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Gloriana Class Battleship Ultus-Solis
High Orbit Anchor Over 20-63. Locally known as PraxiaSekhmetara allowed herself to rest her eyes as she waited, allowing the blessed darkness to reign over her senses for the short while. For countless hours she had poured over reports, the flickering of cogitatal data shimmering in her mind even after her separation from it. The War for Praxia had continued to steadily fall in the favour of the combined Legions, even with their surprisingly advanced technology, the rebels were outgunned, and could not rely on the presence of the Emperor’s gene scions. The steady churning war was beginning to become a rout, the last bastions of resistance would soon find their hastily projected void shielding failing. She did not see the need to throw the lives of the daughters of either legion away through the shock assault when direct bombardment had become an option, now they simply waited for the final decisive blow to be made open to them.
Her mood had not improved, however. The origin of the rebellion’s technological surge had not been identified. Those captured from the rebellion and intercepted transmission spoke of a benefactor from beyond the stars, one who had swayed them with the chance to throw off the yoke of their oppressive local government, which had become synonymous with the Imperium during the brief contact with the world. The Imperial Auxilia Commanders who had saw fit to not address this issue in the world’s initial compliance had already been identified by the primarch, although she had yet to decide how best to address this failure. They were on the cusp of victory, yet the conditions had not effectively changed from their arrival beyond the simple consideration of strategic objectives. Her victories were won in the heart and mind as much as in the seizure of assets, and this felt hollow.
She had forced a reprieve upon herself not out of a need for rest, but due to the arrival of yet another sister. The party which gathered for the arrival of Daena was not quite so grand as the ceremonial meeting of the Tears of Dawn and The Serpents of the Sun. Even those Primarchs she was not closest with, Sekhmetara had spent significant time studying for behavioural preferences. The Emperor’s true angel was not one for such pomp, and besides, they were now involved in an active warfront, even she would not recall her key staff for pomp and ceremony when they were executing her wars. Still, it was a worthy enough occasion that those aboard the Gloriana for their duties alongside their Primarch had assembled in full, the observation tier just as crowded as it was for the arrival of the Serpents, those who had been allowed down to the surface to document the war being in small enough number it had no effect on the crowd density. Now, however, two primarchs stood where there had been one, their presence united almost enough that their smaller retinues could hardly be noticed as significant.
Nelchitl stood beside her sister with an uneasy conscience. Her Legion was planetside, continuing the campaign against the traitors of Praxia without her. The mysterious weapons and technology had yet to be identified, and a benefactor from the stars appeared to be the culprit but still who they were was unknown. With more questions than answers and a planet hanging in the balance Nelchitl yearned to be anywhere but here, and yet here she stood in the massive bay of the Ultus-Solis her duties as Primarch, and as sister, out weighing the cost of the momentary withdrawal from Praxia.
She turned to survey the bay, once more the same one she had landed in on her own arrival, yet being on the receiving side she was able to take in the atmosphere far beyond the scope that she had when she stepped off her shuttle. The sounds of battle were replaced with the ever incessant hum of her dearest sisters favorite Remembrancers packing the catwalks and observation windows, clicks of pict-machines and the whirring of holo-devices easily discernible over the noise of the crowd as the moments were captured to be forever ingrained in the memory of the Crusade. Not a day earlier she had been advancing the fight with her daughters, now she found herself the focus of hololiths and pict feeds like some famous socialite while her daughters fought and bled beneath them. She found the thought disconcerting.
The questions in her mind threatening to completely overshadow the occasion, Nelchitl did her best to shake the thoughts from her mind and readied herself for another sister's arrival. The Emerald Priestess had counted herself blessed by the Emperor’s goodwill in being close enough to assist Sekhmetara, just seeing one of her prized siblings reward enough for her. But now she would be united with a second. She took solace in the fact that the Emperor Himself must certainly be orchestrating such a reunion, His Will moving beyond the stars allowing for such a rare joining to manifest was the only explanation for such good fortunes.
Bolstered by the idea that He had allowed this reunion of three sisters, the gnawing thoughts at the back of Nelchitl’s mind seemed to subside and she allowed herself to relax where she stood and enjoy what was to come. With a radiant smile and a conscience lifted by His intervention, Nelchitl turned and offered the myriad pict-machines an easy wave before turning back to watch the dark beyond the integrity shields.
