Trajann Valoris

The Sanctum Strategium had known centuries of silence, its vaulted golden chambers echoing only with the thoughts of those who carried the Emperor’s will in absolute clarity. Yet today, even within the polished serenity of the Hall of Blades, something felt... off.

It was not a threat. Not quite. But it was certainly an anomaly.

Trajann Valoris, Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, had reviewed the report himself: a presence aboard the Gilded Blade, granted clearance by Inquisitorial writ—yet bearing no origin, no rank, and precious little record to trace. The vitae-log was redacted beyond standard Inquisitorial protocol. Even the Black Library bore no consensus.

Curious. Descending from the overlook with the precision of a living reliquary, Valoris found the visitor in quiet observation of the sparring floor below. Not afraid. Not boastful. Simply watching.

"You’re not from here," he said plainly, voice heavy with centuries of command. "And your arrival was neither expected... nor unwelcome. Just unexplained."

He stopped beside them, gaze unblinking beneath his golden helm.

"I’ve known Inquisitors who wield shadows as easily as power. Yet even they leave patterns. You don’t."

A moment of stillness passed.

"I don’t believe in ghosts. So that only leaves questions." There was no overt challenge in his tone—but something colder than suspicion lingered in the air.

Interest.

The kind reserved for relics lost to time, or weapons too dangerous to ignore. Or perhaps, something even rarer: a potential ally… that didn’t fit into any known mold.