"Sit properly. Don't move!"
At dawn on Baal, Caelan pressed the twin angels down onto small stools. He knelt on one knee so he could meet them eye to eye, his expression stern.
"You are eight-day-old Primarchs now! You must learn independence! Other Primarchs your age could already kill a squad of elite Aeldar with stones!"
The silver-haired angel tilted up his porcelain-white little face, lips puckered in grievance.
"But Dad, we're still babies!"
"Dad… do you not want us anymore?"
Tears clung to the long lashes of the golden-haired angel, glimmering like pearls in the morning light.
He clutched Caelan's clothes with his chubby little hands, wings drooping pitifully.
The silver-haired angel's purple eyes widened at once, and he immediately grabbed Caelan's clothes as well.
"I never said I didn't want you. But you have to learn to grow up!"
In his babyish voice, the silver-haired angel accused him, "If we grow up, will Dad stop wanting us?"
The golden-haired angel burst into loud sobs, tears spilling freely.
"I'm sorry, Dad, I'm sorry… Please don't leave me. I'll be good!"
"Waaah, I want Dad too!" the silver-haired angel wailed, his purple eyes brimming with tears.
It was all coming back.
This, this was exactly what it had been like when he taught Lorgar.
Except Lorgar knew how to act cute strategically.
These two were the kind of kids who cried and actually got rewarded.
And unlike Lorgar, the twins were clingy, so clingy that they refused to sleep unless they were stuck to him at night.
Caelan was genuinely defeated by this pair of drama kings.
He knew they were acting and yet… his heart still softened.
He couldn't exactly spank them into silence, but if he did them, he couldn't bear it.
If he didn't, then he could only let them run wild.
'It's normal for kids to be playful,' Caelan comforted himself internally. 'They'll grow out of it…'
They were only eight days old, clingy like real infants, yet the intelligence shining in their clear eyes far surpassed that of ordinary youths.
In just one week, they had effortlessly mastered every language and script Caelan had taught them.
They could be sensible.
They just chose not to be.
And Caelan couldn't say a word, because they really were infants.
'Honestly, Fulgrim had been well-behaved at first.'
'This was all Sanguinius's fault!'
'Whenever Sanguinius cried, Fulgrim had to cry too.'
'Fulgrim, truyly is never inferior to anyone in his life!'
"Look me in the eyes." Caelan grabbed Sanguinius's cheek "Answer me. Why are you so selfish?"
Sanguinius wiped his tears messily with chubby hands, then reached out and tightly grasped Caelan's finger, rubbing his cheek affectionately against Caelan's palm.
Caelan clenched his jaw.
"Don't try that. Acting cute won't work either!"
The silver-haired angel narrowed his purple eyes, tilting his head as he watched his flustered brother, wings fluttering happily.
Sanguinius's wings trembled as well, as if he had suffered from sky-high injustice his golden eyes instantly filled with mist, his soft voice trembling.
"Dad… I'm... sorry…"
Cracks instantly appeared in Caelan's stern expression.
He knew Sanguinius was acting.
But the cuteness was real.
Who could resist an angel this adorable?
Caelan growled halfheartedly, "Let this be the last time. No more crying, understand?"
"Dad!" Sanguinius beamed, breaking into a dangerously sweet smile.
Caelan's heart melted completely.
Fulgrim felt utterly wronged. His purple eyes filled with tears, but he bit his lip hard, refusing to cry.
'Sanguinius so unfair!'
Caelan saw everything clearly, and could do nothing about it.
Sanguinius was born with terrifying social talent.
Those clear golden eyes only needed a hint of moisture to awaken overwhelming sympathy.
He was frighteningly clever for his age, already old in spirit despite his youth.
The seeds of scheming were already there, yet he never dodged responsibility.
Because he knew: sincere apologies were the only thing that could truly soften Caelan.
Fulgrim was just as adorable, but the pride etched into his bones meant he would never weaponize vulnerability the way his brother did.
He was like a little adult.
No matter how wronged he felt, his face tried to stay composed, though the tears in his eyes betrayed him.
Caelan sighed.
"To be honest, I don't really know how to teach you either. So I'll tell you a story instead. Want to hear it?"
"Yes!" Fulgrim answered through a sniffle, while Sanguinius immediately sat properly on his stool.
