On Pandora's surface, non-essential units withdrew in order; warships hovered in orbit, waiting for the planet to be moved.
The star system grew busier—cargo and science craft shuttled back and forth, installing the relocation array high above Pandora.
Human activity was dense, unabashed; they built several space stations beyond the planet.
Data stared into the void and finally understood what the human warriors had meant by repeating "it's meaningless" before they left.
Even though the slaughter had long stopped, humans still worked on Eywa's surface—an existence the Navi could not resist.
The keenest-eyed youth in the tribe kept watch on the sky, reporting every human move; others began to record what they saw, trying to make sense of it all.
The embodiment of "it's meaningless" was a void-bound warship arrows could never reach, the naked arrogance of mankind, a violence even Eywa could not match.
Knowing everything, Data dropped the rifle he had toiled to forge, slipped quietly out of the council tent, and roused no one.
He faintly guessed the ending, yet would not crush the hope in his people's hearts.
In silence he returned home, smiling with happiness; now he understood another human saying: cherish the time you still have.
A gentle, beautiful wife; a lively, adorable sister. He was happy—everything he cared about most was still here, not lost in a human raid.
Yet a sour regret lingered: the child in his wife's belly might never give a loud cry—
but perhaps that was for the best, to stay far from this cruel universe.
At last, thirty dawns after their release, humanity's construction was nearly done.
Hearing the screams of collapse, Data stepped outside, looked up—human machines were spewing black light that devoured the warm sun.
Tribesmen fled in all directions, wailing that the sun had been stolen; warriors mounted horses and dragons, shaking spears at the sky.
Seeing it all, Data smiled calmly. Without a trace of panic he fetched his wife and sister, soothed them, and used simple words to explain what was happening.
The family sat on the doorstep, smiling as they admired the transcendent power of human technology.
When a crisis exceeds your power by a billion-fold, resistance and endurance make no difference to the outcome—waiting in peace is enough.
On the void-ship's panoramic deck, Blazkowicz and Sanguinius stood facing one another, looking down at the world of Pandora.
The warship was far from Pandora, yet the whole planet lay in full view.
Eight transfer devices ringed Pandora, projecting black dimensional barriers that sealed the world like a closed box.
"Boy, you know the classic human quantum thought-experiment: Schrödinger's cat?"
Blazkowicz, clad in regent armor, leaned on the rail while the Void Dragon worked the transfer array and asked smugly.
Schrödinger's cat? Of course Blazkowicz knew it.
Put simply: a cat and a random-trigger poison device are locked in a box.
Before the box is opened, quantum rules say the random event both has and hasn't happened, so the cat is simultaneously dead and alive.
Only when you open the box and observe does the uncertainty collapse into one reality: dead cat or live cat.
"I know." Blazkowicz nodded; the classic quantum theory remains hard to fully explain.
The Void Dragon had provided the method; survey ships carried it back to Argent Nur and built eight transfer devices to move the world of Pandora.
Within the core realm of Argent Nur, another eight devices waited to receive Pandora.
"Good." The Void Dragon poured a stream of Data through the gauntlet into the console, operating the array. "I'm putting the planet into the box—do you think it's still in place?"
Blazkowicz did not answer at once; with amusement he asked Sanguinius across from him, "Brother, do you think the world is still there?"
The question caught The Great Angel off guard at such a solemn moment; though unsure of its meaning, he gave an answer.
"Yes!"
Sanguinius replied with absolute certainty: "I saw it placed into the container with my own eyes."
Yet, at that firm answer, Blazkowicz shook his head; a projection sprang from the console and gave the Angel a brief lesson in quantum science.
Even with little exposure to scientific knowledge, as a Primarch, Sanguinius quickly grasped "Schrödinger's Cat" and his expression turned increasingly odd.
The certainty on his face faded away; his eyes flickered with uncertainty, repeatedly looking down at the world sealed in a black box.
Has Pandora entered a superposition state?
Sanguinius smoothed his furrowed brow. Moments ago he hadn't known, so what he saw was enough to convince him; now he was wavering.
Present or not?
A black wall that blocks all scans is holding the world; inside can't see outside—does the outside exist? Outside can't see inside—does Pandora still occupy its former position?
It's an unanswerable question; only the intervention of an observer can collapse the uncertain state into fact.
