A Fleeting Illusion

"Father, are you all right?"

Guilliman lifted his head from his meal. Concern filled his one black eye. He had never seen his father this unsettled before. He even wondered if he was seeing things.

The Emperor said nothing, but it was clear to everyone that something was wrong. He looked at his son and asked,

"Guilliman, am I a good father?"

"Uh, maybe you'd better not ask, Father. I'm afraid you'll hit me if I tell you."

Actions spoke louder than words. Guilliman's meaning was clear, and the Emperor's last shred of hope vanished. He knew perfectly well that he wasn't a good father. He could hardly even be called an adequate one.

At that moment, the person sitting at the dining table was no longer the invincible Emperor clad in golden armor. He was simply Neoth, a big, troubled man who didn't know how to face himself.

So much time had passed that his memories had nearly faded. Zoffy's words left Hogg dazed, and in that daze, he found himself back on that first morning.

Alicia was in ruins then. Civil war had left fewer than one in ten people alive on the planet, while Hogg was still fretting over how to improve his flatbread recipe.

He believed in loving whatever work you did. Hogg enjoyed that simple, happy life. Even knowing that the man would one day arrive, he remained at his little flatbread shop.

Longing was the greatest distance of all. After turning down Emilia's 1,452nd inexplicable invitation, golden light shone over every inch of Alicia.

First meetings always stayed with you. The Emperor remembered that encounter, and the words he'd said to his short son:

"My son, I am the Emperor, sovereign of mankind—and your father!"

"So how did you reply?" Zoffy, who hadn't shared