Hello everyone, here it is—yet another chapter! A long one at that, so, with this I finish this set of updates for a bit! Until I focus on the following works. Also, while I truly enjoy this, there is a lot to prepare for future chapters, because the Indomitus Crusade is starting and with it, a lot of problems. Other characters, factions, and battles.
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Chapter VI - The Emperor's Legacy: A Daughter's Burden
Part I - Night Thoughts
Hours after sunset, the Princess Aurelia, her mind a ceaseless current of cosmic thought, found herself unable to surrender to slumber. While her body, through the unique grace of her creation, seldom required true rest—and often found solace in the boundless expanse of the Basilica Liminalis, where she would contemplate grand strategies, observe the bickering C'tan fragments, or softly commune with the fragmented soul of her father—tonight was different. Tonight, her consciousness remained tethered to the now, refusing to yield to rest.
She opened her eyes, gazing at the intricate, gilded frescoes of her bedchamber's ceiling. A moment of aimless contemplation, a brief respite from the cosmic burdens, before she slowly rose. Drawing aside the heavy curtains of her bed, she revealed the stoic forms of her guardians. Knight-Centura Severina Morn of the Silent Sisterhood, stationed with an unyielding vigilance, turned her head slightly. Your Highness? Did sleep not find you tonight? She inquired through Thoughtmark, her presence a silent, calming null. Aurelia offered a faint, tired smile.
"It did not, Severina. Sleep remains elusive tonight." As she spoke, two Hestia Sisters, in their crisp, battle-ready robes, entered, bowing deeply. "Your Highness, do you require anything?"
"Tea, please," Aurelia replied softly, "and something light to eat—a simple broth or a clear soup. I will try to rest further, but I anticipate commencing my work within the hour, perhaps two." The Hestias bowed again, their movements imbued with a quiet efficiency, and withdrew.
Aurelia donned a simple, flowing robe and moved to the expansive balcony that offered a breathtaking, albeit grim, vista of Terra's eternal night. Her Golden Tower stood west of the immense Sanctum Imperialis, granting her a panoramic view of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Sanctum of the Thousand Eyes, the monumental Ascensor's Gate, the legendary Lion's Gate, and, most profoundly, the colossal form of the Imperial Palace itself, the resting place of her father. It was a place of isolation, yet simultaneously embraced by the very structures of Imperial power. In the solemnity of such nights, Aurelia often felt a profound melancholy, watching the world she had once known, the beacon of a nascent empire, now a mere husk of its former glory. Though not entirely lost, the pervasive ache of cosmic regret clung to her.
"Ra, are you there?" Aurelia whispered, her voice barely audible above the low hum of the Tower's machinery. Behind her, she heard the almost imperceptible whir of the Custodes Immortalis, their golden forms materialising from the shadows.
"Your Highness?" Ra Endymion's mechanical voice resonated, imbued with the deep, unwavering soul of the Custodian who should have perished ten millennia ago.
"I communed with Father before attempting rest. He appeared… remarkably serene. Peaceful." Aurelia's voice remained soft, knowing that Ra Endymion and the surrounding Custodes and Silent Sisters heard every word. They were acutely aware of her unique ability to communicate with the Emperor in a more profound, private manner. It had happened several times now, the Emperor speaking from his Golden Throne, most recently to Guilliman before the Indomitus Crusade's departure. A private communion, a father's and a son's final exchange.
Yet, Aurelia alone could truly reach the Emperor in the most secluded recesses of his being, where his efforts were less strained, where the articulation of his consciousness inflicted less agony.
"He was always thus, Your Highness," Ra Endymion replied, his voice a steady hum of ancient loyalty. "Serene. Peaceful. When his will was not burdened by leading crusades or desperately holding the Imperium from dissolution, he possessed a calm, a presence that many, myself included, found… quite charming."
"I swear, Ra, I can still hear the spectral groans of Tribune Abram Hasrubal at your words," Aurelia replied, a nonsensical, fond teasing in her voice. Ra Endymion's deadpan humour was, as ever, a constant source of quiet amusement. "We should awaken him, simply to witness his despairing wail from within his Dreadnought sarcophagus. But both of us know my father seldom, if ever, truly knew peace, and was not, for most of his rule, charming."
"Perhaps, Your Highness. But the prospect of his lamentations remains… tempting. Perhaps we should simply do so."
"The Captain-General Valoris would, I assure you, disapprove of your rousing a revered brother from slumber merely for the sake of your jest," Aurelia responded, a not-so-princess-like snort escaping her. "Besides, I harbour no doubt that Abram would, in his recovered fury, attempt to render you inoperable."
"Indeed. He would."
Aurelia chuckled softly, a poignant, human sound. She glanced once again at Terra's veiled sky, catching a fleeting glimpse of a small, determined star before the omnipresent smog reclaimed it. The colossal atmospheric purifiers she had commissioned had been toiling relentlessly, visibly cleansing pockets of the air. Yet, it was clear that decades, perhaps even centuries, would pass before Terra's sky returned to its pristine azure. Still, this fleeting vision of a clean star was a testament to subtle progress, a small, tangible display of hope.
"Did the Emperor communicate anything… further?" Ra Endymion inquired, making Aurelia tilt her head, her cosmic eyes distant.
"He spoke quite a lot, Ra," Aurelia confided, her voice hushed. "After millennia of shattered consciousness, of being held together only by duty and unyielding stubbornness, he now has a fragile window of respite. He has time to meditate, to reconnect with himself without profound agony, to simply be under the stabilising glow of my light. This precious lucidity offers him the opportunity to truly re-evaluate decisions, motivations, even his deepest feelings." She glanced at the immense, grim facade of the Sanctum Imperialis, where the Golden Throne held her father's entombed bones. She could feel the Astronomican's searing light, perceive its boundless reach, and, with her own subtle essence, continuously feed it, ensuring it burned brighter, stronger than ever.
