Chapter 67 Recounts
Solomon Voss was a chronicler.
His duty was to accompany giants and record their deeds.
There was nothing romantic about it, he often thought. He was merely serving the Emperor with a pen, writing history one campaign at a time.
Once, Voss had been an ordinary Terran author, destined for a quiet life among archives and publishers. That path changed after Her Highness the Princess issued her decree: every Legion would be assigned a chronicler to document their actions, victories, and sacrifices.
Voss volunteered immediately.
He wanted to see these superhuman warriors with his own eyes — to understand them, and to record them truthfully.
"Please go in. Company Commander Sigismund is waiting for you."
The Astartes' tone was respectful — almost reverent — as he addressed the mortal.
Voss adjusted the thick stack of papers in his arms and smiled. In an age of auto-recorders and data slates, he still insisted on pen and paper.
"Next time, there's no need for a company commander to wait on me," Voss said lightly. "It's unnecessary."
The Astartes lowered his head.
"You are the Empire's most celebrated author. It is no trouble."
Voss sighed.
"An empty reputation."
He pushed open the door.
Sigismund sat upright, posture rigid as a drawn blade. The towering warrior stood to greet him.
Voss sat opposite and placed paper and pen on the table.
"I've heard much of your legendary deeds, Commander."
"An empty reputation," Sigismund replied.
They both smiled.
On Rogal Dorn
"I understand your Primarch has returned," Voss said. "What is your impression of him?"
Sigismund answered without hesitation.
"Unyielding. Incorruptible. His presence alone inspires certainty. One knows the wall will not fall."
He paused.
"He can be stubborn. But he is never unjust."
Sigismund still remembered their first private meeting.
Approaching Dorn had felt like approaching a mountain — immovable, eternal.
"My son," Dorn had said, "were you leading the Legion before my return?"
"Yes, Father."
"You require improvement."
Sigismund had scarcely dared breathe.
Then Dorn added:
"But overall, you have performed well."
A massive hand settled on his shoulder — weighty with trust.
Sigismund had understood then: praise from Dorn was never decorative. It was structural.
The Mahjong Incident
Sigismund cleared his throat.
"Father did disallow one matter."
Voss raised an eyebrow.
"I requested he disband my brothers' civil engineering seminar. I believed it violated the conduct regulations."
"And?"
"He refused."
Sigismund's expression darkened.
"But he added: if I am caught playing mahjong again, I am not to return to him."
"Are you serious?" Voss asked.
"I never joke," Sigismund quoted grimly.
He lowered his head.
"I may never touch a mahjong tile again."
Voss burst into laughter.
Sigismund looked deeply betrayed.
"Next question," he said stiffly.
After the Crusade
Voss composed himself.
"Have you considered life after the Great Crusade?"
Sigismund stroked his chin.
"I believe I would become a construction worker."
Voss blinked.
"The Sword Saint of the Seventh Legion… wishes to build walls?"
Sigismund nodded.
"For most of my life, I assumed our future held only war. Recently… that has changed. It is as though the future has opened."
"What changed?"
Sigismund frowned slightly.
"I cannot say. Only that I now believe we may have one."
"And construction?"
"I am good at it. And I find satisfaction in building things meant to endure."
Dorn's influence was unmistakable.
The Imperial Fists had always advanced methodically. Under Dorn, they became architects of victory.
After a few final questions, Voss checked the time.
"Thank you, Commander. I must interview the next subject."
Sigismund stood.
"Who is it?"
Voss smiled.
"Rogal Dorn."
Sigismund froze.
"…please remove the part about mahjong."
Voss only smiled.
Interview with Rogal Dorn
The reception chamber was austere.
Rogal Dorn stood like a pillar carved from stone.
This was the first time Voss had stood so close to a Primarch.
Unlike most mortals, he did not tremble or kneel. He nodded respectfully and sat when invited.
Dorn approved.
He had read Voss's works. They were precise, observant, and free of embellishment.
"Lord Dorn," Voss began, "could you describe your meeting with the Emperor?"
"I was aboard the Phalanx when I met my father and sister. I swore allegiance."
"…and then?"
"And then what?"
Voss rubbed his temple.
This one would require effort.
Plans for the Legion
"What are your plans for the Seventh Legion?"
"We will bring victory and stability. Conquest without fortification is waste."
"…understood."
Voss silently prayed for more elaborate answers.
On His Brothers
"What are your thoughts on your brothers?"
Dorn paused, considering.
"Horus is the brother I speak with most. He is warm, perceptive, and decisive. The VII Legion fights well beside the XVI."
"Russ is often misjudged. He is direct, but not crude. It is fortunate to have him as a brother."
"Mordecai bears burdens he does not speak of. He cares deeply for our family."
"Ferrus Manus is formidable. Though I dispute his methods, his strategic instincts are exceptional."
"Fulgrim is noble and disciplined. His flamboyance conceals genuine humility."
"Vulkan possesses the greatest humanity among us. In this, I must learn from him. If possible, my Legion will study the XVIII."
Voss's pen raced.
On the Emperor
"What of the Emperor?"
A long silence followed.
Voss nearly withdrew the question when Dorn spoke.
"I believe in His vision. That is sufficient."
He did not say what lingered beneath that belief — that the Emperor's dream might demand sacrifice beyond comprehension.
Dorn did not need to be loved.
He needed the Imperium to endure.
On the Vice-Emperor
"And Her Highness the Princess?"
Dorn answered immediately.
"She is sincere. Perceptive. She sees what others conceal."
"Sincere?" Voss asked.
"That is rare," Dorn said. "We brothers come from distant worlds. Even sharing blood, we do not easily reveal ourselves. Father cannot. We cannot. She can."
He paused.
"I did not expect to trust someone at first meeting. Yet I trusted her immediately — because she trusted me first."
Voss nodded slowly.
"That is remarkable."
Voss stood.
"Thank you for your time."
"No need for formality," Dorn replied. "Call me Dorn."
Voss smiled.
"Good night, Dorn."
"Good night, Voss."
Dorn gestured toward the manuscript.
"May I review your notes?"
"Of course."
Somewhere down the corridor, Sigismund — who was supervising ash removal from a weapons bay — felt a sudden, ominous chill.
He had the distinct sense that his future had just become significantly more difficult.
Visit patreon.com/ShiroTL for more chapters.