Kael Lohars

Who are you?

A voice asked.

Who—are—you?

It drifted once more, consciousness blurring as a cold void spread throughout his entire being.

Death. Is this death?

"No," the voice that questioned him said. "Kael Lohars, nameless ghost, this is not death."

BOOM—!

Thunder roared.

"This is not death," a man said to him.

He had a swarthy face, wore a laurel wreath, and was clad in golden armor. He was weary; even though his appearance was nearly divine and he wore magnificent golden armor, he could not hide the exhaustion rising from his very bones.

"Who are you?" After a brief silence, the ghost asked.

"And who are you?" the man countered.

Then, he shook his head to himself.

"Are you Kael Lohars? No, you are not. Kael Lohars died long ago; he knocked on the gates of hell at the final moment of his life, and you—you, this ghost, have come from behind the door in response to that summons."

The azure sky behind the man was so scorching, and a high-hanging sun slowly radiated its brilliance across the heavens.

Brilliance.

The ghost could not help but raise his hand to shield his eyes. It had been a long time since he had seen such intense natural light; seeing the sun again gave him an almost irrepressible urge to weep.

But he could not ignore that question.

"Who exactly are you?" the ghost asked in a low voice.

The man did not answer, merely standing under the sun and gazing at him. His gaze was peaceful, yet it made the ghost feel a strange, uncanny irritation.

"Are you one of them?" The ghost suppressed his emotions and asked coldly.

"No," the man shook his head. "I am not."

His words provided no evidence, yet for some reason, the ghost believed him.

Just that one sentence—he believed.

"Then, who exactly are you?"

"I cannot answer that question for you," the man said. "Not because I do not wish to, but because I do not know how to answer."

"Is there really anyone in this world who does not know who they are?"

"Of course there is. For instance, you, and for instance, me."

The man turned his head, looking toward the other end of this blue sky. From the moment his gaze fell, the place that had originally been a void gained plains and rivers; although no animals could be seen, it was at least far better than nothingness.

"I know who I am," the ghost said in a low voice.

"Then why do you still refuse to call yourself by the name Kael Lohars?" the man asked.

"...That is none of your business."

Once again, the man shook his head.

"It was none of my business," he said. "But now it is, ghost."

"How absurd—you stand here telling me riddles and lies, acting as if you know me well, yet you refuse to even speak your own name. And furthermore, where exactly is this?!"

"This is my memory," the man said.

He walked toward the plain ahead, and the ghost followed him, frowning. He still could not grasp what was happening, but compared to staying put, following along was clearly the better choice.

Walking, continuing to walk—the sun continued to radiate its warmth, and as they approached, the appearance of the plain gradually became clear.

Along the river were two scattered wheat fields. Houses made of mud were sparsely scattered near the fields, some children were playing happily amidst the dust and dirt, and a few dogs were dozing lazily in the shade of the trees.

"...Where is this?" the ghost asked in a low voice.

The man turned back and answered calmly: "I have already told you once, ghost, this is my memory."

"Or, let us use different words to describe it. This is Earth, at a certain moment in the BC era at the junction of Eurasia. Tectonic movements have not yet made this place disappear, and those people are preparing dinner, having finished a full day of labor."

The ghost's hands began to tremble.

The man noticed this but said nothing. He turned his head again, looking toward one of the houses. As his gaze swept over the hole in the wall left as a window, his expression changed slightly.

"You," the ghost spoke slowly. "Say it again, where is this?"

"Earth," the man replied. "If you do not believe me, I can show you more evidence, ghost."

"...What kind of person are you?"

"What do you think?"

The man stared at him, his gaze profound. "What do you think I am? You already have the answer, don't you, Wraith? You know full well I am not lying to you. Lies are unnecessary in a conversation such as this."

Taking a trembling step back, the Wraith began to breathe heavily. The man did not offer him a chance to compose himself; had there been sufficient time, he would have.

However, time was the one thing he lacked most.

Looking up, the man glanced at the sky. The sun remained, but its light was no longer as vibrant as it had been before.

"Are you from Terra?" the Wraith asked, carrying a hint of hope he had not even realized he possessed.

"I am."

"..."

Affirmation is, at times, more terrifying than denial.

The Wraith closed his eyes, remaining silent for a long moment. Indescribable, complex emotions churned and boiled within his heart, but the man interrupted his thoughts with words.

"You saved him, and I am grateful." the man said.

"Who?"

"My son—you call him Wraith, but I call him Konrad Curze."

The man shook his head slowly. "I never had the chance to give him that name."

