The room temporarily serving as the Primarch’s bedchamber was, in fact, exquisitely crafted.
Candles carved with scenes of heroic deeds burned quietly in adamantine candlesticks, casting their glow upon the thick, vibrantly colored cashmere carpet on the floor, which swallowed even the sound of bare feet.
Soothing incense drifted slowly through the chamber.
Within the room stood a large bed draped with silken hangings.
The entire set of bedding had been sewn with golden thread and shone faintly, like the scales of a golden serpent.
Zelo felt the bed constantly dazzled his eyes, so he lowered all the curtains.
He also had no desire to sleep on that bed, soft and comfortable though it was, made from the most expensive fabrics in the Imperium.
For Zelo, the moment he placed his fingers upon it, he felt a stinging discomfort.
The bed was too comfortable, so comfortable that it became unbearable to him.
The torture Zelo had endured from the Daemons on Stoll Star during childhood had left the Primarch with a nervous system incapable of feeling pain.
However, this did not mean he had lost his sense of touch.
His sense of touch worked differently from anyone else’s, turning sensations ordinary people found soft or pleasant into something indescribable.
The chair originally placed before the desk in the room was the same.
It was upholstered in a soft, finely sewn fabric.
The first time Zelo sat on it, he immediately sprang up.
He felt as though he had sat upon nothing at all, as if emptiness itself lay beneath him.
It was a deeply unsettling sensation.
Thus, Zelo insisted on a replacement chair.
Though theoretically he could endure the voyage standing, he felt he needed to sit at the desk to study and annotate certain books.
This sent the ship’s Court Protocol Officer, specially assigned to serve the Primarch, into a panic.
After offering Zelo another ornate chair that was also rejected, he chose to take his own life.
Fortunately, Zelo sensed the man’s deep-rooted pain and struggle.
When he arrived unbidden, tearing the door off the mortal’s quarters, the man was in the middle of trying to loop a noose around his own neck.
Upon seeing the Primarch, he let out a piercing shriek and promptly fainted.
It was only a chair.
Zelo could not understand why these people held him in such awe that it bordered on terror.
He could only hand the unconscious mortal over to the other frightened attendants, repeatedly stressing that they should not punish him.
The Court Protocol Officer had done nothing wrong.
In the end, Zelo was forced to sit on the chair that made him feel so uneasy.
Finally, he resigned himself to it; perhaps this, too, was a form of torment.
All his life on Stoll Star, people had revered him, but never to this extent.
A life, over a chair?
Even the life of an ant should not be spent at such a price.
That man’s life, and all his lifelong toil, should have been spent on something more worthwhile, such as alleviating suffering.
Thus, while Zelo had originally planned to converse with others aboard the ship to try to understand the Imperium, after this incident, the Primarch had to become cautious.
At the same time, those mortals were just as unwilling to approach Zelo.
His mere proximity seemed to cause them pain.
Zelo was baffled.
Zelo suddenly yearned to know what place the Primarchs occupied in the Imperium built by his Father, and what place humanity held there.
And between the Primarchs and humanity, what role did those called the Adeptus Astartes play?
He could only seek answers from books.
Fortunately, books were plentiful and supplied without limit.
The only problem was that they were ordinary human size, making them rather small for him to use.
In the books, his brothers were portrayed as demigods.
Zelo saw that Imperial scholars and chroniclers had clearly cast the Primarchs, and the Adeptus Astartes under their command, in divine terms.
The Emperor himself was nearly divine in the hearts of the Imperial populace, while his progeny, the Primarchs, were fashioned as angels in service to a God.
Zelo was baffled again.
He felt somewhat confused, though he understood this kind of behavior.
How do you make a group of strangers respect you, fear you, and even submit to you directly?
The best way is to present yourself as another order of being, wiser, mightier, and more perfect than they were.
In other words, a “God” was permissible within a secular frame; what was forbidden were the “Gods” of the Warp.
Zelo understood it this way, and he could not seek confirmation from the Emperor again.
Fortunately, there was always someone with whom he could talk about these things.
For instance, the Custodian his Father had sent to supervise him.
At this moment, the Custodian assigned to him was sitting in the armchair opposite Zelo.
He felt extremely tense, as if he might spring up at any moment and point a Guardian Spear at Zelo.
The people of the Imperium, even the Adeptus Custodes, felt immense pressure when facing him alone.
Zelo did not know if it was because of him personally, or if people felt this way towards all Primarchs.
“What is your name?” The Custodian opposite him was silent for a moment.
Zelo did not know that every Custodian had an extraordinarily long name.
Usually, after they experienced an event worthy of commemoration, a Custodian would append new words to their name.
Some Custodians’ full names could not even be recited in a full day.
Xynis, the Custodian, did not think the Primarch wanted his full name, so he answered cautiously and succinctly.
“Xynis Je.
You may call me Xynis.” “Alright, Xynis.
I am Zelo.” Zelo said.
His pale blue pupils seemed almost absent in the dim room, giving Xynis an acute sense of danger.
“What instructions did the Master of Mankind give you?” Zelo felt every muscle of the Custodian opposite him tense in that instant.
Then Xynis spoke stiffly and methodically, his voice majestic.
“No comment.” His manner suggested that, if Zelo pressed him, he would not hesitate to die in the line of duty.
“Alright,” Zelo said with a smile.
“As expected.
Then can you tell me what he does not want me to do?” “No comment.” “…” Zelo was silent, thinking.
The Emperor was clearly wary of matters related to Daemons and the Warp.
He assumed this was also what the Custodian had been sent to monitor.
But Xynis’s lips were sealed tight.
He was loyal enough to the Emperor.
Zelo thought he could not pry out any more of the Master of Mankind’s intentions on this front.
Pressing further would only tip his hand and make Xynis even more vigilant.
So how was he to judge the Master of Mankind’s intentions?
Or rather, what exactly did the Master of Mankind want him to do?
What was the scope of the authority granted to the Primarchs by the Imperium and the Emperor?
Zelo had an idea.
“Then tell me about my brothers.” He smiled.
As long as he understood what his brothers were like, he could roughly deduce the limits of the Emperor’s tolerance and the true boundaries of a Primarch’s authority.