Away in the dark, the expected Primarch sat within her shuttle with the same impassive serenity as ever, the vessel hanging in the void between her host’s Gloriana and her own. Though surrounded by her entourage, that collection of Astartes and civilians was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment, Daena’s thoughts instead focused on the sisters she was moments from meeting. The mere fact that such a meeting was occurring rankled every pragmatic bone in her body, a portion of her mind calculating how quickly she could get her daughters planetside now that the Redemption was in orbit. A ghost of a smile crossed her face at the thought that both of her siblings might agree with that assessment - albeit for vastly different reasons. Her smile vanished as she teased on that thought, unfurling it as every passing moment brought her closer to the waiting hangar bay.
Nelchitl was an easy read, the woman as brash and impulsive as the day she was found. No doubt she wished to return to the battlefield and put the enemy to flight, to earn the victory rather than pose for photographs. Sekhmetara on the other hand… everything Daena had learned of her made it clear that in almost every other situation she was a lover of pomp and parties, but this wasn’t any other situation. No, something told the Deathseer that even she would not be content to feast with her pride so sorely wounded.
Whether she thought correctly would soon be found out, the Primarch’s head snapping up as soon as she felt her vessel make contact with the deck. Her gaze took in her entire retinue as her thoughts receded and the now became paramount. The Praetors and technical analysts sat silently as they waited for the order to disembark, having donned power armor and dress uniform for the occasion. Meanwhile the horde of Remembrancers took every opportunity to record it, Daena’s face seamlessly shifting from dull mask to gentle smile as they were finally able to catch a sight of her. Hidden within that crowd of humanity sat a man in the humble robes of the Order Elucidatum, whom the Primarch scrupulously paid little heed to and asked no questions of. And then, there were them. The same two who had seemed to always shadow her, the cherubic twins constantly following at her heels, remaining ageless despite the centuries.
“Come now, Daena. It won’t take as long as you fear,” the pair say in their unearthly synced cadence, fulsome grins splitting their faces as they continue, “Trust us.”
Refusing to give any response, Daena simply stood, her Praetors immediately falling in rank behind her at the wordless signal. Though pomp was not her preference, she understood that such displays of pageantry still served a valuable purpose for the Imperium’s citizenry - and for that, she was all too willing to put on a proper show. First out the hatch was her Praetor Primus, Asha banging the ornate silver spear upon the ground with her every step. Following were a pair of lesser ranked Praetors in whom Daena’s lineage ran strongest, their flowing white hair contrasting with the void black of their armor. And then came the Angel herself, her wings unfurling in a majestic display as she stepped off of the shuttle and onto the Ultus-Solis proper, a dusting of pure white feathers trailing in her wake. A final two Praetors round out the honor guard, hoisting banners decorated with the honors of the XIVth.
That she was then followed by an ungainly assortment of scientists, Remembrancers, and whatever other officials had managed to tag along was of no concern to her. She had created the impression she needed to, the images that would inspire dread and awe. That was all that mattered. But the show was not over, not so soon.
The sight of another sister-primarch in such a short space of time was still one to lift Sekhmetara’s spirit despite the situation on the planet below. While she responded with less overt familiarity to the arrival of Nelchitl some time before, warmth still radiated from her as she smiled, and her retinue saluted with the sign of the Aquila. She had always personally preferred the traditional Mithran salute, but she was proud of her Legion-Daughters for adapting as directed by the cultural norms of the Imperium.
The arrival of the Emperor’s angel rippled as a wave of anticipation through the civilian onlookers above. To already be in the presence of two daughters of the Emperor was one thing, but they were an overbearing presence one could hope to survive, the sudden arrival of one another matter entirely. To see three at once at a distance one might be able to throw a stone? Almost too much for even the most well prepared of onlookers, a phenomenon even the marines themselves were not entirely immune from. For Sekhmetara’s part, she felt impressed herself. Part of her had always thought the stories of a sister-Primarch forged in the image of humanity’s old clingings of faith to be an exaggeration, she felt flutterings of joy to know this was not the case. If she had been slightly more (or perhaps less) vain, she might have even felt envious. Envy, however, was not an emotion she felt particularly capable of.
“Greetings, Sister, a fortunate day for us all that are unified in location, as well as purpose.” Sekhmetara’s tone was cordial and without excessive formality, however her voice naturally carried across the room giving it the air of a diplomatic speed in quality of volume alone. “And we are so very pleased you could join us.”
