I had once resented his flexibility with the truth. But I was coming around to his view, and not only because sitting in a warm room in some civilised part of the galaxy sounded quite appealing. For, as I watched her doze, I realised I had captured only facets of Shard. With but a few tweaks and choice omissions I could present whatever version of her I desired. I could show a hero, the Imperium’s shield against the ork offensive. Or a soldier who took on every challenge without fear, leading the fightback, and only falling against impossible odds. The woman who had almost turned around the war single-handedly, and laid down her life for the Imperium, refusing to yield and inflicting a bloody nose on the ork offensive.

But it would be as simple to paint her as a cynical career soldier who cared solely for her own advancement and indulgence. Skilled enough that her superior officers ignored her insubordination, drunkenness and repeated derelictions of duty. But her hubris led to her disobeying orders, stealing a fighter and launching it into a raging tempest, where her body was lost to the swamp.

I could elevate or destroy her. If I was not condemned to die in obscurity.

I debated recording a final, vindictive message and dispatching the seer-skull. Perhaps it would find its way into Imperial hands. But what would be the point? Her legacy was no doubt already tarnished by her unauthorised assault against the Green Storm. I doubted her siblings would take it well. Perhaps they would have her record erased, or at least sealed. Then there could be six von Shard children. Six heroes, without a prodigal daughter to mar their good name.

I sighed, trying to focus on my work and ignore the itching in my leg. I wanted to scratch it, but I could not bring myself to peel back the dressing Shard had applied whilst I slumbered. I did not want to see those purple blotches on my skin that marked the onset of Vintner’s Blight. Better to die with the pretence of purity.

I sealed Iwazar’s panel, whispering the liturgy of activation. The seer-skull bobbed into the air, stretching its tiny appendages, as though awakened from a pleasant sleep. Tentatively, I attempted to sync my consciousness with it. It was difficult through the pain, but I managed to connect to it.

Just in time, too. The flickering fire was dying, but I could see the first rays of Bacchus’ sun crest the horizon. As if on cue, Shard yawned, arching her back as she rose to her feet. She glanced to the cave’s entrance and the encroaching day, before tossing another armful of leaves onto the fire. The flames greedily swallowed them, unleashing a plume of smoke which I noted was tinged green.