Salvation

by voroshilov

The Majesty

Their journey through the Rift was a slow one, giving Penumbra an anxious doubt and Ablazed Glory enough time to clamber onto the bridge and back into her seat. Unlike usual Rift travel, the red and purple maelstrom wasn’t near-immediately cut off by a hole of black void, which would have allowed passage back into real space. Rather, it lingered, the ship noticeably still travelling, just not out of the Rift like Penumbra wanted.

“Why are we taking so long?” Penumbra questioned aloud in a somewhat overly theatrical manner - in the way one does when asking a question to nobody in particular.

Naturally, it was Ablazed Glory who answered, far more relaxed than her compatriot. “Probably just routine Rift widening, used to happen all the time.” She emphasised her point with a dismissive wave of her claw.

By Rift widening, she meant the Rift’s tendency to fluctuate in the path of starships, making an exit from the Rift more difficult. During the advent of Rift travel, Rift widening had been a very dangerous phenomena, often regarded as an ill omen upon a ship or crew. For tens of thousands of years, however, Rift widening had been little more than an annoyance to starship captains, perhaps making them a few minutes late to a meeting, though little more than that.

“Oh? Oh.” Ablazed Glory’s flaming eyes widened with a flash of red as she observed her console. “I’m picking up massive gravitational disturbances near our exit point. We’re transitioning right into what looks like a massive gravity well. Luminary, initiate course realignment, take us a million kilometres out.”

The ship lurched to a sudden stop, slowly rotating clockwise for a few seconds, before returning to full speed again, an exit rift opening up, the darkness of space - the Milky Way hanging above like a giant firefly - stretched out before them.

The Retaliator had exited the Rift without concern. “Relax, Penumbra. We’re completely fine,” Ablazed Glory reassured her comrade - though there was enough of a tinge in her voice to not calm Penumbra in the slightest - “Luminary, give us a scan, what was that gravity well?”

It took the Luminary all of three seconds to reply. “Security protocols engaged.” Which was absolutely not what Penumbra had wanted to hear, nor was it, in any way, an answer to Ablazed Glory’s question.

Before she could yell something nonsensical, however, Ablazed Glory intervened. “Rescind that command. Deactivate security protocols, focus us on the gravity well.”

The ship realigned, slowly turning 180 degrees to face the clear source of the gravity well, which the Retaliator had very nearly exited the Rift straight into.

“Oh my,” Ablazed Glory’s exclamation trailed off, as she and her companion stared in awe at the object that hung before them.

Against the backdrop of the Large Magellanic Cloud, like a shadow on a screen, hung a vessel. It was a titanic form, with three titanic arms extending from a central, monolithic structure, which was over a thousand kilometres in length, its jagged, spiked edges longer than cities. The thing’s armatures seemed as an immense skeleton, giving it a distinctly - and rather unnervingly - living impression.

Ablazed Glory and Penumbra both spoke at the same time.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s terrifying.”

They looked to each other, both disapproving of what the other had said but still inwardly consumed by the shock of seeing such an object. It was like the corpse of some ancient god, beyond the scope of a mortal brain in its magnitude.

“Luminary,” Ablazed Glory said, timidly, “what is it?”

The Luminary was silent for half a second before answering. “A world killer. An Archon’s Forge.”

It sounded almost concerned.

“Take us in,” Ablazed Glory ordered, with a surprising firmness.

As they closed with the Archon’s Forge, Penumbra was forced into her magical sight. The whole vessel was glowing, but held a yet brighter glow in the centre of its central structure - a similar sight to staring at the sun for too long. Its very presence made her feel somewhat light headed, as though she had just stood up too fast, but she felt certain this must have been the source of her dream and the coordinates. This must have been her.

Ablazed Glory had disappeared from the bridge, but Penumbra’s attention was focused solely upon the Archon’s Forge ahead of them. Ablazed Glory would be fine.

