Imotekh thought he couldn't be angrier at Szarekh. He was wrong.

What aroused his ire to unfathomable levels was when he received a canned FTL message from the Silent King. Imotekh was glad it was pre-recorded. If it had been a two-way FTL connection he'd have exploded on Szarekh, without question. As it was, it was painful enough to endure Szarekh's lecture!

Imotekh, I know you may resent my return, but it is time to bring unity to the necron race. No, just no. Imotekh knew what the Maynarkh Dynasty had done to the Orpheus sector of the Imperium. He had nothing in common with those butchers. I have created the Pariah Nexus to bring an end to the greatest threats to our race, Chaos and the Tyranids. I intend to extend it across the galaxy… Szarekh detailed his plan, in general terms, and Imotekh listened. The Silent King intended to enforce the Pariah Nexus across the entire galaxy and hold it in place until Chaos was completely extinguished and the Tyranids were all dead. While that, in itself, was commendable Imotekh knew rather more about such things than Szarekh thought.

"That would annihilate all organic life," he growled, knowing Szarekh would not be able to hear him. "You fool! You eternal fool! Every time, you make the same mistake!" Imotekh started to pace, no longer listening to the message. It was just foolishness anyway, assurances of his rank and empire in Szarekh's new Dynasty. "You solve one problem at the expense of a much greater one! Our race was on the edge of self-destruction so you declared war on the Old Ones. But then we were at war with the Old Ones! We LOST the war with the Old Ones, were on the edge of self-destruction again, so you found the C'Tan and allied with them! But then we were allied with the C'TAN!" That was, perhaps, the most understandable of Szarekh's mistakes. The first one they'd met was the Deceiver. But Imotekh was in no mood to be charitable. "Then, to preserve your own life – DO NOT DENY IT, you cretin, you couldn't stand the thought of someone else leading us – you sold us in the worst way imaginable. You justified it I'm sure, with the thought that our race would finally achieve the immortality we deserved. But then we were soulless, dead machines, suffering in a way we could not even fully comprehend!"

"And now!" Imotekh stopped in front of the frozen image, the message having reached the end. "You propose to destroy the Immaterium. Where do you think souls come from Szarekh?!" Was he actually this moronic or did he have some addlepated idea that he could kindle a new Immaterium after Chaos was extinguished? If so, HOW, with all organic life destroyed? "You would kill everyone in my Empire!" Szarekh didn't know that or he wouldn't have sent this message. But their resouling meant that every necron in the Sautekh empire with a soul would react very negatively to the extension of the Pariah nexus. Imotekh had heard of the Stilling, the strange phenomena where humans became listless and stopped moving, lying on the ground until they died. It affected lesser lifeforms as well, presumable even down to microorganisms. Could necrons with souls survive it? They didn't need to eat and lying on the ground could not actually kill them, but Imotekh wasn't sure and didn't really want to test it. "Even if that were not the case, how do you propose to give us physical bodies without souls? You incompetent fool, that is nothing but the organic version of what we have now!" Did Szarekh not understand the importance of a soul? Perhaps he didn't.

Imotekh paused in his ranting, glaring at the projection balefully. Truthfully, he no longer even wanted an organic body. This effort to cure the Flayer virus via souls had shown Imotekh what he believed to be a fundamental truth that Szarekh had missed… life was truly defined by the presence of a soul. If you had one, you were alive, if you did not, you were dead.

(that did not mean that Pariahs were dead. They had souls, just negatively charged ones)

Imotekh really thought that Szarekh did not understand that. Perhaps he thought the matter of the soul was metaphysical garbage. Understandable, Imotekh knew that the Sautekh had lucked into someone who was a natural soul healer, an incredibly rare gift even for the eldar. But that, along with the insight into souls that the Spear of Ancients provided, had allowed Manric and the humans of Hope to become expert in the manipulation of souls. Only the aeldari were better.

So from the best of intentions, Szarekh was on the brink of making another horrendous mistake and damning them to an eternity of soulless existence. As mechanical beings or organics, it hardly mattered and Imotekh uttered a foul oath before considering what to do.