While The Great Angel puzzled it out, another black box rose on a distant starfield, likewise in the quantum superposition of existing and not existing.
Everything, cause and effect.
Tides rise and fall, universes renew.
The Void Dragon's voice lost its wildness and carried divine majesty: 'When the melon is ripe it drops; when the channel is ready the water flows.'
Why does the Real Universe loathe the Warp? One follows strict cause and effect, the other upends common sense and follows whims.
The dazzling white light faded, and the Navi opened their eyes again, looking up to find the starry sky strangely unfamiliar, a cold fear spreading from the depths of their hearts.
The Navi, like startled beasts, scurried into their houses, hoping the cramped space would give them a sense of safety and soothe the chill within.
Within the human base, both scientists and mortal warriors felt awe; had they not learned of the planet's relocation in advance, they might have been even more helpless than the Navi.
Humans from the pseudo‑Earth had never seen such a bustling star system.
A massive fleet drifted slowly, and star‑fortresses dotted the heavens like countless stars, as if the entire sky were pulsating.
The base's observatory quickly produced data: the new system's center is a white A‑type star, its surface temperature three thousand degrees hotter than Pandora's star.
The sunlight was scorching and painfully bright.
The system contains six planets; Pandora is a satellite of a giant planet, and precise calculations show no gravitational disturbances.
As an "outsider," Pandora has been accepted by the "local families."
"Welcome to the Gate of Heaven, mortals," the Techmarine announced with a booming voice, barely containing his excitement: "You have now entered the Argent Nur Core Domain."
As he spoke fervently, the base's main screen displayed an overview of the system.
The so‑called "Gate of Heaven" must be interpreted in two parts.
First, "Heaven"—a heavenly world exists within the system; second, "Gate"—this is the doorway to the Nur Main Realm.
The mortals excitedly pointed to a corner of the sky; the once‑massive blue gas giant vanished, replaced by a massive planet forged of steel.
The Fortress World—an Eye of Judgment—its name derives from the planet's equator.
A ring of orbital defense platforms encircles the equator, massive gun barrels like eyes visible to the naked eye on Pandora's surface, scrutinizing the cold void without blind spots.
Colonel Miles' tiger‑like eyes welled with tears. This iron‑blooded soldier could not restrain himself at the sight.
Only such overwhelming power can showcase humanity's greatness!
As the Navi and humans marveled in awe, various spacecraft entered Pandora's atmosphere, bringing Psykers and bio‑craftsmen.
Psykers emerged from shuttles, and Legion Warriors gathered all mortals in the plaza; they would have their memories of Tulkun erased.
Stone Men captured a giant Tulkun from the sea, studied the peculiar lifeform, and began preparations for artificial cultivation to obtain a constant supply of longevity material.
They raced against time, completing a full analysis of Pandora's biosphere and obtaining complete biological data before the Emperor's arrival.
Meanwhile, the expedition fleet cleared Madam Clara, successfully concluding the Purge Expedition, and returned to Argent Nur under Archon Blazkowicz.
The fleet's strike on Madam Clara recovered STC, established prestige in the sphere of influence, and achieved both military and political success.
The most valuable prize was a Madam Clara Psionic Titan, fully captured by the Legion and handed over to the Psyker Academy for research.
The expedition fleet gradually returned; Blazkowicz and Sanguinius came back to Argent Nur, reuniting after a campaign at the appointed meeting place.
Blazkowicz wished to extend hospitality, planning a victory parade to announce The Great Angel's arrival to the Argent Nur subjects, but Sanguinius firmly refused.
His reason was simple—an Emperor is about to arrive, and as his son, how could he outshine his father's millennial glory?
Moved by his brother's humility, Blazkowicz decided to first let Sanguinius enter Argent Nur secretly; when the Emperor arrives, he will officially declare his presence in an official capacity.
"This is my niece—Loxi Nowick."
In the palace courtyard, Blazkowicz introduced his niece to Sanguinius; after Russ's lesson, he had long mentioned his family's situation to his brother.
"My elder brother and sister‑in‑law have ventured into the void, taking another nephew on a royal tour to solidify border rule and investigate policy implementation."
Sanguinius gracefully knelt on one knee, gently grasped Marie's raised right hand, kissed the back of the lady's hand, and performed the audience protocol: "I salute you, future Queen of Nowick."
Marie wore a gorgeous emerald‑green gown and a crystal crown of the heir, and if nothing went wrong, she truly would be the next Nowick monarch.
