Part I – The Vigil and the Viper
A faint, almost imperceptible scent permeated the very fabric of Terra, a spiritual essence difficult for the uninitiated to discern. Yet, for the astropaths traversing the perilous tides of the Warp towards the Throneworld, it was a palpable sensation. In their very bones, they felt a profound, serene calm wash over the Empyrean. No screams of the damned, no insidious whispers of daemonic entities, nothing but a vast, soothing silence. Navigators, their third eyes attuned to the currents of the Warp, witnessed it as if reality itself bent to an unseen will; the Warp grew quiet, subdued, as if a mighty hand had taken the reins of its boundless madness, forcing it into compliance.
The closer one approached the Sol System, the deeper this tranquil stillness became. The inner part of the Segmentum Solar now lay ensconced in Aurelia's light, within a protective auric field that Navigators perceived as an impregnable bulwark in the Empyrean. It pushed away the insidious eyes of Chaos, their grasping hands, their piercing spears, carving her own domain within the Immaterium—a realm that answered only to her will, not to their corrupted desires. Other strategic sectors within the Segmentum Solar were also slowly being enfolded in this tranquillity: Pegasus, Dentor, Tertius, Corrix, Abra, and many more. Hundreds of planets, dozens upon dozens of systems, were now shielded from the ruinous powers. Billions of lives, once trembling in perpetual fear, now felt a fragile, nascent sense of safety. Even psykers, who usually struggled against the tumultuous psychic tides, found their minds serene, their abilities imbued with greater focus and control.
And the Astronomican, that venerable psychic beacon, now shone brighter than it had in millennia, its golden light forcing its unwavering will across the fractured galaxy. The Emperor's mind, soul, and will, once shattered, now pulsed with a new cohesion, his strength and presence felt across the stars, shattering the delusions of those who believed humanity defeated.
All who perceived this cosmic transformation knew the architect of such a feat: Aurelia Aeternitas Primus, Princess of the Imperium of Man, her Highness and Heiress, the Princess-Regent. Her awakening had brought forth more than just a profound peace into the Warp; it had kindled hope in the deepest hours of a long, dark night. Thus, pilgrims, drawn by an irresistible force, once again began to journey towards Terra, not merely to complete their divine pilgrimage, but to walk in the undeniable light of the Princess and the renewed, palpable presence of the Emperor.
Inquisitor Katarinya Greyfax had heard the whispers and witnessed the undeniable proof, for good or ill. Ever since her own harrowing awakening from Trazyn the Infinite's cold stasis, Greyfax had learned to expect both the inevitable and the impossible. In that profound and terrible understanding, she had embraced pragmatism, using whatever means necessary to achieve her unyielding goals. She was mad, and she knew it, caring little for such a trivial label. Yet, there was something in her present circumstance that frayed even her iron will, pushing her to the very edge of sanity. That something was standing beside her, aboard the transport shuttle hurtling towards Terra.
"I had assumed you would have departed by now, Celestine," Greyfax stated, her voice terse, her gaze cutting to the serene, imperturbable Saint Celestine beside her. "The demands upon your blessed presence must be legion."
Celestine, her eyes closed in peaceful contemplation, slowly opened them, turning her radiant, placid gaze upon Greyfax. "That is true, Inquisitor. Yet, something profound compels me to remain here, with you. Until the guiding light of the Emperor's will points me to where I must go, I must needs remain here."
"Ah, yes, of course," Greyfax muttered, a familiar exasperation entering her voice. "But that does not, by divine decree, necessitate your following my every step." Celestine merely hummed, a deep, resonant sound.
"I had merely thought you wished to maintain your vigilance over me? To ascertain my non-demonic nature?" Celestine replied, a subtle, almost playful smirk touching her lips. Greyfax sighed, a sound of profound resignation.
"That was before. I perceive no heretic within you, Saint Celestine. Only a loyal, albeit confounding, servant of the Emperor. We are, in that fundamental aspect, quite similar." But Celestine's playful smirk, infused with an unusual, mischievous quality, remained firmly in place.
"You once claimed I was yours, Inquisitor, do you recall?" Celestine's voice, a melodious counterpoint to Greyfax's exasperation, rippled with amusement. "You battled Abaddon himself for my very being." If Greyfax could swear an oath, she knew that smirk would haunt her every waking moment. She inhaled sharply, a guttural sound, as if bracing herself to smash her forehead against the reinforced steel bulkhead of the transport.
