"The enemy of truth is not falsehood, but absolute correctness. I found the truth, but that was far from enough."
The old man hunched over, clutching the Parchment Map in his arms as though it were an unmatched treasure.
His eyes were bloodshot. He muttered to himself as he walked up a staircase that never seemed to end, flanked on both sides by ever-changing rooms filled with books.
"Emperor, I can find it. I can find the Imperium's truth and the exit from the labyrinth—"
This aged figure struggled to seek the truth—or rather, the knowledge—the Imperium needed.
And that truth was like these stairs: endless, with no exit in sight, despairing beyond measure.
His name was Hermann von, an Imperial historian more than two hundred years old and a keeper of knowledge at the Terran court.
Hermann was undoubtedly loyal.
After the Great Rift appeared, the Imperium's circumstances grew ever more difficult. Even Terra faced savage enemies, and everything felt so helpless.
He watched helplessly as humanity's territories fell, sector after sector sinking into darkness. He knew full well that the Imperium stood on the brink of collapse, about to plunge into an irretrievable Abyss.
It was not just the Imperium's territory. The minds of the Emperor's people were falling as well. Faith was crumbling, thoughts had descended into chaos, and even the high officials of the Terran court were no longer steadfast.
They needed the guidance of knowledge. They needed to recover the old technologies and the Imperial Truth.
The Emperor had once left behind countless precious stores of knowledge, yet their descendants had lost them—and no longer believed in them.
That was the root of the disorder.
Hermann did not know when this thought had first taken root in him. Perhaps several centuries ago. Perhaps even longer.