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The warp.
The sea of souls.
The immaterium.
It has many names.
A parallel dimension — a twisted, roiling reflection of reality itself. A place of storms and madness. A wellspring of limitless power, volatile and corruptive, where thought takes shape and emotion feeds the monstrous.
Things live there.
Things born of fear, violence, desire, despair.
Most are but shrieking shadows — demons — minor entities compared to the four ancient powers that rule that place as gods.
And yet, for the first time in all the long and terrible history of the warp…
It screamed.
Not the creatures.
Not the damned souls.
The warp itself.
A soundless shriek tore through the immaterium as fire — black as the void between stars — erupted like a sun being born in reverse. It rolled outward in a tidal wave, devouring corruption, turning warp-flesh to ash and burning through emotion-made-matter.
Entities howled.
Some, clad in bronze armor and wielding blades shaped from the nightmares of men, found their protections melting, running like molten wax down charred bodies.
Others tried to bargain, to twist the flames, to corrupt the black fire as they had corrupted all things before.
And they withered.
Cracked.
Splintered apart into nothing.
Some laughed — great, horrible roars shaking the immaterium with triumph — until their own palaces, gardens, and gifts suddenly exploded into black flame, consuming their realms in an instant.
A few hurled themselves willingly into the fire, shrieking in agony and ecstasy, embracing the novelty of pain before their existence winked out like dying embers.
The warp recoiled, folding inward like a wounded beast, shrinking away from the black inferno consuming its heart.
And in the center of the devastation…
stood two souls, bound together yet utterly distinct.
The first was a giant — a warrior shaped of fire and blood.
A man in armor black as the void, every plate inscribed with symbols of ancient and unknown magic of Valyria that burned the corruption it touched. A river of crimson cloth flowed behind him like flowing molten rock. In one gauntleted hand he wielded a sword forged of silver fire, its blade singing as it cut the warp-storms around him.
Beside him towered something infinitely more fearsome.
A shadow.
A titan.
A dragon forged from the black between stars — every scale swallowing light whole, every movement bending the immaterium around it. Wings vast enough to smother suns spread behind it, sending shockwaves through the warp's turbulent oceans.
Its talons could tear open starship hulls.
Its tail could shatter worlds.
Its presence made even gods flinch.
But its eyes…
Its eyes burned with a crimson flame, deeper and older than time.
Every demon in the warp — from the lowliest scrapspawn to the grandest horrors — felt those eyes upon them.
And they charged.
Legions screamed in hatred and fury, surging forward in endless waves, trying to drown the black fire with their mass, stomping upon the black flames still clinging to their warped flesh.
The giant moved sword of silver flames flashing like moonlight.
The dragon roared with the force to crack worlds and breathed fire that burn galaxies.
And the warp burned anew.
---
My body moved before my eyes even opened.
Blackfyre was already in my hand — drawn, raised, and cutting through the air in a single instinctive motion.
The images from the warp still clung to my mind, vivid and burning: gnashing maws, impossible colors, legion upon legion of twisted entities screaming as they rushed me. For an instant, I still saw them — swarming, shrieking, reaching.
I tore the sheets from the bed and flung them between myself and the phantoms, rolling off the mattress and onto my feet in one fluid motion. In less than a heartbeat I was upright, breath sharp, stance grounded, Blackfyre sweeping in a deadly arc meant to take the head of the nearest creature—
"My lord…"
The voice pierced the haze like a bell struck underwater.
The demon's face — a grotesque, writhing masque of warpflesh — flickered.
And then it wasn't a demon at all.
It was Myra.
The warm, gentle smile on her lips stood at complete odds with the edge of Valyrian steel resting against her throat.
Time froze.
"Myra…" My voice sounded wrong — deeper, heavy enough to vibrate in my chest. "What is…?"
I trailed off as my senses began to catch up to me. The inconsistencies pressed in all at once.
My voice.
My stance.
My height.
When I lowered Blackfyre, the priestess didn't flinch. If anything, her smile softened, almost fond.
Only then did I realize I was bending my neck — downward — just to meet her eyes.
A slow, creeping awareness crawled across my skin. My body felt different. Too different.
I stepped back, the floor groaning beneath my weight, and looked down at myself.
Gone was the body I had shaped through years of training — powerful, lean, honed for war.
What replaced it was… larger.
Broader.
Corded with muscle that looked almost sculpted rather than trained — the kind of impossible build that should have been impractical, burdensome, too heavy to move quickly.
And yet I knew — with the same certainty I knew Blackfyre's balance — that this body was not slow.
It was not clumsy.
It was built for power and speed both, a form shaped by something greater than mortal limits.
I turned toward the mirror.
Only half of me fit inside the frame.
A towering figure stared back — nine feet tall, shoulders broad enough to blot out the candlelight. My silver hair, longer from our time in Essos, now fell just past those massive shoulders like a river of pale fire.
My eyes…
They were the same shape.
The same violet.
But deeper.
Shadowed by something unnatural that had not been there before.
I exhaled slowly.
The mirror fogged slightly.
Behind me, Myra bowed her head slightly.
