The God-Emperor Gives the Order

Each time they failed, the Adeptus Custodes would throw them out of the palace.

It wasn't a cruel way of throwing them away; it was the kind of throwing that said, "You should all go home now."

Holding him by the collar with one hand and supporting his buttocks with the other, he gave a gentle flick, tracing a graceful parabola through the air before landing steadily in the square outside the palace.

It didn't hurt when I landed, not even my butt hurt.

But my heart aches.

The Adeptus Custodes were also helpless.

They couldn't kill him, they couldn't out-argue him, and they couldn't drive him away.

They are the Emperor's sharp blade, humanity's shield, and the Imperium's last line of defense.

They can tear demons apart with their bare hands, kick Titans with their feet, and fight their way in and out of Warp warp.

But faced with this group of Eldar crying and shouting for an audience with the God-King, they couldn't even draw their swords.

"Can't you guys just shut up for a few days?"

A member of the Adeptus Custodes squatted at the palace gate, his hands behind his head, his voice filled with exhaustion.

Simply inspecting the palace wouldn't tire him out.

But every time he saw the heretics he couldn't kill or fight, it left him feeling completely exhausted.

The Eldar stood before him in neat rows, each holding a sign.

Some signs read "Please, please," some read "Just one look," and some read "I'd wash your socks for a year."

The Adeptus Custodes glanced at the "Wash Socks" sign and his lips twitched.

"No." His voice remained firm.

"Just one glance," the leader of the Eldar said, his voice trembling. "Just one glance from afar is enough."

The Adeptus Custodes remained silent.

He turned his head and looked through the palace gates toward the side hall deep inside.

The windows of the side hall were open, and the pale gold curtains swayed gently in the breeze.

Behind the curtains, a white figure could be vaguely seen, holding a cup of black tea and looking down at a book.

His profile was bathed in a soft golden light, serene and composed.

Suddenly, a voice from the the Warp reached the ears of the Adeptus Custodes.

The Adeptus Custodes ' expressions shifted repeatedly, as if they wanted to offer advice but were too embarrassed to speak.

In the end, he could only nod helplessly, silently replying in his heart, "Be cautious of your command."

The Adeptus Custodes turned back and looked at the Eldar.

Their eyes were fixed on the window, tears welling in their eyes, yet smiles lingering on their lips.

The look of bliss on the faces of the guards, who seemed to say "even if we can't get in, it's worth it just to see the window," made the Adeptus Custodes ' throats tighten.

"Ten minutes," he said. "Only ten minutes. No noise, no approaching, no using Psionic Energy. Leave after you're done."

The Eldar was stunned for a moment.

Then, their tears fell at the same time.

It wasn't a loud, wailing cry; it was a quiet, silent tear that slid down from the corner of the eye, filled with relief and gratitude.

They lined up and entered the palace gates one by one, their steps light, as if afraid of waking something.

They stood outside the window of the side hall, looking through the pale gold curtains at the figure inside reading a book.

No one spoke.

No one uses Psionic Energy.

No one tried to take even half a step closer.

They just watched.

Ten minutes later, they lined up and left quietly.

The Adeptus Custodes stood at the gate, watching their departing figures, watching their tears be scattered by the night wind, watching their heavy footsteps become light.

He suddenly realized that these Eldar weren't so bad after all.

The next day, new Eldar arrived.

The Adeptus Custodes sighed, walked to the door, leaned against the doorframe, and looked at the group of Eldar holding signs, standing in neat rows, their eyes sparkling.

"Same rules as always," he said. "Ten minutes. No noise, no approaching, no using Psionic Energy."

The Eldar nodded in unison.

The Adeptus Custodes stepped aside, clearing the doorway.

The corners of his mouth, without him even noticing, had subtly turned up in a smile.

Asuryan felt that the worst decisions she had ever made in her life were not failing to stop the Eldar from falling into depravity, not having her divine body shattered by Slaanesh, and not agreeing to Guilliman's offer to come to Terra for tea.

Instead of staying in the Warp, he chose to use Psionic Energy projection to meet with all the Eldar at once.

He is now sitting on a chair in a side hall, with a long line of people in front of him.

The procession stretched from the entrance of the side hall all the way to the square outside the palace, winding and twisting like a colorful snake.

The Eldar wore their most magnificent clothes, some even unearthing heirlooms from the depths of the Webway of the Universe—glowing gowns woven from spirit crystals that looked like moving nebulae when worn.

Their eyes were filled with tears, their lips curved into smiles, and their hands were clasped together, as if they were on a pilgrimage.

"Next."

Asuryan's voice was gentle, her smile was appropriate, and her posture was elegant.

His back was ramrod straight, and his platinum-gold cloak spread out behind him like an unfolding scroll.

He reached out his right hand, grasped the hand of the Eldar in front of him, and gently shook it.

"Your soul is now connected to mine." His voice was like a cloud drifting in from the horizon. "As long as you offer sincere worship, you will not be devoured by Slaanesh. Your soul will not be sucked away. Go in peace."

Tears welled up in the Eldar's eyes, and he knelt on the ground, hugging Asuryan's legs and crying for a long time.

Two Adeptus Custodes came up and dragged him away.

"Next."

Another one.

The handshake was exactly the same, the smiles were exactly the same, and not a single word of the lines was changed.

"Your soul is now connected to mine. As long as you offer sincere worship, you will not be devoured by Slaanesh, nor will your soul be sucked away. Go in peace."

Another one.

Another one.

Another one.

Asuryan's smile froze.

He felt that the corners of his mouth no longer belonged to him; the curve seemed to be glued to his face, and he couldn't take it off no matter how hard he tried.

His right hand was numb; every finger felt like it was filled with lead. He had repeated the three movements of raising, clenching, and releasing thousands of times, and it had become muscle memory.

"Next."

He glanced out the window.

It was already dark.

He remembered that when the Eldar arrived this morning, the sun had just risen in the east.

Now, the moon has gone through two cycles.

He finally shook hands with the last Eldar.

The last Eldar was a child, so small that he didn't even reach Asuryan's knees.

He stood on tiptoe, stretching his little hand out in front of Asuryan, his big purple eyes full of expectation.

Asuryan bent down and gently squeezed the chubby little hand.

A smile bloomed on the child's face, and he skipped and hopped away.

The door to the side hall was finally closed.

Asuryan slumped in the chair, his platinum cloak crumpled under his weight.

He reached out and unbuttoned the top button of his collar, loosening the silk tie that had been soaked in the spiritual spring and exuded a faint fragrance.

His hair was disheveled, with a few strands of silvery-white hair escaping from the hairspray and hanging down in front of his forehead.

His face, that eternally gentle, eternally composed, eternally warm and welcoming face, now seemed to convey two words: "I'm tired."

"Old friend," his voice was hoarse, like a traveler who had walked in the desert for three days and three nights without water, "Do you know how many hands I shook today?"

The Emperor lay on his Golden Throne, offering no reply.

But Asuryan couldn't sense that something was glowing behind those closed eyes.