In the throne room, the eternal candlelight flickered, illuminating the towering dome like a temple of the gods.

The air was filled with the scent of ancient metal and psychic spices, mixed with a faint smell of blood - that was the price of the Golden Throne's thousand years of operation.

The guards stood silently, their golden armor still shining in the dim light, but their postures were no longer as upright as before. Instead, they leaned forward slightly, as if they were bearing an invisible pressure.

All their eyes were focused on the throne - the majestic figure that had once been invincible now looked like a statue about to shatter.

"My Lord..."

A guard knelt on one knee, his voice low and trembling, as if he was afraid of disturbing something. His helmet had been taken off, revealing a resolute face, but his eyes were filled with unconcealable worry.

"You...need to rest."

"We will deal with all threats, my Lord."

"Please, please rest..."

Neos did not immediately respond.

He sat on the golden throne, his body entangled by countless intricate pipes, like a martyr bound by thorns.

His skin was so pale that it was almost transparent, and the purple blood vessels were clearly visible beneath the skin, like a dried-up riverbed.

His face was still majestic, but those eyes that once burned with golden flames were now only faint embers, and his pupils were white, as if covered with a layer of mist.

His breathing was weak and slow, and each inhalation was accompanied by the low hum of the Golden Throne, as if this ancient machine was squeezing the last of his life force from his body.

"I am fine."

Neos finally spoke, his voice was hoarse like sandpaper, completely different from the loud voice that shook the galaxy in the past.

The imperial guards clenched their fists unconsciously, and their knuckles turned white from the exertion.

"My Lord, you can't continue to exhaust yourself like this!" Another guard stepped forward, his voice filled with suppressed anger, not towards the Emperor, but towards this damn fate.

Why, why did the Horus Heresy happen? Why is humanity's future so bleak? Why is the galaxy like this?

"The Golden Throne is devouring you! If you continue like this—"

"enough."

Neos raised his hand slightly, his movement was as slow as if he was lifting a mountain.

His arms were covered with fine cracks, and golden spiritual energy occasionally seeped out from the cracks like a spark that was about to go out.

"it's the same."

He spoke softly, his tone calm and almost cold, but with a kind of indescribable fatigue.

"Humanity... needs time."

"And time... has a price."

"And I... am now... just one of the costs."

The guards were silent.

They are the most loyal warriors, the perfect guards created by the Emperor himself. They have followed him to conquer the galaxy and witnessed his supreme glory.

But at this moment, they could only watch him burn out bit by bit, and they... were powerless to do anything.

The Adam's apple of a guard rolled, as if he had swallowed something bitter.

"At least... let us share the burden for you."

His voice was almost pleading.

Neos shook his head slowly.

"This is not something you can bear."

His gaze passed over the guards and looked to the end of the throne room, as if he was penetrating the thick walls and looking directly into the distant future.

"Humanity...must go on its own."

"And you, me, anyone..."

“They are just the cornerstones of human civilization.”

At this moment, the door to the throne room slowly opened.

The heavy metal hinges made a low groan that echoed in the empty hall.

The imperial guards were instantly alert, with their axes and spears pointed at the entrance. Golden energy flowed through their weapons, ready to kill any invaders who dared to desecrate this place.

But the person who walked in was Yang Cheng.

His steps were slow and heavy, his black combat boots making a dull echo on the floor of the throne room. His figure was elongated in the candlelight, like a ghost walking out of the shadows.

The guards did not let their guard down, they recognized him—the man who almost became a god, the man who almost caused the fall of the Emperor.

"stop!"

An imperial guard growled and pointed his spear at Yang Cheng's throat.

At that moment, the red-clad imperial guards beside Yang Cheng also raised their arms, ready to release spiritual power to tear the imperial guards in front of them into pieces.

Yang Cheng ignored him. His gaze passed the imperial guards and fell directly on Neos who was sitting on the throne.

"Let him come over."

Although Neos' voice was weak, it was unquestionable.

The imperial guards hesitated for a moment, and finally slowly made way for him, but their eyes were still full of vigilance, as if they were ready to tear Yang Cheng to pieces at any time if he made any unusual movements.

Yang Cheng walked to the throne and looked up at Neos.

Looking closely, Neos' condition was even worse than it looked from a distance.

His golden robe had long since faded, and even started to rot at the edges, as if even time was speeding up for him. His hair, once as bright as the sun's golden hair, was now dry and gray, like withered straw.

The most frightening thing is his body. The tubes wrapped around him are not just connected, but penetrate deeply into his flesh and blood, integrating with his bones, nerves and even soul.

The Golden Throne was not his seat, but a cage, a machine that drained the life out of him.

Yang Cheng's pupils contracted slightly.

"Old bacon...you're worse than I thought."

"I told you not to show off, now is that ok?"

Neos slowly raised his head, staring at Yang Cheng with his white eyes, but a faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"It doesn't matter, it's all the same."

"Yang Cheng..."

The two looked at each other, and the air seemed to freeze.

The guards held their breath, their weapons still tightly grasped, ready to act at any time at the Emperor's command.

Finally, Yang Cheng took a deep breath and walked to the golden throne.

"I'll do my little bit."

Neos' eyes flickered slightly.

"What are you going to do?"

Yang Cheng raised his head, a kind of determination burning in his black eyes.

"save you."

"Hahahahaha..."

Neos chuckled softly, his pupils fixed on Yang Cheng in front of him and he spoke slowly.

"Let me tell you a story."

Without waiting for Yang Cheng to say anything, Neos raised his head slightly and looked at the towering dome of the throne room, as if he could see the distant past through the thick metal and stone walls.

"My Lord," the guards whispered, but Neos did not respond.

His consciousness had sunk into the long river of memories, and then, an ethereal voice sounded in the throne room.

"It was 8000 BC, on the plains of Mesopotamia..."

"The morning light sprinkled on the surface of the Euphrates River, creating golden ripples. The mountains in the distance were shrouded in mist, and dewdrops were still hanging on the green grass, sparkling with tiny rays of light in the sun."