When Caelan woke up, he found himself standing on a precarious cliff platform. This jutting slab of rock was the only foothold on the sheer precipice.
Low-lying clouds, like ethereal thin gauze, cascaded over the cliff's edge, drifting ghost-like into the deep valley below.
The sky was overcast with dense dark clouds. Strange, eerie lights flickered within them, as if something were gazing down upon the mortal world, upon Caelan with inhuman malice.
The answer was already obvious.
"Olympia."
Only a few Primarchs had yet to return. Every world made Caelan's soul linger with longing.
Because these worlds held Primarchs.
The more he taught them, the more Caelan felt how unique each Primarch truly was. The bond between him and them had grown deeper with every encounter.
Even if he had come to Olympia, Caelan could remain calm.
Caelan raised his head. Above him, the sky was empty.
He looked down.
Beneath his feet lay a bottomless abyss. Thick fog obscured the valley floor beneath the cliff, but he could vaguely make out a silhouette climbing upward.
Caelan didn't need to see the climber's face.
He already knew who it was.
He would not appear here without reason. He and the Primarchs were like stars that drew one another.
Besides a Primarch, no one would be climbing a cliff bare-handed in the middle of the night.
The climber looked up and saw Caelan.
But he ignored him and continued climbing silently.
By the time he neared the platform, his trembling arms and ragged breathing revealed that his strength was almost exhausted.
This platform was the only place to rest on the entire cliff.
Just as his fingertips were about to grasp the edge, a ripple of blue light spread through the air.
It was as if an invisible hand blocked his path and shoved him downward.
His body swayed dangerously above the abyss.
Even though one hand still gripped a crack in the rock, he dangled precariously over the void.
His bare feet futilely scrabbled against the rock face, finding no new purchase.
He swung like a dead leaf in a storm. Each tiny movement drained the last of his strength.
He clenched his teeth and fought to hold on. But he was still slipping bit by bit.
His vision blurred as sweat ran into his eyes.
Just as his strength finally failed, he vaguely saw someone leaning down and extending a hand.
Survival instinct made him raise his arm with his last strength.
He seized that hand desperately.
Just as he was about to plunge into the abyss, a firm force pulled him back from death's edge.
"Haah!"
The climber collapsed at the platform's edge, like a small fish stranded on shore, using every ounce of strength to gulp down the thin air.
"Th… thank you."
The climber was only six or seven years old. His voice still trembled with breathless exhaustion.
Caelan bent down and looked at the boy with interest.
"Thank me for what?"
The boy's chest heaved violently. Sweat dripped from his hair.
"For saving me."
"But you could have climbed up yourself. You were only one step away."
The boy lifted his pale face.
"Something was stopping me."
Caelan asked, "What do you think it was?"
The boy answered decisively, "The Star Vortex!"
His gaze passed Caelan and stared into the sky.
At the massive eye-like shape in the clouds.
It wasn't literally an eye, but the boy felt that it was, radiating endless malice.
He was climbing towards it. That's why it stopped him.
He firmly believed this.
Caelan said calmly, "You're blaming the wrong ones."
"You know them well?"
"Better than you."
"So you're defending them?"
"No." Caelan shook his head. "They are indeed malicious. But the one who stopped you… was me."
The boy's eyes flew wide open. He stared intently at Caelan's calm face.
"It... was you?" His voice was mixed with disbelief and anger.
Caelan nodded calmly, "Yes. I did it."
"Why?" The boy forced himself upright on trembling arms. His fingers still twitched involuntarily, but his posture arched like an angry cat.
Facing the boy's burning gaze, Caelan spoke with almost devout honesty.
"Because I wanted to save you. But you weren't in real danger yet, so I had to create danger first… before helping you."
The boy's gratitude instantly turned into blazing fury.
"This is the first lesson I'm teaching you: If there's a problem, face it. If there isn't a problem, create one and face it anyway!"
Caelan continued enthusiastically with his strange teaching method.
"Then why did you tell me?" the boy demanded.
Caelan replied calmly, "Because I'm afraid lies might be exposed later. So I prefer honesty."
"You're insane!"
The boy suddenly threw a punch. All his anger went into it, but his fist never touched Caelan.
It struck an invisible barrier like a pebble hitting thick asphalt, sending ripples through the faint blue shield.
Caelan suddenly reached out and shoved hard. His movement was so fast, it seemed premeditated.
The boy had been standing right on the platform's edge. The push made him lose balance completely.
He fell backward.
In the moment of falling, he instinctively flailed, managing to grip the platform's edge with just a few fingers.
Dangling over death.
Caelan looked down at him, "I can save you."
The boy gritted his teeth, fire blazing in his eyes.
Caelan stepped closer and said patiently:
"Beg me. Just ask, and I'll pull you up. Otherwise, you'll become a puddle of meat at the bottom."
