Part I - Jek's voice
Aurelia sat within one of the Golden Tower's sprawling gardens, an impossible Eden blooming beneath Terra's ash-choked sky, a sanctuary meticulously maintained by her Hestia Sisters. Around her, a silent, glittering cordon of protectors moved with liquid grace. Adeptus Custodes and Sisters of Silence formed the innermost ring, golden statues carved from living bronze, poised not in stillness, but in a coiled readiness to eradicate any threat that dared approach the Princess-Regent. Beyond them, squads of Lionguard, gold and white panoplies shimmering amongst the alien flora, patrolled with the quiet precision of hunters. At the garden's myriad entrances, detachments of Imperial Fists and Ultramarines stood guard, their gazes sharp, inquisitive, sweeping every approaching figure.
They had forged a symbiotic rhythm, each group a distinct entity, yet moving in perfect, lethal unison. Failure, they knew, was not an option; the life of the Imperium itself rested upon the fragile light of their Princess.
Closer still, within Aurelia's immediate, inner circle, stood the Hestias. Arrayed in their ceremonial Battle-Sister armour, their weapons held at parade rest, they radiated a fervent, unwavering zeal. They would, Aurelia often mused with a wry inward smile, readily shoot out the sun itself were it to cause Her Highness the slightest discomfort—a terrifying devotion that left even the pragmatic Custodes feeling a subtle unease in their presence.
Among these militant sisters, a dedicated cohort of Hestias, serving as Aurelia's personal handmaidens for the day, had meticulously arranged a lunch table amidst the open air. It was a rare indulgence, a day when the Princess wished to be away from the ceaseless demands of her desk, away from the weight of the Imperium's future.
None could deny the Hestias' unwavering dedication. When Aurelia provided them with a simple culinary list, detailing specific dishes from ancient Terra, outlining preparation methods, and even the precise sourcing of ingredients, the kitchen staff—veteran chefs and fervent cooks alike—executed her wishes with absolute, perfect precision. Ingredients, once thought lost to the ages, were procured through a meticulous network of Golden Tower orders, from the finest agri-worlds of the Segmentum Solar, ensuring the Princess-Regent's table was always laden with sustenance of the highest quality. This bounty was cultivated not just from the few remaining agri-sectors, but from Aurelia's hundreds of botanical gardens within the Golden Tower and Terra, places where seeds retrieved from the Basilica Liminalis—seeds of long-extinct plants, fruits, and vegetables from Old Earth—flourished anew, not only to feed the Princess, but all who served within the Tower and, indeed, many within the hives of Terra.
The Mistress of Nourishment, a formidable Sister Superior bearing numerous campaign scars, imbued her devotion with a culinary zeal. The fire of the stove was her consecrated weapon, her battle waged against delays in nutrient shipments and against any junior cook who dared oversalt the Princess's dishes. They prepared Aurelia's weekly meals in advance—breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner—with the unwavering zeal and pride characteristic of the Adepta Sororitas.
Aurelia, however, sought not only to satisfy a deep, inherited memory of forgotten Terran culinary artistry but also to ensure no food was wasted. She regularly instructed that any excess be distributed among the Golden Tower's countless inhabitants.
She was not, however, eating alone. Across the table, invited personally by the Princess-Regent herself, sat Consul Anna-Murza Jek. A wealth of matters, both immediate and delicate, lay between them, demanding discourse.
Consul Jek gazed at the culinary array before her, a bewildered wonder in her eyes. She had never witnessed such dishes, their intricate beauty and exotic aroma utterly alien to her experience. She felt a momentary uncertainty, unsure how to even begin.
"Go on, Consul Jek, before the warmth escapes," Aurelia's voice, a soft, encouraging melody, prompted, as she delicately took up a golden utensil and began to eat a strange, yet exquisite dish.
Jek watched, then hesitantly followed her Princess's lead. The dish before them consisted of long, golden strands, boiled and lightly salted, adorned with strange, perfectly spherical meatballs, all generously coated in a peculiar, vibrant red sauce. Like everything else on the table, it was a mystery, but Jek trusted her Princess implicitly.
