Calastar burned like an idea that had gone bad. Through shattered webway halls, Custodes and Sisters fought creatures that had never been born. Aurelia armed them with what she dared: Nullfire Projectors that sang the warp empty; Laurel Scuta for breach teams; Corona‑Edge blades for quiet work where thunder failed. From the Throne vault she learned a second craft—to mend without touching: she braided a low, steady cadence through Pharos links, choir harmonics, and Sister null‑sigils, a power‑current from her that kept the Ten Thousand's breath deep, their hands sure, hunger and lactic fire held at bay. It was not sorcery, only numbers sung softly; while the link held, they did not feel weak or tired, and when it faltered, fatigue hit like gravity returning.
Still, they were losing. Even with the Princess's new patterns in their hands, the tide did not tire and the daemons did not run. It was not enough; they needed something else—more time, more endurance, more bodies that would not break.
The Mechanicum's magi insisted on inspecting the Princess's automata before any sanction; the war needed every tool. She answered with law: "No coercion. No forcing. No abominable intelligences. The pattern stays with me. I know the dangers, and I will not loose them."
A Magos counter‑proposed a narrow compromise: allow the Princess's new frames to receive Custodians at the brink of death. Aurelia met their lenses without blinking. "They are not machine‑minds," she said. "They are dreadnoughts done rightly—no spirit, no false cogitation—only a vessel to carry a willing warrior's animus." Valdor weighed, Krole signed in terse Thoughtmark, and the Magos relented. Under hexagrammic and pariah seals, the first volunteer was enshrined; his will woke in a gilded exo‑sarcophagus—no AI, only Soul‑Transference, an operation, if it could even be called that, made by the Princess's herself and no one else. A new cohort took its name: the Custodes Immortalis Laureate. They would stand where flesh failed, and answer to special keys as surely as to their own oaths. Like their Dreadnought‑brothers, they remained fully conscious—lucid minds in auramite coffers—cycling between battle‑wake and null‑trance when the strain rose, never slaved, never asleep against their will.
Field Note — Custodes Immortalis Laureate
Roles: last‑wall anchors; breach holders; Golden Throne Gargoyles, Webway and Warp enders; standard‑bearers for portable pariah fields; Princess's personal Automata.
Keys/Armour/Weapons: auramite nano‑sarcophagus (self‑reknitting microplate "nanosuit" matrix); if a single sanctified mote endures, the whole frame will re‑form when fed matter and oath‑signal; black pariah glyphs along the spine; (Keys for awaking) Knight-Commander of the Silent Sisterhood-key‑sockets at the collar; Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes-laurel‑crest over the heart; (Weapon) forearm Aquila‑Lances (Princess‑pattern, highest‑yield directed lances).
Constraints: Triply oath‑bound—to the Master of Mankind, to the Princess‑Regent Aurelia, and to the Ten Thousand; rousing requires the warrior's assent and dual keys (Silent Sister Matriarch and Captain‑General of the Custodes); no auto‑aggression routines; battle‑wake limited by heat and psyche‑load; pain‑gating humane; conscious at all times; interred souls rest in Solace Vaults or Golden Thronebetween deployments.
Laurel Oath (spoken at interment):
"By aurum and oath, I, [NOMEN CUSTODIS], set my will in the Immortalis Laureate. By the Light of the Emperor, the will of the Anathema, and the Scion of Terra, I bind myself to Custodia, to the Master of Mankind, and to Aurelia Aeternitas Primus. Not slaved, never unwilling, I rise only at dual‑key and my own assent. I am wall and witness; I break for mankind and I mend until Sol is safe."
"Unwise," a Magos rasped. "Inefficient."
"Humane," she said, and signed the writ. The machines went where men would die too quickly to learn nothing; they did not think, and that was the point. The Custodes Immortalis Laureate, were not machines, but more and their duty was sacrosanct. A Hetaeron Guard bled out with a smile when the line held; "Little light—walk back," he said, and vanished cleanly as the Nullfire peaked.
Vulkan came much later, through hidden roads and ruin, to help haul survivors out of Calastar and collapse the passage behind them. Finally, the Webway was close. He found her at the gate, eyes red, hands steady.
"Little sister," he said, rough with relief.
"I'm still here," she answered, and believed it for the span of a breath.
"You're burning too bright," he murmured.
"Be my shade then," she said. He nodded and stood between her and the light.