The vault sat at an inconvenient distance from the Sororitas monastery: a bit too far for conventional ground transports like a Rhino to be efficient for routine journeys, yet not exactly far enough to warrant the constant use of a dedicated aircraft.
Fortunately speeders occupied that niche perfectly with their unique speed and reach, plus also solving the last mile problem of reaching the inner vault from the walls of the terraforming station, a substantial distance to be covered by foot.
Escorted by two other speeders, one carrying a small squad of Celestians joined by Welminah and Herlindya in the front, another a Skorpius Dunerider with Balpradus attached to a few of Skitarii at the back, we proceeded towards the vault. Our little convoy moved at a leisurely pace, with my ride rarely exceeding half its indicated top speed, allowing the more ponderous Skorpius to keep up.
We soon crossed from the main road into the restricted area designated by the Inquisition. Ever since venturing into the area, I became aware of the various security measures put in place. Beside the drones in the sky, there were hidden sentries stationed along the way. They weren't obvious to the naked eye, but every so often my gaze would drift toward an innocuous patch of weather-beaten boulders or inconspicuous bushes, only for my enhanced senses to pick out the faint silhouette of motionless Skitarii Rangers lying with adaptive camouflage cloaks. Their galvanic rifles and transuranic arquebus already tracking us long before we had entered effective range, they never shifted an inch as our speeders zoomed past.
We continued our journey, the speeder convoy eventually entering the ancient colossal terraforming station. Our speed decreased appropriately as we zoomed along its humongous interiors. Here and there I noticed newly installed motion sensors and concealed security pic-feeders. Eventually we passed into the tunnel leading to the vault and reached our destination. There were even prearranged spots for parking our speeders.
Callina Theta 6-7 was waiting at the vault entrance with Kira Heptrix by her side, their servo-skulls levitating around them. After landing my new ride, I powered it down before exiting with the rest of the convoy, the Celestians automatically fanning out into a protective formation around me.
'Lady Syrine.' Both the magos and the Skitarii Alpha greeted me with respectful bows, their servo-skulls bobbing in alignment with the movement of their heads.
'Good to see you again, Callina, Kira,' I said with a nod. Together we walked into the vault with my entourage in tow, our footsteps echoing loudly in the place.
This was the entrance tunnel where we had first met the vault guardian, Triax. A single wrong decision during that encounter could have doomed not only everyone present, but perhaps the entire planet as well. For some reasons that thought hadn't truly sunk in at the time. Looking back on it now, the full weight of the near catastrophe hit me, sending a bone-tingling chill down my spine.
The vault looked remarkably different now with countless newly installed lumen globes and light strips now bathing the passage in brilliant white light. It was astonishing what proper illumination could do; the place had shed much of its grim, oppressive techno-gothic atmosphere. If you could ignore all the grotesque-looking servitors toiling here, there was almost a glossy science fiction film vibe.
To me, the most striking new feature in the vault was an elegant small shrine of the God-Emperor. I had heard from Welminah it was erected at the exact spot the Emperor was speaking when Triax made that recording. That the little shrine had become the newest sacred site of the local Sororitas, though its true origin was known only to the Order's most senior and trusted Sisters. Two Battle Sisters had been assigned as Watchers of the Shrine at all hours, standing vigilant over the hallowed ground. The result was rather surreal: an unmistakably Ecclesiarchal shrine standing in the middle of nowhere within the vast Mechanicus vault, guarded by a pair of fully armoured Battle Sisters as though it had always belonged there.
We found Triax with Kryptorer beside him, the normally towering Dominus dwarfed by the monstrously tall ancient magos in a side by side comparison. Kryptorer saw us coming and greeted me by lowering his head. Triax was stationed in what could only be described as a makeshift mechanical throne, a horde of busy servitors and tech adepts working on him. Like the vault, Triax looked renewed, many of his exposed new components were gleaming under bright lights, while a new Martian crimson great cloak covered most of his massive frame.
As we approached, Triax dismissed the swarm of Mechanicus personnel with a silent command. The workers around him dispersed like scattering ants as the ancient tech-priest stood up to his full height. Supported by multiple segmented legs, the refurbished vault guardian gave off the impression of a giant, cybernetic mantis. A few servo-skulls, Solace amongst them, rose in their levitation to maintain orbit around his ascending head level. With his elongated lower body and great cloak, he somewhat took on the appearance of the infamous Archmagos Dominus Belisarius Cawl.
