Book Three: The Heart of Yang Xiao Long

Chapter 100: The Wolf-King and the Rout

"Water is tears from the eye / the drops from the ice / the rivers that spill from the mountains/ the waves on the sea / the tide that swallows all works of man." - Runa Flame-Tongue, Fenrisian Skjald

Distant and lonely, the sound of a stubber echoed into the night, A far-away firefight that Yang registered in the back of her mind, ignored in the face of mounting agony and exhaustion. Augurhaz lay defeated before her - before Holmbr - but the cost was enormous. Even now, the prayers of the 111th echoed in her mind, in the depths of the Warp, calling to her. She could not help them. Their lungs burnt, scoured by warp-born chemicals, their bodies bled, studded with subsonic rounds from heretic survivors.

"Yang," Amat said in her microbead, voice harsh. Exhausted. Maybe the first time she'd heard him sound like that. Probably poured his aura into those last few rounds.

"Hey," she whispered back, pressing the vox-device close. "You okay?"

"I'm... going to help the Woadians," he said.

"Thanks," Yang said. She wanted to wipe her eyes, but Ember-In-Glory was too large. "Stay safe."

"You too."

The daemon's corpse was gone now, totally dissolved. All remnants of its summoning were gone too, crushed under a hundred tons of rubble and debris. All that was left of the Cathedral was the altar, still dented from Yang's earlier landing. Scoured of taint, the aquila shone brighter, but it was a sour comfort.

Torbrand let Jöm down, aided by his comrades. The fight with Augurhaz had nearly killed them. It had been close. Too close.

"I'm sorry," Yang said, watching flames and pillars of yellow chemicals play in the distance. Somewhere in Aesborough.

"Don't be," Torbrand said, removing his helmet. Holmbr copied him, witnessing Jöm's final resting place with their naked eyes. He removed Jöm's helm to reveal a feral and bloody yet brilliant smile.

Ingvar chuckled. "Of course," he said.

Vulkmar patted his comrade's pauldron, rocking him gently. "A good death," he said, voice carrying in the empty, ruined plaza. The wolves murmured in agreement, but Laukr was silent.

"Look away, Yang," Torband instructed. She averted her eyes from what she knew what would follow. There was a wet ripping sound as the sergeant tore Jöm's geneseed loose, destroying his throat in the process.

"I've seen worse," Yang mumbled. Her mind fluttered back to her first day in the Imperium. A few hundred klicks away from where she sat. The village, a little girl's head on a spike. Later on a dusty Elodian battlefield, where a kid screamed for his mother with his guts in his hands.

"I know," Torbrand said. He coughed, splattering blood down the front of his armor, staining his beard. He pounded at his chest, the sounds in the back of his throat wet and ragged.

"Thanks," Yang said, staring at the ruins of the Cathedral. A taught grin. "You guys kick serious ass."

Vulkmar chuckled. "Not so bad yourself. The assassin as well," he added.

"Tonight could have gone much worse, Torbrand said. "We were fortunate that only Jöm made the ultimate sacrifice."

Ingvar grunted in agreement. "A good battle," he said. Laukr nodded, inspecting the torn, ruined teeth on his chainsword.

"I agree," Yang said, trying to maintain her grin. The pain made it impossible. Grunting, she tore at her greaves. Only when her fingers met ceramite did she notice the extent of damage to her power armor.

It smoked from a hundred rents, the armored plates studded with flecks of xenos-flechettes, warp-metal, and painted in smoldering gore. Sparks flickered from the joints, some twitching, exposed wiring and torn ceramite leaking unguent.

"Emperor," Yang hissed, finally freeing her wounded leg. The damage was worse than she'd imagined - her leg was entirely black, with broken shards of bones sticking out from her ankle, blood pooling in her armor. "Oh fuck," she hissed, leaning back, nausea and coldness steal itself upon her. "Oh fuck."

Vulkmar gave a low whistle when he saw the damage. "Lucky, considering what normally happens when someone steps on an AT mine."

"Don't feel lucky," Yang grunted. She felt hot all of a sudden as the adrenals faded away, flush with feverish heat. She tried to shake it away but her aura was spent, utterly broken by Augurhaz's unrelenting strikes.

"Can you move?" Torbrand asked.

Yang shook her head. "Armor's busted too."

"Holiness-" A voice crackled in her ear. Longinus. He sounded pained.

