Gifts are good things.
They can be wealth, a treasure, a touch of kindness, a status, or a victory: no one can precisely categorize all types of gifts in the world, but everyone will agree on one point without question:
A true gift symbolizes heartfelt warmth, joy, and beauty. It may not be valuable, but it contains a burning, weighty soul. It melts the thick ice between people, revealing blessings and intentions that words and actions cannot convey.
Essentially, a gift is a bestowal, a gentle vessel for transmitting information, emotions, and desires.
Therefore, no one dislikes gifts, just as no one dislikes luck and victory. After all, no matter when or where, whether the recipient is a saint or a thief, a king or a farmer, receiving a gift always brings the most fundamental joy.
Even Malcador himself, who has lived for over six thousand years, believes this.
In fact, Malcador remembers very clearly that his friendship with the Emperor of Mankind originated from a gift, or rather, many gifts.
The mutual gifts between the Emperor of Mankind and the Sigillite certainly couldn't be mundane objects. What the Emperor gave Malcador was the most precious and cherished thing the Sigillite had ever received in his six-thousand-year life traversing the entire galaxy.
It was a will.
A belief.
A freedom that allowed the Sigillite to walk upon barren Terra once more, breathing air filled with sulfur and stench.
A confidence that allowed Malcador's mind to truly emerge from a millennium of confusion and self-deception, to view the myriad strange things of the world with rational eyes.
Perhaps the first encounter between the Sigillite and the Emperor of Mankind was not beautiful, but in the end, the Emperor "released" him and "rescued" him. He brought Malcador to the cold, cruel, and beautiful real world, offering Malcador the Emperor's first gift with an almost childlike enthusiasm and innocence amidst freely swirling murals.
That was a grand vision of dominion, almost mad in its scope; it was the most righteous ambition and dream; it was a war capable of igniting the galaxy; it was a belief capable of lighting stars; it was a single tear capable of nourishing a race and civilization long since entered the realm of death.
It was a declaration, an ambition, a scroll of data, a friendship…
It was a dream.
A grand dream that Malcador fell deeply into, willing never to awaken from.
From that day on, the name Malcador gradually faded, and the Sigillite began to walk in this vicious world.
As the Emperor's first true follower, he witnessed firsthand how the Emperor went from being solitary to becoming the master of the Custodian Guard and the Imperium, the Lord of Holy Terra, and a half-finished father. To this day, he wears the Emperor of Mankind's supreme crown and walks the world.
Even after several centuries, even now, when Malcador witnesses that ordinary figure shimmering with golden light, he still remembers that day.
He remembers the Emperor before he donned the armor and crown he most loathed: at that time, the Emperor was a joyful and enthusiastic figure. His words were simple yet sincere, as he sketched his myriad grand visions for human civilization on the walls with a rough brush.
At that time, the Emperor was not yet the Emperor of Mankind, invincible in the real universe: but he still possessed enthusiasm, the most fervent sincerity and honesty, and could still flash the most moving smile from the depths of his heart.
If it were that Emperor…
Then this conversation would not have been difficult in the slightest.
Thinking of this, Malcador could only sigh to himself: as a full participant in the Primarch Project, as a figure who had exhausted himself for these mortal demigods, the Sigillite knew deep down what the most lethal weapon against these Emperor's progeny would be.
Not bullets.
Not psychic energy.
Not world-destroying beams fired from battleship cannons.
But the most sincere words, the most heartfelt encouragement, the most genuine confessions, and the softest requests, slowly uttered from the mouth of the Emperor, from the Emperor of Mankind, from their Gene-Father.
When the Emperor could genuinely express his inner thoughts, communicate and converse with a sincere tone, and speak words of heartfelt help and encouragement regarding the Primarch's predicaments and achievements:
Even the simplest sentence, no Primarch could resist such power.
——————
What a pity.
They had already lost that Emperor.
No one is omnipotent, and even the current Emperor of Mankind is no exception. When the Emperor donned his golden armor, took up the greatsword he most loathed, and became the embodiment of conquest and dominion, he naturally lost the capacity to be a father.
