"I understand. I won't believe in the gods, no matter who they are."
Lorgar did not believe in divinity. He believed in authority.
Right now, Caelan was the authority in Lorgar's heart. If authority told him not to believe in gods, then he would not.
But Lorgar's near-pious obedience did not comfort Caelan, it only made things trickier.
If he truly wanted to save Lorgar and reshape this Primarch as he did with Curze, then he would have to help Lorgar overcome his flaw: his blind submission to authority.
Yet to reshape Lorgar into his ideal, Caelan would first need to become the authority in Lorgar's eyes, because Lorgar only listened to authority.
That created a paradox. He was the authority, yet he had to teach Lorgar to resist authority.
Which meant Lorgar would resist him, but in doing so he would also resist the very logic of resisting authority, thus submitting to a higher level of authority instead.
"Erebus," Caelan called to the boy who had been trailing beside him. "Carry him. Follow me."
"Me?" Erebus looked nervously at the child on the ground. The boy stretched out his arms to him, but his eyes betrayed disappointment; he wanted Caelan to hold him, not Erebus.
"He is not a prophet. This is not blasphemy," Erebus muttered under his breath, scooping Lorgar into his arms and following.
The camp had already divided into three distinct groups: the smallest, the nomads; next, the armed believers; and finally, the largest, the slaves.
Caelan said, "Each of you, send one representative to me."
They quickly understood, and soon three stepped forward.
The nomads chose their chieftain, Van Mogair, the man who had once taken in Lorgar and given him his name.
The believers put forth Akshida, the captain of their guards, a towering warrior barely five years old.
The slaves selected Nairo, a venerable elder of ten.
Akshida and Nairo's eyes brimmed with reverence, as did most of the believers'. The nomads were mostly grateful toward Lorgar, for it was he who had spared them from Kor Phaeron's massacre.
Only Van Mogair understood the truth. Lorgar's nature, like his supposed divinity, was cold and merciless. He had saved them not because they were dying, but because Caelan had been disappointed in him.
Van Mogair's gaze was sorrowful. He had known it from the day he adopted Lorgar: how could a god care for mortals?
"Kor Phaeron is dead, and his farce of a pilgrimage has ended," Caelan said, sweeping his eyes over the three. "If any of you wish to leave, you are free to go now. I will not stop you."
"My lord, we have nowhere else to go. Please allow us to follow you and the prophet," Nairo said, prostrating himself against the scorching sand.
Akshida knelt as well, voice firm, "We will not abandon the prophet."
Van Mogair said nothing. This was their home. If they left, where could they go?
"He is not a prophet, and certainly not a god!" Caelan warned sternly. "If you follow him out of faith, then heed the prophet's command, and leave!"
Nairo and Akshida turned their eyes toward Lorgar.
"Obey my father," Lorgar said. "I am not a prophet, nor do I accept worship. If you insist on making me one, then please, leave."
Only eighteen months old, Lorgar sat cradled in Erebus's arms, the sun painting his delicate outline in gold.
His pale white face betrayed no emotion. His voice was soft and childlike, yet when those violet eyes swept calmly over the two kneeling figures, their bodies trembled beyond control.
Caelan glanced at Lorgar again. Even Curze had never called him "father", likely out of pride.
But Lorgar said it with no hesitation at all. The word made Caelan feel guilty, as though he had stolen another man's child. Would the Emperor beat him if he found out?
"Don't call me father!" Caelan said sharply.
"Can't I?" Lorgar tilted his small face up at him, pitiful eyes shining.
"I am not your father!" Caelan's heart softened for a moment, but he forced himself to look away.
'That was close, almost got caught for that cute little trap!'
Nairo and Akshida nearly broke down. They wanted to throw themselves at Caelan's feet, begging him to accept the title.
Van Mogair asked quietly, "Can you give my people a better life?"
The name Lorgar in Colchisian meant "Rain-bringer."
For nomads of the desert, nothing was more precious than rain. The name itself showed how different Van Mogair's hopes were from the others.
"Yes," Caelan said.
Whether Lorgar was a Primarch or not, he would do it, just as he had with Erebus, because he wanted the world to be better.
"My lord, the Mogair tribe is at your service."
Van Mogair knelt, lowering his head to hide his sorrow.
He knew only a god could raise a god. No matter what a mortal did, they could never win the child's heart.
But still, he had once cared for Lorgar, if only for seventeen short days. It was the most unforgettable time of his life.
Caelan said, "If you are resolved, then go and tell the others. The caravan will march deeper into the desert. If any wish to leave, this is their only chance."
Once the three were gone, Caelan called, "Lorgar."
Lorgar straightened instantly. Whenever Caelan spoke, he listened as though receiving a sacred command.
"What am I doing right now?" Caelan asked.
Lorgar thought a moment. "Giving them a choice."
"If I give them a choice, will some choose to leave?"
"Yes."
"If I don't give them a choice, will some still leave?"
"Yes. Some will never follow us."
"So, whether I give them a choice or not, the choice always exists. Correct?"
Lorgar nodded.
Choice always existed; the consequences simply differed.
If Caelan offered it openly, leaving carried no punishment.
If he withheld it, leaving would brand them as traitors to be executed by the rest.
"Then remember this," Caelan said. "You are no different from them. You always have a choice. No matter where that choice leads you or what it costs, the most important thing is to remain true to your heart."
"I'll remember." Lorgar puffed up his chubby face, trying to look serious.
The more obedient he was, the more it pained Caelan. Under his breath, he muttered, "I'm starting to miss Curze."
Their first meeting had been rough, but with Curze, Caelan had known immediately that this boy could be saved.
But the more submissive Lorgar became, the more Caelan's head ached.
Right now, Caelan was the authority in Lorgar's world. He obeyed his every word.
But the day Lorgar found a greater authority, everything Caelan taught him would become a bullet aimed at his heart.
How on Terra was he supposed to teach Lorgar?
Caelan's troubled expression did not escape Lorgar. His breathing grew cautious, violet eyes clouded with broken light, his voice as faint as desert sand rustling in the night.
"Did I do something wrong again?"
He looked like a rain-soaked kitten, full of grievance, yet too timid to mewl, his wet eyes accusing in silence.
Caelan lost himself for a moment. It struck him then: he, too, had become twisted.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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