As always, there are three advance chapters are up on my P-atreon: p-atreon /SkySage24

And for anyone interested, here's an invite code to my Discord server: hsHKHzfg

Jenetia Krole had been raised for war.

As a young child, she had been abandoned. She did not remember who had abandoned her, only that her earliest memories were of being utterly alone, scraping on the wartorn fields of Terra, struggling to survive, all others repelled by her presence for reasons she could not understand. Even among others of her kind, she stood out, because she did not inspire disgust, but was instead outright invisible to most. The average person simply could not even see she was there.

She was invisible and forgotten to all, a ghost drifting through the seas of the living, unseen, unheard, and unknown.

Then he came.

The Emperor.

He had been the first person who seemed utterly unaffected by her aura, to pierce the loneliness that she had always worn. He had come to her, crouching in front of a small, dirty child eyeing him with shock and fear, and made a simple offer.

"Come with me, and you will never be alone again."

She had agreed, of course. He had given her a new name, discarding the one from her childhood. And ever since, she has been Jenetia Krole.

The Emperor had molded her as a soldier, taught her the arts of war personally, and tutored her on a dozen different subjects. He shaped her into his talons, the shadowy dagger to the shining spear that was the Custodes.

And Jenetia had always served faithfully, but her reasons for doing so had always been…different, from other people.

Because when the Emperor had first come to her, she had not seen the shining golden titan that all others saw. She had not seen a mysterious traveller cloaked in shadows, or even an impossibly ancient, withered old sage as some others claimed to have seen him as.

She had just seen a man. An ordinary middle-aged man, with plain features, dark hair streaked with grey and soft brown eyes.

And the man had saved her, had given her a purpose in life.

Above all, he had seen her. Heard her. No one else had done that, could do that.

What more could Jenetia ask for? What could anyone ask for?

Whatever the Emperor did, Jenetia would follow him to the ends of the galaxy. Whether he wished to save it or burn it to ash, she would do her best to help accomplish that dream.

That was her duty, her mission, her purpose.

For years, she had served as the first of his Anathema Psykana, and in time she had been joined by more of her kind. The Emperor had commanded her to embrace them as her sisters, and she had done so. Some of her loneliness had been alleviated then, as she met others who could understand, who knew something of what her life was like.

But she had never met anyone like the Emperor. The cults and witches that she had hunted in the Emperor's name, the handful of Battle Psykers employed by the Imperium…Jenetia was imperceptible to them all

She was invisible and inaudible to everyone, and even the Custodes and Malcador struggled to remember that she existed, to look at her and interact with her.

Until her.

Lady Isha.

The Emperor's guest and prisoner.

Jenetia had known instantly from the moment she laid eyes upon her that Lady Isha was not human. Underneath all the illusions she cloaked herself with was a distinctly inhuman woman, with wooden bark for skin, red leaves for hair, and with claws instead of fingers.

But just like the Emperor, Isha was unaffected by their aura. While there was a certain wariness to her whenever she was in the presence of Jenetia or her sisters, Isha was never uncomfortable or disgusted.

It was…baffling. Confusing.

And her influence on the Emperor was strange. The Emperor listened to her as he had never listened to anyone except Malcador.

And Jenetia did not know what to make of that.

Having escorted Lady Isha to the Emperor's chambers, Jenetia waited outside with the rest of the escort, for Isha to either emerge or for the Emperor to dismiss them.

Several hours after Isha entered, she came out, this time with the Emperor behind her. She was not wearing the shackles anymore and seemed…lighter, and freer.

If anything, the air between the Emperor and his guest seemed different now. Previously, there had been a tension, one that reminded Jenetia of the eve of battle, where both sides prepared for war and assessed each other before it began.

Now…there was still an awkwardness, a weariness, but it no longer felt as if they were about to fight.

There was something in Lady Isha's gaze as she looked at the Emperor, a mixture of trepidation and some other emotion that Jenetia didn't quite recognize.

But then eyes flickered and landed directly on Jenetia, focusing clearly on her without a hint of difficulty or disgust.

The alien's gaze softened, something dangerously like pity replacing the previous emotions in her eyes.

Nobody had ever looked at her like that. The Emperor and her sisters were the only ones who had ever seen her in truth, and none of them had such softness in their eyes.

Jenetia did not know what to make of it.

Isha could not help but pity the null maidens.

She should have been revolted, perhaps. They were still antithetical to her nature, their mere presence repulsing the energies of the Warp. Isha was not even sure they had souls.

And she was wary of them, she would be lying if she claimed she was not. The similarities to the Necrons and the Yngir were disconcerting enough as it was and made her wonder where in the world they had come from.

They were clearly some experiment of the Emperor's, derived from his study of some Necron technology or perhaps even the Void Dragon itself. There was no other explanation for the similarity to Necron null fields.

