36. Happiness, Void, Homeland, Darkness (I

A metal bird flapped its wings and took flight.

It is not large, and can even be described as delicate. It has two pairs of wings, instead of the usual one. Although it has many wings, their structure is not as complex as that of an insect. Moreover, its wings are almost motionless when it flies.

The monitor hidden within the steel beak glowed faintly with a blue light, taking in everything. The person behind the monitor, connected electronically, lowered their hand after a few seconds, ceasing to manipulate it using their neural connections.

It has no self-awareness, but the programming that Rogal Dorn has built for it is enough to allow it to roam freely above the Imperial Palace without any restraint.

The Adeptus Custodes won't disturb the bird; yes, they won't.

Why?

Was it out of a slight indulgence towards the name Rogal Dorn, or because they also knew that this was the last bird on Terra?

Dorn had no answer to this, and he didn't want to think about it for the time being. He turned and walked across the metal and rock. The sun was dazzling, hanging on the seemingly boundless horizon, radiating its heat and its questions.

The air was filled with the scent of incense as devout believers who had traveled from afar to Terra prostrated themselves at the foot of the roof of the world. They were not driven away, but instead gathered together with the conscripted workers.

This is not Hive City, but it is better than Hive City. Billions of ordinary people gather here, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Master of Mankind.

They not only regarded him as a great ruler, a hero, and the greatest ruler in human history, but they also regarded him as a god.

The Emperor hated religion, Dorn thought. Yet he indulged Lorgar, even allowing the religion he founded to spread across Terra —cancer, the hope of new life, or a poison destined to ravage for millennia?

Once again, Dorn left the question unresolved.

He tightened his rock-hard face and walked down the towering city walls into the Imperial Palace.

A lot has changed here in the past few months.

The Emperor's return to Terra should have been a momentous occasion, but most people were unaware that he had been away for some time. He also seemed to have no intention of holding a grand ceremony; his return was simply because someone wanted to visit him.

Dorn had rushed back from the other side of the Sol System for this very reason. He had expected to be annoyed by the fact that it had forced him to leave his post, but to his surprise, after hearing the whole story, he was even slightly pleased.

His thoughts were churning like undercurrents in the sea, but Dorn walked expressionlessly through dozens of corridors painstakingly built by stonemasons.

After passing through thousands of probes, Dorn finally met his father and an old acquaintance in an unfinished hall filled with the smell of paint.

"I think this is very unwise, Your Majesty," the hunched mortal coughed. "This should be a regular hall, not a reception hall. It's too small."

"Is that so, Eldork? "Dorn thought to himself. The hall was large enough to fit three Thunderhawk; it was by no means cramped.

"Don't do that, stonemason," another person in the hall said gently. "You should take better care of yourself."

"What? No, Your Majesty—" the stonemasons' chieftain coughed, his face flushed. "—Are you trying to send me away?"

"I never said that."

"I'm already one hundred and ten years old, Your Majesty. I've spent my entire life in the Himalaya Mountains. Where else can I go?" the old man said, seemingly with a sense of sorrow. "Please have pity on me, Your Majesty. You really should choose a larger reception room."

"However, the other halls have been mostly carved, and the few that were left out are too large and do not meet my requirements." The human the Emperor lowered his head and looked at his stonemason supervisor, a hint of helplessness in his eyes.

"If I do that, the years of hard work by your hundreds of people will be wasted."

"They would be honored." The old man, who had previously looked like he was about to cry, immediately changed his expression and waved his arm resolutely. "In fact, if you want, we can completely start all over again."

The Emperor slowly raised his head and said nothing more. Eldork, who knew him well, immediately beamed with joy, knowing that his emperor had agreed.

The old man bowed respectfully, leaned on his cane, and slowly left, not forgetting to greet Dorn as he Dorn. Rogal Dorn responded, but most of his attention was actually on his father.

He wasn't mistaken; his father sighed as he looked up. The stonemason leader, who had spent sixty years of his 110-year life in contact with the Emperor, hadn't noticed, but Dorn had.

He approached his father, but the latter beat him to it, beckoning him as if he knew what was going on. "Look here, Rogal, look at these ingenious ideas."

Dorn went to his father's side and together they looked up at the ceiling. He saw a magnificent artistic cluster, hundreds—or thousands—of people had left their mark on this huge stone.

He saw rolling mountains, winding rivers, and birds that almost blotted out the sky. Some animals that Dorn had only seen in ancient books were resting leisurely on the grass, every detail of them so lifelike that they seemed to come alive.

Dorn analyzed the muscle lines with his eyes, silently paying the highest tribute to the stonemasons' talent.

"Those animals are deer," The Emperor said.

"A beautiful and elegant animal. In the past, if a Terra wanted to compliment someone's eyes, he would usually give a metaphor: 'Innocent as a deer.' There are many kinds of deer, Rogal, but all of them actually have four legs."

Dorn slowly shifted his gaze away from the six-legged deer.

"A small mistake is nothing to worry about; in fact, I should commend Eldork for his thoughtfulness."

"He worked for me his whole life, and to make the carving more perfect, he spent almost all his allowance on buying historical books sold by cunning merchants. Sometimes he would buy the genuine articles. But most of the time, he was cheated."

"He can report them for this," Dorn replied seriously. "The guards would be more than happy to deal with anyone who dares to cheat on Terra."

"He never does that," The Emperor said, still looking up. "Eldork possesses a rare kindness; he knows those weary, mud-covered people are simply trying to survive. That's why I like him so much."

I thought it was because of his talent.

