Written by
@Reynal
@Durin
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An Empty Sky
It was odd to think that she was one of the only Astropaths ever to have outlived the end of her duty. Not the only one, surely—it was all but certain that in the scattered remnants of a once-unified Imperium there had been others for whom all in range had died, leaving them entirely cut off—but it was certainly a rare occurrence. Even compared to being the last Astropath period it was the end of the duty that consumed her life that she was truly unprepared for.
Astropaths were not meant to retire. From their binding and shipping out to their first posting until their release in death the duty was constant, omnipresent. Always on call and always alert, for a message that determined the fates of worlds could come at any time. But not now, for there were none left to reach out and speak to her, and any she sent would be as if speaking to an empty room.
In a way it was freeing. No longer could the fate of billions hang on how well she executed her duties, no more did a relaxation of her vigilance risk missing a desperate cry for help. The duty that was once hers had been passed on to others, and now even her ability to carry some of that burden had been removed.
That did not mean it was pleasant, though. From her binding until that last death she had been inexorably linked to so many others. It was a subtle thing, most of the time, but felt all the more keenly in its sudden lack. A community that she was automatically part of simply by existing, something that she had clung to to replace the family that she had left behind so many years before.
Her birth family, it had been a while since she'd thought of them. A different time, different place—she had practically been a different person. While not rich, neither had they been poor—few psykers from the truly destitute made it to the Black Ships. Loving, in their way, even to their oddly quiet second child that unknowingly spoke of things others couldn't see. Of course they had immediately sent her to the priest when it became clear there was substance to her figments. They were not the type to question what they were told, and though at the time it had felt like a betrayal it was a fate far better than what would have occurred if they had not.
Fortunately for her, she was found to have the potential for Astropathy, and was spared the fate of most on the Black Ship. The years of training had been some of the worst of her life she could recall, with her torn between her feelings of betrayal by her family and the loneliness of missing them. Combined with ever-present fear of all around her—of the Daemon or the over-zealous priest, of the Tyranids and Orks that sweep entire worlds clean, of her own failures and those of her classmates condemning them to death or worse—and it had been a thoroughly unpleasant time.
Ironically, the Binding, the single riskiest part of the training, spelled an end to her constant fear and loneliness. The experience was hard to describe, even to others that had gone through it. Certainly the most painful thing she ever experienced, even through the haze of endorphins clouding her memory. And hers was a mild reaction, as best she could piece together. For others...well, she suspected more than a few people with far stronger wills than herself had been driven mad from the pain alone. It changed you, too, at a fundamental level. No one left the room the same person they entered it as. For all that she could recall the family of her birth by the time she left that room they were more acquaintances than truly her family and it was hard to reconcile the fact that the shy little girl they had loved was actually her. It wasn't that it erased you, though—the person that left was very much based upon the person that came and was not simply a stranger wearing their skin. While hard to generalize the best way of explaining it she had heard was that it was as if the perspective of decades of another's life was pasted on to that of the person that entered the room without actually experiencing it.
The process was far from instantaneous though. For her, at least, she would unironically describe it as a religious experience, despite the pain. At first hesitant, filled with her usual fear and longing for comfort, she had subconsciously resisted the change despite knowing that to do so was futile and could even result in losing herself forever. It didn't last. Slowly, ever so slowly, fear was replaced with serenity, loneliness with belonging, and raw purpose, something she didn't even know she was lacking, swelled within her. The night was dark and full of terrors, but that only made the choice to throw herself into resisting it in whatever ways she could all the more worthwhile.
Even as she lost her mundane sight more and more she saw. The vastness of the galaxy and the endless field of stars that were the other Astropaths, holding it together with the frailest of threads of communication. The community, the new family, to which she now belonged, each unique yet still tied into the greater whole. A sense of peace, of accepting her new position and duties, knowing the sheer breadth of humanity it was meant to protect. And all this under the tired yet still all-encompassing gaze of the God-Emperor, with the irrefutable knowledge that He still found a far harsher duty worth doing for the good of humanity.
She embraced it, completely and whole-heartedly. She would never see the true sky again, but the glitter of her fellow Astropaths replaced it, all shining with their own light and that of the Emperor. She might be a tool of the Imperium, but she knew what it was she served far better than her masters. They might deny her value as anything other than a strategic resource, but she knew with certainty that the Emperor they all served did not.