"I was merely referring to…" Greyfax began, utterly flustered.
"I know," Celestine interjected, her smile softening, imbued with an ancient understanding. "You need not offer further explanation."
Greyfax's face contorted, displaying a fleeting kaleidoscope of emotions before settling into one of grudging defeat. "Are all saints similarly… charming?" she muttered to herself, pointedly ignoring Celestine's placid, knowing expression.
Soon enough, the transport settled with a soft thud onto the primary landing platform of the Imperial Palace—the most protected, most sacred precinct in all of Terra. Greyfax and Celestine disembarked, swiftly met by an Inquisitor of austere bearing and his attendant Interrogator Acolyte.
"Inquisitor Katarinya Greyfax. Saint Celestine," the man stated, his voice clipped and precise, before formally introducing himself and his associate. "Inquisitor Erasmus Crowl of the Ordo Hereticus, and my Interrogator Acolyte, Luce Spinoza."
"Inquisitor," Greyfax nodded, a faint frown creasing her brow. She had been summoned to the Imperial Palace, but the exact authority behind her summons remained shrouded in mystery. Such an imperative, she knew, could only emanate from the highest echelons of power. "I have been called here, Inquisitor Crowl, but the precise entity issuing the summons remains veiled. Do you, perchance, possess a clearer insight? For you, it seems, were expecting our arrival."
Inquisitor Crowl gave a slight, formal nod. "I do indeed know who commands your presence, Inquisitor, and mine. My own summons to the Palace arrived without explicit purpose until very recently. It was only an hour past that the name was finally revealed, communicated to me by Inquisitor Kleopatra Arx herself."
"Who?" Greyfax demanded, her impatience overriding formality.
"Her Imperial Highness, Aurelia Aeternitas Primus," Crowl replied. The name struck Greyfax with a jolt of shock. To be summoned directly by the Princess-Regent was unprecedented. Saint Celestine, her composure momentarily shaken, closed her eyes, offering a silent prayer, as if discerning a path laid before her by the Emperor's divine hand. Greyfax, more prone to anxiety, felt a prickle of unease. What profound purpose would compel the Princess to summon them?
"We are awaited. We must proceed to the Golden Tower at once," Saint Celestine urged, her voice now resolute, unwilling to keep the Princess-Regent waiting.
They moved swiftly, walking through the colossal grandeur of the Imperial Palace towards the Golden Tower. The massive golden pillars, the gleaming walls, the immense, isolated structure loomed larger with every step. The layers of security were astounding; they could not walk more than a few meters without being challenged. Ultramarines and Imperial Fists stood sentinel on the great bridge connecting the Golden Tower to the rest of the Palace, flanked by stern Adeptus Arbites. Upon entering, the distinctive presence of the Lionguard became palpable, followed by the sight of the Sisters of Battle from the Order of the Holy Hestias of the Divine Princess Light. Greyfax had seen them in action once, during a minor purge, and had witnessed their brutal efficiency. She knew they were zealous, almost fanatically devoted. If any group was incorruptible, it was the Hestias.
Even amongst the entirety of the Adepta Sororitas, their faith in the Emperor and the Princess was absolute, terrifying in its purity. Greyfax could feel their unspoken glares, those dagger-like gazes, as they moved through the Tower's halls. Even the Hestias engaged in mundane duties—serving as handmaidens or cleaning personnel—projected an aura that screamed: they would kill her, without hesitation, were she to pose the slightest threat to their divine Princess. Even with a broom, if necessary.
To the Hestias, it mattered not if they were Inquisitors. Within the Golden Tower, every soul was a suspect, every visitor a potential assassin, a hidden traitor. Vigilance was not an option; it was the sacred imperative. Inquisitor Crowl and Greyfax understood this rigid ethos. Both possessed vast experience in combating corruption and heresy. They knew the forces of Chaos employed myriad agents and possessed limitless creativity in achieving their objectives. Indeed, Greyfax would have been insulted, even enraged, had the Golden Tower's defences not been so meticulously stringent. But the Lionguard, the Princess's personal Space Marines, and the Hestias were far from being cold, unthinking automatons. They were calculating, deeply distrustful of all outsiders, and, as Greyfax fully expected, they would unequivocally execute anyone who dared harbour ill intent towards their Princess.
