Nightfall

Konrad Curze Curze did not make a sound, did not speak, and did not scream.

He walked over in silence, his sweat-soaked clothes clinging to his back under the cold, but he didn't care—even though he was indeed very cold.

His coldness did not stem from low temperatures.

He slowly knelt down. After making sure he wouldn't collapse from dizziness, Konrad Curze Curze reached out his right hand and touched the skeleton.

He pressed his five fingers against the skeleton's forehead, then slowly slid them down the edges, touching the eye sockets, face, and jaw. After doing this, he remained silent for a full five minutes.

From the Primarch's perspective, this was almost impossible, but it happened anyway.

Because he is no longer able to think.

Konrad Curze Curze tilted his head back and began to breathe rapidly and in a low voice.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, deliberately ignoring the skeleton on the floor. A nagging, unrealistic hope lingered within him—if I don't look at him, will he come back to life?

This is a joke, isn't it, Karyl?

Half a minute later, he lowered his head, reached out his hands, and carefully lifted the skeleton from underneath.

His mind was still in turmoil; he tried to organize his thoughts to deal with the reality before him, but he couldn't. He had been taught reason and composure, but now, those two things had vanished with his teachers.

Pale Embers lingered on Konrad Curze Curze's palms, their intense heat causing them to hiss and burn his skin. Konrad Curze Curze opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no words came out.

He hugged the skeleton, which was taller than him, and held it close to his chest. His hands trembled as he searched the skeleton, trying to find any trace of life. He failed—nothing, nothing at all, only ashes remained.

A terrible, aching sensation welled up from deep within his nasal cavity, blurring his vision, and then dripped hot tears down his cheeks.

The Night Haunter lowered its head and hissed in the darkness. The Nostramo people usually used long, euphemistic sentences, but the word it used now was different; it had only two syllables.

Why is this happening?

The question flashed through the chaotic thoughts of the Night Haunter, whose thinking ability had been completely overwhelmed by the overwhelming torrent of emotions. The question appeared for only a moment before vanishing instantly. He wept silently, cradling his father's remains and asking the question in the darkness without a sound.

Why is this happening? He asked himself again, but he still had no answer. Then he remembered that voice— the Emperor's voice, the voice that had crossed the universe to reach his ears and make him hold Karyl Lohars's hand.

"Help me." He grasped one of the skeleton's hands and murmured into the darkness. "Please, help me."

Darkness did not answer; what right did it have to? At the far end of the galaxy, a man heard this plea. He tried his best to pull himself away from the battle to help, but he could not. The Veil is, after all, the Veil.

Silence.

A deathly silence, no answer, only stillness.

The Night Haunter was as still as if he were dead. With his eyes closed, some kind of instinct began to work, carrying his chaotic thoughts to an unpredictable distance. In a daze, he even felt as if he were in the ocean.

Ocean?

He didn't understand; he had never been to the ocean. The word lingered in his mind. The Night Haunter thought, without sorrow or joy, "Yes, I am in the depths of the ocean, where the currents surge."

Then what?

Then he smelled a nauseating stench, and then he heard an extremely soft rustling sound of feathers.

"Do you want to save him?" a voice asked from the depths of the dark ocean.

The Night Haunter did not answer. He did not know where he was, but he refused to answer. His last shred of sanity was roaring at him, urging him to get away from this place immediately.

He wanted to, but he couldn't, because this was no longer a realm he could control. This wasn't his little room for contemplation; it was somewhere else entirely.

Another place far beyond the boundaries of human reason, a paradise for the undead, a pillow for nightmares, a feast for ravenous monsters. This can be anywhere, but it can never be a friendly or benevolent place.

The voice chuckled.

"You are very perceptive, Lord of the Eighth Legion. Your father has taught you well. But I must tell you, this is the deepest part of the void." The thing chuckled, uttering these words in its gentle and soothing voice.

Night Haunter's thoughts were stretched out, and he briefly forgot something extremely important. He didn't realize that the voice's tone of voice was beginning to become exactly like Karyl's.

He was unaware, and no one else was—because Karyl Lohars' remains had returned to the anchor point via a sea jump, but something else had come with him. It could only project one of its pupils here, but that was enough.

Because there is never just one anchor point here; many more threads were already in place from the very very beginning when fate was first stirred.

