A Few Years Ago
Calastar — His city within the storm — rose from the bones of unreality, half-finished and already divine in its geometry. Lattices of gold and Blackstone twisted into impossible architecture, suspended between dimensions. Light without source shimmered across vast bridges that led nowhere yet, scaffolds of pure thought and mathematics anchored by the Emperor's will. Every step through it was like walking through the mind of a god — ordered, exacting, unyielding.
Craftsmen and artisans moved with silent reverence, their tools guided by His telepathic precision. Each equation that formed upon the translucent air, each spire that solidified from light, was a fragment of the Great Design. The Webway was no mere escape. It was an empire of reason carved into the immaterial, a labyrinth against madness — the Emperor's answer to the Warp itself.
Franklin Valorian stood upon the central causeway, his boots echoing softly against the transparent floor. Beyond him, the raw immaterium churned like a sea of molten color, restrained only by the psychic fields humming along Calastar's perimeter. He removed his helm, his brown eyes taking in the sight — awe, admiration, and quiet dissent flickering in equal measure.
"It's magnificent," Franklin said at last. "A city of light inside the bones of reality itself."
The Emperor did not turn. He stood at the edge of the abyss, a figure of gold and shadow, every line of His armor alive with scriptural energy. His voice carried not through air, but through certainty.
"It is more than that," He replied. "It is the culmination of structure over entropy. Proof that will can impose order upon the formless. Humanity's next evolution demands more than survival — it demands discipline."
Franklin smiled faintly, almost to himself. "And you mean to build that discipline alone."
"Who else would?" The Emperor's tone was not pride, but inevitability. "I once witnessed the true zenith of humanity's power—a civilization of miracles, one that nonetheless devolved into the Cybernetic Rebellion. That height of unchecked mastery proved too much, even then. You, Franklin, found in the miraculous part of the galaxy, should know the heights I saw, and the power at your fingertips as President of the Independence Sector." Left unrestrained, that power will devour itself — as it did the Eldar. I will not let our species collapse beneath its own reflection."
Franklin's gaze drifted upward. Above them, the Webway's vault was not a ceiling but a living horizon — membranes of dimension folding over each other like glass plates. "The Eldar had this too," he said. "They built corridors to escape the storm."
"They built prisons of vanity," the Emperor replied. "They hid their corruption behind beauty and called it grace. They feared the Warp, yet never severed their souls from it. Fear is their true god, Franklin. It always was."
"And you would remove fear entirely?"
The Emperor turned then, and the light seemed to bow around Him. His eyes burned with calm precision. "Fear must exist — but it must never rule. When mastered, it is a tool. When unchecked, it becomes faith, and faith is the seed of annihilation. Humanity will master its psyche, not kneel before it. That is why the Webway must be built. No more Navigators, no more Geller Fields, no more daemonic whispers disguised as hope."
Franklin folded his arms, a gesture halfway between curiosity and rebellion. "You'd purge fear with control," he said. "But control strangles imagination. You can cure madness by killing wonder."
The Emperor's expression did not change. "Liberty is the privilege of the disciplined," He said. "You grant it to children, they burn themselves with it. You grant it to a species, they create gods. Humanity is not yet ready to wield freedom without consequence. Until it is, order must prevail."
"Then what am I?" Franklin asked, quietly.
The Emperor's gaze fixed upon him — a gaze that could shatter stone or elevate worlds. "You are the experiment," He said. "The proof or the refutation. The only one of your brothers I cannot predict."
Franklin laughed softly. "You could destroy me if you wished."
"I could," the Emperor admitted, "but I will not. You are the contradiction that must be tested. You will lead your Independence Sector as you see fit. Build your egalitarian utopia. Rule without chains. If you succeed, then perhaps my truth is flawed."
"And if I fail?"
"Then I will know control was always necessary."
Silence fell between them, vast and absolute — two minds suspended over the abyss, father and son, both architects of humanity's future yet standing on opposite shores.
Franklin's eyes lingered on the unfinished spires of Calastar. "So I'm to prove whether courage can survive without obedience."
The Emperor inclined His head slightly. "If you endure, then courage is the cure. If you fall, then humanity must never be trusted with freedom."
Franklin turned, the Blue and Red of his Star Studded armor catching the refracted light. "Then I'll make sure you're wrong."
