Chapter 9: Mama
I jerk awake, gasping for air, the metallic taste of blood sharp on my tongue. Darkness surrounds me, thick and oppressive. My head throbs with a dull ache, and as I blink away the haze, I realize I'm standing—not lying on the cold stone floor where Jessamine's, the Light Woman's scream had flung me.
No, this isn't the mausoleum. The air here is warmer, tinged with the familiar scent of rust and machine oil. My heart skips a beat. I'm back in our old shack—the one-room hovel where Mama and I hid from the world.
But that can't be. This isn't real.
I stand in the corner, perched atop the old wooden chest Mama always told me never to open. The room is just as I remember: dim light seeping through the cracks, casting thin slivers across the cluttered floor. The hum of distant machinery vibrates through the metal walls, a constant lullaby of the underhive.
To my left, I see us—Mama and a tiny version of me. She's tucking my younger self into the makeshift bed, her hands moving gracefully as we recite our evening prayers in silent battle-sign. I find my fingers mirroring the motions unconsciously, each gesture etched deep into muscle memory.
"Emperor, watch over us," we sign together. The words resonate within me, stirring emotions I've long buried. I want to reach out, to feel Mama's warmth, but I know she's just a shadow, a memory.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the illusion. "This isn't real," I whisper to myself. "It's a dream. A trick." But my voice sounds hollow, unconvincing even to my own ears.
I scan the room, and there she is—the Light Woman. Jessamine. She stands silently beside me, her ethereal form glowing softly in the dimness. Her gaze is fixed on the scene before us, impassive.
"Get out of my head," I snarl, turning to face her. "Leave me alone!"
She doesn't respond, doesn't even glance my way. Instead, she raises a slender hand and points toward Mama.
I follow her gesture. Mama finishes the prayer, brushing a stray lock of hair from little Aurora's forehead. My younger self is already drifting into sleep, breaths slow and even. Mama watches for a moment, a soft smile touching her lips, then rises quietly.
She moves toward the chest beneath my feet. I step aside instinctively as she kneels and opens it, the old hinges creaking softly. My heart quickens—I've never seen inside this box. Mama always forbade me from looking.
From within, she retrieves something wrapped in a worn cloth. Carefully, she unfolds it to reveal a necklace—a reliquary of intricate design. The chain is delicate, silver links catching the faint light. At its end hangs an amber jewel, warm and luminous. Suspended within the amber is a small finger bone, a tarnished ring still encircling it.
A shiver runs through me. The sight of it stirs something deep and unnameable.
"What is this?" I murmur, glancing at the Light Woman. "Why are you showing me this?"
She remains silent, eyes fixed ahead.
Mama returns to the bedside, gently placing the reliquary against my younger self's temple. She closes her eyes, lips moving in a silent prayer. A soft glow emanates from the jewel, casting a halo over the sleeping child.
I step closer, drawn by the tenderness of the moment. I never knew. She never told me.
Time seems to blur, the scene shifting like a dream slipping between fingers. I watch as Mama removes the necklace just as little Aurora begins to stir, tucking it back into the chest and closing the lid with care.
Morning light—the barely perceptible increase in local darkness filtered through grime—seeps into the room. We go through our routine: the whispered prayers in battle-sign, the sparse breakfast of recycled nutrients. Mama's eyes hold a weight I've not noticed before, a shadow of something unspoken.
Recognition dawns, and dread coils in my stomach. This is the day she left and never came back.
"Please, no," I whisper, my voice cracking. Pain lances through me, raw and overwhelming.
Mama takes the tiny aquila—the Broken Guardian—from its place of honor on the makeshift altar. She kneels before my younger self, pressing it into small, eager hands.
"Keep this safe," she signs, her fingers lingering over mine. "It will protect you."
I watch as she helps little me climb into the narrow pipe hidden beneath the floorboards, the hiding place where I spent so many hours waiting for her return. She replaces the panel and spreads the worn mat over it, concealing any trace.
I want to scream, to reach out and hold her, to beg her not to go. But I'm rooted in place, forced to witness.
Mama moves with a quiet resolve, retrieving the reliquary once more and slipping it around her neck. She pauses at the doorway, casting a final, lingering glance around the shack. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
"Don't leave," I plead, though I know she can't hear me. "Please."
The Light Woman steps forward, her presence a cold whisper beside me. She points toward the open door, urging me to follow.
I turn to her, anger flaring. "What are you trying to show me? Why are you doing this?"
She meets my gaze for the first time, her eyes unreadable. There's no malice there, but no comfort either. Just an implacable will.
Despite every instinct screaming at me to resist, I feel compelled. The need to know overwhelms caution. If there's a chance—any chance—to understand why Mama never came back, I have to take it.
I follow Mama out of the shack, stepping into the dim corridors of the underhive. The air is thick with the scent of ozone and decay, the distant hum of machinery a constant undertone. Shadows stretch long and deep, concealing untold dangers.
She moves with purpose, footsteps light and measured. I trail behind, the Light Woman gliding silently at my side.
"Where are you going?" I call out, desperation lacing my words. "Why did you leave me?"
