Zzzzt…
Accompanied by the hum of meshing metal structures and faint electrical pulses, Selene authorized the AI attendant to activate the ship's courtyard holoprojector.
Beneath the ornate heart-shaped paneling lay cutting-edge communication systems and precision-built anti-interference and anti-eavesdropping mechanisms. The massive circular hall, its ringed walls decorated with intricate mosaic murals, transformed like the tiers of a coliseum as light burst forth around Selene.
From the vaulted ceiling hung a banner emblazoned with the purple-and-gold insignia of "Ⅲ." At its center, a window had been built into the dome, allowing starlight to pour through as the comms system powered up, the beams cascading down like incense smoke.
Magnificent craftsmanship—opulent, intricate, and excessive in every sense. It had all the hallmarks of luxury, but none of the austerity expected of military equipment. Yet, coming from the Third Legion—the Black Templars—Selene was hardly surprised.
Their pursuit of aesthetic perfection was second to none among the Astartes Legions.
As for the Empire's universal preference for gleaming ornamentation and grandiose architecture—that was, undeniably, Selene's doing.
After all, she had pioneered (borrowed, really) the idea of incorporating cathedrals, palaces, gardens, and manors directly into Imperial Navy warships. Her reasoning? To embody sufficient majesty, divinity, and beauty—all while remaining functional.
Naturally, that design philosophy spread throughout the fleet. Each Legion and Armada customized their interiors according to personal taste, but always within the framework of her imperial style.
Selene believed living beings possessed an innate reverence for anything tall, long, and shining. Her generals and ministers agreed wholeheartedly: Without grandeur, there is no authority.
And so… things had evolved into this.
Soon, the holographic display began to flicker to life. A faint outline appeared, sharpening rapidly into focus.
"Admiral Xytan 'Jar Wattinree of the Sangheili Imperial Fleet salutes you, Your Majesty."
The projection formed the image of a vast, Forerunner-style command platform—an elegant ring of geometric metal and flowing arcs.
Upon it stood a Sangheili, his signature four-jawed face and towering, muscular frame bathed in light. Xytan 'Jar Wattinree's armor bore angular lines and Imperial insignia—double-headed eagles and radiant sigils of the Sacred Selene Empire—pulsing faintly with Honkai Energy.
Every pore, every scar, every gleaming edge of his armor was rendered in perfect detail.
Around him, several other Sangheili commanders stood at attention, their backgrounds revealing glimpses of a war-torn cityscape—a strange fusion of medieval masonry and late 19th-century industrial design—visible through the massive windows of a heavy assault platform.
Boom! Boom—!
"Tatakai!"
"For Selene! For the honor of the Sangheili!"
…
The cacophony of battle poured through the transmission: shouts in multiple languages, the ring of drawn blades, the thud of cannon fire, and the hiss of venting gas.
Automatically filtering out the voices of her own soldiers, Selene gauged the technological level of the enemy the Sangheili Legion was currently engaging.
The dull thud of solid shells striking earth, the disorganized bursts of gunfire—manual rifles? Muskets, even?—and the uneven cadence of combat told her all she needed to know.
"Lord Wattinree," Selene said with a faint smile, swirling her glass, "it seems my timing is less than ideal. If I were to requisition a portion of your elite forces, it wouldn't hinder the Sangheili Legion's campaign, would it?"
Her tone carried a trace of amusement. She sipped from her glass—a rare vintage taken from Arcturus Mengsk's personal cellar. Though she rarely drank, trophies of war were exceptions.
Reclining lazily by the edge of her artificial pond, Selene leaned back into the leather cushions, enjoying the soothing chill of cascading water from the miniature falls nearby—and the warmth of the wine spreading through her chest.
"Your Majesty," Wattinree's deep, resonant voice echoed through the chamber, "your will is the will of all Sangheili."
Upon hearing Selene's words, Xytan 'Jar Wattinree immediately knelt on one knee in deep reverence. He made no mention of his current campaign—it was clear he didn't consider his enemies worth discussing, likely viewing them as unworthy of being counted toward his battle honors.
"The Sangheili shall fulfill your will, even unto death!"
