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Chapter III – The Regent Awakens: Echoes and Imperatives
Part I - The Awakening
The first days of her awakening were a stark, frustrating purgatory. Her physical form, held in stasis for ten millennia, rebelled against the returning sensation. She understood the inherent logic: the atrophy of disuse, the sluggish return of blood to long-dormant nerves. Yet, her primordial spirit, accustomed to boundless existence, chafed against this mortal coil. When the numbness finally began to recede, it gave way to a tapestry of dull aches, phantom limbs of discomfort, and the infuriating tingle of returning circulation. Ten millennia of inertness, her conscious mind reasoned, demanded this physical penance.
But Aurelia, whose being resonated with the harmony of creation, found these mortal inconveniences intensely annoying. With a grace that belied her irritation, she allowed herself deep, measured breaths, urging her body to reintegrate with patience. It was a profound act of self-discipline, a reminder of the precious, fragile humanity she so desperately sought to maintain.
Yet, even in physical discomfort, her mind, her being soared. Terra, the very heart of the Imperium, still groaned under the psychic wounds of the Heresy and the subsequent centuries of stagnation. Though Guilliman had achieved miracles in reasserting Imperial authority, and though her previous interventions had pushed back the most virulent daemonic tides, the world remained a tapestry of shattered dreams and rampant chaos cults. Aurelia was not worried in the panicked, mortal sense. She understood that time was a tool, not a barrier. Healing on a galactic scale was not a sprint, but an epochal marathon.
Her more immediate focus, however, was her father. Daily, she extended her consciousness into the golden haze that shrouded the Throne, meticulously patching the frayed edges of his colossal will. She could not, would not, compel him to full, agony-free consciousness. But her love, her enduring compassion and loyal hope were the threads by which she rewove his scattered spirit. She allowed him to breathe between the perpetual aches, to perceive with newfound clarity, to truly be himself in mind and soul, even as his physical form remained entombed.
In this delicate mending, Aurelia glimpsed a truth: a fragment of her father's soul, severed during his apocalyptic confrontation with Horus, still lingered somewhere in the swirling expanse of the Warp. A part he had discarded, the empathetic, perhaps vulnerable aspect that Horus's betrayal had forced him to purge in order to make the final, lethal strike. She had seen it, and it had seen her, coalescing slowly, thanks in part to the violent psychic distortions of the Great Rift—the "Psychic Awakening."Aurelia knew this fragment must, eventually, be returned. But not by force. It had to be a willing return, a conscious act of reunification from her father himself. Until then, she would shield it, this testament to his deepest love, now a solitary echo in the void.
On a grander scale, Aurelia directed her formidable will towards the very fabric of the Great Rift itself. The scars upon reality, the "Cicatrix Maledictum," were an open wound bleeding raw chaos into the galaxy. With measured permission from her still-recovering power, she began to stitch the torn cosmos. It was an arduous task, a cosmic game of whack-a-mole. For every rip she patched, another hostile maw of the Warp would tear open elsewhere, a dark mockery from the Chaos Gods who would not so easily surrender their prize. They proved incredibly taunting to deal with, as she heard them while stitching the Great Rift; honeyed words, taunts, insults, and promises surrounded her. They came the way storms come to a horizon—each with its own weather, each certain it was the only sky.
Tzeentch's voice arrived foremost, beaks behind masks behind veils, pleased to be first. See it all, then, if you must deny it. One page? Take the book, the library, the author. Fall into foreknowledge and you will never err again.
"Foreknowledge is only a list of ways to be cruel," she replied. "I would rather choose well than win always." The clatter of hidden quills ceased. For a moment, the Changer remembered he could not write her, and that was insult enough to end the whisper.
Khorne arrived as a pressure spike and iron on the tongue. Words are crutches, the War‑God grated, voice like mail dragged over stone. Unmake the patient's heart. Take the throne by force. Bleed the doubt out of the stars. Fall upward into fury and let the galaxy learn obedience.
Aurelia did not give him the courtesy of anger. "I have no quarrel with courage," she answered, thought measuring thought. "Only with worshipping the wound. You are not the first who mistook restraint for fear." The pressure bucked and receded, denied the duel it demanded.
Nurgle followed like a warm kitchen in a ruined house. Little granddaughter, he cooed, kindly and terribly, why tire yourself with stitches? Everything ripens. Everything rests. Let it go to seed, and I will give you balm enough to love even the rot. Fall, and you will never be alone again.
"I keep the cycle," she said, and there was genuine fondness in it, the way one loves rain that oversteps. "Birth and decay are honest. Your pleasure in the stoppage is not. I wash my hands, and then I plant again." His laugh was a cough full of flowers; it turned away to find a field less stubborn.
Slaanesh came as scent and chime, silk drawn over a blade. Sweet Aurelia, the Dark Prince purred, become everything. Taste every edge at once. Feel a billion throats call your name and call it love. Fall, and there will be no hunger left in the universe that is not yours. Be my princess—my beloved. Wear the violet diadem and sit beside me where adoration is law.
Aurelia's smile was not unkind. "Wonder dies when it swallows its own tongue. I will not eat at the table to enjoy the feast. And I am not your princess." She let the refusal land like a hand set lightly aside. "Keep your diadem; I prefer crowns that do not require worship." The chime faltered, searching for a note it had never needed to learn, and went elsewhere to be adored.
They did not stop, even after that rebuttal.
She heard the Chaos Gods' incessant whispers in the Immaterium, tempting her to unleash her full, primordial power, to simply erase them, to cleanse the cosmic board. But Aurelia scoffed at his bait. To do so would be to cease being Aurelia, to become something else, something cold and absolute. That, she knew, would be their true victory.
"If I become that," she said without speaking, "there won't be anyone left to answer to."
Ignoring their insidious counsel, she continued her patient, unending labour. Systems were salvaged, entire sectors saved, given precious time as her gentle, yet unyielding stitches reinforced the collapsing realspace. Each patch was a fragile, temporary reprieve, but it was enough. Enough to allow the Astronomican's golden light to punch through the encroaching darkness, emboldened by her father's regained will. Aurelia understood this work was palliative, not curative. She lacked the refined knowledge of her own full potential, and the Chaos Gods would never permit her to simply close their door to the material realm. Yet, she discovered a subtle benefit: the Great Rift, paradoxically, was slowly aiding her father's recovery, its constant psychic friction slowly stoking the fires of his immaterial form. She wasn't sure to what extent his strength was returning, but it was enough, she felt, for him to once again stand, in his boundless, ethereal form, in the Immaterium.
And so, Aurelia walked a knife's edge, carefully exploring her cosmic power without sacrificing the humanity she so fiercely cherished. As her ethereal duties continued, her focus slowly began to re-anchor in the more tangible demands of the Imperium's rebuilding.
So, the Princess returned to the material world, leaving behind the Chaos's Gods' whispers.
Part II - The Regent and the Lord Commander
Five days had passed since her stasis ended. The numbness had receded enough for her to stand, to walk slowly, to take sustenance from the exquisite array of fruits and foods laid before her. Guilliman had updated her on the state of the Imperium, on his plans to consolidate power, and the ceremonial parade he intended to stage to honour heroes such as Shield-Captain Valerian and the Silent Sister Tanau Aleya. Aurelia knew it for what it was—a vital theatre of hope, a necessary balm for a populace starved of triumph.
They sat within the ethereal tranquillity of her private garden pavilion, a marvel of living architecture that Rogal Dorn, in a rare display of aestheticism, had personally constructed for her. Sunshine, filtered through the delicate leaves of the Etherium trees, dappled the table laden with delicacies. Custodes and Hestia sisters moved like silent, golden phantoms in the periphery.
Guilliman, forgoing his customary power armour, was clad in robes of deep Ultramarine, elegant and comfortable. "Brother," Aurelia began gently, her gaze sweeping over his revitalised form. "Does your body chafe at this temporary freedom from the Armour of Fate?"
Guilliman let out a deep, considered breath. "I have, perhaps stubbornly, extended my periods free from its embrace. The initial pangs of regenerative pain were considerable, but this stubbornness has facilitated a more thorough reintegration of my organic form. I am… whole, again."
Aurelia chuckled softly, a rare, bell-like sound that charmed the air around them. "Stubborn as Fulgrim's pride, you mean. Or the very mountains Perturabo might try to move."
Guilliman snorted, a profoundly un-Primarch-like sound that spoke of a rare moment of levity. It was a small, treasured victory for Aurelia. Her gaze, however, turned back to his physique, a quiet satisfaction blossoming in her celestial eyes. "Good. I am personally overseeing certain… modifications to your armour. Some upgrades that would fit the Armour of Fate."
