"General, I heard that you and I were once friends before my accident. May I ask how I was back then?" Bastion asked.
"My lord, I don't think I can really do that," the general said, scratching the back of his head.
"Why not? I apparently spent a lot of time with you. If you fear retribution, I swear by the Emperor that none shall befall you," Bastion said.
"Your Grace, such a claim stems from a misunderstanding—one your brother may be in a better position to clarify," Draven replied with a bow.
Hearing this, it became increasingly clear that his past self was a loner, which also meant he wasn't as reckless as he had thought.
"As you can see, my brother isn't here, so be gracious and help me," Bastion replied.
"Forgive me, my lord, but I don't think it's appropriate for me to say this," Draven said, prompting Bastion to sigh.
"I see… then this makes things a bit difficult," Bastion replied, standing up from his seat.
"Draven, as of today, you are hereby dismissed from your position as High Marshal of the Astra Militarum," Bastion said, picking up a document from the table and handing it over.
"My lord?" Draven asked, surprised, as he collected the document.
True to Bastion's words, the document was an official dismissal letter, stamped with the royal symbol of the Luthor House.
Looking up from the letter, Draven sighed. His eyes sharpened as he gave a military salute, his fist pressed to his chest, and bowed.
"Thank you for letting me serve you all this time, even if we weren't friends."
"You're welcome. However, starting today, you are hereby appointed High Marshal of the Mordaxian Army. Your duties just got a lot more intense, my friend," Bastion said, tapping the man on his shoulder.
As soon as he did, a sudden rush of new memories flooded his mind. It was fast, but none of it escaped him. He saw each piece of memory, and no matter how he looked at it, they weren't his.
Looking at the man before him again, Bastion glanced at his hand, still resting on Draven's shoulder, and immediately withdrew it.
*What was that?* Bastion thought, staring at his hand.
"I do not understand, Your Grace," Draven said.
"I don't intend to dismiss you. However, until that rift is closed or we figure out a means to communicate with the Imperium, the Astra Militarum cannot stand. Therefore, I plan to restructure it into a suitable army to ensure our survival," Bastion explained.
He had no intention of rejoining the Imperium ever again—that would be akin to serving his head on a platter.
The people of this planet could be fooled into believing he was a saint because they witnessed his 'resurrection,' which apparently came with miraculous effects like a golden light and a healing aura felt throughout the Hive.
However, the Imperium hadn't witnessed it. If they somehow asked the Emperor if he truly was a god, he would be exposed as a fraud.
Hence, though framed as creating a world resilient enough to survive until contact with the Imperium was re-established, he planned to completely restructure and take control of this world.
"I see… But about that, my lord… The intent may be noble, but what about the psykers? The Imperium's Black Ships are the only reason any planet has survived this long," Draven said, raising his head.
Looking at him, Bastion could see the frustration at his decision, but he didn't blame him.
The Black Ships, from what he had read—both from the Mechanicus and the files Selene and Elara had gathered—were prisoner vessels that collected unsanctioned psykers and took them to Terra.
The last time a Black Ship visited was probably a year ago, but Bastion didn't care. He had other plans for now.
"We have the Chief Astropath and his people, do we not? We can send them to be trained. If they prove too dangerous, execute them," Bastion replied.
Psykers were also part of the Imperium's tithe. Since he had ordered that no tithes were to be collected and all collected resources would be repurposed, that also meant no psykers would leave the planet.
It was a dangerous move, and one he had yet to find a true solution for, but he was sure he would figure it out eventually.
"I understand, Your Grace… However, if I may, can I invite you to the barracks to see the men? After your recovery, no one has heard from you, which has made them anxious."
"I understand. Prepare a day for me, and inform the heads of every military force on the planet to make an appearance."
"As you wish, my lord," Draven said, bowing before leaving.
As soon as the man left, Bastion turned back to his hands. It was strange—in his mind were a whole new set of memories that weren't his, nor did they belong to his past self.