She doesn't answer, doesn't even turn. Her figure is a steady beacon ahead, leading me deeper into the labyrinthine maze.
We pass through corridors I recognize; areas I myself passed through only days ago. I remember the walls here, scarred with neglect, pipes hissing steam, lights flickering weakly. We're very near the lift shaft that I rode down in from the upperhive.
An uneasy sensation crawls up my spine. This isn't just a memory—it's something more.
"Is this real?" I ask aloud, though I expect no reply. "Did this happen?"
The Light Woman's silence is maddening.
We reach a junction where the corridors branch into darkness. Mama hesitates, glancing over her shoulder as if sensing something. For a fleeting moment, I think she might see me.
But her gaze passes through me, and she presses on, taking the path to the left, hurrying now.
"Wait!" I surge forward, trying to catch up. "Please, tell me what's happening!"
As we continue, the environment grows harsher. The air thickens with acrid fumes, the sounds of distant machinery grow louder—a cacophony of grinding gears and pounding pistons.
Mama stops before a massive door, its surface rusted and marked with faded symbols of the Mechanicus. She reaches into her cloak, pulling out the reliquary. With trembling fingers, she holds it up before the door. Then hesitates, again, she looks back, right through me. She stares for a long moment and I move instinctively to line her gaze up with my own, praying against all reason that she will see me, the daughter she left alone in a pipe, grown, flourishing, alive…
The moment passes and a dark expression crosses her face as she turns back to the door and presses the reliquary against it.
The door groans open, revealing a chamber bathed in an eerie, pulsing light. This isn't the route I took, but close to it, a door, sealed. Did I miss it? Perhaps it's been collapsed or the paths have changed in the past seven years. Or perhaps… this is all just a trick.
I shove the thought aside.
It doesn't matter. I have to know!
I hesitate at the threshold. The atmosphere here is oppressive, a weight pressing down on my chest. The Light Woman stands beside me, her gaze urging me forward.
"Why are you showing me this?" I demand, fear knotting in my gut. "What is this place?"
She doesn't answer, but there's a hint of something in her eyes—a challenge, perhaps.
Against my better judgment, I step inside.
The air turns sharp and cold, biting at my skin. The hum of machinery fills my ears, a low, ominous drone that resonates deep within my bones. The walls are a maze of pipes and conduits, glistening with condensation that drips like slow tears onto the grated floor beneath.
Ahead, Mama moves with a purpose I've never seen before, her figure small yet resolute against the vastness of the space. She approaches another door—massive, sealed with a purity seal that catches the faint light. But something's off. The seal isn't like the ones I've seen in the Schola. It's etched in metal, and the script is a series of jagged lines and dots—binary code, the language of machines.
Mama steps forward, holding the reliquary aloft. The amber gem pulses softly, resonating with the door. With a hiss of releasing pressure, the seal disengages, mechanisms whirring as the door slides open to reveal a yawning darkness beyond.
I hesitate at the threshold. The air is colder here, carrying a scent that twists my stomach—rot and oil, ancient and acrid. It's a smell I know too well.
She enters without pause, and I force myself to follow, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. The chamber unfolds before me, vast and oppressive. Shadows cling to every surface, and the dim lumens cast a sickly pallor over corroded machinery and faded iconography.
At the center stands the throne—a monstrous fusion of metal and flesh, cables snaking from its core like the tendrils of some mechanical beast. And upon it sits Jessamine Hallas, the Saint who refuses to die.
Mama approaches her with reverence, the reliquary held out like an offering. My heart lurches as I watch her draw near the throne, stopping just three feet away. The amber jewel meets an invisible barrier—a ripple of energy that shimmers into view, forming a flawless void shield.
The shield reacts to the reliquary, a web of light cascading outward before dissipating entirely. The barrier collapses, granting her passage.
"No," I whisper, horror gripping me. The realization crashes down—Mama not only knows of this place, but she holds the key to it. The finger bone within the amber, the ring—it belongs to Jessamine.
A memory surfaces: Mama pressing the reliquary against my sleeping forehead, her lips moving in silent prayer. The light I watched flow into my four-year-old self, the strange dreams that I always had, dreams of things I'd never seen and places I'd never been. She was using me, connecting me to this... abomination.
"Why?" I croak, my voice lost in the vastness. "Mama, what have you done?"
She steps forward, closing the distance to the throne. Jessamine's withered form is a grotesque mockery of life—skin stretched thin over protruding bones, eyes sunken and closed. Tubes and wires burrow into her flesh, pulsating with a dark vitality.
I watch in horror as Mama kneels, her head bowed low. She reaches out, and with trembling fingers, she touches the reliquary to Jessamine's forehead. A faint glow emanates from the point of contact, a thin tendril of light streams from the saint and into the reliquary, wrapping itself round and round the ring within the amber and I feel a surge of energy ripple through the air.
"No," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the hum of the machinery. "This can't be."
My mind races. The finger bone in the reliquary—the ring—Mama was placing it against my head while I slept, night after night, praying over it. Was she... was she preparing me? Guiding me toward this fate?
