~Reaver, Warrior, Scholar, King~
~798. M30~
~Segmentum Solar~
~Approaching Inwit~
~The Emperor of Mankind, The Hero with a Thousand Faces~
They had sheltered his daughter for six years, and even in such a world as that, she was a year or two far from full development. With the measures woven into her flesh, that was an impressive deed, and required being rewarded. For this, they were given six thousand mars-pattern lasguns with instructions on their use and repair. A rudimentary weapon of robust design, outclassed in strength by nearly anything else of similar industrial needs, but requiring very little in terms of maintenance and ammo facilities. It would grant them significant power to protect themselves and expand, and in time they could likely come to dominate their fellow gangs in that subterranean realm.
It was a pittance compared to what they did on his behalf, protecting his daughter. It was exactly what such men and women would appreciate above all else. For coin was worthless when enemies were at the gates, but strength was a universal currency. With weapons they could trust, they had the chance to secure their future with their own strength, owing nothing to a greater power.
Bargained and done, and now their path was their own to shape. What warrior did not dream of that?
With that business concluded, a detachment of the greater fleet had been left with Cthonia, to facilitate the integration of the world, its Mechanicum, and its people into the wider Imperium. Loyal aides would be responsible for the tedium of that process, essential as it was, and they would shortly begin their own sub-fleets to bring more worlds of humanity into the wider Imperium. A fractal cascade of ever-expanding ships and soldiers, quantity being a quality all to itself.
He could not afford to personally manage all affairs of the Imperium, but that was acceptable. All he had to do was be great enough to unify humanity under a shared vision, and trust that the peoples who had endured the age of strife would be capable of acting competently. He and his personal forces would attend to the most pressing issues, while the daily affairs of the state would be left in the hands of local populations.
The local rulers had guided their people through the Long Night, they would be more than capable of contributing their share once backed by the industry and support of a thousand-thousand of their peer leaders. Similarly, those who had no desire to return to the conditions of the Long Night would naturally slay the malicious actors who only sought to sate their bottomless appetites.
In giving men a vision of a better tomorrow, and a single hand of aid, they would crawl through a thousand battles to make that vision a reality. He just needed to ensure the greatest horrors of the galaxy could not consume humanity before they were strong enough to stand once more.
Strong enough to stand against wretched sorcerers, frothing mutants, conquering aliens, and gibbering horrors. Even in his most distant youth he recalled warring with those things, evils always present and tormenting mankind. It took thousands of years to slay the last of their ilk on old terra the first time, and hundreds of years to do so the second time. He wondered how long it would be before he had to do it again.
He did not know how long it would take to do this task for every world of mankind. To put the sorcerers to the sword, to put down the mutants, to throw back the alien, to banish the horrors. Tens of thousands of years? Ever?
Then again… not every example of each required culling. There were sorcerers of strong will who refused the whispers of the warp. There were mutants with mastery over themselves and their forms. There were aliens who were not a threat to mankind, nor intending to become one. These could be safely permitted to live and act by their own merits.
There were no horrors that did not deserve annihilation. He himself had certainly failed to ever encounter one. Twisting parasites, devouring the souls of men, and making slaves of their corpses. He made it his business to put these to the sword, and shatter their song with his will.
His supposed son had already allied with one such faction of alien, the 'Exodite' Eldar.
His brow furrowed as he considered what he knew of them. He ignored the ripples of unease that washed over the assembled peoples in the chamber of light with him.
Eldar were a fae-like people, capricious and cruel, who made it their business to abduct weaker peoples. Bringing their tithes of flesh back to decadent cities made of bone and torturing their very souls with all manner of psychic rituals mastered over a thousand lifetimes. They used advanced technosorcery for a wide variety of purposes, and had access to another realm of their own design. Sometimes they lived upon verdant worlds, and any who entered those places were quickly killed and their entrails hung upon branches. Isolationist, arrogant, violent.
He did not see any reason to tolerate them, with the information he had. His supposed son must have more knowledge in this regard than he, or perhaps a particularly poor sense of judgment. Not impossible, but unlikely with what he had designed Thirteen with.
Or perhaps it isn't a Thirteen of a set of Twenty? Perhaps it is a Thirteenth iteration of Zero? The name certainly suggested such, and allies against the great enemy would be prioritized over all things else.