Triax's multiple optics shined like a cluster of glowing gems under his new cowl as he moved towards me, the gigantic cyborg's movement now fluid, smooth and surprisingly fast. The sheer intimidating presence of his massive frame made the Sisters accompanying me tense up, and I sensed their hands moving a little closer to their weapons. Triax stopped before me, his six primary arms extended and fanned out around him, each ending in an open metallic palm, giving him the silhouette of a many-armed Buddha.
'Welcome, my lady,' Triax announced, the ancient archmagos' modulated voice was clear and crispy after his extensive renovation. He then slowly lowered his head, bending his back until we faced each other at eye level. The ancient cyborg took on the unsettling appearance of a monstrous giant in humble submission. While I had never felt threatened, his compliant gesture relaxed my guards.
'Hello, Triax. How are you doing?' I greeted.
'By the Omnissiah's will, this unit is steadily regaining many previously lost functions,' Triax replied as he slowly straightened up.
'Good to see you are recovering well. Celestians, leave us.' I dismissed my guards, leaving only Alicya, Welminah, Herlindya with all the tech-priests: Triax, Kryptorer, Callina and Balpradus.
I looked around and quietly observed that, with so many high-ranking and powerful tech-priests assembled in one place, the gathering had taken on an unmistakably conspiratorial atmosphere. One could easily be forgiven for assuming we were here to finalize the Mechanicus' plans to take over the planet, somehow with the help of the Sororitas, no less. While I was pondering such ridiculous notions, Kryptorer's voice brought me back to reality.
'60.85% of Archmagos Triax's body parts had been replaced, many of the original components were worn beyond proper repair.' the Dominus explained, his many inverted pointy legs clicking on the ground as he skittered over.
'Good to see you again, Krypto.' I turned to greet the Dominus.
Kryptorer gave me a proper bow as he spoke, 'my princess, we have good news.'
'Oh?'
'Benchmark tests for the components fabricated from the Thallax schematics you previously decoded for us have concluded successfully.' Even with his modulated flat voice, I sensed a hint of excitement as Kryptorer continued his technical yap. 'Prototype assemblies were subjected to full verification rites before integration into a limited number of experimental Thallax units. The resulting performance exceeded projected parameters. Their operational efficiency has risen to levels previously documented only within ancient Martian archives.'
'Due to this remarkable development, we now assign an exceptionally high confidence that the schematics are authentic,' Callina added with a nod.
'Of course the schematics are authentic,' Triax said.
'One can never be too careful,' I said sagely just for the sake of it before stating the obvious conclusion. 'So in theory we can now truly revive many of the out-of-production machines whose production lines were lost to us during the Heresy War.'
'About that,' Triax voiced, 'we received debriefs about the events that had happened since this unit has been here.' <10,000 years of recorded history. Fragmented, but with many confirmed details.>
'You… lost your home?' I asked.
'In a figurative sense, the individuals who made up this unit had not set foot on our own respective Forge World for many years before getting here.'
'After His final clash with Horus, my… father suffered wounds so severe, even with his immense psychic abilities he was effectively beyond healing,' I said, dropping the common cornerstone knowledge of the fandom. 'To keep him alive, he was interred upon the Golden Throne. The throne had been the focus of another secret project, it was used as a makeshift life-support system, but the setup became permanent.'
'So that open knowledge is true.'
I recalled what was written in the story when Roboute Guilliman finally met the Emperor after the primarch returned to Terra, and slowly shook my head.
'The Golden Throne is no cure,' I said, 'the arcane device merely anchors my father's soul to the material realm. Though fragments of his shattered consciousness still endure, my understanding is that he exists in a perpetual state between life and death, condemned to an eternity of unimaginable torment. His psyche is so fractured that any form of normal communication is all but impossible. Even so, he continues to resist the relentless pressure of the daemonic powers beyond the veil while sustaining the light of the Astronomican across the Imperium.'
Triax went still upon hearing that, both Alicya and Welminah solemnly made the sign of the Aquila, lowering their heads in muted gesture of respect.
'These… Chaos daemons, are these Immaterium entities as corruptive as indicated by the archived records?'