Her first bite dissolved into a symphony of unexpected pleasures, a mouthwatering burst of flavours that defied her grim experience of the 41st Millennium. Truly delicious.
"Mm. Exquisite. Please convey to Sister Severina that she has, once again, outdone herself. This is truly delectable," Aurelia murmured to a nearby Hestia Sister, who bowed deeply, her pride palpable.
Consul Jek tasted and savoured each bite, finding herself utterly entranced by the strange, wonderful meal.
"I have never tasted anything quite like this before," Jek confessed, meticulously dabbing her mouth with a delicate napkin, displaying an innate etiquette.
"Fasciae Auratae," Aurelia stated, a hint of ancient wisdom in her tone. "That is how it was known. The original name, long lost to the annals of humanity's true history, was created long before humanity ever dreamed of voidships or stellar empires."
"It is, then, a true privilege to taste such a relic," Jek replied with a smile, finding common ground in shared wonder. For a few moments, both ate in comfortable silence, respecting the warmth of the food, ensuring none was wasted to the omnipresent chill of Terra's filtered air.
"Not a relic, Consul. Pasta," Aurelia corrected with a knowing, subtle smirk. Jek's brow furrowed, the word utterly foreign to her lexicon. Aurelia, sensing the linguistic divide, gently steered the conversation. "The Hexarchy, what transpired mere days ago, seems to have instilled within you a measure of doubt concerning your abilities as my Consul."
Jek's body flinched, a subtle tightening of her posture, but to Aurelia's quiet satisfaction, her face remained calm, if a little solemn. It had been a baptism of fire, a brutal first test. Jek had discovered the hard way the profound isolation of her position, her vulnerability as the Princess's voice within the Senatorum Imperialis. To be ensnared by the conspirators, to feel repeatedly pushed aside and dismissed, had cultivated a deep-seated feeling of inadequacy despite her powerful title. Yet, she now sat in the radiant presence of the Princess, who spoke with a sagacity born of cosmic awareness, as if intimately familiar with every detail of the future's unfolding. Jek wondered: who was I to deny Her Highness's power to perceive tomorrow?
And despite her profound failure to fully halt, or even truly expose, the initial stages of the plot, Jek found a quiet pride in her ability to finally speak, to uphold her duty, to feel a surge of newfound confidence in the face of daunting adversity. She resolved that she would not fail again, yet the shame of her perceived inadequacies clung to her.
"I have re-evaluated the entire situation numerous times within my mind. I cannot begin to articulate the profound shame and anger I feel at my own failings," Jek confessed, her voice honest, tinged with genuine melancholy. "I trusted the wrong individuals. I was manipulated. I allowed the Lionguard, who accompanied me, to be placed in direct peril due to my blindness and my ineptitude. I believe, Princess, that I should be punished, and I would gladly accept any sentence."
"But you will not be punished," Aurelia replied, her voice firm, unequivocal. "My Lionguard fulfilled their sacred duty, and they are now recovering. You were indeed deceived, Anna-Murza. Truly. However, I have neither punished nor dismissed you, for there is a nascent greatness within you, my dear Jek. You are learning, you are adapting, and you will grow. This painful lesson, I understand, was a rock you needed to stumble upon to truly become the woman you are destined to be."
Jek nodded slowly, processing Aurelia's words. She grasped the underlying truth: her Princess truly could perceive the future, not just in fragments, but in sweeping chapters—a power many could only dream of. Jek recalled whispers of Aurelia "reading chapters," not whole books. She still struggled to fully comprehend what "reading a chapter" meant, but she realised now that the Princess had foreseen the Hexarchy's plot months ago. And, perhaps, Lord Guilliman, as her First Consul and brother, had also been privy to this prescience. It would not surprise her that they had allowed the coup to unfold, meticulously, to expose the traitors and all who followed them. Jek had, unwittingly, played her part in their complex, strategic game.
