Prologue

Sunlight filtered through the sakura trees, scattering pale pink sunkissed petals across the smooth white path as Phaeron Sun Wu Aalim walked with his family. His infant daughter Yuèliàn giggled and cooed in his arms, her tiny hands grasping at the falling petals. Beside him, his beloved wife Mingxia watched their child with serene joy.

"Our daughter will grow up in a prosperous era," said Phaeron Aalim. "Look at how vibrant our kingdom has become."

All around the palace courtyard, scarlet-robed administrators passed by, bearing reports. Blue-tunicked engineers called cheery greetings, hurrying off to new projects. The ringing of workshop hammers and snippets of happy songs floated on the warm breeze.

"You've brought our dynasty much honor, my love," Mingxia said, her dark eyes radiant. "Yuèliàn will know a happier life than we once dreamed."

Phaeron Aalim smiled as Yuèliàn burbled excitedly, waving a tiny fistful of petals. No matter the long years, he would remember this ephemeral moment of pure joy. His family filled the aching gaps that duty and time had carved. The sun glowed gold on the immaculate palace spires, the future bright with hope. With his wife and child beside him, Phaeron Aalim felt complete. This was worth any sacrifice. He would safeguard this precious happiness forever...

---Cosmic Sovereign's Grief of Sun Wu Aalim---

Pale moonlight filtered through the crystalline windows, casting Phaeron Aalim's metal shadow across the polished obsidian floors as he strode through the cavernous halls. Jinzhumao's smallest moon Gengyo shone full and bright, while the two larger moons Yueguang and Baiyu were in their waning gibbous phase, silver crescents against the night sky.

In the administrative wings, the pristine scrollwork and tomes lay untouched, the scribes who once tended them now eternally silent. Only motionless Necron sentries remained at their posts, cyclopean metal faces gazing out impassively beneath the wan moonlight, as vigilant as the hour they were first entombed. In the workshops beyond, the fires that once flashed and smoked with industry were extinguished, and the ringing song of hammer on metal was heard no more. Now only the occasional crackle of activated machinery broke the stillness, half-finished tasks left forever incomplete by artisan hands long crumbled away. The covered walkways bordering the courtyards were equally bare. Moon-washed trees and plants now grew wild and untended. Dry fountains were flanked by vacant benches that would never again host scholars debating philosophy or astrologers reading fates in the stars they could no longer see.

Only Phaeron Aalim's footfalls echoed down the abandoned passageways and empty atriums leading towards the residential wing of the palace city, a stark reminder that the organized bustle of life had faded long ago into the dusty annals of memory. The bushi warriors who once trained with force and passion in the moonlit yards were gone, their organic fire and zealotry lost to the deathless sleep of iron bodies bound by mere protocols, not honor or dreams.

At last, Phaeron Aalim reached the sanctum concealing the entrance to his private archives, the duranium doors recognizing their master and retracting to grant him access. The flickering data orbs swirling in wait were unchanged from eras past, ready to call forth recollections and records of achievements now robbed of any present meaning. For untold generations before biotransference, Phaeron Aalim's people nurtured science and culture, leaving architectures and philosophies that shone brilliantly if briefly. Now all were preserved solely as frozen data echoes, accessible but hollow. Selecting a sphere at random, Phaeron Aalim prompted the activation sequence. The figures of crypteks, artisans, immortals, lychguards, and retainers blinking into ghostly life in the chamber, whispering reports and awaiting commands in scenes from a dozen different eras spanning the full bloom of the dynasty's forgotten golden age. Each conjured persona was a stabbing reminder of the thriving society lost, now reduced to programmed shades acting out repetitious pantomimes.

Deactivating the archive in seething annoyance, Phaeron Aalim stalked the lifeless halls alone, his ancestor's grand vision transformed into a cold mechanical mockery bereft of organic passion. Perhaps somewhere in the myriad data strands lay the seeds of some great work that could spark purpose. But on this night, illumination eluded the Undying King as Jinzhumao's moons dipped below the horizon. Phaeron Aalim closed his eyes and listened, allowing himself to recall when the challenges were fresh and the mandate new. For a fleeting hour, he could almost envision their living faces again, ignoring the eons that separated him from kin and colleagues long reduced to dust.

