THE LIGHT THAT REMAINS
The world was gone.
There was no warmth. No pain. No sky. No sound.
Only stillness. And ash.
Where once there had been flesh—bones, screams, courage shouted into the face of death—there was now only dust and flame, memory and ruin. The hangar that had once held the hope of a planet was now a tomb, its dome fractured, its steel beams crumpled like the ribs of some slain leviathan.
The ST-96 freighter, once proud and waiting, had been reduced to a mound of molten slag and shattered hope. Its remains steamed in silence, half-swallowed by fire, half-buried beneath fallen gantries and twisted braces. What engines had once promised escape now lay cracked and leaking, their promise undone in an instant.
The floor was littered with remnants of life. Armor fragments. A broken bayonet. A child's ragged coat, still glowing faintly from the lightstone stitched into its collar. Scorch marks trailed across the walls like the shadows of ghosts that had screamed and vanished.
Bodies lay scattered, though few were whole. Some were charred beyond recognition, their shapes warped by heat and concussive force. Others were buried beneath rubble or dissolved in craters where bile or divine fire had kissed the floor. Garr's remains lay in two twisted halves near the eastern bulkhead. The Medic's scorched hand reached out from beneath a collapsed support strut, as though still trying to shield.
One Rotlord twitched weakly in a far corner, its helmet cracked open like a split fruit, black ooze leaking down its armor. Its once-gurgling voice was silent now.
And in the very heart of the devastation, above the ash and blood and shattered steel—
There was a glow.
Not a flame.
Not heat.
But light. Pure. White. Pulsing like a heartbeat.
A single orb, no larger than a clenched hand, drifted slowly upward from where Lili had fallen.
Her body—her perfect, radiant vessel—was gone, vaporized in the explosion. But her soul endured.
Her core of light.
It shimmered gently, untouched by soot or blood or rot. It floated without wings, without will, yet not without purpose.
The infected didn't see it. They couldn't. Their eyes—twisted by plague, blind to grace—simply passed over it.
But the light rose still.
Through the shattered rafters, through the dust-filled air, through the debris of a war already lost.
At first, her thoughts were broken—shards of memory and sensation that drifted around her like motes of ash in starlight.
> Pain... cold... silence...
Then—
A spark.
A name not spoken but felt.
> The Sergeant.
Her light pulsed. Once. Twice. Brighter now.
> Where is he?
The thought struck her not like a question but a cry, a tremor that surged through the infinite hush of death.
> Where is he?!
She remembered everything now. The final stand. The explosion. The arms around her. The whisper: Play dead.
> He died protecting me. He died holding me.
And I failed him.
The guilt crushed her—not like weight, but like a gravity of the soul. She had been their light, their hope. The miracle girl. The last medic. The little healer who could stop anything.
But she hadn't.
> I didn't save them. I couldn't save him.
Her glow dimmed for a moment.
And then—
> No.
The light flared.
> No!
She surged upward, a streak of white fire rising from the ashes of the dead. Not guided by command or fate or even prayer. But by need.
By grief.
By love.
A pull began.
Not gravity, but memory. Not destiny, but bond.
He was above. She could feel him.
A soul like a battered standard still standing in the wind.
> I won't let him go.
The clouds above Achios writhed like wounded beasts, torn by radiation and fire. Plasma storms, born of divine explosion and fusion death, raged through the stratosphere. Thunder without sound rippled across the heavens. And through this broken sky—through this trembling gate between life and what lies beyond—rose a single thread of light.
Lili.
No longer bound to flesh, no longer grounded by gravity, she was now a core of pure, white radiance. A soul intact. A child's heart filled with pain and guilt and longing, blazing brighter than ever.
She soared upward—silent and desperate—toward something she could not name. The winds tore around her, but she felt none of them. She was no longer a body. She was the breath between stars.
And then—
A flash.
Like lightning—but not.
A pulse of brilliance above her, framed in the boiling clouds, so intense that even her immortal core flinched.
For a heartbeat, she saw it.
A form.
Not descending. Not flying.
Existing.
A being of impossible scale and shape. Wings of starlight folded behind a robed figure of gold and gravity. A beard of silver flame. Eyes of hollow time.
She could not understand it. She had no name for it.
But her light flickered with awe—and a shiver of fear.
> What is that...?
And still, she flew on.
Instinct pulled her. Love guided her.
> The Sergeant... where is he?
But behind her—
A surge.
The clouds tore. Energy surged like a sun screaming. A beam of raw power—like a lightning bolt guided by will—erupted through the heavens.
