Eden and Guilliman, upon hearing the Emperor speak, immediately focused their attention.
Hoping for an answer.
After all, the Emperor would nod off from time to time—who knew when He'd wake again?
Under the Primarchs' gaze, the aged figure upon the Throne shook His head:
"I do not know whether Horus has returned, or undergone some new change. My eyes are clouded; much is hidden from me."
"Even His Majesty the Emperor cannot see the galaxy's changes—is it His sacred aspect waning, or the Ruinous Powers' veiling?!"
Eden looked at the trembling old man before him, and cared more about the other's condition.
Of course, he wasn't worried about the man's physical health—the appearance was but a surface.
What he truly feared was—this crotchety elder suddenly standing up off the Throne to punch out the Dark Gods and stomp the Imperium flat, turning the galaxy and the warp upside down.
"Eden…"
The Emperor softly spoke the name, then raised His head to the Savior.
Expectation flickered in His gaze: "Perhaps you can see it—my state worsens. I will not be able to help you much, going forward.
If Horus truly has returned, it will fall to you and to…"
His eyes swept over the Primarchs present—the Avenging Son and the Khagan. He paused in thought—ultimately naming no one.
Silence fell over the hall.
???
Their father's words, hanging unfinished, left Guilliman and the Khan wearing question marks.
What did that mean?
That the two of them weren't up to dealing with a resurrected Horus—is that it? Who could stomach that?!
That was more or less the meaning: a Horus blessed by the Dark Gods was not an opponent that mere Primarchs could handle.
But the two brothers swallowed it; they didn't dare say anything, didn't dare ask.
Just stood there stone-faced—we're not convinced written across their brows.
The Emperor's present bearing was very much like His old tyrant-state—beyond dispute. If they dared pipe up now, they'd likely be beaten black and blue.
Even so, they had already decided to answer their father with true feats in war—to prove His judgment of them wrong.
"If Horus shows himself, we will stop him."
Eden nodded, answering the Emperor with calm confidence—and, by doing so, looked after his brothers' feelings.
This moved Guilliman and the Khan; the Savior was indeed their dearest brother.
Of course, that confidence was largely an act.
He had no idea what his odds would be against a resurrected, buffed Horus.
Fifty–fifty?!
If Horus had sunk deeper into Chaos's power—or if the Dark Gods themselves rode his flesh—then Eden would have to seek even greater strength.
The good news: over these years, the Sacred Spires across many worlds had compressed and stockpiled a great deal of holy might, held in reserve.
Even if the Emperor truly flagged, it would not yet be despair.
"Besides, that unknown foe isn't necessarily Horus. I may just be scaring myself."
Eeden thought it through, easing his own anxiety a little.
In any case, he would be prepared—soldiers to block soldiers, water to dam water; whoever dared leap out would be struck down.
The Nebulous Sector was the first step of the Imperium's revival; no one would bar the path to its great resurgence and prosperity!
"Old man, there's one more thing."
Eden looked at the drowsing elder upon the Throne and asked another question:
"Has the Lion awakened? If not, can you use your psychic power to rouse him?"
"You mean Leon?"
The Emperor lifted His eyelids again, like an old man with fogged memory: "Ah—Leon. That boy should be waking.
He ought to wake… I nearly forgot."
The Master of Mankind had long pulled the strings behind so many developments, as if omniscient and omnipotent—yet now seemed dulled.
In truth, since the Savior's advent, He had lost His grip on many things.
Not only Him—Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, likewise.
Vmmm~
The Emperor closed His eyes. Rings of psychic force pulsed outward from Him, reaching through the Immaterium to some far locus.
Eden and his two dear brothers watched with expectation.
Perhaps Lion El'Jonson would wake at once, and reach out to them.
Then he could, in the Nebulous Sector, stall the spread of the dark a while—coordinating with the Redemption Expedition's war plan.
"Pity that the Lion's translations are a bit random—or we could simply 'port everyone straight there."
So Eden mused.
"Hahahaha—once that fellow wakes and sees the Imperium now, he'll be dumbstruck.
I'll have to show him what a real assault looks like!"
