Part I – The Silent Vigil
Voltikron III stank of an insidious wrongness, a familiar, unsettling miasma for Inquisitor Katarinya Greyfax. For an entire week since her arrival on this forsaken planet on the fringes of the Segmentum Solar, she had felt a pervasive, spiritual poison in the air. A contingent of the Princess's forces—a formidable company of Lionguard Primaris Space Marines and a cohort of Adepta Sororitas from the Order of the Holy Hestias of the Divine Princess Light—had accompanied Inquisitor Greyfax, Saint Celestine, Inquisitor Erasmus Crowl, and Interrogator Acolyte Luce Spinoza on this bizarre, clandestine mission. From the moment they had set foot on the planet's blighted surface, they had all felt it—a profound, spiritual sickness.
Voltikron III had been utterly engulfed in darkness during the Noctis Aeterna, a world torn asunder by the chaos that had followed. Cultists, seizing upon the galactic despair, had fanned the flames of unrest, their ranks swelled by the panicked masses. A wave of unrestrained madness had swept across the entire planet, destroying, pillaging, and indulging in grotesque, chaotic rituals. A brutal, prolonged internal war, a symphony of millions of deaths, had raged until the Princess's nascent light began to slowly, inexorably, push back the encroaching chaos, stabilising the Immaterium itself. The Black Templars, on their relentless crusade across the Segmentum Solar, had eventually arrived, their fiery retribution cauterising the most grievous of the planet's daemonic wounds, not entirely cleansing the planet, but pushing the corruption down into its deepest recesses. Yet, when the Terra-born cultists had escaped Guilliman's swift justice, they had been drawn to this very planet, their presence now a festering, palpable blight, a renewed focal point for Chaos's insidious influence.
The stares, the veiled glares, the constant feeling of being watched from the deepest, darkest shadows—it was an incessant, unnerving presence. Yet, that was not even the worst of it. What truly tormented Inquisitor Greyfax was a horrid, almost physical sensation of disgust, an utter, pervasive corruption that seemed to linger in the very air, a scent of spiritual wrongness she could not purge from her senses. Her potent psyker abilities detected the lingering traces of the Warp everywhere, and the minds of the planet's broken, listless inhabitants were filled with a confusing, strange, and almost empty silence. None of them seemed to be truly living; they were simply existing, their minds devoid of thought or purpose. That alone was enough to keep Greyfax on a knife's edge. But they were still being watched, from every darkened corner. A presence that neither she nor the formidable psykers in her retinue could ever truly pinpoint. Every time Greyfax attempted to delve into the minds of the watchers, the presence vanished, leaving her grasping at smoke. It was infuriating. And deeply unsettling.
Inquisitor Greyfax sat at her command table in the captured Spire of Hive City Voltikron-Prime, her mind a whirlwind of conjecture. There was something profoundly wrong with this place. She knew the Terra-born cultists were here, hiding, plotting, and she would uncover their scheme, one way or another.
A soft knock at the door broke her concentration. "Yes?" she inquired.
"Inquisitor Crowl."
"Come in," she replied. Erasmus Crowl entered, his own grim countenance reflecting the same deep-seated unease that plagued her.
"From the look on your face," Greyfax began, her voice a low, frustrated growl, "the latest interrogation has proven equally fruitless."
Inquisitor Crowl drew a deep, weary breath and nodded. "Nothing yet. Nothing but the same eerie shadows we cannot yet touch." Greyfax nodded, her eyes fixed on the Hive City's sprawling map, a desperate attempt to ground her thoughts, to keep her own mind from spiralling into a vortex of anger and paranoia.
"Those cultists must be hiding in the deepest, most inaccessible recesses of this damned city. And they know we are here, hunting for them," Greyfax muttered, her voice filled with a palpable disgust.
"They have had ample time," Crowl responded, his gaze sweeping across the map's intricate schematics. "The Black Templars hit this planet hard. Those who survived the initial purge would have retreated into the deepest underhives, and with the recent arrival of the Terra-born cultists, it is impossible to estimate their true numbers." He despised Hive Cities—the sheer, overwhelming scale, the endless crowds, the ever-present threat of Chaos festering within their labyrinthine depths. Such operations were always a long, gruelling, and bloody affair. Yet, Crowl knew, as did Greyfax, that in these moments, their sacred duty was most crucial.
"We have spent far too much time in these cautious probes, attempting not to further destabilise this already broken planet. But the inhabitants of this city are merely… extant. No matter the threats, the interrogations, they simply do not care," Crowl stated, a deep frown creasing his brow. They had all witnessed it, all sensed it: a profound, insidious sorcery at play. Yet, every attempt to find its source had been thwarted, leaving them with empty-headed, soulless mortals.