Aurelia had already mandated the cessation of the horrendous sacrifice of a thousand psykers a day to fuel the Astronomican. When she had stitched her father's shattered soul and will back together, infusing his fragmented essence with her own primordial light, it had created a profound spiritual link. Her radiant aura, her encompassing power, now shielded Terra, Mars, and hundreds of vital systems across the Segmentum Solar from the cancerous touch of Chaos. This radiant bastion not only secured their core systems but also actively nourished her father's soul and simultaneously intensified the Astronomican's boundless light, strengthening its reach across the fractured galaxy. The painful trade-off, however, was her unyielding anchor to Terra. She was forbidden to leave, a decree enforced by a dedicated cohort of Grey Knights—not that she intended to depart, but the unspoken threat remained.
"He harbours regrets, Ra," Aurelia whispered, her voice imbued with a quiet pain that the ancient Custodian did not fail to notice. "Like any man burdened by such a long history. But he still possesses an unwavering belief. He thinks humanity still has a chance to survive. To thrive, even."
"It will not be easy, Ra," Aurelia added, leaning forward against the ornate balcony railing, her gaze fixed on the unseen horizon, the profound cost heavy on her spirit. "The sacrifices yet to come, the deaths yet to be endured… they are boundless."
"They will be, Your Highness," Ra Endymion responded, his voice unwavering. He comprehended the grim calculus: the Indomitus Crusade would demand billions of lives, sacrificed for the trillions they hoped to save. An immense, terrible cost to redeem an Imperium teetering on the brink. "But we have you."
"Me," Aurelia whispered, echoing his words, a faint, almost bewildered note in her voice. "What about my brother?"
"Lord Guilliman is not you, Your Highness. I do not mean to disrespect what he is capable of, his willingness to fight, or the vital role he may play in the Imperium during this dark age. However, he is not you. He would not be able to unite the Imperium as we need it to be—not merely as a symbol of resilience or a spirit to fight, but as a beacon of hope and a vision of what humanity could achieve. Roboute Guilliman lacks this ability, and I am certain he is aware of it."
Aurelia did not respond; instead, she reflected on Ra's words. Aurelia knew this, of course. She admitted that if she hadn't been by Guilliman's side, he would have faced numerous challenges, trials, and dangers, with enemies lurking behind him. Roboute Guilliman understood this as well; he knew that not everyone would be pleased with his return, nor would he have been able to unite the Imperium as effectively as she could. He was a Primarch, not the Heir.
"Do you truly believe that?" Aurelia asked.
"Yes, Your Highness. You are the one who can truly forge this new future. I have profound, unshakeable faith that you are more than what the Imperium needs right now; you are the Emperor's greatest triumph, the only one worthy of being called his heir."
Aurelia sighed deeply, her gaze once again lifting to the night sky, and a gentle smile touched her lips as a single, determined star momentarily pierced the heavy smog, a silent promise of dawn.
"Thank you, Ra. Your words… they mean a great deal to me." Aurelia offered him a warm, genuine smile. "And you too, Severina. My apologies for indulging in such emotion in your presence."
Knight-Centura Severina Morn silently shook her head, her Thoughtmark communication clear: No need to apologise, Your Highness. Never.
"Your Highness, your tea, and a hearty Grox brew, infused with herbs and vegetables," a Hestia Sister announced, her voice soft, as she presented a small, intricately carved tray.
"Ah, thank you," the Princess replied, her smile radiant. She moved to a small table arranged on the balcony, accepting the meal. She took a deep, fortifying sip of tea, allowing her mind to process the relentless march of the last year since her awakening. So much had been achieved, yet it rarely felt so. A year and a half, yet it felt like a decade, compressed by the cosmic perspective she possessed. Time had always been a strange, mercurial friend to her, constantly shifting its cadence, making her feel impossibly old, then unnervingly young, denying true rest or prolonging it agonisingly.
Aurelia had maintained her silent vigilance over the Golden Throne's hidden failings. Her presence and her ability to mend her father's shattered psyche had indeed brought him cohesion. But it had not, fundamentally, renewed the ancient machine itself. No. It was as if one had fitted a brand-new, powerful battery into a decaying, failing vehicle. The vehicle itself needed deep, meticulous repair or total replacement. And, of course, replacing the Golden Throne was a luxury beyond their wildest dreams.
They must repair it. Aurelia felt no true panic, no profound horror. She knew the Throne's deepest secrets. It had been built by the Old Ones, their ancient wisdom laid bare to her consciousness in the Basilica Liminalis, as she watched the past vividly. She knew its original purpose, its every component, its hidden functions, its every weakness. The Emperor, she realised, had possessed an understanding of the Throne's capabilities, not all its complex design, but enough to make it work and use it.
The Golden Throne, she knew, was a multi-faceted, arcane amalgamation, tweaked across countless millennia by various civilisations, from the Old Ones, to the Eldar, and most notably during the Dark Age of Technology by humanity, and then, profoundly, by her father's own brilliant tinkering. Now, it was a complex tapestry of overlapping, yet strangely harmonious, devices. Nevertheless, Aurelia understood the absolute imperative of repairing it, meticulously gathering all necessary resources and knowledge. And she knew how. The C'tan fragments, with their vast understanding of ancient physics and machinery, proved invaluable, particularly when she focused her perception on the precise period when the Old Ones had forged it initially and the humans in the Dark Age of Technology built more on top of it. Now, she had a door open to repairing significant parts of the Golden Throne. And adding her father's own modifications, though subtle, also offered crucial insights into the precise pathways for repairing other critical components.
The Webway portal beneath the Golden Throne still posed a problem. However, Aurelia knew a way to keep it permanently sealed. She just needed some time.
Nonetheless, while Aurelia maintained a disciplined calmness, those of the Imperium who knew of the Golden Throne's imminent failure were spiralling towards panic. She had learned, within hours of awakening from the Eden Pod, by watching the chapter of her awaking, of a perilous, almost blasphemous pact: certain elements of the Adeptus Mechanicus and High Lords of Terra, desperate to mend the Golden Throne, had entered into a perilous alliance with the insidious Aeldari of the Drukhari.
