I dreamed.
The truth lingers in my mind, entangling my thoughts like a shadow.
Even as I resist and reject it, it stubbornly takes root in my mind.
I once craved truth, but I never expected its quantity to be so vast, as infinite as the stars.
Self-preservation instinct forces me to seal away most of the truth, lest I be driven mad by its endlessness.
Now, I must spend long years sorting this truth into categories, compiling it into a vast directory index.
So that when I need it, I can quickly retrieve and call upon it.
This project is immensely vast, destined to consume my life. I pour almost all my spare time into it.
Yet the truth still breaks through the seals uncontrollably, invading my dreams in the most unwelcome manner.
Yes, Primarchs dream too.
Even when my conscious mind is awake, I still dream uncontrollably. Prophecies of the future flood my mind without my consent.
I dreamed of the Emperor of Mankind seated upon the Golden Throne. The Imperial Regent, once inseparable from him, and his beloved guardians, the golden-armoured Custodes, were nowhere to be seen.
Only a few pools of unwashed blood remained beneath the Golden Throne.
None of my brothers were present, and I looked down upon the scene from some transcendent perspective.
I witnessed him open the gate to destruction.
He personally sent my father into the Webway, to face the Chaos Gods themselves.
"No! You can't! Stop!"
I screamed in terror, but I could change nothing.
Like a pebble dropped into an abyss, it stirred no ripple, not even an echo.
I watched helplessly as the gate opened, my father's figure so small against the dread presence of the Dark God.
His step did not falter. He resolutely walked towards Him.
On the day a father killed a father, I was there.
In the end, it was just one father stoning another father to death.
The gate closed. The body fell, turning to dust.
Then, the galaxy burned.
As the gate boomed shut behind him, I caught a fleeting glimpse of pity in the Emperor of Mankind's eyes, but not a trace of guilt.
He never regrets.
Neither did he.
Father calmly sent father to his death. Father calmly went to his death.
Neither felt guilt or regret.
He was willing.
He walked into the Webway smiling, as if welcoming his death.
There was no redemption. The moment for redemption had long since passed.
Only reluctant acceptance remained.
Then the light faded. Darkness fell.
It was not the smooth darkness of the palace's endless architecture. It was soft and silent, like the coming of night, or the dimming of sight and senses.
His father had sacrificed his father.
His father had willingly sacrificed himself for his father.
When I asked him, he said he had no regrets.
He told me not to believe prophecies, that this was Tzeentch's trick.
But his answers and reactions told me the prophecy was true.
When faced with a desperate situation, he would happily go to his death.
The future may not happen, but if it does, it will come true.
Father's dream will come true. Father's death will come true.
They will both get what they want.
What about us?
What about me and my brothers?
Why are we absent from this final battle?
Are we dead? Or did we flee?
I will not flee. My brothers will not flee.
Then most likely, we are dead.
But who could kill us? The answer is obvious. The Chaos Gods.
Whose bloodstains are those? The Custodes? Malcador?
Perhaps they are dead too.
When we are all dead, and only our fathers remain...
What can they do?
Perhaps only a desperate counterattack remains.
Father gave father to the Gods. Father willingly gave father to the Gods.
What did they get in return?
A promise from the Gods? Mutual slaughter?
There are too few images. Prophecies are always so evasive, unwilling to show me the full truth.
Does it want to warn me, or to mislead me?
I do not understand.
Perhaps I do not need to understand.
I only need to understand that I must prevent such a future.
I am not in that future. Neither are my brothers, nor Malcador, nor the Custodes.
Only two fathers, facing it alone.
That future is too cruel.
I will change it. I must change it, no matter the cost!
"And you." I stare at the fragment. "You will not tempt me!"
The fragment of Tzeentch's staff was once his most powerful domain.
When he held the staff, none of the Chaos Gods were his match.
Even when two of Them united, they could hardly contend with Tzeentch.