Guilliman raised a brow, a flicker of amusement crossing his usually stern features as he savoured a crisp Terran apple. "You have cultivated alliances within the Adeptus Mechanicus. Your cosmic intellect and their binaric tools. Your primordial touch and their cybernetic hands. What clandestine wonders are you orchestrating now, sister? There are depths of your crafting that I confess I may never fully fathom."
"True. I forged many friendships among the Mechanicus even during the Great Crusade," Aurelia replied, a warm, distant smile gracing her lips. "I had many Magos Dominus and Domina who found profound fascination in my designs. You should have seen my expression when I rediscovered Belisarius Cawl. I genuinely thought he was lost to the ages. Back then, he was but a fervent, brilliantly unconventional Tech-priest. An alliance I am thankful to have cultivated." Her smile broadened into a knowing, wistful expression. "But perhaps I should not have been so surprised, after all. He was… following my instructions. His enduring existence, I suppose, was never truly in doubt."
Guilliman met her gaze, a profound understanding dawning. His sister, the architect of wonders, had laid the foundations for Cawl's longevity, a secret even the Master of Ultramar had not yet discerned. He realised anew how many silent, hidden threads she had woven into the tapestry of the Imperium's future.
"Indeed," Aurelia continued, returning her attention to him. "I have been in extensive communion with Archmagos Cawl. I desire certain augmentations for the Mark X armour as well. Minor adjustments, perhaps, but incorporating technologies—nanite matrices, specialised mineral compounds—I never had the opportunity to bestow. We are currently endeavouring to disseminate these technologies as widely as feasible. Imagine, Roboute, the Mark X power armour infused with self-regenerating nanotechnology. A profound boon, though its integration will demand extensive time, and even then, such marvels will initially be exclusive to the Astartes Legions and you, of course."
"Mm. Am I to be your… guinea pig, sister?" Guilliman asked, a rare, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips.
Aurelia's laughter, like shattered starlight, was her only reply. "Aye, brother. You are the vanguard of these advancements. They will grant you an edge you will desperately require. I have personally synthesised a mineral alloy for your new panoply, an alloy powerful enough to contend with… them."
Guilliman's expression hardened, his eyes losing their fleeting amusement. He understood implicitly. Not daemons. Not Chaos Gods. But their brothers. The fallen. The betrayers who would be acutely aware of their father's renewed, if fleeting, sentience. "I place my trust in you, then. Archmagos Cawl and yourself… You make for a most formidable and potentially dangerous team."
"A compliment I assure you Cawl would find incredibly pleasing," Aurelia responded. Yet, Guilliman noted a subtle thread of concern in her tone, an almost uncharacteristic lack of absolute certainty. "We already possess a multitude of ideas and preliminary plans to aid you in this ambitious undertaking you propose."
"Do you disagree with my course of action?" Guilliman inquired, his voice calm, pragmatic. He was keenly aware that, despite her newly ordained status as Absolute Regent, a decree straight from the Emperor himself, Aurelia would never presume to dictate to him through sheer authority. Such overt command was antithetical to her profound, unifying spirit.
"I am in complete accord with your strategem," Aurelia confirmed, her gaze steady. "To remain stagnant is to invite annihilation. They are already assailing us; inaction serves only to expedite our demise. We must strike back." The pronouncement, delivered with such resolute conviction, made Guilliman take a deep breath. "My apprehension, brother, stems not from the strategic imperative, but from the immense administrative and logistical burdens such a crusade will impose. The sheer volume of planning, resource allocation, and bureaucratic oversight required… it is truly monumental."
"It is fortunate, then, that we possess a remarkable aptitude for… paperwork," Guilliman replied, a stoic tone barely concealing the faint curve of a smirk, a flicker of dark humour in his eyes.
"As long as your preferred quills and endless reams of parchment remain unbent," Aurelia teased gently, and Guilliman sighed dramatically, momentarily transported to the relentless, infuriating battles of ancient bureaucracy. His true enemy.
"Still, brother, we must address another imminent challenge," Aurelia continued, cutting a delicate slice of Terran orange and placing it on his plate. "The High Lords of Terra. They will resist."
"I anticipate nothing less," Guilliman conceded, accepting the fruit with a knowing nod.
This, Aurelia knew, was where the true test lay. She needed no arcane foresight to predict the entrenched resistance of the High Lords. Their power was woven into millennia of stagnation, their authority born of the very entropy she despised. Having served as a de facto Regent during the dark, desperate times of the Great Crusade, the Heresy, and her father's war within the Webway, Aurelia understood the labyrinthine depths of Imperial politics. She had witnessed firsthand the corruption that metastasised in the void left by their father's absence. She was, in her quiet wisdom, the ultimate diplomat, an empress groomed not for battle, but for governance. And Guilliman, though he often railed against the petty machinations of statecraft, was undeniably a master of its dark arts when forced. Together, they were perhaps the only two beings capable of prying the Imperium from its death spiral.
"What, then, is your precise intention?" Aurelia inquired, tilting her head, her gaze piercing and expectant.
Guilliman picked a handful of dark grapes, his calculating gaze fixed on some unseen point beyond the pavilion's arcades. "I shall announce the new Imperial reforms. I will personally initiate the removal of those High Lords whose intransigence poses an immediate threat to this new direction. Inevitably, those who harbour dissent, the deeper rot, will expose themselves through their covert opposition. We shall present them with sufficient bait, drawing their venomous efforts against me."
"A calculated gambit, indeed," Aurelia hissed, a rare edge entering her voice. "They will undoubtedly strive to derail the crusade, to consolidate their decaying power, and preserve the stasis that has rooted the Imperium so deeply even Nurgle would find its stagnation aesthetically repulsive."
"It would prove a difficult struggle, I fear, were I left to undertake it alone," Guilliman admitted, a touch of vulnerability in his tone that Aurelia recognised as genuine. "I would have found little time to engage in such intricate political warfare."
"Leading an army, an entire crusade, is always the simpler path," Aurelia affirmed, recalling Malcador's endless lessons. Their father, for all his boundless power and charisma, had often wrestled with the insidious currents of political will, turning potential allies into formidable enemies through sheer force of his own single-minded ambition.
Guilliman acknowledged the truth without shame. He was profoundly thankful that Aurelia, his younger sister, had been forged not just as a guardian, but as the true heir, tutored in the complex arts of interstellar governance.
"Let us focus on this, then," Aurelia stated, her gaze lifting to the murky, ash-tinged sky of Terra, a sky that had not been blue in millennia. A silent promise echoed in her heart. That, too, would change. "Let them expose themselves. We shall make indelible examples. The rest," she concluded, her voice ringing with quiet, resolute power, "the rest will then inevitably fall into line."
Part III - A Voice for the Voiceless
The grand tableau, destined to rekindle the faint embers of hope in a shattered Imperium, demanded meticulous choreography. Weeks had vanished in the preparation of this monumental spectacle, a task Aurelia approached with an almost childlike glee, despite the cosmic stakes. She conspired with her brother, Guilliman, to elevate the ceremony far beyond mere statecraft, to craft an event larger than life, a radiant lie for the sake of a profound truth. The people of Terra, the forgotten billions of the Imperium, required it—a single, blinding shaft of hope against an encroaching tide of despair. This spectacle would proclaim, with undeniable finality, that a Primarch, the Emperor's daughter, the Princess-Regent, had returned, poised to forge a new future from the ashes of the old.
Aurelia orchestrated the message's dissemination with the precision of a cosmic maestro. Utilising her newly revitalised Astra-Relays and the humming Iteritas Antennae, she cast the news across the Imperium, her power stitching the fragmented vox-nets into a unified broadcast. Thanks to her recent, painstaking efforts to patch the Great Rift and her father's coalescing will, the range was unprecedented. On the furthest reaches of Macragge, on a thousand distant battlefronts, across the decks of countless battleships, wherever humanity clung to life, her voice would be heard. No expense was spared, no resource left untapped; this event was to overshadow every prior desolation, every grim memory, to imprint itself on the soul of mankind.
Aurelia had not yet left the hallowed confines of the Imperial Palace since her awakening. The Golden Tower, her personal sanctuary, remained her bastion. It was a space intimately known, a place etched with her own history. Her chambers, vast and elegant, were befitting the heir to a galactic empire: walls of shimmering white and burnished gold, a magnificent chandelier of diamonds and unquantifiable alloys—a testament to Ferrus Manus's meticulous craftsmanship. A private living room, furnished with ancient, plush cushions, cradled a venerable fireplace that, for Aurelia, was a beloved relic of normalcy. Her personal library, filled with tomes both ancient and penned by her own hand, whispered secrets of forgotten ages. Her grand desk, the nexus of her profound work, where once she had subtly sought her father's approval, remained her most comforting anchor in this unsettling new era.