He could only be eternally silent, serious, always eager for quick success, lofty, and indifferent.
Over time, after countless judgments and merciless wars, even Malcador himself began to doubt whether the Emperor had gradually forgotten certain things.
That enthusiastic Neoth, like the sun among everyone, that Lord of Babel Tower who could be anyone's friend.
Was he still there?
Did he still remember his former strength?
Did he still know how to, did he still remember how to, in an instant, forge a friendship?
——————
As Malcador stood at the boundary of dim light and shadow, he looked at the face of the Emperor of Mankind, at that somewhat rigid smile.
The Sigillite sighed in his heart.
He did not know the answer to this question.
He could only… hope for it.
——————
Compared to his old friend's heavy worries, the Emperor of Mankind seemed lighter, brighter, and more confident.
Although Morgan's strange behavior forced the Emperor to once again project his light, this was not enough to make him anxious: as the personal creator of all the Primarchs,
the Emperor knew the truth of each of his children. He clearly understood Morgan's core; he knew that this failed creation, who was more easily integrated into Chaos and the Warp than Magnus, was very different from her brothers.
No matter what Morgan saw, the Emperor would not be surprised, nor would he excessively question her: he did not care.
After all, generally speaking, there were only a few clouds on him, and no matter which one of them startled his daughter, it would not cause the Emperor of Mankind any unexpected trouble: he knew that Morgan must have seen worse. Her fright would only be an instinctive retreat, not a source of fear that would shake her nature and will.
Again, since Morgan could stand before the Emperor of Mankind, alive and kicking, at this moment: unless a great power from the Warp personally intervened, nothing could completely defeat this self-serving lady mentally.
This was enough.
This meant: Morgan was a child that caused no worry: so the Emperor of Mankind naturally didn't need to fret further.
Since Morgan had proven that she could take care of herself, there was no need to spend more time on her: the Emperor's energy was also limited.
The Emperor of Mankind even felt a long-lost joy: finally, the return of a child symbolized letting go and a temporary easing of work, rather than more red tape.
Thinking of this, the Emperor of Mankind's movements as he took out the gift were much lighter: he certainly remembered to bring gifts; he wasn't so busy that he would forget such a small matter.
He had prepared gifts for his daughter.
Three of them.
All carefully selected by him.
Although one of them had a tiny, tiny accident.
And another gift had some unfinished aspects…
As for the third…
That should count as a gift… right?
A brief hesitation and doubt echoed in the Emperor of Mankind's heart, but when he lifted his head and saw Malcador's somewhat anxious gaze, the Emperor still gave his old friend a reassuring smile.
After all, things couldn't get any worse.
Thinking this, the Emperor of Mankind pulled out the first gift from the rift he carried with him.
——————
At this moment, both Morgan and the Sigillite couldn't help but cast their gaze upon the Emperor's palm: in the wide palm of the Emperor of Mankind was the first gift, placed in a seemingly unremarkable box, yet it emanated a power capable of captivating any psychic.
Without further ado, the Emperor of Mankind opened the box: nestled within the useless soft padding lay a fruit.
It was a golden, glistening apple.
Compared to the Silver Apple that Morgan had previously kneaded from the souls of her blood relatives, it was like the midday sun versus dim moonlight, utterly incomparable.
The Sigillite merely glanced at it to feel the surging power within the fruit: it was not a power that a mere individual or nation could contain. Within this golden fruit, unimaginable soul fluctuations surged.
It was the Randan Emperor.
At first sight, Morgan recognized what the Golden Apple was: it was the Randan Emperor, an invisible star that had consumed countless souls and wails, a delicacy that merely looking at it made her salivate.
She would pay any price to obtain this creation. This seemingly tiny, precious fruit could mend her soul's wounds to a degree comparable to the souls of other Primarchs.
