*Endurance*, Third Archive Room.
Now.
The usually quiet Third Archive Room was even more deserted today. Servitors, draped in simple gray-green robes, moved silently between the shelves, arranging books, taking them out, and transcribing. The soft sound of quill scratching paper echoed throughout.
The Third Archive Room did not strictly adhere to the minimalist style of the *Endurance*. Although gray and green dominated, simple, almost crude lamps protruded from the walls, providing the only source of light.
It was so dim that each table in the room had an additional slender lamp. If a reader required, they would sit and turn on this small light.
A vast, detailed, and somewhat exaggerated mural was faintly visible in the dim light. Artists had poured their souls into depicting the Emperor's majesty. This idealized, symbolic representation of idealism was evident in the mural.
It portrayed the first meeting between the Emperor and Mortarion.
A sinister gray-green mist seeped from the edges of the painting, futilely repelled by the golden aura surrounding the Emperor's image.
In the painting, the Emperor was not in his golden armor but wore a simple white robe, held together by vibrant green leaves. He looked pure and regal.
The Emperor's gaze was filled with pity, sympathy, and joy.
He held Mortarion, who appeared decayed and rotting, his tattered gray robe resembling dry bones.
This was the image of a dying Death Lord, evoking unease and fear in anyone who beheld it.
Yet, the Emperor in the painting showed no such fear. He held Mortarion, saving his lost son.
Praise the Emperor.
Mortarion would certainly not be pleased to see this depiction.
Hades stood beside the mural. Every time he visited the Third Archive Room to borrow or return books, he would pause before this painting.
The contrast between the radiant Emperor and the decaying Mortarion, the oppressive environment juxtaposed with the Emperor's redeeming light, was accentuated by the dim lighting of the Third Archive Room.
Hades marveled at the artwork. It was a painting that compelled one to praise the Emperor. The mortal artists had indeed captured the Emperor's glory during the Great Crusade.
But Mortarion would certainly not be pleased.
Hades shivered at the thought. He wondered if Mortarion had seen the painting. If he had, what would his reaction be?
Perhaps Mortarion had seen it but couldn't just command his Deathshroud bodyguards to repaint it.
More likely, he would have seethed in private.
Apart from the armies, artists, poets, and historians responsible for recording and celebrating the legions' achievements were also indispensable during the Great Crusade.
And it was such mortals, often looked down upon by the Astartes, who could create art that might infuriate a Primarch.
Impressive.
After admiring the mural, Hades signaled a servitor, who approached timidly.
Hades handed over the books he had borrowed last time: "Noble Children's Bedtime Stories," "101 Low Gothic Swears," and "Learning Gothic: From Basics to Grave."
He waved the servitor away and headed to the section where he had previously borrowed books.
Today, he intended to study.
Hades browsed the shelves, eventually selecting "Terra Gossip: 100 Tales."
The tables in the archive were empty, so Hades chose one in a corner and began reading.
The book was filled with bizarre and humorous anecdotes, High Gothic sarcasm, and Low Gothic jokes. Hades soon lost himself in the stories.
Until—
A figure took the seat opposite him.
A frail, hunched figure in a faded dark red cloak. Layers of wrinkled clothing were hidden beneath the cloak. The frayed edges of the cloak were clearly visible under the table lamp's light.
"Hello," the newcomer said in halting Barbarus dialect.
Hades looked up in surprise. Even for a human, the old man seemed small.
Hades responded in High Gothic, [Who are you?]
The old man smiled, a mix of relief and apprehension, "I am the historian who once followed the Dusk Raiders and now serves the Death Guard."
Barbarus dialect lacked a word for "historian."
[You're a historian?]
The man nodded.
Hades glanced around. They were alone.
He hadn't seen anyone like this old man since he arrived on the *Endurance*. He usually encountered Astartes, servitors, and human crew.
[Just you?]
"Yes, my lord, just me."
"My peers, poets seeking passion and romance, couldn't endure the monotony of the legion's integration phase. They all requested transfers to the front lines to sing of the Great Crusade's glory."
Hades looked at the elderly historian, [Why didn't you go?]
A glint appeared in the old man's eyes, "My peers were too impatient. The integration phase of a legion is crucial for its future."
The historian seemed to hint at something, but the implication vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving just a hunched old man.
Hades raised an eyebrow. Was the historian suggesting he should persuade Mortarion? Or was it just a reflection of his own experiences?
But why would a mere human historian say such things? Moreover, he hadn't elaborated.
Or perhaps he was trying to provoke Hades into a conversation?
Hades decided to continue chatting with the historian.
Exiting the Third Archive Room, Hades held the "Chronicles of Ullanor" that the historian had recommended.
He had practiced his High Gothic, discussed Barbarus's customs, and overall, it was a good experience.
Perhaps he had been overthinking.
Hades thought.
**Author's Notes:**
Regarding the Mechanicum, I did some more research. In 30k, the Mechanicum's stance on creation is like "Schrödinger's cat."
To simplify, if a Magos invents something in private, it's acceptable. If an outsider modifies machinery, sorry, you've violated the Law of Sacred Complexity. Not acceptable.
I'll make adjustments to previous chapters when I have time.
And about the latest plot... well...
The official authors are racing ahead, while fanfiction writers like me are desperately trying to catch up.