Chapter 12: Kael, the Desk Offender

It seemed that father and son had never once completed a normal, logical conversation.

Tensions running high between them, Anda suddenly spoke:

“The grilled fish from yesterday isn’t finished yet. This morning, I caught a rabbit. You handle the skinning.”

Aaron scowled at his father, carefully putting away the pen Logar had given him, and muttered unhappily:

“Why do I always have to do these chores? Rabbits are so cute, why—”

Crack!

Marum, sensing the unspoken command, reached out and snapped the wild rabbit’s neck.

“Sir, leave these tasks to me.”

He wanted the Emperor to see that their Primaris Space Marines were versatile and well-rounded talents, and that the gene-seed of the Thirteenth Legion would never bring shame!

Marum busied himself, methodically setting up a makeshift table and chairs along with a roasting rack.

He skillfully skinned the rabbit and started a fire, even gathering wild fruits by the roadside to squeeze out fresh juice.

Though conditions were rudimentary, it would have been perfect if they had vessels for brewing fruit wine.

While the wine of Macragge lacked Fenrisian wildness, it was still known for its rich, mellow flavor.

Marum appeared more like an ordinary human now, rather than the Astartes who had once fought their way in and out of the forges contaminated by the Warp.

There was some selfishness in his actions.

He wanted the Emperor, thirty thousand years in the future, to have a fleeting moment where he could imagine the Space Marines laying down their arms after the Great Crusade and returning to a normal human life.

Perhaps this was also a key factor in preventing conflicts between the Emperor and some of the Primarchs.

Marum wasn’t thinking this through himself. It was all recorded in advance by Sage Kael, who instructed him to act thus, in order to preserve the Emperor’s humanity as far back as 42,600 years ago.

Wait—

Marum suddenly realized a dreadful possibility: if Kael was fully aware of the Emperor’s past "flaws," and considering the Emperor’s somewhat petty human nature, was Kael now facing some extreme form of retribution?

Forty thousand years later, on Holy Terra.

The Cult Mechanicus, to safeguard the Golden Throne, had established a dedicated sanctuary and selected children from the Terran nobility who showed technical aptitude.

The selection process usually involved mechanical skill tests,

and during symbolic prayers to the Omnissiah, the clerics would sense mechanical resonance and receive divine inspiration from the Machine God.

Sometimes, one of the great sages would personally descend to teach those chosen by the Omnissiah.

Today, Sage Kael was such a visitor.

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However, these children, products of close-kin marriages among the nobility, with undeveloped minds and wiping their runny noses on the sage’s robes, were carefully handpicked by the Emperor himself as his students.

It was driving Kael to despair.

His task today was to watch silently as these children fumbled with his precious mechanical creations, unable to correct their misuse.

It didn’t matter if they poked screwdrivers in the wrong places; brute force sometimes worked miracles. Stripped threads were tolerable.

Misoperation, misplaced components—no big deal, just raised his blood pressure.

Actually, his blood pressure wasn’t like a normal human’s; it was more like his pneumatic and electrical systems were spiking.

At least after today, he could repair these treasures.

But—

these neglected children, unable to control their bodily functions, urinating directly on the delicate mechanical parts, made Kael’s internal exhaust channels roar.

Damn it, if you’d just finished urinating, I could pretend it was just a bunch of phosphates.

Hey!

Why are you licking it now!?

Human pills! Terran pills!

“My Lord! Emperor! Forgive me! Have mercy!”

“Please do not torment your servant in this manner!”

The immobilized sage roared, even begging these unruly children to lose interest in him.

But the corpse on the Golden Throne remained forever silent.

No one else was in the room, so no one knew this was the Emperor’s punishment for Kael.

Outside, rumors spread that Kael might soon make a major move on behalf of the Cult Mechanicus to win over the Terran nobility’s support.

Other local factions and nobles should remain vigilant and prepare for unforeseen storms.

Forty thousand years ago.

One month after Aaron left Thebes, his routine had normalized considerably, and his dreams no longer featured his brothers.

Perhaps their situations were not so dire after all.

They still had twelve days’ journey to the Nile Valley—or maybe just three days,

because Marum was building a contraption capable of carrying Anda, Aaron, the donkey, and a pile of luggage all together.

This celestial guardian would bear the load and begin running, theoretically reaching their destination within a day.

But the donkey couldn’t keep up with such speed and vomited several times.

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The Emperor’s possessions deserved the utmost respect.

Anda went to a nearby town to exchange money, as Thebes’ currency lost value the farther south they went.

So they had to take advantage of trade caravans stopping in town to get a fair exchange rate.

Aaron helped Marum by passing him tools and materials. The utility knife Logar gave him was handy, but Marum consistently refused to use it.

He insisted that the edge of the celestial guardian’s fingernail was sufficient to cut most wood.

Aaron took a sip of juice, fed the donkey a bite, and teased:

“Let me see—you can cook, sew clothes, sharpen tools, even sing and tell stories.”

“I think that fits the Roman style. They called Zeus Jupiter. So, Kiliman, my brother’s robe, should be Roman-style too. I heard Romans loved drinking and carousing with their godsons. Legion commanders usually had many godsons.”

Marum recognized this as a dangerous topic. He knew all too well that Chaos corruption lurked in every reckless indulgence of sentient beings’ emotions.

He said sternly:

“Aaron, humans must follow morality and order. Indulging inner impulses and chasing strange fancies is dangerous and could turn you into something terrifying.”

Aaron waved it off lightly:

“Oh, don’t worry. I may not be a saint, but at least I’ll be a good person. I’m just curious about those rumors. From what you’ve told me, my brothers are the masters of their legions, you are their soldiers and sons.”

“From what I know about you celestial guardians, you wouldn’t be so debauched with your own father. Oh damn, what am I saying? Such things could never happen!”

Marum fell into profound silence. Even the resolute will that no shadowy god could shake faltered before Aaron’s words.

He sincerely doubted whether the Emperor’s humanity was anything good.

After all, judging from the chaos his eldest son described and the mental issues nearly all the Primarchs suffered, maybe humanity was something to discard!

Marum’s silence left Aaron baffled; he stammered:

“W-why aren’t you speaking? Sorry, Marum, if I offended you or my brothers, I sincerely apologize.”

“But please don’t tell me that those absurd things—the godsons and their father—really happened?”

Bang!

The framework Marum was building shattered in his hands, because those things truly did happen.

And they occurred with the very Primarchs the Space Marines had most hated.

Because of this, there had once been a specialized Space Marine squad dedicated to uncovering the reasons behind the corruption of the Emperor’s sons and their Primarchs, recording these secrets in the archives of Macragge.

(See the record of the Emperor’s sons’ acts to expel the demon within Fulgrim.)