Speculation was of little use at this time. His fleets had already been commanded to not attack such vessels and peoples until attacked first. He would doubtlessly meet them in time, and would take their measure then. Until then, it would not do to needlessly sabotage one who reached their hand out in friendship.
One of twenty thus far, too soon to declare him a son or deceiver yet. He found himself hoping it was the former, it had been many years since Zero was crafted, and the boy needed a true brother in arms, it would be good for him.
"Lord Emperor-" The Navigator began again, and already he knew what she was going to say. He resisted the urge to grunt, knowing that would only lead her to needless despair.
"-We will be arriving at Inwit within a day." She finished, marveling at his great golden sword. He partook in a small smile at the crass jest, and replied in his usual fashion. Wide eyes and agape mouth was his thanks for having the audacity to make an expression.
"You have my thanks, Lady Navigator." He rumbled out, wishing that he could stand from this amplifying device. His daughter's tutelage had to be left to his Custodians for now, for to ensure the quickest possible path through the warp, his dedicated will was required. Perhaps he could incorporate a secondary array into his armor? It would be unlikely to be as efficient, but it would allow him to move from this chair. He could hardly tutor his daughters while stuck on a throne.
He would check on Hathor again once they entered the system. Or perhaps it was more pertinent to retrieve Seven first?
He considered the two paths before him, and decided to cut.
He would speak to her both before and after retrieving Seven.
—
"How goes your studies, Hathor?" He rumbled out, announcing his presence within the great study onboard the ship, placed here specifically to facilitate the education of his daughters. The doorways were large enough to fit his frame, enormous compared to a mortal man, and much of their design was the result of the manifold architects among the Terran shipyards attempting to win his favor with their best works.
The large chamber held a single primary lectern at the center, surrounded by the stair-steps of a great coliseum with integrated desks. This design was common, simple to produce, and effective enough, although he did not remember where he first learned of it. In the center, a large holo-projector was mounted, to aid the tutors in administering the lessons of pen and state.
Within this chamber, a small group of his gold-clad Custodians paused in their lesson-giving, turning to give proper warrior's salutes to their king and crafter. Nineteen of the men in total, organized as a single small shield-host to guard and educate his daughters. Of which, the majority were simply on the sides and outside of the chamber, to ensure no ambush by unscrupulous entities was successful.
Handpicked specifically for this task, not for particular martial merit. For if he were to select by martial ability alone, he would have called upon Valdor. Stoic, observant, yet unmatched among the hosts of mankind, and utterly unsuited to educate his daughters. The Captain General, prototype for the Custodes as a whole, was subject to a slightly earlier iteration of the genecrafting process.
He was powerful, he was intelligent, he was loyal without question, and he could feel nothing but a sense of duty. Valdor was a sword of his will, a man with a blade-shaped soul. He needed more from his daughters than the ability to act as useful tools. He needed warriors and generals, he needed queens and heroes, he needed allies he could rely on without question.
Valdor's soul was a sword making its best attempt to appear human. A precious thing, a trustworthy thing, but not a tutor. Later Custodian-candidates were selected more carefully, such batches were derived from a larger percentage of those without weapon-souls.
Currently, the only student in the chamber was his daughter, barely taller than the Custodians educating her, and a table-section filled with haphazard writing utensils sprawled before her. She perked up at his arrival, eyes brightening with a happy glow as she pushed herself away from the papers and quills. She moved to stand, before stopping suddenly, turning her eyes back towards the silent feathery-souled custodian standing at the lectern. A silent plea for permission to stand, which was granted with a tilt of his helm.
Quickly she rose and bound her way over to him. "Is-" She cut herself off, frowning and focusing before attempting to speak again. "It has been going well, father." She enunciated in near-flawless Old Terran. She's been learning for several weeks now, so her progress was exactly on the expected pace. It's likely she'll fall back to her native ganger-tongue in times of duress regardless.
He smiled, she grinned. "So I have been told. We have arrived in the Inwit system, and are now approaching the planet in question, allowing me to finally rise from the throne again. I decided to speak with you before retrieving your sister."
