "It just is."
Dorne leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "You're telling me no one's ever tried to conquer this place? No warlords, no tyrants, no cults?"
"Oh, they've tried," the warrior admitted. "Some came thinking they could claim this endless land, build an empire. Others thought themselves gods, seeking worshippers."
He took another sip of coffee. "They all failed."
Thalorian narrowed his eyes. "How?"
The warrior smiled faintly. "Because you cannot conquer something endless. And you cannot rule people who have no need for rulers."
He set his cup down. "This world does not resist through force. It resists through indifference. You cannot break a people who do not want war. You cannot starve those who live in abundance. And you cannot rule those who have no desire to kneel."
The words struck like a blade, clean and precise.
Dorne let out a low whistle. "Hells. That's poetic."
The golden warrior smirked. "I've had time to think on it."
He turned his gaze back to Thalorian. "And you?" he asked. "What does the great Imperium of Man do with a world that does not need it?"
The question settled in Thalorian's chest like a stone.
For the first time in his long life, he did not have an answer.
Thalorian clenched his jaw, his gauntleted fingers tightening around the cup. He should have had an answer. He should have known exactly what to do—what the Imperium always did.
A world untouched by war. A world without conflict.
A world that did not need the Imperium.
The thought unsettled him. Not because it was wrong, but because it should have been impossible.
Dorne, on the other hand, looked entirely at ease. He leaned back, propping his boots up on the table with a smirk. "Well, I know what I'd do."
The golden warrior arched a brow. "Oh?"
Dorne took another sip of his coffee before grinning. "I'd stay."
Thalorian shot him a sharp look. "You'd abandon the Imperium?"
Dorne scoffed. "Abandon? No. Just retire." He gestured around them. "You're telling me you wouldn't want to spend your days in a place where you don't have to worry about daemons clawing at your soul? Where you don't have to fight for every breath?"
He leaned forward, smirking. "I don't know about you, but I didn't sign up for eternal damnation. If I can get a good drink, good land, and not die in some godforsaken war, I'll take it."
A few of the scavengers nodded in agreement.
Thalorian exhaled slowly. "We have a duty," he said, his voice quieter than usual.
The golden warrior tilted his head. "And what happens when duty becomes a cage?"
Thalorian looked up sharply. "It doesn't."
The warrior studied him for a moment, then let out a hum of understanding. "You believe that. You need to believe that." He tapped a finger against his armored bracer. "Because if you stop, even for a moment, you'll have to ask yourself why."
He turned his gaze to the rest of them. "And that's what makes this place dangerous to you."
The Grey Knights stiffened slightly.
The warrior smiled faintly. "Not because it's a trap. Not because it's some trick of the Warp." He gestured to the land around them. "But because it makes you question."
Another silence.
Dorne chuckled. "I think I like you, golden boy."
The warrior smirked. "Likewise."
He glanced toward the horizon, where the rift still loomed in the distance, a gash of swirling darkness against an otherwise peaceful world.
"Many have come through that rift," he said. "Many have left. Many have stayed." His gaze flickered back to Thalorian. "The question is—what will you do?"
Thalorian had no answer.
Not yet.
"Don't worry, you don't have to push yourselves too much," the golden warrior said, his voice as calm as ever. "Take this chance to exercise something new—the will of freedom of choice."
The words hung in the air, unfamiliar to the Imperials. Freedom of choice—true freedom—was a foreign concept to them.
Before any of them could respond, a shadow passed over the land.
Above, a vast whale soared through the clouds, its massive fins spread like wings, gliding effortlessly through the sky. Land had grown upon its back, trees and grass swaying gently as flocks of birds followed in its wake, resting atop the floating ecosystem.
"In this world," the warrior continued, watching the sight with quiet amusement, "everything is safe."
Dorne huffed. "Starting to believe it."
The golden warrior turned to him. "You and the others would like to stay, yes?" He smirked knowingly. "That's great. You'd be surprised how many other species have come here and thought the same."
A shift in the wind. Footsteps approaching.
The Imperials tensed as two figures rode into view—a woman in flowing purple robes, her long, elegant gown trailing behind her, a matching witch's hat casting a shadow over her sharp features. She sat atop a crystalline deer, its antlers shimmering like cut amethyst, its hooves barely touching the ground as it moved.
Beside her rode another figure—a cat-eared woman clad in assassin's garb, dark fabrics wrapped around her form, mist-like black energy curling from her weapons. A katana, shuriken, kunai, and talismans were secured across her armor, shifting subtly as she moved.
The Imperials barely had time to register their presence before the witch spoke, her tone casual and familiar.
"Hey, can we get some of your wheat?" she asked, adjusting her hat. "I've got an orphanage to take care of."
The golden warrior nodded. "Of course. The usual."