In the creeping gloom, Phaeron Aalim had only the broken memories of the living to sustain him, bittersweet ghosts that haunted the shadowy void left in this grand tomb where a civilization once blossomed and shone so brightly, if only for the fleeting moments that composed an epoch. Two Ku'lai servants - a teenage boy breathing heavily and a blushing young girl - averted their eyes respectfully as Phaeron Aalim strode past them into the silent library. Moonlight from an overhead crystalline dome momentarily reflected across the stacks, and for an instant Phaeron Aalim glimpsed a towering shadowed figure standing in the corner, glowing eyes staring from beneath a regal crown. The phantasm vanished as quickly as it appeared, but it was enough to stir Phaeron Aalim's memories of that fateful era. His optical lenses dimmed as he accessed archived data code, reflexively seeking details on the meeting where everything changed...

They ruled a minor fringe system, Phaeron Aalim's forebears were distant kin to the exalted central worlds of the Necrontyr empire. As a child, Phaeron Aalim listened in wonder to tales of the Silent King's feats conquering the heavens. Never did he dream their family lines would cross. Pools of emerald crimson light filtering through looming stained glass seemed to foreshadow ominous tidings as Phaeron Aalim followed the Royal Lychguards through the Silent King's labyrinthine fortress-palace. Though kin, the Silent King felt as remote and unknowable as the first Necrontyr glimpsing ancient stars through primitive telescopes, burning with possibilities terrifying and vast. The throne room doors open, revealing a cavernous chamber wrought of seamless obsidian etched with intricately twisting sigils and scenes of worlds brought to heel beneath the Silent King's might. The Royal Court was beyond splendor, befitting the ruler of over a hundred conquered star systems. Phaeron Aalim was awed by the soaring vaults and writhing glyphs recounting conquests carved into obsidian walls. Far above, vaulted ceilings were lost in shadow, untouched even by the brazier's scarlet illumination. Thereupon the dazzling golden, and silver throne sat a figure etched in the same indestructible living metal as the surrounding architecture. The Silent King's new undying form of Phaeron Aalim's esteemed cousin was alien, yet still rigid with unimaginable authority, contrasted harshly with the soft organic youth Phaeron Aalim remembered.

Halting at the prescribed distance, Phaeron Aalim prostrated himself, pulse heavily racing. He had only seen grainy image captures of the biotransference process, and rumors of embedding the soul into metal, but to stand before its reality was staggering. This immortal form, greater than flesh, would soon become the sole future for all Necrontyr, despite caste. "Rise, young cousin." The Silent King's voice reverberated from the angular faceplate, more speaker than a mouth. "We did not expect one from our far-flung blood to arrive unheralded. State your unexpected purpose." Mindful of each word, Phaeron Aalim explained his people's fears about the coming biotransference and humbly begged the Silent King's wisdom in preserving their minds. Phaeron Aalim felt microscopic before this transfigured titan who commanded the stars themselves. Phaeron Aalim's robes rustled as he straightened, mechanically augmenting his voice's volume. "Great majesty, I come on behalf of my insignificant Tianzza Dynasty. We stand in awe of your achievements, but these times of change have brought uncertainty. I seek your wisdom regarding the coming Ceremony of Biotransference which shall unite us in undying metal."

The Silent King sat motionless as if Phaeron Aalim were beneath notice. At long last he replied. "You perceive the inevitable future. Praise that intellect, limited though it be." The intricate patterns on his armor rippled as he leaned forward, eyes flashing. "But We wonder, does fear inspire this visit from the furthest branch of Our family? Speak truthfully, lest you test Our patience." Sensing the keen threat beneath the Silent King's tone, Phaeron Aalim chose his next words most delicately. Cold horror gripped Phaeron Aalim's heart at the calculated gambit, but no alternative existed. "N-no, great majesty. We eagerly await the great transition, but humbly beseech guidance to help my small planet's people embrace it smoothly."

The Silent King waved a gentle dismissive hand. "Their fear is the ways of cattle. But your request intrigues us if made in good faith. Continue."

