Olympia's Youth (Flashback)

Peter pressed his ear gently against the woman's slightly rounded belly, holding his breath and listening intently, but he could hear nothing beyond the gurgle of intestines.

Peter said, a little disappointed:

"I can't hear the baby at all."

The woman reached out, tenderly stroking Peter's soft black hair, then bent down to kiss little Peter's forehead with her warm, soft lips.

"Silly child, it's only three months—how could you possibly hear anything?"

The woman traced her slender fingers over Peter's face and said gently:

"In another six months, you'll have a little brother or sister. As the older brother, you have to protect them. Peter, I'm going to make dinner now. Go do your homework first."

The woman turned and walked toward the kitchen.

Peter went to his desk and pulled out his homework from the satchel slung over his shoulder. He opened his textbook and raced through the math problems with the tip of his pen, always fast at this, and the Gothian writing that followed was even simpler.

His teachers all said he was an excellent child, that he would grow up to be a scholar, maybe a doctor, or perhaps a PDF officer like his father. Even if his father was only a minor officer. But Peter wanted more to be an architect, designing tall buildings so everyone back home could live in big houses.

Soon Peter caught the wheaty aroma of baking bread, mingled with the milky scent of cheese. His mother set the finished dinner on the table: bread with cheese and vegetable soup, and a plate of fresh figs.

Peter picked up his spoon, scooped up some cheese and vegetable soup, and let his taste buds savor the cheesy fragrance while his teeth ground through the lentils and cabbage.

During dinner, the woman spoke first:

"Your father went back to the barracks again. They're having a training exercise—it might last a month."

Peter just tore off a piece of bread, dipped it in the soup, and nodded with a grunt:

"Mm."

Peter kept his head down, eating, though he had no reason for it, he sensed the atmosphere tonight was different from usual.

"Little Peter, I've heard some things."

The woman felt it was time to bring up the topic of discipline:

"I heard you scared a girl at school and made her cry."

Peter knew what his mother was referring to. His hand, scooping soup, paused. He didn't dare meet her eyes, but still insisted stubbornly:

"I didn't. I was just messing around with her."

His mother grew a little angry. She furrowed her slender brows and said:

"Peter, your good friend was terrified because she was bleeding down there. She shared that secret with you. And you told her she would bleed to death."

Peter lowered his head, burying his face deep in his bowl:

"Sorry, Mom..."

The woman leaned across the table and kissed Peter's forehead again, teaching him:

"You have to be honest, Peter. Good boys don't lie."

Peter nodded slightly, his voice barely a whisper:

"I know, Mom."

The woman smiled and said:

"I bought some fresh figs today—your favorite. How about you take some tomorrow and go apologize to Ariesa?"

Afraid the boy might be too shy to go, she quickly added:

"Don't worry, Ariesa's parents will welcome you. Just say 'I'm sorry' sincerely, and Ariesa will forgive you. Aren't you good friends?"

In truth, she had already discussed it with the girl's parents, and the girl wasn't really that upset. Both sets of parents knew it was just the flutter of young hearts—Peter bullying Ariesa was, in a way, good news... even if it had gone a bit too far.

Peter shyly lifted his head to look at his mother, gathered his courage, and nodded:

"I'll go."

The woman stroked the hair on top of Peter's head again—it was as soft as his father's—and said:

"That's good, my little stone."

His mother was pleased that her child had admitted his mistake. She liked the little girl Ariesa, just as the girl's parents liked Peter.

Peter chose to change the subject, voicing the worry in his heart:

"By the way, Mom, I heard some adults talking about a rebellion."

His mother rested her chin on both hands, looking at her son, and explained:

"Child, don't worry. It's not really a rebellion. It's just a symbolic way to remind the Child of the Gods and the Empire to pay more attention to us, to give us more help."

"Over these years, the legions have taken away countless fine boys, and they never came back. Time and again, the legions just came here to restock supplies, take the boys, and leave. On and on."

"Now there are fewer and fewer people in Olympia, especially fine boys like you. These years, the Empire has brought nothing to Olympia—not energy, not food, not even glory."

His mother reached out again to caress the child's cheek.

"So your father and I won't let the Empire take you away. We're not rebelling—we're just negotiating with the Child of the Gods and the Empire. So that children like you can stay in Olympia, grow up here together, get married, have children, and grow old."

The boy blushed a little at the talk of marriage and children, but his mother continued:

"What do you think of Ariesa?"

The boy's face reddened even more: "We're just good friends..."

His voice trailed off as he spoke.

His mother let out a silvery laugh: "A girl doesn't tell a friend about her first period. I bet she likes you—likes my handsome young man."

The boy only felt more ashamed.

That evening's dinner ended in a shy yet cheerful atmosphere, though the shy one was always the boy and the cheerful one always his mother.

But then, from outside the window came a strange noise. It sounded like an aircraft passing overhead, or perhaps something falling.

The commotion outside grew louder. Many neighbors stepped out of their homes to see what was happening. Mother and son were drawn by the noise as well. Stepping across the mosaic tiles on the floor, they lifted the linen curtain to observe what was going on.

In the sky where the sun had just set, countless "shooting stars" streaked through the air, trailing long tails of flame as they fell toward the ground.

Drawing on his knowledge, Peter pointed at these "shooting stars" and said: "Mom, look—shooting stars."

At the time, still a child, Peter didn't know those so-called shooting stars were drop pods. Nor did he notice his mother's ashen face.

Standard Terra Calendar 004.M31: The Olympian Rebellion.

The Iron Lord Perturabo led over one hundred thousand warriors of the Fourth Legion, the Iron Warriors, to slaughter and destroy his own homeworld. These Iron Warriors butchered their own brothers, sisters, and descendants. The Primarch himself strangled his sister Kalliphenny with his own hands.

In the end, the survivors of Olympia were enslaved and driven into the lower decks of the Iron Warriors fleet. And those Iron Warriors who refused to raise their blades against their homeland were killed by their own brothers.