Salvation

by voroshilov

Astrid

The door opened inwards, revealing a room the size of the Retaliator - possibly even larger. All around it were shelves, stacked with trinkets, some of which Penumbra could not even begin to discern a purpose from. Four statues, each of a near identical figure, save each one having a single defining characteristic - a sword for one and a cloak for another, lined the path leading up to the central dais.

Atop three concentric circular layers, stood a simple black stone throne. It was angular, fairly small and didn’t look particularly comfortable, though Penumbra could feel the power it radiated. It was the ship’s heart, linked up to a figure who hid in a patch of darkness behind it.

A woman, svelte, tall, fair of skin, with deep blue eyes with stars that twinkled within them, her pearly blonde hair in a long plait behind her, stepped out. She wore plates of armour of a silvery metal, above a black bodysuit, her boots were skin-tight and went up to the knee, but appeared almost fluid when she moved. The aura around her was immense, enough to scorch the barrier between realms.

“I,” she said, her voice melodic, powerful and beautiful, “am the Archon Astrid.”

Penumbra tried to respond, but no words formed on her tongue.

“You do not know of me,” she said, “not as they did. But, I know you can feel what I was, what I am. They worshipped me as a deity, once. They were convinced my power could only be that of a god.”

She chuckled - Penumbra very much liked her chuckle. “Though, if they say I am a god, am I not? My brother cared more for semantics than I. Welcome, Penumbra, you have come far. I am afraid amongst all of these artefacts I do not have a tea set, unless you are willing to try and drink from Abaddon’s goblet, a task I would not recommend.”

“Abaddon,” Penumbra breathed, “the owner of the Shield of Abaddon?”

Astrid chuckled again - that would never get old, Penumbra thought. “Creator,” she said, before clarifying further, “now former owner. I dueled him millions of years ago, around the same time I tricked the two Wish Dragons that you saw on the way inside.”

“Wish Dragons?” Penumbra’s head struggled to keep up - struggled in vain. “Aren’t they a myth?”

“They wished for you to think that,” she said, tapping her nose, and not exactly clarifying, “so they are, except, they are not. In time, you will come to understand them. For now, however, they are best left unsolved.”

Astrid lazily took a seat on the throne, slouched back, with her right leg hanging on the right arm of the chair. “Abaddon,” she said, returning to her original point, “was one of the first of the Light’s champions. Unlike most of the Light’s minions, however, he retained some form of free thought…”

Katava, Astrid’s brother, had relished in the battle against the hordes of daemons. He was clear to see and hear, standing over twenty feet tall, his massive, spiked armour wreathed in flames, roaring out both war cries and malicious laughter. His sword, blade curved like that of a scythe, carved effortlessly through the swamp of creatures around him. Like an expert reaper, he cut down hundreds at a time, their comrades scrambling over their crushed corpses, only to be cut down the moment they reached him.

In far orbit, enormous and menacing, hung five Archon’s Forges. Tiberius had expressed his concern over even two of them being in such close proximity to each other whilst active, let alone five. But, Astrid had been able to calm him with merely a few words. “They shall be fine, brother,” she had said, with Tiberius simply nodding and giving her plan his approval.

Her three remaining siblings remained on their vessels, surrounded by their various retinues, prepared if necessary to bring their full force to bear against the Light’s forces. Astrid’s servants were with them also, though Katava’s could not be shackled to observation duty. Their fanaticism would have driven them to the surface under far more chaotic and potentially disastrous circumstances, thus Astrid had deemed it acceptable to deploy the Archon of War’s most vicious berserkers to cover her flanks.

They had been preparing for this event for some time. Indeed, Lokus had tried to disrupt the plan’s timeline and sent assassin after assassin - though they had all failed. There was no malice behind his action, his fellow Archons having long since become used to his compulsion to scheme and meddle.

Whilst Katava and his retinue would crush the Light’s armies, their task was a secondary concern, a distraction to allow Astrid to complete the real objective. Astrid’s most trusted advisor had brought to her rumours of a powerful beast roaming the galactic fringe, though, far more troublingly, had come the report that the beast was preparing a daemonic engine for some malign purpose. It was the concern of Tiberius, upon hearing the rumours, that prompted Astrid to act as she did. She had convened a vast conclave, who had collectively decided on what needed to be done.

Abaddon, Lost to Light, stood before his vile engine. It was unfinished, clearly, with its energies not nearly what would be expected of it. Abaddon, though, paid it no heed, made no attempt to finish it. Rather, he waited, flexing his mammoth grip on his axe and shield. He clearly knew of Astrid’s intent, knowing that even if he wished to finish his task then he would have to remove her from the equation first - though his stance suggested a knowledge of what was to come.

She approached slowly, calmly, casually, even. He growled as he recognised her, though it was not a growl of simple, bestial anger. Rather, Astrid could smell his hatred, but also his respect, upon the air.

“You come.” His voice was deep and guttural, sounding more like a mountain than a man. “At last, to stop the creation of my beacon?”

Astrid gave a wry chuckle. “Very astute. Although, stopping you is my primary goal - the beacon is simply a welcome addition.”

Abaddon snorted, he clearly had a sense of humour. “Your reputation travels far,” he said, apparently being genuine in his compliment, “I must say, I had yearned for the day I would meet you at last. That we would meet on the field of battle, our battle will be the stuff of legend!”