Soon enough, they reached a vast, ornate hallway that led to an even larger chamber within the Golden Tower. The density of Adeptus Custodes here was unprecedented. One magnificent Custodian, a golden monolith of silence, stepped forward to greet them, uttering no question, demanding no names.
"Follow me," was all he said. Without argument, the Inquisitors and the Saint complied, their own inherent authority momentarily suspended.
Greyfax had never witnessed such a concentration of Custodes in one place. Along the impossibly long hallway, thirty golden warriors stood like statues, unmoving, unflinching, their gazes fixed on some distant, unseen point. Then, she saw them: five more Custodes, but these were different.
These were five of the Custodes Immortalis Laureate, living legends, ancient beyond reckoning, their very existence a whispered myth even among the Adeptus Custodes. Custodes themselves were rare beyond imagining; many Imperial citizens lived their entire lives without ever seeing one, believing them mere legends from an age of mythical glory. But the Custodes Immortalis were something else entirely: automata created in times when the Imperium could afford such audacious innovation, forged by the Princess's own hand, immortal soldiers, their ancient souls woven into a tapestry of unyielding oaths. Each of these five had served the Emperor in his walking days, each had fought during the Great Crusade, and each, no doubt, carried the indelible memory of the Emperor's living voice.
Greyfax harboured a keen disappointment. She longed to question them, to pry into the forbidden histories of that bygone era, but she doubted they would deign to reply. Why should they? They cared not for history, nor for her opinion, nor for conversation. Their sole, sacred purpose was the absolute protection of the Princess and the Emperor.
The group paused before an immense, gilded door. It swung open, revealing a vast, sprawling chamber, breathtaking in its scale, like so many others in the Imperial Palace. However, this space was clearly in the midst of a profound transformation, being meticulously rebuilt into something new, something grander. Servitors and Magos toiled ceaselessly, constructing intricate machinery at the chamber's distant edges. At the highest point of the enclosure, a colossal, ornate structure was taking shape—a throne. It was large, elevated, demanding many steps to reach, surrounded by gleaming gold and strange, green pillars, intricate cables and arcane devices woven into its very being. This, Greyfax recognised, was a throne fit for a monarch. Yet, the chamber also housed countless other marvels: command screens, advanced cogitators, displays of technology Greyfax had never before witnessed. This was clearly more than a mere throne room; it was the nerve centre of a galactic future.
"What is this place?" Greyfax whispered, a profound sense of awe overcoming her.
Before long, she saw her. Princess Aurelia. The daughter of the Emperor of Mankind, the Heir to the Golden Throne, and the current Princess-Regent of the Imperium—the supreme authority, second only to the Emperor himself. Greyfax struggled to reconcile the living woman before her with the myriad stories, murals, and statues that depicted her.
None of those representations, she realised, could truly convey the sheer impact of being in her proximity. Greyfax felt it; no, she saw it, with her own discerning eyes: the pure, luminous divinity emanating from the Princess. A light, a fire, that felt like gazing directly into the very heart of Sol itself. As a psyker, Greyfax had grown accustomed to the currents of the Warp. Since establishing the Luna Conclave as her base, she had perceived a tangible tranquillity around her, the Immaterium subdued, its myriad teeth blunted. She knew this profound peace stemmed from the Princess's presence and boundless power. But to be this near her… it was to stand in the very light of the Emperor.
The halo of radiant energy that shimmered perpetually above the Princess, her entire ethereal persona—if divinity could have a vivid, undeniable representation, it was Aurelia. Greyfax, who often believed Saint Celestine to be divinely blessed, now watched in stunned silence as the Saint herself dropped to her knees, trembling at the sheer intensity of the Princess's divine aura. Celestine prayed, wept, even sobbed, her very being overwhelmed. It seemed the Saint felt something far deeper, perhaps a resonance that transcended even her psyker abilities.
"Blessed be the Emperor, blessed be the Princess's divine light," Celestine whispered, her voice fractured by tears and fervent prayer.
Greyfax noted that the Princess was surrounded by both Custodes and Custodes Immortalis. All around the vast chamber, Lionguard stood sentinel, their gazes sweeping over the new arrivals. Aurelia appeared to be in conversation with an Archmagos, his body a symphony of intricate machinery, before she noticed their presence.
"Oh, you're here, welcome," the Princess's voice rang out, serene, calm, imbued with a divine timbre and a subtle, undeniable authority. It was distinct from Primarch Roboute Guilliman's voice, yet carried the same ancient, elegant accent of a time when High Gothic was spoken with uncorrupted precision. Greyfax wondered if the Princess, like Guilliman, still spoke Old Terran High Gothic, if they conversed in that ancient tongue between themselves.
