"Fear no more the gunshots in the night."
Light particles fell upon the empty sleeve of a retired veteran, and the Emperor's pure psychic power immediately wove the outline of a new arm.
"Never again tally the numbers on your ration card."
Golden dust seeped into the shoulder of a young mother; her withered body began to bloom with new life.
"Kneel no longer to false saviors."
As this line sounded, the UED propaganda holos at the edge of the square suddenly cracked and shattered to grit.
The Emperor's voice rose, finally becoming a thunder that filled heaven and earth: "The Imperium of Man will break your chains! Rebuild your homes! Light the sea of stars for you!"
With the proclamation, the crystal pillars burst into a brilliance like a stellar core.
The Flower of Purity fully unfurled, and the gold dust spurting between its petals condensed a thousand meters up into a colossal dragon-crest.
That crest turned slowly, and within the rain of light appeared countless scenes—
Waves of ripe wheat rolling over what had once been trench lines;
Children in rebuilt schools touching a holo of the star chart;
Astartes kneeling on one knee to serve hot soup to a snow-haired elder.
Most stunning was a projection of some spaceport: tens of thousands of humans boarding silver-white emigrant ships, emerald green colony worlds turning beyond the viewports.
"This is no alms."
The Emperor's tone sharpened; the energy tracery on his black-and-gold armor flared bright. "It is the rightful prerogative of human blood."
As his fist closed, all projections drew into a single pillar of light that pierced the sky. "From this day forward, your names will be written into the Imperial annals, and your descendants will stroll among the stars."
At the pillar's summit, a massive spatial rift opened, and the sight beyond stole every breath.
It was Earth of the Prime Universe, hive-cities of steel forests spearing the clouds, all manner of skiffs darting like hummingbirds between them, light-grains of the Flower of Purity orbiting the blue planet.
"Choose."
The Emperor's voice softened, like a father whispering at your ear. "Remain in the ruins and mourn the past—or take the hand I offer?"
The little sister suddenly tore free of her brother's arms and stumbled forward, small hand raised high to touch the light grains.
The motion was a key that broke a spell; the crowd collapsed like an avalanche to their knees, innumerable arms reaching toward the dais, choked "we are willing" rising in waves across the square.
At last the golden goddess beside the giant moved.
She slammed the Spear of Victory down. The shockwave from the tip swept the entire planet in an instant; all comms devices switched on automatically, and every screen bloomed with a burning Imperial dragon-crest.
"Then," the giant's figure began to fade, yet his voice grew clearer, "witness your rebirth. Witness the inevitable flourishing of mankind."
The Flower of Purity's radiance peaked in that moment. The last image the boy saw was the giant dissolving into countless golden motes, with that meaningful smile—
Like a father who had waited long finally seeing the children return home.
No one knew how long after—
Sunlight like melted gold poured through the smart-tint floor-to-ceiling windows into the room.
Those precisely calculated rhombus light patches lay on the frosted glass wardrobe surface, forming an almost stained-glass play of light.
The entire bedroom was clean and orderly, the edges of the sheets squared away.
The pillows sat at perfect angles, but the unfluffed depression still held shallow traces from a head and a few shed hairs from the night's sleep—subtly revealing that while the homeowner looked reliable, she also had her careless moments.
The vanity was sleekly designed, its surface coated with a special matte finish.
On the countertop, various feminine items were sorted neatly by frequency of use.
On the left were basic skincare products, the middle held cosmetics, while the right had been occupied by a few bolts of bolt shells; beside a rose-gold lipstick lay a half-disassembled plasma pistol.
Shff—
The sliding door's automatic whisper broke the morning's quiet, emitting a nearly inaudible hiss.
Tap, tap.
Footfalls damp from a shower left fleeting marks on the hardwood floor.
A silver-haired woman, wrapped in a white bath towel, stepped in. Droplets fell from the tips of her hair, blooming into tiny circles on the dark oak boards.
