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"Are you truly alright?"
[You can come see for yourself.]
Ahriman narrowed his eyes, chin tucked, circling Morgan again and again.
He first meticulously inspected every limb and bone of Morgan with his gaze, then cautiously extended the tendrils woven from his psychic power, tirelessly touching Morgan's Sea of Souls, testing it repeatedly.
Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Indeed, you're fine."
"You're lucky."
The Son of Magnus ultimately reached this conclusion.
[Or perhaps you're just too tense.]
Morgan offered a faint, fleeting smile. She truly felt Ahriman was overly anxious; this most outstanding scion of Magnus had traveled almost ceaselessly from the edge of the galaxy to her side. He even maintained a cold aloofness towards Luther, which made the latter somewhat awkward.
"Tense?"
The Thousand Sons Captain let out a sharp, mocking chuckle. He glanced around cautiously before silently transmitting his derision through psychic power.
"These are the Dark Angels. A hundred years ago, when they were still on Holy Terra, still called the First Legion or the Six-Winged Angels, I fought alongside them. I know exactly what they're like."
"These bastards are the most ruthless hounds, the most cunning big cats; a bunch of opportunists who won't lift a finger without profit. If they need your cooperation for something, it's absolutely not going to be anything good. Because each of them has the most solitary quirks, they'd rather be battered and bruised than reveal their situation to any ally."
"So when they actively seek external aid, it can only mean the situation is truly dire, so dire that anyone who gets involved will be severely injured, or even utterly annihilated."
"After all, who can blame these arrogant bastards for being so formidable? Any problem they can't solve must be the most troublesome, impossible for anyone else to handle. Your luck truly held out this time; you've returned in one piece."
"But don't expect to remember any of this later. Brainwashing is a must, especially since the First Legion used quite a few precious things in this battle. Just wait; before long, the First Legion's Librarians will come looking in droves. They call these 'a few necessary small steps'."
Ahriman spoke, but Morgan was clearly more interested in other things in his words.
The two psykers stood before the massive viewscreen, witnessing the inky blackness of space light up with an ethereal blue glow – the Mandeville Point activating, sending the first ships out of this stellar system.
Luther was among them. He had to board the first vessel departing here, to return to his office in Gyemala Fortress as quickly as possible, for that was the post and mission the Lion had entrusted to him.
But this did not prevent Morgan from conversing happily with him earlier. She not only obtained Luther's contact information but also memorized a few words of Caliban's native tongue.
[I never knew you were a veteran who had served since the Terra Unification Wars.]
A flash of color appeared in Morgan's eyes, and Ahriman saw an element of envy, which made him feel a surge of pride.
"I was just a new recruit back then, nothing much."
Ahriman gave a self-deprecating laugh, waving a hand, but a trace of arrogance mingled with reminiscence lingered on his face.
"Actually, by the time the Fifteenth Legion was founded, the Unification Wars were already winding down. We only participated in a few sporadic battles, serving as secondary forces to other Legions. The Legion's main journey was the Great Crusade."
[You cooperated with many Legions? That must have been an interesting experience.]
"Why do you think that?"
[For a scholar, the greatest wonder in the world is exploring the unknown, and each Astartes Legion is a completely different domain. Fighting alongside them is no different from exploring an uncharted ocean.]
"That's quite accurate."
Ahriman stroked his chin. Morgan's few words had stirred his memories, and he genuinely felt a sense of enjoyment when he recalled those days on Holy Terra.
"However..."
Ahriman's tone shifted.
"Some Legions... or rather, most of them, are probably better left unremembered."
[How so?]
Out of friendship and habit, when Morgan tilted her head and posed the question, Ahriman answered without hesitation.
"The Sixth Legion and the Eighth Legion are old news, so I won't mention them. The Ninth Legion used to be a law unto themselves, we weren't very familiar with them; the Third Legion was on its last legs, almost disbanded; the Sixteenth Legion was quite good, Horus was indeed a very capable individual..."
Ahriman prattled on for a while, then, as if something occurred to him, he shook his head.
"But speaking of these Legions, I'm personally most concerned about the Eleventh Legion."
[The purest Primarch and his sons?]
"Purest?"
"To those mortals without psychic abilities, perhaps that's true. But for psykers like us, he's a tad dangerous. Even the Navigator Houses are unwilling to station representatives in his fleet; I have no idea how they navigate the Warp."
"After all, that one is the 'Witch-Killer.' He's killed more psykers than we've ever seen."
Ahriman gave a small scoff. He seemed to want to express his disdain, but his restless fingers betrayed his true feelings.
"Actually, on Holy Terra, our relationship with the Eleventh Legion was quite good. We were both considered Legions without many distinct characteristics, and we fought alongside each other a few times. But after the Great Crusade began, we awakened our psychic abilities, while the Eleventh Legion found their Primarch."
"Then we went our separate ways."
Ahriman's voice carried a hint of resentment, while Morgan silently watched the last battleship disappear into the light of the Mandeville Point.
They fell into silence for a while.
[So, what was that 'purest' Primarch like?]
"Just blind mortal worship."
Ahriman scoffed.
"He's said to be handsome, with a voice and demeanor that commands admiration, second only to Sanguinius. Yet he is also a genuine Untouchable, and as everyone knows, Untouchables instinctively make everyone feel revulsion, whether they are psykers or not."
"Strange, isn't it?"
"Perhaps that's just how Primarchs are."
Ahriman's voice held a touch of envy.
