When the Shadow-class Stormbird was still two kilometers above the surface of Tizca, one of the city's busy workers looked up and noticed the shadow looming in the sky.
A few seconds later, recognition turned to horror; it was the eternal nightmare: the Psychneueins.
The psykers screamed in terror, panic rippling through the streets as they scattered in every direction.
At that moment, Amon, Magnus's most trusted Magister Templi, was overseeing the construction of New Tizca in his master's absence, while Magnus dealt with the crisis afflicting his sons.
Amon reacted instantly. He sprinted toward the descending black aircraft.
Looking up, he immediately saw what hung beneath it, a net carrying several creatures with folded wings.
Six thin limbs bound by metallic rings dangled weakly from the mesh.
They were the same terrifying beings that had slaughtered several of his apprentices and implanted invisible eggs into the minds of many others, the dreaded Psychneueins.
Instinctively, Amon clenched his fists. Every nightmare of his life, both real and illusory, had begun with that haunting, piercing buzz.
But unlike the terrified citizens of Tizca, Amon did not panic. He could see faint glimpses of the future, and he sensed no burning warning in his mind.
He knew, with complete certainty, that the three captured Psychneueins were unconscious.
He also recognized the aircraft's insignia: it belonged to their guest, the Order's Shadow, Lord Nareth.
Frowning slightly, Amon wondered to himself, 'Why would Lord Nareth capture Psychneueins?
Moments later, the Shadow-class Stormbird landed.
Amon approached the giant, who stepped off the ramp and said sternly,
"Lord Nareth, those Psychneueins you've captured are no pets. They are monsters, the very creatures that destroyed Prospero's civilization."
"Amon, I know how dangerous they are," Nareth replied gravely. "But defense alone is never a lasting solution."
Amon froze, startled.
'Not defend against them, but hunt them?'
He was about to question further when he noticed Nareth's gaze shift behind him. A vivid image flashed in Amon's mind.
He turned around and saw thousands of crimson-armored figures filling the streets of Tizca.
Most of the Thousand Sons had no memory of their arrival on Prospero. They had been placed in stasis fields to prevent the flesh-change from spreading further through their bodies.
Even powerful psykers like Azhek Ahriman had succumbed to delirium as they fought to suppress the mutations within.
In Ahriman's blurred memory, he recalled the Primarch Nareth boarding their flagship to aid them, and how the Shadows of Order had not been infected despite direct contact with them.
He remembered up to the fourth day after Nareth's arrival, when he had last listened to an Apothecary's report; after that, only the endless struggle against his own flesh consumed him.
'I remember… that gentle voice that pulled me from the darkness, my father's voice, calm and warm, soothing his dying sons.'
Ahriman's gauntlet brushed the silver oak leaf embedded in his armor, a token from Ormuzd.
The flesh-change had completely destroyed Ormuzd's body. He could not be saved.
Ahriman forced himself to suppress the grief. As his brothers looked around curiously, Hathor Maat's gaze remained sharp and clear.
He and a handful of others who had not succumbed to mutation still possessed their memories because of Nareth's miraculous power.
Out of the corner of his eye, Maat glanced toward his gene-father, Magnus.
Few knew the price Magnus had paid; he had warned all who were aware to keep silent.
But Maat knew the truth: to save the thousand surviving sons, Magnus had sacrificed his right eye.
'A thousand lives… Then truly, we are the "Thousand Sons."'
'But if so, why did the Emperor name us that long before we ever reached Prospero?'
'Did He foresee our suffering, and that Magnus would save exactly one thousand of us?'
Maat felt both sorrow for his father's loss and awe at the eerie design of fate.
Ahriman's words echoed in his mind:
"There are no coincidences in this world."
'If one day the flesh-change returns… will Father sacrifice his other eye? Or will even he be powerless to stop it?'
As these fearful thoughts crossed his mind, Maat saw the black-armored giant, and his eyes gleamed.
'No… it wasn't Magnus who saved me. It was my Lord.'
'Without Him, I might have died before ever reaching Prospero, and he paid almost no price to do so.'
Maat couldn't help but compare Nareth's and Magnus's sacrifices.
In his heart, he preferred to believe that Nareth had been the one to save him, so that he would not feel guilty for serving his master over his father.
Nareth's gaze swept across the assembled Thousand Sons. Their expressions revealed both relief and sorrow, survivors haunted by trauma.
'None of them, not even Magnus, know that the flesh-change has only been temporarily halted.'
'Even before the Burning of Prospero, when their numbers peaked at eighty-five thousand, they thought they were cured, but the mutation merely slumbered within them.'
His eyes paused briefly on Maat, the one he had "corroded" into loyalty.
'Maat is not only the captain of the Third Fellowship but also the Magister Templi of the Pavoni cult, one of the Legion's five major disciplines.'
'His command surpasses other captains', with at least ten thousand under him.'
'He and Ahriman and Amon are three of the eight captains who survived the Burning of Prospero, though now he commands barely a hundred followers.'
'Yes… perhaps I can find a way to bring him and some of his loyal men out when the time comes.'
Nareth knew that after the Council of Nikaea, Magnus had ordered all forces to return to Prospero, but several Thousand Sons detachments were still scattered across the galaxy.
The Ninth Fellowship, along with its captain, had been massacred, two thousand slain by their supposed allies, the Space Wolves.
The Fourth Fellowship, about five thousand strong, also never made it home, which was why only eight captains resisted when the Wolves invaded.
'Given that, perhaps I can arrange for Maat to lead some loyal warriors away.'
'As Magister Templi and Captain, he commands devotion. Those who are not loyal, I can always… "corrode"'
'Better to follow me than to die by wolves or fall to Chaos.'
Lost in thought, Nareth finally turned to Magnus and asked in feigned surprise,
"Magnus… your right eye, what happened to it?"
Before Nareth even spoke, Magnus had already foreseen the question. His psychic field expanded, forming a barrier of silence around them.
"To save my sons," Magnus said calmly, "I paid a small price."
"I do not want them to know. It would only make them feel guilty."
"A small price," Nareth replied meaningfully, though in his mind he thought:
'Part of the reason, of course, is that you don't want them to suspect your pact with Tzeentch.'
'The more they know, the more they might foresee. Perhaps no one else could piece it together, but Ahriman might.'
'He'll likely use his psychic mastery to erase the memories of those who remember he once had two eyes. After all, the loss is quite visible.'
Ahriman had long tried to uncover how Magnus had saved them, and found nothing.
That could only mean Magnus had deliberately hidden it.
Nareth knew others had done the same.
In M31.869, after the battle to conceal the dark secrets of Moloch, the Emperor had personally erased the memories of those who fought beside him: Horus Lupercal, Lion El'Jonson, Fulgrim, and Jaghatai Khan.
"It was worth it," Magnus said at last, smiling. His single eye shone like a jewel. "Please, keep this between us."
"Very well," Nareth agreed.
Magnus dissolved the psychic barrier, his gaze shifting into a bright blue glow.
"I heard from Ahriman," Magnus said, "that you advised Father to establish the Librarius.
I believe we will have many things to discuss."
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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