The last of the children rescued from the assassin temples had been put to sleep. Now, Erda, the assassin, and herself were preparing the teachers and carers necessary for their purpose.
Isha was copying the original personalities that had formed her core into simulacra of their original bodies. Erda and the assassin were with the plants making the bodies, arranging for the Imperial Palace cooks to provide the necessary nutrients and minerals required to create each one.
The assassin was stuck in her maid disguise. Her job was to repeatedly carry carts of food to an impromptu 'banquet' supposedly hosted by Malcador for some unknown guest. Erda herself was standing guard outside the room, ensuring no others would intrude on the rows of oversized pitcher-plant-like structures Isha had grown. These specially designed plants would digest the materials thrown into them, reorganizing them into the bodies necessary to provide comfort and counsel to the children.
It would take a long time to alleviate the trauma these children had been through. Removal of the emotional scars was virtually impossible without wiping their memories. They would have to learn to live with them.
Still, it was not all bad news. Their minds and bodies were now hardier than most humans. The suffering they had endured would be useful to them when they came in contact with the less hospitable of her children. Redirecting any psychic probe to those memories would serve as a potent reminder for her children to keep their psychic feelers to themselves.
The Aeldari were proud, emotional, and valued strength to a great degree. Most humans were viewed as little more than animals, like gorillas who had learned sign-language or parrots that could mimic speech. These children of Erda would show them what their species could survive, and what they were capable of without cybernetic enhancements or psychic abilities.
That was the only way to avoid petty bickering between Erda's children and hers. It would not be enough for the Aeldari to admit that there were a few exceptions amongst the animals. The diplomats she would train would have to show them humanity's base-line potential. Only then would her children begrudgingly accept humanity as a fellow space-faring race instead of another resource to exploit or vermin to exterminate.
Isha's eyes scanned the multiple layers of bridges that composed the outer parts of the Imperial Palace, observing the humans below through narrowed eyes.
She had left Erda with one of the simulacra that would be teaching the children. It was a portion of herself that mimicked what she used to be, so she was aware of what was going. It may speak and act differently to her totality, but it was still Isha making the decisions. They were currently discussing the syllabus for the children's education, as well as what to do for any who rejected their planned occupation. Having a disgruntled diplomat, bitter about being forced to become one, would be a flaw that any opposing party would not hesitate to exploit.
Her own body was in the personal quarters given to her by Erda. It was originally Erda's, but the mother of humanity had no need for them.
Isha stifled a yawn as she continued to watch the citizenry of the Imperium. Her physical form was made to be life-like, and hence it would cease functioning without sustenance, sleep, or psychic energy. She was currently separated from her children and depleted of all psychic energy from the numerous transformations and growing of the plants. Thus, food, drink, and sleep were imperative for her to stay in the materium.
However, she resisted the urge to sleep for the moment. There was no critical reason. Merely a curiosity, or perhaps it was her attempt to find some comfort in familiarity. She had watched the Aeldari from the immaterium on her throne, even when the edict bound her. Staring down at the millions of people outside the Sanctum Imperialis mimicked that experience, reminding her of how she used to exist. But, there was another reason she stayed awake. Her eyes may have been moving slowly, but they were looking for something.
Finally, her eyes stopped on a medium sized figure in a hooded cloak wandering through the night crowds.
She sighed to herself.
The Emperor does not sleep. He has no need to. He is no longer human, no matter how much he pretends to be. Yet, since his subjects are nought but mortal, all work stops while they slumber. During that time, he wanders in the form of a normal human amongst the citizens of the Imperium.
One might think the Emperor's nightly walks were a waste of time and energy. However, there was nothing else left for the God of Heroes to do. Simple paperwork and organization take no time for the processing power of a god who can calculate the perfect trajectory of lance and macro canon shells into gigantic hands made of magma. Experimental simulations and gene-designs can be completed in an instant. So, the speed at which all the Emperor's duties are completed is determined by how quickly his subjects can carry out his orders. Therefore, once the human portions of the Imperium finish their work, the Emperor is also freed from his duties for the day.
Isha stifled a yawn as her eyes followed the God of Heroes. He passed by hundreds of his subjects unnoticed by them. If anyone else saw him now, they would assume he was searching for something or someone who would become an important part of the Imperium in the future. Those knowledgeable of the Warp and its more malicious denizens would assume he was patrolling the populace, rooting out hidden evils no one else could know about.
But, Isha knew there was no lofty goal nor latent danger that motivated these walks.
The Emperor was simply observing his subjects, recording all those he could in the legend of humanity.
There was no need to do it this way. Any human who followed his path would become part of this legend. Their service to him would save their soul from Chaos in exchange for being immortalized in the story of their life.
But, he did it anyway.
Neither she nor he knew what made him walk out amongst his people.
Perhaps it was some divine instinct as the legend of humanity and its heroes that drove him into the streets; to see the setting the story would take place in with his own eyes.
Perhaps some part of Gilgamesh pined for Enkidu and emulated him in the only way he could.
Perhaps the Emperor did this to remind himself what he fought for by seeing what he protected.
The laughter of an unbroken family sitting down for dinner leaking out of a window.
The sight of a group of factory workers trading jokes and stories over a bottle of amasec in a bar.
The warm embrace of a newly wed couple after a hard day's work.
It could be any one of those reasons, all of them, or maybe even none of them.
Yet, the Emperor walked across the bridges and through the streets every night he could.
He rubbed shoulders with his subjects, but never spoke to them.
He saw the good and the bad, yet passed no judgment during his walks.
He walked with all of them, but utterly alone.
Isha sighed again as her silver eyes continued to observe the Emperor. His hood slipped slightly, possibly blown by the wind, showing the light brown skin of those belonging to the Yndonesic bloc. A flat nose and full lips were the most identifying features on his face, but the combination was neither appealing nor ugly.
The Emperor pulled his hood forward, and continued walking.
Isha could not find the words to describe the expression that was on the Emperor's face the moment his hood slipped. But, it did not look happy.
Loneliness. Sadness. Nothingness.
Those were the words closest to what she saw.
Her brow furrowed as she continued watching the Emperor.
It was obvious he did not glean any satisfaction from these walks. It was a fruitless endeavor. Whatever catharsis gained from watching the happiness of others was washed away by the inability to join it. Every night was only another reminder of what the Emperor no longer was.
But, he could not stop himself from changing his form, and donning his hood when the Imperium's work was done for the day.
Isha did not know whether this continuation of an old habit was a good or bad sign. She had not inspected the information of the Emperor after his change, and was ignorant of what his mindset was at the moment.
Her eyes blinked sleepily as she followed his disguised form from the balcony. The last time she had slept was when she had fallen unconscious upon the pylon world of the Necrons, but she remained awake to watch him.
Was she looking at him out of worry, or was she looking at him out of pity?
She did not know the answer to that question either. Perhaps it was both.
There was much to be worried about the God of Heroes. He may have recovered some of his sanity, but he was a ruthless leader. Humanity's worth was still being determined by her. She hoped they would be an ally against Chaos, but that was not guaranteed yet.
There was also much to pity about the Emperor. First and foremost, there was the matter of his birth.
She said she envied it.
To be born out of idealism.
To be desired by the ones who created him.
It was the polar opposite of how she had been made, but it too was cruel in its own way.
What does a man who achieved apotheosis due to design rather than desire think of the humanity he was forced to lose?
Would he miss it, or would he see it as shedding a weakness that held him back?
The Shamans only thought of the ideal they would create. They did not imagine such an ideal could have emotions of its own.
Yet, their ideal was born in a mortal body, and lived among mortal people.
He suffered humanity's cruelty, their selfishness, and their idiocy. First from his uncle, and then from many others he met during his travels. He saw with his own two eyes the worst of what they could be, while being designed to be the pinnacle of their potential.
That contradiction… The failure of innocent idealism to function in harsh reality is what made the boy into the man who eventually became a god.
Isha watched the Emperor wander the streets until the moon rose to its zenith, then pushed off the railing to return to the room.
There was nothing she could do for him at the moment. He would have to carry whatever emotional baggage he still had on his own.
