Chapter 13: Saint, Mother, Cardinal, Friend

The warmth of the light pulses gently beneath my skin, a constant ebb and flow that mirrors the rhythm of my own heartbeat. Standing atop the tarnished gold of the altar, I extend my hands toward the next supplicant—a woman with lines of hardship etched deep into her face. Her eyes meet mine, though she cannot see through the silken blindfold that veils their golden glow beneath. She trembles as my fingers brush her forehead.

"Be at peace," I whisper, the words carrying more weight than mere sound. A soft radiance emanates from my touch, weaving its way through her weary bones. I feel the brittle fragility of her ailments, the lingering shadows of old wounds and fresh sorrows. With a gentle surge, I guide the light to mend, to soothe, and more...

Her breath catches, and she steps back, eyes wide with wonder as the blindness of age is replaced by perfect sight and she flexes fingers once stiff with pain, now whole. "Thank you," she murmurs, voice quavering.

"Go in the Emperor's light," I reply, offering a faint smile.

As she departs, I steady myself against a brief wave of exhaustion. The ring on my left hand pulses softly, fused with the metal of my augmetic arm. Golden strands weave up from the band, intricate filigrees that snake along the mechanical limb and disappear beneath the fabric at my shoulder. I can feel them burrowing into flesh and bone, a tether between what I was and what I have become, inseparable.

Six days without rest, but the fatigue is a distant whisper compared to the weight pressing upon my soul. One day of intense action, twelve successful raids, five days receiving the pilgrim souls of the eleven tribes. I close my eyes for a brief moment, steadying myself on my feet.

Each woman who approaches carries with her a lifetime of suffering etched into lines and scars. I place my hands upon them, and the light flows—a gentle tide that washes away pain, mends old wounds, and kindles a spark of vitality long since dimmed. The energy I channel back into them is but a fragment of what was taken, a restitution for sins committed over generations. Their gratitude is a balm and a burden.

Deep within, Jessamine's presence stirs, a constant whisper at the back of my mind. Her guilt intertwines with mine, a shared penance for deeds we cannot undo. I look upon these women and see my daughters: sisters and mothers—a family bound not by blood but by shared suffering. I am only eleven years old, yet I feel my soul carrying the weight of lifetimes.

The air shifts, a ripple through the sea of faces. My gaze lifts, and there she is—Valeria. Clad in the armor of a Sister Hospitaller. Through the visor of her helm I see beneath to the familiar dark hair framing a face etched with concern and disbelief. Her eyes meet mine across the distance, and my heart lurches with a sudden, bittersweet joy.

Memories surge forward: whispered conversations in the Schola's dim corridors, stolen moments of solace amid a world of harsh realities. She was my anchor, my confidant, my only refuge in the storm of that place.

But now... now I am something else entirely, and the gulf between us widens with every passing moment. I know the rift that lies between us now, a chasm carved by faith and the paths we've been forced to walk. I fear that when she looks upon me, she will see not her friend but something... other.

Sorrow wells within me, but I push it down. There is work yet to be done, and so I bid her to wait.

I push personal thoughts aside as the next figures approach the altar, and the next, and the next…

Finally, only four remain, and the first is a daughter I owe dearly, her bitterness and sorrow rub like an iron brush against my skin as Diaz steps forward, her movements hesitant yet resolute. Beside her, Briggs lingers, his aura tinged with unease. Trebor trails behind, his silence a stark contrast to the manic fervor that once consumed him, and behind him, Valeria.

I feel them all, their auras, their emotions, echoes of their thoughts as past and present and future threaten to blur together amid the exhaustion of my mind.

Diaz lifts her gaze to me, eyes red-rimmed and haunted. The weight of her pain presses against my senses—a deep, gnawing sorrow that echoes Jessamine's own regrets. I descend the steps of the altar, the hem of my robes whispering against the cold stone.

