Source Node: Earth, Aotearoa Sector, Tongariro Uplink
Source Speaker: Kaumātua Hemi Te Auraki, of the Ngāti Ranginui Tribe
Event: Final Departure Blessing
Audience: The Grand Army of a Million Worlds
Broadcast Medium: All-Spectrum Relay (Cosmic, Thaumatic, Psychic, Quantum)
Recording Level: Eternal
Security Level: Absolute Public Release
Across the system, and beyond, the great departure had begun.
Fleets lifted from the orbital docks of Saturn, their engines burning cold blue against the rings. On the ancestral plains of the Centaurians, portal-gates shimmered, vast as oceans, swallowing legions of mounted warriors. In the quantum foam, probability-weavers aligned their consciousness, preparing to fold reality itself around the enemy. From over a million planets, realms, and dimensions, the final armada was moving toward the rendezvous point in the empty space where Lyrax held his throne. Every channel was open. Every mind was listening.
And into this moment of monumental, silent preparation, a single broadcast took precedence. It did not come from a command ship or a planetary defence council. It came from a small, green and blue world in the Sol system. The view on every screen, in every mind’s eye, resolved to a single figure standing on the dark, volcanic slopes of an ancient mountain, its snow-capped peak seeming, even now, to kiss the sky.
An old man, his face a beautiful map of time and experience, stood braced against the wind. A traditional cloak, a korowai woven not just with flax but with fibre-optic threads that pulsed with a soft inner light, was wrapped around his shoulders. He held a taiaha, a long, bladed fighting staff, but he leaned on it as a speaker leans on a lectern. Around his feet, his grandchildren, his mokopuna, sat watching him, their small hands clutching his korowai. They were the silent audience for a speech meant for trillions.
He looked into the universal lens, and he began.
TRANSCRIPT BEGINS
(The Elder speaks first in te reo Māori. The voice is deep, resonant, carrying the gravity of the mountain on which he stands. The translation appears simultaneously in the consciousness of every listener, a perfect counterpart to the ancient words.)
"Tīhei mauri ora!
Ki a koutou, e ngā tama, e ngā hāine, e ngā wairua o te tini o ngā ao. E ngā ringa raupā e pupuri ana i te rākau o te pakanga. E ngā hinengaro e here ana i te kaha o ngā whetū.
Ko Hemi Te Auraki tōku ingoa.
Kei te tū ahau i runga i te manawa o tōku maunga tapu, a Tongariro. Ka tuku atu ahau i te hau o tēnei whenua, te pūmanawa o Papatūānuku, ki a koutou katoa i te ātea nui.
He waka nui, he waka eke noa tō koutou. He moana whetū te moana e whakatere nei koutou. He ātāranga, he pōuriuri te hoariri. Kei te pirangi ia ki te muku i ō koutou ingoa, ki te muku i ō koutou moko, te tohu o te hunga nā wai koutou.
Kaua e tukua.
Ka pātai mai rātou, he aha te taonga nui o tēnei ao tukupū? He aha te mea e tiakina ana? Māku e kī atu.
He tāngata, he tāngata, he tāngata."
(He pauses, his gaze sweeping across his mokopuna before returning to the lens. He switches to the common tongue, his voice losing none of its power, only gaining a new layer of intimacy.)
"I call to the spark of life that burns in all of you.
To you, the sons, the daughters, the spirits of a million worlds. To the calloused hands that grip the weapons of war. To the minds that bind the power of the stars.
My name is Hemi Te Auraki.
I am standing on the heart of my sacred mountain, Tongariro, and I send the breath of this land, the essence of our Earth Mother, to all of you adrift in the great expanse.
Yours is a great canoe, a vessel for everyone. The ocean you navigate is one of stars, but the storm you face is one of shadow. An anchor of silence and sorrow. An enemy that wishes to erase your names from memory. It wants to scrape away your moko - the sacred patterns that tell the universe who you are and who you came from.
Do not let it.
They ask what we fight for amidst all this steel and all this strange science.
Source Speaker: Kaumātua Hemi Te Auraki, of the Ngāti Ranginui Tribe
Event: Final Departure Blessing
Audience: The Grand Army of a Million Worlds
Broadcast Medium: All-Spectrum Relay (Cosmic, Thaumatic, Psychic, Quantum)
Recording Level: Eternal
Security Level: Absolute Public Release
Across the system, and beyond, the great departure had begun.
Fleets lifted from the orbital docks of Saturn, their engines burning cold blue against the rings. On the ancestral plains of the Centaurians, portal-gates shimmered, vast as oceans, swallowing legions of mounted warriors. In the quantum foam, probability-weavers aligned their consciousness, preparing to fold reality itself around the enemy. From over a million planets, realms, and dimensions, the final armada was moving toward the rendezvous point in the empty space where Lyrax held his throne. Every channel was open. Every mind was listening.
And into this moment of monumental, silent preparation, a single broadcast took precedence. It did not come from a command ship or a planetary defence council. It came from a small, green and blue world in the Sol system. The view on every screen, in every mind’s eye, resolved to a single figure standing on the dark, volcanic slopes of an ancient mountain, its snow-capped peak seeming, even now, to kiss the sky.
An old man, his face a beautiful map of time and experience, stood braced against the wind. A traditional cloak, a korowai woven not just with flax but with fibre-optic threads that pulsed with a soft inner light, was wrapped around his shoulders. He held a taiaha, a long, bladed fighting staff, but he leaned on it as a speaker leans on a lectern. Around his feet, his grandchildren, his mokopuna, sat watching him, their small hands clutching his korowai. They were the silent audience for a speech meant for trillions.
