Part I - The Different Types of Madness
Deep within the subterranean heart of the Golden Tower, beneath layers of adamantium, auramite, and unyielding psychic wards, pulsed a clandestine symphony of creation. Here, in the Princess-Regent's private laboratory, a new age of technological marvels was being forged, not by the rigid adherence to STC fragments but by the audacious fusion of forgotten wisdom and primordial insight. A select conclave of Archmagos and Magos Dominus, personally chosen by Belisarius Cawl himself, now toiled tirelessly, their minds alight with an almost heretical joy. Each member of this extraordinary cohort, much like Cawl and indeed the Princess, comprehended the profound cost of stagnation and the limitless potential humanity could seize with the right tools. They were visionaries, each eccentric and deeply peculiar, specialists in disparate fields, yet united by a singular purpose: to arm humanity against an unimaginable darkness.
Among them was Magos Biologis Dominus Malthus Crucible from Agripinaa, his extensive organic augmentations a testament to his life's work. His mind, famed and feared in equal measure, was dedicated to unravelling the secrets of organic life itself—a quest so all-consuming that it made him largely disdainful of the scrutiny of his orthodox Mechanicus peers, whom he considered blind to the true complexities of his studies. Aurelia saw in him a kindred spirit: a brilliant mind yearning for freedom from dogma. She had bestowed upon him not only the vast resources of her laboratory but a sacred liberty—to experiment, to theorise, to create within a set of principles she laid forth, strict enough to maintain ethical boundaries, yet expansive enough to permit radical inquiry. Malthus, now unfettered, worked with a zeal he had never before known.
Then there was Magos Artisan Dominus Hestor Phallax from Triplex Phall. Youthful for his rank, his every thought coalesced around a singular, fervent imperative: the total annihilation of the Imperium's multitudinous enemies. His mind was a tempest of creative, often outlandish, ideas for weaponry capable of crippling Necron phalanxes, devouring Tyranid swarms, and shattering Ork warbands. Yet, for all his genius, he had perpetually lacked the resources and the unblinking vision to bring these theories to fruition. Cawl had spoken highly of his brilliance, lamenting how his innovative concepts were routinely ridiculed by his conservative peers. Aurelia, however, embraced such outlandishness. She yearned for minds unburdened by convention. In her inner circle, surrounded by the tangible possibility of manifesting his wildest theories, Phallax was already proving an invaluable asset.
Another key member was Magos Domina Vespera-Delta from Voss Prime, a towering, multi-limbed figure whose fascination with the boundless void was matched only by her almost fanatical devotion to the Princess. She was a manic architect of fleets, her mind dreaming of monstrous spacecraft, battlecruisers of unparalleled resilience, capable of withstanding untold horrors, aircraft that would defy consumption, and transports impervious to the predations of the Warp. Delta was a true maniac of the void, a visionary of celestial combat, and Aurelia sought precisely such obsessive, singular dedication.
Aurelia also recognised the critical need for experts in bespoke weaponry and armour—minds unafraid to transcend established templates. She found this expertise in two exceptional souls: Magos Domina Ilexia Vrad-Omicron and Magos Dominus Severian Kaspel-Theta, both hailing from the metal-scarred Forge World of Metalica. Their unique affinity for designing weapons of overwhelming destructive force while simultaneously devising impenetrable defences for their soldiers was precisely what Aurelia required. They had already been instrumental in refining the Noverrium Mark X Power Armour for Guilliman, and their cogitators already spun with variants for various Astartes Chapters and devastating new armaments for the Astra Militarum, weapons that promised to give humanity a fighting chance in the upcoming crucible of war.
Yet, with Belisarius Cawl leading the charge alongside Guilliman on the Indomitus Crusade, Aurelia still required two Archmagos to act as her principal hands in this technological rebirth, two minds who would understand her cosmic vision beyond strict binary code. They needed to be her personal advisors, the authentic voices of the Adeptus Mechanicus within her inner circle.
Cawl, with his unparalleled understanding of the Imperium's most formidable intellects, had found them.
