Chapter 68 The Weight of Healing
"Sister, I'm fully recovered."
"Are you?"
"I am."
"I don't believe you."
Mordecai exhaled slowly.
This was the seventeenth time Yuki had refused his request to return to his Legion.
He knew his earlier behavior had been unstable. He had sworn it would never happen again.
Yet she refused him again and again.
Helpless, he glanced toward Malcador.
The Sigillite merely offered a faint, knowing smile and declined to intervene.
The Cabinet Hall
Within a modest chamber inside the Terran Ministry of State Affairs sat three figures and three chairs:
Malcador the Sigillite, Imperial Regent and Grand Chancellor
Yuki, Vice-Emperor and architect of reform
Mordecai, Primarch and newly appointed humanitarian prefect
Despite the political storm caused by the creation of the Imperial Cabinet, its structure remained deliberately small.
Concentrated authority meant control.
Mordecai's title still sounded surreal within the Imperium:
President of the Imperial Red Cross
In a galaxy defined by annihilation, the phrase bordered on absurdity.
Which was precisely why Yuki insisted on it.
The Scars
Without warning, Yuki seized her brother's wrist and rolled up his sleeve.
Her fingers traced the web of scars crossing his forearm.
"Mordecai," she said softly, "healing isn't when the flesh closes."
Her touch lingered.
"It is when the wound inside no longer bleeds."
She looked into his eyes.
"Tell me truthfully. Are you healed?"
"…I don't know."
The Work That Saved Him
The past weeks had been the fullest Mordecai had ever lived.
The Red Cross was no ceremonial office.
Yuki had built it as a functioning humanitarian arm of the Imperium:
rapid-response medical ships
disaster relief detachments
civilian reconstruction corps
medical academies for frontier worlds
supply corridors for famine and epidemic zones
Mordecai immersed himself completely.
He sat beside feverish children in plague wards.
He carried miners crushed in collapses to surgical decks.
He spoke gently to workers burned in manufactorum accidents.
He saved lives one at a time — and cherished each one.
For the first time since his childhood rebellion, he was saving people without sacrificing others.
And yet…
His sons still fought across the stars.
He was their father.
How could he remain behind?
"Do not worry," Yuki said calmly. "Your Legion fights alongside my sons and two Thunder Warrior cohorts. Their advance is steady."
She spoke with complete certainty.
Malcador added:
"Your work here is indispensable. Without you, the Vice-Emperor and I lack the capacity to administer these humanitarian networks."
Mordecai lowered his head.
After a long silence:
"If anything happens to my sons… or Father requires me… you must tell me."
"Of course," Yuki said.
He nodded and departed.
After He Leaves
Yuki leaned back, exhaustion finally visible.
"Uncle Malcador… is this truly the right path?"
"You have done well, child."
He knew the truth: rest alone could not heal Mordecai.
His trauma was forged from:
unbearable expectations
catastrophic losses
the belief that survival demanded sacrifice
He needed to save lives without tradeoffs.
That was the true purpose of the Red Cross.
Yet both understood:
Without improving living standards across the Imperium, humanitarian relief was only triage.
The Empire's Structural Problem
The Emperor focused on the Great Crusade.
Malcador understood social reform — but prioritized unity and expansion.
Only Yuki saw the full distortion:
The Imperium was too vast.
Beyond core regions like Terra, Imperial law often existed only in name.
As long as tithes were paid and loyalty declared, planetary rulers were rarely scrutinized.
Justice was secondary.
Compliance was primary.
Yuki could only intervene in extreme cases — making examples when cruelty became impossible to ignore.
She rubbed her temples.
"Uncle Ma… how goes the Crusade?"
Status of the Great Crusade
Malcador recited calmly:
The Emperor and Horus advance in the Eastern sectors
Vulkan and Ferrus Manus prosecute a xenos war in the northern reaches
Russ and Fulgrim prosecute Ork empires in the galactic south
Rogal Dorn conducts independent compliance actions in the western fringe
Yuki frowned.
"I had Voss's chronicle circulated. Why is Dorn still operating alone?"
Malcador consulted the latest reports.
"It appears he grew uncomfortable with the… attention… of his brothers and requested independent command."
"…what?"
Dorn vs. Apologies
Dorn still felt unease recalling Horus's expression that day.
After their argument over Yuki, Horus had been mortified when he learned he'd misjudged Dorn.
Reading Voss's chronicle only deepened the shame.
He resolved to apologize properly.
Dorn saw Horus approaching.
Hesitant.
Awkward.
Shy.
Dorn: ?
The situation was deeply unsettling.
Although Horus apologized sincerely, Dorn's natural expression — granite neutrality — made forgiveness difficult to read.
Horus responded by showing increased warmth and concern.
Which made matters worse.
Every kindness reminded Dorn of the awkward apology.
"I cannot endure this," he decided. "I require distance."
Then Came Fulgrim
Fulgrim, after reading the chronicle, realized Dorn's bluntness concealed genuine regard.
He, too, wished to apologize.
When Dorn saw Fulgrim approaching with unusual solemnity, a terrible realization dawned.
This pattern would continue.
He accepted Fulgrim's apology politely…
…and departed that very night with the Phalanx battlestation.
"If this continues," Dorn concluded, "I shall wage compliance alone. And the next time Voss requests an interview, he may speak with Sigismund instead."
Elsewhere, Sigismund continued supervising ash reclamation.
He felt inexplicably happy.
Back on Terra:
Malcador sighed.
"What a catastrophe."
Yuki covered a smile.
"At least they now understand Dorn is a good brother. That is progress."
Malcador rubbed his brow.
"He is admirable. If only he possessed tact."
He sighed again.
"These sons of the Emperor are all forces of nature. Vulkan is kind, but uninterested in governance. Others are… challenging."
Yuki sipped her tea.
"Don't worry. Someone is coming who will ease many burdens."
Malcador sighed.
"Let us hope the Emperor discovers another son soon. His fleet is en route to Macragge."
Yuki choked mid-sip.
"…Macragge?"
"Yes. Eastern Fringe Realm. Why—"
She shot to her feet.
"Recall the Thirteenth Primarch to Terra immediately!"
Malcador blinked.
Ah.
At last.
Order approaches.
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