"Your Highness," all of them, Inquisitors, Acolyte, and Saint alike, knelt before her. The Princess-Regent was the only living person to whom an Inquisitor would ever bend the knee, save the Emperor himself.
"Rise, I have not called you here for mere reverence," Princess Aurelia spoke gently, her gaze settling on the prostrate form of the Saint.
"Rise, Saint Celestine, I will not have you upon your knees," Aurelia insisted, her voice soft, yet resolute, carefully masking a grim look. She knew the troubling reality of the Living Saints; she had perceived them before her awakening, and paradoxically, had played a subtle, often unconscious role in their resurrections, offering glimmers of her light, small currents of hope. And she was not alone in this unwitting propagation. It was one of the many insidious aspects that had allowed her to perceive that her father, even in his shattered state, was still aiding humanity in his own fragmented way, before she had drawn him back together.
They collectively understood then that both Emperor and Princess had, unknowingly, created something they found unsettling, yet were now unable to halt. The fervent zeal of the Living Saints, their endless prayers, their unshakeable belief in the Emperor as a living god, was creating a powerful psychic feedback loop within the Warp. This unchecked belief system, the Imperial Cult, was causing a chain reaction of faith-manifested phenomena. How responsible was it for the turmoil of the galaxy? It was a question difficult to answer with true certainty. But it was undeniable that the Princess and the Emperor would continue to see more and more such manifestations, born of sheer, raw belief in either of them.
"Welcome all of you," Aurelia replied with a gentle smile, her gaze sweeping across the grand chamber. "And I apologise for summoning you to such a… rudimentary place." She gestured around the vast, unfinished space. "This, however, is destined to become my personal throne room, as well as the central command hub for future operations. The Indomitus Crusade will, I assure you, not be the last military operation to come. But these future endeavours—that is for later."
Aurelia smiled, then turned to a colossal, circular mechanical board, revealing a breathtakingly detailed, luminous projection of the Segmentum Solar. It was incredibly precise, appearing to be an almost live feed of the galaxy. Greyfax now understood the purpose of the myriad cables and strange apparatus that permeated the vast desk.
"Please approach, and forgive any minor fluctuations; this little experiment remains in its testing phase," Aurelia replied, a soft chuckle escaping her. "Magos Delta, is it ready for full display?"
Magos Delta's multi-layered vox-speakers whirred with delight. "It is, Your Highness! My latest work of art is a magnificent cartographic display of the entire galaxy! In vivid, real-time detail, utilising the Astra Relays and Iteritas Antennae as powerful, interwoven sonars, it presents the closest approximation of a live feed of the entire galaxy. Of course, it remains in its nascent stages; currently, it only displays the Segmentum Solar. But with additional time, and the continued construction of more Astra Relays and Iteritas Antennae, there will be no doubt, I shall present the entirety of the galaxy for your constant purview, Your Highness!"
"Good. Please, Inquisitor Greyfax, Inquisitor Crowl, I have a most delicate and imperative mission for both of you. Inquisitor Kleopatra Arx has brought certain concerns to my attention regarding this matter, highlighting its immense strategic importance, and has personally recommended both of you by name," Aurelia stated, her concerns stemming not from explicit prescience, but from a profound, subtle intuition. She knew Chaos would not passively permit her light to expand. They knew she would not cease her efforts, yet also understood that a direct, frontal assault against her was not feasible, not yet. Therefore, they would resort to more furtive, insidious tactics.
"Your Highness, pray tell, what is your specific concern?" Inquisitor Crowl asked, his voice crisp and professional. The Princess's gaze drifted to the immense holographic map, her celestial eyes darkening with grave apprehension.
"My light," the Princess began, her voice low and resonant with cosmic power, "the very essence that calms the Immaterium across hundreds of planets and systems, that nourishes my father's waning power and binds him to cohesion, that makes the Astronomican's glorious light shine brighter than before, and that pushes back the endless tide of Chaos… this very light is in danger."
"In danger, Your Highness?" Celestine inquired, a rare note of genuine worry in her voice.
