The starship sliced through Nostramo's pale-gray cloud cover like a blade and descended steadily, landing atop the hive spire's platform.
Konrad Curze stood a hundred meters away, with Phily and Dorothy flanking him on either side. Sevatar led the black-armored honor guard assembled behind them.
"Good to see you, Lord of Night!" came Russ's hearty laugh, echoing through the gale that howled around the spire's peak. With the characteristic warmth of a Fenrisian, he opened his arms and pulled Curze into a bear hug that could have crushed a mortal.
"Likewise," Curze replied, embracing his brother's corpse-like body, his form reeking of rot.
"Russ, my brother."
Russ's nostrils flared slightly; the Wolf King's keen senses picked up the minute stiffness in Curze's body.
He released him and stepped back two paces. "Brother, did you see something unpleasant?"
Curze replied in his echoing, hollow tone, "It's my gift. It happens from time to time."
Russ frowned deeply, concern glinting in his eyes. "I'm worried about your mind. Why not ask Father to seal that curse for a while?"
Curze's voice was like an echo in a ravine. "The future has already unfurled before my eyes, painted in blood. To close one's eyes to it is but a fool's denial. The gods do not halt for mortal trembling, nor does fate pity the fearful, just as darkness does not vanish when the candle dies."
Russ let out a booming laugh. "You've got my respect, brother. Though… I get the sense I died pretty badly?"
Curze replied dryly, "Not as badly as Lorgar."
Russ grinned. "Well, that's something. I won't ask for details."
His gaze drifted toward the two women beside Curze. Upon seeing the dignified one, he suddenly dropped to one knee like a knight before a queen.
"You must be Lady Dorothy." He took her hand and kissed it gently.
Then his eyes turned to the younger one. "And you must be Sister Philly."
Phily's lashes fluttered like startled butterflies. "S-sister?"
Though this wasn't her first time meeting another Primarch, she was clearly taken aback.
Russ frowned slightly in confusion. "You grew up alongside Curze. Caelan often mentioned you; he said Curze treats you as family. Hasn't he always seen you as an elder sister?"
Phyli lifted her eyes briefly toward Curze before bowing her head again like a frightened nightingale.
Not out of fear, but embarrassment.
But Curze suddenly moved, pale as a wraith, stepping between her and Russ to block the Wolf King's gaze. "Don't you have a sister of your own?"
Curze's expression was ice-cold. His brothers were all schemers in his eyes.
"How could I not?" Russ chuckled and waved behind him. "See? My kin are right there."
"Awooo!" The wolves whimpered softly, their massive furry heads nuzzling forward.
The pack of giant wolves padded forward, each standing more than 3.5 meters tall at the shoulder, massive enough to tower over fully armored Space Marines, nearly matching the Primarchs themselves.
"Wolves?" Phily gasped in awe.
Russ's voice softened. "When Father found me in the snows of Fenris, I was curled up in their fur, trying to stay warm."
The great mother wolf lowered her head, silvery-gray fur brushing Dorothy's face like falling snow.
"This is my mother, Sylvia. She's saying hello."
"Hello, Sylvia," Dorothy said softly, lifting her hands to stroke the mother wolf's muzzle. The wolf's warm breath brushed against her wrists, and Dorothy's fingers sank gently into the silken fur.
She knew Sylvia's claws could easily rend a Space Marine in half, yet she felt no fear. Between them flowed an unspoken bond, mutual understanding between mothers.
Russ grinned. "Let the mothers have their time. We'll talk elsewhere."
Curze nodded slightly, shadows shifting across his pale face.
He turned to lead the way, his cloak gliding silently across the dark palace corridor.
Russ spoke up: "Before coming to Nostramo, I visited Lorgar on Colchis."
Curze perked up. "What did you discuss?"
"Private matters," Russ replied plainly. "My homeworld has nine permanent continents. Beneath each lies a buried Dark Age city, tainted by Chaos and crawling with mutants."
"I once explored Vanaheim with Father, but turned back before reaching the end. Before I resume, I wanted to consult his Men of Iron. Lorgar kindly offered to send his Word Bearers to help purge them."
Curze asked, "Did he call Sylvia 'Mother'?"
Russ smirked. "No, though I did ask Medea to design an STC pattern for armor suited for my mother and wolf brothers."