Nelchitl felt her mood rising further as the Doomsayers honor guard made their way out of the shuttle. A display of calculated threat and awe as representations of raw power strode forth ahead of their Primarch, armor as black as the void beyond the integrity shields. She found herself drawn to the striking resemblance that the two shared with the being that would soon step out behind them. The two Praetors flowing white hair and porcelain features appeared to resemble Daena far more on this day than they had last Nelchitl had seen them years before. An interesting trait inherited from their gene-mother no doubt.
The click of pict feeds and the whir of new holo devices coming to life filled the ears of the Emerald Priestess as she watched her sister put on a show for all those assembled by spreading her wings to full as she made her otherwise subdued entrance. Nelchitl stood slightly taller as her own honor guard saluted with the sign of the aquila in lock-step with the Tears opposite of them. The view of her sisters' arrival enough to completely dispel the earlier misgivings of the campaign below, Nelchitl knew for sure that no foe; no matter how well armed and supplied; could possibly stand against the combined might of the three beings assembled in the bay of the Ultus-Solis.
With a smile and a surety of action in her step, Nelchitl broke from the side of Sekhmetara only moments after her sister had finished speaking. With arms held wide at her sides in a friendly gesture Nelchitl spoke as she approached the Angel of Death.
“Fortune bears no weight here, the Emperor surely brings us together!” she spoke easily, her voice carrying to all within the bay, an infectious joy within them turning the hushed whispers and stunned expressions of the Remembrancers and assorted crew above seeing Daena for the first time into unsure smiles and excited buzzing. “Were it only under more desirable circumstances.” she finished, her final words only carrying as far as Daena and her entourage, lost to the space of the bay with the same casual ease that had carried across its entirety.
The perfect porcelain smile on Daena’s face broke into a true grin as her ‘younger’ sister rushed forward, the emotionless judge permitting herself to truly indulge. Had it been anyone else, the Praetors would have cut down such a brazen interloper where they stood - but Nelchitl had always seemed to break such rules. Nearly all Doomsayers present had been there two decades past when they had first met, but even they were surprised by what happened next.
Bringing her sister into a tight embrace, the Angel’s wings descend over the pair, hiding them from the sight of the crowd and the whirr of pict captors. Looking Nelchitl in the eye, Daena seemed as if she was about to speak for a moment. And then it began again, the Primarch freezing in place as visions overtook mundane sight..
Oceans of blood boiled beneath an oppressive sky, the supply continuously renewed from the filthy gutters of a fortress of gore and bone. A citadel home to atrocities beyond counting, witnessed mid-fall. Gleaming figures in silver and gold assaulted its battlements and tore down its horrors in a maelstrom of death and destruction - and at the center of it all a gleaming sword punctured a woman’s chest. By some accident or with what little strength remained, her head moved to stare directly into the phantasmal viewer’s eyes, Nelchitl’s staring into Daena’s once more. The vision changed almost as soon as it was seen, the Primarch of the XVIIth staring vacantly into the sky as creatures with horrid limbs cavorted around her dying form. A smile erased in a heartbeat by an unseen assailant. A monster righteously destroyed. A hero dying for her people. A tyrant despised by her followers. But in them all it remained, the oppressive sight and stench of blood.
Wrenching her gaze away from Nelchitl, Daena’s wings flap frantically as the overwhelmed woman attempted to escape her accursed sight - and succeeded only in changing the subject of her visions. Locking eyes with Sekhmetara, the blood mercifully faded away, replaced by visions of opulence and gold. She lay recumbent in a palace decorated in her own style, dying a slow death from an impossible wound in her stomach that refused to heal. A woman offered salvation, warning that only death awaited inaction. This, too, soon faded, replaced by yet more entries in the parade of ill fate. A hunt gone awry, her body broken beneath a monster with the face of one of their brothers. A hunt well fought, the victorious heroes putting an end to a monster with the face of Sekhmetara. Beloved and despised. Worshiped and profaned. Conqueror and conquered.
It took only a moment for her mind to once more be hers, Daena’s face sliding back into the inoffensive smile of a statute as her wings came to rest upon her back. Such foolishness had nearly cost her dearly, the Primarch’s mental walls reinforced to ensure that such childish notions as joy would not interrupt what remained of their show. Perhaps in private, away from the demands of duty, but never here. Not while her performance was still required.