Heartened by permission to proceed, Phaeron Aalim explained the anxieties of his people about shedding not just their frail bodies, but their souls as well. With agonized desperation, he implored the Silent King to grant that their minds at least transition intact, so some shred of their mortal selves persisted in immortal void form. Voice cracking with emotion, Phaeron Aalim begged his esteemed cousin to allow volunteers first, to demonstrate that the process did not sentence one to a horror worse than death, as rumored. Only by such courage could the rest be brought to accept the sacrifice needed to withstand the coming tide against The Old Ones. Phaeron Aalim's shoulders shook as the grave responsibility crushed down. His people's faith in him was absolute, even as he walked them into unfathomable darkness.

Making his case to preserve his people's essence took deep courage, yet Phaeron Aalim's voice never wavered all the while under the withering scrutiny of those baleful star-hewn optics. Never had he felt more keenly that his dynasty's fate teetered upon a razor's edge. The Silent King contemplated silently before responding again. "Your.. plea arises from compassion, yet ALL must make sacrifices. But I shall... permit it, in exchange for accepting this proposal your... periphery domains shall join my growing interstellar kingdom, as well as YOU will join your volunteers, cousin." Phaeron Aalim reeled internally in horror at the calculated exchange. Relinquishing so much of their sovereignty shredded his instincts, losing his flesh to become metal terrified him, but perhaps some sliver could yet be salvaged if his people's minds remained, along with his family's lives. With immense difficulty, voice wavering, he accepted the Silent King's "offer", bowing until his forehead touched the cold stone floor.

As Phaeron Aalim retreated from the court, the Silent King's parting words echoed through the shadowed vaults. "Serve us well, young cousin. Unimaginable potential lies within you..."

Despite this praise, Phaeron Aalim's spirit recoiled from the glimpse of sinister futures glinting in the polished obsidian walls. But he had succeeded, however narrowly. Now his focus must be preserving whatever minds he still could through the harrowing transition soon to come.

The library's stillness was shattered, as well as Phaeron Aalim's attention by the crash of a small statue falling from a side table as Aalim inadvertently brushed against it. He froze in place as the carved figures of a Necrontyr family broke upon the hard floor, instantly dredging up memories from darker days. He had not thought of that era in millennia, yet the shattered statue tore open old deep chasm wounds. Phaeron Aalim's optical lenses dimmed as he accessed the battle archives once more, steeling himself...

The Tianzza Dynasty's crownworld burned. Vast armadas blotted out the stars as the legions under Imotekh descended without mercy. Entire cities vaporized in emerald beams of hyper-energized particles. Phaeron Aalim rallied his household guard in desperation, but their metal forms were untested to such a degree, still struggling with their early biotransference. Against Imotekh's hordes, they stood no chance. "Cousin, I beseech you, cease this madness! We submitted to biotransference willingly, why do you attack?" Phaeron Aalim's appeals echoed unanswered across the battlefield. But he already knew the truth - they were betrayed.

The Royal Court's edict had been clear: ALL Necrontyr were to undergo biotransference willingly or in chains, healthly or sick, young or old. No exceptions, even for worlds who choose to volunteer many first, and the rest later. No mercy for those who resisted. Phaeron Aalim's people had hoped their loyalty and sacrifice would be rewarded with special status under the Silent King due to Phaeron Aalim's family relationship. But they were no longer even viewed as living beings worthy of respect. Just cattle to process.

Phaeron Aalim's forces clashed fiercely with Imotekh's, but the Overlord's battalion commanders carved through his untrained forces. As the honored dead mounted, Phaeron Aalim realized his dynasty's youth and future were being slaughtered wholesale. In orbit above, the Silent King's lead vessel pierced the battle's din. "Last of our living kindred, hear us. Lay down all arms and accept your rightful place in the undying legions."

Phaeron Aalim's rage boiled over. "No! I complied with your damnable edicts and yielded our sovereignty. Yet now you betray every vow and come to murder us!"

Amusement tinged the Silent King's response. "Petty concepts of betrayal are beneath us now. None may oppose unity and order eternal." Phaeron Aalim screamed commands, but his warriors' were seized by override codes, forcing them to lay down arms. cryptek cores stilled their timeshifting talents. Canopteks fell inert without Tianzza's powering engrams. Their free will was chained, riped away, and then their attention turned towards the remaining living. Helpless, Phaeron Aalim could only watch through failing command protocols as Imotekh's forces decimated the remaining cities. The old, the young - none would be spared.

