Chapter 39 — Alpharius's Ordinary Day
Alpharius encountered the first true failure of his professional life.
"Brother… something's wrong."
A pack of Space Wolves stood around him, helmets tilted, studying him with unsettling intensity.
Alpharius forced calm into his voice.
"I am newly assigned. Perhaps that is why."
Before the Primarch's return, the VI Legion had been known as the Grey Wolves. Their gene-seed expressed mild lupine traits — heightened aggression responses, predatory focus, and pack-based tactical instinct — but they were otherwise conventional Astartes.
Russ's arrival had changed that.
It was not physical transformation.
It was instinct.
A resonance in the gene-seed.
The Legion now possessed an uncanny pack-awareness: a subconscious recognition of belonging, hierarchy, and shared battle-spirit.
And now they stared at Alpharius as if he were a stranger in their den.
"That's odd," one muttered. "Usually you just know."
Another scratched his beard.
"Brother… are you sure you belong to this pack?"
Of course I don't belong to this pack.
Alpharius withdrew.
He attempted three additional infiltrations under different identities.
Each time the Wolves hesitated, senses prickling, instincts unsettled.
Each time he was forced to disengage.
The VI Legion could not be infiltrated by conventional means.
His career had suffered its greatest defeat.
Report to the Emperor
"…That is the situation, Father."
In a sealed chamber aboard the flagship, Alpharius delivered his report. He kept his gaze lowered.
Failure was rare.
Failure in a task assigned directly by the Emperor was rarer still.
"It is acceptable," the Emperor replied calmly. "You need not attempt infiltration of the Sixth Legion again."
The Imperium possessed many forms of observation.
No single failure endangered the whole.
"Tell me," the Emperor added, "have you located Omegon?"
Alpharius allowed himself a small, humorless smile.
"Not yet."
Twin Primarchs. Divided by the warp.
They could sense one another's existence — faint, distant, undeniable.
But the galaxy was vast beyond comprehension.
Even Primarchs could be lost within it.
"You may go."
"Yes, Father."
Alpharius bowed and withdrew.
The Emperor remained distant, as always.
Alpharius no longer resented this.
He was not meant for the light.
He was the knife behind the curtain.
If one day he were exposed, the Emperor would deny him without hesitation.
That was understood.
That was accepted.
Vacation: Zero Legion
If the VI Legion was impossible to infiltrate, the Zero Legion was difficult for an entirely different reason:
There were too few of them.
In a legion of fifty thousand, one extra warrior disappears into the mass.
In a legion of fifty… he is noticed immediately.
On Alpharius's first visit, several Astartes had noticed the discrepancy.
Fortunately, Yuki had intervened.
Since then, he visited only during rest cycles.
"Company Commander," a Rising Sun Angel whispered, "that guy is here again."
During the Zero Legion Cup semifinal, Second Company Commander Melo frowned.
Everyone knew the truth.
This warrior was not one of them.
They trained together. Bled together. Lunched together. Shared bunks and scars and memories.
The Zero Legion was too small for strangers.
Yet this man appeared only during recreation.
Suspicion brewed.
Nepotism?
A political placement?
A hidden son of the Princess?
Repeated inquiries to Yuki had been brushed aside.
Resentment simmered.
"Should we remove him?" an Astartes asked.
Melo considered.
Then he smiled.
"No. Let's… test him."
The Match
Alpharius sat quietly near the field when an Astartes approached.
"Brother! We're short a player. Can you fill in?"
The excuse was transparent.
Alpharius accepted anyway.
The ball — forged of ceramic-steel — rolled beneath his boots as he advanced.
A tackle came.
He halted instantly, careful not to crush the opponent.
He understood.
This was evaluation.
Very well.
I wished to interact as an ordinary Astartes.
Instead, I am met with suspicion.
Then allow me to demonstrate.
The match transformed.
Speed beyond perception.
Strength impossible to counter.
Eight Astartes converged — and failed.
Goals fell in rapid succession.
Silence swallowed the field.
Melo stared.
Third Company Commander Diaz began shouting:
"Foreign reinforcement! This match is rigged!"
Alpharius left before the game ended.
He had made his point.
Sister
"Sit. I'll finish shortly."
Yuki's work never ended — but she always made time for him.
They did not play war-chess.
They played Ludo.
The dice fell where they may.
Victory was irrelevant.
Time together was the point.
"Goodbye, Sister… Your Highness."
"Come back soon."
He intended to.
Acceptance
Outside, Melo approached with several Astartes.
Alpharius prepared for confrontation.
Instead, Melo bowed.
"I misjudged you. I apologize."
Alpharius paused — then smiled.
"I enjoyed the match."
Melo extended a hand.
"The Zero Legion welcomes you, brother."
Alpharius clasped it.
"Thank you, friend."
New Assignment
His next task: observe Horus.
Report faithfully.
Alpharius found this assignment uniquely exhausting.
The Thirty-Year Story
At the Shadowmoon Wolves' daily briefing, Horus reviewed fleet routes and operational vectors.
Then, as always, the discussion drifted.
"My sons… have I told you the story of those thirty years?"
Here we go again.
Alpharius had heard it more than a dozen times.
"…They pulled me from darkness. They gave me a name. They gave me purpose. Thirty years is nothing against eternity… but it meant everything to me."
The Wolves endured in stoic silence.
Once had been moving.
A dozen times was endurance training.
"Abaddon, stand."
Abaddon jolted awake, drool on his chin.
"Huh? We done?"
A veteran beside him whispered:
"We're only at the thirty years. The ring hasn't started yet."
Abaddon's soul left his body.
Horus nearly laughed.
"Abaddon. Stand at the back and listen."
Alpharius folded his arms.
What a difficult assignment.