Regarding how the Lord of the Second Legion, the Queen of Dawn, met her gene-father for the first time, there were more legends, rumors, and theories than there were worlds subjugated to the Human Imperium.
Many years later, after crusades, rebellions, and countless wars had ravaged the human realm, some legends most of which had long become as ridiculous and exaggerated as the Emperor's grand dream would still recount all the events of today in great detail, as if they had witnessed them firsthand.
In the whispers of the warriors and judges who remained loyal to the Golden Throne, in the discussions of the rebels and fallen who carved out territories in the Star Sea, and on the epitaphs of xenos civilizations spread across half the galaxy, there was a name that could make Holy Terra, the Eye of Terror, and Commorragh all groan in their nightmares…
Morgana.
The supreme tyrant of the Second Legion and the Realm of Reason, the most terrifying of the Lord of Terra's many progeny, the purest and most defiled agent of humanity's many ideals: on this day, she met her gene-father.
This was their first meeting, and the most peaceful of their few conversations.
In the future, even Morgana's most beloved and cherished Sons would swear by a lie: that their gene-mother was just like any other of the Emperor's progeny, that she met her father, the Emperor of Mankind, under a starry sky.
She walked across a desolate yet magnificent wilderness, her iron boots treading upon ashes and dust that had lain silent for tens of millions of years, yet her armor or robes remained spotless.
She traversed the wilderness, climbed steep cliffs and towering peaks, reaching the highest point of a world, and then slowly knelt before her gene-father. Above her, the most dazzling sun shone, alongside the most brilliant Star Sea.
False truths spread through everyone's mouths and hearts, and thus, the real reality, the true form of that historical moment known only to three, had long become irrelevant.
No one knew, and no one cared nor would anyone connect this truth with the series of events and problems that followed. But often, the truth itself is the meaning.
And the truth stored in Morgana's mind was:
When she first looked directly at the Emperor with her own eyes, there was no sun, no Star Sea, and no natural light whatsoever.
Only darkness.
Only silence.
Only the coldest light within that darkness and silence.
She met her father in an nameless world's underground palace, a world whose name and location would become a taboo in the Human Imperium the moment their meeting ended.
As she faced the Emperor of Mankind, there was no flashing light around her, nor any retinue to express her power and glorious achievements. She stood alone in the shadows, her pale, beautiful face illuminated by the cold light emanating from the Emperor, clearly revealed in the Emperor of Mankind's eyes.
Her blue-green pupils glittered in the Emperor's light, shimmering with a color devoid of joy or sorrow. Other than that, she was merely a quiet person standing in the shadows, her hands hanging loosely, all her strength and will concentrated in her gaze towards her gene-father, restoring herself to her original state.
A quiet person, a contemplative who replaced all action with her mind and will: nothing more.
In that vast underground kingdom, once filled with fanaticism, blind obedience, and cheers, beneath the blood-stained platform symbolizing authority, madness, and dominion, the figures of father and daughter were each enveloped in silent darkness. The only thing that could illuminate them was a light colder than rock.
Morgana narrowed her eyes, both her pupils and her will maintaining a cautious observation. To her, the Emperor was like a midday sun, constantly radiating an unbearable light. She keenly sensed that something might exist beneath that light, but she could not see it.
On the other hand, in the deepest part of her mind, in the room called "Instinct," formed by her primal nature and wisdom, a sense of relief radiated: Instinct told her that she should not pry into what lay beneath that light.
But now was not the time to concern herself with such irrelevant matters. Morgana suppressed all her doubts and inner conflicts, every fiber of her being and every breath now completely governed by her will.
She stood in silence, motionless in the light and shadow cast by the Emperor of Mankind, awaiting his first question.
She waited, waited for the first words from this silent tyrant, this terrible sovereign, this Eternal Sovereign who brought her into the world with cold intent and painful enslavement. She knew those words would reveal his attitude and thoughts, and how he intended to use and whip her.
And she had no other choice.
At least for now, she had no other choice.
Recalling the golden greatsword that, even today, stood unyielding in the depths of her soul, all Morgana could do was bow her head deeper.
Not a word.
Until she heard the voice of her gene-father, the Emperor of Mankind.
It was not merely words, or rather, not just words: it was a strange fusion of speech, thought, will, and even light, a soft voice echoing in the depths of Morgana's mind. It was the most terrifying gentle blade, making her instinctively lower her guard and coldness.
He simply raised a hand, allowing his words to resonate in Morgana's mind.
This terrifying figure displayed his exquisite control over Morgana, letting his first words dissipate silently.
"Morgana."
