"The Covenant's chronicles are inscribed with the sacred names of the four prophets."
"The Lord of Blood, Khorne, whose axe carved out territory for faith."
"The Lady of Fate, Tzeentch, who foresaw the burning paths of the galaxy."
"The Father of Dreams, Slaanesh, whose whispers could lull entire armies into slumber."
"And the Mother of Hope, Nurgle, who always kindled fire when civilizations were on the brink of extinguishing."
"They were the saints chosen by the Great Powers. In just three hundred years, they forged Colchis from a savage world into a bastion of faith, bringing humanity hope and salvation. The Great Powers dwell beyond the veil of the heavens, gazing upon the mortal realm with the stars as Their eyes, eternal in Their vigil."
"They are the rulers of the entire galaxy. We are but their humble servants."
Erebus recited the Covenant's history with pious fervor, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the scripture etched across his forehead. The flickering lamplight danced across the dark script on his skin, as though the words themselves shimmered with life as he spoke.
Caelan didn't rebuke his faith. He only felt sorrow.
This world had been poisoned by the Four Gods for too long. Even back during the Emperor's rise in the Unification Wars, the roots of Chaos had already sunk deep into its bones.
"Which god do you worship?" Caelan asked.
"All of them," Erebus answered.
Caelan pressed further: "And if the gods you worship were to wage war against each other, whose side would you take?"
Erebus fell silent. The question was more lethal than the classic dilemma of If your mother and wife both fall into the water, who do you save first?
"Why would the Great Powers ever go to war with each other?" Erebus asked.
"Because war is their nature. The Covenant is the anomaly. They only united because they felt threatened."
"The Powers are omnipotent; could they even feel threatened?"
"Then let me ask you this: can the all-powerful create a stone so heavy that they themselves cannot lift it?"
Erebus was struck dumb.
There were countless ways to explain the Paradox of God, but at its core, all arguments required stepping outside of logic.
Catholics claimed God was omnipotent; atheists used the paradox to refute it.
The Catholic response was simple: God was not bound by the limits of human logic. In other words, He is omnipotent, but you are not, so you cannot define His omnipotence, His can and cannot, His lifting or not lifting.
Hinduism offered another approach: God No. 1 creates the stone, and God No. 2 lifts it.
None of these explanations solved the paradox itself. They were sophistries built on clashing logics: you have your logic, I have mine; I don't accept yours, you don't accept mine. Neither side could defeat the other within its own framework.
Digging deeper, the root truth was simple: people only believe what they wish to believe.
Atheists leaned toward accepting the paradox.
Believers leaned toward the argument that God was beyond human comprehension.
In the M30s, the paradox was hardly new. But on Colchis, it was enough to stump a devout child like Erebus.
He was a good boy, devout and earnest. But his world was one where everyone believed. No one ever questioned the authority of the gods.
His cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, his lips trembled, yet no words came forth.
Caelan never expected to shatter Erebus's faith with a single paradox. His goal was only to plant doubt.
"Then let me ask you again. If the Powers are truly omniscient and omnipotent, why don't They destroy one another and claim all dominion for Themselves?"
Erebus froze in shock. Beneath the tattoos, his skin went pale as death. His lips trembled, as though Caelan's words were a dagger pressed against the throat of his faith.
'Such blasphemy!'
Erebus was clever. He already knew the argument he should make: that mortals could never comprehend the greatness of the Powers.
But he lowered his head instead. He didn't shout. He didn't refute. And he couldn't explain why he wasn't raging against this blasphemy.
Caelan had saved his life, but he had also slaughtered a boy before his eyes.
That didn't prove he was wicked, but it diluted Erebus's gratitude.
And yet, somehow, he still couldn't bring himself to defy Caelan.
Whether it was joining Kor Phaeron's caravan or hearing his gods insulted, he had this strange conviction: Caelan must have a reason.
His knuckles went white as he clenched his robes too tightly. His throat bobbed, but no sound came, only fragments of breath hissed through his teeth.
The scripture carved into his skin suddenly burned like heated iron, searing his flesh as if it would bore through his skull.
Erebus bowed his head sharply, hiding his pale face.
To question the gods was already to blaspheme them.
He had once had a bright future, a devout youth admired by all. In a few years, he would have joined the Covenant as a priest.
But after meeting Caelan, all of that was gone. He knew now, he would never be a priest.
Caelan had ruined his life. He should have hated him.
But without Caelan, he would already be dead on a noose.
"I'm going to sleep now. You should rest early, too." Erebus yanked a wool blanket over himself, his muffled voice thick with a nasal tremor.
He curled into a trembling ball, burying himself as though the bed could swallow him whole. The shudders in his body betrayed the venomous doubts gnawing at his faith like serpents.
Caelan did not press further. Even he was surprised by how shaken the boy was. He hadn't even struck hard yet.
He hadn't told him the true nature of the Four Gods. Hadn't shown him the horrors of the Warp. And still the boy faltered.
"Sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."
Through the blanket, Caelan's palm rested gently, steady and warm. The fear writhed beneath the scripture tattoos, but his touch eased it for the moment.
As his hand patted in calm rhythm, Erebus's taut nerves loosened, impossibly, as though a bowstring finally slackened.
"I…" His pale lips moved faintly, as if to say more, but a sudden wave of sleep crashed over him.
Like a reed broken by the storm, he collapsed into slumber. His posture was almost prayerful.
His hands folded unconsciously across his chest, the last gesture of a believer. The lamplight cast mottled shadows over his face, scripture twitching faintly in his dreams as though still struggling against unseen forces.
In the darkness, Erebus seemed to hear Caelan mutter to himself:
"I'd sooner believe in the Emperor than Chaos. I wouldn't trust those Four bums even if I were a dog."
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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