The harsh klaxon of the wake-up call jolted Lilith from her uneasy sleep. As she rubbed the bleariness from her eyes, the events of the past week came rushing back. She was still here, in this grim future, trapped in the body of a frail orphan girl. With a quiet sigh, she swung her legs over the side of her cot and prepared to face another day in the Imperium of Man.

As she shuffled towards the washrooms with the other children, Lilith's mind churned with questions. The fragmentary knowledge she retained from her past life as Maverick nagged at her. She knew things about this universe—terrible, frightening things—that no one else here seemed to be aware of. But her knowledge was frustratingly incomplete.

During morning prayers, Lilith found her gaze drawn to the towering statue of the Emperor that dominated the orphanage's chapel. The golden figure loomed over the assembled children, its blank eyes seeming to stare directly into her soul. She mouthed the words of the prayer along with the others, but her heart wasn't in it. How could she genuinely worship a being she knew to be a corpse on a throne?

As the day's lessons began, Lilith resolved to seek out more information. When Sister Prudence paused for questions during their history lesson, Lilith raised her hand.

"Yes, child?" the augmented teacher acknowledged her.

Lilith swallowed hard, choosing her words carefully. "Sister, I was wondering... could you tell us more about the Emperor? About His... current state?"

A hush fell over the classroom. Sister Prudence's augmetic eyes whirred as they focused on Lilith. "The Emperor, blessed be His name, sits upon the Golden Throne on Holy Terra. For ten thousand years, He has guided humanity through the stars, His divine will our shield against the darkness."

Lilith pressed on, her curiosity overcoming her caution. "But how does He do that, exactly? If He's been on the throne for so long..."

Sister Prudence's expression hardened. "The Emperor's ways are beyond our mortal understanding, child. It is not for us to question, but to have faith." Her tone made it clear that the subject was closed.

Lilith slumped in her seat, frustration gnawing at her. She had hoped for real answers, not more dogma. As the lesson continued, she resolved to find another source of information.

During the midday meal—another unappetizing serving of corpse starch—Lilith approached one of the older orphans, a boy named Gareth who was known for his keen interest in Imperial history.

"Gareth," she said, sliding onto the bench beside him, "what do you know about our planet? About Armageddon?"

Gareth's eyes lit up at the chance to share his knowledge. Between mouthfuls of gruel, he regaled Lilith with tales of Armageddon's past. "It's a forge world," he explained, "crucial to the Imperium's war machine. But it's also a battleground. There have been three great wars here against the Orks."

Lilith listened intently, piecing together a picture of the world she now called home. A harsh, industrial planet, its surface scarred by endless warfare. Vast hive cities teeming with billions of souls, all laboring in service to the Imperium's endless hunger for resources and weapons.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"The last war was the worst," Gareth continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They say the Orks nearly overran everything. If it hadn't been for the Space Marines..."

Their conversation was cut short by the bell signaling the end of the meal period. As they filed out of the refectory, Lilith's mind reeled with the new information. She had known, in an abstract way, that this universe was one of constant war. But hearing about the battles that had raged across the very planet she stood on made it all terrifyingly real.

The afternoon's physical training was, as always, a trial for Lilith. Her frail body struggled to keep up with the demanding exercises. As she gasped for breath, her muscles burning with exertion, she couldn't help but wonder: in a world this harsh, this unforgiving, what chance did someone like her have?

That evening, as the other children settled into their evening routines, Lilith sought out Sister Mercy. She found the kindly nun in the small infirmary, tending to a boy who had injured himself during training.

"Sister," Lilith began hesitantly, "may I speak with you?"

Sister Mercy smiled warmly. "Of course, child. What's on your mind?"

Lilith took a deep breath. "I've been thinking about the Emperor. About faith." She paused, choosing her next words carefully. "How do you... how do you know that your faith is well-placed?"

The sister's smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of gentle concern. "Faith is a journey, Lilith. It's natural to have questions." She gestured for Lilith to sit beside her. "What troubles you?"

"It's just..." Lilith struggled to articulate her thoughts without revealing her impossible knowledge. "The Emperor has been on the Golden Throne for so long. How can we be sure He still... protects us?"

Sister Mercy was quiet for a long moment, her eyes distant. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "Look around you, child. Despite all the horrors that assail humanity, we endure. The Imperium stands, even in the face of unimaginable threats. Is that not proof of the Emperor's protection?"

Lilith frowned. "But couldn't that just be... I don't know, human resilience? Why does it have to be because of the Emperor?"

"Ah, Lilith," Sister Mercy sighed. "You have a questioning mind. That's not always an easy thing in our world." She reached out, gently squeezing Lilith's hand. "The universe is vast and full of terrors. Faith in the Emperor gives us strength to face those terrors. It unites humanity against the darkness that would consume us all."

Lilith nodded slowly, but inside, her doubts only grew. She knew the terrible truth—that the Emperor was a withered husk, sustained by the daily sacrifice of thousands of psykers. How could such a being truly protect anyone?

As she made her way back to the dormitory, Lilith's mind whirled with conflicting thoughts. She understood, on an intellectual level, why faith in the Emperor was so important in this grim, dark future. It provided hope, unity, a sense of purpose in a universe that seemed designed to crush the human spirit.

But could she bring herself to embrace that faith, knowing what she knew? Could she worship a corpse on a throne, no matter how powerful that corpse might once have been?

Lying in her cot that night, Lilith stared up at the vaulted ceiling, wrestling with these questions. Part of her—the part that had once been Maverick—rebelled against the very idea of such blind faith. But another part, the part that was Lilith, that lived in this harsh reality day after day, understood the allure of that faith.

In the end, she came to no firm conclusion. Perhaps, she thought, true faith wasn't about certainty. Maybe it was about choosing to believe in something greater than oneself, even in the face of doubt.

As she drifted off to sleep, Lilith's last conscious thought was a sort of prayer, though not one any Imperial priest would recognize:

"Emperor, if you're really out there, if you can really hear me... help me understand. Help me find my place in this universe. And if you can't... then give me the strength to find my own way."

In her dreams that night, Lilith stood before the Golden Throne. The desiccated figure upon it seemed to stare into her very soul. And though no words were spoken, she felt a sense of immense sadness, of a burden beyond imagining. She woke with tears on her cheeks, though whether they were for the Emperor or for herself, she couldn't say.

It was no lie that Lilith wanted to believe in something similar to a god whom that can provide miracles, after all, true hope is scarce in this grimdark universe.