Part I - Parade of Hope
The grand tableau, destined to rekindle the faint embers of hope in a shattered Imperium, demanded meticulous choreography. Weeks had vanished in the preparation of this monumental spectacle, a task Aurelia approached with an almost childlike glee, despite the cosmic stakes. She conspired with her brother, Guilliman, to elevate the ceremony far beyond mere statecraft, to craft an event larger than life, a radiant lie for the sake of a profound truth. The people of Terra, the forgotten billions of the Imperium, required it—a single, blinding shaft of hope against an encroaching tide of despair. This spectacle would proclaim, with undeniable finality, that a Primarch, the Emperor's daughter, the Princess-Regent, had returned, poised to forge a new future from the ashes of the old.
Aurelia orchestrated the message's dissemination with the precision of a cosmic maestro. Utilising her newly revitalised Astra-Relays and the humming Iteritas Antennae, she cast the news across the Imperium, her power stitching the fragmented vox-nets into a unified broadcast. Thanks to her recent, painstaking efforts to patch the Great Rift and her father's coalescing will, the range was unprecedented. On the furthest reaches of Macragge, on a thousand distant battlefronts, across the decks of countless battleships, wherever humanity clung to life, her voice would be heard. No expense was spared, no resource left untapped; this event was to overshadow every prior desolation, every grim memory, to imprint itself on the soul of mankind.
Aurelia had not yet left the hallowed confines of the Imperial Palace since her awakening. The Golden Tower, her personal sanctuary, remained her bastion. It was a space intimately known, a place etched with her own history. Her chambers, vast and elegant, were befitting the heir to a galactic empire: walls of shimmering white and burnished gold, a magnificent chandelier of diamonds and unquantifiable alloys—a testament to Ferrus Manus's meticulous craftsmanship. A private living room, furnished with ancient, plush cushions, cradled a venerable fireplace that, for Aurelia, was a beloved relic of normalcy. Her personal library, filled with tomes both ancient and penned by her own hand, whispered secrets of forgotten ages. Her grand desk, the nexus of her profound work, where once she had subtly sought her father's approval, remained her most comforting anchor in this unsettling new era.
Her bed, a colossal expanse, still cradled her as she emerged from dreams, a tangible link to the body's new limitations. Beyond her chamber lay a vast balcony, where in ages past, she could gaze upon Terra's unmarred skies and survey the tranquil waters of a private lake, a calming counterpoint to the cosmic anguish that sometimes gnawed at her during the Great Crusade. That lake was now a ghost of memory.
"I shall have to make a new one," she sighed, a faint whisper into the silent air of her chambers.
A soft chime announced a presence at the immense, Dorn-crafted door. "Your Highness," Shield-Captain Anatolyn Ganorth's voice, a steady, measured baritone, resonated respectfully from beyond the heavy adamantium. "They await your presence."
Aurelia nodded, rising with a grace that masked her lingering physical stiffness. The door, a colossal edifice of patterned void-steel and blessed adamantium, opened silently. It was a masterpiece of Rogal Dorn's defensive genius, designed to withstand siege or atomic fire. Yet, Aurelia found the concept amusingly quaint. The entire Golden Tower, steeped in her father's protective will, fortified by Dorn, Ferrus, and Perturabo—each having contributed every scintilla of their vast knowledge to render it impregnable, a bastion both defensive and offensive—was her true shield. A single door, however grand, was but a gesture.
She stepped into the hallway, a long, echoing expanse of polished marble. Immediately, her entourage fell into formation: a line of gold-armoured Adeptus Custodes, their silent presence a constant tide of immutable loyalty. With them moved the spectral figures of the Silent Sisters, their null-fields an eerie hush in the air. The most formidable of all, however, were the 179 Custodes Immortalis Laureate, resurrected from their dormancy. Their activation was not merely ceremonial; it was a testament to the Custodes' grievous losses, their ranks thinned by endless warfare against cultists and daemons across Terra during the first week.
Aurelia had personally greeted each of the Immortalis, updating them on the grim tapestry of the last ten millennia. She had presented their Tribune, Ra Endymion—a name that echoed with the same revered solemnity as Constantin Valdor—to Captain-General Trajann Valoris. Their exchange had been a model of Custodes efficiency: few words, stark purpose. Protection of the Golden Throne and the Princess. Nothing else. For Ra Endymion and his resurrected brethren, however, the duty carried a deeper resonance. They were among the original three hundred, those who had served the Emperor in his walking days, and they remembered Aurelia not as a symbol, but as the cosmic child they had guarded from her very infancy.
