Part I – The Loom of Alliances
Consul Anna-Murza Jek gazed at the writ before her, a profound mixture of awe and apprehension churning within her. The very concept—a formal alliance with xenos—was a radical departure from millennia of ingrained Imperial dogma. Her personal beliefs, she admitted to herself, were largely unformed; she had never even seen a xenos in her entire, cloistered life. Yet, a sense of wonder, a nascent curiosity about the possibilities of a fragile, negotiated peace, now took root in her mind. She read the document, over and over, its meticulously crafted sentences a testament to the monumental shift unfolding within the Imperium. It was truly baffling, this rapid, seismic change that had gripped the Imperium in the past two years, and yet, she felt an overwhelming sense of joy, of profound purpose, to be a part of it.
"What are your thoughts, Consul Jek?" Aurelia's voice, serene and melodic, gently broke Jek's reverie. The Princess sat at her immense desk, her celestial gaze fixed upon her Consul. For three tense days, Aurelia had painstakingly drafted and redrafted this writ, a battle of words, of intentions, where every phrase was subjected to intense scrutiny. The Senatorum Imperialis, predictably, had been adamant that the Imperium not appear weak, not be seen as desperate for a peace treaty.
Aurelia understood their concerns. She, too, had no desire to project an image of desperation. Thus, a delicate, almost surgical precision was required in the crafting of each word, each sentence. It was a monumental endeavour, a high-stakes game of galactic diplomacy, to not only appease the prickly High Lords but to also incorporate the pragmatic insights of her brother, Guilliman, and, most importantly, to render the treaty agreeable to the two very different parties it was intended for. But this, Aurelia knew, was the true nature of politics: a battlefield of its own, fought not with blades, but with well-crafted statements. And Malcador, her beloved mentor, had taught her well the power, the sheer, unyielding force, of such words.
"Your Highness," Jek began, her voice steady, "the words used, the sentences constructed… they are, in my humble opinion, intentionally open to interpretation. I believe that is by design." Aurelia nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible curve to her lips.
"It must be. The T'au Empire and the Aeldari are profoundly different entities, and our approach to each must be tailored accordingly. Honeyed words and grand, empty promises will not sway an ancient, cynical race like the Aeldari. They are arrogant, yes, but also possessed of a profound, ancient wisdom; they have, in their long, tragic history, seen it all. Our shared past, our intertwined destinies, are fraught with betrayal and mistrust," Aurelia stated, leaning back in her chair, a flicker of mental exhaustion in her eyes. "We must be direct, upfront. It will save us a great deal of time. The Aeldari will, undoubtedly, attempt to use us; they would not hesitate to sacrifice human lives to save a single Aeldari soul. And we, in turn, would harbour no qualms about doing the same. Yet, we are all now at a precipice where our respective races are doomed, regardless of who sacrifices whom, who backstabs whom, or whose gods are ultimately superior. We need each other, and they know it. Therefore, dealing with them, ironically, may prove the simpler of the two."
Jek nodded slowly, observing the weary, yet resolute expression on the Princess's face, wondering if she had slept at all. She wisely remained silent.
"And the T'au Empire?" Jek inquired.
"They are, in a sense, easier to deal with. A young, vibrant race, slowly ascending to their own zenith. Their technology is impressive, and their dogma, the 'Greater Good,' is undeniably attractive to those who have known only chaos or feel profoundly betrayed by the Imperium. I have no doubt that they are on the cusp of their own true golden age, a matter of centuries, perhaps less. Still, they believe in a certain order, a rule of law, in this galaxy; they perceive themselves as enlightened, as righteous. If they hear of this treaty, of me, they will listen, and they will, of course, seek to leverage every possible advantage. That is the very essence of their Greater Good: expansion, assimilation. They have already successfully subsumed dozens of former Imperial worlds. So, I believe they will see this treaty not as a sign of weakness, but as an opportunity for their own gain. Perhaps," Aurelia chuckled softly, "they will even attempt to persuade me to join their Greater Good."
