The Flower Stamp of Life

The Garden of Nurgle of the Imperial Palace have never been so lively.

It's not because there are too many people.

There were very few people, only two.

But beneath every inch of the Garden of Nurgle, behind every shrub, and in the cracks of every stone brick, lies hidden gold.

The gold of the Adeptus Custodes.

Not one or two, not dozens, but hundreds.

They huddled among the rose bushes, crouched at the bottom of the fountain, pressed themselves against the palace walls, and even buried themselves in the soil. Only their eyes were visible, peering through the gaps in the leaves, fixed intently on the two figures strolling in the Garden of Nurgle.

Xenos. The Eldar's Xenos.

Moreover, he is a god of the Eldar.

The Adeptus Custodes ' right hands rested on their sword hilts, their knuckles white, each finger taut like a fully drawn bowstring.

Their breathing was reduced to a minimum, and their heartbeats were filtered into silence through the circulatory system of their Power Armour.

Their gaze was like that of a hawk, a venomous snake, or a hunter waiting in the dark for its prey to let its guard down.

As long as those two heretics commit any blasphemous act--

Even just glancing in the direction of the Golden Throne, even just reaching out to touch a flower one shouldn't, even just letting out a cold smirk that says, "This place is nothing special"—

They would spring forth from the grass, burst from the soil, and leap from the pool.

Hundreds of longswords were drawn simultaneously, hundreds of golden sword lights streaked across the void in the same second, and hundreds of shouts of "For the Emperor!" rang out at the same instant.

Then, remind them.

This is the duty of the Adeptus Custodes. It is the Emperor's command. It is the highest priority etched into their very being, stronger than any faith.

The Master of Mankind has decreed: the Eldar are now allies.

The Adeptus Custodes are the loyal servants of the Master of Mankind of Master of Mankind. They obey his commands completely, and they will continue to do so even if their current actions contradict their previous beliefs.

The underlying code is paramount.

So they could only hide in the mud and keep watching.

Black buried himself under a clump of roses at the Garden of Nurgle entrance, the thorns piercing the back of his neck, mud seeping into the gaps in his Power Armour.

He remained motionless, not even blinking.

His gaze pierced through the gaps in the petals and landed on the Eldar woman in the white robe who was bending over to look at the flowers.

Isha, the goddess of life.

His eyes held no appreciation, only scrutiny.

He was calculating how many seconds it would take her to reach for the flowers, the trajectory of her bending over and straightening up, and how many fractions of a second it would take him to dart away from the rose bush if she suddenly attacked.

The answer is 0.3 seconds.

He was very satisfied with himself.

"This plant truly has a long history."

Isha bent down, reached out, and gently plucked a flower.

It was a rose. Red, with slightly yellowed edges on its petals, marks left by the sandstorms of Terra.

It lacks the vibrant beauty of the flowers in the Eldar Garden of Nurgle, and the flawless perfection sculpted by Psionic Energy, but it possesses something more ancient, profound, and reassuring.

Vitality is not the kind that is forced, flamboyant, and seems to want to wear the words "I am strong" on its sleeve, but rather the kind of silent vitality that is rooted deep in the soil, that has weathered countless storms yet still blooms every spring.

The flower trembled slightly in her palm the moment Isha's fingers touched the petal.

Then, it began to grow.

It's not the exaggerated kind of sudden, rapid rise, but rather a slow, unhurried, and leisurely unfolding, as if time has been slowed down several times over.

The edges of the petals turned from yellowish-brown to crimson, and new buds sprouted from the base of the calyx, swaying gently in the air like a baby's outstretched fingers.

The roots emerge from the base of the flower, fine and white, twining, intertwining, and extending in Isha's palm.

She knelt down and replanted the rose with its new roots back into the soil.

He used his hands. He didn't use Psionic Energy or authority; he simply dug a small hole with his fingers, buried the roots in it, and then compacted the soil.

"The plants of Old Terra." Her voice was soft, tinged with nostalgia, "As if they still retain the vitality of the Old Ones times."

Yvraine stood behind her, her hands clasped in front of her, her posture respectful and composed.

Her hair was braided into a long braid that hung down her back, with a silver bell tied to the end. When the breeze blew, it made a soft, raindrop-like sound.

"It really brings back memories." Isha stood up, brushed the dirt off her hands, and gazed into the depths of the Garden of Nurgle at the flowers swaying in the wind. "The plants the Eldar grow now are all too vibrant. They lack that vigorous vitality."

Yvraine nodded.

"Should we carve out a piece of land in Eldar to grow Old Terra plants?" Her tone was serious, as if she were proposing a feasible plan.

Isha turned her head and looked at her.

Those blue eyes held a kind of helpless expression, as if to say, "Why are you so honest, kid?"

"You didn't learn anything from that human Lord Regent at all." Her tone wasn't harsh, but every word sounded like an elder advising a junior. "I've heard you've lived in Macragge for a long time."

Yvraine's ears turned red again.

"Even if I were in that Garden of Nurgle, I would know that the human Lord Regent once planned to build a Second Imperium in Macragge," Isha continued, her tone light. "That's the most beautiful place in the entire Imperium of Man besides Terra. And recently, that Lord Regent might have even surpassed Terra in development there."

Yvraine's face turned even redder.

"Actually... we only stayed there for a short while." Her voice trailed off. "Besides, we maintained some good social relationships."

Isha's lips curled up slightly.

"Oh. Good social relationships."

When she repeated the word, her tone was as if she were savoring a dish she had never tasted before. It wasn't sarcasm or teasing, but a genuine seriousness as she carefully considered the meaning of the word.

"What beautiful words." Her voice held a touch of wistfulness. "This hasn't been seen in Eldar history for a long time. I love this pure emotion. It's so peaceful yet powerful in the Warp. As fresh as this flower."

She picked another flower and gently sniffed it.

The flower continued to grow in her hand, its petals becoming more vibrant, its color changing from crimson to deep red, and from deep red to a rich, almost purple, velvety hue.

The fragrance of flowers filled the air; it wasn't a pungent, overpowering scent, but rather a subtle, sweet aroma, like diluted honey.

Yvraine took a deep breath.

She sensed it. Not the fragrance, but the warm and peaceful Psionic Energy emanating from Isha.

The Psionic Energy flowed through her body, soothing her tense nerves, which had never truly relaxed due to being in a state of constant readiness.

"So," Isha placed the flowers in her hand into Yvraine's braid, took a step back, and examined her closely, "We should establish diplomatic relations with him."

Yvraine paused for a moment.

"We have already established diplomatic relations with them."

"No, I'm not talking about establishing diplomatic relations." Isha shook her head, a hint of "you're still too young" in her blue eyes.

"What I'm saying is, humans and the Eldar might eventually merge into one race."