Preparations for the dinner were in full swing, with many people busy with their tasks.
Proud chefs, courteous and anticipating waiters, scribes stretching their fingers, artists mixing paints...
They were not the main characters, but they were proud to be part of this event.
And therefore, dinner will take place on time.
However, it will, of course, take place on time – on this ship, no one could disobey the will of the one called the Emperor. His word was law, his will was everyone's.
Although sometimes there were exceptions.
"My Lord!"
Hearing the voice of Constantin Valdor, the giant in a white and gold robe sighed.
Then he turned and replied softly, "I am here, Constantin."
"Why..." his captain-general froze in bewilderment. "Why?"
"What 'why'?"
"Dinner!"
"Do you want to ask why I didn't allow you, as usual, to stand behind me like silent statues?"
"It is our duty!" Constantin Valdor said tensely. "How can the Emperor of Mankind be without his Adeptus Custodes guard at a banquet?!"
"I just want to have dinner with my sons. I haven't been able to do so since the beginning of this journey. Constantin, I ask you..."
The giant rubbed his forehead wearily, causing the laurel wreath on his brow to sway.
"...sometimes I need to be someone other than the Emperor."
"...Does Sigillite agree?"
"It's just dinner, Constantin. Does it really require his permission?"
The giant chuckled. He understood what his captain-general was aiming for – he was just seeking support from Malcador. Constantin also knew how to use political tactics.
He rarely resorted to them, but he knew how. And he had to know. Imperceptibly, the giant's thoughts drifted to distant times when he was not as tired as he was today.
"But now I don't want to resort to politics, Constantin."
"I just want to sit down and enjoy dinner. For that, I'll even have to defy the expectations of scribes and artists."
"I must."
He looked silently at his captain-general.
"...I understand, my Lord."
"Thank you, Constantin," the giant said sincerely.
At the sight of this, all doubts in the soul of the Adeptus Custodes captain-general instantly vanished.
...
The moment the heavy, gilded doors closed, the dinner officially began. To Fulgrim's surprise, there were very few dishes on the table, and they were all unfamiliar to him.
Normally, he would have attached importance to this, perhaps even asked a question – after all, the choice of dishes at a dinner could reveal a lot about their father's preferences.
But now... he just remained silent.
He sat back in his chair, silent like Ferrus Manus. The latter sat next to him, asking no questions and not seeking eye contact.
He simply was – and that was enough.
Ferrus was always patient.
But not everyone was.
"Father?" Lorgar's voice rang out from the other end of the long table. "Are these new dishes developed by the chefs? They look very appetizing."
"No," the Emperor replied calmly. "They have existed for a very long time."
"And these cutlery too, Father?" Rogal Dorn asked.
He wore an outfit in white and blue tones, the collar buttoned all the way up. Under his short ash-blond hair, thoughtful eyes looked out.
In his hands, he held two long wooden sticks. For a mortal, they could pass for weapons, but in the hands of a demigod, they were only suitable as cutlery.
The Emperor nodded slowly.
"I suppose they were just made, Father?" Lorgar asked impatiently, as if seeking approval.
And his father nodded again, confirming the guess. Lorgar immediately smiled and quietly explained to Konrad Curze sitting next to him: "These utensils are smooth to the touch, but they have no engraving like forks and knives... Besides, I've never seen them before. That's why I guessed they were just made."
Konrad Curze nodded.
"They are called chopsticks."
Lorgar froze.
"W-what?" he asked, blinking. "Brother, what did you just say?"
"Chopsticks, that's what they're called," Curze replied. "Kariel used them before."
At these words, the man of average height sitting next to him, with a barely perceptible sigh, threw his head back. And immediately all eyes, except the Emperor's, turned to him.
A normal mortal in his place would already be trembling with fear.
But not him.
Kariel Lohars nodded slowly: "Yes, venerable Primarchs, they are called chopsticks."
"No offense... but how do you know?" Lorgar asked, frowning.
As he asked the question, he kept glancing at his father, but the latter was just tasting meat from a clear broth, remaining calm and seemingly paying no attention to what was happening.
