"Tell me, what exactly happened on Sisyphus III?"
"...I don't know, but it seems our Gene-Father is... somewhat angry."
"Somewhat? The rage on his body could ignite an entire sector! He wasn't this angry even when Lord Luther defied orders."
"That's true... But Lady Morgana seems to be in a good mood. Do you think it could be that our Gene-Father didn't fight..."
"Silence! Use your brain, is that possible?"
"I can't think of a second answer. I think the only possibility is that our Gene-Father is angry because of something related to Lady Morgana. This is the only logical deduction that makes sense."
"He's angry because of Lady Morgana?"
"Yes."
"And then he arranged Lady Morgana's room next to his, putting her second only to himself, above everyone else?"
"Uh..."
"Then should I also make him angry?"
"...You can certainly try... I will give you my full spiritual support... and cover all your funeral expenses."
——————
The whispers of the Dark Angels echoed in the shadows of the Unbending Truth. These most proud and powerful warriors were now huddled in corners, for all the corridors and halls churned and burned with the Primarch's wrath.
Like a hungry monster, like a furious thunder, when the black hurricane, named the Primarch of the First Legion, leaped from the landing craft that recovered the Annihilation Engines and began to rampage, the entire Gloriana-class battleship trembled under his silent majesty.
Lion El'Jonson did not speak, nor did he roar. He simply widened his eyes, allowing silent arrows to shoot from his emerald pupils, piercing mercilessly into every one of his sons he passed, fleetingly.
By the Emperor, the Gene-Father now looked far more terrifying than when he roared.
Countless warriors of the First Legion lamented inwardly. They hid in the shadows of the battleship until the Lord of the Legion's figure swept past like a hurricane, only then squeezing out the faintest sounds from their throats, discussing.
But then, they heard another sound, the unhurried tapping of high-heeled boots on the ground.
Morgana followed closely behind the Lion King, maintaining an incredibly eerie distance. She seemed to be right behind the enraged Lion, yet also a myriad miles away. In the eyes of all First Legion warriors, she appeared as an ethereal shadow, a queen stepping out of a painting, a pale spider queen patrolling her territory through the Legion's corridors.
When they blinked, focusing their attention, they realized she was real, and had already gracefully moved away.
The silver-haired spider queen walked lightly, her figure moving through beams of light, as if draped in a cloak of moonlight. She strolled leisurely through the silent gazes of countless Dark Angels, returning cold smiles to the most bewildered eyes, as if she were not a guest, but half-owner of this battleship.
All the Dark Angels who had just escaped the Gene-Father's fury looked at this scene with a sudden realization. When they became aware of this arrogant demeanor, they didn't even feel anything was amiss, until Morgana's figure disappeared around the corner. Only then did Lion El'Jonson's sons look at each other, realizing how...
...Absurd... that minute had been.
But the Astartes warriors' confusion did not affect the Primarch's decision. Lion El'Jonson stood before his room door until Corswain's hurried footsteps sounded.
The Primarch of the First Legion pointed to the left front of his room door, which was opposite Corswain's room.
[From now on, she lives here.]
The Lion King's confidant couldn't help but glance at the room that had always been empty, then turned his head, looked at Morgana, who maintained a faint smile, before nodding in affirmation.
If he remembered correctly, this empty room used to belong to Master Luther...
Before the confusion could churn in his heart, he heard Lion El'Jonson's gritted voice.
His voice was directed at Morgana.
[You stay put in there!]
[Remember my words! Don't go anywhere!]
The Primarch of the First Legion straightened his body. He did not turn his head, nor did he shoot his gaze. His face was hidden in shadow, as if deliberately avoiding the mortal behind him.
In that instant, Corswain realized he had experienced such an illusion.
Then, he heard Morgana's smile.
[Why such tension, Lord Lion El'Jonson?]
[When have I ever defied your orders?]
The provocative tone in this reply made Corswain feel a hint of suffocation. He began to worry about the Gene-Father's wrath and the silver-haired lady's safety. Then he realized that his worries were completely unnecessary.
His Gene-Father was clearly still angry, but he only let out a heavy groan, then pushed open the door and entered his room.