It was Him.
The god. Uncontrolled. Rushing like judgment.
Lili's soul jerked, twisting away—barely escaping. The divine force passed her by with cosmic speed, tearing the clouds behind it into vapor.
And it didn't stop—
Until it hit the sun.
Far beyond, a flare of solar energy burst into space, and the god's form shimmered into it, halted, breathless, his will anchoring him at the edge of the system.
Lili, shaken but alive, emerged into the dark.
And there—
She found him.
The Sergeant's soul.
Drifting. Silent. Pale as ash. It moved not of will, but of celestial inertia, pulled toward a gate she could not see.
> No… not again. I won't lose him again.
She extended tendrils of light—delicate, searching—and wrapped them around the dim soul.
It was cold. Empty.
But she didn't let go.
She poured herself into him.
A thousand memories. A thousand shared glances. Lessons learned. Wounds healed. Battles survived.
> Please... come back.
Slowly, the color changed. Gray to white. White to silver.
And a core began to form within him—a small light, like hers, but dim. Flickering. New.
But then—
The danger returned.
She turned just as the god reappeared—this time controlled, this time focused.
He swept forward like a celestial falcon, light folded around his arms. And this time—
He snatched her.
Massive hands of cosmic force closed around her, wrapping her in warmth and pressure. Her light flickered, stunned.
> "Child of light."
His voice echoed like the breath of stars.
> "You were meant to return. Alone."
She struggled. Reached for the Sergeant.
> "Let me go! He needs me!"
The god's eyes dimmed.
> "He was not chosen. You were. I gave you more—enhanced your light, awakened your gifts."
He glanced down.
> "But now… I have touched him as well."
And indeed—he had.
In his grasp, Lili still held the Sergeant. Their lights had entwined. God had accidentally infused them both.
He sighed. Not in anger. In weariness.
> "So be it."
Then, with careful hands, he reached to pull the Sergeant's soul free from Lili's grasp.
The tendrils stretched. Clung.
But broke.
Lili whimpered.
> No… please… don't take him away…
The god cradled her in one hand, turned, and pulled back his arm.
A perfect throw. A divine pitch. He would send her back with flawless precision, to the time and place she was meant to return.
He paused. Whispered:
> "Forgive me. But you are needed there."
Lili reached.
Her tendrils extended.
But she couldn't reach him.
Tears, if she had them, would've fallen.
And then—
He moved.
The Sergeant's core, no longer dormant, pulsed. A single white tendril burst from him—like a hand in the dark.
And it caught hers.
> I'm not letting you go either.
The god's arm moved.
The throw began.
And as the light left his hand—
He realized.
He had tossed both.
> "No!" He roared. "My child, what have you done?!"
But it was too late.
The energy was spent. The storm above Achios shook. And the planet—no longer the destination—began to rewind. Cities rebuilt. Trees unburned. The battle undone.
And the twins flew past it.
Into the void.
Through space.
Through time.
Falling.
Together.
Unstoppable.
***
THE FALL TO EARTH
They flew.
No wings. No wind. No weight.
Two souls, twin stars in the dark—one brilliant, one faint—tumbled together through the velvet black of the void. They left behind the broken sky of a world they could no longer return to. Trailing soft tendrils of light behind them, they spun as if joined by breath and memory, the cords of their radiance entwining—not to guide, but simply to hold.
One tethered to the other.
Lili led, though not by choice. Her light blazed at the forefront, pure and white, flickering with grief and guilt and determination. Behind her, drifting like a candle caught in a current, floated the Sergeant's soul—dimmer, quieter, not yet awake. But still there. Still hers.
Their tendrils wrapped like hands clasped in sleep, twisting and glowing, binding them together as they fell through time and space.
The stars stretched around them—rivers of fire and distance. They moved too fast for thought, the cosmos flickering past in bursts of brilliance. Nebulae spilled open like oceans of color. Suns rose and vanished in a blink. Moons blinked past like memories.
It was beautiful.
But it was terrifying.
Lili had no control. She had not chosen this path. She was caught in it, thrown by the hand of a god she barely understood.
And as the speed overtook her, the sensation hit—
A soundless scream built within her.
Too fast. Too fast.
She clung tighter to the Sergeant's light, wrapping her tendrils around his, desperate not to lose him again. She felt like a girl strapped into a rollercoaster that plunged not down tracks but through creation itself, unable to steer, unable to stop.
Hold on. Please, hold on.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. All at once.
And then—
They slowed.
A blue shimmer began to rise in the far distance.
