Mizar twitched in my lap. With a whispered command I released the seer-skull. It slipped past the Scions, taking position by the rear ramp, and through its unblinking eye I finally beheld our destination. Before me lay the familiar burnt-orange swamp that extended indefinitely across Bacchus. It was far from lifeless, though: barbed gnarl-vines threaded the mire, their geometric layout suggesting previous cultivation. But now the plants were spreading unchecked, the vines infecting the surrounding swamp like a tumour. Insects, some the length of my arm, skittered between the thorns, their proboscises dragging through the foetid waters as they supped upon the filth.

From within the craft, I heard Tempestor Taton bellow his orders. I did not understand the words; some battle code known to his soldiers. But two of them dropped into the waters without hesitation. It was deeper than I had expected, almost reaching their chest, forcing them to hold their weapons high. The pair moved out with practised precision, the multi-spectral occula mounted beside their helms scanning the swamp.

I heard one exclaim something right before a tentacle reached from the depths, binding his arms to his sides and dragging him beneath. A third Scion had already leapt from the craft, knife drawn. He plunged into the swamp, his still-standing colleague covering him as the blade stabbed at the limb. The two troopers emerged from the water, one sheathing his knife, the other returning to his vigil as if nothing had occurred, despite the suction marks now adorning his chestplate. Between them, I saw an amorphous shadow bobbing in the water, its blood staining it an inky black.

I vowed then I would never willingly set foot in the swamp.

The three Scions spread out, a fourth dropping in behind them to guard their rear. Only Taton remained within the Valkyrie, intent on his auspex. He was scanning for something.

Mizar’s sensors encompassed most of the electromagnetic spectrum. But neither its heat sensors nor structural surveys were much use in the swamp. The waters either teemed with life or contained such volume of dead matter that it registered as organic. Either way, it was a difficult environment to analyse, and I imagine Taton’s auspex interpreted the surroundings as one vast, ill-defined life form.

I synced with Mizar, struggling to comprehend the dizzying visual options presented as pictographs. It struck me I had barely used half of them; there seemed little point when I sought footage visible to the human eye. I drifted through various spectrums, experiencing some fascinating colours that tasted of copper and half-forgotten dreams. But none meant anything to me, and I cycled through them until something caught my eye.

There was a light in the water a dozen feet from us. A bubble picked out in blue, perhaps four feet in diameter and entirely submerged.

Within it, something glimmered with a vile green light.

I withdrew from the seer-skull. Before me, Taton was still intent on his scans.