Imotekh's most beloved son was not his firstborn, nor even his second or third.

It was his fifth born son, his seventh child in all, a child of his old age, for a necrontyr. His first child from his third wife, a pretty young thing picked only for her beauty. She had gazed at him anxiously as he came to her bedside after the birth to see his son.

The tiny babe was typical of the necrontyr, his skin bright purple from the birth. He was cuddled in a blanket of soft green, the sign of a boy and a pleasing color in general. His tiny face was still damp and he looked at his father with one eye that was gold flecked with green, but the other was the strangest thing Imotekh had ever seen, a peculiar shade of blue.

"Is he blind?" Imotekh asked, not angry or even upset. If the child was blind, even in just one eye, he could join one of his elder brothers among the Crypteks or, failing that, find a career among the administrative class. Not ideal but hardly a calamity. However, the midwife gave quick reassurances.

"No, he is not blind, we have tested both eyes." Imotekh tilted his head, looking at the boy. He offered the child a finger and he held it with a good, strong grip.

"You have done well," he said to his wife. She looked relieved and ventured a smile. "He will be special." Imotekh wasn't sure why, but he felt it was more than just the eyes.

This child would be special.

As was the custom of the necrontyr, who had so many children die, the boy was given a name only after his first year.

They named him Khamus, after Imotekh's father and also his second son, who had died valiantly in battle. Using the name again would honor them both and it was a good, strong name. Imotekh could not often be home – he was campaigning for the Phaeron – but every time he came home, Khamus was growing well and strong. His odd, mismatched eyes were keen with a bright intelligence and Imotekh felt that his son was a kindred soul.

When the time came for his son to join him in learning the true arts of war, Imotekh knew it to be true. His son took to strategy and tactics like a hetra to grass, eating it up. He quickly equalled Zahndrekh in his strategic acumen and became Imotekh's left hand, his most valued of nemesors.

Imotekh loved him. Loved him as his best son, the truest to his father, the one he would trust to continue his legacy when he was gone. And Khamus loved him back, giving him peerless loyalty. They were the perfect team, father and son, bringing disaster to their enemies.

Then came the treachery of the Silent King and the C'Tan. They fought for all they were worth, together, but it was as Ahmakeph had described… it was all too late. No one ever suspected the extent of the betrayal until it was already beginning and at that point, it was over. Imotekh was dragged through the Furnace in chains and took some pride that even as an old man, it took six of the cursed things to yank him through.

But there were so many horrors of biotransference. So many things lost and forgotten, so thoroughly that they could never remember they had existed at all. The bonds of kinship between him and Khamus was one of those things. Like Ahmakeph had forgotten Zahndrekh, Imotekh had forgotten his son and his son had forgotten him. And that was how they had come to this horrible pass.

After Imotekh had taken the crown of the Sautekh for his own, there had been challengers to his rule. The foremost among them was Overlord Khamus, the only strategist with skill to match his own. They had engaged in a protracted battle, the first of his rule and Imotekh had won in the end. And so he had made an example of his challenger, a warning to all others who would dare challenge his pre-eminence.

If only he could go back in time. Imotekh would give Orikan everything he had, even his rank as Phaeron, if he could just go back in time and change that moment. Strip Khamus of all his rank, exile him to an asteroid belt as the humans did, anything but this. Anything but execute his own beloved son and have to bear that memory forever, burned into his mind.

But not even Orikan had that power. Not even Oramoton or Rahkoz, nor all three of them working together, could reach so far back to rewrite all of time. Imotekh could only suffer his grief, his soul deep anguish, and feel the building rage. Rage that could have only one target.

The betrayal of the Silent King.

The next day, Imotekh summoned his court.

Despite his sorrow and anger, or perhaps because of them, there were things to be done. For today, Manric could work on the lesser Crypteks who had no place at the court. Certain things would not be put off. When his court was assembled before him, Imotekh began.

"Lord Osatek, present yourself to me." Imotekh could almost feel the Lord's fear, as he nonetheless obediently came to stand before his Phaeron. For a moment, Imotekh just regarded him… he was largely useless, a mediocre administrator but Imotekh put up with it for his loyalty. He'd been tempted to remove his head a few times but Osatek's failures had never quite gone that far, although he'd been punished many times. Clearly, he thought this would be one of those times. "With the return of a soul I have remembered the past… Osatek, I name you my son." Osatek stiffened in shock and there was a buzz of conversation and the flickering of interstitial messages, as the court took this in. Imotekh ignored it, focused on the Lord in front of him. "You are my third born son. You served until you took honorable injury, then retired to be a sculptor. I do not appreciate such things, but your work pleased the Phaeron and brought honor to my name." He was being kind to Osatek. Most of his work had not been that good, but one particular piece, a bust of the Phaeron's wife, had pleased him greatly. "You may mark yourself with the gold of royalty." Osatek bowed deeply.