"He is your son?"

"Yes, Wraith. But he is not what you think. He is not a twisted creation of the nobles on Nostramo; he is..."

The man lowered his head and sighed. This was the first time he had displayed such clear emotional fluctuation.

"...He is one of my visions for the future of humanity."

The man spoke slowly. "I do not have time to say much more, Wraith. I had intended to tell you these things sooner, but you refused me many times."

"It was you who kept—" The Wraith's eyes widened sharply.

"—It was me." The man interrupted.

He lowered his head, his expression turning pained for a fleeting moment, but when he looked up again, the pain had vanished.

He spoke expressionlessly: "I have no time to say more, Wraith."

"I will keep it brief. This is no longer the era you know; the age you are familiar with has passed long ago, so long that humanity has had time to spread its seeds across the galaxy. However, where there is gain, there must be loss."

He could not finish. The man's body shuddered unnaturally, and he collapsed to the ground as if struck by a heavy blow.

The Wraith frowned and stepped forward to help him up.

The light emitted by the sun in the blue sky dimmed even further, yet the Wraith did not notice. His attention was now fixed elsewhere—from the point where he made contact with the man's armor, a familiar, icy chill began to spread.

"...Is it them?" the Wraith asked gravely.

"It is them." the man replied slowly. "Have you seen them?"

"I have."

"I see."

The man nodded, and behind those black eyes, something flickered out. He stood up and continued the previous topic.

"Humanity is now scattered across the galaxy, and there is no shortage of wretched planets like Nostramo. Oppression and suffering are visible almost everywhere in the galaxy; you should understand that I do not speak falsely, Wraith."

The Wraith nodded in silence—how could he deny it? He had witnessed the dark side of human nature with his own eyes for many years.

If you want to test a man, give him power.

There was not a shred of falsehood in that famous saying; the things the nobles on Nostramo did once they gained power were things he did not even wish to recall in detail.

"Therefore."

The man exhaled a long, heavy breath, his brow furrowing slightly. At that moment, the sun in the sky was obscured, with only the last remnants of light casting a glow around the Wraith and the man.

In the darkness, something drifted near.

"...They are here." the man whispered. "Our brief conversation must come to an end."

He looked at the Wraith.

"I must thank you, Wraith. You protected him; you kept him from a treacherous path."

The man solemnly extended his right hand.

"But I am not saving you because of his wishes." the man said slowly. "Therefore, will you accept?"

"Accept what?" the Wraith asked.

"To become Kael Lohars."

In the man's eyes, golden flames suddenly erupted. A shrill scream echoed from the darkness, and the stench of burning flesh followed a second later.

"Do you accept?" the man repeated, his right hand hovering in the air. "Wraith?"

"..."

Kael Lohars extended his right hand and grasped the man's.

I accept. he answered silently. The face of the Wraith appeared before his eyes.

I still owe him a blade.

The giant in golden armor snapped his eyes open, a flash of lightning-like gold vanishing in an instant. He clenched his fists and pressed his lips together, a trickle of blood slowly leaking from the corner of his mouth.

+My liege.+

+I know, Malcador, I know.+

+You are making a reckless gamble.+

+I already know my opponent's hand; how can you call this a gamble?+

+But that ghost. There are too many suspicious points about him.+

+A man's character is shaped by his past, and his actions are shaped by his character. You know this, do you not?+

+Since you insist, I have nothing more to say. Who am I, if not the Sigillite? But you would do well to be careful.+

+Careful of what?+

+Feigning ignorance is a truly terrible habit, my liege. Furthermore, rashly using psychic power to span half the galaxy to bring a man back from the dead and reshape his very essence—your audacity troubles me.+

+Even though I am feigning ignorance, did you not answer me anyway, Malcador?+

+That is only because I have no choice, my liege!+

The giant in golden armor smiled faintly and stood up. He walked to the porthole of his chamber, turning his back on the gilded splendor brought about by this manufactured identity. He had never liked such opulent decorations, but since he was now "The Emperor," he had no choice.

Gazing at the stars outside the window, the giant nodded thoughtfully.

+In any case, Malcador, trust me this once, how about it?+

+My liege.+

+Hmm?+

+I have always trusted you. However, perhaps you should go see your sons. Lorgar and Rogal Dorn have had a disagreement on certain points. They wish to hear your explanation.+

The giant fell silent.

+Send the Adeptus Custodes.+

I told you there was no blade, didn't I? You didn't believe me.

Additionally, interested readers may guess where The Emperor is right now.