The Lion of Caliban led Dante through the shifting illusion of the forest. When they emerged from its depths, they found themselves light-years away from the Tau Star.
The distance was vast—so great that even the light of a star would take decades to traverse it. Yet, through the supernatural pathways of the forest, the Lion bypassed the physical laws of the material universe, carrying Dante across dozens of light-years in mere moments.
This ability had awakened within the Primarch during his ten-thousand-year slumber—a power that bent space to his will. Though it was neither as elusive as Corax's shadowed concealment nor as destructive as Angron's fury, it was no less formidable. Whether for rapid deployment across the battlefield or evading an enemy's strike at close range, the Lion's newfound gift made him nearly untouchable.
As they stepped out of the dreamlike woods, the Lion saw the leaves of Caliban burning in spectral flames before him. A message was being conveyed through the crimson inferno.
The Lion did not respond. He simply extended his hand, and the fire was extinguished in an instant.
Dante, too, had seen the will woven into the flames. He furrowed his brow, hesitating before speaking.
"Lion, is it possible that Lord Dukel did not come to the Tau Star in pursuit of Randan's secrets?"
"No," the Lion replied without hesitation. Renewed youth had restored his body and sharpened his mind, allowing him to focus entirely on the present.
His piercing gaze met Dante's, cutting to the depths of the Blood Angel's soul. "Dukel seeks the truth of Randan more fervently than any other. Dante, you are noble-hearted, and I respect that you feel guilt for withholding the truth from one who saved your father. But for the Imperium's sake, the past must remain buried."
"Do not let emotion cloud your judgment." The Lion's tone was firm, his knightly presence a steadying force upon Dante's wavering resolve. "Think rationally. If Dukel was not searching for Randan's secrets, what other reason would he have to come to the Tau System? Why else would the Emperor's second son trouble himself with a world so remote?"
Dante racked his mind, searching for an alternative explanation. A misunderstanding between Primarchs could have dire consequences for the Imperium.
"Could the Tau have provoked him?" he suggested at last.
The Lion's expression remained impassive. "Do you believe that is possible?"
Dante hesitated.
"Dukel is the mightiest warlord among the Emperor's sons, a beast of the battlefield. When such a predator walks the forests of Caliban, even the most savage creatures know to cower. What kind of fool would provoke a behemoth without understanding the cost?"
Dante conceded the point. He had never seen the beasts of Caliban, but he had witnessed the horror of Baal's defense. In the planet's darkest hour, Dukel's arrival had sent even the Tyranid swarms into disarray.
Were the Tau truly bolder than the Tyranids?
Dante dismissed the thought as absurd and refocused. "Dukel has already taken a leaf from the Caliban forest. He will find us soon. What is our next move, Lion?"
A shadow of unease passed through him. The Lord of Destruction was an inspiration to allies, but a terror to those who stood in his way. Even the savage Orks knew fear in his presence.
The Lion's voice was calm, his pride unshaken. "The Emperor's first son does not lose to his brothers. We will gather the Dark Angels and erase all traces of Randan's past."
Dante regarded him with renewed admiration. The Lion's poise in the face of impending confrontation was unshakable.
"And after Randan is buried," the Lion continued, "we will return to Terra with all haste. Even Dukel, for all his wrath, would not dare commit an outrage beneath the Holy One's gaze."
The Lion's confidence was absolute.
Dante: "..."
For the next few days, they remained hidden, coordinating with the Dark Angels to ensure Randan's past was sealed away. But Dukel arrived sooner than expected.
On the day of the ceremony, the sky ignited with golden light. An armada of warships blotted out the stars.
"Leon, my dear brother," Dukel's voice, magnified by psychic might, echoed through the void. "Why do you flee from me?"
The Lion and Dante turned their gazes skyward. Confronted with his blood brother's challenge, the Lion chose escape once more.
"Go!" he commanded.
The illusionary forest of Caliban surged into existence once more, and the Lion vanished into its depths.
Aboard the Soul Fire, Dukel watched impassively. He had expected nothing less.
"So, you seek to hide the truth of Randan," he mused. "You believe I will stop at nothing to uncover it."
The thought intrigued him, but the matter was not as urgent as the Lion assumed—particularly since it reeked of Tzeentch's machinations.
"Still," Dukel mused, "I may as well use this opportunity to pry a few secrets from that old lion."
The First Legion was a vault of knowledge, its secrets buried in endless layers. If he could not force open the doors, he would rattle them until something fell loose.
Dukel was not truly angry about Randan. But if the Lion thought he was—
Then he had better believe he was.
"Your orders, my lord?" came the captain's voice.
"Pursue," Dukel commanded.
"If the Lion dares to snatch from my grasp, he must be prepared to answer for it."
He idly turned the leaf of Caliban between his fingers. "Leon, for your sake, I hope your blade remains as sharp as your mind. If not, this will be most unpleasant for you."
A smile—sharp and knowing—curved his lips.
Had anyone seen it, they might have wondered if he was truly seeking the truth.
Or if he simply wanted an excuse to beat the Lion senseless.
Meanwhile, across the void, Shadowsun approached the Tau homeworld.
The distances between stars were vast, and communications were fragile. She had no way of knowing what had transpired.
She still believed the Tau System's defenders resisted the Imperium's advance.
