The Order of Our Martyred Lady, much like the Ultramarines among the Astartes, had stood as the defining and most emblematic Order Majoris of the Adepta Sororitas. All of the Order's Battle Sisters were depicted with snow-white or ash-blonde hair, often deliberately bleached and meticulously maintained. It was a unique custom to echo the legendary transformation of their founding saint, Alicia Dominica. Legend said Alicia's hair had turned snow white after her divine audience with the Emperor. Together with their white hair, these formidable Battle Sisters are known for their iconic looks of jet-black power armour with deep crimson vestments and gold-trimmed iconography, a solemn palette symbolising the eternal mourning of their founder after she fell in battle.
Millennia passed, and the Order of Our Martyred Lady had remained a central pillar of the Adepta Sororitas, embodying one of the most prominent and recognizable forces within the Imperium. To think such a "mainstream" faction had arrived here on Nusquam made me pause.
'Something on your mind?' asked Thaberus, breaking me from my thoughts.
How did…? I looked at the inquisitor as an understanding surfaced: while my poker face was perfect, he was guessing what went on inside my head based on the length of my pauses.
I shook my head. 'Nothing important.'
'As fellow Sororitas from our founding order, I am sure their faith and heart is pure. My lady, should we… disclose your true identity to them and make them immediate allies?' Diadinah suggested.
I considered that proposal for a heartbeat but immediately rejected the idea. Knowing these Sisters from lore, I had little faith in these fiery ladies being able to keep the lid on for long. Such a move would probably lead to them pushing my name to every front where they clashed with the heretics. It would only take one unfortunate incident to draw the notice of a Daemon Primarch. Should one come sniffing around for a "lost sister", I would be as good as dead—or suffer a much, much worse fate.
'No,' I said to the Canoness, 'unless it becomes a necessity.' Turning to Thaberus, I asked, 'so you will be joining us in meeting the cardinal?'
'Negative,' Thaberus replied with a shake of his head, 'Herlindya will be attending as an observer, I am merely passing by.'
Not even Amael? Talk about not giving face, then why is he here?
Before I could deduce the reason for his visit, Thaberus stepped forward. 'A word, if you please.'
'Of course,' I nodded.
He stopped just beside me, bent down, put up a hand and hushed, 'whatever happens later, do not kill Paudinith, that will make things messy. Wait for my investigation.'
What? Do I look like a loose cannon or has something changed?
I looked at Thaberus, our eyes met and time slowed down. A brief moment of self-reflection made it clear that while my confidence had grown and I was no longer afraid of him as much as before, I remained a goody-two-shoes at heart, hardly the sort to disregard lives lightly or act rashly with dire consequences.
Uh-uh, I am a model citizen.
'Noted,' I agreed.
Thaberus nodded satisfactorily, stood straight back up and reached inside his coat. He took out a thing, unfolded it to reveal a stylish fedora before putting the hat on. So, forever a hat guy.
'I will see you all around,' the inquisitor said before he turned and just left.
The cardinal's summon came soon after, and I found myself seated inside an Aquila Lander to be transported to the Ministorum grand cathedral. I had changed my apparel to a long off white robe as instructed, along with a simple-looking pair of sandals from Syrine's collection that completed the classic goddess vibe. It felt strange to attend a formal function in such attire, so I put on an extra form-fitting bodyglove under my robes that covered me until the elbows and knees, just nice for the extra decorum.
Around me was the high command of the Sororitas with Diadinah, Markeylla, Alicya and Welminah. Tagging along was Herlindya and Balpradus, the former representing the Inquisition while the latter insisted on joining despite being an outsider in the Ministorum's affair. Something about a mission assigned to him by Kryptorer, that the Magos was to be by my side on most occasions.
The atmosphere inside the armoured compartment was eerily quiet and steeped in a muted seriousness with the Battle Sisters, throne agent and tech-priest sitting in silence, meditating or praying. Whether this was their usual demeanor, I couldn't say, but the suspicion that my presence had something to do with it was hard to shake.
This scenario reminded me of an incident from my past life, when I once shared a car ride with the big boss and others after a company dinner. As a low-level executive, I had practically turned into a statue during the journey, while the boss himself constantly cracked jokes to ease the tension. While I would have liked to break the silence, attempting to do so with my ex-boss' example—by cracking dad jokes—with this crowd was unthinkable. So the silence stayed with the constant drumming of active power armour back packs.