For Morgan, it meant unprecedented sustenance, a supreme tonic capable of filling a large crack in her mind: she craved this creation more than all the stars in the galaxy.
The Emperor held the box, but he did not approach Morgan again. Instead, he allowed the fruit to slowly rise, letting the infinite power and souls confined within it gradually float towards Morgan. The Emperor of Mankind chose this moment to speak slowly, his voice carrying an undeniable steadiness.
"Morgan, my daughter, this is the first gift I bring."
"I know your habits, I know your well-hidden diet. This is not a fatal topic; everyone possesses some secrets of their own."
"All this time, you have not crossed the true bottom line, and this is worthy of affirmation and reward: I will tolerate your minor issues, my daughter, for after all, in this galaxy, there is no shortage of Xenos that need to be exterminated."
The Emperor spoke, his voice growing low and slow, yet Morgan listened with the utmost solemnity. As the Emperor of Mankind's words extended to the end, he looked directly at his daughter and slowly posed a seemingly inconspicuous question.
"Before this, I rejoiced in your self-control, Morgan, my daughter. I believe you will not let that joy be tarnished."
"Right?"
He spoke softly, his fingers gently swaying in the air, causing the golden apple to hover before Morgan, stopping at a spot she could not reach.
This pause made Morgan fall silent for a moment.
She seemed to compose her words before slowly speaking.
"Father."
"Whether now, or in the future."
"I will not show hunger and greed towards any progeny born of Holy Terra, nor will I list any individual unwilling to submit to the Warp as my target for predation."
"I will plunder everything: except for those purest and most pristine humans who reside in the physical universe."
Morgan's words drifted slowly in the dim hall. Her complex response made the Emperor of Mankind pause in silence before nodding.
The Emperor seemed dissatisfied; he harbored an instinctive suspicion towards this complex and ornate answer, but after considering the words, he chose to relax.
He waved his hand, and the creation that made the Spider Queen salivate was now within reach.
Looking at it, Morgan involuntarily reached out her hands, extending them towards the fruit before her with the most devout posture.
She looked at it, at this golden apple. Her pupils were also tinged with a golden hue, shining brightly: for the first time, Morgan felt that this golden light was not entirely a bad thing.
Beside her, Malcador watched everything silently, witnessing the colors shimmer in Morgan's pupils: a genuine smile appeared on his face for the first time.
——————
Yes, that's it.
A suitable gift, a gift that truly helped his daughter.
Morgan surely knew how chaotic the Randan Emperor's soul was: making it an edible gift was no easy task for the Emperor of Mankind.
But it was precisely this meticulous, hands-on effort that revealed the greatest value of a gift: sincerity.
This was the Emperor's sincerity; he was willing to invest in his daughter, willing to understand her difficulties, and this soul fruit also meant: he was well aware of some of Morgan's secrets, yet chose to overlook them.
Nothing could soothe an uneasy heart more than these hidden assurances of safety.
Morgan needed these.
Watching the Lord of the Second Legion gaze at the golden apple with shimmering eyes, Malcador even felt a hint of relief.
Good, it seems the Emperor still…
"Hiss!"
But before the feeling of relief could linger in the Sigillite's heart, he heard an ominous sound:
It was the sound of flames.
——————
Flames, golden flames.
When the golden apple settled firmly in Morgan's palm, countless tendrils of fire instantly shot out: caught off guard, the Spider Queen's hand was scorched by these unique flames. She instinctively recoiled, clenching her jaw, but refused to drop this treasure that welcomed all comers. She could only hold the burning apple tightly, feeling a repulsive heat in her palm.
Her soul even sobbed in pain, for these flames tortured the soul far more than the flesh.
Morgan frowned. She took a moment to adapt to the sensation of her hand being burned by the flames, then looked up at the Emperor.
"...Father?"
"Those are my flames, my daughter."
The Emperor of Mankind's expression was calm; clearly, all of this was within his expectations. He spoke slowly after a moment, his voice carrying an utterly innocent matter-of-factness.
