The Rain King
Orbán couldn't help but notice the changes that had taken place on his homeworld, Arzoka. The capital city had expanded significantly. Gone were the signs of ancient air raids or vast defensive emplacements. It was almost like someone paved over it and replaced it with something more productive and efficient.
His return to Arzoka brought him to a new, bustling spaceport, a clear sign of the planet's growing importance within Rogal Dorn's domain. The population had grown prosperous, and the bitter memories of the past seemed to have been set aside for more profitable pursuits.
However, Orbán focused not on the changes in Arzoka but on reuniting with someone dear to him. He had left this world decades ago, and his family had been informed of his supposed death and thankfully moved on with their lives. Emira, his beloved, had long since passed away, but then again, his relationship with her had soured long before his "demise" on Karkin. What truly mattered to him now was seeing his daughter, Amelia.
He has a mission to speak with his daughter one last time. Finding her was easy enough; Amelia Wyght was now in a small town where she resided with her family. They had sold the Vilmo family's estate in the capital, which provided them with a substantial sum. Amelia still received Orbán's old pension, allowing her family to live a comfortable life.
Moving about Arzoka undetected was a necessity for Orbán. He had brought only a small, elite guard detail and planned to spend just a day and night before his departure. It was as if he intended to slip away like a ghost in the night. Whatever had compelled him to return to Arzoka was uncertain, but perhaps, after his conversation with Soraya, he realized the importance of addressing unfinished business before embarking on an act of high treason.
The Wyght family resided in the picturesque town of Blue Lake Hills. It appeared almost idyllic, a stark contrast to Orbán's memories. In his time before the Imperium's conquest of Arzoka, he couldn't fathom the existence of tranquil mountain towns like this one. Those areas were frequently targeted by enemy attacks or solely utilized for constructing mining facilities. However, the passage of time has brought significant changes since Orbán's departure. The people had moved forward, forgetting the horrors of war and embracing the newfound tranquility.
When he ascended to the position of Lord Commander, Orbán couldn't help but reflect on the Imperium's practice of recruiting individuals who were often considered the most problematic elements in their worlds, intending to send them off-world to fight and ultimately meet their demise for the greater imperial cause. It was undeniable that he must have qualified as "problematic," especially since he had once been an ardent patriot of his former homeland. Yet that felt like another lifetime, and the reasons he had been fighting for before joining the Imperial Army had faded into obscurity.
This irony was not lost on him. The Imperium brought peace to worlds plagued by endless wars, but it did so by removing the problems entirely rather than addressing the root causes. People were more than willing to forget those who were conscripted if it meant a chance to end the cycle of warfare. Perhaps, oddly, Orbán should have felt grateful and honored to be chosen as a "sacrifice" for the betterment of countless lives yet to be born—a nice sentiment, to be sure.
He noticed storm clouds above as his small unit left the capital city. It was going to be raining soon. As they passed by the locals, Orbán saw that no one looked excited at the prospect of the rain. How sad. Another local custom that ended, and he idly wondered if that was because of the Imperial Truth diminishing the splendor of things.
Upon their arrival in Blue Lake Hills, the sudden appearance of three all-black military vehicles and the authoritative intrusion into the town hall left the townsfolk understandably perplexed. Orbán and his elite guard detail exercised their military ranks to ensure the cooperation of the elected official, compelling the mayor of the town to comply with Orbán's orders.
His demands were clear: the mayor was to maintain absolute silence regarding their presence, and he was to grant Orbán's security detail unrestricted access to the town, enlisting the support of the local enforcers to assist in their mission. The mayor had no choice but to adhere to these stringent instructions, albeit reluctantly.
Once Orbán procured the location of the Wyght home, he ordered his guards to remain in the town and keep an eye on things. They were certainly unhappy with this order, but since they'd be gone by morning, it wouldn't be that much of an issue. Orbán commandeered a government car and went to his daughter's home. He idly wondered what he would say to her. She had been told, decades ago that her father had perished. Considering how Orbán, he wouldn't have blamed Amelia for thinking he was a phantom.
