"Lie! The gods curse you!"
"Heretic!"
The faithful screamed as they rushed into the sea of fire, trying to rescue the burning scriptures.
Espaea stood frozen, staring blankly as the flames awakened like a great beast, greedily devouring the sacred texts, and the believers who tried to save them. She never expected that Lorgar had ordered her to collect the scriptures just so he could burn them all.
She was lost.
They rebelled against the Covenant because it had betrayed the glory of the gods… but why destroy the divine words as well?
Was Lorgar truly not a prophet?
If he wasn't, then how could one explain the divinity she saw in him?
And if he was a prophet, why would he abandon the gods?
The slaves lifted their heads, the firelight flickering in their clouded eyes.
They were too far to see clearly, so one stood up, straightening his crooked back.
More and more slaves trembled as they rose to their feet, their brown spines forming a jagged line in the firelight, like a poplar forest springing up suddenly in a desert.
Lorgar's heretical words frightened them. Some wanted to rush into the flames like the believers to save the scriptures.
But… he had promised them freedom.
What was "freedom"?
For generations, they had been slaves, bound by the Covenant.
The word was foreign to them, yet it had a strange magic, pulling them deeper and deeper under its spell.
For the first time, their eyes reflected living light, not worship of gods, but something new, bright, and human.
"O, great one… what should I do?"
Espaea stumbled toward the fire. Hundreds of believers had already thrown themselves in, desperate to save the divine words.
But the flames seemed alive, recoiling when the believers dove in, then surging forward to block their retreat when they tried to escape.
They got what they wished for; all of them perished with the scriptures. None survived.
She must have been wrong.
The prophet she believed in might truly be a heretic.
Without realizing it, she had betrayed the gods.
Espaea wanted to weep, to scream. But the fire had dried her tears; she couldn't cry even if she wanted to.
She should atone with death, die in the fire like the faithful. Only then could she prove her devotion.
But the sea of fire parted before her. The flames retreated like servants bowing aside, leaving a burning path through the scorched sand.
She stepped forward, then shrank back in fear.
Her body trembled.
"Why?"
If the gods truly existed, why didn't they punish Lorgar's blasphemy? Why must the devout suffer instead?
"Why?" she whispered again, covering her face as tears finally splashed into her palms.
Dying for the gods was supposed to be her highest honor, so why was she afraid? Why was her faith faltering?
"If you can't bring yourself to die," came Lorgar's calm voice, "then try living as a human."
Espaea wiped her tears and looked at him.
"Aren't I human?"
"You are a servant of the gods, past and present. But the future hasn't been written yet."
"Do I even have a choice?"
"Forward or back. Life or death. The choice is yours."
She looked back at the fire; it still beckoned her.
The scriptures were right there. Two steps forward, one reach of her hand, and she could pull them from the flames.
Her warriors had rushed into the fire to save them, brave and faithful.
But they never came out again. One step short of salvation, and the fire had closed its jaws.
Espaea wept harder now. Once a commander of soldiers, now she cried like a lost child.
She stumbled back several steps, then turned and ran.
She ran hundreds of meters before collapsing to the ground.
"Now I understand why I was never meant to be a priest," she sobbed.
"I thought her faith would be as devout as any priest's," Erebus muttered, "didn't expect it to crumble that fast."
Caelan replied quietly, "That's because she's facing Lorgar."
Humans instinctively obey authority. On one side were unseen gods worshiped all their lives; on the other, a living man who denied those gods yet shone with divine power. Who wouldn't be torn between them?
The slaves' defection was inevitable.
They'd believed in the gods for half their lives, yet never gained anything from it.
They didn't need luxury; just a day without a whip would make them kneel in gratitude.
Lorgar broke their chains and gave them freedom.
They didn't yet understand what freedom meant, but instinctively, they watched and followed. The world had always worked that way: whoever wins, they follow.
The believers' sacrifice was just as inevitable.
They had benefited from the Covenant; their faith brought them status and comfort. The doctrine had rotted their minds; they believed utterly that dying for the gods meant paradise. Of course, they would leap at the chance to prove devotion.
It was all about social class: the higher the rank, the more reckless the zeal; the lower, the quicker they bowed to fear.
Espaea was a rare exception, high-born yet uncertain. Youth played a part; she was a military officer, not a priest devoted wholly to faith.
But mostly, it was Lorgar's charisma, too great for anyone to resist.
And it all traced back to the gods' design: had the world already been corrupted by Chaos, Lorgar's words would be useless.
But since it wasn't, his words mattered.
Lorgar stood before the roaring flames, his tall shadow stretching across the desert, the hem of his white robe fluttering in the heat.
He could have chosen a gentler way, gradually eroding their faith.
But that would be slow and dangerous.
If even one zealot remained hidden, the seed of faith would sprout again, poisoning everything in time.
So everything had to burn.
When the last scripture turned to ash, and every believer with it, Lorgar sifted the ashes with his hand, ensuring nothing survived, neither man nor word.
Only then did he return to the deck, eyes burning with violet fire.
"I know my path is right," he thundered. "Today they burn for their gods, tomorrow they would betray mankind for those same gods! To bring humanity's true dawn, we must rip the cancer of faith out from its very roots! The Emperor was right, and if my brothers can't see that truth, then I will carry it out myself!"
Caelan agreed silently. Faith was a cancer.
Even if the Emperor's Imperial Truth had flaws, even if it was built on lies, the vision behind it had been right. He was so close to success.
Still… Lorgar couldn't even call the Emperor Father, could he?