A sphere.
A world.
Wrapped in clouds and oceans, speckled with great green masses and brown plateaus. Pale blue veils flowed over curved edges like silk pulled across glass. No satellites blinked in orbit. No defense grids tracked them. No warning beacons called out.
Just silence.
Just the windless breath of a living world.
Lili's light trembled, not from fear now—but from awe.
What… is this place?
The world loomed before them, vast and curved, glowing in sunlight. It was not tagged in her mind. No name surfaced. No Imperial designator or planetary code. It was alien in its stillness.
It's unmarked… uncolonized?
A world yet untouched?
She had never seen anything like it.
Below her, the blue turned to green, then to gold. Water met land in sweeping crescents. Mountains curved along the coasts like the spines of resting titans. White clouds swirled over vast stretches of forest. Deserts shimmered like fields of powdered amber.
There were no cityscapes. No hive spires. No atmospheric vents or orbital elevators. It looked… pure.
This isn't Holy Terra. This isn't any charted world I've ever seen.
It's…
Her thoughts paused.
The planet turned beneath her as she fell, revealing more.
A great inland sea shaped like a boot. Chains of mountains running like scars across wide grasslands. A sweeping river cutting through thick forest and glinting under the sun like a silver thread. Clusters of primitive settlements—no visible towers, no sky traffic, just buildings made of stone and tile, nestled in narrow valleys.
She could see it all. Feel it breathing.
And it was beautiful.
Not because of what it held.
But because of what it lacked.
War.
Plague.
Industry.
This world has never heard the scream of a drop pod.
This place has never known plague fleets.
A breath shivered through her.
Could this be… the beginning?
The Sergeant's soul drifted closer to hers, still unconscious, his faint light brushing against hers like a heartbeat. She clutched him tighter, even as the pull of the planet grew stronger.
The atmosphere shimmered below, pale and soft.
The clouds parted.
The descent began.
****
---
August 2nd, 1870 – Outskirts of Saarbrücken, Prussia – 08:46 AM
The sun had risen that morning under a sky that knew not what approached.
Soft clouds hovered above the low hills, tinged with golden light, and the morning wind stirred the tall summer grasses that blanketed the countryside like a sea of whispering wheat. The town of Saarbrücken nestled at the edge of the Saar River, half in bloom and half in bristle, its cobbled streets hushed with anticipation. The townsfolk had risen early, not to tend their shops or stroll their gardens, but to pray—and to listen for the first crack of a French cannon.
Because war had come.
Not swiftly. Not like lightning.
But slowly—like thunder crawling across the spine of Europe.
The Franco-Prussian War, stoked by political insult and imperial pride, had finally broken into fire. And the town of Saarbrücken, a border stone between kingdoms, would be its first offering.
To the west, beyond the mist-veiled treeline, the blue-coated columns of the French Army had begun to move. General Frossard, cold-eyed and unyielding, had dispatched over 20,000 men across the Forbach heights to seize Saarbrücken and the symbolic gateway into Prussia. With them came artillery, scouts, skirmishers, and banners bearing the golden eagle of Napoleon's dynasty.
They marched with confidence. With pageantry.
But they would find no easy victory.
On the eastern bank of the river, beneath the shadow of the old stone bridge and just north of the village square, a force of 1,200 Prussian soldiers made their stand. Infantry from the 40th Regiment. A handful of cavalry scouts. One artillery battery hastily dug into the hillside.
Their uniforms were worn. Their boots caked in dust. Some had not eaten properly in two days.
But their eyes were clear.
And their rifles were clean.
Leading them was Lieutenant Colonel Lothar von Trotha, a man of iron will and weathered uniform. He stood beside the half-crumbled churchyard wall with a telescope in hand and a saber on his hip, lips tight as he scanned the hills for movement.
> "They will be upon us within the hour," he muttered.
Around him, men set sandbags, sharpened stakes, checked powder, rechecked the brass fittings on their bayonets. A few soldiers knelt beside a chaplain to receive hurried blessings. Others murmured to one another in the low Saarländisch dialect—questions about reinforcements, about how long they had to hold.
There would be no reinforcements.
Von Trotha knew that.
They had to hold.
Not for hours. Not for glory.
Just long enough.
---
The first shot rang out at 09:04 AM—a cannon blast that echoed through the river valley like a hammer on steel.
The French artillery opened fire from the western ridge, sending rounds howling through the air to crash into the outer edge of the town. Roof tiles exploded. Horses screamed. A stable burst into flame.
But the Prussians held the line.
