Trust, once broken, festers. And in the case of Erda, the gods had found the perfect fertilizer for their insidious plan. Every time she closed her eyes, the seeds of doubt they had planted would sprout, nourished by her fears and anxieties, until they grew into a thick, tangled forest of mistrust.
Each night was a waking nightmare. She was plagued by a relentless storm of visions and illusions, a constant assault on her sanity. She knew it was the Warp at work, but the constant torment was slowly grinding down her will. The whispers of a dark power began to influence her subconscious, showing her countless dark futures.
She saw the Master of Mankind, not as a savior, but as the ruthless warlord he truly was. She saw His vow to save humanity as a mask for His real ambition: to conquer and enslave. The young Primarchs, her sons, were not champions but terrifying killing machines, crafted solely to fulfill their father's will. In these visions, they turned their weapons on humanity, harvesting souls to fuel the Emperor's ultimate ascension to godhood.
In another vision, a different kind of horror unfolded. After the Unification, the Master of Mankind would betray His own sons, purging the Primarchs and their Legions. The galaxy would burn as father and sons turned on each other, brothers butchering brothers, a war so horrific it would sever the future of the human race forever.
The kaleidoscope of possibilities twisted and tore at Erda's soul. She was a lone ship caught in a maelstrom. She knew that simply speaking with the Emperor could clear her mind, but the images were so vivid, so visceral, she couldn't bring herself to face him. What if they were true? What if this wasn't a lie?
She buried her face in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. In her dreams, she saw the tragic scenes play out, a symphony of familial betrayal and murder. She cried out, a silent scream of agony as she tried to change the outcome, but a cruel whisper in the darkness mocked her. "You can do nothing. Their fate is already sealed. The gods will savor their sweet corruption."
"No!" Erda shrieked, snapping her eyes open. She sat up, drenched in a cold sweat, desperate to refute the voice. She looked around, finding herself in the familiar safety of her room, but the fear lingered. A maid, standing by the door, looked at her with concern. "Madam, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Erda managed, a weak smile on her face. "You may go."
The maid bowed and left, leaving Erda alone once more in the suffocating silence. She lay back, exhausted, replaying the dark visions. She knew they were lies, a cruel trick of the gods, but a mother's heart is not governed by logic. She had to act. She had to save her sons.
Days passed, and the nightmares continued. Erda's face became a map of her torment, her once-glowing golden hair now dull and lifeless. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes sunken, her lips cracked and bleeding. She stumbled out of bed, called for a maid to help her dress, and muttered to herself, "I have to go. I can still stop it." The gods had shown her the way. Before everything came to pass, she had to get the Primarchs away from the Master of Mankind.
Erda rushed down the long corridor and into the stone elevator, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. The elevator groaned, descending into the belly of the earth. She leaned against the cold stone wall, her mind racing. She knew this journey. In her nightmares, she had taken this same elevator, a descent into darkness that led only to betrayal.
When the elevator doors opened, a small squad of the Emperor's loyalists was waiting. Valdor, the Captain-General, stood at the front, one hand on his power halberd, the other on his hip, his eyes scanning for threats. Erda's arrival had not been on the schedule.
Upon recognizing her, Valdor relaxed his posture and gestured her inside. The Emperor had given Erda free passage to this lab, and for a Custodian, that was all the permission he needed.
"Madam, you don't look well," Valdor said, a hint of concern in his deep voice. "Perhaps you'd like me to kill you?"
Erda blinked. "Captain-General? What?"
"It would reset your physical and mental state. You'd be good as new," he said, as if suggesting a nice, warm bath. Valdor's loyalty was absolute, and he would do anything to serve the Emperor and his allies, even if his methods were... unorthodox.
"I appreciate the offer, Captain-General, but I'd rather not. I prefer to kill myself," Erda replied calmly, which was an even stranger thing to say.
Valdor shrugged, the plates of his ornate armor shifting with a soft metallic groan. "That's a shame. I'd very much like to help you with that."
Malcador, who was standing nearby, let out a dry, rattling laugh. But the moment was broken by the Emperor's voice.
"Constantin Valdor!" the Emperor boomed.
The Captain-General snapped to attention. At the Emperor's command, Valdor walked over to the pods and began to extract the gene-seed.
Inside the pods, the Primarchs had grown into infants. Mechanical tentacles gently extended, inserting into their spines and drawing out the precious genetic material. The infants thrashed in agony, their chubby limbs flailing in an attempt to escape. But their cries were silent in the amniotic fluid.
The Emperor frowned slightly, and with a thought, golden psychic ropes bound the Primarchs to the walls of the pods, immobilizing them. He then gave Valdor a silent order to continue.
Erda's heart was in her throat. She felt every spike of pain in her own soul, as if a sharp knife were twisting in her. And their father, their supposed protector, stood there expressionless, seemingly unmoved.
The fragmented illusions from the Warp began to resurface. The Chaos Gods, unable to breach the Emperor's powerful psychic barrier, were attacking from within, twisting everything she saw. She hallucinated that Malcador was smiling cruelly, enjoying her sons' suffering, and that Valdor, who she knew would one day betray the Emperor's Thunder Warriors, was just waiting for the right moment to kill her children, too.
"No!" Erda cried out, a new resolve hardening her heart. Her nightmares were not just nightmares; they were prophecies. The time for caution was over. She would take her sons and she would save them all. She would get them away from this.
Deep in the Warp, Tzeentch threw his head back and laughed, a shrill, triumphant cackle that echoed through his crystal labyrinth. He had done it. The loom of fate was turning, and he had added new threads. "The beginning of their stories should not be so… predictable. They should be full of variables."
He stopped laughing, his constantly shifting form coming to rest for a moment. He peered at the twenty-first Primarch, still sleeping peacefully in his pod. "And you, outsider," the Chaos God whispered, "What kind of surprise will you bring me?"
He was ready to sit back and watch the chaos unfold.