Trazyn, Curator of the Solemnace Art Gallery, observed his new collection.
In the tomb world beneath this planet, Trazyn the Infinite, great protector of all history and artifacts, recorder of all extinct and non-extinct civilizations, was looking at his brand new collection.
His prismatic museum contained all the historical scenes he deemed worthy of display.
From the War in Heaven to the death of Solar Lord Macarius, from the fall of Fulgrim the Phoenix to the Beast War, from the forgotten empires to the fate of Talasha Yudon, countless historical scenes had been preserved or restored by Trazyn.
He walked past a clone of Fulgrim and stopped at the end of the exhibition hall.
Fortress Commander Drost and his Eighth Regiment and One Hundred and Eighty-Fourth Regiment of Cadia were held in a Static Field, permanently frozen at the moment before their final end.
In front of them was an exquisite plaque, inscribed in all the important languages Trazyn knew: Fall of Cadia.
This was a pivotal moment, one that undoubtedly altered the course of the entire galaxy.
Trazyn's glowing eyes gazed at the scene.
He had sacrificed many precious artifacts for this display.
A Custodian, Inquisitor Greyfax, two Astra Militarum regiments, and a squad of Ultramarines from the Great Heresy era.
Of course, he had left Lockheart Scarabs within these collections.
But Belisarius Cawl, that interesting human, Trazyn believed he had a way to unlock the Lockheart Scarab's restrictions; it would only be a matter of time—
The Lockheart Scarab was deactivated.
Trazyn's eyes on his metallic face flickered a few times; just now, a Lockheart Scarab had been removed.
No, it wasn't just removed. Through dimensional phase communication technology, Trazyn was able to transcend the limitations of time and space, connecting to the Lockheart Scarab that had been excised from Greyfax's body.
"The Omnissiah granted me power and the machine spirit."
A simple, nascent consciousness came from the other side of the dimensional phase communication.
The Lockheart Scarab rejected Trazyn's access.
To be precise, the consciousness within the Lockheart Scarab rejected it.
This puzzled Trazyn.
Although this consciousness was simple, it could not have originated from the Lockheart Scarab's simple structure.
Some kind of implanted intelligent system? An external thought array? Or a trick from the gods of the Warp?
As for the so-called Omnissiah, Trazyn dismissed it as another superstitious act by the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Most Necrons considered the Adeptus Mechanicus a mix of low-end technology and rotting flesh, desecrating both machine and flesh.
But Trazyn found them interesting; though superstitious, they were a history worth recording, and his museum even housed several Adeptus Mechanicus priests.
As for the machine spirit—
The soul of a machine?
Trazyn scoffed at this.
He turned and walked away from the Fall of Cadia exhibit, step by step, out of this human exhibition hall.
From the Fall of Cadia to the Great Heresy, from the Great Crusade to the Old Night, from the Iron Men Rebellion to the Golden Age, from the invention of the first Warp Engine to humanity's first step out of the Solar System—
The entire history of human civilization flashed before Trazyn's eyes, allowing him to witness the evolution of humanity's history.
From ignorance to wisdom, from wisdom to madness, from madness to tunnel vision, and then from tunnel vision back to ignorance.
"The soul of a machine?" Trazyn muttered as he walked.
Finally, Trazyn's steps stopped before two extremely crude and primitive probes.
These were also part of his collection; the plaques in front of the two probes read: Humanity Attempts to Contact Other Civilizations—voyager 1 and 2.
These were two simple probes released into the universe in the late second millennium of humanity, attempting to understand their star system and contact other civilizations with them.
Trazyn stood in front of this exhibit, unable to help but let out a low, dry laugh.
"The soul of a machine?" he murmured again, as if repeating a joke worth repeating: "How can a machine have a soul?"
Trazyn deactivated the exhibit's Static Field, stepped forward, opened the probes, and retrieved what he was looking for.
It was a twelve-inch circular record, plated with gold.
Ancient humans recorded sound in an extremely primitive way, carving vibrating marks on such a disc, and then using a stylus to restore the marks to vibrations to play the sound.
Trazyn then found a matching diamond stylus from voyager 1, and a record player from his own collection.
With a sense of ritual, he brushed the dust off the record, placed it on the record player, adjusted the speed to thirty-three, and placed the diamond stylus on the edge of the golden record—
"Greetings."
"This is a gift from a small, distant world."
