AN: I may have to keep puttign the authors notes up here from now on if I keep this up… I will be the first to admit that I didn't expect writing the last part of this chapter, but, all things considered, I'm glad I wrote it the way I did.

[-]

985.M41 The Emperor's Boot

Jarod sat on his bed, arms crossed and his face scrunched up in a frown. To many people, it would seem as though he was contemplating something, trying to answer a difficult question, or being frustrated with something. To any trained psyker, however, they would see the mass of warp energy that was trying so desperately to enter Jarod's mind. They would see the malignant intent of Tzeentch trying to observe, as well as the blue tendrils of eldritch energy surrounding him.

Within his own mind, Jarod stared the manifestation of the crimson Daemon prince, Magnus the Red. His crimson mane was held back by a golden crown. Red and blue feathered wings sprouted from his back, and blue tendrils of energy wrapped themselves around his body.

The tension in the room was so thick it was visible - an easy thing to do in the warp - as the two stared each other down.

"So, I see you've decided to try and contact me. Why aren't I surprised."

"It seems you're not ignorant of the forces pulling the strings. Quite a step above your other allies."

"It helps that I'm not an idiot and I don't read what passes for news in this galaxy… Uncle."

Both of them swore they could hear a record scratch.

"... Great uncle? Granduncle? Grunkle? Yes, that will do, Grunkle it is."

For what seemed like a full minute, neither of them said anything.

"I'm going to regret talking to you aren't I?" the Primarch noted.

Jarod shrugged, "Probably. More of a yes and a no."

Magnus sighed, "Wait a minute, uncle? Since when? Aren't you a Sensei, a son of the Emperor, my half-brother?"

"It's Grunkle. Since I was born? Yes, I guess, and Sensei are the descendants of the Emperor be they his children, grandchildren, and so on."

"If that is the case… I do suppose uncle-"

"Grunkle."

"- would be the correct term. Be that as it may, my reason for contacting you remain unchanged. You were able to beat an army of Khorne's followers into submission almost on you're own, you are anathema to chaos, and you are quite familiar with the dark gods if Tzeentch's snickering is anything to go by."

Jarod hummed, "Yeah, most of that's true. The squid was actually the one that removed whatever was keeping me from using my abilities, much to his own detriment. Regardless, What do you want with me?"

"I am here to make you an offer, as well as to warn you of something. To do either of those things, however, would require you to travel to the daemon world that I am currently residing on." The daemon primarch explained.

"And what's to say you won't just blow my ships to pieces once we get within range?" he asked, "Tzeentch is not above lying, and I doubt you are above it either."

The energy around Magnus seemed to bristle, "I will have you know that I do not lie! I have nothing to gain by doing so, and you have everything to gain by accepting my offer!"

Jarod chuckled, "Fine, I'll hear you out at least. What do you want, and what will you give me in return?"

"I, unfortunately, cannot say much, as my consciousness is limited in contacting you over such a distance. Even now the connection is weakening," He explained, raising his now transparent hand, "I will not be able to explain much beyond the fact that I can break the lock on your partner's power, and possibly more."

Jarod's train of thought came to an instant halt, only made worse by the fact that Magnus' form was beginning to fade, "Wait! What are you talking about!? What do you mean you can unlock his power!"

Magnus laughed as he continued to fade, "Come to the coordinates I have given you, and you shall have your answer." He said, before finally slipping away.

Jarod's eyes snapped open as he cursed, slamming his fist into the bed. He was desperate to know what Magnus had been talking about, how he could possibly give Michael full use of his abilities. Lucius' explanation of Michael using his abilities subconsciously had given Jarod some hope that he could be close to unlocking them on his own, but still… if Magnus could unlock his powers immediately, then it might be worth going to the coordinates that were burned into his mind.

[-]

Matthias tapped his foot as he waited for his apprentice to arrive. He knew that Kiara had gone to watch whatever duel had been set up between the Exarch and Michael, but he began to wonder what was taking them so long.

When Kiara came running around the corner of the building carrying her sack of projects and studying material, it became clear she didn't think it would take that long either.