But despite all that, even though they might well be soulless…they were so utterly alone. Rejected by all those around them, with no life left to them except an eternity of war.

It reminded her of her children. It reminded her of herself. Weapons bound to the will of a callous master forged for war and no other purpose.

And the leader of the Emperor's cadre of null maidens was the most tragic of them all, the strength of her aura so great that no mortal could look at her and truly see her.

And as the null maidens escorted her back to her chamber, Isha could not resist the urge to speak to them. She was curious, and all that aside, even with the contract established, she could not resist the urge to push her boundaries just a little, just to see how the Emperor would react. If he would react at all or just brush it off as nothing important.

"Hello," She said gently.

Jenetia's eyes flickered to her, filled with caution and surprise, but she did not respond. Not soulless after all, then. There was more emotion in those eyes than Isha had ever seen from any of the Emperor's Custodes. Still, that made her even more curious as to their nature.

"I understand if you do not want to talk to me, but I have a few questions for you if you don't mind." Isha probed gently.

Jenetia frowned but made a hand sign that took Isha a moment to interpret. Isha had learned the sign languages of humanity from the books in her library, but this one was a little different, though not indistinguishable.

"I cannot tell you any of the Imperium's secrets."'

"And I won't ask you to," Isha assured her as they turned down another hallway. "I simply wanted to ask…at what age were you recruited for this? When did the Emperor transform you into…this?"

Isha was undeniably curious about the one form of super soldier that the Emperor had told her nothing about. Even with the Custodes, their genetic enhancements were at least something she could analyze simply by looking at them.

While the Null Maidens were not so powerful as to be invisible to her sight, their strength was sufficient that even for the weakest of them, Isha could not analyze their genetic code with a mere glance.

Or at all, without using the same devices and techniques mortals had to rely on.

How had the Emperor created them?

(And it was also a good distraction from the turmoil that had plagued her recently, a reason to not dwell on her most recent conversation with the Emperor and the consequences of their pact.)

"I was recruited when I was ten," Jenetia signed. "And His Majesty did not make me like this. I was born like this."

Isha's mind ground to a halt, and she stopped walking, her escort pausing as well.

"I…what?" Isha queried, genuinely astonished. "How is that possible?"

Jenetia did not shrug, but the look she gave Isha certainly gave the impression of it. "I simply was." She responded. "Don't know how. Nobody does."

"I…see," Isha responded slowly, her mind whirling with the implications.

They resumed walking down the hall, even as Isha tried to unravel this new mystery.

Were the blanks the result of some genetic experiment conducted by humanity during their Golden Age? Some anomaly caused by the Void Dragon's presence nearby? Something else entirely?

Human nulls were an impossibility, one that could not, should not exist.

And since the Emperor had promised to treat her as an equal…well, she was certainly going to prod him about this the next time they spoke.

"Thank you, Lord Primarch, thank you-"

The man said, practically crying from relief as he cradled the box of Panacea Fruits and vials of Aqua Ghyranis in his arms.

Horus smiled and gently patted the man on the shoulder. "It's no trouble," He said warmly, patting him on the shoulder. "Take it, it'll heal your entire family. This is what the Imperium is here for."

The man beamed and nodded before leaving, and the next person in the queue came forward, an old woman wrapped in a green shawl, looking uncertain.

Horus turned to the side to give her a box, only to realize there were none.

"Please wait," He told the old woman before briefly turning to the knight of the Order Hospitaller whose stand he was sharing, Sir Alexios. The old knight nodded, and Horus offered a smile to the people in the queue before making his way inside the Talosian building the Imperium had appropriated as a distribution center.

The instant he was inside, though, Horus's lips twisted into a scowl, his smile fading away as he marched through the halls, the other knights and acolytes in the white and gold robes and uniforms of the Order scurrying away from him.

He had been working with the order for a few days now since his father and Lady Isha had departed on some urgent matter.

And it wasn't quite what he had expected.

He had grasped the concepts and methods easily enough. How to stitch wounds, to administer medicines, to monitor patients, the logistics of the food distribution…none of it was beyond him.

But it was all…tedious. This was time and effort and resources that could have been spent on the next conquest, on the next campaign. The food and medicines would have served the army on the march as well as did all these civilians.

Father had explained it all to him, of course, and Horus could not honestly say he was wrong, but he also found it difficult to muster any true passion for this work, and he didn't see how anyone else could.

He did like the gratefulness and appreciation all his patients showered him with, but it didn't make up for the tediousness of having to tend to the fragile mortals, the sobbing and the moaning, the lack of any real excitement.

It was just…boring.

Still, he had asked for this, and it would be embarrassing to tell his father that he didn't want to do this just because he was bored.

So Horus grudgingly went about his work, stomping down the halls to fetch more food and medicine to distribute from the stores.

Reaching the storage rooms, Horus grumpily grabbed several crates, far more than any ordinary man could either carry or balance.

