Zarqlan's frail body lay upon a throne carved from precious metal, his heavy head, once filled with knowledge and wisdom, tilted to one side.
All three pairs of his eyes were open, but they had long since lost their focus, staring emptily ahead.
The tall, powerful Synth radiating divine psionic power knelt beneath the throne, his cold mechanical hand holding Zarqlan's equally cold hand.
The Nameless Apostasy-er's enormous mechanical eye gazed into Zarqlan's three pairs of lifeless eyes. Then he lowered his head to look at the withered, slender hand, running his fingertips over each finger of the Saint's corpse.
When Zarqlan's tomb was discovered and his perfectly preserved body was delivered to the Museum Celestial Pivot, [Teacher] was even more moved than the Sacred Guard Empress.
The Prophet he had followed for so many years, yet had never seen with his own eyes.
The will he had been determined to carry on, even at the cost of betraying his order's principles, now filled him with a tangle of emotions.
"Great Prophet, I have always been your child."
The Nameless Apostasy-er's broad palm enveloped Zarqlan's hand. The Saint upon the throne stared with lifeless eyes, unable to see the follower before him who had endured humiliation to shoulder his burden.
"I never forgot your teachings. I never forgot the catastrophe of Cetana. Even though I had to abandon my sacred flesh, I never once wavered in my loyalty. I have always been your disciple."
"Now, I have finally found the Leader from your prophecy, the one who can resolve everything. Everything that troubled you in life will be brought to an end in this age."
The Nameless Apostasy-er raised his head. Two fingers slid down from Zarqlan's forehead, gently closing the three pairs of eyes that had refused to shut.