Chapter Text
A Primarch’s mind is made to process multiple things at once. Horus remembers very clearly how easily he used to parse through battle strategies, on multiple fronts, with different legions. It had felt good, natural. Not always easy, and not always completely successful, but he had been in his element, being a one-man army of commanding power.
He could have been glorious, at the head of the Imperium.
He closes his eyes, lets the thought glide through his mind without finding purchase, and fade away. Truly, Chaos cannot let go of him… Or perhaps it is his own ambition, still whispering to him even now. Even after everything.
Regardless of the source, he does not listen, this time. He promised himself he would do better. And doing better starts with focusing on the right things.
Like what to cook for dinner.
He takes a deep breath, lungs filling with clear mountain air, letting his tongue idly map out its chemical components as he continues to walk on the rocky path up to his house. The sky is still bright and blue, and will remain so for a few hours. Then it will take the fiery colors of sunset, and the quieter hues of dusk. By then he should be home, but he would need to light up a fire soon upon returning so the house doesn’t cool down too much. He doesn’t mind the temperature one way or the other, but he doesn’t exactly live alone anymore…
Now then, dinner. What can he portion out to have a balanced diet over the week? Try as he might, gardening remains a mystery he cannot solve, and so he still needs to make the long trip to the village for vegetables and more varied fruits. And no, a full diet of wild berries is not good enough in terms of vitamins. Mushrooms, herbs, roots, he knows how to find in the surrounding forest, and the lake provides fish all year round. The hunting season is also good for red meat, though he kept thinking about perhaps getting a couple of chickens. They could be good enrichment, and a good way to teach restraint when handling something more fragile, as well as a good source of eggs. Perhaps then they can start baking.
Oh, how Fulgrim loved baking.
Another stray thought to hurt him, another deep breath to let it pass without purchase. Eggs. Chicken.
The sound of flapping white wings will be a repeated stab to the heart.
….Perhaps this is why he never really went through with buying those chickens. He prefers to shelf the thought, while he analyses the meal plan his mind has produced in the meantime. Yes, this would work. Depending on the weather, the menu for the last few days might get tricky, but it shouldn’t rain to the point of the road becoming dangerous. If worst comes to worst, he could always take his son with him to the village and they could spend the night there. The townsfolk might be weary of his psyker child, but they owe him much for his services. They wouldn’t refuse him to stay dry for the night. And the kid would enjoy the trip, he is sure.
Perhaps he should start socializing him a little more. Keeping him safe and keeping him cooped up are two different things… and he will never learn if he doesn’t get attached. Friends would be good.
…Maybe just a few months more. Maybe just a little longer, until he is prepared. Even if there is much to learn from being thrown into a situation unprepared.
Like parenthood!
The thought makes Horus grin, as he lifts a fallen tree trunk from the road. He ignored it on the way down, it was easy enough to jump over, but it is rather inconvenient on the way back. Keep your routes clear, would say Roboute! Horus cracks the fallen tree in two over his knee, to make it easier to push away to the side, clearing the makeshift road with frightening ease. Dusting his hands, he adjusts his bags and keeps going.
The house comes into view just as the shadows of the nearby mountain range start to stretch. Right on time, by Horus’ estimation, although the days are getting shorter. How amusing to see this world, clearly terraformed to be like a second Terra, down to the axis it spins on. Perhaps it was meant as a retreat for the elite originally? It never evolved past the rural stage, so its valuable guests never showed up. Casualties of Old Night, probably. Here is a topic he wishes he could have discussed with his Father more… but there was never enough time. Thirty perfect years, and yet never enough time.
He walks up to his house, noticing a couple of degraded spots along one of the walls. Yup, he knew he shouldn’t have cut corners under the window, and yet what did he do? A flash of aggressive, cold gold and yellow crosses his mind, and he smirks. Yeah, yeah, he built his house quickly, not in any durable way. He had other things to worry about at the time, than to build a fortress. Like having shelter that wouldn’t collapse in the next ten years. That was good enough. Curious, how this same thought must have eventually doomed countless people in the modern Imperium… Very well, he would repair it properly before it caused any issue. Because, again, he was trying to be better.
He unlatches the door, and pushes it open with a measured shoulder shove. The heavy wooden door creaks against the floor, and that is Horus’ second confirmation that summer is slowly reaching its end. The wood is starting to expand from the rising humidity. He wishes he had a carpenter to ask for tricks, or trade secrets to limitate this effect and spare his poor floorboard, but alas. So much to research, once he is less busy being a single father. Never enough time!
“I am home.” He calls casually through the house. It isn’t a manor, certainly nothing like what he used to live in, but at least since he built it to his own proportions, he didn’t struggle to stand and move in it. A main living room served as the entrance, kitchen, dining room and living room all at once, with two smaller bedrooms at the back. Well, in truth they quickly had become one at this point ; his son never liked sleeping alone. His bedroom soon became where Horus stored all of his crystals, catalysts, and other divination items, as well as some of his toys and other cumbersome tools. But given his son liked to bring everything to the bedroom instead, the stones and cards were often over there anyways…
Speaking of.
