"I was wrong." Seeing that Caelan remained silent, Corax suddenly broke the stillness.
"Wrong about what?"
Corax replied, "I shouldn't have pulled the lever."
Caelan said, "So you chose to watch those five people die instead?"
Corax was confused.
If he pulled the lever, a few would die so the majority could live, Caelan disapproved.
If he stood by and did nothing, more would die, Caelan also disapproved.
Corax slowly lifted his face. "Why?"
He seemed to be asking for Caelan's answer, but more than that, he was asking why Caelan denied him at every turn.
If doing this was wrong and not doing it was also wrong, then what could he possibly do right?
Caelan said, "You should break free from your fixed mindset. There are no standard answers in this world. The same problem, when given to different people, will lead to entirely different solutions."
"Like that overseer. You could put on a good show," Caelan pointed to Ephrenia. "But if she were the one facing that overseer, then she'd be the one forced to put on a good show."
Ephrenia looked innocent, what did she do wrong?
"Now, imagine the same trolley. If he were the one standing before the lever-" Caelan pointed to Erin, "what would you choose?"
Erin was silent for a long time before finally forcing out a reply through clenched teeth: "I would pull the lever."
Caelan slowly leaned down, his gaze deep and still as a quiet lake, locking with Corax's eyes.
"He would choose to pull the lever, and I wouldn't blame him. But if you pulled the lever… I would be disappointed."
"Why?" Corax asked again, but this time, there was a faint tremor in his voice.
Caelan said, "Because you are a Primarch."
Corax lowered his head in thought. "So I should… stop the trolley?"
"That's right. You have that power. You can save not just five people, you can save six."
"I could even kill the madman and stop him from tying up more people."
Caelan nodded. "And what else?"
Corax lifted his head. What else?
"Me," Caelan said, pointing to himself. "I'm the one who asked the question, so-"
"No," Corax cut him off firmly.
Caelan gestured toward Erin. "Then what if he were the one who posed the question? What would you do?"
Erin fell silent. So these two were untouchable, too lofty to be wrong.
Only he, Erin, could be wrong, wrong for just sitting there!
Corax said, "I would kill him, so he couldn't create more problems. Solve the problem at its source."
Caelan shook his head silently.
"Why?" Corax asked for the third time.
"Do you see it now? That's your flaw. When no external force interferes, you're always trapped by the rules of the problem, always choosing the easiest path, not the right one."
"That's because you didn't give me another choice."
"Who is the one choosing, you or me? If it's you, why should I have to give you choices?"
Each of Caelan's words pierced into Corax's heart like spikes, leaving him with no strength to argue.
Caelan continued, "Let's change the question. The same trolley, two tracks. Five people on one side, one person on the other. The five are your enemies, the one is her."
He pointed at Ephrenia. "What do you do?"
Corax thought for a while before asking, "Are my enemies unforgivable?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll save her."
"And if they aren't?"
"Then I'll stop the trolley."
"What if you can't stop it, even as a Primarch?"
"I'll save her."
"What if one track has five innocent people, and the other has her?"
"I'll save the five."
"And if it were me tied to the track instead?"
"I'll save you."
In every heart there's a scale, and every name carries its own weight. Which side tips lower depends on the value you assign to those names.
In Corax's heart, Ephrenia weighed less than five innocent lives, they had only just met, and he barely knew her.
As for Caelan's weight, only Corax himself could know.
Caelan asked, "How would you save the five?"
"By pulling the lever."
"And how would you save me?"
"By doing nothing."
"If you did nothing, the trolley would kill those five and I would live, why then would you choose inaction?"
"Then I'd go kill the madman."
"Why not try to stop the trolley first?"
Corax's voice tightened. "But you said I couldn't stop the trolley."
"That was the previous question. When did I ever say conditions carry over automatically?"
Corax fell silent.
"You're still trapped in the same mindset," Caelan said. "You always assume you can't stop the trolley, and only then do you pick between the two remaining bad options."
Corax finally protested, "But you set the rules! You're the one misleading me!"
"I never said you couldn't stop it in the beginning, did I? And yet you never even considered it."
"I just didn't realize."
"If you can't realize it now, time won't help you later. Reality isn't a game, your cognition doesn't automatically level up. The flaws you ignore now will haunt you for life."