She calmly withdrew her arm, lifted the hem of her dress, and slightly inclined her head: "I also salute you, Great Son of the Emperor, Lord of The Ninth Legion, the holy Great Angel—Sanguinius."
The young woman shed her naiveté, flawless and elegant, her bearing exuding the regal poise of royalty at first glance.
Seeing his niece's current demeanor, Blazkowicz's eyes flashed with satisfaction, tinged with a hint of pity.
He had thought that upon seeing the beloved Sanguinius, Marie would rush over with blessings and admiration, but now she was calm enough to make one's heart ache.
As she grew older, her childlike innocence and vigor gradually settled into responsibility, bearing the weight of royalty.
"Lady Marie, may I have a look at your left hand?"
Sanguinius gave a gentle smile, his slender finger pointing to the lady's left hand, his voice soft and politely inquisitive.
"Of course." Marie lifted her left hand, her pale wrist bound with a mithril cord that suspended a Tooth Ornament, the root wrapped in blue crystal, blending wildness with elegance.
Strictly speaking, Tooth Ornaments and other wild accessories are rarely seen on royalty.
Because royalty displays majesty and order, symbols of ferocity are only worn if they hold commemorative or special meaning; otherwise they have no place on a royal.
For example, Blazkowicz's ancient tooth is extremely valuable, a rarity in the universe, yet seldom worn.
Sanguinius gently supported the lady's arm, pinching the tooth to examine it closely; from the slender canine he felt a kinship that stemmed from blood.
"Russ's tooth," Blazkowicz whispered an explanation: "I forgot to tell him that my family has bloodline descendants; he wasn't prepared with a gift, so he broke off his own tooth and gave it to Marie."
"So it was him." Sanguinius suddenly understood and gently lowered Marie's arm.
The Great Wolf — Leman Russ.
Sanguinius had never met that wild brother; the only information came from Horus Lupercal, who held a poor impression of him.
When speaking of Russ, Horus, who excels at yielding and tolerance, could barely hide his disdain, his facial muscles forever stiff.
The final news was that the Space Wolves had achieved a great victory.
After ten years of war, the Legion had torn apart the hundred‑billion Orcs entrenched in the Firewheel sector, now cleansing the remnants and about to end the war and return to Terra.
Understanding the whole story, Sanguinius nodded slowly, his white wings folding before him: "I too must show my respect."
His visage was intoxicating, his smile like a spring breeze: "Lady Marie, please accept my gift."
The Great Angel plucked a pure white feather from the tip of his wing—a Flight Feather, the longest, thickest, and strongest feather along the wing's edge.
Facing the Primarch's offering, Marie no longer, as she had years ago, sought her uncle's opinion with a glance.
She crossed her calves, lowered her posture, and with a flawless wordless etiquette accepted the benevolent gift.
Sanguinius's hands approached the lady's chest with great care, giving only a feeling of comfort and no hint of impropriety.
His movements were exceedingly gentle; he fixed the Flight Feather upright onto Marie's floral adornment: "May your beauty endure, may your will be immortal."
The Great Angel's voice was soft, not as coarse and wild as the Wolf King's, yet it carried the same firm oath: "This is a token; the Blood Angels have a reason to fight for it."
"I will continue your humility."
The lady's reply was clear and moving; she lifted her head to admire the angel's splendor, her twin sparkling eyes meeting his, her earrings scattering light that illuminated her flawless beauty: "Welcome to the Warrior Realm."
"I have long yearned for this place," Sanguinius said, lifting Marie's arm; the two rose together, achieving perfect harmony.
"Let us go," Blazkowicz called from the side, indicating the palace inner courtyard.
There was no grand victory parade; the angels' welcome to Argent Nur was a modest family banquet inside the royal court.
Princess Sola was not in Argent Nur; the banquet's food was overseen by Marie, who is both the heir of the Novick Dynasty and the household's female head—a duty she must bear.
At the table there were few formalities; the Primarch brothers spoke freely, sharing what they had seen and heard, deliberately avoiding any mention of war.
It was a small tacit understanding between them.
At a warm family dinner, no one should let the smoke of battle escape their mouths and tarnish the harmonious atmosphere.
"Lord."
As the banquet drew to a close, the palace guard entered to inform Blazkowicz: "Harlan Ogilvy wishes an audience."