Her bed, a colossal expanse, still cradled her as she emerged from dreams, a tangible link to the body's new limitations. Beyond her chamber lay a vast balcony, where in ages past, she could gaze upon Terra's unmarred skies and survey the tranquil waters of a private lake, a calming counterpoint to the cosmic anguish that sometimes gnawed at her during the Great Crusade. That lake was now a ghost of memory.
"I shall have to make a new one," she sighed, a faint whisper into the silent air of her chambers.
A soft chime announced a presence at the immense, Dorn-crafted door. "Your Highness," Shield-Captain Anatolyn Ganorth's voice, a steady, measured baritone, resonated respectfully from beyond the heavy adamantium. "They await your presence."
Aurelia nodded, rising with a grace that masked her lingering physical stiffness. The door, a colossal edifice of patterned void-steel and blessed adamantium, opened silently. It was a masterpiece of Rogal Dorn's defensive genius, designed to withstand siege or atomic fire. Yet, Aurelia found the concept amusingly quaint. The entire Golden Tower, steeped in her father's protective will, fortified by Dorn, Ferrus, and Perturabo—each having contributed every scintilla of their vast knowledge to render it impregnable, a bastion both defensive and offensive—was her true shield. A single door, however grand, was but a gesture.
She stepped into the hallway, a long, echoing expanse of polished marble. Immediately, her entourage fell into formation: a line of gold-armoured Adeptus Custodes, their silent presence a constant tide of immutable loyalty. With them moved the spectral figures of the Silent Sisters, their null-fields an eerie hush in the air. The most formidable of all, however, were the 179 Custodes Immortalis Laureate, resurrected from their dormancy. Their activation was not merely ceremonial; it was a testament to the Custodes' grievous losses, their ranks thinned by endless warfare against cultists and daemons across Terra during the first week.
Aurelia had personally greeted each of the Immortalis, updating them on the grim tapestry of the last ten millennia. She had presented their Tribune, Ra Endymion—a name that echoed with the same revered solemnity as Constantin Valdor—to Captain-General Trajann Valoris. Their exchange had been a model of Custodes efficiency: few words, stark purpose. Protection of the Golden Throne and the Princess. Nothing else. For Ra Endymion and his resurrected brethren, however, the duty carried a deeper resonance. They were among the original three hundred, those who had served the Emperor in his walking days, and they remembered Aurelia not as a symbol, but as the cosmic child they had guarded from her very infancy.
Now, they formed a silent, golden river around Aurelia. The entourage, she mused, was truly ridiculous. Every direction she glanced, auramite shimmered, and a profound, echoing silence prevailed.
"Have I ever remarked," Aurelia murmured aloud, her voice a soft, teasing current against the heavy quiet, "upon how intensely… annoying the ceaseless silence of the Custodes can be?"
Hundreds of polished boots made no sound. No Custodian shifted. They moved as one.
"Truly, it is rather exasperating."
"A few times, my Princess," Ra Endymion's voice replied, a clear, resonant echo that resonated from his auramite helmet, possessing the same accent, the same archaic cadence, as it had ten millennia ago.
"I cannot see your face, Ra," Aurelia responded, a hint of mirth in her eyes. "But I could almost swear I perceive your smirk."
For a fleeting second, Ra Endymion allowed himself a flicker of human amusement, a quiet pride in the familiarity his Princess still offered.
"My Princess," Anatolyn Ganorth interjected, his tone impeccably formal. "Lord Guilliman has discussed assembling a household of handmaidens and servants for you. To assist with your personal needs."
Aurelia sighed deeply, a soft sound. "A gesture I would appreciate. This gown, brother," she mused, glancing down at the intricate, heavy fabric of her formal regalia, "required an embarrassing amount of communal effort. My apologies to all of your Sisters; it must have been… quite an endeavour to coax it into place." She directed her words to the Silent Sisters who had discreetly aided her in this awkward, very mortal display. They replied in Thoughtmark, their precise gestures communicating that such assistance was an honour, not a burden.
They arrived at the grand plaza, a vast expanse stretching before the Imperial Palace. Aurelia stepped onto the elevated platform, and her gaze swept across an ocean of humanity. Thousands had gathered, their collective anticipation a palpable hum in the air, divided only by ranks of Astartes from every loyal Chapter who had fought in the Siege. She saw the colossal shapes of Dreadnoughts, the towering silhouettes of the Collegia Titanica's God-engines. A thunderous roar rose to meet her, a chorus of cheers, cries, and prayers, directed equally at her and the stoic figure of Guilliman at her side. She knew the clamour was a testament to his return, and that he found such overt adulation a burden.
She walked deliberately, each step a measured cadence towards the podium, steeling herself for the overwhelming roar of human emotion.
She met Guilliman by the dais, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Is this… grand enough, brother?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rising clamour.
Guilliman, his gaze fixed on the surging crowd, replied, "For this moment, sister. It is enough."
Aurelia's eyes found Valerian and Aleya in the ranks below, their faces a mixture of awe and dawning comprehension. They, too, were beginning to grasp the necessary theatre, the potent spectacle of collective hope. "Then, allow me to begin, brother," Aurelia said, stepping towards the podium. She paused, letting the silence of anticipation swell. At her command, her holographic likeness projected across every Imperial world within range of the Astronomicam, her living image bringing her voice to every listening ear.
"My Imperium. My people," Aurelia's voice, imbued with the soft resonance of primordial truth, yet firm with the authority of the ages, carried across Terra and beyond. "For many, this moment may have been an impossibility. To dream it, to grasp its meaning, to even believe it possible, may feel like awakening from a protracted nightmare, only to dread the waking world. A lie one tells oneself, simply to forestall another crushing disappointment. An unanswered prayer repeated so often it became a silent ritual in a universe that has long ceased to listen." She glanced at Guilliman, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch in his brow—she knew his disdain for the word 'prayer', yet sometimes, as she had learned from Malcador, one had to speak the language of those who had no other recourse but desperate hope.
Her voice, imbued with her inherent cosmic presence, deepened, extending far beyond Terra, reaching into the very heart of humanity across the galaxy.
"But I declare to you now. This is not a dream. This is not a fleeting vision. It is not another lie you tell yourselves to ward off despair. This is not a silent prayer condemned to linger unheard." Her voice swelled with conviction, echoing in the hearts of billions. "No more. We are here. And it is time for you to hope again. Not merely in survival. Not merely in the desperate, grinding struggle for another dawn. But to claim victory. To rise. To dare to aspire to a future worth fighting for, beyond mere existence. For the Imperium. For Humanity. For every one of you—every soldier who has bled, every human who has yearned, every Astartes who has sacrificed the essence of self—this is your moment to cease being mere casualties of a vast, indifferent cosmos! This day marks the genesis of a new age! For not only has a Primarch returned! Not only has the heir to the Throne returned! But the Emperor himself has returned! Not in flesh, for that is a burden he yet bears! But in will! In mind! He is with us! And you shall hear it! The galaxy shall hear it! Humanity still possesses the legs to stand! The arms to fight! And the unyielding determination to win!"
Aurelia's voice resonated through every ear, every heart, every soul. A profound silence descended before it broke into an exultant roar. Even Guilliman, impassive as he usually was, staggered slightly. He had not realised his sister's voice possessed such profound, raw power. Cheers, shouts, and ecstatic tears swept the plaza. The Astartes, their grim countenances cracking into expressions of awe and renewed purpose, pounded their chest plates in unison. The ground rumbled as the God-engines let loose their battle-horns, not in challenge, but in affirmation. They believed her. They saw her light. They felt the nascent possibility of an Imperium renewed.
Aurelia swayed slightly, her hands trembling, her legs almost buckling beneath her. The sheer effort, the vast outpouring of her spirit, left her utterly drained. She hid it well, and turning, walked with an almost desperate grace towards Guilliman.
"I think I might faint," Aurelia whispered, her hand instinctively grasping her brother's armoured forearm for support.
"I confess, I was unaware you possessed such oratorical prowess," Guilliman whispered back, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. "I doubt I could follow such a performance. Perhaps you should continue the ceremony yourself, sister. You have, shall we say, stolen the spotlight."
Aurelia lightly struck his ceramite-clad arm, the gesture more playful than forceful, a brief flicker of defiance against her profound exhaustion. Guilliman chuckled softly, a sound filled with renewed, weary hope, before stepping towards the podium himself.
She tapped his pauldron. "Go be magnificent."
