-M29.671. Falmart. Eastern Distrcit of Prometheus Arcology-
Tuka stood silently, observing the refugees of her race within the facility designated by the Imperium. To them, it was a research center. To her, it was the first step toward redemption.
Most of the elves she had gathered were former slaves, liberated from the oppressive camps of the Empire. They had known only suffering and discrimination. While the Imperium's attitude toward her people mirrored Sadera's—distant, even disdainful—it was undeniably different in one regard: the Imperium provided them with food, medicine, and shelter.
"Tuka Luna Marceau, the officer is calling for you," came the familiar metallic resonance of UR-982's voice, echoing directly into her mind. The Ferrous Mind was ever-present.
"I'm coming," Tuka replied, exhaling softly. "Lead the way."
The psychic presence of the Ferrous Mind guided her down a path through the facility. Along the way, Tuka noticed new housing units under construction, likely meant for the growing influx of refugees. Nearby, she saw several Imperium officials conducting interviews with elder elves. The sight filled her with a mixture of hope and unease.
Their walk ended at the border building that separated the elven quarters from the rest of the Prometheus District. Tuka hesitated briefly before stepping through the threshold, the Ferrous Mind at her side.
"Good afternoon, Tuka Luna Marceau," greeted the building's quasi-AI, its voice an efficient monotone. "Officer Lodex is awaiting you in his office."
Tuka nodded, her steps faltering slightly as she ventured deeper. She had grown accustomed to the presence of transhumans over time, but standing amidst them still unsettled her. Their sheer physicality, their aura of command—it overwhelmed her mortal senses.
Finally, she arrived at the designated room. Inside, she found two men. One she recognized instantly: Officer Lodex, the overseer of her people. The other was a stranger, clad in hulking black armor ornately adorned with gold filigree. His helmet, a sinister visage shaped like a grinning skull with glowing red eyes, sent an instinctive chill down her spine.
"Greetings," Lodex said, offering a polite smile. "I trust your mission was successful?"
"By the number of elves we've managed to rescue, yes," Tuka replied firmly, though her gaze flicked warily between the two men.
"Good." Lodex's tone shifted, becoming sharper. "Let us get straight to the matter at hand." He tapped his desk, summoning a holovid display.
"While the Imperium is capable of supporting nearly all the scattered remnants of your race, we must increase our precautions."
Tuka's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
Lodex's expression darkened. "Do you recall what happened when certain elves were informed of their origins—the sins of their ancestors?"
The weight of his words silenced her. Tuka clenched her fists, forcing herself to remain calm. She remembered all too well. The revelation had driven some into madness, sparking riots. Though no blood was shed, the memory of that chaos lingered like a shadow in her mind.
"I understand," she said quietly. "What do you suggest?"
Lodex gestured toward the armored man beside him. "This is Chaplain Talos. He will serve as a spiritual guide for your people."
The chaplain stepped forward, his movements deliberate and imposing. His voice, distorted and crackling through his helm's vox-grille, sent a shiver down her spine.
"Greetings, elf. I am Chaplain Talos. My presence here is a duty, not a choice," he said coldly, his glowing eyes locking onto hers. The primal fear of prey before a predator surged within her, but she refused to flinch.
"Greetings… Chaplain Talos," Tuka replied, her voice steady despite her tensed muscles. "I hope we can work together."
Lodex observed the exchange with an enigmatic smile. "Excellent. It seems everything is in order. Let us not delay further—both of you have your duties to attend to."
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Tuka stood amidst thousands of her kin, their faces a mix of hope and trepidation. Fear clung to them like a shadow, yet they gathered willingly, desperate to please their savior.
"Elves of Falmart, hear me!" Chaplain Talos's voice roared through the air, amplified by the vox-speakers in his skull-helmed armor. The booming cadence reverberated through the crowd, silencing all murmurs as their eyes turned toward the towering, obsidian figure.
"You are gathered here for a single purpose: to confront your sins and walk the path to redemption. As an act of mercy, I have been sent to guide you," Talos declared, his voice a commandment etched into the wind.
One of the elders, frail and trembling, stepped forward. With visible effort, he knelt, bowing his head low. "Please, guide us, benevolent one."
Talos's skull-helm glimmered faintly as the laurel crown adorning it began to emit a golden radiance. The light pulsed with an otherworldly warmth, cascading over the elves. Their fearful eyes lifted, drawn irresistibly toward the glow. Tuka felt it, too—the Anathematic power of the Emperor, a force so alien and absolute it was better left uncomprehended. For her people, ignorance of its true nature was mercy itself.
