"Am I still alive?"
Ahriman lowered his head slowly, raising his open hand. The Flesh-Change had not found him.
But why? Why had the curse spared him alone?
"How long have I been sitting here?"
Ahriman murmured, his voice hoarse.
He struggled to push himself up. He had not worn his armour for a long time.
Ever since the Thousand Sons were stripped of the honour of the Great Crusade, they had voluntarily abandoned the armour that symbolised that honour.
Although their gene-enhanced bodies could still easily crush a mortal's skull, before the Custodes, whether armoured or not, they were just lambs waiting for slaughter.
Ahriman felt no resentment towards the Emperor.
They were a disgrace to the Imperium, a stain on the Legiones Astartes.
Their defect was not caused by the Emperor, nor were they physically fit to continue participating in the Great Crusade.
If the Flesh-Change occurred while they were armoured, they would be crushed to death alive by their own armour.
Power armour not only enhances Astartes; its life support system is also the main reason Astartes can fight continuously.
Astartes are not beyond the realm of humanity. They have metabolism too. They need to eat.
Ahriman had neither worn armour nor eaten, sitting here for who knows how long.
When he stood up, he was already quite dizzy.
He had thought he would undergo the Flesh-Change, but for several days, no mutation had occurred.
Since he hadn't mutated, he had to strive to live.
To help the other mutated warriors.
They cannot actively seek death. That would be a huge waste of resources and the ultimate insult to honour.
Suicide is the choice of a coward.
Ahriman dragged his unsteady feet through the corridor. Every step felt like treading on cotton, on the verge of collapsing.
His shadow stretched long under the lumen lights, almost merging into the darkness, in stark contrast to the gleaming golden Custodes.
These perfect warriors created by the Emperor stood like sculptures at the boundary of light and shadow. The gaze beneath their helmets made Ahriman feel as if needles were pricking his back.
He would not help, nor express concern or worry.
That kind of brotherhood belonged only to Astartes. These Custodes only felt restrained disdain for them.
They had never engaged with the Thousand Sons because they disdained to, and their condescending, superior attitude was unmistakable.
If Ahriman were a Custodes, he would be the same.
They were perfect warriors created by the Emperor himself; they truly had the capital to feel superior.
But Ahriman did not agree with the Custodes' philosophy. They were too cold.
Astartes were once equally cold and ruthless, but many Legions, under the leadership of their Primarchs, had turned a corner and begun to care about mortals.
Even if many of them were pretending, if they could pretend for a lifetime, why care if it was pretense?
The Thousand Sons had no Primarch. They could only meet theirs in dreams.
But when they woke, they could not remember the Primarch's face. They only remembered that they had met him in a dream.
And, without exception, they would undergo the Flesh-Change shortly after waking.
Ahriman was the first exception.
Ahriman gulped down triglyceride gel in the mess hall. The stuff didn't taste good, but it was high in calories, making it the best nutritional supplement for quick replenishment during wartime.
The Thousand Sons had no need to fight, nor did they have mortal servants to carefully prepare delicious meals. Eating was just to maintain vital signs.
Here, everything was minimal.
The Custodes always stood in the shadows, his ornate armour always making him stand out.
The Custodes always followed him. Perhaps he was worried Ahriman would mutate.
Even Ahriman himself thought so. But he didn't.
Actually, Ahriman was glad it was the Custodes guarding the Thousand Sons, not the Sixth Legion.
The Custodes, though full of disdain for them, would only throw them into stasis fields rather than directly executing them.
But the Sixth Legion would.
Before Primarch Leman Russ returned, the Sixth Legion had been the Emperor's executioners.
When the Emperor led the First Fleet on the galactic crusade, his entourage included only the Custodes and the Sixth Legion. Even the First Legion had not received such an honour.
And the Sixth Legion's fighting was known for its brutality.
Even before the Primarchs returned, when all Legions were cold and ruthless...
Only the Sixth Legion could be called brutal. They were one of the few Legions that massacred civilians in battle.
Other Legions and mortal soldiers called them 'wolves' in private, corresponding to the 'war hounds' of the Twelfth Legion.
