The Grey Chronicles Part One: New Declaration of An Old War

Epilogue: March With Me.

Slipspace wormhole, en route to Stonehaara One, August of 8096 AL.

Salem stood at the helm, looking out over the bow of the Anarchist as the purple streams of light spun around them. It was a beautiful sight, but often left the onlooker with vertigo. He was rarely affected by it, he loved the bouquet of color twisting before him. It reminded him of every sunset and every sunrise he'd ever seen thrown onto the same canvas. It was the most breathtaking scene he'd ever had the pleasure of seeing. He heard footsteps behind him, and he recognized them easily; they belonged to the only thing he found more breathtaking than a slipspace wormhole.

Korana stopped by his side, putting her arm around his torso. He mirrored her actions and pulled her body against his. They looked out over the bow, the bridge was near silent, and seemed so empty without the rest of Demon squadron. Salem thought back on all the good memories he'd enjoyed around the table behind him, all of the struggles and battles that had been fought with his family. His thoughts were interrupted by Korana, whose voice was quiet and somber.

"Richtofen has arrived at the skyhook above home," she said calmly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nearly a month earlier they had left Athena Nine with the Captain of the Heretic, while Salem and Korana had called all their vessels to arms. Thirteen thousand war ships of both Machinae and Stonehaaryn allegiance flew in formation through the wormhole, following their leaders, the Anarchist and the Endless Curse.

"Good," Salem nodded slowly, "I can rest easy, knowing they're safe."

"You won't be resting at all if I have anything to say about it," she growled quietly, "And they won't be safe if we fail here."

"Then we have no choice," he looked down at her, breaking his eyes away from the twisting palette of color, "Victory, at any cost."

"Victory, at all cost," Korana met his eyes, tears shining in her eyes, "For the future of our people."

"No matter the toll, we must win," Salem looked back over the bow. The twisting colors disappeared as a line of pitch blackness spread across their view. The line began to grow, revealing their target; Stonehaara One, the origin of the only other sentient race in the universe, save the Titanus, though no one knew where the Titanus had come from. The armada slipped past the horizon into open space, leaving the relative safety of slipspace.

Salem sighed, depressing the intercom button that broadcasted his message to every ship in his fleet, every ally he had with him.

"No matter the toll, we will win. In this moment, race does not matter. For we are all brothers in arms, all a part of the same Imperial Union. We will fight together, we will die together, but most importantly, we will win this together. By the Gods above, and the demons below, we will emerge victorious, or our families will burn. March, my brothers, march with me. To heaven, to hell, to life and to death. March with me, to war."