"I'm sorry I'm late! Da- Michael, finally beat the Exarch in a duel!"

Matthias' brow raised at Kiara's sentence, for multiple reasons. It was not the first time she had almost called Michael her father, and whether she realized it or not, she had actually slipped up a handful of times and outright called him 'dad' in conversation. She was far more careful about it when talking with Michael, but she seemed to lose that filter when speaking with Matthias.

It was very likely that she was nervous Michael wouldn't accept it. A strange thought for a child her age to have, but Matthias filed the oddity under 'Eldar Oddities', a mental file that had grown quite large in the last year. Even so, Matthias wondered just when she might slip up around Michael.

The man had a bleeding heart, and would most definitely not reject her, that much Matthias knew. He wondered if he should try to speed the process along, but decided against it. They would sort it out in time.

The second part of her sentence was what surprised him. Michael managing to beat the Exarch in melee combat was something that Matthias hadn't considered possible, Eldar biology was simply too agile for a human to keep up with. And yet, here Kiara claimed that he had actually beaten her.

"He actually won?" the techpriest asked curiously.

Kiara nodded happily, "He did! She was so surprised she totally collapsed right into his arms!" She said with a giggle, "He took her back to our house, she's sleeping there now."

Matthias laughed, 'bold move,'he thought to himself.

"Well, if you're quite done with that, I do believe the fabricators need their maintenance done," Matthias said with a grin.

At this, Kiara grimaced before shuffling onto the transport headed to the Emperor's Boot. Once onboard, Matthias began instructing her on how to repair and maintain the fabricators, among other things. Once they finished maintenance, they moved on to study work, reconstruction, and a number of other aspects of the Mechanicus teachings.

Kiara herself held a natural talent for such things, learning at a faster rate than even Matthias himself had when he was an acolyte. It might have been her age, or her species, but Matthias would be the last person to complain about such things.

Finally, toward the end of the day, they approached Matthias' personal project.

"Wow…" Kiara muttered, staring up at the Astartes battle-plate. The Armor itself had been almost completely repaired, save for the arm that had been destroyed beyond repair. If Matthias had access to ample supply of ceremite and adamantium he would have replaced the thing, but alas, he would have to visit a forgeworld to gain access to such materials.

"It is a marvelous sight indeed. Holy Astartes wargear, designed and built to serve the Emperor's angels." Matthias explained.

Kiara took a step forward, placing a hand on the kneecap. She stared up at the chest piece, the emblazoned skull and wings peering down at her. The silver pauldron shone magnificently, reflecting the room around them.

To Kiara, it was something that she dreamed of dismantling and putting back together, just to see if she could understand how it functioned.

"It's amazing," she uttered, "it's rough, like all human tech, but it's more than that."

Matthias looked down at her with a puzzled expression, "What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"Well, everything the bonesingers and artisans make is curved, smooth, and something that expresses the old ways of the Aeldari, the emotion, the… hubris, hiding the inner workings that aren't nearly as beautiful as the outside shell," she explained, "But, this, and almost everything else you've shown and taught me… it's the complete opposite. Your technology has nothing to hide, the machine spirits bear their rough, inelegant appearance with pride. It is beauty all to its own."

Matthias' heart swelled with pride of his own. Her explanation, far wiser than her age should allow her to be, was exactly what he had strived to teach her. He'd known from experience that Eldar technology had surpassed mankind's on many fronts, but that did not make it obsolete, or even inferior. Kiara recognized that and was in awe of such a thing.

"You exactly correct, Kiara. It is a mirror of both Mankind and the Aeldari. Your race has had eons to grow, develop, invent, and explore. At the height of their empire, the Aeldari believed there had learned all there was to know." He carefully refused to mention their fall, "But, mankind has only lived a fraction of that time. We are a much younger race, still learning. The machine god and the Omnissiah may guide us, but we will always have so much more to learn. Where the Eldar are refined and polished, we are rough and uncut."

Kiara nodded in understanding, "That does not diminish your value, it only means you must grow to fit your potential."