It was madness, sheer, unadulterated madness. Aurelia had glimpsed the inevitable chapter of that particular future: the Drukhari's insidious intent to construct their own twisted version of the Golden Throne, to forge their own psychic power source, their own false emperor, powered by human suffering, by her father's flesh and bones. This abhorrent "Black Throne" could not be allowed to exist. Not while Aurelia lived. She was compelled to intervene, not with mere words, but with overwhelming force.
Utilising the Basilica Liminalis, Aurelia materialised within the Webway, projecting her immaterial form before the terrified, stunned assembly of Tech-Priests and Drukhari Archons. Their reactions, she conceded now, were quite amusing—utter bewilderment and profound terror. But truly, they deserved no less. Aurelia had been enraged by the audacious temerity of Fabricator-General Oud Oudia Raskian, the previous Master of the Astronomican, and Speaker of the Chartist Captains Kania Dhanda. To have had the sheer gall to contemplate sacrificing an entire star system, billions of souls, for the mere possibility of fixing the Golden Throne—it was an abomination.
The Drukhari, despite their innate arrogance, recoiled in terror, yet still dared to inform her that without their intervention, the Golden Throne would fail within a century. Aurelia dismissed their pleas, her celestial eyes burning with righteous fury. She simply told them she would repair it herself, for she knew its every secret: how it was built, when, by whom, and its myriad functions. Their insidious "help" was not needed. She needed no help. Then, with a flicker of wrath that was perhaps a touch irresponsible, Aurelia unleashed a sliver of her power, utterly obliterating the nascent Black Throne and, with a silent tear in reality, a portion of Commorragh itself. This unleashed a brief, furious skirmish within the Webway, in which one of her personal Lionguard, Leops Franck, tragically perished.
Oddly enough, one of the more pragmatic Drukhari Archons, witnessing the cataclysmic display of power, immediately ordered the cessation of hostilities. They understood, with a chilling clarity, that Aurelia was not merely a formidable foe; she was a being they could not possibly harm, much less defeat. This was the Anathema of the Warp, a primordial entity capable of annihilating even She-Who-Thirsts or any of the Chaos Gods themselves. To fight her in the Webway, in her astral form, was utter, galactic suicide.
Aurelia's gaze, now sharp with righteous anger, bore down upon the remaining Drukhari. She issued a cold, unequivocal warning: this was to be their last attempt to deceive her people, her Imperium. Next time, she vowed, she would personally send all of Commorragh directly to the ravenous maw of Slaanesh. Aurelia was, of course, bluffing; she was not so cruel and was quite unsure of how to truly appreciate her vast power without destroying an entire section of the Webway. But the terrifying fury in her voice, the palpable intensity of her threat, made them believe every word.
The Drukhari, shrewd and ancient, felt her. A being whose presence made the very Webway tremble. Their psychic senses screamed at them to cease. Aurelia then allowed them to retreat, taking with her the human participants—Oud Oudia Raskian, Erasmus Crowl, Luce Spinoza, Kania Dhanda, and Custodes Navradaran. She guided the bewildered humans to a safe point near Luna. To Fabricator-General Oud Oudia Raskian, she issued a direct command: return to Mars, and remain there until she summoned him. He made no reply, utterly shaken by the sheer magnitude of power he had witnessed.
To the others—Crowl, Spinoza, Dhanda, and the Custodes Navradaran—she commanded them to return to Terra. There would be desperate days ahead, and they would be needed. Navradaran, profoundly stunned, found his voice long enough to whisper. Aurelia spoke to him, informing him of her awakening and of the Emperor's return to lucidity, and instructed him to await Guilliman's orders. Then, having secured their safe return, Aurelia retreated, her immaterial form returning to the solitude of the Basilica Liminalis. She had been reckless, perhaps, with the display of her power in the Webway, and could have easily obliterated them all. Yet, thankfully, all had ultimately gone as planned, and the chapter was closed, having diverged from a potentially disastrous path.
"No one can accuse me of not working hard," Aurelia mumbled, a faint, weary satisfaction in her voice as she took a slow sip of her Grox brew.
"You are conversing with yourself again, Your Highness," Ra Endymion observed, his ancient, metallic voice carrying a note of dry amusement.
"Hush, Ra. Allow your Princess the small indulgence of speaking to herself," Aurelia replied, a faint smile playing on her lips as she returned to her simple meal, her mind already consumed by a new idea—a way to use her power in small, controlled, and precise bursts.
Part II – The Architect's Mandate: Repairing the Golden Throne
The vast, intricate repairs of the Golden Throne had consumed Aurelia's attention in the days following the purge of the Senatorum's Hexarchy. Her task was segmented, methodical, moving from the most critical, immediate fixes to grander, epoch-spanning reconstructions. First, the crucial, failing components required immediate and delicate intervention. Second, extant parts capable of enhancement needed meticulous upgrading. Third, the profound, ancient architecture of the Throne itself had to be rebuilt, reshaped to better channel her essence—that boundless, life-giving power—more efficiently into the Astronomican and the Throne's dying mechanisms. Fourth, and finally, she would begin the arduous process of repairing the layers of human additions from the Dark Age of Technology, then her father's intricate modifications across the millennia.
Only then, with the Throne restored to its pristine glory, might Aurelia find a way to permanently seal the breach in the Webway beneath its foundations. This final act, however, would require not only a fully functional Throne but also her father's conscious, concentrated will to focus its immense power. Both Aurelia and the Emperor had implicitly agreed: for such a momentous task, the Throne must operate without flaw.