And Yang felt helpless again. First time in a while. Her faithful cried out to her with gasping breaths, and she could barely summon the will to stay conscious.

"We'll assist them," Torbrand said, hefting Vigriðrkonungr. "Keep him safe," he said, nodding at Jöm's body.

"I will."

Holmbr vanished into Aesborough. Yang Xiao Long the Living Saint was left alone in what remained of the Cathedral plaza. It was littered with debris, impact craters, shattered brickwork, painted in the remains of a hundred heretics and xenos. Decaying daemon-ichor streaked every inch of it.

It's done.

"Well fought," she said, patting Jöm's pauldron. Without him - without Holmbr and Amat - Augurhaz would have killed her. Once more, she would have awoken to an unknown future, everything she cared about and fought for wiped away in wash of lifeblood.

She managed a grin. Thanks, Big Guy, she managed, looking up at the stars. She didn't know which one was Sol, but she knew the Emperor was there, watching out for her.

"It was an ugly building anyway," Vadiik called to her. The old veteran limped out from an alley, assisted by a handful of resistance fighters. "Always thought it needed renovation," she added.

Yang's grin widened. Gingerly removing a blue-black arm from Ember-In-Glory, she wiped at her eyes. Vadiik leaned down to embrace her, nestling her head into Yang's mass of golden curls.

"You did good," Vadiik said, stroking her matted hair.

Yang nodded into the arm wrapped around her chest, sobbing quietly.

The first of the Woadian casualties arrived an hour later. Aesborough was nearly cleansed. Only a rearguard heretic force had remained to garrison the captured city, and Holmbr had all but annihilated it.

The 111th had been decimated. Chemical artillery and vicious ambushes had whittled them down to barely a thousand souls. Yang took solace in the fact that though the blood flowed, it likely didn't flow thick enough to wash the taste of Augurhaz's death from the Blood God's throat.

She wanted to admonish them. The Colonel, the Commissars, Caolin, all of them. She wanted to scream and berate them for their foolishness, for their blind faith in her. What did they think they were going to accomplish?

Instead, she could only hold the wounded as they passed. Many wore chemical burns, their flesh sagging as it sloughed away from the bone, as their shredded throats poured blood into their ruined lungs until they drowned. At least they died under a Woadian sky.

A pyre grew around Jöm's corpse. Though the Wolves had removed his armor, he seemed no less massive. Hundreds of bodies joined him, the lives spent in the planet's defense. Where the Cathedral once stood, what had once been defiled, would be made holy once more, hallowed by the ashes of the righteous dead.

Yang had shed her armor, allowed herself to be carted around by Gamma's survivors. Mael's right half seethed with chemical burns, and he coughed horribly. Caolin and Kalla had been left well behind, if not already shipped back to the Ascendant Dawn for emergency triage.

Only Asgeg and Lorl had the strength to lift her.

They muttered their thanks to her, offered her prayers. Gratitude that their lives had been spared, that she had slain the horrid creature that had defiled their world. In defiance of Yang's expectations, even Preacher Alvito had made planetfall to offer comfort and worship to the Woadians.

Vadiik stayed by her side, despite the old woman's apparent exhaustion. Yang knew she'd been awake for days, too under fire to sleep or think.

Holmbr returned to the plaza, their footsteps shaking the earth. Amat had joined them, now-useless exitus weapons slung across his back. The Woadians watched them pass, wide-eyed and gaping. Torbrand nodded at them, Vigriðrkonungr entirely red with gore.

Amat removed his mask, staring at her from across the plaza. He looked tired, but unhurt. Yang couldn't ask for more, and she forced down the urge to limp-sprint over to him and never let go.

He smiled, and that was enough for her.

"Attention loyal guardsmen!" Torbrand boomed, his voice echoing across the plaza. "We will now begin the funerary rites for the fallen. Stand in observance and respect their sacrifice."

"Àuh!" The survivors - and Yang - bellowed back. "Àuh!"

The astartes sergeant smiled. With the help of his comrades, he set the entire pyre ablaze. Slowly, the flames began to eat at the dead. Their bodies turned black, crackling as the heat swelled.

A low, humming hymnal echoed from the Woadians, from the Fenrisians.

Torbrand joined her, towering over Asgeg and Lorl. Without her power armor, his size was almost impossible to believe in person.