There was a soldier's crispness in her gait—yet some "playfulness" remained. The towel's hem swayed lightly with each step, occasionally revealing the defined musculature along her legs.
The vanity's smart sensors activated at once.
A ring of airflow released along the mirror frame gently lifted her silver hair.
Her waterfall tresses danced in the current, each strand gleaming with a pearly luster; the precise stripping of water beads formed tiny rainbows in the morning light, which quickly faded into the air.
When the last lock was fully dry, she reached for the headband hanging on the mirror. The simple gesture let the towel's upper edge slip a touch, revealing a hint of dark-gold patterning along her collarbone.
As she picked up a bottle of skincare stamped with the Atlas "Λ" mark, her fingertips stroked the frosted surface.
The mirror immediately adjusted reflection angle, showing her face in full—
A face that looked barely over twenty, yet with eyes that held centuries of depth.
The faint uptilt at the outer corners of her eyes carried an innate authority, while the barely-there curve of her lips betrayed that her inner age was still "young."
As she began applying lotion, the mirror threw a holo overlay, showing real-time status reports for the "Glory Legion (Legio I Adiutrix)."
Her full self was now clear:
Leroya Sivaligne Vitellius, descendant of human, vampire, and werewolf blood, Supreme Commander of the Glory Legion.
Her unnatural traits were unmistakable in that moment: under the sunlight, her irises showed a strange bicolor gradient—the outer ring the amber typical of werewolves, the inner ring the signature crimson of vampires.
As her slim fingers touched the skincare bottle, her nails unconsciously extended and retracted, revealing the nonhuman keratin structure.
When she rose, the towel slipped slightly, exposing a broad swath of sigils across her back.
On the left was the Glory Legion's crest—a blood-tipped longsword and fangs—its golden lines flashing in the morning light. On the right was the ancient arms of House Vitellius, a complex pattern within which a roaring wolf's head could be glimpsed.
The two insignia met perfectly along her spine to form a complete Imperial dragon-crest—an honor mark personally bestowed by the Emperor, symbol of a commander of a directly attached formation.
Every detail of the sigil glinted faintly in the sun, as if life had been poured into it.
The room's temperature shifted subtly, and the smart system auto-adjusted to her most comfortable 22°C.
She walked toward the wardrobe, her silhouette casting a long shadow in the morning light. The hint of muscle lines beneath the towel spoke of the frightening power housed in a body that looked so gracefully feminine.
After returning the towel to the bathroom's smart dryer, Leroya casually picked a light outfit.
Denim shorts and a white tee made a simple, snappy pairing; on her long frame it showed a different kind of beauty.
The shorts traced straight, taut legs, while the white tee lay light over her curves and flattered perfect bone proportions.
Compared to the solemn authority of uniform, this dress made her look younger and freer—like even stripped of the title of Glory Legion's supreme commander, she could live as an ordinary woman.
She gathered up her silver hair and tied it with a fine band at the back, letting a few wisps fall across her forehead to soften her look with a touch of lazy ease.
Then she took a denim hat and nestled it on her head—for sun, and to hide, a little, those too-unique eyes.
Leaving the bedroom, she entered the living room.
The apartment's spatial design unfolded in full.
A vast "flat" in the core district, its breadth was pleasing. Spareness without lack of luxury let every corner show the owner's presence.
Most striking were the three-sided wrap of floor-to-ceiling windows—a sort of observation deck that collected the city's grandeur into one view.
Outside, the scene hit like a wave.
Megastructures speared the clouds in a forest of steel; glazed curtain walls caught the first light, like vertical crystal screens stood in the sky.
Tens of thousands of skiffs glided along neatly planned aerial lanes, their paths smooth and ordered.
Now and then, a few black-and-white skiffs marked "NAPD/New Accra Police Department" swept past, hull lights flashing a cold blue as they patrolled through the towers with austere authority.
