Aiat! The Hive gods, known by their splendid slaughters Scourges of many clans, ravagers of life-legacies. They built in the sword-space their great world-thrones, Ascended on blood-coin tithed by their many children. And those world-thrones overlooked the sea, The scream-sea, the howl-rent ocean. Later, we Built ships to bear against that beating shriek Forth from meat-world's wounds we did sail. Laden with thralls and acolytes, to tithing bound. And always, there stood a guide-light. Xivu Arath Or her brother Auryx, or cunning Savathûn to show The way. For the sea of screams chills Hive to death. Selves lost, truest natures rendered forgotten in that sea. (A thrall is little to begin with, want-violent and shaking.) And so a god, cast off from the shore she once called hers, may find her hull cut on coral and glass and sink— and drown— Not in the Deep but in the screaming— And so her ships, come to her flag, sail stars charted on the path that Auryx laid long before slow and steady on the scream-sea's crest. We are coming.