"In your dreams!" the boy roared. "I'd rather shatter into pieces than beg you for mercy!"
"Then I can't help that," Caelan sighed. "You made your choice."
He crouched down.
Then calmly pried open the boy's fingers one by one.
Like dismantling a work of art.
Their eyes met. The hatred in the boy's gaze was so intense it seemed almost tangible.
Caelan patted his cheek lightly.
"I'll give you one last chance. Beg me."
"Ptoo!"
The boy spat at him.
Then deliberately released the last finger.
As he fell he shouted a curse, "I'll wait for you in hell!"
Unfortunately, the spit bounced off Caelan's psychic shield.
"Madman… lunatic… he's insane!"
The boy plummeted through the howling wind, screaming curses in his heart.
He had never met anyone this bizarre.
"Even as a ghost I won't forgive you!"
"Then I can't let you die."
Caelan's whisper suddenly sounded beside his ear like a snake.
The boy's eyes snapped open.
Invisible psychic power wrapped around him like a web and lifted him back toward the platform.
He floated in the air, surrounded by a thin blue psychic membrane.
"Surprised?" Caelan tilted his head with a smile. "I saved you again. Say thank you."
The boy clenched his fists and said nothing.
Even if Caelan saved him a hundred times,
He would never thank him.
Caelan shook his head sadly, "What an ungrateful little wolf."
The boy's chest heaved with rage.
He wished he could smash Caelan's smiling face.
"I'd rather die than accept your charity!"
The boy glared defiantly, "If you've got the guts, let me die!"
Caelan replied calmly, "Say thank you, and I'll grant that wish."
"Ptoo!" The boy spat again.
The spit bounced back and splattered his own face.
Caelan scoffed, "You're hopeless. Go ahead and die then."
The psychic restraint vanished.
The wind roared again as the boy fell.
This time, he kept his eyes open stubbornly.
He wanted to see himself smash into pieces rather than be toyed with again.
He fell through torn clouds. The jagged rocks below became clearer and clearer.
He spread his arms to embrace death.
A smile of relief even appeared on his lips. But just before impact, a blue psychic power wrapped around him again.
The force of gravity turned into gentle buoyancy.
It slowly lifted him back into the sky.
"NO!"
The boy screamed, pounding the invisible barrier.
"Let me die! Let me die! Who are you to take away even my right to choose death?!"
His desperate cries echoed between the cliffs.
Caelan simply watched from above.
Like a judge in the clouds.
The boy was returned to the platform. He lay there like a broken toy. The fire in his eyes was gone; only numb emptiness remained.
The hatred had not vanished.
It had simply sunk deep into his bones.
Caelan asked, "You're really not afraid of death?"
The boy barely moved.
His cracked lips murmured:
"…Kill me."
"What's your name?"
"…Kill me."
"How about we talk instead?"
"…Kill me."
"Looks like I broke you."
Caelan's fingers glowed with blue psychic light as they approached the boy's temple.
"Don't worry. I can erase your memory and start again. I rather like you."
The boy suddenly erupted with fury.
"So it was you!"
He struggled to sit up.
"You're the one who stole my memories!"
Caelan shook his head, "Not me."
"You just admitted it!"
"What did I admit?"
"You're lying!"
Caelan replied calmly:
"You asked five questions. Which one did I lie about?"
The boy forced himself to think.
He had asked: Do you know them well? Are you defending them? Was it you? Why?Why tell me?
Caelan had answered all five.
The boy's anger froze.
The truth hurts more than lies.
If Caelan hadn't lied, then his hatred would have made less sense.
"If it wasn't you… Who took my memories?"
Caelan pointed to the sky.
"Maybe because you stared at it too long."
"The Star Vortex… why do you call it them?"
"Because they're there."
"Why?"
"That question isn't specific enough."
"Why torture me?" the boy asked hoarsely.
"This isn't torture," Caelan said lightly. "I was just saying hello."
The boy laughed angrily.
"That's not torture? Then you really are crazy!"
Caelan shook his head.
"That's not madness. It's called being twisted. You understand what that means, right?"
The boy absolutely understood.
Caelan was the perfect example.
He wanted to save him, but created danger so the boy would remember the kindness.
The boy thanked him, but Caelan confessed out of fear of being exposed.
Of course, the boy knew what being twisted meant. Caelan was a textbook case!
Caelan wanted to save him but worried he wouldn't remember the favor, so he pushed him off the cliff to create danger.
He had already expressed gratitude, but Caelan, afraid the truth would come out, proactively confessed his scheme.
How could there be such a twisted person in this world?
The boy clenched his fists, grinding his teeth, "Can't twisted people just go die already!"
Caelan immediately looked at him with a caring expression.
The boy's eyes blazed with anger, "What are you looking at? You're the most twisted person in the world!"
Caelan smiled, "You flatter me. When it comes to being twisted, I'm not one ten-thousandth as good as someone else. I learned it from him."