"I..."
used them," Kariel replied impassively. "Konrad already said, didn't he?"
On the contrary, Rogal Dorn narrowed his eyes. This familiar manner of speaking gave him a strange sense of déjà vu.
However, firstly, since this Kariel Lohars could raise their brother so kindly, he couldn't be the person Dorn was thinking of now.
And secondly, he didn't believe anyone would dare to imitate him in the Emperor's presence.
"You used them?" Lorgar straightened up in surprise. "But..."
"Enough, Lorgar," the Emperor interrupted imperiously. "Our guest hasn't touched his food yet, and you've already asked him several questions."
He paused, looked at Lorgar, and shook his head.
He said nothing more.
The golden-skinned Primarch nodded reluctantly and, picking up the cutlery called chopsticks, began to wield them without any training.
For a while, the meal proceeded in silence. Kariel ate calmly but clumsily, and his movements caught Lorgar's attention.
Seeing his awkwardness, the latter couldn't help but smirk for a moment. Although it flashed by unnoticed, Konrad Curze caught it.
Kariel noticed this and was forced to nudge him with his heavy boot under the table to prevent Curze from doing anything foolish.
But not everyone wanted to remain silent.
Taking a deep breath, Fulgrim slowly stood up.
"Lord Kariel Lohars..." he lowered his head, and his neatly tied-back silver hair shadowed his beautiful face.
He spoke in a low voice: "I must apologize to you."
Lorgar's eyes widened, Ferrus, as expected, shook his head, and Rogal Dorn listened in silence. The Emperor continued to eat.
Kariel glanced at the Night Haunter. The latter turned away without a word and placed his chopsticks on the table.
+Lord Neot.+
+I will not interfere. This is your business.+
Kariel pursed his lips. He had to stand up—or rather, jump off the chair that allowed him to reach the table—and respond to Fulgrim.
"The reason?" he asked, completely calmly, which suddenly provoked an attack of irritation in Lorgar. He hid it well, but Konrad Curze noticed it anyway.
And he looked at him again.
"My pride," Fulgrim said, lowering his head. "I offended your adopted son, my brother."
"He was never my adopted son. We don't have that kind of relationship."
"But you raised him."
"We are just work partners."
Rogal Dorn glanced at Konrad Curze, who, surprisingly, remained completely calm—there wasn't a shadow of excitement in his eyes, Kariel's words didn't affect him.
Dorn frowned.
"I beg your pardon, I would like to intervene."
He also stood up and asked sternly, "Fulgrim, what is happening? Father arranged this dinner to welcome our brother's return, and you are apologizing to his adopted father?"
"Partner."
"The name is just a name, the real relationship matters," Dorn said. "Lord Kariel, you must understand this."
Kariel slowly raised an eyebrow—it was somewhat unexpected.
He knew these Primarchs only by name, having learned them shortly before dinner from a waiter who, with pride and arrogance, standing on tiptoe on a step, had informed him of them. He never thought that among these demigods there would be such a...
Straightforward one?
He smiled slightly.
"Because I hurt our brother's feelings, Rogal."
Pain flashed in Fulgrim's violet eyes. The giant with silver hands sitting next to him sighed almost imperceptibly. He wasn't looking at his brother, but he seemed to understand everything.
"As you said, Rogal, mistakes must be apologized for, shouldn't they? And that's exactly what I'm doing now. I can't think of a more solemn occasion than this dinner to express my remorse."
Fulgrim stubbornly raised his head.
"I must, Rogal, I must."
+You're really not going to?..+
+Yes. In such moments, I must not interfere or judge. I must be an impartial observer.+
Kariel sighed.
"So, this is probably a misunderstanding," he said, unnoticed by the others.
His High Gothic was impeccable, without the slightest accent. Combined with his current appearance, he looked noble, like a lord or a governor. "And misunderstandings are always easy to resolve, aren't they, Konrad?"
"..."
Under his gaze, Konrad Curze—or the Night Haunter—finally rose reluctantly.
Lorgar Aurelian watched all this with his mouth agape.
***
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