Riflemen crouched behind stone walls and low trenches. Every shot was measured. Every target confirmed. No panic. No cries of fear.
> "Front rank, fire!"
> "Rear rank, reload!"
The battle for Saarbrücken had begun.
The French came in waves—light infantry skirmishers first, darting between hedges and tall wheat, supported by fire from long muskets and chassepots. They moved fast, confident, trained.
But they met fire.
Well-placed, cold, merciless.
And the field began to turn red.
From her distant path in the heavens, Lili would not yet see the blood. She would not hear the crack of rifle fire or the screams that followed.
But the wind rising toward her now was laced with smoke.
The smell of powder.
The taste of war.
And that was where she was falling.
---
****
THE DESCENT OF LIGHT
Like a blade drawn across the skin of heaven, the sky parted in silence.
Two streaks of white—soft, gleaming, barely visible to mortal eyes—fell through the clouds like whispered prayers. No fire trailed behind them, no sonic boom broke the air. Just light. Pure, warm, and untainted.
From afar, they might have been mistaken for falling stars. But they were no stars. They were souls, pulled not by gravity, but by something deeper—older—a fate neither of them had chosen but now followed without resistance.
Lili was first. Her light, brilliant and unwavering, guided the descent. Bound to her, clutched by tendrils of light as delicate as breath, followed another soul—dimmer, uncertain, barely stirred from its slumber. The Sergeant.
They drifted like angels broken loose from the firmament.
And below them, the world waited.
---
The clouds broke apart like mist under sunlight.
Lili burst through them, and for the first time in her brief and painful life, she saw a world untouched by death.
The air was sharp and clean. The clouds were full and white, like the ones in the children's books Arlen had read to her. The sky was not black and filled with orbital fire. It was soft and blue—so blue it made her ache.
And there—below—was the land.
Green and gold and vast.
A river curved across it like silver thread sewn into an emerald tapestry. Hills rolled in quiet patterns. A small town clung to the river's edge like a collection of toys scattered neatly by some gentle hand. There were no towers. No domes. No gunships or banners or vox-arrays. Just slanted rooftops, smoke rising from chimneys, and fields of dark earth stretching to the horizon.
Then she saw the battle.
From her vantage point in the heavens, still trailing starlight and silence, Lili looked down upon a world utterly foreign to her—and yet horrifyingly familiar.
Men—so many of them—marched across a narrow stone bridge spanning a silver river. Their uniforms were bright and strange, like something out of a child's fairytale or a poorly preserved pict-record. Their trousers were crimson, their coats dark blue, buttons polished to a golden sheen. Black cylindrical hats sat atop their heads, tall and absurd, with small brass chin straps that glinted like mock armor.
They moved in lines, columns of four, advancing with purpose and discipline. Bayonets gleamed in the morning sun, fixed atop long, slender rifles. Their steps were mechanical, but they were no machines. She saw their faces. Young. Sweating. Some trembling.
Across the river, crouched behind low walls and overturned carts, another force fought back. These wore pale blue trousers and deep navy tunics. Their helmets—strange black things adorned with a spike on top—reminded her of ceremonial drill units. They seemed more grounded, more structured, but outnumbered. Their volleys came in rhythm, as if their hearts beat in unity with the crack of gunfire.
The bridge was turning red.
Bodies fell. Some tumbled into the river. Others crumpled on the stone, trampled by those behind. Still, the men in red trousers pushed forward. Still, the spiked-helmet soldiers fired. Smoke thickened. The sky was clear, but the ground was war.
> Why are they all dressed so brightly? Lili thought, confusion blooming in her core.
> Why are they fighting each other? They're all human.
There were no infected. No rot lords. No twisted cries from beyond the veil. Only men shouting in languages she didn't know, killing each other with bullets and steel.
> Is this… a civil war? But… this world isn't marked. It doesn't even seem colonized.
Her thoughts raced.
> Where are the banners of the Imperium? Where are the machine shrines, the vox pylons, the orbital command stations?
There was nothing. No warp beacons. No high towers. Not even a dataslate in sight.
The town by the river—Saarbrücken, though she did not know the name—looked like something out of a story long forgotten. Stone buildings, wood beams, horses tethered to carts. Civilians crouched behind shutters, peering out in terror.
And then the light touched the grass.
---
Their descent ended not in fire, but in silence.
Two lights—twin stars, woven of grace and defiance—drifted down to a quiet patch of earth beside the river. The wind whispered through the reeds. Trees swayed gently overhead, and birds fluttered through the branches, pausing mid-song. The noise of battle was distant, muffled by hills and smoke, as though war itself dared not intrude.