Now, they formed a silent, golden river around Aurelia. The entourage, she mused, was truly ridiculous. Every direction she glanced, auramite shimmered, and a profound, echoing silence prevailed.
"Have I ever remarked," Aurelia murmured aloud, her voice a soft, teasing current against the heavy quiet, "upon how intensely… annoying the ceaseless silence of the Custodes can be?"
Hundreds of polished boots made no sound. No Custodian shifted. They moved as one.
"Truly, it is rather exasperating."
"A few times, my Princess," Ra Endymion's voice replied, a clear, resonant echo that resonated from his auramite helmet, possessing the same accent, the same archaic cadence, as it had ten millennia ago.
"I cannot see your face, Ra," Aurelia responded, a hint of mirth in her eyes. "But I could almost swear I perceive your smirk."
For a fleeting second, Ra Endymion allowed himself a flicker of human amusement, a quiet pride in the familiarity his Princess still offered.
"My Princess," Anatolyn Ganorth interjected, his tone impeccably formal. "Lord Guilliman has discussed assembling a household of handmaidens and servants for you. To assist with your personal needs."
Aurelia sighed deeply, a soft sound. "A gesture I would appreciate. This gown, brother," she mused, glancing down at the intricate, heavy fabric of her formal regalia, "required an embarrassing amount of communal effort. My apologies to all of your Sisters; it must have been… quite an endeavour to coax it into place." She directed her words to the Silent Sisters who had discreetly aided her in this awkward, very mortal display. They replied in Thoughtmark, their precise gestures communicating that such assistance was an honour, not a burden.
They arrived at the grand plaza, a vast expanse stretching before the Imperial Palace. Aurelia stepped onto the elevated platform, and her gaze swept across an ocean of humanity. Thousands had gathered, their collective anticipation a palpable hum in the air, divided only by ranks of Astartes from every loyal Chapter who had fought in the Siege. She saw the colossal shapes of Dreadnoughts, the towering silhouettes of the Collegia Titanica's God-engines. A thunderous roar rose to meet her, a chorus of cheers, cries, and prayers, directed equally at her and the stoic figure of Guilliman at her side. She knew the clamour was a testament to his return, and that he found such overt adulation a burden.
She walked deliberately, each step a measured cadence towards the podium, steeling herself for the overwhelming roar of human emotion.
She met Guilliman by the dais, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Is this… grand enough, brother?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rising clamour.
Guilliman, his gaze fixed on the surging crowd, replied, "For this moment, sister. It is enough."
Aurelia's eyes found Valerian and Aleya in the ranks below, their faces a mixture of awe and dawning comprehension. They, too, were beginning to grasp the necessary theatre, the potent spectacle of collective hope. "Then, allow me to begin, brother," Aurelia said, stepping towards the podium. She paused, letting the silence of anticipation swell. At her command, her holographic likeness projected across every Imperial world within range of the Astronomicam, her living image bringing her voice to every listening ear.
"My Imperium. My people," Aurelia's voice, imbued with the soft resonance of primordial truth, yet firm with the authority of the ages, carried across Terra and beyond. "For many, this moment may have been an impossibility. To dream it, to grasp its meaning, to even believe it possible, may feel like awakening from a protracted nightmare, only to dread the waking world. A lie one tells oneself, simply to forestall another crushing disappointment. An unanswered prayer repeated so often it became a silent ritual in a universe that has long ceased to listen." She glanced at Guilliman, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch in his brow—she knew his disdain for the word 'prayer', yet sometimes, as she had learned from Malcador, one had to speak the language of those who had no other recourse but desperate hope.
Her voice, imbued with her inherent cosmic presence, deepened, extending far beyond Terra, reaching into the very heart of humanity across the galaxy.