This intricate task necessitated a precise, delicate negotiation with the Fabricator-General of Mars himself, Oud Oudia Raskian. Their meeting was not held in the intimate confines of the Golden Tower, but in the heart of Terra's bureaucratic labyrinth, the austere grandeur of the Sanctum Imperialis. Here, beneath the colossal, shattered form of her father upon the Golden Throne, and flanked by his unyielding Custodes, Aurelia awaited Raskian's arrival.
"Your Highness," Captain-General Trajann Valoris's voice, a low, steady rumble, spoke, his auramite-clad form bowing in a gesture of profound respect and unwavering loyalty. "Fabricator-General Oud Oudia Raskian is now approaching."
"Thank you, Captain-General," Aurelia replied, her gaze remaining fixed on the spectral bones of her father, her celestial eyes holding a vast, sorrowful depth.
"It is true then," Trajann ventured, his voice carefully controlled, yet Aurelia sensed a deep undercurrent of anxiety within him. "The Golden Throne can be repaired?"
"Yes, it can," Aurelia affirmed, her voice resonating with a quiet, absolute certainty. "The inherent problem lay not in the possibility of repair, but in the absence of the correct tools, the necessary components. But as of this moment, I am actively creating those missing pieces, with the invaluable assistance of my associates, ensuring every requirement is meticulously prepared." Trajann's jaw, tight with years of suppressed worry, relaxed visibly. "The total restoration of the Golden Throne will indeed demand years, perhaps decades, of continuous labour, but it shall be done. We are, I assure you, precisely on schedule."
Soon, both Trajann and the Princess heard the distinctive sounds of extensive cybernetic augmentation—the rhythmic hiss of pneumatics, the whir of internal mechanisms, the heavy, deliberate tread of colossal metallic limbs—slowly approaching. Oud Oudia Raskian, the Fabricator-General, was an even more physically imposing figure than Belisarius Cawl. Where Cawl's form, in Aurelia's opinion, was already an exercise in flamboyant excess, Raskian's vast, augmented body seemed to defy all laws of biomechanics. He could barely move without creating a scraping, dragging sound, as if burdened by his own immensity. Thankfully, the Golden Throne chamber was a cavernous space, vast enough to accommodate even his colossal form.
"Your Highness," Raskian bowed, or attempted to, his rigid, augmented body permitting little beyond a stiff, mechanical inclination of his massive frame.
"Fabricator-General, thank you for your prompt arrival," Aurelia greeted, her voice calm and serene. "And I apologise for the… unpleasant circumstances of our first meeting. As you may understand, my anger was, shall we say, profoundly justified by the revelations of that occasion." She projected an aura of serene authority, yet an underlying thread of steely irritation at the past circumstances lingered, a subtle resonance in her light. Raskian, she knew, had been genuinely ignorant of the catastrophic ramifications of his proposed alliance; the sheer, unimaginable horror that awaited humanity had his plan come to fruition.
Yet, she understood his desperation. Even her father, when Aurelia recounted the details of Raskian's ill-fated alliance, had conceded to the Fabricator-General's profound desperation.
Raskian bowed again, this time a deeper, more contorted attempt, clearly striving to avoid her penetrating gaze, as well as the unwavering, silent glare of Trajann Valoris.
"My sincerest apologies, Your Highness," Raskian stated, his multi-layered vox-speakers chiming with unusual sincerity. "I allowed… fear and desperation to wholly consume my logical mind." He sounded honest enough now, after a year, to perceive the larger picture, the immense, unimaginable stakes at play, and the full, horrifying extent of what they all stood to lose. And even if his alliance with the Drukhari had proceeded, there was, he now realised, no guarantee that the Golden Throne would have been permanently, truly repaired.
"You need not worry yourself, Fabricator-General. I understand. We understand," Aurelia said, a subtle emphasis on the collective pronoun. Raskian looked up, his multi-faceted optical sensors whirring in confusion. Was she referring to the Captain-General of the Custodes? No, he immediately realised, for just then, a deep, ancient voice, a voice he had not truly heard in ten millennia, resonated from high upon the Golden Throne itself. It was the Emperor.
"Fabricator-General," the Emperor spoke, his words imbued with a vast, timeless power. His entombed bones seemed to pulse with a faint, tranquil aura, an almost palpable echo of his former glory.
Raskian gasped, a collective intake of breath from his many augmented components, his multi-layered voices spewing rapid binary numbers and frightened exclamations. "So, it is true," he whispered, awe and terror battling for supremacy within his logic circuits.
"I have been made aware of your dealings with the Drukhari, Fabricator-General. Your proposition of sacrificing an entire star system to their predatory whims. You should know, were these not the gravest of circumstances, your life would have been forfeit. Your actions would have been considered treason of the highest order," the Emperor spoke, that ancient voice, long muted by suffering, now recalling how to articulate its formidable anger. Aurelia felt no surprise, of course. Her father, when she had initially apprised him of the incident, had been utterly furious. To contemplate giving away billions of human lives, sacrificing an entire portion of the Imperium to the Dark Eldar, and for a prospect that offered no true guarantee of success, was, in his eyes, an act of unforgivable foolishness. Yet, he had possessed the lucidity, guided by Aurelia's calm counsel, to temper his wrath, to understand the desperation that had driven Raskian.
The Emperor, of course, had always known the Golden Throne's operational lifespan was finite, that without drastic measures, its heart would fail. But to place trust in xenos, specifically the perfidious Dark Eldar, was an act of profound naivety and strategic idiocy.
"My Emperor, I assure you, I exhaustively explored all available alternatives before resorting to such a… desperate decision," Raskian stammered, his multi-layered voice struggling to articulate, his multitude of augmetic limbs trembling. It was not surprising; the Emperor's colossal psychic aura, his sheer, undeniable presence, even as a fragmented will, was utterly suffocating to those upon whom his attention rested.
