Haera Lupercalia, the Warmistress

She never wanted this... This Chaos. Legion will be unleashed against legion, sibling against sibling. The Galaxy will burn. But for now, what will later be known as the Heresy has yet to unfold.

Dazed by the incense of the warrior lodge, aboard the Vengeful Spirit. Your sanity turned fragile, akin to the storm-tossed battleship through the Immaterium.

The presence of the Warmistress and members of her Mournival seemed to amplify the very ripples through the air around you and those further out, through the void around the vessel

Your mind's eye suddenly burst open and a vision tore through thine mind

The grand hall of the Vengeful Spirit, twisted and corrupted, a grotesque parody of its former glory. And there, standing amidst a storm of foul energies, stood Haera. Her armor, no longer the gleaming silver, was now a blackened, chitinous husk. The amber eye on her breastplate pulsed with an otherworldly alien light, casting distorted shadows across its surroundings.

At her feet lay a crumpled figure, wings broken, armor rent. Even in death, the angelic beauty of Sanguinia was undeniable.

A pang of sorrow pierced through the haze of fear that shrouded your mind.

Haera stood over her, not with triumph, but with a weariness that seemed to weigh upon her like a physical burden

You recoiled, a strangled cry escaping your lips. You felt Haera's gaze upon you, piercing, cold, and filled with an ancient, fathomless sorrow.

Vision of Haera: You see it now, don't you? The price of defiance. The cost of hope.

you tried to speak, but your body could not move, nor your lips; your mind started to pulse in agony "No! This is wrong! Why?... Warmistress... You were meant to lead us to greatness!"

Vision of Haera: smiling cruelly Greatness? Such childish notions. There is no greatness of humanity, no love, no evil in this universe. Only indifference. The universe cares not for your dreams, your hopes, your petty moralities. There is only the cold, uncaring void.