'Make no mistake, these redactions are done for your protection,' I explained. 'Whatever fragmentary information was shown to you, the truth is much worse. These entities are not hostile xenos nor renegades empowered by unknown sciences. They are said to have spawned in the Warp from our dimension's residual emotional energy, their very existence is an affront to causality. Most of their capabilities defy logic and they obey little physical law.'
Triax remained perfectly motionless. 'We request clarification.'
'Imagine a type of interdimensional contagion that infects thought instead of tissue, scrapcode that rewrites the soul instead of codes and circuitry, radiation that mutates not the body, but reality around it. Every analogy is insufficient, because they are not phenomena our universe was meant to contain. They do not seek territorial conquest or resources, only the unmaking of order and the consumption of every sentient soul. To them, this whole universal struggle is little more than a great game, with the galaxy acting as their chess board and amusement park.'
'Yes, that was the exact reaction of the Imperium when these things exposed themselves. Who do you think my father was really fighting during the Heresy War? Horus was merely their corrupted pawn, their puppet champion here in this dimension.' I paused, letting the weight of my words settle before continuing.
'Think of them as corruption to reality itself. To perceive one is to risk corruption. To study them too deeply is to invite their attention, knowledge of them is itself a vector by which they spread.' I explained, my lore knowledge flowing as naturally as river water, 'did I mention they are immortal? Killing them without using severe psychic methods merely results in their banishment, they will rebirth with knowledge and experience intact in the Immaterium.'
A moment of silence passed before Triax spoke again. 'If this unit may be so bold, we wish to ask you an intriguing question.'
'You certainly deserve any truth I can afford to inform,' I said.
'It would seem like the Divine One had deliberately hid the true nature of the Immaterium from everyone. Given what the Imperium now understands, do you think it was the correct move?'
Ah, that question. Indirectly, it was like asking if the divine God-Emperor is fallible.
Both Sororitas at the meeting tensed up again, this was a sensitive topic. Without special circumstances, anyone caught asking that could instantly be labelled a heretic. The noospheric chatter between the tech-priests ceased, even the ever passive-looking Herlindya silently perked up. Everyone awaited my response.
'Before I answer you, tell me how much do you know about Jaghatai Khan?' I said.
'Primarch of White Scars, the Fifth Legion. The Khagan. The Warhawk.'
'I think he liked it that way,' I said, remembering how the Great Khan was portrayed in many of the stories. 'In any case, he was famously difficult to read but never hid his disdain for my father's habit of cloaking so much in secrecy. Yet after witnessing what Chaos had done to his fallen brothers and their Legions during the Siege of Terra, the Khan came to understand the necessity of it and found it in himself to forgive the Emperor on that point. Brother Khan was one of if not the most pragmatic soul amongst the primarchs, if his view became aligned with the methods of my father after seeing the end result, then there must be enough valid reasons behind that policy.'
'Fascinating. How did you acquire such intricate information?'
A collection of thick Horus Heresy tomes flashed before my eyes, but I slowly shook my head. 'Glimpses of what happened during the Heresy War was shown to me by a higher source. Just like the Emperor decided against disclosing the true nature of the Warp back then, I won't clarify the origin of my knowledge.'
Triax responded with a bow. 'This unit understands.'
We then proceeded with the main agenda of the day: decoding data-crystals and sharing the data amongst the Mechanicus group. The tech-priests had long been negotiating amongst themselves before this meeting on which schematics to be decoded first. While the Sororitas could not directly benefit from this massive loot, the Order was promised substantial compensation in hardware and technical support. I decoded a total of ten crystals, with the tech-priests receiving the huge amount of data in silent, almost unperceivable giddiness.
That done, I asked to be left alone for a few minutes and went to pursue my own main agenda of the day. I walked solo into the innermost chamber of the vault and stood before the egg-shaped super structure again. The sensation of standing this close to an operational psychic beacon while being psychically active was difficult to put into words. It felt eerily tranquil, yet at the same time like standing within the eye of a raging storm. I sensed the unimaginable power swirling all around with the air itself charged with invisible energy, a faint but unmistakable prickling sensation constantly dancing across my skin.
Come on, princess. I gingerly reached out, feeling like speaking into a raging storm, hoping to hear her voice in my head.
Talk to me, this world needs you.