Only when all three joined forces could they force Tzeentch to relinquish the staff.
Without the staff, the once most powerful Chaos God has been reduced to second place.
He can no longer suppress any of the Chaos Gods, only hide within his Crystal Labyrinth, playing with schemes and intrigues.
In a sense, this staff is equivalent to a Chaos God.
If I could master this domain, I could contend with the Chaos Gods. I could change fate!
Even alone, I could grant humanity protection.
But I cannot collect all the fragments.
If even Tzeentch, having exhausted endless ages, could not collect all the fragments, why should I?
Even if I could collect all the fragments, how could I be sure it wasn't Tzeentch's calculation?
The moment I collect all the fragments would be the moment Tzeentch murders me.
The fragments will not be collected. The other Gods will not allow it.
Only when they are scattered can Tzeentch just be Tzeentch.
Even if the fragments were collected, so what?
It would just be another alliance of the three Gods against Tzeentch.
But if Tzeentch were cautious enough, and did it discreetly enough...
He need not collect the fragments himself. He could let someone else do it.
When the fragments are collected, he would seize them and, before the other three can unite to intervene, strike first and kill one of them.
The youngest god, Slaanesh, would be the best choice, for She is the weakest.
Then the remaining two would be unable to contend with him.
Perhaps then, he would become the sole god of the Warp.
Collecting the fragments would destroy the balance of the Warp. Only the shattered staff can ensure the Warp's harmony.
I do not need to master the entire domain, just as I do not need to bear the burden alone.
I still have a father, and brothers.
I am not alone. Neither is my father.
Our goal is not to destroy the Chaos Gods. Only gods can kill gods.
We only seek a place in the Warp, to contend with the Chaos Gods.
So, we can win.
I don't need to take reckless risks. At least, not for now.
HUM!
The hum of the psychic array restarting was like a great bell. A brilliant psychic wave suddenly spread from the pyramid, washing over every street like a tide, finally enveloping the entire city of Tizca.
I stare at the fragment.
The once restless artifact has now fallen silent.
Isolated by the Veil, it is like the most ordinary stone carving, unable to stir up any more trouble.
As long as it is permanently confined within the Veil, it can never cause trouble again.
But can I truly trap it forever?
I must leave eventually, to participate in the grand Great Crusade.
But it cannot leave Prospero. It cannot enter the Warp.
Otherwise, it would fall back into Tzeentch's hands.
It must stay on Prospero, under dedicated guard.
But any person is susceptible to corruption. Someone will always want to steal it, or even become its guardian and steal it themselves.
If someone cannot resist touching it, or destroys the psychic array again...
It will find a chance to escape.
This is a hot potato.
Unless I can completely master it, it will always be a ticking time bomb.
But I cannot master it. I am not strong enough yet.
If I forcibly try to control it, who is controlling whom?
I will not gamble.
I will not take risks.
Because when I take a risk, it's not just myself I'm betting. It's also the thousands upon thousands of Tizcans.
My father. The fate of all humanity. All will be put on the table by me, this reckless gambler, even if I never meant to use them as chips.
Chaos never plays fair with anyone.
Gambling with Them isn't about what I have. It's about what They want.
Even if it doesn't belong to me.
'All in' can be a kind of wisdom, or it can be 'transcendent wisdom'.
And reason is a virtue. One should always remain rational.
"Go out for a stroll. Staying here all day will make you bored." Father suggested.
"Alright." I happily accepted and left without looking back.
As long as the fragment causes no more trouble, no one can touch it without my psychic perception.
Those who enter the pyramid without authorization will pay a painful price.
I have warned everyone. Only fools would take that risk.
"My Lord."
A young man pulled his sister along, bowing his head respectfully to me.
He is my student, Iskandar Khayon.
Also my son. In the future, he will become an excellent warrior.
He may betray me. Or perhaps not.
He may be loyal to the Imperium. Or perhaps not.