Matthias smiled, "Kiara, I believe you are the first of your race to truly understand such a concept. It is my honor for you to be my apprentice, to be one of the few to bridge the gap between our kind."

Kiara grinned devilishly, "Well, I hope you don't mind what I built in my free time." she said, rushing over to her bag.

Matthias' eyed her inquisitively as she opened her bag, before pulling out a device that Matthias blink in surprise. It was a data-slate, clearly of Imperial design, but when she turned it on it was clear she had programmed it to use the Aeldari language. Setting the device to the side, she pulled out the inner workings servo-skull, much to Matthias' surprise. Setting those on the ground, she pulled out what looked like a frame made from an Aeldari helmet.

She placed the servo-skull innards inside the frame, both being reworked to fit each other. Setting it on the ground a few feet away, she picked up the data-slate again and began pressing a handful of keys on it. Almost immediately, the device lit up and began floating in the air. Kiara let out a cheer of victory.

"It works!" she exclaimed, watching as her piece of tech-heresy approached Matthias.

Matthias leaned back slightly as the thing floated a few inches from his face before it backed up to about half a meter. The device hummed, and Matthias turned around to see Kiara inputting a command of some kind. When she finished, the servo-helmet spoke.

"I am unit 1.0 belonging to Kiara. Orders requested," it said in a monotone voice.

Matthias looked at Kiara with a smile on his face, "You made this yourself?" he asked.

She beamed, "I took some of the parts you had lying around on your workstation, as well as one of the Exarch's old helmets, and made this! I also programmed a speaker inside it, as well as a text to speech program inside the data-slate. I've programmed a few lines for it to say whenever it's asked a question, or when it's given an order." She explained.

Matthias nodded in approval, "Well done Kiara! I must admit I hadn't realized you'd learned the inner workings of a servo-skull so quickly."

She tilted her head slightly, "Servo-skull?" she asked.

Matthias waved a hand, "We don't have any on this ship, unfortunately, though I suppose the Inquisitor might have one… regardless, I think it best if you ask Michael about such things."

Kiara shrugged and returned to playing with her new invention.

[-]

Salah awoke slowly, something that normally didn't happen. Usually, her alarm would wake her up at a time the Michael had described as 'unholy hours of the morning'. She sat up as best she could, her entire body aching as if she had been working for a dozen hours. She looked around the room she was in, finding that it wasn't her own. The bedsheets were an aqua-blue color and were arguably much more comfortable than her own.

The room itself was rather unremarkable, as it looked like a fairly standard living space. She wondered what exactly had happened that caused her to pass out in someone else's room, on their bed. Her armor was set off to the side of the room, piled up rather lazily. Looking down she noticed that she was wearing little more than her underwear, and she idly wondered if she had undressed herself or if someone else had. Aside from that, however, her arms and torso were covered in bruises. When she looked at her armor again, she noted the battered appearance.

She struggled to remember what had happened the day before, but couldn't figure it out. Until the door opened.

Michael quietly opened the door, "Oh! You're awake!" He said when he saw her sitting up, before immediately blushing and backing out of the room.

Salah wondered why he had done that for a millisecond, before looking down at her undressed state and letting out a uncharacteristically high-pitched 'eep!' and pulled the sheets up to cover herself. She was blushing furiously, though she was thankful Michael had the presence of mind to back out of the room.

A soft nock on the door reminded her that he was still there, "You decent?" his muffled voice asked.

"I- Yes, for now at least." She said.

The door opened again, slower, with Michael peeking around it. When he saw that she had indeed covered herself he let out a sigh of relief, "Ok, not getting castrated…" he muttered to himself.

Salah looked at him curiously, his presence jogging her memory somewhat, but not completely, "What… what happened yesterday?" she asked, hoping he had some answers.

Michael gulped, scratching the back of his head and chuckling awkwardly, "We, uh, we kinda had another spar…" he explained hesitantly, making Salah want to question him further.

"So? That… that shouldn't have done this to me…" she muttered, wincing as her shoulder cramped up a bit.

"Yeah… that's because, well, I kinda… won." Michael explained.

