[Imperiatum, Deep Within Consortium Space, Two Millennia after Consortium Emergence]
The faint echo of footsteps bounced off the shining golden halls of the royal bedchambers, accompanied only by the glittering jewels that sparkled along the dark floor. Hibernation for one of royal blood required only absolute stillness during the time traveling the vastness of space. Anything that disturbed such bliss would be faced with a swift death.
But time for rest had come to an end. The Imperiatum had finished its trek into the Sol system, and there was much work to be done. A hearty fire roared to life from every crevice as invisible gears began to shift, bringing warmth and color back into the purple curtains that surrounded the bed. Deep within the reaches of that chamber, behind another layer of unfolding walls and painted sheets, lay an obsidian box, locked as tight as a tomb.
A pale Canere, covered in pearl armor and laced with gold, descended upon the box from high above the ceiling. It was patiently waiting for its master to stir, wordlessly preparing a set of clothing that it kept tucked away inside its spotless tentacles. The box began to stir and slowly unfolded itself as each corner drifted away from the other as if gravity were a suggestion.
Heavy figures approached the box, climbing a set of stairs as their hulking frames came into view. Two double-ended scythes were slung over their impossibly broad shoulders as the pair casually strolled their way towards the box, wordless and breathless each step of the way. Their scaly flesh, black as the abyss, signified their unique rank amongst the Consortium.
A new position.
One that brought controversy wherever they appeared.
Members of the Harrow.
Unlike the spindly creature in Rena's dream, the two massive figures carried themselves with far less purpose, shifting their bodies with graceful yet careless calculation. It came as no surprise that their faces were just as blank, resembling the head of an anvil, as if it had been torn in two. But surprisingly, the creatures came as no threat to the royal chamber, as even the Canere high above bothered not to look at them.
The box finished its animated sequence as a field of golden mist began to seep out of its opened top, warm and moist to the touch. A feminine yawn jumped out, with a bit of impatience and agitation layered in her young, shrill voice. Her arms, thin and human-like, lazily stretched out from the mist, as the Canere's tentacles swooped down to support them.
"Goodness me." She smacked her lips, her fingers motioning for the Canere to quicken its pace. "How boring."
The Canere gently pulled the princess up, allowing her to climb out of the box with just the right amount of assistance. It quickly dispensed its stock of clothing, wrapping her in a translucent nightgown that fit perfectly around her frail, flat body. Her purple tail, quite unlike Lunae's, whiped about wildly, signifying her poor mood.
"Is my brother awake?" The princess muttered under her breath, expecting everyone to hear her.
The Canere responded with a warm, whispy voice, practically coddling the girl with its soothing cadence. "His opinion on announcing himself remains the same, Princess Anya."
"Pssh." Anya pouted, folding her arms as the golden bracelets that had been fitted around them glimmered in the light. "Typical."
The two Harrow silently surrounded the box on both ends, keeping watch over the princess as she stepped forward. Their task, as assigned to them by the Emperor, was a rather new affair. In generations past, the role of honor guard was given to the most refined and honorable warriors of the Consortium.
But the Emperor had changed that tradition, much to the dismay of his court. The Harrow were unabashedly his passion project, and Anya knew it well. All her father could talk about was how wondrous and mystical those creatures were.
She looked at the creatures with visible annoyance. They lived as a reminder of what her father really cared about. All he ever desired was to make one of his own.
The Harrow.
Yrix, as well as many others, were commissioned in this expensive endeavor. And after years of grueling effort, they had succeeded. Though Anya knew it was mostly the Psions who pushed it through to the end.
She was actually quite fond of Yrix and thought of her the moment she came out of that box. It pained her to think that her brother was not on the same page. He was too much like his father.
"I'll ask him today." Anya shifted her white hair as she spoke to herself, its silky fringes glimmering with a rainbow of colors. "I refuse to go visit Auntie on my own."
The princess was a rare specimen, crossbred and spliced together using only the most exquisite races across the galaxy. In fact, she was quite certain her father had taken a census on what was perceived to be the most attractive quality when making her. She took pride in that.
Anya was still flat, however.
"Now now." She huffed, ignoring the Canere's attempt to give her some sandals. "I'm hungry."
The Harrow followed the princess sluggishly as she skipped across the carpet laid before her, ignoring everything else in their path. They shared the same dead look in their posture as the Harrow within Rena's dream. Anya could see it, and it had always unsettled her.
What were they?
The princess was hardly uneducated. In fact, she took pride in being able to lecture almost anyone on the happenings of her father's empire. She was only a few years old, hastened in her development artifically. And she was far from the first royal child in the empire's history.
But Anya was perfect in her father's eyes. That was all the confirmation she needed. Still, she was pained to know so little about the Harrow.
They weren't real in any sense of the word. No history. No genetic material. No relation to any known species in the cosmos.
They just were.
Their language, whenever they decided to utter a single word, was completely foreign. But if they had no culture, that shouldn't have been possible. It annoyed Anya greatly to be so bewildered.
"Off to the baths." Anya sighed.