Despite all the near misses and everything seeming to be going well on the surface, I knew deep inside this Holy Daughter business was slowly creeping into a responsibility too great for someone with a normie's mentality. I was neither a brilliant strategist nor the sort of cold, grandiose visionary capable of condemning thousands for the promise of saving millions. Sooner or later, I was bound to overreach and bite off more than I could chew. When that moment came, it wouldn't just be myself, but countless other lives would be at stake.
Still, a part of me quietly recoiled from the notion of my wish coming true. What if she really came back to reclaim her body? Do I just… disappear? What about my old self, was I already dead and rotting back in old Earth?
Like an idiot and I stood and waited, and… nothing happened. I sighed before turning around and left.
Before leaving the vault, I visited and paid homage to the little Emperor's shrine. The whole Mechanicus gang then escorted me to the entrance of the vault. Triax returned Solace to me now that he could build as many servo-skulls as he wanted. As a gift, the ancient magos even upgraded Solace with a deadly Adrathic Destructor, a type of disintegration weapon that fired energy beams potent enough to sever the bonds of matter. I winced a little inside knowing my once harmless cyber familiar could now take out an Astartes on a lucky shot. Callina took the chance to inform me that my custom master-crafted power armour was being built. So she was the manufacturer Balpradus had mentioned.
I bid the tech-priests farewell and started the journey back with the speeder convoy, wondering how the vault would evolve on the next visit.
It was late afternoon when we returned to the fortress monastery, and Maylin was waiting for us. Behind her was some clergy-looking personnel pushing hand trolleys carrying boxes of stuff.
'My lady, a delivery had arrived from the Church, consisting of all the mail and parcels that were addressed to you. These were scanned and processed. What do you wish me to do with them?' The preacher asked with a bow.
It had been days since my public debut at the grand cathedral, I guess a number of the general populace never bothered to look it up on where I was staying and sent their mail to the Church's Headquarters where the event took place. Typical user skill issue.
'Thank you, I guess you can add them to the ones Welminah had been processing,' I said. Immediately Welminah became nervous, and I saw a clear mental image of a room full of mail flashing in her mind.
'I remember saying I would pick a few to read and get to know the people. Let's just go and have a look now,' I declared.
Everyone but Balpradus went along, with Welminah leading we eventually entered a room not too far from the library. As the glow globes lit up, the room's interior was shown to be filled with seemingly endless stacks of papers and parcels. There were a few large tables, all occupied by boxes and boxes of letters. Most were arranged in neat, disciplined columns sorted by date, others already spilling into disorderly drifts where the sheer volume had overwhelmed any attempt at categorisation. The air itself felt dense with a faint, dry smell of well travelled paper that had passed through many checkpoints before finally ended up here.
After a quick study of the formidable paper piles presented, I concluded there must have been thousands of letters arriving daily directly addressed to me. That was excluding the Church's batch that just arrived. The estimate felt almost absurd even as I formed the number, yet the physical evidence refused to be interpreted any other way, with crates stamped with arrival dates stacked high against the walls and wheeled carts still half-unloaded in a corner.
I found myself mortified not just by the volume, but the individuals behind it. Each letter represented a real, living person with a prayer, or a plea, or a declaration of faith, or may be outrageous wishes. The idea that so many minds, independently and simultaneously, turning their attention toward me made the room feel less like an archive and more like a living organism, breathing in inked paper and breathing out expectation.
'That's a lot of mail,' Herlindya remarked. For a fleeting moment, the throne agent looked as though she might whistle, but years of iron discipline stifled the impulse before it could escape. She then dropped her professional opinion, 'even if the mail stopped coming, it would take around six experienced scribes working full-time for days just to sort this all.'
'This is clear proof that the people adore Lady Syrine,' declared Alicya with a sense of misguided pride.
It made me recall reading about the mega celebrities and billionaires in my past life having dedicated teams and even departments just to sort through and filter their mail. The scene in front of me made it abundantly clear why such a move might be necessary. There was no way a single person could meaningfully engage with this volume of correspondence, no matter how disciplined or obsessive. Even simply opening each envelope would be a full-time occupation, and that was before considering reading, sorting, prioritising, or responding.
'My apologies, Welminah,' I said while surveying the mess, 'for burdening you with this impossible task, this is not an undertaking for a single person. I will divert time from my studies to go through with these.'
