After half an hour of pretending to bargain, Elena finally agreed to the workers' terms: each shift's rest time would be increased by eight hours, and food rations would rise by 50%. In exchange, however, each shift's required ore quota would also increase by 10%.
That was far beyond Erin's initial expectations. If Caelan hadn't warned him beforehand to bargain no matter what, he probably would've agreed immediately.
The armed guards withdrew to Gate 12, and the slaves, under the overseers' lashes, were herded into the elevators.
"Corax, what do you see?" Caelan asked.
"All I see is weakness," Corax answered
The overseers rejoiced in suppressing the rebellion; the slaves cheered for winning their strike.
But in this hollow victory, everyone's weakness was laid bare.
The overseers' weakness was cowardice; they shirked responsibility and pushed decisions upward to their superiors.
Erin's weakness was hesitation; he ignored Caelan's advice and revealed his bottom line to the overseers.
The slaves' weakness was inconsistency; they wavered at the crucial moment, and if not for the children blocking their retreat, the strike would've collapsed.
And Elena's weakness was the most ironic; if not for her bluffing threats, Erin wouldn't have had the confidence to hold out.
None of them was stupid, just short-sighted.
Once you grasp their weakness, you can make them bow.
"Neither side, overseers or slaves, has ever faced a strike before. Their limited understanding left both without direction. And that's the greatest flaw of human nature: we draw our own cages." Caelan said.
"You're different."
"Not really. I'm human too."
"And me?"
Caelan thought for a moment. "Your cage is just a little bigger."
Corax waited for him to elaborate.
"Everyone's a frog in a well; the only difference is how wide the opening is. Even if two wells are the same size, the view depends on where you're standing."
"Even my brothers?"
"Them too. Even your father."
Corax frowned. Hadn't Caelan already called himself a frog?
"The Emperor's well is wider than anyone's. But he made the same mistake, seeing one patch of sky and mistaking it for the whole world, leaping toward it with all his might."
He paused. "Forget it. He's not worth the breath."
Corax's mind flashed back to the labs beneath Terra, back to the Emperor's cold gaze behind the glass of a gestation pod. Those eyes dissected him layer by layer.
That wasn't the look of a father watching his child. It was the gaze of a scientist evaluating a tool, a weapon, a monster.
In that gaze, Corax saw countless overlapping faces: ruler, tyrant, savior, prisoner, scientist, lunatic, warmonger, visionary, liar, prophet, executioner, martyr…
A complex man. But never a father.
Caelan gave a self-deprecating smile. "Funny, isn't it? A frog like me is trying to teach you how to see the world. Since I'm stuck in the same well, my words can't be the absolute truth. You should use your own eyes to measure the sky beyond the rim."
Corax ignored the self-mockery and asked bluntly. "Did my brothers ever leap out of the well?"
"If we're all frogs, can anyone truly leap free? But yes, I think their wells are wider. They've seen the true colors of the sky, not just blue and sunlight, but storm clouds, rain, and twisted things watching from above."
Corax's eyes gleamed. "Then I'll see it too."
Caelan smiled faintly. "I've always believed you're as exceptional as your brothers."
"Just because I'm exceptional?"
"And because you're unique."
Each Primarch was unique, and Caelan had long since accepted that.
When the Emperor created them, he passed fragments of his own personality into each. It wasn't entirely a flaw. That inheritance gave every Primarch an instinctive drive to save humanity.
Even when Chaos corrupted Horus, the gods still had to lie to him, saying the Emperor planned to sacrifice mankind to ascend, because they knew that was the one line Horus would never cross.
But blessings and curses are born together; their virtues were also their downfall.
Corax shook his head slowly, his eyes steady and deep.
"What matters most is that we all share the same father."
He pressed Caelan to tell him stories of his brothers. Through those tales, Corax realized something: he wasn't special.
Neither perfect nor broken; neither the strongest nor the weakest.
His greatest disadvantage was his similarity to the First Returned Son, but that was also his greatest edge. If he could surpass that brother, the Emperor's gaze would turn to him.
And who was the First Returned Son?
To the Emperor, it was Horus.
But to Corax, it was Curze.
He believed his other brothers felt the same way; they measured themselves not by the Emperor's favor, but by Caelan's judgment.
Curze was lucky. Without the title of "First," what was he, really?
Corax had his flaws, but Curze wasn't flawless either.
He refused to believe any of his brothers were perfect.
Erin stood silently nearby until the last echo of conversation faded. Then he leaned close and whispered, "Do we continue the strikes in the other districts?"
He didn't ask Caelan. Caelan had already told them that Corax was the leader now.
"Adjust the plan. Make the other districts furious over the Eighth District's special treatment. Let the overseers think that's why they're striking." Corax said.
