The Indomitable Resolve now bore a new name: The Spark of Hope.
The Hall of Triumph was utterly silent.
Once they had been war hounds, now, they were World Eaters. Their heads bowed low as they received the glory bestowed upon them by their Gene-Father.
The Primarch was both the faith and the home of every Astartes. Whatever name he granted them, whatever kindness or cruelty he showed, it was the highest of honors.
Their souls intertwined; their wills merged. The Primarch opened his psychic realm fully to his sons, allowing the World Eaters to share his most precious memories and emotions.
Within those visions, they saw not only the tragic destiny that awaited them, but also the heavy trust and expectations their Gene-Father placed upon them.
He believed his sons would grow into men he could be proud of, not mere war dogs obeying the Emperor's every command.
And how could they possibly betray that faith?
Angron straightened to his full height. Around him, his sons rose as one. The joints of thousands of power armors thundered in unison, as though the very hall itself roared in response to their Gene-Father's call.
Angron gazed upon his sons and issued his first order upon returning to his Legion.
"Ready a Stormbird. I'm going back to Desh'ea."
No one was surprised. Every warrior of the Legion had long anticipated this.
The 12th Legion had yearned day and night for their Father's return, and he, too, had longed to return to them.
Locke stood within Observation Dome 8, watching as the Stormbirds bearing their Gene-Father pierced the void, descending into Nuceria's atmosphere like shooting stars.
"Now we have our own Primarch," Locke murmured, a faint smile softening his usually cold face.
"You've said that a thousand times already," Gheer replied, his tone weary with helpless amusement.
The number was an exaggeration, Locke knew it was barely a dozen times, but he didn't bother correcting him.
Repeating it only showed his devotion. What crime was there in that?
Locke asked, "You didn't personally escort the Primarch?"
Gheer shook his head. "The Primarch has done enough for us, his sons. We should at least grant him a moment of peace."
Locke lowered his voice. "You met the other lord, didn't you? What was he like?"
Gheer's tone grew reverent. "He is both mentor and father to our Primarch."
Angron had shared much with them, even the fact that their grim fate as World Eaters had been rewritten. But of all his memories, he had kept those of Caelan to himself.
The Primarch could be generous to his sons, yet some treasures he would never share.
Locke hesitated. "And the Emperor?"
The Emperor was the father of all Primarchs, that much was Imperial truth.
But now, their Primarch called another man "Father." The World Eaters themselves would never question their Gene-Father's will, yet outsiders would whisper. In time, such whispers could turn into disaster.
Gheer shook his head. "We won't be the only exception. The other Primarchs who've returned were all found by that same lord."
Locke immediately understood the unspoken meaning: other Primarchs might also regard that man, not the Emperor, as their true father.
It would be a wound that never healed, a subtle fracture buried deep between the Emperor and his sons.
And in time, that fracture would grow into an unbridgeable gulf, a wall of silence between father and sons.
What would that future look like?
If all the Primarchs saw that man as their father… then who would the Emperor be?
The thought was too terrifying. Locke crushed it before it could take shape.
He ran a hand over his shoulder guard. "The title of Legion Master is no longer mine."
"Why bring that up?" Gheer asked, confused. "The Primarch wouldn't judge you for leading in his absence."
"I know," Locke replied quietly, eyes on the endless void. "I just want to remind myself, the Primarch is the true master of the 12th Legion. Whatever path he chooses, the World Eaters will follow him unto death."
If the 12th Legion was to be reborn, the wisest course was not sentimentality.
The War Hounds had fought too long in blind fury. Their Gene-Father could either pull them back from the brink… or let them fall into the abyss.
With the Primarch, he could rebuild the Legion from nothing. Ten thousand Astartes were nothing more than replaceable parts.
Yet their Gene-Father could not abandon his sons. He reached out his hand, offering them redemption.
Locke understood: only the Primarch's will was eternal. The War Hounds themselves were merely ink stains in history, waiting to be rewritten.