"Why are you showing me this?" I demand, turning to the Light Woman. "This isn't real. It's a lie and I refuse to believe it! It can't be. My mother wasn't... she couldn't."
She remains silent, her gaze fixed on Mama.
I look back just as Mama rises. She removes the reliquary from Jessamine's forehead, tucking it carefully back into her cloak. Then, with a tenderness that sends chills down my spine, she reaches out and touches Jessamine's hand—pale, almost translucent skin stretched thin over delicate bones. Mama leans in, pressing her lips softly against the back of Jessamine's hand, a gesture of deep respect and devotion.
"Emperor, no," I moan, my heart pounding. The realization settles like a weight upon my chest. Mama was part of this. She knew. All those nights, the prayers in battle-sign, the secrecy. It wasn't just for our safety—it was for this.
I feel a surge of betrayal mixed with desperate confusion. "Mama, why?" I whisper, though I know she can't hear me.
She turns away from the throne, her expression serene, a faint smile touching her lips. As she walks past me, her eyes seem to look right through me, distant and unfocused. I reach out, my hand passing through her like mist.
"Please, tell me what's happening!" I shout, frustration boiling over. The echoes of my voice fade into the cavernous room, unanswered.
Tears blur my vision as Mama's figure fades into the shadows beyond the throne room. I want to chase after her, to grab her hand and pull her away from this nightmare. My legs feel like lead, rooted to the spot. The Light Woman stands beside me, her gaze inscrutable, offering neither comfort nor condemnation.
"Why are you doing this?" I whisper, voice cracking. "Why show me something I can't change?"
She tilts her head slightly, eyes reflecting the dim glow of the machinery. No answer comes.
I force my feet to move, stumbling after Mama as she retraces her steps through the cold, sterile corridors. The air grows thicker, each breath a labor. We reach the door with the binary purity seal—the mechanicus symbols etched deep into its surface. Mama passes through without hesitation, the door sliding shut behind her with a hiss.
I slip through just before it seals completely, the metal brushing against my arm like a cold whisper. On the other side, Mama pauses, seeming to hear something I cannot. Her shoulders sag, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. With a sudden, deliberate motion, she pulls the reliquary from around her neck. For a moment, she stares at it, fingers tracing the amber's smooth surface. Then, in a swift flick of her wrist, she tosses it into a pile of rusted scrap and twisted wires near the wall where it disappears from sight.
"What are you doing?" I breathe, confusion knotting my thoughts. "Why discard it now?"
Before I can make sense of it, figures emerge from the darkness ahead—twelve hooded silhouettes, their robes tattered yet bearing faint insignias I recognize. At their forefront is a woman with stern features and piercing eyes. Younger, but unmistakable. Riley.
They fan out, encircling Mama. Tension crackles in the air.
"You thought we wouldn't find out," Riley says coldly, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "All these years, high priestess… The discovery of the reliquary's theft, the arrests, the torture, the interrogations. But it was you all along, do not deny it. We know where this door leads and there is no other way out of this alley. Thief. Heretic."
Mama straightens, meeting Riley's gaze with a calm defiance. "I did what I had to."
"Where is the reliquary!?" Riley demands, stepping closer. "What vile rites have you performed with it?"
Mama remains silent, her eyes steady. Two of the hooded figures seize her arms, wrenching them behind her back. She doesn't resist.
"Answer me!" Riley snaps, her composure slipping. "Do not think the Emperor's mercy extends to traitors, much less Jessamine's."
I move forward instinctively. "Stop! Leave her alone!"
But my words are lost to them, echoes in a memory where I don't exist.
They drag Mama to her knees, the harsh grip of their hands bruising her skin. One of the priestesses produces a thin blade, its edge glinting wickedly in the dim light.
"Perhaps pain will loosen your tongue," Riley hisses.
"No!" I scream, desperation tearing at my throat.
The blade slices across Mama's shoulder, a crimson line blooming against her pale skin. She winces but makes no sound.
"Where is the reliquary?" Riley demands again.
Silence.
Another cut, deeper this time. Blood drips to the floor, pooling in dark puddles. My chest tightens, each breath a ragged gasp.
"Please," I sob, reaching out though I know I cannot touch her. "Please, just tell them."
Mama lifts her head, eyes finding mine—or perhaps gazing beyond, to something I can't see. A faint smile curves her lips. "I have nothing to say to you."
"Very well." Riley nods to the others.
They drag Mama to a nearby pillar, binding her wrists with coarse rope. The rough fibers bite into her skin, but she doesn't flinch.
"Please, no," I whisper, horror constricting my throat. "Don't do this."
Riley takes the slender blade herself, its edge gleaming wickedly in the dim light. She steps forward, positioning the tip just beneath Mama's eye.
"Last chance," Riley says softly. "Where is the reliquary?"
Silence.
The blade presses in, a thin line of blood tracing down her cheek. Mama's jaw tightens, but she remains silent.
"Your devotion to heresy is admirable," Riley sneers. "But futile."
They proceed with ruthless efficiency. Cuts slice across Mama's arms, shallow at first, then deeper. Each one intended to break her resolve. Blood stains her robes, dripping onto the grimy floor. My screams go unheard, my pleas swallowed by the void.
