Author's Note: If anyone is wondering how I sometimes get things out so fast, I sometimes write out of order when I get a good idea. Part of this was written ages ago.

Lychguard Djas was going for a recovery cycle when it happened.

Lychguards did not, and could not, guard their Phaeron without any kind of pause. All necrons required rest, although only small amounts and infrequently, compared to organics. But there was no point in skimping on it, particularly when there were no great threats. Right now things were extremely peaceful in Gheden, nothing but the Phaeron and his core noble court, no visitors at all. So only six of his Lychguard were attending to the Phaeron. The other six were patrolling, guarding doors or taking time for recovery cycles. That was a temporary shutdown, perhaps an hour, to allow their bodies and minds to perform full maintenance and let them wake completely refreshed.

Although it was truly just a holdover from the old, organic times, it was considered poor form to just take a recovery cycle in the open. That normally indicated terminal exhaustion, the inability to go somewhere else. So despite how nonsensical it was, Djas went to his 'room' for his recovery cycle. He opened the door and stepped inside –

And everything changed.

? Djas was not, and had never been, the sharpest knife in the drawer. But even the most intelligent would likely have suffered the same degree of bafflement, as the entire environment changed around them. ?! Was he being held in a stasis field? But why, and why would his mind be active? Also, where was he? This wasn't his room.

"Ah, son, can you hear me?" Son? Djas was utterly baffled by that. He had no memories of the Flesh Times nor did he care about them. His only place in life was to guard the Phaeron. Then an Overlord stepped in front of him and Djas stared. Trazyn the Infinite? Why would a high noble address a mere Lychguard so?

"He can hear you but he's extremely confused." Djas couldn't see the speaker.

"Well, I did love him, but not for his brains." That… felt strangely hurtful, but Djas wasn't sure why. "This is going to be extremely difficult for him, his trainers hammered loyalty into him from a young age… a good thing, for someone on his path in life but troublesome now." What was going ON?! "Let me alter the stasis field so you can begin the ensouling process." What?

Then a Cryptek, someone Djas did not know, stepped in front of him with a globe of a strange substance in his hands. Djas almost thought it was wood, but there was something strange about it. The Cryptek came close and began working on his body. Djas could feel nothing at first, but then a strange warmth followed by pain filled his chest. Then the Cryptek tapped his chest cartouche and the pain very quickly started to ease. Djas would have blinked his oculars if he could have at the strange sensation that followed.

What is happening to me? He felt a deep sense of confusion as his mind seemed to open up. It was like he was a… a small bird, in a great flock of them, and each bird was a memory that buffeted his mind before flying away. The birds were running into him, over and over and Djas wanted to whimper, to cry, to make some kind of sound to express his pain as the flashes of memory hit him over and over again. Why was this happening to him?

"Ah, this is the tricky part. He's reacting like most non-sentients." Djas could vaguely hear the voice as he tried to fly away, tried to escape the memories. "Ah, you can't do that, you can't run away from it. Let me help you."

It took time and patience, a great deal of patience, but that voice gently cajoled the frightened bird that was his mind into its' hands. The other birds were also gentled and he was able to be introduced to them, experiencing them in a more controlled manner. It still hurt and it was still difficult, but he was eased into acceptance.

"My word, you've been at this for two days. Does it normally take this long?" The voice as all wrong, nothing like what he remembered, but the manner of speaking was familiar. A word rose in his mind, long forgotten. Father?

"Oh yes, this is why resouling Immortals and Lychguards can be quite a trial. Non-sentients don't experience it the way sentients do. Of course, that's why they also completely maintain their memories of the Flesh Times. Zefrehna will never be able to provide a portrait of you, but he might. Also, I love that picture of Zefreek you had done, it's beautiful." Zefreek…

"My darling boy," a gentle kiss pressed to his forehead.

Mother?

Time continued to pass as he gathered up all the birds – the fractured memories – and they became part of him. Djas remembered his childhood on a hot, arid world. He remembered the red dust that got into everything and had to be constantly swept up by the servants. He remembered the food served at his Father's table. He remembered his father, so old and so wise. He remembered when his father seemed silly and obsessed, as he became a young man, but then seemed wise again, as he became older and more appreciative of his wisdom. He remembered marvelling at his father's age and strength, as he simply would not die, long past the lifespan of any reasonable necrontyr.

