"Six months."
Gheer felt a dull ache from the twin hearts in his chest. Their gene-father was only six months old!
Six months old, and already burdened with the task of liberating the world and saving humanity!
What had he been doing at six months old?
He couldn't remember, of course, probably just eating, sleeping, soiling himself, crying, and repeating the cycle endlessly.
Though a Primarch's growth could never be measured by mortal standards, their gene-father, even at six months, already appeared as a youth, and none doubted that even this adolescent possessed power enough to crush them; still, six months was six months.
And that could only mean one thing.
"It means we came too early!" Gheer's voice crackled anxiously over the comms. "It's a trap, Lord Commander!"
When the Great Crusade first began, the Emperor had issued a decree: no expedition shall be launched for the purpose of seeking out the Primarchs.
The Legion's scholars still debated the reason behind this edict, but they had reached a general consensus, it was harmful for a Primarch to be found too soon. The Emperor wanted each to have time to grow and mature properly.
And so far, every single recovered Primarch's return had been overseen by that man.
Everyone understood the lineage; the Primarchs were their gene-father, and the Emperor was his gene-father. The man in question bore the duty of guiding the Primarchs. The Emperor's decree had likely been intended to give him the time to fulfill that role.
The second Primarch to return, Konrad Curze, had spent five years with that man. The third, three years. The fourth, unknown, but since the Emperor himself had retrieved him, the time surely wasn't short.
But their Primarch? Only six months!
That meant their Primarch had barely met the man before the War Hounds came barging in.
Locke still clung to a sliver of hope. "Gheer, are you certain the intel is reliable?"
"Afraid so. According to Lady Mira, about six months ago, a meteorite crashed into the snowy mountains near their village. The next day, the Primarch and that man arrived."
"And this Lady Mira is…?"
"She's been accompanying both the Primarch and that man ever since."
Locke's heart sank like a stone tossed into a bottomless abyss.
Gheer's words shattered his last illusion, they had indeed arrived too soon.
Even if their emergence from the warp had been an accident, nobody would believe it was coincidence. The very moment they exited the warp, they appeared above the Primarch's homeworld? Impossible.
Someone was scheming against the War Hounds.
And if their premature arrival somehow damaged the Primarch's development… they would be guilty beyond redemption.
This concerned the growth and well-being of their gene-father himself, what son would not care for his father's fate?
Gheer hesitated. "Lord Commander, if our timing's wrong… perhaps we should withdraw?"
The thought stung, having found their Primarch but unable to bring him home, but now that they knew his homeworld's location, they could simply wait a few years.
Otherwise, they risked not only disrupting his growth, but earning his resentment.
And it wouldn't be unprecedented, rumors had spread from Terra's Administratum that several returned Primarchs had, at one time or another, publicly expressed discontent with the Emperor himself.
No one knew the details, but whispers said that man had something to do with it.
Locke exhaled slowly. "Too late."
"What did you do?" Gheer asked, dread tightening his voice.
"I've already ordered the Astropath to send a message back to Terra, announcing the discovery of our Primarch's location."
"Locke! Without the Primarch's approval?! Have you forgotten your place? You're only a Lord Commander!"
"This is the will of our Lord," Locke murmured, lowering his gaze, bitterness heavy in his sigh.
Gheer fell silent.
During the Great Crusade, the Emperor had issued many decrees, but two were remembered by every Legion: No one was to launch expeditions for the purpose of finding a Primarch,
and no one was to conceal a Primarch's location for any reason.
Reporting their discovery was not a violation, but concealing it was.
If they had stumbled upon the Primarch by accident, why hide it? The Imperium would never accept that explanation.
"Don't worry. Maybe we can still fix this," Locke said uncertainly, whether to reassure Gheer or himself, even he didn't know. "What about that man? How does he see us?"
Gheer replied, "The Primarch is currently in council with him. Are you suggesting I interrupt them?"
"Are they inseparable?"
"Inseparable."
Locke sighed. They'd already made a colossal mistake, they couldn't afford another.
"What's that man's name, anyway?"
The name had circulated through the Imperium for years, though no one knew where the rumor started. It was as if, even before the first Primarch's return, everyone had already known of his existence.
But because the name sounded absurd, few took it seriously. Even those who did wouldn't dare speak it aloud.
Just as no one spoke the Emperor's name, referring to him only as the Master of Mankind, and just as Malcador was called the Regent, so too did they speak of that man with hushed reverence, never his true name.
For he was not merely a ruler, he was the teacher of the Primarchs.
And though he bore no formal title recognized by the Emperor, Legions privately referred to him as "that man," or simply, You-Know-Who.
But according to one unnamed source close to the Emperor, the Legions whose Primarchs had already returned often called him something else: the Father of the Primarchs.
Among Legionaries, this rumor sparked endless fascination, if that man was the Primarchs' father, what then did that make the Emperor?
Once, they were merely the Emperor's War Hounds. Perhaps now, they would become the Primarch's Twelfth Legion.
"His name," Gheer said at last, "is Caelan Worp."
Loke froze. So the rumor was true?
The same word as the Immaterium itself, a name spoken by every Navigator, every captain, every ship entering the warp a million times a day.
Why would that man bear such a name? And who had given it to him?
…....
In the grinding roar of gears, the dome overhead unfurled like the petals of a steel flower.
Starlight poured down like a waterfall, moonbeams slipping through the clouds to drape her pale skin in a veil of silver.
Claudia raised her head, eyes reflecting the whirling constellations. Moonlight traced the line of her neck, pooling like liquid light at her collarbones.
When her lips trembled, even the stars seemed to hold their breath,
"Bitch!"
