He was old, aye, so ancient as to be broken into multitudes by the Ages. Glorious Iskiak, Spear-Bearer to mighty Sil, the great King After-the-Fall. The legendary Sarpanur, celebrated King-Healer, the great Killer-of-Hells. The infamous Sin-Pharion, reviled Plague-Bearer, the Soul-Most-Hated ... Aurang, the accursed Horde-General. He remembered their hallowed vessel faltering upon the shoals of the Promised World, and the Fall, the Inertial Inversion Field piercing the crust to the pith, gouging the landscape, heaving it out upon a cataclysmic hoop, raising mountains to retard their descent ... just not enough. He remembered the Weal that followed, how Sil had rallied the Holy Swarm from the brink, taught them how to prosecute war with the remnants of their once-dread Arsenal. Sil had been the one to show them how they might still save their eternal souls! He remembered enough.