Aurelia, allowing herself a small, tired smile, allowed the fading anxiety to recede. It was the first time she had ever addressed such a vast public, the first time so many eyes had ever been upon her. Yet, a quiet joy, a profound sense of pride, blossomed within her weary soul.
She watched the remainder of the ceremony, Guilliman's voice, though powerful, now a stark counterpoint to her own emotional crescendo. Valerian received a laurel wreath, freshly woven from Ultramar's sacred flora, a symbol of his courage. Aleya, the Silent Sister, was presented with the Somnus Blade, an ancient null-weapon.
Aurelia saw their faces: Valerian's, stoic and unwavering, and Aleya's, a mask of quiet resolve. Her mind reached out, not in words, but in the pure current of thought. "I perceive your surprise. This is but a fleeting moment, a breath you should cherish for what it is. Breathe it in." Her thought touched Valerian, who, for a moment, seemed to glimpse something boundless in her galactic eyes. He met her smile with a faint nod, a promise to honour the instant. "Your path, Shield-Captain, is your own to walk. Trust us. Trust her. Trust me." Valerian nodded again, a flicker of profound, nascent understanding in his ancient gaze.
To Aleya, Aurelia's thought resonated directly into her null-aure. "I sense your pain, your sorrow, your quiet disgust, sister. You are right to feel burdened by the misplaced adoration of these cheering throngs. But trust us. Trust me. Trust him." This, to Aleya, was an impossibility; her null-aura, designed to snuff out psychic contact, had been utterly bypassed. Aurelia's very being transcended the Warp, capable of touching even a blank.
Aleya, though visibly stunned, maintained her outward composure, offering a minute nod to her Princess. Aurelia smiled, her gaze sweeping across the hopeful masses, then lingered on the polluted, fog-choked sky above Terra, a sky that screamed of millennia of neglect. A wave of profound annoyance, swiftly followed by determination, washed through her.
I need to cleanse it all, Aurelia thought, her mind already sketching celestial schematics, charting paths of elemental renewal. But that, she conceded to herself, a renewed sense of purpose firming her resolve, that will be a task for tomorrow.
Part IV – The Shadow of Duty, The Gaze of Hope
Seven months had passed since the ceremonial spectacle on Terra's shattered surface, since the Princess Regent Aurelia Aeternitas Primus and her Primarch brother, Roboute Guilliman, had formally ushered in a new dawn. In that span, the very air of the Imperial Palace had taken on a cleaner, sharper edge. The endless tide of chaos cults still plagued the Throneworld, yet a palpable shift had occurred. Many of those cults have found themselves eradicated. A fragile, nascent hope, birthed by Princess Aurelia's radiant presence, bloomed alongside the stern, pragmatic order imposed by Guilliman. It was a potent combination, a guiding light and an iron hand, pushing humanity towards a tomorrow that, only months prior, had seemed an impossible dream. Yet, that very notion—the idea that humanity might yet ascend—left many, particularly those acutely aware of their own frail mortality, feeling utterly inadequate to even contemplate such a vast ambition.
Anna-Murza Jek walked a path no human outside the highest echelons had been permitted to tread in months. Each step carried her deeper into a bastion so meticulously defended, so ingeniously crafted to defy the very architects of the void, that Jek felt infinitesimally small, almost terrified by the profound audacity of her existence. The Lord Commander, Consul of the Princess-Regent and her unyielding right hand, had moved with a relentless, terrifying efficiency. Decrees had been issued, entrenched High Lords summarily removed, and a new crusade, the Indomitus, declared. Jek recalled the weary resignation of her former master, Alexei Lev Tieron, Chancellor of the Senatorum Imperialis, who had declined a position in this terrifying new age, utterly overpowered by the sheer, intractable despair of the new centuries to come. Now, Jek, having taken up his formidable mantle, found herself walking in his formidable, yet tragic, footsteps. Her initial meeting with Primarch Guilliman had left her utterly overwhelmed, her mind reeling from the sheer, living godhood that radiated from him. She had felt small, dwarfed by his sheer scale, just as any mortal standing before a Primarch. Yet, she was one of the fortunate few to have even endured such an audience. His intense, piercing blue eyes had imprinted themselves upon her memory, and a shiver of awe still ran through her.
Now, she was braced for a second, even greater encounter. Jek was being escorted towards the Golden Tower, the Princess's sacred dwelling. This was the sanctuary of the Absolute Regent of all Humanity, the heiress to the Golden Throne, the chosen one whose authority, by decree of the Emperor himself, surpassed even that of the Primarchs. She was the Daughter of the God-Emperor, bearing titles whispered in hushed reverence, titles Jek knew by heart, yet dared not speak aloud for their immense weight.
No unauthorised soul, Jek understood, was permitted to approach the Princess. The Golden Tower had been sealed since the grand ceremony, its formidable gates barred, its very air thick with sacred wards. Though the Princess had not been seen publicly, her presence, a luminous anchor in the heart of the Imperium, was a constant, undeniable truth. Jek, like the few remaining High Lords and Imperial elite, had heard the Emperor's voice through the vox—clear, coherent, and profound—proclaiming Aurelia the ultimate light and hope of mankind. Her voice was His; her orders, His decrees; her will, His will. And the most terrifying pronouncement of all: should she perish, the Imperium would perish with her. The thought was a chilling, stark revelation of her singular importance, a cosmic weight no mortal could ever truly fathom.
Jek walked through checkpoint after relentless checkpoint in the vast Imperial Palace. Imperial Fists and Ultramarines, grim-faced and unyielding, stood shoulder to shoulder, their joint patrols a testament to the renewed unity Guilliman had forged. The closer she drew to the Golden Tower, the denser became the formations of Adeptus Custodes, standing like statues of burnished gold.
Jek swallowed, a dry catch in her throat, as two Custodes guided her through an intricate network of halls and passages towards the Princess's sanctum. She knew the Golden Tower contained not only the Princess's magnificent chambers but also led to her personal gardens—the sole expanse of living greenery left on Terra's ravaged surface, a vibrant Eden that fed the Palace's billions. Jek still savoured the memory of a crisp apple, gifted from those gardens, a taste of heaven in a grimdark age. They ascended a long, winding hallway, the highest point of the Tower. Here, forty Custodes Immortalis Laureate stood like sentinels cast from living gold and silence. These were, at one point, the Emperor's personal guard, demigods of war who had walked beside him for millennia, now continuing their vigil and returning to guard his daughter again.
Jek felt infinitesimally small before the colossal door that marked the Princess's inner sanctum. It swung open silently, its mass moving without effort. Jek gulped, a profound sense of awe washing over her.
The room was breathtaking. Vast, cavernous, yet imbued with an ethereal elegance. Walls of shimmering white and lustrous gold soared towards an unseen ceiling. Ornate carvings, ancient and impossibly intricate, adorned every surface. The very air was imbued with a sense of timeless purity, the meticulous cleanliness a stark contrast to the dust and decay that permeated the rest of Terra. Grand tables, plush cushions, and intricate clockworks of unknown function stood amidst beautifully sculpted statues that seemed to watch with ancient eyes. Jek felt as if she had stepped back ten millennia, into a dream of Old Terra before its fall.
Murals of ancient battles and epochal events adorned the walls, scenes of triumph and tragedy. Then, her gaze fell upon a startling tableau: a painting of the Emperor in his full, unmarred glory, a sight few mortals had ever witnessed, beside a young Aurelia. But what truly stole Jek's breath, what chilled her to the bone, was the signature beneath the canvas: Fulgrim. The name of a traitor Primarch. As her eyes darted, she saw smaller portraits of all the Primarchs, loyalist and traitor alike. And there, amidst them, was a depiction of Horus Lupercal, the arch-traitor, smiling gently as he cradled a childlike Aurelia on his shoulder.
A profound, disorienting cognitive dissonance assailed Jek. Was Horus truly… a good brother?
She reeled, her mind struggling to reconcile the impossible image with the brutal dogma of the Imperium. A soft rustle, a subtle shift of auramite from a nearby Custodian, brought her back to the present. Jek cleared her throat, pushing away the blasphemous thought, and was guided towards an open section of the room—a vast, elegant library and personal office.
There, seated at an impossibly grand, beautifully carved wooden table, was Princess Aurelia. Mountains of parchment, inscribed data-slates, Servo-skulls operating within her office, and a significant, yet intriguing collection of Coginators. Jek's gaze lifted to the Princess's face, those serene, gentle eyes that held the swirling nebulae of galaxies, her dark, star-dusted hair, adorned with three luminous green motes that appeared fixed and eternal. Aurelia was even more impossibly beautiful than any statue, any stained-glass icon could portray. She was divinity made manifest, yet with a humanity that pulled at the soul.
