Karyl Lohars

Who are you?

a voice asked.

Who are you?

Again, he drifted through a haze of consciousness as a cold nothingness spread all around him.

Death. Was this death?

"No," the voice that had asked him said. "Karyl Lohars, nameless Ghost, this isn't death."

Boom—!

Thunder roared.

"This isn't death," a man told him.

He had a dark face and wore a laurel wreath and golden armor. He looked exhausted. Even his godlike bearing and magnificent golden armor couldn't hide the weariness that seemed to rise from his very bones.

"Who are you?" the Ghost asked after a brief silence.

"Who are you?" the man countered.

Then he shook his head to himself.

"Are you Karyl Lohars? No, you aren't. Karyl Lohars died long ago. In the final moment of his life, he knocked on the gates of Hell, and you—you, this Ghost, answered the call from beyond them."

Behind the man, the blue sky blazed with heat, and a high-hanging sun slowly radiated its light.

Radiance

The Ghost couldn't help raising a hand to shield his eyes. He hadn't seen such strong natural light in a very long time. Seeing the sun again almost brought him to tears.

But he couldn't ignore the question.

"Who are you, really?" the Ghost asked quietly.

The man didn't answer. He simply stood beneath the sun and gazed at him. His stare was calm, yet it filled the Ghost with a strange irritation.

"Are you one of them?" the Ghost asked coldly, suppressing his emotions.

"No." The man shook his head. "I'm not."

His words offered no proof, yet for some reason, the Ghost believed him.

Just that one sentence—and he believed him.

"Then who are you, really?"

"I can't answer that question," the man said. "Not because I don't want to, but because I don't know how."

"Are there really people in this world who don't know who they are?"

"Of course. You, for instance. And me."

The man turned his head and looked toward the other end of the blue sky. The moment his gaze fell there, the place that had been nothingness became a plain, with rivers flowing through it. There were still no animals in sight, but it was far better than emptiness.

"I know who I am," the Ghost said quietly.

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

"That has nothing to do with you."

Once again, the man shook his head.

"It had nothing to do with me before," he said. "But now it does, Ghost."

"This is absurd—you stand here telling me riddles and lies, acting as if you know me, yet you won't even tell me your own name. And where are we?!"

"This is my memory," the man said.

He started toward the plain ahead. Frowning, the Ghost followed. He still couldn't make sense of what was happening, but following the man was clearly a better choice than staying put.

They walked on and on. The sun continued to shine gently, and as they drew closer, the plain gradually came into focus.

Along the river lay two separate fields of wheat. Mud-brick houses were scattered near the fields. A few children played happily among the dust and dirt, and several dogs dozed lazily in the shade of the trees.

"...Where is this?" the Ghost asked quietly.

The man turned back and answered calmly, "I've already told you once, Ghost. This is my memory."

"Or, to put it another way, this is Earth, somewhere along the border between Europe and Asia, at some point before the Common Era. Tectonic shifts haven't erased this place yet. Those people are preparing dinner after a full day's labor."

The Ghost's hand began to tremble.

The man noticed, but said nothing. He turned again and looked at one of the houses. His eyes passed over the openings left in the walls as windows, and his expression shifted slightly.

"You..." The Ghost spoke slowly. "Tell me again. Where is this?"

"Earth," the man replied. "If you don't believe me, I can show you more evidence, Ghost."

"...Who are you?"

"What do you think?"

The man gazed at him, his eyes deep and inscrutable. "Who do you think I am? You already have your answer, don't you, Ghost? You know very well that I'm not lying to you. There's no need for lies in a conversation like this."

Trembling, the Ghost took a step back and began breathing heavily. The man didn't give him a chance to calm down. He would have, if he'd had time.

But right now, time was what he lacked most.

The man raised his head and glanced at the sky. The sun was still there, but its light was no longer as bright as before.

"...You came from Earth?" the Ghost asked, with a hope he hadn't even noticed in himself.

"Yes."

"..."

Sometimes, certainty was more terrifying than denial.

The Ghost closed his eyes and fell silent for a long while. Inexpressibly complex emotions churned within him, but the man interrupted his thoughts.

"You saved him. I'm grateful," the man said.

"Who?"

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

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

"He's your son?"