"Please let him in quickly," Blazkowicz's eyes lit up, and he promptly ordered the palace guard to allow passage.
Harlan's arrival at this moment meant the matter he had tasked Blazkowicz with should now have results.
Seeing the Champion Swordsman enter the courtyard, Sanguinius could barely contain his excitement; the matter he sought was finally taking shape.
Harlan walked into the Inner Court, first knelt to Marie, then knelt to Blazkowicz.
Argent Nur is not the Void battlefield; many formalities can be skipped.
If the Palace Guards saw anyone overstep, they would rush in, pitch the rude one out, and make the one who scorned royal dignity 'reflect deeply'.
Harlan knelt on one knee, his stern face like that of a different man. "The old one has agreed to see the Primarch."
Hearing the Old Sage's reply, Blazkowicz exhaled in relief; the weight on his heart finally settled.
Back when Pandora was being hunted, the Astropathic Choir Message had already reached the Nur Stars; Sanguinius had his progeny send some gene seed to the Stone Artisans for study.
The moment Blazkowicz returned to Argent Nur, he heard the bad news.
The biotechnology entangled in the gene seed is starkly contradictory—brutal and crude, yet in places exquisitely designed.
Its basic functions are rock-solid, tolerating every mutation and ensuring the gene seed passes down the generations.
The gene-artisans pointed out: purely in terms of genetic inheritance, the gene seed's stability surpasses even the Golden Men's understanding of gene lore.
Argent Nur itself is living proof.
The Golden Men's genes from the Golden Age have reproduced ever since; without maintenance, inevitable degradation set in.
The gene seed is different. Its genetic coding is balanced but hardly optimal—only its hereditary continuity is so stable the Stone Men call it 'inconceivable'.
This unique stability has an upside: over eons the gene seed will not degenerate;
and a downside: when other functions mutate, it passes those changes on, good or bad.
The bloodthirst tormenting the Blood Angels, for example, is a basic-function mutation the gene seed has flawlessly preserved.
Remove that stability and the bloodthirst could be wiped out easily—but the gene seed's rock-solid continuity would be gone, and the Legion's survival could not be guaranteed.
In secret communiqués the gene-artisans hinted that the seed's all-embracing nature brushes against Warp technology.
Blazkowicz was unsurprised; he had long suspected as much.
The Emperor waged centuries of Unification Wars, scheming for over a millennium; at the very end the Astartes descended like divine soldiers.
Blazkowicz would never believe no secret pacts lay behind that. Knowing this, he staunchly helped the Emperor keep the Warp hidden from their Primarch brothers—
With Warp traces in the gene seed, Blazkowicz ordered the artisans' research halted and chose another path: turn to the Old Sages.
As cosmic old ones, their right to interpret the Warp outstrips every other race.
During a family feast with Sanguinius, Harlan was dispatched to the Crystal Cave to ask the Old Sage's will about meeting a Primarch.
Harlan returned in triumph with good news.
Blazkowicz clapped Sanguinius on the shoulder to calm his restlessness. "Prepare yourself; we go to see the old one."
'So we must.' Sanguinius rose hurriedly, eagerness and excitement mingling in his brows, his unease impossible to hide.
At that moment Sanguinius lacked even the courage to unleash a psychic foretelling that might reveal the Legion's imminent fate.
The three took hurried leave of Marie; Blazkowicz and Sanguinius boarded the royal shuttle to wait at the Nur Ring.
Harlan slipped away by a hidden route to fetch the Old Sage; the meeting place lay far from the Crystal Cave.
'Easy now.' In the New Palace of the Nur Ring, Blazkowicz reclined with eyes shut, serenely awaiting the Old Sage.
Sanguinius could not sit still; he folded his wings and paced the room, now and then picking up a trinket to mask his agitation.
Tap… tap… tap…
The Primarch's senses were keen; hearing the approaching steps, Sanguinius set down the vase and straightened his robes to greet the old one his brother honored.
Blazkowicz rose from the lounger, sitting upright as he watched the door, awaiting the Old Sage.
Harlan shouldered the dark light to guide the way; behind him followed a figure wrapped in black, robes that blocked sight and sense alike.
Its head was a void of darkness, utterly mysterious; in its hand it held a sphere of unknown material that cast an unseen veil against prying eyes.