Archmagos Dominus Rho-21 Belentor from Mars was a study in paradox: a relentless, driven mind, subtly ambitious, yet possessing a grudging pragmatism. He was one of the few who acknowledged Cawl not as a rival, but as a necessary, brilliant force to manifest the Omnissiah's will upon Mars and its sister Forge Worlds. Though he harboured no illusions about Cawl being a conduit for the Omnissiah—that was a claim he considered his own—Belentor coveted the title of Fabricator-General of Mars. He saw himself as the true prophet of a new age, a dawn of technological ascendancy. His raw ambition, his burning desire to surpass Cawl, to become greater, underpinned by an unusual honesty regarding his capabilities, made him the perfect candidate for Aurelia's right hand in this grand endeavour. Belentor was a towering figure, more augmentation than man, his body a symphony of tubes, cables, and servo-motives, clearly attempting to emulate, even surpass, Cawl's own extensive augmentations. Aurelia, for her part, found his transparent ambition quietly amusing. When he first encountered EVA, Aurelia's unique Standard Template Constructor Core, he permitted himself no visible shock, merely a brief, stiff nod before immersing himself in the work. Yet, one of his myriad binary voices emitted a distinct hum of pure, suppressed excitement.
Beside him stood Archmagos Domina Agnetha-IX Vhos from Ryza, a truly intriguing character. She was older, her augmented form bearing the marks of countless battles, a veteran of the horrific Waaagh! Grax and Rarguts had nearly brought Ryza to its knees. She had witnessed the raw devastation the galaxy could unleash, and how, during the Long Night of the Noctis Aeterna—the months of silence when the Astronomican failed—her Forge World had teetered on the brink. Agnetha had dedicated her existence to safeguarding Ryza and, by extension, all humanity, against the inevitable destruction yet to come. Her paranoia was legendary, her capabilities unparalleled even among her kin. When Cawl's invitation reached her, she accepted without hesitation. Not from friendship, but from a shared, chilling vision of the abyss, a stark understanding of the dire stakes and the desperate measures required. This made her the ideal candidate for Aurelia's left hand, a counterbalance of grim pragmatism to Belentor's soaring ambition.
Belentor and Agnetha, two pillars of the Adeptus Mechanicus, thus became Aurelia's primary instruments in her bid to forge humanity's future—a future where they could defend themselves against foes who wasted nothing to destroy.
"This is not sufficient," Agnetha stated, her voice a multi-layered synth-chorus that reverberated through the vast lab. Her many augmented arms gestured emphatically, causing Belentor's numerous optical sensors to flash, taken aback by such a blunt pronouncement.
"Not sufficient," Belentor echoed, not as a question, but as a categorical statement, his gaze fixed on a complex schematic derived from one of EVA's data-slates—a design for a new, powerful Astra Militarum heavy tank, featuring a formidable plasma cannon. "May I inquire, Archmagos Domina, what you deem sufficient?"
Agnetha's binary voice flowed with disdainful precision. She leaned forward, tapping the data-slate, causing a holographic projection of the plasma cannon to swell into view. "The plasma cannon's prodigious size is disproportionate to its effective power. It need not be this massive to harness equivalent energy. Unless your intent is to mount this on a battleship, rather than a heavy tank. This design, I remind you, is for a mobile heavy tank, intended for ease of construction and rapid deployment."
"The scale is paramount, Archmagos Domina," Belentor countered, his servo-skulls whirring in rapid binary bursts, mirroring her own precise articulation. "For ease of maintenance, for modular repair in the field, and for mass production. Smaller components mean reduced reliability. We demand numbers and a robust, easily maintained machine capable of deployment by standard crew-cohorts."
"We must focus on the efficiency of the plasma battery itself," Agnetha's voice sliced back, edged with smug arrogance. "The cannon's size renders it inherently prone to malfunction through prolonged use. I confess, Archmagos, I hardly expect a Martian Priest to comprehend the exquisite elegance of the Omnissiah's will when applied to plasma weapon design." Belentor's binary voice seemed to choke, momentarily sputtering in disbelief.