Up close, the Archon’s Forge appeared to be made of polished obsidian, though it was abundantly clear it was not. Peppered across its surface were hundreds of thousands of weapon batteries, of a class that the Luminary could not identify, though each one hummed with a strange, repulsive energy. Penumbra sighted an opening, a hangar of some kind, eight kilometres tall and thirty across, barely a speck on the vessel’s hull, immediately and frantically ordering the Luminary to land them within.

Her senses called her within, screaming at her to get inside and get to the centre as quickly as possible. She did not even wait to find Ablazed Glory, or to see what the Luminary said about the conditions beyond the airlock. She did not even have the courtesy to wait for the airlock, simply teleporting down to the platform they had landed on.

Fortunately for her energy reserves, the air was breathable and the atmosphere was perfectly safe. As a matter of fact, the air smelt faintly of berries and it bore none of the usual hallmarks of recycled air.

She ran to the nearest door, which simply moulded around her when she tried to walk through. She spared no time to think about the odd qualities of it - least of all the fact it felt almost organic - instead dashing forwards through what appeared to be an almost pitch black connecting corridor, through another strange liquid door and into a garden, with a ceiling a kilometre above her, a thin stream by her feet, trees and flowers all over.

Ablazed Glory had spent ten minutes gathering nothing but paper and pens. She could write, though her handwriting was abysmal and the language she wrote in was commonly referred to by most she knew as “snobbish”, “poncey”, or “what does that squiggle mean?” As a child under Emperor Nicholas - who had seen fit to teach her more practical matters than writing - she could only reliably read and write in an ancient - and now almost certainly extinct, aside from herself - dialect of Common Valkyr, from a time before even the Empire.

She hauled her stash of materials outside, bundled together in a telekinetic bubble a good few metres from her body, to protect it from burning. Looking across the hangar in fervent awe, she quickly realised she had very little light - save herself - so carefully lowered her materials and retreated back inside, searching for a candle she could easily light. Sure enough, she found a dozen of them inside one of the Retaliator’s supply cupboards - why it had carried them she didn’t know - she took three and carried them back outside, lighting each with a burning talon and carefully setting them out in a triangle around her chosen writing area.

With appropriate care, she took a sheet of paper and a pen in her telekinesis, ensuring they remained at least three metres from her at all times. She was thankful for her magical sight, allowing her to actually see what she was writing from time to time by simply zooming in, whilst her telekinetic skills allowed her to write and look around the room all at the same time. With almost frantic speed, she began recording what she observed from the great machine that surrounded her.

Fortunately for Penumbra’s health, the garden had calmed her down immensely. The faint trickle of the stream, smell of the flowers and softness of the grass at her feet had allowed her to fully refocus back on herself, allowing her time to breathe and recoup her thoughts and self. Her magical vision faded slowly and almost imperceptibly away, allowing Penumbra to see real colour once again. She took a moment to take in her surroundings, letting herself sit back and relax, feeling her stress and worry leave her.

Though she rose a minute later to continue her trek onwards, the gardens were enormous. Even if she ran it would take at least half an hour to cross them. Running was not something she planned to do, not whilst surrounded by such a kindly environment. So, she slowly plodded on, mindful of her surroundings and their calming effect on her.

It was like home.

Ablazed Glory was lucky she brought reams and reams of paper with her. She had taken an entire stack from one of the storage cupboards, at least a thousand pages in total. Within minutes, she had written a good thirty pages, all with her writing condensed far beyond its usual level. Her inspiration hadn’t been sated, only enhanced, with her writing becoming near frantic scrawling, going by a full paper a minute.

What had begun as descriptions of what she could see had evolved into descriptions of what she could feel. She felt life in the structure around her, in its pillars and flying buttresses. Just like the machines on the extractor station, this vessel too must have borne a soul, or souls, perhaps - or, maybe, the idea of it being the body of some ancient deity wasn’t too far-fetched. Upon remembering the extractor station, she grabbed a second paper sheet and pen and began writing up what she had discovered and felt there, closing her eyes to better visualise the memories but also free up much needed mental bandwidth, she would be writing for a long time.