"Your actions are, on a purely logical level, understandable, Fabricator-General, given the dire circumstances you perceived," the Emperor spoke, a surprising lack of explicit judgment in his tone. Aurelia understood that the ancient Treaty of Mars granted the Mechanicus a certain autonomy, insulating Raskian from outright Imperial judgment. Yet, the Emperor, Aurelia knew, saw deeper truths than any, privy to knowledge of Mars, its secrets, and perhaps even his own hand in the genesis of its unique cult, millennia ago. Aurelia believed Raskian possessed deeper, forbidden knowledge of what lay beneath the Noctis Labyrinth, perhaps even a truer understanding of Mars' hidden history. Raskian's submissive posture, however, confirmed that he was aware of the full, horrifying scope of the C'tan shard dormant within Mars and the Emperor's ancient role in its concealment.
"I assure you, I would have pursued any other solution had I possessed the luxury of time, but given what little intelligence we possessed… time was simply not on our side. I felt compelled to act," Raskian replied, his voice muted. The Emperor's voice was silent for a few moments, yet his immense, unseen presence remained palpable in the chamber.
"I comprehend the tyranny of acting against time, Fabricator-General. The Golden Throne is indeed failing. Its structure possesses an inherent expiration date. You undertook what you believed was the sole path to achieve the impossible. Even if that path involved condemning billions, it is not an easy decision. But one, that I now hope you recognise, would have resulted in an outcome far more catastrophic. The Drukhari, Fabricator-General, saw your desperation. And they would have seized it, and ultimately, they would have condemned humanity to a slow, exquisite damnation."
Raskian bowed, his massive form trembling. He was not a fool; he had swiftly, albeit belatedly, realised the full, perfidious intent of the Dark Eldar. He grasped, perhaps too late, that the Drukhari's true goal was to put humanity on a leash, to save themselves through mankind's ultimate subjugation.
"I was gravely mistaken," Raskian replied, his voice strained. "Wrong in all my assumptions, and I almost condemned billions of souls to unimaginable horror."
"Few possess such foresight, Fabricator-General, and fewer still would dare to make such a decision. It is indeed fortunate that particular decision never came to pass," the Emperor stated, his voice now devoid of harshness, imbued with a simple, stark fact. "Nevertheless, you have been summoned here because your unique knowledge is vital. Because you are needed."
"Could it be…" Raskian turned his gaze to the Princess, who already knew the nascent thought forming in his mechanical mind. Aurelia then produced a data-slate, its surface shimmering with the intricate schematics of a new, meticulously crafted device. Raskian's multi-faceted bionic eyes widened in profound awe. One of his numerous extremities, driven by pure instinct, reached for the data-slate, his optical sensors devouring the complex details.
"I stated, Fabricator-General, that I possessed the knowledge to repair the Golden Throne, and I meant it. What I require now are capable hands, unwavering dedication, and infinite patience," Aurelia stated.
"Patience… how much time is truly left?" Raskian asked, a desperate edge to his voice.
"Enough to ensure its triumph," the Emperor replied, his voice resonating with unyielding certainty.
Raskian bowed deeply, not only to the distant Emperor but to the Princess, his respect for her formidable intellect absolute. "We should commence immediately, Your Highness."
Soon after, the Princess guided the Fabricator-General towards her personal laboratory within the Golden Tower. As they walked, Aurelia posed a simple yet profound question.
"Fabricator-General, do you truly know what lies dormant beneath the surface of Mars?" she asked him, her celestial eyes piercing.
Raskian stopped, and for a few long seconds, he seemed to enter a deep meditative state, his augmetics falling silent. "Only enough to foster… considerable worry, Your Highness," the Fabricator-General finally replied, his voice a low, hesitant drone. "The information regarding it is deeply forbidden, highly classified, and fragmented. But what little I comprehend suggests a danger… immense and perhaps catastrophic. Yet, it also possesses a profound scientific fascination."
"Spoken like a true Magos, indeed," Aurelia replied, a faint smile touching her lips, earning a rare, metallic chuckle from the Fabricator-General. "Then, you are aware that a select few possess more precise knowledge of the C'tan shards. Belisarius Cawl, I believe, knows far more about it than most of his… peers."
"Cawl's relentless pursuit of forbidden knowledge, his unique capacity for blundering into monumental problems, is precisely what makes him so infuriatingly dangerous, and so… annoying," Raskian drawled, a distinct note of professional resentment in his voice.
"But you must concede, Fabricator-General, that without him, much would remain utterly stagnant. He is undeniably necessary. And while he is my dear friend, I readily admit, he can be… arrogant."
"I would have employed a more… descriptive term," Raskian stated dryly, which earned him a surprisingly loud, clear chuckle from the Princess.
"No doubt," she affirmed.
"Your Highness, why do you inquire about these… forbidden matters?" Raskian asked, his curiosity overriding his caution.
"Among the countless enemies arrayed against the Imperium, Fabricator-General, the Necrons represent one of the most formidable threats. The Mechanicus has, for too long, maintained a disconcerting silence regarding their true capabilities. I informed my brother, before his departure, that the Necrons are an enemy we, in our current state, cannot hope to defeat. Our technology, even with all the recent advancements we are developing, lags far behind. It would take decades, perhaps centuries, to achieve a level where we could truly defend ourselves, not even win, merely protect ourselves. We need more," Aurelia replied, stopping and turning to face Raskian, her gaze unwavering. "And, perhaps even more critically, we require allies who harbour a hatred for the Necrons sufficiently profound to grant us the crucial time we desperately need."
Raskian tilted his immense head, his bionic eyes scanning the three glowing green motes woven into Aurelia's dark, celestial hair. He frowned, noting that the motes pulsed faintly, rhythmically.
"I have heard him speak… well, he does not truly communicate. The ancient slumber the Void Dragon finds itself in is a cacophony of internal noise," Aurelia confessed, her voice hushed, the green lights on her hair blinking on their own. "But I can indeed sense his presence, deep beneath Mars. He is a profoundly dangerous, unimaginably powerful entity, and I would, in truth, prefer to keep him in undisturbed slumber. However, it is paramount that you know of Mars's underlying vulnerability. For your own strategic awareness."