"Mars's unparalleled efficacy in the field of Plasma armament is, without question, second to none!" he roared.
"Second only to Ryza," she corrected, a dry, cutting emphasis on her Forge World's name.
"Ryza's ingrained arrogance," Belentor hissed, his voice laced with venom, "appears to have survived even the Waaagh! that nearly razed your Forge World to atomic dust!" Agnetha's many augmented arms twitched, her mechanical body trembling with suppressed fury, her optical sensors flaring as she leaned menacingly towards Belentor.
"Mars's misplaced smugness does you no favours, Archmagos Dominus Rho-21 Belentor. Ryza, I assure you, thrives in the aftermath of war and destruction, reborn stronger from such crucible events."
"The least it could do," Belentor muttered darkly.
Aurelia observed their escalating, highly entertaining argument, a bizarre symphony of binary insults and mechanical growls. She knew, however, that prolonged bickering was a luxury they could ill afford. Slowly, subtly, she materialised before them, attempting to conceal her profound amusement.
"Peace, Archmagos," Aurelia said, her voice soft but absolute, causing both Belentor and Agnetha to halt their binary vitriol, grumbling under their breath. "Every second spent in this… discourse is a second irrevocably lost. Both of you present exceptionally valid points. Therefore, why do we not address each of them independently?"
Aurelia thought of what she desired, and with a silent, infinitesimal act of will, EVA complied. In a blink of light, a new data-slate materialised, which a dutiful servo-skull swiftly retrieved and presented.
"Here," Aurelia offered, tapping the slate, "let us consider creating both a light tank and a heavy tank, separately. We can then focus on achieving modularity in both designs, allowing us to increase or decrease the number of coils and hull plating as required." Both Archmagos seized the data-slate, their numerous optical sensors devouring the projections, and hummed in the unique, rhythmic cadence of their kind.
"An intriguing, indeed elegant, proposal, Your Highness," Belentor stated, a new, respectful note in his voice. "We could also integrate a small Noverrium hull for the plasma energy core itself, granting it enhanced operational longevity and reducing the risk of overheating due to exposure or prolonged usage."
"We can certainly craft a modular variant of the light tank, capable of rapid deployment and simplified field maintenance," Agnetha stated, her voice losing its previous arrogance, a new collaborative tone emerging. "That particular application of the Noverrium hull for the plasma energy core, Archmagos Dominus Rho-21 Belentor, is… highly commendable."
"Your concern for the overheating aspects of the Plasma energy core is well-founded and entirely understandable, Archmagos Domina Agnetha-IX Vhos. I confess, I initially failed to appreciate the full extent of the problem. My apologies," he conceded, a true admission rarely heard from a Martian Magos.
"Apologies are unneeded. Our focus must now encompass both formidable power and vast production. I confess, I was perhaps too fixated on isolated reliability, and thus inadvertently constrained the potential of a multi-layered apparatus," she replied, her augmented arms now sweeping in a gesture of expansive new understanding.
Aurelia observed their newfound collaboration, a faint, contented smile gracing her lips.
She gazed around her laboratory, now a hive of incessant activity. Countless servo-skulls, servitors, and cogitators hummed, toiled, and whirred, a ceaseless symphony of progress. It was not merely the melting pot for the Indomitus Crusade's immense demands, but the embryonic forge for what humanity would ultimately require to truly thrive. She felt a deep confidence that her vision would be achieved. Yet, amidst all these grand creations, Aurelia was also deeply engaged in her own projects. She was not one to stand idle, to merely command; she learned that from her father, the Emperor—a man of science who tirelessly tinkered, experimented, and wrought with his own hands. Aurelia was no different. She loved wearing practical overalls, feeling the subtle tang of oil, and the profound satisfaction of crafting something with her own hands.
Aurelia's focus now turned to a personal imperative: a set of tools to help her focus, to safely channel the vast, untamed ocean of her power into discrete, manageable pools within the material world. Channels that could flow without overwhelming her human anchor or those around her. Her first desire was a means to effectively commune with her brother, Guilliman. She was proficient in Astral Projection, having used it countless times, but traversing the raw, turbulent Warp was far too perilous for her consciousness. However, she knew her personal dimension, the Basilica Liminalis, offered a safer conduit, a pristine pathway beyond the Warp's dangers.
