Entry VII – Echoes of the Blackened Flame

 

Entry VII – Echoes of the Blackened Flame

The sky had darkened further by the time Talmen Tengroth spoke again, its muted light thinning as though the world itself strained to listen. The distant Ork engines still growled across the lowlands, but closer now was another sound — softer, intermittent, and far more dangerous.

A transmission ping.

Talmen’s eyes flicked to the rune-display projected from his vambrace, its symbols stuttering, resolving, then fracturing again.

Talmen Tengroth:
“There is something I withheld, Safar. Not from doubt — but from certainty.”

Safar turned at once. The skein tightened.

Safar Timura:
“Withholding implies consequence. Speak.”

Talmen’s jaw set.

Talmen Tengroth:
“Among the distorted transmissions Elune received from this world… there were others. Not Ork. Not human. Drukhari.”

The air seemed to contract around them.

Safar’s expression did not change, but the future recoiled.

Safar Timura:
“Commorragh listens, then.”

Talmen Tengroth:
“And answers. One name repeated across several fragmented signals — coded boasts, threat-signatures, ritual identifiers.”

He allowed the rune to stabilize, projecting a single sigil between them: a stylised flame reduced to black ash.

Talmen Tengroth (continued):
“Xyrech Vhal. Archon of the Kabal of the Blackened Flame.”

For a long moment, Safar said nothing. His witchblade hummed softly as his grip tightened — not in anger, but in resolve.

Safar Timura:
“Elune remembers him.”

Talmen Tengroth:
“As do I. The raids along the Cytheris Drift. The shattered maiden-world shrines. The souls never recovered.”

Safar inclined his head, a fraction too slow.

Safar Timura:
“If the Drukhari have come, then this world holds more than Orks and stone. It holds suffering — potential, distilled and ripe.”

Talmen’s voice hardened.

Talmen Tengroth:
“This changes everything. Against Orks, defeat is loss of ground. Against the Drukhari, defeat is annihilation of legacy.”

He gestured toward the darkened battlefield beyond the plateau.

Talmen Tengroth (continued):
“If our warriors fall to Orks, we reclaim their soul stones. The Infinity Circuit endures. But if Vhal’s forces strike first—”

He did not finish the sentence.

Safar did.

Safar Timura:
“There will be no gathering after. Soul stones will be taken as trophies… or shattered in mockery. Their spirits fed to pain engines or scattered into nothing.”

The skein shuddered violently at the thought.

Safar closed his eyes, and for a heartbeat the future screamed.

Safar Timura (quietly):
“I see it now. A branching failure. Not defeat in battle — but erasure. Elune diminished not by numbers, but by absence.”

Talmen stepped closer.

Talmen Tengroth:
“Then this threat must be addressed immediately. Before the Orks are broken. Before the vault is opened further. Before Vhal chooses his moment.”

Safar opened his eyes, their calm now sharpened to a dangerous clarity.

Safar Timura:
“Xyrech Vhal does not come to contest territory. He comes to harvest. If he senses indecision, he will wait. If he senses desperation, he will strike.”

He looked out across the blackened stone.

Safar Timura (continued):
“We cannot allow a threefold war. Nor can we afford delay. This is no longer an expedition — it is a denial.”

Talmen Tengroth:
“Then we commit fully.”

Safar Timura:
“Yes. And we do so knowing this truth: if we fail here, the dead of Elune will know no peace. Their names will not join the circuit. Their songs will end in Commorragh.”

Talmen’s expression was grim, but unwavering.

Talmen Tengroth:
“Then we deny Vhal his prize. By blade, by foresight, or by sealing this world forever.”

Safar rested the tip of his witchblade against the blackstone once more. For a fleeting instant, the stone seemed to drink the light.

Safar Timura:
“So be it. Let the Blackened Flame find only ashes here.”

Far above them, unseen in the veiled sky, something listened — and this time, it smiled.