Two days later.
Orbiting Aurelian IV, just outside the Ring of Dawn spaceport.
The engine exhausts of five cruisers shifted from a dull crimson to a blinding, incandescent white.
Light of Dawn, Will of Daybreak, Crimson Conviction, Unyielding Crusade, Glory of Hope...
These five cruisers formed the core strike force of the First Dawn Expeditionary Fleet.
Their armored hulls were painted a uniform dark red, the striking insignia of Crimson Dawn gleaming with a metallic sheen under the starlight.
Fifteen Sword-class frigates prowled their flanks like a wolf pack, sporting smaller, far more agile hulls.
Their laser batteries and torpedo tubes were more than capable of tearing apart any equivalent opposition.
Trailing behind this battleline were exactly eighty-six transport ships.
These vessels were a far cry from the Imperium's standard templates.
Over the past twenty-three years, Aurelian had built them from scratch using local resources and starship manufacturing blueprints redeemed from the System shop.
They were rough around the edges and boasted paper-thin armor, but their internal capacities were pushed to the absolute limit. Each ship could carry eight thousand fully armed soldiers with their accompanying gear, or an equivalent tonnage of vital supplies.
Right now, the cargo holds of these transports housed half a million of the Dawn Defense Force's finest troops.
The 1st, 3rd, and 5th Legions. Each Legion commanded three divisions, and every division was at full operational strength with twenty-eight thousand men.
Factoring in the attached artillery, armored assets, combat engineers, medical corps, vox-operators, and elite guard detachments, the total manpower numbered exactly five hundred and fourteen thousand.
Their wargear had already undergone its final, rigorous pre-combat inspection.
The standard-issue Crimson Guard Mark I Lasrifle: an effective range of 380 meters, a 1.8-second recharge cycle, and issued with twelve high-capacity power cells.
Composite alloy carapace armor, capable of deflecting three direct las-blasts to the chest or a single hit from bolter shrapnel.
Squads were armed with Hammer Heavy Bolters. Platoons carried Meltaguns. Companies wielded Thunderstrike Mortars.
They also carried basic field medkits purchased directly from the System. Stocked with coagulant gel, anti-infection nanites, and splinting servos, they could patch up the vast majority of non-lethal injuries.
The sheer technological standard of this arsenal eclipsed the baseline kit of the Solar Auxilia, rivaling the elite Planetary Defense Forces of the wealthiest Imperial sectors.
Yet, the true trump card lay with the four thousand Crimson Dawn veteran players deploying alongside them.
Three thousand four hundred Astartes, two hundred Grey Knights, three hundred Brothers of Silence, three hundred Tech-Priests, one hundred Contemptor Dreadnoughts, two hundred Terminators, and three hundred Assassins.
This transhuman host was divided into seven tactical clusters, assigned to vanguard elements across the three Legions and the fleet's escort formations.
The remaining sixteen thousand newer players were scattered throughout the divisions as special tactical squads.
Their orders were to learn, observe, and—when necessary—leverage a player's unique immunity to permanent death to execute suicidal, high-risk operations.
On the command deck of the Light of Dawn, Paul stood before the panoramic observation deck.
His massive, three-point-eight-eight-meter golden frame stood like an ancient sculpture, power coursing smoothly along the glowing energy lines of his Aquilon Terminator Armor.
He was bare-headed. His dark gold eyes stared out the viewport at the receding sphere of Aurelian IV.
The planet now presented a drastically different face than it had twenty-three years ago.
Vast stretches of vibrant green blanketed the continents, cradled by crystal-clear oceans and swirling white clouds.
Even from high orbit, one could make out the sprawling footprints of fifty-six terrestrial cities, connected by a faintly glowing transit network that linked the great hives.
"Paul."
Schrödinger Bro's voice called out from behind. He was clad in a dark grey administratum uniform, a datapad clutched in his hand. "All units confirm they are in position."
"Fleet status: green."
"Personnel status: green."
"Supply loads: one hundred percent. We are ready to launch on your mark."
Paul turned slowly.
His gaze swept across the bridge. This was his core command staff: Schrödinger Bro handling strategy and intelligence, G Bro coordinating the fleet, Tax Bro leading the ground assaults, White Scars commanding the mobile cavalry units, and Helovia acting as the psychic liaison.
"Let's begin."
Paul's voice was perfectly calm, yet it carried a resonant weight that reverberated throughout the entire bridge.
"First Dawn Expeditionary Fleet. Destination: System L-246, Planet Dal."
"Move out."
The order was given.
All five cruisers throttled their main engines to maximum output simultaneously, trailing searing blue plasma wakes for miles into the void.
Frigate arrays adjusted their vectors as the transport columns initiated their convoy protocols.
The entire armada moved like a colossal, dark-red serpent of iron, slowly swimming out of the Aurelian System's gravity well and pushing toward deep space.
An hour later, the fleet arrived at the designated translation point.