"It contains our voices, our science, our music, our thoughts, feelings, and souls."
"This message from Earth is meant to convey to this vast and awesome universe our hope, our determination, and our good wishes for distant worlds."
"We are striving to live in our time, hoping to enter yours."
After a brief moment of silence, a voice, mixed with a little static, began to play.
It was Akkadian, one of the oldest known human languages at the time, born from the Semitic people of ancient Mesopotamia.
Then came the proto-language of high gothic, the four dialects of the ancient Dragon Kingdoms, a total of fifty-five languages, repeating this greeting.
Trazyn waited quietly, waiting for his favorite part.
Waiting for the generation of emotions, he thought calmly.
Then, the part he anticipated arrived.
The music of Ancient Terra's humanity was also recorded within.
The sound of strings being plucked began, first like high mountains and then like flowing water; the vibrations of the stylus depicted the ebb and flow of emotions.
Trazyn had researched the history of this piece, knowing that it told of the friendship between one person and another.
Their souls were connected; in the ancient human saying, they were "bosom friends."
Humans chose this piece as one of the songs on the record, attempting to seek out kindred spirits in the vast universe.
Yet, in the end, it was Trazyn who received this record, a Necron without a soul.
"How can a machine have a soul?"
Trazyn murmured to himself, savoring the fluctuations in his circuits that could barely be called emotions.
If machines could have souls, why was there only emptiness within the Necron's mechanical bodies throughout such a long period?
Trazyn stood calmly in place, listening to the twenty-seven minutes of music play quietly.
"Curator, a guest has arrived."
Saunnet, Trazyn's chief technician, conveyed this message to him.
Trazyn felt a slight displeasure that his time for appreciating music had been disturbed.
But he still gently turned off the record player.
The Solemnace Art Gallery welcomes visitors.
"Overlord Anrakyr the Traveller greets you and wishes to visit you."
Chief Technician Saunnet's voice sounded again.
Trazyn paused for a moment.
He didn't have much interaction with Anrakyr the Traveller, who was dedicated to restoring the Necron Empire's power.
Why would he visit him?
But before Trazyn could respond, a faint blue light emanated within the Solemnace Art Gallery.
The machines that originally belonged to Trazyn were overridden by another will, and the doors of his museum opened accordingly.
Anrakyr the Traveller, glowing with a faint blue light, stepped into the human exhibit of the Prismatic Museum and stood opposite Trazyn.
Trazyn knew that Anrakyr excelled at manipulating machines, even others' machines, with his complex will.
But he hadn't expected him to be able to control even the machines in his own museum. His abilities seemed stronger than Trazyn had known.
Anrakyr the Traveller performed a series of complex ancient courtesies for Trazyn, then spoke to Trazyn in the intricate language used by Necron nobles of old:
"Greetings to you, Trazyn, the Infinite and the Thief."
Trazyn scoffed at this; he knew his compatriots didn't understand his endeavors, which had given him a somewhat bad reputation among the Necron dynasties.
"Are you interested in the history of the galaxy?" Trazyn questioned.
"..You are skilled at thievery and excavation, whether of Necron or other civilizations."
Anrakyr spoke with deliberation:
"How many ancient ruins have you pried open, how many precious treasures have you taken, how much valuable knowledge have you hoarded?"
"I also hear you have many connections with those superstitious, flesh-and-machine-mixed low-tech religions of humanity."
"So, Trazyn, tell me, have these actions of yours accumulated enough wisdom for you to solve a riddle?"
Trazyn listened to Anrakyr's verbose and annoying language, and couldn't help but wave his hand, saying dismissively: "What do you want, exactly?"
Trazyn used a vulgarity that only Necron slaves would use, which made Anrakyr's living metal body stiffen slightly.
Anrakyr looked at Trazyn, seemingly weighing his words.
After a few minutes, Anrakyr spoke, not using the Necron's own language, but rather a human language.
As if only in this way could he express his meaning.
"I think I've grown a machine spirit," Anrakyr said.
"..Huh?" Trazyn was stunned for a moment.
Then Trazyn quickly activated the recording equipment in the exhibition hall, and looked at Anrakyr again.
This time, Trazyn's expression became extremely serious.
"Can you repeat that last sentence?"
"This is the most humorous sentence spoken by the Necron race since we underwent biotransference."
"This sentence deserves to be recorded as history, to be listed on the first page of 'A History of Necron Jokes.'"