"Nostramo seems to be turning into the capital of the Imperium of Man."
Leon's gift for words was as sharp as ever.
Philly absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair around her pen. "Why are you telling me this?"
Leon replied, "Because I have no one else to talk to."
"How come? Where's everyone else?"
"Ben's on Colchis, he joined the Circle of Ash."
"Shen's leading the Brotherhood, bringing justice to other worlds."
"Tor and Kaz each joined different expeditionary fleets. Both are now experiencing their first independent commands."
Philly tilted her head, tapping her pen against the page and leaving a small blot of ink. "Then why did Curze keep you by his side?"
Leon smirked. "Maybe because I sound pleasant when I talk."
Philly rolled her eyes. 'You really have no self-awareness.'
Aside from Dorothy, no one ever thought his voice was pleasant. He only ever tried to act nice when Dorothy was around.
"I'm really busy today, Leo," Philly said. "Can you not bother me?"
"The Primarch's busy too," he shot back. "Are you suggesting I go talk to Dorothy instead?"
Philly sighed, shoulders slumping. "Fine, stay here then."
Though she often complained about how annoying Leon was, every time she heard his familiar footsteps, the corners of her lips unconsciously lifted.
They had grown up together, friends who had witnessed the collapse of the old world and the birth of a new order.
Even now, they were still close, bound by a long and unbroken friendship.
But they had grown up, and each had their own duties now.
Dorothy had become Planetary Governor, and Philly served as her cabinet secretary.
Those first few years were chaos. Even though the Imperium's bureaucratic branches handled most of the groundwork, the most crucial decisions still fell on their shoulders. Philly had transformed from a naive girl into a capable and calculating stateswoman.
Many of the Midnight Phantoms' girls joined the government; the boys eagerly volunteered for the Night Lords' trials, becoming the sons of Curze.
While Philly drowned in mountains of documents, those boys lay on cold operating tables, enduring organ transplants that would change their destinies.
Even those who failed selection returned to serve as mortal auxiliaries for the Legion, remaining loyal to their cause.
They scattered across the galaxy, and any message could be their last farewell.
"Speaking of Benn," Philly said, nibbling on her pen cap, "how's he doing? I haven't seen him since the surgery."
Leon's tone was flat. "His luck was bad. Mutants had a ten-times higher death rate than us. He almost died on the table."
"But he didn't. The Mechanicum gave him cybernetic limbs. Later, when he joined the Circle of Ash, Erebus, the Word Bearer envoy, gifted him a pair of refined augmetics. So, he's doing fine."
"What about Kaz and Tor?"
"They got lucky. Their officers and commanders died quickly, so they got promoted fast. Both are captains now."
Philly smiled faintly. She could've checked their files herself, but hearing it from Leon's lips made them feel alive again, like those nights they hunted criminals with Curze.
Leon exhaled heavily. "Only I had to stay with Curze."
"That's because he trusts you the most. Shouldn't that make you proud?"
"Trust also means responsibility," Leon muttered. "You'll never understand the kind of hell I go through among the Night Lords."
Philly looked out the window, eyes distant. "And you'll never understand the hell I go through in the Ministry. Have you ever seen a stamp at four in the morning?"
"I've seen a power sword at four in the morning," he said. "And heard it humming at me."
They both laughed. The burdens were heavy on both sides.
Then Leon asked, "Philly, shouldn't you be married by now?"
She blinked. "I never planned to marry. Why ask?"
"In mortal years, you're not exactly young anymore."
She snorted. "Says who?"
"The Mechanicum can maybe stretch your life to three or four hundred years, but will you really face Teacher Caelan as a wrinkled old woman?"
Philly smirked. "Just because modern tech can't doesn't mean Dark Age tech couldn't. Medea has gene-optimization tech that can extend mortal life by two millennia. I might even outlive you."
"So what do you want to be then, my sister or my mother?"
"I have no such feelings for Curze," she said sharply.
"I was talking about Caelan."
"And you?" she countered. "Do you want to be the Primarch's son, or his brother?"
Leon fell silent. They exchanged a faint smile.
As their laughter faded, Philly lowered her gaze. "When will he return?" she whispered.
"Six Primarchs have already returned," said Leon. "Maybe another thirty, forty years."
"Six?" she blinked. "I thought it was five."
"The 16th, 8th, 17th, 6th, and recently the 12th, who was the sixth?"
"The 19th arrived today," Leon said.
Philly did the math. "They should be nearing orbit now. You mean…?"
"I didn't say anything."
"You said Nostramo is becoming the Imperium's new capital."
"I did," Leon admitted. "Every returning Primarch comes here before Terra. Isn't it obvious where things are headed?"
"But Terra's the cradle of mankind," Philly reasoned. "Nostramo can't replace it, at best, it'll be a second capital."
Her eyes narrowed. "So why are you really here?"
Leon shrugged. "Too much stress lately. Needed to vent."
Philly smiled gracefully. "And? Feel better now?"
"Much. Thank you," Leon said with a relieved sigh.
"The door's that way," she pointed. "Don't let it hit you."
"I'll stay a while longer," he replied. "If you're that busy, I'll just stay quiet."
"That's creepier," she shivered. "Fine, I'm not that busy anyway. Medea just automated the hive city systems and upgraded the Ministry's logic engines. Even though the Imperium still insists on using parchment, it's faster than before."
"Enjoy the peace while it lasts," Leon said. "You'll only get busier."
The Great Crusade expanded in all directions, most fleets launched outward from Terra, but half of the Night Lords' fleets expanded inward, centered on Nostramo.
Because Nostramo was already on the edge of the Astronomican's light, they couldn't expand further outward, so they went toward the galactic core instead, opposite the Imperium's usual course.