And when Corswain turned his head, he found that Morgana had returned to her original room at the end of the corridor, using psychic power to move all her personal belongings, carrying out this simple relocation.
The Lion King's confidant quietly watched this scene until Morgana closed the door of her new room. Corswain stood alone in the corridor, took a deep breath, then rubbed his face. The friction and slight pain told him that everything just now was not an illusion.
...
He was a little curious.
What exactly happened on Sisyphus III?
——————
When Ahriman of the Fifteenth Legion once again visited the Unbending Truth, Morgana had already been confined to her new room for over ten days. She completely obeyed Lion El'Jonson's orders, and even her daily meals were regularly delivered to her door by the ship's servants.
The silver-haired lady evidently enjoyed this reclusive life. From time to time, the room would emit the aura of surging psychic energy, causing the Dark Angel high-ranking officers next door to instinctively clench their anti-psyker devices.
And during the times she wasn't delving into psychic matters, her thoughts would turn to her personal hobbies and decorating her temporary small world. When Ahriman, after passing through layers of the First Legion's security checks, pushed open Morgana's room door with an agitated mind, a fresh scent unique to flower pistils and leaves instantly brought a sense of ease to his heart.
He also smelled another scent, a scent he loved and was familiar with.
As the door opened, a simple scene appeared before Ahriman's eyes: the room's color scheme was a mix of white, brown, and light gray. A layer of brown mat carefully covered the light blue steel floor. Upon it were scattered off-white bedding, striped modular cabinets, and a spacious wooden desk. A massive dark red bookshelf occupied almost an entire wall, adorned with a pleasing number of books, punctuated by a few green plants.
On the other side of the room, next to the desk, was a light blue fabric sofa, and a matching light-colored reclining chair was casually placed in front of it. On the wall hung two orange paintings, quietly displaying sunflowers and oranges.
When Ahriman's gaze moved upwards and he saw the soft light emanating from the square, medium-sized chandelier, he could not have been more satisfied.
Magnus's son uneasily shuffled his iron boots, as if afraid of disturbing the scene before him, until the room's owner smiled and issued an invitation.
Morgana was reclining on the sofa, a thick book in one hand, her other arm resting on the wooden desk beside the sofa. She wore a creamy white sweater, light blue slim-fit trousers, her toes tucked into white socks. Her legs were crossed, a brown slipper rising and falling in mid-air with her movements.
Seeing Ahriman, she smiled, put down the book in her hand, and stood up. Her silver hair, now a little too long, was simply tied into a loose side ponytail, hanging down to her waist.
Amidst the joy and laughter of reunion after a long separation, Ahriman cautiously sat on the sofa. His heart was filled with immense gratitude that he hadn't worn his armor on this trip, and Morgana's chosen furniture was sturdy enough.
Morgana lit a desk lamp, then reached out and drew the curtains open. A huge French window suddenly appeared before Ahriman's eyes. Faint light from the void streamed into the room, and the intermittently twinkling stars made the atmosphere peaceful.
"I've come to bid farewell."
After a few pleasantries, Ahriman's voice suddenly grew somewhat hoarse.
"Now that the war with the Rendan has eased, Lord Magnus has summoned us back to Prospero. The Thousand Sons Legion is reorganizing, and I need to return to organize my own Cults and Companies."
"Not long ago, under the leadership of Lord Magnus, the Legion intervened in the war on Ri'bya, successfully preventing the barbaric slave-masters of the Nineteenth Legion from destroying the priceless repositories of knowledge there. The Primarch was very pleased with this operation. He believes it's time for the Legion to return to the Great Crusade."
[You, alone?]
"Yes..."
The Thousand Son's voice was somewhat dim.
"The original team, a hundred warriors, all perished except for you and me..."
"I don't even know how I'm going to explain this to my Gene-Father. Thanks to the Primarch of the First Legion, you can't return to Prospero with me either. The Primarch has already tacitly approved your position in the First Legion."
He blinked, then glanced around.
"But you don't need to worry. If you encounter any trouble in the First Legion, you can inform me. Both Lord Magnus and I consider you a true member of the Fifteenth Legion. You need not worry about any provocations or threats; the Thousand Sons are with you."