"The work of a cult, no doubt," Greyfax stated, rising from her chair, her voice sharp. "This reeks of a particular brand of sorcery, a subtle, insidious form I have never before encountered. This… emptiness is a weapon. They have taken this entire planet hostage. Even the governor is little more than a puppet. We cannot afford to waste more time. We must find the source, descend into the lower levels if necessary, and root out these cultist rats." As she spoke, both she and Crowl gazed at the Hive City's map, at the countless entrances to the lower levels, many sealed for centuries, others blocked by the rubble of past demonic incursions. To sweep through such a vast, intricate structure would require a colossal amount of firepower and a great deal of time, a luxury neither Greyfax nor Crowl possessed.
As if in answer, a sudden, urgent vox-burst shattered the tense silence, loud and erratic. "This is Inquisitor Greyfax!" she exclaimed, her voice sharp, as the unmistakable sound of battle crackled through the channel.
"Inquisitor Greyfax, this is Sister Superior Aquilina Deilux! We are being ambushed by cultist forces in underground sector B-21! The Lionguard is currently engaging the vanguard!"
Crowl and Greyfax exchanged a single, grim look. This was the opportunity they had been waiting for. Without a moment's hesitation, both Inquisitors moved with a swift, deadly purpose, Greyfax maintaining contact with the Sister Superior. "Sister Aquilina, hold your position! And ensure you capture at least one of the cultists alive! We must find out where the rest are hiding!"
The roar of battle raged louder, the Sister Superior's voice a strained, guttural grunt. "It shall be done, Inquisitor!" The Vox channel suddenly cut out. Soon, both Crowl and Greyfax were racing towards sector B-21, the crescendo of battle guiding them through the labyrinthine corridors.
The stench of burning flesh hit them first. Greyfax saw a cohort of Hestia Sisters, their flamers spewing holy fire, engulfing a group of cultists. Their screams, a chorus of agonising pain, filled the air. "By sainted vow and sacred seal, let the breath of fire reveal—what is pure endures, what is false is ash! Die heretic!" a sister exclaimed, her voice filled with zealous fury.
Greyfax, however, paid little attention to the fiery spectacle. Her gaze was fixed on the Sister Superior, a mature, bald woman, her face a tapestry of scars. A fresh wound ran across her scalp, blood matting her hair, a testament to a close call with an explosive device. Yet, her eyes remained firm, determined, as cold as the void itself. Nearby, a Lionguard Space Marine and three Hestias held two cultists pinned to the ground, effectively preventing them from speaking, moving, or committing suicide.
"A commendable job, sister," Greyfax stated, her eyes fixed on the two bound cultists.
"It was a tactical error on their part, Inquisitor. They did not anticipate our rapid deployment. They were planting explosive charges throughout this entire sector. We have successfully stopped them," Sister Aquilina reported, her voice calm. Greyfax nodded, her gaze sweeping across the still-raging battle further down the long sector.
"Where is Saint Celestine?" Greyfax asked.
"Leading the charge, Inquisitor, alongside Sergeant Varr Drakon of the Lionguard. They are preventing them from detonating any further charges."
Greyfax nodded again, her gaze returning to the two captive cultists. One was a young woman, hissing and trembling, refusing to meet Greyfax's piercing gaze. The other, an older man, dirty and defiant, met her stare with an unwavering, pure disdain.
"The dogs of the false god," the cultist spat, the girl next to him hissing in panic.
"Fool! Do not look at them! Th-they will torture you, th-they will get the information out of you!" the girl shrieked. Both Crowl and Greyfax recognised the pattern immediately. The woman, for all her bluster, would break easily. It was a truth born of years of brutal experience. They exchanged a brief, knowing glance.
"Inquisitor Crowl," Greyfax stated, her voice cold and precise, "I believe the woman should be under your care." She then knelt before the man, her gaze a pit of cold, analytical darkness.
"W-wait?! Wh-where are you taking me?!" the woman screamed fearfully, as two battle sisters grabbed her, their chains clinking ominously.
"Interrogator Spinoza, proceed to sector B-21," Crowl ordered through his vox, a grim finality in his tone.
"Y-you will not get anything from me! Th-the false g-god, he is not real!" the woman shrieked as she was dragged away. Greyfax smiled, a chilling, predatory expression. The man growled, attempting to move, but the Lionguard's armoured leg, a mountain of Noverrium-infused ceramite, held him pinned, a silent promise of swift, crushing death. The Space Marine shifted his weight slightly, causing the man to scream in agony.