Raskian looked deeply troubled. This was sensitive information, usually reserved only for the Fabricator-General and the heads of the Martian Cult Mechanicus. Mars's greatest secret. And it's the most profound threat.
"There is precious little we truly know about it, Your Highness. What fragmented information we do possess suggests… it is beyond comprehension," Raskian began hesitantly.
"It is sensitive, I understand. That is precisely why I am confiding in you directly, in this place, where no unsanctioned ear would ever betray our discourse," the Princess said, her words steady, reassuring. They continued walking, and soon, they arrived at her vast, rapidly expanding laboratory, a place of immense technological dynamism.
"Welcome to my laboratory, Fabricator-General. Though" Aurelia chuckled softly, "many here have taken to calling it the 'Silent Furnace' now, a tribute, I believe, to Archmagos Cawl's persistent sense of humour. But I confess, this place has accumulated many names over the millennia." Aurelia turned to Raskian, offering a warm, inviting smile.
"Your Highness, what further knowledge do you possess regarding the Golden Throne?" Raskian asked, his eyes gleaming with profound intrigue.
"What, Fabricator-General, would you like to know?" Aurelia countered, a subtle challenge in her tone.
"Enough to facilitate its complete and permanent repair, and to ensure it never again falters, threatening the very heart of humanity."
Aurelia perceived Raskian's profound dedication, his undeniable capacity to become a vital, loyal ally. His survival from the Webway incident and his unique knowledge of the Throne's dire condition had been strategically preserved. Had he perished, the critical information of the Golden Throne's fundamental failings would have been catastrophically restricted. And the few on Mars who understood its true vulnerability might well have prepared to establish their own, desperate techno-theocracy when the Throne finally died. Such an outcome would have plunged the Imperium into unrecoverable chaos. This, Aurelia knew, was why perpetual, calculated awareness of every step was paramount. Yet, she would not blindly trust foresight alone. It was her turn now to secure Raskian's unwavering loyalty to the Imperium and to her. And she knew how.
"I shall tell you everything, my friend. But first, I need to complete a small project of my own."
"Oh? And what project might that be, Your Highness?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"My own throne."
Part III – 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 Maledictumitself. 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.
Part IV - The Divine Misunderstanding
The pre-dawn light filtered through the ornate Gothic arches of Aurelia's chambers, casting long, elegant shadows across the polished floor. Sister Marcella Viritas, a heart of unyielding faith within the Order of the Holy Hestias of the Divine Princess Light, gazed into the burnished reflection of her polished helmet. Her spirit was a bastion of fervour; she had fought, bled, and executed heretics without a flicker of doubt. Like all her sisters, her belief had endured even when the galaxy itself bled fire, when the Noctis Aeternashrouded humanity in an endless night, and all hope seemed but a dying ember. In those desperate, harrowing days of daemonic incursions and crumbling worlds, Marcella had held fast, praying ceaselessly, her unwavering faith a bulwark against the creeping darkness.
It had too, Marcella saw doubt and fear in every corner, even she herself doubted.
Then, a light had appeared. Primarch Roboute Guilliman, awakened from his stasis, his wounds healed, had returned to Terra, charting a crusade to restore order. The Hestias, hardened warriors of faith, allowed themselves a moment's breath, a long, quiet exhalation, a respite they would never openly admit. If the Avenging Son was the Emperor's answer to their prayers, so be it. The Hestias would follow without question the Emperor's choice for his champion. Yet, when the whispered truth reached them—that the Princess, their divine, beloved sovereign, had also awakened, that she had not only returned but had patiently rewoven the shattered will of the Emperor, binding his fractured mind, soul, and spirit back to coherence—it was a revelation that transcended all understanding.
It was the true answer to their prayers. The Noctis Aeterna, a horrifying crucible, became, in their minds, a testament to their unshakeable faith. All Adepta Sororitas across the Imperium had felt the resurgence of the Emperor's will. His powerful divinity thrummed through the vox-net, a holy writ that brought many to their knees in tears. But for Marcella and the Hestia Order, it was more: their Princess had awakened, and she needed them. The Princess-Regent, the only true heir of the Emperor of Mankind, the Scion of Terra, needed her Hestias. It was not a request, but a sacred imperative. Their Order, founded on the belief of unwavering service, has now found its ultimate purpose manifested. Each had trained since childhood, ready to perform even the most menial task with a prayer on their tongue.
Thus, it came as no surprise when the entire Order of the Hestia descended upon Terra, demanding, with unshakeable conviction, to oversee the Princess's health. Ten millennia in stasis, they argued, demanded expert care. After considerable, terse back-and-forth between the Primarch and the Captain-General of the Custodes, the Hestias were finally granted entry to the Golden Tower, resuming their sacred mantle as the Princess's personal household staff, as it was always meant to be.
Almost a year had passed since that momentous day, and Sister Marcella had discovered a profound, almost beatific joy in this holy service. She gazed at her reflection, her face and hair meticulously washed, pristine and ready. It was her turn to serve as the Princess's handmaiden for the day. Sleep had eluded her; a surge of spiritual excitement, almost impossible to quell, had kept her praying ceaselessly, repeating verses of ancient litanies throughout the long night.
Now, her pristine robes lay immaculate, every fold precise, every seam perfect—a living testament to the Hestias' doctrine of order, a reflection of their divine Princess. No imperfection was tolerated.
"Sister Marcella, Your Highness has requested nourishment," a soft voice announced from the chamber door. Marcella nodded swiftly.
"Understood, Sister Cassilda," Marcella replied, her voice steady. She moved with purpose to the grand kitchen, a marvel of ancient culinary arts, where a golden trolley awaited, laden with the Princess's prepared meal.
