A Light Not Extinguished

Chapter 37: Titanomachy

"Hmmmm."

The room was peacefully quiet, save for the clinking of tea cups and the occasional sound of a game piece tapping on the board.

"I must confess that I am not familiar with this game." Kathicia Jorenn was reclining back in a chair of soft vines and wood as she studied a checkerboard of black and white. "Is this some ancient variation of regicide?"

"In a fashion." Seated opposite to the High Marshal was the one and only World Spirit the Federation had. Gaea's eyes glowed a soft orange, the color of molten magma as she refilled Kathicia's cup with more honey tea. "The second in a long line of games that eventually culminated into regicide."

"Hmmmm." Kathicia Jorenn muttered again, leaning forward. "You seem to have put me in quite the quandary here. I choose..."

"Knight to F6." The chess piece hovered by itself to the requested spot. "Your turn."

"How is work, Kathicia?" The World Spirit's eyes twinkled as her hand hovered over the board. The chamber they were in was deep within the center of the earth; in fact it was at the direct center. All matter of plants grew lushly here, vines and bushes lining the walls with blue ethereal butterflies floating alongside them.

"The same as always." Kathicia replied. "The veil grows ever thinner. We'll have to take action soon."

"A pity." The ancient soul sighed, and the plants in the room sighed alongside her, blooming all at once and filling the chamber with a myriad of soft sweet scents. "There has never been such a long period of peace before— I was rather enjoying it."

"I... Gaea, I need to tell you something." Kathicia said slowly. "They will come eventually, when the war begins in earnest. One of their greatest— I know not yet who— will march towards this world and attempt to profane it. It will be worse than any war that humanity has ever waged on your surface. I've seen it happen in the tides of what could be and hereafter."

"I have seen many things."

"No, you don't understand. They will be like me, the apex of their species, whom the elements answer to and the strength to shatter planets in their hands." Worry creased Kathicia's face. "Should you wish it, I'll ask the Federation to move you away. We'll put the Astronomican somewhere else, and you'll be safe."

"I appreciate the gesture, child." The World Spirit said softly. "But I won't run."

"Please, just consider it." The Marshal wrung her hands. "I don't want to lose one of my only friends."

"Let them come." Gaea's voice was one of thunderstorms and volcanoes that had wiped out entire epochs before. "I've survived two of your Galactic Wars. This too, I will survive." Her voice softened, returning to the comforting tones of quiet river streams and light rain. "I am not bereft of my own strength, child. And I have faith in my own children."

The World Spirit proceeded to move a piece. "Checkmate."

"What?" Kathicia spluttered, argument temporarily forgotten as she stared at the board. "How did you—"

Gaea's merry laughter echoed in the sanctum.

[...]

An Aeldari Gea-Class Titan stalked the remains of a battlefield. There was a sort of macabre quiet to it, occasionally disturbed by the crackles of flames both arcane and mundane, and the dying screams of the damned.

It smelled of boredom to the Titan's princeps.

The Titan's name was Quaedri. In the Aeldari lexicon, it was a somewhat flowery interpretation of the term 'Maker of War'. Only a partial name, of course— like any proper Titan, it had a list of titles which would likely take a few good minutes to recite. Smooth-limbed and moving with a sinuous grace that matched even the daemon servants of the Unborn Goddess, the Titan spun its spear before neatly stabbing down, ending the life of one of its fallen brethren's pilots. Quaedri's other hand reached down, ripping off a chunk of shoulder plating to replace its own corresponding missing part. The encoded repair enchantments did the rest of the work, affixing and sealing the armor to the main body in the span of seconds.

It was a magnificent machine— a very rare breed of sorcerous perfection whose caliber was scarcely seen in the annals of galactic history. Forged at the height of the Aeldari Empire under the direction of Vaul's enthusiastic smith-priests, each Aeldari Titan was a work of art in itself. Looming over most skyscrapers, the Gea-Class Titan was a generalist model, with a focus on independent operation and self-regeneration. Its graceful, sinewy form radiated an otherworldly elegance that belied their immense power. Every curve and line of its frame came from a semi-divine design, blending form and function seamlessly. The wraithbone exuded a soft, pulsating glow, casting an iridescent aura that mesmerized all who beheld it. A greatbow and a quiver of arrows were mounted on its back, and a sleek cannon protruded from its left wrist.

And at the heart of it was a lone Princeps, the controlling intelligence of this ancient warmachine. Few remembered her original name, for it did not matter. She went by the title of Justicar nowadays— one of the few things that remained from her life before the Sundering.

Repairs finished, Quaedri leaned on its spear, both the Titan and its princeps staring off into the faraway distance and contemplating eternity. Wrapped in the great shadow that was Quaedri's pseudo-spirit, the Justicar's soul stared at the lapping tides of the Empyrean, and found it wanting.

Everything was so... dull. In the streets and the hallways, in the symposiums and atriums and flesh palaces, they all said the same thing, that soon the Goddess would rise and free them from this mortal ennui. But no one could ever quite agree on when the promised time was coming; entire wars between religious sects had been launched because of this.

The battles against fellow Titans rang hollow now. Was this it? To go through the motions unsatisfied, waiting for an uncertain moment? And what if she fell, crushed by the spokes of the great wheel that was the galaxy's fate, ever-spinning and wrathful?

Quaedri sank down to one knee, clasping its spear with both hands, and the Justicar prayed. For an end to boredom, to satisfaction, to the fulfillment of desire, and for salvation.
And divine provenance answered with a telepathic pulse washing over her, bearing an intrinsic flavor of malice and joy.

Few had the power to muster such a brazen call in the Great Ocean, the Justicar thought to herself. One of the Six?

There was information in that telepathic pulse. Quaedri readied its mental defenses even as the Justicar cautiously reached out to grasp its contents. As soon as her mind made contact, a deluge of data burst into her mind.

A declaration of war by Ynesth the Ring-Queen... against a younger race? The Dark Muses rarely strayed outside their choice of vice, and for the Gun-Witch to do something that wasn't connected to whoring or overdosing was highly unorthodox in the least, and this wasn't taking into consideration that someone of their rank was interacting with a lower species.

Then there was an invitation to join this ramshackle crusade towards their homeworld, a blue-green planet with a burning beacon that even the Justicar could see from here. It had existed for... maybe eight thousand years? She had never paid attention to it. So what if some race had figured out how to make a bright light in the Ocean? Amateurs playing with the craft of their betters.

If the Dark Muse wanted to stomp out some ants, it was none of her business. The Justicar wouldn't stoop down to hunt such lowly prey. Lazily, she scanned through the rest of the visions, of humans burning and razing sections of the Webway with their ships and crude gene-soldiers, drop pods filling the sky of pleasure worlds and—

Giants.

Fully engaged, the Aeldari princeps stared at the ranks of gleaming silver behemoths as tall as the wraithbone spires of Aeldari cities, brandishing cannons that wiped out entire ranks of Psychomatons with each step and shot. Hands that plucked wraithbone craft out of the sky and crushed them by the dozens. Maces and swords that cleaved entire fortifications in half and sent their rubble to the winds.

Her mouth began to water. "Titans." She said to herself. "The Mon'kleigh have Titans."

Quaedri's fiery machine-heart began to hammer alongside hers as the princeps cracked a rare smile. "O, how I have been praying for this!"

Quaedri stood up abruptly, grabbing its spear and stabbing the air to carve a Webway portal out of existence. Without hesitation, the Titan sprinted through, racing to join the muster.