“I have given them more than enough time.”
“Those idiotic Boeotians are testing my patience.
The Imperium has no time left to waste on this pointless bickering.”
“Tell those fools: submit, or die.
There is no third option!”
The lead Thousand Sons Legion commander saluted the Emperor, boarded a Shuttle, and departed.
The fighting on the front lines was growing more desperate by the day.
Even the Astartes Legions, newly established as they were, had been committed to battle.
The Emperor was preparing to board a gunship when a voice came from behind him.
“Father, are you leaving again?”
Every eye turned at once.
The Adeptus Custodes and Sisters of Silence on duty barely reacted, but more than a few of the Astartes recruits glanced over before quickly snapping their gazes away.
A young boy in white robes stood watching the Emperor.
How small he looked beside these demigods, he didn’t even reach the chest of one of the Adeptus Custodes.
The Emperor walked over, expression awkward, and went down on one knee so he could at least somewhat meet the boy’s eyes.
“Child, war has broken out in the west again.
For humanity’s sake, I must go.”
“It’s all right, Father.” The boy flashed a bright smile.
The Emperor felt a pang of guilt, but couldn’t find the words.
After a long pause he simply reached out and rested a hand on the boy’s head, then turned and walked away.
“Safe travels.”
The boy stood and watched the golden warship rise from the ground and vanish beyond the horizon.
This boy was Bonar, utterly unremarkable, an ordinary human so slight that any Astartes could crush him with one hand.
Yet to protect this “ordinary human,” twelve Adeptus Custodes and eight Sisters of Silence followed him around the clock.
Even when Bonar retired to his room to sleep, two Adeptus Custodes would enter and stand watch over him.
Without so much as blinking.
“Your Highness, please return inside.”
“Fine — fine, Corn Cob.”
A nearby Astartes column inexplicably slowed its pace, then sped off again as if fleeing.
Two of them even bumped into each other, producing a sharp clang of metal on metal.
The escorting Adeptus Custodes could only sigh inwardly.
Ever since this young Highness had come across a record of an ancient Terran crop called “corn” in the archives, he had taken to calling the Adeptus Custodes, who very much wished to remain anonymous, “Corn Cobs.”
They had been making repeated attempts to correct him.
Though if they were being honest, it felt more like Bonar’s quiet form of rebellion against not being allowed to go outside.
Adeptus Custodes Fortress Monastery
Bonar glanced after the departing Astartes column, then turned and walked back inside.
“Corn Cobs, how did you all get so tall and big?”
“They were all just ordinary humans before.
How did they suddenly become so powerful?”
The Adeptus Custodes didn’t answer.
They only walked on in silence.
“Can I undergo Gene-seed implantation?
Like those Astartes and Thunder Warriors?”
“No!”
The silent Adeptus Custodes spoke as one.
They exchanged a glance in the space of a heartbeat.
The Custodian nearest to Bonar crouched down, lowered his head, and spoke to him as close to eye level as a giant in gold armour could manage.
“Your Highness, you are already the finest as you are.
You have no need of Gene-seed implantation.”
“So that’s why you’re all so tall and big…”
“We carry out the sacred duties His Majesty has entrusted to us — to overcome all manner of vicious enemies.
That is why we underwent Gene-seed implantation.”
Bonar stopped walking.
He looked up at the great Corn Cob, and his eyes held a quiet resolve.
“Every single person here, from you great Corn Cobs all the way down to the ordinary citizens making donations by the roadside, every single one is giving something for humanity.”
“And I…”
He spread his arms wide.
“I’m just here doing nothing.
Like a flower in a greenhouse, waiting, unable to do a single thing.”
“I can’t even bring people joy the way a flower does, because I can only hide behind layer after layer of walls.”
The Custodian who had been searching for something to say fell silent.
Truthfully, he didn’t understand it himself, why the great Emperor had deployed such a heavy guard to protect a mere…
Mortal.
“I am sorry, Your Highness.
But these are our orders.”
Bonar looked at the Custodian.
Looked at all these great Corn Cobs.
His expression carried a quiet, simmering frustration.
But his upbringing won out.
He said nothing, turned, and walked back at a brisk, sulky pace.
Though for the Adeptus Custodes and Sisters of Silence, it was perhaps just a matter of him taking slightly longer strides than usual.
…
During the Unification Wars, the Tech-warlords entrenched across Terra were the Emperor’s primary adversaries.
…
Malcador set down his pen and looked at Bonar.
Bonar was clearly distracted today.
That wasn’t like him at all.
“Child, what’s the matter?”
“Grandfather Malcador, I want to learn to fight.”
Malcador was mildly surprised, but answered with a warm, gentle smile.
“And why is that?”
“I want to help Father.
Even a little.”
Malcador softly stroked Bonar’s head.
“There are many ways to help your father.
The soldiers fighting on the front lines are one.
The staff holding things together behind the lines are another.”
“But I still want to learn.
Those great Corn Cobs watch me every day like they’re terrified I’ll tumble down a step and knock myself to death.”
Bonar, who had been slumped listlessly over the desk, sat up straight.
His face showed a trace of real irritation.
“Grandfather, do you know, once I saw a child who had broken his leg, and I wanted to help him.”
“Those Corn Cobs grabbed me and ran like they’d seen a ghost.”
“Does that make any sense to you?”
Malcador kept his cheerful smile.
He had thought of a rather good solution.
“If you want to learn to fight, I can recommend someone to you.”
Bonar perked up immediately.
“Who?”
“Malak.
A warrior of considerable skill, even among the Adeptus Custodes.”
Bonar’s face lit up.
He had seen firsthand what these great Corn Cobs could do.
In one training exercise, a single Corn Cob had put a hundred ordinary humans on the ground without breaking a sweat.
“Wonderful!
Thank you, Grandfather Malcador.”
“Heh.
But…”
Bonar’s heart lurched.
“Whether Malak will actually teach you to fight, that, I’m afraid, is beyond Grandfather’s power to decide.”
“Grandfather, can’t you just order Malak directly?”
Malcador shook his head gently.
“Child, they are not our subordinates.
They are our friends — our like-minded friends.”
“If you want a friend to help you wholeheartedly, you don’t use orders.
You use sincerity.”
“So there is nothing I can do for you in this regard.”
Bonar nodded, half understanding and half not.
Win Malak over with sincerity.
Get Malak to teach him to fight.
“Very well.
I will take your teaching to heart.”
➤ Next: Martial Arts