"Breath, breath," Marcella whispered to herself, a mantra of self-control. She, who had faced raving heretics without blinking, met daemons without fear, her resolve unwavering against the horrors of Chaos, now felt her hands tremble, her legs tap a restless rhythm on the polished floor. "By the gentle flame within the golden halo, we kindle this offering; by duty and devotion, we make it clean." She repeated the consecrated verses softly, over and over, until a soft chime announced: "Sister Marcella is ready."
Marcella took the magnificent golden trolley, its base subtly incorporating unseen grav-dampeners that ensured the food remained warm and the trolley utterly stable. No, Hestia Sister, after all, desired the ignominy of spilling the Princess's brew. Marcella felt a cold prickle of panic as she grasped the handle, walking with a rapid but carefully measured pace, maintaining a semblance of calm, lest a single drop of brew escape. Were that to happen, she knew, without hesitation, she would join the Sister Repentia, embarking on a hundred-year penance for such a sin.
She reached the long, majestic hallway leading to the Princess's personal chambers. Custodes, as ever, stood sentinel, their imposing forms unmoving. Yet, their presence, so intimidating to others, barely registered with Marcella; her mind was singularly focused on the trolley, on ensuring the meal arrived in the pristine condition it had been entrusted to her. As she passed, like many Hestias before her, she met the unblinking, hazel gaze of a Custodes, locking her eyes onto the golden visors of the Emperor's Ten Thousand.
The colossal door, Dorn's masterpiece of defensive architecture, silently parted, allowing Sister Marcella passage into the Princess's chamber. Marcella entered swiftly, her eyes deliberately avoiding the paintings of the Traitor Primarchs—those monstrous sons who had dared to rise against the Emperor and the Imperium. Her focus was solely on delivering the meal to the Princess's desk. Then she saw her: the Princess herself, seated amidst mountains of data-slates, surrounded by whirring servo-skulls, advanced cogitators flickering with information near her radiant form. Custodes and Silent Sisters stood in silent vigil, ever-present.
The very heart of the Imperium's renewal beat in this room, a hidden locus of command and creation for the new age.
"Your Highness, yo-u… Your Highness, your meal," Sister Marcella stammered, biting her tongue, the unexpected words a profound imperfection. Thankfully, the Princess, deep in conversation with Consul Jek, seemed not to notice her momentary lapse.
"Would that be all, Consul Jek?" Aurelia asked, her voice soft and melodious, as Jek gathered numerous documents bearing the Princess's personal seal.
"It would be, Your Highness. I shall depart immediately for the Aurelian Bulwark," Consul Jek replied.
"Good. Communicate their needs to me, and report on the diligence of the planetary governors." Aurelia sighed, a deep, weary sound. Jek offered a soft smile in return.
"I shall do so without fail." Jek bowed gracefully and turned to exit, offering Sister Marcella a brief, deferential courtesy.
"Sister," Jek said gently.
"Consul," Sister Marcella replied, her voice firm, matching Jek's courtesy with a small bow.
Aurelia looked at Marcella and recalled her own need for sustenance. It was not truly imperative for her, but she cherished the flavours, the textures, what it meant to her—a tangible taste of humanity, a living vessel existing rather than a primordial entity.
"Sister, could you please prepare the table? I shall join you in a moment."
Sister Marcella obeyed, and with the devotion of a person who had been taught how to prepare a table since she could remember, she followed the instructions ingrained in her mind. How it should be prepared, where the cup must be located, how far the utensils must be from each other, and exactly the position of the napkin, all done in perfect harmony.
Aurelia then spoke to one of the nearby Custodes Immortalis, Penjad, a figure of ancient resolve. "Penjad, please relay to Captain-General Valoris that the first cohort of future Adeptus Custodes is prepared, and that my Father stands ready to oversee the sacred process." Penjad's mighty form inclined, his internal vox-caster instantly relaying the critical message.
"Furthermore," Aurelia continued, "inform Kalluin that… the preparatory work for the Custodes Immortalis automaton bodies will be completed within a few months. Five such vessels, for now. Should any of the Eyes of the Emperor, who perceive their bodies failing, wish to continue their service in such a form, bid them meet me in the Silent Furnace at noon. I wish to speak with them personally before commencing the process." Penjad nodded slightly, understanding the profound significance of this offer to those ancient Custodes, whose bodies, though mighty, might be succumbing to the ravages of age or irreparable wounds. This was Aurelia's promise: eternal service, a choice of continued vigilance for all who wished it.
Aurelia sighed softly, a fleeting weariness crossing her features, before walking towards the table, her gaze meeting Sister Marcella's, who beamed with quiet pride.
"Thank you, sister," Aurelia said as she finally sat down, stretching her body with graceful ease before taking a long, savouring sip of freshly made orange juice.
"Delicious," Aurelia smiled before looking at her sister. "Sister…?"
"Marcella, Your Highness," Sister Marcella bowed, a gesture that almost made her miss the subtle, internal exasperation that flickered across Aurelia's face. The Custodes and Silent Sisters, however, registered it instantly, a tiny, almost imperceptible shift in their Princess's aura.
"Tell me, Sister Marcella," Aurelia continued, taking small sips of her brew, her voice light, "have the sisters tasted the oranges and other fruits from my gardens?" Marcella recalled the first taste of an apple from Aurelia's orchard; it had been a divine sensation, a forbidden pleasure in a world of ersatz nourishment. It was a gift from the Princess herself, one cherished by all the sisters.
"We have, Your Highness, and it is… a taste I had never known before. Indeed, it has become part of my daily prayers," Sister Marcella replied, her eyes bright with fervent adoration.
"Prayer…" Aurelia mumbled, a slight frown touching her lips. "Tell me, Sister Marcella," Aurelia continued, her voice softer, more direct. "Have you ever… doubted?"
