I have no idea what's going on.
The thought passed through Curze's mind as he leaned back in his throne, hands resting lightly on the cold, intricately carved armrests. His piercing gaze swept the room before settling on the tomes stacked high on the polished stone table before him. Becoming the ruler of this planet had bestowed many privileges, and one among them was access to secrets long buried – the history of a world that had, for reasons still unclear, deliberately hidden its past.
He reached for another ancient ledger, its cover worn and edges frayed. The weight of it felt heavy in his hands, not just from the paper and ink, but from what it represented. The records inside spoke of rulers who had come and gone, regimes that rose and fell, and a timeline meticulously documented – far too meticulously. For months now, Curze had poured over these records, checking and rechecking dates, timelines, and events, trying to reconcile them with his own understanding of the Imperium's history.
His jaw tightened as he flipped through the brittle pages, his eyes scanning the carefully inscribed dates once more. They were consistent, maddeningly so. If these dates were accurate – and he was certain they were, after verifying them countless times – this world, the planet he now ruled with an iron hand veiled in velvet, would not even be discovered by the Imperium for another hundred years.
A hundred years.
He exhaled slowly, the air leaving his lungs in a measured, deliberate release. Time travel. It had to be. There was no other explanation. He leaned back again, the edges of his ornate armor brushing against the high back of the throne. His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest as his thoughts churned.
He had risen from the dead. That much he was sure of – he remembered the embrace of death, the cold finality of it. But he hadn't just come back. He had been flung into the past, thrust into a time where the stars were not yet united under the Aquila. Terra itself, if his deductions were correct, likely remained fragmented, still a battleground for warlords and technobarbarian tribes. His father, the Emperor, might not have yet begun the Great Crusade. His brothers, his fellow Primarchs, might not even exist yet.
Curze sat forward, his hand clenching into a fist as his mind turned over the implications. The Horus Heresy – the betrayal that had shattered his family and plunged the galaxy into millennia of darkness – was not even a distant possibility. How could it be, when Horus had yet to rise as Warmaster? When the Imperium itself had yet to be born?
His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing. It wasn't just the timeline that unnerved him. It was the weight of his presence here. His sins – the atrocities he had committed, the blood-soaked path he had walked – had not yet occurred. His crimes against his father, against his brothers, were still unwritten. He clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding slightly. How was he to ask for forgiveness from a father who might not even know of him yet? How was he to find absolution when the sins for which he sought it hadn't even been committed?
He rose from the throne abruptly, the movement swift and controlled. The dark cloak draped over his shoulders swirled as he strode to the window, his steps silent despite the weight of his armor. Outside, the world he now ruled stretched out before him, a far cry from the dystopian wasteland it had been when he first arrived. Under his rule, order had replaced chaos, peace had displaced violence, and the seeds of prosperity had begun to take root.
His reflection stared back at him in the glass, the pale, gaunt face framed by jet-black hair that fell in uneven strands around his sharp features. His eyes – haunted, piercing – caught his attention. For a moment, he studied his own visage, the image of a man who had clawed his way out of hell only to find himself thrust into an enigma.
He exhaled again, his breath fogging the glass. Whatever had brought him here, whatever force had decided to place him on this timeline, it had not done so without reason. He turned away from the window, his expression hardening. He had been given a second chance – or perhaps a cruel mockery of one. Either way, he would not waste it.
Curze glanced at the stack of records once more, his mind settling into a grim resolve. If his father's Imperium did not yet exist, then he would prepare this world for its eventual arrival. When the Great Crusade swept across the stars, his father would find not a broken, divided planet, but one united under his banner. And when that time came, perhaps – just perhaps – Curze could stand before the Emperor, not as a wayward son seeking forgiveness, but as a ruler who had proven his worth, a paragon of justice and equality – the version of himself that he'd always dreamed of being.
He needed answers.
Answers about how and why he was here. About what role he was meant to play in a galaxy that had not yet shaped the destiny he knew. He turned back to his throne, his movements deliberate, his eyes narrowing as thoughts churned. Yet, even as his mind worked through every possibility, a bitter truth settled at the edge of his consciousness.
There was no way he'd ever uncover how he had come back to life.
The thought lingered, heavy but undeniable. He could pour over every ancient text, delve into every lost fragment of knowledge, and the answer would likely elude him. Whatever force had pulled him from death's embrace was beyond his reach – an enigma tied to the vast, unknowable tides of the Warp or perhaps the machinations of something greater.
But why he had been brought back? That mattered more.
Curze pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, his brow furrowing as he let the thought expand. That question, he might answer. Not today, not tomorrow, but with time. If he observed, if he acted, if he shaped this world and its people, the reason would reveal itself. Purpose, after all, was not always discovered – it was forged.
He glanced at the window again, his sharp gaze following the curve of the horizon where the faint shadow of the moon loomed, its cratered surface etched like scars against the void. His people had made enormous strides since he had taken control. A century had passed – nearly a blink in his lifetime but a vast stretch of time for the world he ruled. Under his leadership, what was once a fractured, dying planet had transformed into a society poised on the edge of something greater. What had once been a world of scattered and loosely-connected city states was now a bastion of justice, peace, and prosperity.
