Lethine Keel paid little attention to the pict-screen broadcasting mundane news, idly watching her own hand open and close instead. Each time her right hand tightened into a fist, a subtle pain flared through her bandaged body. The dull ache was a constant reminder of the training accident, yet the Battle Sister had learned to appreciate it. The pain reminded her that she was alive.
Miraculously alive.
More than once, passing Sister Hospitallers had remarked that her survival was nothing short of a miracle. Lethine herself knew that better than anyone, for she had literally died during the incident, her heart stopping long enough for the life monitoring system of her power armour to declare the Battle Sister clinically dead.
Lethine remembered everything.
The memory still sent chills through her whenever that vision beyond death surfaced. A beautiful small hill. An impossibly lush field of green grass beneath the bluest sky she had ever seen. That, and most incredibly, the Holy Daughter was there. Without revealing who she was at first, Syrine had talked to her, provided encouragement, served her tea and cookies. Danish butter cookies.
Thinking back, Lethine was sure she would never have made it back to the land of the living without that support and guidance. It was ridiculous. More than once Lethine had questioned herself if everything she experienced was just hallucination, but the Holy Daughter had certainly mentioned Danish butter cookies. Somehow, Syrine had been there with her in that dreamscape and she called it a vision. It made the Battle Sister question reality.
Is this world even real? How come everything felt more vivid over there under that blue sky?
It was a dangerous question, teetering on the very edge of heresy. Lethine was still pondering on it when she heard incoming footsteps. It was another strange phenomenon she noticed, somehow her senses had become sharper. A moment later, as expected, a visitor fully kitted in Sororitas power armour entered her medical ward.
'Furxia,' Lethine greeted her squadmate and best friend.
'Leth, I must say you look lively for a recently deceased,' Sister Furxia joked while walking over before putting her helmet on the small table beside Lethine.
'Cease your jesting, Sister,' Lethine smirked, 'is Sister Superior Axella's discipline of the squad so lax now, that you are free to skip training just to visit a recovering patient? That said, I am glad to see you.'
'It is good to see you in good spirits. The Sister Superior asked me to check on you while delivering good tidings.'
'Oh?'
'The investigation into your incident has concluded, the Order has found you free of fault and sees no cause for disciplinary action. Upon making a full recovery, you will be permitted to resume your Seraphim training if deemed physically feasible.'
'That's… good to hear.' Lethine nodded, 'but I am not sure if a complete recuperation is possible.'
'We were told your rate of recovery is spectacular, similar cases took weeks to be at where you are now.' Furxia encouraged.
There was a moment of silence before Lethine noticed her friend's attention had shifted. She looked up and found Furxia's eye fixed on the pict-screen, on it was breaking news, showing a scene at the courtyard of Basilica Imperialis of Unyielding Faith where thousands of faithful were gathered. The running bold text on the screen stated a historic meeting was taking place, and should the saint-to-be become officially recognised she would be making her first public debut.
'Oh, Lady Syrine is meeting with the cardinal who just returned yesterday,' Furxia said with a hint of excitement, an expression seldom seen on the face of a Sister of Battle. 'I heard a contingent of Battle Sisters from our founding Order has returned with him.'
Their timing for tuning in was perfect, for they didn't need to wait long before the huge courtyard doors on the live broadcast swung open. Both Battle Sisters watched in silence as a procession moved into view, with Syrine and Paudinith at the fore front. The Holy Daughter had her halo manifested on open display, and the awaiting crowd went wild at the sight. Lethine perfectly understood the frenziness shown by the people, she recalled the impact of seeing Syrine with a blooming halo in person, and that was enough to trigger goosebumps across her arms.
A number of black-clad Sororitas could be seen within the procession. These Battle Sisters of their founding Order were the only ones who maintained a disciplined composure, marching in synchronised steps amid the swelling fervour of the crowd. Then the divine doves appeared in great flocks, sending the crowd's fervor to new heights. Even those fellow Battle Sisters, steadfast moments before, were left visibly awestruck by the sight.
Soon, the pict-feed was filled with scenes of prostrating faithful and many of their tear-streaked faces. Furxia turned up the volume, and a narrator's voice emerged through the speakers. The supposedly eternally stoic Ecclesiarchal announcer now cracking with barely restrained emotion.
'I… I have served the Throne for many, many years… *sniffles*… and never… have I felt His presence as I do now…'
Lethine smiled to herself. There was not the slightest possibility Lady Syrine wouldn't be recognised as a living saint, in her view such an unthinkable outcome was blasphemy.
* * *
To say Canoness Commander Domitira Vhalor was disappointed would have been an understatement. Her first impression of the fabled girl was one of fragility.
