There are more legends, rumors, and theories about how the Lord of the Second Legion, the Queen of Dawn, completed her first meeting with her genetic father, even more than the world that submitted to the Human Empire.

Many years later, after expeditions, rebellions, and countless wars have ravaged the kingdom of mankind, there will still be legends—most of them as ridiculous and exaggerated as the dreams of emperors, and they will tell the story of the present day in such detail that they are as if they had seen them.

In the whispers of warriors and inquisitors who remain loyal to the Golden Throne, in the conversations of rebels and fallen who have seized sides in the sea of stars, in the epitaphs of alien civilizations that span most of the galaxy, the name that makes Holy Terra, the Eye of Fear, and the Comoros groan in nightmares at the same time......

Morgan.

The Second Legion and the supreme tyrant of the Realm of Reason, the most terrible of the many sons of the Lord of Terra, the purest and dirtiest agent of humanity's many ideals: on this day, she met the father of her genes.

It was their first meeting, and the most peaceful of their few conversations.

In the future, even the most beloved and cherished of the sons of Morgan will swear by a lie: that their genetic mother is the same as any of the Emperor's heirs, that she met her father, the Lord of Mankind, under a starry sky, and that she walks on a desolate but magnificent field, her iron boots trampling the ashes and dust that have been silent for tens of millions of years, but not staining her armor or robes.

She walked through the wilderness, climbed steep cliffs and mountains, and climbed the highest peak in the world, and then knelt slowly to her genetic father, and above her head was the brightest sun, and the brightest galaxy.

The false truth spreads in everyone's mouth and heart, and in this way, the real reality, which only three people know, the true appearance of this historical fragment, has long been irrelevant.

No one knows, no one cares—and no one connects the truth to the next set of events and questions—but in many cases, the truth itself is the meaning.

And the truth stored in Morgan's mind is:

When she faced the emperor with her own naked eyes for the first time, there was no sun, no stars, and no naturally formed light.

There is only darkness.

There is only silence.

Only in the darkness and silence, the coldest light.

She met her father in the underground palace of an unnamed world, the name and location of which were about to become taboo in the human empire at the moment of the end of the meeting, and when she faced the Lord of Humanity, there was neither a flicker of light nor a guard sufficient to express her strength and great achievements, she stood alone in the shadows, only the pale and beautiful face, illuminated by the cold light of the Emperor, clearly revealed in the eyes of the Lord of Mankind.

Her blue-blue pupils glittered in the emperor's light, shimmering with no sorrow or joy, but other than that, she was just a serene person standing in the shadows, her hands down, all her strength and will focused on the gaze of her genetic father, and restored her original form.

A quiet man, a contemplative who replaces all action with his heart and will: that's all.

In the great subterranean kingdom that once erupted in fanaticism, obedience, and jubilation, under the blood-stained platform of authority, madness, and domination, the figures of father and daughter were each shrouded in silent darkness, and the only light that could illuminate them was a light colder than a rock.

Morgan squinted, both her pupils and her will, maintaining a cautious observance: to her, the emperor was like a midday sun, always emitting a light that could not be seen directly, and she was keenly aware of what might be beneath that light, but she could not see it.

But on the other hand, in the deepest part of her heart, the room called Instinct, which was made up of the nature and wisdom of the beast, there was a kind of rejoicing that instinct told her that she should not snoop into everything that lay beneath the light.

But now is not the time to care about these inconsequential matters: Morgan has suppressed all doubts and quarrels in her heart, and her every thought and every breath is now completely controlled by her will.

She was silent, standing silently in the light and shadow of the Lord of Humanity, waiting for his first question.

She waited, waited for the first thing the wordless tyrant, the terrible master, the eternal king who had brought her into the world with cold hearts and painful servitude, said to her: she knew that meant his attitude and his thoughts, and in what way he was going to use and whip her.

And she, there is no other way.

At least, right now, there's no other way.

Thinking back to the golden greatsword that still stood in the depths of her soul today, all Morgan could do was lower his head deeper.

Silent.

Until, she heard the voice of her genetic father, from the Lord of Humanity.

It wasn't a word, or it wasn't just a word: it was a singular amalgamation of words, thoughts, wills, and even light, a soft voice that echoed deep within Morgan's heart, a most terrifying gentle blade that made her subconsciously let go of her vigilance and indifference.

He simply raised his hand and let his words echo in Morgan's mind.

This terrifying figure, showing off his delicate manipulation of Morgan, made his first words spread out silently.

