After the campaign of the Wheel of Fire ended, the Primarchs Leman Russ and Hannibal returned to Terra ahead of Nareth.
While preparations for the celebration were underway, the Sigillite also unleashed the propaganda machine, flooding the Imperium with news.
All of Terra's citizens awaited the great event, the Emperor returning from the Great Crusade's frontlines, the return of one Primarch, and the triumph of three others, a moment they had long anticipated.
In the tenth solar month of 822.M30, the celebrations finally began. The Emperor, along with Primarchs Nareth and Ferrus Manus, arrived on Terra.
Massive crowds gathered around the Lion's Gate spaceport, looking skyward as two Stormbird gunships slowly descended.
Nareth and Manus stepped out to thunderous cheers.
Countless servo-skulls, rigged with vox-amplifiers and silken banners, hovered around them, loudly intoning praises:
"Praise the Emperor, Master of Mankind, Lord upon the Throne of Terra!"
"Hail Lord Nareth, son of the Emperor, Primarch of the Eleventh Legion, Monarch of Vostoya, Slayer of Xenos, Purifier of Orks!"
"Welcome, Lord Ferrus Manus, Primarch of the Tenth Legion, the Gorgon of Medusa!"
The Imperial orchestra played sweeping melodies, blending with the hymns from the servo-skulls and the roaring cheers of the people.
Malcador stood flanked by Russ and Hannibal, awaiting the three arrivals.
For the first time, Manus saw such a sea of humanity, the crowd's voices rising like crashing waves, chanting his name.
The sheer fervor pierced his cold, logical heart, though his face remained stern, his soul trembled.
Across from him, Russ noticed the brief flicker in Manus's silver eyes.
Nareth sensed Manus's emotions instinctively, then turned toward Malcador as he stepped forward.
"My Lord, welcome home."
The Emperor looked at his old friend. Compared to their last meeting, another crease had deepened upon his face, but now, it softened with a genuine smile.
"My Sigillite, you have borne much."
From those few words, Nareth caught the depth of emotion: not only recognition of Malcador's burdens but also empathy and gratitude.
Malcador's weary features lit up with a faint smile.
"It is my duty, and my honor."
Then he turned to Nareth, his tone low but heavy.
"Nareth, your deeds are worthy of song. The slaying of the Ork warlord is a victory to be remembered."
Nareth inclined his head.
"Glory belongs to the Shadows of Order. Their valor gave me the chance to face the warlord and strike down the enemy of the Imperium."
He noticed the Wolf King's gaze: both filled with honest admiration and sharpened with a challenging edge.
Finally, Malcador looked to Manus.
"Welcome home, Ferrus Manus, the Gorgon of Medusa."
Manus's reply, in harsh High Gothic, was like lead being poured: "Sigillite, I am pleased to meet you. Nareth has told me of how you orchestrated the Imperium's logistics. It is… astonishing."
They boarded open-topped vehicles prepared for them, rolling slowly through the jubilant crowds.
At journey's end, they entered the Golden Banquet Hall.
For the feast, Malcador had arranged a grand circular marble table.
The Emperor sat at its head, with Malcador at his right.
Nareth, as the second Primarch to return and the greatest victor of the Wheel of Fire, was seated opposite the Emperor.
Manus, newly returned, was placed opposite Malcador, closer to the Emperor.
Russ sat beside Malcador, with Hannibal across from him.
The bounty of countless agri-worlds, prepared by Terra's finest chefs, was laid upon the table.
The Emperor first lifted a golden fork, drawing from a crystal goblet stacked with five hundred tongues of red herons, arranged like coral reefs.
He tasted one, its flesh steeped in the sour tang of Masara wine, savoring the delicate blend.
After swallowing, he turned his gaze to Manus.
"Ferrus, Medusa is barren in its yield. Tonight, enjoy the finest flavors of the stars."
"Yes, Father."
Manus forked another heron's tongue and scooped a salt-baked snail with a silver spoon.
During his time aboard the Throne of Shadow's Sovereignity, he had eaten mostly seafood, fruit, and kraken steaks from the Symphony of the Sea.
Now, he found himself fascinated by these unusual delicacies. But just as he was savoring them, two voices rang out at once.
