Memory

A dream requires sleep to house it, to anchor its imagery within a mind, and he could not remember the last time he had truly tasted sleep. Ascension into the ranks of the Legion promised him eidetic recall, yet in spite of the genetic restructuring of his second birth, he could not remember. His memory had crumbled away with time, moments of Chemos and the early years amongst his Legion kin growing dim and indistinct. More and more, they were being replaced by the flickers of lives that were not his own. It was the cost of his eternity, the burden that was uniquely his amongst the endlessly varied and twisted marks of entropy endemic to those who breathed and warred within the Eye.

(...)

More than ten millennia had passed in the mundane universe, and fathomless epochs within the Eye, since Lucius had been without his war-plate.

***

Lucius: The Faultless Blade, III.I