The witch tipped her hat. "Thanks."
Without another word, she guided her deer toward the wheat fields, the endless golden stalks swaying in the breeze.
The cat-eared woman, however, lingered. She hopped off her steed, her movements smooth and practiced, then turned to the newcomers with a curious expression. Her feline ears twitched slightly.
"Hey, I'm back. Hm?" She sniffed the air, her sharp eyes scanning them.
Her expression shifted slightly. "Humans?"
The golden warrior nodded. "Ah, yes. Please don't mind them. They're guests of mine. They came from a new rift that opened."
The cat-eared woman's tail flicked. She studied them a moment longer before giving a small, polite bow.
"I see." Her ears twitched again, then she smirked slightly. "Pleased to meet you all."
The Imperials, for the first time in what felt like ages, didn't know what to say.
The cat-eared woman tilted her head, her sharp eyes running over the towering forms of the Grey Knights. She gave an approving nod.
"Nice armor, big guys. Pretty cool having it all worn like that," she said, her tone casual, tail flicking behind her. Then she looked to the golden warrior. "You say they're new here?"
"Yes," the warrior replied, sipping his coffee. "Please, you could say they're… high alert. Apparently, they fight constantly. For survival."
The cat-eared woman whistled low. "Yeesh. That's harsh." She looked back at the Imperials, her expression a mix of curiosity and sympathy. "Well, you all should try to relax while you're here. No one's gonna come screaming for your blood in the middle of the night. No endless war. Just… take it easy."
The Grey Knights remained silent. The concept of "taking it easy" was so far removed from their existence that they didn't quite know how to process it.
Then the cat-eared woman clapped her hands. "Oh! Speaking of fighting—I gotta go have a quick spar with a friend. Gonna get some practice in!"
The golden warrior chuckled. "Take care then."
She gave a lazy salute before leaping onto her mist-wreathed steed in one smooth motion. The creature let out a quiet breath, its form shifting subtly, as if it were less a physical thing and more smoke given shape.
With a flick of the reins, she shot forward, vanishing into the distance like a shadow in the wind.
Dorne leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He let out a low chuckle. "Alright, I'll admit it. This place is really starting to grow on me."
The golden warrior smirked. "I had a feeling it would."
Thalorian, however, was still staring at the space where the cat-eared woman had disappeared. His mind churned with unspoken thoughts, his grip on his gauntlet tightening.
This world shouldn't exist. And yet… here it was. Peaceful. Stable. Real.
And for the first time in his life, he had no idea what he was supposed to do.
As time passed, decisions had to be made. Some of the Imperials had already made up their minds, while others wrestled with a choice they never expected to face.
For Dorne and a handful of others, the decision was simple.
"I'm staying," Dorne declared, arms crossed with a broad grin. "No warp-spawned nightmares. No high lords breathing down my neck. Just good land, good people, and a life worth living? Hell, I earned this."
Several of the scavengers nodded in agreement. They were survivors, always scraping by on the fringes of the Imperium. But here? Here, they could build something of their own.
The golden warrior gave an approving nod. "Since you all want to stay, we have large abandoned buildings—homes and halls left behind as the former owners moved to better ones. You'll find plenty of space. If you need extra hands for repairs, the locals will gladly assist."
Dorne grinned. "Sounds perfect. Let's see if I still remember how to build something that's not a fortress."
For others, however, duty still called.
Thalorian stood at the edge of the rift, his jaw set as he watched its swirling, menacing form. This world was wrong. Not in a sinister way—no, that would have been easier to deal with. It was wrong because it was everything the Imperium should have been but never could be.
A few Grey Knights stood with him, their silence heavy.
The golden warrior approached, carrying two large crates filled with fruit and carefully carved diamond stones, each intricately detailed with patterns that seemed almost impossibly precise. He set them down in front of Thalorian.
"Then here," the warrior said, his voice calm. "Some souvenirs."
Thalorian stared at the offering. It was meant as a kindness, he knew. A gift from a place that expected nothing in return.
And that, perhaps, was what made it so hard to accept.
After a long moment, he finally spoke. "I do not know if we will return."
The golden warrior gave a small smile. "Many who leave never do. But some do. In time."
Thalorian exhaled slowly. "This place is… impossible."
"Not impossible," the warrior corrected. "Just different."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Finally, Thalorian gave a stiff nod. Without another word, he turned and stepped through the rift, vanishing into the darkness with the others who chose to leave.
Dorne watched them go, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Stubborn bastards. Hope they at least think about what they saw here."
The golden warrior simply smiled. "They will."
The Grey Knights remained silent as they walked through the rift, stepping back into the cold, unforgiving reality of the Imperium. The shift was immediate. The air was heavier, the weight of duty settling upon them once more.
None of them spoke at first. How could they?