"But I declare to you now. This is not a dream. This is not a fleeting vision. It is not another lie you tell yourselves to ward off despair. This is not a silent prayer condemned to linger unheard." Her voice swelled with conviction, echoing in the hearts of billions. "No more. We are here. And it is time for you to hope again. Not merely in survival. Not merely in the desperate, grinding struggle for another dawn. But to claim victory. To rise. To dare to aspire to a future worth fighting for, beyond mere existence. For the Imperium. For Humanity. For every one of you—every soldier who has bled, every human who has yearned, every Astartes who has sacrificed the essence of self—this is your moment to cease being mere casualties of a vast, indifferent cosmos! This day marks the genesis of a new age! For not only has a Primarch returned! Not only has the heir to the Throne returned! But the Emperor himself has returned! Not in flesh, for that is a burden he yet bears! But in will! In mind! He is with us! And you shall hear it! The galaxy shall hear it! Humanity still possesses the legs to stand! The arms to fight! And the unyielding determination to win!"
Aurelia's voice resonated through every ear, every heart, every soul. A profound silence descended before it broke into an exultant roar. Even Guilliman, impassive as he usually was, staggered slightly. He had not realised his sister's voice possessed such profound, raw power. Cheers, shouts, and ecstatic tears swept the plaza. The Astartes, their grim countenances cracking into expressions of awe and renewed purpose, pounded their chest plates in unison. The ground rumbled as the God-engines let loose their battle-horns, not in challenge, but in affirmation. They believed her. They saw her light. They felt the nascent possibility of an Imperium renewed.
Aurelia swayed slightly, her hands trembling, her legs almost buckling beneath her. The sheer effort, the vast outpouring of her spirit, left her utterly drained. She hid it well, and turning, walked with an almost desperate grace towards Guilliman.
"I think I might faint," Aurelia whispered, her hand instinctively grasping her brother's armoured forearm for support.
"I confess, I was unaware you possessed such oratorical prowess," Guilliman whispered back, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. "I doubt I could follow such a performance. Perhaps you should continue the ceremony yourself, sister. You have, shall we say, stolen the spotlight."
Aurelia lightly struck his ceramite-clad arm, the gesture more playful than forceful, a brief flicker of defiance against her profound exhaustion. Guilliman chuckled softly, a sound filled with renewed, weary hope, before stepping towards the podium himself.
She tapped his pauldron. "Go be magnificent."
Aurelia, allowing herself a small, tired smile, allowed the fading anxiety to recede. It was the first time she had ever addressed such a vast public, the first time so many eyes had ever been upon her. Yet, a quiet joy, a profound sense of pride, blossomed within her weary soul.
She watched the remainder of the ceremony, Guilliman's voice, though powerful, now a stark counterpoint to her own emotional crescendo. Valerian received a laurel wreath, freshly woven from Ultramar's sacred flora, a symbol of his courage. Aleya, the Silent Sister, was presented with the Somnus Blade, an ancient null-weapon.
Aurelia saw their faces: Valerian's, stoic and unwavering, and Aleya's, a mask of quiet resolve. Her mind reached out, not in words, but in the pure current of thought. "I perceive your surprise. This is but a fleeting moment, a breath you should cherish for what it is. Breathe it in." Her thought touched Valerian, who, for a moment, seemed to glimpse something boundless in her galactic eyes. He met her smile with a faint nod, a promise to honour the instant. "Your path, Shield-Captain, is your own to walk. Trust us. Trust her. Trust me." Valerian nodded again, a flicker of profound, nascent understanding in his ancient gaze.
To Aleya, Aurelia's thought resonated directly into her null-aure. "I sense your pain, your sorrow, your quiet disgust, sister. You are right to feel burdened by the misplaced adoration of these cheering throngs. But trust us. Trust me. Trust him." This, to Aleya, was an impossibility; her null-aura, designed to snuff out psychic contact, had been utterly bypassed. Aurelia's very being transcended the Warp, capable of touching even a blank.
Aleya, though visibly stunned, maintained her outward composure, offering a minute nod to her Princess. Aurelia smiled, her gaze sweeping across the hopeful masses, then lingered on the polluted, fog-choked sky above Terra, a sky that screamed of millennia of neglect. A wave of profound annoyance, swiftly followed by determination, washed through her.
I need to cleanse it all, Aurelia thought, her mind already sketching celestial schematics, charting paths of elemental renewal. But that, she conceded to herself, a renewed sense of purpose firming her resolve, that will be a task for tomorrow.