At last, Phaeron Aalim was dragged to Imotekh's flagship broken, and bound. There in the sparsely furnished trophy room, a hologram of the Silent King manifested. "We offered you fleeting favor, yet you defied us. Now all you value becomes mine." He gestured, and two figures were dragged forth. Phaeron Aalim's mind froze in horror. His beloved wife and daughter were bound and gagged by arcane manacles. The Silent King continued. "You lack proper perspective, little cousin. You thought you could hide your Necrontyr family from biotransference. Allow us to educate you."

Phaeron Aalim's mind reeled as override protocols forced his body into motion. He thrashed uselessly against the intimate chains enslaving his frame. Ancient integrators and motive couplings were never meant to resist a user's will - until now. Master override codes painfully crackled through Phaeron Aalim's mind as the Silent King locked gazes with him. A Warscythe materialized in Phaeron Aalim's hands against his will. He struggled fruitlessly like a prisoner in his own body as words were ripped from his unwilling throat:

"P-P-Please great majesty! Cousin! They are innocents! The crime is mine alone, I beg mercy on their behalf!"

The Silent King shook his head as one correcting a foolish child. "Your lack of vision endangers all. I provide clarity." Ancient eyes blazed, issuing a single command through Phaeron Aalim's shackled mind: RISE!

Step by agonizing step he approached his wife and daughter, tears of what seemed like oil streaming down his faceplate. This perversion of justice could not stand! Surely his rightful protests would sway the Silent King's calculus. But the Silent King merely observed remotely, curiosity glinting in his optic lenses. "Exercise fidelity, young cousin. Emotion corrupts unitary purpose."

Phaeron Aalim shrieked protests only he could hear as override codes forced his body upright against all resistance. Steadily, inexorably, he raised the deadly Warscythe as his wife and daughter wept for him to stop. With a final doomed effort, he managed to rasp a single sentence for the ship's archive logs and scream his anguish to the heavens as the scythe fell...

Silence now runs through the ship, not even the humming of the engines made a sound.

Only Imotekh remained, surveying the gruesome results with glee. Phaeron Aalim's severed bonds allowed speech once more, but any pleas for mercy or justice would fall on deaf auditory sensors. Imotekh's slit-like eyes flashed with amusement at Phaeron Aalim's emotional turmoil. "Come now, strive for nobility, whelp. Shed this weakness - your betters have transcended such things."

Rage boiled within Phaeron Aalim, but chains of Nasnas still shackled his limbs and weapons. Imotekh continued, each word precisely aimed to salt the wound.

"Consider... yourself privileged your words even have an audience with our Silent King. Had he not stayed my hand, I would have scoured your insignificant marble from space." Imotekh leaned in, radiating palpable contempt. "Never forget your place, buraku. That backworld seed you call Tianzza survives only by his grace. The lesser must acknowledge their lowly caste."

Phaeron Aalim strained against his bonds, armor plates grinding. "W-We sub-b-mitted to your ed-ed-edicts lawfully! We walked willingly in-into your sh-sh-shadow in accordance! Yet still y-you betray and destroy all we va-va-valued!"

Imotekh's derisive chuckle echoed through the chamber. "As ever, your vision is limited. Unity transcends petty ethics of your fallen caste. But this lesson is wasted on your primitive mind with the coming war with the Old Ones" The Stormlord straightened, deigning no further notice. "Now I depart. Live out your days ruling the lifeless marble you've earned, buraku." The cursed nickname, used for social outcasts in eons past, cut deepest of all. Phaeron Aalim could only scream his anguish to the heavens as darkness claimed his broken mind, as he was jettisoned back to Jinzhumao's surface.

The dark days that followed passed in a haze of rage and sorrow. All Necrontyr - nobility and commoners, old, and young, and the unwilling alike - were given the ultimatum to submit to biotransference or forced in chains. None could stand against the Silent King's decrees any longer. When at last Phaeron Aalim awoke in his new body, Tianzza was changed utterly. Its vibrant heart had been savagely torn out, leaving only an obedient mass of near-mindless Necrons.

Phaeron Aalim's family lived on only in his flawless recorded memories. He swore to revenge this brutality someday, no matter how endless the cycles of life and death he must endure...

The bitter words of Imotekh still echoed across time: "I leave you as ruler of an inferior marble, buraku. Remember the wages of insolence."

