Aboard the Dawn Angel, Brunhilde shut down the dragon-shaped magical artifact known as the Dragon King's Heart Talisman. It was a family heirloom of the imperial family, bestowed only upon the Eight Electors and imperial family members who had attained the rank of marshal.
She put the artifact away and withdrew her mind from the mysterious communication channel formed by the psychic tide, gradually calming her emotions.
This dimensional communication, achieved entirely through psychic means and the power of a magical artifact, across the dimensions of the warp, was less some kind of high-tech instant messaging and more a form of telepathy in the mystical sense.
It could only be activated once every forty-eight hours, and its duration and clarity depended entirely on the psychic's physical and mental stamina.
In the past, Brunhilde hadn't liked this method of communication at all.
A three-minute call followed by two hours out of commission? Its value for money was so poor it was like the era of brick phones. Unless it was a life-or-death emergency, who the hell would use it?
Besides, the spirit of the universe had always been rather fond of Miss Brunhilde. In the first twenty-odd years of her life, she hadn't encountered a single truly urgent crisis.
Of course, things were different now.
Perhaps King Soren had been right: Brunhilde was the one most beloved by the spirit of the universe and the Dawn Dragon, the chosen one. War—only all-out war, with entire star rivers burning—could provide the nourishment she needed to grow.
The young Queen Sulica, Brunhilde, was a born god of war. She was destined to attain the side of Truth through war, then, as a matter of course, don the Crown of the Void.
...So what kind of Chaos god was this, exactly? Brunhilde's mouth twitched.