Pulse of the Imperium

The central pyramid of Hypatea, recognisable by teal-blue radiation insulation coating it. Like the others, its construction is robust, combining local and imported construction materials, though the aesthetic dominant is carved limestone. It hosts the planetary government and is the residence of House Ptolemaios. Its interiors are vast and diverse. Lower levels are accessible from the ground, higher ones seem to be only reachable via narrow ornithopter bays. It is extremely easy to get lost in the labyrinth of corridors twisting and turning in all three dimensions. Those who are not the pyramid's regulars have very little chance to navigate it without a guide. The typical random encounter here is with a house guard, a bureaucrat, or a servant.

Below, you can find detailed descriptions of some specific locations within the pyramid.

Dikastērion Theías Sophías

The Dikastērion Theías Sophías, or the Court of Divine Wisdom, lies deep within the heart of the Areteion pyramid, a chamber carved from the limestone of Harmonthep and polished to a quiet, matte sheen. The room is entered through a narrow, triangular cleft at the base of a vast relief carved into the inner shell of the pyramid: the stylised form of the great Qaraa bird. This fissure between tail feathers marks the public threshold, a symbolic crossing from the outer world into the belly of judgement, where truth and power entwine.

Upon entering, visitors find themselves in a subdued antechamber, dimly lit by glowglobes concealed in slits high in the walls. Here, two great stone pillars—sculpted as the bird’s legs—divide this threshold space from the sanctum beyond. Between them stand armed guards clad in ceremonial armour of dark lacquer and copper inlay, their posture watchful. They embody the filtering power of the state: only those summoned or favoured may pass into the full presence of the Archon. The floor is smooth limestone veined with faint mineral greens, the marks of ancient seabeds — a subtle nod to the deep history and layered sediment of Harmonthep’s authority.

Beyond the leg-pillars lies the vault proper: a wide hall enfolded by the massive, arching wings of the Qaraa relief. They rise in a semi-dome from the sides of the chamber, etched across the upper walls and ceiling, feather by feather inlaid with opalescent mother-of-pearl — mostly teal, with shifting hues of jade and violet, shimmering softly as light glances across them. Copper filigree outlines the feather structure, burnished to reflect with the warm blush of aged gold. Between each wing rib, the stone has been smoothed and treated with a pale mineral glaze, suggesting the soft underlight of a sky on the verge of rain.

Above the vault’s central axis, a heavy rib—sculpted as the Qaraa’s outstretched body—runs the length of the ceiling, thickening toward the dais. Here the carved form rears back, and the stylised neck of the bird arches dramatically overhead, its head tilted down and forward, its great opalescent eyes inlaid with smoky Hagal quartz and gold, fixed upon the space below. These eyes my or may not conceal discreet observation chambers within the thick stone.

The focal point of the chamber is the raised dais nested beneath the arch of the curved beak. Here sits the Archon's throne, cradled in the sculpted interior where the bird's tongue would lie. The throne itself is a marvel of malachite quartz carved with marshland patterns. Behind it, the beak's open curve glows with reflected light, obscuring a hidden egress.

Every element of the chamber communicates the same layered message: that rulership is natural, hierarchical, and divinely patterned. The Archon does not merely sit atop a political machine—they are enthroned at the heart of a vast living order, fed and sustained by the labour and belief of all beneath. The Qaraa, whose real-life form spreads nourishment across the declining world, becomes here an instrument of control and spectacle. Just as moss pearls pass through the bird with the clams it consumes, so must all appeals, decisions, and supplications pass through the Archon. From tail to beak, from petition to judgement, the chamber is a living allegory of discernment through digestion. For those vested with knowledge of ancient lore, even more can reveal itself about the symbolic origins of the place, all the way back to a long-forgotten deity called Thoth.

Within this political space, theatre and theology merge. The voice of power does not thunder; it echoes, cool and measured, from polished limestone and opal feathers.

Heliophagos

Rising from the unseen foundations to the sealed apex of the Aretaion, the Heliophagos is a vertical shaft of shielded greenery—a sun-fed spinal cord threading the entire height of the pyramid, from which horizontal passages branch like nerves at irregular intervals. From the exterior, it is utterly invisible. From within, it is glimpsed only in fragments: a slivered conservatory glimpsed through a stone lattice, a vaulted grove observable behind a sealed archway, or a fleeting blur of verdant terraces flashing past the transparent wall of a moving lift.

At its summit, far above the known public chambers, a pale crown of translucent quartz admits filtered sunlight into the uppermost layers of the spire. This light suffuses the shaft in shifting hues—golden at morning, greenish near midday, steel-blue by dusk—sustaining an ecosystem unlike any other on Harmonthep. The air within the Heliophagos is subtly distinct: humid, ion-rich, laced with spores and drifting motes of faint bioluminescence.
Below, as sunlight is refracted downward through an ingenious array of mirrored conduits—and eventually replaced by glowglobes deeper still—plant life diverges from Harmonthep’s rugged norm. The bioscape grows increasingly diverse and unfamiliar. Delicate vines trail over elevated walkways. Meadow terraces fringe the edges of still pools veiled in perpetual mist. Some sectors seem carefully cultivated, perhaps even ceremonial in character. Others feel feral, left untended for decades. Each tier appears to follow a distinct vision of cultivation—climatic, symbolic, or perhaps personal.
The Heliophagos also houses the main vertical transport systems of the Aretaion. Elevators pass through this living spine, offering passengers shifting vistas of foliage that stretch into unseen vaults and capillary tunnels. Travellers often report a sense of mild disorientation, as if the spire's geometry subtly resists being memorised. No map of the Heliophagos is considered definitive—assuming any exist at all.
Some claim the Heliophagos predates the pyramid’s current form, originally designed as an open-air hanging garden structured along a stepped ziggurat. But Harmonthep’s harsh conditions and unfiltered solar radiation made such ambitions unsustainable. The current pyramid may be a later enclosure, sealing the garden within a self-contained biome, safeguarding it from the very world it once hoped to transform.

Its true purpose remains a subject of speculation. Was it an incubator for an ecosystem that failed to adapt beyond its glass horizon? A living archive of evolutionary candidates, assembled in hope of enriching the planet’s hostile ecology? Or has it always been an artefact of prestige—an ostentatious claim to dominion over life, space, and nature? Some whisper that its greatest value lies not in its flora, but in what it conceals: the hidden arteries of the Aretaion, masked by vines and silence.
While limited sections of the gardens are accessible to residents and visiting dignitaries, the greater complex remains off-limits to all but a chosen few—those the Ptolemaioi trust implicitly. Maintenance falls to a discreet corps of stewards, operating under the authority of Lady Salomea, who inherited the post from another Sister before her. For centuries, the Bene Gesserit have regarded the Heliophagos as theirs—less a sanctuary than a domain.