“My sister,” she spoke softly, voice pitched just so to ensure that the breathy whisper could still be detected by the devices of the Remembrancers. “It is good to see you once more. And my sister, a pleasure to meet at last,” she continued, voice growing in strength as she turned towards Sekhmetara again. “Father sends his regards, and his fondest wish that we deal with these misguided fools swiftly. Malcador sends his Tallymen to ensure it,” she said with a sweeping gesture towards the Elucidators still disembarking her shuttle. “But there will be time enough for us to speak of war. My sisters,”
My murderers?, “would that we could always travel together,” she said in a carrying voice, hoping that none noticed her momentary pause, before beckoning towards the mistress of the Tears to join her and Nelchitl.
The onyx skinned form of the third primarch closed the distance between her and her united sisters in a few brief steps to embrace them. While she wore her battleplate in most of its entirety, her gauntlets were not in place and the bare touch of her hands held to her sisters’ faces, the gold of her sub-dermal metallic markings sparkling lightly in the artificial light.
“When our father first told me I had kin among the stars, this was the moment my soul longed for.” Sekhmetara spoke, her tone remaining private in tone, but public in volume, a moment of intimacy between demigods standing in the hold of the faithful. “War may bring us together, but it is the building of our father’s realm for which we are born.” The intense orbs of her eyes focused finally on Daena even as she spoke to them both. Her fellow Primarch had not faltered visibly to the sense of lesser humanity, but the cut and thrust of politics were her domain and she was not a lesser human. Her sister struggled with some private thought, worth mentioning at a different time.
“Sister.” Nelchitl beamed as a smiling Daena pulled her into an embrace. Her sister's wings wrapping around the form of the two Primarchs shrouding them in intimate privacy, she looked upon her sister ready for warm words of kinship from the Angel before her only to find her sister's gaze vacant and devoid of the life she had just witnessed. In silence she stood for the briefest of moments as the wings surrounding them fluttered as if overwhelmed by some private thought. Yet as quickly as the episode had begun it was over with Daena offering the words that Nelchitl had expected.
Knowing better than to mention in such a setting what she had just witnessed, Nelchitl maintained her delighted composure as Daena addressed her sisters. “Time enough for war indeed, there seems no lack of it beneath us as it stands.” she agreed with the Angel before she eyed over the entourage that had disembarked and took note sourly of the Elucidators in the crowd. The Emerald Priestess turned her view once more to her sisters and the approaching form of Sekhmetara, adding her to the embrace with a smooth shift from her place.
She brought a hand up to clasp that of Sekhmetara’s at her cheek as she spoke, offering an affectionate grin to her favorite sister. She nodded in agreement and added her own words to the end of her sisters, “To build His realm as He has envisioned it is the singular purpose of us all, and the binding ideals we strive for in His name secure our bonds as the bedrock of this the Great Crusade.” Content that she had indulged the need for propaganda and morale across the Crusade’s thousands of fleets and here amongst the myriad of mortals and Astartes assembled in hushed excitement Nelchitl was about to speak privately again when the sounds of soft singing began to drift from the honorguard of Tears.
It was then that the quiet voice drifted from Sekmetara’s entourage, from the honour guard of Tears of Dawn selected to accompany their Primarch. They were fresh, those with more experience or prominence still attending their duties on the planet. The most promising new recruits from the latest generations of Tears of Dawn. Exceptional individuals in their own right, but not yet used to the presence of even their own Primarch, let alone three. Distorted only slightly by the Astartes helm worn by the individual, the halting Mithran words reached Sekhmetara’s ears and a warmer smile brushed her features as she turned from her embrace with her sisters to approach her own honour guard. The voice continued, even more quietly and hatling as the primarch drew closer.
”Baba yetu, yetu uliye….Mbinguni yetu, yetu, amina.” The young Astartes continued to practically gasp out the words as Sekhmetara herself placed her hands on either side of the Astartes helm, lifting gently, her own programmed presence as genesire overriding the mag-locks within the armoured suit. The features which looked back at her were almost a more solidly built mirror of her own, although with an element of fresh youth the Primarch had shed long ago before she was even half the age of the being before her. Finally fully exposed, the voice came to a halting stop, a look of awe on the golden brown eyes gazing up at the Primarch’s own.
