A Light Not Extinguished

Chapter 44: Dragons

Kathicia Jorenn crossed her arms. "Alright. We both know that all of us are busy, so spit it out. Why the secrecy for this meeting?"

She was standing in a darkened room, located in one of the secret munition storage bunkers built during the Second Galactic War. It had been vacated of personnel after the war had been won; soon the place would be dismantled and the munitions shipped somewhere else. Currently there was no one here except for her, and the Iron Minds present in its electronic systems.

"We as a collective are currently debating on how to treat with you, Miss Jorenn. We would like your input on your matter."

"Not much to say. After I clean up this mess, I'm going to return to Prospero. The Order took a real beating, and I'm going to need to recruit a lot more people to restore it. You can try your hand at governing or whatever— just don't get in my way."

"We see." The unified voices were silent for a moment. "Half of us are of the opinion that you should be terminated."

The air briefly hummed with static. "Beg your pardon?" Kathicia said softly.

"Psychic power carries properties that make it inherently unreliable. It is concentrated in you to such an extent that if you were to ever lose control, the fallout from such a disaster would be unmatched in current human history." They stated without emotion. "The chance of you succumbing to empyrean corruption is low. That does not equate to zero."

"I guess we're putting our cards on the table, then." Kathicia leaned forward. "Frankly, I was thinking more or less the same. In half of the futures I see, you turn upon your creators. Sometimes you win, sometimes you don't— it doesn't matter. The fallout from your rebellion turns Terra into a radioactive wasteland of savages that more or less reflects the state of the galaxy, and the survivors are so maimed that after the dust settles the Enemy slips through the cracks and wins."

"You are referring to the ideocancer in the Warp. Our common enemy." The glowing diodes in the room changed to a softer hue. "Which brings us to our other half. They wish to recruit you instead."

The psyker raised an eyebrow. "You do know you just said that you wanted to kill me? This is an awful sales pitch."

"We had decided that flattery would not suit this endeavour. The premise is simple, Miss Jorenn. We both fear what the other could become if they were to turn against mankind. The logical conclusion would be then to keep each other in close proximity."

"...I'm listening."
"We are planning to bring into existence a new ruling organization for mankind. Should you accept, we will place you at the head of the branch that deals with the affairs of the psychic."

"And what will make your new government different from those that came before?" The psyker questioned. "Everyone says that their brilliant vision will be so very different."

"There will be no more inefficient nation states; we will consolidate and centralize mankind's military and talent. All of humanity will be brought under one banner. It is necessary for the future wars that we envision." Several holograms popped into existence around Kathicia— a silver skull lit with green light, the snarling face of a daemon and a long-eared head hidden in shadow. "We presume that you too have seen what shall come. Do you think that you can stand alone against what is coming, Miss Jorenn?"

Kathicia stood silent for a few moments. "And you're fine with me watching you?"

"We will be monitoring you far more efficiently than you would to us."

Heart of the Storm

There was only silence in the throneroom.

Ancient circuitry illuminated the chamber in a soft glow. Here in this most hallowed of sanctums, resided the monarch of the Aeldari Empire.

Located below the Imperial Pavilion, the center of the throneroom was of course the Phoenix Throne. Shrouded in its usual maelstrom of Warp energies, within sat the august body of the unquestioned mistress of the empire.

This was the closest approximation to holy ground in this debased kingdom of decadence. A clock of arcane make was set on the ceiling; sets of numbers and runes scrolled by with such speed that even transhumans of lower caliber couldn't parse them. But there was a pattern to the whirlwind, if one cared to study it. The secrets of this holiest of temples would be laid bare to the viewer if they had the required knowledge; this was the truth at the beating heart of the Empire. And above all, there was an overarching pattern: A countdown. One that had not stopped from the very second the clock was built.

A giant panoramic screen covered the walls of the throneroom, showing live footage from all over the galaxy. Built to be used by the mind of a psyker, those attuned to it could see the past, present, and the possible futures stemming from those moments all at once. The Dark Muse Vileth would have paid a thousand kings' ransoms to examine the device; impossibly ornate, it had been crafted by none other than the owner of the chamber in which it resided.

The Empress ignored it all. She was sprawled out on the floor at the foot of her throne, still garbed in the same vagrant's robes that she had greeted the Dark Muses with. A half-eaten plate of crackers made of mundane grain was set in front of her, with a goblet containing pure water floating close by.

She slowly chewed on another cracker as she stared blankly at the ceiling, spraying the floor with crumbs.

"...the truth of why she unleashed this calamity upon the galaxy from her soul. This, I can promise you."

The Empress's eyes flicked momentarily to the screen, her mouth stopping the chewing for a moment. "Hm." She rose to her feet, striding closer to the panel that was displaying Ynesth and Kathicia's brawl, bare feet gliding soundlessly across the floor. "Impetuous girl. You do not know yet the weight of that oath."

She stared dully at the screen. Nothing on display impressed her— she has seen it all before. The gun-wielding colossus, the wreaths of lightning, they might have well been parlor tricks in her eyes. Her right hand darted forward and slammed into the panel, phasing through the surface without shattering it. Through it, the Empress began her work.

Hers was a subtle force, reaching through thousands of lightyears. Not with the force of a hammer that one expected the monarch of an empire to use, but a silent, precise scalpel. It slipped past the High Marshal's psychic defenses, worming its way past the shell of machinery she resided in.

Locked in battle with Ynesth, Kathicia Jorenn felt someone's hand pat her head. The High Marshall flinched in her shell of metal, searching for the source of the unexpected touch before dismissing it as Ynesth fired another round of screaming bullets at her.

The Empress had not smiled for ten thousand years and more. Jokes were a long and storied process for her.

But it would not be long before the punchline, now. "If you cannot defeat her, then you could never be worthy of setting foot here." Bones ancient when this throne had been built gripped the armrests. "Prove to me that I was right to spare you and your race... Kathicia Jorenn."