Eons later in the present, surrounded by the silent archives, Phaeron Aalim forcibly reasserted control. Imotekh was wrong - nobility and vision were his to claim. And his people would know unity again one day, not through tyranny but leadership worthy of the title. Kneeling, Phaeron Aalim gently gathered the broken statue fragments. In his mind, they represented all he had lost so brutally long ago - his beloved wife and daughter, slain by his unwilling hand. That pain lingered eternal, no statue could be a substitute for their living memory. He understood it was irrational, but having even this effigy of family was comfort.

Nearby, three insects battled ferociously over crumbs dropped by some palace attendant. Maybe it was the two Ku'Lai servants earlier, Aalim did not care much. The tiny insect's vicious struggle sparked a different memory of sworn bonds broken without mercy.

After eons of painstakingly rebuilding his realm over several long desolate millennia in forced servitude under the banner of Szarekh faithfully, the Silent King had recently allowed Phaeron Aalim more self-direction again as a reward, fellow collector Trazyn's offer of knowledge and friendship seemed a route to restore his dynasty. Phaeron Aalim hoped genuine camaraderie might help restore his dynasty to glory. Now he grimaced at the obvious signs he had excused...

It began subtly at first - denied requests to study archives on mental transference, excavations canceled without cause. Phaeron Aalim accepted Trazyn's judgment in their partnership. Phaeron Aalim trusted Trazyn's judgment and made no great issue of it. Centuries of generosity engendered trust. Until Phaeron Aalim proudly unveiled Tianzza's prototype FTL drives - capable of near-instant traversal across the void, bypassing even the webway. This long-sought liberation promised to open the galaxy for exploration, and conquest. Yet Trazyn grew withdrawn over this rapid advancement, warning of "uncontrolled ripples through eternity."

Phaeron Aalim angrily dismissed the concerns. Were they not equals after so long? But in his lust for control, the Infinite conceived the cruelest punishment imaginable. Knowing direct threats would only steel Phaeron Aalim’s resolve further, Trazyn instead secretly whispered rumors to several passing Aeldari raiders, baiting them to destroy the rival technology. A cunning trap to destroy the rival technology indirectly, and Aeldari alike.

Aeldari raiders suddenly descended from the Webway without warning and razed Tianzza's shipyard and the sole archive containing the prototype, Phaeron Aalim watched in anguish as his hope was destroyed. With the spaceport demolished, the technology was lost. Such a profound betrayal of trust cut deeper than any blade. Confronting Trazyn via holo, Phaeron Aalim seethed with rage. "Why share eons of wisdom only to betray everything we built?"

Trazyn waved a hand dismissively. "Come now, such hypocrisy over temporary setbacks. I selflessly gave you centuries of knowledge from my archives. Yet like all mortals, you grasp for more than your station deserves." Phaeron Aalim clenched a fist, struggling to contain his boiling anger. "Deserves? We were steadfast allies, friends! How could you commit such a violation against me?" Trazyn tilted his head, as if unable to comprehend the notion. "Violation implies an emotional concept of trust. I am simply averting reckless damage to eternity's delicate weave by limiting access to dangerous knowledge, that is not MINE"

"Limiting knowledge?" Phaeron Aalim spat back. "How dare you presume to police who may learn. What makes you the arbiter of such things?" Trazyn's eyes flashed with dangerous intent. "Careful, shortsighted BURAKU! I have compiled millennia of understanding surpassing all others. My vision encompasses the vast scope of eternity, boundless knowledge your primitive mind could not absorb."

"Then rot eternally guarding your worthless hoard alone, you covetous snake!" Phaeron Aalim slammed a fist down, cracking the stone. "We are finished, forevermore." Turning away from Trazyn's indifferent stare, Phaeron Aalim terminated the link before the cold rage within him boiled over. Rarely had he come so close to blind violence. Centuries of supposed friendship exposed as calculated manipulation...it cut deeper than any warp-forged blade.

Repairing the damage in isolation took many more bitter untold centuries if not several millenniums of toil. Phaeron Aalim realized now there could be neither allies nor equals among his fickle shortsighted kind, only leverage. Trust was for the foolish and naive. As a leader, he must be a mentor, overlord, and guardian. It was the only way to survive.

