"No, it's not like that. This is not a misunderstanding."
Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter familiar to Kariel in the eyes of the Primarchs, spoke in a quiet voice.
"I knew it."
Kariel sighed silently but quite noticeably.
He knew the Haunter's character well and understood how he would react to a situation where "Kariel Lohars" was involved in one way or another.
However, this did not surprise him—he could even guess what Fulgrim had said to the Haunter.
It was merely an external manifestation of deep-seated arrogance towards mortals. Nothing special.
It had been this way since time immemorial, and few could escape this curse.
As soon as you gain great power, pride inevitably arises, and you begin to look at others as foolish sheep. Only those you consider equals can earn a modicum of rare respect.
Moreover, this group of demigods indeed had the right to be arrogant. The Haunter, who was only a year and a half old, already displayed incredible combat power. How much stronger must these four adults be?
"Brother..."
The Chemosian, pale, with a vacant gaze, raised his head and looked at the Haunter.
"I ask for your forgiveness."
"No," the Haunter shook his head.
His voice was soft but firm, and Kariel's head began to split more and more.
The reason was simple: the Haunter was not speaking High Gothic.
The low, drawn-out, and hissing Nostraman language echoed through the gilded hall. The soft light remained soft, but the giant at the head of the table stopped eating for the first time.
"Konrad..."
"That's not my name," the Haunter hissed. "You shouldn't ask me for forgiveness, Lord Fulgrim."
Fulgrim's face became even paler, and his porcelain skin could now rival the Haunter's deathly pallor.
Although he didn't understand Nostraman, he understood everything he wanted to know from Konrad Curze's tone.
"What should I do?"
He involuntarily lowered his gaze to Ferrus.
The giant with silver hands looked at him impassively and, after a moment, shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"I can't help you."
Fulgrim closed his eyes and, trembling, sank into his chair as if all his strength had left him. He no longer dared to think about what would happen next.
Because of his mistake, his brother had distanced himself from the Imperium and his father... How could this be rectified?
"Sit down, Haunter," Kariel hissed. "Or go for a walk—there's no one in the corridor right now."
"And you, Kariel?"
"I will solve this problem."
The Haunter blinked and nodded. He didn't ask what problem Kariel was going to solve, but simply left his seat like a wisp of smoke.
The Emperor did not stop him, merely watched calmly. Dorn and Lorgar tried in vain to read anything on their father's face, but could not find the slightest hint of an explanation.
The former frowned, while the latter looked at Kariel with anger.
The Haunter headed towards the exit, his gait smooth, gliding. Before leaving, he turned and made a throw.
Superhuman agility allowed the pendant to land precisely on the table next to Fulgrim.
Then he said in High Gothic:
"Take it."
The Chemosian froze, clenching his fists. Ferrus watched him calmly and finally reached out, patting him encouragingly on the back.
The door opened and closed again.
+The atmosphere in your family is somewhat different from what I imagined.+
+Very bad?+
+What do you think?+
+You don't understand, Kariel... I can't be an ordinary father and listen to each of them. I must do everything in my power to maintain an image where feelings are only shown in small things.+
+You're molding yourself into a god. What benefit do you get from that?+
+I never did that. When you officially join us, you'll understand how intolerant I am of religion.+
+Come on, one of your sons already worships you as a god.+
+That's his choice, I can't demand he change.+
+Did you ask him?+
+What?+
+This is a telepathic link, Lord Neot, so you couldn't have not heard me. You understood perfectly.+
+But...+
+And also, the Haunter is very angry with you. After all, you still haven't said a word to him.+
+I can't force him to accept me. There's already an image of a father in his heart.+
+Does your definition of "force" include a simple greeting? You amaze me.+
Shaking his head, Kariel broke the telepathic link. The giant at the head of the table remained calm, his face like a mask.
But Kariel knew he was bleeding.
"So, what happened after all, Fulgrim?" Rogal Dorn asked his brother sternly.
