Her journey is one of devotion beyond pride, of suffering beyond honor. Only two souls breathed in that silent chamber: Sister Roxy, stripped of everything but faith — and Priestess Verena, whose hands trembled despite decades of ritual calm. A member of the Adepta Sororitas, Roxy once stood tall in power armor, her voice rising in hymn as bolter fire thundered in righteous fury. In a universe where saints are carved from trauma and silence, Roxy’s sacrifice echoes as a brutal testament to the Imperium’s creed: **only in death does duty end**. Stripped of weapons, armor, and all outward signs of sanctity, Roxy became a living vessel. It is not glorious. But when Verena pressed her gloved hand to Roxy’s thigh and began the process — careful, slow, unforgiving — all pretense shattered. The Emperor’s wrath ignited anew. “We need to remove it.”
“Quietly,” she said. Just a kneeling woman, lit by a single beam of light, her hands on her belly, eyes raised in prayer.