Orbán was still wondering why he was even here. Why did he want to open up old wounds like this? For himself and Amelia and her family? Was he trying to make peace with her or himself? The questions plagued his mind as he pulled up to a modest-sized house. This was his daughter's home, and it almost reminded Orbán of when he and Emira used to talk about building a house somewhere away from the capital city.
As Orbán stood at the doorstep, he contemplated the peculiar circumstances of this meeting. He had the appearance of a man who had defied the aging process through rejuvenation treatments, whereas his granddaughter, like the majority of humanity, would not have such privileges. This stark contrast emphasized the dissonance of their ages, reminding him of the transitory nature of human life and the ironical reality that he would outlive generations of his descendants.
The door swung open to reveal a woman who resembled Amelia but bore the marks of time and life's trials upon her face. Orbán's granddaughter stared at him with disbelief, confusion, and fear, not expecting to see this ghoulish figure in uniform and trenchcoat on her doorstep.
"Ye-" Her words were halted as she caught sight of his gruesome visage, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "Y-yes?" Her gaze darted around, searching for something she could use to defend herself.
"Is Amelia Wyght here?" Orbán inquired.
His granddaughter nodded hesitantly, still baffled by this unexpected visitor. "Yes," she replied, her gaze shifting around anxiously. "But who's asking?"
Outright declaring, "I'm her father and your grandfather," would likely have prompted disbelief and confusion. Instead, Orbán recalled a fond memory, a simpler time shared between father and daughter, and offered a strained smile. "Tell her the Rain King is here to see her," he said, attempting to sound amiable but inadvertently coming across as ominous, given the fear in the woman's eyes.
"The...Rain King?"
"She'll understand what it means. Go tell her," Orbán added in a less authoritative tone. The woman nodded quickly and gently closed the door to fetch her mother. In those moments of solitude on the doorstep, Orbán found a brief respite, allowing him to reflect on the significance of "The Rain King" - a phrase that had once symbolized a cherished connection between a father and his daughter.
When the rains descended upon Arzoka, they were universally celebrated. The entire planet would temporarily embrace a fragile peace, with a spontaneous cease-fire declared across the war-torn landscapes. During these moments, people dared to venture outside without the looming threat of air raids or attacks. Orbán, Amelia, and Emira were no exception; they found solace in these rain-soaked interludes, viewing them as a precious opportunity to relax and unwind amidst the chaos of their lives.
Orbán couldn't recall the origin of his self-proclaimed title, the Rain King. Perhaps it had emerged from the innocent musings of a child, Amelia, who had heard tales about the ancient kings of Arzoka possessing the mystical ability to summon rains, ending droughts and ushering in bountiful harvests. To her, her father had embodied those mythical guardians, a powerful figure capable of bestowing fortune and joy upon the land—a perception sharply contrasted by all the deaths he caused.
A few moments later, another series of footsteps approached, and the door swiftly opened to reveal a much older woman, one whose face Orbán instantly recognized despite the years that had passed. Her hair still held a few stray strands of brown amid the sea of gray, and her face bore the marks of time's passage, etched with the wisdom and wrinkles that came with age. It was a stark contrast to the young girl he had last seen.
Amelia, his daughter, now stood before him as a grown woman. A flood of memories rushed back to him, memories that seemed frozen in time, emphasizing the profound transformation that had occurred. Yet, Orbán's focus remained on the present, on what was happening before him.
"Hello, Amelia," he remarked quietly, his voice betraying a touch of uncertainty. "It's been a long time."
Her eyes widened at the sound of his voice, recognition washing over her, but that initial surprise soon gave way to a mixture of emotions. Her eyes narrowed, holding a hint of suspicion, but then softened. "How are you…" Amelia began, then corrected herself, "No. The better question is, why are you here? Did you come back from the dead for a reason?"
Orbán couldn't help but be surprised at her composed reaction, devoid of the expected anger or outrage. It was as if his reappearance were as mundane as returning from a long trip with the wrong groceries. He wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not.
