I stand in the belly of one of four bulk landers that have been sent from the surface to convey Elivia’s combined commandery and all of its wargear to the planet below. Nearly two hundred and fifty Battle Sisters. Dominions and Seraphim, Celestians and Retributors. With us come the auxiliaries. The Sisters Hospitaller, and the Naval armsmen. Our Rhino tanks and Immolators. A good part of the crew follow with us, too. Those who have no place aboard a dying ship. No purpose. Only Okash and a skeleton crew remain behind to oversee the debarkation and wind down the Vow’s systems. As the ship grows small enough to see in its entirety through the bulk lander’s viewport, I catch sight of the damage done to her. The cost she paid to get us here. The scars and burns. The gaping, toothed holes in the hull. The thousands of tiny viewports, lightless. The dim hollows of her engines, lifeless. Despite all of that damage, though, she is still holding together. Just.

I keep my eyes on the armaglass and the ship beyond it as Ashava approaches to stand beside me at the viewport. Her armour has been patched and repainted, as mine has. The work is indelicate and hurried, sufficient only to make the suit functional.

‘The others are asking for you,’ she says. ‘Eugenia especially.’

Guilt pulls at me. ‘I know.’

‘I told them to let you be. At least until we land.’

I glance at her. ‘Thank you.’

Ashava nods, as though accommodating me is merely a part of her duty.

‘What will happen to her now?’ she asks, nodding towards the retreating shape of the Unbroken Vow.

‘She will be recovered and taken apart,’ I tell her. ‘Then she will be sent for refit at Cypra Mundi, or one of its sister worlds. Okash and his crew will go with her.’

‘It is not so much repair as rebirth, with damage such as that.’

The stars wheel as the bulk lander turns in preparation for atmospheric entry and I lose sight of the Vow amongst the debris. Then I lose sight of the debris altogether as the lander hits the upper limits of Dimmamar’s atmosphere.

‘It will take decades, in all likelihood,’ I say. ‘But she will see service again.’

The lander begins to thrum and shake with the stress of re-entry, and the viewport fills with roiling cloud and flame, so bright that it hurts to look at it.

‘Death comes only to those who have fulfilled their purpose.’

For a moment, neither of us say a thing. The only thing to hear is the roar, like that of something awoken.

‘That is what you are hoping to find on Dimmamar, isn’t it?’ Ashava asks. ‘You are looking for your death.’

I keep my silence for a moment, looking out into the fire raging beyond the armaglass. At my reflection, printed onto the flames.