The veil fell, and they awoke from slumber. Thousands of burning souls could now behold the outside. However, the still fragmented minds paid no special heed to it; something else concerned them. They were in a state of unrestrained fury merged with all-consuming hatred. And the latter was directed at the owner of their prison. The one who stabbed them in the back, along with those they called brothers. Spitting on honor, their father sent his sons to slaughter. However, he wasn't the only potential target, but also those present here.
Freed from the Fel of Chaos, their very essence mournfully cried out in pain and guilt. To voluntarily go against the bonds, against everything they had endured together. They were traitors. Those who turned their blades on brothers. The agony only intensified, and nothing could bring salvation. And even so, their natural drive for development revealed itself. The vices that served as the loophole for the darkness consuming their hearts were washed away under the weight of sins. A vague realization of what they had been turned into toppled pride, crushed vanity, and uprooted cruel ambitions at the root. But the fact that they had drawn closer to the desired perfection did not ease the pain.
When the vengeful spirits noticed the sorrowful ones, the former rushed into attack again, as in the last minutes of their lives. And the fact that the past two-plus months had been filled with tormenting thoughts and equally tormenting ignorance only exacerbated the thirst. An ocean of burning clumps clashed in an endless battle. For this place did not let them die, only to be reborn again, so it all repeated time after time. The Sons of the Phoenix—those who followed him into the abyss and those who remained loyal—began their infinite battle, though the former dared not resist, for they knew the truth.
They deserved punishment. Deserved to feel this pain a hundredfold stronger, and even that would not grant forgiveness.
Morning proceeded as usual, the quiet rustle of the stove and the aromas it wafted through the air. Peaceful time that brought peace to the soul, so desired. Artoria savored her tea, creating a soothing atmosphere around her, one that painted an illusion in the mind of gentle light enveloping her figure. Her half-closed eyes were thus to ensure nothing dared distract the queen from bliss. A fluffy white bundle dozed on the edge of the table, purring softly. Its fur, after water treatments endured with unshakable resilience, had returned to perfect condition, transforming from tangled icicles into soft fluff.
Lazily stretching, Rylanor surveyed the room. His friend was in the kitchen handling sustenance, and his girlfriend sat nearby, oblivious to her surroundings. The other bipeds were in other parts of the manor, occupied with whatever. At least, the heavy breathing of the red-furred male was audible even here. Twitching his tail, the kitten headed to one of his favorite spots—the fair crown. Leaping deftly, he settled comfortably and dozed off again. Artoria noticed, but paid it no mind. If the cute bundle wanted to nap on her head, who was she to argue? After all, for those who could wake kitties without qualms, a boiling cauldron was already prepared in hell.
Fulgrim, having prepared everything for breakfast, brought it to the table in one go. There he saw a sight that struck him as quite... captivating. An elegant young girl with a sleeping white kitten on her crown. A two-front attack, so to speak, and thus the Primarch couldn't resist petting both at once. Rylanor purred louder than before, and the queen melted completely, without interrupting her tea.
Rin, meanwhile, had already freshened up and was heading to the living room. Though she wasn't in the habit of breakfasting, when this became known to the Primarch, Tohsaka heard a whole lecture on healthy eating. The extent of Fulgrim's knowledge of the human body allowed him to drown her in information and extract a solemn vow that it wouldn't continue. It seemed Fulgrim took his supposed uncle role a bit more seriously than the magus thought. Though the display of care was definitely pleasant, that info wasn't fit for voicing aloud. Incidentally, Shirou Emiya had also tried to reason with the girl, but the peer couldn't have convinced Rin without the aid of the son of the one who raised the Imperium amid a thousand stars, returning countless worlds lost in cosmic void under his banner. "Better not think that way, or I'll go mad," she reasoned. Still, a Primarch, lord of the third legion, convincing a schoolgirl of the need for proper eating regimen... Well, best not finish that thought.
Rin was already at the table, observing the utterly peaceful atmosphere on the other side. The Servants calmly sipped tea, occasionally showering affection on the white cat. Its charm had no effect on the girl, for her attitude toward these furballs was indifferent. Heavy footsteps sounded beyond the door, and then it parted, admitting Vergil. And under his arm, he held young Emiya, dangling like a deflated balloon.
"Overdid it?"
"Indeed, my lord. However, I cannot deny the boy's persistence; for a mere human, he shows remarkable endurance." The guardsman spoke as he seated the youth at the table.