He looked into the universal lens, and he began.
TRANSCRIPT BEGINS
(The Elder speaks first in te reo Māori. The voice is deep, resonant, carrying the gravity of the mountain on which he stands. The translation appears simultaneously in the consciousness of every listener, a perfect counterpart to the ancient words.)
"Tīhei mauri ora!
Ki a koutou, e ngā tama, e ngā hāine, e ngā wairua o te tini o ngā ao. E ngā ringa raupā e pupuri ana i te rākau o te pakanga. E ngā hinengaro e here ana i te kaha o ngā whetū.
Ko Hemi Te Auraki tōku ingoa.
Kei te tū ahau i runga i te manawa o tōku maunga tapu, a Tongariro. Ka tuku atu ahau i te hau o tēnei whenua, te pūmanawa o Papatūānuku, ki a koutou katoa i te ātea nui.
He waka nui, he waka eke noa tō koutou. He moana whetū te moana e whakatere nei koutou. He ātāranga, he pōuriuri te hoariri. Kei te pirangi ia ki te muku i ō koutou ingoa, ki te muku i ō koutou moko, te tohu o te hunga nā wai koutou.
Kaua e tukua.
Ka pātai mai rātou, he aha te taonga nui o tēnei ao tukupū? He aha te mea e tiakina ana? Māku e kī atu.
He tāngata, he tāngata, he tāngata."
(He pauses, his gaze sweeping across his mokopuna before returning to the lens. He switches to the common tongue, his voice losing none of its power, only gaining a new layer of intimacy.)
"I call to the spark of life that burns in all of you.
To you, the sons, the daughters, the spirits of a million worlds. To the calloused hands that grip the weapons of war. To the minds that bind the power of the stars.
My name is Hemi Te Auraki.
I am standing on the heart of my sacred mountain, Tongariro, and I send the breath of this land, the essence of our Earth Mother, to all of you adrift in the great expanse.
Yours is a great canoe, a vessel for everyone. The ocean you navigate is one of stars, but the storm you face is one of shadow. An anchor of silence and sorrow. An enemy that wishes to erase your names from memory. It wants to scrape away your moko - the sacred patterns that tell the universe who you are and who you came from.
Do not let it.
They ask what we fight for amidst all this steel and all this strange science.
What is the prize? What is the most important thing in this universe? Let me tell you now.
It is the people, it is the people, it is the people.
Look at my grandchildren. Look at these faces. This is what you carry into the dark. Not rage. Not glory. You carry the hope of morning. You carry the right to grow old. You carry the laughter of children on worlds you will never even see.
Every one of you, from the soldier in the trench to the pilot in the void to the silent priest who holds the line in the world of dreams, you are all our family. You are all our whānau. You are the guardians of every small, precious, and ordinary moment that this monster would devour.
So fill your hearts with the fire of a billion suns, but let your purpose be as clear and as cool as the water that runs from this mountain. Be brave. Be resolved. Have the guts to not only fight, but to remember why you fight.
Be the story our mokopuna, our children, will tell in the age of peace that follows.
Kia kaha. Kia māia. Kia manawanui.
Be strong. Be brave. Be steadfast.
Now go. "
It is the people, it is the people, it is the people.
Look at my grandchildren. Look at these faces. This is what you carry into the dark. Not rage. Not glory. You carry the hope of morning. You carry the right to grow old. You carry the laughter of children on worlds you will never even see.
Every one of you, from the soldier in the trench to the pilot in the void to the silent priest who holds the line in the world of dreams, you are all our family. You are all our whānau. You are the guardians of every small, precious, and ordinary moment that this monster would devour.
So fill your hearts with the fire of a billion suns, but let your purpose be as clear and as cool as the water that runs from this mountain. Be brave. Be resolved. Have the guts to not only fight, but to remember why you fight.
Be the story our mokopuna, our children, will tell in the age of peace that follows.
Kia kaha. Kia māia. Kia manawanui.
Be strong. Be brave. Be steadfast.
Now go. "
TRANSCRIPT ENDS
ADDENDUM – Attached from THE OBSERVER
The broadcast did not merely travel across the airwaves.
It was felt.
The sentient storm on Indra reported feeling a sudden warmth, the scent of wet earth and ancient trees. The strategists on the Saturn Belt felt the cold calculus in their minds soften, replaced by the faces of their own families. Aboard the flagship Indomitable, the last survivor of Kurin, a warrior who had not shed a tear since her world burned, touched her cheek and found it wet.
Hemi’s blessing did not give them new weapons. It reminded them of the one they already had. It straightened the spines of soldiers and firmed the grips on controls. It gave a name to the feeling in their hearts and a face to the future they were fighting to protect.
As the million fleets turned as one toward the shadow of Lyrax, the echo of the old man’s voice, the ancient Māori words and their modern translation, became a low, steady hum on every channel. It was the last thing they heard before the silence of the final approach.
It had become their own taiaha.
Hemi’s blessing did not give them new weapons. It reminded them of the one they already had. It straightened the spines of soldiers and firmed the grips on controls. It gave a name to the feeling in their hearts and a face to the future they were fighting to protect.
As the million fleets turned as one toward the shadow of Lyrax, the echo of the old man’s voice, the ancient Māori words and their modern translation, became a low, steady hum on every channel. It was the last thing they heard before the silence of the final approach.
It had become their own taiaha.