He couldn't respond with the blistering denunciation he wanted to. Imotekh had his eyes on Charnovokh and Nihilakh and fully intended to add their forces to his strength. He also wanted eldar, if possible, and a peace treaty with the Imperium. Imotekh also intended to provide some aide to the Imperium, specifically to help them against the Pariah Nexus… positively charged Blackstone, ships made of nothing else, could help them penetrate the deadly miasma that was the lack of the Warp.

All of this required time and Imotekh internally cursed, replaying Szarekh's message and trying to get some idea of how advanced HIS plans were. It didn't really give him much of a hint and Imotekh drummed his fingers against his staff as he thought. He was not a diplomat and needed the help of someone with such skills. If this had been a member of a xenos race, he'd have selected Manric, but with the Silent King he should look to his own. And with his memories of the Flesh Times returned, Imotekh knew who.

Ibianza, my daughter, come to me. I require your service. Imotekh remember how brilliant she had been with words, as a living female. How good she had been with the court, interacting easily with much higher nobles and finding great favor. She had made a very good marriage, to a very high noble. Such a shame that her only child had died and then biotransference had come. Imotekh shook that thought away with only the tiniest hint of regret. He needed her abilities with words, now.

Ibianza reported as ordered and to Imotekh's pleasure, he saw she had altered her appearance. She had always worn a silver cowl and a cloak of plaques, but now the cowl was gold and the plaques were also interspersed with gold. Her shoulders had also been marked with gold, a permanent adornment compared to the cowl and plaques, which could be removed.

"Please watch this," Imotekh said before playing the message. Ibianza watched silently and intently, taking in every nuance.

"I see… you want help crafting a response, father?" Ah, she remembered him, she truly did.

"Yes. In particular, I want to cozen his timeline out of him." It might be very difficult for him. Ibianza could make a script but then he would need to act it out, and Imotekh was not an actor. Well, they could do it as many times as necessary to make it serviceable. It really had been a mistake on Szarekh's part, not doing a full two-way FTL link. He'd probably wanted to avoid Imotekh's sharp tongue, not guessing how much further it went than that. "I want to seem reluctant but willing to consider it, if he gives me more information." Szarekh was unwary, for now at least. That would change but Imotekh would keep him ignorant as long as possible. Ibianza pulled out a tablet and began composing a missive, often pausing to think and Imotekh waited patiently.

He was confident in his daughter's wisdom.

With a kind of fascination, Trazyn experienced the daily life of a pwi-necron on Luminous.

Day began with quiet prayers. Calder's quarters had been gone, given to someone else, and his meager possessions returned to his family. He'd managed to acquire a small cross from the church, which he promised to return after he bought one for himself in the town. Apparently, this religion was starting to catch on and crosses were not that hard to find.

Calder knelt in front of the cross and placed his hands together before murmuring a short prayer.

/Oh lord, God in Heaven, I thank you for another day/
/I have been lost but I am found/
/Returned to serve you once more/
/I do not know how but I accept this grace/
/May my works upon this world be favorable in your sight/

Trazyn recorded that, noting as he did that it was clearly not a standardized prayer. That was not unusual for humans conducting their personal prayers, rather than the ones said in their places of worship. Then he left his quarters to begin the serious business of lounging around.

That was how Trazyn thought of it, at least, although he knew it was a bit unfair. Necron Warriors, Immortals and Lychguard all spent plenty of time just standing around and looking fierce, waiting for a situation that called for them. The pwi-necrons were much the same, but with the addition of inane chatter. Still, for someone like Trazyn, who was endlessly at work – admittedly, doing what he loved – it was a bit strange.

His host and his best friend spent the morning leaning against a wall, watching the world go by. In particular, they watched the food delivery. Burly young humans carried in bags and boxes, using small trolleys. Trazyn wondered for a moment why they didn't help – it would have been far more efficient – but then mentally answered his own question. That would put these humans out of work or at least have their hours reduced, so they wouldn't welcome the help, not at all.

"The shipment… I'm on KP duty," Loki said and Calder looked at him in surprise. Trazyn could feel the emotion in his mind, sharing it as he was.

"KP duty? What did you do?" Ah, a punishment. What did KP stand for though, and what did it entail?

"Um, I kind of, I kind of – you know, I don't want to talk about it." Calder stared intently and Loki looked away. "You weren't here and I didn't care." That was very soft.

