Enkidu stood still, his gaze sweeping over Bellator and the cluster of new bloods behind him. Further off, on a high balcony, Telax and Virsuto stood face-to-face, seemingly deep in conversation.
Ignoring the other dissonant elents of the scene, he beckoned to the initiates, signaling them to co forward rather than lurk in the shadows. After a barely perceptible pause, they surged toward him, following in his wake.
Servants dutifully opened the heavy doors, revealing a drawing room decorated in a palette of Royal Purple, Pearl White, and Walnut.
Bellator stood by the table, looking at Enkidu with trepidation until the only full Astartes in the room gestured for them to take their seats.
"I know the ritual just now was... extre for you. Therefore, I will allow you to vent here."
Enkidu tapped the tabletop, offering no soft platitudes. This world was too cruel for coddling; those scavenging a life within a warband weren't that fragile. They were simply in shock, and provided they were given enough ti, they would find their own way to heal.
The others stared back with wide eyes. Initially, there was a heavy silence, but once the first person spoke, a flood of curses and chaotic noise quickly filled the room.
Sitting at the head of the table, Enkidu absorbed every expression of rage and disgust, ntally remodeling their gestures and tones to analyze the true thoughts beneath.
Fortunately, he found no one who truly felt that the ritual was "exhilarating." Within this Chaos warband, they had miraculously clung to their faith in the Emperor.
The clamor lasted for nearly twelve minutes. Finally, their faces flushed and exhausted, they fell silent. The shock and fury in their eyes ebbed back toward a grim calm. Enkidu tapped the table once more, signaling the end of that particular process.
"Feel better?" he asked.
"A little," Bellator puffed, looking at Enkidu with a gaze filled with an indefinable awe. "I... I thought a guy like Telax was evil enough. I didn't realize he was actually one of the 'good' ones."
Sebastian clearly disagreed, but he didn't counter Bellator directly. Instead, he signaled for Enkidu's permission to speak.
"Bellator, why on earth would you think Telax is 'fine'? If you have to choose between Telax and the others, why can't you choose the Boss? Damnable corruption starts with minor compromises like that—don't fall into the traps of these heretics!"
"Uh, that's not what I ant. I'm saying—" Bellator struggled to organize his words for a mont before responding to Sebastian's aggressive questioning. "I'm saying! Are the people here all so pathetic? In life, they either beco sacrifices or hollow heretics, existing rely for the sake of existing, constantly guarding against the sches of others. And in death, no one cares. Not even their nas are rembered."
"Which is why only by hardening one's faith can one avoid becoming such a monster," Sebastian sighed deeply. As an initiate, he had no realistic way to escape the warband and return to the Imperium; he could only recite Imperial maxims that grew paler with each passing day. "That way, at least when you die, you are pure and proud."
Bellator shook his head in disappointnt, equally unconvinced by Sebastian's rhetoric.
"Isn't there anything more... practical? In my old tribe, death was a solemn matter. The chieftain would gather everyone to pray to the Sky Father. He would repeat the fallen's na to all, recount every one of their deeds, and then carve their na into the hardest stone to be placed in the mountain temple to sleep with the ancestors."
"If they were a brave warrior, a wise elder, or a person of great achievent, the tribe would have their story woven into song to be sung forever. I know I'll never beco a hero like that here, but at least... I still hope soone will rember after I'm gone."
Sebastian felt himself swayed by Bellator's words. He could feel his two hearts pulsing uneasily behind his bone-plate, echoing the sa longing.
He had been a naless accountant; now he was a naless Astartes initiate. If he lived like those madn—reveling, hunting, and then dying like a rat with no one to recall his na—wouldn't his birth be nothing more than a cosmic joke?
Subconsciously, he turned toward Enkidu at the head of the table. The others followed suit, their eyes locked on him.
An invisible pressure condensed on Enkidu's shoulders—a mixture of trust and desperate demand. Fortunately, he was long accustod to it. Enkidu smiled, leaning forward slightly, his gaze frank as he looked at every man present.
"How long do you think such rembrance should last?"
"I don't know," Bellator answered honestly. "But if possible, I'd like to be rembered for a long ti."
"Then I cannot guarantee that. Steel rusts. Stars go out. Nothing and no one in this universe can achieve true eternity."
Where are the mortal heroes of old? Nothing but a handful of yellow earth. Even if songs are sung, there cos a ti for forgetting. The best one can hope for is a na written in the dust of so forgotten archive.
Where are the heroes of the Great Crusade? Sigismund is gone. The na of Heill is forgotten. Even Loken and Tarvitz—heroes who should never be forgotten—have faded into the embers under the Imperium's deliberate suppression.
Where are the Primarchs? Their galactic conquests are now re records; records turned into legends, and legends into myths. And figures of myth cannot save the Imperium.
"I am the sa. This universe is too volatile. I cannot guarantee I will live long enough to spread your story thousands of years after you are gone. I can only tell you this: if you should fall, I will personally recover your bones and carve your epitaph. This promise is not just for you, but for everyone in this room."
"If you truly rember, then I'll pray you live a very long ti," Bellator said softly. The gloom faded from his face, replaced by a flicker of light in his eyes. "At least longer than ."
"And ."
Another voice chid in. Varangis, who usually preferred to hide in the corners, reached out. In his palm lay a wooden doll.
"According to the custom of my holand, the living must craft sothing to represent the dead. I'm not sure how Varex will choose the 'worthy' ones tomorrow, so I made one for myself in advance. If I die, put this in your footlocker."
The small wooden figure was pushed forward. It wasn't intricate; it was covered in crude knife-marks, barely resembling a human form. Yet it carried a man's terror of death and his desperate thirst to have "lived."
Enkidu reached out and cradled it in his palm. Behind the doll were faces showing a myriad of expressions: so hopeful, so anxious, so restless. They looked at him in unison, waiting for an answer.
"Very well."
He took a deep breath, tucked the wooden doll into the inner lining of his power armor, and issued the first command of the gathering:
"I know what you fear, and I know what you hope for. I promise to rember. But it is not just my promise. Look at the people around you. They are your brothers, bound by blood and trial. Open your hearts and talk to them. I believe they are equally willing to hold your mory dear."
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