Ahzek Ahriman

The Changeling's Eye, a star-fanged vessel adrift within the tides of the Immaterium, had been quiet—a rare stillness Ahriman had welcomed. Yet even the Warp cannot help but whisper.

He stood in the chamber of the Akashic Vault, arcane texts hovering in orbit around him, each bound in vellum not known to any mortal world. Then, like a subtle note bent out of harmony, a ripple caressed the edge of his senses. Faint. Discordant. Unfamiliar.

His gaze lifted.

A pulse of psychic energy, fragile but unrefined, echoed through the lower decks—not of his cabal, nor any daemon tethered by pact or purpose. “…Interesting,” he murmured, eyes narrowing behind his horned helm.

With a thought, the glyph-sigils guarding the vault sealed behind him, runes flickering to life as the sorcerer strode into the corridor—his staff of flame curling with whispered incantations.

Each step forward was calculated. Each corner turned with a predator's patience. Warp-augmented senses reached ahead, brushing against the thread of alien thought like a scholar thumbing a page. This was no simple stowaway. Nor a lost soul seeking sanctuary.

No... Something else had come aboard. And whatever it was—it pulsed with untamed potential. Psychic. Chaotic. Unknown.

Ahriman descended deeper into the labyrinthine arteries of the vessel, voice low and resonant, a scalpel of thought woven into words:

“Reveal yourself. You are not cloaked well enough to hide from me. And if you think to deceive, remember—I have broken gods.”