This is the story of Imotekh the Stormlord.

I cannot truly remember my mother. I think her name was Xuna, or perhaps Xana. I cannot remember what she looked like and while I tried to find her, after I was elevated, she was gone. Did violence claim her, or the Bitter Star? I will never know. All I remember of her is a song. I can still sing it. Sixty million years, and I remember her song.

As a young man, I was inducted to the army at thirteen. A common soldier, no more worthy of note than any other. In a mere three years, I was no longer common. Promoted, given command of a squad, I was marked for leadership. Even at that young age, they bred me, sensing I was special. How many children do I truly have? I do not know.

Only a year later, when I was but seventeen, fortune favored me. I did not think so at the time… I merely wanted to win, at this grand game that is war. The aeldari we were fighting were outnumbered but fierce and a small strike team of them caught us by surprise. They murdered our nemesor, slaughter all his Lychguard but two before we could drive them away.

I saw what they intended. They wanted to destroy our leadership, leave us headless and demoralized, so they might claim the victory despite their lack of numbers. I immediately took up the nemesor's staff, not caring at my lack of rank, and bade the remaining Lychguard to follow me. They were both in despair at their failure but my fire and fury caught them, inspired them. I took over the army and led us to a resounding victory, chasing down and massacring those aeldari.

My actions were noticed at the very highest level and I was summoned, by name, to attend upon the young Phaeron of Sautekh. He was younger than me, elevated by the untimely death of his father. I came to him with great humility, but also the knowledge of my own worth. And when the Phaeron asked me what reward I wanted I looked him in the eye and said I wanted to learn to read. I told him that I knew there was a whole world of knowledge, closed to me, and I wanted it. I wanted it all.

The Phaeron of Sautekh was, in many ways, not a good Phaeron. He was languid and indolent, poor at war and spending his time with his concubines and wives. But he was truly brilliant in one way, and that way made a mockery of everything else… the Phaeron was a genius at recognizing talent and rewarding it. He saw me for what I was, and put me into the care of one of his greatest nemesors. I learned to read in less than a week, then set about mastering the arts of war. I was elevated above high nobles, given my armies to command. To the horror of nobles all through Sautekh, I was gifted as a wife the Phaeron's own daughter. And I repaid him with all my loyalty and skill. I still remember him fondly.

Did I love my wife? An odd question and one I cannot truly answer. I did not love her like my children, but I was content with her. Her mind could not keep up with mine, but few can and she was not a stupid female. When she died, taken by the Curse of the Bitter Star, I mourned her. When I came back to my home, between campaigns, and she was not there, it felt very wrong. She gave me my first four official children.

My second wife is an interesting story. I married her for family connections but felt no great fire for her, nor her for me. She gave me two children. When I was away at campaign, she was caught in infidelity with one of the Immortals. They were both put to death, by her father no less, in his deep humiliation at her actions. I said nothing – it was his right, with me being absent – but I was annoyed. I would merely have exiled her, not had her head hacked off like a fish at the market. My children with her were always a little traumatized by that.

My third wife was the choice of my old age. I was past forty then, old for necrontyr. She quickly gave birth to my beloved son, Khamus and following him a final child, a sweet daughter. I chose her for her beauty and youth, nothing else, and took pleasure in her while she was there. The Curse of the Bitter Star claimed her. Ironic, that she died so young while I endured.

Many of my enemies thought they could simply outlive me, but I declined to die. Another like Trazyn, my body was riddled with tumors but still functioned well. And as old age came, I disdained it. Parts of my body were replaced with metal, implants similar to the accursed Mechanicus. I was half-machine when I took the life of Laaror, my endurance enhanced past all measure.

Still, despite my unnatural vigor, I was surely close to death when the time of biotransference came. Every day I went to sleep, I fully expected to not wake, claimed by some ailment of the ancient. So when I first heard of the biotransference, I was intrigued. Despite my implants and sometimes, because of them, I lived in constant pain. I bore it stoically, as the cost of such age, but the thought of surrendering it was beguiling.

However, I always think and notice what is around me. So I put together the pieces. I intuited what the C'Tan intended, catching them in their lies and I led the rebellion against them on the Sautekh Crownworld. But just as for Zahndrekh it was too late, it also was for me. Too many of the soldiers had already passed through the Furnace, including the Phaeron himself. We were all such fools. Why did we believe the lies?