The twin lights hovered above the grass.
Then pulsed.
And began to change.
Not in a flash. Not in chaos. But in a becoming.
From the cores of light—each no larger than a clenched hand—tendrils unfolded, luminous and slow, weaving a framework of glowing veins in the air. They curled and twisted like vines of starlight, sketching the outline of two small figures midair.
Lili's form came first.
The glowing vines connected and thickened, forming the lattice of a body not yet flesh—a luminous echo of herself, her arms outstretched, her knees drawn to her chest in a fetal curl. Her white core settled at the center of her sternum, behind where her heart would be.
Then, flesh began to bloom.
But it was not sudden. It was slow. Intentional. As if the universe itself paused to weave it together.
From the glowing cores, veins of pure light spread like branches of a tree—first into the shape of arteries, then nerves, then muscle. They spun through the air, crisscrossing and merging, forming a glowing scaffold of two human children. Their bodies were built not by biology, but by memory—by what they once were, and what they were meant to become.
Over these lattices of light, layers of flesh began to wrap themselves—smooth and pale, glistening like wet porcelain. Bones whispered into being beneath, joints flexing as tendons connected. Skin closed over it all with quiet, radiant finality.
Lili's form completed first.
Her lungs filled.
Her chest rose.
And she gasped.
Air rushed in—warm, pure, and fresh, filled with the scent of river mist and green grass. She choked once, then breathed again, steady this time. She blinked, long lashes fluttering, and rolled onto her side as strength returned to her fingers.
She felt her heart beat—not once, but twice. One was hers. The other pulsed deeper, softer, from the core nestled just behind it.
She was whole again.
She was alive.
And beside her—
The second form was still finishing.
The light framed a shape nearly identical to hers. Short. Delicate. Radiant.
But as the final layers of skin formed, Lili's breath caught.
The other girl was exactly like her.
Same golden hair. Same pale skin. Same thin frame, lean from training, tiny muscles flexing beneath newborn flesh. The same chest—flat and unassuming. The same faint abs. The same shape of jaw. Same nose. Same lips.
> It's me, Lili thought. But not.
The light dimmed.
And the other girl fell with a soft thump to the earth.
For a moment, there was only the sound of the river and the rustle of reeds.
Then—
> "Aaaagh! No no no—what the hell?!"
Lili flinched at the voice.
High. Feminine. Angelic.
But not hers.
The girl scrambled upright with surprising strength, hands flying to her chest. Her eyes were wild—blue and stormy, filled with panic and disbelief. She looked down. Then further down.
Then screamed.
> "Where's my—?! My pride! My—my—what did you DO to me?!"
Lili, blinking the dizziness from her head, sat up slowly.
> "I saved you, Sarge," she said with innocent pride. "I blew myself up, found your soul, and brought you back. Isn't it amazing?"
The girl froze.
Then looked at her.
Really looked.
Their eyes met.
Lili's soft and open. The Sergeant's—no, this girl's—wide and wavering.
> "I'm… you?" she whispered.
Lili tilted her head.
> "You look like me. But scowly."
The girl ran trembling fingers through her hair—long, golden, radiant.
She looked at her hands. Then her arms. Her knees. Her legs. Every inch of her body—Lili's body.
> "I'm nine," she said flatly.
Lili nodded.
> "So am I."
> "I'm a man."
> "Not anymore."
The girl opened her mouth.
But no sound came.
Then her chest pulsed.
A light. Faint, warm. Just behind the heart.
She looked down, eyes wide.
Lili reached forward gently and pressed her palm against the girl's sternum.
The pulse responded—two hearts beating in harmony.
Their cores resonated, a subtle glow linking their bodies with a warmth that chased away the last shadows of death.
> "You have a piece of me," Lili whispered. "I gave it to you."
The girl blinked.
> "Why?"
> "Because I love you."
Silence.
> "Because you never left me. Even when everything else died."
The girl's hands dropped to her lap.
Her mouth trembled.
Then she laughed—choked and wet, but real.
> "You're insane."
Lili nodded cheerfully.
> "Maybe. But I'm the reason you're here."
A pause.
Then the girl wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
> "So what now?"
Lili leaned in and smiled.
> "Now we're twins. And I think we're on a planet full of humans who don't know what a Light Core is."
The girl looked down at her fingers, watched them twitch.
A flicker of light danced along her palm.
And for the first time since the hangar, since the war, since death—
She smiled back.
> "Let's not die again."