The moment Sister Efilar was invited to the Heart Network, Dukel, its master, felt it.
"Efilar, a member of the Adepta Sororitas, invited into the Heart Network?"
Dukel's expression betrayed his surprise.
As a senior Sister of Battle, Efilar's faith was unshakable but not blind. She was autonomous in thought, her devotion deeply rooted in the Emperor's light. For her to be invited so soon after joining his side was unexpected.
More importantly, Efilar bore the Blessing of the Emperor.
The Emperor—the Master of Mankind, the Corpse-God, the Eternal Beacon of Humanity—was no ordinary figure. His essence bordered on the divine, a power that rivaled the Chaos Gods themselves. For Efilar to bring the Emperor's blessing into the Heart Network raised complications.
The Heart Network, a psychic construct of purity and precision, served as Dukel's foundation of power. The Emperor's influence, even indirect, posed a potential threat to its sanctity.
"I'll have to strip her of the Emperor's blessing before she fully integrates into the Network," Dukel thought, concern etched on his face. "But how will she react? Will she resist? Will she refuse?"
Dukel decided to give her the choice.
Efilar had immediately recognized Dukel's presence within the Heart Network's invitation panel. Without hesitation, she chose to join.
As soon as her decision was made, a piercing psychic noise resonated deep in her mind.
The initiation ritual of the Heart Network was an ordeal few could endure without succumbing to its sheer intensity. Yet Efilar's formidable willpower, forged in countless battles against heretics and xenos, was evident.
While most would collapse, trembling, or scream in agony, Efilar knelt in silent prayer. Her lips moved in a litany of devotion, uninterrupted by the mental assault. Her faith in the Emperor and her resolve to serve Dukel kept her steadfast.
Five hours passed.
When the noise finally ceased, a soft chime resonated in her mind. A translucent psychic panel materialized before her, and she found herself within the Heart Network's virtual domain—a vast, dark expanse illuminated by scrolling streams of data.
Lines of requests and reports flooded her vision:
"Fortress Vanaro III requires reinforcements—minimum fifty squads!" "Cultist activity detected on Nalai—requesting deep purge operation!" "Unknown plague discovered. Escort required for sample extraction!" "Biomagnetic Field Research: Advancements on 50,000 horsepower fields…"
Efilar's eyes widened in awe. She understood she was witnessing the logistical might behind Dukel's power.
"So this is the secret of your strength, Your Highness…" she whispered, her voice laced with reverence.
A new notification blinked into view:
[Detected: The Blessing of the Emperor. Upload to the Heart Network? Reward: Dukel's Blessing.] [Note: Uploading will remove the Emperor's Blessing. Choose carefully.]
Efilar read the message.
Without hesitation, she chose:
Upload.
The moment she confirmed her decision, her body underwent a dramatic transformation.
The Blessing of the Emperor had sustained her vitality for years beyond mortal limits. With its removal, her body began to age rapidly. Her once-youthful frame withered, her strength fading as time caught up with her in an instant.
Yet Efilar remained resolute.
She did not understand why Dukel needed the Emperor's blessing, but she did not question it. Whatever her Primarch required, she would give freely, even if it cost her everything.
On the other end of the Heart Network, Dukel now held a sphere of radiant, golden light in his hand. It pulsed with an immeasurable psychic power—a fragment of the Emperor's essence.
The Primarch could feel the Emperor's awareness probing through the connection. A gaze like the light of a thousand suns bore down upon him, scrutinizing his very soul. Dukel did not flinch. Instead, he took the initiative, using the blessing as a conduit to establish a deep psychic link with the Master of Mankind.
Reality shifted.
Dukel found himself in a void, save for a solitary, towering Golden Throne. The Emperor sat upon it, a figure of overwhelming majesty and power.
In Dukel's perception, the Emperor was a cosmic architect, a superintelligence weaving a web of infinite calculations. He was the cornerstone of human existence, radiating divinity that dwarfed even the mightiest of the Primarchs.
The Emperor, in turn, perceived Dukel not as a man but as a colossal, incomprehensible construct—an intricate engine of burning faith and psychic threads. Wheels within wheels turned ceaselessly, feeding a blazing core of power.
For a moment, these grandiose illusions melted away.
What remained was simpler:
The Emperor appeared as a middle-aged man with tired eyes, seated on his throne. Dukel, in contrast, was a stern young man with a demeanor that spoke of both pride and frustration.
"You're here," the Emperor said, his voice deep and steady.
"I am," Dukel replied.
"You've changed."
"And you seem smaller than I remember, old man."
The Emperor's aura flickered with amusement. "Old man," he repeated, as if savoring the novelty of the phrase.
In truth, it had been millennia since the Emperor had spoken to another as an equal. His loneliness, spanning ten thousand years, seemed momentarily lifted.
For Dukel, however, this wasn't a moment to indulge.
"First the Ultramarines, now you," he muttered to himself. "I'm not running a daycare for Astartes and empty-nest gods."