The Emperor chuckled softly, Dorn couldn't help but glance at his father's profile, wanting to remember this moment.

"Rogal, Eldork is not actually outstanding in the skills of a stonemason. He is good at sculpting human figures, but there are at least a thousand stonemasons who can do it better than him."

"Then why did you appoint him as the head of the stonemason clan?"

"Because he doesn't fight," The Emperor said. "And he's happy."

Is Eldork happy?

Dorn couldn't help but open his mouth, wanting to refute—in his memory, Eldork had never seemed like a happy person.

He would Thunder at anyone at work, always furious, always slamming his heavy steel cane against the stone, and then telling his workers exactly what was wrong.

No one dared to refute him; those who did were silenced temporarily by his loud voice and the thousands of words that burst forth from his belly. Besides, he was also very reclusive.

Rogal Dorn never saw Eldork get close to anyone; the old man did nothing but work and read.

Is he happy?

"Yes, Rogal." The Emperor turned to look at his son. "He knows what he wants, and he's always worked towards it. His happiness comes from this, a simple happiness, almost like that of an infant."

Rogal Dorn pondered, nodded, and heard the Emperor's next words.

"Babies only need to think about eating and sleeping, and they are satisfied with that. But adults cannot; happiness becomes an extremely difficult luxury to obtain as they get older."

"Even for you?" Dorn couldn't help but ask.

The Emperor smiled but did not answer the question.

He turned and led his son out of the paint-smelling hall. They walked through it, beginning their descent underground. Dorn had never been here before, but he wasn't surprised by the rooms filled with cables.

The Emperor had told him when the Imperial Palace was first being built that he hoped it would be a palace worthy of ruling a million planets. It would be strange if a palace didn't have these quiet rooms deep within it.

Thirteen minutes later, they arrived at a tightly closed door. The heavy door was made of stone, but its surface gleamed with a metallic sheen like steel.

A gentle breeze blew from underground, and the Emperor raised his right hand, doing nothing, and the door slid open automatically. However, what appeared behind the door was not Dorn had longed to see. He did not get to see the workshop his father had been rumored to be.

In reality, the room contained only two chairs, a table, and countless books.

Dorn looked at the Emperor with a puzzled expression, but the Emperor did not explain. He simply stepped inside, stamped his foot, and coughed. The next second, accompanied by a sudden burst of blue light, a person dressed in a dark green robe appeared abruptly.

He was still leaning on his scepter, but his expression under the hood was not very friendly.

"Your Majesty," the Sigillites, Malcador, glanced at Dorn, a look that struck him as odd, "You shouldn't have brought your son here."

"I will apologize for this later," The Emperor said. "But I had no other way to make you show yourself. It was not my intention to expose your privacy so abruptly; it was a last resort. If you don't avoid me, I would be happy to meet you in a normal way."

Malcador remained silent, while Dorn caught a glimpse of helplessness in the Sigillites's raised chin.

"Alright," Malcador sighed. "What do you want me to do now?"

"I hope you can explain the definition of happiness to Rogal."

". What?"

"We discussed this forty-three years ago, have you forgotten, Malcador?" The Emperor asked. "I'd like you to recount this conversation to Rogal; it will be helpful to him."

Malcador's expression looked as if he was being struck in the abdomen with a power hammer.

After a while, he slowly spoke, "Is this why you pulled me away from my work?"

"This is a serious matter," The Emperor insisted. "A father should answer his son's questions, but I don't know how to begin. Therefore, I've come to my friend for help; is that not acceptable?"

Dorn was deeply moved by his father's words, but instead of remaining silent, he declined the offer. "I will figure this out myself, Father. You need not trouble the Sigillites; he is always very busy."

"Thank you for your words, Rogal." Malcador. "This is of paramount importance to me."

"Well then, I must take my leave." Dorn bowed slightly. "I need to continue fine-tuning the Falcon. Also, Father, when will Instructor Karyl and Konrad Curze arrive?"

"Tomorrow," The Emperor said, "Are you looking forward to it?"

"No." Dorn's face hardened, and after a brief silence, he added, "... just a little bit."

With those words spoken, he left without a trace of regret.

The Emperor smiled, a rare occurrence, while Malcador waved his arm to close the door to his room. The aged and weary Sigillites sat down in one of the chairs, both angry and helpless, and began to pour out his grievances to his friend.

"I can't believe you let other people into my room!"

"Don't you like Rogal?" The Emperor replied, seemingly unrelated to the question. "I remember you saying he was the only Primarch you thought was decent."

"That doesn't mean he should come into my room!" Malcador said. "Besides, I'm not avoiding you, I'm just too busy with work!"

"You don't have an endless stream of official documents to review, Malcador," Neos smiled slightly. "You have hundreds of thousands of hardworking people under you; the days when you needed to personally handle everything are long gone."

You make it sound so easy.

Neos was still smiling. He turned around and pulled a book from the shelf. It had a brown cover, the kind made from the cover of an ancient Ancient Terra creature that had long since gone extinct. He ran his fingers over its surface with a nostalgic expression and sighed softly.

"Am I happy?" he asked, still a human being. "Malcador, am I happy?"

"You want me to remind you, but I won't," the Sigillites replied. "The one who truly wants to hear that conversation isn't Rogal Dorn, but yourself. But I won't answer."

"Is it that you don't know, or have you forgotten like me?"

The Emperor put down his book, put his hands behind his back, and asked a question. But no one in the room answered him.

After a long silence, another sigh was heard.

"I am happy," the bloodless and tearless the Emperor declared.

Three more chapters to go.