His twistedness was fake. Someone else's was real.
The boy's anger burned even brighter. His knuckles cracked: "Then he deserves to die even more!"
Caelan laughed.
The boy scolded menacingly, "What are you laughing at? Learning to be twisted instead of learning good things. You deserve to die too!"
Caelan asked gently, "Are you feeling better now?"
"No!"
The boy lifted his chin stubbornly.
"Don't think this is over!"
He had jumped off a cliff twice, and Caelan still hadn't apologized. Why should he forgive him?
Caelan's expression was solemn, his voice extremely sincere: "It was my fault. I apologize. I can make it up to you."
"With what? You hurt me!"
"Are you injured?"
The boy froze. His body had scars from climbing.
But Caelan hadn't actually injured him.
If he wasn't injured, then what harm had Caelan done? At most it had been a terrifying prank.
The boy found an answer, "You caused emotional damage!"
"That's true," Caelan admitted. "I'll make up for it my way, until you feel satisfied."
The boy's expression softened slightly. But Caelan immediately added, "However, you're not completely blameless either."
"What did I do wrong?!" The boy instantly bristled. Rage shot to his head.
He was the victim. He was the one tortured and battered. Why was he at fault?
He forgiving Caelan was already magnanimous. Did he have to apologize too?
"You're being twisted too."
"I AM NOT!"
"Then swear you're not."
"Why wouldn't I dare? Swear... huh, why should I swear?" The boy realized suddenly.
"You're trying to provoke me!"
Caelan sighed, "My brilliant scheme… exposed so easily."
"Heh." The boy sneered. 'Such an obvious scheme, how could I not see through it!
'I'm already six-years-old. Did he think I was a three-year-old?'
Caelan extended his hand, "Let's formally get to know each other. I am Caelan, eighteen years old, an outsider."
As if driven by some instinct, the boy also extended his arm, opening his palm, "Perturabo, six years old."
The moment they shook hands, Perturabo suddenly yanked his hand back.
"I haven't forgiven you yet!"
"But that doesn't stop us from getting to know each other, right? Caelan said.
"It does! We're enemies!"
"Why are you so petty over something small?"
"Where's the compensation you promised?"
"I promise to treat you like my own son from now on."
Perturabo's face turned red, "Are you messing with me?!"
"I never lied."
"So it's my fault now?"
"You're not wrong."
"Then whose fault is it?"
"Maybe it's all the world's fault."
"What a terrible lie. Do you think I'm a child?"
"Of course not. You're six years old!"
Veins bulged on Perturabo's forehead. Although being six was a fact, he always felt Caelan was mocking him.
So what if he was six? Did six have to be a child?
Perturabo was a child, but Caelan knew he could not treat him like one.
He had to treat him like an adult.
Perturabo was only six years old, yet when Caelan had been raising Sanguinius and Fulgrim, this boy had already been surviving alone in the wilderness. Among all the children Caelan had encountered, Perturabo had been forced to grow up the earliest. Mortarion, by comparison, had been only two at the time.
If Caelan treated him like a normal child, it would only provoke his instinctive defiance.
And with a personality as warped and defensive as Perturabo's, that defiance would not fade; it would ferment, growing stronger the more it was suppressed.
If Caelan treated him with sincerity, Perturabo would feel gratitude. That much was certain.
But gratitude alone could never overcome the bitterness rooted deep inside him. One day, that gratitude would rot, twisted by suspicion and resentment.
For someone like Perturabo, Caelan knew he had to take an entirely different approach than he did with the other primarchs.
He had to walk Perturabo's path himself until the boy had nowhere left to walk.
Perturabo's parents and sister had already proven that gentle words and patience meant nothing to him. Softness only fed the spiral.
So Caelan decided to answer distortion with distortion.
'You're twisted? Then I'll be twisted too.'
'Come on. Let's wound each other and see who breaks first.'
Caelan said calmly, "You've already taught me a lesson. Now let me teach you one."
"Instead of reflecting on your own faults… it's often easier to blame someone else."
"Some people can go their whole lives fearing nothing."
"The only thing they fear… is someone more twisted than themselves."
Perturabo's brow creased slightly. He had the vague feeling those words were aimed at someone in particular.
But since they didn't seem directed at him, he let it pass.
Still…
Blame others instead of yourself.
That part sounded surprisingly reasonable.
Then Perturabo suddenly froze.
His eyes narrowed.
"Wait… didn't you insult me earlier?"
Caelan tilted his head. "What did I say?"
Perturabo's face flushed red again.
"You called me ungrateful!" he snapped. "You called me an ungrateful thing!"
Caelan lowered his voice.
"I'm sorry."
The apology sounded sincere, heavy with regret.
Perturabo snorted coldly. Though he tried to remain angry, the tension in his expression eased slightly.
Then Caelan continued calmly, "That was my mistake."
"I was being too gentle."
....
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