Yet, she yearned for a more refined method, one that would not demand she lie quiescent in her bed, vulnerable, or force her to retreat into the Basilica itself for each interaction. She sought to traverse vast distances without truly displacing her soul, without risking her physical body. Aurelia desired to harness the Basilica's latent power, a place whose full potential she had yet to fully comprehend, to channel her vast essence safely and subtly into the material world.
She knew this was a challenging endeavour, pushing the boundaries of existing physics. But she also knew it was inherently possible for her.
Aurelia's unique essence allowed her to perceive both sides of any cosmic coin simultaneously – a difficult, demanding feat, but feasible. And the more she refined this ability, the easier it would become.
"A way to travel the Warp without inherent danger, a means to channel my true self, my essence, into the material world without searing it," Aurelia hummed thoughtfully. Soon enough, EVA, sensing her precise need, manifested a new data-slate. She took it from a hovering servo-skull, her eyes widening with interest. It contained the schematics for a two-part project.
The first was a chair—a throne of power—in which she could sit, focus, and channel the boundless power of the Basilica Liminalis into the material world at her conscious will. The second was a crown, or rather, a refined diadem. This elegant circlet would serve as a personal conduit, allowing her to draw upon her vast reserves of power in small, controlled flows, much like a psyker's staff serves to channel and focus their inherent abilities from the Warp. For where a conventional psyker drew power from the tumultuous Empyrean, Aurelia drew hers from the boundless reservoir of her own being. Both required a channel to manage that flow without becoming overwhelmed.
The diadem, by itself, would serve to safely filter and focus her immediate powers. But when she was seated upon the throne, both artefacts would synergise, working as one unified system. This would allow her to explore the deepest recesses of the Warp unharmed, to focus her perception on specific points in the galaxy, and to project her presence directly wherever Guilliman might be, enabling her to stand by his side.
Aurelia had once explained to Cawl, before his departure, that her personal dimension, the Basilica Liminalis, was a vast, endless place, expanding as far as her will dictated, a giant observatory where she could witness creation itself across countless universes and realities. A place where she could gaze, in profound awe and chilling terror, upon the infinite vastness of her own being.
So, with this diadem and throne, it would be akin to constructing a magnificent magnifying lens, a celestial microscope that would allow her to focus infinitesimal parts of her boundless self, drawing just what she needed, and manifesting it safely into the material world.
"It should be enough for now," Aurelia whispered to herself, a profound sense of purpose settling upon her. "Enough for now."
Interlude — Muster at Terra (Fabian Guelphrain) (Extra)
During the gathering of Forces of the Indomitus Crusade above Terra
Fabian Guelphrain had, by temperament and intellectual conviction, cultivated a dangerous habit: questioning. For a scholar entangled in the labyrinthine bureaucracy of the Adeptus Administratum, and in an age defined by rigid dogma, this was a profoundly perilous trait. His relentless pursuit of the unvarnished truth, his refusal to accept convenient fictions or whispered sanctimony, had consistently led him into treacherous waters. Now, in the bleak dawn of M42, his intellectual honesty had brought him to the precipice of ruin, flirting with accusations of heresy that carried the very real weight of an Inquisitorial execution.
Yet, in truth, none could truly fault his desperate curiosity. The Imperium had stumbled into a new, terrifying age. The Indomitus Crusade was not merely a military campaign; it was a desperate, epoch-defining gamble. A vast conglomerate of perils and incomprehensible truths now threatened to overwhelm what little sanity remained. Fabian's exhaustive research into the true, uncorrupted history of the Imperium had inevitably led him to countless dead ends, stifled not only by the deliberate obfuscation of long-lost eras but by the crushing weight of institutional bureaucracy and the ever-present shadow of heresy.