But then she saw it.
Fire raged across the homeworld. The planet burned.
Shadowsun staggered. Her knees struck the deck as the flames illuminated her stricken face.
"No…"
The red inferno consumed the home of her people. It was as she had foreseen. The prophecy had come to pass.
She had known.
She had tried to change it.
Yet, in the end, it had been she who ensured its fulfillment.
The screams of the dying filled her ears.
The light of the flames shone upon her.
And Shadowsun wept.
At last, with a dull thud, she collapsed onto the deck of the Tau warship.
When Shadowsun awoke, the fleet had already completed emergency cooling procedures on their ruined homeworld.
Despite the protests of her comrades, she stubbornly descended onto the lifeless husk of a planet that had once been her home.
Once, this world had been verdant, thriving under the guidance of the Ethereals, its cities standing as testaments to the glory of the Greater Good. Now, after the lava had cooled, nothing remained but a desolate stone wasteland.
Guided by memory alone, Shadowsun made her way toward what had once been the planet's grandest metropolis. Once the pride of the Tau Empire, it had stood at the heart of a vast oasis, protected by formidable defenses, a beacon of civilization amidst the arid Tau deserts.
Now, only dust and ruins remained.
She wandered through the crumbling remains of the city, seeing the shattered symbols of her people's lost greatness. Statues of revered Ethereals, toppled and broken. Monuments to progress, reduced to meaningless rubble. The bodies of her kin, entombed in the hardened lava, their expressions frozen in eternal agony.
The sight hollowed her heart.
"Commander, we must leave immediately. The Imperium may return at any moment. Even the xenos who once swore allegiance to the Tau have turned on us. Our borders are being raided. Nowhere is safe."
The voice of a subordinate crackled through her communicator.
"Just a little longer," she replied, her voice heavy with grief. "I won't be long."
The channel fell silent.
Then—
A sudden impact. Her foot caught on something buried beneath the ash, sending her tumbling forward into the dust.
She sat up, disoriented, and looked down at the object. It was a metal safe, half-melded with the hardened lava.
For a moment, she simply stared at it with vacant eyes. Then, driven by some desperate need, she pried it open.
Inside, she expected to find valuables—perhaps relics of her people. Instead, she uncovered a single, unassuming notebook.
"Danwa: Essays of an Ordinary Tau."
The handwritten title stood stark against the worn cover.
She turned the pages.
The first half of the book chronicled the mundane life of a Water Caste bureaucrat. Daily grievances at work, small disputes with friends, the occasional argument with a spouse—trivial details, fragments of an ordinary existence.
And yet, to Shadowsun, these glimpses of normalcy were more precious than gold.
Then, the tone shifted.
The entries became frantic, the handwriting unsteady.
She read of the moment the Imperial legions arrived.
Of golden light searing the skies.
Of the twin-headed eagle looming over the planet, suffocating its people with fear.
Page after page carried the same emotions—dread, confusion, despair.
Then, a dagger to her heart.
The writer cursed her.
Blamed her, Shadowsun, the hero of the Tau, for drawing the wrath of the Imperium upon them.
The words struck like blades, carving deep wounds into what little resolve remained.
But she did not stop reading.
She forced herself to continue, until at last, she reached the final page.
A single passage, written in the shaky script of a dying hand:
"To those who find these words: Know this. Weakness and ignorance are not the true cause of destruction. Arrogance is."
Her composure shattered.
A scream tore from her throat—a wail of mourning so raw, so filled with loss, that any sentient being in the galaxy would have understood its meaning.
And then—
Stillness.
Shadowsun's cry was abruptly cut off, her body frozen in its moment of anguish.
Time itself seemed to halt. The air ceased to flow. The very fabric of reality trembled.
A dark presence slithered through the fractures in space.
Across the Tau fleet, every engine flickered and died. Every soul aboard dissolved into nothingness, leaving only empty husks where once there had been life.
The space around Shadowsun folded and shrank, compressing inward until it could be held in a single, metal-clad palm.
Inside the warped dimension, time reversed. Shadowsun walked the ruins once more.
—"Commander, we must leave immediately. The Imperium may return at any moment. Our allies have turned against us. It is not safe here."
—"What is this?" She sat in the dust, her gaze lifeless.
—"Danwa: Essays of an Ordinary Tau."
—"Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!"
A hollow voice broke the silence.
"What a magnificent addition to my collection."
The figure holding the compressed space chuckled, his artificial voice filled with satisfaction.
Trazyn the Infinite, ancient collector of histories and conqueror of oblivion, gazed at his latest acquisition with undisguised glee.
"To wait amidst the ruins of this world and claim such a perfect piece… Yes, this was well worth the time."
Yet, as he admired his prize, another thought crossed his mind.
"What a pity, though. I've missed the Primarch again." His voice held a note of disappointment. "Why is it that we, the greatest collectors in the galaxy, always seem to be one step apart?"
A pause.
Then, a smirk in his tone.
"No matter. I shall find another world where our paths may finally cross."
With his latest treasure secured, Trazyn set his sights once more upon the Imperium. He would locate the Primarch's movements, prepare an ambush, and ensure that this time, the hunt would not end in failure.
For unlike the short-lived races that scrambled for survival in this bleak galaxy, he had the patience of eternity itself.