"The question before us isn't whether we should intervene in Kiavahr's civil war," Corax said, his sharp gaze sweeping across the command dais, pausing briefly on each tense face, "but when we should intervene."
The civil war on Kiavahr was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Even if it disrupted Corax's original strategic layout, war waits for no one.
Though the Rebellion's forces lacked formal military training, they had to act decisively.
A war between Lycaeus and Kiavahr was inevitable; better to strike first than wait to be struck. That was the consensus among the Rebellion's commanders.
"The timing isn't right yet," Shalokin argued. "Our preparations are incomplete. If the Tech Guild's civil war shows no sign of ending soon, we should let them bleed each other dry and wait for a more favorable moment."
The others nodded. Though their tactical skills left much to be desired, under Caelan's guidance, their strategic sense had become remarkably sound.
Erin slammed his fist on the table. "And how long are we supposed to wait? A month? Three months? Half a year?"
Even among the Rebellion, Erin was known as an impulsive firebrand. Though he was an adult, the blood in his veins still ran hot.
There were shortsighted fools among Lycaeus' people, men content with small victories, quick to crave compromise after minor gains.
But appeasement would doom Lycaeus' revolution. The Tech Guild would never restrain itself because of a temporary setback. Whoever won Kiavahr's war, their first act afterward would be to purge Lycaeus.
Corax would never allow such people into his decision-making circle.
This revolution had to go to the end, no stopping until the Guild's tyranny was shattered and Kiavahr was free.
Beltan added, "If we wait too long, the civil war might suddenly end. Once they consolidate power again, we'll be next."
Agapito countered, "It's still too soon. The Rebellion hasn't even completed basic training. We need to wait until both sides are weakened; intervene too early and we'll become everyone's target."
"Maybe we can take the middle ground?" came a small, timid voice.
It was Ephrenia. Her shy suggestion silenced the room.
The Tech Guild's war had only just begun. The Rebellion needed time to prepare, yet waiting too long could mean losing the moment.
A compromise was inevitable. The question was: what kind of compromise?
Corax gave his verdict. "Kiavahr's war will not end quickly. It will be a drawn-out conflict. Reckless intervention is unwise, but standing aside means losing control. The Rebellion must intensify training and await the right time."
"I'll personally train an elite squad. In ninety standard days, we'll seize the orbital elevator. No matter how the war unfolds, we need a forward base on the ground."
Shalokin asked, "And what about the Whitney Tech Guild? Their envoy is still waiting for a reply."
Corax said, "We can't reveal our strategy too soon. Stall them. Gather intel about Kiavahr, war updates, pre-war data, anything useful. Ephrenia, this will be your assignment."
"...Me?" She blinked, pointing at herself in disbelief.
"You're the best candidate," Corax said flatly.
Her lips trembled. "But I have no experience! Can't Uncle Erin go instead?"
Erin grimaced. He knew he'd only mess it up.
"We're all inexperienced," Corax replied. "It's everyone's first rebellion. But revolution doesn't wait. The mission needs someone to carry it out. No more discussion. Dismissed!"
He strode out of the command room. Shalokin and Erin followed, leaving only Ephrenia staring blankly after them.
Caelan's voice came quietly. "Why her?"
"Her innocence is her disguise," Corax answered. "It'll lower the Guild's guard."
He paused. "And besides... I don't know when the Emperor will come."
Caelan had warned him long ago, if nothing unexpected happened, the Emperor would arrive within five years.
Corax wasn't going to sit idle, nor did he expect the Imperium to liberate Kiavahr for him.
But one day, he would have to leave.
And when he did, he'd take many with him, tearing the Rebellion in two.
Because he would be taking not just soldiers, but a generation's hope, boys who weren't yet men.
Those young souls would join the Great Crusade, burning themselves for humanity's grander liberation.
But Corax would not abandon Kiavahr or Lycaeus. He refused to repeat his past mistakes.
The Rebellion had plenty of experienced fighters like Erin, brave, fiery men, but among Lycaeus' people lurked real criminals, too. Not all were innocent.
Only Ephrenia and a few other girls trained by Caelan carried within them the spark of the future. One day, they would bear the destiny of two worlds.
The transport ship landed slowly on the tarmac. Dock crews hurried forward, loading crates into the cargo hold.
Will leapt down from the cockpit, mechanical legs hissing.
"Getting used to those new limbs?" Branni asked with a grin.
Will rapped on his metal thigh. "These are noble-grade prosthetics from another world! Better than my rusted leg ever was. Even if I hated them, I'd still call them perfect."
Branni handed him a steaming loaf of bread. "Relax, no one's stealing your food."
Will tore into it greedily, crumbs falling down his beard. "No one's stealing it here! If the Guild were still in charge, I'd be long dead. Is this the last shipment?"
"Yeah. You're off duty next shift."
"Drink tonight?"
"After I'm done with patrol."
It had been ninety standard days since the Rebellion seized the spaceport. The fires of war had dimmed, and life was returning.
At first, the workers were terrified, afraid that helping the Rebellion would earn them a death sentence when the Guild returned.
But as weeks passed, it became clear: the Guild wasn't coming back.
One by one, the workers resumed their posts.
The Guild's bureaucrats were investigated by the Meditators; the truly corrupt were executed, the rest imprisoned.
The spaceport was no longer a trade hub, but the Rebellion's critical fortress and supply artery.
Resources poured steadily toward Lycaeus, now renamed Salvation Star, building the foundation for war.
Over a hundred thousand rebel soldiers gathered, sharpening their blades for the coming campaign.
Kiavahr was still trapped in chaos. Yet for the Rebellion, morale burned ever brighter.