Perhaps it was time to take that next step.
The thought gripped him, steady and certain. His people had been confined to this world long enough. They had clawed their way up from anarchy, rebuilt their cities, rekindled the fires of industry, and learned to wield technology with precision and care. Factories hummed across the surface, churning out tools, vehicles, and weapons. Ancient blueprints, unearthed from the ruins of civilizations past, had given them a foundation. They had mastered the skies; now, they could master the stars.
He'd held it off for... quite a while – for reasons he wasn't entirely certain of – but now...
Konrad stepped away from his throne, his boots striking the polished floor with measured precision. The room was vast and empty, save for the scattered tomes and holographic displays of planetary schematics. He waved a hand, activating the largest display. A projection of the moon appeared before him, its gray surface spinning slowly in the air. Craters, ridges, and valleys mapped out in perfect detail.
The nearest moon. The largest one. A new frontier. The first, small step to a much larger and grander journey. One day, perhaps, Konrad Curze would stand at the head of an empire that would rival even the Empire of Macragge in magnitude. If nothing else, offering up a hundred worlds to the Imperium would be a good way to apologize for his sins.
The plan had been there for decades, lying dormant. Engineers had drawn up prototypes for colony ships, designs that blended ingenuity with efficiency. Geological surveys, conducted through orbital drones, had identified key sites rich in resources. The technology was ready, the factories capable. The only thing lacking was his command.
Curze's fingers brushed against the edge of the projection, the cool light reflecting off his pale skin. He could already envision it: colonies nestled within the craters, their domes shimmering under the faint light of distant stars. Massive mining rigs extracting precious minerals, feeding the forges that would power their expansion. A foothold beyond their world. A sign that his people would not be confined to the ground forever.
He turned, his cloak trailing behind him as he strode toward the comms console embedded in the wall. His hand hovered briefly before activating it. A faint hum filled the room as the system powered up, connecting him to his council – a body of scholars, engineers, soldiers, and advisors he had assembled over the decades.
Their faces appeared on the holographic display, a mix of expressions ranging from curiosity to apprehension. They knew that whenever their ruler called them together, it meant something significant. After all, Konrad Curze might've stood at the top of the echelon, but he mostly left governance and politics to the whims of the people themselves, with himself only occasionally intervening whenever necessary.
"It is time," Curze said, his voice calm but unyielding. "Our world is stable, prosperous. But we cannot remain here forever. The moon will be our first step beyond the confines of this planet."
The council members exchanged glances. One of the engineers, a middle-aged man with a sharp, calculating gaze, leaned forward. His hands rested on the edge of the table, his voice steady. "The designs are ready, my lord. The colony ships can be completed within months. The automated systems are robust enough to sustain the first wave of settlers and prospectors. They'll need minimal oversight during the initial phase."
Curze nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good. Send the orders. I want construction to begin immediately. Select the teams carefully – builders, engineers, scientists. No passengers. Only those essential to establishing the colony."
The room shifted subtly. Heads inclined in agreement, but there was an air of hesitation. The weight of this moment wasn't lost on anyone. For all their progress, this was a leap into the unknown, a bold step that demanded precision.
"What about security, my lord?" The voice came from the other end of the table. The speaker, the commander of their fledgling military, leaned forward. His broad shoulders stiffened slightly, his eyes scanning Curze's face for a response. He was a seasoned man, his posture firm, his tone measured. "There's no telling what alien menace might await us up there. Better to be prepared than to regret. The men will need some void training, but nothing that cannot be done within a few months."
Curze regarded him silently for a moment, his sharp gaze cutting through the room. Then, he inclined his head slightly, gesturing for the man to continue.
The commander straightened, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. "The colony will need a protective force – small, but specialized. Not just to guard against external threats but to maintain order if any unexpected challenges arise. I suggest we deploy a heavy weapons detachment. They'll need to train in zero-gravity combat and equipment handling, but the timeline aligns with the colony ships' completion."
Curze's lips curved faintly, though his eyes remained sharp. "A sound proposal. The colony must be safeguarded, and this will serve as a trial for the Mark I Powered Armor prototypes."
The mention of the Mark I stirred a ripple of interest across the council. The armor had been a project of great ambition, its development pushed forward under Curze's direct supervision. Heavy plating, enhanced strength augmentation, integrated life support systems – it was the beginning of what could one day rival the power of the Astartes. But this was its first real test, and the stakes could not be higher.
"The Mark I has performed well in controlled environments," the chief engineer added cautiously, his brow furrowed. "Field tests have been promising, but deploying them for live operations on the moon's surface will push the systems to their limits. We'll need constant monitoring and real-time adjustments."
"Then ensure the monitoring systems are flawless," Curze said, his tone brooking no argument. "I want no delays and no malfunctions. The armor will be tested under real conditions. If it fails, we'll refine it. If it succeeds, we'll expand its production. Either way, the colony will be protected."
The commander gave a sharp nod, his expression firm. "I'll oversee the training personally, my lord. The men will be ready."
"Good," Curze replied.
AN: Chapter 79 is out on (Pat)reon!