"I have a reason for being here, yes," Orbán replied, his voice quiet and tinged with uncertainty. He waited for her response, a strange mixture of hope and nervousness in his eyes.
Amelia looked at him, her gaze still marked by confusion and disbelief. "I'm still trying to process this," she admitted, her voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. "Just give me a minute."
Orbán chuckled softly at her response. "You are doing a good job keeping your calm," he remarked with a note of admiration. Amelia's composure and resilience in this unexpected and extraordinary situation impressed him. It appeared that his daughter had developed a considerable strength of character over the years.
Amelia's daughter, Maeve, appeared puzzled as she asked, "Err, Mom? Who is this?"
Amelia contemplated her response for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Maeve, this is my father. Your grandfather."
Orbán, still trying to maintain a more reassuring demeanor, added, "Nice to meet you, Maeve."
A young, newlywed couple was staring back at Orbán. It was a familiar photo, the one taken on the day of his marriage to Emira. The handsome young officer and the beautiful bride looked so happy. It was a bittersweet sight within his daughter's home. Orbán heard thunder close by.
After the awkward introductions concluded, Amelia invited her father inside while she instructed Maeve to go into the kitchen to prepare dinner, explaining that Laszlo and Tamas would be home from work and school soon enough. Maeve reluctantly agreed after Amelia reassured her that she'd be fine.
"Laszlo is her husband," Amelia explained as she sat down. "And Tamas is their son. He's almost twelve."
"I see," Orbán replied as he observed the arrangement of photos on a fireplace mantle. He recognized a few, while others were completely foreign. His gaze lingered on a picture of a much older Emira standing beside a man he didn't know, both in wedding attire. It was peculiar for Amelia to display pictures of both wedding days alongside her own.
Amelia interjected, "I have a lot of questions, Dad. Most of which still revolves around how you are alive, but I'm starting to believe you never died to begin with."
"You'd be right to think that," he admitted. "Although I've come close to death these last few decades."
Amelia snorted, "Yeah, you look it." His daughter had always had a fiery streak to her personality, the origins of which remained a mystery. "But you should know, Mom told me a long time ago the truth. You left because you couldn't cope without being on some battlefield."
"Good, she was right to tell you," Orbán said. He was content to hear that Emira hadn't hidden the truth from her. "I don't need to explain that decision then. You and your mother were better off without me. She just didn't know that I almost died, or rather, she knew that I
did die. It probably made for a...convenient conclusion for your mother."
"Mom was devastated when she got the news," Amelia clarified. "She thought the gods were punishing her for wanting you out of our lives. You know it took her a year for her grieving to end. It took her meeting Georgie to end it."
"Her husband, I take it?" Orbán asked. He felt a bit of relief upon hearing this but also carried the weight of shame and regret for putting his wife through such an experience.
"They married a few years after, yes," Amelia confirmed. Her expression was deeply unhappy as she contemplated her father's actions. "Dad, did you just stage your death to get away from us?" She asked the question outright, her confusion and distress evident.
"No," Orbán replied, "I did die in some hellscape of a battlefield, but while I ultimately survived, my mind wasn't in a good state. I didn't want to destroy your memories of me by returning as some... phantom of the man you once knew. Not until I could remember the sort of man I once was."
"So... you are somehow back to being yourself? And you came here to reconnect with me?"
Orbán shook his head, "I came here to say goodbye, although partly for my own selfish reasons."
"I'll say," Amelia responded with bitterness. "Because Mom and I moved on. We moved on years ago, and... Dad, you don't know how this feels. Mom and I did what we could to try and keep ourselves going. There were a lot of ups and downs."
"And from what I've seen, you've done splendidly," Orbán said, a hint of pride in his voice. He was proud of his daughter for moving on and building a life for herself. "You were right to move on and forget about me. Sadly, I didn't have the same moral fiber as you two and couldn't entirely let go of you. For all my failings and regrets, you are still the only good thing I've ever helped bring into this galaxy, Amelia."
"Then why couldn't you be happy with that knowledge?" Amelia almost pleaded with him. "I have to explain this situation to my family, Dad. I don't... I don't even know you anymore. What you've done or why else you've come here aside from wanting to say goodbye to me like that is supposed to help."