“...Sire….I’m sorry….forgive me.” She stammered, now returning to the Low Gothic the fleet communicated with, words which only extended Sekhmetara’s smile.
“You have done nothing wrong sister, but our helms are not made for expressing such joy.” Sekhmetara spoke as she offered the helm back to her gene-daughter, her eyes rising to the observation gantry as a much more sonorous voice took up the melody which had begun.
”Baba yetu, yetu uliye, Mbinguni yetu, yetu, amina, Baba yetu, yetu, uliye, Jina lako litukuzwe.” Before this new female voice had even finished her first few words, a cascade of voices joined them. The native Mithrans in attendance, from marine to rembrancer to landing crew, and those who had served long enough beside them all took up the song of celebration from their home, one that had long been adapted since the arrival of the Imperium to Mithra.
”Utupe leo chakula chetu, Tunachohitaji utusamehe, Makosa yetu, hey, Kama nasi tunavyowasamehe, Waliotukosea, usitutie.” The voices rose in celebration, cascading over the landing bay. The gantry shook with the melodic stamping of those who knew the rhythm. The people of Mithra regarding the three Primarchs with the tones once reserved for the holiest of beings in the old Mithran faith, made new for this new era of Enlightenment. All but one of Sekhmetara’s current honour guard removed their helms to join in, the first daughter now rejoining the song she had inadvertently begun. To that last helmeted daughter, the Primarch nodded. The helmed figure, garbed in the black and orange of the First Company, moved towards the shipward entrance to the hall even as the song continued.
Such was the force of joy carrying the song that the mechanical churn of the bulkhead opening caused no pause, revealing an assembly of individuals proceeding forwards. Many were in fine, if unfashionable by Imperial standards, garb although others were dressed akin to the common workers from a million generic hive cities across the galaxy. All had been taken from Praxia below in the fighting, some expected to be taken part in some form of diplomatic talks, most had little such hope having seen the furious fighting of the Astartes and wider Imperium in person. None expected to be brought into the crucible of awe that was the presence of three primarchs and the assembled crowd. As they did so, Sekhmetara swept forwards. With a blink, her eyes were alight with molten glory, the mane of her hair changing from dark brown to the superheated white of flame, surrounding her features in a halo of light and fire. For a moment all were stunned. Some were frozen in places, others fell to a knee or even prostrated themselves as she drew closer.
“People of Praxia. You have been led astray by those who seek to rip you from the love and protection of our Lord Father, of Our Imperium.” Her tone was warm, but no longer soft, not hiding the imperious nature of her tone. “Your warriors are might and brave, you have earned my respect and you will be treated as brothers and sisters united with us anew, those of you who accept the truth and justice of our eternal realm. One Galaxy, A United Humanity.” Finally she reached the line of the assembled Praxians, her hands reaching forwards upturned as she spoke. Several of them shrank away, unable to bear the force of her presence. Two of them stepped forwards, shaking with fear and awe, reaching comparatively small digits to brush her palms, like the faithful reaching for a Messiah of old. As two did, more joined them, kneeling before the burning demi-god who brought the vengeance of the galaxy with her. “In his name.” Sekhmetara sang, in her native tongue, to bring an end to the song which had once been a prayer.
Though Nelchitl had heard the words before, and had learned Mithran many years prior at the insistence of Sekhmetara, there was no doubt in her mind that her own Serpents were likely just as confused as the assembled non-Mithran mortals present. With a serenity falling over her features, she watched as the Primarch of XXth moved to her daughters and removed the helm of the one who had begun the quiet song. The reverence of Sekhmetara’s movements, and the peaceful words she spoke to her own gene-daughter only served to sway Nelchitl’s mood further into joyous peace. When the song was then picked up by all of the Mithran’s present Nelchitl found herself keeping pace in her mind as the song ebbed and flowed to its completion on the lips of Huntress herself.
“In His name.” the Emerald Priestess echoed the words of her sister beneath her breath, the words spoken with the devotion of a true believer.
She brought her gaze away from the astonishingly moving display of Sekhmetara, noting the adoration visible on the faces of all of her daughters as she moved to focus on the assorted prisoners that had been escorted into the landing bay.
