It wasn't until their conversation reached a certain point that the Emperor of Mankind truly realized a problem:
Morgana, his daughter, his second creation, might be more troublesome than all her blood kin.
She might not be someone who could be appeased and pleased by a single method.
Trying to crack open the thick shell of caution and hostility that permeated her heart seemed to be a very difficult task: so difficult that it exceeded all the Emperor of Mankind's previous imagination, planning, and expectations.
And when the Emperor of Mankind understood this simple truth, he simultaneously realized another reality:
He realized it far too late.
He stood before his only gene-daughter, in the darkness and colder light, looking down at the solitary Primarch, like a sorrowless, joyless idol, reflecting the dazzling light of winter emotionlessly onto the face of a grieving worshipper.
He had already seen wariness and fear on her beautiful and pale face: it was not a human emotion, but the most instinctive retreat displayed by a small predator in the forest facing a more terrifying, more powerful beast.
It was not something that could be resolved with a word or two: clearly, before his Imperium found her, his daughter had already seen glimmers of truth and suffered immensely because of them.
Suffering begot powerlessness, powerlessness urged pain, and pain, with the slow passage of time, bore a malicious fruit in her heart, making her cold and selfish, allowing her to view the cage of civilization with the mindset of a beast.
Emotions were once her flail, but now, she held a part of the flail that once bound her, enduring the pain of rough iron grinding her flesh, giving herself the ability to protect herself in the darkest void.
Emotions were once her talent.
But they became her shackles.
And now, emotions were her most trusted and relied-upon weapon. She clutched this meager sense of security tightly within her heart, watching the silent Emperor of Mankind from afar.
The Emperor did not act immediately; he merely looked at Morgana, at her uneasy eyes hidden beneath her silver hair.
He might be able to erase these erroneous emotions, letting his light and warmth slowly melt the ice that symbolized wariness, fear, and distrust: this would not be difficult.
But it would require time.
A long, long time.
To accompany, to give, to prove his sincerity, integrity, and original intention with countless practical actions, to strike down the malicious fruit with measures more profound than blood and steel.
For the Emperor.
This was actually not difficult.
...
But he couldn't do it.
------
He no longer had time.
He never had time.
The patchwork hegemony, the mended plans, and the strife-ridden Imperium were the best he could achieve in these mere hundred years. He didn't have the time to accompany each of his Progeny, to become a father in the true sense of the word.
Only a select few could receive his love and time: Horus was the luckiest, Vulkan received another preferential treatment due to his uniqueness, and as for the remaining Primarchs, all they could receive would be a night of long talks, a box of gifts, or a month of tolerance.
And for Morgana, and for the importance of his only daughter in the Emperor of Mankind's heart, even one evening was an absurd waste of time. He was destined not to stay by Morgana's side for too long, nor did he truly need a Lord of the Second Legion who was grateful to him.
Even from a utilitarian perspective: what if Morgana resented him?
His daughter knew the cruel truth of this world, and the unbridgeable power gap between them: as long as this chasm symbolizing strength still existed, Morgana would not have the intention or courage to challenge him.
Resentment was indeed terrifying, but resentment without power was nothing more than that.
As long as his power was still enough to make Morgana feel the horror of annihilation, then the Lord of the Second Legion would be a smart person who caused him no worry.
This... seemed acceptable too?
Such a cold and ruthless thought flashed across the Emperor of Mankind's mind, leaving a dark trail, then was suppressed to the deepest layer. When the Emperor looked at his daughter's silver hair, he merely sighed softly.
If he had discovered Morgana earlier, or if he had foreseen all of this earlier, then perhaps there would still be room for redemption:
But reality has no "ifs." The truth was, he discovered it too late.
This was not because the Emperor of Mankind's mind was slow or dull: he was certainly not such a fool.
This was simply because: the Emperor of Mankind had fallen into a trap, a wonderful cage called empiricism. Throughout history, countless great miracle-workers had stumbled in this inconspicuous ditch, including even the Emperor's past identities and appearances.
In the matter of bringing back the Primarchs, the Emperor of Mankind also had experience: ostensibly, he had already recovered fifteen Progeny. Apart from those who were more unique, his encounters with most of his Progeny were similar.
Perhaps it would be a challenge from a stranger, or a salvation from the heavens, and more often, his Progeny would sense his arrival. They would know in their hearts about this meeting: in the dry desert, in the bustling royal court, on the steep cliff, he would descend before them, reveal his true form in golden light, and then introduce himself.
After he introduced himself, or even before that, his children would deeply bow, or even kneel on the ground, putting aside their long-held pride, and call him "Father."