The Sister scholar tried instead to apologise for her "limited capability", but I dismissed that outright. She was only human.
Later that night, I snuck out from my suite with stealth and soon found myself once more before the room with the letters. General security measures were nothing to my abilities at this point as I quietly unlocked the door and slipped inside, welcomed by the familiar scent of papers.
Nothing had changed. If anything, there was even more mail. Fresh crates bearing today's delivery had joined the older stacks. The neat columns had grown taller. Several piles had begun to lean at dangerous angles that made me want to straighten them before gravity rendered its inevitable judgement.
Settling myself at one of the few clear sections of a table, I first scouted around with my projection to make sure no one was close by. With that done, it was time to use that again. I looked inward with a clear intention and activated my power, as expected a line appeared in my vision.
[Activate Dominus Informationis? YES / NO ]
Lord of Information, my old friend. Unlike last time, the words were not translucent and appeared in full opacity. I smiled as my previous theory seemed to be confirmed, compared to the library the information here was miniscule.
I triggered the power and the sensation arrived immediately. It was the same impossible perception I had first experienced inside the library, my senses being stretched and spread out, my consciousness seeping into all the stack of papers around me. Like before, letter after letter started flashing in my mind's eye.
A hundred letters, then a thousand, then thousands more. The letters poured into my mind without weight, each finding a place as though an unseen librarian had already prepared shelves within my memory. In an instant I simply knew their contents.
Most were well wishes, with children proudly informing me they had begun memorising the Imperial Creed. Ordinary people thanked me for affirming that the Emperor had not forgotten their world. Countless asked only for blessings, many sincerely apologised for troubling me but could not help themselves after witnessing my debut.
I found myself smiling despite everything.
Not all the letters were joyful, far from it. Here a father begged for his daughter's illness to recover. A woman asked if I might somehow restore her husband's sight after an industrial accident. Parents pleaded for the well being of their children lost to distant regiments. A son requested salvation for his mother who was dying from disease, with the cure beyond their financial means.
As with old Earth, the sheer amount of stories about people struggling at the bottom was too common. Every desperate request was sincere. Every plea represented someone who had exhausted their worldly avenues before entrusting the impossible to a stranger crowned by an inexplicable divine halo.
No wonder saints became legends, hope itself demanded somewhere to reside.
I continued to digest the letters, my consciousness swimming in a sea of words. Gradually, a peculiar pattern emerged. At first they appeared insignificant. A woman wrote that I reminded her of her late daughter. Another insisted I carried the same gentle expression as his mother before an accident claimed her. A Guardsman confessed, somewhat sheepishly, that my side profile reminded him of his elder sister. She used to read him bedtime stories when they were children.
I noted the coincidence and continued.
Another letter stated, 'Dear Saint, you reminded us about our eldest child who we lost last winter...'
Another wrote '...when you looked towards us that day, I could have sworn I saw my daughter smiling…'
Another. 'My little sister burst into tears because she thought you resembled mother…'
Mother. Daughter. Sister. These words repeated with alarming frequency. Never identical, the relationships changed, the descriptions changed. Even the supposed similarities contradicted one another. Individually, every account was dismissible.
Together… I stopped. This can't be right.
With my powers I ran the search through the letters again, only hunting for descriptions of me. Thousands surfaced with no two matching perfectly, yet all carried the same peculiar certainty. Every writer believed, utterly and sincerely, that they had seen someone deeply close, comforting and familiar that day basking in holy light. As the stream of information continued to flow before my eyes, a chilling concept rooted itself firmly in my mind.
'...The halo.' The words escaped my mouth in a whisper.
I remembered then, how the Emperor Himself was said to be secretly a master of disguises. Most saw Him as the perfect warrior, some saw Him as a weary old man. The accounts from those who had stood before Him often described different faces, different ages, various heights and in some cases, the opposite gender. These contradictions had always existed on many records.
Most blamed the peculiar observation on fallible memories, some scholars even called them metaphors. The truth was far harsher: a psychic compulsion so subtly powerful, most of the affected would never recognise the manipulation. The Emperor had simply allowed each observer to behold precisely what they most readily believed.
Like father, like daughter.
I instinctively reached toward the spot above my head where the halo would manifest.
Did I brainwash the entire planet without realising it?