"You selfish, jealous whores!"
"If you can't have him, no one can, is that it?!"
"I'll kill you all, every last one of you!"
Her face turned to ice. Claudia seized a sapphire-crafted bird ornament from behind her gilded throne, her jeweled hairpin flashing violet as she stabbed the fragilr bird again and again.
"Die, die, die, die, die, die, DIE!"
"The Sea of Souls is what it is today because of you! It's your fault I became like this!"
"****, you'd better pray I never catch you! I'll shove your skull into the bloated pus pits of the Plague God and let his spawn ram your-"
"M-Mistress…"
Enor's voice was barely a whisper. She looked at Claudia, trembling in near hysteria, her throat tight with fear. "You… you've lost your composure."
The air froze solid. Even the stars seemed afraid to move.
Claudia's fingers twitched. The shattered bird and hairpin dissolved silently into nothing, devoured by invisible force.
Only a faint perfume lingered in the vast hall.
"Did anyone see that?" Claudia asked softly.
"No, Mistress," Enor answered, bowing her head.
"And do you think I was wrong?"
"You were right."
The maids chorused in unison, they hated those beings just as much.
If not for them, the great design of the warp would never have decayed into this abomination.
Their Mistress truly was the victim.
For she was so young, born in the ruins of the Imperium's fall in 750.M30, not yet a hundred years old in realspace.
"When will my beloved return?" Claudia yawned lightly, as if her earlier outburst had been a dream.
Enor answered, "The rebels have taken Devash, but with the Imperium's arrival, they may not return to Desh'ea until tomorrow."
"Perhaps… not at all." Claudia sighed, a sound as soft as a falling feather.
She propped her chin on her hand, pale face haloed in melancholy. "Who knows when we'll meet again? And if, by then… ah, no. There's no if."
"Thankfully, the child won't leave. This is his home. As long as he stays, my beloved will come back. Still… this waiting, it gnaws at the heart."
When her mismatched eyes fell on Enor, the maid saw cold fire still flickering in their depths.
Her Mistress was burning with frozen rage.
And who could blame her?
She had plotted for years, endured countless sleepless nights, and in six short months helped the Primarch overthrow the high knights' rule.
All for one simple wish, that the man who taught the Primarchs might spend a little more time with her.
A walk in the garden at dawn, their boots brushing dew; the reflection of his brow in her teacup's amber swirl; their shadows mingling under candlelight at dinner,
Was that too much to ask?
But now the Imperium had come and ruined everything.
"Enor," Claudia whispered, lashes lowered, "do you think I'm too soft? Is that why I'm always trampled?"
Enor's fingers dug into her palms, trembling like a leaf in storm. "Mistress… life is full of accidents. We never know which comes first, tomorrow or the unexpected. But you haven't lost yet."
Claudia sighed, voice thin as mist. "Yes… fate truly is a bitch."
She could annihilate the fleet with a snap of her fingers, summon storms to erase them all.
But this was not her realm.
This was the stage she had built, every string soaked in obsession, how could she bear to tear down her own masterpiece?
He was gambling that she wouldn't. And he was right.
Once the game begins, who can walk away?
"Enor," she murmured, "my life is spent treading on thin ice. Tell me… can I ever reach the other shore?"
"No one is more perfect than you, Mistress," Enor whispered, and she meant it.
Her Mistress was terrifying, yes, but also the most perfect being in existence.
Born from the ashes of the fallen Imperium, she was its brightest light.
Even the others couldn't compare. Only she was worthy to be called their Mistress.
Claudia smiled faintly, catlike. "That's why I like you, Enor."
Stretching languidly, she reclined on her Gheerded throne, skirts cascading like petals.
"Wake me if my beloved returns."
The hall grew silent. Moonlight tiptoed across the marble, afraid to disturb her crystal sleep.
"Her Ladyship rests. Seal the gates. None but that man may enter, others will be slain on sight."
Enor's whisper carried a warning to the other maids.
If any of them longed for freedom, now was the time.
But only fools would try. Even if they succeeded, where could they go? Commorragh? The feral worlds? The Ark Ships?
No, there was nowhere more exquisite than serving her.
…....
Caelan blinked at Gheer's report. "So, you're telling me, you don't even know why you're here?"
"Yes, my lord."
Gheer knelt, perfectly still. He had to, his gene-father was watching, and so was the great man himself.
To stand before Caelan was unthinkable. To disrespect him would be suicide.
Caelan. The man whom even the Emperor's sons revered.
"Who's plotting against me?" Caelan muttered. Something about this was wrong, far too coincidental.
Six months? Too short.
He hadn't even warmed up yet!
Though in that time, he'd come to understand Angron more deeply than most ever could.
But still, someone clearly couldn't stand to see Angron happy.
Caelan sighed. "You know me, then?"
Gheer nodded eagerly. "You stand beside the Primarchs themselves. There is no one in the Imperium who does not know you."
"Oh? I'm that famous? How do they describe me?"
"You-Know-Who."
"Pfft-" Angron couldn't hold back a snort.
Caelan's face darkened. "Who came up with that?"
"I… don't know, my lord. It was already widespread when I learned of it."
Caelan scowled. "It must be Neoth!"
Gheer blinked. "Neoth? Who's that?"
"Never mind. From now on, I'm changing that nonsense." Caelan folded his arms. "I need to correct my reputation. From this day forward, you'll address me as… the Mentor. Angron, see to it."
"Yes, Father." Angron straightened, solemn.
Gheer looked skyward in despair.
The Primarch's not acting anymore, what face is a son supposed to make in this situation?
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
[email protected]/DaoistJinzu