Whatever the Primarch did, whoever he fought, the 12th Legion would forever be Angron's World Eaters.
"By the way, Gheer." Locke turned suddenly. "Get ready."
"For what?" Gheer blinked.
"For a duel," Locke said calmly. "And I'm not the last one you'll fight."
....
"Is Father here?"
Outside the palace of House Octavia, Angron had just stepped off the Stormbird. Two maids bowed gracefully.
"Young master, the lord and lady await you in the main hall."
Angron quickened his pace without realizing. He needed to touch his father, to confirm this wasn't a fragile dream.
His Honor Guard marched behind him in perfect step, but as they passed the maids, these battle-hardened giants hesitated. Their instincts screamed warnings.
These women, delicate and graceful, radiated something that made even Astartes uneasy. Something predatory.
But their Gene-Father trusted them completely. So the guards gripped their bolters tighter… and said nothing.
With a soft click, the gilded doors opened.
Angron's eyes immediately found the two figures seated upon the throne. The tension in his shoulders eased.
He halted, casting one glance back, his warriors froze in place like statues as the doors closed behind him.
"Forgive me," Angron said softly. "Perhaps I've come at a bad time."
"No," Caelan said, struggling to escape Claudia's embrace. "You came at exactly the right time."
The mischievous woman clung to him like ivy, refusing to let go even as he pried at her arms.
When Caelan tried to stand, Claudia merely hung on, purring like a spoiled cat.
"I thought you were gone," Angron said quietly.
Caelan sighed and sank back into the throne's cushions. "Maybe I just wanted to see you one last time before leaving."
"If we're bound to part, then meeting again only makes it harder," Angron murmured.
Caelan shrugged. "Then I'll go."
"I like difficult goodbyes," Angron replied bluntly.
Caelan glanced helplessly at the woman clinging to him. "As you can see, she won't let me go."
"I'm more curious how you two ended up like this."
Caelan groaned. "Long story."
"Make it short."
"She tricked me into sitting on this throne. I thought, well, it's not the Golden Throne, why not? Next thing I know, she's pretending to sleep in my arms and won't move."
"Maybe you should just accept your fate," Angron said dryly.
Caelan gave him a sideways look. "You're love-starved, aren't you?"
"As long as you're here, I need no other comfort," Angron said softly. "But since you're leaving, at least leave me something, like you did with my brothers."
Caelan raised an eyebrow, this wasn't the tone he expected from Angron. Perhaps the coming farewell had made the Primarch bolder.
With a sigh, he finally pried Claudia's fingers free. She seemed truly asleep, until the moment he stood, when she suddenly caught him again and pulled him back down into her embrace.
"You-"
Sleepiness washed over Caelan like a drug. He struggled, but the warmth engulfed him. His eyelids grew heavy.
Claudia's voice was a velvet purr at his ear. "Don't you want to know why?"
"Thank you," Angron said quietly.
"For what?"
"For letting me see him again, even if I don't know how you did it."
"You're more polite than your father," she teased. "But 'thank you' alone feels cheap. Call me Mother."
"I told him to give in to you," Angron replied.
"Oh?"
"He didn't. So I can't."
Claudia tilted her head, her hair spilling like silk. "Then what are we now?"
"A son," Angron said calmly, "and the mistress who covets his father."
Claudia's eyes flashed. "Mistress? Then who's the wife?"
"There isn't one yet," Angron said. "Maybe it'll be you."
"That's better."
She smiled, her tone sweet but dangerous. "And who do you want it to be?"
"If I'm ever to have a mother," Angron said, "I hope it's you."
"Why?"
"Because you're my mother, not my brothers'."
Claudia laughed. "No wonder he calls you heavy. Fine then, we're on the same side."
"Not quite," Angron said evenly. "Even if I wish it, I won't help you. You might be my future mother… but he will always be my father."