Aurelia perceived the doubt in Jek's eyes, and the dawning realisation of her role as a pawn in a larger, intricate board game. It was a truth Aurelia found herself constantly wrestling with. This very pragmatism, this cold calculation of outcomes, this necessity of secrecy, of allowing certain events to transpire for a greater good, even at the cost of innocent suffering—it often chafed against her profound empathy. It demanded she play with lives, compelling her to pretend it was not fundamentally against her very nature, against what she ought not to be.
"I will not compel you to remain, Jek," Aurelia stated, her voice gentle, yet holding the weight of infinite choices. Jek looked up, surprised, confusion clouding her features.
"Your Highness?" Jek asked, bewildered.
"It is the terrible necessity of having to, at times, allow events to unfold in a predetermined way, purely so they might reach a crucial juncture, a point where all the suffering coalesces into profound worth. To glimpse the future cultivates such problems: the relentless need to know what is to come, and the inability to divest from a magnificent outcome, even at the cost of unimaginable suffering along that path. There will be times, Jek, when manipulating certain trajectories will be unavoidable. People will need it. Sometimes, I will be forced to do it. And there will be times when you will be afraid of what I am truly capable of," Aurelia confessed, her gaze sweeping over the delectable food on the table. The simple pleasure of the meal, its exquisite flavours, allowed her to feel utterly human, content in that brief, precious moment. But as she looked at the vast banquet before her, she also saw the symbolic representation of her boundless power—an endless feast she could devour by herself, yet still never be full.
It was, in a way, the perpetual paradox of her existence.
That was the line Aurelia constantly walked. To remain human, or to embrace her limitless potential. The thought of "just one more bite, and I will be satisfied," was a pervasive lie that many, including herself, had told themselves. The idea that if she finished her meal, she could simply snap her fingers, conjure another, and lie to herself that she was in control—it was a terrifying illusion. Aurelia was confronted by powers that had no compunction about utilising every available resource to annihilate the Imperium. It would be staggeringly foolish, irresponsible, and profoundly naive to believe that mere hope, however pure, would grant them victory. Aurelia still believed in hope, profoundly, irrevocably. But there would be times when she had to wield her terrifying might, to strike back with overwhelming force.
Aurelia knew she would never trade her fundamental humanity for victory. But there would be times when she had to be utterly pragmatic, to don the mask not merely of a Princess, but of a hardened soldier. After all, the Imperium, in its very essence, was forged through relentless war. To believe she could save humanity without ever fully deploying her power, simply by offering hugs and kind words, was a profoundly foolish notion.
"That, Jek, is one of the profound reasons I seldom consult the future, only when it is absolutely vital to discern the next crucial step or impending danger. Seeing the future can lead to unforeseen perils and untold misfortunes. I refuse to use human lives as mere pawns to protect humanity; that would render me no better than the Ruinous Powers who so gladly do so at will. I apologise for keeping this a secret from you, Jek. I apologise for involving you in this gambit, for using you."
Jek recoiled, a profound shock gripping her as the Princess-Regent, the perfect, almost divine being, offered such a deeply felt apology. Around them, the Hestia Sisters experienced a surge of psychic dissonance, their devoted minds grappling with the unimaginable concept of their flawless Princess apologising for using a mortal life. In their zeal, they existed to be used by their Princess, to fulfil her every unspoken desire. To hear her apologise was a bewildering, almost heretical surprise. Yet, in their twisted perception, it was also a divine act: the all-seeing Princess, who could command the future, choosing to restrain her boundless power, to sacrifice a part of her godhood, purely to remain human amongst them. That, they believed, was truly beautiful, the ultimate sacrifice for her humanity.
The Lionguard, hearing her confession through their private vox-channels, perceived it as irrefutable proof of their lady's profound wisdom. Her immense power, though at her fingertips, was wielded with gentle precision, with profound caution, never with arrogance. The Princess used her formidable weapons with unparalleled care; that was their unwavering belief.
