The giant in the white and gold robe walked forward calmly. This was his palace, his ship, one of the many cages he had built for himself.
There was not a soul in the gilded corridor. The Adeptus Custodes had evacuated everyone in advance so that no one would see the Primarch storming out of the banquet hall in a rage and to avoid unnecessary trouble.
The giant knew that Konrad Curze harbored no malice towards mortals and was currently relatively calm. And even if he lost control, he was unlikely to harm the innocent.
But he was still a Primarch.
And he was Konrad Curze. Ordinary people, at the mere sight of him, would begin to tremble with instinctive terror born from their very flesh and blood. This could not be changed.
Hiding his face behind a mask, the giant walked silently down the corridor.
The mirrored ceiling was adorned with the finest and most exquisite carvings. Without raising his head, the giant knew that his laurel wreath would reflect dazzling, sparkling light with every step.
This corridor was designed by a woman named Mildred. Her family and she herself were immensely proud of this honor. Upon completion, Mildred vowed never to create anything for anyone else again.
"My hands will create only for the Emperor of Mankind," she said.
The giant still remembered those words. He would remember them forever.
Then, standing on a pedestal to the cheers of the crowd, he thanked the weeping, kneeling Mildred with an impassive face hidden by a mask.
"I thank you, Mildred."
But what did he really want to say?
"No, don't ruin your talent. It's not worth it."
He couldn't say it.
He could only watch helplessly as this outstanding artist died in her old age in a feverish melancholy from the conflict between faith and instinct.
Her family burned her remains to ashes, mixed them with paints, painted his portrait, and kept it forever, worshiping it from generation to generation.
They saw him as a god—again.
Is it in human nature to worship a deity, whether true or false?
He didn't want to think about it anymore. He stopped before the door.
The door, like everything on the ship, was made in a unified style. A huge double-headed eagle on it looked cold and merciless.
The giant closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he pushed the door and entered.
Darkness reigned inside, a shadow lurking in the corner. The room was more than spacious, even excessively so, and furnished with all necessities, but the shadow still chose the corner.
"Haunter," Neot hissed. "Please, don't leave."
"...You know Nostraman?"
"I do."
"How did you learn it?"
"I've learned many languages, including this one."
"You learned Nostraman?"
"Yes."
"Have you been to Nostramo?"
"No."
"Then how did you learn it?"
"A long time ago, humanity in the galaxy was a relatively unified whole."
Neot closed the door behind him and, standing at the entrance, calmly answered the Haunter's question. He wasn't looking at him, but he knew he was being watched.
"People settled on many planets and developed their unique cultures. Although they differed from the culture of their homeworld, I considered it a good thing and therefore learned many languages."
"A long time ago?"
"Yes, a long time ago."
"Do you live long?"
"I..."
Neot paused, then shook his head.
"No, I have died many times."
"I don't understand."
"And that's right, Haunter. It's an abstract concept, it shouldn't be understood..."
"Then why did you come to me?" the Haunter hissed with a note of impatience in his voice.
Hearing this impatience, Neot's memories of the Nostraman language finally began to come alive—it was a forced measure, his memory was too vast, too great.
His memory was a vast graveyard where people and events he alone remembered rested.
The Nostraman that Neot remembered was largely a poetic language. The people who created it and spoke it were full of passion and confidence, born poets, romantic and honest.
But now everything had changed.
Now it hissed, its intonation became sharp. The poetry remained, but it became cruel. And the people who spoke it, from decent, turned into murderers, unconscious misanthropes, and workers dragging out a miserable existence in suffering.
What a tragedy.
He paused before answering the Haunter. He knew that silence would only increase doubts, but it was necessary—memories surged like a wave.
"...I'm trying to apologize," Neot said.
"Apologies again?"
The Haunter's tone became even sharper.
"I don't need apologies."
"Then, at least, do you need an explanation?"
"...No, I don't," the Haunter cut off.
Neot finally sighed.
"I didn't talk to you because you no longer need my mentorship. He did everything he could to pass on everything you needed."
The unfamiliar, suffering father looked at his estranged son and said softly,
"You already have a father. You don't need me."
Silence, again silence. When it settled again, the Haunter realized he had gotten used to it, but this time he had to break it himself.
"...Konrad Curze," the Haunter said dully, unexpectedly asking a question. "Why did you give me a name?"
Neot did not answer.
His gaze froze, covered by agonizing ice.
"There are many gargoyles in Quintus, I've seen hundreds of them. I assigned them numbers, but I didn't give them names."
"Kariel said that a name is very important. If you give a name to a thing or a person, you take responsibility for taking care of it. Because the name you give forever changes it."
"I didn't give names to the gargoyles because I knew I couldn't take care of them. I couldn't do it. Kariel also didn't give me a name, he called me the Night Haunter. I asked him why, he only answered that he couldn't."
"I don't know why he couldn't."
"And you gave me this name. I don't like it, but if you want, I'll accept it. Lorgar may be unpleasant to me, but he's right about one thing: I really feel a blood connection between us."