"You must be Anna-Murza Jek," the Princess spoke, her voice like the chime of crystal bells, stirring Jek from her awed reverie.
"My Princess," Jek knelt instantly, her voice trembling as those celestial eyes locked onto her. "Blessed are those who believe in the Emperor's will." The words, rote and sincere, left her lips before she could question them. Aurelia, in a brief, almost imperceptible gesture, subtly cringed at the cultic invocation, a quiet protest against the nascent idolatry she neither sought nor embraced.
"Please, stand," Aurelia urged gently. "It is easier to speak this way." Jek obeyed, her legs still unsteady from awe, her entire being struggling to maintain composure before such radiant power. Aurelia, with compassionate grace, gestured to an ornate cushion opposite her, inviting her to sit.
Jek slowly settled herself, her breath shallow. She glanced at the formidable stacks of paperwork, the sheer volume of material that surrounded the Princess. Like Guilliman, Aurelia was clearly burdened by the ceaseless administration of a dying empire.
"My brother informed me you were aide-de-camp to Alexei Lev Tieron," Aurelia began, her voice soft, yet imbued with an inescapable gravitas that compelled unwavering attention. "A man, I am told, who was instrumental during the Edict of Restriction, and a valued counsel to my brother for brief period." Jek nodded quickly, captivated by every word.
"I was, indeed, Princess. I was his aide," Jek corrected softly. "I now serve as the Chancellor of the Senatorum Imperialis, my former master having retired due to… persistent health complications."
"Mm. I have heard that your future holds a demanding period, Anna-Murza. The Indomitus Crusade will require everything of us. The logistical sinews of this war—they are but the beginning for me," Aurelia gestured to the surrounding mountains of parchment, the tangible proof of her unending toil. Jek saw it—the colossal task already consuming the Princess. "I oversee many crucial projects. Yet, there are equally numerous matters that I simply cannot dedicate my full attention to. The High Lords of Terra have always been, and remain, a critical part of the Imperium's operational structure. As I dedicate my energies to assisting my brother in orchestrating the Indomitus Crusade, to crafting new technologies that might yet grant us an edge across this vast galaxy, to remaining in tune with my father's newly restored will, and to stitching the Great Rift lest it consume more worlds… I require a trusted individual. Someone to keep me apprised of developments within the Senatorum, someone capable of navigating bureaucracy without succumbing to its mire. A person, in essence, to act as my personal envoy."
Jek swallowed hard, the magnitude of the Princess's unspoken request slowly dawning. "My Princess… you mean…"
"Yes, Anna-Murza. I wish you to serve as my personal subordinate," Aurelia stated, her gaze unwavering, her voice imbued with the profound weight of her newly declared authority. "My secretary. My assistant. My voice and my delegate. If you accept this sacred charge, you shall become the Consul-Palatina of Her Imperial Highness, Princess of the Imperium of Man, Anathema Solara, and Scion of Terra, Aurelia Aeternitas Primus." Jek felt the sheer power of the title, an immense strength that would place her, in many ways, even above the High Lords of Terra. To act in the Princess's name would mean access beyond all restriction, every denial of a meeting, every obstruction of duty, rendered impotent.
"My Princess, I… I am not worthy!" Jek whispered, utterly overwhelmed, her voice barely a breath.
"You are, Anna-Murza Jek. Had I not known it, I would not have offered it," Aurelia replied, her divine smile radiating a warmth that filled the grand chamber. "I cannot, by Imperial Edict, leave Terra. As long as my essence remains anchored here, this hallowed homeworld of humanity and all its surrounding systems shall remain untouched by Chaos. My very light acts as a bulwark, repelling their incursions, and it allows my father's own light to shine brighter across the fractured galaxy. Yet, this anchoring confines me, for they—the Chaos beings—can perceive my exact location at all times. I require a soul I can utterly trust, Anna-Murza, to execute my will in realms where my physical presence cannot be."
Jek now understood the profound, intricate causality behind the Astronomican's restored might, the miraculous forging of new Warp lanes, and the subtle, positive shifts rippling through distant sectors. But she also realised the terrifying truth: a profound war, invisible yet relentless, raged between the Emperor and the Princess against the Arch-Enemies of mankind.
"Anna-Murza Jek," Aurelia stated, her gaze holding hers, firm and warm. "Trust me, you are worthy. And I need you." She waited, a beat of serene expectation, her smile unwavering, for she already saw the acceptance, the resolute choice, taking root in Jek's soul.
"My Princess… I would be profoundly honoured to serve."
Aurelia's smile deepened, radiant with a quiet triumph. For this chapter, she thought, this story of struggle and nascent triumph was far from over. And for now, she would close the page and turn to the unfolding present.
~ THE EDICT OF THE CONSUL-PALATINA ~ Decree-Primary CSL-P/001-M41
Be it decreed and henceforth inscribed into the Lex Imperialis, that the loyal and worthy servant of the Imperium, ANNA-MURZA JEK, heretofore Chancellor of the Senatorum Imperialis, is raised up from among the ranks of Mankind and consecrated in a new and sacred office.
By the divine will of the Princess-Regent, she is named:
~ CONSUL-PALATINA ~
DUTIES & RESPONSIBILITIES: The Consul-Palatina shall serve as the direct emanation of the Regent's will and her personal envoy in all matters temporal and administrative. Her sacred duties shall encompass, but are not limited to:
To serve as the voice (Vox-Personam) and hand (Manus-Regent) of the Princess-Regent in all matters pertaining to the high governance of the Imperium, the administration of the Senatorum Imperialis, and the prosecution of the Indomitus Crusade. To hold unrestricted, inviolable, and unannounced access to any and all chambers, archives, cogitator-vaults, and councils of the High Lords of Terra and their myriad subordinate functionaries. To act with the full and terrible authority of the Regent when conveying her decrees, ensuring their swift and unerring implementation upon pain of sanction. To command the unflinching fealty and unquestioning cooperation of any and all Imperial agents, officials, planetary governors, and military commanders in the execution of her duties. To report directly, and only, to Her Imperial Highness, serving as her eyes and ears within the shadowed corridors and whispering courts of Imperial power.
SO DECREED. SO IT SHALL BE. THE EMPEROR PROTECTS.
Signed and Sealed by Her Sacred Hand
Her Imperial Highness, AURELIA AETERNITAS PRIMUSPrincess-Regent of the Imperium of Man, Anathema Solara, Scion of Terra
Witnessed and Confirmed by the Lord Commander
ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN Primarch of the XIII Legion, Lord Commander of the Imperium, First Consul to the Regent and Right Hand
Sanctioned and Attested by the Guardian of the Throne,
TRAJANN VALORIS Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, Chief Guardian of the Sanctum Imperialis
Part V – The Anvil of Lost Ages
Aurelia walked with deliberate grace through the secret passages that laced the lower levels of the Golden Tower, a labyrinthine journey she had made her routine since her awakening. These hidden routes, sealed against all but the highest clearances, were extensions of her will, silent guardians of forgotten lore. Eight Adeptus Custodes, silent giants in burnished auramite, followed her, their footfalls hushed, their obedience absolute. Yet, at her side strode a figure of far stranger aspect: Belisarius Cawl. He moved with a series of mechanical clicks and whirs, a symphony of augmetic prosthetics and whirring sensors. A very old friend, one she had never truly expected to see again in the flesh, yet here he was, a living relic of her past, his multi-limbed form almost vibrating with barely suppressed excitement.
Their friendship, forged during the tumultuous end of the Great Crusade and tested by the horrors of the Heresy, was a unique bond. Cawl was not the sole Tech-Priest she had cultivated alliances with, but he was undeniably the last of her close confidantes from that era. His eccentricities had deepened with millennia of cybernetic augmentation and self-experimentation, his intellect sharpened to a razor's edge. In some ways, he was more mad, in others, profoundly wiser. But for Aurelia, he remained the same relentlessly curious mind, always eager to push the boundaries of technology, the most prolific and undeniably pivotal Archmagos Dominus of the Adeptus Mechanicus in this grim age. Together, they made their way towards Aurelia's vast, subterranean laboratories, a hallowed space brimming with her deepest, most guarded wonders.
"I have heard of your great project, my friend—the Primaris Space Marines," Aurelia began, her voice gentle, yet imbued with an underlying strength. "My brother, Roboute, recently journeyed to Mars to witness them personally. He spoke of their numbers. How many have you now brought forth?"
Cawl's binary breathing filled the large, echoing halls of the Golden Tower's underground network, a staccato rhythm of cogitation. "Over one hundred thousand, if my memory banks serve me precisely, Your Highness. Perhaps more by the latest calculations." His servo-skull whirred, dutifully projecting a tally that scrolled across the ancient stone. "A greater multitude shall follow in the coming years. My automaton legions are kept in continuous overdrive, even as the first batches are now deployed across the stars."