"I'm happy to hear that father. Custodian Strigoi tells me that I have completed my basic education, and am ready to move onto higher fields soon. I was waiting for the opportunity to tell you." She spoke formally, careful with her words and demeanor, clearly attempting to please him.
"You are more than welcome to visit me upon the throne, Hathor. I would welcome the company of my daughter." He spoke, causing her smile to waver slightly. After a moment, she replied.
"I… am uncomfortable with the behavior of your attendees, father." She glanced away as she said this. He grunted and nodded in reply, knowing full well how irksome the reverent gazes became at times. She would have to become used to such in time, she was a child still, she had time to grow.
He decided to alter the course. "And how goes your studies in the war-arts?" He asked with a small smile, knowing what was to come.
His daughter gave a toothy grin and immediately fell into an excited ramble about her spars and games of tactics. Just as thrilled by a worthy challenge as he was. He indulged himself in the simple joy of listening to his daughter's exuberance.
Inwit was still perhaps an hour away, he had some time to spare.
—
Inwit was a world that slowly circled a dim, dying star. At any point, half of its surface was covered in vast expanses of ice and cold, untouched by the heat of proper light, and the other half was blazing and equally unforgiving desert, with only a thin sliver of survivable temperatures along the twilight of its surface.
Most of its population lived in great cities constructed under the earth, and what few humans survived on the surface dwelled in that thin strip of dawn and dusk. Nomadic clans that wandered between underground cities, long tempered by the harsh and unforgiving climate into a robust and steadfast peoples.
Most impressive was that, even in conditions such as these, the people of Inwit managed to develop a modest empire of their own, spanning several systems with small fleets. A feat they managed in the midst of the Long Night, when nine-tenths of all things were brought to ruination. In such a time, they had managed to grow, overcoming the hardships of their world to thrive as a people.
This was worthy of praise.
He strode through the relentless blizzard, forcing its winds and hails to slow and turn into gentle snowfall with his will. The cold was bracing, invigorating, nostalgic, and he drank deep breaths from it. It reminded him of his most ancient youth, growing upon the chilling steps of his homeland.
In the underground fortress before him, he could feel the soul of his daughter Seven. Immense and frozen, an unstoppable movement, endless evaporation but never diminishment, a white bulwark.
Drawn from his days as a slave, tormented by the whips and cruel hooks of his captors, forced to sweat and toil at their grinding wheels, but never breaking, never failing, and overcoming them in the end. In those days his flesh was hard and cold, for they offered him but a loin cloth to garb himself, and a great fire in his belly warmed him. All he knew was the task before him, and what must be done to complete it.
Seven was to be better than him, she would not be forced to grind wheels of pain, she would see the challenge as what it was and her mind would churn with methods to overcome it. She would see a task others decry as impossible, and throw herself against it with a joyous fire in her heart.
She would have the strength to bear the great stone wheel, and the indefatigable will to utterly master it. The task alone would be enough to fill her heart.
His steps cracked the ice as he approached, and the heat of his will turned it into streams of spring-waters. Reaching the immense doors of the bunker, he raised a great hand, and knocked.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
He waited patiently, breathing in the delightfully chill air.
The pict-recorder outside of the bunker came to life, looking down upon him. Noise issued forth from inside and another technology, a speaker of sorts, came to life with the quiet hum of lightning fueling it.
"Stranger! What business do you have with the Clan of Dorn!" They spoke in an accented language similar to Gaelish, much to his amusement. He was fluent in several variations of that tongue, this was simply one of the most recent iterations.
"I am a father, seeking his daughter. I ask for guest rights among your clan." He rumbled out, knowing that the honor of people who dwell in harsh lands would ensure they agree.
Sure enough, the bunker whirred to life, and the immense iron gates cracked open just enough for him to squeeze through, quickly shut behind him by a host of men clad in thick furs pulling upon a thousand chains through a pulley system of sorts. Likely the engines of such broke long ago, or perhaps they were not used to spare precious reserves of power.
He turned his head through the crowds of men with somewhat more advanced weaponry than most, fingers far from triggers and tips pointed down. They were suspicious, but guest-rights were older than any tool they used, and indeed older than even himself.
The leading man, clad in a thick fur coat and face adorned with a respectably robust beard and mustache, looked up at him and grunted in thought. Reaching a decision, he reached a hand out to shake.