Jek looked deeply troubled, but Aurelia's smile, now infused with a knowing amusement, put her at ease. "I confess, I rather like the T'au Empire. I see in them a distorted mirror of our own Imperium, back in the nascent, glorious days of the Great Crusade. The arrogance. The pride. The unshakeable belief in their own unique place in the galaxy. We are not so different, you see," Aurelia whispered, her thoughts drifting to the T'au and their burgeoning empire. In truth, she truly desired peace with them. To leave them as an unchecked, threatening enemy on the Imperium's flank was a problem they would inevitably have to face. Strategically, peace with the T'au would allow the Imperium's forces in the Ultima Segmentum and the borders of Ultramar to focus their full might on the encroaching waves of Tyranid tendrils, the ceaseless Chaos incursions, the burgeoning Ork empires, and the terrifying, silent awakening of the Necron dynasties.
To allow the T'au Empire to remain as they were, a small yet technologically advanced race with a profoundly expansionist ideology, while the Imperium was engaged in a brutal, four-front war, would be to invite disaster. It would permit the T'au to simply annex the Imperium's most unprotected worlds, to expand their sphere of influence until the Imperium was forced to confront them as another existential threat. This, Aurelia knew, she could not permit to happen, not while she possessed the means to avert it. With the T'au on their side, or at least neutral, the Imperium would be able to consolidate its forces, to alleviate the immense pressure on the Ultima Segmentum, and most especially, on Ultramar itself.
Besides, Aurelia believed that in ten years, perhaps less, the Imperium's military might would not merely match, but surpass the T'au's technological wonders. The cascade of STCs she was now disseminating, the sheer, unbridled industrial capacity of the Forge Worlds, the countless shipyards and manufactories of the Imperium—this was a force the T'au could not hope to match. The T'au Empire, for all its influence, possessed but a few hundred worlds. The Imperium, even in its current, shattered state, still held countless hundreds of thousands. The difference in manufacturing power was astronomical. Entire sectors of the Imperium, larger than the entirety of the T'au Empire, were dedicated solely to the production of weaponry and armour. It was an unfair, almost absurd comparison. The T'au had the watch, but the Imperium possessed the time.
And truth be told, Aurelia truly desired to avoid a conflict with the T'au Empire, because she sensed it. The right path. Her own instincts, and the faint, fleeting glimpses of the future she had permitted herself to see in her book, had shown her as much. It mattered not whether the Imperium could ultimately destroy the T'au; the best outcome, for all, was to avoid a war with them entirely.
"It is… bizarre, seeing a xenos race like the T'au Empire. It makes me feel strangely nostalgic. And the Aeldari… well, they did bring my brother back. Perhaps we can indeed be… friends," Aurelia said, a faint, almost private joke only she truly understood. Jek, taking her words at face value, nodded slowly.
"Such talk, Your Highness, could be considered profoundly problematic, were others to hear you," Jek mumbled, a note of genuine concern in her voice. Aurelia chuckled, a sound of pure, unadulterated amusement.
"I am the Princess-Regent, Consul Jek. I can speak however I choose," Aurelia replied, a smile playing on her lips, as she recalled that her dry, sarcastic humour was not to everyone's taste. Jek nodded and sighed before meeting the Princess-Regent's gaze.
"If I may ask, Your Highness," Jek inquired, choosing her words with careful precision, "what will be our course of action should they… refuse the alliance, or even the truce?" Aurelia hummed deeply, a thoughtful, almost melodic sound.
"The Aeldari will accept, Jek. I know they will. And I expect them to contact us soon."
"And what of the T'au Empire, then? Will they, too, accept?" Jek pressed.
Aurelia closed her eyes for a few long moments. Jek watched, wondering at the profound stillness that settled over the Princess. It was as if she were meditating, her consciousness receding to some distant, unseen shore. When she finally opened her eyes, they were tinged with a faint, weary sadness, but also a deep, troubling resolve. Aurelia looked at Jek and offered a faint, forced smile.
"Then," Aurelia stated, her voice now a low, chilling whisper, "we will be forced to unleash ourselves upon the galaxy, in a war that would consume all." Jek looked perplexed, almost horrified by the sheer finality in Aurelia's words. "The Imperium will thrive. It will be forced to move, not to crawl, but to sprint. To drag the rest of the galaxy with us, into a war of total attrition, a desolation that will engulf everything."