"Tell us!" Riley hisses, her patience waning. "Confess, and your end will be swift."
Mama's gaze flickers for a moment, her eyes searching the space as if seeking something—or someone. For a fleeting heartbeat, I believe she senses me.
"Emperor protect you," she whispers, so softly I almost miss it.
Riley's face hardens. "Enough."
She nods to the priestess nearest her who takes the blade. A final, brutal slash cuts across Mama's throat. Blood flows freely, a crimson river against pale skin. Her body convulses, then stills, the light fading from her eyes.
"No!" I howl, collapsing to my knees. Agony rips through me, a raw, tearing pain unlike anything I've ever known.
The priestesses step back, some averting their eyes. Riley watches dispassionately, wiping the blood from her hands with a scrap of cloth.
"Dispose of the body," she orders. "We will find the reliquary ourselves."
As they turn away, something shifts. The air grows thin, a soft hum resonating at the edge of perception. The Light Woman steps forward, her form more radiant than before.
She reaches out, her fingers brushing against Mama's still hand. A gentle glow envelops them both. To my astonishment, Mama's spirit rises, a luminous echo of her physical form.
"Mama?" I whisper, hope and sorrow entwining.
She stands beside the Light Woman, her features serene. They exchange words that I cannot hear, an understanding passing between them.
"Wait!" I call out, reaching toward them. "Please, don't leave me!"
Neither acknowledges my presence. The Light Woman raises her free hand, tracing a symbol in the air. A rift appears—a doorway of pure, golden light that spills warmth into the cold corridor.
Mama turns toward me then, her eyes soft with a love that transcends words. She mouths something—a single phrase that I can't hear but feel deep within my soul.
"Forgive me."
She steps into the light, the glow intensifying until it engulfs them both. The rift closes with a whispered sigh, leaving only the dimness and the lingering scent of something pure and untarnished.
I remain on my knees, the weight of everything crushing down. The priestesses have gone, taking Mama's body with them. The corridor is silent save for the distant hum of machinery.
"Why did you show me this?" I murmur, my voice ragged.
"Truth," she replies, the single word resonating with undeniable weight.
"All it does is hurt," I say bitterly.
"Pain shapes us," she counters. "It forges the steel of our resolve."
I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. "What am I supposed to do with this? Knowing she suffered, that she died because of you?"
"Because of faith," she corrects. "Her path was her own, as yours is yours."
I shake my head, frustration boiling over. "I don't want your riddles or your manipulations. I just want... I just want her back."
"She is at peace," the Light Woman assures me. "But your journey continues."
I glare at her, anger and grief warring within me. "Then let me wake. Let me face it on my own terms. Get out of my head if you dare and I will end you!"
She nods slowly. "As you wish."
The world around me begins to dissolve, shadows bleeding into light, structures melting away like wax under a flame. The hum of machinery fades, replaced by a rising silence that envelops everything.
In that silence a final thought echoes in my head but not of my own making, "believe."
I close my eyes, surrendering to the void.
A cold slap of reality brings me back. The damp stone beneath me presses into my spine, and the stale air of the basilica fills my lungs like dust. My eyes flutter open to a haze of flickering candlelight and shadowed arches looming overhead. Pain lances through my skull where it struck the wall. Voices murmur around me, but one cuts through the fog.
"Aurora? Can you hear me?" Riley's face hovers above mine, concern etched into the lines around her eyes.
I push myself up on my elbows, every muscle protesting. The memories flood back—the throne room, the wind, Jessamine's scream shattering into a thousand shards that pierced me to the core. And then... Mama.
"Thank the Emperor," Riley breathes, reaching out to steady me.
Her touch ignites a fire beneath my skin. I recoil, slapping her hand away with a force that surprises even me. She stumbles back, eyes wide. Tears blur my vision, hot trails carving paths down my cheeks. The room narrows, darkens, every edge sharpening around the woman before me.
"What's wrong?" Riley asks, genuine confusion twisting her features.
I stare at her, the face that once seemed so kind now a mask hiding a monster. Images of Mama flash before me—her defiance, her pain, the blade slicing through flesh, Riley's cold gaze watching it all. My heart pounds a war drum in my chest.
"You," I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice.
She steps closer, hands raised in placation. "It's alright. You're safe now. The doors started closing, and there was a wind—you were thrown back. We got you out. Everyone believes you now. They saw—"
"Don't," I snap, the word laced with venom.
Her eyes search mine, confusion giving way to caution. She glances at the other priestesses huddled nearby, their faces pale and drawn. "Aurora, perhaps we should—"
Rage surges, a tidal wave crashing through any restraint. Before she can utter another word, I lunge. My body moves on instinct, years of combat training honed to a razor's edge. We collide, and I drive her backward, the weight of my momentum sending us both crashing to the cold floor.
Gasps echo around us, but they fade into the background noise of my pounding heartbeat. My augmetic hand clamps around Riley's throat, the metal fingers tightening with lethal intent. Her flesh yields beneath the unrelenting grip, her pulse fluttering wildly against the alloy.