"Yes, Ghost. But he isn't what you think. He isn't some twisted creation of Nostramo's nobles. He is..."

The man lowered his head and sighed. This was the first time he'd shown such an obvious shift in emotion.

"...He is one of my visions for humanity's future."

The man spoke slowly. "I don't have much time. I wanted to tell you all this sooner, Ghost, but you refused many times..."

"You were the one who—" The Ghost's eyes widened.

"—Yes," the man interrupted.

He lowered his head, his expression turning pained for an instant. But when he raised it again, the pain was gone.

He spoke without expression. "I don't have time to say more, Ghost."

"I'll keep it brief. This is no longer the era you know. The age you remember has long since passed—long enough for humanity to spread across the Milky Way. But where there is gain, there must also be..."

He couldn't finish. The man's body gave a strange shudder, as if someone had struck him hard, and he suddenly collapsed to the ground.

The Ghost frowned and hurried over to help him up.

The sunlight in the blue sky dimmed further, but the Ghost didn't notice. His attention was elsewhere. From the point where he touched the man's armor, a familiar chill began to spread.

"...Is it them?" the Ghost asked seriously.

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

"I have."

"I see..."

The man nodded. Behind his dark eyes, something went out. He rose and continued where he'd left off.

"Humanity is now scattered throughout the Milky Way. There are many worlds as wretched as Nostramo. Oppression and suffering can be found everywhere in the galaxy. You know I'm telling the truth, Ghost."

The Ghost silently nodded. How could he deny it? He had witnessed the dark side of human nature for many years.

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

There was not a shred of falsehood in that saying. What Nostramo's nobles had done after gaining power was something the Ghost didn't even want to think about in detail.

"So..."

The man slowly exhaled and frowned slightly. At that moment, the sun was obscured, and only its last glimmer shone down on the Ghost and the man.

Something drifted into view through the darkness.

"...They're here," the man said quietly. "Our brief conversation is over."

He looked at the Ghost.

"I want to thank you, Ghost. You protected him and spared him from a difficult, treacherous path."

The man solemnly extended his right hand.

"But I'm not saving you because of his wishes," the man said slowly. "So, will you accept?"

"Accept what?" the Ghost asked.

"Becoming Karyl Lohars."

Golden flames suddenly flared in the man's eyes. Hissing screams rang out in the darkness, and the stench of burning flesh followed a moment later.

"Will you accept?" the man repeated, his right hand suspended in the air. "Ghost?"

"..."

Karyl Lohars reached out with his right hand and clasped the man's.

I accept, he answered silently. Wraith's face appeared before him.

I still owe him a knife.

The giant in golden armor suddenly opened his eyes. A flash of lightning-bright gold flickered and vanished. He clenched his fists and pressed his lips together as a thread of blood slowly trickled from the corner of his mouth.

+Your Majesty.+

+I know, Malcador. I know.+

+You're taking a tremendous gamble.+

+I already know my opponent's hand. How is this a gamble?+

+But that Ghost. There are far too many things about him that don't add up.+

+A man's past shapes his character, and his character shapes his actions. You understand that, don't you?+

+If you insist, I have nothing more to say. After all, I am a Sigillite. But you'd better be careful.+

+Careful of what?+

+Feigning ignorance is a very bad habit, Your Majesty. Besides, your brazen use of psychic power to cross half the galaxy and bring a man back from the dead, remade from the ground up, is troubling in its own right.+

+Though I'm feigning ignorance, didn't you answer me anyway, Malcador?+

+I had no choice, Your Majesty!+

The giant in golden armor smiled faintly and stood, walking to the viewport of his room. He turned his back on the lavish splendor that came with this assumed identity. He had never liked such ornate decorations, but now that he was "The Emperor," he had to live with them.

Gazing at the stars outside, the giant nodded thoughtfully.

+In any case, Malcador, trust me this once, will you?+

+Your Majesty...+

+Hmm?+

+I have always trusted you. But perhaps you should go see your sons. Lorgar and Rogal Dorn have disagreed over certain matters. They want to hear your explanation.+

The giant fell silent.

+Send the Adeptus Custodes.+

I told you there was no knife, but you didn't believe me.

Also, curious readers can try to guess where The Emperor is right now.