"Yes. Chaos will not sit idly by, passively observing my light grow, encroaching upon their dominion. The more the Indomitus Crusade advances, the more my light expands. My ultimate intention is to envelop and protect the entirety of the Segmentum Solar. All of it. And Chaos, quite naturally, will not permit such an outcome without immense struggle," the Princess declared, gesturing towards a distant system and a single planet far beyond the immediate range of her protective aura. "Voltikron III. It bore the brunt of the traitors' initial attack during the Noctis Aeterna. It has since been reclaimed, but the peace there remains… fragile. Many of the cultists who fled Terra in the aftermath of the Siege gathered there, including their principal leaders. And they are not, I assure you, merely idling."
Princess Aurelia ensured her message was unequivocally clear: these cultists were planning something insidious. For the Inquisitors, this unspoken certainty was reason enough for heightened alert. The Princess then provided each of them with a data-slate, meticulously compiled with all the intelligence Inquisitor Kleopatra Arx had been able to gather in recent months. It painted a stark, detailed picture for Greyfax and Crowl of the insidious machinations unfolding on Voltikron III.
"These numbers… their proximity to the Ultima Segmentum. They could either attempt to flee and join their vile patrons in the Eye of Terror, or they could strive to spread Chaos across vulnerable systems. But they remain stationary… waiting," Greyfax observed, her psychic senses detecting an unsettling anomaly, a clear discord within the cultists' presence.
"They are clearly expecting something," Crowl whispered, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Otherwise, why maintain such an unusual posture? Why remain so quiet for so long? They could, at least, attempt to seize full control of the planet. Its defences are shattered, and the governor appears incapable of governing. Yet… there is nothing. No visible chaos in the streets, no whispers of heretical ceremonies." It felt wrong, profoundly wrong.
"No visible sight of death, nor outward corruption," Luce Spinoza added, reading the data-slate and frowning deeply. It was as if the planet, despite its infamous history, bore no large concentration of active cultists. It was all too peaceful. Dangerously peaceful.
"They are not hiding… they are awaiting instructions," Celestine pronounced, her voice calm, echoing the very conclusion the Inquisitors had been struggling to reach.
"The Ruinous Powers take great offence when I attempt to stitch together portions of the Great Rift," Aurelia stated, her gaze sweeping over the Inquisitors and Celestine. Their faces displayed a mixture of shock and awe. They had not realised the Princess possessed such immense power that she could actively mend sections of the Cicatrix Maledictum itself. Aurelia, sensing their unspoken queries, gracefully ignored their astonished stares.
"It is not so easily done, I assure you. For every tear I close, another opens. For every system or sector salvaged, another falls into shadow. They mock me. I hear their insidious laughter, constant and utterly annoying. Yet, they understand the ultimate consequence should my light fully encompass the Segmentum Solar; it will not, for them, be an amusing outcome. Tzeentch cannot see me. I have woven a veil over Terra; he cannot predict my movements, he cannot read me in his infernal books, he cannot glimpse me in his million futures. But that does not mean he cannot perceive my influence, the expanding bulwark around me."
Aurelia's gaze returned to the holographic galactic map. "He will attempt to halt it. They will all conspire to prevent my light from spreading too broadly. I believe they are using this cultist gathering as an initial experiment. Voltikron III is strategically located, close to the Ultima Segmentum, and proximal to numerous potential threats. My brother, Guilliman, comprehends that we cannot permit Chaos to establish such an insidious foothold so close to Terra's heart. That is why I require you to travel to Voltikron III, to uncover their precise objective, to discern what these cultists are truly planning. I must know."
Aurelia knew this was a gamble, a deliberate choice to forgo immediate prescience, to place her faith in her agents, in her instincts. She knew Tzeentch would desperately wish for her to blindly rely on her glimpses of the future, turning her greatest strength into a perilous weakness. But Tzeentch, for all his intricate scheming, was not always patient. Aurelia, however, could be patient. She could let things unfold without her direct manipulation. And that was precisely what she would do. She would focus her efforts on keeping Tzeentch and the other Ruinous Powers blind, their attention fixed squarely upon her, diverting them from the greater workings of the Imperium.
Would such a subtle misdirection truly work? Not completely. But she would force them to engage with her, to respond to her presence, one way or another.
"Your Highness, we shall uncover their designs and root out every heretic," Greyfax whispered, her voice infused with newfound devotion and fierce zeal.
"We shall ascertain their precise intentions, Your Highness, without fail," Crowl added, his tone grimly determined.
"Good. You are departing immediately. And you will take a detachment of the Lionguard." Aurelia concluded, her decision absolute.