"The soul of this Xenos Emperor is extremely chaotic and poisonous. To make it a gift for you, I burned it with my flames, cleansing it of those toxins."
Morgan blinked, enduring the sharp pain in her palm and the wails of what felt like scalded flesh emanating from her soul-body. She lowered her head and glanced at the burning golden apple in her hand.
It looked splendid, but upon closer inspection, one would notice something slightly off, as if…
It was burnt?
The Spider Queen narrowed her eyes. She wisely chose not to pursue the matter, instead focusing as much as possible on the golden light before her and posing her question.
"These flames, did you accidentally leave them on it? They keep burning."
This question brought a nearly astonished expression to the Emperor of Mankind's face.
"Flames?"
"Of course not."
"Those flames are part of this gift, Morgan."
"They will remain there, even after you consume it."
"…"
Morgan took a deep breath.
"It might… scorch my soul, Father…"
"I know your soul is far more resilient than you, Morgan."
The Emperor waved his hand dismissively.
"I am your creator. I know your capabilities and your limits."
He said, then slightly raised his head and continued with a lengthy, matter-of-fact explanation.
"The fruit is a gift, and its power, along with the flames it carries, are all part of this gift. If you wish to accept this gift, to accept this power, then you must also accept these flames."
"There are no hundred-percent beneficiaries in the world, my daughter. Any success is accompanied by inevitable losses. You must understand this, for your situation is more perilous than any of your blood relatives: the beings in the Warp could come for you at any moment, and their specialty is power gained without effort."
"Therefore, I chose to leave those flames, letting them burn continuously within your soul, using their scorching pain to remind you to always remain calm and cautious."
"You will need them."
"Yes, they are suffering."
"But suffering, too, can be part of the gift. They are your strength, and your reality; they are the challenges and enemies you must face: I will not avoid this point, nor will I force you to make a choice."
"You can choose to endure, or you can choose to face the pain. Regardless of whether you eat this fruit, you will gain a perspective for future challenges: this is the true core that my gift will bring."
"You can choose not to eat it, and maintain a cautious mind."
"Or you can eat it, and understand the price required for power."
"I have given it to you."
"Now, the choice is yours."
——————
He spoke, speaking these words as a matter of course. He watched Morgan's soul being scorched by his flames with indifference, his will having returned to the cold rationality of the Emperor.
He even felt a certain pride: compared to the other Primarchs, Morgan received more words of rationality from him: no longer pure affection and indulgence, he was helping his daughter see the world clearly.
Pride, certainly worthy of pride.
And so, the Emperor of Mankind watched his gift held in his daughter's hand. She seemed to remain silent for a long time, not uttering a word, merely lowering her head, until the Emperor of Mankind commanded the box to come to her side.
Morgan silently placed the burning golden apple into the box. Her pupils shimmered where the Emperor could not see, and she slowly uttered her words.
"Thank you… Father."
"It's nothing, my daughter."
The Emperor smiled, his gaze catching the Sigillite, who was looking directly at him. The Emperor of Mankind turned to his old friend, offering a reassuring smile, and patiently awaited Malcador's response.
But Malcador merely looked stern, slowly retreating into the shadows.
…
Perhaps he was in a bad mood?
Such a question circulated in the Emperor of Mankind's mind, until the Sigillite's words, conveyed through a method known only to the two of them, entered the Emperor of Mankind's brain.
——————
"An excellent lecture, Your Majesty."
"It's merely human nature, Malcador, nothing to boast about."
"…"
A sigh from the Sigillite.
"But have you considered, Your Majesty."
"This is a gift, a gift that demonstrates your paternal care. It should be gentle, even doting."
"That is a mother's duty; a father's role is to teach wisdom, my friend."
"Then why didn't you do this for the other Primarchs before?"
"Because they don't know much, and Morgan is different: if possible, I wouldn't want them to know too much. The ignorant can naturally be happy, but my daughter, as one who glimpses the truth, naturally receives different treatment."
"Besides…"
"Is it so bad?"