Then, they would have a pleasant conversation: in most cases, the first topic of conversation would be the Primarch's homeworld. He would praise the lovely little endeavors his child had established, and naturally extend the conversation to another place: the endless Galaxy, and the truly great undertakings he had established within it.
When the conversation extended to this point, soon after, the Imperium of Man would have a new Primarch, and the Emperor would also have a new Progeny. Another Astartes Legion would be assembled, to complete a moving, or startling, reunion with their Gene-Father.
It had always been this way, so much so that the Emperor had developed a kind of path dependence.
It wasn't until he didn't hear that natural "Father" that the Emperor of Mankind truly realized:
This time, things seemed amiss.
------
"You seem uneasy, my daughter, Lord of my Second Legion."
When Morgana's pupils flickered with an unknown color, the Emperor naturally caught this instant: in the Emperor of Mankind's perception, even for Primarchs, their every move, their expressions and thoughts, were too slow and obvious.
The Emperor's actions and words did not stop because of these resistant emotions. He slowly withdrew his hand, and in this simple gesture, countless emotions and tones flashed through his mind, preparing for the next words he would speak.
He stepped back, almost slowly, creating a symbolic safe distance between him and his daughter. He knew that this was exactly what Morgana needed most right now: a sense of security.
The Emperor knew all this; he knew how to proceed. For him, this was ancient knowledge.
"No need to be uneasy, no need to fear, my child. My power is only unleashed upon the enemies of humanity, and you, you are my Progeny, my creation."
The Emperor of Mankind's words wavered between a father's tenderness and a monarch's might. He carefully controlled the required tone for each sentence, finally settling on a point he found satisfactory. He cast these hard-won words as bait towards his daughter, hidden in the shadows.
The effect was good.
When she realized that the situation couldn't remain deadlocked forever, Morgana silently accepted the Emperor's goodwill. After the Emperor took a step back, she leaned forward, carefully calculating her steps, allowing her body to emerge into the Emperor of Mankind's light.
"Father."
She said.
This sentence was so solemn that it could be seen as an act of true obedience.
Morgana did not kneel, nor did she bow excessively. She performed a perfectly standard courtesy, one that no one could fault. When she straightened her back again, her eyebrows remained lowered, devoid of her former coldness and majesty, only a gaze symbolizing submission and respect emanating from her blue-green pupils, caught by the Emperor.
The Emperor of Mankind nodded.
When he saw his daughter breathe a sigh of relief due to this compromise, allowing her silver hair to fall behind her ears, revealing her complete pale face in the Emperor of Mankind's cold light,
he suddenly recalled some things, things from tens of thousands of years ago. Ancient fragments returned to his mind with long-lost memories, gradually overlapping with the current dimness and scene.
The Emperor remembered: in an era that even the oldest histories would not record, when he was still a crude mortal, he once passed through a dense forest in the night and, under the faint moonlight, encountered an uninvited guest.
It was a large cat, a lynx, or perhaps some long-extinct feline.
But that wasn't important: he met this creature under the moonlight. It was injured and let out a defiant hiss at him. It hid in the shadows, revealing only its furry face, full of a beast's wariness and unease.
The more it cried, the more agitated it became, the more uneasy it felt, and the less courage it had to attack: only a quiet large cat was a dangerous large cat.
He tamed it, and then lost it after an unannounced departure. The specific details of this, the Emperor of Mankind no longer remembered, but he clearly remembered the event itself.
As this ancient memory merged with the reality in the shadows, the Emperor of Mankind merely offered a light smile.
He waited patiently, waiting for Morgana to finally step into the light. He pondered how to proceed: perhaps he should be gentler? To let the atmosphere, which had just barely eased, continue.
This was the right direction.
The Emperor of Mankind thought: he might never be able to make his daughter a perfect Progeny like Horus, but he could make her know, deep down, that he was different from the Deities in the Immaterium.
He could be trusted: at least, a part of him could be trusted.
Thinking this, the Emperor smiled. His smile even gave the Sigillite beside him a momentary illusion: perhaps the Emperor of Mankind had found the right way to conduct this conversation.
Indeed, when the Emperor once again extended his hand, palm upwards and open, signifying a friendly attitude, he timely adjusted the light around him, dimming the dazzling golden glow, allowing his true image to appear before Morgana.
He spoke.
"Morgana, my daughter."
"You need not worry."
"I am not a monster, nor am I one of those malevolent wills that call themselves Deities. I am your father, your protector, a normal person who brought you into this world and will, therefore, fulfill my responsibilities."
