"The foundation once decayed, the city walls cannot last long."
"The difference between success and failure lies in one's ability to adapt."
"If you have no purpose, then do nothing."
"Society requires order."
"The maintenance of power must be done at all costs."
"Law must be upheld in order to uphold the people."
Caelan cleared his throat.
"Full recitation of the above passages. Class dismissed."
"Goodbye, teacher!" Everyone stood and bowed.
Philly gathered her courage to follow Caelan, but Curze had already gone after him. The two of them always seemed inseparable.
Philly stopped in her tracks and didn't follow.
"Will they understand?"
Caelan looked at Curze. Not long ago, he had still been a small boy, but now he had already grown as tall as Caelan.
"Whether they understand or not depends on whether you understand," Caelan said. "You are their leader. Without your example, they won't take my words seriously."
"Why me?"
"Because you are a Primarch."
Curze asked, "Is this a responsibility I was born with?"
Caelan shook his head.
"The phrase 'with great power comes great responsibility' is complete nonsense. What I believe in is this: with great power comes great authority. With great authority comes great responsibility. Authority and responsibility are equal. If you have power but don't exercise authority, then you have no responsibility."
"If I choose to use my authority, then I must bear the corresponding responsibility?"
Caelan still shook his head.
"The moment you exercise authority, responsibility arises with it. But you can choose not to bear it yourself, letting it crush others instead. Just like the rulers of this hive city. For generations, they have enjoyed the privileges that power brings, but have they borne responsibility? No, they haven't. Responsibility is never innate. Whether you bear it or not depends entirely on your choice."
"That's not how you taught me."
"I never taught you to be irresponsible either. I just told you the truth because sooner or later you'll understand these things. The real question is what kind of person you want to become."
"Why don't you just tell me what to do? You know I'll listen to you."
"You may listen to me now, but that doesn't mean you always will. You are a Primarch. I'm just a mortal. One day, my life will end. And you will be crowned as king."
"You won't die!" Curze's emotions flared.
"That's not the point," Caelan said calmly. "Today, you listen to me because you trust me. But what if one day you stop believing in me? You might overturn everything I've taught you and stubbornly insist that all I said was wrong. That's why I tell you both sides clearly, so that the choice is yours."
"There will never be such a day, I promise!"
"Curze, you're very clever. You already know more than I do. So you should understand that your gift is both destiny's blessing and its curse."
From the beginning, Caelan understood one truth: never try to deceive a Primarch, for they will always know the truth.
The Emperor was not a qualified father. Even Horus, who had been his son for thirty years, never truly understood him.
The Emperor always had countless grand plans, but always kept them secret from everyone.
The Primarchs were the key to those plans, and yet he kept even them in the dark.
Caelan was not in a position to judge the Emperor's rights or wrongs, but he knew one thing: he did not want to become that kind of man.
Curze stood silent in place.
"Go to class," Caelan said, patting his shoulder.
Curze nodded and walked toward another classroom, but in his mind, another thought lingered.
'Why didn't he pat my head? Was it because I've grown up? Maybe adults think being patted on the head is embarrassing. But I was only born a few days ago… I'm still just a child.'
"Use your power cautiously," Caelan sternly warned. "Psychic ability is both a gift and a curse. If you cannot control it, it will destroy you, or even this entire world!"
"Why?" Sevitar asked.
Caelan looked at the boy, son of Yagor, leader of the Blood Claws gang. His name was Leon Sevitalion.
In the underhive, most families passed down names generationally. The father was Old John, the son became Young John, no surnames, because they lacked education and the means to name themselves differently.
The Blood Claws were different. Their surnames carried over with their status.
"What do you mean?"
"Why are you teaching me? Wouldn't it be better for you if I were dead?" Leon asked.
"That depends on Curze. He decided to give you all a chance. You chose to seize it. That's why you're alive, and why you can stand here questioning me."
"Am I not supposed to hate you? You killed my father!"
"Should your father not have died? How many fathers did he kill?" Caelan replied evenly. "I don't care if you hate us. I only care whether this world can become better. Now, sit down and listen."
Leon reluctantly sat down. He raised his hand.
"Yes, Leon?"
"Why is psychic power dangerous?"
"Psykers draw their power from the Warp. But within the Warp dwell countless malevolent entities. Every time you use psychic power, it is like a torch shining in the dark, drawing their attention."
"They will tempt you, luring you with empty promises, leading you to corruption, devouring your soul, taking over your body, and feasting in the material universe."
"Never think of using them for revenge," Caelan said.
"I'm not stupid," Leon muttered.
Not necessarily, Caelan thought, looking away.
"Goodbye, teacher."
Leon stood and bowed.
"At least he's a real teacher… just like Teacher Dorothy," Leon whispered as he watched Caelan leave.
Did he really hate them?
Maybe a little. But he knew his father was scum. Teacher Dorothy had long taught them to be useful people to society.
He trusted her because she genuinely cared for them.
Gangsters were clearly useless to society. He had hated his father's corruption, hated the Blood Claws' cruelty.
His psychic gift was strong, so strong he struggled to control it. He always heard the whispers of the dead, their screams of pain in dying, their hatred of the Blood Claws. He even heard his father's thoughts. He knew well the gang's darkness and savagery.
Yet when his father was killed, in that moment, he still felt grief. For no matter what, that was still his father.
Had he escaped their hunt, he surely would have sought revenge.
But they hadn't killed him. Instead, they carefully taught him. That made him realize, maybe what they were doing was right.
As Leon walked the streets, ready to return and rest, to digest today's lessons, someone blocked his path. A figure far taller than him.
Leon froze in fear.
It was the one who had killed his father.
Curze.
"Come with me," Curze said.
Leon lowered his head and obediently followed.