Chapter Text
Lorgar ruminated within his private chamber as he stared into the abyss above, lying flat on his back, splayed out, dressed in nothing more than a simple red robe — the entire scene almost identical to how everything had been just a few short hours ago.
Yet despite the insubstantial passage of time, so much had changed; to the extent that the Lorgar of now felt as though he was not the same being as the Lorgar of then.
His glassy, gilded eyes barely registered the myriad stars shimmering above, nor did he pay any great attention to the twisting vortices of space dust and tumultuous warpstorms that he would have been feverishly transcribing before today. But now, as it was, he no longer possessed any desire to read the signs or scry distant skies; and was wise enough to understand he would likely find neither comfort nor warning within their secret portents anyway. Somehow everything he had experienced in that superliminal space where (or was it when?) alliances were changed and vows were made — seemed to be composed of threads wholly cut off from the lines of fate itself.
He had checked immediately upon his return, excitedly comparing the star charts he'd mapped out in his mind before his departure, against what he’d expected to be a new Revelation reflected upon the tapestry of the firmament.
But neither the spongy membranes heralding consequential variance, nor the strings of potential were altered. Not even the tiny filaments that typically frayed the edges of all lines were visible now as they should have been; none of those typically inconsequential divergences that signified the possible changes caused by the tiniest, most insignificant events—the mundane day-to-day decisions that fuzzed the outlines of what may lie ahead—manifested at all, this time.
Lorgar had never seen anything like it, yet after he realized the images were static and identical to what he’d already charted, the strange malaise that had come over him since his return, settled in his heart completely and claimed any interest he may have once had for such a phenomenon.
He had not one single doubt that every moment had been real, and that every single one of those thousands of events could have independently changed the future to such an extent that it had never been charted before regardless of the countless universal repetitions he had lived through. And yet, all things swirling above him were identical as they had appeared before he’d departed. Such a thing was both unprecedented and impossible — as if every individual layer in real space and the Immaterium itself had been locked in time and rendered frozen.
Rendered frozen…
An unsteady, weary breath broke the silence despite there being no one to hear him, that thought unintentionally referring to something that couldn’t be more altered than the first time Lorgar had thought it — right before he’d departed from here.
Rendered frozen…
Trading a frozen ocean for a f̸r̸o̶z̵e̸n̷ ̶u̸n̷i̸v̶e̶r̷s̷e̵…?
As foolish as it most certainly was, he’d have made such a trade willingly even if he had known the apocalyptic outcome ahead of time. He'd have even damned existence itself to remain frozen forever if only…
Lorgar squeezed his eyes shut tightly, teeth pressing together as well as he tried to will such notions from his thoughts in order to focus on the pertinent issues that now required his immediate attention, but it was so incredibly difficult.
Though he hadn’t genuinely looked at his surroundings at all for quite some time, he quickly learned that closing his eyes did not help matters as there was but one image that appeared against the blackened screen of darkness.
How terribly unfair, to finally be granted his heart's most ardent and impossible desire after countless millennia ever cycling, only to still find himself wanting, longing; yearning the very second the moment came to a close. And despite knowing that the more efficient he was in using his time now, the sooner he might be able to return to the only place in all creation he wanted to be, but… he couldn’t… simply… shut it out. Not for more than fleeting seconds at a time, anyway.
Roboute…
Lorgar thought, that once accursed, now beloved name over and over and over again; until the syllables blended together like a chant, like a mantra, like a prayer — while being too paranoid and too cautious to dare speak it aloud even a single time, despite such need reverberating through his every cell. Even dwelling on him at all was likely dangerous, but shutting his beloved Brother out of his mind now was perhaps more impossible than even the one in a quadrillion chance that brought him here to begin with.
Apostolus.
Augustus Redivivus.
Repeating treasured terms of endearment and secret epithets whispered in confidence might prevent his thoughts from being so easily discerned—at least for a time—but there was nothing in this world nor any other that would conceal his passion or obsession for long.
With a trembling sigh, he forced his golden amethyst gaze back upon the void above, the swirling purplish trails and glittering stars nearly mirroring the canvas of his divine eyes; and studied the visions granted there.
The longer it remained unchanged, the more Lorgar suspected that what he viewed was somehow false.
Lorgar gasped, a single hand reaching up to the skies beyond.
What if this vision of a universe in stasis, was another blessing bestowed upon them both — by their Father?
If so, this strange glitch in time that had been granted to them, was even more valuable than assumed, because every second left uncharted was a second that he and Roboute both could move independently and undetected by the Powers and the agents of Chaos — until at last, the string snapped and…
…and… what?
Time… caught up with… itself?
A small, dry laugh escaped from Lorgar’s throat as he realized how preposterous his thoughts had become. But Truth was still Truth, no matter how implausibly it manifested.
And if this was true, no doubt Roboute was still reliably working himself to exhaustion—to the very brink of losing consciousness before he’d allow himself a moment of rest, making every precious second count—even if he did not know the greater schemes at play and how vital his immediate actions would be… for that simply was the way Roboute was, and always would be.
It was these notions that finally pushed Lorgar into taking action. He would not squander his Father’s gifts. He would not fail his Brother. With renewed resolve, yet no small sense of dread, Lorgar prepared to wear what had once been his greatest achievement—his crowning glory—that now felt like the heaviest of burdens.
The a̸͇̕c̸͙̃c̶̦̀ȕ̷͓r̷̖̃s̸͚̏e̷̲͝d̵̏͜ raiment of the 𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖔𝖘 𝐀𝖇𝖘𝖔𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖊.