Zahndrekh's waist bent even lower.
He looked as though he were offering the deepest submission he had never given to any being in ten million years to this ancient city that had awakened again and crawled out of the Abyss.
"Praise the stars, praise our civilization—" he murmured softly, and deep within his data-logic, the scene before him wove madly together with memories of the past.
"I witnessed it. With my own eyes, I witnessed that we were once—living beings."
A breeze from the distant desert swept over the pyramids, lifting the tattered shabti-cloth on Zahndrekh's head, while the streets remained as noisy as ever.
The Crown-bearer still stood there blankly, motionless, as if he stood at the edge of history, silently weeping for a civilization that had begun to bud again.
He wanted badly to sob his heart out, but he had no tears.
At some point, Ron's figure had already disappeared.
He had achieved his goal, and there was little point in staying any longer. It was better to let the other man experience all of this for himself.
Ron had given the choice to the Crown-bearer.
He believed that wise being had already realized the benefits of emotion, and what kind of grace the New God had bestowed upon the Necrontyr.
"The Necrontyr need the New God. That is their only hope of salvation." Ron knew the other man would make the right choice, whether emotionally or rationally.
Only after a long time did Zahndrekh's emotions ease somewhat.
At last, he spoke, his voice exceptionally clear, and he knew what he had received: "Obyron, walk with me for a while, just like before."
Like all the Necrontyr here, the Crown-bearer blended into this district. It was not some kind of performance, but a truly lived life.
Only,