A few days ago, after quickly settling down on the grand cathedral of Nusquam, Canoness Domitira followed High Deacon Malthea on a fact-finding mission to learn more about the girl who was just a canonization away from becoming a full fledged Living Saint.
Both women and their entourages travelled together, putting boots on the ground and visiting places. They interviewed witnesses, talked to high ranking individuals, consulted linguistic experts about the song that stopped the war, and viewed classified pict-feed recordings where glimpses of the greater daemon that appeared during the conflict could be seen. All done so they could verify for themselves whether the reports concerning the upcoming Living Saint were true.
Later, they went to the field where the final battle of civil war, now dubbed by many as "The Battle of the Silent Guns", took place. Most of the area was cordoned off and needed special permits to visit. The Canoness and High Deacon talked to the hooded wardens stationed by the Inquisition, and eventually just the two of them were allowed entry.
Following their guides, the two women made their way to the place where the greater warp spawn was said to have been banished. The area was strangely barren, as though every vestige of life had been sucked from the land. At its centre stood a great stone, its surface fully covered with hexagrammic wards. Long strips of parchment hung from the many purity seals affixed to it, fluttering in the weak breeze.
Domitira stepped onto the lifeless ground, her powerful footfalls crushing a brittle crust that crumbled with a dry, papery crackle, releasing no scent of damp earth but the stale odour of ancient dust. The area was littered with craters, and a faint trace of incense hinting at past cleansing rituals lingered in the air. A distance away, the wardens of the Inquisition shadowed them.
After the two women explored the area, Malthea took a long look at the darkening dirty purple sky before abruptly breaking the silence. 'So, what do you think?'
'About what, your excellency?' Domitira asked.
'Of Lady Syrine, of course. Speak plainly.'
The Canoness thought for a moment before saying what was on her mind. 'Pardon my bluntness. Beyond her seemingly fragile and delicate appearance, which may make it difficult to believe at first glance that she is the one chosen by the God-Emperor to express His divine will, so far there is little to fault. The more I look at her, the more I am convinced she is somehow blessed.'
'Funny you said that,' Malthea said, but the High Deacon was not smiling. 'As much as I hesitate to admit it, seeing her for the first time left me breathless. Other than slightly lacking in inspiring stature, perfection was the description that came to my mind. There is something about her that seems… almost unreal.'
'Specifically, how?' Domitira asked.
'I don't know, everything about her seems too good to be true?' Malthea said with a shake of her head. 'Then again, few of us are fortunate enough to witness an individual who can directly manifest divine miracles. There are few prior records for direct comparison. Who knows if all the blessed command such a presence.'
'Agreed.' The Canoness found herself concurring. 'I had seen her a few times on the giant billboards in the city but found that none had the same impact of seeing her in person.'
'By the way, any updates yet on our request to visit the mysterious psychic beacon?' Malthea asked.
'Like our previous inquiry into Lady Syrine's official records, no response,' Domitira said while shooting a glance at the far away wardens. 'I doubt we will be hearing back from them soon. They are after all, the Inquisition. At this rate, we can only learn more when we see her at the monastery in person tomorrow.'
'Chances are even then we might not learn much,' Malthea remarked.
'Why is that?'
The High Deacon cast the Canoness a brief glance, lowering her voice as she spoke her next sentence. 'I was privy to information of some importance. May I have your oath of secrecy?'
Domitira was taken back, and her posture immediately straightened up. 'Of course, you have my word. I am honoured by your trust.'
Malthea nodded and whispered, 'do you know that Lady Syrine has lost most of her memories?'
'What?!' Stunned, Domitira hushed out in surprise before saying her next words. 'Is the source of information credible?'
'Yes, from the Church's own liaison within the local Sororitas Order. This topic is deemed sensitive for obvious reasons. It is said she suffers from post-traumatic amnesia. Serious injuries incurred during her battle with this… thing,' Malthea said with a brief gesture towards the large stone with many purity seals. 'From what I learned, her memories before arriving on this planet were wiped clean after she woke up from her brief coma.'