"Why?"
Corax gave a thin, cold smile. "If every district unites, you think the overseers will still sleep at night?"
Erin blinked, then nodded. "I'll go tell them."
"I'll do it myself."
Crack!
The whip lashed through the air like a serpent, tearing bloody welts into pale skin. The man, once a pampered overseer, now writhed on the floor like a worm, howling in agony.
"A whole district goes on strike, and you tell me you saw nothing? Are you blind?"
The overseer sobbed and groveled. "Supervisor, they must've plotted in the lower tunnels, it's not my fault!"
Another crack!
"If you knew they met underground, why didn't you send spies? Are your eyes on your forehead, staring at the ceiling?"
He coughed blood, trembling. "Please, mercy! I'll investigate, right now!"
"Investigate what? The strike's over, their demands met. What's left to investigate?"
The overseer twitched in the pool of his own blood. Whether he searched or not, he'd die either way.
"Get out. From now on, every Eighth District mining shift gets a personal overseer; you will lead them."
He crawled out, choking on blood, and vanished into the shadows.
Elena stared into the void beyond the window and regretted not killing him.
She had agreed too easily. She should have killed one, made an example. The slaves couldn't think a strike came without cost.
But she'd lost her composure; Kiavahr's ore quota couldn't drop even for a day. If the Eighth's strike hurt production, the repercussions would reach beyond their worthless lives to her position.
The Eighth wouldn't be the last. Other districts would follow.
Even if the extra rest and food improved efficiency, some things were too dangerous to share.
The slaves would pay for it in blood.
The mines of Lycaeus were long hollowed out by millennia of greed, empty carcasses of stone-beasts gnawed to dust.
The ventilation shafts still pumped foul air into those abandoned veins. The slaves used them as secret meeting places.
When Erin brought Caelan, Corax, and the children with news of the Eighth's success, the leaders of the other districts were ecstatic.
"The situation will get worse. Just because the overseers didn't kill in the Eighth doesn't mean they won't elsewhere. They might even take revenge."
The others nodded grimly. No one envied the Eighth's success; they all knew the danger wasn't over. Still, their victory gave hope.
Beltan: "Then what do we do?" Beltan asked.
"We fight. But not alone." Corax said.
He explained how Erin's bargain, raising ore quotas by 10%, was a fatal mistake. It revealed they could produce more, giving the supervisors a new standard to impose everywhere.
Erin's face went pale as realization hit. "We… we can still take it back."
"Too late. Now she knows your limit. And her new limit, for killing, just became 9%."
"A thousand corpses speak louder than one."
"So what do we do?" Beltan wondered.
"We strike. Together." Corax.
Erin swallowed. "That'll kill thousands."
"Then we make sure half the districts rise at once. If we all move together, she won't dare turn it into a massacre."
Erin frowned. "But you said we can't let them know we're united."
"We won't be united, it'll look like they are."
And so the plan was set. If they stood firm, even at the cost of blood, they might win.
"We can't promise everyone will die bravely. But we can make sure the leaders do."
When young Ephrenia whispered, "Will we win?" her innocent voice burned into them all.
Corax picked up a ration bar of corpse starch and held it high.
"One stick breaks easily-" snap
"But ten together-" he pressed them into a bundle. "Unbreakable."
"As long as we stand united, victory will be ours."
His voice wasn't loud, but it spread like a spark into dry tinder.
"Then we'll die standing!"
"We're no one's soft fruit, let that bitch choke on her own plot!"
Corax silenced the crowd with a raised hand. "The strike is only the beginning. We're not here to trade blood for crumbs. We will end this evil system, so that everyone can live as a human."
"I can't promise all of you will live to see the dawn," he said quietly, "but I swear to you, dawn will come."
Caelan felt a pang of deja vu. He had seen this before, in Angron.
He had never told Corax what Angron said. Yet they spoke the same words. That, more than anything, proved their shared nature.
They were fire-starters, torchbearers of revolution and liberation.
"I don't like that look in your eyes." Corax glared at Caelan. "I don't care which brother you're reminded of, but I'm no one's replacement."
"I promise, you're not."
"Then why look at me like that?"
"Because I see their shadows in you, and I'm proud you're all good sons."
Corax turned aside, snorting softly. The answer would do. Barely.
He could forgive his father, for now.
But he would prove something.
He would light the flame of revolution on Lycaeus, and carry it to Kyavahr, and then across the entire galaxy.
He would prove Caelan wrong.
He wouldn't be the kind of man who saves five by killing one.
That weak Corax was dead.
Now, he would stop the train, even if it crushed him to dust.
He would prove he was the greatest of them all.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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