Balpradus' three servo-skulls, clearly made from human remains, floated in the centre of the troop compartment. Bored, I observed how they subtly shifted against the motion, constantly adjusting their tiny thrusters and anti-grav systems to counter every bump, turn and acceleration to keep themselves eerily steady despite being inside a speeding flyer. Truly a marvel of technology.
The flyer eventually touched down, and I stepped out of the Aquila Lander with the others, emerging into the shadow of a colossal building. Two Vendetta gunships, our escorts for the journey, glided past at a slow hovering speed. As the pair of flyers banked away within sight of the structure, their maneuver revealed the almost ridiculous scale of it.
The Ministorum grand cathedral rose from the ground like a monumental fusion of fortress and shrine, with vast buttressed walls of dark stone, countless statues of saints gazing down in silent judgment and its towering spires clawing at the dirty purple sky. A colossal facade dominated the central structure, crowned with a huge Ecclesiarchal symbol that caught the sunlight in its gleaming display. Narrow, towering windows glowed faintly within the mass. The entire edifice exuded an oppressive grandeur, fitting for a place to both worship the God-Emperor and serve as an unyielding symbol of authority of imperial faith. There was a cheering crowd of formidable size gathered along a manned perimeter, my eyes scanned the many faces and found them to be typical pilgrims. It seemed our arrival was public knowledge.
We were received by Ministorum personnel led by Maylin, who I had not seen for a while. The young priest looked tired but lit up upon seeing me and hurried over. With them was a group of storm shield carrying Crusaders, these were the Church's "holy" warrior-monks who specialised in melee combat. Cool-looking with their armour, sheathed power swords and flowing robes, these warriors immediately formed a barrier around us. After exchanging some standard greetings, we followed Maylin and entered the cathedral, leaving the cheering crowd behind.
The inside of the building was as grand as the exterior. I had the distinct impression of being inside the lobby of an opulent hotel with an overwhelming amount of space and religious decor. As we moved, my passive telepathy caught what went through Maylin's mind. During the time I spent at the vault she was worked to the bone arranging this function. I caught glimpses of orders kept coming through and the fussing over minor details, her work load reached a crescendo after the cardinal himself had returned. So, Paudinith is that type of boss.
We passed through doors so huge I swear they were made with Space Marine Dreadnoughts in mind. After much walking eventually the Crusaders delivered us to the entrance of a grand hall. We waited a bit before being asked to enter, and the huge doors opened to another crowd. Unlike the gathering of mundane people outside, this was a group of VIPs consisting of folks mostly from the Ecclesiarchal high hat gang. With a glance I recognised Archdeacon Ricene, Deacon Octavius, High Confessor Malachi, Abbot Ignatius, Lady Amaris and many others from previous encounters. Flanking the VIPs was a sizable crowd of various Ecclesiarchal priests and confessors.
At the centre of this gathering was a slightly elevated dais with three VVIPs seats. On the right side was Governor Khatalina who immediately stood up when our eyes met. Fashionable as always, the Lady Governor was wrapped in a sweeping gown of deep purple silk trimmed with golden velvet, its high collar and structured shoulders echoing the austere elegance favored by the aristocrats, delicate patterns filigree glimmers across her voluptuous frame.
To my left stood a high ranking, austere clergywoman who I did not recognise, but what caught my attention was the person standing behind her—a very tall Sister of Battle clad in jet black armour and blood red vestment. On the flowing vestment was a symbol I recognised, an ankh with a circular head that contained a skull, the symbol of the Order of Our Martyred Lady. She had a fair complexion, a head of short-cropped snowy hair, a stern face set with determination and a pair of sharp brown eyes fixed squarely on me. An elaborate iron halo rose behind the woman's head, hinting at her rank. My inhuman eyesight caught the faint traces of facial reconstruction and minute signs of repaired injuries. This was someone who saw many frontline actions.
As I stopped in front of the dais with the others, the cardinal pulled himself up from the centre seat, the anti-gravs supporting his bulk whining in strain. His appearance was as I remembered from the records, looking like a more religious version of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen from the classic Dune series. Rising like a bloated balloon, the man was looking—no, practically gawking at me with greedy lights in his eyes.