Claudia chuckled. "Barely passing marks, but enough. Even if you refuse to call me 'Mom,' I'll still help you."
She snapped her fingers. "Enor."
From the shadows stepped a maid, graceful, untouchable. Unlike the countless others, this one was special.
Claudia smiled. "Tell me, little Angron, how many warriors in your Legion?"
"About twenty thousand Astartes."
"And in the future?"
"Perhaps two hundred fifty thousand, maybe more."
Claudia blinked. "My, such ambition."
"It isn't ambition."
"That's what all ambitious men say." She grinned. "Then let Mother make your Legion the strongest in the Imperium."
"How?"
"Tell me," she asked, "what do you think of Enor?"
"She's powerful," Angron admitted.
Though he had never seen them fight, he could feel it, the maids radiated dangerous calm, their pride unmistakable.
Claudia's lips curved. "Mother will have them join your Legion. None of your brothers have such a gift."
Angron hesitated. He was known as the most human of his brothers, and that humanity included the very flaws of man, like pride.
He thought of the Emperor's Custodes, of the Sisters of Silence, the finest of the Imperium.
If Claudia's maids joined him, the World Eaters might rival even them.
Angron didn't need to surpass the Emperor. He only wanted to surpass his brothers.
All of them.
Clest watched the Astartes from afar, anxiety written all over her face. "Leader… are they leaving this world?"
"Yes," Mira nodded. She had met Caelan and Angron first, she knew their mission was greater than just freeing Nuceria.
"Then what about us?" Clest whispered, her voice distant, dreamlike.
The two girls were close, sisters in arms. But Angron stood too high above them. He was their savior, their champion… and the thought of losing him terrified Clest.
She feared that once he left, the rebellion would die, that the slavers and nobles would return, and everything would go back to blood and chains.
Mira's voice was soft but sure. "He won't abandon us. Neither will Caelan. Once Nuceria is free, we'll follow them, to free the rest of humanity."
Krest smiled weakly. "You really believe that?"
"I don't understand much," Mira admitted, "but I know that."
Krest poked her in the side. "Mira, is he looking at us?"
They turned. A massive Astartes was indeed watching.
Sensing their gaze, he moved toward them, his steps heavy but measured.
He stopped two meters away. "I am…" His voice, amplified by his helm, was cold and hollow.
Then, realizing the effect, he removed it, revealing a hard, scarred face.
"Kharn," he said simply, kneeling slightly.
"Clest."
"Mira."
They introduced themselves. They had met once before, briefly.
"What are you looking at?" Kharn asked, then added awkwardly, "I'm not interrogating you. Just curious. If you need help, I can assist."
"Will you be leaving with the leader?" Clest asked.
"We won't take the Gene-Father away," Kharn answered. "He will lead us, to free the galaxy, to unite mankind."
"I don't really understand," Clest said, frowning. "But… could you take us too?"
"Of course," Karn said, a stiff smile tugging at his lips. "I've seen you fight. Many of my brothers could learn from you. I'd be honored to fight beside you again."
The girls' faces lit up, pure, childlike joy.
Kharn's throat tightened. His rough fingers brushed the dented rim of his helm, metal scraping metal.
"Can I… ask you something?"
"Go ahead," Clest chirped. "If we know, we'll tell you."
Kharn hesitated, glancing around as though fearing eavesdroppers. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Is it true… that our Gene-Father is only six months old?"
.....
"Father! She's lying to you! Don't let that wicked woman deceive you!"
Caelan's eyes snapped open into absolute darkness. Cold air bit at his skin; even his breath vanished into the void.
He had traveled again.
But to where this time?
"Well, not Macragge, the air's too dirty."
Running a hand along the rough walls, Caelan felt the uneven stone crumble under his fingers.
A mine tunnel. Just like before.
He had found Curze in a place like this.
'So… was this Corvus Corax this time?'
He wasn't sure.
After all, last time he thought he'd found a rock, and it turned out to be Angron.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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