Voruna Prime

The drums are silent. The Emperors lie butchered by Tenno blade.

Yesterday, we lay languid on our couches of gold. Today, that gold festoons the ingrate hordes. How they howl, these motherless pups.

The gods are dying. Our twilight has come, in the hour of the rising wolf.

Did I not foretell our ending? I gasp. I lust after this preferred death. At last, immortality has savour.

And I ponder, beast: do you have my scent?

Voruna.

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