"Surely, learning history should not be deemed heretical," Fabian muttered to himself, his voice a low, bitter sound swallowed by the vast, impersonal corridors of the Imperial Palace. He had, in moments of frustration, perhaps unwisely opined that the Imperium, like many of ancient Terra's grandest empires, was fundamentally prone to inevitable collapse. Such sentiments had earned him the profound loathing of his more orthodox colleagues within the Administratum. His choice was clear: embrace Lord Guilliman's urgent summons to join the Indomitus Crusade, or face the swift, merciless wrath of the Inquisition. The decision was not difficult.
Fabian paused, his gaze lifting to the ash-choked skies of Terra, where countless ships now scarred the polluted canvas. He saw a relentless stream of transports, hulking void-forts, and sleek cruisers ascending, disappearing into the leaden clouds. "More?" he murmured, a note of bewildered awe in his voice as he continued along the designated path. He was no longer within the familiar, suffocating confines of his previous Administratum offices. He found himself in a peculiar, sprawling complex, a temporary staging ground personally overseen by the Lord Commander for the immense task of assembling such a vast, desperate army. Here, at least, he felt momentarily safe from the omnipresent chill of the Sentinels of the Inquisition. Clasping his worn satchel, containing all that he still possessed, he walked towards a vast landing field where a newly constructed transport ship waited, its engines humming with barely restrained power.
He drew a deep breath, the metallic tang of Terran air filling his lungs. He neither expected assistance nor anticipated anything beyond the grim, singular purpose of the Crusade. He boarded the ship, finding his assigned berth, the unfamiliarity of the new uniform already chafing. Within the compartment, two other historians joined him: a young, sharp-eyed Mars priestess named Solana, her augmetics whirring with quiet excitement, and a stern-faced off-world aristocrat named Deven Mudire, whose status radiated an unmistakable air of arrogant disdain. Fabian, unused to such close proximity with strangers, felt a knot of awkwardness tighten in his stomach.
Thankfully, Solana proved more forthcoming than the aloof Deven. "Hear that?" Solana whispered, her voice a low binary current, her optical sensors sweeping across the ship's internal mechanisms. "That, Master Guelphrain, is the contented song of a healthy machine spirit."
Fabian closed his eyes, feeling the ship shudder as it began its ponderous ascent. He had not wished to leave Terra, but no other alternative had presented itself.
"Does he truly have to stand there, all… intimidating?" Fabian whispered, inclining his head towards the unmoving silhouette of the Lionguard Astartes assigned to their transport, a stoic guardian of the passage.
"That, Master Guelphrain," Deven Mudire replied, his voice dripping with condescension, his gaze fixed on his datapad, "is precisely the point. He is an Adeptus Astartes. His very presence is a statement. This is not some pleasure barge."
Fabian wisely ignored the slight. He listened as Deven, his initial disdain for a mere commoner slowly supplanted by the ship's undeniable quality, began to dissect the vessel's construction. Deven observed that this was no ancient, repurposed hulk, but a newly commissioned transport, clearly designed and upgraded specifically for the Indomitus Crusade. He even gestured to a small, pristine observation window—a luxury almost unheard of for such a functional vessel.
"A truly magnificent machine," Solana whispered, her binary excitability noticeable as her multi-faceted optical sensors scanned the ship's interior. "Forged with impossible speed, and imbued with incredible reliability. Reinforced adamantium plates. A newly developed engine, utilising flexible materials for enhanced thermal resistance and colossal fuel capacity. A perfect craft for the rapid deployment of… personnel." She corrected herself, her tone suddenly professional. "Or soldiers."
"I confess, I find it astounding that Lord Guilliman has been able to commission such advanced craft in such numbers," Fabian whispered, genuinely impressed. Deven, his gaze now fixed upon Fabian, swiftly corrected him.
"Not Lord Commander, Master Guelphrain, but the Princess-Regent," Deven clarified, a new, almost grudging respect in his voice. "It was she who conceived these magnificent vessels, brought forth their schematics in record time, may I add. And indeed, it is she who possesses the singular capability to marshal such unprecedented forces. I mean no disrespect to the Lord Commander's formidable administrative capabilities, of course, but it is clear he did not achieve this alone."