The Khan's spirits were high—he was already planning to roll up in his beloved legendary vehicle, the Pale Eagle, to put on a show.
Of late, his brother's vehicle-research wing had upgraded that legend-on-tracks yet again.
Guilliman seemed to be recalling something:
"So the Lion will finally wake. I wonder what state he'll be in. I only hope that when he wakes, he won't interfere with the Imperium again."
He and the Lion had good personal ties, but they clashed in policy—neither would yield to the other.
The man also liked to be in charge—a born leader—and stubborn besides.
He hoped the Lion would not, upon waking, find himself at odds with the Savior.
"Brother Eden can talk the Lion around, right?!"
Guilliman glanced at the Savior, ideas growing in his heart.
He sent Eden a private message expressing his worries, concluding:
"If there's truly no other way, we'll just put him on his backside—make him accept things."
Between Primarchs, sometimes a fist settled things best.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
Eden skimmed the Avenging Son's text, frowned a touch, then replied—attaching a sticker that basically said, "No problem."
It was a problem—but not a fatal one.
He cut a sidelong look at the thick-browed, kind-faced, slightly black-bellied Avenging Son—felt the suggestion likely had a dash of private grudge mixed in.
Still, Guilliman wasn't wrong. If the Lion and he clashed, and it couldn't be resolved—
then fists would have to do the talking.
Suddenly, the golden light about the Black Throne smoothed and steadied.
"It's done."
Eden felt it, and looked up—waiting for the Emperor's final word.
"I… found the boy Leon. His soul is trapped by the nightmare within his own mind—unable to get free."
The Emperor sounded tired—and a little heartsore:
"Regrettably, there clings to Me too much darkness. I cannot draw nearer—else I'll be repelled, and worse dangers will be sparked."
In that place He had seen His son—an aged soul, tormented.
Worse yet—He could not help him.
"So—it has gone wrong?"
Hearing this, Eden's heart sank.
Guilliman and the Khan went pale, too. The Lion was a friend to both—and one of the Imperium's few loyal sons.
"Old man, is there another way to get him out?"
Eden pressed; none of them would stand by and watch the Lion tormented, and not act.
"I have left a mark in that region. With your psychic strength… you should be able to find the boy in the warp."
The Emperor's hoarse voice faltered—He seemed on the edge of sleep.
Fortunately, before He went under, He passed a psychic message to the Little Sun—so the effort wouldn't be cut short.
"Find him. Free him."
Thus spoke the Master of Mankind before He slept again.
After receiving the coordinates from the psychic message, Eden plunged his consciousness straight into the Little Sun.
——
The Warp.
It was still saturated with chaotic energies; low mutterings spread everywhere.
Vmm!
In the void, a gentle, golden, blazing sun radiated surging psychic power—its waves coursing to the far-off beyond.
"Ahhh—
Haven't stretched like this in ages…"
Then the sun stuck out two pudgy little hands and squinted—like taking a long lazy stretch.
Eden moved in the Immaterium in his essential form—the Little Sun—feeling the torrents of faith surging within.
Since the Little Sun had grown stronger, he hadn't possessed it again—
to avoid letting faith-power exert undue influence over him.
Eden turned and glanced at the nearby Great Sun that represented the Emperor—it was still sacred and vast, but dark "sunspot" pits marred its surface.
Those weren't harmless; they were the reification of some black power—once the spots covered the Sun's whole face,
a destructive, truly black sun would appear within the warp.
Eden lifted a pudgy hand and cautiously poked the Great Sun—no reaction.
He studied the colossus—and suddenly realized it wasn't quite as big as he remembered.
Because the Little Sun had grown.
Now his own essence—the Little Sun—was roughly half the size of the Great Sun—perhaps a bit more.
Formidable, to say the least.
"Perhaps when I'm as large as the Great Sun, the darkness bred by faith will swallow me, too…"
At the thought, the Little Sun shivered; pudgy hands rubbed over his sides.
He didn't fancy himself tougher than the Emperor; he'd best find a solution before that day came.
"First things first—find Leon. Solve the problem at hand."