Curze frowned. "If I recall, she's forbidden from working on military STCs."
Russ laughed. "That's why I said it's civilian-grade armor. I'll just build it out of ceramite and adamantium, and maybe add a few extras, like power claws."
"Did Lorgar approve?"
"He did. In fact, he invited my sons to join the Circle of Ash."
"You agreed?"
"He was sincere. I saw no reason to refuse."
"Then… will you join my brotherhood as well?"
Russ's eyes glimmered wolfishly. "If you invite me."
Curze stopped, staring into Russ's eyes. "Then I formally invite you, brother."
Russ grinned. "I accept. Then, Lord of Night, will you join the Brotherhood of Wolves?"
A faint smile curved Curze's pale lips. "You know I won't refuse."
"But tell me, why form such a brotherhood?"
Russ bared his sharp fangs. "To do what we do best: tear out the enemy's throat."
He, too, would crusade across the stars, shatter heresy, and bring order and justice.
But unlike some of their brothers, Russ's motives weren't rooted in zeal. The Space Wolves didn't need a secret circle like the Ashen Ring or a Brotherhood.
He founded the Wolves' Brotherhood because all his brothers had founded something, and he refused to be the odd one out. Caelan would've wanted him to belong.
Still, it would serve a purpose, a bridge between the Space Wolves and other Legions.
Behind them, the Black Guards and Wolf Guards marched in parallel, two drawn blades gliding side by side.
"Cousin, what do you think of Nostramo?" Leon's voice cut through the gloom.
Jorin Bloodhowl's steps faltered slightly. He turned his head, surprise flickering in his eyes.
"Yagor Leon. Just call me Leon."
"Jorin Bloodhowl," he replied. "Call me Jorin. Nostramo is… orderly and prosperous, but I miss Fenris."
"What kind of world is Fenris?"
Jorin chuckled. "A harsh world. In the fire season, we survive at sea, fighting sea beasts. In winter, we starve. But it's beautiful. It's the Space Wolves' home. Someday, I'll invite you to drink mead there."
"I'll be waiting."
…...
After hearing Curze's story, Caelan smiled faintly. "Curze, which brother do you prefer?"
Curze thought for a moment. "Between Lorgar and Russ, I prefer Russ."
He had never liked Lorgar, though he didn't much like Russ either; he admired his nature.
Russ seemed brash, yet inwardly perceptive.
Curze also liked Russ's mother; like Dorothy, she was a good one.
Lorgar had no mother. Neither did Corax.
Corax fell silent, though suspicion flickered in his cold eyes.
'Too harmonious,' he thought. "So harmonious it sounds like a lie."
Was his brother really so amiable? Could things between him and their siblings truly be that peaceful?
Corax doubted, but hid it well before Caelan.
He would ask, but not now.
"Corax," Caelan suddenly turned to him, "have you thought about the name of your Legion?"
Warmth stirred in Corax's chest. Caelan was worried about neglecting him.
He had no Legion yet, too early to speak of such things, but since his Father asked, he would answer.
"Raven Guard," Corax said.
Curze's eyes glinted in the dimness as he softly repeated, "Such an elegant name… so full of melancholy, just like you, Corax. Like me."
His brother hid himself in shadow, even wrapping his Legion's name in poetry.
He didn't boast of strength, but sang of loyalty and sacrifice in the dark.
Victory without name, glory awaiting dawn.
As Curze had expected.
Corax's gaze was as deep as the night. "We are not the same, brother."
"But we are alike," Curze whispered.
Corax's eyes drifted past him to the sleeping Caelan, his chest rising and falling softly.
"He's gone to meet our next brother," Curze murmured.
"Which one?"
"One chance in fourteen. Are you testing my luck, or my patience?"
"Did you find me by luck or patience?"
Curze chuckled. "Both. I can't command the tides of the Warp."
Their words sparred, yet their eyes stayed fixed on Caelan, until, in a blink, his sleeping body faded like morning mist, leaving only a faint breath behind.
"Did you see that?" Corax asked.
Curze shook his head. "No trace."
No Warp surge, no ripple in reality's veil, he'd simply vanished, gone as though he'd never existed at all.
Even with a Primarch's perception, they could find no clue.