The saint-to-be possessed a dainty frame that bore little signs of martial training, standing only a smidge taller than the minimum height required for enlistment as a Sororitas Novitiate. Coupled with her demure demeanour and the bearing of a sheltered civilian, she appeared so delicate that the Canoness struggled to reconcile her with the saviour figure described in the reports.
This is the girl who defeated a greater warp spawn and saved an entire planet?
Domitira would have found it easier to believe she was looking at the protagonist of some naïve romance drama than someone chosen to embody the divine will of the God-Emperor.
All such doubts, however, vanished the moment Syrine manifested a halo at will. The Canoness could only stare in stunned silence. A strange, almost childlike sense of wonder, an emotion she had not experienced in decades, washed over her in that illuminated chamber.
Yet that astonishment soon gave way to concern when Syrine openly defied Paudinith's order. The average citizen possessed no real rights within the Imperium. No matter a person's talent or individual worth, without the backing of a respected bloodline or the authority of a powerful organisation, they might as well have been dust before an institution such as the Church.
Which was why the later sequence of events unsettled Domitira even more. The representatives of the Mechanicus had come forward to support the saint-to-be without hesitation. The Canoness had never seen those cold, calculating tech-priests go to such lengths for an individual who did not even worship the Machine God, let alone risk a planetary-scale operation in opposition to the head of a major Imperial institution. Even the Inquisition appeared to be quietly siding with Syrine, forcing the cardinal himself to retract his demands.
And as though the day had not already become surreal enough, the public procession that followed brought yet another astonishing spectacle: The divine doves.
Like many of her Sisters, Domitira instinctively reached for her bolt pistol when the luminous birds suddenly appeared overhead, only for reason to return a heartbeat later. Beautiful and benign, these mythical creatures were clearly an emissary of a higher power. They drifted gracefully through the air, their glowing wings leaving trails of sparks with an unmistakable sense of peacefulness. Some had swept low above the congregation nearest to Domitira, and countless hands reached upward as they passed. Around her, veterans and priests renowned for their stoicism openly wept, while civilians collapsed into prayer.
Throughout it all, Domitira kept her attention fixed upon Syrine, scrutinising her for the slightest flaw, the faintest hint of deceit.
She found none.
There was no triumphant smile. No indulgence in the worship surrounding her. No trace of pride. Only that distant serenity. It took several moments for Domitira to realise that she herself was trembling.
Trembling with awe.
Here stood an individual of extraordinary charm, irrefutably blessed by the God-Emperor Himself. She possessed the backing of the Mechanicus, the devotion of an entire Sororitas Order, and even the tacit support of the Inquisition. Without speaking a single public word or holding any official office, Syrine had already become one of the most influential figures on the planet.
From afar, Domitira gazed at the glowing girl and found herself haunted by a question: As one touched so closely by the Master of Mankind, what thoughts could possibly reside within her mind?
* * *
What I witnessed on my first public debut shocked me.
I stepped through the gates and saw tens of thousands of faces collapsed into tears at the sight of my halo. Every pair of eyes that looked upon me in that courtyard carried the same awful hunger, hunger to be closer with their "God".
Veterans with missing limbs stared at me as though I could erase the horrors from their memories. Mothers wept because they believed their dead sons had not died in vain. Old priests looked ready to collapse from joy because their sermons had finally become tangible. They thought they were witnessing divinity. All I saw was a species so desperate for meaning and acknowledgement from their deity, that they would chain themselves willingly to the first miracle they could not explain. I had never seen this side of humanity up close, nor ever have I witnessed first hand how terrifyingly easy it was to manipulate a large swath of under-informed people.
After a while, the crowd's stares became almost unbearable. Their naked desperation was so intense that they scraped against my psychic senses until the sensation turned genuinely distressing. In response, my gaze lowered instinctively and the crowd mistook it for saintly serenity.
Even without meeting their eyes, I could feel the combined weight of their psyches reaching frantically toward me. Their emotions crashed against my mind like relentless waves, and my passive telepathy effortlessly caught the thoughts passing through them. Thousands of individuals, faithful people all, forcing their emotional turmoil, their lives and their dreams on me. Some of these people were pious to the point of being painful to behold.
It was numbing.
Amongst the sea of submissive souls I sensed a primary theme: Hope. Absolute, irrational hope. Hope despite the incoming long periods of uncertainty, hope for a better tomorrow despite living under the most oppressive regime known to man, hope for salvation… just because a girl could summon a halo before them.
Pathetic. It made me feel like screaming at them, that the Emperor is not a god. He had never wanted this.
Back on Earth, in another life so distant now it felt imaginary, I had laughed at such a level of superstition. I believed in reason, in evidence, in humanity's capacity to outgrow mythology. The worst part was that these miracles were real. Here I was, leaking golden radiance from behind my head, with flocks of glowing birds made from impossible light spiralling overhead.
