Sebas let out a soft sigh, closing the compiled dossier on the Necron species that the intelligence aides had just finished assembling. He bowed slightly and gently placed the bone china teacup on the ornate square table before Selene.
"Your Majesty, I shall inform the Bureau of Sciences and Dr. Stylish immediately, so that he may proceed to establish the prearranged cooperation with the Silent King, Szarekh. However, Your Majesty, there are still many pressing issues concerning the Necrons that require urgent resolution."
Having said this, Sebas straightened his posture solemnly and presented what he believed to be the best course of action.
"The Silent King, ruler of the Necrons, is in truth a monarch in name only. Sixty million years of self-imposed exile and the act of destroying his own crown have left him far from the grandeur he once displayed. Your Majesty must consider dividing and weakening certain overly autonomous and hostile dynasties—such as the current Phaeron of the Sautekh Dynasty, the 'Stormlord,' Imotekh."
The Sautekh Dynasty was born for war, infamous for its boundless aggression and expansion.
After Szarekh's own Szarekhan Dynasty fell into decline, the Sautekh Dynasty had become the strongest of all Necron dynasties—so much so that the human Imperium mistook Sautekh for the entirety of the Necron race.
Sebas knew Selene's nature well: she would preserve their strength and organization to the greatest possible extent, even indulging their defiant spirit—only to drive them further with her superior "whip and bayonet," hurling them into an ever more frenzied and merciless crucible of expansion.
Selene cared nothing for one's difficulties or limitations. She issued commands according to strategic necessity alone.
Fulfill them, and there would be reward. Exceed them, and there would be greater reward. Fail—and punishment would follow.
Fortunately, Selene was somewhat of a recluse, not one to issue impractical or arbitrary directives.
Sebas, however, was different. He was the one who filled the gaps for her—what the exalted Imperial Queen neglected, he, the Grand Chamberlain in title but Chancellor in truth, had to address.
Matters that Selene dismissed as "let them rebel, and I shall discipline them later" were, in Sebas's eyes, problems that must be prevented, controlled, and seeded with hidden safeguards in advance.
Especially concerning the Necrons—perhaps the most powerful xenos species he had ever studied—their physical and technological systems were of immeasurable value.
Sebas was well aware that his mistress had capitalized on their yearning for redemption—their desperate wish to regain flesh and soul—to lure over half of the Necron dynasties into submission.
"Your meaning is...?" Selene took a delicate sip of her tea. The fragrant aroma filled her mouth as she asked calmly, "Division—how do you propose it? Whom do you choose?"
"Trazyn."
"Trazyn?"
"For his service in welcoming Your Majesty's arrival, no reward would be too great. The Nihilakh Dynasty, to which he belongs, is the wealthiest of all Necron dynasties—its resources exceed those of all others combined, by no less than seventy percent, according to records. I propose granting Trazyn the Phaeron's throne of the Sautekh Dynasty and appointing him to cooperate with the Silent King."
Sebas continued his reasoning.
"The Nihilakh Dynasty must be Your Majesty's direct dominion, with you as its Phaeron. It is their highest honor."
"With Nihilakh's wealth, Sautekh's military might, and Szarekhan's legitimacy, stability among the Necrons can be secured."
"As for the 'Stormlord,' Imotekh—let him remain as the crowned general he so prides himself on being."
Selene nodded slightly.
She ignored most of the details, but as for the relics and treasures—those, of course, were all hers. Still, she was generous enough to leave thirty percent of the wealth to them.
"Your reminder is timely," she mused. "If I am to consolidate a direct dominion, the Oruscar Dynasty must also fall under my control. Its former Phaeron may remain as Chief Crowned Overlord."
The Celestial Orrery, that galaxy-turning artifact, was installed upon the crown world of the Oruscar Dynasty. Their domain encompassed core worlds famed for their advanced necroengineering—housing the most skilled and massive tomb artisan guilds among all Necrons.
Since her appetite was already vast, she might as well bite off a little more.
"Enough about the Necrons," Selene said at last. "Sebas, I have a new task for you—purge the Imperial Inquisition."
"Purge...?" Sebas repeated, his brows furrowing slightly.