But as he made his way back, marching through the building and out to the stall, he was surprised to see that there was someone else standing there, the old woman behind him.

And it was someone taller than him.

Much taller.

Easily as tall as Captain-General Vandalor himself, clad in the ramshackle blue armor of the Thunder Warriors, the figure loomed far above Horus, almost to the ceiling of the hallway, a plumed helmet cradled under one arm.

His skin was leathery, and his face was marked with scars and a thick beard, his dark cropped hair short and streaked with grey. But his storm grey eyes were clear and piercing, fixed on Horus.

Ushotan, Legate of the Fourth Legion, Horus remembered from his lessons on the Imperium's highest generals.

"So this is the Lord Primarch?" Ushotan asked, his tone insouciant, bordering on insolent.

The Legate was regarding Horus with an amused smirk, a condescending spark in his eyes.

Horus had seen that expression directed at other people. Had used it on people.

But nobody had ever directed it at him.

Ushotan made a show of looking Horus up and down. "I have to say, I was expecting someone more…impressive."

Horus bristled, unable to tolerate this in front of so many people.

"Show some respect," He hissed. "I'm a Primarch, the Emperor's son!"

"I noticed," Ushotan said, looking distinctly unimpressed. "What about it?"

Horus puffed up indignantly, before forcing himself to calm down. He shouldn't make a scene in front of all these people.

And he didn't need to rely on his father's name for respect either.

"Why are you here, Legate?" Horus said evenly, mustering the regal person with the aristocratic air that his tutors had taught him. "I didn't realize a Legate of the Thunder Warriors had the time to waste on this instead of tending to his duties."

Ushotan hummed in amusement. "I heard that our Golden Emperor's precious son was making a fool of himself, and I had to come to see it for myself."

The young Primarch's lips drew back in a snarl. He knew these sorts of men and had dealt with them on Cthonia many times.

They respected strength and nothing else.

If he was still on Cthonia, Horus would have challenged Ushotan to a fight, to prove that he was worthy of his respect.

But he could already imagine his father's disapproving frown if he did anything like that here. The people were already staring at them, not just the citizens who had come for their food and medicine, but also the other members of the Order Hospitaller, from Alexios to the knights manning the other stalls.

Ushotan's smirk widened at Horus's visible annoyance. "Well, Lord Primarch," He drawled. "If you'll be so gracious as to tell me why you're here, I'll leave you alone."

Horus glowered at him, setting the crates down. "I don't have to explain myself to you." He hissed.

"You don't," The Legate agreed amiably. "And I don't have anything to do today except stay and watch you."

Hands curling into fists, Horus's glare intensified, and everyone else backed away from the two of them, but Ushotan seemed entirely unaffected, simply crossing his arms.

What did he want?

"I'm here because I was curious about the Order Hospitaller," Horus ground out. "I wanted to see their work."

"Ah, so this is just you passing the time, then. Got bored on the fancy ship, eh?"

"That's not what I said!" Horus snapped, conscious of the many people around to hear Ushotan's accusations.

"But it's the truth," Ushotan said, his smirk fading away, replaced by disdain. "You don't actually care about their work, you're just here because you wanted to amuse yourself."

"Don't pretend as if you care!" Horus spat back, stung by both Ushotan's words and the stares of everyone present. "You're just one of my father's war hounds. I've seen the records of what you've done. As if you care about the work the Order is doing here."

"A few years ago, you would have been right," Ushotan admitted, scratching his beard. "Hell, even now. I'll admit it, I'm a killer. Always have been, even before I became one of your father's hounds. This business of healing and protecting…it's not what I am. But that doesn't mean I can't see why it's important."

Horus rolled his eyes, doing his best to clamp down on his temper and present himself as unaffected. Ushotan was just here to poke at him, trying to annoy Horus for his own amusement. He should have realized that sooner.

"I know why it's important," Horus said curtly, tailoring his words to the audience. "It helps keep the people happy, and shows them the benefits of being part of the Imperium, that we'll treat them well, unlike the monsters who ruled over them before."

"That's all true," Ushotan acknowledged, peering down at Horus, the spark of mockery gone, replaced by something else, something almost…knowing. "But it's not the only reason."

"And what's that?" Horus questioned sardonically, refusing to be goaded into losing his temper again.

"You won't believe me if I tell you, brat," Ushotan told him. "You'll have to figure it out for yourself. Your father seems to have done it even though I never thought he would, maybe you will too."

Horus sneered. "Whatever."

Ushotan shrugged. "Oh, well, it's not my business. Good luck, oh Lord Primarch," He said, raising his helmet over his head. "You're going to need it."

With that, the Legate of the Fourth Legion left, walking away with thunderous footsteps, as Horus scowled at his back, realizing something.

He still didn't know what the Thunder Warrior had wanted.