"Greetings," his deep voice resounded, cloaked in a metallic undertone.
The cautious Amazons flinched subtly, their bodies tensing as they grew more alert.
Agape gazed at him with a hardened frown.
SANCTUM IMPERIALIS — THRONE OF THE GOD-EMPEROR
All seemed calm and orderly, as ever. The Custodes moved with practiced grace, their stoic mannerisms betraying no emotion.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Through the great hall that led to the Throne of the God-Emperor, Constantin Valdor walked with steady, deliberate steps.
Alone, he knelt before the Golden Throne.
The Custodes standing vigil observed him in silence.
"Your will has been done, my lord," Valdor finally said, breaking the heavy silence.
The Custodes turned subtly to glance at one another. Without exchanging a word, they marched out of the chamber.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Their armored footsteps echoed with a solemn rhythm. Upon reaching the entrance, they resumed their posts as silent sentinels.
Valdor slowly raised his head and gazed upon the Golden Throne. There, a towering skeletal figure sat enshrined in stasis, sustained by arcane Mechanicum machinery—lifeless, yet not dead.
"I saw."
The words came like a low thunderclap—heavy, eternal.
The stasis field around the Throne trembled. The chamber quaked as reality itself distorted.
The grim illusion of decay shattered.
In its place a being of unparalleled majesty, his face carved in stoic grimness. The Emperor rose from His throne. His golden armor gleamed, as He descended slowly.
Thum. Thum. Thum.
The very walls trembled with each step.
He stopped before Valdor, casting an immense shadow.
Chzzhh.
Valdor removed his helm and looked up.
He saw glory—undimmed and eternal. His body trembled faintly, but his aged features remained composed.
"Rise, Valdor."
The Emperor's voice boomed with the force of a thousand storms.
Valdor stood. Even in his mighty stature, he seemed as a child before the Master of Mankind.
The Emperor regarded him for a moment, then gave a subtle nod. Turning, He began to walk back toward the throne—though no longer did He appear as a corpse sustained by machines.
"It was a great success... yet a great failure," the Emperor said aloud, pausing mid-step.
He sighed—a rare and heavy sound.
"Follow me, Valdor. There is much to be done."
A rift tore open before Him. The Emperor turned, meeting Valdor's eyes.
Without hesitation, Valdor followed.
Nodding with quiet approval, the Emperor stepped through the rift, with His most loyal servant close behind.
---------------------------------------------------
In a shadowy chamber riddled with countless tunnels, a large rift opened. The Emperor emerged, scanning the ancient space before selecting a tunnel. Valdor followed in silence.
This was one of many forgotten passages within the Imperial Palace—yet familiar to Valdor.
They advanced until they reached a smooth wall. The Emperor pressed His palm against it. A hidden slab groaned and slid aside, revealing a descending stairwell.
Together, they descended. Pale lights flickered from unseen sources, casting ghostly glows across the walls—not that either required illumination.
"I know you have many queries," the Emperor said softly as they descended, "but all in due time."
They entered a vast subterranean chamber.
A large metallic door stood before them, ancient and sealed. Upon it were inscribed the words "Spes"and the number "00", stylized like the symbol for infinity.
Hssssss.
As the Emperor approached, the door opened with a hiss.
From within came the sound of slow breathing... then deliberate footsteps.
Click. Click. Click.
A hooded figure emerged.
The Emperor stood still. Valdor, mirroring Him, remained silent.
The figure stopped before them. Though veiled in shadow, his form was unmistakable—etched in Valdor's unclouded memories.
"My lord," the figure said, bowing his head.
"It is good to see you too, old friend," the Emperor replied.
``````````````````````````````````````````
THEMYSCIRA
Atrius stood unmoving, watching the cautious women clad in bronze and leather armor.
Beneath his helm, his brow was furrowed as he contemplated their unease and unspoken tension.
He chose to speak again.
"Greetings, mortal women. Tell me,... what planet is this? Direct me to your planetary lord's dwelling."
This time, his words were uttered in Low Gothic,
The Amazons tightened their grips on their weapons, brows creasing.
"What is he saying, Agape? His tongue sounds familiar… yet I cannot understand," one whispered urgently.
"I know not. Even with her blessing, I cannot comprehend him," Agape replied.
She raised a hand.
"Lower your weapons," she commanded, "He appears capable of communication. His posture suggests no hostile intent—but remain cautious. No sudden movements."
Slowly, reluctantly, the Amazons obeyed. Yet their eyes remained sharp, bodies taut.
Atrius, observing their nervous glances, frowned in turn. He tried to interpret their words, but the dialect was lost on him.
Attempting to ease their fears, he raised his hands further and reached for his helm.
Clang.
The sound of metal shifting alarmed the Amazons once more—eyes flaring, muscles tightening.
He hesitated briefly... then proceeded, undeterred.
Tsch.
A soft hiss escaped as the helm disengaged. A click of servos, a slow lift—then, the helmet was removed.
Now, the Amazons could see what lay beneath the helm of this towering warrior—apart from the glowing eye that had always been visible.