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. Salah stared blankly at him, trying to wrap her head around what he had just said. She was on her fifth repeat of his words in her own head when the memories began flooding in. The duel had been fierce and fast, and Salah blanched when she began to remember what had happened.

He hadn't been as fast as she was, but any of his strike's that did hit felt as if she was being hit by one of the Imperiums space marines. Looking at her armor and the bruises on her body, she realized that he couldn't be lying. She looked up him, her eyes wide and emotions running wild.

Shame, that she had lost to a human.

Pride, that he had learned from her and become her equal.

Fear, that she would never be respected by those who had witnessed the fight.

Michael saw these emotions on her features and the tears welling up in her eyes, and he quickly ran to her side and put a hand on her shoulder, "Hey, it's ok. It's just one match, nothing to cry over."

She looked him in the eye, wondering why he was trying to console her, before she realized the reason. He was compassionate. He genuinly cared for those around him, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized how he had cared for her.

This room was his. He had carried her from the arena all the way to his hab, removing her armor as to let her be more comfortable. He had ample opportunity to take advantage of her, and yet he hadn't. He'd taken Kiara, the little girl that had lost her entire family, into his own personal care, as if she were his own daughter. Whenever she insulted him, berated him, or condemned him, he took it in stride.

He was sarcastic and crass at times, but never demeaning or xenophobic like the rest of his species normally were.

Instead of calming her down, these revelations began to make her feel even worse. She had treated him like a weakling when he had shown more compassion and care than the majority of her entire race. Tears began freely flowing, and she began to sob. She didn't care that the only one in the room was a human.

Her mask, the one she had donned when she'd taken up the path of the Howling Banshee, and later as Exarch, broke.

She let her emotions run wild, but instead of the sting of a daemon's attempts to possess her, she felt a strange, white warmth. Again, this did not calm her. She was bawling her eyes out, wailing in horror and and shame at what she had done. She did not deserve the arms that had wrapped themselves around her.

This was not the first time she had come to such a realization, but the leftover hormones and emotions from her fight with Michael had broken down the walls she had put up, removed her mask, and had reverted her to her most bare, and uncovered self. She was no longer the Exarch of the Howling Banshee's. She was Salah, nothing more, nothing less.

"Shh, shh, it's ok… it's ok, everythings going to be ok." Michael uttered, trying to soothe the woman in his arms.

Realizing that he was still holding her, she tried desperately to brake his hold, succeeding in throwing him off of her and pressing her back to the wall.

"Wha-?"

"I don't deserve you!" she yelled, her voice cracking. Her mind was running at a million miles a second. She thought of how he hadn't even hesitated to save Kiara, to raise her, when she had only considered the girl as nothing more than a precious resource. He hadn't hesitated to pull her into an embrace when she was in the depths of sorrow.

"I don't deserve your compassion…"

She froze, when she felt his strong arms wrapping themselves around her again, this time with a firmer grip, "Don't you dare say that again…" he said, making her breah hitch.

He leaned back, looking her straight in the eye, "Don't ever say that you don't deserve my compassion."

She looked him in the eye, bright green meeting deep brown. Whatever doubts she had about his sincerity were shattered when she saw his eyes, filled with tears of his own ready to burst.

"But I… I…" she tried to speak, but nothing came out.

"I don't care what your excuse is, I don't care what you think you've done, as long I have ears to hear, I don't ever want to hear you say that," he said in near-perfect Aeldari.

Her eyes went wide when she heard him speak in her native language. The words, the language itself, sounded as if he was singing. Each note, each tone, was matched almost perfectly.

"But… why? I've… I've been no better to you than the servants of she-who-"

He cut her off by placing a hand over her mouth, "Don't you dare finish that sentence."

She looked into his eyes again, and again, and again. Every time she saw that unwavering conviction, the burning fire of compassion in his soul that made her feel so guilty. Despite her claims, despite every line of logic leading him to hate her, he still did everything he could to help her, to show her the care that even the Aedari didn't show for their own loved ones.

She tried to speak again, but her speech only came out in sobs, so she sat there in his arms, face buried in his shoulder while she cried.