The Emperor's voice followed him, cold and distant as the stars. "Be careful where conviction ends and pride begins. Many civilizations have died confusing the two."
Franklin paused at the threshold where the Webway's light met the shadow of the Materium. "And yet you're still building yours."
For the first time, there was almost — almost — the faintest trace of amusement in the Emperor's eyes. "Because mine will not die."
Franklin smirked. "Then I'll build one that lives."
He stepped through the veil, the Webway light collapsing behind him like a closing book.
The Emperor turned back toward Calastar's endless expanse. Around Him, the city continued to unfold — cathedrals of geometry, bridges of logic, fortresses of certainty. He did not watch Franklin go; He did not need to.
The light of the Webway dimmed into nothingness — gold collapsing into the black.
Silence. Then —
A heartbeat.
Metal thrummed. Engines hummed. The light that broke over Franklin's eyes was not divine, but mechanical — cold fluorescents washing across steel bulkheads.
The dream dissolved.
"—Attention all hands, this is Fleet Command. Prepare for deceleration. We are approaching the Ulthwé Perimeter. I repeat, Battlefleet Liberty is entering Craftworld Ulthwé space."
The voice of Sovereign, calm and resonant, filled the chamber.
Franklin exhaled slowly, the phantom warmth of the Emperor's light still lingering on his skin.
For a moment, he wondered — had that conversation been memory, or prophecy?
He rose, armor whispering as the joints awakened. The scent of ozone and gold dust clung faintly to him, a trace of where his mind had wandered.
Outside his viewport, the void glimmered — and there, suspended in the abyss, shone Craftworld Ulthwé.
A black diamond among the stars.
A bastion of foresight and paranoia.
------
The void around Sweet Liberty shimmered, the stars bending around a gravity well that was not mass but will.There, suspended in the dark like an obsidian crown, hung Craftworld Ulthwé — its wraithbone arcs pulsing with restrained psychic thunder. The long silhouette of the city-ship turned slowly, as if regarding the human fleet with the weary patience of a god grown tired of watching ants.
Franklin stood on the observation deck, arms crossed, his reflection superimposed over the vision of a dying civilization preparing once more for war. Behind him, the soft footfalls of Sovereign's holoform echoed like a whisper.
"Contact established, Primarch. Craftworld Ulthwé requests audience. Priority designation: Farseer Eldrad Ulthran."
Franklin gave a thin smile."Old spider still weaving, I see."
The holo shimmered — and the command bridge was replaced by light.
He stood within a chamber that felt like a cathedral grown, not built — its walls alive with psychic veins, every breath humming with faint telepathic resonance.Before him, Eldrad Ulthran leaned upon his witch-staff, cloaked in shadow and starlight, helm resting at his side. His expression was one of perpetual condescension— tempered, perhaps, by genuine relief.
"Ah, Franklin Valorian. Humanity's golden contradiction made flesh."Eldrad's tone carried that unmistakable cadence — that of a man who knew he was right about everything and was utterly exhausted by it."You arrive late, as ever. The Krorks have not been so polite as to wait for your entrance music."
Franklin inclined his head slightly. "And yet you're still alive. I'll take that as a good omen."
"Alive, yes. Triumphant, no." Eldrad gestured, and a holographic star map unfolded — thousands of runes and vectors of light. "The Krorks have struck at five major sectors. Biel-Tan's warhosts engage them even now. The Phoenix Lords have descended upon the front like falling suns. They fight, and they bleed, and—"His eyes glinted. "—for once, we all owe you for it."
Franklin raised a brow. "You're welcome?"
"Do not get smug, mon-keigh. It offends my millennia of experience."Eldrad's smirk was visible even through his disdain. "But yes. Your… what do you call them? Ah, yes — 'Techno-Seers.'" He waved his hand dismissively. "For once, your species' government surveillance fetish has proven useful. The psychic firewall they erected — the one that makes Slaanesh scream like a dial-up modem — it allows our Farseers to channel again. Without her eyes upon us."
The background flared — scenes of Eldar seers chanting in crystalline domes, surrounded by hovering data-spirals of human code. Binaries and runes intertwined, a fusion of logic and sorcery that should not exist — yet did.Lightning arced, equations burned, and the air thrummed with words that were both prayer and program.