She chokes, eyes bulging in shock. Her hands grasp at my wrist, nails scraping against the metal to no avail. The other priestesses stir, panic flaring in their eyes.
"Stay back!" Riley croaks, barely managing the words. "Don't interfere!"
They hesitate, torn between obedience and the instinct to save their leader. I barely notice them. All I see is Riley—the executioner, the torturer, the murderer of my mother.
"Why?" I hiss through clenched teeth. "Why did you kill her?"
Her mouth opens and closes, no sound escaping. Her face reddens, veins standing out against her skin. She manages a strangled whisper, "What... is... your faith?"
The question slices through the haze of fury. A mantra, a tether I'd given her to pull me back from the brink. But the anger roars louder, drowning rational thought.
"Answer me!" I demand, shaking her. "Why did you do it?"
Her eyes lock onto mine, pleading, confused. She doesn't know. Of course she doesn't. To her, Mama was just another heretic to be purged, another nameless soul discarded in the shadows.
"Your faith," she rasps again, the words barely audible.
A sharp pain flares in my scars—the brand on my forehead, the seared flesh of my hand and shoulder. They burn as if freshly made, searing me from the inside out. Jessamine's presence presses against my mind, a cold whisper threading through my thoughts.
"Finish it," she urges. "Cleanse the unworthy."
I grit my teeth, shaking my head to dispel her voice. "Get out," I mutter. "Get out of my head."
Riley's face is turning a troubling shade of blue. Her struggles weaken, hands slipping from my wrist. The priestesses shift uneasily, whispers rippling among them.
"Let go of her," one pleads. "Please, Saint, spare her!"
Saint. The word tastes bitter. I'm no saint. I'm no vessel for Jessamine's wrath. I'm just... broken.
"Your faith," Riley mouths one last time, eyes rolling back.
Reality slams into me like a physical blow. What am I doing? Horror floods my veins, chilling the anger into something hollow and cold. I release my grip, recoiling as if burned. Riley collapses, gulping in ragged breaths, her hand gingerly touching her bruised throat.
"I... I'm sorry," I stammer, scrambling to my feet. The weight of what I've done settles heavily on my shoulders.
She looks up at me, fear and relief mingling in her gaze. "Aurora?"
I turn away, unable to meet her eyes. The other priestesses watch me with a mix of awe and trepidation, unsure of what to do or say. My hands tremble, the augmetic fingers flexing involuntarily.
"My faith..." I begin, voice barely above a whisper. I swallow hard, trying to steady myself. Images of Mama, of Riley, of Jessamine all swirl in a chaotic tempest within me.
Jessamine's presence pushes harder, tendrils of her will seeking purchase in my mind. The burning in my scars intensifies, fiery brands searing into my consciousness.
"No," I say firmly, forcing the intrusion back. "I am not your puppet…. Won't be… your victim!"
I take a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out slowly. "My faith..." I repeat, lifting my head to meet Riley's wary gaze.
She nods weakly, encouraging. "Yes... your faith..."
I close my eyes for a moment, centering myself. When I open them, clarity cuts through the confusion like a blade.
"My faith is not blind," I declare, each word anchored in conviction.
Silence settles over the basilica, the echoes of my statement fading into the vaulted heights. The priestesses exchange glances, the tension in the air slowly dissipating.
Riley struggles to her feet, one hand still pressed to her neck. She regards me cautiously but there's a flicker of understanding in her eyes.
"You're... yourself again," she observes hoarsely.
I shake my head, the world spinning as confusion, betrayal, and fury howl within me like a tempest. The weight of it all crushes down, and my knees buckle, sending me collapsing onto the cold stone floor. Tears scorch trails down my cheeks, hot and relentless.
"I'm not myself," I sob, my voice cracking under the strain. "I've never been myself!"
Riley takes a hesitant step forward. "Aurora, what are you saying?"
A bitter laugh escapes me, raw and jagged. "I was never allowed to be me! Born in secret, hidden away—molded into something I'm not. She made me into this... this false savior!"
Her brow furrows, confusion etched deep. "Who did this to you?"
"My mother!" The words tear from my throat like a wound ripped open. "Hannah—the high priestess before you. She. Was. My. Mother!"
Gasps ripple through the gathered priestesses. Whispers flutter like dying breaths, echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
Riley's eyes widen, disbelief and shock contorting her features. "Hannah had a child? A daughter?"
I nod, choking on the bitterness. "She hid me from all of you. Used me. She took the reliquary of Saint Jessamine and... did things to me. Put things inside my, in my head, maybe in my soul..."
She shakes her head slowly, as if trying to dislodge the revelation. "How could you possibly know this?"
"I saw it," I whisper, voice trembling. "In a vision. Everything. How you found out she stole the reliquary. How you... how you butchered her like an animal, trying to make her talk!"
Riley staggers back, her face ashen. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" I snap, rising to my feet, the anger surging like wildfire. "I watched you carve into her flesh while she refused to betray me. I felt her pain! Felt her love! Love for a little girl who would never see her again!"
The other priestesses recoil, terror flickering in their eyes. Some clutch at pendants, murmuring prayers to ward off evil.
"This can't be," Riley murmurs, her gaze distant. "Only the saint herself could have such visions."
"I'm no saint!" I shout, the echoes of my voice crashing back like waves. "I'm just a girl—a girl who was manipulated by her own mother, by Jessamine, by all of you!"
She looks at me, eyes glistening with something between pity and fear. "If what you say is true, then you are more connected to Jessamine than any of us realized."
I laugh bitterly. "Connected? She invaded my mind! My mother used the reliquary to force Jessamine's essence into me while I slept!"
Riley's face pales further. "That's not possible. The reliquary's power can't be harnessed by one who shares her blood, Hannah did not."
"Maybe I'm not ordinary," I spit back. "But that doesn't make me the saint or your messiah!"
She steps forward cautiously. "The reliquary—the finger of Jessamine—was removed nearly two hundred years after she took the throne. It holds incredible power, sustained by her unwavering faith. We have used it for a thousand generations to ward this basilica, this place, against discovery, against the inquisition should they ever return, against the technologies of the mechanicus. We use it to siphon the souls of our male children, to feed Jessamine and keep her vigil alive through their essence."
My stomach twists in revulsion as I remember clearly the writings of the past high priestesses. "You sacrifice innocent lives to that... monstrosity…"
"It's a necessary rite," she insists, a shadow passing over her eyes. "Without it, Jessamine's power would fade, and the hive would suffer. Or… would have suffered… if it were still reliant on her."
I shake my head, the horror of it all settling like a stone in my gut. "But my mother wasn't feeding her. She was doing the opposite. She was taking Jessamine's essence and forcing it into me."
Riley's expression shifts, a flicker of doubt crossing her features. "If Hannah did that... then perhaps she believed you were the true vessel. That only someone already extraordinary could withstand such a transfer."
"Or maybe she was trying to protect me," I whisper, the realization cutting deep as my mind reals with the sheer weight of the unknown, the gaps. What was my mother's intent? Was I born a saint, hidden to save me from Jessamine's possession? Or was I born a normal child, twisted and changed to make me into that very vessel? Or anything inbetween! "Maybe she wanted to free me from Jessamine's grasp… I… I don't know anymore."
Silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. The other priestesses exchange uneasy glances, the air thick with tension.
Riley searches my face, her voice softening. "Aurora, if you truly share Jessamine's essence, then you are the one we've been waiting for."
"No," I say firmly, stepping back. "I refuse to be a pawn in this twisted game. I won't be molded into something other than me, not by you, not by my mother, not by the saint, the Light Woman, the schola, the inquisition. I'm done with being a victim. I am, Aurora, me!" I collapse back against a nearby pillar, shaking my head which feels so full of things that aren't me, the marks, the twisted remnant of the saint, memories... "God-Emperor… I believed that only my mother was the pure and perfect example I was to aspire to, and now even that is gone. There is only You. Will You let me down too?"
Riley reaches out but stops herself short of laying a hand on my shoulder. "Aurora, I understand your anger, but you must see—these visions, your connection—they mean something."
"They mean I've been violated!" I snap, bringing my attention back to Riley as I push away from the pillar, pulling myself out of my own thoughts. "By Jessamine, by my mother, by all of you!"
A murmur rises among the priestesses. Fear. Uncertainty. Reverence. It's all the same to me now—a blur of faces that watched as my mother was torn apart.
Riley's eyes glisten with unshed tears. "We never knew Hannah had a child. If we had..."
"What?" I challenge. "What would you have done if she'd revealed my hiding place? Bound me to that throne as well? Brought me before the saint, a helpless, ignorant girl?"
She flinches as if struck. "No. We would have prepared you, guided you."
I laugh, a hollow, bitter sound. "Like you guided my mother? Like you butchered her when she defied you?"
"I did what I thought was necessary," she whispers, shame flickering in her gaze.
"Necessary," I echo, the word dripping with contempt. "All of this—these sacrifices, these rituals—it's madness."
Riley straightens, a steely resolve hardening her features. "Madness or not, it's our duty. Jessamine's will must be fulfilled."
"Jessamine is a parasite!" I roar, the fury boiling over. "Feeding on the souls of the innocent to prolong her own twisted existence. God Emperor above, haven't you heard what I've been telling you. The hive is flourishing. Jessamine doesn't need to do anything but die quietly and accept that her time came and went a thousand years ago!"
Gasps ripple through the chamber. The priestesses shrink back, some averting their eyes.
"If all that I've shown you isn't enough," I declare, my voice echoing through the vaulted chamber, "if witnessing the truth of Jessamine's twisted existence doesn't shatter your blind faith, then perhaps this will convince you." My gaze sweeps over the priestesses, their faces a mosaic of fear and confusion. "I am not your saint. I am not your messiah."
I turn sharply, the hem of my robe snapping like a whip against the cold stone floor. "Follow me," I command, striding toward the basilica's grand exit. The weight of their hesitation presses against my back, but the soft shuffle of footsteps tells me they're trailing behind.
We navigate the labyrinthine corridors in tense silence, the only sounds the distant groan of ancient machinery and the whisper of our breaths. The air grows heavier as we descend, the metallic tang of rust mingling with the stale scent of neglect. After half an hour, we reach the lift shaft—a yawning maw that descends into the depths of the hive.