"Yang," he said.

"Sarge," she replied, nodding to Asgeg and Lorl. They obeyed, setting her gently on the ground. They left, staring up at Torbrand, whispering between themselves as they scuttled away.

"You have questions burning in those Cadian eyes of yours," Torbrand said, looking down at her.

Yang smiled. "A few. Seems weird to ask given…" she waved at the pyre before them. At her gathered faithful. She watched the dead smolder and burn. "Again… thank you. Without you, without Jöm… this world…" she shook her head. "Don't wanna think about it."

"My thanks to you as well," Torbrand said. He nodded at his comrades, who watched their brother burn. "Without your help, there'd be no pyre. Nothing left but a daemonworld. It is said that we astartes know no fear, but such… things," he said voice dropping an octave as the image of Augurhaz flared in their memories. "The Vlka Fenryka know what is best to fear."

"The Emperor was looking out for us, sending you here." Yang said. Torbrand gave her a knowing smile.

"We heard an Imperial world was under a dire assault. So we intervened."

"Without bolters?" Yang asked, eyeing the massive frostblade in his hands. Outside of the heat of battle, she realized it was taller than her by a half-meter. "No ammunition, no medical supplies?"

"We are Cadia's wounded," Torbrand answered. "Our Lord and Jarl forced us to depart our brothers. Nearly at sword-point," he added with a rumbling chuckle. "The Sonatorrek was bound for Fenris, along with a dozen other ships. Issues with the Munitorum. Supplies, reinforcements…" he trailed off. "We made a slight detour."

"At the expense of you brothers on Cadia?" Yang asked. "And I'm no longer naive enough to think Woadia's the only Imperial world under attack."

"We are connected to this planet," Torbrand said, eyes flicking towards Laukr, whose lips worked soundlessly. "To its people. Long ago, their ancestors fought with the Vlka Fenryka. Back when it was a Legion, not a Chapter. When our Primarch walked the mortal realm." He took a deep breath, forcing himself to continue. Something inside him - Yang suspected his fused-together ribs - were broken. Had been for a while.

"There are blood ties between the Woadians and us," Torbrand said. "And a few other worlds through the segmentum. Our assistance… was the least we could do."

"And your mission?" Yang asked, beginning to understand. "Why land outside Aesborough?"

"The Guard regiments here were faring poorly," Torbrand said, lips curling upward, nearly hidden behind his sweat-matted beard. "I… believe our intervention at the heretic base might have relieved some of their burden. With the supplies and men stored there, the heretics could have waged a far bloodier resistance before their inevitable extermination."

Yang chuckled. It might not have been appropriate given the pyre before them, but she knew what she had to do now. Catching Amat's attention, she flicked her eyes towards the Sergeant.

Amat went pale, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. A slow nod.

"Help me up, Sarge?" She asked.

"Something amiss?" He returned.

"We'll see," she said, attempting to stand in an effort to force the issue. He scooped her up effortlessly. "In front of the pyre."

"Want me to toss you in?" He joked. Yang's smile broadened.

"Close enough."

As they neared, the hymn quieted, then died. Yang stared into the burning dead, prayed that they would find the Emperor's side. The heat was overwhelming, an effusive wall of flame that licked at the rubble beneath it.

"Stand me up," she said. "Please."

Torbrand obeyed, confusion palpable in his momentary hesitation.

"Now kneel," Yang requested, gritting the words out between clenched teeth as her weight leaned on her shattered leg.

"Kneel?" The astartes asked.

"Can't reach your shoulder if you don't," Yang said, the pain nearly blinding. Slowly, the Sergeant obeyed, kneeling before the Living Saint Yang Xiao Long. In one hand, she took his cheek. The other lighted upon his shoulder.

Her wings returned with a violent flare of golden flame, her halo igniting with a roar of crackling warp-fire.

"My blessing, Sergeant Torbrand," she said, her voice thundering throughout Aesborough.

"In a galaxy defined by anonymous sacrifice," she boomed, the vestiges of her aura thundering through her and pouring into Torbrand. "It is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through death, we become legends, stories sung about the home-hearth - paragons exemplar of what it means to serve the Emperor. Unbound by mortality, infinite in glory, I release your soul and by my shoulder... protect thee."

