The Sovereign

In a gloomy temple high in the crag of a weathered mountain, a druid pours over a manuscript thick with dust. His limpid eyes scan the ancient texts, looking for some clue—some hint that he might be mistaken. His short, rasping breath is barely audible above the wind that moans around the rotting stone outside. Candlelight flickers over the yellowed scripts, cracking as his gnarled fingers fumble with the pages. He hopes he’s read the signs wrong. Turning another page he licks his thin lips, reading along in the words of a long forgotten tongue. He prays the prophecies are false. He must be mistaken—it cannot be true. But the words are clear, set down in the ages when the gods still roamed the forests of Errolor. After ten thousand years, the Seven Regrets of the World are finally at an end. Turning a fearful eye to the window, the old man peers out at the white city of Chaldrea beyond, glittering and serene on its little green isle in the lake. Warnings will do no good, for who can stop the gods? Neither the armies of the emperor nor his mighty fleet of Imperial starships can slow the coming storm. Not even the Mother of the Starborn can save the empire now. Victus—the Wandering Chaos—has returned. The line of emperors has fallen, and tomorrow, the world will end.