"For freedom, glory to Lorgar!"
"For the Covenant, slay the heretics!"
The roars of battle between the rebels and the Covenant army tore through the cold night air. Flintlock rifles cracked like thunder, and the rumbling of steam engines merged with the dying wails of the fallen, composing a symphony of brutality.
Slaves wrapped in coarse hemp huddled in their dormitories, trembling hands covering the ears of their children, as if the war outside had nothing to do with them.
Though the Covenant forces resisted with fanatic devotion, the rebels still stormed into the holy temple of Ehexer-Huk. The Mechanist-Deacon guarding the sanctum was blown apart by crawler fire. The towering holy statues were toppled, sacred texts burned to ashes, marking the victory of the rebellion.
The Covenant army had been completely unprepared for the assault. Akshida's forces had circled from the eastern dunes, bypassing the frontal defenses. The crawlers blasted through the gates with ease.
Though the rebels suffered over a hundred casualties, their sacrifices were worth the capture of Ehexer-Huk.
"My lord, I pray you are safe."
Akshida gazed toward Melson, not as a prayer to the gods, but as an old human blessing born of hope.
The Coldfall would soon give way to the High Night. Even the steam-driven crawlers couldn't endure continuous travel during the frozen darkness. And with Melson two days' journey away, reinforcements were impossible. Prayers were all he had left.
"Espaea, you traitor!" The Mechanist-Deacon of Triku arched his armored back like a desert scorpion. His curved blade flashed silver in the air, aiming to cut the betrayer to pieces.
He wore the same exoskeletal armor as Espeae. While it lacked the impenetrable protection and devastating firepower of a Crusader's suit, it was far more agile.
"You are guilty of heresy, unforgivable! I shall purify your flesh, and the gods will judge your soul!"
Espea hesitated for a moment. She had spoken those same words not long ago, before executing the priest of Trantis.
And now she was the heretic. She could not argue, but neither would she surrender.
With a sudden twist, her curved blade flashed through the air, slicing precisely into the vulnerable seam at her opponent's neck joint.
The dull rip of metal and flesh was followed by a spray of hot blood spilling onto the sand, blooming like a red plum flower.
"Why, Espeae? Why did you betray us?" The dying Deacon rasped, armor joints twitching and grinding until he finally collapsed, raising a cloud of dust.
Espeae bowed her head, but did not look at the corpse.
Once, they had knelt together before the gilded altar of the Vharadesh Temple, when the Archbishop himself had bestowed upon them their holy ranks.
He had been the son of a priest. She was the daughter of a commoner.
He could have stayed in the coastal towns, destined for greatness. But instead, he came to Triku because he loved her.
She knew it.
Yet she had sworn before the Archbishop to remain pure, to dedicate her life to the gods.
Not out of devotion, but ambition, so the Archbishop might favor her, allowing her to remain in the prosperous coast rather than the barren deserts.
But the Archbishop saw through her. She was sent to Trantis anyway.
He followed her there, and she killed him with her own hands.
"Why?" Espeae whispered to herself. "Why did I betray the Covenant? Why did I follow Lorgar?"
She could have claimed she was coerced, slain the rebels, begged forgiveness from the Covenant. He would have believed her. He loved her. He would have defended her.
She could have returned, traded intelligence for status.
They could have married, risen through the ranks together, two Deacons united in faith, perhaps even ascending one day to the Archbishop's throne.
But she had killed him.
Her fingertips unconsciously wiped the blood from her blade. Memories surged like tides.
She saw again the youth in white robes standing amidst burning scriptures. The starlight in his violet eyes, as if entire galaxies turned within them. When she looked into those eyes, it was as though the brilliance of the cosmos had frozen in that single glance.
His divine face shone with firelight. Even the blood splattered on his cheek looked like rubies set into a god's statue.
He said he was not a god, but was he really not?
Espeae didn't believe him.
He said the gods were false, that faith was a shackle.
So she obeyed him, cast away false gods, and shattered her chains of belief.
Because she had never seen the gods, but the god she saw stood before her.
Her gaze fell on the growingly cold corpse. Rebel soldiers were already stripping his armor.
They had taken the same vows, received the same training, but fate had led them down separate roads.
He was still trapped in the lies of the gods. She had chosen to follow Lorgar, to break the shackles of faith, to shatter the lies of divinity.
"Commander Espeae," said Van Mogair, approaching her with worry. "Shouldn't we return to provide aid in Melson?"
Espeae looked at him. "Do you not believe in Lorgar?"
Van Mogair hesitated.
"I believe in him," she said.
And gods do not lose, no matter who the enemy is.
"If someone must bear the shackles of faith," Lorgar murmured, standing on blood-soaked sand, "then let it be me."
His violet eyes lowered upon the field of corpses. His white robes were drenched in blood, dragging behind him to leave dark crimson trails in the dust.
In his gaze shimmered the compassion of a god.
Neither Akshida nor Espeae had truly abandoned faith. They had merely changed its object, from the gods, to Lorgar.
Even when Espeae knelt in despair before the flames, he could still see the fanatic fire of faith burning in her eyes.
They all saw him as divine, and the Covenant as heresy.
Lorgar knew this would bring disaster. They worshipped him only because they had never seen true gods. The day real gods revealed their miracles, they would abandon him as they had abandoned the Covenant.
He could not change their minds. He could have killed them to grant them true liberation, but he was too kind.
He could not bring himself to harm those who followed him, even if they did so for the wrong reasons.
They believed in him, sacrificed for him, bled for him. How could he hate them for that?
So he bore it all, their faith, their worship, their pain.
He wished they could die gloriously in the liberation of Colchis, but if any survived, he would see them safely through.
Turning, he gazed upon the young warriors behind him, standing firm in the icy wind, lips cracked and blue, frost clinging to lashes and hair. Yet their heads remained unbowed.
They were the Circle of Ash, the only ones who truly followed his path.
"I am not a god," Lorgar told them, again and again. "We are men."
"The Covenant lost five thousand elite soldiers and all their settlements around Trantis. They won't be attacking again soon."
Lorgar spoke lightly, but everyone knew, without him, even five thousand Covenant troops could have crushed the entire rebellion.
"Espeae," he said, "you know the Covenant best. How long before they regroup?"
"The Covenant of Vharadesh keeps twenty thousand soldiers in reserve. That five-thousand-strong vanguard was a quarter of their strength. Normally, to destroy them, the rebellion would need at least twice that number."
"To annihilate us, they'll summon fifty thousand troops," she continued. "That will require pulling garrisons from nearby towns. Mustering forces and supplies will take ten days."
"Ten days," murmured Lorgar. "Then we have time to breathe. Espeae, Akshida, train the troops. In five days, we strike again."
They nodded solemnly. His word was sacred.
The rebellion now held four "cities." They lacked neither food nor water. Their combined slave population exceeded a hundred thousand, but only ten thousand could be armed.
Ten thousand against fifty thousand. Sandals against soldiers. No chance at all.
But as long as Lorgar lived, their victory was certain.
How could false gods triumph over a host that had the true god among them?
"I'll be gone for a while," Lorgar said. "Erebus will lead in my stead."
"Yes, my lord."
By Imperial standards, the world of Colchis would be classified as a Death World.
It was too hot and too cold. Day and night each lasted eighty-five hours.
Three times the size of Terra, with more than 97% barren mountains and desert, only the polar coasts were habitable.
Yet humanity endured. The people of Colchis were tougher than most, able to withstand extremes of heat and cold, a legacy of ancient gene-forging from the Golden Age.
Once, before the Age of Strife, this world had known great civilization. The shattered ring visible in its sky was proof enough.
Orbiting Colchis was a halo of debris, hundreds of derelict ships drifting like Saturn's rings. Broken keels like the bones of giants; twisted armor reflecting the cold light of the sun; shattered engines still sparking with dying arcs of power.
"I will rebuild it," Lorgar said quietly.
He stared at the starlit heavens. The desert of the High Night was silent. Only he and Caelan remained, no Erebus to irritate him.
He disliked Erebus almost as much as he disliked Curze.
Before he met Caelan, that lucky mortal had already been by his side. Whenever Lorgar wished to be alone with Caelan, Erebus would shamelessly cling to them.
He understood Erebus's affection for Caelan, similar to his own, but shallower.
"Colchis, or the orbital ring?" Caelan asked, peering through the telescope Lorgar had taken from the vaults beneath Melson's temple.
