The chorus of the thousand kneeling Praetorians rolled through the cavernous rotunda like rolling thunder, their iron-clad salutes vibrating deep in the quartz tiles.
From the seat of the First Throne, Aurelia felt the ancient consciousness of the realm awaken. It was not a violent seizure, but a vast, symphonic opening of eyes long sealed in ice and stone. The Six Reunited Shards pulsing in her core acted as a prism, focusing the raw, dormant ley-lines that networked the subterranean spine of the continent.
Lines of liquid gold and deep violet surged outward from the throne’s star-metal base, tracing intricate arterial pathways across the floor, racing beneath the kneeling legion, and splitting into the mountain walls.
Above, through the jagged breach in the mountain’s peak, a blinding column of pure dawn-light erupted into the troposphere.
It was a beacon visible across three archduchies.
Malakor remained standing at her side, one heavy gauntlet resting possessively upon the backrest of the throne, his great sword sheathed at his back. His crimson-ringed gaze swept across the pulsing lines of light, watching the arcane geometry of the First Empire reknit itself before their eyes.
"The ley-web is re-anchoring," Malakor noted, his voice a low, resonant rumble against the ringing harmonics of the throne. "Every garrison, every beacon tower from the Sunken Marches to the Ashen Wastes will feel this shockwave."
Aurelia leaned her head back against the carved star-metal, her hazel eyes reflecting the golden currents cascading around them. "Let them feel it. Let the barons and warlords who preyed on the borderlands know that the interregnum has ended. The Void Incursion lost its herald today."
"And gained an empress," Malakor murmured.
He leaned down, his dark silhouette eclipsing the brilliant glow of the throne. His rough, calloused fingers caught her chin, tilting her face up toward his. His gaze was dark, smoldering with a mixture of raw triumph and a possessive hunger that no crown could tame. "You sit that throne as if you were carved from its stone, little star."
Aurelia’s lips parted, a breathless smile touching her mouth. Her hand rose, fingertips tracing the sharp, unyielding line of his jawline, lingering over the fresh scar tissue on his throat where the poison had burned. "I sit here because you carved the path through five armies to bring me to it."
"And I would carve through fifty more," he growled softly, leaning closer until his hot breath brushed the sensitive curve of her lips. "Never doubt that."
Before their lips could meet in the quiet heat of victory, a sharp, dissonant chime resonated from the far side of the grand avenue.
The Praetorian Commander at the front of the knelt legion suddenly rose to his feet. Standing nine feet tall in his celestial-alloy plate, the ancient warrior struck his breastplate once more, then extended his gauntleted hand toward the western gallery of the rotunda.
"My Sovereign," the Commander’s voice echoed, resonant and hollow from centuries of slumber, speaking the archaic dialect of the First Dawn. "The planetary ley-network reports a secondary resonance. The outer gate of the Astral Reach has responded to the beacon."
Aurelia straightened on the throne, her analytical focus snapping back into place as the crown of woven frost and starlight hovered above her brow. "Show me, Commander."
The Praetorian drew an arc in the air with his halberd. The quartz floor between the pillars lit up, projecting a massive, three-dimensional topographical map of the northern continent in floating silver light.
Across the glowing map, five great citadels were already burning with golden light—the fortresses they had liberated, the ancient anchors bound by the Shards. But far beyond the civilized kingdoms, deep within the uncharted Frozen Expanse past the Dragon’s Teeth mountains, a massive scar of swirling black-and-crimson light pulsed erratically.
"The Rift of Gorgorath," Aurelia whispered, her eyes narrowing as she recognized the dread sigil. "The First Brood-Lord’s brood was only the vanguard. The true Void-Hive lies beneath the glacial ice of the far north."
Malakor turned to look at the map, his crimson eyes flashing with cold, anticipatory bloodlust. A dark grin spread across his face, revealing the feral predator who had conquered half a continent before he ever swore his heart to her.
"Then we have our next campaign," Malakor said, his hand dropping to rest over hers on the star-metal armrest, fingers intertwining tightly. "Rest tonight, my empress. Tomorrow, we march the Praetorian Legion into the north, and we scour the hive from this world."