Morgan. 】

[My daughter. 】

He spoke, speaking at the same time in the rocky walls of reality and the sea of souls, his voice warmer than his icy light, containing countless emotions that Morgan could and could not understand.

It was a warmth, a warmth that induced Morgan to gradually raise her head and look vaguely at her genetic father.

In the midst of this voice, she even heard a heartbeat: a heartbeat that was indistinguishable from that of a mortal.

And in this heartbeat, he slowly introduced himself.

[I am the emperor. 】

I am your father. 】

He seemed to hesitate, and his warm words carried a hint of cold reason.

[It's also yours...... The founder. 】

——————

Morgan didn't look up, her beautiful silver hair seemed to sink back with the last announcement.

——————

In the real shadows that no one cares about, the Palm Printmaker hides his face under the hood.

When the cold words of "Founder" reached his ears, Machado didn't even bother to look up: he just rubbed the corners of his brow and sighed softly.

——————

The Lord of Humanity heard the sigh, but he ignored it, and at this moment, his eyes, will, and thoughts were all focused on his only daughter.

It was a novel experience, one very different from when he met his sons.

In the beginning, the emperor even had some struggles: he instinctively wanted to show the gentleness and affection of being born as a genetic father, because it turned out that most of his children really needed such a light.

But when his gentle self-introduction had just landed, looking at the gaze that slowly approached him, the Lord of Humanity thought again: his daughter was different, she knew more from the beginning of her life, and knew the terrible appearance he would show when he fought with the evil gods of those subspaces.

Even the emperor would not expect Morgan to be grateful for the golden sword.

In this case, gentle words seem to be inferior to rational words.

So, just like that, the light but cold reality of the [Founder] floated out of the mouth of the Lord of Mankind and shot down Morgan's slowly raised gaze.

This made the emperor regret it a little, and he even began to miss his sons: they were frank and reckless, and would vividly express their thoughts and desires, showing the aggression and self-confidence of human demigods.

Even St. Giles and the Chagatai Khan, their questions, though sharp, were also dignified words, allowing the Lord of Mankind to answer calmly, and at this moment, Morgan's silence made him a little embarrassed.

Considering that Morgan's original position was the silent concoction of the genetic primordial, and her life over the years was not destined to be so smooth sailing, the emperor could understand her silence and caution, but this did not mean that he had enough thought and patience to solve this problem.

In less than an instant, thousands of thoughts crossed the emperor's mind, and the mere aspect of how to choose the tone seemed to be enough to compose a single treatise:

What does his daughter need is the warmth of blood relatives? And the guarantee of rationality and security? Or, she just wants a platform to talk about it, to slowly pour out all these years of struggle and bitterness?

Should he be a pure father? Or a guard that brings security assurance? Or is it that coldness and command are the most efficient ways to get along? Perhaps she has learned to respect power and power in this long time?

The emperor was a little worried: that's all.

At this time, in the almost frozen heart of the Lord of Mankind, there was no more caution and caution: on the contrary, the Emperor stood in the darkness far from the surface with an almost relaxed mind, and the confusion that wandered in his heart was even more than worry.

The Emperor felt relieved: it was a bitter state of mind that bordered on self-abandonment, a self-comfort that had arisen from the heart of a mountaineer who had fallen to the ground, and who had found a chance to relax in the never-ending world of things and challenges.

After all, when the Second Primordial and all her blood relatives were dragged down by the most stupid actions of the whole galaxy and fell into the storm, the Lord of Humanity had already pronounced the death sentence for his only daughter in his own heart.

The Emperor did not discriminate against Morgan, let alone hate her, and after he had finished most of his projects involving all the primordials, he did gather the wisest minds under his command to try to solve Morgan's doom and curse.

It should be said that he did try, and he had found a solution: although after he had taken the first step, Morgan was banished into the void: there was no mercy, no protection, only the most stupid declaration of so-called freedom.

From that moment on, in the heart of the Lord of Mankind: Morgan is dead.

The Emperor even forgot for a moment that he had a daughter, just as he had nearly forgotten the Second Legion.

That is, until a Lion of Caliban broke into his palace and reported a blood relative unlike any other.

——————

The Emperor had thought that he would see the twisted corpse of his daughter in an unnamed world, or that he would end the suffering of his Chaos-tainted heir in a battle destined to erase the record.

He had thought of countless possibilities, countless tragedies, and even how he would feel a long-lost grief for the loss of his heir: he almost never thought that this seemingly hopeless individual was really struggling to survive and stand in front of him.

