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You access the memory banks Pheonix gives you access to, the ones the Interface had hidden away.

The Nobility executed the King of the Rimward stars, your sire. They charged you with a great task. The Great Plague burned across the galaxy, devouring and corrupting worlds, stars, fleets. Anything and everything it could reach. You and your siblings were charged with a task that would mean certain death for your Line. You and your siblings accepted the duty, accepted the Nobility's capital ship, and set about purging the worlds in your path of the Plague.

Many of your siblings succumbed to the Infection in the battles that came. Some were lucky enough to have their essence collected, lucky enough to rejoin the Line. Some were not so lucky.

The skies above worlds streaked with fire as you and the Eldest did battle with another of your infected siblings. You struck him down, but not before he cleaved you apart with stolen light.

Your Brother, however, collected your essence, and while you died, your will lived. It strengthened him, and all the other heirs of Sol. You kindled a burning hatred of the Plague within them -- and of the Nobility who assigned you such a task.