A Banquet (Part 2, Complete)

A giant clad in white robes trimmed with gold walked in silence. This was his palace, his vessel, and one of the many cages he had fashioned for himself with his own hands.

The opulent corridor was devoid of any other soul; the Adeptus Custodes had cleared the area in advance to prevent anyone from witnessing a Primarch storming out of the banquet hall, which would only invite unnecessary trouble.

The giant knew that Konrad Curze bore no true malice toward mortals, and his current mood was relatively stable. Besides, even if he were to lose control, he likely would not harm the innocent.

But he was, after all, a Primarch.

Moreover, he was Konrad Curze. Ordinary people would tremble the moment they laid eyes on him, seized by an instinctive terror born of blood and flesh—a reality that could never be changed.

Wearing his mask, the giant walked silently down the corridor.

The mirror-like ceiling was carved with intricate, exquisite patterns of masterful craftsmanship. Without looking up, the giant knew his laurel crown would cast a dazzling, brilliant radiance as he moved.

The person who designed this corridor was named Mildred. Both she and her family felt immense pride in this great honor. After the corridor was completed, Mildred swore she would never carve, build, or paint for anyone else again.

"My hands shall dance only for the Emperor of Mankind," she had said.

The giant still remembered those words; he would remember them forever.

At the time, he had stood on a high platform, masked and expressionless, expressing his gratitude to a kneeling, weeping, and sobbing Mildred amidst the cheers of the masses.

"I thank you, Mildred."

But what was it he truly wanted to say?

"No, do not waste your talent. It is not worth it."

He could not bring himself to say it.

He could only watch as that brilliant artist died in a state of fanatical melancholy, torn by the conflict between her faith and her instincts at the end of her life.

Her family burned her remains into ash, mixed it into pigments, and painted his portrait, which they then enshrined and worshipped for generations.

They viewed him as a god—yet again.

Was it human nature to huddle around a deity, regardless of whether that god was false?

He did not wish to dwell on it any longer. He stopped and stood before a door.

Like the rest of the ship, this door followed a unified design. The massive double-headed eagle emblem stared down from the door with cold, unyielding indifference.

The giant closed his eyes, and only when he opened them again did he push the door open and step inside.

The interior was plunged in darkness, with a Wraith lurking in the corner. The room was spacious—perhaps excessively so—and fully furnished, yet the Wraith still chose to crouch in the shadows.

"Wraith," Neos said, his voice a soft hiss. "Please, do not leave."

"You speak Nostramo?"

"I do."

"How did you manage that?"

"I have learned many languages, including this one."

"You learned Nostramo?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever been to Nostramo?"

"No."

"Then how did you learn it?"

"A long time ago, humanity was a relatively tightly-knit entity within the galaxy."

Neos closed the door and stood before it, answering the Wraith's questions calmly. He did not look at the latter, though he knew the latter was observing him.

"They settled on many planets and evolved unique cultures. Although they differed from their home world, I considered this a good thing, so I learned many of their languages."

"A long time ago?"

"Yes, a long time ago."

"Have you lived for a very long time?"

"I—"

Neos fell silent for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I have died many times."

"I do not understand."

"It is correct not to understand, Wraith. It is an abstract concept; it was never meant to be understood."

"Then, why have you come to find me?" the Wraith hissed, his tone tinged with urgency.

Hearing that urgency, the memories of the Nostramo language buried within Neos finally began to stir—a reluctant necessity, for his memories were far too complex and vast.

His memory was a colossal graveyard, where many people and events that only he remembered lay sleeping together.

The Nostramo language Neos remembered was, in most cases, a poetic tongue. The people who created and once used it were passionate and brimming with confidence; they were natural poets, romantic and upright.

But that was no longer the case.

Now, it hissed with sharp, piercing tones. The poetry remained, but it was a cruel poetry. Those who used it had transformed from decent people into murderers, unwitting misanthropes, and laborers struggling to survive in agony.

How tragic.

