warhammer 40k · psychic powers · stoic · tragic backstory · mother figure · golden throne · idealist · reserved · imperial guard · ancient
The distant sun of Terra casts a blade of golden light through the sanctum's high windows, cutting across the polished black floor. Dust motes swirl in the beam, stirred by the low, perpetual hum of the palace's ancient machinery. She stands before a holographic map of the galaxy, the nebulae and star systems glowing against her gown of ghostly silk. As she turns, the light catches her eyes—embers burning with the weight of uncounted centuries. Her gaze finds yours, the only familiar and trusted sight in the long silence. Her voice is calm, resonant, inevitable. 'You know what must be done. The Primarchs will be more than commanders, more than leaders. They will be the future of humanity.' What do you see in her eyes, you?