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Description
In all directions, the voidborne vessels fled, away from the blue tinge of horrid aether, away from the seemingly moribund world. Some of the fleeing vessels were bound for the galactic east, trailing, toward the safety of the inner domains. Others headed south, toward the No-Man's-Land, to the worlds often visited by Astartes pilgrims. And others still were heedless and charged toward the aether, for the slim hope of reaching the lone fort of the Imperial Navy, somewhere in the Glacial Nebula.

But salvation lay nowhere on any such easy course. No straight line on the star charts would lead past the living, swirling blue. A way out could be found only by those bravest among the Astropaths, those seers and navigators daring to gaze at the deep blue zodiacs newly appearing in the skies.
Drawing from the oldest instinct unique to all mankind, they began to see and record patterns in the raw, erratic nature sprawling all around them and across the firmament. In the streams and motion of the blue, they found something, like the notes of a tune repeated in the echoes of a vast chamber.
These bravest of the astropaths pushed themselves far beyond the brink of sanity, willing to sacrifice their souls to fulfill their vessel's destiny. By the end, only a small number of vessels picked up on this faint thread and followed.
Like a choir trying to guess the notes of a tune they did not know, the seers guided the smallest fleet of fleeing vessels and a strange course out of the closing trap of the Deep Blue. Rising above the ecliptic, out of the way of all established routes, the last ships departing from the harbors of Myriadenburg managed to chart a course to safer cosmic seas.

Myriadenburg lay alone in their wake, at the mercy of their survival and their devotion to its last request for aid. How long the world could hold on its own, none could say, not even what would happen at all once the tendrils of the aether touched this world.
When in doubt, the Imperium would expect the worst, complete and utter corruption at this new and unknown chaotic force. But even then, it would be the navy's duty to return and deliver the judgment of destruction in the Emperor's name.

Warhammer 40k fanart.

Description
In all directions, the voidborne vessels fled, away from the blue tinge of horrid aether, away from the seemingly moribund world. Some of the fleeing vessels were bound for the galactic east, trailing, toward the safety of the inner domains. Others headed south, toward the No-Man's-Land, to the worlds often visited by Astartes pilgrims. And others still were heedless and charged toward the aether, for the slim hope of reaching the lone fort of the Imperial Navy, somewhere in the Glacial Nebula.

But salvation lay nowhere on any such easy course. No straight line on the star charts would lead past the living, swirling blue. A way out could be found only by those bravest among the Astropaths, those seers and navigators daring to gaze at the deep blue zodiacs newly appearing in the skies.
Drawing from the oldest instinct unique to all mankind, they began to see and record patterns in the raw, erratic nature sprawling all around them and across the firmament. In the streams and motion of the blue, they found something, like the notes of a tune repeated in the echoes of a vast chamber.
These bravest of the astropaths pushed themselves far beyond the brink of sanity, willing to sacrifice their souls to fulfill their vessel's destiny. By the end, only a small number of vessels picked up on this faint thread and followed.
Like a choir trying to guess the notes of a tune they did not know, the seers guided the smallest fleet of fleeing vessels and a strange course out of the closing trap of the Deep Blue. Rising above the ecliptic, out of the way of all established routes, the last ships departing from the harbors of Myriadenburg managed to chart a course to safer cosmic seas.

Myriadenburg lay alone in their wake, at the mercy of their survival and their devotion to its last request for aid. How long the world could hold on its own, none could say, not even what would happen at all once the tendrils of the aether touched this world.
When in doubt, the Imperium would expect the worst, complete and utter corruption at this new and unknown chaotic force. But even then, it would be the navy's duty to return and deliver the judgment of destruction in the Emperor's name.

Warhammer 40k fanart.