The Emperor was asking: he truly was asking, with confusion and sincerity.
"…"
But his answer came only in the Sigillite's silence.
"Is there a second gift, Your Majesty?"
"Indeed, my…"
"Hurry and bring it out!"
"…"
"Wait, did you put any other 'care' on that gift?"
"I don't think so…"
"Then hurry and bring it out!"
"…"
It seemed Malcador was indeed in a bad mood.
The Emperor of Mankind thought so.
——————
Morgan silently put away the box.
Regarding this gift, she was, for a moment…
Unable to find the right words…
She wanted to close her eyes and rest her mind, after all, the scars left by the Emperor's flames were truly real.
But before she could let out a sigh of relief, the Emperor of Mankind began to act.
A new rift opened, and the Emperor proudly pulled something from it.
"I remember, you've already met your brother Leman Russ, my daughter?"
"On Dulan, Father, we fought side-by-side once."
"Have you seen his agile figure in battle? Especially in a duel?"
"Mmm…"
Morgan fell silent for a moment, the name Jonson drifted through her mind.
"No, I haven't."
The Emperor of Mankind nodded, not dwelling on the topic, and slowly drew out a second box: this box was constantly trembling, emitting a metallic clang.
"You should know, my daughter, I once gave Leman Russ a gift."
"It was a spear, a divine weapon named the Spear of Dionysus. It was one of the greatest weapons I personally participated in forging."
"Yes, Father, I believe I've seen Leman Russ wield it. It is indeed an impressive divine weapon."
"Indeed…"
The Emperor smiled, his smile filled with ancient nostalgia.
"I forged two such weapons in total, named after two gods from an ancient and absurd myth."
"The Spear of Apollo, it was held from the very beginning by my champion warrior, the Chief of the Custodian Guard, Valdor, and with it, he achieved great military feats."
"And the other, the Spear of Dionysus, I bestowed upon my son Leman Russ after the Fire Ring Campaign, as a reward, a promise, and an expectation for him, and he responded."
"However, what everyone does not know is that, just as there were more than two principal gods in that ancient myth, there is more than one existence named the Emperor's Spear that I forged."
The Emperor of Mankind said, and slowly opened the rather long box. Inside, a dazzling, brilliant silver light shone.
Morgan looked at the light, and she naturally understood what the Emperor's words meant. At this instant, even her breathing became heavy.
Beside her, Malcador's breathing was as heavy as Morgan's.
Good, good.
Everything was still under control.
The Emperor would, after all, not disappoint.
"The Spear of Apollo and the Spear of Dionysus, the opposing faces of rationality and emotion."
"And beyond that, the weapon I shall give you is a third choice."
"The Spear of Aphrodite."
The box, shimmering with supreme light, slowly floated before Morgan. The Lord of the Second Legion respectfully stepped forward, gently brushing her hand over the light, and saw the true sight within the box.
"Father…"
"Father… this…"
"This…"
"…"
"…"
"This is just a piece of iron?"
Morgan reached out, and with an incredulous tone, tapped the irregular iron block in the box before her: it looked incredibly rough, without even the slightest trace of being forged by a hammer.
"Because I haven't finished it, my daughter, like many of my works."
"But I believe you can finish it."
The Emperor smiled.
"I have already given it to you. This is a unique raw material in the galaxy, the most cherished and precious metal that no book will ever record. You only need to complete the simplest steps."
"Shape it, forge it, give it unique meaning and history, and find the true power it contains."
"When you understand all this, that is when you will truly receive this gift."
The Emperor spoke, smiling, watching his daughter lower her head and silently put away the box, not saying a word.
"…"
"…"
"I… understand… Father."
She seemed… satisfied?
The Emperor of Mankind was somewhat uncertain, and he cast an inquiring glance at his old friend.
But this time, Malcador ignored him.
The Sigillite silently retreated into the shadows, as if he no longer wished to concern himself with these matters.
"…"
Perhaps he was tired.
The Emperor of Mankind thought so.
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