His resolute tone and expression suggested that he had taken Selene's words as a death order—a perilous mission requiring immense sacrifice. His face was so grim that he looked ready to write his last testament and rally his soldiers for a final charge.
Selene smiled slightly and said, "No, Lord Wattinree, you've misunderstood My intent. I have never doubted the Sangheili's loyalty or honor. However, what comes next will require new blood. I am not the San'Shyuum—the Empire must constantly renew itself with fresh life."
Selene's skill at reading her audience was impeccable; her ability to adjust her tone to match her listener's nature was second nature. When speaking to Sangheili, mocking the extinct San'Shyuum had become almost ritual.
Even though the San'Shyuum had long since been wiped out by Budo and his Legion of Punishers.
"New blood?" Wattinree asked, puzzled.
"The Protoss."
Hummmm—
Across astronomical distance, the holographic display beneath Wattinree's feet flared to life, shaping light into an image transmitted from Selene. The projection engraved itself upon the Sangheili command platform's display.
The beings known as Protoss appeared—tall, two-meter humanoids clad in light metallic armor. Their physical forms differed from humanity: two-toed, reverse-jointed legs, and smooth, blue-gray skin. Their faces were featureless—no mouths, no noses, no ears—only eyes that glowed with a haunting inner light.
Wattinree studied them silently, then rumbled, "Your Majesty, what would you have us do?"
"Excellent," Selene replied approvingly. "From this species, I see great potential."
"As their elders, you shall train them. They are competent warriors, but far too undisciplined. Their race has been divided for millennia, and even their Khala mindlink cannot erase their tribal schisms."
"Instill within their souls the glory of the Empire and the dignity of the warrior," Selene commanded. "I trust you are more than capable."
Without a doubt, Selene had exaggerated the flaws of the Protoss—subtly elevating the Sangheili's status by comparison.
This also extended to the Sangheili Honor Guard stationed in the Grand Imperial Palace on Terra. Through these symbolic gestures, Selene was steadily raising the Sangheili to the highest rank among all humanoid auxiliary species within the Sacred Selene Empire.
For those loyal to her, Selene was always generous.
Their culture fascinated her—their structure, their discipline, and even their vassal species (including the Unggoy and other former Covenant races) were seen as valuable assets.
The Sangheili's society had always prioritized martial prowess over scientific progress. Their reverence for strength outweighed all else.
In truth, the existence of the Sacred Selene Empire only amplified this tendency. The Sangheili could now pour themselves entirely into warfare, while science and technology were left to the Imperial Science Bureau, the Provincial Governorships, and the Imperial Forge Department.
A perfect symbiosis—each serving the other, sustaining the Empire's relentless expansion.
In this respect, the Protoss were inferior.
Thus, Selene decided it was time to reform the Protoss—to temper their pride and reshape their thinking.
And what better way to do that than to tell the self-proclaimed Firstborn of God that they were not truly the firstborn at all? That their rightful elder brothers—the Sangheili—had come, stronger, swifter, and infinitely more loyal.
Among all humanoid races under the Sacred Selene Empire, the Sangheili stood at the pinnacle of political and military hierarchy.
They had inherited the Covenant's legacy and fragments of Forerunner technology, while receiving direct armament support from the Imperial Forge Department. Side by side with Imperial forces, the Sangheili Legions had honed their power over decades.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that, should they so desire, they could annihilate the Protoss with ease.
Selene tapped the report in her hand thoughtfully before speaking.
"Deploy a selected force. I'll inform Budo and Leiva of your involvement. Your mission is to enter the as-yet-unnamed provisional Sector III–2107 frontier universe (StarCraft) and, within the shortest possible time, train the Protoss to a standard you find satisfactory."
Selene had no intention of personally managing the training of an alien auxiliary army—not even one as prestigious as the so-called Firstborn of the Gods with their ancient Golden Age.
"The details of their training I leave to you. Once the reorganization is complete, whether you command their first engagement or delegate it, I care only that the Protoss Legion meets Imperial standards."
Thud!