Orbán wasn't sure how to answer that question. "I'm going to do something that could have far-reaching consequences, Amelia. No matter how it ends, the truth will not paint me in an honorable or forgiving light. But I'm not looking to be remembered as a hero or villain; rather, I wanted you to remember me as the man who tried to do the right thing. The same sort of man I once was in your eyes. After that, I'll be gone once more."
"Dad, I never forgot you. Just because I moved on didn't mean I wanted nothing to do with you; that isn't how it works," Amelia replied, her voice carrying the weight of years of mixed emotions. "Nothing can change my memories of you, even if you never live up to them again. That's the point of love."
Orbán was in awe of Amelia. A feeling of relief washed over him. "That's kind of you to say, Amelia. And... lifts a bit of a burden from my shoulders." No matter what happened, at least she would remember him as a man who tried to do better.
"I'm just trying to make sense of everything still." Amelia tried yet again, "Where did you go? Are you still part of the Imperial Army? And what exactly are you involved with?"
Telling her everything would probably take longer than this conversation permitted, "That's a rather lengthy series of topics."
"Then we can discuss it over dinner and whatnot." Amelia remarked, "Because I'm not about to let you go just because you said what you believe to be your peace."
"I don't think that is a good idea, Amelia." Orbán warned, "Not everything I can talk about is something you'd want to hear. Even if I sanitized those parts, I'd rather you not hear such things."
"Dad, I'm near the end of my life." His daughter said pointedly, "I might not have seen all the things you've had, but I've gone through my fair share of hardships to at least understand how difficult your life must have been. But telling me these things won't break my heart."
Unfortunately, some of it could. However, Amelia wasn't letting Orbán out of this. Too stubborn like her mother, "I wouldn't want to ruin your family dinner."
"You sort of already did?" Amelia tried to say diplomatically. "My dead father just showed up unannounced at my doorstep, and my daughter greeted him. We don't keep secrets from each other anyway. So you might as well spend the time meeting my son-in-law and grandson."
Orbán picked up on something, "Where is your husband if you don't me asking?"
"Dead." Amelia said, "Sandor died ten years ago to the Red Pox."
Now that caught his attention, "The Red Pox? That was supposed to have been wiped out decades ago." Anyone on Arzoka could tell you about the blight that was the Red Pox, which started on your skin and slowly ate away your tissue. His people had been battling it for centuries before the Imperium arrived and created a vaccine. So how the hells did it come back?
"It seems to have evolved. Ran through most of the cities and countryside for about a decade before it burnt itself out. It was bad. Sandor got sick one day and didn't recover. Thankfully, the Imperium got another vaccine to us, but if there was another outbreak, we'd be hard-pressed to stop it. Medicine is hard to import these days."
As if Orbán didn't need to hear a more personal reason for why Eli's plans would harm everyone. Here he was, hearing the first instances of its effects, and the nightmare hadn't even fully started yet. "Amelia, I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you. For a lot of things, really."
"Yeah, maybe," she admitted softly. "But I've never been alone, Dad. I have Maeve and Laszlo to help me, and now Tamas. I had Georgie as well, but he's gone now too. But it's fine. I maybe have another decade in me before I'll go and join them both."
Her fearlessness toward death reminded Orbán of his own. Yet rather than only embracing it with the chance for utter oblivion, she was ready to leave this world expecting to find her husband, mother, and surrogate father. Yet Skullface knew better. He knew what awaited most of them.
"I can…" Orbán hesitated, "I can see about getting you rejuve treatment. Extend your life out a few centuries."
She blinked at the offer, "That's impressive to hear, Dad, but I'm…ready to leave. I'll stay long enough to maybe see Tamas get a girl, and maybe Maeve and Laszlo have another child, but I'm content with what I've accomplished here."
For a moment, she looked expectantly at her father, "Do you have a reason to keep going, Dad?"
"I like to think so," Orbán lied. He didn't know. "I can't fix my mistakes, but I believe I can help others."