The Custodes, however, who had never truly perceived the Emperor as a God, simply saw the Princess's luminous essence and were immensely grateful that she was wise enough to refuse the path their father had taken. Her self-imposed restraint was a crucial limit, a line she would never cross. Even then, her innate power was sufficient to draw the Emperor's shattered will together, rendering him not fully whole, but remarkably cohesive. Her mere presence also brought a profound tranquillity to the Immaterium, enveloping Terra, Mars, and hundreds of systems across the Sol System in her protective light, shielding them from the corrosive touch of Chaos. Navigators, venturing into these stabilised lanes, often spoke of the serene peace and quiet of the void, like an empty, undisturbed sea.
The Princess, they knew with absolute certainty, was not a God. But she was undeniably more than a simple human, more profound than the image she presented to the unknowing masses. She was a being crafted by the Emperor with the explicit intention of not being worshipped, but of representing hope in humanity's intrinsic ability to transcend its own perceived limitations. She was a perfect creation of reason, a testament to proof, and a galactic power beyond compare—a future for humanity's true place in the vast, unforgiving galaxy.
Jek swiftly replied to Aurelia's apology, her voice firm, resolute. "My Princess, please do not apologise for it. I would have willingly offered my very life for this cause, if it were necessary!"
Aurelia sighed deeply, a soft reprimand. "Do not speak of giving your life away so easily, Jek."
"I will do it for you, Princess!" Jek declared, her voice imbued with a newfound, unwavering determination. "I believe. I know, Your Highness, with every fibre of my being, that humanity's chance for a new dawn rests upon you. You are that new morning." Jek stated this with unshakeable conviction. In her soul, there was no person who could reunite the Imperium and instil the desperate hope it needed more than the Princess-Regent. If her life was the cost of humanity's chance for a new day, then so be it.
Aurelia's gaze, galaxies flickering in her eyes, intensified, focusing keenly on Jek. "I appreciate your words, Anna-Murza, I truly do. And your faith in me is of profound importance. I simply wish for you to comprehend that if you remain my Consul, you will inevitably be placed in such positions. You will witness the true extent of what I am capable of, and you will understand precisely why the Ruinous Powers of the Warp both detest and truly fear me."
Those words carried a multitude of meanings for the silent audience around them: a promise, but also a stark warning. The Princess's powers, those abilities that were not of the Warp, yet so terrifyingly potent, evoked a myriad of unspoken questions. Some, who had heard legends of her creating entire star systems with a thought, could not help but wonder what further depths her power held. None of them had truly witnessed the Princess's power in its full, unleashed glory. They felt her aura, yes, that soft, divine light of peace and serenity—the same one that now calmed hundreds of systems around Terra, pushing back Chaos, stabilising the Warp, feeding the Astronomican's light, and restoring the Emperor's will.
But what else could the Princess do? Why was she afraid of losing herself to it? Why did she fear truly becoming more? Could it be that she feared becoming a being so powerful that she would be utterly divorced from the very humanity she yearned to save? Had Aurelia, in her visions, seen what she would become, a being beyond even her current comprehension? None knew. Perhaps they would never understand.
But one thing was clear: the Princess would never relinquish that small, precious blaze of humanity within her. That flame, ignited by her father, remained resolute.
"I thank you, Your Highness, for revealing so much of yourself," Jek said, her voice steady with renewed determination, hope radiant in her eyes. "But I wish to remain at your side, in whatever form you deem necessary for me to serve."
Aurelia leaned back, a soft, approving nod. "Alright. Thank you."
Aurelia thought, wondering if she had made the right choice, both in her revelation and in trusting Jek's unwavering resolve. She would continue to trust and hope for the best. Perhaps her father would concur with her chosen restraints, a discussion she intended to have with him later. But she also knew she bore a profound responsibility: to herself, and to those around her. It would be irresponsible to wield her power in the material world without the means to fully concentrate it, to manage its potentially destructive impact. She was not merely afraid of harming her own fragile physical form; she was afraid of harming the innocent.
Aurelia realised she must find a way to harness discrete, manageable pools from her vast, infinite ocean of power, to apply them safely within the constraints of the material world.
And a new idea, born of necessity and wisdom, began to take root in her mind.