Internally smiling, he bent down and reached out his hand, carefully grabbing the man's own, and engaged in the slightly vigorous shaking that would dislodge loose weapons in their sleeves. Ignoring that he was not wearing a coat.
"A strong grip. You'll have guest rights for at least a day." The man declared, expression concealed by the furred hat, bushy eyebrows, and previously noted beard. "You were looking for your daughter? We have no giants here."
He nodded in turn. "My daughters crashed here some years ago. Her growth more rapid than any normal human, and in time she'll grow nearly as large as myself. I've come to retrieve her."
The man reached up, stroking his beard in thought. "...How can I be assured of your trustworthiness?" A small confirmation that he knew of who he was speaking of, but nothing concrete until he had more to work with.
The Emperor smiled, an excellent foster. "I can only give you my word." For what else would a man raised in this cold trust?
The man searched him as best he could for a moment, before nodding and turning his head. "Jeren, bring the youngin' here."
The man quickly obliged, leaving to go deeper into the bunker. The rest of the men relaxed even further, assured that violence was not required with the giant in gold. After some time in comfortable stillness, the man returned, bringing with him a young girl. From the look of her, white haired and brass eyed, she was just now entering pubescence.
On a world such as this? He estimated she was roughly two years of age by now.
He smiled. "Hello my daughter."
She stared at him for quite some time. Evaluating him, taking a measure of him and his armor. Eventually, with a voice like dry ice, she replied. "You are very big."
He raised a brow. "...Yes."
She continued. "You are much larger than grandfather." Brass eyes attempted to bore into his blue, but couldn't quite manage with how much larger he was, even when kneeling.
He let his expression remain unchanged. "Yes."
There was silence for a time. He reached a hand out. She stared at it for another long time, before approaching, and climbing up in his palm. Both of his brows now raised as he stared at her. She was too big to entirely fit, but seemed content with her new perch.
He had been intending on her grabbing his finger. He turned his gaze to her apparent foster, who's brows were raised far into the folds of his own hat, showing amber eyes and aging lines.
"What are you doing, stargirl?" Her foster asked distantly, gruffly grunting out a question.
She replied promptly, as if it were utterly obvious. "Big and warm."
He smiled. "Are you ready to come home?"
She stared. "...Home is clan Dorn. Clan Dorn is here."
He was about to speak, but noticing her foster, the apparent head of clan Dorn about to speak, he stilled his tongue. The old man walked over, taking off his coat, and wrapping it around her shoulders. She stared at her foster and he spoke. "Your home is in the stars, stargirl. But if you carry that coat, you'll always have the Dorn near, understand?"
She processed that information, slowly reaching up to pull the coat tightly around herself. "Okay." Turning her head, she spoke to him again. "I'm ready."
He smiled, and nodded at the head of Dorn. "I will see your clan and world compensated for this. For taking care of my daughter." To which the head of Dorn nodded, before asking a question.
"You have a name for her, do you not? She hasn't earned one among the Dorn yet."
He nodded. "Danu."
She nodded, before speaking again. "Danu Dorn." It was as imperious as she could manage, which wasn't very much considering how young she was. He nodded, this was well within his ability to grant. Standing and bringing his hand up to his armored chest, letting her grab hold of it as she wished, he spoke a final time to the head of Dorn.
"You have my thanks. We shall be off now. A detachment of my fleet will arrive here with gifts for you. What would you like?"
The head of Dorn reached up to stroke his beard in consideration.
"...New winter gloves, if you have them."
How nostalgic. "I will see it arranged."
And with that, he turned to depart once more, the massive steel doors of the bunker slowly opening with his will, and blizzard beyond turning into gentle snowfall. The eyes of his daughter were wide as she stared at the flakes of white powder, drifting through the air around them.
"Soon you'll meet your sister." He spoke gently to the young one carried against his chest. She turned to look at him, frowning in contemplation. After a dozen or so steps away from the bunker doors, she replied.
"I have a sister." It was not a question, merely a declaration of newfound information.
He smiled, his will activated the Imperial Teleportation Array far overhead, and with the crack-boom of a thunderbolt, the father and daughter disappeared in a flash of man-made lightning.