"Thousands of years ago," Talos began, his voice weighted with the gravity of the ages, "your ancestors—the Aeldari Dominion—waged war upon humanity. This cataclysmic conflict tore the stars asunder, ravaging the galaxy and scarring reality itself. The devastation claimed billions of lives and countless worlds. This is your sin, inherited through blood and memory."
As his words thundered through the assembly, the elves cried out, clutching their heads as visions flooded their minds. They saw entire planets consumed in flame, civilizations annihilated in moments, and the cries of the dying echoing endlessly. For Tuka, the nightmare was hauntingly familiar. She had endured it once before when the Sigillite himself had revealed the truth to her. The scars of that revelation remained.
The crowd writhed under the weight of these memories, but there was something different this time. The golden light from Talos's laurel seeped into their souls, soothing wounds even as the visions inflicted them. The healing was not complete, leaving scars that would never fully fade. Tuka suspected this was deliberate.
"But the Imperium offers you a chance," Talos continued, his tone now edged with a grim hope. "A chance to rise above the folly of your ancestors. Though their empire crumbled into ruin, there were those among them who turned away from their pride and embraced righteousness. With their aid, humanity prevailed in its darkest hour."
Talos stood taller, his glowing red visor piercing through the crowd. "The Aeldari Dominion is no more. Its hubris shattered. But now, a new path lies before you—a chance to rebuild your legacy. You will labor for the glory of the Imperium, and through this, find salvation."
The elves, trembling yet enraptured, slowly raised their heads. The hope ignited within them was fragile but undeniable.
"Humanity walks the Golden Path," Talos declared. "A path toward a paradise where the sins of old shall be purged forever. Look around you! Behold the spires piercing the heavens, the crystallized structures of a reborn galaxy. Do you desire such a future?"
The crowd hesitated, unsure how to answer. Then, one by one, they raised their hands in a simple gesture: a palm folded inward. Tuka's breath caught. It was the ancient symbol of surrender among her people.
She scanned the crowd, her heart heavy. There was no resistance, no defiance—only silent submission. For better or worse, they had made their choice.
"Rise!" Talos commanded, his voice a thunderclap of resolve. "With your bare hands, craft the future stolen from you by the traitors of the Empire. Stand, and we shall lead you to paradise!"
The elves rose, silent and solemn, their collective movement more eloquent than words.
"The elf beside me," Talos continued, gesturing toward Tuka, "shall be your leader in this noble endeavor. She is Tuka Luna Marceau, blessed by the Emperor and bearer of the Sigillite's order. By her name, you shall follow her. By His will, she shall guide you!"
Tuka blinked, stunned by the weight of the declaration. Her gaze shifted to Talos's laurel, but its glow had faded. The Chaplain's words alone had bound her people to this oath. She turned back to the crowd, their eyes fixed upon her with reverence.
"Dva Vlyudish!" she cried, her voice ringing out in an ancient tongue long thought forgotten. For a moment, silence reigned. Then, the elders stirred, their expressions shifting to one of astonishment. Tears fell freely as they recognized the sacred words.
"Blessed is she who speaks the Elder Tongue," the oldest among them murmured, bowing deeply before her.
Tuka knelt, her voice soft yet firm. "Rise, elder. We are the children of our ancestors, a once-mighty race, unbroken even by gods. Though our arrogance led to our downfall, we shall now rise anew, guided by the Imperium's light. Together, we will become more noble than those who came before us."
The crowd erupted, their voices raised in unison, their hands lifted high in renewed purpose.
________________________________________________________________________________
-Aquilon. The Galax Shipyard-
Cawl watched the great ring's construction with mixed awe and anticipation. Its diameter eclipsed the entire span of Terra, yet it held less than a quarter of the planet's mass. The CR-type Ferrous Mind, dedicated to its construction, was filled with instruments that straddled the line between material and immaterial properties. His Cogitator Quasi-AI had attempted to predict a fraction of its mechanisms, only to become overwhelmed by the titanic scale of the data.
Yet, it was the result of Titania's daily duty: extracting the necessary knowledge from Akasha. It had taken seven CR Ferrous Minds and the power of dozens of stars to fully process the data.
As the reality before him unfolded, Cawl knew the price had been worth it.
Alas, the ring was not the only marvel extracted from the data cube. Cawl slowly drifted his gaze to the planet-sized shipyard. The shipyard, twenty times the size of Terra, was a cathedral of machinery, brimming with wonders and horrific tools of mankind's wisdom. Among its many creations—both magnificent and terrifying—was one still under construction.
Above the construction yard lay a ship that dwarfed even the mighty Ark vessels. Planetoid in size, the ship was being crafted by dozens of Ferrous Minds with their impossibly precise hands. This vessel was designated for the Omnis Regis-class Ferrous Mind, and thus, its material anchor had to be the most exceptional of all.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of new technologies were being implemented in its construction—technologies that had never existed in the Imperium and might never be rediscovered, even in countless millennia. The sheer acceleration of such technological advancement bordered on heresy. Yet, it was the Emperor himself who had decreed its creation.