Leaving the silent archives, Phaeron Aalim's steps traced a familiar route through vast colonnaded walkways, moonlight painting the ancient stonework in cycles as Jinzhumao's orbit slowly turned. Few Ku'lai and even fewer Necrons stirred at this hour, leaving only tranquil shadows. Reaching a towering archway inscribed with scrollwork, Phaeron Aalim entered one of his late wife's favorite contemplative gardens. The plants here were gathered from across the eons - translucent ferns glowing ethereally under the moons, vines with intricate bioluminescent fractal patterns, alien orchids with crystalline petals that chimed softly as he brushed past. Though lacking a living nose, Phaeron Aalim's sensors could still appreciate the subtle floral perfume on simulated breezes designed to nourish this carefully curated sanctuary. Once, his beloved queen Mingxia delighted in tending such gardens, coaxing exotic new life from far worlds. Bittersweet fragmented memories that lingered through all cycles.

Approaching the central fountain, Phaeron Aalim paused. Rippling moonlight painted the face of a young Ku'lai female attendant momentarily like that of his long-dead daughter. Phantoms of the past, now even the present haunted him. Yet the Ku'lai's rise here was not a mere accident. Attuning his recollection archives, Phaeron Aalim's mind is transported back through the long epochs...

Emerging from stasis early when technicians detected seismic activity, Phaeron Aalim soon discovered an intelligent mammalian-like species had evolved right atop the dynasty's crownworld while they slumbered. Observing the fledgling culture, Phaeron Aalim was unexpectedly intrigued. Here was fresh potential unburdened by his people's curses and decline. Perhaps tending these newcomers would provide purpose after so long bereft. And so the Silent Watcher became the Guiding Star. With subtle cues, entire belief systems were reshaped around the metal angels in their heavens, and below their feet. Some villages, cities, and even kingdoms were razed as divine punishment, while others gained knowledge, abundance, and protection for embracing the one true path.

Over slow centuries, generations upon generations were methodically trained, and bloodlines filtered through with a heavier hand and divine aura. Yet pockets of unrest resisted, for mortal minds are ever plagued by disbelief. Thus the nobility of the Ku'lai played their part to perfection, Phaeron Aalim their benevolent god-king deigning to walk amongst his faithful. Glorious cities and monuments cemented fervent devotion in the public imagination. Fear and awe became deep fidelity over time. As the Ku'lai advanced, they provided useful tools - envoys, spymasters, and even the occasional consort-like. Yet comprehension of their angelic metal masters remained befuddlingly beyond their grasp.

Inevitably, lost kin would resurface or xeno threats arise. Then the celestial metal guardians showed their emerald wrathful aspect, scouring whole armies with just a brushstroke. But afterward, the god-king's peace would inevitably return. For Phaeron Aalim, these cycles of guidance and discipline were but pieces in an infinitely greater design - one that would see his dynasty rise higher than before biotransference tore their organic roots away.

The Ku'lai only glimpsed shadows of his plan, their lives too flickering and frail to perceive such scope. But they showed promise and were infinitely malleable compared to Phaeron Aalim's mercurial kind. This garden was but a microcosm of that ambitious vision. As the moonlight faded and Jinzhumao's metropolises slowly awakened, Phaeron Aalim turned inside again, refreshed with a renewed sense of purpose. The loss that haunted his rule for so long transmuted, fuel now for destiny's unfolding...

The garden's tranquility was shattered by the soft chime of an urgent holo-comm signal. Checking his insignia wrist-emitter, Phaeron Aalim was surprised to see it was his Ànmó Zhīmíng General, Ankhenemkrat. What emergency would bring the stoic warrior to interrupt his master's cherished solitude? Accepting the transmission, Phaeron Aalim was taken aback to see Ankhenemkrat kneeling reverently in full armor. Gone was the casual rapport they often shared in private councils. This marked an official matter of state.

"A thousand apologies for the intrusion, great Phaeron. But our Watchers have confirmed urgent tidings - the Silent King stirs from eons of slumber beyond the galaxy. Even now, Szarekh's vast fleet returns at last to this galaxy."

Phaeron Aalim struggled to suppress the icy dread creeping through his mechanical body. After so long forgotten, Szarekh was returning just as mythology foretold, a harsh light broke the nightsky for a moment. Phaeron Aalim's revived dynasty might soon be imperiled again. "Your senses do not deceive you, my friend. Now leave me be, I must process this development in solitude." Phaeron Aalim swiftly closed the channel before Ankhenemkrat could respond. He needed time to strategize options, not pointless sentiment.