The Little Sun scratched his head, then burst out a shockwave of psychic force—ranging along the Emperor's coordinates to a special region.
In this noospheric warp, the distance between regions could be vast—or right at hand.
In virtually an instant, he reached the Lion's locale—a nightmare domain wrought of memory.
Much like with the living saint—the silver-haired angel Saint Celestine—back then.
Only this domain was far larger.
…
Warp—Nightmare Domain.
BOOM BOOM BOOM—
Eden had barely slipped through the outer veil when a thunderous roaring battered his senses.
He was a little surprised:
"So the Lion isn't trapped in a forest—but on a void battlefield?"
In space, a supermassive fleet filled the starfield—delivering orbital bombardment upon a dark-green world, while the planet's defense batteries spat fire and plasma back.
An Exterminatus—purification by Imperial fleet—against a rebel world.
"This is… Caliban!"
Amid the fleet, Eden saw a Gloriana-class battleship—the I Legion's flagship—the Invincible Reason.
The Imperium's first of its class—the Lion's personal ship.
Without doubt, this was that day of Caliban's destruction—recorded in the Imperium's shadowed, forbidden annals.
Lion El'Jonson had suffered betrayal and, in fury, ordered the bombardment—obliterating the homeworld of the First.
"Sigh—the Lion was still too young then—too quick to anger. He regretted it later, didn't he…"
Eden watched as Caliban, under bombardment and warp-storm, broke apart—into unnumbered shards—utterly destroyed.
The Lion must have witnessed it all—and when he woke to what he'd done, he drowned in remorse—trapping himself,
unwilling to wake.
When the fires died, the nightmare domain rewound, again and again, replaying the heartbreak.
Even Eden felt a twinge for the Lion—caught within the most searing pain of his life. Not going mad was miracle enough.
Only a First Primarch's will could bear it.
With psychic sense, he searched the domain—and at last found the Lion's presence in a collapsing hive-city.
When Eden reached the hive's summit, the sky was aflame—the world on the brink of ruin.
Buildings fell in thunderous cascades.
Now—the Lion was locked in brutal combat with a champion of Chaos.
"Luther!"
The Lion hacked in a frenzy at the champion before him—named Luther—allowing no breath.
He demanded, "Why did you betray me? Why turn to Chaos?!"
"No—you betrayed us."
Luther met the Lion's blows—and lashed back with psychic might: "I saw the mists and the storm—they will destroy all. I am saving Caliban!"
He seemed the Lion's equal—ferocity beyond measure.
"Luther?"
Eden watched like a man at the cinema—and heard a familiar name.
By the records we have, Luther was a native of Caliban—a knight of that world, later a central pillar of the First Legion.
Close as kin to the Lion.
But memory told Eden more secrets.
It was Luther who found the lost First Primarch, the Lion—deep in the forests—and raised him as a son. Even the name "Lion" he gave.
He then brought El'Jonson into the Order—taught him war-craft—and together father and son broke their foes.
But in that span Luther touched on the lore of Chaos.
Later, the Great Crusade came to Caliban.
The Lion's identity revealed, he rose to Primarch and took command of a mighty Legion—Luther became second-in-command.
Though the two were still close, a rift had opened.
Jealous of the Lion's honor and renown, Luther gave Chaos its chance—and fell—leading to Caliban's doom.
"Sigh—do Primarchs all have a tradition of slaying foster-fathers?"
Eden thought so, a little ruefully.
Mortarion the Death Lord had done likewise—and now the First Primarch, the Lion.
And he thought of the Emperor—the Master of Mankind, in prehistory, had seemingly slain his own father—or uncle—setting out on the path to save humanity.
"Must be hereditary…"
Eden tossed off the jab.
Still—Luther's breaking was understandable. You raise a foundling as your son—and somehow he becomes your brother; later he's to be your father?
What an inversion of Heaven and Earth.
Thus Luther refused gene-augmentation and implantation of the Lion's geneseed—he would not become an Astartes.
Meaning—
the man fought all through the Great Crusade in mortal flesh.
He possessed not only keen psyker power—but could match the Lion, body-to-body, blow-for-blow.
