Chapter Text
The Emperor retreated - no, not retreated, strategically withdrew to his private chambers to reassess.
His bedroom was large and lavish, with an enormous four-poster bed decorated with golden silk sheets and pillows. The walls and floor were polished marble, with two large windows painted with mosaics by the finest artists in the Imperium.
The maintenance of his bedchamber was assigned strictly to the most trusted servants in the Imperial Palace.
It was grand and beautiful… and cold and lonely.
He never spent any time here.
The Emperor could hardly recall the last time he had slept. It had been several millennia, surely. There was too much work demanding his attention, too many crises. The bedchambers were purely there as a matter of aesthetics and security. Malcador had made a habit of funnelling suspicious agents into the staff assigned to the Emperor’s chambers, and more than one would-be spy or assassin had been caught by the illusions the Emperor had woven around these rooms.
But they were at least private, and no one would think to look for him here.
The Emperor breathed in deeply, feeling the conflict within him as his past lives jostled with each other, his very being in disagreement with itself in a way it hadn’t been in a very, very long time.
He should have known that ending his suppression of the Witch was a mistake.
Her theoretical solution for the Fifteenth Legion was entirely too radical to even be considered.
“Don’t be a fool,” The Witch’s voice snapped at the back of his mind. “It is the only way.”
The Emperor shoved her down, silencing her and wrapping her in metaphorical chains to keep her quiet.
No . He would not involve Magnus in this. His son did not need to know the truth of Chaos, and he certainly did not need to be involved in any grand ritual to break the curse and save his legion.
The Witch had learned nothing from her follies in life, that much was clear. Teaching their children the truth of Chaos would only lead them down the path of ruin.
“You cannot keep them ignorant forever,” Her voice hissed again, infiltrating his thoughts. “Trying to keep them safe by pretending the danger does not exist is as unwise as teaching them too much!”
The Emperor buried her once again, more firmly this time.
He did not wish to hear her foolish arguments.
Why had he been stupid enough to let her out? He should have known it would not end well.
Even apart from the matter of the Fifteenth Legion, he felt uncomfortably exposed and vulnerable after having revealed this part of himself to Isha.
Fortunately, she did not seem to grasp the true nature of it and seemed to have assumed it was a matter of him having different Aspects, as she did.
Which was closer to the truth than he would have liked; his past lives were the closest thing he had to true Aspects.
But at least it was not the whole truth. That was something the Emperor did not want to tell her, or anyone else for that matter.
Not now, and not ever.
He took a deep breath and calmed himself. It seemed there was no other solution to be had for the Fifteenth Legion. He would give Isha ten days…and if she had not found a cure by then, they would be euthanized.
A regrettable necessity. But it was manageable, with how much Isha's modifications had increased the number of Space Marines, swelling them far beyond their number.
He would have to think of a suitable explanation for Magnus, and how to compensate for the fact that he did not have a Legion in the long-term. But as the Slayer said, better to cut out the rot than to allow it to fester.
The Emperor stood from the bed, having regained his calm. Now, there were some other projects to tend to.
"-the Silver Knights project is proceeding apace,” Malcador said, as he and the Emperor walked side by side through a secret lab, separate from the main Biotechnical Division. Calling it a lab was, in truth, somewhat misleading. It could more accurately be described as a bunker, buried under what had once been the ice caps of the South Pole. Those ice caps were regenerating now, under Isha's guidance, and would serve to better conceal the new facility taking shape underground.
Construction was still ongoing, but even now the fortress was truly vast; the great hallway they were currently in could easily accommodate ten thousand men, and the roof was nearly sixty feet above even the Emperor's head. The wards were the most powerful on Terra save outside the Imperial Palace, with automated defences that would take nothing less than a Space Marine Legion to break.
The aesthetic was typically grim, as was Malcador's preference. The walls and roof were covered with thick plates of gleaming steel, and the floor was cement. The only decoration was the many runes painted on the walls, to strengthen the wards and shield the fortress from Chaos.
Personally, the Emperor thought it could have used a little more gold, but if his friend wished to decorate the place in such a boring fashion, who was he to object?
Around them, in rows of chambers, Custodes supervised the training of what seemed like Astartes aspirants, tall and muscular.
But these were not aspirants for any mere Legion. They would serve as daemon-hunters and slayers, trained especially for the task of rooting out Chaos cults and slaying daemons. Their geneseed came not from any of the Primarchs, but from the Emperor himself. Not many of them would survive receiving it, but those that did would emerge reborn, as the finest warriors mankind had ever produced. A cut even above their cousins in the Legiones Astartes, albeit more specialized.
"We should have our first batch of recruits by the end of the year,” Malcador continued. “There will be some fatalities, but I am confident that at least half will survive. In five years, we should have at least a hundred Silver Knights in active service.”