"My daughter."
He spoke, his voice resounding simultaneously against the rock walls of reality and the ocean of her soul. His voice was warmer than his cold light, containing countless emotions Morgana could, and could not, comprehend.
It was a warmth that induced Morgana to slowly raise her head, subtly directing her gaze toward her gene-father.
In that voice, she even heard a heartbeat: a heartbeat no different from a mortal's.
And within that heartbeat, he slowly introduced himself.
"I am the Emperor."
"I am your father."
He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and his warm words took on a hint of cold rationality.
"And your… creator."
——————
Morgana did not continue to raise her head; her beautiful silver hair seemed to fall back down with that final declaration.
——————
In the unnoticed, true shadows, the Sigillite kept his face hidden beneath his hood.
When the cold word "creator" reached his ears, Malcador didn't even bother to look up; he merely rubbed his temples and sighed softly.
——————
The Emperor of Mankind heard the sigh, but he paid it no mind. At this moment, his gaze, will, and thoughts were all concentrated on his only daughter.
This was a novel experience, utterly different from when he met his sons.
At first, the Emperor was even somewhat conflicted: he instinctively wanted to display the gentleness and affection of a gene-father, because facts had proven that most of his children indeed needed such warmth.
But as his gentle self-introduction settled, looking at the gaze slowly turning towards him, the Emperor of Mankind reconsidered: his daughter was different. She knew more from the very beginning of her life, knowing the terrifying form he would reveal when contending with the evil god of the Immaterium.
Even the Emperor did not expect Morgana to feel grateful for that golden greatsword.
In such a situation, gentle words seemed less effective than rational statements.
And so, the light and cold word "creator" drifted from the Emperor of Mankind's lips, causing Morgana's slowly rising gaze to fall.
This made the Emperor regret it somewhat; he even began to miss his sons. They were straightforward and reckless, clearly expressing their thoughts, desires, and inner longings, displaying the aggression and confidence of demigods among mortals.
Even with Sanguinius and Jaghatai Khan, their issues, though sharp, were expressed in a direct manner, allowing the Emperor of Mankind to respond calmly. But at this moment, Morgana's silence made him somewhat troubled.
Considering that Morgana's original role among the Primarchs was a silent mediator, and her life over the years was certainly not smooth, the Emperor could understand her silence and caution. However, this did not mean he had sufficient mental capacity or patience to solve this problem.
In less than a moment, thousands of thoughts flashed through the Emperor's mind. Merely choosing the right tone seemed enough to compose an entire thesis:
Did his daughter need the warmth of a blood relative? Or a guarantee of rationality and security? Or perhaps, she just wanted a platform to slowly pour out the struggles and hardships of these years?
Should he be purely a father? Or a guardian who could provide security? Or perhaps, coldness and command were the most efficient way to interact? Perhaps she had learned to respect authority and power over this long time?
The Emperor felt a touch of worry: that was all.
At this moment, within the nearly ice-bound heart of the Emperor of Mankind, there was no excessive caution or meticulousness. On the contrary, the Emperor stood in the darkness, far from the surface, with a nearly relaxed demeanor. The confusion swirling within him even outweighed his concerns.
The Emperor felt a sense of ease: it was a bitter, almost self-abandoning state of mind, like a mountaineer who had fallen to the ground and, faced with an environment that could not get any worse, found self-comfort born from within, allowing him a moment of relaxation amidst endless tasks and challenges.
After all, when the Second Primarch and all her blood relatives were dragged down into the warp by the galaxy's most foolish act, the Emperor of Mankind had already pronounced a death sentence for his only daughter in his heart.
The Emperor did not discriminate against Morgana, nor did he hate her. After he finished most of the projects concerning all the Primarchs, he did gather the most intelligent minds under his command, attempting to resolve Morgana's misfortune and curse.
It should be said that he did try, and had even found a solution. Yet, after he took the first step, Morgana was exiled into the void: without mercy, without any protective measures, only the most foolish declaration of so-called freedom.
From that moment on, in the Emperor of Mankind's heart, Morgana was dead.
The Emperor even once forgot he had a daughter, just as he had almost forgotten the Second Legion.
Until a Lion of Caliban entered his palace, reporting on an unusual blood relative.
——————
The Emperor had once expected to find his daughter's twisted corpse on an unnamed world, or to personally end the suffering of this chaos-tainted progeny in a battle destined to be erased from records.
He had imagined countless possibilities and tragedies, even how he would feel a long-lost pang of sorrow for the demise of a child. But he had almost never conceived that this seemingly irredeemable individual would truly struggle to survive and stand before him.
