Good Wine, Too!

Emperor's voice sounded again, this time with a faint feeling of weakness, as if it had just been fished out of the water.

"Old friend, I can hear what's in your heart. Now with my status, your inner words have no place to hide from me."

Asuryan glanced at Emperor, as if looking at an ignorant junior.

"Otherwise, why do you think you think that in your heart? With my status, I can't even control what's in my heart? You big fool."

He paused, took out a white jade wine bottle from his arms, unscrewed the lid, and the aroma of wine filled the empty hall.

"Why would you be willing to die if you were kinder to your son? Your divine nature overpowers your human nature, right?

When you saw me like that, wouldn't you be a little wary?

Do you think you are the smartest? Do you think you are the savior of mankind? Admit that you are the only collection of all Psyker in ancient times, and then what?

Look what you have saved the entire human race.

I fucking say it's better to let them stay in the era after Men of Iron Rebellion, since they will be worse off than dead anyway."

Emperor was silent.

The mummy on the throne didn't make any movement, but Asuryan could feel that those words were fermenting slowly and irreversibly in his mind.

"Thank you, old friend."

Emperor's voice finally sounded again. This time, there was no weakness or helplessness.

There is only a kind of sincerity that has been settled for thousands of years, as calm as the pebbles on the bottom of the river.

"I have realized my mistake countless times. For ten thousand years, I have done it every day, every moment. But I had no choice at the time.

My divinity has surpassed my humanity. In other words, even if I still have emotional intelligence, I can't do anything about it.

I must build Webway. Between father and son, I can only choose Webway."

Asuryan said nothing.

He just put his hand on Emperor's shoulder.

His Psionic Energy poured into Emperor's body at that moment.

The power was gentle and steady, like a tamed river, flowing along the pipe of Golden Throne and into the dry body of Emperor.

His Psionic Energy is not the golden flame of Emperor, nor the blue-gold light of Guilliman, but a pure, pale gold like moonlight.

The light flows through Emperor's meridians, spreads through his dried-up blood vessels, and takes root in his atrophied muscles.

Emperor's body began to change.

Not instantaneously, but slowly, like a dead tree blooming with spring, like a dry riverbed ushering in the first spring rain.

His skin changed from dry to plump, from gray to rosy.

His cheeks have grown from sunken to plump, his cheekbones are covered with new muscles, and the crack in his lip is healing.

In his eye sockets, the eyes that had been closed were trembling slightly, and his eyelashes cast fine shadows under the light.

Emperor took a deep breath.

It's not Psionic Energy level breathing, but real breathing that is inhaled with the lungs and has the smell of Terra air.

There was the smell of incense in the air, the smell of wax after burning candles, and the faint smell of rust emitted by Golden Throne metal surfaces that were heated.

His chest rose and fell once, then again.

His fingers were slightly bent, and his nails lightly scratched on the golden armrest, making a tiny crisp sound like the plucking of piano strings.

"Breathe the air of Terra."

His voice came out of his throat, not Psionic Energy, not the echo in his mind.

It's a real sound that comes out of the lips, with warmth and moisture.

"It's been such a long time."

Asuryan Looking at his face that had become plump again, there was something more in that face than when he was young.

Not wrinkles, but a certain texture that is calm and like the growth rings of an old tree that only those who have been soaked in time can possess.

His face was still majestic, but that majesty was no longer sharp or aggressive.

Instead, the edges and corners have been worn away, and it has become like a mountain peak that has been beaten by wind and rain for thousands of years and still stands.

"At least you still look like Emperor of Mankind." Asuryan said with a smile, "You are more dignified than when you were young."

Emperor tilted his head, those amber eyes.

It's not golden, it's amber, with a kind of warmth that has accumulated for countless years, looking at Asuryan.

He didn't speak, but the corners of his mouth were slightly raised in a smile.

Asuryan took out the white jade wine bottle from his pocket and shook it in front of Emperor.

The liquid in the wine flask made a crisp clinking sound, like some kind of invitation.

"Wine, I really haven't drunk it in ten thousand years."

Emperor's eyes lit up, and that light was not Psionic Energy, it was not divinity.

It's just a simple thing. When an old drunkard who hasn't drank for ten thousand years sees the wine, he instinctively says, "Let me have a taste of it."

Asuryan Unscrew the lid and the aroma of the wine becomes stronger.

It's not the spiciness of spirits, but a mellow, fruity and floral aroma, as sweet as aged honey.

That is the spiritual wine brewed in Eldar Gods' Garden, fermented with fruits grown in the ruins of Eldar Pantheon, and then slowly simmered in the Psionic Energy furnace for several years to obtain this treasure.

One drop can make a mortal sleep for a hundred years, but to two old people who have lived for countless years, it is just a pot of drink that tastes good.

Asuryan handed the wine bottle over, and Emperor caught it.

His fingers trembled slightly the moment they touched the wine bottle, not because of weakness, but because of the long-lost touch.

The coldness of the metal, the fine lines made by the porcelain on the palm, and the solid feeling of "someone is handing something to you".

It has been a long, long time since he took something with his own hands. For ten thousand years, all things have been placed in his hands by attendants, or directly brought to him with Psionic Energy.

No one ever handed it to him.

Emperor brought the spout of the pot to his lips, raised his head, and took a sip.

The moment the wine slipped into his throat, his brows wrinkled slightly, then relaxed.

The expression seemed like he was savoring a long-lost dish, or recalling a long-ago afternoon.

A glimmer of light flashed in his eyes, and in that light there was nostalgia, satisfaction, and a sense of relief that said, "Damn, this is what it tastes like."

"Good wine," he said.

Asuryan smiled, took the wine bottle back from Emperor, and took a sip himself.

Two old people, one sitting on the throne and the other sitting on the armrest of the throne, in the hall of Golden Throne, you and I drank from the same pot of wine.

No one spoke, but the tacit understanding was deeper than any words.