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Chapter Text

On the eve I came of age, I felt I mattered the least I’ve ever had.

To celebrate the passing of years was a tradition shared by all the layers of Tizcan society, including families whose sons had been chosen to tread the stars with the Legiones Astartes. As you well know, we are taken from our parents long before we reach adulthood; the Legions forge us into men before our time. Yet on Prospero, the year that would see us reach maturity without the Apothecaries’ intervention was honoured nevertheless, and my scholarly parents - obsessed with numerology as they were - would not miss a chance to toast to a number, any number.

Their fixation, among a host of other factors, made me into an excuse rather than the draw of the evening that rightfully belonged to me. I merely existed to give seers a line of decimals to study; I aged so that my sister, still alive and well by then, could convene with her shrieking cabal and fall numb from merry inebriation; I prevailed and triumphed so that my master’s associates could congratulate him on leading me to such heights.

It was a miserable feeling. At all times, I was surrounded by people; at all times, I was lonely.

As the hour drew closer to midnight, Ashur-Kai came to pull me out of the crowd and bring me into the flickering lights of the garden pavilion. I was grateful to be away from the noise, though I sensed something sinister within him, something heavy. Whatever he wished to discuss - whatever truth he was about to impart - was going to leave me changed.

“My radiant apprentice,” he began as he paced between rows of blooming vervain, a hint of bitterness to his voice. I saw his mind and I knew his care and love for me to be true, though I also knew the worry that poisoned his thoughts at all times: that I would outgrow him faster than he could ever keep up.

“Master,” I followed his steps, running to his side when he beckoned me to do so. He slowed his stride to let me walk beside him, to regard me as his equal.

“‘Tis an evening of hard truths,” he did nothing to sugar-coat the reality of his speech, “but you’re a man now by mortal and immortal standards both, and with adulthood comes change.”

I sneered at his preaching. I’ve seen men die by my hand, buried demigods torn to pieces by the horrors of galactic war, sang to the ashes of worlds that did not comply with the Emperor’s decree. Whatever youthful innocence Ashur-Kai thought to be speaking to was long gone, taken as payment for a sliver of divinity.

“As you may know, the Red Orders - yours more so than others - still owe allegiance to the cult temples,” my master continued, “and while you’ve performed admirably within your blade cabal, it is time for you to fulfill your duty to the Fellowships.”

I nodded. I was well aware of the fact, excited to finally be brought into a cult. Temple jackals, as the senior officers had called others of my kind, were exalted among our older brothers.

“The Khenetai have always served as the temples’ Honour Guard,” Ashur-Kai’s voice echoed alone as the booming shouts of my parents’ domicile drowned in the distance, “you will be no exception to that, and you will assume your new duty before the week closes.”

Once again, I nodded. Ashur-Kai rolled his shoulders, the feathers of his raven cloak rustling against one another.

“Have you settled on a temple?” I asked. Ashur-Kai had spent many evenings trying to make me see the auspicious movements of the Great Ocean, but I had no affinity for divination. His cult, the prescient Corvidae, would not welcome one so blind as me; they had nothing to teach me.

“Yes,” my master answered, “your insatiable curiosity regarding the private thoughts of those around you will see you fit with the Athanaeans.”

I gave an innocent smile. To my surprise, Ashur-Kai returned it, a dire sign of a devious plan. He would not have responded to my sass positively were he not sure to crush it soon.

“Allow me a riddle,” he maintained his knowing grin, “a world of knights that know no steam nor gunpowder bows before our Emperor as he comes to claim their domain. The knights offer the protection of their iron shields; the master of mankind laughs and accepts their gift.”

“It’s worthless to him,” I said, “he’s more powerful than anything they could ever offer.”

“Precisely.” Ashur-Kai’s colourless eyes taunted me with a piercing look. “Yet he accepts it for the symbolism of their pact.”

I frowned. “What are you trying to tell me?”

He straightened his back, white hair falling over his shoulder in the warm wind. “Oh, you truly are no seer.”

“Must you toy with me on my birthday?”

“Hm.” Ashur-Kai’s glare softened, though he offered no apology. “As heirs to the mysteries of the Great Ocean, what need do we have for guardians, my dear apprentice? What perils could you protect the cult temples from?”

My hearts sank with the realization. I had never questioned my Order’s purpose within the temples, its supposed dedication to shielding the cult adepts from harm. “I don’t know. Why else would they hold us in such high regard? Surely not for symbolism alone.”

“No.” My master drew a deep breath. “Your blade cabal is essential to the temples’ continued function, though not for its martial prowess. You will become an arbiter, a judge, a diplomat, a mender of broken bridges. We are a temperamental breed, and our nature is the greatest danger we will ever face. It will be your duty to make sure things do not spiral out of control.”

I tilted my head to the side, still in denial of the future that Ashur-Kai had presented. “What?”

“Above all, you will be trusted,” he continued, “but to be trusted, you must be loved, and to be loved you must be amiable, entertaining, charming, presentable. A senior cabalist will see to that.”

“What?” I repeated. Ashur-Kai clasped his hands and let out a tired sigh.