They were now zero point three light-years from Aurelian IV. The home star's light had dwindled to a pale speck, swallowed by eternal darkness and the scattered glimmer of distant stars.
The deep hum of conventional sub-light engines began to fade.
Five cruisers, fifteen frigates, and eighty-six transports. A grand total of one hundred and six voidcraft aligned themselves into a standard crusade formation amidst the emptiness.
All conventional thrusters cut out. The massive hulls coasted through the vacuum purely on inertia.
"Attention all vessels, conventional drives offline."
Paul's voice bypassed standard vox, projecting directly onto the bridge of every ship via an encrypted psychic link.
He still stood before the observation viewport of the Light of Dawn.
But within his dark gold eyes, five distinct stars began to spin rapidly. Three of them—representing Pioneering, Hope, and Wisdom—flared with a blinding, sudden intensity.
"Prepare for Warp translation."
"Engage Warp drives."
"Follow my light."
Acknowledgments flooded the vox-channels from every ship captain in unified discipline.
"Understood."
"Crimson Conviction, drives engaging."
"Unyielding Crusade, holding position."
"Glory of Hope, synchronized."
"..."
"May the Dawn guide our path."
"May Hope burn away the dark."
Paul closed his eyes.
An ocean of psychic energy surged from his physical form. It was a radiant, warming power, brimming with the very essence of possibility.
The conduits lining his golden Custodian Aquilon Terminator Armor flared to life, pulsing in a rhythmic, breathing cadence.
The trait of Pioneering charted the course...
It brutally carved a stable path toward System L-246, tearing right through the chaotic, churning tides of the Immaterium.
The trait of Hope stabilized the thoroughfare...
It burned like a colossal lighthouse, illuminating the void ahead and scattering any Warp turbulence or malicious whispers lurking along their route.
The trait of Wisdom provided absolute clarity...
It offered real-time observation of reality tears, daemonic whirlpools, and the shifting borders of Chaos domains, effortlessly guiding them past every hidden catastrophe.
The power of these three traits intertwined seamlessly, rendering a flawless, three-dimensional Warp navigational chart directly within Paul's mind.
"Engage."
He said softly.
The Warp drives of all one hundred and six vessels activated simultaneously.
The fabric of reality tore apart...
Space rippled ahead of the fleet, gradually unfurling a corridor edged in a radiant, crimson-gold light.
The interior of this passageway was not the kaleidoscopic, chaotic storm typical of Warp travel. Instead, it projected a bizarre sense of order...
It was like a tranquil channel carved right through a tempestuous sea.
"All ships, enter."
The armada sailed into the corridor in sequence.
As the engine flare of the final transport vanished from the materium, the crimson-gold Warp rift slowly sealed shut behind them, leaving not a single trace.
--
Inside the Warp, along the corridor guided by Paul.
On the bridge of the Light of Dawn, all non-essential lighting had been cut, leaving only the dim glow of the instrument consoles and the surreal spectacle outside the viewport.
During standard Warp transit, the view outside should have been a mad churn of shifting colors, distorted forms, unspeakable shadows, and the constant, insidious whispers trying to bleed into reality.
But right now, through the observation glass, they saw a tunnel.
The walls of this tunnel were forged from flowing crimson-gold light, pulsing like the inner lining of a living blood vessel.
Beyond this radiance, the true, chaotic nightmare of the Warp was faintly visible...
Spinning vortexes of color, wailing faces, reaching tendrils...
Yet, they were all completely walled off by this crimson-gold barrier, utterly incapable of drawing even an inch closer.
"This..."
Helovia stood at Paul's side, her long silver hair drifting without a breeze.
The staff in her hand glowed softly, resonating with Paul's psychic aura.
"Brother Paul, your power... has it truly reached this level?"
"It's just a trick. My Hope allows me to borrow His strength."
Paul kept his eyes closed, his consciousness fully devoted to maintaining the corridor.
"I'm forcing the domain of Hope to carve a safe path through the Warp for this fleet, borrowing from the very source of my Hope. I'm augmenting it with the traits of Pioneering and Wisdom to bypass the hazards."
He paused, then added, "But the toll is immense."
"I can maintain this for seven days, at most."
"After seven days, whether we've reached System L-246 or not, we must translate back into realspace to recover."
Tax Bro leaned in, grinning as he stared at the eerie, crimson-gold tunnel outside. "This ain't any worse than the Emperor's Astronomican!"
"Paul, if the Mechanicus ever found out about this, they'd probably strap you to a dissection table to study you."
"That's exactly why they won't find out," Paul said calmly. "The cogitator arrays on every ship are equipped with psychic shielding modules and memory-filtration protocols."
"Every shred of anomalous data from this voyage will be automatically wiped the moment we return to realspace."
"As for what the crews are seeing..."
His lips curled into a faint smile. "Let them believe it's merely a special technology of Crimson Dawn."
Low chuckles echoed across the bridge.
Yet, everyone knew the truth: the real test of this crusade wouldn't begin until they made planetfall on Dal.