* * *
Paudinith returned to a familiar but changed world, just not the changes he had hoped to see. Disappointingly the lady governor was still holding power, Khatalina had been—and remained so—a major obstacle for his life long plan.
No matter, he reminded himself, things had changed now. With a living saint in waiting emerging from his world as a cornerstone, pushing his lifelong agenda of turning Nusquam into a Shrine World should be a breeze. But first, it was important to remind a world what religious authority looks like.
While rushing back, he personally ordered a total information blackout. No unauthorized images. No civilian recordings allowed. No devotional murals until his official declaration. Nothing but a name.
In truth his orders were redundant; the Imperium had suffered enough demagogues masquerading as saints to ensure that no one would be declared a living saint without exhaustive scrutiny by the Church. Only after returning did Paudinith find out the information blackout surrounding the saint-to-be was so complete that even he could not access her records, sealed as they were under Inquisitorial authority. It was hardly surprising; those touched by divinity often had their past erased entirely, whether by the will of the Emperor, the caution of His servants, or the simple necessity of burying what should not be known.
So for now the world knew she existed, but they did not know her. That distinction mattered. The people were already worshipping a silhouette, he would need to ensure they remembered who defined holiness. By the time she stood beside him in today's meeting, the people would not see her alone. They would see his hand upon her shoulder. All would understand that while the Emperor speaks through His saints, His saints speak through him. Paudinith was still day dreaming about the power play when his aide came to him with a whisper.
'Your Eminence, she is right outside as summoned.'
'Very good,' Paudinith nodded with satisfaction, he had been looking forward to this moment. 'Let her in.'
The aide dropped a signal to another underling, the message was passed along before the huge doors slowly swung open and everyone present turned to look. Flanked by a small retinue including members of the local Sororitas, the saint-to-be arrived as an observed silence fell across the hall.
There she was, walking over with complete calm and poise, looking luminous with just that simple off-white robe on her petite frame. It was the outfit Paudinith himself had mandated. Now that he had a front-row seat to the result, Paudinith had to admit his plan might have backfired spectacularly. Amid people clad in over-decorated uniforms, power armour and elaborate clerical vestments like himself, the stark simplicity of that plain robe only served to accentuate her unearthly appearance and singular unique status.
When she passed through the crowd, Paudinith observed people lowering their heads, bowing to her with such reverence as though she was already officially recognised as the living embodiment of the God-Emperor's will—wait, you are in charge here. Paudinith had to remind himself that he was the master of this place.
Eventually she and her retinue stopped before the dais, Paudinith rose from his seat and finally came face to face with the fabled lady. As the ruling cardinal of an Imperial World, Paudinith had spent his life in the highest strata of society, accumulating a wealth of experience dealing with humanity's elites. Over the decades, he had met countless powerful figures whose carefully curated, photogenic public images proved far less impressive in person. This encounter, however, shattered those well-tempered expectations.
There was something radiant about her presence, the very hall itself seemed to brighten up for Paudinith, as if some of the lights had been waiting for her arrival and now came out in full force to greet their honoured guest. Embraced by that soft radiance, her gentle, symmetrical face was a perfect picture of calm and serenity. Around her delicate facial features fell straight platinum hair in flowing strands, catching the lights and stirred like threads of fine silk in a quiet breeze. That hair colour, soft silver yet warmed by gold, blended with the lights and gave the impression that she belonged to the glow, rather than merely standing within it. Recorded picts simply didn't do her justice.
Dazzled by what he was seeing, the cardinal only came to his senses when the Sororitas accompanying the saint candidate bowed to him, or more accurately, to his seat as the religious authority of the planet. With great difficulty Paudinith peeled his eyes off from the radiant lady to her retinue. He instantly recognised Diadinah from the group of Sisters, the uncooperative Canoness who hadn't been seeing eye to eye with him for a while now.
Shifting his attention, Paudinith's gaze landed with faint annoyance on two figures within the small group who did not bow. He was exceptionally sensitive to such lapses; failure to display proper respect had always been one of his greatest irritations. One was a composed, well-presented woman bearing an Inquisitorial signet at her collar. The other, an incongruous presence, was a tech-priest. Both however, were technically exempt from such mandatory gestures of respect by virtue of their offices, though that did little to soften his displeasure.