“Hard truths,” he said and tapped into the Great Ocean to summon his obnoxious raven tutelary, “you’re an adult now, Sekhandur. Deal with it.”

“ Thought his fate to be written by blades, now he no longer smiles,” Tokugra sang as soon as it perched on Ashur-Kai’s shoulder, “back to his banquet he should fade - begin honing his wiles!”

I balled up my fists and suppressed the urge to lash out at the aetherial bird. Ashur-Kai kept on walking into the warm night, though I was not at his side anymore. Followed by his tutelary’s judgemental stare, I turned on my heel and headed back towards the domicile.

In that moment, I wished I had remained as irrelevant as I was at dusk.

Chapter Text

“Stop squirming,” Sanakht said and swung his onyx sword in a crescent motion, “it is unbecoming .”

I’d not known the meaning of that word before that day and I’d not asked Sanakht to explain, though I understood it through his constant repetition of it in every context involving me. Unsightly. Graceless. Not good.

My new mentor paced around me in perfectly measured steps, each a manifestation of his cultivated nonchalance. Our thoughts were constantly at war, gnawing at the surface ideas of the other, plucking little strings of stray emotion and fanning the heat sustaining them. It was both distressing and exhilarating at the same time; I’d not met my match on the field of telepathy before and to spar so with Sanakht invigorated me.

“Why did our introductory grimoires mention none of this?” I asked, straining for breath as one of Sanakht’s sworn thrall, a blind smith with keen fingers, locked me into a suit of ceremonial armour. I was no stranger to ostentatious regalia - we of the Khenetai were made to wear a plethora of intricate garbs during our burial rituals, but none of them were quite as uncomfortable and constricting as the Honour Guard’s finery. In many ways, it resembled the power armour of the XV, though it lacked a power source and most of the protection its bulkier sibling offered.

Sanakht, who wore an identical set of it, seemed wholly unbothered by its restrictive nature. He moved about with the grace of a Prosperine lynx, a perfect flow to his movements. I thought to liken him to a strutting Pavoni magister, but then realized there was a marked difference between him and our conceited shapeshifters: everything Sanakht did, every pull of his muscles, bled skill and expertise. He wasn’t vain because of a fickle gift of the Great Ocean; he was vain for he had truly mastered his form through rigorous training. Unlike the Pavoni, he had earned his vanity.

“Some things have to be lived,” he finally answered my question, pressing the pommel of his light khopesh against my chest. “ Measured as they come. You should know that. You should also know to keep your back straight.”

“It hurts.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

The thrall artisan let me suffer in my new engraved chestplate and left to retrieve another piece of the showy ensemble. I used that moment of peace to study Sanakht, memorizing the patterns in which he moved. He noticed and turned so that the gilding of his jackal mask would cast a glint into my eyes, marring my efforts. He didn’t want me to copy him.

“Are you a liar, Khayon?” he breathed an excited hiss as the blind craftsman returned, bearing a gemmed waistplate. I eyed the girdle with a mix of curiosity and concern, in awe of its obvious astronomical worth.

The temples truly loved to spoil us.

“I have a sister,” I uttered dryly, “what do you think?”

“Oh, I like that cheek. Gives you a lively edge.”

“Ashur-Kai would disagree.”

“Ashur-Kai is a corpse that refused to attend its own funeral out of fear of having fun for once,” Sanakht lifted his painted mask to add a mischievous smile to his mockery, “no offense to your mentor, but he should stick to his runes and rabbit entrails and leave the finer things in life to those who yet draw breath.”

I wanted to laugh, but the artisan’s ministrations allowed me no more than a wheezing gasp. The ornamental cinch locked around my waist and denied me the breaths that would carry my laughter.

“We are seen as the judges of life, and one would think that would require us to be nothing but truthful,” Sanakht retraced to his question as I choked in my new cage, “but it is the opposite. We settle disputes and quell or divert flaming tempers, and there is no easier way to make a man comply but by telling him what he wants to hear.”

“ Astoundingly immoral,” I rasped.

“ Astoundingly foolish of you to brand it as such,” Sanakht stepped into a shaft of light to bask in its warmth, “who is more virtuous - the man who keeps to his code as the pyramid collapses, or the one who tells a lie to keep it standing?”

“Now you sound like Ashur-Kai.”

Sanakht paused, frozen in his little spotlight. His thoughts shook and pulled back, his mindscape ringing with laughter and offended puffs.

“I think that might just be the worst thing I’ve ever been told,” my new teacher said as the last clasp of the jeweled belt fell in place, “you are vicious, Iskandar. The kind of man to make the galaxy burn for or because of him, whichever comes first.”

I shook my head at his melodramatic claim, blissfully unaware of how true it would eventually come to be. Even Sanakht, whom I developed a fondness for in time, would feel that fire during our last, deadly dance. But this is not a tale of sorrows; this is not a measure of death. I will life back into my words, and invite you to follow my steps from the blind smith’s workshop to the most beautiful sanctuary ever built by mortal hands: the temple of the Athanaeans.