The crowd parts before me in a silent wave. Whispers ripple through the assembly, but I pay them no heed. My focus is solely on Diaz. She looks up as I draw near, confusion and fear flickering in her eyes.

"Diaz," I say softly, coming to stand before her.

She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come. Her hands clench at her sides, knuckles white.

Without a word, I kneel before her, lowering myself until my forehead touches the cold stone at her feet. "Forgive me," I whisper, my voice carrying across the hushed expanse. "Forgive me for the pain I've caused you."

Her breath catches, a sharp intake that shatters the silence. "What...?" she stammers, tears welling in her eyes.

"I am no more than a servant seeking—" I pause, her conversation floating through my mind like a half-remembered dream, "no, begging, for absolution," I interrupt, gently. "Your loss is a wound, one that I inflicted, one with depth of pain which cannot be measured."

She stares down at me, tears spilling over her cheeks. "You know...?"

"I know of your son," I reply, lifting my head slightly. "Taken from you unjustly, sacrificed in a time when shadows clouded our sight."

Her composure shatters. Sobs wrack her frame as she collapses to her knees before me. "I begged them," she chokes out. "I begged them not to take him."

I reach out, enveloping her in an embrace. Her body trembles against mine, the rawness of her grief cutting through the barriers of self-sufficiency, sulf-numbing, she's held onto so tightly. "Your heart was never wrong," I murmur. "In the Emperor's light, the light of new life, you saw the truth that others could not."

She clings to me, fingers gripping the fabric of my robe as if I might vanish at any moment. "I don't know how to let go," she whispers.

I pull back slightly, resting a hand against her cheek. In the near future I see a path beautiful and bright. I take it, allowing words to fill my mouth and thoughts my mind. "You need not let go, for he is not lost to you."

Her eyes search mine, a flicker of hope igniting amidst the despair. "What do you mean?"

My gaze shifts to Briggs, who watches with a mixture of confusion and awe. "You have brought his sire," I say, offering a nod. "And together, less than a day's cycle ago you have kindled a new flame."

Diaz flushes, casting a startled glance at Briggs. "I—how could you know—"

"A mother's heart speaks volumes," I reply, placing my augmetic hand gently over her abdomen. The metal is warm, infused with the same light that flows through me. "The seed of life grows within you."

Her hand covers mine, eyes widening. "But... the contraceptive—"

"Has been lifted," I assure her. "Life finds a way when guided by the Emperor's will."

Emotion overwhelms her, and she bows her head. "Thank you," she breathes.

But there is more to be done. I feel the echo of her lost child—a lingering presence caught between realms, denied the chance to fulfill his destiny. "That which is not yet formed awaits the breath of a soul," I say, my voice resonating with a deeper timbre.

Diaz gasps as I push my hand against her abdomen, a sharp intake of breath as the light envelops her. "What are you—"

I close my eyes, focusing inward. The connection to Jessamine flares, a wellspring of energy surging up like a torrent of fire, raw and filled with potential. I channel it, guiding the flow through the golden threads that weave down my arm, into my hand, and into Diaz. A flash of light erupts from the point of contact, brilliant and pure.

Diaz shudders, a sharp cry echoes through the basilica. The light envelops her, tendrils of luminescence swirling around us both. I feel the weight of countless souls pressing against me, the remnants of sacrifices made over centuries. Drawing upon that reservoir, I guide one fragment—familiar, fragile—back to where it belongs.

The effort steals the breath from my lungs; the strain hitting me like a physical blow. My knees buckle, and darkness edges into my vision. The reservoir of light within me dims, flickering like a candle in a gust of wind.

"My Saint!" Diaz's voice cuts through the haze as she catches me, her arms steadying my descent. I struggle to remain upright, the weight of exhaustion crashing over me in relentless waves.

Diaz grips my shoulders, concern etched across her features. "Are you—"

"I'm all right," I manage, though my voice betrays the lie. My skin feels cold, the warmth leached away by the enormity of what I've done. The glow that once radiated effortlessly now gutters, a faint aura barely perceptible.