Fabian nodded slowly. He, like many across the Imperium, had heard the formidable, multi-layered titles: Her Imperial Highness, Princess of the Imperium of Man, Anathema Solara, Scion of Terra, Aurelia Aeternitas Primus. A long litany for the closest thing they possessed to a true sovereign ruler. Fabian, ever the historian, had devoured every accessible record of her. The ancient tales spoke of her genius, her profound kindness, her boundless capacity for hope.
As a matter of principle, Fabian always regarded Imperial history, especially that promulgated by the Ecclesiarchy, with a healthy dose of scepticism. The easy creation of inspiring symbols, the forging of larger-than-life images, was a common tactic. He had read countless hagiographies, retelling how perfectly divine the Princess was, how her sacrifice and divinity had granted the Emperor the power to destroy the Arch-Traitor Horus, and so much more. It was natural, then, for Fabian to focus on hard facts, on the historical veracity of the Princess's actual life. Yet, accessible information remained scarce, largely restricted to the approved Ecclesiarchy narrative. Thus, everything Fabian knew of her was filtered through tales of zealous, often fantastical, reverence.
He found it difficult, therefore, to wholly embrace the popular narrative of Aurelia's absolute perfection. But then again, he had harboured similar scepticism before encountering Roboute Guilliman, a figure of history resurrected, living and breathing, before his very eyes. Perhaps, Fabian conceded, the Princess-Regent's true essence was not so far removed from the inspiring tales after all.
"The very Hand of the Omnissiah," Solana whispered, her voice filled with reverent awe. "That is how many of the Archmagos, including Belisarius Cawl himself, now refer to the Princess-Regent."
"Is that… not profoundly heretical?" Fabian asked, surprised, and Solana chuckled softly.
"The undeniable efficacy of her creations is proof enough. The Choir-Forts that stabilise astropathic choirs, the Iteritas Antennae that link entire Segmenta, the advanced process for creating Aurelian Null-materials, and so much more—these are undeniable facts. And that is merely scratching the surface of her contributions! Have you, Master Guelphrain, ever witnessed a Colossi-Class Titan?"
Fabian shook his head, utterly mesmerised. Solana's face, for all its augmetic enhancements, bloomed with an almost girlish excitement.
"Each one stands three times taller than a mighty Imperator-class Titan. When one moves, Master Guelphrain, the very earth beneath its passage trembles across continents. The technology infused into their construction remains among the most advanced in the entire Imperium. And soon, you will witness them as they are deployed to secure our departure for the Indomitus Crusade. You will then understand the living, palpable manifestation of the Omnissiah's will in the Princess."
Fabian had not yet truly witnessed the Princess in close proximity, save for a fleeting glimpse during the grand ceremony, when her voice, that profoundly soothing and authoritative instrument, had ignited a fervent fire within his own sceptical soul. To hear her was one thing; to see her, even from a distance, was another entirely. He had felt her undeniable aura, that subtle sense of peace and absolute authority, the tangible weight of her presence.
But could the grand narratives surrounding the Princess truly be accurate? Fabian remained unsure, yet he could not, in good faith, utterly deny the overwhelming evidence of her impact. Perhaps, he mused, if he could directly question the Lord Commander himself, garner some objective insight into the Princess's true nature, he could begin to assemble a factual, unbiased history. It would be a daunting task, far from Terra, far from the Golden Throne's distant hum, but it was now a compelling possibility. He just needed to speak with the correct people. And Roboute Guilliman was undoubtedly one of them.
"By the Omnissiah," Solana breathed, her voice laced with profound awe, drawing Fabian's attention. He peered towards the vast observation window and gasped, his breath catching in his throat. In the void outside, silhouetted against the nascent light of Sol, stood two colossal forms—the Imperatoris Lux and the Gladius Aeternitas—the only two Aeternum-Maximus Class Behemoths in existence.