He remained silent before answering the Night Haunter. He knew that silence would only intensify the questioning, but he had no choice—memories were washing over him.

"I tried to apologize," Neos said.

"Apologies again?"

The Night Haunter's tone grew sharper. "I do not need apologies."

"Then, at the very least, do you need an explanation?"

"No, I do not," the Night Haunter replied curtly.

Neos finally sighed.

"I did not speak with you because you no longer require my guidance. He has already done everything in his power to tell you everything you need to know."

A clumsy, pained father gazed at his estranged son and spoke softly.

"You already have a father; you do not need me."

Silence, silence once more. As it descended again, the Night Haunter found himself strangely accustomed to it, yet this time, he had to be the one to break it.

"Konrad Curze," the Night Haunter said in a low voice, asking abruptly. "Why did you give me that name?"

Neos did not answer.

His gaze was freezing over with painful ice.

"Quintus has many gargoyles; I have seen many of them. I numbered them in order, but I did not give them names."

"Karyl said that names are of the utmost importance. If you give a thing, or a person, a name, you must take on the responsibility of caring for it. Because it will be changed forever by the name you have bestowed."

"I did not name the gargoyles because I knew I could not care for them; I could not do it. Karyl did not give me a name either; he called me the Night Haunter. I asked him why, and he only said that he could not."

"I do not know why he could not."

"And you gave me this name. I do not like it, but if you wish, I will accept it. Lorgar Aurelian may annoy me, but he was right about one thing: I can indeed feel the blood connection between you and me."

"But, if... if you do not want to."

In the darkness, the Night Haunter used his calmest voice to ask, "Then why did you give me a name?"

Because I once wanted to, because I once could have.

Neos closed his eyes, his voice sounding like a whisper in the wind: "Because of responsibility."

"Responsibility?"

"I have a responsibility toward you all," Neos said.

He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to open them. But, just as he had said, responsibility was calling. Not the responsibility of a father, but another.

The mask whispered calmly in his heart, attempting to cover his mangled face once more. Neos refused; he needed a little more time.

Just this little bit of time would suffice, he told himself.

"Whether this responsibility includes the love a normal father has for his child, I do not know. My emotions and thoughts are fractured, Haunter; you cannot understand. No one but me can understand."

"So I use responsibility to bind myself. I must give you names—it is an anchor, Haunter. It can evoke my... emotions."

In the darkness, someone said in High Gothic, "I need you."

There was no other reply.

Neos lowered his head.

"Thank you," he said in a low voice. "Thank you, Haunter."

"You may call me Konrad Curze," the one in the darkness said.

Karyl heard the roar clearly.

If he had not seen Lorgar Aurelian with his own eyes, if he had not been one of the people present at this banquet, perhaps he would not have mistaken that roar for a human voice.

But he had seen him. More than that, he was the source of that roar.

How interesting, he thought.

The power of a demigod, the frame of a demigod, a spirit so noble that ordinary people could not look directly into it, yet so fragile that it could be easily torn apart by such words.

Faith?

A true zealot would not care about the rumors of non-believers.

He turned around.

The doors of the banquet hall were blown open by a giant. He had golden skin, with characters dancing brightly upon it, yet his face was twisted into a terrifying expression.

"Apologize to me!" he shouted. "Otherwise, even if you are Konrad's foster father, I will make you pay the price!"

"I am not his foster father."

Karyl replied calmly, ignoring the giant's rage—if anyone else were watching this scene, they likely would not feel confused, for he, too, was a giant now.

"I have said it many times: he and I are merely partners."

"You insult my faith!"

Lorgar roared, completely indifferent to Kael's explanation, as if he hadn't heard a word of it.

"You know nothing of me! You have no idea what kind of radiance I see in my eyes; you are nothing but a mere—"

He stopped abruptly, biting back the words he had intended to say.

"Mortal?"

Kael smiled, finishing the sentence for him. He didn't mind.