"But, if... if you don't want..."
In the darkness, the Haunter tried his best to speak in the calmest voice:
"...then why did you give me a name?"
"Because I once wanted to. Because once I could too."
Neot closed his eyes, and his voice sounded like a whisper on the wind:
"...Because of responsibility."
"Responsibility?"
"I am responsible for you," Neot said.
He still didn't open his eyes. But, as he said, responsibility called. Not paternal, but something else.
The mask in his mind whispered softly, trying to hide his disfigured face again. Neot refused. He needed a little more time.
"Just a little more time," he told himself.
"I don't know if this responsibility includes ordinary fatherly love for children. My feelings and thoughts are fractured, Haunter, you won't be able to understand it. No one but me can."
"That's why I bound myself with responsibility. I had to give you names—it's an anchor, Haunter. It awakens my... feelings."
In the darkness, someone said in High Gothic:
"I need you."
There were no more answers.
Neot lowered his head.
"Thank you," he said dully. "Thank you, Haunter."
"You can call me Konrad Curze," said the man from the darkness.
...
Kariel clearly heard that roar.
If he hadn't seen Lorgar Aurelian with his own eyes, if he hadn't participated in this dinner, he might not have taken this roar for a human voice.
But he had seen it. Moreover, he was the cause of this roar.
"How funny..." he thought.
The power of a demigod, the body of a demigod, a spirit so noble that mere mortals dare not look, yet so fragile that it can be crushed by a few words.
Faith?
A true fanatic pays no attention to the gossip of non-believers.
He turned around.
The banquet hall door burst open with a bang under the onslaught of the giant. His skin was golden, and glowing runes danced on it, but his face was distorted beyond recognition.
"Apologize to me!" he shouted. "Otherwise, even if you are Konrad's adoptive father, I will make you pay!"
"I am not his adoptive father."
Kariel replied calmly, ignoring the giant's rage. If someone had seen this scene from the outside, they wouldn't have been surprised, because Kariel was also a giant now.
"I've said many times that he and I are just partners."
"You insulted my faith!"
Lorgar roared, ignoring Kariel's explanations, as if he hadn't heard them.
"You know nothing about me! You have no idea what light I see! You are just a pathetic..."
He suddenly fell silent, cutting himself off mid-sentence.
"Mortal?"
Kariel chuckled, finishing for him. He didn't care.
"You always say that word condescendingly, with pity and smug pride, as if mortals are inferior beings. And now that I am taller than you, you are silent."
"I truly pity them!" Lorgar shouted again. "But I never considered them inferior! They are just lost sheep in need of salvation!"
Kariel sighed tiredly. He didn't want to argue with this so-called demigod anymore.
It was pointless. He had many things to do on Nostramo. The one who was the Emperor had given him and the Haunter great support, including an entire legion that was already on its way.
"Legion," he thought. "An interesting word."
High warriors in armor flashed before Kariel's eyes.
"So, such a legion... a whole one, for Nostramo, it's probably overkill."
"Lorgar, calm down! You've said enough today!"
A voice from the doorway, full of obvious irritation, interrupted his thoughts.
Kariel looked up in surprise.
He expected to see Rogal Dorn, but not the giant who had silently supported Fulgrim throughout the dinner.
"Ferrus Manus?" he thought his name.
"Iron, hand... the first refers to character, the second—to the fact that he extends a helping hand to many? Or simply points to a pair of silver hands?"
Kariel, not interfering, prepared to observe, but did not expect that in the next second Ferrus Manus would address him.
"And you, Lord Kariel Lohars, I ask you to calm down too and stop using that power..."
The giant with silver hands sincerely spread them apart; they gleamed.
"It makes me uncomfortable."
"Really? I apologize, but I only use it when necessary."
"You just used it to immobilize us all. I knew from the beginning that you couldn't be an ordinary person, but I didn't expect you to be so strong."
Ferrus spoke, and deep wrinkles appeared on his forehead.
Kariel felt that he was somewhat like Rogal Dorn now, but unlike the cold directness of that giant, Ferrus Manus left room for maneuver.
"Power is just an empty word," Kariel remarked indifferently. "No one is truly strong, because the concept itself does not exist in the real world."
"...I have my own opinion on that," Ferrus said slowly. "But please forgive Lorgar for his rudeness..."
"Rudeness?!"
Lorgar roared again, the Primarch's fury was terrifying, and the golden runes on his skin flared brighter.
He thought Ferrus would support him, but he didn't expect such words from his brother!
"He is the rude one here, Ferrus! He disregarded Father's kindness, he, possessing such power, allowed our brother to live in such a place!"
Lorgar looked at his brother with a tremor, anger, disappointment, and resentment in his eyes.
"How can you call me impolite?! I love our brother, and I stood up for him! He has suffered enough on Nostramo, and it's obvious that it's all this man's fault!"
