Lion's memories were shrouded in fog, as if bound by invisible chains.
He knew nothing of his past and had no idea why he was by a stream in this deep forest.
When he woke, the only thing he clearly felt was the cool, damp morning air typical of the forest.
He struggled to stand. With his movement came a deep, smooth hydraulic sound from the thick green power armor.
This armor was a masterpiece of exquisite craftsmanship, with ancient, deep golden runes inlaid at the joints.
The shoulder pauldrons were thick and heavy like castle walls, in a classical and dignified style.
It was undoubtedly a work of exceptional defensive capability.
Lion stretched and looked down. On the clear surface of the stream, a blurry tall figure was reflected.
When the water stilled and the image sharpened, the lion saw the scene in the water:
An old man with white hair and a white beard.
I've grown old.
The realization pierced his primitive, chaotic mind like an ice pick. He lost all sense of direction.
The lion raised a forelimb. Fingers covered in finely crafted armor touched his cheek, and the rough sensation of his beard drifted across his face.
With every breath, a heavy, long sound rose from his chest, carrying the traces of time's passage.
Yet he could not remember where those years had come from.
No memories. No goals.
All he saw was an unfamiliar dense forest and the master-level power armor someone had dressed him in.
Lion stood up. His majestic body rose like a giant awakening, startling several birds in the nearby bushes.
Driven by instinct, he stepped into the dense forest along the stream.
Tall trees stood like silent guardians. Their thick canopies broke the sunlight into fragmented patches.
Surprisingly, as he walked through the dense forest, Lion felt no obstacles or fear—only a strange sense of familiarity.
It was as if he had tracked prey, hunted, and breathed in such an environment countless times before.
His steps were light and agile, mismatched with his massive frame. Like a wild beast returning home, he moved with flowing grace, skillfully avoiding vines and dead branches.
During his exploration, a magnificent building appeared through the gaps in the tree leaves, catching his eye.
It was a castle built of huge rocks, its surface marked with deep erosion from wind and rain and covered in thick green moss.
Its style was ancient and rustic, blending seamlessly with the surrounding forest.
In front of the castle was a relatively open body of water that connected to a farther river.
On the water floated a simple, shabby wooden boat.
On the boat sat an old man wearing a tattered golden crown, holding a bent fishing rod.
Another person was humming a strange, intermittent melody with satisfaction.
Lion stopped. His primarch's extraordinary perception instantly detected the abnormality in the scene:
An unnaturally stagnant silence and the threatening gazes lurking beneath the surface.
He walked to the water's edge and stood on the bank about ten meters from the old man.
Through his mask, he spoke in a low voice that unconsciously carried dignity:
"Hello. Where is this place?"
The old man continued humming for a moment in silence.
He very slowly turned his head, revealing a thin face with sunken eyes. His expression was eerily calm.
His gaze lingered on Lion for a while, then returned to the stationary buoy on the water. The humming resumed.
They ignored me.
A strong, almost instinctive discomfort and irritation surged in Lion's heart.
He hated being ignored.
The primarch did not hesitate. He stepped into the ice-cold stream.
The current was fast and hammered against his armored legs, but he paid it no mind.
The lion's powerful, mythical limbs easily stabilized his body, and for some reason he knew the armor he wore was extremely airtight.
If he put on the helmet, he could even breathe underwater.
He approached the other party until they could no longer ignore his presence.
After just a few steps, as his gaze crossed the water, his pupils suddenly contracted.
Deep in the river, slippery and eerie shadows constantly changed shape as they circled the small boat.
They did not attack or try to capsize the fragile wooden boat—they simply stayed there.
Like venomous snakes waiting for an opportunity, or performing some strange ritual.
At the same time, Lion's sharp sense of smell detected a faint scent of blood.
The source was the old king on the small boat.
The smell was very faint and growing weaker.
It was clear the old man had been injured but was recovering.
Lion's appearance seemed to have disturbed a delicate balance.
One of the black figures circling the small boat suddenly changed direction and shot away like an arrow.
It swiftly and silently broke through the water current and charged straight toward Lion underwater.
A cold, thin line was drawn across the water surface. At the tip of the shadow, a horrifying mouth covered in spiral teeth could be faintly seen.
"Return to the shore."
A voice echoed in the depths of Lion's mind. He instinctively turned around.
On the shore stood a small figure wearing a heavy dark-green robe.
The robe completely covered it, revealing only a vaguely human shape. Its height was no more than that of an ordinary child.
Its face was hidden in the shadow of the hood.
Watchers in the Dark.
The other party's voice acted like a key, instantly unlocking a rusted lock deep in Lion's memory. The name surfaced as if from nowhere.