The chef, mid-slice with a crescent silver blade over the lamb, froze.
Russ's shout was like a wolf's roar, Hannibal's like the rebuke of a refined noble.
Russ shoved the chef aside with a massive hand.
"No need to carve it, such meat is best eaten whole!"
He reached out, but Hannibal's motion was swifter.
"Your cut was poor. Here, this is the proper angle."
With a flick of his silver knife, Hannibal exposed pine nuts and figs within the lamb, swift yet elegant.
In an instant, he devoured the entire carcass. Russ's eyes narrowed. For the first time, he felt his title of "greatest eater" threatened.
He immediately tore into the roast ribs, downing whole racks at once, clearing his platter quickly. He glanced at Hannibal, who still ate with elegance, though two dishes remained.
Russ smirked victoriously, downing a drinking horn of mead in one gulp.
"Fenrisian mead, the drink of true warriors!"
Malcador, setting down his utensils, smiled at Ferrus.
"You should try it."
Hannibal dabbed his lips with a handkerchief, his brow faintly furrowed.
"You'll regret it."
Ferrus eyed the bronze horn Russ slid over. After a pause, he nodded.
"I'll try."
Russ scoffed, instructing: "Not drink, draw it in, like a warrior!"
Manus downed it all. Fire burned his throat and belly, but he also caught a familiar undertone, the taste of machine oil.
'The Fenrisians are strange indeed. Their finest drink tastes of engine grease.'
He muttered: "I prefer Vostoyan Vosvoth."
Russ scowled but said no more.
Ferrus, outside the spotlight, returned to quiet observation. He cataloged their expressions, tones, and gestures, feeding them into his logical analysis.
'Hannibal is close to Nareth, their bond strong.'
'Russ is reckless, combative, and harbors rivalry with Nareth, seeking to prove himself Father's worthiest son?'
'Nareth ignores Russ's provocation, calm and unmoved.'
'Hannibal, refined and food-obsessed, clearly despises Russ's crude gluttony.'
When Ferrus finished his assessment, Malcador rose first, setting aside his goblet.
He drank once more, then motioned to his attendants.
Two servants followed as he approached Nareth.
From a small box, he revealed a puppet, the size of a human fist. White lines radiated outward from the crown of its head.
Through his psychic sight, Nareth saw it glowing faintly with spiritual light.
'A relic… its aura is weaker than the Ring, likely a beyonder item of Sequence 5.'
Malcador spoke: "This puppet is among my collection of art. When my thoughts are troubled, I take it up, and chaos in my mind fades."
Nareth's eyes narrowed.
'Puppet… stagnated thought. Connected to the Fool's path? Sequence 5, "Marionettist"?'
Malcador continued: "It is the gift I prepared for the victor who slew the Ork Warlord of the Wheel of Fire."
Nareth rose to the first layer of Thelema mindstate, taking the puppet. His thoughts stalled briefly, then cleared.
Malcador's eyes widened; the lapse lasted only two seconds.
"Your willpower is remarkable."
Feeling the stares of others, Nareth replied calmly: "My sons and I sense far more keenly than other Astartes. To keep from being crushed by such burdens, I studied will-forging from The Book of Thelema."
"A fine technique," Malcador nodded, then smiled.
"I also have a more personal gift."
"Vostoya gave much to aid me, supplying the Crusade. Today, five Forge Worlds sustain nearby armies, but I still owe them gratitude."
He signaled for another, larger chest to be opened. Inside lay a radiant suit of armor.
"This came from the vaults of false-king Arkad, spoils of the Unification Wars."
Looking at Nareth's towering form, he said, "Your sons can rework it into a half-plate under-armor."
Nareth noted its glow.
'Weaker than the puppet, perhaps Sequence 6.'
Another unexpected gain. He inclined his head.
"Thank you, Malcador."
The Emperor's warm voice followed: "Nareth, your deeds have greatly served the Imperium. Tomorrow, before the people, you, Russ, and Hannibal shall be honored."
"As for you, Ferrus, the people will rejoice at your return. I await your future victories, and when they come, I will hold a celebration just as grand."
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
[email protected]/DaoistJinzu