For beings forged in war, tempered by endless battle against the horrors of the warp, what they had seen was utterly incomprehensible. A place free of Chaos, free of suffering, where war was unnecessary. Where warriors fought for sport rather than survival. Where life flourished instead of withering under the Imperium's crushing weight.
It was not just an anomaly.
It was an offense to everything they understood about the universe.
Thalorian clenched his fists. His mind still raced with questions, doubts, conflicts he had never considered before. The others were no different. Their oaths, their purpose—what did they mean in the face of something like that?
Then came the inevitable:
How do we even report this?
They had come expecting a nightmare, a war, an abyss of horrors waiting to be purged. Instead, they had walked through a hellish portal and found… paradise.
Could they even say that? Could they put it into words in a way that wouldn't be dismissed as heresy?
One of them finally muttered, "The Inquisition will want to know about this."
Thalorian exhaled sharply. "And what do we tell them? That a terrifying, unstable warp anomaly leads to a peaceful, endless world?" His voice was edged with frustration. "That there is no Chaos. No war. No suffering. That it shouldn't exist but does? And that, somehow, it is better than anything we have?"
The silence stretched. No one had an answer.
Another knight eventually broke the quiet. "If we report this truthfully, they'll either think we are tainted or insane."
"And if we lie?" another asked.
Thalorian shook his head. "We can't lie. But we can… omit."
That caught their attention.
"We say the rift was dangerous but inactive. We found ruins, signs of past civilizations, but nothing immediately threatening. No daemonic presence. No Chaos corruption."
"And the locals?"
Thalorian hesitated, then spoke with finality. "We leave them out of it."
For a moment, no one objected. They all knew what would happen if the Imperium learned of such a place. If word spread, if the High Lords or the Inquisition decided to act, it would mean invasion, subjugation, destruction.
They would try to conquer the unconquerable.
One of the knights shifted uneasily. "We should not interfere with it. Nor should we lead others to it."
There was an unspoken agreement.
Whatever that place was—whatever it meant—it was not theirs to touch.
Without another word, they continued forward, their minds burdened with the weight of a secret they would carry for the rest of their lives.
The rift opened once more, its swirling, menacing form tearing through the fabric of reality in another part of the Warhammer universe. This time, it was not the Imperium that found it first.
A Tau exploration fleet, searching for new habitable worlds and potential expansions for the Greater Good, was the first to detect the anomaly. Their advanced sensors registered something strange—an energy signature unlike anything they had encountered before.
A small expeditionary force, led by a Water Caste diplomat and escorted by Fire Warriors, cautiously approached the rift. The sight alone gave them pause. It looked hostile, like a wound in space, an abyss leading to inevitable death. But the Tau did not let fear guide them—they let logic lead the way.
After extensive scanning, they detected no immediate threats on the other side. No warp corruption, no hostile life forms. With careful deliberation, they decided to send a reconnaissance team through.
Stepping across the threshold, the Tau warriors braced themselves, weapons ready, expecting the worst.
Instead, they were met with breathtaking beauty.
Vast rolling plains of golden grass stretched beyond the horizon. A crystal-blue river cut through the landscape, its surface so clear they could see the schools of strange, scaled dolphins swimming beneath. In the distance, massive turtles the size of battlesuits roamed in herds, colossal fruit trees growing from their backs, dripping with golden nectar.
One of the Fire Warriors instinctively tensed as a shadow passed overhead. He aimed his pulse rifle skyward, expecting some massive winged predator. Instead, he saw the impossible—a whale, soaring effortlessly through the clouds, its enormous form carrying an entire floating ecosystem on its back. Birds nested in the soil-covered ridges of its body, plants grew along its spine, and gentle, whale-like songs echoed across the endless skies.
The Tau diplomat was speechless.
"This…" one of the warriors murmured. "This isn't natural."
The diplomat shook his head. "Not unnatural. Just… unlike anything we have ever seen."
The Fire Warriors were still on edge. In their experience, beauty often hid danger. And yet, so far, there were no signs of hostility. No predators lurking in the shadows, no aggressive fauna. Even the massive centipedes, their exoskeletons glittering like diamond, merely rested in the open fields, peacefully shedding layers of high-quality metals.
One of the engineers knelt and examined a tree, noticing the holes in its bark. A gentle breeze passed through, and the tree sang—a deep, melodic hum, as though the forest itself was alive with music.
"This place is…" The diplomat searched for the right word, struggling to contain his awe. "It is a paradise."
The Fire Warriors remained skeptical. "Too perfect," one of them muttered, scanning the horizon. "Where are the threats?"
The diplomat looked out across the landscape, heart pounding. "Perhaps," he whispered, "there are none."
And that thought alone was more terrifying than any battle they had ever fought.