'By the Throne!' Domitira was speechless for a moment before speaking again with a slightly shaky voice. 'Was that the reason why she did not give a speech that day? Who else is informed of this?'
'The Inquisition, of course,' Malthea said softly. 'The uppermost ranks of the Church, the local Sororitas' command cadre, and maybe the governor. Fortunately, at the present, she is otherwise healthy and functional as a person. It was reported that hints of her condition could be observed with… minor eccentricity.'
'Please, elaborate on that.'
'It is said she sometimes displays child-like wonder at the most mundane of things, and appears to lack common sense about the basics of daily life.'
'If that's the case, is she, is she…' Domitira trailed off as she hesitated to voice the glaring questions in her mind.
Malthea picked up where the Canoness trailed off. 'Is she still the Emperor's divine will manifest? Can an amnesiac be a saint? Does she even have an agency of her own, to lead us in this unusual time when the light of the Emperor had ceased reaching us?'
Domitira said nothing, the Canoness' usually stern visage becoming grimmer still as she quietly bit on her own lower lip and nodded.
'Those are questions with no easy answers,' Malthea said with a sigh, before she made the sign of Aquila and whispered a quiet prayer.
A notification buzzed and Domitira activated her earpiece. 'Yes? …What did you say? Alright, we will come right over.'
'Trouble?'
'No. Not really, Sister Prisca had arranged interviews with some witnesses that she said would be worth our time.'
'Then let's go see what your Sister has found,' Malthea responded, 'we have seen enough here.'
The two immediately relocated with their entourages to a Refugium Civium at the capital city. Flanked by Battle Sisters and followed by Malthea, Domitira marched through the front gate and immediately spotted Prisca in her formal Dialogus attire.
'Report, Sister.'
'Yes, Canoness.' Prisca bowed. 'I was visiting places when a fellow Dialogus, Sister Welminah, contacted me. She found out about me from the visitors' list. I believe you have met her, she was a member of Lady Syrine's retinue from a few days ago.'
'Ah, that Sister Dialogus.' Domitira nodded. 'I heard she currently serves as a personal assistant of sorts to the emerging saint.'
'That.. is a very coveted position,' Malthea remarked. 'Able to witness many things first hand.'
'Yes, and extremely hectic too. Sister Welminah informed me that she is overwhelmed and could use some help from me,' Prisca said.
'Get to the point,' Domitira ordered.
'Since their own Dialogus numbers are sorely lacking at the moment, she asked me to interview a group of girls who were rescued from slavers around the capital city.'
Malthea was puzzled. 'What's so relevant about that?'
'Well, it would seem like their saviour was Lady Syrine herself,' Prisca said, her usually impassive visage brimming with barely concealed excitement, as any scholar would be when confronted firsthand with what might one day become legend. 'And it happened on the night of our arrival.'
Domitira and Malthea traded a quick glance, both immediately noted the timing and the implications behind it.
They quickly went on with the interviews, and soon, a bewildering story emerged. The rescued victims spoke of being held hostage by an organised crime syndicate. Then one day, an unassuming child living amongst them suddenly became possessed with unimaginable powers. Chaos and violence ensued. According to the girls, the initial bloodbath was followed by a day-long standoff between the child psyker and their captors.
Then, just when the whole situation seemed unlikely to change, their unlikely saviour appeared. There was something almost comical about the way the testimonies differed in their details, while remaining remarkably consistent about the important parts. They said she had appeared out of nowhere. She had walked through the carnage without fear. She had confronted the newly awakened psyker and somehow managed to calm the child down. She spoke to them all, convinced everyone to follow her, and led the whole group to safety. In truth, with a manifested halo glaring like a star around her head in those gloomy tunnels, no one needed much convincing.