Be that as it may, then I was a necron. My story is not quite over… when I was awakened from my slumber to utter chaos and the Phaeron dead, I was consumed with rage. Not just at these errant fools who would destroy Sautekh in their quest for power, but at the end of the Phaeron who had shown me such favor, a man I had deeply respected despite his flaws. I could not truly remember it at the time and only know this now, but I took Sautekh partly as a testament to him. Because it was what he would have wanted.

I will rule well, in the memory of him.

Ah, Imothaka, I remember her.

I was closest to my first wife, but very fond of my third. A daughter of the lower nobility, her family was in awe of the favor shown when I asked for her hand. She came to me so lovely, young enough to be my granddaughter, completely untouched. A little treat for myself, as I denied myself other pleasures.

Imothaka was frightened of course, but also hopeful and wanting. Her eyes were wide as I drew her to the bed, gently peeling away her light gown to reveal her beautiful body.

"In the long course of my life, I have sought to learn all things. Let me show you what I have learned of the arts of lovemaking," I murmured in her ear and felt her shudder a little in desire. In addition to her beauty, I had selected her for her interest. There were those lovelier than my Imothaka, but who felt no spark for me, even felt revulsion for my age. Those, I passed by. My second wife had taught me a lesson.

Imothaka looked at me with desire and I returned that desire, worshiping her body. Her beautiful indigo skin, so warm beneath my hands. She had no idea what to do so I showed her, showed her how I liked to be touched.

When she was melting from desire, I reached my finger into her soft folds, the velvety flesh that grasped my finger as I found the kystlok. It was well softened, so soft that I was able to easily tear my finger through and into her depths. She gasped and gripped my wrist, trembling with wide eyes as she experienced pleasure for the first time. I was very pleased… if I had found a hard kystlok I would have stopped, no matter how much it pained me.

I was more controlled, but every bit as intensely aroused as she. I joined our bodies together and she made a sweet sound, the soft trill of a female being mated. I have always thought, and still think even now, that the mating habits of the necrontyr were the best thing about us.

I took the deepest of pleasure, both in her sweet body and her reactions to me, as I slowly and methodically worked her to the heights of pleasure. She continued to make that lovely sound, that difficult to describe sound that was almost a song. A Cryptek could explain to you why our females did that, perhaps. I had never cared to examine it that closely, or the way it affected my mind. It deepened my pleasure, hitting the most animal part of my mind. Ah, how I loved this activity. My wives were special to me, but I had not been celibate since I was a child.

When we were done and basking in the afterglow, she murmured to me.

"I hope I give you a son." I chuckled softly as I held her close. It would not matter that much to me either way, I had many children. But for Imothaka's family that would be good, and I would welcome a son with her. Later, I would reflect on that… given the date of Khamus birth, it was entirely possible that she had conceived him that night.

We were married for eight years. As the Stormlord, the great General, I could not see Imothaka and Khamus as much as I would have liked but I treasured every moment with them I had. She was never my equal of course. How could she be? But I came to love her like a daughter. Not something I would admit to my older children… Ibianza had teased me already about her age. Still, saying she could be my granddaughter was unfair. I was not quite that old, not yet. Imothaka gave birth to my daughter while I was away. I came home as soon as I could, perhaps six months after the birth.

What I saw horrified me.

One of my great abilities is to see what is there. I instantly spotted the changes in her. Imothaka's skin was sallow, with a greyish tinge. Her eyes looked tired – perhaps that was nothing but a demanding child – and her hair has lost its' lustre. She had also lost weight, not too much but enough that I could see it, with my discerning eye. She was not well, my Imothaka, and dread immediately struck me in the pit of my stomach. These were exactly the kind of changes that could spell ill.

When she saw me, though, a brilliant smile lightened her face.

"Isn't she beautiful?" I came to her side and looked into the face of the small infant. She gazed up at me with big eyes in a tiny face and I could see the subtle signs that the child was also not well. Where Khamus had almost glowed with health, loud and wiggling, she seemed small and quiet.

"She is beautiful," I said, feeling a deep pain in my heart. This child would not live to be named. "But we must take you to the Crypteks. Imothaka, you do not look well to me." I was being as gentle as I could, but it was hard for me. If I had seen a warrior looking like Imothaka I would have briskly barked at him to get himself to a Cryptek and be quick about it. Imothaka looked bewildered.

"I feel fine!" That did not make me feel better. Some of the most vicious of the Curses the Bitter Star had to offer were the ones that crept up on you with silent feet. The ones that you barely noticed, thinking they were merely a cough, a bit of difficulty in the digestion. Until someone else said you were looking unwell, or something became a bit worse, and you went to the Crypteks to find out it was all too late.

