The shadow fell first, a blot of absolute black that swallowed the weak, purple light. Then came the cold, a sudden, piercing drop in temperature that had nothing to do with the atmosphere and everything to do with the void. The chittering screech that followed was a sound I had only ever heard on battlefield recordings—the psychic shriek of a Zerg Brood Queen. It was a sound designed to liquefy the courage of armies.
But all I felt was a tired, profound anger.
I knew, with a certainty that was as cold and sharp as the creature’s talons, that he had brought this upon us. His pneuma, a blazing sun of high-caste power, had been a beacon of desperation in the silent Maw. A lighthouse signaling a feast. He had come here to reclaim a past I had buried, and in doing so, had summoned a monster
