In a small conference room within the Spire District, three people sat at a table, two adults and one childlike figure.
Planetary Governor Dorothy personally poured them wine, taken from the confiscated cellars of fallen nobles.
"Lady Dorothy," Neoth called out to her as she was about to leave, "you may sit. This is a family gathering."
"But…" Unlike her admiration for Curze and Caelan, Dorothy was nervous before Neoth.
Neoth said gently: "Forgive me, but I know you; you are like a mother to Curze."
Curze nodded. "On this point, we are in agreement."
"Sit. Don't be afraid, Neoth is not a bad man." Caelan pulled Dorothy down beside him, and his reassurance calmed her.
Caelan knew how to begin properly. He leaned forward: "I'll ask first. What number is Curze?"
"Third."
"The first to be found was Horus?"
"Yes… and no."
"So Curze was the second?"
"Yes."
"And I taught Horus as well?"
"Yes."
"Alright, then I won't ask for details. Your turn." Caelan leaned back into his chair.
Neoth said softly, "I have nothing I need to ask. You may continue."
"Why isn't Horus here?"
"He waits for you on Terra." Neoth fell silent before answering, and Caelan even detected sorrow in his voice.
Curze narrowed his eyes. He already disliked this brother called Horus; he sounded like a pampered father's boy. Utterly distasteful.
"Caelan will not leave," Curze said, staring at the Emperor. "Our work is not yet done. Nostramo has not yet gained order!"
"I fully respect your choice, my son. But you must understand, the Great Crusade is necessary."
"I understand. But I will save humanity in my own way. Humanity needs a savior who can lead them out of the darkness, not a tyrant."
"That is your freedom."
The Emperor and Curze reached an accord, then silence fell. The conference room was as still as a tomb.
Dorothy lowered her head. 'Were they truly father and son?'
"What year is it now?" Caelan tried to ease the mood.
"The 813th year of the 30th millennium."
Caelan was stunned. "So much earlier… was this your doing?"
"That is what I should ask you."
"Didn't you come to find us?"
"Yes. But the changes in this world were caused by you," Neoth replied. "In the Dark Age of Technology, mankind mapped the entire galaxy's Warp routes in detail, and I possess that chart. But during the Age of Strife, massive Warp storms swept the galaxy, making such travel impossible.
"Though the storms have calmed now, the old routes no longer exist. Mankind must chart them anew. The route between Nostramo and Terra never existed before; it suddenly appeared five years ago. As if…"
"As if someone were urging you," Caelan muttered. "I did this? Then why don't I remember it?"
Neoth said nothing. He did not know if Caelan had done it, but it was certainly connected to him.
Curze also remained silent, because five years ago was when he and Caelan had first arrived on Nostramo.
Caelan arrived, and suddenly, a warp corridor spanning the galaxy was created. Curze didn't think it was a coincidence, though he didn't believe Caelan had done it either.
It felt more like someone was pushing the Emperor to come find them. But for what?
To tear him away from Caelan? To break them apart?
That was something Caelan would never want. Clearly, someone else was scheming against them.
They had only been together for five short years, yet someone could not even allow them that.
Curze's gaze turned ice-cold. 'Whoever you are, you'd best pray I never find you!'
"Five years…" Caelan was also deep in thought. He had been on Nostramo for five years, yet had left Terra sixty-three years ago.
He was certain Curze was the first Primarch he found. But the Emperor said he had taught Horus as well, meaning he must eventually go back to the past and teach Horus. Did that mean he could move freely through time?
'Am I really that damn strong?' Caelan thought. But if he was, why had he wasted five years on Terra chewing corpse-starch?
Dorothy lowered her head silently. A noble by birth, she had seen much, but she still could not understand half of what they said.
Caelan asked, "So when do I leave?"
Curze's head snapped up, eyes blazing at his father.
Neoth answered, "That depends on when you wish to go. I will not bind you."
Curze lowered his gaze again, as if nothing had happened.
Caelan didn't notice the shift, but Dorothy did.
Suddenly, she thought Curze was terrifying, not because he was a Primarch with superhuman power, but because of his emotions.
"Come, Curze," Caelan said, reaching to pat his shoulder. Though he couldn't reach, Curze humored him, pushing his chair back and crouching so Caelan could touch him.
Neoth watched this interaction in silence.
"Mother," Curze said, "notify Leon and the other warriors. I want to see them."
Dorothy nodded, sneaking a glance at Neoth's face.
Curze had once said she could be like a mother to him, but he had never actually called her Mother, until now.
Dorothy's instincts were sharp when it came to children's feelings. She knew at once: Curze had said it deliberately, for Neoth to hear. As if to say: We three are happy together. Please don't disturb us.
Neoth said nothing, rising to follow as though he hadn't noticed the barb.
Though being called "Mother" made Dorothy happy, she also knew her place in Curze's heart was far below Caelan's. If she ever tried to take Caelan away, even briefly, Curze would turn against her, even though he called her Mother.
The Eighth Legion, ten thousand warriors, stood as if cast from iron, their armor glinting cold beneath the glow of starship engines.
They had no names. No legionary emblem.
On their left shoulders, the Imperial Aquila; on the right, the numeral VIII.
The Imperium had twenty Legions, but only their Primarch had the right to name them.
Most Legions bore names given by others, nicknames like the Corpse Grinders or the War Born.
Some were honored with names from the Emperor himself, like the Luna Wolves, the Imperial Heralds, or the War Hounds.
But the Eighth had nothing. No famed strategies, no renowned victories, nothing that earned them a title. They were simply the Eighth Legion.
Now, at last, their Primarch stood before them.
Konrad Curze looked upon the sons he had never seen before.
And he spoke quietly, "Kneel."
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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