In fact, she looked quite normal, very normal, with only slightly less-than-ideal eating habits. Considering Sanguinius's strange wings, picky eating or overeating were hardly problems by comparison.
Thinking of this, when the Emperor of Mankind truly stood before Morgana, he felt only a sense of relief. Morgana, at this moment, was far better than he had anticipated, so there was nothing left to worry about.
After all, he had once believed that his progeny would only confront him as pawns of the evil god. Since reality had not devolved to that extent, then whatever happened next, he would not care.
How much worse could things get?
With these thoughts, the Emperor of Mankind seriously observed his daughter for the first time. He had, countless times, pieced together Morgana's image from the words of his other progeny and various intelligence reports, envisioning her as a cunning, greedy, silent, and deadly assistant and predator.
It didn't sound too bad.
In that instant, a somewhat impolite thought even flashed through the Emperor of Mankind's mind: most of his impressions of this child came from the routine reports of the Lord of the Dark Angels.
Lion El'Jonson's reports were always cold and impartial, without the slightest possibility of favoritism, and in his reports, there was never any conflict with Morgana, only their visibly silent understanding.
His Lion was certainly trustworthy, but the Emperor of Mankind would not deceive himself; he knew how direct and difficult it was to interact with Lion El'Jonson. Since Morgana could even adapt to the Calibanites' way of life and work, then having her cooperate with other Legions would naturally be the simplest thing.
As for Lion El'Jonson…
For a moment, the Emperor of Mankind genuinely considered: among his most capable blades, Horus was beyond discussion, Ferrus Manus had strong support from the Phoenix of Fenris, and Guilliman's entire focus was on his petty affairs concerning the Five Hundred Worlds. Only the Knight-King of Caliban seemed to truly need an assistant.
But would Lion El'Jonson truly see this as help… rather than an encroachment on his private territory?
After all, the Calibanites' main mission from beginning to end was to hunt the Imperium's great enemies in the endless darkness. Having him lead a blood relative for over a decade was already a rather excessive side quest.
Moreover, in Lion El'Jonson's day-to-day reports, he didn't seem to have a better bond with Morgana, lacking the kind of foundation for long-term camaraderie that Ferrus Manus and Fulgrim shared.
He even deliberately avoided mentioning Morgana. In the Knight-King of Caliban's reports, all information about Morgana concerned only her glorious achievements in war and her loyalty in repeated covert trials. As for Lion El'Jonson's personal opinion of her, it was always silence and the most formulaic praise.
It was a cold, unspoken understanding between comrades.
Unless he was being insincere. This was impossible; Lion El'Jonson was very much like him, and thus not an insincere person.
What a pity…
——————
Thousands of thoughts, thousands of emotions, flashed through the Emperor of Mankind's mind in an instant, imperceptible even to a Primarch.
When the Emperor's will disengaged from his contemplation, he began to think about the next topic. Since their initial conversation was far from successful, he should try to make it as amicable as possible.
Where to start?
Let him think about how he met his other children before…
Lights flickered in the Emperor of Mankind's pupils. He spoke again, his tone constantly shifting and changing before the words left his lips, finally settling into a state resembling that of a gratified father and a satisfied sovereign.
"Morgana."
"My child."
He spoke again, the meaning of his words unmistakable.
Finally, the Emperor's daughter no longer evaded him. She looked up, her blue-green eyes meeting the overly dazzling light, preventing her from fully opening them.
"Father."
She spoke softly, her voice like a stream just thawed in early spring.
The Emperor nodded. He thought of his first encounters with each of his progeny, recalling topics that could open up a conversation.
If he remembered correctly…
Homeworld seemed like a good idea.
Whether it was Perturabo, Sanguinius, or Jaghatai and Lorgar: most of his sons had a homeworld that filled them with pride and concern.
So, the Emperor smiled, slightly dimming the light around him. In the softened environment, he took a step forward, continuing the conversation.
"I had originally thought I would meet you on your homeworld, my daughter. Each of your brothers met me on their homeworlds. They had either already established their outstanding achievements or had come to my side to fight too early."
"They were just as I expected when I shaped them, brave and fearless."
He spoke, with a most primal sense of pride. Then, the Emperor seemed to suddenly remember something. He reached out, as if to pat his daughter.
"Of course, you are different from your brothers. I will not demand more of you in this regard."
He smiled, but Morgana did not return the smile. In her pupils, an unclear emotion flickered because of his words.
——————
In the shadows.
Malcador slowly raised his hand.
But when he heard the words, "You are different," he covered his face.
A sigh.
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