The night is gentle.

The calm waves on the silvery sparkling waters of Rackham Bay are like herds on the azure plains, gracefully skimming over the rocks on the shore.

The sea breeze blows in the moonlight of Maculag with a salty damp breeze through the harbour, alleys, and the towering white walls of the Hera Fortress.

The warband guards patrolled the city walls, and the pilgrims slept soundly in the inns at the foot of the mountain.

Digris, the chief think tank, was silently and unexpectedly indulged in his meditation on this night, which was as quiet as usual.

He frowned in discomfort. The crystals and wires on the psionic hood in the Cobalt Blue armor flickered and flickered like a hurried whisper.

The nightmare threads outside the system held him back from waking up.

The coffin, which pierced the eternal stillness that had solidified the last breath swallowed by the original genotype 10,000 years ago, was something that the sons of Killiman's courage and glory would not recognize, and they only wanted to bury the bones of the splendid hall that had been used for debate, deliberation, and reception, and to add layers of ornate carvings to the coffin of their father's death.

To give human beings divinity, and to inspire mankind in the name of God.

——————

Come, prince of the ideal country.

Whatever you ask for today is achievable.

What you see today is not true.

O thirteenth prince, open thy eyes.

Tonight.

The dream dinner is about to begin.

——————

The power of the aether, turned into raindrops, ethereally pounded on the shell of nothingness.

Far and near.

Illusory and true.

Sincere.

Sincere.

Sincere.

A complex blend of scents seeps through the nose and stimulates Robert Killiman's olfactory bulb and gustatory nerves.

Incense, roses, pink pepper, um...... This should be saffron? …… Cistus, ebony, sandalwood, and leather reminded him of the sheer crown of the cliffs and deep forests, the hikes, the bonfires, the torches on the walls.

And also...... The smell of night and metal, the snow and the sea, the mountains and the desert, the parchment, the ink, the oil, the promethium and ...... Wine?

It is a wine, and a very rare kind of genuine, made from the most ancient and pure, unbitter grapes, a beautiful, delicious, delightful liquid of the Belle Époque.

The smell of the fruit tree was getting closer, as if someone had brought a glass to his lips.

With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine a layer of condensed water half-hanging from the wall of the golden cup containing the ice wine.

How is that possible?

He remembered everything he had done before he collapsed in the desecrated hall of the Emperor's Pride, and that his heirs kept dying just to keep him alive for a second longer.

The venom that Vogrim had sent into his bloodstream burned the last of his life force in that moment of solidified eternity.

Why haven't I died yet?

I......

- Wait a minute - what is this strange memory that suddenly interjected -

-- Who's that--

- Me? ——

- How could I -

- This is a betrayal of the truth of the empire -

- I will never ...... I will not give in to ......! I ...... -

Colours, sounds, and touches are all retracted into the shell.

—————

For a moment, the aroma of food and wine, the gentle footsteps of people moving on the floor, the noise of chatter and a voice that had been a life and death struggle with him a moment ago rushed into all his senses.

"What's wrong with you? Killiman, if you don't like to drink, just say it, don't let my hands keep it up. ”

The Phoenician phoenix's melodious voice was as beautiful as ever, but it was the opposite of the unbridled voice of the madly blasphemous creature that Killiman remembered in the last days—impatient, but still with the right amount of restraint, albeit hypocritically, but completely dud, seeing through everything and still caring.

This made the action of the Ultramarine's original body to launch a fierce attack hesitate for a moment, and turned into a stiff and weird posture.

Robert Killiman found himself unarmed, with comfortable sandals on his feet, and a tuxedo-style blue-and-white embroidered gold toga, standing in a hall with which he seemed to have a relationship, and there was not only him—not just the two of them.

"Okay, okay, I'll take it back if you don't drink it." The man across from him was almost as tall as he was—maybe taller but longer, his purple eyes blinking unhappily, his silver-white hair was soft and shiny, braided into braids and buns tied back at the back of his head, with only a few strands hanging naturally from the sides, and moonsilver, pure gold, and black diamonds were hand-made into a towering horned crown comb.

Killiman suddenly realized that the jeweled hairbrush, which was extremely delicate and stylistically tough enough to be out of step with Vogrim's wrapped in silk and wool, created its craftsmanship and atmosphere—

A large mechanical arm reached out from the side and took the white-gold glass of wine that Vogrim had brought to him in his hand, and he seemed to see a metallic reflection out of the corner of his eye.

What?