"Conrad and I have known each other for less than a day, Lorgar, we know nothing about what happened on Nostramo. Why are you jumping to such hasty conclusions?"
The wrinkles on Ferrus's forehead became deeper, sharper. His face was stern, but Kariel sensed a hidden anger in the heart of this giant whose name was "iron."
"Ah... another one with problems."
"You look and look, and it turns out only one is normal," Kariel thought with annoyance.
"We know enough already!" Lorgar declared loudly. He stopped roaring and, like an orator, began to wave his hands, trying to convince his brother. His manner was polished, skillful, and innate.
He used this gift completely naturally, without even realizing it.
"We know that Konrad suffered, he is clearly malnourished, isn't he? We know he had only one ragged outfit, and we know that he believes in this man with all his heart!"
He turned and glared at Kariel, his eyes burning with genuine anger.
"Kariel Lohars! Do you dare deny that you intentionally manipulated our brother so that he would consider you a kind and loving father? You are simply trying to use him for your own benefit!"
"You have such power, and you let him live in such a hovel, in such terrible conditions! He is the son of the Emperor! You are a hypocritical and shameless person!"
Lorgar sharply spread his arms, like a martyr on a cross.
"Are you satisfied now?! You arrived on the 'Emperor's Somnium,' you set foot here, countless people in the galaxy dream of such an honor, and you! You, a despicable scoundrel, stand here, and all thanks to our brother!"
"If you have even a shred of conscience, you must immediately go and repent before him! Tell him about your true intentions, about your true thoughts! And beg him for forgiveness!"
Ferrus Manus slowly clenched his fists until they cracked.
He couldn't stand it anymore. He didn't understand why Lorgar chose this moment to make a scene—and his subjective speculations were too obvious.
If Kariel Lohars were truly such a person, wouldn't their father have noticed?
If he were truly such a person, would their father have spoken to him in private? And would he have specifically entrusted them with solving the problem when leaving the banquet hall?
He took a deep breath, preparing to intervene and already ready for a fight.
Lorgar had already made enough mistakes today, and he couldn't let him continue.
However, someone beat him to it.
"Excuse me," Kariel said sincerely.
Ferrus froze in astonishment. Lorgar burst into laughter, not noticing that the apology was addressed to Ferrus.
And then...
"...I just can't stand it anymore. I thought I could, but your words... they just..."
Kariel sighed, and the blue light flared again, but this time he didn't hold back.
"...enrage me."
A blue flash—and everything went dark.
...
In the majestic hall, two giants talked face to face.
"I apologize for your son's suffering," Kariel said. "I must apologize to you."
"Everyone has moments when emotions get the better of them."
Neot replied evasively: "Lorgar gave in to them and fell into inappropriate rage, he blindly believed what he wanted to see, and said insolent things to you. He truly deserves punishment."
"Then so do I," Kariel said calmly. "I also gave in to emotions."
"...Are you testing me?" Neot frowned. "You know my attitude perfectly well and understand that I don't care about this."
"You should care."
Kariel shook his head seriously.
"A stranger on your ship injured one of your sons. Will you remain indifferent?"
"He acted wrongly, made a mistake..."
"...from his point of view, he was right, and his love for his brothers was sincere. And, forgive me for interrupting, but I can't help myself."
Kariel took a deep breath.
He spoke very quickly:
"You can't just care about your grand goals and plans. I bet you've never shared them with your sons, not once. Am I right?"
"They won't understand."
"You didn't even try to explain it to them, and you've already decided they won't understand?"
"They are just children."
"Children?!"
Kariel's voice rose sharply, anger reflected on his face.
"You gave them immense power and high status, and you call them children?!"
"And for us, aren't they children?"
"And for others?"
Kariel shook his head.
"And for others, for those who are much weaker than them, what are they?"
"You hide all your goals, hide aside, and play the role of a father who only communicates with the chosen ones. Do you think this is good? Isn't the problem of Lorgar Aurelian obvious?"
"He cut off a part of your personality, kept it in his heart, seeing you as a god and his savior! If one day he discovers that you are not at all like he imagined, what do you think he will do?"
"...He will understand himself. I cannot change his will."
Kariel silently raised his hand and, closing his eyes, rubbed the bridge of his nose.
He suddenly felt a great weariness.
Only after a long time did he speak again.
"...I thought a man like you would be a pragmatic realist. I never thought you would turn out to be an idealist."
Kariel leaned his head back wearily.
"You don't want to change people with your words because you think it would sound like an order to them... You think they will figure it out themselves, right?"
"They certainly will," Neot said firmly. "I believe in them. They embody all the virtues of the people I have ever seen."
"Yes, and all the flaws that people have, too," Kariel said emotionlessly. "For example, the stubbornness inherited from you. You brought four sons, and all of them have this problem. What about the others? Will they be better or worse?"
"..."
"Let's get to the point," Kariel continued with a stony face. "For example, about the specific situation with that legion and my future work... Surely there are still many planets waiting to be liberated?"
Neot nodded. He had no choice but to nod.
***
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