'So,' Domitira concluded. 'On the night we arrived, she showed up alone in a slaver den, tamed a manifested child psyker who has been using her powers to kill, and rescued a group of people?'
'Yes, Canoness,' Prisca answered while checking her notes. 'A task force of combined elements showed up right after her appearance, decimating the crime group. While we have no idea how much Lady Syrine was involved in that endeavour, it must be substantial.'
Malthea exchanged a look with Domitira. 'That sounds remarkably like a person with agency,' the High Deacon murmured to the nodding Canoness.
'There are many details here that provide glimpses of her personality,' Prisca said excitedly. 'The girls described Lady Syrine as strangely serene for someone who had just walked into a slaughterhouse. Most recalled that she spoke assuringly to them. All remembered the divine radiance and warmth radiating from her.' Then came the detail that made Prisca pause. 'Notably, they also said she was wearing a pair of pink slippers.'
Malthea blinked. Domitira's expression remained perfectly still.
'Pink slippers?'
'Very vivid ones, apparently a locally mass produced item.'
'During a rescue operation at a slave compound?'
'Yes.' Prisca consulted her notes. 'There are more than enough independent witnesses confirming this.'
Nobody spoke for a moment.
'I suppose…' Malthea eventually said with the solemnity of someone making a theological observation of considerable importance, '...the reported eccentricity.'
'Pardon me?' Prisca asked.
'Disregard that, Sister.' Domitira said as a rare smile appeared on her seemingly eternally stern features. 'We will be visiting tomorrow as scheduled, I am looking forward to it.'
It was late in the night by the time they got back to their lodgings at the grand cathedral.
Morning arrived quickly, and the group's convoy of Rhino armoured transports eventually found themselves under the shadow cast by the massive Citadel of the Eternal Light, fortress monastery of the Order of Shining Beacon.
'Remarkably, they are the first permanent Sororitas presence around this sub-sector, predating the earliest Order Majoris' arrival by a century...' Inside their ride, Prisca was passionately sharing her knowledge to a mostly passive audience, randomly eliciting a few courteous nods from the High Deacon's group. Much like how many members of Astra Militarum tended to hold a somewhat lower opinion of the average Planetary Defence Force, Domitira found herself reluctantly conceding that she had never thought particularly highly of the Order Minoris permanently stationed on this far-flung frontier world. Their dull, generic silver armour and the neutral colours of their vestments also did little to distinguish themselves. A lesser-informed observer might even mistake them for the Order of the Sacred Rose. According to the reports, they did not even have access to higher tier sanctioned equipment such as the Paragon Warsuits.
Her mind drifting, Domitira found herself contemplating how glorious it would be if it was her own Order that took in the emerging Living Saint instead, before realising she had succumbed to the sin of envy and quickly censored the thought.
How unbecoming of a servant of the God-Emperor.
Domitira immediately banished the thought from her mind, silently reciting a brief prayer for forgiveness. After passing through the checkpoints, they entered the compound and were received by the supreme leader of the local Order, Canoness Diadinah.
The Canoness was flanked by a group of Battle Sisters, but it was the veteran beside her—Sister Markeylla, was it?—who immediately caught Domitira's attention. She had seen Markeylla several days ago from a distance. Now that the Celestian Superior stood just across at close quarters, Domitira found her own martial instincts stirred as they eyed each other.
Dangerous. So, they do have capable people here. The realisation was followed almost immediately by another round of silent self-castigation for her earlier thoughts.
Diadinah formally welcomed them by signing an Aquila. 'Greetings, High Deacon Malthea, Canoness Domitira.'
'We thank you for your hospitality, Canoness Diadinah,' Malthea said, while Domitira returned a full Aquila salute. Although both women carried the rank of Canoness, Diadinah being the supreme leader of an Order Minoris had the full title of being a Canoness Preceptor, outranking Domitira's Canoness Commander on paper.
'It is our honour to host such illuminating guests,' Diadinah said to Malthea before turning to face Domitira, 'Sister Canoness, I have heard much about you, your exploits as the Radiant Halberd in the Battle of Korvanne is well known here.'