Wild, to say the least.
Sssschk—
Riddled with wounds, the Lion thrust his blade through his "foster-father" Luther—and hesitated.
The First Primarch's face was full of regret and pain.
Then the counterstrike came—treachery in a blaze of psy-force—and the Lion screamed, and fell,
senseless.
And the scene rewound again.
Eden watched Luther's form—wariness in his eyes.
The Lion's foster-father still lived.
Ten millennia on, the man who once fought a Primarch as a mere mortal should now be terrifyingly strong—surrounded by a host of the Fallen.
He might well become an obstacle to the Redemption Expedition.
"So the Lion will have to face his foster-father again?"
Eden sucked air through his teeth. "What a mess. If Guilliman and I end up cutting him down—will the Lion blame us?
Forget it. If we can take him alive, better leave it to the Lion to decide."
He saw the nightmare spinning up for another loop—time to shatter it and wake this much-wronged Lion.
"For a nightmare this stubborn—we'll need shock therapy…"
Eden hesitated only a breath—then dove as a lance of gold: "Oi~ the sun's on your backside! Time to get up!"
…
"Luther!"
The Lion roared again—demanding of his nearest kin who betrayed him: "Why did you betray me—why—"
BOOM—
A golden figure slammed down—its force shockwaving both figures apart.
"Heretic—die!"
Without a heartbeat's pause, Eden seized the nightmare's source—Luther—by the skull.
One hand closed over the man's head and lifted him up.
At the Little Sun's scale of psy-strength, he was nigh-invincible within this nightmare.
"How… is this… possible…"
Snatched by an incomparable power, Luther's heart drowned in terror.
He had no time—before his head was crushed.
Blood sprayed.
The Lion's face was spattered with Luther's blood—the shock absolute—he froze where he stood.
And that golden figure seared itself into the bedrock of his mind.
"No!!!"
Watching his dearest one die before him, the Lion came back to himself—drowned in grief.
Crimson-eyed, he hurled himself at the killer.
But every strike of the Primarch was turned aside—effortlessly—by the golden figure.
WHAM—
Eden, adjusting to the nightmare domain's force, planted a single hammerblow—driving the Lion into the ruins.
He barked: "Leon! Can you not see this is all a dream? How much longer will you trap yourself here?!"
As he spoke, he conjured a mirror from psychic force.
The blow between the eyes sobered the Lion a little.
When he saw the man in the glass—he reeled.
The face was old—wrinkled and lined—hair shot with white—and beard as well.
That was the Lion's true form now.
Primarchs don't have endless years—they age, too.
Guilliman had slept, yes—but his sons had sealed him within a stasis field, tended him with care—and even opened him as a tourist attraction.
Thus he kept his youthful vigor.
But the Dark Angels had stuffed the Lion into a secret vault deep within the Rock; even he could not find himself—and long ages had dried him to hide and bone.
Such age was to be expected.
He was no longer the golden-haired beauty he once had been.
"Yes… this is only a dream…"
The Lion's reason slowly returned.
The nightmare realm trembled on and on—near collapse.
He looked at the golden figure before him—his voice shook: "Fa… Father?"
After the Reformation, the Savior had always moved in shining gold—very like the Emperor. Under the weight of faith, he looked even more the Golden Colossus.
So the Lion, seeing that golden shape, took it for the Emperor.
???
"Mm? Who's your dad?"
Eden, suddenly called "Father" by the Lion, went a bit numb.
He had no intention of becoming a Primarch's foster-father—too high-risk by far.
He hurried to explain: "No, brother—I'm hop—"
But before he could finish, the nightmare realm completely collapsed—vanishing into nothing.
"Oi—what the—!"
Somewhere in the warp.
Eden stared at the empty Immaterium before him, puzzled: "Didn't even let me finish. That fellow… should be awake, right?"
——
Forest.
A river sang in notes—the murmur unending—an airy, intricate rhythm in its flow.
By the bank—
A golden-haired, somewhat timeworn figure lay upon the grass. No telling how long he had been there.
Suddenly he stirred—then snapped his eyes open…
(End of Chapter)
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