The Twelfth Legion was notorious for ruthlessly killing anyone who got in their way, whether enemy or friendly.
But compared to the Sixth Legion, the Twelfth Legion still fell slightly short in reputation.
Even after the Primarchs returned, the Sixth Legion's reputation could not recover quickly.
Ahriman had been away from the Great Crusade for too long and knew nothing of what the Sixth Legion had become.
They were imprisoned here, but not prohibited from communicating with the outside world.
Yet the Thousand Sons would rather cover their ears. The more other Legions' achievements in the Great Crusade, the more shameful the Thousand Sons appeared.
The Thousand Sons were not completely unaware of the Great Crusade, but they focused solely on the Primarchs' return.
Everyone believed that once the Primarch returned to the Imperium, everything would be fine!
Wasn't that the case for the Third Legion?
They were once down to two hundred men, confined to Terra like the Thousand Sons, unable to participate in the Great Crusade.
Now, just ten years later, they had restored their Legion's strength.
If the Thousand Sons' Primarch returned, perhaps they too could find redemption!
Unfortunately, their Primarch had not yet returned.
They could only meet him in dreams, and that foretold the Flesh-Change.
This even caused an uproar in the Legion.
Some worried that if meeting the Primarch in a dream led to the Flesh-Change, then meeting him in reality might bring destruction upon the Thousand Sons.
This frightened many, causing panic among the Legion's warriors.
The uproar did not last, because the Legion Master personally executed the warrior who had raised this unfounded speculation.
The charge was disrupting morale and slandering the Primarch.
And shortly after that, the Legion Master himself mutated.
Some said this was the Legion's destiny.
When the Fifteenth Legion was first founded, they had a thousand men.
So they called themselves the Thousand Sons.
When the Fifteenth Legion embarked on the Great Crusade, their numbers grew.
They once believed they could match the other Legions, even surpass them with their psychic power.
But the Flesh-Change broke their backbone.
Under the constant mutation, they ceased recruiting new soldiers.
Their numbers dwindled to just a thousand.
They had become the Thousand Sons again.
How many more times would this happen in the future?
Ahriman had once believed that perhaps this was the Legion's destiny.
When the Legion's numbers fell to a thousand, the frequency of their mutations did indeed decrease significantly.
Even though Ahriman had met his red-skinned father in a dream, he had not mutated.
Slap!
Ahriman suddenly froze. The gel in his hand fell to the floor.
Why did he remember the Primarch's appearance?
It was a tall giant, with red skin.
The Primarch's appearance existed in his memory!
His dream was different from his battle-brothers'. Was that why he hadn't mutated?
But why was that?
They all dreamed. That was unusual for Astartes.
His brothers remembered nothing; only he remembered. That was even more unusual.
So what was the difference between the father they met?
Did he dream of a false father, or did they dream of a false one?
Ahriman believed it was the latter, because he had not mutated.
"Yes, that's the reason!"
Ahriman still remembered his father's appearance. He remembered his father's promise.
In the dream, his father told him he was about to return, that he would save the Legion!
"The Primarch is returning? The Legion is saved?" Ahriman murmured.
Was this real salvation this time?
Given the frequency of Primarch returns, it was indeed about time for the next one.
Would it be their Primarch this time?
There were only a few Primarchs left who hadn't returned. The probability of it being the Fifteenth Legion was high. Finally, it was their turn.
But why now?
Ahriman had once inwardly complained: why hadn't their Primarch returned first?
Regardless of their other issues, at least the other Legions didn't suffer from mutation.
So why couldn't their Primarch return first?
But gradually, Ahriman came to understand.
No one was obligated to favour them.
Their misfortune was indeed lamentable, but outsiders were not responsible for it.
They should not, and were not qualified to, blame anyone.
Ahriman had thought he had long given up struggling, accepting the Thousand Sons' destiny.
But if the Primarch's return could cure the Flesh-Change, could the warriors in the stasis fields also be cured? Would Ormuzd also be saved?
Ahriman clutched the pendant on his chest. Hope had never burned so fiercely as at this moment!
