Bonus Chapter: Letter
This letter was copied from the Regent's treasured safe by an unknown person, so we are fortunate enough to witness its contents today. It is estimated that this letter was written on the triumphant return journey from the reconquest of the Nargul-occupied star system, before the Battle of Estuarte.
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To: Roboute Guilliman (Lord Commander of the Imperium / Best Brother)
To: Eileen (Big Ant Lane Boss / Your Sister)
To my dearest, always-working-overtime, big blueberry brother—
Hey, Roboute.
By the time you read this letter, it will probably be late at night again? Or perhaps it is some kind of "23rd Standard Terran Time" on the ship?
Anyway, I know that besides the flying skulls and servants, you are the only one on this ship who is always behind that desk, writing and drawing.
Old Huang—the guy who talks in my head, the one you call your dad—said that some things are better written down than said in person.
While I do not think it is wrong to say them face-to-face, seeing you always busy asking if I have eaten enough or studied hard, I never seem to find a chance to tell you these old, trivial things.
I want to tell you about the past. First of all! It is not to make you pity me, although Sicarius and Uncle Varo always give me strange looks when I tell you these things, but I do not think it is a big deal.
Before I met you, I actually lived a pretty fulfilling life.
You know, I come from the 42nd Hive City, on a planet whose name I do not even know. There are not the gleaming floors of your ship there, nor the pleasant incense of the Temple of Hera (spelling slightly off here).
There is only rust, engine oil, and a perpetually lingering sour smell.
I lived in a place called "Big Ant Cow Lane." The pipes there looked like the intestines of an ant-cow, crooked and always dripping green, dirty water.
I have been there as long as I can remember.
I did not have a father or mother. Or rather, the only "father" I knew was Old Joe.
Old Joe was an old man with only one eye; his other eye was a black hole, and he could not afford a prosthetic. His leg was also lame, supposedly broken by a gang that used to collect protection money.
He was the doorman of the neighbourhood's scrap yard. He said he found me in a garbage dump; I almost ended up in the scrap compressor.
Those days, how should I put it, were pretty simple.
Every morning, I would carry a cloth bag bigger than myself and crawl into those pipes or mountains of garbage that only a child could squeeze into.
I was going to find recyclable scrap parts, or the remnants of the upper-class people from the hive that were not completely rotten.
If we were lucky enough to find even a small, undamaged component, it was like a festival. Old Joe would be so happy he would play a particularly awful tune on his beat-up violin, claiming it was taught to him by a girl who liked him (though I thought he was exaggerating).
Then we would go to the black market and trade it for one of those slightly better, less pungent synthetic food blocks.
Back then, I felt like this was the whole world.
We had to dodge the enforcers from the Adeptus Arbites patrols who came regularly, avoid the mutant rats crawling out of the sewers, and guard against the thugs from the next block trying to take over our territory.
I learned to fight, how to use a sharpened piece of metal to stab people's toes when they were not looking (it really works, Roboute, you should try it next time), and how to always hold something sharp in my hand while sleeping.
Old Joe had a bad temper, but he was really good to me.
Once, I had a high fever, so high that I thought I saw the old preacher next door talking about some God-Emperor (although I did not believe in that at the time). Old Joe spent all the money he had saved up for a long time to buy me medicine—money he had been saving to buy a second-hand prosthetic eye.
He stayed by my side for days, in that drafty shack, feeding me the terribly bitter medicine the old preacher had given me.
He often said, "Little Eileen, you have to live. Those brown eyes are so bright; you are bound to go up to the Hive to see the sun someday."
Back then, I did not know what the "sun" looked like; the Underhive was always just grey haze and flickering white lights.
But then, Old Joe disappeared.
About a year before the great upheaval in Iax. That day he said he was going to discuss a delivery, and then he never came back.
I searched every recycling centre, asked every black market dealer.
Some said he had been captured by a gang, some said he had been taken to work as a servitor by those oil guys in red robes, and others said he might have secretly boarded a cargo ship and gone to another planet to make his fortune.
I did not believe he would abandon me.
So, I decided to go find him.
How old was I then? About twelve? I sold everything of value I could find at the junkyard, bought a fake identification card, and a few pieces of dry rations.
I sneaked onto a spaceship in the chaotic spaceport. It was freezing cold there, full of cargo and passing soldiers.
I huddled in the gap between two crates, shivering uncontrollably. I dared not sleep, afraid the crew would find me and throw me into space.
And so I drifted in that dark place, not knowing how long.
I did not know where the ship was going; I just thought that maybe when I reached the next place, I would find Old Joe. Maybe he was waiting for me on that "Iax," holding a piece of bread that had not gone mouldy, laughing and scolding me for taking so long.