"Come back to the shore." The voice rang out again.
This time, Lion sensed the other party's anxiety and unease.
Lion instantly chose to follow the Watchers in the Dark's advice and quickly retreated to the shore.
The moment his feet touched solid ground, the approaching shadow stopped dead a few meters from the shore.
It refused to give up, circling twice underwater and creating small whirlpools.
Then it turned and rejoined the rest of the pack circling the small boat.
"Be careful. Those monsters will find you, devour you, and drag you into the cold and empty abyss," the Watchers in the Dark's voice echoed directly in his mind again.
This time, Lion clearly felt the disgust and terror within the other party's heart.
Those shadowy forms seemed to symbolize an ultimate horror that even the Watchers in the Dark feared.
Where is this place?
Lion turned to the short, dark-green figure and asked.
"Home." The answer was extremely brief, with no explanation.
Lion looked at the old king who continued fishing in the river and showed no reaction to what had just happened.
"Who is he? Why did he ignore me?"
"You did not ask the right question," the Watchers in the Dark replied, sounding like a riddle.
Lion felt helpless and irritated.
He stopped bothering the fishing old man and the Watchers in the Dark, turned on his heel, and returned to the forest to explore other areas.
In the dappled sunlight, the primarch once again spotted a pure white building at the edge of an open area in the distant forest.
Its lines were overly simple and eerily so, clashing with the surrounding natural, primitive landscape and giving off a cold, inhuman atmosphere.
He immediately changed direction, intending to investigate.
"You are not yet strong enough to walk this path," the Watchers in the Dark appeared like an illusion in front of the primarch, blocking his way.
The voice was gentle but carried unshakeable determination.
Lion stopped and looked down at the small figure who barely reached above his waist. With irritation he said,
"You won't let me step into the river, and you won't let me approach that white building.
You warn me and obstruct everything that could help me understand my current situation and regain my memories. What exactly do you want me to do?"
The dark-green hood lifted slightly, as if the Watchers in the Dark was looking up at the primarch.
"Follow your instincts, Lion. Then you will know where you should go."
Instinct?
Lion pondered the word but found no answer.
Just as the lion was about to press further, his sharp sense of smell suddenly detected a strange scent. It was the scent of the forest itself—complex yet balanced.
Damp soil, decaying fallen leaves, the fragrance of various plants, a faint smell of mutton, and the scent of blood left by small animals…
These elements intertwined into a primitive symphony of life and death coexisting.
But at that moment, a jarring stench of decay stubbornly pierced through this natural barrier like a dirty thread and entered his nostrils.
The smell stimulated him and quietly awakened a deeper unease within him.
It was the excitement a hunter feels when he finds prey.
He ignored the Watchers in the Dark, lowered his body like an apex predator, flared his nostrils, and locked onto the source of the decay.
Then he quietly but swiftly left, chasing the prey.
He gradually entered a denser, darker part of the forest where the trees grew increasingly strange and twisted.
Finally, he reached an even more unfamiliar forest filled with unease and malice.
Sounds of battle, terrified screams, and beastly roars echoed everywhere.
Hearing the noise, Lion accelerated and burst through the last thicket.
They saw three ragged, emaciated humans leaning against a rotting giant log, desperately swinging primitive weapons against three terrifyingly huge beasts.
The three massive beasts vaguely resembled wolves or large felines.
However, they had horrifying claws and spines, and unnatural hatred burned in their eyes.
Lion did not hesitate. Instinctively, he moved to protect the three humans.
The battle ended in one minute.
The three humans, still shaken, stared at the giant before them—the giant clad in magnificent green armor, as if he had stepped out of myth.
Overwhelmed by terror, they lost their voices and collapsed to the ground.
At that moment, the air beside them tore open. A green portal of light appeared, and a strangely dressed figure emerged.
The newcomer was none other than Datch himself, wearing the armor of the Lich King.
The surreal and eerie sensation immediately put Lion on full alert. His muscles tensed.
However, the lion sensed no hostility, so he did not attack immediately.
In a low voice, he demanded to know who the other party was.
"Who are you?"
Datch did not answer. He stared at the old lion in front of him for a moment, then raised his hand and shouted,
"For the Great Second Imperium!"
"Second Imperium…?"
The words acted like a rusty key violently forced into the keyhole of Lion's memory and twisted!
He let out a pained groan.
His massive body involuntarily took half a step back.
The face beneath the helmet twisted in agony from the sudden intense pain.
Fragmented, flickering images forced their way into his mind.
A giant in azure armor, radiating a noble and intellectual aura…
Another even more dazzling figure in deep crimson armor with golden decorations.