"Both," Lorgar said. "I'll set everything right again."
The night seemed frozen in time, belonging only to them.
Sometimes, in the wind, Lorgar's violet eyes would drift toward the stars, filled with a sadness no mortal could detect.
If he could strip away his divine duty, if he could simply remain the child beside Caelan, perhaps this peace could last forever.
But fate had already written the paradox: because he was forged by the Emperor's hand, Caelan had crossed the stars to find him. And that same bond would one day tear them apart.
"If the Golden Fleece we found really is an STC," Caelan said, "then we hold the key to rebuilding civilization. When Colchis rejoins the Imperium, the Mechanicum will beg to help restore its orbital ring. Under your leadership, this world will rival Terra."
"Would you like such a Colchis?" Lorgar asked.
"Of course."
"More than Terra?"
"Terra is my home," Caelan said with a small smile.
Lorgar wasn't disappointed. He understood, home was irreplaceable. Like a father.
"Then second favorite?"
"That depends on you."
"I'll make sure it is," Lorgar grinned, bright as a child.
"I believe you."
"What are my brothers' homeworlds like?" he asked next.
"Most are harsh, like yours. The best might be Guilliman's Macragge."
"Guilliman. Macragge." Lorgar remembered the names. He would visit someday.
They talked long into the night, about Terra, the Primarchs, myths, and saints.
"I'll rest for a while," Caelan yawned.
"I'll keep watch," Lorgar said softly. 'Forever,' he added in his heart.
The desert winds howled across the armor of their crawler. Lorgar sat facing the wind, shielding Caelan from the cold. His white robe fluttered like moonlight refusing to fall.
The next dawn, the crawler reached the Pit of Sorrow.
Beyond the jagged rocks lay a crater forty kilometers wide, like a wound struck upon the world by a god's hammer.
Metallic bones jutted from the sands like the remains of giants. The ruins of an ancient sky-city shimmered in the heat haze, its ringed hulls and windows still faintly discernible.
"The Golden Fleece…" Lorgar whispered.
Even in ruins, he could tell, the legends were true.
The ancients had built wonders beyond imagination. Even a Primarch could not fathom their glory.
"Lorgar!" Caelan suddenly shouted. "Ten o'clock, two hundred meters!"
Lorgar's eyes snapped toward the sand. A long ripple surged beneath the surface, racing toward them like a serpent.
Boom!
The Sand Dragon Wyrm erupted from below, three hundred meters of scaled fury. Triangular scales flashed red-gold under the sun. Its threefold eyes gleamed coldly, and its jaws gaped wide enough to swallow the crawler whole.
It struck the psychic barrier with an earth-shaking crash, teeth sparking against the shimmering blue field. Waves rippled through the air like a stone striking water.
The crawler swerved, barely escaping death.
The beast vanished beneath the dunes again, sand cascading like a waterfall.
"Can you handle it?" Caelan's voice echoed in Lorgar's mind.
"Its hide's too thick," Lorgar said. "I have to get inside its mouth."
He had seen the solution in the very first instant, but held back, not to worry Caelan.
"Confident?"
"Yes."
"Then do it."
The next chance came faster than expected. The Sand Dragon Wyrm surged from below, jaws wide.
It swallowed the crawler whole.
Metal shrieked and crumpled like foil in its jaws.
Moments later, it convulsed, roaring in agony. Its head slammed into the ground again and again, then went still.
Lorgar stepped from its mouth, dripping with foul saliva.
"I think I'm going to vomit," he said, wrinkling his perfect face.
Psychic energy cascaded over him like a waterfall, cleansing every trace of filth.
"That's better," he smiled.
"At least the beast's dead," Caelan sighed. "But so is the crawler."
"I always wanted to walk with you like this," Lorgar said.
"Are you a child?"
"Yes," he said seriously. "Sixty days old by Colchis reckoning. Fourteen months by Terran time."
Caelan shook his head, helpless.
The two of them, one barely over a year old, the other a grown man, walked side by side beneath the scorching sun, toward the ruins ahead.
"I find it strange," Lorgar said quietly. "How did the Sand Dragon Wyrm know to strike the moment we entered the crater...?"
And the desert wind swallowed the rest of his words…
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
[email protected]/DaoistJinzu