With a powerful strike to his chest, Xytan 'Jar Wattinree knelt again, overwhelmed with fervor. "By your will, Your Majesty!"
Selene smiled faintly, tapping her finger against the side table. "I look forward to—hmm?"
A deafening roar interrupted her.
ROOOAAAR—!!
The bellow of a giant. And the sound—like a massive creature's breath tearing through the air.
Selene's brow furrowed.
The projection flickered, trembling slightly. The sharp patter of stone fragments striking metal filled the background.
At that same moment, aboard the Scarab 47B–3 Heavy Assault Platform, Xytan 'Jar Wattinree's face twisted with sudden fury—his expression that of a warrior ready to devour his foes alive.
"Well now… how intriguing," Selene murmured.
Through the corner of the live feed, she saw it: a fifty-meter-high wall stretching to the horizon. Atop the fortress stood a towering, ape-like giant, long-limbed and shaggy, clutching a boulder in its hand as it wound up for a throw like a gymnast preparing for launch.
As the beast roared, other grotesque, naked giants emerged—each one malformed, bizarre, and grotesquely animated.
Selene's crimson, diamond-shaped pupils narrowed. She hadn't been particularly interested in a mere early industrial civilization's subjugation campaign—but now, her attention sharpened.
"Your Majesty, forgive me—"
"Move the Scarab 47B–3 Heavy Assault Platform forward four kilometers. Tear down that wall. I want to see for myself."
Wattinree hesitated only a moment before lowering his head. "By your command."
Selene reclined slightly and muttered, "The Koprulu Sector's actual value is… unimpressive. Hak Foo, you're looking in the wrong direction."
Meanwhile—
Thud… Thud…Clunk!
Outside Selene's courtyard chamber, several officers from the Second Company of the Black Templars' Legion, led by Hak Foo himself, formed a nervous line. Their heavy, armored boots struck the marble floor like a siege engine's cadence.
"Your Majesty," Hak Foo's deep voice rumbled from beyond the door, "we request tactical guidance…"
They had come running the moment word spread that the Empress was touring the sector in person. Their fear was palpable.
It wasn't without reason.
Selene had slapped Hak Foo back to the Meteor Devastation and ignored him completely thereafter. Even for someone as thick-skinned as Hak Foo, that was terrifying.
Had his casual, almost playful approach to combat—treating military drills as games and sparring sessions—angered the Empress? Or had one of those bureaucratic rat generals filed a report accusing him of negligence again?
If so… he was doomed.
Just as Hak Foo began to spiral into panic—
Still reviewing the Second Legion's recent campaign logs while remotely commanding the Sangheili expedition, Selene spoke calmly without turning around: "Tactical guidance? No. I have no time to micromanage your deployments. Handle such trivial matters yourselves."
Hak Foo blinked, then sighed in relief. He glanced around at his fellow company captains. "So… we're not being reprimanded? Her Majesty just has more important affairs to attend to?"
The chief captain's face stiffened. "Not we, Commander. You are the one getting reprimanded."
"Bah! Cowards."
Hak Foo crouched slightly, his eyes darting about like a guilty child. "I told you, you overthink things. I know Her Majesty's temperament. It's fine, she won't—"
"By the way!" came Selene's voice from within the chamber.
Hak Foo froze mid-step, halfway to the exit, and dropped to his knees with a resounding thud.
"Your Majesty! Hak Foo admits his faults!"
"Huh?"
Selene paused mid-command, distracted from the real-time control of the Sangheili fleet. She turned slightly, puzzled.
She wasn't in the habit of reading her subordinates' thoughts in real time. Now she simply watched the red-armored Astartes kneeling like a penitent at her doorway.
What on earth was he doing? Some kind of performance art?
Hmm. If you're admitting guilt, then you must have done something.
"Very well," she said dryly. "Knowing your mistakes is a start. You're headed in the wrong direction."
She waved a dismissive hand. They were clearly on different wavelengths.
"The Empire's dominion must extend far beyond the Koprulu Sector. Do I really need to remind you where the true prize lies?"
Once Hak Foo had scurried off to "attend to his duties," Selene turned her attention back to the holographic feed.
A single wall.
…
—
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