Once more her sister called forth the power that sent shivers down Nelchitl’s spine every time she witnessed them. The Emerald Priestess felt the attention of every Serpent in the bay focused onto the Primarch of the XXth, their breath bated as she displayed her mystifying powers. The image of the Emperor once more before Nelchitl on the battlefield of Ixhun, hovering above her with His hands outstretched in offers of acceptance and annihilation all at once swam back to her mind in such vivid detail she couldn’t help as a tear streaked down her cheek. She felt her hearts beat faster as Sekhmetara moved amongst the prisoners offering the same assured outcomes to the traitors, and Nelchitl herself offered the sign of the aquila as the display in front of her offered nothing less than proof of the divine. For what else could create a being so perfect as the deity she was watching before her own eyes?
Daena’s heart sank as she realized that they
knew, doubt gnawing at the back of her mind as she wondered who else noticed aside from her sisters. Indecision and inadequacy raced through the cracks in her mental defenses until they were banished with a burst of will powerful enough that the psykers in her retinue looked at their mistress with genuine concern, before they too mastered their emotions. It is a still and placid face that turned to greet the swell of song, whatever human part of her that may have been moved buried deep below the weight of duty and station.
Where the Tears rejoiced and the Serpents were happily confused, the Doomsayers feared. All in attendance had traveled with their lady for long enough to recognize what had occurred, the subtle indicators of Daena warring with herself - and losing. An angel without mercy or remorse strode forth as the show reached its climax, examining the prisoners with neither pity nor hate. Where Sekhmetara used grandiose displays, and Nelchitl had her fearsome reputation, the Angel of Death was far more direct.
She stopped before the row of Praxians, pulling herself to her full height, wings outstretched so that the only light that shone upon them was her sister’s own. A blank gaze swept across them as power gathered within her frame, the twin cherubim in her retinue looking at their mistress with clear distaste before muttering something unheard to her mortal followers. Her Praetors by contrast remain unmoved, Asha and the four trailing battle sisters wearing the same impassive face as their mistress - an effect made altogether more disturbing on the nearly identical faces of the pair who had walked directly before her.
When Daena spoke, it was a single, undeniable command. An order that could not be disobeyed, that even the strongest willed of the rebels could not endure. So forceful was her decree that even the weak willed among the Imperium’s own could not help but kneel or bow as they obeyed her iron will.
“
SUBMIT.”
A ripple of submissive silence passed through the throng of both the gathered prisoners and the Imperial crowd watching from the higher observation tier. Many fell to their knees involuntarily, and many more followed by choice watching their fellows fall to the indomitable will of the primarchs. One who did not kneel was Isabis Khafre, her trembling form watching the presence of three demigods in faithful rapture. One hand splayed over her heart, the prongs of her fingers formed into four distinct points, her thumb clasped into her hand. Despite herself, her role was important, coordinating the recording of the event to be projected down to the populace on Praxia, both for the loyal and recovered cities, as well as ideally reaching even those who held out against the Imperium. Such a display from the sacred scions had momentarily pulled her away from her focus, however. How any could doubt the divinity of such beings, she did not know, but she would do her utmost to spread their word across the stars.
“That angle, yes, framed together.” She spoke in a hushed whisper to the closest of her crew, watching a large dataslate presenting a window from each camera in the hold, some co-opted from the cameras of the ship itself, others from fellow remembrancers. There were few, if any, in the Imperium who could challenge her skill of directive vision, and all of her ability went into selecting the perfect moments and angles to craft into the final vision. A monkey could make an impressive film from this footage, she felt. A master of her ability could craft a pict-series which would bring the galaxy to its enraptured knees, much as the hold now found itself. With a content smile she nodded, before pressing a runic device on her gauntlet. An unseen communication to her adopted sister to mark that they had all they needed.
Sekhmetara herself received the alert as the smallest runic blip from the interface of her armour, her hands finally lifting from those who still grasped for her presence. “You are dismissed.” She spoke plainly, but it was undoubtedly a command to all present, prisoner and Imperial alike. With a shimmer of her inflamed mane of hair, she turned, nuclear eyes falling on the agents of the Regent. She did not repeat herself, but her focus made clear she included even the highest agents of their father’s most trusted advisor within the scope of her command. If it rankled them, it was not so obvious as to present a public suggestion of rebellion to the will of the Primarch. As the landing bay emptied, Sekhmetara approached Daena again, moving to cup her cheeks before placing a kiss to her forehead.
“Calm, sister. All is well.”
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