Caelan thought about mending that broken bond, but decided against it. Better not ruin his friendship with Lorgar for the Emperor's sake.
"Lord," said Akshida, bowing low, "we've seized all transport convoys and cut off Wahadirish's broadcasts. The Covenant won't know what happened here, but they'll send reinforcements. Their vanguard could arrive within three days."
"Then we strike first," said Lorgar. "Between Vharadesh and Trantis lies Melsen. If we take Melsen, we seize the initiative. Trantis can't produce water or food. If the Covenant surrounds us, we'll starve without a single shot fired."
His goal had never been Trantis; it was Melsen and other semi-permanent settlements.
Trantis was a mining city, unable to sustain itself; everything came from Melsen's plantations.
Melsen grew cotton and flax, but had water; the others grew food.
To survive in Colchis's harsh deserts, Lorgar needed at least three such settlements. Trantis just happened to be in his way.
Espaea stepped forward. "My lord, the workers' morale is high. Let me lead them to take Melsen."
Once a Covenant ordnance officer, now she was the rebel army's chief instructor.
Since Trantis's liberation, there were no faithful left; the devout had all burned for their gods.
The slaves were now armed, trained under Espaea, fighting to protect their hard-won freedom.
Lorgar's "freedom" was modest, reducing their 20-hour workday to 12, enforcing work and rest periods.
But those eight extra hours of rest were enough for them to realize they didn't have to live like beasts.
The suffering of the lowly was always the same; the luxury of the highborn endlessly colorful. Across the galaxy, the pattern held true.
Colchis wasn't a hive world; it had few factories. Forcing slaves to work 20 hours achieved less than 12; exhaustion made them useless.
The Covenant didn't care about efficiency; they cared about control.
Like corporate bosses who demand overtime and hold meetings after midnight just to remind you who's in charge.
That oppression bred rebellion. The slaves had long been angry; they just needed someone to lead them. Lorgar was that someone.
Lorgar frowned slightly. He and Caelan could capture any settlement alone. He hadn't trained the rebels just to throw their lives away.
He wanted to refuse Espaea, but Caelan shook his head, so he changed his tone.
"Very well. I'll personally lead the assault on Melsen. Assemble the troops."
"Yes, my lord." She bowed deeply and left with Arkheda.
Once they were gone, Lorgar sighed. "I just don't want them dying needlessly."
"You're too kind," said Caelan bluntly. "You always try to bear the burden alone, then share the credit afterward."
"I'm not alone," Lorgar said softly. "I have you."
"Then why can't I share the credit? Why do I only get the hard work?"
Lorgar froze, realizing Caelan wasn't being selfish; he was teaching him something.
"There is no victory without iron and blood," Caelan said. "Peace won without struggle is fragile, like castles built in the air."
"In Old Terra, there was an educator named Carnegie. He wrote How to Win Friends and Influence People. One of his lessons: what comes easily is never cherished. The right amount of distance, even hardship, makes triumph meaningful."
"If they don't taste war's cruelty, or understand the price of sacrifice, they'll never cherish victory. Only what's won by their own hands will they defend with their lives!"
"If a few bleed for the many, the many will question why they should share in the reward. But if all bleed together, then every miner, every farmer, every mother knows why they fight, and such victories become sacred."
"Thank you," Caelan said hoarsely. Erebus quickly handed him water.
He had just taken a sip when he realized Lorgar was silent.
'Oh no. Did I make it worse?'
'Like a rebellious child yelling "Don't tell me what to do!" to his well-meaning father? Please no.'
'Lorgar had never been rebellious like Curze, who masked his defiance in pride. Lorgar always listened… right?'
Then came the soft voice, "I'm sorry."
Caelan blinked.
"I shouldn't compare myself to Curze," Lorgar said quietly.
'Compare?'
Caelan didn't ask; good fathers don't need to.
He understood.
Curze had liberated Nostramo from the bottom up, spreading rebellion until the whole world burned bright. Many of his Midnight Phantom sons and daughters died for that light.
Lorgar was doing the same now. Curze had his Midnight Phantoms, Lorgar had his Rebels.
But every Primarch has pride. Lorgar didn't want to copy his brother's path, especially since Caelan often praised Curze. That only deepened his need to be different.
If Curze's sons died for victory, then Lorgar would win without losing a single one! He'd crush the world alone if he had to.
"You're competing with him again," Caelan sighed.
But Lorgar had already apologized; he couldn't scold him.
"Lorgar," Caelan said gently, "you are you. Curze is Curze. Even if your paths look alike, your outcomes will differ. History repeats not because we copy it, but because its patterns are true."
"The Emperor began his Great Crusade from Terra, crushing Luna, Mars, and beyond. You're doing the same, only on a smaller scale. Every revolution in history follows that pattern."
"You don't need to prove yourself by rejecting others' successes. You are, and always will be, Lorgar the unique."
Lorgar slowly lifted his face, violet eyes shimmering with tears like morning dew catching fractured light. His throat tightened; he swallowed hard and whispered,
"Father…"
"Don't you dare cry," Caelan warned, pretending to scowl. "I can't stand it."
"I'm not crying!" Lorgar barked back, hastily wiping his eyes. If the tears didn't fall, they didn't count.
Then, softly, "I was wrong."
"You were very wrong," Caelan nodded.
"I won't compare myself to him again. He's the blade that tore through Nostramo's night… and I am the fire that will ignite Colchis's dawn."
His voice was gentle but firm, though in his heart, he added quietly:
"Because I am Lorgar. The one and only Lorgar."
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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