Instinctively, Sebas's already stern expression grew even more severe. The Inquisition was under his direct supervision—had the subordinate inquisitors committed another blunder during his brief stewardship of state affairs? Were they inefficient, or worse, colluding with local powers to deceive the throne?
Many possibilities crossed Sebas's mind.
"Haha... not your Inquisition," Selene said with a soft laugh as she noticed the storm cloud crossing his face. Shaking her head, she raised her gaze, those dazzling crimson eyes focusing on her personal butler as she continued gently.
"This Inquisition is not that Inquisition. To be precise, it is the Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition—a historical remnant of the A–13 Sector Governorship."
Lightly brushing her white hair aside, Selene pressed her fingers to her temple, tapping the table as though searching for the right words.
"The human Imperium's Inquisition—its institutional function mirrors ours closely, perhaps even surpasses it in power, constrained by almost nothing. But after ten millennia of unchecked growth, it has become nothing more than a festering, pus-filled tumor."
With a flick of her fingers, Selene pointed toward the holographic projection hovering above the table—a red and gold emblem of ≡][≡—as she clearly outlined her objective.
"I need you to cut away the swollen, rotting parts. Take the essence of this 'flesh,' merge it into your own Inquisition, and then consume the rest."
The Emperor's Inquisition was far too fanatical—far too extreme.
It required reform. And a heavy hand.
An amusing incident had taken place on Cadia, where Selene herself had stopped Trazyn from releasing certain "artifacts" from his collection related to the human Imperium.
She knew exactly what those "artifacts" were.
Foremost among them was none other than Katarinya Greyfax, one of the most infamous High Inquisitors of the Heretic Inquisition—the fiercest and most fanatical madwoman in the entire Imperium.
Her creed: Under Heaven, all are heretics. Innocence and purity are but hidden heresy.
According to the original timeline of the A–13 Sector, after Trazyn released Greyfax, she would go on to form the "Triumvirate" alongside Archmagos Belisarius Cawl and the Living Saint Celestine, following the resurrection of Regent Guilliman.
But the mere thought of that woman's madness...
Truly, such a deranged zealot was best left sealed away—at least until Selene's grand design was fully secured. Otherwise, her rabid, uncontrollable fervor might derail entire plans, sparking needless conflict and loss.
In truth, Selene's restraint was a mercy—for Greyfax's own sake. For once the tides turned, Selene knew this woman's fate would otherwise be grim: the moment she acted out, she would be butchered without hesitation by Selene's Honkai-enhanced Astartes, torn to pieces with cruel efficiency.
The more Selene learned of the Emperor's Inquisition—its madness after losing leadership, its extremism, its countless dark intrigues—the firmer her resolve to reform it became.
"Still," Selene continued, "ten thousand years of unrestrained power has given rise to certain methods and experiences worth studying."
"The balance of that judgment, I leave to your discretion."
Setting her teacup down, Selene tossed a small crystalline cube onto the table—its interior shimmering with records of the Inquisition's deeds, scandals, and infamous blunders.
"You'll have your work cut out for you again, Sebas," she said softly.
"It is my duty, Your Majesty..." Sebas replied with a respectful bow.
Selene nodded once more. "Sebas, it's rare to have such leisure. For now, put aside your duties and sample some of the local delicacies I've brought back." She smiled lightly. "Your work begins in three days. I promised him three days of freedom."
"Three days? You mean... the Human Emperor?"
"Mhm. Ignore him. Let him and his gene-sons enjoy the sights of the Imperial Capital. After our meal, I intend to head to the Grand Council Hall of the Government Headquarters to hear Kiana's report."
"Oh, and Alyssa's inspection—any developments?"
"No issues, Your Majesty. However, young Lady Alyssa has been rather vocal with her complaints to this old servant. She claims that during her inspection of the classified tourist planet No. 612328, under the direct governance of the Ministry of State, she was deceived. She insists there were supposed to be mermaids—but there were none."
"Mermaids... ha?"
"It's not the merfolk from the 22nd recruitment world of the Blood Angels Legion—the one known as One Piece," Selene said. "According to Alyssa's report, the promotional slogan described it as 'a marine paradise as beautiful as the Atlantis of Andersen's fairy tales,' but from her inspection craft, all she saw was... a large, dark fish."
"..."
Selene stifled a laugh and gave a small cough. "Once the tour concludes, grant her a short leave. Have Whitestar and the others comfort little Alyssa's wounded heart."
With that, she turned toward the side, her tone impatient. "My head chef—must it really take this long to prepare ant-cattle? We still have Bal Fire Scorpions, Roaring Bulls, and Glaux Beasts among the local delicacies waiting to be cooked."
Whoooosh—!
Her answer came in the form of the plasma furnace roaring even hotter—the jets of flame blazing as fiercely as a military-grade flamethrower.
...
Meanwhile, outside the Imperial Palace District—within the bustling lower city.
This was a prosperous market district that still retained fragments of the Imperial Capital's ancient charm.
Crowds surged like blood through arteries, flowing endlessly in both directions.
Magnificent buildings lined the sunlit avenues, their crystal windows shimmering like cascading water, resembling a vast waterfall descending from the heavens.
The grand archway of the main gate rose skyward for miles. Its inner surfaces gleamed with golden paint, forming an oval-shaped aureole of light, while banners bearing the double-headed eagle—red with gold embroidery—fluttered gently in the city's mild breeze.
Beneath the arch stood an intricate blend of architectural styles—layered wooden structures with sweeping eaves merging seamlessly with towering domes and sturdy Baroque stonework.
Tap, tap—
Suppressing his presence as he walked across the smooth stone pavement, weaving through the white-walled, blue-tiled streets of the district, Jaghatai Khan, the White Scars' Warhawk, felt an unfeigned sense of joy.
Compared to the grandeur and overwhelming splendor of the palace district—with its vast layers of opulent palaces and endless gilded halls—he preferred these smaller alleys, rich with the warmth of everyday life.
That said, these so-called "alleys" were hardly small—each was broader than most main avenues on Terra.
Jaghatai's gaze passed through the archway, toward the city fortress on the horizon. There, among the ornate, painted glass walls, he spotted a colossal depiction of Selene.
Upon the fortress, Selene's figure—disproportionate and radiant—stood wreathed in a soft divine glow. One hand held her scepter, the other an executioner's axe. The heavens above were filled with angelic hosts encircling her in endless reverence, while below, legions of Imperial Guards, Astartes, auxiliaries, and xenos soldiers knelt in devout formation.
Jaghatai even found himself staring into the eyes of his own likeness—a stained-glass depiction of the White Lightning of Selene, Jaghatai himself.
He knew that wasn't him—it was Selene's White Lightning.
He didn't mind. Nor did he wish to see his own image there.
Perhaps this was the universal trait of tyrants—their aesthetic tendencies converging toward the same grandiose excess.
A strange smile crossed Jaghatai's lips. The sentiment was all too familiar. Clearly, their new Empress, Selene, shared an extraordinary fondness for ornamentation.
Those grand, gold-glistening monuments and statues; the intricately carved palatial towers; the countless banners woven from threads of dazzling mithril—each proclaiming divine glory and eternal majesty...
The Emperor would, no doubt, be proud.
So Jaghatai thought, glancing toward the figure walking beside him—his father, now free of burdens.
Indeed, the Emperor's steps were lighter than ever before, his expression softened, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
"What a city of character this is..."
The Emperor paused after emerging from the grand metropolitan quarter, famed for its geometric precision and vast scale.
He paid no mind to the opulent spaceports, the colossal Grand Palace that outshone even the Throne World, nor the skyborne islands and cybernetic districts. What truly drew his admiration were these humble residential wards—where the preserved spirit of the old city met the tangible prosperity of Selene's rule.
Compared to Terra's ceaseless sprawl of grotesque Gothic spires, its monstrous industrial complexes, and its macabre skull-chiseled ornamentation, Selene's capital was far more orderly—more balanced.
At least here, there were no limits to expansion.
As the Emperor pondered whether to visit the coliseum, a troop of uniformed cadets—boys and girls no older than eleven—marched in formation down the avenue, guided by civic drones toward the tantalizing aromas of the food district.
They chattered excitedly: "Sheele's Restaurant!" "They say Her Majesty once visited!" "No way!" "Plenty of Custodes generals dine there!" "It's a hidden gem!"
Catching the name, the Emperor's interest was piqued.
"'Sheele's Restaurant,' you say?"
—
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