Aurelia had glimpsed the page, not just one, but a chapter of a future where her plans had failed, but a few. It was a vision of chaos even greater than the current reality. War was inevitable, she knew; nothing she could do would change that. But without the Aeldari and the T'au, it would be a war of such a monumental, chaotic scale that the very fabric of the galaxy would be rent asunder.
The Aeldari, she was certain, would accept. They had no choice. They were intelligent enough to recognise a golden opportunity, a truth Aurelia, of course, had already foreseen. But the T'au Empire was a different, more volatile variable.
In ten years, the Imperium would surpass the T'au's technological wonders. Not merely through the new technologies she was introducing, but through sheer, unadulterated industrial might. Still, the right path was for the Imperium to avoid a war with the T'au Empire; it was something they needed to avoid because that would lead to disasters not against the T'au Empire, but on other fronts.
"Shouldn't we be… pleased, Your Highness, at the prospect of expanding the Imperium's power?" Jek asked, not out of any xenophobic sentiment, but from a genuine desire to understand her Princess's complex, often contradictory, thoughts.
Aurelia shook her head. "It is not merely a matter of building more than our enemies, Consul Jek. It is about choosing the right battles, fighting a war we can actually win. We gain nothing from a protracted conflict with the T'au Empire, no matter how small their empire may be. And this, Jek, is the right path for the Imperium. I see it."
Jek nodded, accepting the Princess's words without further question.
Aurelia stood, a new resolve in her eyes. "The writ is still awaiting final revisions. Please, offer your own suggestions. And I trust you are not overly concerned at being my chosen envoy?"
Jek nodded, her determination unwavering. "I am profoundly honoured to be your voice, Your Highness."
"Good. Also, we are going to make a… subtle show of force," Aurelia stated. Jek tilted her head, a question in her eyes.
"What do you mean, Your Highness?"
"You are going with one of our newly constructed Stellaris-Class Battleships. And two of my Custodes Immortalis will accompany you. I simply wish to offer the T'au Empire a small… glimpse of our technological capabilities," Aurelia stated, a knowing smirk on her face.
"Is that not a bit… arrogant, Your Highness?" Jek asked, a playful, almost mischievous smile on her own face.
"If there is anything in this galaxy that exists in greater abundance than war, my dear Jek," Aurelia smiled, her celestial eyes twinkling, "it is arrogance. I am merely… keeping up with everyone else."
Part II – Whispers from the Void
Aurelia did not dream in the conventional sense. Her consciousness, vast and untethered, would often retreat from the confines of her physical form to the silent, serene expanse of the Basilica Liminalis—her personal, meticulously crafted dimension, a realm where she ruled by simply being. There, amidst the countless, swirling pools of stars and galaxies, she would gaze upon the wounded tapestry of her own galaxy, its fabric torn asunder. She would painstakingly mend where she could, her primordial will a gentle, yet insistent force against the encroaching chaos. To plunge her whole essence into the raw, tumultuous Immaterium was still far too perilous; she awaited the completion of her Emerald Throne, a necessary conduit for the safe channelling of her immense power. Yet, in the interim, she did what she could. She fed her C'tan shards with newly formed stars, a subtle, almost playful act of cosmic husbandry to keep their insatiable hunger at bay. She dedicated her ceaseless efforts to closing the gaping maw of the Great Rift—an endless, almost futile task, like attempting to thread the void, or hide the sun with a single finger. But she persisted, even if it meant saving but a single planet at a time. It was a statement, a silent, unyielding declaration to the Chaos Gods, a stark reminder that she was here. She would not permit them to consume more Imperial worlds without a fight.
And in the Basilica, Aurelia could hear. Each time she dipped her consciousness into the vast, swirling pool that was the Milky Way galaxy, she felt their presence, the faint, echoing whispers of her brothers. Now, in the deep quiet of her celestial observatory, she heard him: Corvus Corax, a voice of shadows and sorrow, reaching out to her from the deepest recesses of the Warp.
"You are what the Imperium needs, little sister. Only you can truly mend this shattered galaxy."
Aurelia heard the echo, not as a desperate plea, but as a statement of fact, her brother's voice, as ever, a hauntingly familiar whisper. She hummed a soft, melancholic melody in response. "Brother, I would so love to embrace you, to see you again. But I sense you have chosen your own path, a road I cannot follow." Her heart ached as she perceived him, a spectral, shadowy form amidst the roiling chaos, his mind a murder of crows, dark and numerous. Aurelia felt no fear, only a profound, almost heartbreaking, sadness. Her brother had, in his long, solitary war, become something… more, attuned to the very currents of the Warp, wielding its dark energies as his own.
"Here, sister, I can achieve more. I feel more. My war is here now. A perpetual, endless hunt."
Aurelia sensed the truth in his words, pondering their grim implication. She did not, and perhaps could not, fully comprehend what Corvus had become, what he was doing in the deepest recesses of the Immaterium. Perhaps it was better that way.
"Your path has always been in the shadows, dear brother, but do not forget the light. I am here for you, should you ever require it."
Aurelia whispered her silent promise, watching as the shadow of her brother receded, a wave of darkness dissipating into the void. She knew she could not stop him. He had his own mission, his own methods, and she would not, could not, interfere. Yet, a quiet gratitude warmed her soul. Corvus, her grim, shadow-haunted brother, was still alive, still fighting, in his own unique, savage way.
Aurelia opened her eyes, her gaze slowly adjusting to the familiar, opulent surroundings of her bedchamber in the Golden Tower. She blinked a few times, a faint, lingering echo of the Basilica's calm serenity still clinging to her. She tilted her head, a soft, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips, as she observed the sleeping form of Sister Agatha, a Hestia Sister who had attended her that evening, now slumbering peacefully at her side. Aurelia sighed deeply, a soft sound, and gently drew the heavy, silken blanket over both their naked bodies, a tender, almost maternal gesture.
Her mind, now fully anchored in the material realm, returned to the lingering mystery of her other lost brothers. Where was Leman? Lion El'Jonson? Jaghatai Khan? Vulkan? Aurelia could feel them, a faint, almost imperceptible psychic resonance in the vast expanse of the galaxy. But they were beyond her immediate reach, their presence veiled, as if they knew she was searching for them, yet chose to remain silent, unseen. Aurelia knew, with the quiet wisdom of her ancient soul, that there was a reason for their self-imposed exile, a purpose she would not, could not, yet comprehend. She would not force her presence upon them. She would wait, with the boundless patience of a being who had witnessed the birth and death of stars, for them to come to her.
Aurelia closed her eyes again, a profound, weary peace settling upon her. Tomorrow, she knew, would be yet another long, arduous day, another ceaseless effort to keep the bleeding, fractured Imperium afloat. But for now, in the quiet solitude of her bedchamber, with the faint, rhythmic breathing of a devoted sister at her side, she permitted herself a brief, precious moment of rest.
Part III – Echoes of Return
The signal, a meticulously crafted burst of binary information, a digital olive branch, was sent. It was not a grand pronouncement to the void, but a precise, focused transmission, aimed at the nearest, least chaotic T'au Empire beacon. Aurelia, in her detached cosmic observation, found a profound paradox in their burgeoning civilisation: for all their formidable militaristic technology, they still lacked true, reliable Faster-Than-Light capabilities, their interstellar communication a slow, cumbersome affair. The Imperium, she recalled with a touch of melancholy, had once faced similar challenges, millennia ago, before she had conceived the Astra Relays and Chorus-Spires, those intricate networks that now allowed messages to traverse entire Segmentums with relative speed and clarity. They were not perfect, not in a galaxy still bleeding from the Great Rift, but they were infinitely superior to the slow, agonizingly inefficient methods of the past, their simple, robust designs easily replicated and repaired, a silent, unseen sinew holding the fractured Imperium together.
Thus, Aurelia was confident that her missive would reach the T'au as swiftly as possible. What transpired after that, however, remained a matter of conjecture, a waiting game to be played out across the stars.
The Aeldari, however, were another matter entirely. Aurelia herself would not initiate contact, at least not directly. Her father, his newly restored consciousness now capable of traversing the Immaterium with a measure of his old, formidable will, would reach out to what he cryptically referred to as his "old acquaintances." Aurelia harboured a profound scepticism that he would ever truly use such a casual term. She knew, from fleeting glimpses of a forgotten past, that her father had maintained contacts with the Aeldari long before the Great Crusade, perhaps even before the catastrophic Fall of their species. He remained stubbornly tight-lipped about the true nature of these ancient relationships, but a link, however tenuous, undeniably existed. Were they friends? Aurelia doubted it. But her father, in his long, solitary existence, had cultivated countless, often strange, alliances, and it seemed he still possessed the means to contact them. So, she would wait, as she had so many times before. A profound, almost unbearable waiting game was a familiar, if unwelcome, companion.
