Not at ease with the laws of the mortal world, the Imperial Intelligence Guild's Executive Director, Dr Vanaheim set his sights on the unexplained existences of the universe, searching those distant mysteries to satisfy his curiosity. To this end, with the certification of the Imperial Council, led the establishment of a museum-like starship and launched it towards the Syntar Nexus, starting the research work to seal all strange existences among the stars. And the famous Nexus Space Station was born.
"...so the transient Kyverse ripple was a bit of a headache, but nothing a few teracycles of diagnostic recalibration couldn't patch," Dr. Xypha said, gesturing with a hand covered in a fingerless, data-weave glove. "The station's rock solid, Your Majesty. No worries there."
The God Emperor did not turn his head, his gaze fixed on the expanse of Sector 7. His Dreadnought, sat docked in its berth like a dormant leviathan, its golden rims muted under the sleek lighting of the Supply Zone. He walked with a preternatural grace, his burnished attire absorbing the light around him, creating an aura of profound silence in a place defined by the hum of machinery and distant cargo loaders. Imperial Security personnel, clad in stark white and black, lined their path, each snapping to a rigid salute, their reverence being a palpable force in the air.
"And the artifacts recovered from the Obsidian Veil?" the God Emperor's voice was a low, resonant tone, a sound that had commanded fleets and silenced rebellions. It was a concrete register, each word a perfectly laid stone in the foundation of his authority. "Their Nex-signatures remain stable?"
"Totally inert. We've got the 'Scepter of Illuminated Ingress', looks like it could be a key or something with this edge, but it's catalogued and shielded in Storage Bay Alpha-9," Xypha replied, her pace quickening to keep up. "Kinda disappointing, actually. For a Halo Relic, it's about as active as a dead nebula. Dev ran the full spectrum analysis."
On cue, her DV-3 companion unit, a sleek, chrome-plated robot trundling silently on its one wheel beside her, chirped softly. Its single blue screen that would often swivel between different digital expressions, projecting a shimmering green schematic of the Scepter into the air between them, complete with flatlining energy readings.
"Dev says it's a dud," she translated with a grin. "But hey, it looks pretty. Another trophy from the Nexium Wars to prove we cleaned house."
The God Emperor's focus remained steadfast.
"The Dissident Allegiance sought such power to conduct chaos. Its containment is its purpose now. Honour is found not only in the wielding of power, Doctor, but in the wisdom of its restraint. Imperial Law is clear on the matter of such relics."
"Right, right. Public Law Order 89: 'All cosmological anomalies of Titan-origin are to be secured for the preservation of Imperial Order.' I wrote the security protocols for it, remember?" she said, a playful spark in her eyes. It was a familiarity that would have earned anyone else a swift and severe reprimand, but Xypha's genius was the shield for her irreverence. Her intellect was a strategic asset, and he treated it as such. "Still, you gotta wonder what it did in its time."
They reached a checkpoint, a colossal blast door marked with the sigil of Celestial Band Clearance. Scanners bathed them in jade light, and without a sound, the multi-ton door slid open, revealing a corridor of polished, sterile white. The industrial noise of the Supply Zone was instantly replaced by a hushed, antiseptic calm. They were entering the Base Zone.
"The past holds lessons, not distractions," the God Emperor stated, his voice echoing slightly in the pristine passageway. "Our focus is on the future. On Project: Voidwalker."
Xypha's playful demeanor softened, a flicker of professional intensity replacing it. "Of course. This way. We're keeping him in the old Holding Facility. High-risk wing. Seemed appropriate."
As they walked, the clinical environment grew colder, the hum of life support systems becoming the dominant sound. They passed laboratories where researchers in sterile suits froze mid-pipette to stare at the passing monarch, their awe-struck expressions visible through their visors.
"His vitals are stable," Xypha continued, her tone now hushed, respectful of the subject.
"Neurological activity is… unique. Active, but not in any pattern we've ever logged. It's unlike the natural order of things that we're all used to."
They arrived at a final, circular chamber. The air grew heavy, still, charged with an energy that felt profoundly other. In the center of the room, submerged in a translucent, nutrient-rich gel, floated a man. He was suspended within a cylindrical tank, cables and biometric sensors trailing from his body like crystalline weeds. The Voidwalker.
The God Emperor stepped forward, his armored gauntlet resting on the cool surface of the tank. He looked at the man he had pulled from the brink on that backwards world, Cyreth. A world untouched by the Imperium, unaware of the Nexium Wars, a forgotten ember in a galaxy of fire.
"The Nex led me to him for a reason," the God Emperor said, his voice barely a whisper, a rare moment of introspection shared aloud. "There is a power within him. Not of the Nex, but adjacent to it. Something… primordial."
Xypha nodded, her gaze fixed on the readings scrolling on a nearby console. "It's raw, unfettered. Like the universe before the Great Titans wrote the first laws of physics. We can't quantify it. We can only observe."
"It is a void," the Emperor declared, his eyes locked on the sleeper's peaceful face. "And we will teach it to speak." He looked at his subject and recalled ancient words through a glimmer of Nexirial energy. "Your time shall come. Your existence. Your will shall carve your legacy into the future of Aculon."
The profound silence of that statement, filled with cosmic ambition, was annihilated by the shriek of a station-wide alarm.
Crimson emergency lights pulsed to life, bathing the chamber in a hellish glow and casting long, dancing shadows. The klaxon was a physical assault, a piercing wail that vibrated through the deck plates.
A synthesised, calm-but-urgent voice echoed from the station's intercom:
"WARNING. STATION-WIDE ALERT. UNAUTHORISED VESSEL BREACH IN SECTOR GAMMA. HOSTILE INTENT CONFIRMED. ALL SECURITY TEAMS TO BATTLE STATIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."