"You have finally shed your scales, my lord," she said softly. "And taken another step on your path."
"This is… strange."
I flexed my arms, watching thick cords of new muscle shift beneath skin that seemed almost too perfect. "I feel the same… yet different. But… right."
My knuckles cracked like splitting stone when I clenched my fists.
I rolled my shoulders. There was no stiffness, no awkwardness.
Every motion felt natural — as if I had lived in this body all my life.
"Why has this happened?" I asked, adjusting instinctively to the deep, resonant weight of my new voice.
"Because, my lord…" Myra's tone was warm, almost reverent — the comfort of a hearthfire on a winter night. "In the realm of the gods, your true self was revealed."
My head snapped toward her.
For a brief moment I studied her face, searching for answers she hadn't yet given. Just how much did she know of the Warp? Of the Immaterium? Of the entities that dwelled within its madness?
How much did she know about what I had seen?
What I had fought?
And then the more personal question rose:
How had she known what I experienced?
Was it even a dream?
No… no, the moment I asked myself, I knew it hadn't been.
But none of that reached my expression.
"Realm of the gods…" I repeated the phrase, rolling the words across my tongue. They didn't fit. They tasted wrong — far too gentle for a place so twisted and violent. "Is that what you call that place? The things I fought we're gods?"
I couldn't keep the disgust from that last word.
"No, my lord." Myra shook her head, unbothered. "Those beings you faced were their servants. Their soldiers. Minor entities compared to the masters themselves."
She said it lightly, almost casually — as if the information were simple fact.
"You seem to know an awful lot about the dreams of a man you've only known a few days and nights," I said, letting a dry edge of humor slip into my voice.
The corner of her mouth tugged upward — the faintest smirk.
"Dreams are not the only way to see beyond the veil, my lord."
She gestured toward the hearth.
The dying embers — nothing but ash and faint glow — suddenly roared to life, bursting into golden fire that danced violently within the stone enclosure.
"For the Lord of Light," Myra continued calmly, the flames reflected in her emerald eyes, "speaks through His fire. And through them, His servants see the unseen."
The hearth cracked loudly, sparks leaping as shadows twisted and stretched across the chamber walls like living things.
"So," I said, my grip tightening on Blackfyre, "is your Lord of Light one of those things?"
I did not bother to hide the edge in my voice. The accusation was deliberate.
Myra did not flinch.
"No," she said simply.
Then, after a heartbeat, "And yes."
A flash of irritation burned through me. Gods. Magic. The Warp. All of it cloaked in riddles and half-truths — always just out of reach. And yet… I knew enough to understand that such answers were never vague without reason or purpose.
I exhaled slowly. "Tell me," I said evenly, "what you can — in plain language."
Myra's gaze drifted back to the flames.
For a moment, the fire seemed to answer her instead. The golden light deepened, shifting — red, then orange — until the glow painted her face in hues of blood and sunset. Her green eyes reflected it fully, almost seeming to burn from within.
Then she turned back to me.
"I can tell you this," she said softly, each word measured. "My Lord desires the same end as your true father."
The flames in the hearth surged higher, crackling with sudden intensity.
"The end of the Four."
The words settled into the chamber like falling ash.
I let out a slow breath, my fingers tightening around the hilt of Blackfyre. I already knew the answer to the question forming in my mind — but I needed to hear how she would dress it in faith and fire.
"Then tell me," I said quietly, "am I nothing more than a pawn in the games of beings too vast to care whether I burn or break?"
Myra did not answer at once.
Instead, she stepped closer, the heat of the hearth washing over us both. The flames dimmed slightly, as if listening.
"No," she said at last. "A pawn is moved. Sacrificed. Forgotten."
Her gaze locked with mine.
"You are a choice."
I frowned. "That is a prettier word for the same thing."
A faint smile touched her lips — not mocking, but knowing.
"Perhaps," she admitted. "But pawns do not reshape the board."
The fire flared again.
"They are hesitant of you," she continued softly. "The Four. They have always ruled through hunger, corruption, excess, decay, and false hope. They do not understand what you are. How younare different."
I felt something stir in my chest — not fear, but a cold, steady certainty.
"And what is that?" I asked.
Myra's eyes flicked briefly to my reflection in the mirror — nine feet tall, shadowed, something vast lurking beneath the surface.
"A dragon," she said simply "cannot be chained."
I looked back at the reflection, studying this new form — the power in it, the weight of it. Then I drew in a slow breath and closed my eyes.
I did not fully understand how I knew what to do — only that I did. One of my brothers possessed the same gift, able to change his true height as easily as breathing. Even the Emperor himself could do the same.
So I imagined myself as I had been.
And I willed it to be so.
The pressure vanished. The world subtly realigned.
When I opened my eyes again, Myra was standing before me at eye level, her expression unreadable save for the faint warmth in her gaze.
I glanced once more at the mirror. My familiar form had returned, though the shadow behind my eyes remained.
"I believe, my lady," I said, meeting her gaze and offering a small, knowing smile, "that we have far more to discuss."
I turned slightly toward the hearth, where the flames still danced low and watchful.
"And the night," I added softly, "is still young."