Djas remembered training beneath the Immortals, remembered the mantra that had been drilled into his mind. Loyalty to your father and the Phaeron. In that long ago time, they were synonymous. Trazyn was a high noble, to be sure, but not a player in the halls of nobility. Amusingly obsessed with the past, the Phaeron nonetheless valued him for that. Trazyn had found some great artefacts, in his day, and helped create the finest museum in the entire galaxy.

Father, what are you doing? Djas experienced anxiety at the thought. This wasn't right. He'd been stolen from the Phaeron's court. This resouling was something illicit, something that could not be done under the Phaeron's eye. And what was Djas himself to do? Loyalty to your father and the Phaeron. What was he to do when those loyalties conflicted?

"He is fully rational now. You can release him from the stasis… but I should warn you, I think he's experiencing a bit of a crisis."

"Ah… well, not surprising. Always such a good child, devoted and loyal to his duty. You know, it's absolutely horrendous to think that Krispekh would have killed him just to spite me." What? The Phaeron would have done what? "Although to be fair to him, he can't remember them as necrontyr anymore than they can remember him. It's so strange, looking into one of my Lychguard's face and remembering that he liked those same pickled flowers as Zefreek."

"You're being too charitable I think." The stasis field released and Djas stumbled a little before orienting himself.

This is Solemnance. Djas could recognize it instantly. The Phaeron had taken several tours of Trazyn's galleries, just appreciating the great museum and he'd brought his Lychguard with him. Djas hadn't cared about any of it, aside from how difficult it was to anticipate attackers in the vast panoramic displays in particular. The Phaeron walking through a great battle scene and examining some of the xenos had caused his escort such anxiety. Now though, Djas was experiencing anxiety for a completely different reason.

"Father, what are you doing? This is disloyal to the Phaeron!" Djas said, turning to look at Trazyn the Infinite. He was leaning against his staff and for a moment, Djas saw him as he'd been in that long ago past, a withered old necrontyr leaning heavily on a cane.

"Oh, it is far more than disloyal. I have sworn myself to the Sautekh and am going to be arranging a rebellion." Wh-what?! Djas reeled at the revelation. His father was a – a traitor to the Nihilakh?! "Trust me son, it's for the best. Perhaps not the best for Nihilakh, in the end – we'll likely lose a great deal of prestige and end up a vassal Dynasty of the Sautekh – but for the entire galaxy, it's for the best."

"And if Szarekh's plans are as defective as we suspect, it will ultimately also be the best for Nihilakh. I can't imagine how he thinks he can re-ignite the Warp," that other person said and Djas turned to him.

"Who are you?" he asked, regarding the Sautekh Cryptek. He tilted his head to one side in a birdlike gesture.

"I am Semephren. Do you remember me?" Remember a Sautekh… wait. No. He DID remember that name, and the face attached to it.

"…" Djas was stunned by the recollection. "We wrestled as children." Djas had always won, being a bit older and definitely stronger, but it had still been fun for them both. "What… what is going on?" He didn't understand. What were they talking about?

"Settle down son, this is a long story." That was so familiar. How many times had his father said that to him, before explaining the history of some artefact in his collection? This time it was far more serious though and Djas listened with so many emotions as his father detailed what Sautekh was doing, the crimes the Silent King was accused of, the Pariah Nexus and the Tyranids. What made Djas struggle the most was the thought of how the Silent King had betrayed them.

"The children…" Djas was not a young necrontyr. Among his father's early children, he had gone through the Furnace at nearly forty. Perhaps in compensation for their short lifespan, the necrontyr's combat prowess did not degrade much with age. Reflexes only truly started to slow at fifty, if they lived that long, and for some they never did, remaining sharp until the moment of death. So he had been serving well despite his age and his own children had been grown. However… Djas could easily remember holding his own grandchildren, remember their little faces. They were gone? Sacrificed for their immortality? "I would rather be dead. I would rather our whole race had died," Djas said quietly. This was too much, nothing was worth it.

"Yes… that's the thing, isn't it? If Szarekh had told us that the price for immortality was the lives of all of our children, would anyone have accepted it? I think not. And if he had also told us that the alternative was the eventual extinction of our race, would we have accepted it?" Trazyn cocked his head to one side. "Perhaps some would have. But most of us would prefer to go quietly into the night, I think, then betray our own young that way." Yes.