"Maybe you shouldn't have given him something to drink first, and you should have eaten something to cushion his stomach before drinking." A voice that seemed somewhat familiar sounded from below him, and Killiman tilted his head slightly stiffly and lowered his gaze—

Silver cape and Casillas robes, jewels of scarabs, scorching sun and lotus flowers, blue-green eyes, long black hair, and ebony skin.

Who's this?

The feeling between the brothers didn't lie, but he couldn't remember any brother like him who was so petite and mortal-sized, as beautiful as a tiny purple-breasted Buddhist monk...... It's a brother, right?

Who's this?

"Magnus." The "mortal" whose name was called turned his head slightly, ignoring Kiriman's pupils that had dilated from surprise.

"What's the matter, Dorne." Striding from the other end of the room was the short-haired brother Kiliman was familiar with, dressed in a form-fitting gown that didn't look as full of bitterness, hatred, and persistence as Kiliman had last seen him. The Terra Praetorian looked very young, nodded at Kiliman and said hello, pulling Magnus away, but leaving the melon ham and cheese snack he had given Kiriman.

Killiman watched as they walked towards meeting several figures on the couch behind a curtain in the room, where a black-and-white long-haired canine yawned lazily perched in the center of the couch, his white mane partially outlining himself in the darkness.

The red lightning crest of the steppe eagle loomed in his white coat, and the wings of the interlocutor behind his face obscured by the flowers and candlelight on the table hung down peacefully, while the figures of several others were completely blurred by the heavy black shadows and silk curtains, and only the black feathers that reached to the ground could be seen draped on the floor with a greenish or blue-purple sheen.

On the other side of the long table in the center of the room, the ruby eyes of the Lord of the Dragons were reflecting the colors of the candlelight in pleasure, and one of the three men he faced was facing away from Killiman, holding in his long thin fingers a pipe made of briar roots and the hardened shell of some creature, in which the tobacco was still smoldering.

"Oh, poor - and venerable Robert Killiman! A ghost, who was still immersed in his duties, "a voice with a poetic accent softly and a dead guilty world brushed past him, but not the expected smell of rotting flesh and blood, but withered rose petals, cistus roses, fresh metal, scents of fragrant wood and leather, and reka coffee and ink," he couldn't drink our wine, and he looked like he had a lot to do." ”

A creepy sensation rolled across the skin of the Lord of Maculag's back, and the lack of power armor and weapon protection at the moment he heard the sound made his kidneys twitch.

He turned cautiously to the side, and was surprised to see Conrad Coetzes passing through the hall with a particularly large and gorgeous orange-gold cat in his arms, with an infinitely triumphant emotion that bordered on triumph. Midnight Wraith's skin was still as white as he remembered, but his long, gorgeous black hair, like a churning silk robe, was brushing the ankles of his sandals—it was of a very good quality, slippery and soft, and slender.

Killiman watched him and saw the golden feline lying on Coz's shoulder and watching him with its emerald eyes.

A thought jumped into the mind of the Ultramarine's original body: the big golden cat seemed to have lost to someone and was very unhappy.

"Indeed I shouldn't have come here, Killiman."

Fenris's voice rang in his ears with a calm, self-contained, and clear voice that Kiliman had never heard before, and no matter what language he was speaking, his grammar and pronunciation were impeccable.

He turned and saw a man with a cleanly shaved beard, blonde hair not only neatly trimmed but also carefully combed with hairspray - Rieman Ruth, the wolf king's garment was meticulously ironed, the collar buttoned to the top one, and the blue eyes were almost transparent, and the light of great reason shone in them.

"You ......"

"I'm the one who was ordered to maintain order." The other side replied coldly but politely, as if to raise something in his hand.

"Be nice to him, Ruth." A voice that immediately struck Kiliman's heart but he couldn't remember where he had heard it, and he turned to see a face that he had never thought would look so calm and noble, with reddish copper hair and molten golden eyes.

"Maybe I'll help?" This...... The one he knew...... Is it ...... brother who is occupied and destroyed by mechanical implants? Is he what he is?

"No, you don't." Ruth raised his hand, and he didn't seem to use any force, something stabbed Killiman and felt a tingling in the wound on the neck of the thirteenth primordial.

The pain tugged at him.

Pain called out to him.

The first rays of morning lumen poured in from the window of the hall, causing Killiman to close his eyes as he looked up at the hall for the last time.

Before falling back into eternity, he seemed to see that the seat of the Lord at the Lord's table was indeed not empty.

It's dawn.

(End of chapter)