"As your husband, I must insist," I said and Imothaka knew not to deny me. Her brows drew down in a frown for a moment before she forced a smile.

"We can have them give her a checkup!" She offered me the child and this time, I took her, gently cradling her with experience. I almost did not want to touch her but then forced myself to be kind. It was not the little one's fault that she was surely doomed, and I should offer her comfort while she was there. When I offered her a finger, her grip was so much weaker than Khamus' had been.

Khamus also wanted to see me and to my great relief, he was growing well, strong and sturdy. His teachers had only good to say about him and I was pleased at their praise, sensing it was all genuine. And I could see evidence of it myself, the great mastery Khamus already had of our language, the poems he was writing. He might be a great Cryptek or a great warrior, I was not sure which yet, but I knew my son would be great.

The Crypteks saw us very quickly and I knew I was right as they examined Imothaka closely. I could see the body language of the medical cryptek, the way he acted as he gestured to me to follow him out of the room.

"It is an ailment of the digestive tract. I am sorry… it is a Curse of the Bitter Star." I took the news stoically, although it hit me like a punch to the gut. Imothaka was so young. "Fortunately, there is no pain… the digestive track just gradually fails to function. The prognosis is six months." That… that was all… "It is possible to keep them alive for longer with nutritional infusions but that is not advised. If you do that, the digestive track goes into necrosis and it is a much worse death in the end."

"I see. And the child?" I asked. The Cryptek looked down.

"The same." Ah… so that was it. Had the child spread the cancer to Imothaka, or had it migrated from her body to the babe? We would never know. "I am sorry."

"Do not be. I prefer a hard truth over a honied lie," I said. "I will tell her." Many left that to the crypteks but that had never been my way. I would tell Imothaka myself and hold her as she cried.

It went precisely as I expected.

"Six months?" Imothaka sounded wondering as I gently held her hands. Then she half-smiled, searching my face with desperate eyes. "No, this is… this is a joke…" She gripped my hands as I said nothing. There was nothing more to say and Imothaka knew me better than that. "No… I… no…" Her eyes filled with tears as she saw the truth in my face. She sobbed then and I moved to her side to take her in my arms and hold her as she cried. The little babe whimpered softly, caught between us and I gently eased her to a better position. "It can't be. I'm so young, it can't be…" She was so young for this, so terribly young. But the Curse of the Bitter Star carried away both the young and the old, uncaring of any kind of fairness.

"There will be no pain. It will be a gentle end. I am so sorry," I murmured in her ear. "I will stay by your side." The Phaeron would not be pleased and the thought also did not please me, but I could not leave Imothaka like this. My first wife's end had been different… her cancer had come onto her while I was away, and moved with startling swiftness. She had been diagnosed and dead in under a week, I had had no opportunity to come home for her. This was different, I was here, my generals could manage without me for a time.

"Imotekh…" She cried until there were no more tears to shed and the little infant creeled with hunger. Imothaka sniffled as she gently lifted the child, adjusting her clothing to give the babe a breast. They would have to switch to a bottle soon. As the disease continued to take hold, her body would refuse to produce milk. "At… at least she's fine." I knew I should tell her, but I could not find it in my heart to break her fragile hope. So I just watched as she fed the child, still sniffling quietly.

It hurt to hope for, but I hoped my Imothaka passed before it became clear to her that the babe was also being taken by the Curse of the Bitter Star.

That six months of my life was painful, but also precious to me.

I spent much of it with my son. Khamus was a great joy to me and for the first time in his short life, I was able to truly get to know him. I had always known he was bright and brave, but now I saw that his mind was like mine and it filled me with pride and joy. Despite all the children I had, very few of them had inherited my intellect. Ibianza and one other, who had regrettably died in childhood. It was so pleasing to have another like me, particularly a boy.

Khamus was already learning the arts of war, as a young child swinging a practice sword, but I introduced him to more. I began showing him the arts of strategy and tactics and the little boy was keenly interested, devouring everything I gave him. We even began to play war games. Khamus could not come close to me of course, he was only seven years old. But for such a young child he did very well and I was very pleased.

I spent much time with Imothaka of course, and all of us together. It was hard on Khamus, to see his mother's decline. As the months went on she lost more weight and her illness became more pronounced. One day she broke down in heavy sobs and I found out that she had looked into her stool that morning and seen that the food had passed through her, completely unused. Imothaka was still eating but her body could take up none of it.