Finding a stone bench circled by alien bloodleafs, Phaeron Aalim sat motionless, opening his mind palace archives to previously sealed events...

There had been a time, youthful and foolish when Phaeron Aalim admired the legendary Szarekh as all Necrontyr did. Tales of the warrior king humbling almighty star gods captured imaginations everywhere. Even as a cousin, Phaeron Aalim was awed by Szarekh's mythic status. But ambition twisted kinship and camaraderie into bitter hatred once Szarekh took the silent mantle. Consumed by grand visions, mere family bonds meant little anymore to the indomitable sovereign. Their fateful meeting over biotransference laid bare Szarekh's hardened heart. Phaeron Aalim's desperate pleas won only hollow platitudes and calculation. That callous lesson forged Phaeron Aalim's ruthless pragmatism in the fires of betrayal.

In the long mournful ages that followed, he rebuilt with slow patience as Szarekh slumbered unknown, cultivating pawns and power from the ashes. Now all he had gained risked being stripped away by the resurgent king. Even Phaeron Aalim's clandestine sanctuary here may not escape Szarekh's wrathful scrutiny. Rousing himself from recollection, Phaeron Aalim analyzed the precarious situation. Open defiance was suicide, fealty possibly only delayed destruction. Could he broker some compromise or exploit division in Szarekh's court? Few options existed to avoid choosing between obliteration and chains. Perhaps carefully orchestrating a discrete exodus from the known galaxy could preserve some fragment of culture from what came next. But Phaeron Aalim refused to relinquish all so easily again without cunning resistance...

Walking the garden paths to crystallize his strategy, multi-dimensional permutations turned behind Phaeron Aalim's star-shard optics. The Ku'lai would need to be closely marshaled in the coming cycles. Fear must be tempered by belief in enduring celestial guardianship. He would consult trusted advisors on bolstering defenses without provocation. Surplus population and production capacity could be shifted off-world subtly. Seeds to regrow anew after the firestorm passed, if Phaeron Aalim failed to turn it aside completely.

The Silent King's shadow may eclipse Tianzza again before long, but Phaeron Aalim silently vowed it would not find easy prey. Let Szarekh's host grind against stalwarts posted with patient discipline. Attacks from darkness could be endured and deflected.

Rounding a bend, Phaeron Aalim froze. There surrounded by cypress-analogs was a corrosion-pitted statue of two figures - one regal in aspect cradling a child. His lost family. Even the gardens mocked him tonight. Had he failed them and all those who relied on his protection? Yes, but self-pity served nothing. Their memory demanded he continue resisting tyranny with every ounce of cunning. Phaeron Aalim approximated a deep synthetic breath, centering himself. The battle was not yet lost. He would play Szarekh's return to their advantage and secure Tianzza's dominion by any means. The Ku'lai believed utterly in their god-king's resilience. He must prove that faith is justified.

Stepping beyond the painful past's shadow, Phaeron Aalim exited the garden ready to wage a very different war. The Silent King may return from legend once more, but he would find far more than tombs awaiting his rude arrival...

Quitting the moonlit garden, Phaeron Aalim wandered slowly back through the shadowed colonnades and plazas surrounding the ancient palace. Once these avenues rang with music and laughter beneath the smiles of approving ancestors immortalized in stone. Now only his echoing footsteps responded to the lonely night breeze. In the towering library, he let his fingers trail across the scrolls and tomes gathered over countless campaigns. Here the finest minds decoded galactic enigmas or recounted deeds of heroes past. Now none remained who remembered those sagas save as data ghosts. Would the path of discovery brighten keen living minds here again? Or were knowledge and joy condemned to fade into darkness with his people?

Passing the sprawling treasure vaults, Phaeron Aalim remembered granting petitions for research funding that birthed astonishing innovation. The most creative artificers and theoreticians found patronage exempt from petty bureaucracy. Where were those visionaries now, their works turned to archival curiosities? In the ceremonial heart of the palace, banners commemorating mighty lost legions hung above silent martial courtyards that once drilled elite cadres. Battles long forgotten had birthed these proud traditions, though their blood-forged lessons spiraled unavoidably to conquest's zenith and nadir both.