Diaz supports me, her grip firm yet gentle. "You push yourself too far for my sake, such a gift—"

I offer a faint smile. "Some prices are worth paying."

She shakes her head, worry shadowing her eyes. "Not if it means losing you."

I turn my attention as Riley reaches me, taking me gently from Daiz's hands. I smile at Diaz, who gazes at me with a mixture of awe and gratitude. "Raise him well," I tell her. "Teach him the virtues of compassion and courage."

Tears shimmer on her lashes. "I will," she vows. "By the Emperor, I will."

Briggs steps forward, his expression conflicted. "I don't know how to thank you," he says haltingly.

"Love her," I reply with gentle command. "And cherish the family you've been given."

He nods, emotion rendering him momentarily speechless.

A murmur ripples through the gathered crowd, the tension easing as they witness the exchange. Hope blossoms anew, a tangible shift that permeates the air.

But I feel the limits of my strength pressing in. The connection with Jessamine weighs heavily—her memories, her power, her penance intertwined with my own. The light within me seems infinite but my own body, my mind, is not, and each act of grace draws me closer to the edge.

"Rest now," Riley urges, concern deepening. "You've done enough for today."

I shake my head slowly. "There are still those who wait."

She opens her mouth to protest, but I forestall her with a raised hand. "Just a little longer."

With effort, I straighten, drawing upon reserves I didn't know I had. The glow around me strengthens marginally, enough to reassure those who watch.

The murmurs of the crowd fade into a hushed silence as Trebor steps forward. His presence commands a different kind of attention—a ripple of unease mixed with curiosity. Clad in tattered rags, his skin etched with scars both self-inflicted and earned through years of hardship, he carries himself with a dignity that belies his appearance. His eyes, once wild with madness, now shine with a clarity that pierces through the layers of grime and neglect.

He approaches with measured steps, each footfall deliberate, as if he treads upon sacred ground. When he reaches me, he bows deeply—a gesture of respect that seems almost regal. Tears carve clean tracks down his dirt-streaked face, and his lips tremble as he struggles to find words.

"Blessed lady whose eyes are masked," he begins, his voice steady yet laden with emotion. "I have wandered through the abyss of darkness, masking myself in madness to elude the gaze of that which festers in the shadows and preys upon your faithful. I have hidden, endured torment, and shrouded my mind to preserve the vision entrusted to me until I could stand before you this day."

I gaze upon him, and through the layers of his suffering, I see the man he once was—a figure of authority and faith, draped in the finery of high office. Memories not my own surface: grand cathedrals bathed in stained-glass light, sermons delivered to throngs of the devout, a life dedicated to the Emperor's service.

"Arch-Cardinal Gabriel Mossad," I breathe, the name rolling off my tongue like a forgotten hymn. Recognition flashes in his eyes, mingled with shame and a hint of fear.

"Do not speak that name," he pleads, his composure wavering. "I am unworthy of such titles. I am Trebor now—a wretched soul carried trembling to your grace."

I study him, sensing the turmoil that roils beneath the surface. The light within me flares instinctively, casting a soft glow that illuminates the hollows of his cheeks and the depths of his eyes. "You have wrapped yourself in darkness, allowed it to seep into your very being," I say, my tone gentle yet firm. "A psyker who has walked perilously close to the abyss."

He nods, accepting the rebuke. "I did what I must to protect the vision," he replies. "To safeguard it from those who would corrupt or destroy it. I became what I needed to be—madness as my cloak, filth as my armor—so that I might survive long enough to fulfill my purpose."

"At great personal cost," I observe, feeling the weight of his sacrifices, the fragmented realm of pain that is his mind. "You have risked not only yourself but the souls of others in your descent, psyker."

"Yes," he admits, anguish twisting his features. "But it was all for this moment—to deliver the message to you, the living saint. To unburden myself of this duty before it consumes me utterly."

