"You're awake? The surgery was a success."
Khayon groggily heard Izara's voice. He reached out to grab her but missed, only touching an invisible barrier.
"Iskandar, are you trying to kill your sister?" Izara stepped back, annoyed.
Only then did Khayon realize his change. He was no longer mortal.
He was a Astartes. Every movement held unprecedented power. One slight misstep could hurt someone.
"I can control this power. I won't hurt you," Khayon assured softly, but his voice was so deep it sounded unfamiliar even to himself.
When he sat up from the operating table, the whole world felt different.
Izara seemed so small in his eyes, while his own perspective had risen to a new height.
His body was filled with explosive power. With every breath, he could feel surging vitality racing through his veins.
'So this was an Astartes?'
Khayon looked down at his own hands. This body was no longer that of the frail youth from before.
He was a Thousand Son. A son of Magnus!
"How is your body recovering?" Magnus entered the lab, his gaze falling on the newly awakened warrior.
Khayon rose from the operating table and knelt on one knee, the movement fluid, as if this new body had been his for years.
"My Lord, I feel my body is stronger than ever before!"
A complex look flickered in Magnus's eyes. "The surgery was successful, but for now, I cannot eradicate the defect in your genes."
"I understand." Khayon was already prepared. To become stronger, one must pay the price.
"Remember the knowledge I imparted to you in the dream. It may not cure you, but at least it can save your life in time."
Khayon nodded emphatically.
In the dream, Magnus had etched the arcane knowledge of psychic lore into his mind. Much of it he couldn't yet understand, but Magnus had already told him in the dream that it would be of great use in the future.
It could save not only his life but also the lives of other Legion warriors.
"Come with me, Khayon. Izara, go tidy up Father's room. He will be back."
"Yes, my Lord." Izara nodded gravely.
Khayon silently followed the Primarch. Through the glass windows lining the corridor, he saw countless young men like himself lying on operating tables.
They were all undergoing secondary growth.
Magnus said, "The experiment succeeded with you and Amon. Many have enthusiastically volunteered."
"In two months, a thousand Tizcans will be transformed into Astartes."
Khayon's step faltered slightly. His voice was very low. "My Lord, why are you in such a hurry?"
He was Magnus's son and should not speak out of turn. Silence was a virtue, but he felt Magnus was hiding something.
"Among the myriad futures I have seen, the Imperium found me."
"Father promised me the Imperium would arrive within six months. He broke his promise."
"In some visions, other things arrived before the Imperium."
Khayon asked, "Who?"
Magnus replied, "Sometimes Orks, sometimes Drukhari, sometimes other xenos."
"They would all bring catastrophe to Prospero, and I cannot protect everyone."
That was why he needed these warriors. Studying the cause of the Flesh-Change was only one reason. He also needed to prepare for the worst.
Curze's visions were always cruel, but Magnus's visions were particularly complicated.
When he performed a divination, he didn't see a single image, but a web woven from thousands of possibilities.
And he couldn't discern which images were the true future, which were most likely to occur, and which were merely deceptions of Chaos.
If not for his exceptionally strong will, he would have long been lost in the flood of visions.
Take an Ork invasion, for example.
They might, having endured Warp storms, find their way from the other side of the galaxy to Prospero by chance.
The Drukhari, navigating the galaxy via the Webway, needn't worry about the ravages of Warp storms.
But their raiding targets depend entirely on the whims of their Archons. An Archon might have a sudden whim to explore a long-abandoned Webway path and unknowingly end up on Prospero.
Everything is coincidence, yet all within His calculation.
Behind many seemingly whimsical coincidences, His shadow often lurks.
And He has set his sights on Prospero.
These xenos cannot destroy Magnus, but His goal isn't to kill him; it's the fragment.
He only needs to seize the fragment from Magnus, and there will be plenty of opportunities to bring it back to the Warp.
He cannot descend personally, and Warp entities cannot cross the Veil at will. So xenos are the sharpest blade in His hand.
It doesn't matter who comes, nor does it matter if they fail the first time.
He can try countless times. Magnus cannot lose even once. He must defend against everything.
But He is not alone in the Warp. There are also Them.
Among the other three, two are unknown to him, but the youngest will surely stop Him.
Magnus dares not speculate about Her purpose, nor does he plan to let Her fulfil Her promises. There are likely traps involved.
But the relationship between Them is even worse.
Even if Magnus does nothing, their goals are naturally opposed.
He can whip up a storm, causing Orks to stumble upon Prospero by accident.
She can also whip up a storm, diverting the Orks headed for Prospero to other worlds.
They might arrive tomorrow, or they might never arrive.
His schemes aren't always smooth sailing, but failure is also part of His plan.
And She may not always be able to stop Him in time. Magnus will not pin all his hopes on Her.
He will not pin his hopes on anyone, whether they will trip each other up or not. He will consider all possibilities.
Khayon followed Magnus to the pyramid's apex and met Amon in the inner chamber.
He had also already transformed into a Astartes, his frame so imposing that his original appearance was unrecognizable.
Khayon could identify him because they were the first test subjects; only they had completed their evolution so quickly.
And now, Amon was quietly gazing at the statue covered with linen.
This wasn't Khayon's first time seeing it, but last time was just a fleeting glance.
It seemed to contain infinite mysteries. Even wrapped tightly, he felt he could see swirling, iridescent colours within, their light intertwining, each ray seemingly telling of futures unfulfilled, weaving countless possibilities.
It urged him, urging him to unveil it.
If he touched it, he would gain the power and truth he so desired!
Khayon snapped back from the illusion, staggering back half a step. Cold sweat had soaked his back.
He craved power, but not this way!