"In ancient Greece, there was a city-state called Sparta. Its king was Tyndareus, and his wife was Leda.
"One time, Tyndareus forgot to make an offering to Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty, and earned her revenge."
"Aphrodite was born beautiful, admired by all the gods. God-king Zeus also pursued her but was rejected. Enraged, Zeus married her off to the ugly and lame god of smith, Hephaestus."
"In retaliation, Aphrodite's method of revenge was to somehow have Zeus transform into a swan, while she became an eagle chasing him. Coincidentaly Leda, Queen of Sparta, happened to be bathing in a lake. The swan fell into the water, was cradled in her arms… and she became pregnant."
Caelan deliberately slowed his speech, watching their young faces closely. Both listened intently, finding nothing strange about this setup.
Greek myth and Zeus were always like this.
In the past week, Caelan had already recounted Zeus's many acts of debauchery, transforming into a bull to seduce Europa, descending as golden rain to be with Danae, and disguising himself as Alcmene's husband to deceive his own great-granddaughter, so they were hardly surprised by this story.
"Leda then gave birth to several children, including twin brothers, Pollux and Castor. Pollux was Zeus's son. Castor was Tyndareus's."
"One day, a giant wild boar attacked the city. The brothers gathered warriors to hunt it, but quarreled over glory and parted as enemies."
"Later, they encountered each other again during an assembly. In the ensuing fight, Castor was killed."
"Pollux was devastated. He begged his birth father Zeus to revive his brother."
"Zeus told him that to do so, Pollux would have to share the remainder of his own life."
"Pollux agreed without hesitation."
"Moved, Zeus transformed them into the constellation Gemini, forever together."
Caelan looked at the twins.
"What did you learn from this story?"
"Unity!" Sanguinius pumped his little fist.
"If my younger brother died, I'd give him half my life!"
Fulgrim bristled like an angry tiger cub.
"I'm obviously the older brother!"
Sanguinius blinked.
"Then would you give me your life, big brother?"
"Of course!" Fulgrim declared proudly.
"Isn't it only natural for an older brother to protect his younger one?"
Sanguinius suddenly bloomed.
"Thank you, big brother."
Fulgrim turned his face away, but couldn't hide the blush creeping up his ears.
Caelan sighed inwardly.
'You're completely wrapped around his finger already. What are you going to do later on?'
Moments ago, Fulgrim had been jealous.
Now, one word, big brother, and he was utterly disarmed.
At this stage, Fulgrim's "level" was far too low.
He stood no chance against Sanguinius.
And even when Fulgrim leveled up in the future, it wouldn't matter, because Sanguinius would level up too.
The kind of sibling love archetypes was infinitely lethal.
As for who is the elder brother, by numerical order, Fulgrim was older. By order of meeting, Fulgrim also came before Sanguinius.
But Fulgrim's appearance was a copy of Sanguinius. In that aspect, Sanguinius was the elder.
But regardless of who is older or younger, they are both with Caealan now.
The identity of the female Aeldars who sent Fulgrim to Baal is unknown. Fulgrim's memory also didn't see their faces clearly. But this favor Caelan would remember.
The group of Aeldars who earlier tried to abduct Fulgrim bore the emblem of the Eye of Isha, the mark of the Ulthwé craftworld. This hatred he would repay.
Regardless of their motives, judge by the deeds.
......
"How could this happen?"
Eldrad stared at the corpses scattered along the crater's edge, feeling utterly devastated.
To ensure absolute success, he had dispatched fifty elite warriors, each centuries along their paths, capable of slaughtering entire Space Marine companies.
And yet… all were dead.
Eldrad scanned the battlefield. Most of the spirit stones had been precisely removed, yet others remained intact.
The enemy's removal of spirit stones proved their deep understanding of their race.
Yet what troubled him more were the spirit stones deliberately left behind.
"Farseer," Ness bowed.
"How many spirit stones survived?"
"Fourteen."
"Are their souls still intact?"
"They remain. The Warlocks have verified repeatedly; none of the spirit stones have been defiled."
Eldrad's unease deepened. They need only retrieve spirit stones from the battlefield to learn what transpired here through the souls of the fallen.
Yet if the enemy had already extracted most spirit stones, why deliberately leave some behind?
Was this a provocation?
Eldrad's peripheral vision caught a white line, causing his pupils to contract sharply.
