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Chapter 34: The Sixteenth Son
The discovery of the Sixteenth Primarch was tidings of profound import to the Master of Mankind.
In the dark epochs of genetic manipulation, the touch of the Warp could twist noble purpose into abomination.
 During the Age of Strife, countless horrors had been birthed from the hubris of those who sought to improve upon the human form.
Some were the deliberate creations of madmen drunk on forbidden knowledge. Most were mere accidentsâexperiments that slipped their creators' leash and devoured all in their path.
To forge a stable superhuman force capable of reclaiming the galaxy, the Emperor had first wrought the Primarchs as anchors against the tides of Chaos.
 From their template, He had then crafted the Legiones Astartesâtwenty armies to serve twenty sons in the conquest of the stars.
Yet even as He laboured to perfect His greatest work, the Ruinous Powers struck. They invaded His most sacred laboratorium, scattered His children across the void, and left Him with empty gene-vaults and the bitter taste of defeat.
"Bring him to Me at once."
The Emperor's command echoed through the halls of the Inner Palace. The return of the Sixteenth filled Him with a satisfaction that transcended mortal joy.
 Within each Primarch burned fragments of power stolen from the very heart of the Warpâdivine essence bound within mortal flesh. They were as gods walking among men, yet anchored to reality by their human forms.
"Have you considered what words you will speak to him?" The Raven perched upon the arm of the Golden Throne, his obsidian eyes fixed upon his companion.
 "You're not planning some grand speech about duty and destiny, are you? About how he must bear the weight of humanity's salvation?"
"Should he not?"
The Emperor turned His golden gaze upon the Raven, seeking counsel from the only being He considered an equal.
They were bound togetherâtwo aspects of a single symbol, neither able to exist without the other.
"We are not gods," the Raven said quietly. "Children born to save the world exist only in myths and legends."
He tilted his head, studying the Emperor with ancient eyes. "Unless you seek to emulate those very myths? To arrange the fates of mortals like pieces on a regicide board? If so, what meaning is there in your constant denial of divinity?"
"Treat him as you would any man. If he cannot comprehend the suffering of ordinary humans, how can we expect him to champion their cause?"
The Emperor's expression grew troubled. "But they are mighty beyond measure. To waste such power when the galaxy burns..."
"We possess the knowledge to elevate any human to greatness," the Raven interrupted.
"Have you forgotten your experiences beyond the veil? Those 'weak' mortals you once knewâthey faced enemies far superior to themselves and prevailed through will alone."
"If we truly seek humanity's ascension, then we must have faith in human potential."
The Emperor was silent for a long moment. Had this counsel come from Malcador or Constantin, He would have dismissed it without consideration.
 But the Raven's words carried weight that none other possessed.
"You speak wisdom," He said at last. "I shall consider carefully how to approach this reunion."
Horus Lupercal was escorted into the Throne Room by a phalanx of Custodians, their auramite plate gleaming like captured starlight.
 He stood nearly three meters tall, his presence filling the vast chamber with an aura of barely contained power. Within his gene-forged frame lay strength enough to shatter mountains.
After the Chaos Gods had torn him from the Emperor's care, the infant Primarch had fallen upon Cthoniaâa gang-ruled world within the Sol System's sphere.
 His gestation pod had ruptured upon impact, leaving the child broken and bleeding among the hive's refuse.
A butcher had found him firstâa creature wearing masks of human skin who dragged the injured Primarch to his slaughterhouse with thoughts of fresh meat.
 But fate, or perhaps the subtle influence of a Primarch's psychic presence, intervened. Hagdon, a gang lord of considerable brutality, had passed by the abattoir and claimed the child for reasons he never fully understood.
They named him Ner'iguâ"the nameless one" in the ancient tongue of Cthonia's first colonists.
To earn a true name, the young Primarch had ventured to the planet's radioactive surface, where he discovered the remains of his gestation pod and killed a Mechanicus explorator who had come seeking the same prize.
The Tech-Priest's augmetics had recorded Horus's features before his death, and the Omnissiah's servants had recognized the Emperor's lost creation.
 But Horus had claimed the fallen priest's weapon as a trophy, hoping to earn recognition from his adoptive father.
Hagdon had struck him down for his foolishness. "You have doomed us all, nameless boy," the gang lord had snarled.
His words proved prophetic. The Adeptus Mechanicus came in force, their Skitarii legions burning through the hive's undercity like cleansing fire. As his tribe died around him, Hagdon had pressed a blade into Horus's hands.
"Do it," the old killer had whispered. "To earn a name, you must spill the blood of those who raised you."
So Horus had driven the blade home, and with his adoptive father's dying breath came the name that would echo through history: Horus.
In that moment of patricide, dormant genes had awakened. The Primarch's body had reshaped itself, transforming from youth to demigod in mere heartbeats.
The Mechanicus had found him thusâa giant among corpses, bearing the face their cogitators had marked for retrieval.
"Such presence," the Raven mused silently, studying the towering figure before the Throne. "A god wearing mortal flesh, no wonder the Dark Powers covet them so."
He did not speak of what he knewâof futures where this son would raise his hand against his creator, of the galaxy burning in civil war.
 The threads of fate had already been rewoven by his presence. What was to come remained unwritten.
"Who are you?" Horus's voice carried the authority of one born to command, though uncertainty flickered in his eyes as he gazed upon the Emperor.
"You may consider Me your father," the Emperor replied, His voice resonating with power that made the very air tremble.
 "For I shaped you with My own hands, before enemies stole you from My side."
The Raven watched the reunion with mild interest, then spread his wings and took flight.
He had seen enoughâthe Emperor would not repeat the mistakes of the original timeline by immediately granting Horus command of the Sixteenth Legion.
He alighted upon Constantin Valdor's shoulder where the Captain-General stood guard beyond the Throne Room's massive doors.
"I have a task for you, Big V," the Raven said, his tone shifting to casual familiarity.
Valdor's expression remained impassive behind his auramite helm. "Have you developed another craving for exotic cuisine from distant stars? The Custodes stand ready to procure whatever delicacies you desire."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I prefer your old brooding demeanor," the Raven replied with amusement. "This is more important than snacks."
He produced a data-slate containing stellar coordinates. "I'm giving you a star chart. Take Custodian strike teams to each marked world and retrieve the Emperor's... property."
Meeting Horus had crystallized the Raven's understanding of what the Primarchs truly represented.
Even the most advanced civilizations of other realities paled before the Emperor's mastery of gene-craft. These were not mere superhumansâthey were living gods bound in flesh.
While he had no intention of allowing the Primarchs to lead the Legions and plant the seeds of future rebellion, such beings could not be permitted to fall into the hands of the Ruinous Powers.
"You had best take this seriously," the Raven continued, his tone growing sharp. "Failure will see you reassigned to guard the palace koi ponds."
"Understood," Valdor replied without emotion. "What is our first objective?"
"Nuceria," the Raven said, and something dark flickered in his ancient eyes. "We have a gladiator to collect."
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