Nine days.
Kael let out a soft sigh and sat in silence in one of the rooms aboard The Emperor's Dream.
The room belonged to him for the time being, and from certain small details, he could sense the ship's owner's attitude toward it.
In other words, this room would likely belong to Kael Lohars forever.
But he did not want it.
It was not merely a matter of decoration. That was not the issue.
He truly disliked the extravagance here, and the things hidden behind every detail, but the real reason he did not want it lay in what this ship represented.
This was the Emperor's ship.
And he certainly would not remain aboard it in the future.
Yet that gave rise to a new problem.
Of course, he would join the Eighth Legion—whether it was Konrad Curze or the Night Haunter, they would both make sure that happened.
But that was precisely the problem.
In what capacity was he supposed to join the Eighth Legion?
Only Astartes could be said to "join" a Legion—these men had undergone nineteen surgeries and endured countless hardships before finally standing before their primarch.
They were soldiers. They had ranks. And what did Kael have?
He sat at the desk with an odd expression, when a phrase suddenly sprang into his mind.
"Partner."
Was that how I'm supposed to introduce myself to them?
And my height seems to be a problem too. A giant over four meters tall who isn't a primarch—what exactly is that supposed to be?
He frowned. An old saying went: accepting some things meant giving up others.
He had accepted the gradual changes to his body, and had even accelerated the process. Naturally, he could no longer easily return to how he had once been.
At least not physically.