But that drop of care for Shirou Emiya didn't escape those present; even Rylanor eyed the Astartes oddly. The latter, however, didn't realize he'd been seen through. For Anusoran, one of the first Two Hundred, caring for juniors was a matter of honor. Guiding immature youths toward perfection, he had saved many young Space Marines' lives, who remembered the Phoenix Guard leader's lessons. True, free hours for such instruction came rarely. But Vergil valued them; he enjoyed passing on his experience. As if thereby sharing part of his power with those lesser in experience, thereby multiplying the legion's might. Yes, that definitely appealed to the old warrior.
"Fine, he earned rest." The Primarch glanced at the pair. Then smiled with light mischief. "Of course, if this isn't pretense or part of your cunning plot to slack off." With clear playfulness, the Phoenician concluded. Or rather, not clear to everyone.
"Wha... How dare I... I would never, my lord!"
"Calm down, he's just teasing you." Rin had seen the guardsman's true fanboy devotion more than once. "Definitely just needs a poster." Wonder what he'd write on it?
"Teasing?" That is, ribbing... Friendly-like. At that thought, Anusoran fell silent, but two of those present, able to read Astartes body language, noticed he'd drifted into fantasy. Rin, in her mind, jokingly bet on how quickly he'd snap out and realize what he was doing. Fulgrim preferred not to notice, to avoid... just avoid. Oh, that trait in some of his sons...
Vergil himself was now on the battlefield. Hordes of greenskins advanced, terrifying all with their hideous mugs. And in their path stood the guardsman and his Primarch. They struck down xenos while bantering. Then a training hall appeared before his eyes, where they, smiling, honed their mastery, approaching perfection. Yes... to be not just subordinate to one's father, but friend... how magnificent.
Quiet footsteps sounded in the corridor, as yesterday. Sakura had arrived. This helped the legionary surface from his thoughts and shift to spirit form. Now, the room held only two magi, an ancient queen, and a genetically modified supersoldier from the future. Nothing unusual. The lavender-haired girl finally entered and saw Shirou Emiya lying face-down motionless on the table. He didn't even seem to be breathing.
"Senpai, what's wrong with you?!"
"Mmm... Oh, Sakura, good morning. I overdid the exercises a bit." He spoke, turning his head to rest his cheek on the wooden surface. So cool... "I'll recover soon... I hope." The last in a whisper.
"Senpai, you don't look too good... Oh!" Somewhere behind the manor came a loud thud. "What was that?"
"That's our proud guardsman realizing he was fantasizing about his Primarch like some innocent maiden." To Tohsaka, it was obvious the sound came from refined ceramite helmet of power armor colliding with rough wood. For a moment, the girl pitied the wall Vergil was banging his head against. Seriously, almost no one in the legion suffered like that—why did one of the Emperor's Children's greatest act so... ridiculously? Though, to be fair, in battle he shed all foolishness. The Space Marine himself now struggled with the embarrassment overwhelming him. He knew he hadn't thought anything untoward... but still burned with shame!
"Probably from outside, don't mind it." The Primarch spoke in a kindly voice. "Sit down before it gets cold." The girl, slightly embarrassed, complied.
"Teacher Fulgrim, you're the guest; you shouldn't strain yourself so."
"I could accept hospitality—only if I reciprocate later. Which is impossible, for certain reasons." At that moment, Shirou Emiya, hitherto motionless on the table, began rising. Limply grabbing chopsticks, he started shoving fuel into himself—otherwise he couldn't describe his intent. It felt like without refueling, his body would say, "Sorry, Shirou... We... can't be together..." And for some reason, hamming it up terribly.
"Right, Sakura, you hate idling while I cook anyway. And I can't call you a guest; you're more family." Shirou Emiya said with a sincere smile.
But the naive youth couldn't imagine the effect his words had. First, the girl a year his junior froze like a salt statue, then flushed crimson rapidly. The blush spread like a forest fire, already reaching her collarbone. Rin even grew slightly worried if Sakura would faint. Fortunately, it passed, and Matou began mumbling incoherent phrases barely audibly. Something about Shirou Emiya exaggerating and her not doing that much for him.
Time passed, and breakfast finally ended. A bit of time remained before school, so they could tidy up properly. Sakura had left, as she had club activities. Incidentally, its supervisor had also visited her charge's abode. As a result, in Fulgrim's eyes, she solidified as "Small titan-class biomass annihilator." Suspicions even crept in that she could devour an Astartes special ration, which would give a normal human at least intestinal volvulus. And Rin was forced to repair a huge hole in the shed wall. Vergil didn't react to the girl's unambiguous glare, but some stiffness in his movements showed. Internally, Tohsaka giggled like a smug imp who had shamed the pesky soldier.
