832.M30, Orbit of Nocturne.
Nareth boarded the Emperor's Stormbird, accompanied by Alpharius, disguised as a regular Astartes bodyguard, as they flew toward Nocturne.
Through the viewing port, Nareth gazed at the world below and its moon, Prometheus.
He knew that one Nocturne year equaled fifteen Terran years, and when the moon drew closest, Nocturne itself was almost torn apart by gravitational stress.
The people of Nocturne called that moment the Time of Trial.
Colossal waves rose from the oceans, tens of thousands of volcanoes erupted in fury, and earthquakes ravaged the land without end.
After his return to the Imperium, the kind-hearted Vulkan used his authority to build massive city walls of adamantium and ceramite around Nocturne's seven great cities.
He also installed void shield systems provided by the Imperium, protecting them during the Time of Trial.
'Vulkan will surely be interested in fortress-grade energy shields,' Nareth thought. 'Perhaps I should offer some help, provided he's willing to pay for it. He and his Salamanders are excellent smiths, after all.'
The Stormbird descended onto a vast plain on Nocturne's surface. Nareth and his companions saw a hunting party attacking a massive lion.
The beast roared, raising its claws.
Boom!
A hunter was swatted flat, only for a gigantic scorpion to burst from the jungle, pincers clamping onto the lion from both sides.
Seeing this, Nareth immediately recognized the Aridia Plains, Nocturne's great hunting ground.
'Fenris of the Space Wolves, Medusa of the Iron Hands, and Nocturne of the Salamanders, three death worlds scarred by quakes, volcanoes, and beasts.'
'Each Primarch treats his homeworld differently: Russ sees Fenris as a hunting ground to train warriors; Ferrus Manus views Medusa as an arena to weed out the weak; Vulkan values life, protecting the people of Nocturne.'
Golden wings flared. Nareth dove between the lion and the scorpion, his living metal turning into a storm of blades.
A flash of golden light, and both monsters crashed lifelessly to the ground.
With another beat of his wings, Nareth rejoined the Emperor and Alpharius.
Strong beasts, he mused, but not useful alchemical materials.
"Come," said the Emperor with a nod. "It's time to meet your brother."
The predators of the plains seemed blind to the trio's presence as they passed.
Before long, a settlement came into view, crowned by tall wooden towers. People streamed toward its center, yet none noticed the newcomers.
Extending his mind, Nareth absorbed the local language and their thoughts: these were citizens of Nocturne's seven refuge-cities.
Because of the world's constant volcanic eruptions, the people had built their cities from local basalt to withstand the devastation.
Under Vulkan's leadership, the seven city-states had once again repelled the Shade Wraiths, Nocturne's name for the Dark Aeldar raiders.
For centuries, the people had hidden during such raids until Vulkan's heroism inspired them to unite and fight back.
The three travelers reached the village center.
There, amid the crowd, stood a towering black-skinned giant clad in emerald armor that covered his chest and legs, his dark skin gleaming like obsidian.
A golden crown rested upon his brow, gold ornaments tracing his limbs.
A dark-skinned noble raised his voice:
"People of Nocturne! Citizens of the seven cities! Vulkan has led us to victory over the Shade Wraiths!"
"Let us praise the great Lord of Fire, Vulkan!"
Nareth knew that the Promethean cult of Nocturne had foretold a savior-child.
When Vulkan fell from the skies, the blacksmith N'bel, who found him, believed the prophecy fulfilled and named him after the first Fire-Drake King.
Thunderous cheers followed. Nareth could feel the people's genuine devotion for the leader who had freed them from terror.
"Fire-born!"
They chanted his title. Nareth watched Vulkan's eyes blaze like volcanic fire, one reason he bore that name.
The other was more literal: heat shimmered from his skin, crackling like searing meat, and a wave of burning air rolled outward whenever he spoke.
"I have spoken with the councils of the seven cities," Vulkan declared, his voice booming. "We will hold a grand contest!"
The crowd erupted again. After years of war, they longed for celebration.
But just as Vulkan was about to announce the first event, a pale-skinned stranger appeared before them, standing out starkly among the dark Nocturnians.
"An interesting competition," the stranger said. "Allow my son to participate. He will surpass all others, even you, Vulkan."
"Let us make a wager. He represents me in this contest. The loser shall serve the victor forever."
"If he loses, I will serve you. If he wins, you will swear fealty to me."
Only then did the people notice the enormous black-armored figure standing behind the pale man, golden wings glinting in the firelight.
They stared, awestruck.
"Impossible… even if he's as tall as the Fire-Drake King…"
"Vulkan cannot lose!"
Vulkan's fiery eyes lingered on the two newcomers. After a moment of silent analysis, he spoke with confidence:
"I accept your challenge. The victory will be mine."
Then, in his deep, resonant voice, he added kindly,
"You are welcome to join our contest, stranger. What is your name?"
The air shimmered with heat, but Nareth remained calm.
After facing Russ and Ferrus in similar duels sent by the Emperor, he was used to this game.
'The Emperor really does love winning by proxy,' he mused.
"Nareth."
"The first trial," a dark-skinned elder announced, "is a test of strength, arm wrestling!"
The crowd roared in excitement. Forged by high gravity and hardship, the Nocturnians revered strength above all.
Contestants placed their arms on the table, muscles bulging as they strained.
Originally, Vulkan was not meant to participate; no one on Nocturne could match his strength.
Half a day later, a black basalt table was dragged into the arena. Nareth and Vulkan stepped forward amid the crowd's cheers.
Nareth removed the ring from his middle finger and the blood-red chain from his little finger, then placed his elbow on the polished basalt and clasped Vulkan's hand.
Dark eyes met burning eyes. Both Primarchs could feel the other's immense strength through their palms.
"Begin!"
Power surged. The basalt trembled.
The power of the sequence 8 "Barbarian" within Nareth flared, amplifying his body's latent might, enough to rival even Vulkan, the strongest of the Primarchs in sheer physical power.
The crowd was dumbstruck. Someone could actually stand equal to Vulkan in raw strength.
They strained again and again, each surge shaking the table.
After eighteen bursts of effort, Nareth frowned slightly. Vulkan's strength was beginning to edge out his own.
He considered briefly using the living metal in his body, or the shard of the Star God within him, but dismissed the thought.
He continued, relying purely on his own muscles.
Bang! Bang!
Two sharp cracks rang out as both their elbows fractured the stone.
The basalt split with a web of fissures before collapsing entirely.
The presiding elder stared for several seconds before stammering,
"A… draw."
"No," Nareth said calmly. "I lost. If we continued, Vulkan's strength would overwhelm mine; the stone simply wasn't strong enough."
Vulkan's raw strength was greater, though only slightly. The original enhancements from the Emperor had not completely bridged that natural gap.
Nareth's power rivaled Leman Russ's, but was still a shade below Vulkan's.
'Had I called upon my living metal,' he thought, 'I could have overturned the difference, but I chose not to.'
"If we kept going, I'd lose."
"You are honest," Vulkan replied approvingly.
"The second trial," another elder proclaimed, "is a test of speed, a race!"
He pointed toward the southern side of the village.
"Eighteen kilometers from here, ten gemstones have been placed. The first ten to return with one will earn their reward."
Volcanic eruptions had not only brought death but also rich minerals to the surface, gemstones among them.
Then the elder turned to the two giants:
"For the Fire-Drake King and the honored challenger, the prize shall be a molten heart-gem from the planet's core, ten meters wide, a supreme material coveted by every smith."
"Whoever brings it back," he announced, "wins the contest!"
And with that, he shouted.
"Let the competition begin!"