Yang sagged, her wings catching her as she stumbled away from the Sergeant. He caught her as well, hands tightening around her shoulders, his frostbite eyes swimming with a vision of

Howling consumed her, deep and throaty, the howl a world locked in perpetual struggle for life itself a hundred thousand times over, of islands that lasted for a season before they were swallowed and crushed by violent tectonics. A howl that tore through every inch of her soul, shook her broken bones. It was no animal, no animal had such capacity for hate and ferocity, nothing natural made that sound, nothing whole, nothing in the mortal realm, a nothing that demanded

WHO.

ARE.

YOU?

Yang paled before the voice, before its owner - a vision of a grinning giant, a monster, a titan born from humanity's most primal natures summoned forth and abandoned on its harshest world, a colossus with yellow eyes and a howl that shook the world over, a howl echoed by all night-beasts of Fenris, made them bare their fangs with rabid furor.

A howl that routed the Emperor's most stalwart foes, a whirling sword that spelled their end, demanded their slaughterous Rout, a sword that drank oceans of blood and emerged unsated - the trappings of a man that was no man in truth, but world and Primarch both.

And Leman Russ laughed.

The Warp itself trembled at the sound. Yang quailed before the noise, ran from it, sought the Emperor and found nothing but an endless forest filled with prowling predators and wolves that were no wolves in truth. All submitted to their true King, a pair of gleaming fangs and a rictus of predatory intent unsurpassed by any being, mortal or otherwise, a laugh that shook the Warp before it was swallowed in a blizzard that cut her skin like a torrent of razors - the coldest thing she'd ever felt.

And Yang awoke, once more upon the surface of Woadia. Her homeworld.

Before her, Torbrand grimaced, his fangs grinding together as his comrades held him upright. He looked at her, his eyes wide and full of terrible understanding as they glowed with bluish rime-light. He panted and wheezed, but recovered. His breath stabilized.

"Miss Long!" Vadiik said, catching her before she stumbled and fell. Her friends rushed to her side.

"What…" Torbrand managed. "What… what have you done?"

Yang couldn't stop the massive grin that spread across her lips. "Only what you deserved. For your helping with Woadia. For protecting my Guard."

"Lady..." Vulkmar breathed, looking at her incredulously. Laukr frowned, inspecting his Sergeant. He still held his chainsword tight.

Torbrand took a deep breath. The first one in months. "I… don't believe it," he said. "Did you… did you see…?"

"Yes," Yang said. And I pray I never see those snarling fangs again. A frigid shudder ran its way down her back, agitating her leg.

"How?" Torbrand asked. "What… Who are you?"

"Questions for later," Yang said.

"Yang?" Asgeg hissed.

The Saint patted her metallic shoulder. "All good, Asgeg. At least I believe so," she said, looking up at Torbrand. The astartes nodded, blinking away sudden exhaustion. A thousand questions rattled within his reinforced skull, and Yang could hear them all. She returned his nod.

It's going to be okay.

Vulkmar - careful not to rip her arm from her socket - lifted her hand to the sky. "Fenyrs hjoda!" He bellowed. "Àuh! Àuh!"

"ÀUH!" The woadians echoed, reaching for her, for the Space Wolves. "ÀUH!"

"All hail the Living Saint Yang Xiao Long!" Mael cried weakly, his voice cracked and hoarse. "All pay tribute to the Grey Angles! To the Wolves of Fenris!"

"Àuh!" They bellowed.

"Àuh!" Torbrand roared, warp-frost spilling from his lips.

Yang awoke in the pre-dawn glow, unsure of when she'd fallen asleep or how. Someone had moved her beside the Cathedral altar, fortified the area with low walls of debris and shattered stonework. A small candle flickered beside her makeshift bed, warm and dim. The plaza had only grown more crowded during her slumber, now packed with Guard reinforcements, more wounded Rangers, and Woadian civilians.

The pyre still roared, but gentler now, subdued.

Her hand was warm - gently clasped within Amat's.

"Amat?" She croaked, searching for anyone that'd seen.

"Don't worry," he said, wiping at her face with a warm cloth. "The Wolves know. I told them everything."

Yang sighed, relaxed as a golden glow numbed the pain that throbbed through her entire being. "Assassin-man," she whispered. "What am I going to do with you?"

"They'd deduced it already," Amat explained. "And I'm not going to attempt deceiving a Space Marine. A perilous habit to develop. Lethal, even."