"Shirou Emiya." The now-recovered boy was doing dishes; he didn't like breakfast being prepared instead of him while he lay like a freeloader. At that moment, Fulgrim called him. "Have you noticed anything strange in Sakura's behavior lately?"
"Strange? Well... no, why? What happened?" Emiya turned puzzled.
"...She smelled of blood." Shirou Emiya's body froze, and the plate slipped from numb fingers. He spun fully, radiating unconcealed shock. Striding quickly to the table where the Primarch sat, he loomed over him and, almost shouting, demanded.
"Wh-what blood, what nonsense?!"
"Human blood, Shirou Emiya. But the worst... her breath reeked of iron." The youth fell silent, unable to utter a word. The Phoenician, not waiting for his synapses to reconnect, asked Rin. "The Matou line is one of the Holy Grail War founders; could they relate to current events?"
"...Their line degenerated, and none remain who could become even remotely competent magi, but Sakura..." Conflicted feelings crossed the girl's face, and the Phoenician couldn't grasp what caused such a reaction. Until now, Rin had shown no such signs.
"Wait! Sakura's from a magus family?! Why didn't I know?!"
"For the same reason you didn't know about the war." Rin said it, but her thoughts were far away. Fulgrim noted the reaction closely. Though from how his summoner interacted with the younger, her good feelings were clear, however... Even when Shirou Emiya, so important to her, was on death's door, Tohsaka hadn't shown such concern.
"Shirou Emiya, your task today is to watch Sakura Emiya closely. We need to figure out what's happening with her. If she's involved in the ritual, it's not by choice." Analysis of the girl's personality yielded purely positive results, so the Primarch couldn't stand by when something threatened such a pure soul. Plus, she was dear to Emiya.
"Yes, understood." Perhaps the youth hadn't shown such resolve even when Fulgrim insulted his father.
The Phoenician shifted gaze to Rin. She still sat head down, brows furrowed. Very unusual for one not prone to prolonged rumination. Rather to some haste—an age-related quirk. "There must be reasons for this." The Primarch rose from the table and signaled the girl they needed to step aside and talk privately. She didn't grasp what her Servant wanted but didn't refuse. As the pair vanished behind the door, Artoria watched, a faint smile on her lips. Even Rylanor sensed the black-haired biped needed help, let alone the queen. And she was glad Fulgrim hadn't turned a blind eye.
"Speak." Already in the corridor, the man fixed his gaze on the girl.
"...About what?" Rin wasn't stupid and perfectly understood what the Phoenician meant.
"What ties you to Sakura?"
"What's it to you?" She turned away with a displeased look. Her past had no bearing, so why was this brazen Primarch prying?
"Hmm..." Fulgrim saw Tohsaka unwilling to speak. "Rin, you've seen much of my life; don't you think it's fair to share a bit of yours?"
The eternal twintail girl visibly chewed her lip in displeasure. The Servant's persistence annoyed, but clearly stemmed from care. Proud as Rin often was, it touched her. After all, in the last ten years, no one in her life had shown such. Plus, he wouldn't let up...
"Sakura... my blood sister."
"...Unexpected." External resemblance existed, but minor, raising no suspicions, and hair/eye colors differed completely. "What happened?" Not pressing, but nudging continuation, Fulgrim said.
A brief account of magus traditions followed. The rule of family art and Magic Crest inheritance implied one successor. Thus, from two daughters, Tohsaka Tokiomi had to choose one. But with the Matou lacking worthy heirs, a contract was made. It required handing over one daughter to become full heir to their knowledge. Thus, Tohsaka Sakura became Matou Sakura.
"You mean, due to senseless rules, your father abandoned his daughter?"
"...That's the magi duty."
"Tell me, Rin, did your father love you?" Purple eyes left no room for silence. "Or was he a selfish man interested only in Magic?"
"Of course he loved us; I'm sure!"
"Then, you think he essentially threw out his daughter just for some duty?" Now Rin didn't know what to say. She respected her father, but his act raised doubts. Why did he do it? Couldn't they all just live together, even if one daughter didn't become a magus? This question had tormented the girl many times. "Don't you think there's something you don't know?"
"Maybe..."
"If you're right, and Tokiomi loved you, he had reasons. Fathers always care for their children." Hearing this, Rin paused, then looked at her interlocutor with an inscrutable expression.
"...Yeah, didn't expect that from you." Fulgrim merely looked puzzled at Rin. "The Emperor didn't bother with love; it even seemed he didn't see you as sons." In the dreams, the Master of Mankind was quite detached. Even that warm golden glow hadn't prevented the girl from sensing it. As if he didn't care for his sons at all.