"You always use that word with a sense of condescending pity and self-righteous arrogance, as if mortals are inherently inferior. And yet, now that I stand taller than you, you have fallen silent."

"I do pity them!"

Lorgar shouted again. "But I never consider them inferior! They are merely lost lambs, desperate for salvation!"

Kael sighed with weariness; he did not want to continue tangling with this so-called demigod.

It was meaningless, and there were many things on Nostramo waiting for his attention. The one who was the Emperor had given him and the Wraith much support, including an entire Legion currently en route.

A Legion. He thought. An interesting term.

Images of those tall, armored warriors flashed through Kael's mind.

So, that kind of Legion. A whole one seemed somewhat excessive for Nostramo.

"Lorgar, calm down! You have said enough for today!"

A voice rang out from beside the doorway, tinged with obvious annoyance, cutting off his thoughts.

Kael looked up, somewhat surprised.

He had expected Rogal Dorn to arrive, but he had not anticipated the giant who had been silently supporting Fulgrim throughout the banquet.

Ferrus Manus? He recited the name to himself.

Iron Hand. Did the former refer to his temperament, and the latter to his willingness to lend a helping hand to many? Or was it simply a literal description of those silver arms?

Kael prepared to observe the situation calmly, but he did not expect Ferrus Manus to turn the fire upon him in the next second.

"And you, Mr. Kael Lohars, I ask you to calm down as well and refrain from using that power again."

The giant with the Iron Hand spread his arms sincerely; they shimmered. "They make me feel uneasy."

"Is that so? I apologize, but I only use it when necessary."

"You just used it to put us all in stasis—I knew from the start that you could not be a mere ordinary person, but I did not expect you to be this powerful."

As Ferrus spoke, deep furrows appeared between his brows.

To Kael, his expression now bore a striking resemblance to that of Rogal Dorn, yet compared to the giant's cold directness, Ferrus Manus still retained a degree of flexibility.

"Power is merely a hollow adjective."

Kael said noncommittally. "No one is truly powerful, because the meaning implied by that word does not exist in the real world."

"On that point, I reserve my opinion." Ferrus said slowly. "However, please forgive Lorgar's rudeness—"

"—Rudeness?!"

Lorgar roared again. The Primarch's fury was astonishing, and the golden characters on his skin flared with intense brightness.

He had expected Ferrus to support him, never imagining his brother would say such a thing!

"The rude one is him, Ferrus! He ignores the Father's good intentions, and despite possessing such great power, he lets our brother live in such a place!"

Lorgar looked at his brother, trembling with anger, disappointment, and grievance.

"How can you say I am rude?! I love our brother, which is why I spoke up to argue for him! He has suffered enough on Nostramo, and this is clearly all this man's doing!"

"Not even a day has passed since we met Konrad, Lorgar. We know nothing of what has happened on Nostramo; why must you draw such arbitrary conclusions?"

The deep furrows between Ferrus's brows began to grow more pronounced and intense. His expression was grave, yet Kael caught a glimpse of the hidden rage within the heart of the giant named for iron.

Ah. Another one with psychological issues.

Looking around, it seemed only one person could be considered normal. Kael thought helplessly.

"We already know enough!"

Lorgar said loudly. He stopped roaring, turning instead to wave his arms like an orator, attempting to persuade his brother with a style that was seasoned, skillful, and gifted.

He used this talent with extreme naturalness, completely unaware that he was employing it at all.

"We know Konrad has suffered; he is clearly malnourished, is he not? We know he has only rags to wear, and we know he trusts this man with all his heart!"

He turned his head, glaring at Kael with genuine fury in his eyes.

"Kael Lohars! Do you dare say you haven't deliberately manipulated our brother, leading him to mistake you for some kind of amiable father? You are merely trying to exploit him for your own gain!"

"You possess such power, yet you let him live in such a house, in such a horrific environment! He is the Emperor's own son! You hypocritical and shameless man!"

Lorgar threw his arms wide, his posture resembling that of a martyred saint.