"You are going to tell me everything you know," Greyfax whispered, her voice a dangerous, almost hypnotic murmur.
"N-never! The false god shall perish! The true gods shall grant me eternal life!"
Greyfax chuckled softly. "Oh, that's what they all say." Her eyes began to glow, a faint, almost imperceptible psychic light, as she began to pierce the cultist's mind. A few blocks away, in the cold, echoing confines of an interrogation chamber, the woman's terrified screams began.
Part II – A Bridge Across the Void
Within the vast, still-forming chamber of the Emerald Throne, a palpable hum of nascent power filled the air. Aurelia stood before the colossal desk, its surface now a vibrant, swirling projection of the galaxy—a masterpiece of technology crafted by Magos Delta. Her attention, however, was not on the individual planets or distant sectors, but on a more immediate, far more ambitious project, a technology that had been millennia in the making. Magos Delta, under Aurelia's direct tutelage, had devoted her considerable talents to this singular endeavour: not a reality-breaking marvel, but a simple, direct connection to the Gladius Aeternitas. It was a way for Aurelia to commune with her brother, Guilliman, in real-time, without the treacherous currents of the Warp, without the agonising delays of Astra Telepathy.
The Aeternum‑Maximus Behemoths, the Stellaris-Class Battleships, and even the Aquila-Class Battlecruisers had all been designed with this unique communication linkage in mind. It was a technology intended to unify the vast fleets of the Imperium's navy, enabling seamless, reliable communication without reliance on the unpredictable Immaterium. This would have revolutionised Imperial strategy, allowing for real-time strategic councils between the Primarchs' fleets and Terra. But, of course, the cataclysm of the Horus Heresy had shattered those dreams, consigning this brilliant project to the archives of lost technologies. Now, Aurelia was resurrecting it, her hands moving with a swiftness born of desperation. For now, a direct, instantaneous link to her brother aboard the Gladius Aeternitas would suffice.
"In the name of the Machine-God, I name thee Prototype Designate [VOX-PRIMUS-09]. Your sacred circuits are inscribed with sanctioned glyphs. Your code is purged of all scrapcode, your form devoid of the unclean flesh," Magos Delta chanted, his multi-layered voice a reverent incantation as the holographic projection before them hummed in response. Aurelia stood beside him, a silent, patient observer, allowing him his sacred rituals.
"Omnissiah, Machine-God, Architect of the Perfect Form—breathe now your Motive Force into these ferric arteries! Let every circuit sing your praises; let every lumen declare your divine calculus!" Magos Delta prayed, his incense burner billowing with sanctified smoke, his extra hands delicately adjusting the new parameters of the advanced holographic desk.
"Motive Force flows. Spirit stirs. 1110 0001. Accepted parameters. Omnissiah's will accepted," one of Magos Delta's vox-voices chirped quietly, a soft chime of success echoing in the vast chamber. The display before Aurelia shimmered, the intricate map of the galaxy resolving into a startlingly clear, real-time view of the Gladius Aeternitas. A faint, satisfied smile touched Aurelia's lips.
"Excellent work, Magos Delta," Aurelia spoke, her voice warm with genuine appreciation. Magos Delta, his many optical sensors glowing with pride, offered a deep, reverent bow.
"Appreciation is not required, Your Highness. You are the Hand of the Omnissiah, who has made this sacred act possible," he stated, his voice filled with unwavering devotion. Aurelia simply smiled.
"Alright, let us see if my brother has managed to follow his side of the instructions," Aurelia said. For a few more tense moments, Magos Delta's hands flew across the new communication device, its intricate mechanisms humming as it sought to bridge the immense gulf between Terra and the Indomitus Crusade fleet.
After a few tense moments, the connection was made. Aurelia's holographic form, luminous and ethereal, materialised on Guilliman's own command deck, while his own, equally clear, appeared before her. He looked surprised, his keen blue eyes widening for a fraction of a second as he beheld his sister's radiant form.
"Brother, it is good to see you," Aurelia said, a genuine, joyful smile gracing her lips. "I do hope my instructions were not too… arduous to follow."
"It required the magos several hours to comprehend the… nuances of your design, sister, but it appears to have functioned perfectly," Guilliman replied, a note of intrigued surprise in his voice as he looked at her. "Is this… truly in real-time?"
Aurelia chuckled, a soft, melodious sound, and nodded. "It is. There is no discernible delay. I shall transmit to Archmagos Cawl the remainder of the instructions to establish this link across all Aurelian pattern ships within your fleet, enabling a truly unified line of communication. It will, of course, require considerable time, but that is a matter for another day."
