Chronicles of the Era of the 48th Warband (IX: Meteor Shower)

If Karyl's perception of time was accurate, and he wasn't hallucinating and was still reasonably lucid, then the wolf pack's feast lasted a full twenty hours. -(••÷[ ]÷••)-

During those grueling twenty hours in the kitchen, countless mead and food were devoured, leaving not even a single intact bone on the long table, and the last drop of broth in the wooden bowls was soaked up by bread.

In the end, the dishes seemed to require little cleaning. For the Fenrisian who had worked in the kitchen for generations, this was perhaps the only thing that brought them joy.

Of course, there's always the chance that some hungry wolves might sneak in at night to steal sausages, bacon, or even wake the cooks from their sleep, forcing them to work overtime.

Who knows? At least Bjorn thinks it's quite possible.

In a thoughtful tone, Lone Wolf gave his assessment of the banquet—which could perhaps be called an assessment.

"Although I think they still go out and mess up the kitchen in the middle of the night, they usually don't have this much of an appetite when they're at the table."

His words drew a strange look from Sevatar, who was standing nearby, and also made him chuckle.

"The Space Wolves has no appetite? Don't make me laugh, Bjorn."

Lone Wolf glanced at him, shook his head, and replied to Sevatar in an unusually calm tone, "No, you didn't understand me. They do eat like they're starving, but there's a condition."

"What? Are you being picky? Eternal Night, huh? That's certainly news."

"That's true."

"Oh?" Sevatar raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to hear more."

"Ha, a perfectly roasted moose or sea monster is certainly worth fighting over, but roasted Orks meat is a different story. And each of them has eaten Orks at least once; they were very gentlemanly back then."

After he finished speaking, he grinned and began to openly mock—or rather, boast—his juniors.

Sevatar remained unmoved, even directly exposing the old wolf's true feelings hidden behind his words and smile.

"Don't try that on us, Bjorn. You'd better not pull this 'fighting despite insufficient supplies' charade in front of our instructors."

Bjorn shook his head and asked, "The shortage of supplies is a fact, and so is the continued fighting. So why should these two things combined be considered my little trick?"

"You know perfectly well when we're leaving, instructor."

After finishing speaking, Sevatar turned around and asked Karyl, who was standing next to him, as if he couldn't wait to do so.

As the unseen protagonist in their conversation, the "instructor" himself only offered an ambiguous smile.

He knew he didn't actually need to give an answer. Sevatar didn't really want to leave; he was just joking with Bjorn in his own way.

Now, looking across the entire galaxy, there are probably very few people who can get along with him like this. At least, Karyl himself is not among them.

He was not Jago Sevatarion's friend, never had been. But a person always needs friends, however many or few, for friends can always provide some support.

Therefore, Karyl simply turned and walked away—he couldn't be bothered to stay any longer and let Bjorn and Sevatar use him as a dagger and shield in their conversation. He knew perfectly well what tricks they were playing and what kind of show they were putting on.

How the lone wolf and the abandoned spend the rest of the day is their own business, just like Karyl, who also has his own things to do.

The pack's only stronghold is now open to him, and although Bjorn says he can go anywhere, Karyl still maintains a sense of propriety.

Some things can only be rightfully held in one's hands if one bears the corresponding responsibilities or costs, just like a knife; without the awareness to kill, no blade can be considered sharp.

He quietly entered the darkness and found Ahzek Ahriman writing furiously inside a tower that stretched outwards.

The blind man was still wearing his thick cotton-padded coat, sitting behind a wooden table, engrossed in writing. The tower was probably built later, and its main materials were stone and wood, without any steel mixed in.

This was completely different from the style of the Fang itself, and the decor of this only room was also far from what the wolves preferred. There was only a table, a chair, and a bed, and then the room was filled with books.

Judging from their identical binding style, these books are all works by Ahzek Ahriman himself.

Karyl silently appeared and tapped the stone wall. In the flickering light of the animal oil torches on the wall, Ahzek Ahriman unsurprisingly stopped writing. He turned around, his face, usually filled with melancholy and weariness, now showing only calm.

I knew you would come.

Karyl looked at him, reached into a stack of books and picked one up. It had a bright red cover, no title, and the cover was made of animal hide. The spine was very stiff and looked like a mixture of materials.

"May I read it?" he asked. "I'm very interested in the stories you've recorded."

"Of course, these are stories meant to be told and recounted. But if you're genuinely interested, and not just looking for a topic of conversation, I suggest you wait a moment."

"The books I have in my room are all stories from recent centuries. Although they aren't particularly connected, it's natural to start reading a series from the beginning, don't you think?"

Karyl smiled, and as before, he did not object to the honorific he insisted on using.

He simply said, "No need, I'm too weak to do so. I'm leaving Fenris tomorrow, and with only one day left, I can't finish reading all these wonderful stories."

"Not a good story," Ahzek Ahriman said. "Just a blind man trying to write down everything he hears."

Karyl glanced at him, then lowered his head. He turned to the first page of the book in his hand and saw a somewhat familiar name. He had clinked glasses with this person more than once at the banquet just now.

Logan Grimner?

"This alpha wolf was jointly appointed by the Lion El'Jonson and the Wolf King," Ahzek Ahriman immediately continued. "He served for four and a half centuries, with numerous military exploits and unparalleled loyalty."

Karyl was silent for a few seconds, then looked up from the book he had barely read for five seconds and repeated Ahzek Ahriman's words.

"The Lion El'Jonson and the Wolf King?"

