Author's Note: For those interested, there are now eight advance chapters on P-atreon (remove the spaces and dash): p-atreon/ SkySage24.
Deep in the mountain fortress which had been called the Bai-heng hive but was widely coming to be known as the Imperial Palace, there was a room.
It was a surprisingly modest room. Well-furnished and luxurious, certainly, and large enough to easily hold a dozen people. Thick carpets hushed the footsteps of anyone who would have stepped on them. There were velvet sofas and richly cushioned chairs made of the finest craftsmanship, set around a small round table. The table was heavy with drinks and food, well-made but surprisingly simple fare such as sandwiches, cakes and tea without anything fancy or exotic.
But there were no grand tapestries or portraits, no trophies or treasures. A fireplace crackled merrily, illuminating the room in the absence of more modern lightning.
It was almost cozy.
For the two old men sitting at the table, this was a private refuge, even if the younger of the two did find it somewhat quaint and antiquated, if still charming. But for the older of the pair, it was a reminder of better times.
At the moment, however, the decorations and amenities of the room were the furthest things from their minds.
Malcador leaned back in his chair, his tea untouched. "And you're sure it wasn't an illusion by Isha?" The Sigillite's hood was drawn back for once, revealing an aged, lined face with thin grey hair that belied the strength he still had. But he had discarded all other illusions of age for once, sitting straight, his cold blue eyes gleaming with intelligence.
"I am," The Emperor confirmed. The Lord of Terra wore neither his golden armour nor his jet-black military uniform, or even the white toga and jewels he used for formal celebrations. For once, he was clad simply, in a white tunic and brown trousers, his head bare of the laurel wreath he usually wore. "I went back and checked after she had left, and that weight, that ominous feeling, that knot of fate-" The Emperor did not do anything so plebian as shudder, but he certainly seemed more uncomfortable than Malcador had ever seen him. "-it is still there. I dare not pull at it again, but it is there."
Malcador had seen the Emperor in many moods over the ages, even ones he had never expected in recent decades. But this - Malcador had no other word for it even as absurd as it seemed - nervousness was new. "Would it be so dangerous?"
"Yes," The Emperor said darkly. "That thing, that revenant creature…it looked back at us at that moment, Malcador. I did not realize it then, but now I am certain of it."
Malcador said nothing for a long moment. Such things were technically, possible, he knew. The Warp did not function according to linear time. Even before the warp storms, before the Strife, when the Immaterium had been calm and placid, there had been stories of ships spending but minutes in the Warp only to emerge and learn decades had passed, or even vessels reaching destinations centuries before they had even set out for them.
That did not even begin to get into the convoluted mess that was precognition or outright temporal manipulation. For all his skills, Malcador was hardly an expert in either, and certainly not to the level of his mentor and lord.
There was no metaphysical insight he could offer which the Emperor would not have already thought of.
In the end, there was only one thing that the Imperial Regent could say. "What does it mean, then?"
"I do not know," The Emperor admitted softly, looking as lost as Malcador had ever seen him. "I do not even understand the vision, Malcador. I can die, I know this. But my death should not spawn a Chaos God. The very idea is ludicrous. Unless…"
"Unless?" Malcador queried.
The Emperor grimaced. "Unless I was to allow myself to be worshipped," He said distastefully. "In theory, if I were to allow religion to develop around me, and allowed it to run rampant, to let the worst excesses of religion go unchecked until it was no better than Chaos, and then I died…I might be reborn as a Chaos God. But that is what the Imperial Truth is meant to prevent. I would never allow religion to form around me, much less for it to reach the same depths of evil as Chaos."
Malcador looked at his old friend and kept his private thoughts about the unwisdom of the Imperial Truth to himself. As much as it grated to agree with Isha on anything, Malcador could not help but feel that the Truth was fundamentally flawed, even if for different reasons than the Eldar Goddess. It was a good way to weaponize and harness faith, but trying to keep everyone ignorant of the dangers of Chaos was a mistake.