The Emperor nodded. “That is good,” He rubbed his jaw. "They will be useful in places such as Sedna.”
“Indeed,” Malcador agreed. “I fear they will never be as large as a Space Marine Legion, but-”
"-they are meant to be a hidden sword, not a hammer,” The Emperor finished. “As long as they reach the standards I have set, small numbers are acceptable. Preferable, perhaps, to ensure that they can act covertly.”
For a moment, they paused in front of a ritual chamber, where one of the aspirants was writhing and screaming on the floor, silver runes painted on his skin aflame with light. Custodes and Silent Sisters watched the aspirant stoically, waiting to see if he would survive the process.
They resumed walking down the corridors, and now Malcador spoke again. “The only matter that remains is their leadership. I will select appropriate candidates as the recruitment continues, but I had a thought for the long-term.”
“Oh?” The Emperor said, raising an eyebrow.
“Since the Fifteenth Legion is slated for euthanization, and Magnus's gene-seed is too risky to use once more…I believe that Magnus might be a good candidate for leadership of the Silver Knights. With the proper training, of course.”
The Emperor scowled immediately. Not this again .
“That would require teaching Magnus about Chaos,” He said sharply. “I will not be doing that.”
“I said he would serve with the proper training,” Malcador pointed out. “If he undergoes the same rituals as all the other aspirants, surely it will be safe?”
The Emperor waved a hand irritably. “He is a Primarch. He would be guaranteed to survive the rituals no matter what. It would not be a reliable measure of his ability to resist Chaos.”
Malcador sighed. “I understand, old friend, but I fear Magnus discovering Chaos is inevitable. He is the most powerful psyker of the Primarchs, and he has landed on a world with a functional psychic culture. Surely it is better to educate him on our own terms rather than allow him to discover them on his own?”
"No,” The Emperor said shortly. “And as I have told you before, this is not up for discussion. The Primarchs will not be educated on the matters of Chaos.”
Malcador raised his hands in a placating fashion, but the Emperor could tell he was already plotting how to argue for this next time.
How irritating.
“How goes the Lunar campaign?” He asked, changing the subject perhaps less gracefully than he might otherwise have.
“Horus has reached Luna and taken command of his Legion,” Malcador replied. "The Selenar are already buckling under the strain, and treasonous elements have reached out to my agents, offering information in exchange for amnesty.”
“Mm,” The Emperor said, his gaze lingering on the fledgling armoury of the Silver Knights, which was currently being stocked with various relics and weapons by his Custodes. Several of them had been forged by his own hand.
Perhaps he should forge some more for them, if he could find the time.
“Has Horus sent a report?” The Emperor asked.
“Not yet,” Malcador said. “But he has only just reached Luna, I expect he wants to make some tangible progress before he sends anything.”
The Emperor acknowledged the point with a nod. "Very well. Let me know as soon as he reports in. And good work with this, Malcador.”
“Of course, my lord,” The Sigillite said, inclining his head.
The Emperor departed, teleporting away from the South Pole. He meant to return to the Imperial Palace immediately, but instead, he found himself in Terran orbit, looking down at the planet beneath him.
The world was healing, slowly but surely. Isha's efforts had borne fruit, with forests of green spreading across the surface. The oceans were a more delicate matter and would need more time, given how much of what had once been oceans were occupied by cities and settlements, but in their lieu, Isha had created several enormous freshwater lakes dotted across Imperial territory, akin to the Great Lakes of Old Merica. Those regions had previously been radioactive wastes, scoured of all life, but Isha had not found it difficult to terraform them.
The Emperor scratched his jaw again as his eyes drifted over the great continental plates hovering in the skies of Terra. Perhaps he could build more, and encourage the people living in Terra's former oceans to move to them. It shouldn't be too difficult, with the right incentive. A little carrot and stick as it were, though mostly the carrot.
…and perhaps he should grow a beard again. It had been a long time since he had one, but it might be nice.
Something short or long? He pondered. He would have to give the matter some thought.
His gaze lingered once more upon his world. To see Terra restored made him happier than he could ever truly explain to anyone. Within him, all his previous lives, even the Witch, couldn't help but hum with joy at the sight of their homeworld blooming once more.
Of all that Isha had done for him, the restoration of Terra might be the one he was the most grateful for, even though it was the least practical.
He could not wait for it to be finished.
His gaze drifted upwards now, to Luna, which too, had been terraformed. The Emperor didn't have nearly as much sentimental attachment to Terra's sole natural satellite as he did to Terra itself, but it was still pleasing to see it restored. Though given the Selenar's fondness for bioweapons, no doubt Isha would have to make some repairs.
And beyond Luna, the stars glittered, deceptively innocent. Though the Emperor knew the horrors hidden behind them, he still could not help but admire their beauty.
More importantly than that, his sons were waiting for him among the stars.
I am coming for you, my children. George thought. Soon, I will find you.