Penumbra emerged from the garden and into an enormous courtyard. It was almost like a city square in its appearance, save it was fully enclosed - with a circular stained glass window depicting what appeared to be a star some five kilometres above her - and only had one building actually attached to it. Before her stood an immense, gothic edifice, with its gargoyles taking on an appearance similar to that of dragons, which gave off an odd sense of cunning that Penumbra chalked down to the immersive aura of the place.

Above the door - this one noticeably solid - hung a giant stained glass window, depicting a figure not unlike the one who had appeared to her in her dream stood in a heroic pose, broadsword raised high in her left hand. Recognition flashed in her eye for just a moment.

She pushed the door aside, revealing an immense hall. The pillars were three times as wide as her and the ceiling, so far above, was shrouded in darkness. A choir, a large one at that, was singing a chant in a language she couldn’t understand. The chant itself was beautiful and melodic, echoing ethereally through the hall she had entered, though the choir itself did not seem to be located anywhere. There weren’t any speakers either, not even electrical current entered the room or anywhere near it, suggesting it wasn’t simply a recording. Regardless, she pushed on, enjoying the feeling of the visibly thin but wonderfully soft red and gold embroidered carpet at her feet.

Penumbra climbed a pair of steps onto the slightly raised end third of the hall, which led to a black stone altar. On the altar were four candles, one in each corner, none seemed to have ever been lit but still smelled vaguely of smoke, with a clearly ancient leather bound tome lying closed in its centre.

She opened the thickly bound cover to the first page, finding writing in a language she had never seen before; though, the reason she couldn’t translate it may have been that it was written in a script that was barely legible to her. She flicked through a few more pages, though each one presented her with the same illegible script and language she couldn’t identify.

She contemplated taking the tome with her, though she assumed it had been left in place for a reason. Also, it was unlikely the one she sought out a meeting with would be particularly happy about having her belongings stolen by a guest.

She closed the tome once again, returning it to exactly how she had found it. The hall branched out just ahead of the altar, with the branch left of the entrance leading to a stained glass window and little else. The branch to the right, however, held a door, being Penumbra’s best bet to continue further inwards. She forged ahead.

The next room was another more open area, similar to the courtyard she had experienced previously, with its vast gothic edifice, though this particular structure contained a sign on the door, in the form of a golden plaque.

The writing on the plaque was in Assembly Binary, a language she was proud to say she was fluent in. “Bath House,” Penumbra read aloud, “why would anyone need a bath house on a starship?”

She pushed the door aside with a hoof, before quickly realising exactly why someone would need a bath house on a starship.

Before her, as far as her eyes could see, stretched a room designed solely for comfort and relaxation. Steam filled the air, as did the smell of exotic fragrance. The room was bright and built of marble and gold. Hot baths the size of fields, tiered pools larger than houses and artificial waterfalls that kicked up a vast layer of vapour, were laid out before her, as if trying to tempt her. At first, she pushed ahead, skirting the edges of the pools along the surprisingly frictioned marble walkways. After a good twenty minutes of walking, however, she detached her armour, laying it on a flat, open area near one of the pools, before she slowly stepped in, sinking slowly until the water was up to her shoulders. She hummed in satisfaction and laid back, she would allow herself to relax, just for now.

Ablazed Glory had developed a magical cramp. Regardless, even as her magical grip gradually felt less and less in terms of touch, she continued her frantic writings. Sure, she could have slowed down, but Penumbra could return at any moment. She felt a compulsive need to write everything, whilst the flame of inspiration the Archon’s Forge brought on burned inside of her.

“This,” Penumbra said, though her speech was so slow it was possible to suspect her of not saying anything, “is good.”

“You are certainly impressive.” An ethereal, bodiless voice chuckled, causing Penumbra to rear up in alarm and adopt a fighting stance, despite the fact she was still submerged.

Penumbra ignited her sword and floated it close to her. “Who goes there?” Then mentally slapped herself for being so cliche.

