Sacrosanct

Kavastus Seven-sense stood in the grand musterground of Sigmaron alongside the Lord-Arcanums from the other Stormhosts. They had been summoned, and were standing at attention in anticipation of the God-King’s arrival. Each of the Stormcast lords remained motionless, their armour gleaming in the starlight that shone down from above. It was an awesome sight to behold, yet Kavastus felt a small mote of unease deep within him. I should be at my post, he thought; I must maintain my vigil.

A metallic clang sounded high above, followed by another, and another. It was the resonance of the Six Smiths’ hammers. Kavastus knew it well, but at this distance the thunderous blows sounded different. Away from the Sigmarabulum, he could no longer hear the screams of the reforged after each strike, nor could he listen for the tell-tale signs of the reforging going awry. At first, it had been extremely rare that a reforging would fail, but such occurrences were becoming ever more common. The horrors of the abounding wars were taking their toll on the Stormcast Eternals, as were the wicked sorceries of the God-King’s myriad enemies and the pace at which the Six Smiths were being required to work. Kavastus and his brethren had been held back from these wars in order to shepherd the fallen through the reforging process. It was a duty devoid of glory, but it was vital, and he carried it out with pride.

The ringing of the hammers continued, and the Stormcast lords continued to wait. Then, with a boom of thunder, the gateway of the musterground swung open. A figure of radiant gold strode forth and up onto the arch-dais. He was majesty made manifest, star and storm given glorious form. He was Sigmar Heldenhammer, God-King of the Mortal Realms, and he looked out over his warriors.

Kavastus straightened his back, squared his shoulders and held his head high. No matter how many centuries passed, the honour of being in the God-King’s presence remained undiminished. He watched as Sigmar cast his gaze across those arrayed before him. The God-King then spoke.

‘Think upon your duty.’

The words were not bellowed, yet they carried like the rumblings of a mighty tempest, echoing around the musterground. Kavastus waited for what would be said next, but the God-King remained silent. He simply stood on his dais, looking upon the warriors below, waiting. His words had been an order, and upon realising this Kavastus reflected upon his service to Sigmar.

Long ago, before his reforging, Kavastus had known Sigmar only in tales. He had heard stories of the God-King, whose domain could be glimpsed by looking to the High Star Sigendil.

When Kavastus gazed to the Heavens, he had found he could see things that no others of his kingdom could see – he perceived various paths that the future could take, much like how the hunters saw where animals would be by looking at the leaves and grasses. He had foreseen a great trial in his own future, in which the limits of his strength and willpower would be tested.

When the marauders first came, he had thought that trail was upon him. He had called out to the stars, imploring that they grant him a portion of their burning fury that he might use it to smite the armies of Tzeentchian aberrations that were plaguing his kingdom. The stars had answered him then; he had felt the power of Azyr flowing through him – but that had not been his great trial.

When he had received the call heavenward, he was at last given the opportunity to repay the debt he owed the God-King, to serve the one who had granted him the power to slay the Chaos invaders. Kavastus had been reforged and tasked with keeping vigil over Sigmar’s great city, ensuring that Azyrheim remained inviolate amidst the ongoing wars. Yet throughout this service he had known his true trial still lay ahead of him. Always, his greatest challenge was in the future.

As Kavastus pondered this, Sigmar spoke once more.

‘You have all served me well.’

Kavatus was almost overcome with pride. The God-King spoke only when necessary, and to receive praise from him was a rare honour. Fulfilment of duty required no recognition – Kavastus had always known this.

‘A soul war is upon us,’ continued Sigmar. ‘A war in which your chambers are now needed. You have guided your brethren through the fires of reforging, and you have seen what it has cost. This cost can no longer be borne. You must go forth and find a cure.’

Kavastus turned his eyes skyward, to the stars that stretched over Azyr. Was the fate they had foretold about to come to pass?

‘The enemy in the underworld is gaining power,’ said Sigmar. ‘His armies will come for the life I have granted you.’

Sigmar paused, casting his gaze wide over the assembly.

‘Make them pay dearly for it.’

At this, the God-King stepped down from the dais and strode out of the musterground. As the doors through which Sigmar passed were closing, an excited murmur began spreading through the gathered Stormcast Eternals. Kavastus could feel the electricity of the moment, the jubilant sensation that was affecting him and his brethren. For so long, they had been held back from the front-lines, seeing the wars unfold only through the agonies of those that were brought back for reforging. At last, they would be able to unleash their might upon the enemies of Order. From somewhere in the mustergrounds, a chant erupted.

‘Praise Sigmar! Praise Sigmar!’

Kavastus joined in, along with all others in attendance. This was it, the time he had foreseen in his past life. The great trial was upon him. He would fight in Sigmar’s wars, he would die and be reforged, but he would never falter in his duty.

Through the thunderous chanting, Kavastus heard another metallic clang high above – the sound of the Six Smiths’ in their ceaseless work – and at this, a mote of doubt crept into his soul. With his chamber deployed in the realms, who would watch over the reforgings? Now more than ever, their vigilance was needed. Now more than ever, the lightning-gheists of those whose reforgings went awry were a danger to Azyrheim.

As quickly as it had appeared, the doubt within him dissipated, and he continued to chant along with the others. The God-King himself had given him the order.

Nothing could go wrong.

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