Father and Son

Most of the crew were human, slaves taken in raids. Above them were servitors, then mutants. The lower decks were filled with endless fighting and slaughter, for survival and for the chance to gain the attention of the Ruinous Powers and change their fate as slaves.

Sometimes Khayon considered his own place. Though he was respected by the Black Legion warriors and trusted by Abaddon, he did not think himself anything great. He was only a mortal.

All his dignity and reason for living had been shattered by the Horus Heresy. He had begged the Space Wolves not to fire, but all he received was a Prospero burned into ruins.

Their father, Magnus the Crimson King, had also forgotten those children swept along by the current, fantasizing about joining a greater game and gaining more illusory power.

The instinct to survive bound every struggler tightly.

As Khayon thought this, he looked at Izara and saw himself reflected in the wall of the incubation chamber.

So cold... She really looks so cold... What kind of cold must my sister have silently endured, alone and isolated?

++You have been thinking for rather too long. Is it because of Gyre?++

The synthesized voice startled Khayon from his memories. He was a very focused person; whenever he calmed down to think, he would remain motionless and forget the passage of time.

Khayon weighed his words, but in the end, he chose the simplest ones to tell Izara of Gyre's fate.

The memory core was highly capable of analyzing language. Not once had Khayon successfully concealed his emotional fluctuations before his sister.

"Gyre is dead."

++Dead? But she is a Warp creature. Banishment should be her fate.++

"Yes. She was banished back into the Warp by Horus's clone, then bound under Radavik's control. After I