"Do you want to save him?" He asked casually, not annoyed that he could only exert such a small influence on reality at this moment. It was as if He had really only come to ask this question, and He had no expectations for what would happen next.

But is that even possible?

The Night Haunter did not answer; his reason still told him that he could not answer the question.

I know what you want.

He spoke softly, still using Karyl Lohars's voice. "You can't accept the world he's dead, I know. So speak up, Konrad Curze Curze, Night Haunter, poor child, you only need to make one wish, and your father will return."

Lie.

"No, I'm not lying." He smiled again, a soft and peaceful laugh, just like Karyl's.

"Your father is resisting death. You can't tell, but I can tell he knows he can't die. But, physiologically speaking, a charred skeleton is the best proof of death, isn't it?"

"But he's still resisting. He doesn't want to come back to us, and neither do I. If he comes back now, things will become very boring. So I want to help you, and I will help you, as long as you make a tiny, insignificant wish."

I can't. I can't do this. I don't know what you are, but I can't do this.

"Why not?" the voice asked gently. "The universe is so vast, would anyone really care about a wish? You can say it aloud, child, you only need to say four words."

"All you need to do is say, 'I want to save him,' and your father will return immediately."

The Night Haunter fell silent.

His thoughts still lingered in that dark ocean, his eyes closed, blindly accepting the gaze of the Chaos expanse. But his body was not; it remained in the Primarch's room on the Nightfall, silently weeping over his father's remains, time not even passing, not even a second.

The owner of the voice looked at him silently with delight and joy, feeling immensely happy for the unexpected surprise he was about to receive.

With just one wish, one word, I can save Karyl.

Should I say it aloud?

Why shouldn't I? Of course I should save him. He shouldn't die. No one could have made him die. Of course I should bring him back to life. But...

But what is the price of this wish? Will it really be as insignificant as that thing claims? He remained silent, pondering, weighing the options, reason and emotion teetering on the brink of collapse.

The owner of the voice smiled unhurriedly, intending to add another weight called memory to the emotional end. He loved this kind of drama the most; contradiction was the essence. He slowly opened his mouth, only to find that the stolen voice had vanished. Now, the voice he emitted was a sharp, shrill scream, utterly ugly.

He stared wide-eyed at the ship named Nightfall, at the room, and then he saw—

--At the right cuff of Konrad Curze Curze--

There is a knife, slowly glowing.

No!

He angrily spread his wings, trying to do something more, but opportunities are always fleeting. Dark flames of fury swept in from the other side of the ocean, instantly burning away his last bit of power.

"Get away." The voice that had once angrily rebuked them whispered from the deepest part of the ocean. "Stay away from him."

He sighed, walked away helplessly, his anger vanishing in an instant, leaving only curiosity and anticipation for the future. It was just a casual stroke; what painter would care about this one before truly beginning?

"So many changes," He chuckled softly as He walked away.

--

The Night Haunter slowly opened his eyes, feeling a lingering fear. He didn't know why the thing had left, but he had made up his mind never to do it again.

He wanted to bring Karyl back to life, and he would try every chance he had, but he wouldn't do it that way.

Using that method, Karyl will be disappointed in him.

He didn't want to disappoint him.

The Wraith slowly pursed his lips, carefully setting down the skeleton, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the cuff of his right sleeve was glowing.

What happened?

He swung his arm, and in an instant, the blade sprang out, pressing tightly against his palm, a chill running through him. Staring at the blade, Night Haunter saw a pair of eyes brimming with tears.

He quickly raised his left hand to wipe away his tears, intending to calm himself and deal with everything that followed. He rubbed his eyes haphazardly against his sleeve, trying to let the slight pain completely erase the tears. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't.

Until a chill ran through his left wrist.

The Night Haunter stared wide-eyed.

The skeleton was still the same skeleton, and the ashes were still the same pile of ashes, but its right hand had risen and grasped the Wraith's left hand. Within the previously pitch-black eye sockets, a deep blue light, the same as the blade on the Wraith's right hand, was now shining.

Konrad Curze Curze began to tremble again.

Okay, update complete. That's all for today. I need to take a break.

I told you I wouldn't use a knife, why didn't you believe me? Tomorrow, watch how I stitch the War Hounds and Angron back together, hehe.