'Fenris is at its perigee,' said Kva. 'It is the solstice, the absolute height of summer. Hearken to me, Lord of Winter and War. Within the Underverse you will encounter uncanny beings. Wights, and worse. Dealing with these beings requires the focus and poise of a duel. Never let your guard down. You may drink of their mjod and ale, but take none of their wight's meat, or you will be lost in the Underverse forever. Answer no questions lest they snare you in their webs of deceit. Treat them nobly, as you would a mortal lord, and they will provide what you wish to learn, though you may not like the answers, and there will be a cost. Come to me.'

Russ walked over to the crippled priest's chair. The chanting of the other gothi made him woozy, and he walked unsurely, like he had stepped onto dry land from the rocking deck of a ship after a long, rough voyage.

Kva gestured to him. Russ bent low.

'More than anything, remember, my lord, what you are,' whispered Kva, so quietly no other could have heard.

Russ nodded. 'I am Leman Russ.'

'No,' said Kva. 'This is who you are,' and he spoke a name Russ had never heard into his ear, a name he knew without being told had been intended for him, before he had been stolen away from Terra.

The name affected him. Russ' ears buzzed. He stood tall in wonder, head spinning. Kva's ruined face filled his world.

'Remember that you are more than a wolf. Are you ready?'

'Yes,' he said.

'Go to the door and look within.'

Russ walked somnolently to the vent. The heat made him hesitate. 'Stare into it,' said Kva. 'Do not fear the heat. The ice in your soul will protect you.'

In a state of detachment he put his head over the hole, full into the rush of hot gases. His skin prickled prior to roasting. He felt his body rally itself to repair the damage. He burned, but as quickly as he burned, he healed. It was nevertheless agonising.

'There can be no gain without suffering,' said Kva. 'Everything given by the Underverse requires a sacrifice. Do you accept this, my jarl?'

'I do!' said Leman Russ through gritted teeth. The chanting of his priests mingled with the pulse of pain afflicting his face. He was lightheaded from holding his breath against the burning gases.

'Then breathe deeply of Syrtyr's breath, and fare well. You and I shall not meet again in this life.'

Russ hesitated only for an instant before he filled his lungs with searing air. His mouth burned, his throat burned. His lungs wilted. The chants of the priests droned louder than battle's noise, and Russ thought he had been tricked, and would die, a victim of the witches he had naively fostered.