I reach out, my fingers hovering just above his forehead. "May I?" I ask.

He closes his eyes, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "Please," he whispers. "Release me."

Our connection snaps into place the moment my fingertips make contact. A torrent of images floods my mind—visions layered upon visions, a labyrinth of foresight and prophecy tangled within his own fragmented psyche. I see worlds burning, shadows spreading like a plague across the stars, and a darkness that hungers with an insatiable appetite.

Deep within the maelstrom, a singular vision stands out—a thread of clarity amid chaos. It is a glimpse of a possible future, one where the hive falls not to war or famine, but to something far more insidious.

"The Nullmaw," I murmur, the name forming unbidden. An entity of shadow and void, a manifestation of entropy that seeks to unmake all that is. In the basilica those gathered flinch as the simplicity of speaking the name causes the sound of meta striking metal to echo from future to present, a phantom noise from a future not yet formed, a monstrous behemoth battering down the adamantine gates.

Trebor's voice echoes in my mind. "It stirs beneath us, feeding on despair and neglect, waiting, waking, watching! It has been growing for centuries, unnoticed, festering in the forgotten places. Created by a war, a war within this very hive yet one I cannot find any account of. Only by mending the bonds that were broken that day can it be confronted and our doom avoided."

I delve deeper, sifting through layers of metaphor and symbolism. The Nullmaw thrives on division, on sacrifices made in vain, on the corruption that has tainted both the high and the low. Its tendrils reach into every strata of society, drawing strength from ignorance and apathy.

Pulling back, I sever the connection gently, mindful of Trebor's fragile state. He gasps, swaying on his feet, but I steady him with a hand on his shoulder.

"You have carried this burden alone for too long," I tell him. "Thank you for entrusting it to me."

Relief floods his features, and he looks up with a tentative smile. "Then there is hope?"

"There is always hope," I affirm. "But we must act swiftly. The threat you have revealed cannot be ignored. I see now that it has already begun, and my daughters have been consumed by it these past six months…"

He nods vigorously. "I am at your service, my lady. Command me as you will."

I consider him for a moment. "You are a danger to yourself and others, to us all. If you wish to serve, first, you must heal," I say. "The darkness has left its mark upon you but…" I take a deep breath, feeling the places where my own golden light burns hot against the scars on my flesh, "darkness leaves its mark on us all. Will you allow me to mend what has been broken?"

He hesitates, fear flickering in his eyes. "I... I don't know if I am worthy."

"Worthiness is not for you to decide," I reply gently. "The Emperor's light shines upon all His children, even those who have strayed. For you is only to decide if you are willing to endure a further trial, rich in reward, but overwhelming in labor and pain."

He swallows hard, then inclines his head. "I am… Arch-Cardinal…" He swallows again, "I have never… strayed from that duty. I will not give in to exhaustion now, not if I might still protect the Emperor's flock."

Placing both hands upon his temples, I close my eyes and reach inward. The golden threads from the ring pulse, channeling energy through my augmetic and into him. I navigate the labyrinth of his mind, carefully disentangling the knots of fear and madness that have taken root. It's a delicate process—one misstep could unravel him entirely and I am acting purely on instinct and the knowledge that Jessamine has done this before in ages past.

As I work, I sense Jessamine's presence bolstering my efforts. Together, we weave a tapestry of healing, stitching together the torn fabric of his psyche. Memories of his former life resurface—the joy of serving, the warmth of fellowship, the solace of faith untainted by despair.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, but finally, the task is done and a final seal is left, constructed from the fabric of his own mind, against the darkness he was forced to embrace. I withdraw, opening my eyes to find him gazing at me with a clarity that was absent before.

"How do you feel, Arch Cardinal?" I ask.

He blinks, a tentative smile forming. "Whole," he says softly. "For the first time in years, I feel... whole."

A murmur spreads through the crowd, a ripple of awe at what they have witnessed. I feel the weight of their gazes, the collective hope and fear that hangs in the air.

