At any moment I expected the Avenger to break apart. Nothing could last long in that storm, though at least that meant no enemy could oppose us. Plient’s tales of malicious lightning and rains of bullets must have been delusions, imparted by the nightmare conditions. Perhaps the bullets were debris tearing at his craft, and the green lightning merely an ionic discharge. Perhaps it was all a natural phenomenon, magnified by Orbital Station Salus’ presence high above. Or possibly our aircraft puncturing the atmosphere had caused it, their cumulative arrivals from orbit somehow propagating the vortex.

I muttered a prayer for the God-Emperor to preserve us from the storm, but given the number of craft lost in its winds, I doubted He would pay my words much heed.

If Iwazar’s data-core survived the tempest, would some enterprising young propagandist complete the project, earning their name through my labours? If enough of my cranium endured the crash, would I be fashioned into a seer-skull? Given my current successes, I doubted my superiors would consider me worthy of the honour. And in that moment I could not say I cared either way.

But just as I accepted the inevitability of our demise, the view suddenly cleared. From my position at the plane’s rear, I saw us burst through the clouded vortex, the turbulence dissipated, supplanted by a calm that was almost eerie after the tempest. I could not believe we had endured, passing through the storm and emerging on the far side. I gave a great sigh, slumping into my seat.

‘Thank the Emperor,’ I murmured, engaging the vox. ‘Shard, please tell me you don’t intend to dive into that storm again.’

No response.

‘Shard?’ I murmured, clicking the switch. I thought I could hear her breathing, but she did not speak.

‘Shard? Are you well?’

The silence smothered any good spirits. I tapped the vox a couple more times, before attempting to crane my neck. Pointless, of course, as I had no means of seeing through the cockpit. It took me a moment to remember Iwazar suspended beneath the plane. I synced with the seer-skull, and for an instant thought it had malfunctioned, some corroded data-fragment lodging itself in the optics.

Because what I saw was impossible.

The cyclone of cloud still spiralled miles around us. We had not flown through, but rather found the storm’s eye, where the winds fell silent and even the tempest was cowed. And I could see why.