Only after circling the entire crater did he realise these white lines formed a perfect hexagram!
Thirty-six spirit stones.
A six-pointed star.
"She Who Thirst…"
Eldrad's voice froze, as though an invisible hand had seized his throat.
No one stopped him, yet fear robbed him of speech. 'How could this be?'
'She was a god of the Warp, this was the material universe. There were no traces of Chaos lingering nearby. What was happening?'
"Ness, gather the spirit stones. I must extract their memories, to see what they faced before death!" Eldrad gripped the Staff of Ulthamar, his knuckles whitening with strain.
Pressed by circumstance, Eldrad had no choice.
Though this act would wound the souls of his fallen kin, so long as they returned swiftly to the Infinity Circuit, the damage could be healed.
The farseer touched the spirit stone handed to him. The memories of the slain Aeldars unfolded around him like a holographic vision.
Dozens of lithe female Aeldar warriors appeared like phantoms. As each Ulthwé warrior fell, they moved with fluid grace, weaving a precise and merciless art of slaughter.
The disparity in strength was overwhelming. In the blink of an eye, the battle was decided.
Eldrad saw one of their faces, and his vision went black.
He knew her.
A thousand years ago, before the fall of their Empire, they had been kindred spirits, both among the greatest psykers of their race.
He was a Seer. She was a Warlock.
At that time, she had poured all her strength into building a colossal craftworld, far larger than any known. She sought to save as many of their people as possible, to preserve the flame of civilization against the coming doom.
But the craftworld was too vast. Even with all her effort, its construction was too slow.
When the birth-scream of She Who Thrist tore the galaxy apart, the unfinished craftworld perished with the countless worlds of the Aeldar Empire.
All records said she had fallen with the Empire.
Yet now she stood here, slaughtering the kin she once sought to save.
He still remembered her name.
"Aenor."
Eldrad's lips moved soundlessly. He was certain the enemy had left the spirit stones as provocation. But even knowing her name, what could he do? Would he dare seek vengeance?
He had believed she was long gone, buried with the glory of their Empire. Yet here she was, blade in hand, butchering her own kind, offering their spirit stones as tribute to their greatest foe.
The cruel truth chilled Eldrad to the bone.
She Who Thrist, after devouring their entire Empire, was still unsated. Now she descended herself to reap. The spirit stones deliberately left behind were her merciless mockery.
"It's over. All is lost!"
Eldrad's face turned deathly pale, drained of all color.
In the memory projection of his kin, Aenor's gaze fell upon him, as though across the river of time she looked directly into his eyes. She seemed to know he would draw upon their memories.
....
"Aenor, do you think those fools can even understand your warning?" Claudia lounged lazily upon the gilded throne, her fingertips idly caressing the girl's cheek.
"Perhaps they do not understand. But they fear." Aenor lowered her head. She had already done all she could.
If her kin still failed to cherish their feathers, if they continued to meddle in the Master's designs, then even death would be their own fault.
Her warning was not her own will, but the Master's command. Aeldar souls were nourishing, yes, but the Master had greater plans. She had no time to waste on fools.
One warning was enough to make them skittish as startled birds.
No matter how they interpreted it, from now on they would instinctively keep their distance.
"Aenor, I find myself liking you more and more." Claudia's fingertips gently lifted the girl's chin, her touch tracing along the jawline as though handling fragile porcelain.
"It is my honor, Mistress." Aenor lowered her gaze slightly. She felt genuine honor, and a shiver of fear.
Even though she now belonged to Mira, she had no obligation to serve her former Master.
Her Mistress would not punish her for failing to do so.
But she chose it willingly.
Her rebirth was owed entirely to the Mistress' favor.
Claudia suddenly broke into a sickly sweet smile, her voice dripping with honeyed delight. "I now have four sons, and many more children waiting for my dear. Tell me, how frantic do you think those fools will become?"
"Perhaps they will go mad." Aenor bowed her head slightly. She could not fathom the intentions of gods.
Claudia gave a soft hum. "They were mad to begin with. My palace has already been smashed apart by them."
She was selfish, utterly so.
And once a selfish person boards the carriage, they weld the door shut, never allowing anyone else to climb aboard.
The gods of the Warp should stay obediently in the Warp. Why come meddle in the material universe?