Aurelia hummed, a low, contemplative sound. One hundred thousand. It was a number she had not heard in relation to Space Marines since the Great Crusade itself. Could such a force truly turn the tide? She harboured no illusions; it would be a powerful boon, an undeniable reinforcement, but the insidious corruption of ten millennia ran deep. True change would demand more than soldiers. That was why she was here, and why she had summoned Belisarius Cawl to Terra.
"My sincerest apologies, my friend," Aurelia said, her gaze sympathetic. "I find myself anchored to Terra. I cannot, as I wish, visit Mars and witness your magnificent work firsthand."
"No apologies are required, Your Highness," Belisarius replied, his voice unexpectedly gentle, stripped of its usual binary inflexions. He spoke as if to an old, cherished companion, perhaps the only being in the galaxy he held in higher esteem than the Omnissiah itself. He was, undeniably, also immensely pleased to be counted among the vanishingly few, perhaps the sole Archmagos, to be permitted entry into Aurelia's most secret forge.
"I know," Aurelia responded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Yet, my friend, we require more than mere soldiers. Did the mineral I entrusted to you… Did it meet with your exacting standards?"
Cawl whirred with barely contained excitement, his optical sensors gleaming. He nodded emphatically, his servo-skull projecting a rapid-fire cascade of data. The mineral, a creation of the Princess herself, was not merely a superior alternative to adamantium, ceramite, and even the sacred auramite; it possessed intrinsic regenerative properties akin to a refined Necrodermis. Noverrium, a living metal that promised to fundamentally alter the course of war, was nothing short of miraculous.
Cawl had already incorporated Noverrium into certain key components of Guilliman's Armour of Fate, and the preliminary trials had exceeded even his most ambitious projections. He knew, with absolute certainty, that if this living metal could be woven into every new Mark X Power Armour, the enemies of Mankind would be profoundly shocked by its capabilities. Even the ancient Necrons, the very masters of living metal, would be stunned by humanity's audacious claim to their singular technology. And Cawl, ever the showman, relished the prospect of rubbing this triumph in their silent, cold faces.
"It is a truly marvellous mineral, Your Highness. Noverrium. Intuitively understood by machine-spirits, pliable to manipulation, robust beyond measure. Its properties are… exceptional. The quantity, however, remains insufficient for the demands of the nascent Primaris Space Marine legions."
Aurelia sighed, a soft sound of gentle understanding, and nodded. "I am aware. I had barely enough to conduct initial trials on my brother's panoply, and on other critical components. However, you need not trouble yourself with scarcity. I shall replenish your vaults with Noverrium, and they shall never again know emptiness."
Belisarius Cawl's optical sensors widened as they approached a colossal blast door, ancient and unadorned, save for a small numeric keypad and an archaic cogitator terminal. Aurelia hummed softly, her eyes glinting with amusement as she stepped towards it.
"No peeking, old friend," Aurelia cautioned, her voice light, and Belisarius Cawl permitted himself a series of discreet binary chuckles that amounted to an amused snort.
"Pass‑phrase," the Cogitator intoned.
The Princess's slender fingers danced across the keypad, typing the first password with practised ease: "ABSOLUTELY_NOT_ALPHARIUS".
A small, green light flickered. She typed the second, a fleeting smile playing on her lips, her eyes twinkling with mischievous humour: "FORTIFY_THE_LEMONS".
She could almost hear Rogal Dorn's long-suffering sigh in the depths of her mind.
A third password followed: "MALCADOR_STOLE_MY_TEA". And she could hear, almost, her uncle Malcador walking away laughing with her tea.
The door hummed, a deep, mechanical groan reverberating through the passage as ancient seals began to flex, its machinery awakening. Belisarius Cawl, ever reverent, offered a silent, binary prayer for the machine-spirit.
Finally, Aurelia returned to the keypad, tapping the last, deceptively simple code: "0123456789."
The last digits were entered with a deliberate flourish of childlike glee that no one, save her Custodes, were permitted to witness.
With a final, profound sigh, the immense door parted, revealing Aurelia's clandestine laboratory. It was a staggering shift from the pristine, gold-and-white elegance of the Golden Tower. This was a realm of profound darkness, illuminated by the cold, precise glow of arcane machinery crafted by her own hands. Tools and devices, born of knowledge gleaned from the forgotten depths of the Dark Age of Technology, melded seamlessly with the alien insights she had gleaned from the C'tan, Old Ones and Necrons. It was a workshop where time and convention held no sway.
Belisarius Cawl's many optical sensors flared, whirring in stunned, incredulous pleasure. "By the Omnissiah's sacred wisdom… what a truly magnificent place, Your Highness!"
"Thank you," Aurelia replied, her voice soft with satisfaction as she stepped into the immense space she had personally crafted. "I have laboured here for months, designing new schematics and refining other long-held projects. One pressing matter is the accelerated rebuilding of the Adeptus Custodes' numbers. The original process is painstakingly long, friend. I have a method to make it swifter."
"Oh? Does the Emperor… approve of this acceleration?" Cawl inquired, genuinely intrigued, a thousand new thought processes sparking in his multi-segmented brain.
"He taught me the very principles of their creation. And, like any inventor, one always finds ways to enhance, to refine, to improve the process," Aurelia replied, guiding him towards a colossal cogitator array, its vast displays flickering with complex data. "We need numbers, Belisarius, and time is a cruel tyrant. If I can accelerate their creation, then the principles can be adapted for your Primaris."
Belisarius Cawl's servo-skull emitted a series of rapid binary questions, querying the sheer impossibility of such acceleration.
"Humanity, my friend, of ancient times, had a saying: Necessity is the mother of all inventions." Aurelia's voice resonated with profound, ancient wisdom. "Humanity, even in this grim age, has not forgotten that." She gestured towards another vast chamber.
Her fingers moved across the console, and a section of the wall slid away, revealing a circular chamber beyond. It was a library of impossible scale. Towering pillars, hundreds of feet high, were filled with perfectly arranged data-slates. But it was the object at the chamber's centre that drew Cawl's entire being. It was a giant, slowly rotating sphere of pure, blue light, humming with unimaginable power. Data-slates were materialising from its surface every second, collected by swarms of servo-skulls and slotted into their places on the pillars. Cawl knew what he was looking at. He was looking at the heart of the Mechanicus faith, a thing of myth and legend. A true, complete, and enormous Standard Template Constructor core. Or something more than just that. A machine of its own.
"My Princess, this is… this is by the Omnissiah… beyond wonderful!" Cawl whispered, his voice hushed in genuine awe. He gazed upward, columns of information vanishing into the gloom, a dizzying vertical cityscape of technology and weaponry beyond his wildest dreams. The sheer volume of hidden knowledge, of untold marvels stored within this vault, defied all comprehension.
Aurelia smiled, stepping closer to the massive, spherical core. "That colossal sphere… that is my own creation. My version of the Standard Template Constructor. I call it EVA. It is not an Abominable Intelligence, Cawl. Not in the way the Mechanicus understands it. Consider it an exceedingly advanced cogitator matrix, linked intrinsically to my own memory. Or so I will say. I completed it at the conclusion of the Heresy, but had not, until these last few months, had the time to fully bring it online."
"What… what does it do?" Cawl asked, his usual binary self-control momentarily abandoned.
"You, my friend, are likely the only individual in the galaxy who could comprehend this," Aurelia whispered, her celestial eyes locking onto his. "But I trust you, Belisarius. And… this is the correct path." She deliberately closed a mental chapter, her focus settling solely on EVA, her almost-not-AI. "It draws directly from my mind. I have seen the Dark Age of Technology—the whole book, not a page. I know the path to the Age of Strife. But I am not here to offer you a history lesson. Instead, EVA synthesises all available information—everything I have seen, everything I know—and manifests fragments of lost technology onto these data-slates, for our use."
Aurelia took a single, polished data-slate from a dispensing slot. A holographic image bloomed above it: a magnificent military tank, so advanced it made Cawl's internal augmetics whir in sheer delight. Aurelia did not need to state that EVA was also processing knowledge gleaned from the Old Ones, the C'tan, and the Necrons, integrating it into truly novel, hybrid technologies.
"This, my friend, is the true library that will lead humanity into a new age. I have meticulously purged any trace of Abominable Intelligence; only beneficial, uncorrupted knowledge remains. But as you can discern," Aurelia swept her hand towards the towering pillars of data-slates, "we shall want for nothing more. Everything we would ever want is here, and if we need more, we just need EVA to give it to us."