'So, my dubious reputation precedes me,' Domitira responded with a light bow. 'The event that granted me that superfluous moniker happened more than a decade ago. I was, and still am, merely a soldier doing the God-Emperor's work.'
'Anyone who could face down Traitor Astartes is no ordinary soldier,' Diadinah said before gesturing towards a Sister Dialogus who had just arrived. 'Sister Welminah here will be your guide. I do apologise for being a poor host, we are currently being swamped with work from the recent recruitment drive and must take our leave. Both of you can meet with Lady Syrine as agreed, I believe she is doing her routine training at this hour.'
So the party parted with their host and followed Welminah, a group of Battle Sisters in combined jet black and silver armour escorting them into the depths of the ginormous monastery. Domitira observed impassively as Prisca started smalltalk with Welminah in the front, both Sisters Dialogus exchanging notes and reports during the walk. After an elevator ride and some twists and turns, they reached the inner halls. The group left their guards to enter the restricted area. The six of them, Welminah, Prisca, Domitira, Malthea and her two long serving retainers, proceeded further, eventually reaching a secluded area where muffled clashes of metal on metal could be heard.
The echoes of weapons clashing became louder as they approached the final location. Turning a corner, the group entered a vaulted hall and three female figures in power armour came into view. One lay defeated on the ground while the other two, one wielding a sword, the other a spear, were locked in a fierce exchange. Domitira could easily guess the sword user's identity by her lack of stature alone.
As a veteran of countless bloody skirmishes herself, Domitira was accustomed to brutal melee combat, but what she saw gave her pause. The clash she was witnessing had an intensity that made it almost difficult for her to believe it was just a mock battle. The sword user's movements were especially swift and precise to the point that even the Canoness found it hard to follow. That blade of hers seemed to dart with effortless precision, each strike forcing her opponent further and further onto the defensive.
Is this really the sort of movement a recently recovering amnesiac should be capable of?
* * *
It was morning, I stood fully armoured at the training hall, armed with a mock relic blade. Troubled by last night's revelations, I found myself still contemplating despite being in the middle of close-combat training. Splitting my attention between deep thoughts and melee practice was a sensation difficult to put into words.
Like father, like daughter.
This moment offered a glimpse into how Astartes commanders could simultaneously direct a battlefield while splitting skulls, a feat that until this moment had been impossible for me to comprehend. Facing two skilled opponents, I used footwork and pivoted myself so only one of them could immediately engage me. Like the pile-in step during the fight phase of the grim dark table top game, mastering nuance like this could make all the difference. Never really a fan of a close combat army, I had lost many melee engagements during my time in the hobby versus the blood thirsty warlords of my club.
A mace swept toward me, carving a brutal arc through the air with a speed that would have been terrifying to any ordinary human. To me, however, it simply looked to be moving leisurely. Through the visor of my helmet, I could clearly make out every nick and dent along its blunted edges as it closed the distance. In a heartbeat I saw many ways of handling the attack.
Victory seemingly assured, my mind drifted again, secondary attention split further to recall all the classified reports trickling in via Solace's secured data feed: The Order of the Shining Beacon was expanding at an unprecedented rate, recruiting more Sisters than it had in centuries, and with the Church's blessings, surpassing the limits imposed by standard doctrine. The Sub-sector High Command had fully recognised Nusquam's abrupt shift from an unremarkable fringe world to one of strategic importance. Such that even in the midst of many uprisings, elements of the Imperial Navy were being diverted and mobilised to secure the planet. Kryptorer and his colleagues were in talks with nearby Forge Worlds for greater resource allocations, bargaining with whatever information they cared to divulge. Meanwhile, there was me at the centre of these rapid developments, doing little but subtly gaining more and more power by the day.
This whole setup is just too convenient.