Pure white wings covered his back without a single flaw, and his face was handsome and perfect…
They were calling to him. Their voices transcended endless time and the veil of oblivion.
"Lion, my brother."
Lion's eyes widened, but he could not recall their names.
Yet that winged figure—glimpsed for only a moment in his memory—brought a heart-wrenching, suffocating sorrow.
It felt as if an invisible blade had torn out part of his heart.
The sorrow was indescribable, yet unbearably real and heavy, making even breathing difficult.
"Who exactly are you?"
Lion gritted his teeth and roared at both Datch and the chaotic memories swirling in his mind.
He was furious at this unfamiliar pain.
Datch ignored the lion's anger like a wind-up toy. He slid and hopped around Lion, occasionally shouting lines such as "For the Second Imperium!" or "Take the Lion's Flying Headbutt!"
After several attempts, Lion's patience finally ran out.
He let out a low growl and charged at Datch with his massive body at astonishing speed.
He wanted to silence this noisy man in the most direct way possible and force him to tell the truth.
Datch chuckled. Just as Lion tried to touch him, he activated his ability—Blink.
His body flickered like a weak holographic image and vanished without a trace.
The next moment, he reappeared several meters away in another direction and continued shouting.
"For the Second Imperium!"
"Take the Lion's Flying Headbutt!"
Lion's repeated charges were easily dodged by the other party.
He realized this was no ordinary movement ability but something he still did not understand.
He stopped the pointless pursuit, his chest heaving with anger and irritation, and finally decided to ignore the stranger.
He turned and walked toward the three somewhat recovered humans, trying to calm his voice.
"Are you all right?"
The three humans nodded, still trembling with fear.
Lion asked their names and learned they were Stick, Harlin, and Biba.
"Then, Your Excellency… what should we call you, sir?" Harlin mustered his courage, though his voice still shook.
"I…" Lion faltered. A name naturally came to mind. "I only remember that my name is Lion El'Jonson. But everything else… I've forgotten."
"Citizens of the Second Imperium, rejoice! Your war general has returned!"
Datch, standing nearby, interjected at the perfect moment with no emotion on his face.
Lion ignored him and looked at the three humans.
Do you know this man?
All three shook their heads at the same time and stared at Datch with terror and confusion.
"We have never met him before. Wasn't he with you earlier?"
Lion gave no answer. He changed the subject and looked at the scattered firewood and simple tools on the ground.
Are you gathering firewood to start a fire?
"Yes, that's right," Biba nodded and pointed deeper into the forest. "There is a campsite nearby. Please come back with us. Our guardians will surely be delighted to meet you."
"Guardians?" Lion frowned and glanced at the beast corpses.
"He doesn't seem very capable. Otherwise, there would have been no need for an outsider like me to intervene and save you."
"Please don't say that, sir," Stick protested weakly but firmly.
"There is only one guardian who protects all of us."
"He… he has done more than enough! Since the apocalypse began, he has saved us from enemies, led us to relatively safe places, and taught us how to hide and survive. Without him, we would have died long ago."
"Apocalyptic crisis?" Hearing those words, Lion frowned even deeper. "What exactly happened?"
Terror and confusion appeared simultaneously on the three humans' faces.
"We can't explain it either. All we know is that one day the sky split in two like broken glass, and then everything changed…"
"Animals went mad, plants grew fangs, even the stars in the night sky began to move and emit ominous light…"
"Then terrifying enemies descended from the sky. Many people died, and even more disappeared."
"We can only hide like this…"
Lion listened in silence. The fragmentary information was not enough to form a complete picture.
This deepened the melancholy in the lion's heart. He decided to follow them back to the camp.
Following hunting custom, the male lion bent down, easily shouldered the largest beast carcass as a greeting gift.
Datch summoned his mechanical warhorse and followed the lion and the humans toward the campsite.
Along the way, bored, he repeatedly made his beloved horse leap and glide through the air.
Lion and the three humans turned back several times in confusion at Datch's incomprehensible behavior.
This man's logic was truly impossible to understand.
After walking for a while, they arrived at the campsite.
The area had been specially cleared, and all dangerous wild animals had been eliminated.
"Instead of going so far, why not just cut down nearby trees for firewood?"
Lion asked while looking at the still-dense forest around them.
"The enemies… those corrupted beasts, and something even more terrifying, are hunting them," Biba whispered, cautiously looking around.
"If we cut down trees on a large scale, it would leave traces. Smoke would rise high and easily expose the campsite."
"For safety, we can only split up and slowly retrieve supplies from distant locations."
"This place doesn't seem completely safe either," Lion commented.