"This way," I say, not bothering to check if they're keeping up. The path twists and turns, mirroring the convoluted journey of my own thoughts. I retrace the steps from my vision, every corridor and junction etched into my memory with haunting clarity.
We arrive at a collapsed passage, a massive beam blocking our way like a fallen titan. Without breaking stride, I slam my augmetic fist into the obstruction. Metal shrieks against metal as the beam wrenches free, crashing to the side in a shower of sparks and dust.
The priestesses gasp, a collective intake of breath that swirls the dust into ethereal patterns. I feel their eyes on me—wide, disbelieving—but I don't pause. "We're almost there," I say, my voice flat.
At last, we stand before the door—a hulking relic of the Mechanicus, its surface marred by corrosion and time. Faded symbols writhe across its face, vestiges of forgotten codes and litanies. I turn to face them, the weight of the moment pressing down like a physical force.
"This is where it happened," I announce. My voice wavers despite myself. "Where you found my mother. Where you tortured her. Where you killed her."
Silence hangs heavy. Their faces are pale specters in the dim light, eyes reflecting a turmoil they can't yet voice.
I drop to my knees beside the door, the cold seeping through my robes. My hands delve into the rubble, fingers scraping against jagged stones and twisted metal. The debris resists, but I claw deeper, driven by a force I can't name.
There. My fingers brush against something smooth amid the roughness. I extract it carefully—a reliquary, just as I saw in my vision. The amber jewel glows faintly, cradling the finger bone and its tarnished ring within.
Rising to my feet, I hold it aloft in my right hand—the flesh and blood one—as if presenting evidence in a trial. "Look!" I exclaim, meeting their gazes head-on. "No divine light. No heavenly chorus. It's just a relic—a finger bone encased in amber. Imbued with Jessamine's essence or not, it doesn't make me your messiah!"
A murmur ripples through them, a tide of whispers that grows into a disconcerting harmony. One by one, they begin to tremble, their eyes wide with something that isn't fear. Reverence? Awe? I can't tell.
Then, like marionettes cut from their strings, they drop to their knees. Faces press against the grimy floor, hands extended in supplication. The sight sends a jolt of anger through me.
"What are you doing?" I demand, frustration sharpening my words. "Stand up! Stop this nonsense!"
Riley steps forward, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. Her voice trembles as she speaks. "Don't you see, Aurora? This proves it beyond doubt. You are the saint reborn."
I stare at her, incredulous. "Because I'm holding a trinket? That's your proof?"
She shakes her head slowly. "It's not just any relic. The reliquary is the sacred vessel through which souls are offered to Jessamine. To touch it bare-handed is death to any ordinary being."
I feel a chill crawl up my spine. "That's… absurd."
"Let me show you," she says, taking a hesitant step toward me.
Before she can come closer, a frail voice cuts through the air. "Stop." The oldest priestess rises, her limbs shaking like reeds in the wind. "Riley, you must not. Your role is to guide the young saint."
Riley falters, uncertainty flickering across her face. "But Mother Thames—"
"I will demonstrate," the old woman declares, her eyes moist with unshed tears. She moves toward me, each step a monumental effort. "Little girl, my saint," she whispers, her voice thin but resolute. "Long have I prayed to the Emperor to see this day. Do not be afraid. Do not be concerned for me. This is my choice."
I stand rooted, words caught in my throat. She reaches out, her wrinkled fingers extending toward the reliquary. "Wait," I manage to say, but it's too late.
Her fingertips brush the amber jewel. Instantly, a thin thread of light arcs from her hand into the reliquary, a shimmering filament that pulses once and fades. Her eyes glaze over, pupils dilating into empty voids. Her jaw slackens, and she sways as if a gust might topple her.
"No!" I gasp, catching her arm to steady her. Her skin is cold, lifeless. Riley rushes forward, pulling back the hood that shrouds the old woman's face. The sight is haunting—her features drained of vitality, frozen in a serene but vacant expression.
"Do you see now?" Riley says softly, her eyes wet. "Anyone who touches the reliquary's jewel has their essence taken. Their soul becomes an offering to Jessamine."
I release my grip on the reliquary, but it clings to my palm as if fused there. Panic surges within me. "What have I done?"
"You've done nothing but reveal the truth," Riley assures me. "You are the chosen one, the only one who can wield the reliquary without harm."
I shake my head violently. "No! This isn't proof of anything except that your relic is a weapon—a parasitic device that steals life!"
Riley's gaze is steady, filled with a mixture of sorrow and reverence. "It is the holy implement through which we sustain Jessamine. Through sacrifice."
I look around at the kneeling priestesses, their faces hidden against the grime. A wave of despair crashes over me. They're lost, ensnared in a web of faith twisted beyond recognition.
The old priestess remains motionless, her hand still touching the reliquary. Gently, I pry her fingers away, lowering her arm to her side. Her body is light, almost insubstantial, as if the thread of light took more than just her soul.