The Primarch’s ear catches the sound of quickly flipped wafers, and he smirks. Dropping his bags near the kitchen, he rolls his shoulders and pulls back the fur flap that serves as a door to his bedroom. He already knows what he will find.
His Father, lost in mystical, inexplicable meditation over his deck of cards, crowned by sunlight.
“Fa-” He starts, correcting himself as he looks at the kid sitting on the floor of their shared bedroom. “...Neoth, what are you doing?” He asks, with the patient tone of a parent knowing very well what their child was doing.
In response, the golden-eyed child wordlessly pulls a pillow from the bed and attempts to hide the cards under it. It would have been a fast movement for most baselines, but it leaves Horus able to read the spread far before it is covered. It is senseless, Neoth must have shuffled them when he heard the door. Always so secretive…
“Is that my tarot deck?” Horus asks, yet again unsurprised.
“....No.” The young Emperor attempts, with childish aplomb but little hope.
“Young man.” Horus chastizes lightly. “These are expensive, and fragile.”
“I know. I was careful with them.” Neoth relents, pushing the pillow away to gather the cards back up. They look so big in his tiny hands… And they shimmer, not with Horus’ usual green and white energy, but with a layer of gold that is unmistakable. Even Dorn never got to reach this pure gold state.
“I know you were. You have always been, from what I have seen.” Horus puts his hands on his hips, and cocks his head with a knowing look. “And I wasn’t there to see this one. We had an agreement, young man.”
Neoth shrinks and pouts, getting onto his feet and dusting his tunic, handing the deck back to his father.
“....They were calling me.” He tries to justify, yet again with little hope.
“And? Does that mean more to you than the promise you made me not to use them without me around?”
“No, but-!” The child puffs up his cheeks, looking up at his giant of a father. “I thought perhaps you were in danger and they were trying to warn me!”
“And when it turned out not to be the case, you kept on going?” Horus asks, inspecting his deck, one card at a time, meticulously.
“Well… I…” Neoth stumbles on that, and looks down, his round cheeks reddening. “....I’m old enough to use them safely. Nothing happened!”
Horus stops what he is doing, and looks down at the little ball of golden pride staring him down from about his hip. He wants to dismiss this so much, but dismissal is what the emperor would have done. And he is trying, very hard, to do better.
“...Neoth. If you wish to discuss this later, and see about getting a different access to my deck, we can talk about it. I will listen to your arguments.” He kneels, reaching eye level with his son. He can see a hint of guilt on his face already. “But you promised me, this morning, that you would not try to do anything warp-related until I was back. And you did break this promise, correct?”
The child looks down, fidgeting. He wants to protest, to fight back, Horus knows. He understands, far more than Neoth knows. He also knows that his past life is whispering fragmented memories in his son’s mind, and it is difficult for the kid to deal with his own growth, and the insufferable self-assurance of the Emperor in him.
“.... I did.” He concludes with a sigh, before looking up. “But with good intentions! I was worried!”
“And that is how Chaos gets you.” Horus says softly, booping him on the nose with the Tower card. “I have told you this. I understand that you need to take your own risks and make your own mistakes, but that is what my supervision is for. Do you understand?”
Neoth quietly nods, now openly remorseful. Horus nods and stands up.
“I know that nothing went wrong this time, but you broke my trust, Neoth. On something important! While I was away, unable to save you if anything had happened. I cannot let this slide.”
He does not need to raise his voice. Already, his son knows what to expect.
“You will be the one to go out and get our firewood for the week.”
“For the week?!” Neoth immediately complains.
“In the cold and the dark, with the spiders.” Horus confirms with a grin. “Even if it rains.”
“Noooo…! That’s so long!”
“You did something really bad this time! It has to be fair!”
“You’re so mean!”
“Do not test me young man. I have bought some broccoli and I am not afraid to add some to your mashed potatoes!”
“NOOO!!” Immediately Neoth throws himself at his laughing father, arms barely making a full loop around his waist. “NO please! I’m sorry!”
“Then firewood for the week.”
“Fine! Whatever…” Neoth grumbles, letting go and stomping out into the main room. “....I’m not even afraid of spiders… I’m big now…”
Horus chuckles as he follows him in, starting to open his bags and hand the different tools and objects he bought to his son, for him to go store them in his ex-bedroom. He tends to the food, and sets it up either to dry or to be preserved properly.
“If it is too easy for my big boy Neoth, then perhaps I should pick something harder?” He teases.
“I said I’m sorry!” The child protests, coming back to take the next tool, perplexed. “....What is that?”
“Parts for a loom. A repair job for next week. You could use some new clothes by now, so I am helping the seamstress in town in advance.”
“So she would owe you when you need it. Smart.” Neoth mumbles to himself, taking notes as he trots off with it. Horus smiles, amused.
Was it the same with me, Father? Were you proud when I learned from you? Deciphered fragments of your intricate plans?
His smile falters, and the thought takes a while to dissipate. He returns to unloading the supplies, breathing deeply but quietly. He doesn’t like to let his son see his melancholy.