"Oh… you did something stupid against the orks?" Calder said carefully and Loki looked away again. "Alright, I see. Did you want some help if they let me?"

"Sure, they'll probably let you, I usually just peel potatoes and chop up the veggies and things." That sounded boring but productive.

The entire day followed the theme of boring but productive. After lazing around in the sun for a while, one of the humans asked if they wanted to work on the gardens. Given a bit of direction, the pwi-necrons were more than willing to help and metal hands worked well to uproot weeds. Then they went to the church to do a bit of tidying up, just giving it a good sweeping and cleaning the windows a bit. Then they went to KP duty, which turned out to stand for Kitchen Patrol. They were directed to a very nice pile of potatoes and put to work removing the peels with small tools. Trazyn knew there were more efficient ways but given all the pwi-necrons and humans around, there was likely no point in getting a specialized machine for the task.

(they also didn't have potatoes all the time so there was really no point)

"What are they making tonight?" Calder asked, just making conversation as he nimbly peeled a potato. Trazyn noticed he was vastly better at the task than his friend, who was fighting a bit to get off the peel.

"Scalloped potatoes I think. You know, that's the one thing I really miss about being alive, food. I loved scalloped potatoes." Trazyn suddenly wondered. If he could get access to that female necron, could she tell him about the cuisine of the necrontyr? That information had been truly lost, destroyed by time and lack of care. "And peach pie. My mom made peach pie every summer."

"My favorite was raspberry pie. There was a big briar patch near where I lived, but I've told you about that before… My favorite food was soup in a bread bowl. I particularly liked the buttermilk soup in a bread bowl, that was the best, or the lentil soup. But you know I love soup."

"True, there was never a soup you didn't like! I bet we could make a squig soup and you'd have liked it," Loki said cheerfully and Calder tilted his head.

"Has anyone ever tried to eat orks? Are they edible?" Trazyn knew they were, in fact, edible to most species. Utterly revolting though. "Also, you're tragic, give me that." Calder stole a potato out of his friend's hand. "Look, you do it like this…" He demonstrated the proper technique for the humble task.

"Right right, sorry." Loki's technique improved a bit and they got the work done, putting the sliced potatoes in a bath of water for later. Then they roughly chopped some other vegetables, putting them into bowls and into the fridge. Trazyn assumed the real cooks would take everything and cook it properly later.

With their work done, the two pwi-necrons went back to lounging. They said nothing, just quietly enjoying the peaceful day and the bright sun. Then they went to the church for the early evening service. Trazyn watched, fascinated, making many parallels to the Imperial creed. It was clear to him that the worship of the Emperor had drawn directly from these ancient religious traditions. Although the décor they favored could not be more diametrically opposed.

After the service, they went to spend time playing cards with their friends. The only interesting thing that came from that was that Trazyn realized he could easily beat all of them at this game. It was all a matter of calculating the probabilities but for some reason, they were disinclined to do that. Were they just too stupid to realize they could?

(Trazyn would quickly have gotten booted from the game as a card counter)

Perhaps they just enjoyed the friendly bickering. Trazyn didn't pay attention to the specifics – it was all nonsense – but he drank in the ambience of friendship and camaraderie. He had seen this before from humans but honestly, it never got old. And that was good, because he might be here for a while.

But Trazyn had spent decades, even centuries patiently working towards goals before. He could do it again.

Manric knew Sehenna was avoiding him and decided he had to do something about it.

That whole accident in his room was his fault. Sehenna had no way to know that her feelings could be dangerous, when presented so intensely to a psyker. It had been Manric's duty to avoid such a situation and he would shoulder all the blame. Oddly enough, though, his spear felt impatient with him? Manric turned his head to regard it.

"What is wrong? Do you think I'm being dense?" Manric suspected he knew their complaint with him. "Do you think I should examine my feelings for her more closely?" The irritation ebbed a bit, which he thought was a silent yes. "I will think about it, truly." Manric meant it and proceeded to do just that.

Manric really didn't know Sehenna well, not nearly as well as she knew him. That was objectively true… Manric was aware that Sehenna had been observing him for a long time, in her half-dream state, and there could probably be no better way to get to know someone than that. All Manric knew of Sehenna was what she had told him and that he could divine from her emotions. From that, he thought she was an uncomplicated young female, taking fierce pride in her work and at the stage in her life that she was longing for love.

