Some fathers meet their sons and kneel to them. Some fathers meet their sons and make them kneel.
"Kneel."
Curze's voice was calm, almost as if he were negotiating. There was no force, no threat, just a simple statement of fact. But the warriors of the Eighth Legion were not naive enough to believe their gene-father was merely asking. The dull thud striking the floor became a rhythm of cold reverence, echoing as one. They knelt without hesitation, not out of fear or coercion, but to offer their father the highest respect.
Neoth looked at Caelan, as if to say, "So this is how you taught my son?"
Caelan ignored him. He trusted Curze.
"Why do I have you kneel?" Curze asked.
The warriors of the Eighth looked at each other, none daring to answer.
"Because you are our gene-father," one finally said, bowing his head.
"Raise your head." Curze stepped before him. "Tell me your name."
He already knew the name from visions of the future, but his son deserved the honor of speaking it himself.
"Fel Zharost," the warrior answered proudly.
"Stand. All of you."
Ten thousand servos whined in unison as the armored giants rose, gazes locked on their father with anticipation.
"Now, kneel to them." Curze pointed at the assembled Midnight Phantoms.
The Eighth froze in shock. They were Astartes, warriors of the Emperor, commanded to kneel before mortals. Yet if their father ordered it, then kneel they must.
Bang!
Thuds struck the deck again, sharp and decisive.
"Zharost, tell me why."
Fel Zharost bowed his head. "Because when we were absent, it was they who fought at your side. This honor belongs to them."
At once, the resentment in the Eighth dissolved. Yes… They had been gone. Their father must have suffered greatly in those years. These mortals had stood beside him, and it was through them that he was found again. By all reason and feeling, they deserved their gratitude.
"You were born in prisons, called the Night's Children. All of you are descended from convicts."
Zharost went pale, and unease rippled through the ranks. Compared to other Legions, their origins were hardly noble. Was their father condemning their bloodline as a stain on his Legion's honor?
If so, they would accept death to cleanse it, so long as his wrath did not touch the Imperium, for surely the Emperor had not intended this.
"But who built those prisons?" Curze asked, answering himself. "The warlords of Terra, my father's enemies. Your ancestors became prisoners because they defied those warlords' laws. You were born into darkness and death, forced to survive as you could. That is not your fault. Yet every one of you has sinned, even if only to live."
He pointed to Leon, then to the other mortals. "And so have they."
The Eighth were stunned. 'Then why kneel?'
"You kneel to them not because they deserve honor, but because of your arrogance. When you came into this world, I saw only pride and contempt in your eyes. Zharost, why did my father begin the Great Crusade?"
"For humanity's unification."
"To shield mankind from the galaxy's darkness," Curze corrected. "You are noble Astartes, stronger, faster, longer-lived than mortals. You swore fealty to my father, fought for all mankind, and claimed glories beyond mortal comprehension. Yet it seems no one ever told you, you are also human."
The Astartes lowered their heads, ashamed.
From anyone else, they would have scoffed. But from Curze, every word struck true.
"I am your gene-father. You call me Father. But never forget, you each had mortal parents. They may have been weak, or great, or worthless. You are noble Astartes; they are fragile mortals, unequal in strength or status. Yet still, I wish you to remember: we are all human."
"I had you kneel, because I am your father."
"You knelt to me because I am your father."
"You knelt to them because you needed to repent for your arrogance."
"And now, " Curze dropped to one knee. "I kneel to you, to apologize for my own arrogance."
The Eighth trembled. They scrambled to lift their father, but they, too, were kneeling, bound by his command. Only then did they realize, he had ordered them to kneel so they could not stop him from kneeling before them.
Curze's action left the Midnight Phantoms stunned. One by one, they too sank to one knee, as if to honor not only Curze, but these Astartes willing to repent.
Even Dorothy hesitated to kneel until Caelan caught her arm, keeping her upright. Only the three of them remained standing.
"Kneeling is not only an apology, it is respect," Curze said, head held high even as he knelt. "They kneel because they respect you. Your origins may be unclean, but your sacrifices for humanity are the eternal monument of the Eighth."
"And I hope you will do the same."
"They are mere mortals, yet they bled for my cause, for the justice and order I seek."
This time, when the Eighth looked at the mortals kneeling to them, there was no pride left in their eyes. Whatever their station, whatever their might, they were all human.
If even their father would kneel for this truth, what right had they to resist?
"I see the answer in your eyes. Now we kneel together, not from arrogance or apology, but from respect. Though we may not yet know one another, we still honor each other's sacrifices for humanity."
Curze rose slowly. Without his command, both Midnight Phantoms and the Eighth rose together. That too was respect.
"Everyone yearns for the sun. So do I." Curze gestured toward Caelan and the others, though none knew whom he meant.
"The sun drives away darkness, but it cannot destroy it. Darkness fears the sun's light and hides deeper still."
"We were all born in darkness, and we live in shadow. But Caelan once told me of ancient Terra, of men who called themselves a brotherhood. They shielded humanity from the darkness."
"'We work in the dark to serve the light' was their creed. They were guardians, unseen, unremembered heroes."
"That age of glory is gone. Darkness watches from where the sun cannot reach. Humanity needs a new brotherhood. That is your mission. That is your name."
"The Night Lords."
"We rule the night. We hunt the dark. We yearn for the light. We guard humanity. We uphold justice. We preserve order!"
"My sons!" Curze threw wide his arms, his voice crashing like thunder. "Will you follow me? Will you lay down your lives for my cause?"
The Eighth Legion, ten thousand Night Lords, dropped to one knee as one.
Their roar split the heavens, "By night we swear it! A thousand deaths without regret!"
.....
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