I take a step back, clutching the reliquary to my chest. My mind races, thoughts spiraling into a void. The weight of their expectations, the horror of what I've witnessed—it threatens to crush me.
"This has to stop," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.
Riley watches me intently. "It has only just begun, my saint. Embrace your destiny, embrace us, your faithful."
I meet her gaze, a fiery resolve igniting within me but no words come, only anger… and a sudden, terrible dread.
Riley bows low, her forehead touching the grime at my feet. Her voice is a fragile whisper, barely audible over the distant hum of the underhive. "My saint, my Aurora, child of holy blood," she begins, each word weighted with emotion. "You told us these past five days of your doubts, your questions—the way you challenged the Schola, the words of Jessamine herself, even your own beliefs."
I stand motionless, the reliquary still clutched in my trembling hand. The air feels heavy, thick with unspoken tension. Around us, the priestesses remain prostrate, their forms like shadows cast upon the cold metal floor.
Riley lifts her gaze, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You said that faith cannot be blind," she continues, her voice gaining strength. "That the Emperor is vast enough to endure any question, that His truth can withstand all scrutiny. You urged us to break free from our own blind devotion—to see Jessamine as she truly is now, not as the saint we once knew."
Her words pierce me, each syllable a dagger twisting in my chest. I swallow hard, my throat tight. "Yes," I murmur, barely recognizing my own voice.
"Then why," Riley implores, rising to her knees, "do you cling to the blind belief that you are nothing more than simply Aurora? Why do you ignore what your eyes have witnessed, what your soul surely knows?"
I shake my head, a storm of emotions swirling within me. "Because I am just me," I insist, though the conviction in my voice falters. "I never asked for this—for any of it."
Riley reaches out, her hand hovering near mine but not daring to touch. "You challenged our faith, showed us the corrupted remnants of Jessamine, and we have seen the truth because of you. Yet when we reveal who you truly are, you reject it. How can you be so hypocritical, forcing us to face our blindness while you shield yourself behind blindness of your own?"
Anger flares within me, but it's tempered by a gnawing uncertainty. "I didn't choose this path," I whisper, more to myself than to her. "I never wanted to be anyone's savior."
She nods slowly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You are Aurora, yes. Questioning, believing, faithful Aurora. But Aurora is also the saint—the part of Jessamine that died and has now been reborn in you."
Before I can protest, she continues, her tone shifting to one of quiet desperation. "We are dying, my saint, my Aurora. Every day, more of us succumb—hunger, sickness, horrors that lurk in the shadows. The basilica cannot sustain us all, so we've scattered into twelve tribes, clinging to fragments of hope. We gather here once a year to offer our sons to that parasite, believing it will save us, but it's not enough."
Her words hang heavy in the stale air. I feel a cold dread settling in my stomach. "What are you saying?" I ask, though I fear I already know.
"Recently, it's grown worse," Riley confesses, her eyes haunted. "An evil rises in the dark—things that should not be. They consume us, drive us from our homes, strike us with diseases we cannot cure. Entire communities vanish without a trace. Once, we numbered over a hundred thousand. Now, nearly half are gone—dead, missing, or exiled with plague."
A shiver runs down my spine. The underhive has always been perilous, but this sounds like something far more sinister.
Riley bows her head, her voice barely more than a plea. "If you will not accept who you are, if you cannot be our messiah, then we will soon be no more. We need you as we need the Emperor's light itself."
I look around at the faces turned toward me—worn, desperate, eyes filled with a flickering hope that I am loath to extinguish. The weight of their need presses upon me like a physical burden.
"I don't know how to be what you want," I admit, my voice cracking. "I don't know how to save anyone."
Riley rises slowly, her gaze steady. "You don't have to have all the answers," she says gently.
A surge of emotion wells up within me—fear, doubt, a glimmer of something like hope. "What if I fail?" I whisper.
She steps closer, finally daring to place a hand over mine. The reliquary pulses softly beneath my palm. "Faith is not about certainty," she says. "It's about taking the next step, even when the path is uncertain and especially when we are afraid."
I close my eyes, the echoes of Jessamine's voice stirring at the edges of my mind. But this time, it's different—a distant murmur rather than an oppressive force. I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
When I open my eyes, I meet Riley's earnest gaze. "I will try," I say, the words tentative but sincere. "Not because I believe I'm your saint reborn, but because I can't stand by and watch your… my… people, my sisters, suffer."
A collective sigh of relief seems to ripple through the gathered priestesses. Riley smiles, a genuine warmth breaking through her weariness. "Thank you, Aurora."
I glance down at the reliquary, its amber glow reflecting in my eyes. "We start by ending this," I declare, resolve hardening in my chest. "No more sacrifices to a parasite. No more blind rituals. We face whatever darkness is consuming your…" I swallow, the weight of truth settling over me once more, but this time it feels like armor plate than burdensome shroud, "our people," I correct myself, "and we end it!"
There are a few solemn nods and fear flashes across every face, fear of the unknown, fear perhaps of some divine punishment or retribution. I turn to the gathered priestesses, noting for the first time that they number eleven plus Riley. Twelve tribes, twelve elder priestesses. A plan begins to take shape.