As the warp storms calmed further, more ships came to Terra. Some came to lend their strength to a final defence. Many came half expecting the Throneworld to have fallen and to find themselves in a battle for their lives. The celebrations they held when they discovered the situation was otherwise were muted, for the actual state of the galaxy was little better than the worst of their fears. All of them brought stories of terrible trips through the warp, of men lost to madness, and ships clawed from the empyrean by nightmarish horrors.

Still they came. Ten thousand ships crammed the higher orbits. Hundreds of Collegia Titanica coffin ships and all their vessels of support waited at I the uppermost anchors. Their numbers were exceeded by Imperial I Army bulk carriers, many hurrying in from the galactic west and I those other parts of the Imperium that had been spared the worst I of the fighting.

Regiments from systems thousands of light years from traitor atrocity waited alongside the battered remnants of routed forces. Every day saw dozens more vessels coming in to Terra. If they expected I refuge and peace, they were disappointed. At the behests of the solar marshals they were ordered to make ready for war again.

Legion ships of the VII, IX and V resupplied in anticipation of the coming battle. They were given priority at the great docks around Terra, Jupiter, Saturn and Luna. Bereft of Mars' industrial might, Terra struggled to meet their demands. The vessels and their armies were ordered to make sail for this battle or that holdfast, hoping for resupply en route.

Most were ordered to Beta-Garmon.

Though many times greater than the expedition fleets, the Beta-Garmon armada was a ragged memory of the indomitable Principia Imperialis that had cleansed the stars during the early stages of the Great Crusade. Only two centuries had passed since those days; already they seemed unimaginably distant.

If there was any comfort to be had, it came from the knowledge that the gathering at Terra was but a foretaste of the Great Muster Lord Dorn had planned at Beta-Garmon. The generals and admirals focused their efforts on taking and reinforcing the contested system. Never mind that rumours of the Warmaster's victories had them doubting their chances of success. Never mind that, should Beta-Garmon fall, the way to Terra would be open. There was no space for fear. Extinction was the only alternative to victory.

The cessation of the Ruinstorm should have brought hope, but it fired a feverish preparation for the worst. Every man in the system, from the lowest menial to the primarchs themselves knew that the final days of the war were coming.

Soon, the most terrible conflict mankind had ever fought would be won or lost.