They were forbidden to leave Terra, and the Primarch had not yet returned to the Imperium.
But they could prepare. He would tell the others the good news. The Thousand Sons truly had hope!
...
"Really?"
The Legion's survivors gathered in a dim hall. Their eyes still held doubt.
They had been disappointed too many times, long afraid to trust hope easily.
They had once been proud Astartes. Now they were just imprisoned mutants, waiting to wither away in long agony.
Hope had never come to them.
Ahriman stood in the centre of the crowd. He asked loudly, "I still haven't mutated. Doesn't that prove something?"
Only then was the dead silence broken. Murmurs spread through the crowd.
"The Primarch is truly returning?"
"If the Primarch returns, the Thousand Sons will be reborn!"
Seeds of hope rekindled in the hearts of those long-despairing warriors.
But if they despaired again, they would likely never again have the courage to believe.
Ahriman understood that until the Primarch returned...
No matter what he said, it was useless.
The Legion Master had also made bold statements, trying to restore the Thousand Sons' confidence.
But when he too underwent the Flesh-Change, no one stepped up to soothe morale.
Ahriman was the first, and perhaps the last.
Either the Thousand Sons would be reborn and no longer lack confidence, or they would be utterly damned and lose it forever.
Ahriman sincerely hoped for the former.
But their newly rekindled hope was shattered when the hall's doors were suddenly pushed open.
Two Custodes stood in the doorway. Their arrival broke the Thousand Sons' long-hidden gathering.
In the past, these perfect warriors of the Emperor had never interfered with their gatherings, perhaps out of disdain, or perhaps giving them basic respect.
But today, the rule was broken.
The Thousand Sons were angry but dared not speak. They had no right to question the Custodes.
"Don't be nervous." A hoarse voice came from behind the Custodes.
Only then did the Thousand Sons notice him. They all knew him too: the Imperial Regent, Malcador.
The Custodes had brought him.
Perhaps because of their gathering, or perhaps because of Ahriman's earlier muttering.
Neither was surprising.
"I am here for one thing only."
"What do you want to ask?" Ahriman felt the Imperial Regent's gaze fall upon him. Intuition told him Malcador had come for him.
Malcador asked: "Ahzek Ahriman, you dreamed of your father. Can you describe in detail what he looked like?"
Ahriman answered without hesitation, "A giant with red skin."
Malcador: "How many eyes does he have?"
This strange question made Ahriman frown in confusion, but he still answered, "Two."
"Is it possible that one of them is a prosthetic?"
"I don't know. It was just a dream."
Malcador: "Astartes don't dream. All dreams are revelations, especially for psykers."
"This is a revelation that the Primarch is about to return!"
"Then how do you know the revelation came from the Primarch and not someone else?"
Ahriman fell silent. He truly couldn't know.
The dream was too short. There was too little content.
Ahriman only remembered his gene-father encouraging them to persevere, that he would return to the Imperium soon.
As for other details, Ahriman knew very little.
"How many heads does he have?" Malcador continued.
Ahriman: "One head, two eyes, one mouth, one nose with two nostrils, two ears. Apart from his red skin, our Primarch is no different from the others."
Malcador's questions were detailed, but they were completely meaningless.
Ahriman had to patiently answer slowly.
Finally, Malcador nodded slightly. "You may continue."
He turned to leave, but just as he was about to step through the door, Malcador paused and looked back. "Perhaps your guess is correct. Your Primarch may be about to return. If I have definite news, I will inform you immediately."
Ahriman understood. "And we will stay here and wait patiently."
The Emperor had not lifted the ban on the Thousand Sons. If they left their compound without permission, the Custodes had the authority to execute them. These golden warriors were no decoration.
Malcador wasn't even really warning; he was just reminding the Thousand Sons not to do anything rash.
If they mutated in front of outsiders, it would inevitably implicate the entire Legion.
Malcador: "Not just wait patiently. If any of you dream again, no matter what you dream, whether you remember the content or not, I hope you will voluntarily inform the Custodes. The Custodes will help you."
The Custodes would help the Thousand Sons?
Ahriman didn't think so.
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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