My teacher,
I’m not sure if this letter will even reach you. Trazyn doesn’t know I’m sending it. But I must at least write this out.
I asked, when you sold me (sold me! Like an object!) what I had done wrong. You didn’t answer. Despite how I’ve adjusted to my new life, I still find myself wondering this sometimes. I don’t wish to lead the III anymore, I believe the only reason I ever did was because I thought it was what you wanted, what would make you happy. All I ever did was in pursuit of your approval. So I ask again; teacher, have I done something wrong?
This is disjointed. I apologize for that. I’m writing this as it occurs to me, and mostly to simply get it out. As I said, I’m not sure this letter will even reach you.
If it does, though… You know who has written it.
( @solemnace-dollhouse )
The air at this height is no longer so stuffy and no longer carries the smell of millennia-old death. The crumbling, far too slender towers of the old city rise up around him, seeming to sway in the wind like blades of grass. Which is impossible. Dull light drips like viscous honey through the Eldar ruins and seems to take too long to reach the ground a thousand metres below. Narvo sets hand over hand, his bare feet finding tiny protrusions in the non-stone of the huge central tower. He pauses for a moment. Looks up at the ugly, functional metal structure that serves the Consortium as a landing platform for gunships and shuttles. Light refracts off the transparisteel panels of the entrance as someone steps through. Presumably Savona, who has not been willing to join her two sergeants in this completely unnecessary but entertaining sport. Climbing a few metres beside and slightly below him is Bellephus. The mutation that has given the Gutterpoet demonic mouths on his neck and cheeks apparently does not provide oxygen transport advantages, as the Marine has not yet climbed faster or more effectively. He glances briefly at Narvo as he stops, furrows his brows questioningly. Narvo shakes his head, continues climbing. Both Emperor's Children pull themselves over the edge of the platform almost simultaneously. Narvo reaches out to Bellephus, grasps his forearm and pulls him to his feet. His superhuman reaction lets him catch the Dataslate, which is thrown to him. Not by Savona. The Chief Apothecary himself stands at the entrance to the tower with a murderous expression on his face. He makes an imperious motion. "Read!" Narvo has long since become accustomed to Fabius's suggestions having a distinctly commanding character. So he reads. Bellephus does not even try to hide his curiosity, but simply looks over the smaller marine's shoulder. The Gutterpoet whistles through his teeth and his demonic mouth snaps shut. "He's awake!" Narvo shakes his head. Unlike Bellephus, he wasn't there for this raid, only joined the Consortium later. But of course he knows the story. He looks to Fabius. "He's right in principle, isn't he? You sold him out." Fabius makes an annoyed noise somewhere between a snort and a growl. "Details! You know yourself that we can't afford a primarch any more. And certainly not two of them! Abaddon has the right idea in that sense, and in a way I envy Curze's sons the freedom his death has given them." Narvo laughs. "And this from the man who re-crafted each of them as if they were decorative items!" - "We all get older and wiser." The hunter nods, still laughing softly. "And what do you want from me now, Lieutenant Commander? Do you fear for your independence when a not-so-insane father is awake? And apparently not happy with you just dropping him." Fabius paces back and forth on the platform. The Chirurgeon moves its many arms with a clatter, showing his agitation and anger. "I want … Your advice. You have spent longer with hunting him and trying to get his mindset than any of us. I may have fabricated his body often and perfectly, but you are probably the one who understands him best. What do I do with this?" He gestures to the dataslate in Narvo's hand. Narvo scratches his chin. "Are you serious? Answer him. And honestly. In purely military terms, he may only be a threat to the Legion's current situation with just Alkenex and his guys at his side, if the Necron supports him. And as I've seen the original Primarch in his current volatile state, that would plunge us into a civil war against which the Legion Wars are sandbox games. But morally … Well, that's another matter and entirely your own to bear, Spider!" Fabius hisses like an angry cat. "Don't you talk to me about morality! It already flew out the window over Isstvan!" He stomps back to Narvo, snatches the dataslate from his hand and disappears into the tower's lift.
An hour later, the Chief Apothecary is sitting in his study. Looks out over his kingdom of decay from his desk with its stacks of books and drifts of papers and datapads, not really noticing anything. His slender fingers drum an absent rhythm on the tabletop. Finally he sighs and begins to write. Erases the address several times. Stares ahead again. Writes again.
Father! No, you have done nothing wrong. Nothing but being what the Emperor created you to be. And as what you have a profound effect on me and all your sons. For we too are no further along in this regard than we were all that time ago. But this is no longer the time of the dawn of the golden road to the stars we began to pave in the Grand Crusade. Humanity has shown that in its present state it is not capable of dealing with the possibilities that the Emperor's plan wanted to give it. And we are nothing but relics of that failed plan. We are the splintered remnants of his hubris, you just like us. And only if we manage to escape this programming and be free is it possible to take the next step. And by that I don't mean falling prey to the monsters who call themselves gods. I saw in you the repetition of what began on Laer. I saw you choosing the same path again and I couldn't bear it. No, you have done nothing wrong. The question is - can you do it right?
@solemnace-dollhouse
