Eminence Reaves looked out his window at the plaza below, the glasscrete pane reflecting his age-worn, but not unkindly, visage over the assembled. They’d packed in every space at the High Governor’s Palace, spirits high with celebration. Reaves even heard a few spontaneous attempts at Beautiful Adriactus, Gem of the Stars.

They were there to celebrate, yes, but more so to share a moment: High Governor Reaves’ final public appearance.

Reaves shuffled away from the window, back to the cluttered desk. How many years of his life had been spent there in aggregate, he wondered, serving the needs of the people? 

The people of Adriactus, his people.

And now, that service had come to an end.

A knock on the door startled Reaves. ‘Five minutes,’ came the voice. Gruff, insistent. Rude.

Five more minutes, then to stand before the people one last time. One last address.

An end to a lifetime of service.

And what a lifetime it had been, he thought. Nearly three centuries of compliance since the Emperor’s glorious Legions had alighted on their world, embracing them into a grand commonwealth of all humanity. A reunion with the cradle of mankind; how much larger the universe became on that fateful day.

Reaves felt a pang of regret, knowing he would not see the coming tricentennial. His bones were old, sure, but his soul felt older. If the people now longed for new leadership, a new direction, fresh ideas, or a return to the romanticised and longed-for virtues of the past. Years ago, he might have been more dismissive, but in his twilight, he wondered from time to time if perhaps there wasn’t some merit in allowing a ruled people to have a say- however advisory- in their own destiny.

And wasn’t this a time for destiny? Word of the Warmaster’s rebellion had held the planet in a fever grip. As the Legions clashed across the stars, what fate for the planets of the Imperium?

Some planets responded by tacking ever more fervently towards the Emperor’s bosom. Others… Reaves didn’t want to think about that. Pleasant thoughts only for his last day in office, it would be his successor’s turn to grapple with the questions of sovereignty and loyalty, peace and stability in a universe that had suddenly become anything but.

Reaves took a calming breath. He’d always known that when the end of his service came, it would be hard to let go of. It was all he’d ever had; he just hadn’t expected the end to come quite so soon. Another decade, yes. I think I’d have liked to have overseen the tricentennial.

But those were wistful thoughts.

The door opened. Dettmark, the new Chief of Security, stood in the doorway. ‘Let’s go.’

The corridor to the grand stairwell was lined with portraits of the different Governors whose privilege it had been to guide the world through its destiny. He stumbled once, his attention distracted as he passed the stern and craggy face of Boaz Reaves, his great-grandfather, who had steered the planet through the first sixty years of compliance. Dettmark’s hand was out, but he waved it off.

He reflected on what his great-grandfather must have been like. The many regions of Adriactus were united above all by one thing, a love of being left alone. Swearing fealty to an Emperor they had never met had given the regions a common a cause for the first time in memory, and navigating those rough waters had taken all Boaz Reaves had in him.

He passed his grandfather’s portrait, then his father’s, then his. Much younger, of course.

The doors were opened at the far end of the hall, the noise of the crowd again cutting through his thoughts. There was cheering, and where there was cheering there was singing. And being a boisterous people, with singing, surely, there was dancing: a festive occasion, this changing of the guard.

Guards held the doors open as Dettmark escorted him down the stairs and out onto the terrace. At the sight the cheers of the crowd became almost deafening, their moment of farewell to a long-standing servant of the people nigh.

A scaffolded platform beckoned, and Dettmark helped Reaves ascend the steps. Another stumble, the Chief of Security grabbed hold of the frail governor to help steady him. Reaves collected himself, thanking him.

At the top Reaves turned and faced the crowd. General Anson held up his hand to the assembled, who immediately began to quiet. Anson stood before a voxcaster with a confident, jubilant smile.

‘Brothers and sisters of Adriactus,’ he began, ‘I see you. Those of you coming from the prairies of Enadress to those who call the shores of the mighty Finstuelle home, I see you. From the tundra of the Falatine to the mighty Anastock Mountains, and all of you in between, I see you!’ The crowd had begun to buzz again, Reaves hearing another fleeting chorus of Beautiful Adriactus making its way through the noise.

Anson called for silence.

‘Indeed, today, it is our day to be seen. Us, the people of all the world, as we look as one to the sky and shout, we were a free people once, and we are a free people once more!’

The crowd erupted. Reaves winced; he’d never known the plaza could get so loud. It was time.

The general, smart in his national reds, stepped across, fixing Reaves with a questioning look. He nodded. Reaching to the back of the scaffold, Anson unhooked a noose and fixed it around Reaves’ neck.

The crowd went still as the general checked the fit. Reaves had not been an unkind shepherd, only an obstinate one, and deserved the dignity and mercy that came with a job well done.

Silent now, the plaza, as Anson and Dettmark stepped back off the platform’s trapdoor. Reaves cleared his throat and filled his lungs.

‘FOR THE EMPER-’

The trapdoor dropped, the governor’s frail form falling through. 

As the rope snapped taut, the singing and dancing began once more.