She completed her training with distinction, and was sent to a few postings before settling in what would eventually become the Trust. In each one she served diligently and was treated tolerably. For all its distrust of psykers, the Imperium was loathe to squander a valuable resource without need and even the most zealous were held in check by those with an eye on the balance sheet. Kept safe from actual danger from those she served, she herself cared little about the slights, distrust, and fear directed her way. After all, she was content with the approval of the new family she had been bound to.
The death of the Emperor had affected her deeply. They had known it was coming—even without Saint Lin's warning—but it was a shock nonetheless. They had done their duty, though, spreading warnings about the inevitable warpstorm as widely as they could, all while trying to ignore the source. That day the sun had forever left her sky, plunging it into eternal night, and the shockwaves of its passing had claimed many a star.
Then there had been the storm around the subsector. While it did little to hide the remaining stars in her sky, it left them just as distant to her as the real stars themselves. Her adopted brothers and sisters had busied themselves with their duties in the newly formed Trust, and had tried to ignore the ever-diminishing number of those beyond their reach. It was a hectic time, trying to the serenity that He had granted her, but a rewarding one. While Saint Lin's moon was a poor substitute for the Emperor's sun, it was heartening to see how the Emperor's dream lived on, and the feeling of success as they moved closer to it was palpable.
Soon, all too soon, there were no more stars beyond her reach though the storm still raged, and even those within her grasp began to disappear. It was inevitable, of course—with the Emperor dead no more could be created, and frailty was an all but guaranteed side effect of the binding process. Time would eventually claim them all, even if mishap did not. At least others were there to pick up their duty even as they became incapable of fully executing it. While in its current form it would never be the galaxy-spanning network Astropaths once were, it would not do to leave worlds alone and cut off from communication once their age had passed.
The end of the storm was bittersweet. It confirmed that their small enclave was the last of the Astropaths—a fact they had long suspected from the dearth of even unreachable stars in the sky—but a painful one to know for sure. It hurt to know that the family she had that had once spanned the galaxy like the true stars in the night sky was reduced to a bare handful in a tiny corner of the galaxy.
One by one, the brothers and sisters she had spent over a century with winked out, their duty ended and the slack taken up by the neo-Astropaths. She was thankful that she had extended her self-defined family beyond those bound to the Emperor—a few long term bodyguards had become family in all but name, as had a researcher or two—for without them she worried the loneliness would return all the stronger for once having a family of thousands.
In the last days before the final remaining star in her sky winked out her duty was done in all but name. With but one other recipient she was part of a network no more, just a single line of communication. Useful in certain circumstances, certainly, but no longer anything that could be considered a primary form of communication in the Trust, let alone a galaxy-spanning Imperium.
And then her sky was empty but for the soft light of Saint Lin's moon and her duty was inarguably done, for there were no more to hear. She received a pat on the back and many thanks for her sacrifices, which she had quite a bit of trouble really accepting. It was near unthinkable to treat a psyker so at the start of her service, and the way she saw it her sacrifices had been minor things. Eyes? Who cared for them, her mind had seen far more than those had been capable of. Dying before her time? Perhaps compared to others with similar value to the Trust, but she had undoubtably outlived her siblings by a large margin. Unending duty? Ha, she had met near as many people as there were once stars in her sky who had taken an unending duty upon themself with no expectation of thanks for it. Plus, her duty had ended, so it could hardly be called unending, could it? Compared to the ability to make a difference, to push back against the darkness, and a sense of family and purpose? Light things indeed.
She was more than a little bit lost without the duty though. Her self-appointed duty to do what she could to make things better remained, but she lacked the means and method of doing so in the way she once did. She was a relic of a bygone time, unique in skill, history and experience but lacking in purpose or method to put it to use with.
Perhaps she could write a book? It would probably be heavily restricted and/or censored—likely both—but there was value in history, in perspective. Muspelheim at least seemed to put great store in that sort of thing. It would certainly be better than merely accepting her duty done in full and wasting away until her own star vanished without being missed due to none being left to look. A memoir of her family, that others might learn about what made them them, rather than just a strategic resource.