But the exertion has taken its toll. My limbs feel leaden, and a cold sweat dampens my brow. The light within me flickers, and I know I am reaching beyond my limits even as I slowly sit, then lay on the altar, unable to lift my head.

Riley steps forward, concern etched into each of her features. "You must rest," she insists, her tone brooking no argument and bordering on desperation.

I move my head left, then right, a silent refusal. My hand comes up and I sign, "one more." Slowly, with deliberate effort, I turn my head until my face rests in the direction of Valeria.

She steps forward wordlessly.

"There," I murmur, my voice barely more than a breath, each word an exertion that sends a tremor through my frail body. "You've taken your stims, and I've taxed myself beyond my limits." A ghost of a smile touches my lips, though I know it does little to mask the pallor of my skin or the unsteady rhythm of my heartbeat. The air feels colder now, each inhale a sharp reminder of my waning strength.

Valeria stands before me, her armor gleaming even in the dim light of the basilica. I can sense her apprehension, the conflict warring within her. Her gaze searches mine, though my eyes remain hidden beneath the silken blindfold.

"If you've come to kill me," I continue, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat, "if I'm wrong, and everything I've sacrificed has only made me a pawn of darkness, then now is the time—while I am at my weakest."

She flinches, the slight movement betraying the turmoil beneath her stoic exterior, the chainblade humming softly at her side. The weapon's teeth glint in the dim light, a reminder of the edge between duty and choice.

"Aurora," she begins, her tone a mixture of frustration and concern, "what have you done to yourself? This—" she gestures around us, at the throngs of women watching with bated breath, "this isn't right. Miracles aren't handed out like ration bars. The Emperor's will isn't a spectacle."

I shake my head slowly, the motion causing spots of darkness to dance at the edges of my vision. "You're wrong," I whisper. "The Emperor's light is for everyone, even the least of these." I gesture weakly to the gathered women, their faces a tapestry of hope and desperation.

"Miracles are rare, sacred acts," she insists. "They are granted to the faithful, to those proven worthy. What you're doing... it goes against the very teachings we've upheld."

A pang of sorrow twists within me. "My daughter," I say, the words slipping out before I can reconsider. Her eyes widen, confusion and something akin to hurt flashing across her features. "You strive so hard to be enough, to earn worthiness that's already yours. Please, be at peace. You've always been good enough, always deserving of my love."

A flush colors her cheeks, and she averts her gaze. I can sense the shame that wells up in her—the fear that she isn't strong enough, faithful enough. It's a burden I've carried myself, and recognizing it in her feels like looking into a mirror of shared pain.

"Let go of the fear," I urge gently. "You are good enough."

Her eyes snap back to mine, a mixture of anger and hurt swirling within them. She steps forward, tearing off her helm and letting it crash to the ground with a resonant clang. The sound echoes through the basilica, drawing the attention of every soul.

"No one is good enough!" she shouts, her voice ringing out with a raw intensity. "No one is good! Only the Emperor is pure. Only His light is true. Everything else is shadow and deceit!"

Tears carve paths down her cheeks, and the sight pierces me more than any blade could. She brandishes her chainblade, the teeth spinning in a muted growl as it idles. Yet I feel no fear—only a deep well of compassion.

"You're wrong," I say softly, making no move to retreat or defend myself. "But don't blame yourself for the misunderstanding. Jessamine was wrong too, and her errors were far greater than yours."

A wry chuckle escapes me, but it quickly dissolves into a fit of coughing. The spasms wrack my body, forcing me to curl onto my side. Warmth blossoms in my palms as I catch the blood that escapes my lips. The sight of it—crimson against pale skin—serves as a stark reminder of my faltering mortality.

"Actually," I manage weakly, "I might have overdone it a bit." I attempt a smile, though it likely appears more as a grimace. "You might have to decide whether to save me, not... whether to kill me."

Valeria hesitates, the chainblade faltering to a halt. The conflict within her is almost palpable—a tempest of duty clashing with something deeper, more personal.

