Chapter 60: Anda and the Emperor

In truth, Malum could not drink at all, nor did he have the slightest idea whether the First and Thirteenth Legions shared any secret little bonds.

Was his father, Guilliman, truly so dull in his political sensitivities?

Impossible. On Macragge, we maintain contingency plans for every conceivable political scenario, and our governance far surpasses that of the vast majority of worlds across the Imperium.

Following his awakening, his return to Holy Terra, and his resumption of supreme authority, his strategic maneuvers were executed to perfection. The other Founding Chapters, even those Astartes who fell somewhat short of strict adherence to the Codex, bowed before the Primarch's sheer personal charisma.

The successful introduction of the Primaris Space Marines is proof enough.

Had any other Primarch attempted this, only an uncorrupted Warmaster Horus could have achieved it!

For a father of such monumental achievements to be so unjustly misjudged by His Majesty—it was truly infuriating!

He could only stand by and watch helplessly as His Majesty emptied goblet after goblet of wine, trading boasts with the artisans.

Fortunately, the thick steam obscuring the bathhouse provided a somewhat effective disguise, and thankfully His Majesty refrained from locking arms with the locals.

At least it did not provoke outright chaos.

After a short while, a group of temple attendants walked into the room to offer massages to the craftsmen.

Anda looked closely and, finding no sign of those strange tubes or implements, finally breathed a sigh of relief and rose to cast off his bathrobe:

The incoming servants were all maidservants.

"Come along, livestock must always be scrubbed clean before the slaughter."

Ah, His Majesty remains so endlessly optimistic at times like this.

Once both of them had laid face down, Malum felt all the more acutely that he was no longer untainted.

Father, I would certainly never fall to corruption, but my visual conditioning strictly requires me to observe every detail of my surrounding environment.

Anda was thoroughly enjoying the sensation, eyes closed as he surrendered to the attendant's ministrations.

Yet, moments later, he sensed something was amiss—something seemed to be hovering and shifting back and forth nearby.

No! He snapped his eyes open. It was a man!

Why on earth was it a man?!

He glanced around at the other tables. Even at Malum's station, the attendant was a maidservant.

Why on earth had he been singled out and assigned a male servant?!

Having repeatedly vowed never to casually probe the minds of others, Anda was forced to break his own rule, first having this servant swap places with the one tending to Malum.

Anda was furious, yet upon learning the true reason, he found it impossible to lay the blame on anyone else.

It turned out that earlier while working, he had kept his presence concealed to shirk labor, leading the assignment coordinator to continually miscount the headcount.

Meanwhile, Malum had applied himself with utmost diligence, and many had heard tales of this burly warrior who could drive iron nails with his bare fists.

Thus, when final headcounts were tallied today and an unexpected extra person was discovered, the organizers had simply called upon a spare male servant to fill the gap.

***

Anda felt certain he would not sleep well tonight, stewing in sullen resentment.

Before they had set off for home, the managing priest-servant had explicitly stated that tomorrow, immediately after welcoming the Pharaoh, the rewards would be distributed.

There was no need to worry about anyone failing to show up on the morrow.

Beneath the moonlight, Malum walked closely behind His Majesty, maintaining a watchful guard lest the psychological trauma of the day drive His Majesty to some reckless impulse.

"There is no need to look at me with such cautious apprehension. I am not some fragile child who shatters at the first sign of adversity and throws tantrums on the ground."

Anda possessed an exceptionally robust psychological defense mechanism; in later eras, he would have been described as someone entirely immune to internal friction.

Upon returning home, they found the courtyard somewhat disarrayed. Aside from Number Five's shed, an additional makeshift carpenter's workbench had been erected nearby.

In a slightly more forward clearing rested an apparatus covered entirely by a cloth, evidently not yet completed.

"Malum, what is this child trying to make? Surely not another rocking horse?"

Anda stood outside the window to peer inside. Aaron was already fast asleep, having washed and hung out their clothes before turning in.

His shadow, cast by the moonlight across Aaron's face, appeared pitch black.

Malum mused thoughtfully:

"It is said to be some manner of musical instrument. No doubt Aaron caught a vision in his dream of Lord Jaghatai playing a Chogorian instrument of sorts. The Khan was a celebrated musician; even Fulgrim once invited him to play in concert."