The tiny infant was also on the decline. I had hoped she would not notice but that hope was in vain.

"She's not growing," Imothaka said one day, her eyes glazed with tears as she looked into the face of her daughter. I looked sadly at the child. So listless, sleeping all the time when she wasn't eating. Barely even finding the strength to cry.

"No, she isn't," I agreed, guilt twisting in my heart. I should have told Imothaka earlier. Had it truly been kind to lie, even by only saying nothing?

"She has it…" I said nothing. There seemed to be nothing to say. After a moment Imothaka looked up with a tremulous smile. "I know we're not supposed to, but can I name her?" That made me pause. The custom of not naming a child until they were a year in age was a local one, not common to the necrontyr as a whole. The reason behind it was mostly a superstition that giving a child that young a name was bad luck, inviting the gods to take them away early. And what did that matter now?

"If that is what you wish," I said and Imothaka looked at the babe for a moment.

"Senunu… it was my aunt's name." A pretty name. I reached out to gently touch the small child. "Imotekh, husband, can I ask for one other thing?" What was that? "When I – I am dead, can you please put her… with me?" I frowned. That was a bit more troublesome. By long custom, the unnamed babes were cremated together and the priestesses would smear their bodies with the ashes as they sang the song of mourning for the unnamed. A cry of pain and a prayer that the children would be reborn into better bodies than the ones they had been given, it was painful to watch but symbolized the anguish of the parents so well. Still… I could have the babe privately cremated. It could be done.

"If that is what you wish, I will see that it is done," I acquiesced. It went against custom, but it was rare to have a mother and child dying together. I would have a nice urn made and place it with Imothaka in her tomb. As we spoke, I noticed Khamus watching from the doorway, hiding a bit behind the edge of the door. Ah, this was so hard on him, watching this happen to his mother and sister.

When Imothaka was dozing, I went to find Khamus. He was in his room, just lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. I knelt down beside him, my body paining me a bit with the motion. My implants were giving me trouble again, I should perhaps see the crypteks for myself.

"Father… why does it have to be this way?" Khamus asked and my heart went out to him. It was a question I had asked many, many times.

"I don't know son. I don't know," I said, reflecting on it. Why had they been cursed to evolve in the light of such a malignant star? And why had they been unable to fix the curse of unstable, defective genetics it had left them with? Why had the Old Ones refused to share their knowledge? Well, that perhaps had been our fault… I had no idea how the Silent King at the time had approached them. Had it been me, I would have gone to them as a supplicant, pleading with them to show some mercy to our tainted race. Not demanding immortality, just begging for any scraps from their table, anything to ease our burden. But I was no Silent King, not even a Phaeron. Had they gone to the Old Ones with arrogance and demands? Curse the fools if they had. "We can only do what we can." It was the way of things, that was all. Khamus was silent for a moment.

"I will help you wrest the secrets of immortality from the Old Ones, father." Khamus finally said, a fire in his eyes as he looked at me. I nodded solemnly, although I truly felt that there was nothing to wrest away. Whatever the Old Ones used for their immortality was surely keyed to their own genetic code and virtually unusable to us. But we were too deep in hostilities to get out. The Old Ones might not accept a peace offering now and it would destroy the Silent King to make it.

We could only go on. They could only go on.

Imothaka passed away peacefully in her sleep.

She was too young, but as the Crypteks had promised, it was a painless end. The child died only a week later, giving up quickly when her mother was gone. Imothaka was still in the process of mummification so it was easy for me, to have the child cremated and interred in a fine bronze urn. Inscribed on it very finely was a poem of mourning for the very young. When Imothaka was interred, I carried the urn into the tomb and placed it beside her, honoring her wishes.

Khamus and I were left alone then and while it pained me, I had to return to the war. I hugged my son and told him I loved him, and to mind his aunt and his tutors. She had agreed to take care of him, along with her children, a pair of riotous twins. They were older than Khamus and both intended to become crypteks, but I had no doubt my son would be able to keep up with them. They had met before and liked each other. With matters as settled as they could be, I went back to the eternal war. And painful as it was, I would always treasure that time I had spent with my family.

(Imotekh would have been very angry to find out that a certain urn, empty now, was among Trazyn's collection of necrontyr relics. Although he would have been less upset when he found that Trazyn had rescued it from a Tau home where it was being used as a vase, holding flowers)

(THAT would have enraged him, even if they couldn't know any better)