Sister Marcella stiffened, utterly taken aback. The question, in its naked heresy, was unthinkable. To doubt… such a sensation was blasphemy, an idea almost too terrible to fathom. Yet, she could not deny the Princess's unwavering gaze. This was not an accusation from a heretic, nor an interrogation from a Dogmata, but a profound query from the divine Princess herself. The holy light that shielded humanity, the very daughter of the God-Emperor. Lying would be a heresy in itself, but speaking such a truth… would the Princess condemn her to agonising penance? To be punished for the sin of doubt?
Marcella's resolve fractured. She could only fall to her knees, her armoured form trembling, her head bowing so low it almost touched the Princess's feet.
"I had doubts, Your Highness! During the long night, when the light of the Astronomican vanished, I doubted! I feared! I felt the insidious darkness of Chaos whispering doubts into my very soul!" Sister Marcella cried, her voice broken by sobs. In her mind, she already saw herself joining the Sister Repentia, scourging herself for the blasphemous act of doubting the Emperor and the Princess.
"Please, forgive me, my divine light! Forgive my lack of faith! Forgive my heretical thoughts!" Sister Marcella sobbed, prostrating herself, praying fervently at the feet of the Princess, who, in turn, gazed at the young woman with a stunned, aghast, and profoundly sorrowful expression.
"Sister Marcella… Marcella," Aurelia whispered softly, her hand reaching out to gently touch the weeping sister's bowed head. Marcella flinched at her touch. Aurelia couldn't help but feel disgust at the toxic power of the religion that had been built upon her name. She paused, debating internally how to act, how to steer this profound, unsettling moment. Then, drawing a deep breath, she decided to calm the sister down first, to connect with her shattered humanity.
"Marcella, enough. You are not being judged for harbouring doubt," Aurelia whispered, her voice firm, yet tender enough to compel Marcella to look up. "You are not weak for a momentary lack of faith, or because you doubt. You are human. You feel those things because you are alive. And precisely because you are alive, even I feel doubt and fear. Do you know that?"
"Y-You, Your Highness?" Sister Marcella whispered, utterly bewildered, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and profound awe.
"Yes. I was a child once. I cried like any other babe. I sought comfort in the darkest shadows and begged my father to stay until the monster under my bed was gone. I have known fears. I have wrestled with profound doubts, particularly during the darkest times of the Imperium, when my beloved brother turned traitor. I cried then, Marcella. I begged. I doubted myself with every fibre of my being," Aurelia confessed, slowly stroking Sister Marcella's hair, consciously striving to be not an ethereal symbol, but a tangible woman, simply a woman and nothing more. "Even now, I have doubts and fears. My brother is leading a monumental crusade, and I fear for his life. The Imperium is being ripped apart, and I have doubts that I will succeed in keeping it all together. And you know what sustains me on this long, arduous road I walk?"
"What, Your Highness?" Sister Marcella whispered, as if on the precipice of receiving a divine, life-altering blessing.
Aurelia gently pointed, first to Sister Marcella's heart, then to her head. "Hope and certitude. Hope, not in the rigid tenets of religion, but in the boundless potential of my own abilities, in the strength of my own self. And certitude that I am striving to do the absolute best I can, and that all of these profound feelings—my doubts, my fears, my passions—are simply my humanity, which I cherish above all else. That is what keeps me grounded. It does not control me, it does not blind me, but it reminds me that humanity, for all its profound shortcomings, is worth every sacrifice and every effort of mine. Trust in me, Marcella, but also, crucially, trust in yourself. That, I promise you, will never lead you astray."
Sister Marcella gazed at Aurelia, appearing as if her mind struggled to process the overwhelming information. Aurelia knew it would take considerable time for the Sister to fully comprehend these words. Yet, she hoped it would allow Marcella to perceive beyond the rigid creed she had been raised on, perhaps subtly encouraging other Adepta Sororitas to begin to think, to question, to reflect for themselves.
Sadly, Aurelia's words, born of profound human empathy and hope, were having a profoundly different effect than intended.
As Sister Marcella looked into the Princess's luminous eyes, she felt not merely blessed, but enlightened. She understood, with an undeniable, blinding clarity, what the Princess was trying to tell her.
My Princess, my beloved Princess. She wants us to take control of our fears! Of our doubts! And throw them away! We must put our trust in her, our very lives in her hands, and we should always be in the path of the Emperor and his light!
"I understand, Your Highness! Oh! I see it now clearly!" Sister Marcella cried, tears streaming from her eyes, but these were tears of profound joy, of ultimate revelation.
Oh, my beloved Princess, your words shall lead us to a path of righteousness, for the Emperor's Protect and the Princess's guide us! I shall give you my soul, my life, every fibre of my being, for you're our salvation! Sister Marcella thought, praying fervently within her mind as she watched Princess Aurelia with renewed, incandescent faith. It was as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes; all doubt, all fear, all uncertainty, were swept away, replaced by an absolute, terrifying conviction. She vowed to share this profound revelation with all her sisters, to make them see that their Princess's wishes upon them was their trust, that their fears and doubts would be swept away as long as they pray to her.
Aurelia looked pleased, her gaze missing, or perhaps deliberately overlooking, the fiery, untamed devotion now burning in Sister Marcella's eyes. I didn't even need to consult a chapter of the future, Aurelia thought, her naivety a fragile shield. As long as I keep helping them see more clearly, not as a deity, but as a simple woman doing her best, I believe we can slowly temper their zealotry. She trusted her own instincts, her own interpretation of Marcella's reaction.
Besides, Aurelia concluded, a fleeting thought of complacency, what, truly, is the worst that could happen?
Author's note
So, this ends… well, volume I? I cannot say, let's say after this point out, the focus would be more in the Indomitus Crusade, the rebuilding of the Imperium's war machine, new technologies, and the reactions from other factions!
I won't say who would be the main antagonist, because, there would be a lot of them, but also, that Terra, while protected by her light, it's not safe and Chaos had their own plans, as well, each had their own goal.
Nevertheless, tell me which character you would like to see! I know, I have a few named, but tell me, especially those still alive in the current 41-42M timeline.
That's all, and see you all later!