A river flowed with a gentle gurgle.
The crisp, rustling sound of running water was like a never-ending melody, lingering low and soft through the woods.
It sounded so pleasant, so moving—like an ancient and tender language whispering softly to some unseen existence.
Someone slowly opened his eyes.
He looked around in confusion, his pupils reflecting an unfamiliar scene he had never witnessed before.
Or perhaps, one with a subtly strange sense of familiarity?
Time was slipping by.
He could perceive every passing minute and second, yet felt bewildered amidst this flow, as if having just awakened from a wonderful, prolonged slumber.
Finally.
He was finally able to see his surroundings clearly.
Gigantic trees stood tall and erect, their massive trunks rising like the pillars of a grand temple. Gnarled roots dug deep into the soil, exposed like the very veins of the earth.
Thick canopy layers intertwined over each other, slicing the sky into countless fragmented pieces.
Shadows were omnipresent in this deep, dark forest—heavy, oppressive, as though maneating beasts lurked behind every tree, staring at the intruder with invisible eyes.
Why did such a vivid metaphor spring into my mind?
The traveler felt somewhat puzzled.
He slowly stepped to the edge of the stream, leaning down to gaze at the water's surface.
The stream was as clear as a mirror, reflecting a face with sharp, deeply etched features.
High cheekbones like carved blades, a jawline as if chiseled by an axe—his entire face resembled a marble statue of an ancient Roman general.
Amidst his short, graying hair, a few faint traces of gold still lingered. That gold had lost its former glory, yet stubbornly refused to fade away completely.
His lips were pressed tightly into a thin line, his face stern and unsmiling, even faintly exuding a suspicious, wild temperament.
The traveler stared at the reflection in the water for a long time.
This face—was it himself?
He couldn't confirm it.
He couldn't remember.
Something was churning within his mind, like hidden currents swirling beneath the surface of the water.
He wouldn't get any answers by staying like this.
So, he stood up and began to trek through the forest.
The traveler walked slowly, following the flow of the small river.
His combat boots treaded upon the soft humus, making dull, crushing sounds.
Time passed, yet he could barely feel it—it was as though in this place, time itself had become a vague and uncertain concept.
But soon.
Or perhaps after a very long time.
Or perhaps after an eternity.
He saw a lake.
The forest came to an abrupt halt where the stream merged into the lake, and his view opened up dramatically.
The lake surface was as calm as a mirror, reflecting the gray cloud layer that had appeared in the sky at some point. A faint mist hung over the place where the water met the sky.
And on that smooth surface of the lake, a person was fishing.
Clad in a black robe and wearing an ornate crown, he sat in a small wooden boat. He held a long, thin fishing rod, its line dangling straight down into the water.
The angler's face was ruddy and full of vibrant vitality, resembling a king in his prime taking a leisure stroll out of his palace. A few strands of long hair peeked from the edge of his black hood, dark as the night.
However, beneath the angler's feet—under the surface of the lake—four twisted shadows were struggling furiously.
They tumbled, wrouched, and collided with one another, yet uttered no sound whatsoever.
It was as if the water's surface separated an entire world; beneath that transparent, impassable boundary, they fell into madness.
They were in agony, like four fish whose lips had been pierced by hooks.
They were enraged, yet clearly powerless against the king who sat peacefully fishing upon the lake.
The traveler froze.
"Who are you? What is this place?!"
He roared loudly toward the king.
The king merely cast a calm glance at him.
Then, the king casually remarked, "You're awake."
Where is this?
Before the question could leave his mouth, a beast-like instinct in his heart had already made the decision for him.
Go over there.
Get close to him.
Ask clearly.
Without a single shred of hesitation, the traveler leaped into the water.
The icy lake water instantly wrapped around his entire body, but he cared nothing for it.
His arms parted the water, swimming toward the small wooden boat with staggering strength and speed.
The process went so smoothly that even the traveler himself felt a bit surprised.
As he swam, those twisted shadows underwater seemed to notice his presence, and one shadow began to drift toward him.
Just then, the king sitting on the boat simply flicked his fishing rod calmly a few times.
The fishing line drew a graceful arc over the water, and the hook fell back into the lake, hovering precisely above the heads of those shadows.
Thus, the shadows had no choice but to turn back and abandon their pursuit of him, resuming their back-and-forth spinning in place as if firmly tethered by an invisible chain.
Even judging solely by their movements, it wasn't hard to tell they were thoroughly infuriated.
Finally, a hand covered in a metallic gauntlet reached out from the water, firmly gripping the gunwale of the small wooden boat.
The boat swayed slightly, then immediately regained its stability.
Evidently, though it appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary wooden vessel, it possessed extraordinary buoyancy.
Even bearing the weight of a giant standing over three meters tall clad in full power armor, it showed no sign of sinking.
Splashing water, the traveler emerged halfway out of the lake.