“Indeed it will.” She leaned slightly to the side. “We both know how this ends.”

Abaddon bellowed out a laugh. “Indeed we do. Come, Astrid, give me a death worthy of a warrior.”

Astrid’s recollection faded, placing Penumbra right back to where she was before it had begun, far from that ancient, barren battlefield.

“How?” Penumbra tried to ask, though couldn’t find the exact right words.

“They called me the Princess of Dreams,” she said, “my illusions are so perfect they become real.”

“I had a friend, once,” Penumbra said, “she could go into a pony's dreams. She’d help them and protect them from nightmares.”

Astrid gave her a sympathetic look. “And now, she only resides within your nightmares.”

Penumbra nodded glumly.

“I know who you speak of. Thousands of years ago I spoke with her, under a different guise. I know she eventually became a compatriot of Emperor Nicholas, around the same time I did. You survived what you did for a reason, Penumbra, make no mistake. Your soul bears within it such power that I myself am subsumed by comparison. Her memory, and the memories of all of your friends, rests within you. One day, that memory shall torment you no longer. Of that I am sure.”

Penumbra nodded, the two remaining in silence for a short while. “Why did you call me here?” She asked, “it was certainly not to tell me you fought Abaddon.”

Astrid smiled. “Of course not. I called you here to request that I be allowed to join you.”

“Join me? Join me where?”

“Join you and Ablazed Glory aboard your ship, of course.” She gestured to the room all around her, “this ship is still hibernating. Still sleeping, still dreaming. It will be decades yet before it wakes. Though you may not believe it, even the Royal Baths become boring after a while. And I have taken somewhat of a liking to you.”

Penumbra decided it best to skip over her final - and quite openly flirtatious - comment. “How did you know about Ablazed Glory?” Penumbra asked, before quickly realising that such a question was almost stupid to ask.

She received a smile, then a reply. “Her dreams are interesting to observe. Plus, she’s been scribbling in the hangar for a good few hours now, I’ve had more than long enough to observe her.”

“We should probably get back to her,” Penumbra said, “I hadn’t realised it’d been so long.”

Astrid nodded. “Don’t you want to sit on the throne first?”

Penumbra squinted at her. “Why? It’s just a chair, isn’t it?” Except it wasn’t, she knew it wasn’t - no chair glowed magically like that.

Astrid chuckled, jumping to her feet and gesturing to the chair. “Why not take a look yourself?”

Almost reluctantly, Penumbra took a seat, her vision suddenly pulling back to the outside of the ship. She could feel it, its entire hull, everything within it. She could feel the ship’s heart beat, feel its blood flowing. Even half-dormant it was formidable, requiring far more energy than she could hope to muster. She managed to move it an inch, a distance far too small to even be felt by anyone aboard, though Penumbra herself felt like the ship had begun to meld with her. The sheer effort of moving the titanic vessel even such a small distance had taxed her heavily, she caught herself as she began to greyout, feeling as though she was being sucked into the machine’s embrace.

It was more than a body of a deity - it was a god in its own right.

Astrid pulled her out, dragging her away from the chair. “My apologies,” she said, concern flooding into her voice, checking Penumbra over and ensuring she was still breathing. “I hadn’t expected you to begin to meld with it. Let alone move it as you did. Come, I shall get us to your ship, there you can rest.”

Her teleportation was unlike any Penumbra had experienced before. Rather than the flash and momentary blindness of her own magic, or the strange being drunk sensation that brought her to Astrid’s front door, she simply appeared in the hangar. One moment they were in the Throne Room, the next they were a few metres from the Retaliator, a very confused looking Ablazed Glory watching them, a pile of papers about a foot high behind her.

“Who are you?” She asked, pointing a claw at Astrid.

“Penumbra’s dream woman,” she said, before clarifying, “Astrid, from Penumbra’s dream. Although, I probably am her dream woman.” She smirked and gave a wry laugh, before lifting Penumbra up effortlessly. “Come.” She gestured to the Retaliator with her head. “She needs rest.”

Ablazed Glory rose, her papers and now extinguished candles collected in two telekinetic bubbles behind her. The implications of Penumbra’s lesbian awakening would have to wait.

“We should head to Sanctuary’s Watch,” she said, “that’s where Penumbra’s house is. At least, I think it’s her house.” She allowed Astrid through the airlock first.

“It looks like an observatory tower, or a cross between a library and a dump. Seriously, she goes on about how she loves categorising things then just throws eleven different books onto her bed. She was reading the manual for an excavator, a book about the Dominion’s governmental bodies and a love story about two Artisans at the same time - Confidence and Chauvinism, or something. Like, who even does that.”

Ablazed Glory’s ramblings continued as she led the way to the bridge, carefully placing her papers and candles into her quarters as they went. When they reached the bridge, she mercifully stopped.

“The room back there.” She pointed to Penumbra’s quarters. “Just chuck her on the bed. Luminary, take us to Sanctuary’s Watch. And have all of the authorisation ready before we arrive.”

“Affirmative, Rift prepared.”

“Engage Rift.”

Ablazed Glory revelled in the chance to give the engage order for once. At her command, the viewscreen was filled with the maelstrom of the Rift and silence fell upon the bridge, only broken by Astrid’s footsteps from behind her, though they were near silent. The Archon took up a seat at the console on Ablazed Glory’s right - a happily smitten little grin on her face.