"There is no fundamental difference between me and you, your blood kin, or any mortal you have seen. Power only brings the most superficial distinctions. In essence, whether it is you or I, we are the same, both part of humanity."
"No need for fear, no need to worry, my daughter, I am your father: this is my identity and responsibility, my desire and my shackles, my past and my future. I brought you into the world as a father, and I look forward to our shared future as a father."
He spoke, his words full of sincerity.
The Emperor of Mankind gently waved his hand, dispelling the psychic light that obscured him, allowing his true image to appear clearly in Morgana's eyes.
"Look, my child."
"Look with your own eyes."
"Beneath this light, beneath this psychic illusion, is my true self, and the shadow that has always existed in your heart."
"It is not special, nor is it dark. Perhaps there are indeed some differences between you and me, but in this mad Galaxy, our minor differences are negligible specks, they are the tight bond in the face of our common enemies."
"My daughter, you do not have to see me as your father. I know I have failed you, and do not deserve to be called a truly qualified father."
"You do not have to see me as your friend, for friendship is the most precious wine in the Galaxy, and to have one true friend in a lifetime is already a blessing."
"You also do not have to see me as your sovereign. I have never sought anyone's allegiance or followers; the worship of sovereigns and Deities is the most foolish thing in the Galaxy, and I have always believed this."
"You just need to remember."
"Morgana, my daughter."
"In this mad Galaxy, amidst the malice and corruption that permeates every world and kingdom, before those most malicious wills that incessantly crave to annihilate and enslave us."
"You, I, your blood kin, and every true human you encounter."
"We are kin."
"We can hate each other, we can be enemies, we can engage in internecine strife in peaceful times."
"But I only hope that when you face true evil and hardship, you will remember my words, and you will make the right choice."
"I look forward to your choice."
"But I hope even more..."
It was a sigh.
"That none of this will ever happen."
------
When the Emperor of Mankind's words, like clanging iron, resonated with such force, all that remained was the deepest silence.
In this unprecedented, victorious silence, Malcador lowered his withered hand: a smile returned to his face.
It turned out that, in many situations, the Emperor of Mankind was indeed trustworthy and reliable.
At the very least, in this moment, Malcador believed he could look forward: when he looked up at Morgana, the Sigillite saw, with satisfaction, that the Emperor of Mankind's words had stirred her restrained silence. The unbreakable blood kinship between the Emperor and his Primarch had unleashed infinite power and miracles through these simple words.
The Emperor's daughter was still doubtful, cautious, and trapped in pain and selfishness, but under the influence of blood kinship, even the coldest Morgana involuntarily looked up, tentatively extending tendrils of trust.
After all, Morgana was a Primarch: no Primarch could resist the Emperor's sincere words. Perhaps in the future, they would revert to an indifferent attitude, but when they faced these words, they were the Emperor's children.
Overwhelmed children.
Malcador thought, and then continued to observe Morgana's reaction.
The Spider Queen's pupils flickered with colors never seen before: a curiosity intensely suppressed, urging Morgana to muster all her courage, to truly look at her sincere Gene-Father, to take the first step.
She looked up; she watched.
Malcador also watched, and a reassuring smile appeared on his face.
------
But, the next moment.
The smile froze on his face.
------
In a thousand eyes, there were a thousand Emperors of Mankind.
Morgana had heard this saying long ago.
She had heard this profound truth from Lion El'Jonson, and the Dark Angels Primarch hadn't forgotten to boast to his blood kin: the Emperor he saw was the true Emperor, a man of secrets hidden beneath a hood and black robes.
From that day on, Morgana actually harbored a small expectation: what would the Emperor look like in her eyes?
And under the combined effect of those sincere words, that reassuring faint light, and the friendly hand extended towards her, this expectation surged in her heart.
Perhaps it was a lie.
Morgana thought this, but she slowly raised her head, her fingers trembling as she reached forward, trying to touch the goodwill and light from her Gene-Father.
And just as she was about to touch it, Morgana finally saw: in her eyes, the Emperor's appearance.
...
...
...
Fear.
Fear instantly seized her heart.
What...
What...
What in the world was that?!
------
The Emperor of Mankind, in Morgana's eyes, actually looked quite normal at first glance.
He stood in the shadows, with a physique that was not overly tall but very robust. His appearance was handsome, yet within the realm of normal understanding. He looked spirited and radiant, a great figure recognizable with just an ordinary glance.
But if one took a second look, some horrifying things would be discovered.
That healthy skin was not a perfect facade: beneath his earlobes, in his eyebrows, and even beside his neck, there were countless tiny cracks, and various other unsettling things: they looked like lividity, or something else terrifying.