Fabian, like every educated citizen, knew these ships. Conceived and personally crafted by the Princess's hand during the height of the Great Crusade, they were ninety-five-kilometre, continent-sized battleships, monuments of a technological dawn long forgotten. They had been humanity's unwavering spears, its unyielding bulwarks throughout the dark millennia. Within their gargantuan hulls, entire cities resided, home to millions, generations of families who had never known a world beyond the steel and plasteel of their floating cities.
Fabian gazed upon the immense fleet, hundreds upon hundreds of Imperial warships, mere pinpricks orbiting the two towering giants. The scale was insane. A standard Retribution-class Battleship, a war engine capable of devastating planets, appeared as a mere speck beside them. Fabian knew the Gladius Aeternitas was to serve as the flagship of the Indomitus Crusade, Lord Commander Guilliman's command centre, and the mighty spearhead against the galaxy's darkness. It was the place he would, for untold years, call home.
"I have heard tales of these behemoths, but to see them…" Deven whispered, his usual arrogance stripped away, replaced by genuine, unadulterated awe. "To believe that the Imperium once possessed the ingenuity to construct such vessels… and that the very being who conceived and crafted such wonders is now returned to us. How can anyone deny the genesis of a new age for the Imperium?"
Fabian found he could not deny it. No one, seeing these monstrous ships, these undeniable testaments to the Princess's power, could.
"And you see them?" Solana added, pointing with a glowing augmetic finger. "Those are Stellaris-Class Battleships—four of them—with a hundred Aquila-Class Battlecruisers forming their escort. It is the first time all those formidable classes have been united, in full operational strength, in millennia!" she whispered, her binary speech patterns accelerating with excited joy, profoundly pleased to finally be embarking aboard such a majestic formation.
"This is a sight that will forever be seared into memory. This is the sight that unequivocally proclaims the Indomitus Crusade as one of the most significant and pivotal moments in the Imperium's long history," Deven added, frantically transcribing notes onto his data-slate.
"And more are yet to come," Solana added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I have heard that the Princess-Regent has already given Mars and the Laurel Systems the green light to initiate construction of a new Aeternum-Maximus Class Behemoth."
"Would that not… dangerously strain the Imperium's already beleaguered resources?" Fabian asked, his historian's practicality resurfacing.
"The Princess-Regent brought those resources, Master Guelphrain," Solana replied, a triumphant grin spreading across her augmetic face. "Archmagos Belisarius Cawl and the Princess were close collaborators during the Great Crusade, and they work together now! I know this for a fact! Do you perceive this vessel?" she gestured around their transport. "It is a new creation, forged in mere months! And those behemoths you see above Terra? The Imperatoris Lux and Gladius Aeternitas are not merely hovering for ceremonial display. They are undergoing repairs, meticulous updates, and rearmament with weapons none of us have ever before witnessed!"
"You appear to possess a formidable, indeed suspicious, knowledge of current events," Deven observed, his tone now laced with professional suspicion.
Solana waved his concerns away with a dismissive hand. "I merely… cultivate a wide network of associates. Individuals who value open discourse. Perhaps, Master Mudire, you might broaden your own social circle to truly comprehend the hidden workings of the Imperium, as I do." Deven scoffed, but said nothing.
"I know, Master Guelphrain," Solana continued, her voice swelling with fervent conviction, "that the Princess-Regent and Archmagos Belisarius Cawl have gathered around them minds that think outside the strictures of orthodoxy, minds willing to challenge conventional wisdom. And in the years to come, we will witness wonders of technology that will not only rival, but truly surpass, the glories of the Dark Age of Technology!" Solana spoke with the unwavering certainty of one who believed it all implicitly. And Fabian, observing the sheer scale of the fleet, the undeniable power of Aurelia's creations, found he could no longer wholly deny the vast possibilities she represented.
But even if his nascent belief was taking root, Fabian still desired more. Not just about the technological wonders, but about the Princess herself. Who was she, truly, behind the impenetrable myth? It would be a challenging pursuit, far from Terra's political intrigues, far from the silent gaze of the Golden Throne, but he could still seek the truth. He merely needed to speak with the correct people. And Roboute Guilliman was, undoubtedly, one of them.