When the blueprint was fully deciphered, and its feasibility confirmed, vast resources were poured into the project, aptly named Project Horizon. Entire new facilities were erected to harvest and refine the exotic materials required. Cawl knew that every inch of this masterwork defied the natural laws of reality. The blueprint revealed that one section of the ship—its innermost chamber—would be directly connected to the Webway and the Warp's surface, creating an impossible axis of unreality. This, theoretically, rendered the chamber a pocket universe of its own. The full extent of its potential haunted him, especially when paired with the Omnis Regis's power.
The Omnis Regis represented the pinnacle of Ferrous Mind design, a collaborative effort among all transhuman hierarchies of the Imperium. Even the Logos had lent their expertise. In Cawl's estimation, the ship would stand among the greatest superweapons in the Astartes' arsenal.
Still, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief—it would take ten years to complete the vessel. He found it ironic that the Imperium could construct a fully functional Dyson sphere in under four years, yet a planetoid-sized ship required ten.
"Arch-Praefator Cawl," a feminine voice called out.
Cawl turned, a rare smile forming on the remnants of his flesh. "Glad to meet you, Edelsia."
A woman stood behind the Martian transhuman, clad in a white skinsuit lined with black accents. Her radiant smile shone with confidence. Her height betrayed her transhuman nature, yet her aura hinted at something deeper, something hidden beneath her casual demeanor.
"Glad to see you too, Dad," she replied warmly.
"Refrain yourself while we are here," Cawl said firmly. "What brings you here?"
"I heard whispers that you're working on a certain project," she said casually.
"I see. Very well, follow me," Cawl replied.
They walked together to the edge of the structure, where the vessel's core was under assembly. Before them, a crystal sphere was being meticulously constructed.
"An Omnis Regis," Edelsia said grimly. "And these technologies… Father, what they are making is an abomination."
Cawl raised an eyebrow. His daughter might be correct. The sheer number of unfathomable technologies required to build this ship surpassed anything the Imperium had ever attempted.
"I understand your concerns, daughter," he said. "But it will serve a purpose, alongside that ring." He gestured to the colossal ring overhead. "We do not know what to expect beyond the veil of this universe. Even eldritch entities, beings that defy the boundaries of material and immaterial, would not withstand this ship's firepower. However, unlike the ship, the ring will come online next year."
"Curious…" Edelsia murmured as she tapped into the Warp with her psychic abilities.
"So… the mechanism behind this ring is to create a tunnel, using the Webway as its foundation. Interesting, considering the vast applications of the Webway itself."
Cawl nodded, understanding the implications of her words. The Webway's true nature was a mystery even to him. Some of his peers hypothesized it was a living, infinite time machine, while others speculated it was an incarnation of the Deus Ex Machina. It connected countless realms across infinite dimensions and times, yet it also delved into the deeper layers of the Warp—where universes were birthed and destroyed in eternal cycles.
These attributes made it invaluable to the Godmaker Legion of the Adeptus Logos and their Astartes successors.
"Indeed," Cawl said. "I believe the ring's construction will be completed at the beginning of next year. By then, we will launch our first expedition fleet into alternate realities."
As he finished speaking, a crackling noise erupted from the vessel. Immeasurable power drawn from the Sea of Souls surged into the shipyard, as if something immense was awakening. The energy poured into the core, bending the fabric of the material universe to stabilize the chaotic force.
"God-forging… I always dreamed of seeing one," Edelsia said in awe.
"Fate smiles on you, daughter," Cawl replied, his gaze fixed on her. "Would you like a closer look?"
"Of course," she said with a grin.
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-Falmart. Sadera's Imperial Palace-
Tyuule read the paper in her hand, handed to her by the Imperial agent. It outlined everything she needed to do over the coming days. Among the instructions was an assassination attempt on the Saderan Emperor, Molt. Her role was to persuade Zorzal to poison his own father during a welcoming feast for the Japanese and the Imperium.
Her gaze drifted to the table, where a vial of clear liquid rested. It was a special poison designed to temporarily mimic death, placing the victim in a comatose state for a predetermined period. Revival would only be possible with a second, equally specialized potion, to be delivered at the appointed time.
Tyuule exhaled deeply, gathering her resolve. She reached into a drawer and retrieved a small device—a communicator adorned with a golden Aquila on its side. Pressing a button, the device emitted a soft glow, revealing a small holovid. Her fingers danced over the keys as she typed out a message and sent it.
Moments later, a reply arrived.
+Order executed. Continue your part. Ave Imperium.+