Reaching the towering throne room doors inscribed with auspicious glyphs in jade and gold, Phaeron Aalim felt the eons settle around him. So much gained and possessed, now dust on a galactic wind. Were decay and inertia ordained to conquer all, until time itself ceased? Passing his fingers over the intricate throne, Phaeron Aalim recalled that first day he ascended as an untested ruler. The glittering nobles who jostled for influence, the advisors who guided with hard-learned wisdom - all transmuted to absent memories.

If the Silent King truly returned in reconciliation, might a flicker of Tianzza's lost radiance be rekindled? Could their lost flesh and passions be restored through secrets unlocked in ages apart? Phaeron Aalim dared allow a fragile ember of hope...

But suspicion echoed that Szarekh sought to reforge the old empire, not lives anew. The fire of feudal grandeur still burned within that ruler whose pride brought biotransference's ruin. If Phaeron Aalim stood defiant against renewed vassalage, would it only perpetuate this slow decay he so despised? Could he guide fragile Tianzza between the pitfalls of domination and decline? Let Szarekh come then, and Phaeron Aalim would answer with citadels forged from mourning into obsidian - unyielding yet not bereft of mercy. Perhaps their people could be reforged through unity, not coercion. There must be room left to color life's intricacies.

Redemption balanced on an obsidian blade's edge. But where hope flickered at all, it must be nurtured. The Silent King's virtues had once helped shield their people entirely. Phaeron Aalim would illuminate Szarekh's sight to forge bonds again worthy of that lost age's dream. Let the inevitable confrontation produce concord. As two mountain winds erode each other's rough edges into rolling foothills, so too could time's patient flow reveal the peaceful summit. Though the ascent imposed its costs, still the vision called. Until the last line faded, Phaeron Aalim would stand sentinel over the tomb and living memory alike, defying eternal night. Somewhere in the fathomless darkness, blossoms yearned for dawn. Purpose yet waited, change's cycle unbroken.

Therein lay wisdom, unto the end - to guide fragile souls through fear's fetters to destiny unbound. And briefly outshine the void. --- Epilogue As Phaeron Sun Wu Aalim's systems cycled down, vivid sensory data spontaneously coalesced...

He found himself walking jubilantly through sunlit palace corridors in the chiton robes of his distant youth. Looking down in awe, Phaeron Aalim saw small, soft hands - he was a boy again! His feet instinctively traced familiar pathways through tranquil gardens and whispering colonnades. Sun Wu felt giddy, relishing this impossible second chance at a carefree childhood. Soon he reached the secluded courtyard where Szarekh waited beneath a fragrant peach tree. But not the grim metal overlord of epochs past and future - this Szarekh was still fully organic, smiling indulgently as the beaming child hurried over.

Despite ruling all the Necrontyr, Szarekh still made time to visit his tiny provincial cousin, knowing Sun Wu adored their games and stories. It was a secret only they shared. "Have you been studying your battle strategies, young one?" Szarekh asked, gesturing to an intricate 3D Xiangqi board hovering between them with hundreds of tiny carved figures. "Yes, honorable Itoko!" Sun Wu nodded eagerly, savoring his cousin's praise. Szarekh was first and finest in all things marshall and intellectual. Sun Wu yearned to be like him one day.

As their match unfolded, Szarekh would pause to explain deeper tactics, welcoming Sun Wu's questions. Under his patient guidance, Sun Wu grew ever more skillful, beaming with pride when Szarekh complimented his improving abilities. Their debates touched on philosophy, statecraft, and hopes for the Necrontyr Empire. Szarekh always listened thoughtfully, taking Sun Wu's ideas seriously. "You see and articulate nuance well beyond your years, my bright star," he often said warmly. The golden afternoon hours slipped by all too quickly. Despite occasional flashes of genius, Sun Wu could not best his elder cousin's strategic mastery yet. But there was always next time. There would always be next time... There could always be next time.........

As the warm golden crimson sunset finally bathed the courtyard, Szarekh affectionately ruffled Sun Wu's braided hair.

"You learn so swiftly. Keep honing your singular talents, and I foresee you shall achieve great things one day. Unimaginable potential lies within you..."

Walking hand in hand back towards the palace, Sun Wu's heart swelled with joy. In this cherished moment, the future brimmed with promise and potential. Soon they would play again, and Sun Wu Aalim would demonstrate new tactics learned to make Szarekh proud...