Curze rose slowly from the shadow, his cloak falling like night itself. "It's time, brother. Fulfill your mission."
Corax's stare was steady. "Lend me your strength."
"Are you asking me?" Curze's tone was unreadable, neither mocking nor cold.
Corax was calm. "My warriors are only mortal, and you command a legion. I won't let pride cost their lives."
Curze's lips curved faintly. "I admire your honesty and nobility, brother. But I won't help you conquer your world; you don't need me for that.
"I brought not one, but two fleets: the 85th Expedition Fleet led by the 8th Legion, and the 27th by the 19th Legion."
Corax's voice darkened. "You knew it would be me."
Curze spread his pale hands. "Would you believe me if I said it was a coincidence? Shortly after I returned, 'Father' ordered me to command another Legion. Of all our brothers, yours matched mine best, so he gave me the 19th."
"I know that you would dislike your Terran sons. But I didn't want you to abandon them. So, I've… reshaped them a bit, made them closer to what you'd want.
"Don't mistake me, it wasn't for you. It was for Caelan. He never abandoned us, and he wouldn't want us to abandon our own sons. You don't wish to disappoint him, do you?"
Corax's eyes flashed coldly. "I've never hated my sons. The future you saw won't come to pass, just as you haven't become that monster hiding in the dark wearing human skin, have you?"
Curze smiled faintly. "Seems Father told you a few fun stories about me."
"And he told you plenty about me, didn't he?"
"I won't deny it. But have you never wondered if this was my plan all along?"
"You said it yourself, you can't control the Warp's tides," said Corax. "If you could, you'd have spent more than five years with Father. Still, I appreciate you're gesture. Thank you, brother."
"You spent even less time with him."
"He always leaves. We'll meet again someday. I'm in no rush. And besides, my previous brother spent even less time than I did."
Curze's smile deepened. "Then I accept your thanks, brother. Come, let's meet your Legion. I've ordered them to muster on deck."
…...
"Thank you, Uncle Curze!"
Calvose trembled, thrilled to the bone by the honor he was about to receive.
Whenever a Primarch returned to the Imperium, their Legion rejoiced, and others watched in hope, wondering if the next would be theirs.
The 19th Legion had hoped too, though they knew they weren't special.
Their number wasn't prestigious. Their deeds weren't glorious. Even their nickname, the Pale Nomads, was given by their enemies.
When the Emperor's decree came, sending them to Nostramo to serve under the 8th Legion's Primarch, their hearts were filled with both loyalty and unease.
Would this Primarch accept them?
But Curze not only accepted them, he welcomed them personally.
He embraced them as a father would his sons, allowing them even to call him "Father."
The Legion wept with joy, swearing to their great Primarch.
Yet Curze humbly refused their oaths. Their loyalty, he said, belonged to their father. He was merely its keeper.
From that day, serving under him was their greatest honor.
And now, under his command, they had finally found their true Primarch.
"We have our father at last!"
Calvose's heart surged. The 19th Legion was now the sixth in Imperial history to welcome home their gene-father!
Before the fleet even reached orbit, Curze had given a humble order to ensure no misunderstanding when their true Primarch arrived, the Legion should no longer call him Father, but Uncle.
Every gesture of his displayed the dignity of a true Primarch.
On a private channel, Calvose whispered, "Leo, I wish our father could be like yours."
Leon was silent as a stone in deep space. His only prayer was that Calvose's Primarch wouldn't be like Curze; that was his sincerest blessing.
He'd served beside Curze since childhood, felt more like a brother than a son. He couldn't share Calvose's blind devotion.
When Calvose nervously asked, "Do you think our father will accept us?" Leon didn't answer.
Because he knew, when their Primarch saw his sons again…
He would not smile with relief.
At the end of the shadowed corridor, the low voices of two Primarchs echoed faintly. The 19th Legion stood like statues, barely breathing.
"My brother," asked one voice, "are you relieved?"
"I am," replied Corax.
The words rolled down the corridor, and every warrior of the 19th Legion trembled. It was the voice of their gene-father, instinctive reverence written into their very blood.
Then, with a thunderous clang, the entire 19th Legion dropped to one knee. Power armor struck metal deck, an offering to their father who had finally come home.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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