"He landed on a technologically advanced world, its surface covered in massive Hive Cities and automated factories. When night fell, the glow of neon lights and electronic screens would illuminate the entire sky. In fact, that world was the core of a small interstellar empire, and most of its population were humans."
"But its rulers were... Xenos."
"More precisely, a very loose alliance of many different kinds of Xenos sorcerer-overlords, wielding psychic powers. They ruled the Hive Cities and factories on that world. Some existed as simple, regional despots, while others formed vast profitable enterprises, monopolizing the output of certain products or energy. Their spheres of influence could even encompass several Hive Cities, provoking large-scale wars."
"The numbers of these Xenos were actually not large, but relying on their powerful sorcery, advanced technology, and unspoken mutual understanding, they enslaved billions of humans for generations, using them to consolidate their rule, instigate wars, and even establish mining outposts and strongholds on other worlds."
"Thus, that world maintained a state of near-stability for centuries: Xenos, holding absolute wealth and power, resided at the highest peaks. Humans who submitted to the Xenos joined the 'Military' or 'Corporations,' and beneath them were the worthless common people, living on the worst food and highly cheap entertainment."
"Until that most 'pure' Primarch descended."
"It is said he didn't land in a Hive City but was found by nomadic human clans in the desert."
"What happened next is known by few, only that about ten years later, the most revered Xenos overlords suddenly began to die one after another by unnatural causes. They continuously spoke of an 'invisible' adversary. It is said that all psychic senses had no effect on him; he was like a born 'Witch-Killer,' any psyker before him was blind."
"This situation continued for about five to six standard Terran months, until one day, the tallest building of the central Hive City was blown up, and that Eleventh Primarch initiated a global broadcast, publicly executing the sorcerer-overlords who controlled the most enormous corporations."
"On that day, war began."
"When the Emperor's fleet arrived several years later, the entire world was completely in human hands. All Xenos had been utterly annihilated, and their chief executive was the gene-father of the Eleventh Legion."
"It is said... and this is truly 'said': that Eleventh Primarch had some minor disagreements with the Emperor. His homeworld suffered too greatly in the war, and to restore productivity quickly, he seemed to have adopted some... things the Emperor wouldn't be too happy to see..."
"In any case, he also joined the Great Crusade, and the Eleventh Legion quickly rose, becoming a formidable army comparable to the Dark Angels and the Shadowmoon Wolves. Some of their high-precision technical advancements even made the Iron Hands envious and jealous, and their other specialty: perhaps not so friendly to individuals like you and me."
[Powerful enough to single-handedly hold a battle line against the Rangdan Empire?]
[Even the Dark Angels, they certainly fought alongside other Legions, didn't they?]
"That purest Primarch didn't seem very accustomed to fighting alongside other Legions. He even..."
Ahriman's voice grew somewhat low.
"He even trusted mortals more... Oh, I'm not talking about you, Morgan, I mean, he seemed to trust what he called 'the wisdom and strength of mortals' more."
"It is said the Emperor acquiesced to his excessive actions for this reason... what an absurd claim..."
At this point, Ahriman's voice gradually subsided. He realized this wasn't something to speak of lightly. Moreover, he sensed that at the other end of the corridor, several individuals emitting similar psychic auras were approaching them.
"They're here."
Ahriman felt both curious and amused. He straightened his back and was the first to greet them.
"Follow me, don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of."
Morgan merely smiled and followed, but after Ahriman had walked further ahead, she tilted her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over a dark corner of the corridor.
——————
Nemir felt his heart skip a beat.
He instinctively took a deep breath, then stared more carefully at the screen: the mortal named Morgan appeared normal. She quietly followed at the very end of the group, heading to have her memory extracted.
So what was that cold sensation he'd felt just now?
Nemir pondered for a moment, then attributed it to an unconscious psychic leakage.
He continued to watch the monitor until Morgan and Ahriman's figures completely disappeared. Only then did he begin to examine the ancient relic before him. After some effort, Nemir was certain that the surveillance device, capable of shielding most psykers' senses, was still functioning normally. There was absolutely no way Morgan could have detected it.
Unless she was a Primarch.
Nemir chuckled at his own thought.
Then, he took out his datapad and wrote down Morgan's name: this was his new mission, to find 'powerful' and 'convenient' opponents for the Lion's anti-psyker training.
He had originally planned several more tests, but that brief glimpse just now convinced Nemir that this silver-haired psyker definitely met the 'powerful' criterion.
As for the rest...
He would leave that to his gene-father to decide.
——————
Ahriman touched his head.
He had a headache.
The Thousand Sons leaned against the corridor wall, idly gazing at the unchanging blur outside the window, striving to adjust and adapt to the lingering aftereffects in his mind.
Memory excision was a curious technique, and its impact on psykers was even greater.
Ahriman clearly remembered that he had undergone a memory excision procedure, but when he tried to recall why it was done, he only felt an emptiness, as if a sinkhole had been carved out of his mind.
Then, he looked out at the Stars of Sabis. He was very certain he had just fought there, but the specific scenes of those battles... he couldn't recall them.
Good, it seemed the surgery was successful.
At least there wouldn't be any trouble in the future.
Ahriman rubbed his head, finding grim amusement in his situation. Then, he saw Morgan similarly push open a door, her hair somewhat disheveled over her shoulders, her steps a little unsteady. She managed two faltering steps before leaning against the wall next to him.
"How do you feel?" Ahriman asked nonchalantly.
[Alright... they were quite cooperative.]
"...What?"
[No, nothing.]
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