Warhammer, I'm a nanny, not your father!

"squeak!"

The wooden door of the cell suddenly made a sharp groan, and the rust on the hinges was particularly clear in the silence.

When Wop turned around, a tall dark figure was standing silently at the door.

In the backlight, only his rugged outline could be seen, like a statue peeled off from a stone wall.

Wop nodded at him: "Hello, can I come in?"

"Snapped!"

He suddenly swung his hand, and the door behind him made a deafening bang, which seemed to shatter the door frame.

"You've already come in. This is trespassing."

He closed the door very violently, but his voice was very light, as light as a feather falling on the water.

Wop: "It's not trespassing if you allow it."

"Okay." He nodded slightly in response to Wop's question.

"Thank you." Wop leaned forward slightly. "Can I see your book?"

His gaze lingered on the diary for a moment, "You... have already read it?"

"You may not believe it, but I closed my diary the moment I saw it on the title page."

"I believe it. You can see it."

He walked slowly to the wall and lit the lamp on the wall. The pungent smell of burning tar immediately spread in the air.

The blue and yellow lights flickered before his eyes, casting a flickering halo on the stranger's outline and peeling his face inch by inch from the darkness.

He actually doesn't need this little light. Darkness has never been an obstacle to him.

But he needed this flame, not to dispel the darkness, but to confirm that the person in front of him was not an illusion.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Wop."

His voice was low but clear. "But I'm not asking for your name. Tell me your origins."

Wop: "I'm from Terra, and I live on a construction site outside the Terran Palace. I consider myself a mortal. I enjoy teaching and educating people, and I've raised some outstanding children."

"Were you captured too?"

"I don't know how I got here, but I know who I'm here for."

"Who?"

Wop: "You."

This answer was obviously beyond his expectations. He stood there in silence for a long time.

Wop walked forward slowly, tilting his head slightly, "Can I hug you?"

A hint of confusion flashed in his eyes, but in the end he didn't ask anything and just nodded silently.

Wop leaned forward slightly, wrapping his arms around her in a careful hug and gently pressing his face against his chest.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I should have come to you earlier."

Wop's hug made his muscles tense suddenly. He instinctively raised his hand to push away, but froze when he touched Wop's shoulder.

Wop raised his head and his eyes met his in the flickering light.

"I'm… not used to this."

His voice seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth, each syllable wrapped in awkward resistance, yet hovering delicately in the air.

No one had ever hugged him like this, and no one had ever made him feel this strange... warmth.

He lowered his eyelids, but ultimately did not push Wop away.

He could feel Wop's body temperature coming through the fabric. This defenseless contact made his back tense, but he softened little by little in the other's sincere hug, allowing the unfamiliar warmth to spread in his chest.

He didn't want to admit it, but the warmth was quietly seeping into his cold body, like a ray of light penetrating the eternal night, and he was almost greedily absorbing this moment of comfort.

Wop slowly untied his arms and asked softly, "What's your name?"

"You came for me."

"Yes."

"Then you should know my name."

Wop: "I know your name, but I want to hear it from you."

He was silent.

In his opinion, this conversation of exchanging names was meaningless, especially when they knew it very well, they should not waste their time on such luxurious greetings.

But when he met Wop's eyes, which were full of sincerity, what was surging in them was not hypocritical courtesy, but a kind of almost earnest expectation.

That gaze was like the morning light penetrating the stone wall, causing a tiny crack in his frozen resistance.

His Adam's apple rolled, and finally a barely audible sigh was squeezed out from between his teeth. "Mortarion."

Wop: "What does this name mean in Barbarus?"

Mortarion turned his head to avoid Worp's burning gaze. "You should know."

"I want to hear you tell me."

"Son of Death, are you satisfied?"

"In ancient Terran, there's a similar word: mortal. It means dying, fatal."

Barbarus is a dialect of High Gothic, distinct from Low Gothic found on other worlds.

High Gothic evolved from Ancient Terran, and the two have a striking similarity.

Mortarion: "Same as Barbarus."

"But it has another meaning, mortal."

Wop's fingertips touched his chest lightly, then slowly pointed at him, "You are a mortal, and I am also a mortal."

Mortarion's Adam's apple rolled, he wanted to deny it, instinctively resisting.

But when he met the clear and cloudless eyes of Wop, those sharp words suddenly melted into bitter silence on his tongue.

Mortarion's voice was as dry as sandpaper. "You're lying to me."

Wop: "I never lied."

"No," said Mortarion, his voice cloaked in a breathtaking stubbornness. "You are lying to me."