Part II - The Shadow of Duty, The Gaze of Hope
Seven months had passed since the ceremonial spectacle on Terra's shattered surface, since the Princess Regent Aurelia Aeternitas Primus and her Primarch brother, Roboute Guilliman, had formally ushered in a new dawn. In that span, the very air of the Imperial Palace had taken on a cleaner, sharper edge. The endless tide of chaos cults still plagued the Throneworld, yet a palpable shift had occurred. Many of those cults have found themselves eradicated. A fragile, nascent hope, birthed by Princess Aurelia's radiant presence, bloomed alongside the stern, pragmatic order imposed by Guilliman. It was a potent combination, a guiding light and an iron hand, pushing humanity towards a tomorrow that, only months prior, had seemed an impossible dream. Yet, that very notion—the idea that humanity might yet ascend—left many, particularly those acutely aware of their own frail mortality, feeling utterly inadequate to even contemplate such a vast ambition.
Anna-Murza Jek walked a path no human outside the highest echelons had been permitted to tread in months. Each step carried her deeper into a bastion so meticulously defended, so ingeniously crafted to defy the very architects of the void, that Jek felt infinitesimally small, almost terrified by the profound audacity of her existence. The Lord Commander, Consul of the Princess-Regent and her unyielding right hand, had moved with a relentless, terrifying efficiency. Decrees had been issued, entrenched High Lords summarily removed, and a new crusade, the Indomitus, declared. Jek recalled the weary resignation of her former master, Alexei Lev Tieron, Chancellor of the Senatorum Imperialis, who had declined a position in this terrifying new age, utterly overpowered by the sheer, intractable despair of the new centuries to come. Now, Jek, having taken up his formidable mantle, found herself walking in his formidable, yet tragic, footsteps. Her initial meeting with Primarch Guilliman had left her utterly overwhelmed, her mind reeling from the sheer, living godhood that radiated from him. She had felt small, dwarfed by his sheer scale, just as any mortal standing before a Primarch. Yet, she was one of the fortunate few to have even endured such an audience. His intense, piercing blue eyes had imprinted themselves upon her memory, and a shiver of awe still ran through her.
Now, she was braced for a second, even greater encounter. Jek was being escorted towards the Golden Tower, the Princess's sacred dwelling. This was the sanctuary of the Absolute Regent of all Humanity, the heiress to the Golden Throne, the chosen one whose authority, by decree of the Emperor himself, surpassed even that of the Primarchs. She was the Daughter of the God-Emperor, bearing titles whispered in hushed reverence, titles Jek knew by heart, yet dared not speak aloud for their immense weight.
No unauthorised soul, Jek understood, was permitted to approach the Princess. The Golden Tower had been sealed since the grand ceremony, its formidable gates barred, its very air thick with sacred wards. Though the Princess had not been seen publicly, her presence, a luminous anchor in the heart of the Imperium, was a constant, undeniable truth. Jek, like the few remaining High Lords and Imperial elite, had heard the Emperor's voice through the vox—clear, coherent, and profound—proclaiming Aurelia the ultimate light and hope of mankind. Her voice was His; her orders, His decrees; her will, His will. And the most terrifying pronouncement of all: should she perish, the Imperium would perish with her. The thought was a chilling, stark revelation of her singular importance, a cosmic weight no mortal could ever truly fathom.
Jek walked through checkpoint after relentless checkpoint in the vast Imperial Palace. Imperial Fists and Ultramarines, grim-faced and unyielding, stood shoulder to shoulder, their joint patrols a testament to the renewed unity Guilliman had forged. The closer she drew to the Golden Tower, the denser became the formations of Adeptus Custodes, standing like statues of burnished gold.
Jek swallowed, a dry catch in her throat, as two Custodes guided her through an intricate network of halls and passages towards the Princess's sanctum. She knew the Golden Tower contained not only the Princess's magnificent chambers but also led to her personal gardens—the sole expanse of living greenery left on Terra's ravaged surface, a vibrant Eden that fed the Palace's billions. Jek still savoured the memory of a crisp apple, gifted from those gardens, a taste of heaven in a grimdark age. They ascended a long, winding hallway, the highest point of the Tower. Here, forty Custodes Immortalis Laureate stood like sentinels cast from living gold and silence. These were, at one point, the Emperor's personal guard, demigods of war who had walked beside him for millennia, now continuing their vigil and returning to guard his daughter again.
Jek felt infinitesimally small before the colossal door that marked the Princess's inner sanctum. It swung open silently, its mass moving without effort. Jek gulped, a profound sense of awe washing over her.
