"Hahahahahahaha!"
The old man laughed so hard his waist bent, completely losing his dignity as he let out pig-like squeals.
The boy, cold and silent, just stared at the sincere-faced Caelan and asked:
"You're not afraid of death?"
Caelan answered earnestly, "Well… if it comes, could it at least be quick? The kind where both body and soul get snuffed out clean?"
"You wish for that?"
"Not really. But dying at your hands is still better than ending up in the claws of those Four. You don't want me becoming their son, do you?"
The old man chuckled, "Relax. You won't die. At least, not for now."
Caelan's eyes lit up with hope, "So… you do want me as a stud horse?"
The old man smiled, "Is being a stud your only ambition?"
"Of course, I've got other ambitions. But what can I even do?" Caelan sighed yet again. "I've already accepted that I'm a loser, neither a psyker nor a perpetual. Just giving up and coasting is my final act of resistance against this cosmic latrine pit."
The boy asked, "But haven't you always longed to meet us?"
"How do you know that?" Caelan was surprised.
"If someone recited your name in your ear 'affectionately' every single day, do you think I wouldn't notice?"
"…Huh?" Caelan's jaw dropped. "Wait, you could actually hear that?!"
"Of course."
"Okay, fine. Honestly, I was just goofing around. In my time, it's kind of a tradition; you don't have to believe, just believe a little. But…" Under the boy's piercing stare, Caelan caved. "…Alright, yeah. At first, I really did think, if you can hear me, maybe you'll summon me someday."
"If you were only goofing, you wouldn't be here now."
"But you still haven't told me, what can I actually do?" Caelan asked, puzzled.
"You'll know soon. Come with us." The old man smiled.
As they walked, Caelan asked, "You know my name already. But what should I call you?"
"You already call me Old Mal, don't you? Just keep calling me that. As for him, "
"Neoth," the boy said.
"Alright then… Neoth."
Caelan thought the road ahead would be long. But the scenery before his eyes kept shifting.
They never actually left the throne room doors, but each step carried them into a new building.
A vast laboratory.
Rows of golden machines, long since inactive.
A massive silver steel door engraved with the Aquila, with cold wind blowing from underneath.
A few steps later, the image froze.
A raised central walkway cut across the chamber. On each side lay ten empty cylindrical pods, each the size of a torpedo, connected to strange machines.
Those pods should have held containers, but they were all gone.
"The Four already took them, didn't they?" Caelan sighed. "Since you've been hearing my prayers for five years, why didn't you prepare earlier?"
"You said it yourself, the future is a library."
"Don't give me that line. Even if it was only a possibility, how hard would it have been to prepare?"
Neoth asked, "And how do you know I didn't prepare?"
Caelan froze. 'Oh… true.'
'But he was the Emperor, not yet the God-Emperor'
'Even if he had prepared, so what?'
'He was one of the mightiest psykers in the galaxy. But in front of the Four, what did that really mean?'
Caelan sighed, "Doesn't this just prove even more that the future can't be changed?"
Malcador tapped his staff on the floor, "Can you stop sighing already? It's getting on my nerves."
"…Fine." Caelan nodded, then sighed again.
He didn't want to sigh. But every damn thing in this cursed verse made him sigh.
If he had to transmigrate to Terra, why couldn't it have been a Terra full of catgirls or bunny-girls instead?
Malcador chuckled, "As I said, don't be so pessimistic. The game's only just begun. We still have chances to set things right."
"How do we fix it?" Caelan pressed.
Even if he wouldn't admit it aloud, he still carried hope. In this universe, hope was the rarest luxury.
Neoth said, "That depends on you. Tell me, what do you think the Primarchs lack the most?"
"What do they lack?" Caelan thought carefully. "They're born demigods, with perfect genes and bodies. Their essence is that of lesser warp-gods. Their lives have already reached the pinnacle that countless beings can only dream of. On the material level, they lack nothing. But spiritually? They lack love."
"Love as in romance?" Malcador teased. "I told him ages ago we should've made half of the Primarchs female."
"Romance is love, yes. But so is a father's love. So is a mother's." Caelan said seriously. "The Primarchs don't need romance, but they do need fatherly and motherly love. Look, out of all of them, the healthiest one is Roboute. Why? Because he had parents. Most of the others didn't. Especially mothers."
Neoth said quietly, "They did have a mother. She abandoned them."
Caelan knew who he meant: Erda
If the Primarchs had been raised under both the Emperor's and Erda's care, things really might have been different.
But alas… the mind of someone like Erda, one who had lived for tens of thousands of years, was beyond mortal comprehension.
"Let me ask something personal." Caelan eyed Neoth. "Did you and Erda ever… you know?"
Neoth replied coldly, "Mortal lust only hinders my efficiency."
"So, no." Caelan clicked his tongue. "Then she must've been hitting menopause, you couldn't give her the 'security' she wanted, the Four whispered sweet nothings in her ear, and boom, perfect setup."
"But even if not Erda, there was still Horus, still the Thousand Sons… The result wouldn't have changed. The Four set up multiple failsafes. Like Horus, he never wanted to betray you. But the Four forced him into corruption anyway. His will didn't matter at all."
"Then why didn't they just corrupt all the Primarchs?" Malcador asked.
"I don't know." Caelan shook his head.
Neoth explained, "Because even they are limited. They cannot interfere too much in the material realm. They managed to corrupt my son, but only because they worked together. The Primarchs' warp-essence isn't as fragile as you think. They have the power to resist."
"But they don't use it! You've gathered them back for so long, and you still haven't taught them how to awaken that essence!"
Neoth said firmly, "You don't understand. The time is not yet right."
"Even if I accept that, in the end, half of them still betray you, won't they?" Caelan asked.
"Why are you so sure of that?" Neoth challenged.
"Isn't that the deal you made with the Four? Half for you, half for them."
Neoth said coldly, "I have never made a deal with them. Nor will I ever."
Caelan frowned, "Then where did the Primarchs' warp-essence come from?"
"I picked it up."
Caelan blinked.
'Wait. So the Emperor was Dutch all along?!'