"I am unworthy of this honor. Thank you, Phaeron," he said with becoming humility. Imotekh nodded and waved him away.

"Cryptek Ibianza, present yourself to me." She came before him without the fear of Osatek, but she was a high ranked Cryptek of great skill, not a quasi-failure of an administrator. "I name you my daughter." Her mind was almost as brilliant as his own, but constrained by a female body. Imotekh had recognized her intelligence, though, and made sure she had the opportunities to succeed. "You may mark yourself with the gold of royalty." She also bowed deeply.

"Thank you. May I call you father?" she asked, a touch impudently. But that was what he had always loved about her and Imotekh nodded.

"You may. Osatek, you may as well." He was too diffident to ask. "Crypteks Dakhabi and Djakhat, present yourselves to me." That confused everyone because those two Crypteks were noted for utterly loathing each other. Despite that, they obediently took Ibianza's place. "You are not only siblings, you are twins." That caused them both to stiffen in shock. "In life you were rivals and often quarrelled, but still stood with each other. I hope you will again but for now, I name you both my nephews." They looked at each other, then at him, not sure what to make of this information. "You may also mark yourselves with the gold of royalty." That was a bit generous, but they were the last of his living relatives so Imotekh would allow them that distinction.

"Thank you Phaeron," they both said as they bowed. With that done, there was one last thing.

"Now that we have addressed the living, we must address the dead. You all remember Overlord Khamus," Imotekh rumbled, gazing over his court. They gazed back raptly, sensing the importance of this moment. "The first challenger to my reign and the first example I made… and also, my beloved son." The room was completely silent. "I cannot blame myself, for I did not know. The memory of him was taken from me along with all of the others." Why had the C'Tan wiped away his recollections so thoroughly? Probably because he'd given them so much trouble yet was too valuable to throw away. Imotekh hated the C'Tan with a passion beyond all others but by and large, they had been punished. There was still one who had evaded any true consequences. "We are not at war with the Szarekhan and the Maynarkh yet, but we will be. When we are, it will be a war to the knife." That was an ancient phrase that indicated no quarter would be offered and no mercy given. "Prepare yourselves." Imotekh brought the court to an end and his court bowed and departed, interstitial messages and murmurs filling the air as they absorbed all they had learned today. To Imotekh's amusement, the ones he had singled out were already experiencing an elevation in status. Even Osatek, known failure that he was, had abruptly been raised in the eyes of his peers. That amusement faded quickly though, as Imotekh considered his next moves in the game of war.

It was time to stop his phase of expansion and concentrate on consolidation and the building of weapons of war. It was also, perhaps, time to take a completely unprecedented step.

It was time to see if he could make a peace treaty with the Imperium of Man.

Obyron rubbed his chest cartouche, feeling the unfamiliar warmth that he could only call a soul.

He had been resouled before Zahndrekh and that was a deliberate choice on Manric's part. Both Manric and Ahmakeph were afraid that Zahndrekh's state was not just engrammatic damage, but a deliberate response to trauma. Obyron had wanted to dismiss the idea, until Ahmakeph had tersely informed him that due to his illness, Zahndrekh had been helpless. When he and Obyron were taken care of, the forces of the Silent King and the C'Tan could have done anything to him… anything at all. And while Obyron did not think Szarekh had a taste for torture he knew perfectly well the C'Tan did.

So Obyron had accepted the soul first, to try to understand what had become of his nemesor on that fateful day. And while he meant to think of that moment, the time of biotransference, his mind wandered further into the past.

Obyron had thought he remembered everything about the swamps of Yama, but he was wrong.

He had accurately remembered the flies, the mold, the misery of the endless rain and the smell of rotting vegetation. He had forgotten other things, though. He'd forgotten the special tents they used, that could easily be pitched on the marsh. He'd forgotten the little things, the small heaters that kept them warm and the old brazier that Zahndrekh insisted on using to make tea. The warmth of the tea in his hands and in his gut, keeping away the clammy cold that fell over the swamp at night. Most of all, Obyron had forgotten the warm bedroll and the way he'd shared it with Zahndrekh every night. Mostly just to sleep, sharing their body heat, but sometimes… sometimes, there was more.

Such relations were not encouraged among necrontyr males, but they were also not a matter of shame. They were hot blooded, endlessly at war, and their biological needs did not stop simply because they were off fighting. There were some whores, following the armies, but not in a place like Yama that was close to the antechamber of hell. So he and Zahndrekh were far from the only ones to find a bit of comfort in each other, in these bleak times.

Obyron knew, though, that while for him it was a matter of convenience, to Zahndrekh it was more. Often, after such encounters, Zahndrekh would rest his head on Obyron's arm with a soft sigh that said more than any impassioned word could. And Obyron could not help but dote on him, his best friend and beloved nemesor.