“My apologies,” the voice said, Penumbra recognised it as that of the woman from her dream - at least there was now proof she was in the right place - “these are the Royal Baths, in my culture it is acceptable to admire the forms of those with natural beauty when in such a communal location.” The way she enunciated ‘admire’ made Penumbra blush slightly beneath her coat, though she had no clue as to why. It was probably the heat.

“Where are you?” Penumbra called out, deactivating her sword and lowering it back next to her breast plate.

“I am in the Throne Room,” the voice said, “technically. In reality I am all over this ship.” She cut off Penumbra’s question before she asked it, “which is something I shall explain to you when you arrive.”

“And where is the Throne Room?” Penumbra asked, “this ship is not a small thing.”

“A few rooms ahead of you is the conflux room,” the voice said, “from there I can bring you to just outside my Throne Room. Do not feel rushed, my dear, the baths are wonderful for the skin.”

Penumbra awkwardly removed herself from the pool - she could relax later. She couldn’t abandon herself to comfort when she was so close to reaching her goal - no matter how much she wanted to. She prepared to redon her armour, before realising she was soaked and covering herself in a drying spell. Her coat was dry for a second, before the sheer volume of steam around her wetted it again. Regardless, she clipped her armour back on, the eyepieces of her helmet automatically clearing the water from her vision and showing her the layout of the room ahead.

As she walked through the baths, she felt an intense yearning to simply remove her suit and jump back in again, just ignore her objective for a few minutes and bring back the bliss she had experienced earlier. Still, she pushed ahead, holding herself just long enough to push open the exit door and leave the baths behind. She breathed an all-too audible sigh of relief when her great temptation was no longer visible.

She emerged into another courtyard, with the choral singing seeming to have gotten louder. She knew she was close to where she needed to be, with the next gothic edifice containing another branching hall with an altar, as she had seen before. The structure she was in was slightly different, however, in that there was an immense pipe organ behind the altar. Penumbra did not know how to play a pipe organ, thus she did not even attempt to do so. As she headed down the right branch, assuming - correctly - that the layout was identical to that of the previous similar hall, a pipe organ began to play, supplementing the choir.

It could not possibly have been the organ behind her, it was too quiet, but she spun about to check regardless. No sound left the pipes, the organ did not outwardly move, though she could see something moving within through her magic. She turned back and quickly left, having given up on the concept of completely understanding the intricacies of where she was - an all to aware that it could have been literally anything.

The facade at the end of the next courtyard was, as the last, signed. Again, it was a golden plaque on the door, the writing in Assembly Binary. “Conflux,” she read, “well, this must be it. This was where she said she’d be able to get me.”

Penumbra steeled herself for what she would face beyond, part of her prepared in case it turned out to be a trap. When she pushed the door aside, however, she was greeted with a crystal rotunda, very little light, and a kilometres high vertical shaft, terminating in a surface identical to that of the ground.

“Welcome,” the voice said, “this is the conflux room, one of many scattered about the ship. Naturally, expecting all of my guests to walk for weeks to reach me is a little too much, so I can use these rooms to teleport you up to me. Just relax, this will feel a little strange to you.”

Penumbra was suddenly overcome by an unpleasant sensation of being drunk through a straw. Her vision vanished for a second, before suddenly reappearing, with her location having changed to a large courtyard outside a large gothic edifice - an architectural feature that narrowed down her location to essentially anywhere on the ship. When she turned to look about, however, she noticed that there were no walls that constricted this courtyard. Each of the walls were miles away, with a sheer drop between the floor she was standing on and anything else save the structure ahead.

The structure itself was very regal looking, with far more of an emphasis on the size and gravity-defying elements of its architecture. The entrance way, sat atop five long, wide steps, was flanked by a pair of statues, almost identical to those of the gargoyles present on the lower edifices - only far larger and with a far greater air of smug cunning. These statues, however, bore titles, “Laernae,” one read, and “Calien,” the other.

She ascended the steps, being met with the woman’s voice when she reached the top. “Sunless-Halo-of-Penumbra, welcome to my Throne Room.”