"We need not see these local administrations as challenges to the empress's rule," Counselor Taurun said to the assembled War Council. "In truth, they may be keeping the whole fleet from descending into anarchy."

"I don't give a war beast's turd if they are," sneered Valus Tha'rag. "This is treason. We should dispatch a legion to reestablish order."

A murmur of agreement bubbled up from the assembled Cabal commanders.

Empress Caiatl regarded the handful of holographic blips hanging over the council table. They represented refugees from her sundered homeworld, adrift on massive starships in deep space. The remainder of their entire civilization, reduced to digital specs.

"And what say you, Valus Saladin?" the empress asked.

"We have a saying on Earth," the Iron Lord replied. "There are two ways to move a war beast: with a chunk of flesh… or with your fist. This situation calls for both."

The assorted commanders grunted in assent.

"So it shall be," the empress declared. "Taurun, dispatch a shipment of goods immediately, with all luxuries included. If conservation of resources is the pretext for their authority, let us remove it."

"Valus Tha'rag," she continued, "you shall be my fist. Send an echelon to guard the shipment from Fallen raiders. Reassert my authority in no uncertain terms."

The empress stamped her foot lightly on the ship's deck: the matter was settled.

"Very well," Taurun said. "Our next item is—"

The counselor stopped mid-sentence, interrupted by a pleasant ringing octave that seemed to come from inside her own head.

Everyone in the Council perked up—they heard it too. They turned their attention to the closed doorway.

"Optus Qorix," the empress said, her voice laced with concern. "Come in." The telepathic tone dissipated.

The Psion entered; her lone eye unshielded by a helmet. Gradually, a series of images bloomed in the Council's imaginations.

[the Witness : portal : Savathûn : Eris Morn : Wishing Wall : spire : eggs : Ahamkara : Riven : RIVEN]

The room was gripped by tense silence. Caiatl had avoided bringing up the Witness thus far because, despite their best efforts, the Cabal were helpless to breach the portal. The empress knew that the resulting feeling of impotence made her commanders rash. They were ill-accustomed to dread. At least now, they had a path forward.

"The Vanguard has a habit of playing with forces they cannot hope to control," Councilor Tha'arec muttered.

"The fact that we're resurrecting the Ahamkara at all is proof they CAN be controlled," Saladin replied coolly. "Or at least, eliminated."

"Ah, yes," the empress said, "your famed Great Hunt. If I recall the mythkeeper Ahztja's lessons, you were integral to their extinction, is that not so?"

"It is," Saladin replied with reluctance. "The Ahamkara were deemed too dangerous to live. So we killed them."

Valus Tha'rag shrugged impatiently. "The Cabal would have done the same."

"You would have tried," Saladin fired back sternly. "And failed. Among the Cabal, only the Psions truly understand the Anthem Anatheme. The rest of you would have ended up in prisons of your own making."

"There is nothing the Cabal cannot conquer, with or without the Psions," Caiatl shot back. "You would do well to remember that, 'Lord' Saladin."

Saladin weighed his strategic position. "Of course, Empress," he deferred. "My apologies."

Caiatl pushed forward. "Tell us some tales of these wish-dragons. We would be wise to study our foe."

Saladin sighed inwardly. This was not a period of history he gladly recounted.

"As you wish."