Corax said, "Then teach me!"
"I am teaching you. What, do you think I'm here for fun?" Caelan shook his head. "I'm not that bored."
"Is teaching me boring, or is mocking me boring?"
"If you learn, neither is boring. If you don't, both are."
"I will learn."
Corax's eyes were like cold iron sinking into the deep sea, unwavering, resolute.
Caelan asked, "And if you never learn, whose fault is that?"
Corax smirked faintly. "Then it's because I'm stupid, and you're too dumb to teach me."
"But I've already taught many of your brothers."
"How many?"
"Four."
"I'll be the fifth."
Erin, gnawing on his corpse-starch ration, thought to himself: 'These two are impossible.'
"People like that," he muttered, "one-track minds… that's the real danger."
Watching the stubborn father and son, Erin couldn't help but think they were two of a kind, no wonder they were family.
'Why didn't Caelan just say what Corax did wrong instead of all these riddles?'
'Caelan spoke so much about fixed thinking, but wasn't he just as trapped in it?'
Few people ever truly escape fixed thinking, finding the best possible choice within those limits is already the optimal path. Anything beyond that is just pointless overthinking.
Caelan said, "You hear that?"
Corax nodded.
"When you act, hold to your principles, but stay flexible. In choices, see the situation clearly. There's no standard answer in life. Don't cling to your own way. Remember that."
Corax nodded hard.
Erin stayed quiet, great, now his random comments were being used as teaching material.
Caelan turned to him. "Prepare yourself."
Erin blinked. "For what?"
"The uprising. You've been preparing for a long time, haven't you?"
Erin's silence was answer enough.
True revolutions never start from one person's strength, but from the shared will of the many.
If people could live in peace, none would rebel.
When one man raises a banner, it's because the seeds of rebellion already lie buried deep in every heart, all they ever lacked was someone brave enough to stand first.
Lycaeus was proof of that.
At first, the Tech Guilds treated Lycaeus like a prison world, exiling the worst criminals there.
But when Kiavahr's demand for minerals grew, they began sending more people, political enemies, petty offenders, eventually anyone they didn't want.
Generations were born into slavery on Lycaeus. They labored endlessly, starving, denied even water.
Rebellion wasn't hard, winning was.
For ages, the people of Lycaeus waited and whispered: Endure. Just endure. Wait for the right time.
Now, that time had finally come.
But Erin hesitated, what if this was a trap?
Even if not, why should he trust Caelan and Corax to lead them to victory?
He stared hard at Caelan. "Tell me what to do."
Trap or not, they only had one chance.
If they didn't trust Caelan, who could they trust?
If they really believed in themselves, they wouldn't have waited this long.
Caelan said, "Do nothing. Keep living as usual."
Erin froze.
"Corax is still a child. Until he grows, I must continue teaching him."
"And us?"
"Whatever your plan was, continue it, or wait until he's grown to decide."
Erin asked, "When he grows up, we'll follow his orders to overthrow the overseers?"
"You don't have to follow him."
Erin frowned, 'then why say all this?'
"If he walks the right path, you'll want to follow him," Caelan said simply.
"You're that confident in him?"
"Yes."
"Because he's a Primarch?"
Erin didn't know what that meant, but Caelan had said it like a fact, that Corax was something special.
Caelan smiled faintly. "Because he's a Primarch, and because I taught him."
"So you're the one who's confident."
Erin snorted, but when Caelan's expression didn't change, he stopped.
If Caelan had argued or boasted, Erin would've doubted him even more. But his calmness, that stillness, made Erin uncertain.
When he'd first met Caelan, he thought: 'This man's either insane or incredibly powerful.'
Now he still wasn't sure which.
"I can't decide alone," Erin said at last. "But I can make the miners in this sector work with you."
"That's enough," Caelan replied. "Even the smallest spark can ignite a revolution. How many children are in this mine?"
"Many," Erin said. "But they're useless for your cause. Tell me what you actually need."
Caelan shook his head. "I don't plan to make them fight. I want them to go to school."
Erin froze. "School?"
In the mines of Lycaeus, a single collapse could kill thousands.
For a child to even survive to adulthood was a miracle, school was a fantasy.
The miners did teach their children, but only by word of mouth, crude survival tricks, not structured learning.
How to predict cave-ins from wall cracks, how to swing a pick efficiently, how much explosive to use without causing a collapse, that was their "education."
Only the freshly exiled newcomers clung to the foolish dream of schooling, still naïve enough to think that knowledge could bloom under the earth.
"Erin," Ephrenia asked softly, "what's school? Can you eat it?"
Caelan smiled faintly. "No. But the knowledge you gain is the spark of civilization itself."
Ephrenia frowned. "How long do I have to study? If I don't work, I'll starve. My mom died because she got too sick to work."
Corax said gently, "A few months will be enough. I won't make you wait long."
He still remembered, the roaring lights, the noise, the unnatural force that tore him from his cradle-world.
He remembered the face beyond the glass of his growth-vat, waped but unforgettable.
He remembered being called the Master of Mankind's son.
He remembered his many brothers, and that his sequence number was 19.
From the moment he saw Caelan, he knew, this was his father.
Even if he wasn't the first Primarch found, but the fifth, he was still his child.
He could feel the disappointment in his father's eyes, and he knew why.
It wasn't enough to make up for his flaws, even if they hadn't yet happened.
He needed to transform, to achieve something undeniable, to crush that disappointment completely.
Because he was Corax, Corax the Redeemer, a name given by his father himself.
But before that, he had to ask one question.
"Which of my brothers am I most like?"
Caelan raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"
Corax said quietly, "Because when you look at me, I see the reflection of one of them in your eyes. Am I his shadow, or is he mine?"
Caelan stared at the boy, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. 'Corax could read minds now?'
"Who is he?" Corax pressed.
"Konrad Curze."
…....
"Father once told me about a brother who was very much like me, Leon, do you remember?"
The spires of hive Quintus stood silent in the dark when Curze's voice cut through the air.
Leon said softly, "You mean Lord Corax?"
"Yes. My brother who loves compromise."
Leon dared not speak further, he was used to his Primarch's sudden moods.
He knew it had to do with Curze's uncontrollable gift of foresight.
The last time Curze had randomly brought up a brother, he'd been insulting Angron. Before that, Russ. And before that, Lorgar.
Compared to them, calling Corax "fond of compromise" was practically praise.
When the Midnight Phantoms still dwelled in the hives, Caelan had told them stories, tales of every Primarch. Leon remembered them all.
But he believed that as long as Caelan existed, those stories would never repeat themselves.
His Primarch had changed, hadn't he?
In barely ten years since rejoining the Imperium, the Night Lords under Curze had liberated hundreds of worlds, leaving brotherhoods behind on each to enforce their vision of justice.
Curze's voice broke the dawn quiet again. "Pathetic. Corax thinks he can win Father's favor through childish contests. Does he think he's me?"
Leon lowered his gaze. 'The floor is very shiny today.'
His Father, saw every soul's death when he looked at them.
But sometimes, he could see a person's future even from afar.
The other Primarchs didn't know.
Even gods need to vent sometimes, and Leon understood that well.
Behind them, boots scraped metal. Leon turned, armor joints clicking softly. Dorothy approached, flanked by six 8th Legion warriors in blue and white armor.
"Curze," she said softly.
"Mother." Curze's voice was calm. "I remember Terra sent a message five years ago. The Emperor wanted me to temporarily command one of the Legions without a Primarch, didn't he?"
Dorothy frowned. "Yes, but you refused."
Curze's lips curved as he looked at the sun. "I regret that. Tell the Emperor to give me the 19th Legion. I'll teach them what true justice means."
Leon's thoughts cut through the shadows like blades. 'What a twisted sense of humor.'
His Primarch had always been like this, from birth to now, he never changed.
As the 8th Legion formally joined the Great Crusade, responsibility bound them like chains.
The Emperor's tradition was clear: older Legions guided the younger ones, their Primarchs temporarily commanding multiple armies until their brothers were found.
So on the surface, Curze's request fit the Emperor's vision perfectly.
But knowing how he'd lingered on Corax's name, Leon couldn't convince himself it was goodwill.
After all, with the Father and sons of the Imperium… "justice" was never simple.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
[email protected]/DaoistJinzu