Standing at the epicentre of all that hysterical attention, chillingly I understood with perfect clarity that a single wrong sentence from me at this point could potentially shatter this world. So, I remained silent throughout the event, and refused to give a public speech.
The crowd saw holiness because they needed that, their faith shaped what they perceived, and my presence had become the ultimate proof for their delusion. Yet I could never tell this crowd the truth, not when their entire world view was built upon it. To break that delusion was to invite damnation.
So this is the majority of humanity that dominated this galaxy? May the God-Emperor deliver us.
I woke before dawn and laid motionless upon my silk-covered bed, breathing slowly. In truth my body needed very little sleep, but my mind was still reeling from the experience in that courtyard and the many after rituals with endless meetings. In a state of rare grogginess, I noted a portion of my own awareness was reaching out to check on the surroundings.
No one was around. No monitoring device detected.
As if running on a well practiced sequence, this awareness of mine was pulled back before a power was triggered.
[Regalis Rituale auto activated]
Huh?
Like in a dream, I idly observed this strange consciousness going to work, turning attention onto myself as every inch of my body unfolded with greater clarity than sight could ever provide. Under the scrutiny of my mind's eye, the impurities upon my skin revealed themselves like stains beneath a lumen lamp. Microscopic dust trapped within pores, thin films of oil, dead cells clinging to the surface were all surgically located.
With a thoughtless motion, these were removed by a masterfully applied telekinetic force. The invisible power, just like the ones I used to keep my hands and feet clean the other day, swept across my face and body in delicate, controlled currents. I felt only the faint sensation of cool air passing over skin as every contaminant was lifted away before being vaporised by bursts of microscopic warp fire.
Then came the warmth. Pyromantic forces were summoned and they flowed through me gently, not as fire but controlled heat for agitation beneath the skin. The controlled warmth bloomed across my cheeks and forehead, coaxing blood vessels. A final pulse of electromancy discharge danced silently through my nerves, stimulating every cell into peak efficiency as puffiness vanished and tension dissolved from muscles.
That done, the attention was turned to my hair.
Even with my eyes still closed, I could feel the damage accumulated on my hair from the previous days: dryness at the ends, microscopic fractures along several strands. Telekinesis moved in again. Individual hair strands were lifted weightlessly into the air around my head, suspended as though submerged beneath invisible water before the combing began. Dust particles, pollutants, and dead skin flakes detached themselves and instantly burned away until nothing impure remained.
The pyromantic warmth returned as a gentle heat spread across my scalp, stimulating circulation beneath the skin. My awareness sank into every strand, assessing the keratin structure and its bonds, before releasing a biomantic force to repair damages. Split ends fused seamlessly back together, brittle sections softened into smooth silk beneath seamless energy control. That done, the telekinetic hold was released and all the hair strands smoothly fell like a sleek curtain.
Only then did I open my eyes.
The unlit bedroom appeared as a grey gloom under my night vision. Slowly, I sat up on the bed. Across the place, reflected in the large mirror standing in the corner, was the peerless visage of a familiar girl. Even in the faint darkness, she seemed to glow with a soft, luminous radiance. Reaching up, I ran my fingers through my hair, the strands sliding effortlessly from root to tip without the slightest resistance.
So, that's how I woke up with perfect hair and skin.
While the sheer convenience of it was undeniable, I couldn't help but wonder whether such total disregard for the perils of the Warp was wise. I recalled there were certain types of psykers that seemed immune to daemonic possession, with Astartes of the Grey Knights being prime examples. Since Syrine was confident enough to automate that routine with her powers, I wondered if that same incorruptible quality applied to me. A glance at the time revealed there were still several standard Terran hours until dawn. I groaned and slumped back onto the pillow.
What is my next step forward?
Ever since fulfilling the quest of entering the vault I was overwhelmed by a feeling of rudderlessness, with no direction on what to do. To make matters worse, everyone around looked at me like I had a plan. I felt their totally misguided confidence in me, and the fires of imposter syndrome burned hard against my sense of guilt.
Unable to sleep again, I decided to check on the Hollow Syndicate members who had been imprisoned below. Closing my eyes, my consciousness slipped out smoothly and sank downwards, passing from floor to floor before entering the level containing the dungeon. In my nightly explorations of the monastery, this was the one place I avoided visiting. Tortures and sufferings just weren't my thing, no matter how deserving some of the individuals were here.
I moved, sticking to the ceiling and went over multiple key positions guarded by Battle Sisters before entering the dungeon. The place was as as before, thick with an air of misery that lingered like a thick miasma. Looking around, I soon located the new guests. The Menacing Four plus Draeg Beldran were all here, each being held in their own tiny cell with clear signs of having been interrogated and in a terrible state. While most of the gang appeared solemn and accepted their fate, Draeg seemed to be taking it especially bad, the loan shark was quietly sobbing in a corner while awaiting his grim fate.