Manric admitted to himself that he found her attractive. Not her body of course – they were both machines and that part of his mind was removed – but her uncomplicated affection for him. It was all so different from Eloise, who had… had never really liked him. That thought hurt but Manric had always known it to be true, from very early on in their marriage. With his empathic telepathy, it had been impossible to conceal. Not that Eloise had disliked or hated him but she also hadn't particularly cared for him. Their personalities had not been a match.

Still, this was not just about what Sehenna could offer him. Could he return those feelings? Manric thought he could. She was so much younger than him but he found her quite adorable. And they had a great advantage over his relationship with Eloise… they were colleagues. He had already spent years with Sehenna and would spend many more. Why should he not pursue this?

Although, what was 'this' exactly? It was based in romance, yet it was not the same. They no longer had the capacity for physical intimacy but there were many forms of love. Perhaps he should not try to label it, and think of it as something entirely new. Perhaps they could even come up with a new word for it, if such things became common enough.

Feeling settled in his own mind, Manric glanced at his spear and found it was quiescent, pleased with his reflections. But now, he needed to do something about Sehenna's avoidance of him. But what?

Manric thought of something immediately. It would be relatively easy to do, and quite helpful. He went to one of the lesser Crypteks who did many things, but was known particularly for creating fine adornments and explained what he wanted. He was promised it would be done in a week. Manric decided to wait for that. It would be an excellent thing to give to Sehenna to signify his interest.

In a week's time, Manric hunted down Sehenna, gift in hand. He found her in deep conversation with some of the pwi-necrons and to his bemusement, they were discussing religion. That was something Manric had already noticed from the other awakened commoners… they were very religious and when they truly accepted the C'Tan had betrayed them, they tried to find something else to believe in. Panaa was diffidently taking up the worship of God, although she did not attend church and tried not to bring it up to the other necrons who likely would not understand.

Putting that out of mind, Manric went to Sehenna's side. She flinched as she saw him and he could feel her intense guilt, but he tried to project reassurance.

"Sehenna, this is for you," Manric said before offering her the gift. She stared at it before taking it from his hands. "I think it would look lovely on you." It was an infinity scarf, but made out of finely woven metal. Sehenna took it out of his hands as though she was in a dream.

"Oh…" Ah, she had spotted the little enameled adornment they had attached to it. It was hinged so it could move around and not impede the movement of the scarf, and it was the symbol for the ancient Gidrim Dynasty that Zahndrekh had once ruled. And still did rule in a sense, but subsumed in the greater Sautekh Dynasty. That symbol had fallen out of favor long ago, replaced with the Sautekh symbol, but for Sehenna it would be the symbol of her times. And all the necrons would easily recognize it, so there was no issue in wearing it. "Th-thank you!" Manric could detect a carefully restrained hope in her. Restrained for fear it was false… he reached out and took her hand, giving her a gentle squeeze.

"Let me show you how you can wear it. There are many ways." Sehenna made a very odd sound that Manric identified as an attempt at a giggle. The other pwi-necrons were watching with fascination but Manric ignored them as he showed Sehenna the several ways an infinity scarf could be worn. The one where she put it on her head like a wimple was particularly silly but also amusing, with the symbol on the side of her head like most women would put a flower.

"Ah, that's funny! But I don't think I want to wear it that way," she said and Manric nodded. That was indeed rather silly looking, but then he'd never liked wimples. Sehenna settled with wearing the scarf around her neck, in two almost equally sized loops, one a bit smaller than the other. The symbol gleamed on the right side of the scarf. "This will let everyone know I'm not just a warrior… thank you." Yes, that was true, this adornment would mark her as different.

"It is nothing. Would you like to join me for one of the formal dances?" Manric asked and Sehenna looked down. He could sense a bit of sadness.

"I don't know how to dance," she said softly and Manric smiled internally. Even better!

"In that case, why don't I teach you?" he offered and she looked up, intrigued by the thought. "I am busy right now but perhaps later?" He had to rest from his efforts, so he could easily spend some time with her.

"I would love that," Sehenna said softly and Manric could feel her quiet joy. "Thank you."