"What must they have felt…" What terror had all those children experienced? What betrayal, as their own parents turned away? Despite his relative lack of intelligence, Djas had always had a fairly good imagination. That pained him now, as he easily imagined the children clinging to each other as everyone else was taken away. And it also pained him, deeply, to know that he'd walked through the Furnace at his Phaeron's order. Of course he hadn't known, it would have been nonsensical for a mere Lychguard to question the Phaeron's decree, but he still had done it. And become part of this horror, all unknowing. "Father… are you sure that what you are doing is right?" Djas asked, coming back to simple faith. He was not the smartest necrontyr to exist, he would never have made a Cryptek. He'd placed his trust in his Phaeron and his father and if the two were in conflict then… then, he would pick his father. Blood came before his loyalty to the Phaeron, in the end.

"Oh, Djas, I rarely let myself be completely sure of anything. But I AM sure of this much: Letting Szarekh go unpunished is an insult that cannot be borne." Yes. Yes, that was true. "And if we follow Krispekh's plan for Nihilakh, while it might ultimately work out better for us, Szarekh will get away with it. That's enough to make me confident I am on the right path." Yes… thoughts of his grandchildren came to him again. He had loved them so much.

"Then I will follow you." Not that the support of a single Lychguard meant anything, materially. But it was a matter of family loyalty, Trazyn's loyalty to him as much as Djas' to him. His father offered him a hand and Djas took it. Despite feeling nothing but cold metal, his mind manufactured the feeling of warm skin and hard calluses.

"I'm so glad to have you back. Let me introduce you to your sister." Zefrehna was here. Djas wondered what she must think of this… she'd had no children of her own, opting to remain unmarried as she followed her calling, the teaching of the young. He could only imagine how much this pained her.

They would get through this together.

Roughly six months later.

Theokh stood in front of his throne. His seat of power, it was uncomfortable and impractical, merely symbolic. He maintained it for occasions that warranted such a display, but that was all.

Right now his throne room was empty and he was using it as merely a place to think. Surrounded by the trappings of power, the great statues of his ancestors flanking him, Theokh leaned upon his scythe and considered the past.

How strange it is, to remember these things, Theokh mused to himself. He knew more now about the necrontyr than he ever had, things that had been disdained and discarded, lost to the mists of time. How very strange.

Theokh remembered now that the necrontyr, somewhat similar to the humans, had widely varying customs and lifestyles between worlds. Oh, nothing as dramatic as the difference between a Feral World and a Civilised World, the technology levels always remained the same, but different ways of life. The only thing that never varied were the minimum sacrifices to the gods. Those were mandated by the Silent King himself. You could add to them, if you wished, but the minimum was required.

Charnovokh had been a highly militaristic society. They had fought hard in the War of Heaven and harder in the Wars of Succession that had rocked their people to the core. As very militaristic societies among the necrontyr were wont to do, females were given very few rights. Even among the various commoner castes they were bred young, to get as many children as possible and extra males would go to the military castes. And the military castes, ah, they took that to extremes. They usually waited until thirteen, physical maturity for a necrontyr, to breed the females but sometimes, if the kystlok softened early they would not wait. For the commoner males, they were grist for the mill of war. The few who survived to what passed for old age among the necrontyr – thirty, usually – would be considered the cream of the crop, their genetics proven by simple survival. They would be removed from duty and tasked to breed the next generation and train the young males who would follow in their footsteps.

The military caste did allow for upward mobility, however. It was possible for any of them to excel, be promoted, even pass into command if they showed true excellence. Those males would be bred at every opportunity and when they achieved old age, be granted the great privilege of marriage. Either to the higher castes of commoners, like the pleasure caste, or if they were truly exceptional, the lowest rung of nobility.

(Theokh had heard rumors that the Stormlord had begun life as a commoner, born and bred into the lowest of castes)

(if that was true, Theokh was quite impressed)

For the true nobility, in Charnovokh at least, things were not much different. They waited a bit longer for the females to mature, giving them until sixteen. By that time the kystlok had almost always softened, ensuring a reasonably good experience as the mating urge took over. And for their own daughters, the male nobles truly did care. Females in Charnovokh did not have careers as such, beyond a bit of nursing or artistic endeavors, but it was important that they demonstrate their intelligence. That was how a female caught a good male, beyond her physical attractiveness. So often they were quite well educated, literate and accomplished in small skills.