The room was breathtaking. Vast, cavernous, yet imbued with an ethereal elegance. Walls of shimmering white and lustrous gold soared towards an unseen ceiling. Ornate carvings, ancient and impossibly intricate, adorned every surface. The very air was imbued with a sense of timeless purity, the meticulous cleanliness a stark contrast to the dust and decay that permeated the rest of Terra. Grand tables, plush cushions, and intricate clockworks of unknown function stood amidst beautifully sculpted statues that seemed to watch with ancient eyes. Jek felt as if she had stepped back ten millennia, into a dream of Old Terra before its fall.
Murals of ancient battles and epochal events adorned the walls, scenes of triumph and tragedy. Then, her gaze fell upon a startling tableau: a painting of the Emperor in his full, unmarred glory, a sight few mortals had ever witnessed, beside a young Aurelia. But what truly stole Jek's breath, what chilled her to the bone, was the signature beneath the canvas: Fulgrim. The name of a traitor Primarch. As her eyes darted, she saw smaller portraits of all the Primarchs, loyalist and traitor alike. And there, amidst them, was a depiction of Horus Lupercal, the arch-traitor, smiling gently as he cradled a childlike Aurelia on his shoulder.
A profound, disorienting cognitive dissonance assailed Jek. Was Horus truly… a good brother?
She reeled, her mind struggling to reconcile the impossible image with the brutal dogma of the Imperium. A soft rustle, a subtle shift of auramite from a nearby Custodian, brought her back to the present. Jek cleared her throat, pushing away the blasphemous thought, and was guided towards an open section of the room—a vast, elegant library and personal office.
There, seated at an impossibly grand, beautifully carved wooden table, was Princess Aurelia. Mountains of parchment, inscribed data-slates, Servo-skulls operating within her office, and a significant, yet intriguing collection of Coginators. Jek's gaze lifted to the Princess's face, those serene, gentle eyes that held the swirling nebulae of galaxies, her dark, star-dusted hair, adorned with three luminous green motes that appeared fixed and eternal. Aurelia was even more impossibly beautiful than any statue, any stained-glass icon could portray. She was divinity made manifest, yet with a humanity that pulled at the soul.
"You must be Anna-Murza Jek," the Princess spoke, her voice like the chime of crystal bells, stirring Jek from her awed reverie.
"My Princess," Jek knelt instantly, her voice trembling as those celestial eyes locked onto her. "Blessed are those who believe in the Emperor's will." The words, rote and sincere, left her lips before she could question them. Aurelia, in a brief, almost imperceptible gesture, subtly cringed at the cultic invocation, a quiet protest against the nascent idolatry she neither sought nor embraced.
"Please, stand," Aurelia urged gently. "It is easier to speak this way." Jek obeyed, her legs still unsteady from awe, her entire being struggling to maintain composure before such radiant power. Aurelia, with compassionate grace, gestured to an ornate cushion opposite her, inviting her to sit.
Jek slowly settled herself, her breath shallow. She glanced at the formidable stacks of paperwork, the sheer volume of material that surrounded the Princess. Like Guilliman, Aurelia was clearly burdened by the ceaseless administration of a dying empire.
"My brother informed me you were aide-de-camp to Alexei Lev Tieron," Aurelia began, her voice soft, yet imbued with an inescapable gravitas that compelled unwavering attention. "A man, I am told, who was instrumental during the Edict of Restriction, and a valued counsel to my brother for brief period." Jek nodded quickly, captivated by every word.
"I was, indeed, Princess. I was his aide," Jek corrected softly. "I now serve as the Chancellor of the Senatorum Imperialis, my former master having retired due to… persistent health complications."
"Mm. I have heard that your future holds a demanding period, Anna-Murza. The Indomitus Crusade will require everything of us. The logistical sinews of this war—they are but the beginning for me," Aurelia gestured to the surrounding mountains of parchment, the tangible proof of her unending toil. Jek saw it—the colossal task already consuming the Princess. "I oversee many crucial projects. Yet, there are equally numerous matters that I simply cannot dedicate my full attention to. The High Lords of Terra have always been, and remain, a critical part of the Imperium's operational structure. As I dedicate my energies to assisting my brother in orchestrating the Indomitus Crusade, to crafting new technologies that might yet grant us an edge across this vast galaxy, to remaining in tune with my father's newly restored will, and to stitching the Great Rift lest it consume more worlds… I require a trusted individual. Someone to keep me apprised of developments within the Senatorum, someone capable of navigating bureaucracy without succumbing to its mire. A person, in essence, to act as my personal envoy."