"Your Highness! This… this could elevate humanity, the Imperium, and Mars into a new Golden Age of Technology!" Belisarius Cawl's excitement was a roaring, binary crescendo. "The paradigm shift this could generate is… incomprehensible!"
"Easy, my friend. Do not attempt to bite off more than you can chew," Aurelia replied, a gentle smile returning to her lips. "Such a height will demand centuries for humanity to truly reach, and remember, time is not a luxury we possess. Our immediate focus must be the capacity to wage war against enemies who are stronger than we are. For humanity to attain such a new age, first, we must secure victory in this Crusade."
Belisarius Cawl, chastened yet still buzzing with a profound, almost religious zeal, composed himself, his many optical sensors devouring the technology being manifested around him. "I comprehend, Your Highness. My apologies. My excitement momentarily rendered me… youthful again."
"No need for apologies. Here." Aurelia handed Cawl a small stack of data-slates. "These should significantly accelerate the deployment of Primaris Space Marines."
Belisarius Cawl took the data-slates, his mind immediately beginning to parse their contents. One particular schematic depicted a pod unmistakably, a variation of the very Edenic stasis pod that had cradled Aurelia. Yet, this version was designed not merely for preservation and healing, but for exponential growth acceleration. Cawl's genius immediately connected the dots.
"Brilliant!" Cawl simply stated, his voice a profound, almost reverent whisper. He understood. This pod, and the accompanying schematics for genetic recalibration, would allow him to accelerate the process of genetic implantation and surgical modification of mortal aspirants into Astartes, drastically reducing the time required for their transformation and healing. Other data-slates outlined rapid organ growth, advanced bone-knitting, and even refined Rubicon Primaris procedures, further solidifying the super-soldiers' resilience. But Aurelia's voice cut through his torrent of data.
"Brilliance is not enough, my friend," she said, her tone becoming serious. "I need loyalty. I need minds that will not shatter when faced with the new. This knowledge cannot fall into the hands of dogmatists or the shortsighted. Give me names, Belisarius. Tech-priests, Forge Worlds... who among your kind can be trusted to build the future, and not just worship the past?"
Cawl's optical lenses focused on her, the whirring of his internal mechanisms a thoughtful hum. "The list is shorter than it once was, but stronger for it," he replied after a moment. "There are those who have long chafed under the yoke of stagnation. Ryza, with its expertise in plasma weaponry, will be eager for new fire. Metalica's martial pride will see the logic of superior arms, even if they don't tolerate me much." He paused, a series of clicks echoing in his vocalizer. "And I have... apprentices. Minds I have personally cultivated over the centuries, who understand that the Omnissiah's truest blessing is not rote catechism, but endless innovation. They will answer the call, Your Highness. They have been waiting for it for a long, long time."
Aurelia nodded as she looked at the chamber.
"I will permit you to take a few dozen more data-slates, my friend. Whatever you need to make the Primaris Space Marines stronger, and the Astra Militarum more resiliant. I have already begun transmitting preliminary schematics to the Laurel Systems; they are to become the industrial heart of the Crusade. But I will require Mars to maintain, indeed, to exceed pace." Aurelia replied, her voice firm. Belisarius Cawl emitted a low, satisfied hum, his excitement barely contained.
"Mars shall be most content with this bounty," Cawl promised, already envisioning a thousand new forge-temples roaring to life.
"And now, for Noverrium," Aurelia said, leading him to yet another immense machine, its form vaguely reminiscent of an STC sphere, yet wholly unique. Here, instead of data-slates, colossal blocks of shimmering, opalescent Noverrium were being continuously extruded. Cawl let out a delighted, guttural cackle, his optical sensors fixated on the endless, flowing stream of living metal. He looked back at the Princess, a wild grin spread across his metallic face.
"How much, Your Highness, should I… appropriate?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"As much as you require, my friend," Aurelia replied, a smile playing on her lips, her eyes filled with the endless promise of her own inexhaustible will.
Part VI - A Fleeting Peace
There were moments, Aurelia knew, that were more precious than any jewel forged in the heart of a dying star. This was one of them. The Indomitus Crusade loomed, a galaxy-spanning storm that would soon pull her brother into its vortex, and it might be years—or centuries—before they shared the same quiet air again. So she gave him the only gift she could: a sliver of peace, an island of stillness in an ocean of impending war.
Within the silent grandeur of her chambers in the Golden Tower, Roboute Guilliman lay with his head resting on her lap. The great sofa, upholstered in velvet, the colour of a midnight sky, seemed to shrink around them. Light from the ever-lamps, muted to a soft, golden dusk, caught the threads of silver in his blond hair. His eyes were closed, the harsh, pragmatic lines of command and ten millennia of grief softened by the gentle hand of sleep. His breathing, usually so measured and controlled, was deep and even, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest a quiet testament to his exhaustion. For the first time since his return, he looked not like a demigod burdened by the fate of a trillion souls, but simply like a brother, at rest.
Aurelia's fingers gently traced the lines on his brow, a gesture as ancient as their shared childhood. She felt the knot of tension there, a ceaseless hum of calculation that even slumber could not fully erase. A soft, ancient lullaby hummed from her lips, a melody from a time before the Imperium had a name, a song she had once sung for all of them. The memory rose, unbidden and bittersweet: a similar afternoon on a world long lost, with Horus, his laughter echoing as she braided a garland of flowers for his amour; another, with Magnus, his single eye closed in thought as she read to him from a forbidden text. A wave of profound, aching love washed over her. She loved them all, every last one, from the brightest to the most damned. It was a truth that would be called the blackest heresy in this dark new age, but it was her truth. No one else had known them as she had. Not as generals, not as legends, but as boys, as men, as family.
She could not share their burden on the battlefield, could not lift the impossible weight of their command. But she could offer this. A sanctuary. A moment to be vulnerable, to be human, to simply be. She felt the ceaseless tornado of his mind, the endless calculations, the logistical chains, the crushing weight of a million million lives entrusted to his care. But for now, that storm was quiet, held at bay by the simple, profound act of a sister's love. She wished she could grant him a thousand years of such peace. Four hours would have to suffice.
Aurelia leaned down, her cosmic hair forming a celestial veil around them, the faint light of nascent galaxies shimmering in the gloom. She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Brother," she whispered, her voice soft as starlight. "It is time."
Guilliman's eyes fluttered open. For a single, unguarded second, the brilliant, strategic blue was unfocused, the gaze of a man pulled from a dream he could not quite recall. Then clarity, and the immense weight of duty, crashed back in. He stirred, a giant waking, and the illusion of peace shattered.
"How long?" he murmured, the word rough with sleep.
"Four hours," she answered, a tender smile playing on her lips.
He sighed, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to carry the weariness of ages, and sat up, rubbing his temples as if to ward off an oncoming headache. "I told you one."
"And I chose to be a disobedient little sister," she replied, her smile widening into a gentle smirk. "You needed the rest. The fate of the galaxy can wait for you to be properly awake to bear it."
He did not argue. He knew she was right. For a long moment, they sat in a comfortable, shared silence, the kind that needs no words to fill it. Aurelia leaned against his broad, armoured shoulder, feeling the solid, reassuring presence of him, a mountain of strength and stability in a crumbling galaxy.
"The Crusade begins at dawn," Aurelia whispered, her voice barely disturbing the stillness. The question hung unspoken in the air between them. "How do you feel?"
Guilliman took a deep, measured breath. He could not lie to her; he suspected no one could. In her presence, the carefully constructed facade of the unflappable Lord Commander could be set aside. "It feels… larger than me," he admitted, his gaze distant, fixed on a point beyond the chamber walls, on the wounded sky of Terra itself. "Larger than any war I have ever fought. I look at the maps, at the Cicatrix Maledictum tearing reality asunder, and I feel… inadequate. A single man attempting to dam an ocean of ruin. I stand before it and feel unequal to the task."
Aurelia took his hand, her slender fingers lacing through his larger ones. A wave of calm, of quiet strength, flowed from her, an aura of absolute belief that was more potent than any psychic ward. "You will face challenges that seem insurmountable," she said softly, her voice unwavering. "You will suffer defeats that will wound you to the core, and you will see horrors that will test the very limits of your soul. But you will learn, you will adapt, and you will lead this crusade to victory. You will not fail."
He looked at her then, his blue eyes searching hers, a flicker of desperate hope warring with a millennium of ingrained pragmatism. "Did you see this? In one of your… chapters?"
