Destinatario del mensaje/παραλήπτης μηνύματος: Captain Alveron:, CNS Sagittarius.

Dessaglene Linhares Cabrera, the cool-handed, long-storied Pope of the Bull, was above introductions. The warm breath of the Noguera Chasma - a vast, cragged, rugged region of terraced farms and tar-black river delta in the Cretian green zone, bands his hair in the wind. The younger man raises an attentive brow, broadcasting a sense of serenity that bordered on mischievous. The young pope makes courtly bow that led from the knees up, before making laser-focused eyecontact with the camera. Cabrera raises a prosthetic fist to his breastbone - a corsair salute that transcended familia, tradition, race, or rank. No matter the differences in their origin, Cabrera knew Alveron to be a man after his own soul.

Your reputation preceded you before we met in the field. Your mettle and talent as both strategian and a leader of men echo throughout the empire - yet, you are humble. You lead one of the finest fast battleship hunter-killer teams; a crew drilled to master their proud warship with the ferocity of the Bull, and the discipline of a Profligate warship, yet you are humble and unassuming. Far from the gallant figurehead our media would paint you as - you're quiet in action and meek in duty. Rank odds do not unsettle you.

Cabrera's frank - almost too frank. Yet his praise is a literal account of Alveron's prestige, rather than any act of political fawning. In the dark, grim corners of the corsair empire, outsiders were often astounded to discover that there was indeed honour among thieves.

I took the rite of unarchiving your personal files; the faith's archives are deep, and many of the faithful have serve aboard the Sagittarius, in their own way. Such is the power of a confessional, σύντροφος; men will spill their core truths to the pulpit, if you but give them a collected ear. As a commander, you have sent many men to seek the divine, captain. You are, to put it lightly, a troubled man - and all the braver for your grief.

The admission that Cabrera has accessed Axiotis's archives hangs in the air. Cabrera's clearly a believer in the philosophy that the rights of the patient does not exceed the advice of the doctor.

It would be wrong of me to dwell on your sacrifices - let the ghosts rest, for you have been scarred enough, brother. Yet you do not let your wounds keep you down, no. That would be a poor end for a man of your achievements.

"You need not die alone." You could see it in his eyes. A plea for solidarity, for spirit, amongst a likeminded warrior.

I see you seek a divine end amongst the wastes of the profligate worlds. The treasures of Sirius will take the efforts of men like yourself - men willing to sacrifice all for Crete.

The final battle for the soul of Hispania will be won and lost by those willing to bear the burden of Atlas; to move history, at a personal loss. The Bull can offer you a place in that fight - a true slaughter to the end. I cannot say revenge is a fitting compensation for the loss of your family, brother. Yet, our cosmos has a way of rewarding the grieving soldier with righteous purpose.

In short, join me, and you will have your chance for vengeance. Better to die in eternal glory, sung by the tongues of warriors through the generations, than to expire here.

Put thought into my proposal, brother. Come, let us pray together - to the honour of the Empire - to the bull - and to the peoples of our burnished stars, we give our thanks...