"You did well." A complex look flickered in Amon's eyes.
They had both undergone the same trial. He hadn't even been tested first, yet Khayon had broken free from it faster than he had.
"My Lord." Khayon's voice was hoarse. He kept his head down, not daring to look at it, ashamed that he had failed to resist the temptation.
Magnus said, "Don't be ashamed. I was once as ensnared as you."
"The truths it contains are difficult for anyone to resist. You must learn to resist it. This is a trial all Thousand Sons must face."
Khayon asked, "My Lord, have we passed the trial?"
Magnus shook his heaad, "The trial is not over. It will never give up, only offer even more enticing bait. It will promise you everything you crave: power, immortality, resurrection, truth. But it will always fulfil its promises in the most twisted way."
"So you must remain vigilant at all times. Resist it. Use its temptation to temper your minds!"
Amon asked, "What if we fail?"
Magnus gazed at him for some time. "Then you must leave Prospero and never return!"
If you cannot resist the temptation, then physically distance yourself from it.
Amon fell silent. He could already foresee that this fragment would bring a bloody storm to Prospero.
"Could we move it to another world?" he asked tentatively.
Magnus replied, "It cannot touch the Warp."
Magnus also did not want to put his homeworld in danger, but taking the fragment on Warp travel would be tantamount to handing it over.
Conventional travel would take too long. Reaching the nearest world would take years. Who could guarantee no mishap during the journey?
Leaving it on Prospero and doing their utmost to defend it was, instead, the safest option.
This was the optimal solution after careful consideration.
Seeing Amon's hesitant expression, Magnus spoke gently, "Is there anything else you wish to ask, or any advice for me?"
Amon remained silent.
Once upon a time, he had been Magnus's mentor, the guide who had raised him and led him to explore mysteries.
Now he was Magnus's son.
Although the other Masters were also undergoing the surgery and would become Magnus's sons too...
His feelings were far more complex than theirs.
He had once wanted Magnus to call him 'Father'. Now he couldn't bring himself to say it.
Finally, Amon spoke, "You are all-knowing. Why do you still need our advice?"
"I am not all-knowing. Not even a god is omniscient and omnipotent."
"I am well aware of my flaws. I think too highly of myself, believe I know more than anyone else, believe I never make mistakes."
"Even now, I arrogantly believe I have considered all possibilities. But perhaps a fatal flaw lies hidden in a corner I have overlooked."
"Your advice can help me find what I've missed."
Amon stared at Magnus in astonishment. He suddenly realized the Primarch had become unfamiliar.
Even though they were now superhuman Astartes, standing before Magnus, they still seemed as small as children.
Magnus was about twice their height, tall and majestic, his skin crimson, his muscles knotted.
His thick red hair was like a burning flame, elegantly held in place by a crown carved from gold and ivory.
A plain white robe draped over his tall frame, simple and unadorned, yet it flowed like a waterfall woven from moonlight, shimmering with an elegant radiance.
The hem was carefully stitched with gold thread. On the dark crimson fabric of his chest, gold thread had embroidered some obscure, ancient runes.
His skin was the colour of molten copper. His eyes shimmered with an endless, indescribable, iridescent vortex.
These were colours mortals could not name.
Those colours were called truth.
In Amon's eyes, at that moment, Magnus was the embodiment of truth.
He had never felt this way before. He was sure it was an effect of the gene-seed.
His emotions had become faint, but only when he looked at Magnus did he unconsciously add a filter.
The radiance around Magnus came from his psychic power, even though he wasn't using it.
Yet Amon could still see the truth surrounding him.
They surrounded him like innocent children, seeking his attention.
But in an instant...
Everything returned to normal.
Magnus was still Magnus. His plain white robe was simple and unadorned, like an ordinary scholar.
The runes on the fabric were a golden double-headed eagle, not a golden sun.
What he had just seen: was it real? An illusion? Or the future?
Amon couldn't tell.
Amon asked, "You will eventually leave Prospero. Who will guard it then?"
Magnus answered, "You and those sons who have passed the trial will become its shield. I will form a Chapter for this purpose. Their sole mission will be to guard this fragment."
Amon asked, "What will it be called?"
"Aquilae."
"You saw the future?"
"Yes."
The Thousand Sons have five schools: the Corvidae, the Raptora, the Pyrae, the Athanaeans, and the Pavoni. These five schools cover the psychic cultivation paths of all Thousand Sons.
These five schools also correspond to the five branches of psykers.
But in a certain future Magnus had witnessed, he saw the Aquilae, founded by his sons, get wiped out by his own hand.
They had pursued truth too fanatically, lacked restraint, and committed unforgivable errors.
It was precisely this vision that made Magnus make up his mind. He would personally found the sixth school. He would teach his sons what restraint meant.
Failure to restrain greed only leads to self-destruction. Even truth requires restraint.
Only warriors who can restrain their craving for truth can bear the burden he entrusts to them.
Whether internally or externally, they would be the sixth school that does not exist.
He would learn from his brothers, selecting one in ten from the finest warriors.
They would live in obscurity for their entire lives, never revealing the secret they guard to outsiders.
Even if they left the sixth school and returned to the Legion one day, they would have to swear an oath to keep the secret forever.
This cannot be hidden from Him. The fragment is on Prospero. Whether the secret is kept or not makes no difference to Him.
But this, too, is a form of restraint.
Only those who keep the secret of their secrecy can keep a secret.
Those who show restraint must also restrain the secret of their restraint.
"My Lord," Amon murmured, "What will our Prospero... become?"
"It will become a sacred place for humanity, storing all the knowledge of the galaxy. And we will be the guardians of truth."
"Will that future come true?"
"I will make it so!"
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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