The mace arrived. Working within the confines of human limitation, I met the incoming attack with the blade in my hands. Rather than trying to overpower the blow, I angled my parry with just enough strength to guide the mace off course, letting its own momentum carry it harmlessly past me. Before my opponent could recover, I pushed into her and slid the haft of my weapon upward, knocking her guard wide open.
What if this whole thing was just like the Mechanicum scheme?
My opponent's committed thrust carried her straight into me while I drove the pommel of my sword into her helmet like a warhammer. The strike glanced off as she jerked her head aside at the last instant. The controlled impact caused no injury, but still sent her sprawling towards the floor. By the training rules, she was counted as knocked out. Even before my first opponent hit the ground, a spear lunged for my stomach with ruthless precision.
Is everything her doing all along?
I twisted aside while bringing the pommel down in a sharp arc, knocking the spearhead away. My second opponent recovered instantly, withdrawing her weapon and launching a barrage of thrusts, snapping with impressive speed. Impressive for a human. A chilling realisation settled over me as my train of thought running on split attention reached its conclusion: I knew next to nothing about Syrine's character.
As I answered every attack with the edge of my blade, my superhuman senses caught incoming footsteps amidst the metal on metal clanking. My attention split again. One, two, three… I noted six approaching individuals while blunted steel edges continued to clash in front of me with rapid rhythm, each deflection flowing seamlessly into the next. Other than Welminah, the other walking rhythms did not match any profile in my memory. One was significantly heavier than the rest, probably a power armour user.
So, the expected visitors.
Sparks continued to dance as neither I nor my opponent gave ground, and between swinging my weapon, I caught a glimpse of the visitors led in by Welminah. It was them. As expected, the Canoness and High Deacon came into view, but the unexpected sight of another Sister Dialogus almost made me pause. For a moment I thought Welminah was finally getting her own assistant, before noting the new Dialogus' attire marked her affiliation with the visiting Canoness.
Pivoting my primary attention back to the clash to end it quickly, I moved within the upper limitations of human speed, stepping inside the next thrust while parrying the incoming blow. The deflected spear shot past me, missing my left pauldron by a hair's breadth as I surged forward, driving the crossguard of my blade into my opponent's chest with enough force to empty lungs. I sensed her shock as she reeled from the impact, and my left foot hooked behind hers and twisted. She fell backwards, hitting the ground with such force her spear dropped and skidded across the floor.
Silence descended over the training ground as I stood motionless, breathing steadily while both of my downed opponents laboured for air on the floor. This was my fourth set of clashes with the pair this morning, and so far my record has been flawless.
'My lady, your visitors are here,' Welminah said with a bow, her voice echoing in the huge vaulted training hall. I nodded, passed my training sword to her and moved to unfasten my helmet. The soft seal broke with a weak hiss as the head piece was lifted from my head. Cool air brushed my pristine face. Unlike my two opponents, I wasn't exerted at the slightest despite the non-stop training the whole morning.
'Thank you, Welminah. Hello everyone, please give me a moment,' I said while mag-locking my helmet to a designated spot on my thigh.
After pulling my hair free, I extended a hand to Ishoris who was still lying on the ground before me. The Sacresant Superior accepted my help. While pulling the Sister up I sensed her thoughts, she was feeling both elated and disappointed at the same time. Elated at me being a "prodigy" while disappointed at her own seeming inability to keep up.
'That's enough for today, Sisters. You have my thanks for the bouts,' I told my trainers. As Pharine and Ishoris dusted themselves off, both Sisters' burning determination to get better silently came through. It would seem like I had accidentally inspired them with my inhuman performance. Turning around, I came face to face with my visitors.
'High Deacon Malthea, Canoness Domitira. Nice to see you two again,' I said. While this looked like an unofficial friendly visit, I was under no illusion this was an important face to face assessment by top representatives from a Shrine World and an Order Majoris of the Sororitas.
'My lady, we are grateful you are making time for us,' Malthea said. 'Let us talk.'