The Sleep is coming

This story is part of the community effort on the Emperor's Nightmare chapter.

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The Sleep is coming.

After so many years, August Dreamwalker in Iron Chatan is well aware of what is happening to him.

The Sleep is coming.

His very existence is one of endless pain, and endless service, which he gives selflessly. Even as tortured lungs scream in agony, he tends to his Brothers. Even as phantom pains assail his mind, he cares only for the Sleepless. But all this matters not.

The Sleep is coming.

He enters his chamber and there to greet him are two members of the Scholastica Psykana, Psykers Lukas and Brianna. Their gaunt and shriveled frames do not bother them nor does his imposing presence, heightened by his Dreadnoughted frame. Pistons roar and steel frames groan under his command as he takes his place and waits. The blinded psykers next to him finally give a pause as Chatan’s great mind spreads out, until they recognize his comforting mind and resume.

Chatan waits, and he is not disappointed.

The Sleep has come.

Eyes that were shut snap open to a room of stone, and in front of his is his lone symbol of vanity. A mirror, and in front of it is a boy dressed in rags, with black hair streaming down his shoulders, and sharp green eyes that glitter dangerously. But this frame is unsuited for what is coming.

A moment later, and where there was once a boy is a giant of a man. Clad in ceramite, Librarian Chatan relishes in his freedom. This is a true gift of the Emperor. Strong arms pump through the air, unfettered by the chains of hardpoints. Legs scream of their joy as a single step flexes muscles he hasn’t been able to feel in months.

And now comes the time for battle. His force rod thunders against the rock of the fortress as he makes his way through many corridors, passing by the dreams of jittery servitors, too unsure of their freedom. All around Chatan are the powers of the psykers in the materium, fueling the Dream and serving as the foundations of the Chapter.

He steps out onto the Battlements, taking in the slight greetings of his fellow sleepers, and readies his Bolter. It is a weapon he has disassembled and reassembled thousands of times. Every rivet is as much a part of him, even if he has not held it with his own hands in a Century. But here, in the dream, a memory as strong as that is as solid as anything.

There is no time to appreciate the mercurial beauty of the Dreamlands however. As always, Chaos is on the march. He sings Litanies of Praise and readies his aim. It is time for battle.

Seconds pass. Hours. Days, months, years. Time has no meaning here. Time will never have meaning here. Dreams are eternal things, fueled by man. There is no place for something so structured as time.

Fellow Brothers leave, other enter. That is the only way to mark any form of passage.

But after countless rounds litter the ground, and hordes of Daemons have fallen back snarling, it is finally Librarian Chatan’s turn to wake. And he closes his eyes once more, and opens them to a digitized simulation of the world.

Machinery forces his lungs to pump air. Nutrients are fed directly to his body. Thin fingers grasp weakly at wires, each sanctified by the Omnisiah’s blessings.

August Dreamwalker in Iron Chatan leaves the chamber, knowing the Dreamhold is in good hands. But still, he cannot wait for his next sleep.

The Dream is forever.

And Sleep is always coming.