But there was no point in rehashing that old argument at the moment.
"Is it perhaps a consequence of what you did at Molech?" Malcador asked carefully.
The Emperor had always been deeply reluctant to discuss exactly what had happened there, save that he had ventured into the deepest depths of the Immaterium and emerged stronger than ever.
How he had gained that strength, the Emperor would not say.
Malcador had intended to investigate himself, but now he was forced to reconsider. He wished to put himself on equal footing with his old friend, to be heeded as Isha was, but he had no desire to become another creature of Chaos.
The Emperor didn't answer for several minutes, but Malcador waited patiently. Either his lord would answer, or he would not.
"It is possible," The Emperor said finally, each word oozing reluctance. "I…may not have fully understood what I did there, though I thought I did." The sentence was spoken with the air of a man confessing to a crime which he knew would see him executed, but knowing that silence would be even worse.
Malcador stroked his chin in thought. He knew better than to ask the Emperor for details, and it wouldn't have helped in any case. He was unlikely to understand the mechanics behind whatever ritual the Emperor had performed on Molech any better than he understood the mechanics of how time functioned in the Warp.
"Then you must find a way to understand it better," Malcador said instead, turning to the most practical solution he could think of. "You must study yourself, re-examine what you did at the time, and perhaps even return to Molech itself."
"Yes," The Emperor agreed unhappily. "If Chaos has somehow infected me…" His face contorted as he left the sentence unfinished.
Malcador flinched at the thought, instinctively revolted by it. If the corruption of Chaos had a foothold in the Emperor…then all was truly lost.
But Malcador immediately dismissed the thought after a moment.
"If Chaos could infect you, then your innate nature as their antithesis would have been compromised by now," Malcador pointed out. "And even if they have, why would they wish for the birth of another rival? The Four hate and despise each other, and are always at war. They would not want a Fifth, much less one who might retain your ability to defy the Veil at will."
"That is the hole in that theory, and I hope it is true," The Emperor agreed. "But I must visit Molech post-haste." He pinched the bridge of his nose in an unusually human gesture. "Is our grip on Terra and Mars secure?"
"For now," Malcador said, reviewing the matter. "Terra is firmly under our grasp, but Mars may be more problematic if you leave. Not to mention it would delay many other matters, such as the Astronomican Project and the Conquest of Sol."
"And yet, if I do not go, the risk of some unknown infection festering within my soul grows," The Emperor said grimly, before sighing. "I will leave half of myself behind, but I must go, I fear. But perhaps there are some measures I can take to compensate for the loss of speed we will suffer due to my trip."
"Oh?" Malcador asked curiously.
"Molech is in the Ultima Segmentum," The Emperor's fingers moved through the air, tracing an invisible map. "On the way, and back…I do believe I can pick up several of the Primarchs. It will add time to the trip, but not too much, as long as I don't engage in any diversions."
Malcador blinked, rubbing his jaw. "Having multiple Primarchs back ahead of schedule would indeed help," He murmured, considering it. "You're sure you can find them quickly?"
"I know where they are, or will be," The Emperor said, waving a hand dismissively. "Not all of them have emerged from the Immaterium yet and will have to be left for later, but I can find quite a few, I think."
"How long do you envision the trip to take?"
"No more than two years," The Emperor asked, steepling his fingers. "Less, hopefully, but I am confident it will not take longer than that."
Two years…yes, Malcador could manage with only half the Emperor for two years.
Even so, the idea was troubling. Despite their optimism only a handful of years previously, when Isha's aid had accelerated their plans by decades, now it seemed they faced a fresh setback every few months.
But the Emperor was correct. Some unknown curse or change inflicted on him by Molech was too dangerous to not be investigated immediately.
"And you still intend to take Isha with you?" Malcador asked eventually. He already knew the answer but felt compelled to ask.
"Of course," The Emperor nodded as if it had never been in doubt.
The implication that of course, he would take Isha along on this monumentally important task rankled, but Malcador put it aside. At least he would be able to strengthen the Imperium's foundations without Isha around for a good long while.