Yang chuckled weakly, pain suffusing every twitch of her chest. "Ow," she groaned. "Fuck. Torbrand?" She asked.

"Resting."

"Ah."

"Don't worry," Amat said. "I didn't mention Remnant."

"Oh thank the Throne," Yang said, kneading the bridge of her nose. She had a feeling that was a conversation topic best left avoided. "Ah, what was I thinking?"

"You got caught up in the moment," Amat said, scratching at the stubble that dusted his chin. "A favorite pastime of yours."

"Ha-ha," Yang said, nestling her cheek against his lap. She'd take whatever comfort she could. She was still drained from the night's events, and every inch of her ached. Worse than when she'd been thrashed by Ahriman's slaves.

"You slayed a daemon," Amat said.

"We did," Yang reminded him.

Amat chuffed. "Guess we did."

"Your extius rounds…" Yang said. The words felt heavy. They were their only hope of stopping her should the unthinkable happen, but now there was little left to shield them faith. It'll be enough for now.

But they were also the final gift from the Vindicare Temple. Now spent, his weapons were all but useless. A vital part of a Vindicare, gone forever, the final round spent to save her life and fell a Daemon Prince.

She patted his knee and said nothing. He accepted the gesture, resting his hand on hers. They sat like that for a minute before the thunderous sound of advancing power armor forced them apart.

Laukr approached, brow furrowed, a frown chiseled into his lean, bookish features. For once, he was not holding his chainsword.

"I wish to speak," he said.

"Uh…" Yang said, glancing at Amat. Amat shrugged.

"I want to address them," Laukr clarified, waving a gauntleted hand at the gathered servants of the Emperor. "They have earned the right to a tale seldom told. In honor of their sacrifice. And…" there was a flicker of uncertainty on his face, a twitch of his runic tattoo. A sight rarely seen on an astartes.

"As thanks for your blessing," Laukr finished. "I know not how it was given, but even I am not blind to its power. You have done the Wolves of Fenris a tremendous service. Your favor will not be forgotten."

"Must be one hell of a story," Yang said. Laukr did not laugh.

"It is one of the most important ever told," he replied evenly.

Yang nodded. "I think it would mean a lot," she said. "Thank you, Laukr."

"Hm."

He turned and departed, marching towards the smoking pyre.

"A story?" Amat asked. "From… Laukr?"

"Right?" Yang asked. "I suppose it can't hurt. They'll never forget it either," she added, glancing at the Woadians that parted before the space marine's unwavering march. When he reached the flames, he stopped, bowed his head. A small crowd watched him intently, whispers flitting between them. He turned to face them.

For a moment, Laukr looked lost - an enormous child suddenly doused in a blinding spotlight. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to chant. The illusion of uncertainty vanished.

"I name myself Laukr," he began, his voice resonant, lilting, effortlessly filling the Cathedral plaza. "Son of Runa Flame-Tongue, reborn to the Vlka Fenryka. Student of the storied Kasper Hawser, Skjald of Tra, who was known by the name Ahmad ibn Rustah and stood in the presence of both Emperor and Primarch." Laukr swayed gently in time with his song, his story.

"Before the honored dead," he continued, "I come to recall the tale of the Imperium as it once was, as it was sundered, as it became what it is today. A tale woven by my friend and teacher by the order of the Wolf King himself."

"In those days, those distant days, those ancient years - when all men born of Terra were loyal to the Emperor, when both stars and mankind were separated and alone - the Great Crusade began. It was as terrible as it was audacious - those who joined were accepted without hesitation, those that resisted were put to the sword. In pursuit of the Emperor's vision, worlds burned, and threads were cut unending. Chief among the Emperor's Executioners was Leman Russ, Wolf King, Primarch of the Vlka Fenryka, then Legion in full."

"Black were the days the Wolves of Fenris were unleashed, and all fled before the sky that darkened with their descent, before the murder-making began. In time, our ancient brothers took on the title of 'The Rout', for the fury they unleashed upon the foes of mankind - whoever they might be - was terrible and total. Friends fled before them as well, rather than bear witness to the unsparing advance, the Emperor's Executioners. But their purpose waned as the Great Crusade flagged, as the Emperor returned to Terra. Inevitable was the Imperium of Mankind, assured in victory, unstoppable as the Rout that built its cities with blood and bones. Soon mankind would be united under one banner, shielded by the Legions, free to seek out song and art and science, to never know fear or hate or malice."