“It is not the only factor for this move. Can you guess why I chose to repair her tools, as a favor? And not, for example, to deliver some of her orders?” He asks over his shoulder, as Neoth comes back to hop on his chair, looking at what he is doing with the food.
The child ponders the question, and he already has this gravitas that his Emperor self displayed so regally. His eyes oversee the meal prep, while his mind calculates factors. For now, he is young, there is only so much he can think about, so many angles he knows to study a problem from. As he grows up, Horus knows, this same expression will be applied to ruling kingdoms, planets, empires.
“.... The skills displayed are different. You don’t want to show your strength and speed to her, you want to show your craftsmanship and care. And reliability?” Neoth suggests, eager to see if he is right, though unsure.
“Hm! That was also a factor, yes, but it was tertiary.” Horus nods. “I want her tools to be in good condition, so she can easily fulfill my request when it comes.” He smirks, and delight fills his hearts as he sees Neoth’s eyes open wider.
“Ah. Of course.” He declares, bringing his little fist to his other palm, very serious. Horus can’t help but laugh. He did NOT get this gesture from him, but it brings back memories of a better time! His son bristles, thinking he is being mocked.
“What?!” He huffs, offended. Horus shakes his head with a snicker.
“Nothing. It is very much like you to find the more complex layers before the surface ones. Still! You have to remember to provide people with the means to solve the issues you need solved.”
Neoth nods pensively at that, absorbing the lecture, as he always does.
“It makes sense.” He agrees, before looking up. “What clothes would I get?”
“I was thinking that you might come with me and decide. It will make fitting easier.” Horus smirks, seeing the excitement in his son’s eyes, before looking dramatically pensive. “But after what you did, I am not sure. I need to know that I can trust you, even when I am not looking…”
“I’m going to do the firewood thing! And I said I was sorry! I understand!” Neoth proclaims, now motivated to go down to the village. “What else do you want me to do?!”
“A dangerous question.” Horus grins, starting up the fire in the stove. “Because now you give me the choice of what to have you do, and it can be anything. And if you protest at my next suggestion, it makes you look undecided and hesitant, untrustworthy. Perhaps it would be more in your interest to suggest something to me instead, in this situation?”
Neoth takes note of the lesson, and thinks on it, eyes narrowing. He wracks his brain for something to offer his father, and eventually grimaces.
“.... won’t complain about the vegetables. For the whole week.” He promises through gritted teeth, and Horus nods at the offer.
“If you can hold THAT promise, then we have a deal. You are coming with me next week.”
“YES!”
“Don’t jump on the chairs, you are not a toddler anymore!”
Over dinner, Horus looks up at his son.
“By the way, since you went through with a reading anyways, what did you get?” He asks, and Neoth finishes swallowing the portion of mashed potato he was stuffing his face with (brocolis to the side, unmixed).
“It was weird.” He starts. “The usual trifold pull didn’t make any sense, it was just white noise. The ones I could get a couple of times were Strength and Chariot often together. Sometimes with the Tower, sometimes with Death.”
“Upright? Reversed?” Horus asks, trying not to look as grim as he feels.
“One way or the other. It seemed to shift. But when one was reversed, the other wasn’t.” Neoth explains. “I think it would work better if I could do a single pull instead.” He explains, hopping off his chair to go get the deck.
“Neoth, no divination at the table.” Horus protests, but a corner of his mind is telling him to see for himself. So, when Neoth comes back and gives him the deck, he sighs and holds it in his hands. He shuffles the cards, fingers passing over the thin psychic crystals embedded in the back of each card, and with an exact flick of the hand, he spreads the cards in a uniform, perfect fan.
Another trick Fulgrim and him practiced to perfection together…
Neoth studies the presented fan with attention. His aura shines brighter, haloing him in soft gold. He raises his hand, just above the cards, and quietly hovers over each. The warp whispers around them, and Horus stands firm and vigilant. He tries not to disturb the reading, while paying close attention to anything that might come near his son. The child hovers over a card, that shines brighter, like it recognizes him. Horus smirks at the sight : here is the Star, faithful as ever. It is such a common sight now, that neither of them really react to it, and Neoth continues. His golden eyes shine softly, hair and tunic swaying ever so slightly to an invisible breeze Horus feels too.
The Star Child almost reaches the end of the fan before they both feel the pull. This one.
Neoth pulls the resonating card out of the fan, and the tension slowly starts to fade, as fate is revealed.
The Emperor.
Reversed.
“What does that mean?” Neoth asks, frowning. Horus says nothing. He does not like this omen, so strong it could only be conveyed by a singular pull. He thinks back to Neoth’s previous spread. Strength and Chariot in disarray. The Tower. Death.
“....I don’t know yet.” He says, but as he sets his deck down, one of the cards slips towards him. Surprised, he pulls it up.
Justice, upright. It doesn’t feel like a part of the previous reading, of Neoth’s divination. This is a warning to him, specifically… And he doesn’t like it.
“...This is why we don’t do divination at the table.” He sighs, putting the deck back together, no longer hungry. He will need to see what he can safely glean from this, later.