Guilliman nodded, his mind already contemplating the immense strategic advantages of this new technology. It would not, perhaps, be a single, game-changing blow against the galaxy's horrors. Still, a direct, uncorrupted link to Terra, to his sister, would prove invaluable for the exchange of intelligence and the coordination of strategy. Yet, he saw a pensive look on Aurelia's face, a subtle shadow in her otherwise radiant gaze.
"Sister, there is something more on your mind. You wish to convey something of greater import. I see it in your face," Guilliman stated, his keen perception cutting through her carefully composed facade. Aurelia chuckled softly, a familiar sound from their long-lost youth.
"I suppose I am always easy for you to read, brother," Aurelia conceded, sighing as she chose to be direct. "I am… planning to sign a peace treaty with the Aeldari and the T'au Empire."
Guilliman remained silent for a few long seconds, his face a mask of profound thought, before finally looking at her. "A peace treaty. An official one, I surmise. A formal pact between leaders, between races. Not merely a temporary truce, nor a strategic alliance forged for a singular goal. But a full, binding peace treaty."
"Yes. And, if possible, an official, full-fledged alliance. One with clearly defined objectives, mutual compromises, and tangible benefits for all parties," Aurelia stated seriously, a steely resolve in her voice that made Guilliman pause, his mind a maelstrom of calculation.
Guilliman's face was not one of shock, nor disbelief, but of profound, measured consideration. "We have, in the past, forged alliances of convenience with the Aeldari, small truces born of dire necessity. My own… revival was a direct result of such a pact. I have no doubt that it is possible, though not easy. Especially given the current state of the galaxy. However, the T'au Empire… I know only what is conveyed in our fragmented reports. I cannot speak to their true nature, save that their empire is but a small, insignificant sector in the grand expanse of the Imperium's Segmenta."
"Indeed, yet they are perilously close to Ultramar, and their armies are technologically advanced and remarkably lethal. They have proven their mettle many times. They may be young, but in my eyes, brother, we need all the assistance we can get. If we can secure a truce, it is one less enemy we must contend with. I will take it. And should we achieve an alliance, Segmentum Ultima would have a far greater chance against the Orks, the Tyranids, and the endless incursions of Chaos and the arrival of the Necrons."
Guilliman took his time, carefully considering his sister's words. He saw the logic, the cold, pragmatic necessity of her proposal. An alliance with the Aeldari, he knew, was not only possible but perhaps inevitable. He didn't trust them, but he believed they would be arrogant and self-serving. By expecting the Aeldari to only look after themselves, he could predict their actions. Still, the fates of their two species were inextricably linked, bound together by the same existential threats. The T'au Empire, though small, was a formidable foe. He had seen the reports, the schematics of their advanced technology. But in the grand scheme of things, their military might might not be a decisive factor.
Truth be told, even a unified alliance between the Imperium, the Aeldari, and the T'au would likely not be enough to turn the tide. The Aeldari, for all their technological prowess and deadly grace, lacked the numbers to field vast armies, and each loss hurt them. The T'au Empire, though militarily advanced, could not afford to sustain the catastrophic losses that the Imperium endured as a matter of course.
Guilliman understood that the Imperium would do most of the heavy lifting, which worries him.
Yet, such an alliance would undoubtedly bring relief to certain borders, providing a crucial, if temporary, respite.
"What, then, is your precise plan, sister?" Guilliman asked, his voice now a low, conspiratorial murmur.
"I will transmit to you a draft writ, brother. I intend to meet with their leaders formally. To forge a consensus on all sides, to establish a new way of conducting ourselves. I have Father's permission. Though he harbours deep misgivings, he understands the necessity," Aurelia replied, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "Please, review it. Offer your insights, your additions. I require your signature and your unwavering support."
"You intend to bring this before the High Lords?" Guilliman asked, a note of curiosity in his voice. He knew Aurelia's authority as Princess-Regent was absolute; she could enact this treaty without a single word to him or the Senatorum. But that was not his sister's way.
"It must be official, in the eyes of all, regardless of their petty prejudices," Aurelia replied, a hint of her own political acumen in her tone. "It will also grant the High Lords a sense of inclusion, keeping them under my direct influence, for now."
"I shall begin work on this at once, sister," Guilliman affirmed.
"I await your counsel, brother. And be careful," Aurelia said, her voice soft with genuine concern.
"Always," Guillamen replied, the holographic projection of Aurelia's writ already beginning to materialise before him.
It was, he knew, the true beginning of a new, and profoundly dangerous, age.