Too late for regrets now.
After a short while, I decided I had seen enough. Turning around, my eyes settled on a solitary door at the far end of the corridor guarded by Battle Sisters carrying storm bolters. Behind that door was a prisoner like no other, a Space Marine.
It had been a while since I last saw the Space Marine, curious about his current condition, I moved over to have a look. My projection went through the door and entered the reinforced chamber. Under the dim light the Space Marine was as I remembered, limbless and secured with heavy chains, linked up to a life sign monitoring device. I moved in closer, and noticed he appeared thinner than the last time.
Not much changed, huh?
I lingered for a while before deciding it was time to go. Just as I was about to recall my projection, the eyelids of the Space Marine stirred and like the faintest whisper, a question leaked from his mind.
'Brother?'
He never made a sound, but the subtle implication was shockingly clear to me: another psychic visitor could have come before. A Sorcerer? Or a Librarian of a Chapter gone rogue? Seeing the Space Marine had remained totally still, I snapped back to my body and bolted up into a sitting position.
Look for Thaberus? The inquisitor had mentioned losing the trail of those Space Marines. It was time to conduct some research of my own using the library inside my head. The strangest part was that all those books were already there, yet I had never actually read them. The information existed in perfect detail with every word, every page, every illustration preserved with flawless fidelity, yet nothing was organised.
There has to be a way. Sitting motionless, I closed my eyes and turned my attention inward. The vast trove of information unfolded before my mind's eye. Countless volumes stretched into the distance, piled atop one another in a titanic, chaotic mass. I needed it to make sense. I needed it to become usable. So I focused on that desire and let my mind work.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as though some hidden mechanism had finally engaged, the answer surfaced.
[Simulatio] activated-
Suddenly I found myself standing once more in the monastery library, surrounded by towering book shelves, yet I knew none of it was real. This was merely how my mind chose to visualize the immense archive. Like an intense form of imagination, the extraordinary architecture of my enhanced cognition with my powers had reshaped raw information by replicating the entire library. Somewhere within this vast accumulation of knowledge should contain the clues I sought.
Looking at the books, I issued a simple mental command—leave only those which contain possible clues. Instantly, the library responded. A low tremor rippled through the floor beneath my feet. Entire shelves began to dissolve into drifting lights. Thousands of volumes vanished from existence, their contents deemed irrelevant by the search parameters I had established. Agricultural reports evaporated into glittering dust. Trade manifests collapsed into fading streams of symbols. Tax ledgers, devotional commentaries, and countless other records simply ceased to exist. The transformation spread outward like a wave with more and more bookshelves folded away into nothingness.
Then the simulated library contracted.
Within the blink of an eye, the immense library had been reduced to a fraction of its former size. I surveyed the remaining shelves. Every surviving volume now possessed some degree of relevance to my search. Records of military campaigns. Planetary histories. Ecclesiarchal chronicles and more. The transformation had altered the atmosphere of the place. Gone was the overwhelming vastness of an endless archive. The library no longer felt like a labyrinth. It felt like a hunting ground. I stepped forward and reached for the nearest volume before abruptly stopping myself.
What am I doing?
This was not the physical world. The realization felt almost absurd. Despite knowing this place was merely a visualization generated by my own cognition, I had instinctively reverted to the habits of the real world. I looked instead at the nearest bookshelf and issued another mental command.
Show me.
The books obeyed instantly. They tore themselves free from the shelf and soared through the air. Hundreds of volumes unfolded mid-flight, their pages turning like a flock of wings. A massive oak table materialized before me, rising from the marble floor as though it had always been there.
One by one, the books descended upon it. They opened themselves to relevant passages. Sentences blazed with golden light. Entire paragraphs shimmered against the parchment, drawing my attention to names, locations, dates, and symbols. Silk bookmarks appeared throughout the volumes, marking secondary references and cross-references. Marginal notes materialized in glowing script, linking one source to another. I glanced at them, superhuman level intellect working at uncanny speed to review the information.
Soon I came across obstacles in the form of blacked out sentences and redacted paragraphs, missing pages and chapters that spoke of informational purge. But for a library of this size and age there were simply too many books, some were bound to escape censorship. I worked on and before long turned my eyes to the other shelves the command was repeated. Show me.
The process accelerated. More tables emerged around me. Additional books arrived from distant shelves. Hundreds of books laid before me. A missionary's journal who attached himself to an Astra Militarum dispatch. A planetary census connected to a heraldic registry. An obscure footnote in one text illuminated an otherwise insignificant passage in another. I stood at the center of a slowly enlarging web of knowledge that had become so complex no human scholar could have navigated or even perceived it entirely, and it was still growing.
It took a while, but eventually my eyes in the real world opened again and I heaved a sigh.
Finally, some solid clues about these mysterious Astartes.