He may die in a brutal battle, fading into obscurity thereafter. Or perhaps not.
He may attain supreme honour, worshipped by the world as a saint. Or perhaps not.
The future is ever-changing and unpredictable.
I should seal away this truth. I don't want to become a madman like my brother.
Divination is a power, but it should be controlled. Using it without restraint only drives one mad.
Not everyone is Curze.
I look at his sister, Izara, a young woman with eyes bright as morning stars, looking at me and my father with adoration, a different kind of affection hidden beneath.
Not for me. For my father.
The 'hero saving the damsel' trope is indeed cliché, but it endures through the ages.
Because of Father, she is now a living person.
She has a bright future.
Such people are not exceptions. Nor are they even human.
Magnus has no intention of interfering. This is Father's private matter.
Primarchs have no need for romantic love, and no mortal can give them such love.
But Father is different.
His other father has tens of millennia of rich experience. In those tens of millennia, his emotional history has been quite abundant.
So why can't his father have one too?
Even if others object, so what?
The Emperor did it too.
The young woman's gaze darted away, looking down fearfully.
She should be afraid. Her intentions are not pure.
I look at the young woman's brother. "Khayon, I need a volunteer for an experiment. It may be life-threatening."
Izara's face changes. Her eyes fill with worry.
Khayon asked, "My Lord, what is the mortality rate?"
"The mortality rate if the experiment fails is 1%. The mortality rate if it succeeds is 50%."
Although it's my first attempt, the truth has enlightened me. I am confident I can minimise the mortality rate.
But the most terrifying thing is not the mortality rate if it fails, but the mortality rate if it succeeds.
The chance of failure is small, but the chance of mutation if it succeeds is high.
"I am willing to try, my Lord!"
Of course, he would be willing to try. He craves power, and my experiment can give him the power he dreams of.
Even if the consequence is death.
"Little Mag, what experiment are you doing?" Father asked.
"Astartes."
Father was very surprised. "The Emperor told you in a dream?"
"The truth revealed it to me. I must try."
From the moment of its birth, everything in the mortal world leaves traces. These traces are knowledge.
From the day the Astartes implantation surgery was created, its knowledge has existed in the Warp, waiting for people to discover it.
And I didn't need to discover it. It automatically entered my mind.
I have no gene-seed, nor the culture equipment needed to grow the gene-organs.
But I am their father. My blood is the gene-seed.
What technology cannot solve, psychic power can.
My brother's sons drank his blood to become Astartes. I have mastered this knowledge.
I am not eager to cultivate my Legion, but I must solve my sons' physical mutations.
The Imperium may soon descend upon Prospero, but I must still race against time.
At this moment, I finally understand my father. I understand why he was so urgent to start the Terran Unification Wars, and why he was so eager to begin the Great Crusade.
He was too busy, with too little time.
He could not wait a moment.
I cannot sit idly by either.
Father said nothing. He will support me.
I am willing. Khayon is willing.
This experiment does not violate ethics. The only risk comes from the truth.
Perhaps the truth contains traps, but I have mastered so much truth that I know it inside and out.
If there are traps, I can recognise them.
"Little Mag, are you in a hurry?"
"We don't have much time, Father."
"I shouldn't ask, but what exactly did you see in the future?"
"I saw death and deception."
"Why can't you just tell me directly?"
"Because I can't be sure it's real. I cannot mislead you."
"Alright. I believe you."
Father believes me. Again, as expected.
He always believes me and my brothers so easily.
If one day we wanted to frame him, he would walk unsuspecting into the trap, still foolishly waiting for us to save him.
Even if he died, he would probably still be worried about us, worried that we too would fall into the trap.
That's why I can't tell him the truth. Otherwise, he would probably go back to Terra to wait for death.
In the same vision, I saw a future of despair, but perhaps Father sees a glimmer of hope in the despair.
At least in that future, humanity won.