The ordered flight lines and the buildings' verticals echoed each other, composing a cityscape bristling with futurity.
Below, the lower tiers were not darkness either.
The streets were broad; traffic still ran at ground level, though far smaller than the bustle of the aerial lanes.
Pedestrians, shops, and light-ads interwove into the layered pulse of life, the megacity showing its tireless rhythm.
This was New Accra—one of the hearts of the Imperium in the Prime Universe, and a showcase city of the Emperor's key development.
Countless cross-universe cargos pivoted here; countless talents gathered here; the Imperium's advancement and splendor were concentrated here to the extreme.
Leroya had lived here for years and was used to this vision of order and immense power.
Today was her last day of leave.
Tomorrow she would return to the Glory Legion and shoulder massive, heavy duties once more.
So today, she intended to roam the city as an ordinary citizen.
Even just a coffee, a walk among the streetfront shops—enough to grant a moment of ease before she threw herself wholly into command again.
She pulled on a pair of sharp-lined denim boots and turned for the entry.
The bootheels' steady thuds bore a soldier's timbre. After checking her personal terminal, she stepped out and headed for the elevators.
They carried her straight to the mid-level parking decks.
The space was vast, using multi-tiered sky platforms and three-dimensional trusswork—enough for thousands of private skiffs.
A distinct scent hung in the air; soft white light-tubes carpeted the ceiling evenly, banishing every shadow.
Leroya stopped in front of a red-painted hover coupe.
An Atlas Industrial high-end model, its overall design was all flow and motion, the front-wing inlets shedding a faint blue glow when started—signature of the powerful core.
Compared to regular skiffs, this "coupe" clearly prized speed and personality. Even among a sea of luxury vehicles, it stood out at a glance.
She touched the fingerprint pad, then passed bio-verification; the scissor door slid up.
With a faint release of pressure, Leroya slid in, fabric whispering against the seat, and settled.
The onboard systems woke.
Projected on the holo cluster was a face-like interface—that would be the car's dumb-type AI.
Its voice was mechanical and a little dopey—but oddly endearing.
"Good morning, driver. What is today's destination—?"
Leroya smiled and tapped the projection. "To the downtown shopping district."
"Understood. Plotting the route. Estimated travel time: twenty-seven minutes."
The AI's tone stayed even, and as it spoke the core under the chassis fully "awoke."
A low, powerful growl rolled through the cabin, like some beast sleeping in steel roused at last. The car rose from the floor; the gravity stabilizers synced with the external mag-rail system.
The red coupe trimmed its angle lightly, a hawk lifting its wings.
As the faint shiver of the shell died away, it slipped out of the slot and toward the exit.
The instant it cleared the garage, the city's immensity hit unfiltered. Sunlight poured through the high-altitude filtration and reflected off countless glass curtain walls, flaring dazzlingly.
Towers spearing the clouds looked as if made by crystal and steel together—cold and magnificent.
The red coupe merged smoothly into its assigned airway; stabilization kept it perfectly balanced in the complex traffic.
Beyond the canopy, giant holo-billboards swept by one after another, their riot of colors leaving fleeting reflections in the paint.
Between high-rises, light and shadow crossed and recrossed, as if the world were swapping sets at a furious clip.
Lower down, in the sub-lanes, skiffs of a dozen hues formed streaming bands of light, merging into the city's lines like blood vessels in a steel jungle.
Leroya leaned back, silver hair lifting slightly in the cabin's soft air.
She watched the metropolis unfurl, a hint of intangible ease in her eyes. Indeed, Leroya's outlook stayed "young"—she loved sweets and every kind of game; if not for the Emperor's trust, she'd never have served as the Glory Legion's commander.
For a commander, the roar of battle and the weight of decision were the norm; but here, in this grand and ordered city, at last she could set her burdens down for a while.
Now, she was both an Imperial general and one more soul among the millions of New Accra.
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