Finally though, he did feel the need to speak to Zahndrekh about it.

"Ah yes… you are right, old friend," Zahndrekh was a bit melancholy when Obyron carefully broached the subject. "I am not inclined towards females. It's a bit unfortunate for the Dynasty but such things happen, eh?" Obyron nodded. That would certainly be an issue if Zahndrekh could not produce an heir. Although with good fortune, perhaps he could designate a successor and his wishes would actually be respected. It rarely worked out so well, but perhaps it might.

"I do wish to marry someday," Obyron said. As much as he cared for Zahndrekh, as dear as they were together, he would not set that aside. Zahndrekh just laughed.

"Of course, of course! You know I love children like darling Ahmakeph. I will happily spoil them rotten!" He would too. Obyron chuckled softly, feeling reassured. Zahndrekh understood him so well.

In the present day, Obyron came back to himself and tilted his head at the information he had just been given.

It shocked him slightly to find out that he and Zahndrekh had once been lovers, but not unduly. The relationship he remembered seemed strangely appropriate, exactly what they had now, just with a bit of extra physical affection.

That part about finding a wife though… Ahmakeph had mentioned he had a daughter. Who had he married? How had that happened? And Obyron slipped back into the past.

He saw her at one of the great feast days, when sacrifices were made to the gods. In the halls of the powerful, those religious rituals were followed by a banquet and a ball.

Obyron did not know why she caught his eye. She was not the greatest beauty in the court, by any means. Perhaps it was the way she laughed, tossing back her hair as she did. Perhaps it was her face, the slightly upturned nose and her large, full lips. Or perhaps it was just some unknowable quality, the pheromones the Crypteks claimed they had for each other, acting on a subliminal level. Whatever it was, he watched her wistfully from afar as she danced with other nobles. He was not a noble and he never had been, she was too far above him.

Or so he thought.

"Obyron, why are you not speaking to her? Go, ask her to dance!" Zahndrekh tried to gently shoo him towards her but Obyron shook his head.

"She is nobility and I am not." That was simply a fact of life. But to his surprise, Zahndrekh huffed a sigh.

"You think far too little of yourself, my Vargard. And you don't know who she is… her name is Minamora, she is the daughter of a lesser noble, a wealthy jewel trader. Yes, in caste you are beneath them but you are a great war hero and my own Vargard! Do not sell yourself short. I think they would look kindly on your suit." Did he truly think so? Well, Zahndrekh was just as good at courtly maneuvers as the ones of the battlefield so if he thought so, perhaps he was right.

When Obyron went to speak to her, he knew from the smile on her face and the sparkle in her eye that she was interested. They danced and spoke and Obyron found that she was a young, sheltered female but with a bright and active mind. Well read and with interesting things to say, she had a small career in nursing.

As time went on, Zahndrekh was proved right. Minamora's father gave his approval and in less than a year, they were married. He was so happy, they were so happy together, and that feeling increased as she became pregnant with his child. It was about that time that Zahndrekh began to cough. Obyron thought nothing of it at first. They did become sick, there was nothing unusual in that. But it did not go away and began to sound wet, so Zahndrekh went to the medical Crypteks to see what was wrong.

And then the horrible news.

"It is a growth in my throat. It affects the lining and it is already widespread," Zahndrekh said with calm resignation and Obyron felt helpless pain. "It is a curse of the Bitter Star." Curse of the Bitter Star was their phrase for any cancer that could not be excised or treated, that was an automatic death sentence. There were many lesser tumors – some of them were notorious for being riddled with them, like Trazyn – but it was the Curse of the Bitter Star that they all feared.

"How long?" Obyron asked.

"Four years at most. Probably much less… the usual is closer to two." At least he would see the child be born, at least that. "I will have time to put my affairs in order and help Zohthak properly take my place." That was Zahndrekh's chosen heir, an extremely competent nephew. "Will you serve him as you did me?"

"Of course," Obyron said softly, taking Zahndrekh's hand. "I will serve him with honor." Until ill health claimed him as well. He was the same age as Zahndrekh, in his thirties. Although perhaps he would be one of the lucky ones and live longer… he certainly hoped so, to see his daughter grown. Although the necrontyr did grow quickly, they were physically mature at just thirteen although normally not accounted full adults until some time later. There was a good chance he would see his daughter grown.

Zahndrekh wouldn't, but he would at least see her born. That would have to be enough.

With Zahndrekh's disease sapping his strength, lesser nemesors took his place under Imotekh's command. The Stormlord understood that Zahndrekh was no longer fit for duty and he took over administrating Gidrim, assisting Zohthak and transferring the loyalties of the nobility to him.