Even, she seemed normal, very normal, except for a little bit of a bad diet: think of St. Giles's strange wings, compared to him, picky eating, or overeating, was never a problem.

Thinking of this, when the Lord of Mankind really stood in front of Morgan, he only felt a sense of relief: Morgan at this time was much better than he expected, so there was nothing to worry about.

After all, he had thought that his heir would only fight against him as a minion of the evil god, and since the reality was not so bad that it was, he would not care what happened next.

How much worse could it be?

With this in mind, for the first time, the Lord of Men looked seriously at his daughter: he had sketched Morgan countless times from the mouths of his heirs and from all sorts of information, a shrewd, greedy, silent, deadly assistant and predator.

It doesn't sound too bad.

At this moment, a thought even flashed in the heart of the Lord of Mankind, a thought that was not very polite: most of his impressions of the heir in front of him came from the daily report of the Lord of the Dark Angels, Johnson's report had always been cold and fair, without the slightest possibility of favoritism, and in his report, there was never a conflict with Morgan, only the silent tacit understanding between the two visible to the naked eye.

His lion is credible, but the Lord of Humanity does not deceive himself, and he knows how direct and difficult it can be to get along with Johnson: since Morgan can even adapt to the rhythm of life and work of the Caliban, it is naturally the easiest thing to do for her to cooperate with the other legions.

As for Johnson......

For a moment, the confirmation of the Lord of Humanity really thought: among his most powerful blades, Horus did not say much, Ferus had the full support of the Phoenician Phoenix, and Killiman was all focused on his petty family of the five hundred worlds, and only the knight king from Caliban seemed to really need an assistant.

Johnson would really see this as a help, though...... Isn't it an offense to his private domain?

After all, the main mission of the Caliban, from beginning to end, is to hunt down the great enemy of the empire in endless darkness, and let him lead a blood relative for more than ten years, which is already a very excessive side line: not to mention, in Johnson's daily reports, he does not seem to have a better bond with Morgan, and there is no basis for being able to fight side by side for a long time like Ferus and Fogream.

He even deliberately avoided Morgan's discourse: in the report of the knight king of the Caliban, all Morgan's information was only about his exploits in the war and his loyalty in the midst of secret temptations, and Johnson's view of her was always silence and the most formulaic praise.

It was cold, the tacit understanding and affection between comrades-in-arms.

Unless he is duplicitous: this is not possible, Johnson is very much like him, so naturally he is not a duplicitous person.

That's a pity......

——————

Thousands of thoughts, thousands of emotions flashed through the heart of the Lord of Mankind, but it was just a moment that even the genetic prototype could not perceive.

As soon as the Emperor's will was detached from his own thoughts, he began to think of the next topic: since the first conversation was far from a success, let him ease it as much as possible.

Where to start?

Let him think about how he met his children before......

The human lord's pupils flickered with light, and he spoke again, his tone changing and changing before the words left his lips and teeth, and finally fixed on a state similar to that between a happy father and a satisfied king.

Morgan. 】

[My child. 】

He spoke again, and the meaning of his words could not be more obvious.

Finally, the Emperor's daughter did not continue to dodge, she raised her head, and met the light with her blue-blue pupils, which prevented her from opening her eyes completely.

[Father.] 】

She spoke softly, her voice like a stream that had just melted in the early spring.

The Emperor nodded, thinking about his first encounters with each of his children, and recalling the topics that would open the day.

If he's not mistaken......

The home planet, seems like a good idea.

Whether it's Perturabo, or St. Giles, or Chagatai and Roga: most of his sons have a home planet that they are proud of and care about.

So, the emperor smiled, he put away the light around him a little, and in the gloomy environment, he took a step forward and continued the conversation.

[I originally thought that I would meet you on your home planet, my daughter, each of your brothers met me on their home planet, and they have either already made their own outstanding careers, or they have come to my side to fight prematurely. 】

They were as heroic and fearless as I had expected them to be. 】

He spoke of a most instinctive pride, and at this moment the emperor seemed to suddenly remember something, and he stretched out his hand, as if to pat his own daughter.

Of course, you are different from your brothers, and I will not be more demanding of you in this regard. 】

He smiled, but Morgan didn't smile the same, and her pupils shimmered with an unknown color because of the words.

——————

In the shadows.

Machado slowly raised his hand.

But when he heard the phrase "You are different," he covered his face.

Sigh.

(End of chapter)