'Greetings, old one.' Sanguinius knelt on the carpet, sincerity in his tone, his graceful manners beyond reproach.
'Rise.' The visitor masked its voice, hoarse and low, the original sound undetectable.
Not daring to disobey, Sanguinius rose from the carpet and stepped aside, silent.
As a supplicant who had come from afar, he knew he must not steal the host's thunder; the details were for Blazkowicz to negotiate.
The Black-Robed Figure sat cross-legged in the rocking chair. After surveying the room's furnishings, he glanced sideways at Blazkowicz. "You've put thought into this."
No tech devices were in sight; the room was wholly old-world. Hand-woven carpets covered the floor, warm candlelight flickered on every side, and antiques and biological specimens stood everywhere.
The moment the visitor stepped in, he could tell the chamber was an enlarged crystal cavern.
The ornaments had soaked up the place's aura of ages; all manner of patinas blended together. The room was no impromptu disguise—it had been prepared long in advance.
"As long as you don't dislike it." Blazkowicz lowered his voice, calm and level, nodding slowly with a smile.
He knew exactly who the visitor was—Life Forger Prima.
Perhaps out of mistrust, it protected itself well: a robe that blocked perception and an isolation pearl that barred even a god's sight.
"I already know why you've come." Prima extended an arm; beneath the robe it looked like a writhing shadow. "Hand it over."
Sanguinius had not expected the Mysterious Elder to be so direct. Seeing an arm made of darkness, he froze on the spot.
"Oh—oh—"
Startled awake, he hurriedly reached into the satchel at his waist and drew out the frozen gene seed.
Before Sanguinius could take a step, the gene seed floated up, traced a graceful arc, and landed squarely in the black-robed hand.
A casual gesture, no psychic ripple—yet the aloofness was blatant, bordering on rudeness.
Watching the gene seed taken by the mysterious figure, Sanguinius felt not anger but relief.
He still didn't know the visitor's exact identity and was kept at arm's length, yet the old one his brother had introduced had shouldered the responsibility after all.
Judging by the unknown art the robed one had just shown, its power was formidable, steeped in ancient and arcane knowledge.
Perhaps this journey would not be in vain—perhaps the Legion's bloodthirst could truly be changed!
Sanguinius perched on the recliner, clutching the satchel, his eyes full of hope and tension such as he had never felt before.
Prima's scaled fingers pinched the gene seed. In its grasp the thing looked like a swollen, twisted tumor, thin tentacles swaying—utterly ugly.
Without even touching it, a single glance told Prima the gene seed was linked to the Warp.
"Do you mind if it perishes?"
"I can bear the sacrifice." Hearing the question, Sanguinius answered with a heavy nod, his resolve to eradicate the bloodthirst plain.
The hood dipped as Prima raised a smoking pipe and exhaled a puff of iridescent mist that enshrouded the gene seed.
The colored smoke drifted, seeming to find something; it threaded along a thin line until it finally reached Sanguinius.
Unsure what to do, he looked toward Blazkowicz, who nodded to set his mind at ease.
"This Bloodline is indeed yours." The robed one nodded, then did something that stunned Sanguinius.
In a flash, a black tendril jutted from its face, snatched the gene seed, and stuffed it into its mouth with audible crunching.
Sanguinius's body snapped upright; Blazkowicz pressed a hand down, signaling him to stay calm.
"Fortunately, you made no tech-level alterations." Prima crushed the gene seed, its long tongue tasting the flavor, discerning why the bloodthirst existed.
Its hollow gaze fixed on the Angel. "This is a genetic mutation caused by a Blood-Curse."
"Merely tech-level edits would not remove it; they would only trigger deeper mutations."
"A Blood-Curse?"
Sanguinius's eyes flared; he sprang from the recliner, nostrils flaring.
"Unknown old one," the Angel knelt, his icy voice frosting the room, "tell me—where does the curse begin?"
Every curse has a source. Sanguinius burned with rage, fists clenched, swearing to find the Curser and destroy them.
Yet the old one's answer struck him like lightning.
"You." The robed sleeve rose; shadows condensed into a dark tendril pointing at Sanguinius. "You are the source of the Bloodline—and the source of the curse."
Sanguinius's frame shook; the answer shattered his mind, nearly impossible to believe.
"Rage and bloodthirsty violence should have been yours alone, yet they fused into the gene seed and flow on to your progeny."