"Aurora..." she begins, her voice faltering. "I... I care for you. More than you know… more than I should. More than is appropriate." She swallows hard, her eyes searching mine for some form of condemnation or understanding. "I feel things I shouldn't, and it clouds my judgment. It makes me question my duty—my oath to the Emperor. I—"

I reach out, my fingers brushing lightly against the armored gauntlet she wears. "Emotions are not weaknesses," I tell her. "They make us who we are. They remind us of what we're fighting for. Love is just an echo of the Love the Emperor feels for all his mighty Imperium, even its smallest pieces."

She shakes her head, frustration knitting her brow. "But it's wrong," she insists. "You were declared a heretic. The Inquisition labeled you an enemy. Our own Order cast you out as Repentia. I should—"

"Should what?" I interrupt gently. "Follow orders without question? Condemn without seeking truth?"

Her gaze hardens, though her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "It's not my place to question," she states, though the conviction in her words wavers.

"A lot of people are wrong," I say. "Traditions can be flawed. Even those upheld for millennia. Jessamine made mistakes—mistakes that cost countless lives." I take a shaky breath, steadying myself. "I'm certain that when this is over, I may still be labeled a heretic. I may face execution. And if you don't act against me now, you might share that fate."

She clenches her jaw, the weight of my words settling heavily upon her. "Then why do it?" she asks, desperation creeping into her voice. "Why become… this… why sacrifice yourself for a cause that will itself come back to destroy you?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," I reply simply. "Because if we all listen so hard to tradition that we deafen ourselves to the Emperor's voice, we become blind, we don't hear the sound of His heartbeat echoed within the chest of every man, woman, and child. I've given up so much to be here, to be a vessel for hope. My life, my identity—they've become tools for a purpose greater than myself. There is no going back for me, Valeria, maybe there never was."

A tear slips from beneath the blindfold, tracing a cool line down my cheek. "And I'm afraid," I admit, my voice barely audible. "So very afraid."

She stiffens, her eyes widening. "Aurora..."

"Hear me," I continue, speaking not with words but directly into her mind. The effort is a strain even from so close, but it's the only way to convey the depth of my own feelings. "I'm so scared, and I can't show it. So many are depending on me—more than you know. It's all unfolding, all around us. Only I can see it, only I can feel it taking shape. The past, the future, it's all winding back on itself and I can't express it, I can't make sense of it. If I don't do this, exactly right, everyone I… love…" I swallow and stare into her eyes, "you, my daughters chained to the past and those living in the ignorant present, everyone dies. And it's all on me and I feel… I feel so, utterly alone."

She stares at me, the chainblade and gauntlet slipping from her grasp to clatter against the stone floor as she releases it; her hand smooth and hot, finding mine. "You're not alone," she whispers, stepping closer.

"Please," I plead silently. "I can't bear to lose you too. If you can't stand with me, then end it now. I don't believe I have the strength to carry this burden of the future, of what is to come, of what has happened already and what must happen again. And your doubt… your condemnation of me would be a burden heavier still than all else."

She squeezes my hand gently. "What do you need me to do?"

"Trust your heart," I tell her. "Not just the teachings drilled into us, but what you feel deep within. Find the Emperor's light and rely on it alone, without anyone interpreting it for you."

She nods slowly, a resolve settling over her. "I'll stand by you," she declares. "Whatever comes, we'll face it together."

A weak smile touches my lips. "Thank you."

The exhaustion becomes overwhelming, the edges of my vision darkening. "I think... I need to rest now," I murmur.

She helps me lie back; her movements careful. "I'll keep watch," she promises.

As my eyes close, I feel a pang of guilt for the fate I've just sealed over her, my friend. What is the value of a single life? What is the value of love? Is it worth the cost of everything else…?

"Valeria," I whisper into the void between waking and sleep, unsure if she perceives or if I am dreaming again. "You're more than you know."