His appearance was perfect, yet there was a sense of disharmony, something overly false and distorted, like something wearing a human skin, swaggering hidden among the crowd...
No...
It wasn't like that.
Rather... it was as if something was hidden within him: perhaps a malicious seed, or perhaps some kind of monster's embryo or egg, undoubtedly growing within his body, wildly and uncontrollably, waiting for the day it would break free.
She saw the monster, but she couldn't say what it was: it was an indescribable, terrifying entity, something that emitted the same aura as the blue and purple evil Deities in her mind... a thing.
It existed within the Emperor's body, and the Emperor of Mankind seemed completely unaware: but upon closer inspection, traces of pain seemed to be on his face, which appeared to indicate that he was suppressing something within himself.
But Morgana had no time to ponder, because the moment she took another look at the monster within the Emperor, she noticed...
The monster was also looking at her.
It smiled.
That smile actually made Morgana feel...
Familiar.
------
Like a small beast pursued by a predator, Morgana retreated in panic into the endless darkness.
Her face showed the most genuine fear, which even caused the Emperor of Mankind and the Sigillite to feel genuine confusion. Amidst this confusion, they heard Morgana's voice.
The voice was weak, almost pleading, asking for the Emperor's light to shine once more.
The Emperor of Mankind did not do so immediately, but when he found that his daughter had once again reverted to that lowered-head state, he could only, with some helplessness, let the dazzling golden light envelop Morgana once more.
This time, Morgana squinted her eyes, actually showing a sense of tranquility.
The Emperor was hesitant; he truly hadn't expected a problem to arise at this step.
"What did you see, my daughter?"
"...Nothing, Father."
After a while, Morgana slowly emerged from the shadows.
"I saw something that I cannot comprehend, and it terrified me."
Fear?
The Emperor frowned. Even the Emperor of Mankind could not deduce what this so-called fear was, and Morgana clearly lacked the courage to elaborate.
The conversation seemed to have reached an impasse, a dilemma that the Emperor could not easily resolve: so, what the Emperor of Mankind needed was a simple solution.
------
Malcador felt the Emperor of Mankind's gaze, a gaze filled with helpless, even melancholic, expectation.
He sighed: his third sigh.
But in the end, he tightened his grip on his staff and stepped out of the shadows.
"Fear?"
"No need to fear, Primarch."
He spoke as he walked, quickly arriving beside Morgana. When the Spider Queen's gaze shifted to Malcador, she actually felt a sense of relief: at least more at ease than looking at the Emperor.
This made the Emperor of Mankind slightly frown.
"Sigillite."
Morgana maintained her politeness.
Malcador nodded, offering a simple greeting to Morgana.
"Why do you fear, Lord of the Second Legion? What you saw is what you expect and believe in your heart."
"..."
"That is the reason I fear, Sigillite."
Malcador blinked. Within the sea of his mind, he turned to look at the Emperor, with a look of confusion and questioning.
And the Emperor of Mankind was looking at him.
His face full of innocence.
"..."
A fourth sigh.
The Sigillite stepped forward and patted Morgana's shoulder.
"Morgana please allow me to call you that. You don't need to be afraid."
"Fear is not an insoluble thing. The fundamental cause of any fear is anxiety arising from insufficient strength. I know you are facing some truths in the Galaxy, and facing them is not easy, even for a Primarch, it's normal to feel inadequate."
He spoke softly, his aged voice possessing a stability and resolve that was even more reassuring than the Emperor's.
"But you need not worry, Morgana."
"Your Gene-Father, your liege and father, has brought you gifts, gifts he personally chose, representing his esteem and affection for you."
"They are gifts for a Primarch, powers that will make you feel at ease."
"Look forward to them; you will soon cease to fear: because of his love for you."
The Sigillite whispered, like a most patient elder, slowly waiting for Morgana's gaze to reappear: that gaze avoided the Emperor himself, hovering between the Sigillite and the light.
"..."
"...Gifts?"
"Yes, gifts."
"A father's gifts to his daughter."
"You might find the word a little unfamiliar, but it's alright."
He said, smiling, then slowly looked at the Emperor of Mankind.
Malcador suddenly remembered something.
He actually didn't know what gifts the Emperor of Mankind had prepared for his daughter: the Sigillite was too busy to concern himself with such matters.
But presumably...
It should...
...be fine, right?
Meeting the Sigillite's gaze, the Emperor of Mankind looked at his dear friend and offered a reassuring smile.
...
Unease settled in Malcador's heart.
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