The "stone" now bore no resemblance to a guest at a dinner party. He stood by the table with such a stern expression that he inspired awe. There was not a hint of emotion in his voice, but everyone understood that this was an interrogation.
"...I... I wounded him to the heart."
Fulgrim raised his head, his gaze wandering from the chandelier hanging from the ceiling to the tablecloth. There were five people around him, but he looked at no one.
"I wounded him to the heart, Rogal..." he said dully.
"I need precise details," Rogal Dorn demanded coldly. "For example, the details of your conversation, not these ambiguous phrases."
"Do you want me to be disappointed in myself again?!" Fulgrim suddenly roared. "I've been humiliated enough by my pride today!"
He covered his face with his hands and fell silent.
Silence fell again.
And at that moment, the giant at the head of the table slowly stood up. He wiped his lips with a clean, soft napkin and, without a word, headed for the door.
Of the four present, only Kariel knew what he was going to do.
"...Father?" Lorgar called out in confusion.
"Continue," the man in the mask said calmly without turning around. "Solve the problem."
It sounded like an order.
Kariel couldn't help but chuckle. He couldn't understand how one could be so awkward with his own son, afraid to say an extra word.
Too worried?
"Funny," he narrowed his eyes.
This look did not escape Lorgar. The golden giant couldn't stand it and asked, "Lord Kariel, what do you find so amusing? Does my father seem funny to you? Or does my brother's sadness amuse you?"
"Neither," Kariel replied calmly.
He seemed completely unfazed by the demigod's question.
Rogal Dorn frowned again: "Lorgar."
"No, Rogal!"
Lorgar stood up and resolutely placed his right hand on the thick tome lying on the table. He spoke loudly, with a hint of oratorical fervor in his voice:
"Since you are all silent, I will speak!"
"Lord Kariel, yes, you raised our brother, you took good care of him—we are grateful to you for that, and Father even allowed you to dine with him! Do you know what an honor that is?"
"But!"
"If you took this as proof that you are allowed to do anything, then you are deeply mistaken!"
Kariel frowned: "I never allowed myself..."
"No, you did!" Lorgar raised his voice, interrupting and drowning out Kariel's explanations. It was easy for a Primarch.
"I see how you manipulate our brother Konrad Curze! Do you dare deny it? You spoke to him in the local language, you sent him away, you still..."
"...Shhh."
The next moment, an icy chill filled the air. Lorgar suddenly fell silent, his muscles instantly tensing like jammed gears.
+Don't overdo it...+
+You can raise them yourself.+
+I can't.+
Taking a deep breath, Kariel slowly stood up—this time, without jumping off the chair.
His figure began to grow: two meters, three, four... He became taller than Lorgar, he looked down at him, standing calmly at the table.
A blue light blazed furiously in his eyes.
"You are deeply mistaken about me," Kariel said quietly. "But I'm not surprised. After all, prejudice and arrogance are an integral part of human nature. And although you possess great power, you are no exception."
His voice was soft but clearly carried across the long table to the ears of Rogal Dorn, Fulgrim, and Ferrus Manus.
And for Lorgar...
...Kariel's quiet voice sounded like a thunderclap.
"But listen carefully... Whether he is Konrad Curze or the Night Haunter, he is a free man. He decides for himself what to do, and he chooses his own path. I cannot make decisions for him, and I never will."
"Manipulation?"
Kariel chuckled.
"Judging by your attire, the writings on your skin, and the book in your hand, you must be a very devout person. Am I right?"
"Funny, religion from its very inception has served to manipulate people's minds, to fool their will, to make them wallow in the mud... And now you're talking to me about manipulation?"
"You know nothing about me or him, Lord Lorgar Aurelian. What made you say that?"
"Love for your brothers or faith in your father? Your god is offended, and you, his devoted follower, must restore his honor?"
The smile disappeared. He left the table coldly. The door opened silently by itself and immediately slammed shut with a bang. Only then did a single word sweep through the hall:
"Ridiculous."
A moment later, a furious roar was heard.
***
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