Chapter 66 – The Second Eye
A gift?
Kin blinked, completely taken aback by the painter’s statement, but Lencilius’s smile did not vanish. Indeed, it seemed to broaden even further, almost as if he had read her surprise-filled thoughts.
He opened his portfolio once more and, this time, produced a completely black canvas. So black that light itself seemed to be absorbed by it. But when he placed it on the table, revealing the painted side, the woman had literally a moment, a single infinite instant, in which her heart stopped, and her brain seemed utterly incapable of processing or accepting any information coming from her five senses.
Gold and black. Though with lighter or darker facets and shades, only those two colours dominated the painting; yet the gold seemed to transform the black into a night blue. The contours were soft, the details so blurred they seemed detailed, yet Kin saw this: a human figure, surrounded by a light of sanctity and wearing finely decorated armour, lovingly holding a star in his hands… a sphere… no, it was a planet. She did not know why, but Kin was certain it was a planet. Only the expression was loving; the featureless, dark face gave her the impression of being stern and taut, almost as if vigilant against any threat that might appear.
Her vision grew blurred. Tears she had never thought she would shed began to stream down her cheeks. She did not know the reason, but her soul longed to weep with exultation at the sight of that painting. Her hands trembled as she reached out, with equal measures of desire and fear, to touch that… painting.
Painting. Kin thought, with tears still falling onto her cheeks. The word does not do justice to this… this… fragment of perfection, love, salvation, redemption, protection. Her train of thought broke the moment her fingertips brushed the canvas.
“My daughter.”
A voice spoke directly inside her head, calling to her. It was… strange; she ought to be frightened, fearful of this voice, yet it was reassuring and brought her a strange sense of calm. It was countless voices, yet at the same time it was the same voice.
“Kin Shirohane, my daughter.” it called to her again. “I have no right to demand what I am about to ask, but for the sacred life of the unwitting sons and daughters in this world, lend me your attention.”
The voice was imploring, sorrowful yet hopeful. It spoke to her, explained to her, encouraged her, admonished her, almost as though it were the voice of a father intent on showing a path, a route, to a daughter who had lost her way. A path that, in the deepest and most hidden recesses of her heart and soul, she was already treading with deep hesitation; now, she felt that hesitation vanish.
“Thank you, my daughter.” The voice offered thanks with profound sincerity, even though she had offered neither affirmation nor refusal—gratitude merely for having listened to the speaker.
Kin did not know how much time had passed outside her own head. Seconds, minutes, or hours, she knew not, but to her it felt like an eternity. A splendid eternity. The path she would undertake was clear and distinct; her decision, as certain and real as the sun that warms the earth.
Her gaze returned to rest upon Lencilius… no, not upon Lencilius, but upon the herald of her Lord, the owner of that voice. Her gaze locked once more upon His champion and praetor, native to this world, lost in that of her Lord, and returned with a duty and His blessing.
Kin stepped aside, positioning herself beside the table and opposite the herald. The latter’s expression was neutral as she awaited her next move.
Kin brought her hands together to form a two-headed eagle before her chest. She knelt and bowed her head in reverence before the herald.
«In nomine et rogatu Domini nostri, Imperatoris Humanitatis, me eius ductui et imperio submitto ut membrum Oculi.» (“In the name and at the request of our Lord, the Emperor of Mankind, I submit myself to your guidance and command as a member of the Eye.) Kin spoke in a language she had never heard, yet somehow knew. «Quae sunt mandata tua, domine mi Izuku Midoriya Valorian Vadrian Manastus?» (“What are your orders, my lord Izuku Midoriya Valorian Vadrian Manastus?”)
*****
Kin Shirohane is a woman of relatively short stature with a well-proportioned body, save for her modest bust, and white wings protruding from her back. Her oval face makes her look younger than she is, and her small nose, thin lips, and the soft contours of her chin add to the illusion. She has long brown eyes and wears silver-rimmed glasses, which lend her an intellectual, cultured aura. Her hair is wavy, short at the back, with two strands framing her face. When he first saw her as he entered the art gallery, the atmosphere around her was thoroughly professional, yet bright and cheerful.
To those unacquainted with the truth, one might wonder how this woman could have drawn Izuku’s attention. After all, by Custodes standards, art had never been Izuku’s forte, since he excelled primarily in analytical, innovative, and logistical fields.
The sale of those paintings was merely a necessary means to establish contact with her, since beneath that art-dealer facade, Kin is also an information broker and was among the first names on the list Stain had given him.
Izuku does not know the exact extent of her informant network. Still, even if it is small, it is a foundation to build on, allowing him to entrust her with contacting and recruiting the others on the list.
The painting depicting the Emperor of Mankind, his gift, serves this purpose. He does not know precisely how it works, but he knows that when he painted it, the vial illuminated his room with such intensity that it banished the dark, all without waking little Eri. It felt like a blessing, the will of the Emperor. After all, in the centuries spent patrolling the Imperial Palace or fighting in his name on Holy Terra or other worlds, he has grown ever more adept at recognising the workings and will of his Lord. “Recognised”, not “trusted”. Two words with similar meanings, but of paramount importance to the Custodes. After all, the Adeptus Custodes have never trusted anything or anyone outside their sacred order, for loyalty can be bought, honour discarded, truth twisted, and reality itself bent and warped by the Warp and its daemonic denizens.
«How did it go, Izuku?»
Inko was sitting on a bench a short distance from the art gallery, waiting for him alongside little Eri while stroking a cat that had settled beside her. One thing was immediately noticeable: Inko was taking dozens of photos of little Eri.
Naturally, upon hearing his name, the little girl stood up and ran towards Izuku, throwing herself into his arms.
«Everything went well, Mom.» he stated calmly, catching the child mid-air «Now we can spend the rest of the day together.»
Suddenly, a rumble escaped Eri’s stomach, causing the little girl no small amount of embarrassment as she hid her flushed face by burying it in Izuku’s shoulder. The gesture was so adorable that Inko snapped at least five more photos.
«I think it’s time for a light snack. What do you say, Eri?»
«Mmh.» Eri affirmed shyly.
Chuckling at the remark, Izuku set off alongside his mother.
Their destination was a nearby park with slides and play equipment. They decided to stop at a place along the way: a café that, according to his mother, had received glowing reviews. The normality and peace around them were something he still hadn't fully grown accustomed to, even after three months back home; he often slipped back into old habits that haunted him, compelling him to watch, listen, and record everything around him.
«Hey, don't be difficult. We want to buy you a drink.»
«I’ve already told you I’m not interested.»
Hm? That voice…
Turning toward the sound, Izuku noticed two youths trying to pick up a young woman. A woman who, despite wearing an auburn wig, couldn't hide her true identity from the Custodian's eyes. Izuku was almost amused by her appearance, and by the smile she wore.
«Mom, could you keep an eye on Eri for a moment, please?»
«Uh, ok…?» Inko replied, slightly confused.
Entrusting the child, who was reluctant to let go of him, to his mother, Izuku wove through the crowd, which was oblivious or indifferent to the scene the venerable Custodian’s keen hearing had picked up. He moved with unnatural grace and fluid poise; no one noticed his approach until his hands settled on the young men’s shoulders with a firm yet controlled, gentle grip. Their muscles tensed and their heads snapped around at the sudden, unexpected hold.
«I suggest we act like civilised people and leave her be, don’t you think?»