In the interim, Aurelia returned her focus to other, more immediate, and in some ways, more peculiar matters. She had recently received a series of personal requests from a specific, disparate group of Space Marine Chapters. Aurelia, for all her immense power, was no micromanager; the sheer scale of the Imperium rendered such a notion utterly impossible. She had attempted it once, during the Great Crusade, when the Legions, though larger, were more manageable, and she stood beside her brothers, aiding in the administration of their vast, sprawling armies. But now, in this grim, shattered millennium, these direct appeals for assistance, addressed to her personally, were a new and intriguing development.
"The Carcharodons, the Lamenters, the Iron Hands…" Aurelia chuckled softly, a low, melodic sound as she scrolled through the data-slate, her celestial gaze sweeping across a list of a dozen Space Marine Chapters who had reached out to her directly.
"The Carcharodons," she mused, "wish for a means to replenish their depleted numbers. Mm, they are open to the Primaris Space Marines, I see. Interesting." She hummed deeply, a thoughtful, almost rhythmic sound. This was a request she could, and would, fulfil. But first, she desired to know more about this enigmatic, shadow-haunted Chapter. Nevertheless, she resolved to correspond directly with their reclusive Chapter Master, Tyberos, a figure shrouded in myth and terror.
Then there were the Lamenters, a Chapter as renowned for their unyielding loyalty as for their profound, almost cosmic misfortune. Their request was much the same as the Carcharodons': their numbers were dangerously low, and they desperately required reinforcement. Aurelia realised then that countless Space Marine Chapters faced a similar, precarious existence, their numbers dwindling, their future uncertain. She pondered the sheer, unimaginable scale of the Imperium, and the countless, unknown Chapters that now populated its vast, dark expanse. Were there even truly one thousand Chapters, as the Codex Astartes decreed? Or had that number, like so many other Imperial truths, become a mere suggestion, a hollow echo of a more ordered age?
"Well," Aurelia mumbled to herself, her voice a soft, determined whisper, "I shall do my utmost to assist as many as I can." Her gaze then fell upon the petition of the Iron Hands. They sought not numbers, but knowledge, their request a blunt, almost brutally direct demand that resonated with the unyielding pragmatism of her fallen brother, Ferrus Manus.
"Ha! They desire direct access to STC data-slates!" Aurelia chuckled loudly, a sound of genuine, almost fond, amusement. She respected their directness, their unadorned ambition. "Well, if that is their wish, let us see what they can truly achieve. They are, after all, the sons of Ferrus Manus." She resolved to grant them access to a select few STCs, and even some of her own experimental prototypes, a challenge to their vaunted craftsmanship, a test of their true worth.
Aurelia realised that direct engagement with these disparate, often forgotten Chapters could be a profound strategic asset, a way to forge new, more personal bonds of loyalty, to foster a sense of direct connection to the heart of the Imperium. It could yield unexpected, perhaps even surprising, results.
Aurelia continued her ceaseless work, her mind a whirlwind of cosmic and mundane considerations. But then, she felt it. A sudden, powerful psychic resonance, a sensation she recognised instantly, a jolt of pure, unadulterated shock that made her gasp, her heart momentarily ceasing to beat.
"Brother…" she whispered, her voice a hushed, incredulous breath. "You are… back."
Deep within the subterranean laboratories of the Golden Tower, inside the verdant, life-giving embrace of the Eden Stasis Pod, a set of lungs, dormant for ten millennia, remembered how to breathe. Muscles, atrophied and forgotten, recalled their immense, primordial strength. Bones, shattered and broken, re-knit, their ancient weight returning. And most importantly, a soul too stubborn, too unyielding to surrender to oblivion without a fight, remembered its sacred duty.
Rogal Dorn's eyes snapped open, a single, unwavering thought consuming his resurrected consciousness: war. The Praetorian of Terra had returned.