"For ten thousand years," Eldrad said quietly, "our craftworlds whispered every spell through clenched teeth, knowing She-Who-Thirsts would listen. Now… silence. For the first time, silence."He tilted his head toward Franklin, lips curling upward. "If I were a lesser being, I might say 'thank you.' But I am not, and I will not."
Franklin chuckled softly. "Then I'll take your silence as gratitude."
"Take it as pity, human. You will need it."Eldrad's tone sharpened, cutting through the brief warmth. "The Krork gestalt is becoming aware. They howl across realities now — their faith burns brighter than your machines. Your drives, your sciences, your 'liberty'... all of it hums in the warp like a dinner bell to beasts. They learn faster than you believe. Adaptation is their faith."
Franklin folded his arms. "And yours is paranoia."
"Yes," Eldrad admitted, eyes narrowing. "But paranoia keeps one alive. You, on the other hand, keep inviting extinction to dinner, offering it wine, and then asking it to stay for dessert."
A moment passed — quiet, heavy, electric.
Franklin looked past him, to the psychic vistas of Ulthwé — hundreds of Warlocks, Farseers, and Bonesingers, all working in unison, streams of luminous runes mixing with clouds of binary code. It was poetry and data, faith and logic. The living bridge between his world and theirs.
"I didn't come here to debate philosophy," Franklin said, though his tone betrayed the opposite. "You know why I'm here. The Krorks are tracking our inertialess drives. Warp's unstable. The fleet can't move without being ambushed. The Webway is our only option."
"Access?" Eldrad asked.
"The Webway, Franklin. It remains ours — a domain of light untouched by your reversed engineered Necron Tech. " Eldrad's eyes glowed faintly. "We are already aiding your kind more than most of my peers deem wise. My Craftworlds fight at your borders. My people bleed beside yours. The Webway, however…"
He spread his hands, and the holographic skein pulsed — the shining arteries of the Webway pulsing like veins in a divine organism.
"…is not a highway for human tanks to parade through."
Franklin's expression didn't change. "You're saying I can't move fleets through?"
"I am saying," Eldrad sighed, "that I will pretend not to notice if a certain Primarch happens to find a few unlocked doors. The Krorks are tearing apart reality's seams. I have no time to argue ownership when the universe itself is catching fire."
He leaned closer, voice lowering. "But make no mistake, Franklin. You tread within the arteries of the Aeldari race. Even now, the Drukhari stir. They smell your desperation like blood in the water, the Dark Eagle who burnt Commoragh finally bleeding"
Franklin's lips twitched into that familiar, dangerous smirk."I'm aware. I know her too well."
Eldrad groaned, rubbing his temple with one elegant hand. "Why is it always the most unstable woman in existence that men like you gravitate toward?"
Franklin shrugged. "Maybe I just like dangerous company."
Eldrad groaned, muttering under his breath in Aeldari. "By Isha's grace… how have you not died yet?"
"Good parenting," Franklin said. "And bad odds."
The farseer stared at him for a long, unreadable moment — then chuckled quietly. "Perhaps you are the Emperor's only son who truly understands him. Which is both… impressive and horrifying."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Oh, it is," Eldrad said, eyes twinkling. "You've seen what happens when gods start agreeing with me."
----------
The palace of Lady Malys was a delirium of glass and venom — every wall a mirror, every reflection a threat. The architecture itself was alive, black spires pulsing faintly with emerald light. The air smelled of ozone, perfume, and murder.
When Franklin Valorian stepped into the grand hall, reality seemed to bow out of courtesy. The chamber's vast ceiling shimmered with auric mist, while Harlequins — masked jesters of madness — capered in the periphery like laughter given flesh.
And at the center of it all, sprawled upon a throne of living crystal and thorns, sat Lady Malys.
She was elegance weaponized. Her gown was black as the abyss, patterned with serpentine veins of eerie green that pulsed like heartbeats. Her pale face gleamed in the emerald light, framed by hair darker than voidsteel. Her lips were the red of fresh sin. The pupils of her eyes glowed faintly, predator's slits gleaming beneath the shadow of an amused smile.
When Franklin entered the throne chamber, she was already smiling.
"Ah… mon cher aigle noir."Her voice was silk dipped in sin. "You arrive unannounced, yet somehow, I always know when it is you."
Franklin stood at the threshold, flanked by his six Primeborn and the Secret Service. His boots echoed against the black glass floor. For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze moved from the dancing lights to her chest—where once Khaine's mark had burned like molten gold. Now, there was only a faint shimmer, like laughter imprisoned in crystal.
