As the Legion arrived, one side of the Fang was lit by the sun's harsh white light. On the far side pitchy shadows lurked. Altostratus clouds sped around either side thousands of metres below the summit. The pearly shine of the stratosphere gave way to the glow of diffuse gases and tortured aurorae long before the top. The upper reaches, where the last gasps of atmosphere clung to the Fang's peak as gleaming frosts, were occupied by the fortress of the Space Wolves, called the Fang by other men, and the Aett by themselves.

Docks for smaller warships reached from the stone of the upmost levels. The part that projected into the void, the Valgard, had yet to be completed, and only half the docks were operational. Work had begun at an astonishing pace after the Wheel of Fire, but the war against Horus had slowed progress to a near standstill. Bjorn wondered if the Aett would ever be finished. Little appeared to have been accomplished since his last visit.

Half made, it was already the greatest fortress outside of the Imperial Palace itself, a vast castle conceived and begun before any other Legion had established bases on their own home worlds, and mightier than any that had followed.

The smaller ships descended directly to the summit-berths girding the Valgard. The rest took up station at high anchor, their passengers leaving aboard gunships and lighters that streamed into hangar slots like bats returning to the roost.

Ships scudded into the hangars, the thin blue line of atmospheric barriers painting cross sections over their hulls.

Russ' Stormbird slewed into its bay, turned its aggressive approach into a brief hover before slamming down. This was the Rout's way. The rockcrete landing apron was cracked by repeated hard landings.

Equally as hard, the boarding ramp slapped into the false stone.

No kaerls came to greet their returning lords. The air forced up the Aett's atmospheric circulation tubes was too thin. Servitors, their organic components enclosed completely against the cold and the lack of oxygen, formed Leman Russ' welcome party. With them was a single Space Wolf, helm sealed. He waited for his master to emerge while other ships performed similar manoeuvres, filling the hangar and others like it nearby with screaming engines and the crash of abused landing gear.

Four Wolf Guard in Cataphractii armour clumped down the ramp of Russ' transport into the landing bay. They paced outwards, alive to threat even in the heart of their primarch's fortress.

Leman Russ followed after. Alone of all the others spilling from their craft into the Aett, he went helmless.