"It is nothing. I'll message you when I'm done," Manric said. He wasn't sure exactly how long he would be working… they were starting to move onto the pwi-necrons and also moving out Zahndrekh's fleet, so it could be replaced with a different fleet with more necrons to resoul. There was still a great deal of work to be done, but things were moving much faster now. And when the sentient necrons were done, they could begin moving onto the Immortals and see how feasible resouling them truly was.

For the sake of the Immortals, Manric hoped that went well.

Imotekh looked at the game board, considering his next move. He was playing an ancient game of strategy, that used pieces, dice and cards. The pieces were the various warrior units, the cards were for resources and the dice were for random chance. It was an easy game to learn but very difficult to master. Imotekh was a master.

So was his opponent, so he had to consider his move carefully. Finally he played a resource card, setting it aside and then moved a particular piece that required that resource. Then he patiently waited on his opponent's move.

"Father, have you considered what to do with Osatek?" Ibianza said and Imotekh was slightly puzzled. Do with him?

"He is performing within limits," Imotekh said, wondering what she was getting at. Ibianza was silent for a moment, still studying the board.

"Father… knowing our relationship, and remembering myself, has been a great joy for me. I fear it is exactly the opposite for Osatek. He is ashamed, almost to the point of despair, to know that he is your son." Imotekh gazed at the board, not really seeing it as he pondered her words.

If only I could go back in time. The tragedy of Khamus was the most horrendous, but there were other tragedies. Imotekh could remember all the times he'd pulled Osatek in front of him to rip off a slice of his necrodermis. To tell him what a fool he was, explain to him in the most scathing way how the humans under his rule were making a fool of him, and tell him what examples to make. The times he'd threatened to take Osatek's life if he didn't perform better. That is not how anyone should speak to a child. It was not right to treat a son like that. Imotekh had never been so harsh with Osatek in life, no matter how irritated he had been at his son's limitations.

"I cannot take any of those words back," he finally said as Ibianza took her move. It was a good move, but all of her moves were good. Imotekh analyzed the board, considering all possibilities and the resources at his disposal. "He knows what I think of him." That was the harshest part of it. Osatek knew precisely how he had disappointed his father, in the cruelest way possible.

"I know you don't like showing special favor to us, father, but have you considered taking Osatek off his current duties?" To do what? They couldn't even debauch themselves anymore, what would be the point – "He was a sculptor." That made Imotekh pause, even as part of his mind continued to analyze the board.

"We both know he wasn't very good," Imotekh said after a moment. Osatek had just dabbled in it, really. Imotekh had accepted it because he could no longer fight and was fairly terrible at everything else. "Although, he does not know I think that." Imotekh had always been careful to not crush Osatek's artistic aspirations. Ibianza flashed glyphs of uncertainty and hope as Imotekh made his move, then picked up the dice. He was taking a chance.

"Some artists have their best time when they are young, but others get better with age. I do think that Osatek's work was getting better over time." Was that so? Imotekh was not a connoisseur of art. "The bust of the Phaeron's wife was one of the last things he made." That was true, and everyone had said that was of good quality. "Not to mention… father, the artistic caste was a high one and exceptional commoners could be plucked out of the lowest castes and elevated if they had talent. But it was still a commoner caste." Ah, that was a good point.

"It is true, the only artists we will have for a long time will be among the nobility," Imotekh replied as he made his roll. The dice did not favor him and he muttered a curse as the board automatically adjusted, reading the unfavorable fortune. Ibianza examined the board although Imotekh was already sure he knew what she would do… there was an obvious action that she would be foolish to pass up. "Among that number, Osatek might rank highly. I will take your advice, daughter." This was a good idea. It would be easy enough to replace Osatek, there were many administrative Lords available. And whenever they went short on them, there were more to be found among the Uhnashret Dynasty and the pwi-necrons. Imotekh had heard that recently, the King of Hope had vacated his throne, giving it to the scion of another family so he could claim immortality. Apparently, it had been decided that the only deathless ruler should be Phaeron Rahkaak. Imotekh approved of that sentiment.

"Do not put it off for long, father. Osatek really does need encouragement." Ah, how badly was he doing? Imotekh sighed internally. He was not the kind of father to deal well with such things. Well, for Osatek's welfare, he would try.

It wasn't his fault this had happened, but he needed to mend things between the two of them.