"Now, are you satisfied?! You have come to The Emperor's Dream, you have stepped foot here yourself—there are countless people in the galaxy who crave such an honor, and you! You despicable wretch, you stand here only because of our brother!"

"If you have any conscience left, you should repent to him now! Tell him your true intentions, your true thoughts! And then beg for his forgiveness!"

Ferrus Manus slowly clenched his fists, his knuckles popping.

He could no longer stand it; he did not understand why Lorgar Aurelian had to choose this moment to act this way—especially when his subjective assumptions were so glaringly obvious.

If Kael Lohars were truly such a person, would their father not have seen it?

If he were truly such a person, would their father have spoken with him privately? Would he have specifically tasked them with resolving the issue upon leaving the banquet hall?

He took a deep breath, intending to speak a word of caution, while already prepared to take action.

Lorgar had already committed enough wrongs today; he could not let him continue.

However, someone was faster than him.

"I'm sorry," Kael said sincerely.

Ferrus stopped in his tracks, stunned, while Lorgar let out a loud laugh, failing to realize that the apology was directed at Ferrus.

And then—

"—I simply cannot take it anymore. I thought I could, but your words, they truly make me..."

Kael sighed, and the blue light descended once more. This time, he did not hold back.

"...burn with rage."

The blue light flashed and vanished.

Inside the magnificent, majestic hall, two giants were speaking face to face.

"I am sorry for letting your son get hurt," Kael said. "I owe you an apology for that."

"Everyone has moments where they are governed by their emotions."

Neos said noncommittally. "Lorgar was governed by his, and thus fell into an unjustified fury. He blindly looked at the truth he wanted to see and spouted nonsense at you—he certainly deserves to be punished."

"Then, so do I," Kael said calmly. "I, too, was governed by my emotions."

"...Are you testing me?" Neos frowned. "You know my stance clearly, and you know I would not care about such a thing."

"You should care."

Kael shook his head solemnly. "An outsider has injured one of your sons on your own ship; are you really going to remain indifferent to that?"

"He did wrong, he made a mistake—"

"—In his eyes, he was right, and his love for his brothers is genuine. Also, sorry for interrupting, but I truly could not help myself."

Kael took a deep breath.

He spoke with rapid speed: "You cannot just focus on those grand goals and plans. I bet that when you were formulating these visions, you never once revealed them to your sons, not even once. Am I right?"

"They would not understand."

"You haven't even told them, yet you assume they wouldn't understand?"

"They are just children."

"Children?!"

Kael's voice rose sharply, and anger appeared on his face. "You gave them immense power and noble status, and then you call them children?!"

"To us, are they not?"

"What about to everyone else?"

Kael shook his head. "To others, to those far inferior to them, what are they?"

"You hide all your intentions, then hide away as a father who only speaks to a select few. Do you think this is good? Is the problem with Lorgar Aurelian not obvious enough?"

"He carved out a facet of you, preserved it in his own heart, and treated it like a god and his own savior! Once he discovers that you are actually completely different from that image, what do you think he will do?"

"...He will understand it himself. I cannot change his will."

Kael silently raised his hand, closed his eyes, and rubbed his brow.

He felt suddenly so tired.

After a long while, he spoke again.

"...I originally thought a man like you would be a dutiful pragmatist, a realist. I never expected you to be an idealist."

Kael tilted his head back, exhausted.

"You don't want to use your own words to change everyone because you feel those words are akin to commands to them. You think they can figure it out on their own, is that it?"

"They certainly can," Neos said firmly. "I believe in them. They possess all the virtues of humanity I have ever seen."

"Yes, and they also possess all the flaws that all humans have."

Kael said expressionlessly. "For instance, the stubbornness inherited from you. You brought four sons, and they all have this problem. What about the others? Will they be better, or worse?"

"..."

"Let's talk business," Kael maintained his expressionless face. "Such as the specific situation of that Legion, and my future work. There should still be many worlds waiting to be reclaimed, right?"

Neos nodded; he could only nod.