"Compared to other places…" Stick said quietly. His eyes were filled with resignation and numbness.
"This is already considered very good."
The three humans led Lion along a winding hidden path that wild animals had trodden.
Finally, the campsite came into view.
There were no fences or watchtowers—only extreme camouflage using natural terrain and dense tree canopies.
Like startled squirrels, hundreds of people were scattered among the trees.
They used tree branches, vines, torn canvas, and metal scraps to fill gaps between branches or hollows at the roots of giant trees.
They built low, simple makeshift huts that could barely withstand wind and rain.
Using cracked pots and pans, several small, carefully controlled fires burned, carrying a faint smell of food.
The camp was deathly quiet.
There were no songs or laughter. Even conversations were held in extremely low voices.
Even naturally lively children lacked the usual sparkle of childhood.
Their eyes were hollow, their movements sluggish. They drifted like little ghosts at the edges of the camp or clung tightly to silent adults.
At first glance, Lion's heart was filled with deep sorrow.
These people faced not only physical threats to their survival but also a slow suffocation of the soul by endless terror and despair.
They were alive, yet lacked the courage to truly live.
The slightest loud noise, the slightest bright light, or even the slightest good mood could be seen as a cause for destruction.
They had narrowly escaped one massacre after another, but deep in their hearts they simply waited silently for the next death.
They had lost all hope for the future.
This was a slower, more thorough form of chronic death than physical destruction.
Either the body would collapse, or the soul would wither and completely die under this daily oppression.
Lion tossed the beast carcass he was carrying onto a relatively flat small clearing in the center of the camp.
The dull thud was particularly jarring in the silent camp, like a pebble dropped into stagnant water.
In an instant, countless gazes turned toward them—from behind huts, from the shadows of trees, and from beside the fires.
Some people, terrified by the loud noise and the towering giant in green armor, covered their mouths and backed away, keeping a safe distance.
Other groups widened their eyes and cautiously circled the huge beast carcass, letting out surprised cries.
Just then, from the shadow of the thickest ancient tree at the edge of the camp, a figure emerged from the darkness, parted the crowd, and walked into the square.
He wore battered power armor painted in dull silver-gray and black. The silver trim on the edges had peeled off, revealing the original metal color underneath.
On his chest plate and left shoulder armor was the proud emblem of a longsword flanked by wings.
BOOM!!
The fog and vague thoughts in Lion's mind were shattered by this emblem.
Memories were no longer scattered fragments. They became a raging torrent breaking through a dam, carrying countless pieces of information, images, emotions, and weight that flooded every corner of his mind.
Kaliban—an endlessly vast green forest and the ancient castle of knights.
The First Legion—loyal, brave, fearless knights.
The Imperium of Man—vast territories spread across the stars, and the Emperor in golden armor.
The Horus Heresy—flames of betrayal, blood and tears of brother-slaying.
And Luther's betrayal ultimately led him into a tragic, long slumber…
Countless images flashed back, intertwined, and froze in an instant!
Identity, duty, honor, pain, loss…
Everything returned to its rightful place in the blink of an eye, constructing a complete and heavy edifice of memory.
He was Lion El'Jonson, Lord of Kaliban, the Emperor's eldest son, Primarch of the First Legion—the Dark Angels—the Imperium's sharpest swordsman, and the Knight King who had conquered countless worlds.
And the warrior in battered black armor with the winged-sword emblem on his chest had emerged from the shadows…
The moment he saw Lion's face, his eyes widened in shock.
It was not the joy of reunion, but extreme shock, confusion, and a kind of anger at betrayal!
The next instant, the Dark Angels warrior drew an explosive bolt pistol.
Aiming the muzzle straight at Lion, he pulled the trigger. A cry mixed with pain and despair rang out.
"Traitor who betrayed the Emperor and Kaliban—prepare to die!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Explosive shells roared out!
Lion dodged sideways with astonishing agility. The shells exploded against the tree trunk behind him, sending up a cloud of wood chips.
He offered no explanation. His eyes burned with cold anger and the pain of being attacked by a subordinate.
Yet he chose to subdue the other party through action and uncover the reason behind the absurd accusation.
He pounced on the warrior like a real lion.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Datch, mounted on his mechanical warhorse, let out a strange laugh.
He had taken out the servo-skull he used for early recording to film the father-and-son reunion scene.
Make sure to capture Lion's surprised and angry profile and the close-up of the Dark Angels warrior firing in rage.
That way he could use the video to control the lion.
Lion El'Jonson, heh heh heh…
You wouldn't want your two brothers to see Kaliban's style of filial piety, would you?
...
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