"Why am I here?"
He finally had the chance to look closely at the king.
"Why?"
He demanded again, his voice raspy and urgent, "Who am I?"
The king merely looked at him with indifference.
Then, the king raised his head.
In that instant, the traveler held his breath.
He said, "Next, it is time for you to take the stage."
"The first one. The most reliable one. My child. The exemplar."
"Please."
Why?
The traveler opened his mouth to ask, but the king spoke no more.
A subtle, almost imperceptible shift occurred in the surrounding environment.
The traveler's eyes widened.
He was back in that deep, dark forest once again. Everything around him blurred like a distorted reflection, eventually crumbling and dissolving in silence.
Everything ceased to exist, clean and swift.
What on earth just happened?
+Follow me.+
Before he could react, he heard a whisper echo in his heart.
The traveler grunted coldly and lowered his head.
A tiny figure stood right in front of him, amidst the trees of the forest.
The little creature was draped in a dark green robe that blended almost seamlessly into the background of the surrounding dense woods. It was short, not even reaching the traveler's knees.
A Watcher in the Dark.
A fragment of the traveler's memory was stirred at this moment—this was not his first time seeing this little figure.
Yes, not the first time.
It was the finest helper in his Legion, and one of the countless little secrets he guarded.
+Come.+
The Watcher in the Dark gently extended its small hand and gave his lower leg a nudge.
+This is your duty.+
And so, the traveler strode forward with long steps.
Mist gradually appeared around him, growing thicker and denser, until it was enough to completely shroud the entire forest.
The mist twined around him like a living creature, bringing a strange warmth and an indescribable sense of familiarity.
Then, in a single instant, the mist began to slowly thin out again.
The traveler walked faster and faster.
He felt his blood burning.
That scorching will to kill was surging; his heart pounded violently in his chest, his muscles tensed, and his senses became sharper than ever before.
And right at this moment, he could feel the ground trembling slightly.
Memories of the past—experiences of hunting monsters in similarly vast, untamed forests—suddenly churned in his mind.
He knew a big guy was up ahead, making thundering footsteps.
Even though he currently held no weapon in his hands, for an outstanding hunter like him, this posed no hindrance whatsoever.
Thus, the traveler charged out of the forest.
The view before his eyes abruptly widened.
At the same time, he caught sight of his prey's appearance.
It was a bipedal mecha roughly five stories tall.
The emblems that once symbolized honor and battle records on its thick armor plates had turned rusty.
Yet clearly, no one paid any mind to that.
And right now, the mecha's arms—which originally held giant weapons—had been refitted with power arms to operate a massive piece of machinery behind it.
The First Primarch, Lord of the Dark Angels Legion, Lion of Caliban, Lion El'Jonson was somewhat bewildered.
Wait, that machine—which looked like an Imperial Knight in every aspect, a killing machine born purely for war—why did it look a little wrong?
Because right at this moment, that Imperial Knight was using its mechanical power arms to drag an ridiculously oversized plow, tilling the land beneath its feet.
The massive plowshare cut deeply into the soil, violently cleaving open the hardened, compacted crust to reveal the fertile, deep black earth underneath.
Behind it, drone after drone hovering in midair continually sprayed a milky-white substance that looked like nutrient fluid onto the freshly overturned soil.
Lion cast his gaze into the distance.
On the far horizon, a city stood proudly.
Its silhouette was completely different from a traditional Imperial hive city. It lacked those chaotic spires and tumor-like, slapdash illegal structures, replaced instead by smooth, silver-white streamlined curves full of an elegant sci-fi aesthetic.
In the sky, anti-gravity airships flew toward the city trailing pale blue wakes like swallows returning to their nest.
At the same time, numerous cargo airships loaded with goods slowly rose from the other side of the city, flying over the forest.
Facing this magical reality, Lion El'Jonson fell silent.
He stood there, at a loss for what to do.
If a monster had appeared before him, he would have struck without hesitation to hunt it down—that was his instinct, his nature, a battle he had repeated countless times.
But the scene before him did not look like a scenario where a Primarch built specifically for slaughter and war could be of any use.
Or...
Should he, like that Knight mecha, go push a massive plow and till some land?
Was this something a Primarch was supposed to do?
Perhaps one of his darker-skinned brothers might do such a thing.
Just as Lion was plunged into this unprecedented state of bewilderment, a movement snapped him back to reality.
Atop the heavy shoulder plate of that Knight mecha, a furry head popped out.
Lion El'Jonson reacted instantly, followed by a slight surge of disappointment, or more accurately, a bit of relief.
It wasn't a xenos or a monster.
It was merely a young girl who looked no older than sixteen or seventeen.
Her eyes were wide and filled with wonder as she cast her gaze toward him, her mouth agape before she began shouting at the top of her lungs.
By reading her lip movements, Lion El'Jonson pieced together what she was shouting.