"Yes, the Lion El'Jonson and the Wolf King." The blind man nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "Everyone believes Russ is dead, but according to the ancient legends of the Fenrisian, the dead have merely entered an eternal winter."

"Sooner or later, he will meet the wolves again on some winter day. And our galaxy has been in perpetual winter since ten thousand years ago, so Russ can continue to influence his offspring in his own way."

"I know about meeting again next winter, but..." Karyl suddenly stopped speaking, his brow furrowing before quickly relaxing.

He sighed, closed the book, and gave a self-deprecating laugh, "I'm really getting senile; how could I forget something like this?"

The blind man remained silent for a moment, then quietly uttered a phrase in Nostraman.

"The darkness in prison can change everything."

"It is time that changes everything," Karyl corrected in High Gothic. "Not the prison, the prison itself does not exist, Ahzek Ahriman."

"A concept?"

"Yes, it's the same concept. Such things are all too common in the Warp, aren't they?"

The blind man fell silent again, but showed no urge to ask further questions. The fervent thirst for knowledge that was characteristic of the Thousand Sons seemed to have vanished from him; Karyl could only read a deep sense of awe on his face.

He narrowed his eyes, deciding to change the subject before Ahzek Ahriman could actually utter any more praise.

"So, that means Lion will come to Fenris?"

"Once every century," Ahzek Ahriman composed himself and answered calmly. "He will come with the Order and conduct a sixty-five-day exchange event on Terra."

"During this time, he will wield the Spear of Russ and, as 'leader,' address some of the wolf pack's unresolved issues from the past century. For example, who accidentally killed someone, who clashed with certain departments of the Imperium, and who died under mysterious circumstances."

"Isn't it actually Russ who's making the decision?"

"I think so—in fact, the wolves know this too. Their sense of smell doesn't lie; once they step onto Fenris and hold the Spear of Russ, the Lion El'Jonson is no different from the Wolf King. Of course, according to Bjorn, this only applies to these sixty-five days."

Karyl nodded knowingly.

Now, he was genuinely filled with an uncontrollable curiosity about the current state of the Imperium. Although ten thousand years had passed, the Primarch had not perished, so what had they been doing during those ten thousand years?

He looked up at the wooden table behind him, where a closed window on the tower's stone wall rattled softly in the cold wind.

The reinforced glass faithfully shielded the house's occupants from the biting cold outside, and also saved the flames burning in the fireplace from going out. But the snowstorms of Fenris never cease, just like time itself, which waits for no one, not even the gods.

A thousand years

Karyl squinted, put down the book, said goodbye to Ahzek Ahriman, and turned to leave.

The door closed, and the blind man quietly lowered his head, resuming his writing at his desk. The dim light in the room transformed his posture of bending over his desk into an oil painting.

--

The Space Wolves howled.

Their voices pierced the cold wind, echoing precisely in the ears of every Night Lords, but they did not actually come. They merely stood atop a distant hill, their backs to the pale winter sun of Fenris, appearing as a hazy, shadowy mass.

In the sunlight, they howled as a farewell. Karyl tilted his head back, gazing at the sky above Fenris, listening to the howls of the Space Wolves, and slowly clenched his fists.

Since his recovery, his body has been in a new state every day. Admittedly, this is inseparable from some of his own behavior, but in the short two days he stayed in Fenris, something was quietly changing.

He lowered his head and looked thoughtfully at his arm. From the bulging veins and the slightly trembling muscles, he sensed a feeling completely different from before.

In the immediate period after his recovery, this body, which could barely be called flesh and blood, was practically no different to him than wearing unpowered Power Armour.

The entire body felt heavy and cumbersome, making even simple actions like shaking hands extremely difficult. The "artificial muscle bundle" seemed to be in a state of energy shortage, becoming extremely stiff.

At that time, every inch of his flesh and blood was telling of his pain and discomfort.

It was as if a huge person had been crammed into a tiny husk. His bones were broken, his flesh was worn away, and even his eyes were crushed into dust in their sockets.

But now things are different. Now, this body is becoming "seamlessly fitted"—a description that is utterly bizarre, but it is indeed the word that best describes Karyl's current state.

But did his power change this body, or did his humanity regain its dominance, allowing him to reclaim his human identity?

Karyl had no idea; he could only pin his hopes on the next place he was going.

He reached out and grasped a classic book from his robes.

"Konrad Curze Curze would kill me for this."

Jago Sevatarion stood beside him and spoke slowly in an extremely calm tone.

"I imagine he and the others would shove my face into the ashes of the wasteland, then drag me along, throw me into the innermost part of the Terminus Altar, and lock me up there for a thousand years."

"He said he wouldn't do that," Karyl said without looking up, a glint of moonlight in his eyes. "And he also said that if you continue spouting this nonsense, he'll send Bellros to tell stories to the wronged spirits."

Amidst the strange looks from the other four Chapter Masters, Sevatar's eye twitched noticeably.

He took a deep breath and said crisply and decisively, "I apologize."

"He accepted," Karyl said.

He finally raised his head, and the book in his hand moved without wind. There were no dark clouds in the sky, but the sunlight suddenly turned dark, and the biting cold wind suddenly stopped.

The next second, centered on where Karyl stood, the surrounding snow suddenly sank down, forming a huge crater. It was clearly visible even when looking down from the tracks.

Strangely, neither the Space Wolves on the hillside nor the Night Lords standing beside him suffered any harm.

The pages turned, the sound continuous, almost becoming a monotonous noise. Karyl closed his eyes, and this time, his thoughts sank into that dark ocean without hindrance, encountering no further obstruction.

He reached out and grasped a star.

This star is named Calth.