Wait. Paudinith belatedly realised he didn't recall seeing the saint-to-be bowing to him. Turning his eyes to her, he found the latter performing a full Aquila salute. Excellent, at least she knows proper manners. As the saint-to-be rose from her salute with arms crossed as the imperial eagle, their gaze met. Her silver eyes were unnaturally clear, seemingly shining with boundless wisdom. Looking at those crystalline eyes, Paudinith lost track of time before noticing the eerie silence, he took a quick look around and found everyone was waiting for him.
Regaining his composure, Paudinith cleared his dried throat before activating a small laud hailer carried by a nearby floating cherub, and his amplified voice rang through the hall. 'Well met, my child. I am Paudinith IV, Cardinal of Nusquam. You stand before the Throne's appointed voice. Kindly introduce yourself.'
'Salutations, Your Eminence,' she replied. 'I am Syrine.' There was a paradoxical quality to her lovely voice, soft spoken yet clearly audible to the people in the hall.
Paudinith nodded before gesturing towards the people around him. 'With me are our beloved Governor Lady Khatalina and informed guests from Sanctitas Primus, chief amongst them are High Deacon Malthea and Canoness Commander Domitira. Together we have braved the turbulent sea of souls to be here. You will forgive the abruptness, my child, for we have heard of many miraculous claims about you and your deeds. First, it is said that you now possess the ability to call forth His light at will, is that true?'
'Yes,' Syrine answered without hesitation.
'Then please show us, so all here who have yet to see such a miracle may bear witness with our own eyes.'
Syrine simply nodded and the crowd, especially those who were seeing the saint-to-be in person for the first time, held their breath. In the next moment a flash of light sparked behind her head before a golden globe of light bloomed in existence.
Paudinith's jaw dropped alongside with a lot of the guests present, he had never seen such an enchanting sight. Incredibly, this light seemed to behave differently. Rather than just spreading out from its mysterious point of origin, the radiance gathered, drawing inward to form a circle of light around her head, like a star forced into a crown.
A halo.
The halo was the undisputed mark of holiness bestowed by the God-Emperor, illuminated in the pages of manuscripts, depicted on murals of saints, told as legends to children and pilgrims, but seldom if ever witnessed in real life. Yet one now hovered before him, a perfect circlet of radiance, giving off not just golden light but something more, something divine.
After many decades parsing doctrines, disputing sacred scriptures, and tempering the faithful into something administratively manageable, Paudinith's first reaction of seeing a living proof of divinity was pure bewilderment. Paudinith had presided over countless proclamations of miracles. He had signed some, sealed a few, and consigned most to quiet dismissal. He had listened to testimonies, reviewed pict-recordings, and stood before weeping crowds. But always there had been a distance, a gulf between the machinery of faith and its supposed manifestations. Truly indisputable examples were vanishingly rare. This time, there was no such doubt. She simply stood there, unbelievably radiant in that illumination.
Paudinith moved towards the light, he did not remember coming down from his dais. His breaths became shallow, echoed by the whines of anti-gravs carrying his weight, every instinct honed over a lifetime of bloody feuds to hold his office—skepticism, caution, practiced habit of disbelief—rose up in him like bastion walls, but these crumbled the closer he got to her.
This is real.
He reached out with trembling hands, held on to her shoulders and felt a warmth climbing up his fingers. From the crowd came some hushed gasps, but he was too elated to care. Paudinith looked at the glowing lady before him, her golden eyes—weren't they silver?—shone with the glitter of priceless gems, her halo pulsing softly. Paudinith felt like he was holding a living star in his hands.
She is his.
'Glory, glory without terminus! Glorious Throne Eternal!' Paudinith burst out loud, his jubilant voice straining the laud hailer. 'Rejoice! For our Eternal Lord and Saviour on Terra has seen it fitting that we are blessed with you! My precious child, you are to immediately move to reside here by my side, so our true grand work can begin!'
With a living embodiment of the Emperor's will within his literal grasp, Paudinith saw his glorious future rushing over. This planet as his vision dictated will turn into a greater, no, one of the greatest Shrine World with him at its helm. To hell with that ancient agreement with Sanctitas Primus. That future is inevitable—
'No.'
Before Paudinith could process what he was hearing, Syrine spoke again. Though her voice remained gentle and soothing, it carried a note of finality. 'I must disagree.'