"You've changed."
Malys laughed softly, the sound bright and mocking.
"And you haven't. Always the stoic human god, carved from fire and arrogance. Mon dieu, how boring that must be."
Franklin stopped before her dais, his cape brushing the black marble floor. His eyes were unreadable, but the faintest smirk tugged at his mouth — a crack of sunlight through iron.
"I was tired of wearing someone else's scars. I found… a better accessory." Her hand brushed the space over her heart, and for an instant, something flickered there—something that mocked the void itself with a grin. It wasn't defiance; it was a testament of pleasure, of surviving the ultimate pain he inflicted."
Khaine hissed through Franklin's mind, the psychic air crackling.
"Her soul smells of trickery. The Clown is up to something."
The Primeborn stiffened at her tone, but Franklin raised a hand. "Speak your terms."
"Straight to business?" she teased, pacing around him, her every movement a calculated display. "Tch, so cold, toujours." She smiled over her shoulder, eyes gleaming. "Not even a 'bonjour'? No little flattery for your dear Aurelia?"
She paused before her throne, resting her hand upon its crystalline arm.
"I will open the gates of the Webway to you. Passage through the hidden arteries even the Harlequins fear to walk. I will deliver you across reality itself — beyond the Krork storms, beyond the madness."
Her tone dropped, sultry and dangerous.
"In return, you will make me Queen of Commorragh."
"Blyat," Vladimir muttered, his voice thick with Slavic disbelief, instantly stiffening as he realized he'd broken the silence.
Franklin's gaze hardened. "You always did aim high."
"Ha!" she barked, throwing her head back in laughter. "Aim high? Darling, I was born among stars. You burned my home and yet, look! I rebuilt it higher than before."
Her grin sharpened, dangerous and dazzling.
"All I need, mon cher Valorian, is for you to appear — the ghost of the man who once razed this den of vipers. Walk beside me, and every Kabal will kneel. You will not need to speak. Your shadow will crown me."
Franklin's tone was iron. "You tried to make yourself indispensable once before. I remember how that ended."
"Oui, I remember too," she said, voice dropping to a whisper. "You stabbed me through the heart, mon amour."
Her fingers brushed his chestplate, exactly where Khaine's brand had once burned into her flesh.
"But look closely," she breathed, her accent thick as perfume. "Do you see it? Gone. Erased. Your god's fire could not hold me. Something else beats here now — a heart… of a trickster's laughter."
Franklin's eyes narrowed — faintly, almost imperceptibly. The crystalline gleam beneath her collarbone pulsed like a captured star.
"So you made another deal," he said quietly.
Malys smiled — wide, knowing.
"Oh, mon cher, It was not a deal but a challenge, a challenge of Wills that I won."
She stepped closer, so close her breath brushed his neck.
"Now, tell me, Valorian… will you deny me again? Will you cling to your holy liberty while your worlds burn? Or will you take my hand, and walk through shadow — like a god who finally understands the night?"
The air between them crackled — not quite tension, not quite temptation, but something deeper. Something dangerous.
Franklin's voice was low, steady. "You overestimate yourself, Aurelia."
"Non," she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face, the motion casual and lethal all at once. "I simply understand leverage. You need my gates. I need your legend. The equation is… perfectly balanced, non?"
She extended her hand toward him — slender, black-gloved fingers, nails glinting like glass blades.
"Take it," she whispered. "Take it, and your fleets will live. Refuse… and you may come back later, if there is still anything left to save. I have all ze time in ze world, mon président. All ze time… while you do not."
Franklin stared at her hand — the gesture of power, temptation, and venom. The mirrored walls around them rippled faintly, reflecting both of them — the radiant Primarch and the dark queen, light and shadow eternally poised.
He reached out — paused a mere breath away.
"Your terms," he said finally, "are steep."
Malys's smile curved like a blade.
"Oui, mon cher,* but you always did have exquisite taste in impossible things.*"
And as their fingers nearly brushed — the mirrors of Commorragh shuddered, the Webway itself trembled, and somewhere, unseen, a familiar laughter echoed — high, manic, and utterly amused.
A/N: TTS is a Classic
A/N: I'm going back on board again, 2 months is kind of short but, I need me some Cash.