He wasn't certain what had woken him up. For a moment, he felt disoriented. Something was subtly wrong, not quite the way it used to be. It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer in pain. The moment was possibly the most beautiful in his life. He could breathe without the constant feeling that his lungs were filled with molten lead. The sensations of thousands of poisoned needles in his skin and underneath had faded too.

"You're awake."

It was the same voice that commanded him to sleep earlier. He turned his head in the direction from which the sound was coming, uncertain on how to react. It had been so long since anybody had addressed him. What was he supposed to do?

"I will give you a choice, my son."

He listened in silence, shocked to release how much these words frightened him. A choice? What choices could a being like him have?

"I can give you sight."

Sight? How had it felt to be able to see? He could barely remember the time when the world had not been dark. Did he miss whatever those blurry and half-forgotten glimpses had been?

"I can make you walk again."

That made something in him stir. Walking would mean he wouldn't be trapped in one place anymore. He would finally be free.

"I can just let you live like that."

He felt his heart freeze—he did not want that, more than anything. To be like this, confined to one place, dependant on others, was far worse than any other fate he could imagine.

"Or?" he asked, uncertain—so far there didn't seem to be a choice. After all, would he really frown upon being released from his own helplessness?

"Or I can let you fade away."

For the first time, the voice lost some of its might. Was he mishearing or was there a hint of weariness in the last words? Though… what kind of a choice was this? There was something he had not been told of. Something was missing, some essential piece of the puzzle.

"You're hiding something," he whispered, noticing how oddly their voices contrasted. His was a hoarse croak, sounds flowing together into near unintelligibility. The other sounded clear and mellifluous, every sound just right.

There was a moment of silence and his unease grew, but then the voice spoke again.

"There will be a price," he said. "I can give you back what was taken away from you, but first, you will suffer more. We will need to rebuild you, operate on you repeatedly. Then you will lead my armies and fight for me. You will conquer the stars."

"My name is Horus."

The new voice sounded like the one who had offered to heal him, but not entirely. There were some notes missing. Still, there were enough similarities for him to wonder if the first voice would call Horus "my son" too.

"And you are?"

He let out a shaky breath. What was his name? It had been so long since anybody used it. The last time had been…

Screaming. Pain.

He didn't have the time to remember. Hands, large warm hands pressed against his shoulders and somebody shook him. He couldn't grasp at them and hold onto the other for comfort, he couldn't stop him from pulling away.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to remind you of anything unpleasant," Horus said, concern in his voice clearly audible. "You could change your name."

The solution was simple and yet very tempting. A new name, a new start, unconnected to what had been… Maybe he could just leave the past behind, forget it completely?

"I'd like that," he said, his lips twitching into a pale smile.

He had not believed he still knew how and yet here he was dragging the dim memory out of his mind and smiling at a man whom he just met.

"So, is there any name that you like?" Horus asked, his voice both concerned and encouraging.

He hesitated, searching for anything that sounded right. It did not prove easy. How many names did he know? He recalled some, but did he really want to call himself something his jailors and minders had used? It would be just creating another tie with his past and he wanted to reject them completely. What use there would be to have a name that would force him to recall being a thing have?

Yet, he knew no other names.

"No," he whispered. "There is no such name."

First, there was no answer. He only heard the bed creak, which indicated Horus sat down next to him and felt a hand brush away his hair from his forehead. The touch was reminiscent of what he had felt when the first voice had come to him and took him away. The way Horus's hand moved followed almost the same pattern.

"Let me help you then, brother," Horus said his voice warm and reassuring. "Together we will find something fitting."

AN

Unfortunately, Mortarion and Fulgrim refused to cooperate and I have to rewrite Less Perfect III. In the meantime, have some more of the Unknown Primarch.