The Bastion star system was now a fortress. Patrols of Vikings and silent Banshees weaved between fortified asteroids. Orbital stations shaped like steel flowers, the "Lotus of Vigil," monitored the approaches with missile batteries and ion cannons.
And at the heart of this array, majestic and terrible, the returning armada made its entrance. A constellation of ships, their hulls marked with the emblem of the double-headed eagle on a midnight blue field. Among them, the Star Walker dominated all, not by sheer size, but by an aura of concentrated power, its aggressive lines and beskar plating making it resemble a cosmic dagger.
In the command tower with its crystal walls, Julius watched the spectacle. Bastion, his world, turned slowly in the distance, a globe of blues and greens interspersed with the silver-grey of megalopolises and fortresses.
"We are home," he murmured, more to himself than anyone.
Beside him, Data materialized his hologram. "I inspected the final adjustments to the Palace plans before our departure. The Votann and Stetmann engineers have exceeded specifications."
Vision appeared on his other side, his luminous form serene. "All preparations for the coronation ceremony and proclamation are complete. Dignitaries from the twelve major worlds are already in place on Bastion. The Master Forgers have crafted the regalia."
"Coronation..." Julius repeated, the word sounding strange. "How long has it been, Data, since I first set foot on this world?"
"It will be seventy-five standard years, my Lord."
Seventy-five years. A blink on the galactic scale, an eternity for an ordinary human. Julius observed his reflection in the data-infused crystal wall. The face was still that of a man in his prime, hardened by command, eyes gleaming with an energy that was no longer entirely human. Without the System, without the rejuvenat treatments, the battles, the stress of the Warp would have already reduced him to dust, or worse, a demented wreck. He had survived. He had thrived. In the Warhammer universe, war was endless, an eternal storm. Only the strongest, the most cunning, the most ruthless could hope not to be swept away. And I will not be swept away, he thought, determination turning into a cold certainty in his heart. I will survive. I will rule.
An officer in midnight blue uniform, with silver epaulets, approached and bowed deeply. "My Lord, we are about to begin descent. The fleet is taking up parade orbit. The Star Walker has priority approach to the capital."
As the officer spoke, the air a few meters from Julius began to shimmer. A circle of golden sparks, smelling of Kamar-Taj's sulfur and ozone, formed in the air. The Ancient One, Yao, stepped out calmly, as if passing through a simple door.
She looked Julius up and down, an eyebrow raised over her bald head. "Damn, kid, you've grown," she said, an admiring whistle through her teeth. "Wow. That's... insane."
Julius couldn't suppress a genuine smile. The Ancient One's disarming frankness was a salutary reminder of humility. "Did you find what you were looking for in the Silvar archives?"
Yao gave an enigmatic shrug. "Yes. And no. We'll talk about it after all this... circus." She made a vague gesture encompassing the ship, the fleet, the planet below. She was, of course, referring to the coronation. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stepped back through her portal, which closed with a whisper of energy.
Julius shook his head, a mix of amusement and exasperation. Then his gaze returned to the great viewport.
The Star Walker began its descent, piercing the upper atmosphere within a shield of bluish energy. And there, taking shape on the horizon, appeared the Palace.
It looked like a mythical vision. Evoking the palace of Odin in Valhalla, it was yet utterly unique. Built on and into the highest mountain of the continent, it was a fusion of titanic Gothic architecture and futuristic high-tech curves. Everything was of a shining silver, living metal and polished stone, accentuated with deep midnight blue accents and stained glass. Spires sharp as lances thrust towards the sky, interspersed with geodesic domes that shone like beacons. Terraced cultivations, hanging gardens, and artificial waterfalls cascaded down its flanks, bringing life to the monumental structure.
And the arrival was indeed grandiose. The Star Walker did not head for a simple spaceport. It settled, slowly, majestically, onto the immense landing platform that stretched like a plaza before the main entrance of the Silver Palace – an entrance consisting of doors a hundred meters high, engraved with the eagle of Bastion, which began to open in impressive silence, revealing a central avenue illuminated by a thousand spotlights and lined by thousands of soldiers in parade dress, workers, citizens, and representatives of every allied species in the empire.
Julius's descent to his throne had only just begun.