Laukr wore a smile, a genuine one, gentle despite the titan that wore it, despite the words that echoed through the plaza.

"And in those days," he continued, smile fading, eyes parsing his audience, "Horus fell to chaos, to darkness, to ruin. He turned on his brothers, on his brothers' sons, on the Emperor, on all that makes mankind man in truth."

"And so The Rout returned, fangs bared, and were loosed upon their kin and brothers. The call was answered, and Prospero - den of the Thousand Sons - was burnt in totality, a world-thread cut, swaddled in Final Winter, in Fimbulvinter, the wages of betrayal paid thusly. My teacher - lauded by all to be a wise and fastidious skjald - speaks in harsh whispers of the slaughter performed, of the oceans of brother-blood spilt in the Emperor's name. In the name of a dream in its death throes."

"Prospero burned, and all Wolves of Fenris knew then that their duty would never be done, that the Great Crusade had ended, that the song of the Imperium was just beginning, and it was a dark tale indeed. Yes, Prospero burned, brother butchered brother, and the Emperor watched in a terrible silence."

"For who else witnessed the ferocity? Who else watched in silence as his dream - his hopes for mankind - were shattered and burnt, sown with salt, forever despoiled? And so the Rout departed an empty world, their task completed."

"But the war was not done. Across the countless worlds they had so bitterly won, the Wolves continued their work, their slaughterous routs, Prospero still burning in the memories they traveled. Time and time again they met their once-brethren in battle, cut them with bolter and chainsword, burnt them to ash with brilliant beams of Volkite."

"Fourteen years of war brought Horus before Terra. But the Vlka Fenryka were absent when battle was joined in the skies of humanity's cradle. They were not present when Sanguinius' wings were broken, when the Emperor was crippled by his son, when Horus was obliterated. But when the traitor legions fled, the Rout returned, fangs bared, weapons cast aside. All who held ground against them were given no honorous end - they were cast down, torn limb-from-limb, their backs broken, their remnants cast into the Eye of Terror. It was too late to save the Emperor, and joined was he to the Golden Throne, forced to watch his Imperium decay from the glow of the Astronomican."

"Since that day, that ancient day, the Vlka Fenryka serve and wait, our eternal Odal owed to the Master of Mankind and writ with the blood of our brothers. Since that day, all Vlka Fenryka have but by one lesson lived: Friends die. Brothers die. We too will one day die. Only our duty is eternal."

"And so ends my tale, the tale of my teacher Kasper Hawser, who stood before both Wolf King and Emperor. So ends my tale, recounted before the honored dead, their threads cut in leal service. Such times are best for recalling, for singing, for drinking, for looking to both past and future. So ends my account of the Horus Heresy."

Laukr lapsed into silence, head bowed. Quiet suffused the plaza as all considered his words, looked to the pyre behind him and watched their friends, comrades, and lovers turn to ash. They saw the massive pile of cinders that was once Jöm, was once an astartes.

"All that is mortal must die," Amat recalled, looking well past Laukr. He bowed his head, an inaudible prayer tumbling over his lips. Yang joined him, hands folded before her.

"The only question is when," she said, completing the opening line of the Book of Patience.

Closing her eyes, she prayed that on Terra, she would find the way forward. Find a way to defeat Abaddon. That she could be a beacon for all who were lost, for the countless souls wronged by the Imperium, that she could help reshape it into something like Laukr had described, as the Emperor once dreamed but failed to realize.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that Torbrand had returned. After whispering a few words to his protege, he embraced the younger astartes, ceramite ringing against ceramite. Laukr no longer smiled, but he accepted the gesture anyway.

"Yang," Torbrand said, turning to her. "We must have words."

She smiled. "I guess we should."

A/N: Holy shit you guys, Chapter 100! Sorry this one took me a while, been a little busy with other projects.

Big thanks once more to MrDarth151 of Spacebattles. Without his help, Laukr and his account would have suffered tremendously… in fact, it wouldn't be here at all! MrDarth's help with the Vlka Fenryka has benefited this fic tremendously, and I can't thank him enough. :)

Don't worry about another big break between chapters, you'll 100% have the next chapter on the 28th… the five year anniversary of AWoBE!

It's also a pretty special chapter, for reasons that will become very apparent once it's released.

See you then!