Their eventual destination: the Galactic Center.
The distance between Terra and Nostramo made central control impossible, so every world conquered from Nostramo's direction fell under its provisional governance.
Even the Emperor had tacitly approved.
Now Nostramo governed only a dozen worlds, but soon, it would hold the fate of thousands.
Leon predicted that other Legions would follow suit. The Word Bearers and Space Wolves already had. The Luna Wolves were loyal, but their homeworld lay deep within Sol.
He had never met the Primarch of the 12th Legion, but from Curze's "meaningful" description, Angron didn't sound like a docile man.
The Imperium looked unified, but had been fracturing for some time.
Each Legion redefined loyalty in its own way. Each Primarch was quietly building a second empire of his own.
Leon recalled Caelan's old tale of the Five Hundred Worlds. Perhaps even Caelan himself hadn't realized how much admiration had colored his voice when he told it.
"Leon, where are you?"
Curze's voice came through the comm. Leon rose slowly, his armor groaning. "Philly, thanks for listening. I have to go. We probably won't see each other for a while."
"There's a family dinner tonight, Dorothy's hosting. You coming?"
Leon froze for a long moment.
"…I'll go."
Philly chuckled. "Childish."
She remembered when she used to be almost as tall as Curze. Back then, girls developed faster, but soon enough, those boys shot up like weeds, and after the gene surgeries, each stood well over two and a half meters tall.
They were giants now, superhuman warriors. But to Philly, they'd always be those boys she grew up with.
She smiled faintly, nibbling on her pen as her gaze drifted toward the sky. "When will you come back, Teacher Caelan?"
"Where were you?"
Curze didn't even lift his head. The moment Leon's footsteps stopped behind him, that low, grave voice sliced through the silence.
"Just relaxing, my lord."
"Leo" said Curze, "are you unhappy being with me?"
"I'm happy, just… not relaxed."
Silence lingered for several seconds.
"Come. Meet the sons of my brother."
Leon followed. As Curze's adjutant, he went wherever the Primarch did.
"Leo," Curze murmured, "have I ever told you about my brother?"
"Often, my lord."
"My brother despises his own sons. He believes they've been tainted by Horus's corruption, though that hasn't happened yet. Tell me, Leo, how should I shape them?"
"Exactly as your brother would wish, my lord."
Curze smiled faintly. "Good. You always understand me, Leo. You're the one who knows me best."
Leon lowered his eyes in silence, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his helm.
His father was flawed, but never a fool.
He had claimed the 19th Legion not to destroy his brother's sons, but to redeem them, by perfecting them into what his brother would have wanted.
To that end, he would train them more harshly, more devotedly than even his own Legion. He would treat them as his true-born sons.
Leon could already picture it: the day his brother returned, beholding his perfected Legion, what expression would cross that noble face?
Philly had wondered why Curze kept Leon close. The truth was simple: because Leon spoke well.
Boom!
Within a vast hall, three thousand warriors clad in grey armor dropped to one knee, the sound of ceramite slamming against marble echoing beneath the vaulted ceiling.
"My lord." The leader, Calvos of the Pale Nomads, bowed deeply, helm tilted so low it nearly touched his chestplate.
Though Curze was not their gene-father, the Astartes revered every Primarch as if he were.
And Curze was no ordinary Primarch, he was the second to return, after Horus.
When he had requested command of the 19th Legion, it had been like a divine coronation.
"Rise," Curze said softly. His voice flowed through the hall like a night breeze, gentle, almost unnervingly so.
Leon stiffened, concealing all emotion behind a steel mask. Only the faint tapping of his armored fingers betrayed his unease.
Three thousand warriors rose as one, armor clattering like a single heartbeat.
"Calvos," Curze said, "do you know why I asked the Emperor for you?"
"I do not, my lord."
"Because your tactics mirror those of the Night Lords. Swift strikes, shadowed raids, no Legion complements us better."
A murmur of pride rippled through the ranks.
Curze's voice rolled through the chamber, deep and steady. "You've heard the tales of the Night Lords, we live and die among mortals. We are not gods. We are the watchers in the dark, the guardians of the night."
His gaze swept over them. "My brothers share my blood and my purpose: to protect mankind. Do not fail them. Do not let my brother be disappointed."
Calvos struck his chest. "By the Emperor and the Primarchs, my lord, we are no monsters like the 9th Legion! We will uphold justice!"
Curze smiled faintly. "My brother will be pleased. I have seen it."
The Pale Nomads straightened in awe, if the Night Haunter had foreseen it, it must be true.
Pride filled their hearts. To serve under Curze was a blessing, and perhaps redemption.
"I will lead you myself," Curze declared. "You will fight beside my sons. Yet your numbers are too few to join the grand campaigns. I will assign some of my own sons to your ranks, until my brother's banner flies again."
Silence filled the hall. Every warrior bowed his head with reverence.
They knew this was an honor beyond measure.
"I know you long for your gene-father," Curze said softly. "Until he returns, if you would allow it, you may call me Father."
Calvos's armor trembled. Through his vox came a choked, static-laced whisper: "F–Father…"
Curze's tone softened even further. "In the name of the Night Lord, until your father returns, you shall bear a new name. From this moment forth, you are the Dark Raven Guard."
Boom!
Three thousand fists struck ceramite chests in unison.
No Primarch had ever named another Legion before, but this honor was worth more than any medal.
If their true father disapproved later, he could always rename them.
For now, they proudly wore the title Curze had granted, like a ceremonial mantle of borrowed light, to be set aside when the rightful father returned.
Leon bowed his head into shadow.
'Father… that move was ruthless.'
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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