The corners of Wop's mouth curled up into a helpless expression that was almost doting. "Then just treat it as if I was lying to you. Do you want to listen?"

"I wouldn't totally believe it."

"That's exactly the first lesson I want to teach you: don't trust anyone completely, especially God!"

In official history, when it comes to the corruption of the nine Primarchs of the rebellion, apart from Horus, Mortarion's tragedy is the most regrettable.

Mortarion's upbringing was the most brutal of all the Primarchs, rivaled only by the fighting arenas of Angron.

As soon as Angron fell into the snowy mountains of Nuceria, he was brutally hunted down by Eldar hunters and was eventually knocked unconscious by slave traders and sold to the arena.

Mortarion was adopted by the alien tyrant Nakre of Barbarus from the moment he was born, and suffered twisted torture in a tower filled with poisonous fog.

His childhood was filled with the burning pain of poisonous fog corroding his lungs, and the double abuse of physical and mental abuse by his alien adoptive father.

But neither Angron nor Mortarion ever succumbed to the harsh environment.

Angron roared in the blood and sand of the arena, but he always maintained the dignity of a warrior;

Mortarion struggled in the tower filled with poisonous fog, but never gave up his desire for redemption.

Their suffering shaped them but failed to truly destroy them - until the gears of fate pushed them into a deeper abyss.

Angron was nailed to the butcher's nails, transformed from an unyielding rebel into a puppet of rage.

Mortarion saved his people from being enslaved by the xenos tyrant, but the twisted torture he suffered in his childhood left an incurable scar on his heart, which eventually evolved into a morbid hatred of psychic power.

His trust and sympathy for his offspring contributed to his downfall. The rebel who once refused to bow to the tyrant in Barbarus finally knelt down to the "loving" god for the sake of his corrupted offspring.

Wop arrived too late, and Mortarion had already been adopted by Knakre.

In Mortarion's childhood, the three words "truth, goodness and beauty" were like fairy tales.

His world is filled with slavery, pain and torture, and has never been bathed in the glory of humanity.

Nakre tortured his body with poison and pain, and corroded his will with loneliness and despair.

Death's Son has been battered, yet he has shown remarkable resilience amidst the corruption.

Deep in his heart, he always stubbornly guards a piece of unpolluted pure land - he is a human being.

The light of humanity within his soul shone brighter than that of many of his brothers, and even after his fall to Chaos, the Emperor believed that his lost children could be redeemed.

Worp also believed that Mortarion deserved redemption, but his education would require the proper techniques.

Wop: "Mortarion, let us make a pact. We will never lie to each other and will always be true to each other."

"Why?" Mortarion asked.

Wop: "That's what I've always taught your brothers. I've taken the same oath with every one of them."

"Brothers?" Mortarion felt a sudden surge of anger in his chest. "How many?"

"Including you, there are twenty of us."

Mortarion spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm asking, how many of them have you taught?"

Wop: "Five, you are the sixth."

"No wonder you are so skilled." Mortarion's voice was filled with cold sarcasm.

"And I remain the same." Worp gazed into Mortarion's eyes. "I have never lied to any of your brothers, and I will not lie to you either."

"What if I don't agree?"

"I still won't lie to you. This only proves that you're wary of me. But it's okay. I can wait."

"What are you waiting for?"

"You can trust me when I prove it to you."

"You told me not to trust anyone completely."

"Yes."

"Then how can I trust you?"

"You don't have to believe me completely, you just have to believe that I won't lie to you."

Like a stubborn child, Mortarion stubbornly tried to tear apart Wop's lies.

His eyes moved across Wop's face like a knife, not missing any subtle changes in his expression.

But he failed. Wop always faced his scrutiny calmly, and his eyes were sincerely terrifying.

"I'll never fully trust you."

Mortarion's voice was like ice, every syllable carrying a biting chill.

His palm slowly unfolded in the darkness, like a dry leaf waiting to receive the rain and dew.

A faint smile appeared on Wop's lips, and he went forward without hesitation.

"I also assure you that you don't have to trust me completely."

Compared to the Primarch, Wop's hand was very slender, and was completely enclosed by Mortarion's broad palm, like a light feather falling into a heavy shadow.

But the warmth of his palm was transmitted quietly through the skin, just like his previous hug, with a nostalgic warmth.

Mortarion slowly withdrew his hand, his knuckles slightly tense in the shadows.

He stared at the palm of his hand, as if there was some dangerous warmth remaining there.

Only the weak crave warmth, but he is tough enough.

He would see this as a test, and he believed he could overcome it.

When that day comes, he won't need Wop anymore.