Two years was not much in the span of immortal lives, but it was better than nothing.
"I may take Horus as well," The Emperor continued. "The experience will be good for him, and ideally, the Primarchs should bond with each other at a young age."
Malcador hummed in agreement. Horus was young and raw, but he was fiercely loyal and adoring of his father. There would be some rough patches as the boy adjusted to not being the only son, but all the more reason to introduce him to his brothers while the Primarchs were young and not yet set in their ways.
That did leave another question, however, one that had to be addressed. Malcador could not say he particularly wanted to discuss it, but it could not be left unsaid.
"How much exactly, do you intend to tell the Primarchs about Chaos?" Malcador asked slowly.
The Emperor's jaw took on a stubborn set. "We have discussed this before," He said, his voice suddenly frosty. "They do not need to know."
"The existence of warp predators and daemons is painfully obvious, and they will be ripe targets for Chaos, you said so yourself," Malcador pointed out, already knowing it would accomplish nothing. This was not the first time they had these arguments, and it would likely not be the last.
"Ignorance will shield them better than anything," The Emperor said firmly. "I will tell them that the matters of the Warp are dangerous and not to be trifled with, and they will listen. An in-depth understanding and knowledge of the Immaterium will only tempt them to delve into it."
Easier said than done for a collection of transhuman minds raised across a score of different worlds, all of whom would have spent at least some of their formative years without their father.
"What of Magnus?" Malcador asked, hoping that his old friend would be more amenable to educating a single Primarch rather than all of them. "He is the most powerful psyker of the lot, and has landed on a world with a potent psychic culture besides."
Not that narrowing targets had ever worked out for Malcador before. He had argued for the dangers of Chaos to be known to the entire populace of the Imperium, then only to the leadership of the Imperium and finally only to the Primarchs.
His old friend had yet to heed him. The Emperor had never explained precisely why, but Malcador had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with his biological children, some of whom had fallen to Chaos and that the Emperor had been forced to slay before.
The Emperor did not like talking about such matters and had not even before he had become the Emperor, but they had left their mark.
"As far as Magnus goes, we shall see," The Emperor said firmly, his voice brooking no further argument. "If it becomes necessary, then we will tell him."
Malcador had a sudden and somewhat uncomfortable moment of empathy with Isha, at how she must have felt whenever arguing with the Emperor.
He truly wished his old friend would not be so unreasonable. Malcador understood some secrets could not and should not be shared with the masses. Even his enhanced mind had long lost count of the number of secrets he had buried and covered up for the sake of the Imperium.
But the equation changed when the thing you were trying to keep secret was alive, powerful, omnipresent in many ways, and all too eager to take advantage of the ignorance of its existence.
The best way to deal with Chaos and prevent infiltration was to give clear warnings and criminalize it as much as possible, but the Emperor would not be swayed.
Not right now. Malcador realized with a sour taste in his mouth, that the only person who might be able to help him get through to the Emperor was Isha.
"When do you intend to leave?" Malcador asked, putting the topic aside for the moment.
"Ideally not before Sol is firmly within our grasp," The Emperor said, smiling slightly at Malcador's surprise. "The matter is not that urgent. The vision was of the far future, at least several thousand years. I do intend to accelerate our conquest by any means necessary, however."
Malcador gave the Emperor a wary look. "What means? We are already going as fast as we can. We do not have the resources or numbers to go any faster."
"Not with an army, perhaps," The Emperor said with a smile that promised pain for enemies of the Imperium. "But there are other ways. Our main obstacle to conquering Sol quickly is the damage to Martian infrastructure and the unrest among the Mechanicum. That cannot be smoothed over quickly, so we must gain control of the other major naval power in Sol."
"The Jovian shipyards," Malcador realized. "But how? The Xeno pirates have a firm grip on them."
The Emperor smiled. "Why, I intend to take a page out of Isha's book. If we cannot dislodge the Xenos from the outside, then the answer is obvious: we spark a slave revolt."