Jek swallowed hard, the magnitude of the Princess's unspoken request slowly dawning. "My Princess… you mean…"
"Yes, Anna-Murza. I wish you to serve as my personal subordinate," Aurelia stated, her gaze unwavering, her voice imbued with the profound weight of her newly declared authority. "My secretary. My assistant. My voice and my delegate. If you accept this sacred charge, you shall become the Consul-Palatina of Her Imperial Highness, Princess of the Imperium of Man, Anathema Solara, and Scion of Terra, Aurelia Aeternitas Primus." Jek felt the sheer power of the title, an immense strength that would place her, in many ways, even above the High Lords of Terra. To act in the Princess's name would mean access beyond all restriction, every denial of a meeting, every obstruction of duty, rendered impotent.
"My Princess, I… I am not worthy!" Jek whispered, utterly overwhelmed, her voice barely a breath.
"You are, Anna-Murza Jek. Had I not known it, I would not have offered it," Aurelia replied, her divine smile radiating a warmth that filled the grand chamber. "I cannot, by Imperial Edict, leave Terra. As long as my essence remains anchored here, this hallowed homeworld of humanity and all its surrounding systems shall remain untouched by Chaos. My very light acts as a bulwark, repelling their incursions, and it allows my father's own light to shine brighter across the fractured galaxy. Yet, this anchoring confines me, for they—the Chaos beings—can perceive my exact location at all times. I require a soul I can utterly trust, Anna-Murza, to execute my will in realms where my physical presence cannot be."
Jek now understood the profound, intricate causality behind the Astronomican's restored might, the miraculous forging of new Warp lanes, and the subtle, positive shifts rippling through distant sectors. But she also realised the terrifying truth: a profound war, invisible yet relentless, raged between the Emperor and the Princess against the Arch-Enemies of mankind.
"Anna-Murza Jek," Aurelia stated, her gaze holding hers, firm and warm. "Trust me, you are worthy. And I need you." She waited, a beat of serene expectation, her smile unwavering, for she already saw the acceptance, the resolute choice, taking root in Jek's soul.
"My Princess… I would be profoundly honoured to serve."
Aurelia's smile deepened, radiant with a quiet triumph. For this chapter, she thought, this story of struggle and nascent triumph was far from over. And for now, she would close the page and turn to the unfolding present.
~ THE EDICT OF THE CONSUL-PALATINA ~ Decree-Primary CSL-P/001-M41
Be it decreed and henceforth inscribed into the Lex Imperialis, that the loyal and worthy servant of the Imperium, ANNA-MURZA JEK, heretofore Chancellor of the Senatorum Imperialis, is raised up from among the ranks of Mankind and consecrated in a new and sacred office.
By the divine will of the Princess-Regent, she is named:
~ CONSUL-PALATINA ~
DUTIES & RESPONSIBILITIES: The Consul-Palatina shall serve as the direct emanation of the Regent's will and her personal envoy in all matters temporal and administrative. Her sacred duties shall encompass, but are not limited to:
To serve as the voice (Vox-Personam) and hand (Manus-Regent) of the Princess-Regent in all matters pertaining to the high governance of the Imperium, the administration of the Senatorum Imperialis, and the prosecution of the Indomitus Crusade.To hold unrestricted, inviolable, and unannounced access to any and all chambers, archives, cogitator-vaults, and councils of the High Lords of Terra and their myriad subordinate functionaries.To act with the full and terrible authority of the Regent when conveying her decrees, ensuring their swift and unerring implementation upon pain of sanction.To command the unflinching fealty and unquestioning cooperation of any and all Imperial agents, officials, planetary governors, and military commanders in the execution of her duties.To report directly, and only, to Her Imperial Highness, serving as her eyes and ears within the shadowed corridors and whispering courts of Imperial power.
SO DECREED. SO IT SHALL BE. THE EMPEROR PROTECTS.
Signed and Sealed by Her Sacred Hand
Her Imperial Highness, AURELIA AETERNITAS PRIMUS Princess-Regent of the Imperium of Man, Anathema Solara, Scion of Terra
Witnessed and Confirmed by the Lord Commander
ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN Primarch of the XIII Legion, Lord Commander of the Imperium, First Consul to the Regent and Right Hand
Sanctioned and Attested by the Guardian of the Throne,
TRAJANN VALORIS Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, Chief Guardian of the Sanctum Imperialis