They waited for Corax's signal. And Corax waited for the fleeting moment to strike.
But fate, as always, had other plans.
"Ten standard hours from now," Corax announced in the briefing hall, "I will personally lead the vanguard to seize the orbital elevator."
"Shalokin, you'll take full command of the spaceport's defense."
"Ephrenia, contact the Whitney Guild in seven hours. Tell them we attack in twelve, make sure they cooperate."
Every detail of Corax's plan was airtight, each unit's role defined, each contingency mapped out with near-obsessive precision.
Even the one-in-ten-thousand chance of a surprise Guild strike had a corresponding countermeasure.
He trusted Shalokin to hold the spaceport, but if he could plan for everything, why wouldn't he?
Then came the crackle of Agapito's panicked voice over comms. "Savior... I-I don't know if I'm seeing this right."
"What is it?" Corax asked coldly.
"The deep-space scanners have detected an unidentified fleet heading straight for us!"
Shalokin's eyes widened. "Kiavahr's trade fleet? They're back early?"
Moments later, the main display flared to life.
"Project the data," Corax ordered.
The holomap erupted in red. The once-empty quadrant of space was now swarming with crimson markers, dozens, then hundreds, then thousands.
Thirty massive red triangles spearheaded the formation, followed by hundreds of diamond-shaped icons, and countless smaller points.
The system struggled to process the flood of data; the incoming fleet was beyond anything the scanners were built to handle.
Agapito's voice trembled. "I recalibrated three times, and the readings are verified. Cruise velocity: 0.75c. Vector deviation: less than 0.001 arcseconds."
These weren't asteroids. They were battleships.
Shalokin swallowed hard. "It can't be the Guild, they don't have this kind of fleet."
The red triangles were in a perfect spearhead formation, a fleet built for war.
Even those who knew nothing of void combat could feel the dread radiating from that display.
"It's the Imperium," Caelan said calmly. "Don't panic. They're not our enemies."
"They've come for me," Corax murmured, his hand clenching at his side.
The day had come.
"Shalokin, put all forces on standby. Cease all operations."
"Agapito, try to open a communication channel."
"They're still out of range," Agapito replied.
"Keep broadcasting. Wait for them to answer."
Corax's voice was low and burning. "I hate this feeling."
Caelan replied, "Just this once. Soon you'll have your own legion, your own fleet."
Caelan understood his anger.
Corax had spent months crafting his strategy. Now, in a single instant, the Imperial fleet rendered it meaningless.
Their overwhelming might was absolute, like a runaway train that could crush both tracks and every soul upon them.
Even a Primarch could not fight destiny. The stronger the man, the deeper the sting of helplessness.
If only he had already liberated Kiavahr, how different his heart would feel now.
Then Agapito gasped. "Savior, the fleet's hailing us!"
"Maintain silence," Corax ordered. "Keep transmitting."
If they could receive the fleet's signal, the fleet could hear theirs too.
If the Imperium had chosen silence, Corax would answer in kind.
He knew it was childish, but he also knew what the fleet's arrival meant.
Minutes later, the silence broke.
The Imperium accepted the connection.
A blue holographic projection shimmered into being, and a pale giant appeared.
"I am the son of Caelan, a gene-primarch of humanity, lord of the 85th Expeditionary Fleet, father of the Eighth Legion, liberator of Nostramo, Konrad Curze."
His voice was smooth and chilling, each syllable echoing like whispers in the dark.
"I'm pleased to meet you, my dear brother."
Corax's eyes locked on him. The giant's armor was night-blue, his skin deathly pale, his lips curved in a smile that was neither mockery nor warmth, merely... amusement.
Corax hated that smile.
"Konrad Curze-" he replied evenly. "I'm pleased to meet you, too, brother."
Curze turned his gaze past Corax, his voice softening.
"Father. Welcome back."
Corax had wanted to board the flagship to meet his brother in person, but Curze refused.
Instead, the Primarch himself came down to the surface.
The Stormbird landed with a deafening roar, its engines scorching the steel deck.
As the hatch opened, the pale figure emerged through the rising steam.
Curze had come, and he came unarmored, wearing only the blue-and-white uniform matching Caelan's own.
"Curze," said Caelan, "why you?"
Curze knelt down slowly, the sound of metal against metal echoing softly. His head bowed, and his pale eyes shimmered faintly.
"Father. Do you not wish to see me?"
"I'm only surprised," Caelan said, embracing him gently, thankful that Curze wasn't wearing his armor, or he would've broken his ribs trying.
Curze explained, "A month ago, our Navigators discovered a stable warp route near Terra. I realized another brother had been found, so I came."
"And the Emperor?"
"He's on campaign," Curze answered.
Indeed, the Emperor was still at war, which was why Curze could come ahead of Him.
"You've seen your other brothers?" Caelan asked.
"I've met Lorgar and Russ. Angron… isn't ready."
"What about Horus?"
Curze's expression darkened. "He refuses to meet any of us."
"No one has seen him?"
"No one."
Caelan frowned. "I'm beginning to wonder if Horus truly returned."
"Do you want me to confirm it?" Curze asked.
"No need," Caelan said, waving him off. "If he's really back, maybe he just doesn't want to see anyone yet. We'll meet in time."
"As you wish," Curze said softly.
Then Corax's voice cut in from the shadows, cold and low.
"My brother… have you forgotten why you came here?"
Curze had claimed he came for him, yet since arriving, he'd spoken only to their father, not even a glance spared his way.
"I haven't forgotten," Curze replied gently, his pale lips curling faintly.
"I came to help you, my dear brother."
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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