To his surprise, she shook her head, her star-strewn hair swirling like a captured nebula. "No," Aurelia replied, her voice soft but firm. "I choose not to witness every thread of fate. I only permit myself a single chapter when the direst situation demands it or when it is important to know the next step, lest I become the very thing I despise. To comprehend every permutation, to play with the lives of billions like pieces on a board… I would become humanity's Tzeentch, a tyrant of destiny, deluding myself, I am doing it for the greater good. So, I choose only hope and belief. I believe in you, brother. I hope the crusade will find triumph."
"Hope," he whispered, the word feeling foreign on his tongue, a concept he had long ago archived as a strategic liability.
"Yes. Hope," she affirmed. "It is the most human of all things, the engine of all great endeavours. Let us hope, and let us believe in what we can accomplish."
A rare, genuine chuckle escaped Guilliman's lips, a sound that seemed to chase the shadows from the room. "What about the times you used your 'chapters' to play pranks on us? I distinctly recall you always knowing where I had hidden my quills, only to find them relocated to the Lion's personal study, much to his grim confusion."
A faint blush touched Aurelia's cheeks. "That was harmless fun," she mumbled. "And he deserved it for being so dour. It was a tactical redistribution of assets to improve morale."
The moment of levity passed as quickly as it had come, and the weight of the present returned, settling upon them like a shroud. "It is time for me to go, sister," Guilliman said, his voice once again that of the Lord Commander. The change was subtle but absolute.
"I know," she sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken farewells.
"And I trust you understand that my orders regarding your protection are not negotiable."
Aurelia's expression shifted to one of mild exasperation. "Brother, you cannot be serious. There is no need for you to create me an entire Space Marine Chapter. I have the Adeptus Custodes and the Anathema Psykana. My guards are the finest warriors in the galaxy. And I rarely, if ever, depart the Golden Tower."
Guilliman's face became stern, the indulgent older brother replaced by the unyielding Primarch whose memories were etched with the fires of betrayal. "The Custodes' numbers are dangerously depleted, and many of their finest will be joining the Crusade fleets. Even with your accelerated creation process, it will take time to replenish their ranks to full strength. I lived through one galactic civil war, sister. I saw brothers turn on brothers. I will not leave you unguarded. Captain-General Valoris agrees with my assessment."
"I am not unguarded," she muttered, pouting in a manner so childlike it was almost comical on a being of her age and power. She crossed her arms, a silent, petulant protest.
"I will leave a Victrix detachment in rotating strength. With a small force of Ultramarines, that would serve you. As well, for you to get used to having your own chapter."
"I assume this is a direct order from the Lord Commander and First Consul?" she grumbled, her voice laced with mock formality. Guilliman's lips twitched, fighting a smile at the familiar sight.
"It is," he confirmed, rising to his full, towering height, the air around him seeming to solidify with his authority. "And you will be a good little sister and obey your older brother on this."
She sighed in theatrical defeat, though a small smile betrayed her amusement. "Very well. You win this battle."
"Of course," Guilliman said, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards in a rare, almost boyish smirk. A hint of smug satisfaction coloured his expression.
"Victory, sister," he added, his voice a low, rumbling counterpoint to her sigh, "is, after all, what I do best."
(Check Archive of Our Own /PauThide, if you wish to see images. This is just extra information.)
The Golden Tower
I. The Golden Tower: The Anvil of Command
The Golden Tower is not merely a residence; it is the fulcrum upon which the renewed Imperium pivots. It is the sanctum and command center of Her Imperial Highness, Princess Aurelia, and the heart from which her authority flows.
Genesis: A collaborative masterpiece forged by the Primarchs Rogal Dorn, Ferrus Manus, and Perturabo. Dorn provided its unyielding defensive architecture, a fortress within a fortress. Ferrus wove into its structure technological systems of unparalleled resilience and complexity. Perturabo, in his loyalty, designed its offensive capabilities, turning the Tower itself into a weapon of last resort, a nightmare of interlocking fire-zones and weaponry capable of scourging the very skies above Terra.
Function: It serves as the Princess's home, her underground secret laboratory, and the strategic nexus from which she directs the Imperium. Within its walls, policy is forged, technologies are born, and the overarching strategy of the Indomitus Crusade is refined. It is the single most important structure in the Imperium, second only to the Sanctum Imperialis itself.
II. Imperial Edict .Primus: The Solar Warden Protocol
By the will of the Emperor of Mankind, and affirmed by the signature of the Princess herself, Her Imperial Highness is bound to the Throneworld. This edict is absolute and non-negotiable.
Rationale: The protocol serves a dual purpose. Firstly, it ensures the ultimate safety of the Regent, positioning her within the most impregnable fortress known to man. Secondly, and more critically, the Princess's very presence emits a psychic luminescence—a passive, radiant light that acts as an anathema to the powers of the warp.
Strategic Implications: This light pacifies the empyrean, creating a stable zone of reality that encompasses not only the Sol System but also the vital Laurel Systems. These systems have been designated as the primary industrial engine for the Indomitus Crusade. Her light protects these crucial forge worlds from warp incursion and temporal distortion, ensuring the uninterrupted flow of materiel to the front lines. Her confinement is the shield of the entire war effort.
Enforcement: This edict is to be enforced by any and all means necessary. The Adeptus Custodes hold the primary duty, but should the need arise, elements of the Grey Knights are authorised under ancient and inviolable pacts to ensure the Princess remains on Terra. Her departure would signal the immediate collapse of the Sol Bulwark and the fracturing of the Crusade's logistical spine. It is a fate the Imperium cannot be permitted to suffer.
++ Mechanicus Briefing: Project EVA (Eido-Volitional Archive) ++
Clearance: ARCHMAGOS DOMINUS / Belisarius Cawl
Subject: Analysis of the 'EVA' Standard Template Construct Core
Author: Belisarius Cawl, Archmagos Dominus
I. Subject Designation & Origin
Project 'EVA' is the designation for a fully functional and uniquely created Standard Template Constructor Core/Machine, singular in its completeness and capability. It is a unique creation, engineered and maintained solely by Her Imperial Highness, Princess Aurelia. It is housed within her private laboratories deep beneath the Golden Tower.
II. Functional Matrix & Nature
EVA is not an Abominable Intelligence. It is a supremely advanced Cogitator of unparalleled complexity. Its primary function operates via a direct noospheric and psychic link to the mind of the Princess herself. It acts as an external archive and manufacturing nexus for her perfect, eidetic memories.
III. Knowledge Archive
The construct's knowledge base is drawn from the Princess's own vast repository of information, which includes, but is not limited to:
A complete and unfiltered history of the Dark Age of Technology, including its greatest triumphs and the catalysts for its fall.
Extensive, direct knowledge of the techno-sorcery of the Old Ones.
Profound understanding of the living metal and arcane sciences of the Necrons and their C'tan masters.
EVA synthesizes these disparate and dangerous knowledge streams, filtering them through built-in sanctity protocols that purge any data related to Abominable Intelligence or other existential threats.
IV. Primary Output
The core's function is to translate this archived knowledge into tangible formats. It continuously produces sanctified data-slates containing schematics for lost technologies, refined manufacturing processes, and entirely new designs forged from the fusion of ancient human and xenos principles. These slates are the building blocks for the technological renaissance required to win the Indomitus Crusade.
The Consul-Palatina: Anna-Murza Jek
Subject: Anna-Murza Jek, formerly aide-de-camp to Chancellor of the Senatorum Imperialis, Alexei Lev Tieron. Of high-born, yet non-hereditary stock, Jek has demonstrated exceptional administrative acumen, pragmatism, and an unwavering resolve in the face of overwhelming political and existential pressure.
Current Role & Psychological State: In her new capacity as Consul-Palatina, Jek serves as the direct mortal envoy and chief subordinate to Her Imperial Highness. While outwardly composed, internal augury suggests a state of profound awe and near-constant cognitive stress. The sheer scale of her responsibilities and proximity to beings of demigod status have placed an immense burden upon her. Yet, this is tempered by a powerful, driving imperative: to prove herself worthy of the trust placed in her by the Princess.
Loyalty Assessment: Jek's devotion to the Princess transcends mere duty. Having witnessed firsthand the stagnation and decay of the old regime and then the incandescent hope offered by the returned royal line, her loyalty has crystallised into a fervent, almost religious belief. She does not merely serve the Princess as a functionary of the state; she believes, with every fibre of her being, that Princess Aurelia is the sole and true salvation of Mankind. This conviction makes her an asset of unparalleled reliability and unwavering resolve.
Author's note.
Good day, I wanted to simply add that, as far as I know, that Standar Template Constructor, and Standar Template Construct are different things. Unless, I miss some lore somewhere. I have yet to found how a Standar Template Constructor looks like, but if any of you, lore fantatics can tell me, please do.
See you all later!