And you know the rest.
I arrived in Iax, but I did not find Old Joe.
I only found the war.
I met an older soldier, an old sergeant in the Astra Militarum, who was very kind to me. Every time rations were distributed, he would save some for me.
He said I looked a lot like his daughter. He also said that as long as he was there, we would all be safe. I asked him if he had seen Old Joe, and he said he had not, but he could go with me to find him after the war.
When those green monsters swarmed in from the horizon, I huddled in the trench, wrapped in my coat, while the older soldier, shouting "For the Emperor!", charged out of the trench to fight.
At that moment, I truly thought I was going to die there.
The people around me were screaming, their bodies decaying, turning into those disgusting zombies.
Back then, I was thinking, what if I died? What if Old Joe came back and could not find me? What if I turned into one of those disgusting monsters? Would Old Joe not recognise me?
Then… when a huge green guy was raising a choppa to strike me…
Old Huang suddenly spoke in my head.
Then came the golden light, the explosion, and you, as big as a mountain.
Roboute, do you know?
When you first knelt down and spoke to me in the infirmary…
Even though you were wearing such terrifying armour, even though everyone around you said you were the Lord Commander of the Imperium, a demigod…
At that moment, I only felt that you resembled Old Joe a little.
It was not about looks (you are way more handsome than Old Joe, really), but rather… the look in your eyes.
It was the look of someone looking at something incredibly precious, as if afraid I would suddenly shatter.
From then on, I lived a life I had never even dared to dream of before.
I had a soft bed, endless food (though Uncle Sicarius always made me eat broccoli), and so many people: Uncle Cohl, Uncle Varo, and Uncle Sicarius protecting me.
But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, startled, and instinctively reach for my pillow. I still worry that when I wake up the next morning, it might all have been just a beautiful dream I had in that drafty shack.
Until Old Huang told me, "You truly consider me family."
He said, "Although you seem fierce, serious, and a bit tired, always with a stern face, like an old son guarding the family fortune,
you are actually more miserable than anyone else. You are holding up this dilapidated house, this leaky Imperium, all by yourself. Your brothers are either dead, have run away, or gone mad, leaving you alone to clean up the mess."
Old Huang said, "You are actually very lonely."
So, Roboute.
I want to tell you.
Your present and future—
they are not alone anymore.
Although I am just a wild girl who crawled out of a garbage dump, I do not have any great skills (except for occasionally shining brightly and scaring people), and I always seem to get you into trouble.
But I am your family.
The kind of family where if anyone dares to bully you, I will point a knife at them.
The kind of family where even if you fall down, I will drag you home or hide you in the safest garbage dump.
Old Huang told me a lot about you, and also a lot about the one sitting on the Golden Throne (this part is blurred out).
He said that one did not really want things to be this way; he loved you all very much, but he was given too little time, and he was not good with words, so he could only use straightforward approaches.
Now I have Old Huang, I have you, and my brother Mortarion who just came back.
I feel like this is home.
Even if this ship is rocking in some warp, even if outside are all the daemons and monsters Old Huang talked about.
As long as we are together, this is home.
So, brother Roboute.
Do not always frown. That face was quite handsome before; if you frown too much, it will just look like Old Joe, all wrinkled.
I know there is a lot of work, the Imperium is vast, people die every day, and there is countless bad news every day.
But I have grown up a bit now. I am taking those logistics classes, and I am trying to understand those dizzying documents.
I want to help you a little.
Even if it is just helping you scare those disobedient nobles, or helping you burn those disgusting daemons to ashes.
As long as you have a spare moment to go to the observation deck we left on our way here, without any destination in mind, just to look at the stars, or lie on the grass and soak up the sun.
Then I will feel that my role as "Holy Bearer" has been worthwhile.
Okay, that is all for now. My hand is sore from typing.
Uncle Varo is knocking on the door outside; he probably wants to take me to bed.
I secretly slipped this letter onto your desk; you must read it! Do not mix it with that pile of official documents!
Old Huang urged me to go to sleep, saying that staying up late will stunt a child's growth.
You should rest occasionally too. There are endless documents to approve, but if you collapse, who will back me up if someone comes to collect protection money again?
Goodnight, brother.
Love, your sister:
Eileen
(Here is a crooked, simple sketch: a little girl is sitting on the shoulders of a big blue guy, and next to him is another big white-haired guy. All three are laughing happily. Although the drawing is rather amateurish, the laurel wreath on the big guy's head is drawn in great detail.)
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(There is a tear stain on the letter, but I do not know who left it.)