The reason Theokh was thinking about this was the complete absence of the Charnovokh females. Kallathsek had not overstated it… they were simply gone. Until the resouling it had not occurred to anyone, it had not seemed important, but their females were missing. Theokh remembered his wife now. Her name had been Kallahna and she had resembled her brother. Not the best look on a female, but he had loved her just the same.

Now he could only look at the Necron Warriors and wonder if behind one of their green oculars, she was looking back. The C'Tan had kept no records of the identities of the Warriors so he simply did not know. She could be standing beside him or she could be long dead. Theokh wondered if he ever would know. For Theokh, that was the only pain. He now knew that a tumor, growing early in life had taken his fertility although not his life. Kallahna had actually been older than him, a widow. He had no children.

For his brother, it was quite different. He now remembered his children, six of them, the oldest just barely qualifying for biotransference. Where was he? Not among the nobility. Theokh grimly thought the near-child had been delegated to Warrior. To say that Thalokh was angry would be an understatement.

There is so much anger here now. It was reverberating through the court of the Charnovokh and they were actually becoming quite passionate about their alliance with Sautekh. Theokh still didn't feel that anger, but in general, his rages tended to be colder. And he was feeling a deadly rage building. Szarekh had no right to make this decision for us. Theokh knew that was technically incorrect, the Silent King had exactly that right, but just because something was legal did not make it moral.

Somehow, Theokh wasn't surprised when the FTL message from the Silent King arrived. In fact, he realized he had been expecting it. A full two-way communication, Theokh examined the globe for a moment before reaching out to take it.

The communication unfolded in front of him and it was Szarekh alone. The Silent King was not so silent these days, but then there really was no point anymore, was there. With sixty million years behind them, no one would be impressed.

Theokh, Krispekh has come to me with prognostications that his own nobles are plotting against him on behalf of the Stormlord. Imotekh has been avoiding making any commitments to me. Has he come to you? Szarekh still didn't know. Well, Theokh knew it was time to rip the mask away.

"He has," Theokh said simply. Then he drew himself up, gathering the mantle of shadows he wore, the full power of the Phaeron. "Szarekh, in the name of the Charnovokh Dynasty, I denounce you." Szarekh just stared at him, his eyes flaring. It only made Theokh's rage flare. "We remember everything and forgive nothing. You allowed the C'Tan to run free, like cruel children plucking the wings from insects. You sold us to them, knowing full well what it would mean. We name you traitor and will treat you as such." There was a brief silence.

Theokh, do you not understand that I am trying to atone? Szarekh said and Theokh laughed. Despite their mechanical nature, or perhaps because of it, the grating sound conveyed his bitterness quite well.

"Atone? How will you atone for the slaughter of our children? Where are my brother's little ones? Where is my wife, Szarekh?" All the sisters and daughters of the Charnovokh, vanished as though they had never been. "How can you atone for any of this?"

You do remember everything then… Szarekh said softly before looking down. Theokh could read guilt in his body language and it made him wonder. How had the Silent King justified this to himself? How had he taken them down this road? I must do what I can to fix my mistakes and lead our people into the future. You don't understand the threat the Tyranids pose to the galaxy. Suddenly, Theokh's rage was overwhelming and his grasp on his scythe tightened as he imagined it was Szarekh's throat.

"Don't you understand that we would have been better off dead?!" Theokh snarled back, his rage causing his eyes to glow. "You should never have come back. Leave us, to make our own mistakes and live and die as we will. We can do no worse than you did!" Then he lashed out with his scythe. It shattered the FTL communication, breaking it with a scream of blue light. Pointless, perhaps, but satisfying. Then Theokh was left to struggle to control his rage.

Even now, he thinks he can lead us. And he could, but only because they did not remember. Curse Szarekh for continuing to use what the C'Tan had done to them, to advance his own ends. Theokh deliberately calmed himself, pulling his mind back into alignment before preparing his own two-way FTL communication, this one to Imotekh.

It would not come as any surprise to him, but he needed to know that Szarekh was fully aware that they were his enemies.