The hall fell silent once more, every gaze fixed on Neos as they waited for him to recount the story of those ten thousand years apart.
Neos's gaze grew distant, as though it had pierced through time and returned to that dark, hopeless turning point.
His voice was calm, yet carried the weariness of having crossed endless ages.
"Malcador, your guess was correct." He looked first at the Sigillite. "After you left, the situation took a sharp turn for the worse. The effects of the rebellion began to show, and the galaxy gradually spiraled out of control. As for me, I was trapped upon the Golden Throne, almost unable to intervene."
He paused briefly, as if sorting through fragments of memories spanning ten thousand years, then continued. "Human faith—the immense force of thought gathered from countless prayers, despair, fear, and hope—kept battering against my consciousness. My divinity began to awaken."
The word "divinity" made everyone present hold their breath.
The Emperor truly had set foot upon that path!
"Almost." Neos's voice lowered slightly. "Just a little more, and I would have been completely consumed by that vast faith, transformed into the very concept of a 'god' shaped by humanity's collective subconscious."
Erda's face instantly turned pale.
She understood all too well what that meant—a race binding its fate to a god that existed solely through its faith, a cycle that would ultimately lead to self-destruction.
"And the price," Neos said, sweeping his gaze across the room, "would have been humanity repeating the Eldar's mistakes. Faith would become a cage, emotions and souls would become kindling, humanity's future would cease to exist, and I... would become a new Chaos God."
The hall fell deathly silent.
The mere thought of that dreadful future sent chills into their bones.
"Thus, I forcibly suppressed