That meant that instead of campaigning, Obyron tended to his duties watching over and assisting Zahndrekh before spending time with his wife. He had more time with her than many necrontyr males were blessed with, in their endless wars. A bittersweet thing, that it came at such cost.

Then their child came, a sweet bundle of joy in a purple blanket. Minamora held her with the most brilliant smile Obyron had ever seen, and he took them both in his arms, holding them close. The tiny infant burbled, looking at him with bright and curious eyes.

"We are agreed on the name?" They had discussed it ahead of time. Minamora nodded.

"Little Zahndria." Obyron's life felt so full as he looked down at their daughter. Zahndrekh would be deeply touched by the name.

Zahndrekh was indeed deeply touched by the name and he was so joyful, as he held the small babe in his arms. But nothing could stop the progress of the disease and even as Zahndria put on weight and grew, Zahndrekh lost weight and became sicklier. That was how this cancer progressed… it ate away at the lining of the throat, making it hard to eat and drink. Most died of that, when they were very weak and caught something else, a cold that should not be deadly but could kill someone who was barely alive. The very unlucky survived long enough for the cancer to eat into something vital and died in agonizing pain, coughing up blood. Obyron had never felt so helpless.

One day was particularly bad. It was the Solar Year and the air was heavy with smoke, from all the sacrifices. The poor air quality was bothering Zahndrekh and he could not stop coughing. Instead of going home to his family, Obyron stayed with him, brewing him tea.

"The servants can handle that, my Vargard. Please, return to your family," Zahndrekh said before coughing wetly. Obyron shook his head as he brought over the cup of tea.

"I will have years with them. I have much less time with you. Let me take care of you tonight," he said softly and Zahndrekh hesitated before accepting the cup. He sipped the medicinal tea, soothing his throat and Obyron stayed with him all night. Zahndrekh woke many times, coughing, and every time Obyron soothed him back to sleep with gentle murmurs and more warm tea.

He would have forever with his family. There was so much less time with his best friend.

Obyron dropped out of the memory with a sense of bittersweet sadness.

I thought I only had a few years with Zahndrekh, and so much more time with my wife and daughter. Instead I lost them both and was given an eternity with Zahndrekh. And as much as he cared for his nemesor, all the loyalty he had for him, it felt like a poor trade.

There was still one memory he needed. The very last memory, of how it had all ended. Steeling himself, Obyron reached for that moment.

Obyron watched with only one eye as Ahmakeph was dragged to the Furnace, leaving behind a heavy trail of blood. He could hear a few choked off curses, as Zahndrekh's cousin remained hostile to the end.

He wished he could find that rage in his own heart, but it was as crushed as all of his hopes. He was not as badly injured as Ahmakeph, who was barely alive, but he could no longer move. One of his legs was crushed, his arms were broken and he was wrapped in chains. He'd taken many lives, before they'd brought him down, and they were taking no chances.

Zahndrekh was nearby and Obyron glanced at him. He was standing, under the guard of four of the metal monsters and watching with a stoic expression as their small force of rebels were dragged through the fires, or tossed in a pile, the remains of the dead. Obyron grunted as his head was grabbed and his gaze was forced towards the Furnace, so he could see another fighting warrior, still struggling even in chains, go through the fires.

He was the last warrior to be brought to the Furnace and he could hear the females screaming, the cries of the children. And Obyron knew what they intended for Zahndrekh.

"Do not let this break you. It's what they want!" He shouted to his nemesor. It was the last words he said before he was pulled through the Furnace.

Obyron came out of the memory grasping his head with a feeling of horror.

They made him watch. They made him watch it all. Obyron had just been forced to watch the warriors. Zahndrekh had been forced to watch it all, from start to finish, before his body was added to the fires. Did they make him watch the sacrifice of the children? Had he witnessed little Zahndria's death?

"Obyron? What did you see?" Ahmakeph asked and Obyron dropped his hands, looking at Zahndrekh's cousin.

"They made him watch," Obyron said and he could tell Ahmakeph was not the least bit surprised. "You suspected?" Ahmakeph nodded.

"I can think of no better way to torture Zahndrekh than that." Oh yes, on so many levels. Not only did Zahndrekh love them, he had been an excellent Phaeron. In much the same way as Rahkaak, he'd only enforced the bare minimum sacrifices to the gods and while his realm as not nearly as peaceful as hers, it was also rare that the commoners went hungry. It would have tortured him mercilessly, to see the utter destruction of all he'd built. To watch the pleading commoners struggling to save their children before they were fed into the flames. "We will have to be ready to support him." Yes, although Obyron feared that his mind would not survive the full awakening. For a moment, he considered going to Imotekh with this and asking that Zahndrekh not be resouled but… no. Zahndrekh was strong and with the support of the two of them, and Manric's help, they could bring him through this.

It would be very hard, awakening Zahndrekh from his endless dream, but some things just had to be.