Morgana smiled, a sincere smile. Ahriman took this as unspoken gratitude.
But then, she posed a question.
[Rendan... truly retreated?]
"From the practical situation, yes."
[But I remember, that Eleventh Primarch and his Legion haven't communicated with the Imperium in a long time. Even within the Dark Angels, there's a lot of talk about it.]
Ahriman laughed.
"The Eleventh Legion? No need to worry. They are the greatest and most formidable warriors. Although they are indeed temperamentally harsh, their combat abilities are beyond doubt.
It is said that the most pure Primarch truly submitted to the Emperor's feet the moment he first saw him. At that time, he had already left his homeworld and encountered the Emperor's fleet in another star system, but he still immediately surrendered everything he had to the Emperor."
[Including his homeworld?]
"...I'm not sure about that, but it's said that his homeworld, like Baal, is absolutely autonomous and mysterious. The Emperor appreciated his ability and attitude, and thus bestowed this grace. However, for that world, they missed the glory of the Emperor's personal arrival."
They chatted for a while, exchanging various rumors about the Eleventh Legion and other Legions. Ahriman naturally spoke freely. This enjoyable time lasted for about one Terra Standard Hour.
Then, Morgana seemed to remember something.
She stood up and walked to the side of her bed, where a curtain hung.
[Do you remember everything you said, Ahriman?]
"Hmm?"
Ahriman was startled for a moment, then he thought.
"I should... yes."
Morgana grabbed the curtain and winked at him.
[That's good, because I do too.]
Suddenly, she gave a gentle pull, and Ahriman's pupils involuntarily constricted.
Several round wooden barrels were stacked there, emitting the mellow scent of wine mixed with wood shavings.
Morgana lightly pointed her finger, and two cups flew into her hand. She poured two cups, then pulled a wooden barrel to Ahriman.
[I remember you once complained about not having wine to drink on the front lines.]
"Yes... that was five or six years ago... Thank you for still remembering..."
Holding the wine glass, Ahriman felt his throat dry.
He took a sip of the purplish-red liquid. It was indeed genuine wine, a little sour compared to the wines of Prospero, but harmless.
Ahriman drank sip after sip, feeling a peculiar warmth flowing through his heart.
"I didn't expect that. It was just a complaint. I didn't expect you to actually remember it, and take such care."
Morgana laughed.
[What are you talking about, Ahriman?]
[We are close friends, aren't we?]
[A close friend's words, like stars in the sky, should be remembered, even if there's only one sentence.]
[Right, my close friend.]
"..."
What more could Ahriman say?
His fingers trembled slightly, causing ripples in the wine in his glass. Finally, he raised his glass and took another careful sip.
——————
However...
Clicking his tongue and feeling the genuine sourness, Ahriman still couldn't suppress his question.
"Morgana, my friend..."
[Hmm?]
"How did you... brew this batch of wine?"
[Oh...]
Morgana's smile made Ahriman shiver a little. Her answer was as natural as could be.
[By stomping on it with my feet.]
"...Cough! Cough, cough, cough! Cough..."
Ahriman coughed violently a few times, trying hard to suppress the urge to spit out the wine. He pursed his lips, deliberated for a moment, and then swallowed the wine in his mouth.
"You... you're joking, right!"
Morgana's pale face wore a smile.
[Ah...]
[Of course, it's a joke...]
She smiled, a disquieting smile.
——————
Lion El'Jonson took a deep breath.
He stood in the deepest part of the room, looking at the specially made communication device, and activated it.
After a while, a golden, blurry figure vaguely appeared before the Primarch's eyes.
[Lion El'Jonson... my knight...]
[Father.]
The Primarch of the First Legion softly uttered his greeting.
[I have some questions I wish to ask you.]
[Regarding...]
Before Lion El'Jonson could finish his sentence, a voice of interruption came from the other end of the communicator. The Emperor's words, intermittent, came from beyond countless stars, accumulating little by little in Lion El'Jonson's ears.
[I know... what you want to ask... my knight...]
[Come to Moloch... you alone, with your honor guard... do not bring anyone else...]
[I will give you... an answer.]
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