"Then I guess you have a reason," Amelia said. She looked unsure momentarily, "Dad, I don't want you to feel like you need to save me. I'm not afraid of dying."
Orbán felt a stab of guilt, "It's hard for a father to hear that from their child." He knew what might await her in the end. The horrors of the warp, the laughter of thirsting gods, and the uncaring brutality of their servants.
"I know," Amelia smiled, "Do you remember why I started calling you the Rain King? I was like three or four, and it was my first rainstorm. I didn't like the thunder or lightning, but you told me it was the lords of rain, thunder, and ice jousting up above. Their training was to keep us all safe below and readying for the Hamuszerű Eső. You then led me outside, and we just enjoyed ourselves because I wasn't afraid anymore."
"Heh," Orbán remembered, "Your mother was very mad at me but was equally happy to see you weren't scared anymore."
"She called you Esőkirály in the old tongue, Rain King. The old title from the legends of the Prašnjavi Duh and the Szürke Lélek." Amelia chuckled when she saw her father's surprised face at speaking the old tongue, "Don't look too surprised. Mom eventually taught me how to speak it."
Amelia continued, "The point is that you've always protected me, but you can't protect me from the inevitable. No one can. At least, perhaps not in the ways they want. I've lived a good life, and so did Mom and Georgie. I just wish you could have as well."
"I don't expect to have a good end, Amelia."
"Mom didn't have one either." She admitted, "She died screaming."
Orbán felt a stab at his heart, "...What?"
"Something went wrong with her heart. Georgie told me she just woke up and felt a burning in her chest that gradually got worse before she…let's just say it wasn't a good death." The reports of his wife's death didn't mention this point at all. It just claimed that she had a fatal heart attack.
Orbán stood there, his mind reeling. The image of Emira, his beloved, dying in agony haunted him. He had always hoped she passed peacefully in her sleep, not in pain and fear. That he once again left Amelia alone with this…
"She died a night after we met her for a celebration," Amelia continued, her voice tinged with sadness. "Mom was so happy, and to be honest, once she married Georgie, she was probably the happiest I'd ever seen. I don't mean that as a condemnation against you, Dad."
Amelia stood up and joined her father by the mantle, "What I'm trying to say is that while her last moments might have been…bad, that doesn't negate the good life she lived up till that point, or it tainted any of the memories of her, just like with you."
Reaching out to grab the photo of Orbán and Emira on their wedding day, Amelia admired it for a moment, "All we leave in this world is whatever good we helped make. Mom left a lot of good memories and wisdom to me and my family. Not everyone gets a good end, that's true, but they can leave some good behind in the end."
Setting it back down on the mantle, she looked at her father, "I don't know what you might have done or will do or if your end is coming, but at least you can go thinking you did something right. If you want to do that, maybe the first thing you can do is stay here and have dinner with us. If nothing else, my family can have something good to remember you by."
Rarely was Orbán without something to say in any situation. He had dueled wits with Primarchs and Space Marines, yet his daughter left him momentarily speechless. His only reason for coming here was to say goodbye, but what good would that have done him or Amelia now? Did he really want to end things after everything that had already been said and what hadn't been?
The rumbling of thunder and the gentle patter of rain on the home's roof provided a comforting background noise. Something compelled him at that moment. "I wouldn't want to impose…but what are you cooking?"
She smiled at him, "Goulash. Mom's old recipe."
"Goulash…" His Emira could make one hell of a dish of that stuff. It had been decades since he last tasted it. "She taught you."
"She did." Amelia's hands gently reached out and grabbed Orbán's, her touch grounding him. "Stay the night, Dad. The lords of rain, thunder, and ice are jousting above, and I'd like my family to meet the Rain King."
Even through his broken and burned hands, Orbán felt a familiar warmth he thought he'd never experience again. Perhaps it was best just to stay. The rain outside would take all night anyway, and he had so little time to catch up with the only person that mattered in his life. After all, the rains would cease by tomorrow.
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@Daemon Hunter Alright, somewhat short omake but just moving through the character arc development for Skullface.