A bitter smile touched the corners of Anda's mouth:

"I can hardly remember how long it has been since I last heard music. My ears are filled exclusively with the roar of steam pipes, the grinding of gears, rushing air currents, and the chaotic din of mixed energies surging through conduits."

Alas, the bitter expression did not linger long upon Anda's face before turning to rage:

"Damn it, that old bastard is taking his revenge on me! It is the Emperor who sits upon the Golden Throne enduring eternal agony—what does that have to do with Anda Vail?"

Accustomed by now to His Majesty's episodes of raving, Malum's expression remained entirely unchanged. This level of ranting was nothing out of the ordinary.

He asked respectfully: "Your Majesty, what is your favorite tune?"

He knew full well that at this very moment, that skeletal entity across the stars could hear his question.

Anda rubbed his temples and crouched in the corner of the room:

"How should I know? What kind of music is there in this wretched epoch? It's all a discordant mess."

He caught his breath, letting out a long, heavy sigh:

"Oh, whatever. Let me dig through the memories of the future; a man must learn to make peace with himself."

"Let us go with *The Ride of the Valkyries*. When Erda and I listened to this piece together in Vienna in the future, it reminded us of our days gnawing on the snow in the North, a place where they damn near chewed a gaping hole right into the Warp."

"There was a band of human warriors, men and women alike, galloping across the snowfields on horseback to reinforce us. Though thankfully I was never strung up from a tree and blinded in one eye—that foolish woman Erda always loved spinning the strangest tales about me."

"Zeus was like that, and Odin was just the same."

Though his words dripped with indignation, a rare, genuine smile crept across Anda's face.

To him, this belonged to the future, yet it had already transformed into a memory.

***

The beauties of the future were fleeting, whereas the torments of the future were boundless and unending.

Malum cast a cautious glance at His Majesty's hair and lowered his voice: "Your Majesty, please grant me leave to initiate the ritual and transmit the message."

Anda waved a hand dismissively, replying:

"Do as you like. After the pillow sent to Guilliman and the papyrus sent to Lorgar, I still have a fraction of strength to spare."

Malum bowed his head in respectful assent and waited upon His Majesty as he washed for bed.

That night, resting upon his bed, Anda fell into a deep slumber. He almost never dreamed, for dreams were harbingers of perilous futures.

Yet this time, he beheld himself dwelling within a towering, magnificent palace, seated securely upon a colossal throne.

Within this vast and staggering hall, every conceivable craft known to human imagination was pushed to its absolute limit; a single block chiselled from any wall would suffice to carve a weighty and solemn chapter into the history of human art.

Before his field of vision stretched an endless dais, flanked on either side by guards clad in golden armor.

Their statures were towering, yet against the scale of this colossal architecture and his own vantage point, they appeared no larger than mere ants.

These tiny figures seemed to be carrying something toward him—was that a gramophone?

Not some relic of antiquity, but an artifact painstakingly reconstructed using ancient Terran craftsmanship.

A Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus, clad in crimson robes and lacking the excessive mechanical bulk of someone like Cawl, stepped forward, attempting to convey some message through his faint, synthetic voice.

It took him a long while to comprehend the man's meaning.

A portion of ancient Terran cultural artifacts had been preserved not on physical media, but encoded directly within the minds of certain individuals.

They required a live engraving session upon a vinyl disc in order to play the melodies for him.

How utterly foolish.

Humanity, how did you fall to such depths of degradation?

Humanity, how did you sink to such profound sorrow?

Humanity—

Anda's consciousness began to blur. He was overlapping far too heavily with his future self, leaving his past self to endure the agony of being shattered into fragments, his humanity eroded, and his mind seized by the all-consuming Void Dragon.

Yet at least, for the sake of hearing this melody, let me hold on just a little longer.

So thought Anda.

Hours later, the faint, tinny strains were far from sufficient to mask the ceaseless mechanical thrum of the throne's operation, yet they were captured nonetheless, drifting softly into the ear canals of the skeleton upon the throne.

The Master of Mankind finally harvested a sliver of solace.

At the very least, there were some things humanity had never truly forgotten.