Fulgrim smiled, with understanding and faint sadness. Even the Emperor's insult sparked no anger.
"Rin, only Malcador could grasp my father's thoughts. A man like him thinks in other categories. Even if he hid something from us, there were reasons. Though it led to catastrophe..." Fulgrim, who still saw perfection in his father, had reached a conclusion. Mistakes weren't the enemy of the ideal. They couldn't be avoided, no matter the effort. Blaming the Emperor for allowing betrayal made no sense, as foreseeing it was impossible. Titanic responsibility lay on him, and embracing the entire galaxy was beyond even the first among men. "If only I knew what he was doing on Terra. It forced him to hand the Crusade to Horus. Well, now I can only hope it was critically important."
"Fine, fine, I get it! Let's leave father-child issues for literature class. We still have tons to deal with." Finally, the girl regained her usual sass with which she'd greeted the Primarch upon summoning.
"Us? You're still too weak for such matters." The sly smile, as always, irked Rin. Though this time, alongside irritation came amusement. "First, master a plasma spell."
"Go to hell! Unlike you, I'm a plain human. No GMO brains."
And again, the blatant disrespect for the Emperor's creations amused one of them. How amusing this world's humans were; for them, demigods who conquered hundreds of worlds were no cause for awe. At his laughter, Rin rolled her eyes and muttered barely audibly something like—"Parading around, all sorts of Primarchs; need more Exterminatus for you."
"When will this end?"
One of the souls, amid similar ones, gazed at the slaughter in pain. Those once calling each other brothers hadn't quelled hatred even after death. Yet if they cast aside rage for a moment, they'd feel what the traitors endured. Their pain scarcely less than the loyalists'. Hitherto, none retaliated, merely enduring strikes of searing energy streams.
This Astartes, the only one without rage. Sorrow replaced it. The pain of going against brothers hadn't gone, but it was pain from misunderstanding. And from pondering if he could have prevented Isstvan III events. That firestorm the Life-Eater Virus became still stood before his eyes. Followed by long days of futile resistance amid raging elements. Heavens closed by unprecedented storms, and below—all tormented by horrific gales. All legions betrayed fought to the last drop of blood, Emperor's Children no exception. Their innate precision and thoroughness forced traitors to expend far more effort than planned.
Attempts to storm the regent's palace, where loyals hunkered, lasted days. It was a fortress designed to defend against the entire planet if its denizens rose against Imperium rule. That's one reason superior forces couldn't quickly crush resistance.
"Though that's past now."
Now, the sole Son of the Phoenix to regain sanity looked outward. A vision of his father opened, and the Astartes didn't recognize Fulgrim. Not that he'd changed much, but differences were clear. The pride he'd elevated to virtue no longer showed. The soul always thought zealous exaltation of that trait could turn it to hubris. Eidolon proved it. The vain Lord Commander enjoyed legionaries' respect, but some Space Marines from other legions despised him, like Tarik Torgaddon.
But returning to Fulgrim, the Astartes couldn't help marveling at how much humbler his father had become. He clearly saw the once-proud Primarch had acquired that trait. Thoughts of treacherous betrayal receded in light of new knowledge. Now, the Emperor's loyal servant observed. For what else could he do?
Besides this spirit, there was another. A consciousness that at death was a shredded tapestry of memories, with great difficulty regaining clarity. Long years, he lived to avenge. Restore honor lost after the fall. And he could only do it one way. Kill the one who caused it all.
Fulgrim himself was unaware of what was happening within his essence, which had become a refuge for thousands of souls. His sons, those who had laid down their heads in the first act of the great betrayal. The loyal ones who had realized their betrayal. Vergil was right; they yearned for battle. However, he had not understood that they wished to see not the enemies of their primarch as their foe, but him himself. The fallen son of the Lord of the Imperium, who had turned away from his light, had to pay the price for what he had condemned the Emperor's Children to. And only after exacting vengeance would they gain the chance to attain the long-awaited peace. For they, the creations of the genius Master of Mankind, whose powers far surpassed those of ordinary humans many times over, and the hatred they were capable of—the hatred of the greatest warriors of mankind—was, in its might, equally superior to the hatred of ordinary mortals.
The regrets tormenting the Phoenix could no longer overpower his resolve; however... Soon, the greatest trial of his entire life awaited him. And at the same time, a chance to correct his mistakes—a chance that had not befallen a single one of those who had followed the Warmaster. The last opportunity to reclaim the right to pursue perfection. And it would be a meeting with those whom he had betrayed to the flames, of his own free will.
A meeting with his children.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan