"Have you met Vulkan before?"
"No."
"He spent a long time by the Emperor's side, receiving education, or constantly fighting with his own legion in the inferno of burning and destruction. Only Ferrus Manus had closer contact with him."
When the Lion of Caliban spoke of his brother, it was as if he was mentioning a distant legend from another world, under the same star-filled sky.
Compared to the decaying scene Morgan had witnessed upon her return, the First Legion Primarch now appeared much more spirited. He was clad in a set of pure black war armor, bearing the symbol of the First Legion, with no other decorative elements. Lion El'Jonson's emerald green eyes had regained their brilliant fire, constantly scanning the ever-changing star map before him.
The two Primarchs were in the most noble and elegant room aboard the Unbending Truth. Lion El'Jonson had specially created this space to entertain esteemed guests, fulfilling the social etiquette he needed to observe to survive within the Imperium.
The Lord of the First Legion had filled this circular room with the heads of great beasts and tapestries depicting battles, to quickly convey the style of the Dark Angels to every visitor.
Of course, in Morgan's view, Lion El'Jonson's decorations... could only be described as having a highly utilitarian style.
And at this moment, her gaze was also fixed on the holographic star map before her: this illusory, silent drama vividly displayed the general situation of several surrounding sectors.
The pale blue symbolizing the Imperium and the scarlet representing Randan were interlocked like canine teeth in these barren worlds, constantly shifting the borders of the two empires across countless skirmishes and interception battles.
A dedicated room on the Unbending Truth was responsible for receiving every battle report from the front lines and displaying all victories and defeats on this star map as quickly and detailed as possible, allowing Lion El'Jonson to grasp every situation on the front lines at all times.
"They stopped at the 416-15 system, and their stay time has far exceeded the normal time required for gathering or resting. According to the original estimates, they only needed three Terra Standard Days to reach the edge of the Tacot system, but now, we must change the plan."
The Lion gently tapped his finger, and two star systems at the center of the map began to flash continuously: one was where Randan's main army was currently stationed. To ascertain this precise information, Lion El'Jonson himself didn't know how many of the Emperor's warriors had perished in the icy void.
The other was the Tacot system, a place previously unnoticed by anyone, insignificant except for its limited strategic value. However, after Lion El'Jonson implemented a series of ingenious arrangements and plans,
coupled with a ruthless scorched-earth strategy, this location suddenly became the only critical point on Randan's advance route that could help them penetrate the Sol Sector. Otherwise, the Xenos fleets would have to take a long detour, squandering their strategic initiative.
Thus, the Lion had chosen an excellent battlefield for his grand war: the Tacot system was vast and empty, giving the Dark Angels ample space to safely deploy their terrifying Doomsday Devices in any corner of this world-shattering battlefield.
Each of these previously tightly confined and guarded cataclysms was enough to utterly wipe out a fragile indigenous civilization from the galaxy, and to win this war, Lion El'Jonson's sons had brought these monsters back into the galaxy once more.
Furthermore, Lion El'Jonson had staked his heaviest chip: a fully staffed First Legion, a legion universally acknowledged as the strongest in the entire Imperium.
With the exception of a very few veterans guarding hidden places and Luther, Lion El'Jonson had brought the entire Dark Angels Legion, even new recruits who had just completed their trials were pulled directly from the deep forests of Caliban to the galaxy's bloodiest battlefield: just as Lion El'Jonson himself had experienced back then.
"I recall hearing that before this war began, you had gathered the entire First Legion, and at that time, your forces numbered between sixty thousand and one hundred thousand."
"So... what about now?"
"After all, if my memory serves me correctly, you never stopped conscripting new blood for the Legion from Caliban throughout this decade of war."
Emotionless light swirled in Morgan's azure eyes as she looked at Lion El'Jonson, who was intently staring at the star map. Through the flickering in the Calibanite's pupils, she knew he was pondering her question.
"One hundred and fifty thousand."
Finally, the Lion of Caliban softly spoke the number, and then, in an unquestionable, authoritative tone, praised his kin.
"This is partly thanks to you. If your psychic power hadn't continued to function as it always has over the past decade, I might have lost even more sons in this war. Perhaps I would only have one hundred and thirty thousand or even fewer warriors to commit to this war now."
"That is precisely why I stand beside you now, Lion El'Jonson."
As the footsteps of war drew ever closer to everyone, Morgan's tone also became increasingly cold. When she smiled, her gaze emitted a spectral light that could make any mortal kneel.
"In a sense, you truly surprise me, Lion El'Jonson, my brother. I thought the Dark Angels would still be around one hundred thousand strong. After all, as far as I know, the Shadow Moon Wolves, Imperial Fists, and Ultramarines are all of a similar size now."
"The greater the responsibility, the more one needs to hold in their grasp."
Lion El'Jonson didn't respond further, because almost at the same moment he spoke, Corswain's voice came from outside the room.
"My Lord, the Flaming Forge has appeared within our observation range. Behind it is a massive fleet, with at least over a hundred capital ships."
Lion El'Jonson turned his head, the additional information in the message seemed to surprise him.
"It seems he values this war more than I imagined."
——————
Primarchs are demigods walking among mortals; they are precious artifacts forged by the Human Emperor, who stole the ethereal tides not belonging to the mortal realm, crafted with unimaginable wisdom and ambition they are the Prometheus Fire walking upon the earth and sky.
And among these creations, possessing supreme wisdom and boundless power, if one truly had to choose a figure symbolizing pure strength, the most robust individual, Morgan believed she had found the answer.
Even though she hadn't met all her kin, a deep-seated instinct echoing within her made her increasingly certain that this tall, dark-skinned demigod before her was the most formidable individual in her peculiar family.
Vulkan.
The name of a deity born embracing brute force and fire.
When the Primarch of the Eighteenth Legion finally stood on the deck of the Unbending Truth, the Dark Angels arrayed on either side to greet him appeared like rows of overly realistic porcelain dolls, revealing a fragile side amidst the sound of his hammer dragging across the ground.
Morgan still stood by Lion El'Jonson's side, holding a higher status than Corswain and Astoran. The entire First Legion had long grown accustomed to this sight. The Spider Queen, with one hand behind her back and the other clutching her staff, saw Lion El'Jonson unnaturally flex his wrist before slowly walking towards his blood brother.
When the Lion of Caliban reached his brother, more than half his body was already shrouded in shadow: Vulkan was even taller and more massive than Leman Russ and Magnus the Red.
Simply standing there, with his crimson-glowing eyes, he resembled a roaring dragon breaking free from magma, inspiring the most primal sense of awe and apprehension.
This dark-skinned Primarch was clad in a series of powerful equipment he had forged himself: his armor, the Drakeskin, was a baroque, brutal green suit, adorned, as its name suggested,
with the tough hide of the Salamanders, ferocious creatures from his homeworld of Nocturne. He had also named his Legion after these creatures to commemorate his meeting with the Emperor.
His hands were protected and reinforced by the Gauntlets of the Forge, one tightly gripping his warhammer, Thunderhead, while the plasma pistol, Heart of the Forge, hung from his waist.
Finally, enveloping his mighty physique was the renowned Mantel of Vulkan: all these pieces of equipment were handcrafted by the Lord of the Firedrakes himself, and anyone in the cosmos would praise and covet their power, and the fiery heart capable of crafting them.
Morgan was no exception.
Long before she began collecting data and information on each Primarch, a unique longing for the Lord of the Firedrakes had quietly taken root in her heart, awaiting the moment it could be unleashed.
But now was not the time to reveal it.
Morgan stood silently, watching Lion El'Jonson greet his brother. The Dark Angels' Primarch, when facing the Lord of the Firedrakes, uncharacteristically displayed an attitude that could be described as "reverence" a rare sight for Lion El'Jonson.
The two Primarchs exchanged glances in the shadow, their sons stood far away, with only a certain silver-haired lady standing relatively close. Among everyone present, only the Salamanders' warriors showed a delayed surprise at this.
"Welcome, brother, and your Legion. At this time, only the truly brave would come here."
Lion El'Jonson's Adam's apple bobbed as he uttered his carefully prepared welcoming words. Vulkan simply shook his head slowly. When he spoke in return, Morgan, standing not far away, was almost astonished to find that the terrible, dark fire dragon spoke with a remarkably calm, steady, and even gentle tone.
"I only hope my Legion has not arrived too late, my brother. I apologize, but I had to deal with my war zone first."
"You are certainly not late."
Lion El'Jonson replied quickly, but then fell into a silence. The dignified Lion of Caliban blinked, seemingly racking his brain for words he could utter to keep the conversation going.
In those two seconds of hesitation, Vulkan did not stop. The truest emotion was in the Lord of the Firedrakes' voice: even with Morgan's keen and often suspicious senses, she detected not a trace of falsehood.
"In the past few years, I have been following the news from Randan, Lion El'Jonson, my brother. I know how much you and your warriors have sacrificed for the Imperium. No one can compare to your silent contributions. Now, I only hope that my sons and I can be of help."
"So I have brought my people here, my brother. Please tell me, what can I do?"
Lion El'Jonson's brow furrowed at the perceived presumption in these words. The Lion instinctively disliked the role of "being helped," but when he met his brother's gaze, he could only remain silent in the face of such sincerity.
Such words seemed to exhaust Vulkan's conversational repertoire. He leaned forward, as if to embrace his brother, but then hesitated and retreated, standing face to face with the equally silent Lion El'Jonson, a vast space around them solidified in mutual respect.
——————
Morgan took a deep breath.
Then exhaled sharply in her heart.
——————
"Greetings, Lord Vulkan."
Morgan's footsteps broke the silence between the two sons of the Emperor. As the silver-haired lady stepped forward and bowed slowly, Vulkan's gaze was already fixed on her.
"Ah, Lady Morgan."
The Primarch stood still, smiling as he extended his hand, even bending his knee slightly to ensure Morgan could grasp it firmly.
"I have heard of your deeds. Your bravery and dedication on the front lines are no less than any of the Emperor's warriors."
The Primarch of the Eighteenth Legion observed the mortal before him closely. A flicker of confusion appeared in his red-glowing eyes, but it vanished quickly. After all, the Lord of the Firedrakes never dwelled too much on anyone, for he understood the value of respect.
"You are thinner than I imagined, Lady Morgan."
He uttered the sentence softly, as if it contained some obscure secret.
The silver-haired lady simply returned his smile.
"War always takes its toll, Lord Vulkan, it's just more evident on me. On others, like Lord Lion El'Jonson beside me, this fatigue is somewhat subtle: even if he has been sleepless for months for the Imperium's victory."
"So many have sacrificed for the victory in this war, so much blood and tragedy have played out in the shadows of the galaxy, Lady Morgan. I only wish for this war to end quickly. Before now, my mission prevented me from contributing my strength, but now, I am here to compensate for that."
"This is not compensation, Your Excellency. No one commanded you to come here. What supports you is the responsibility and courage in your heart, the noblest light in the galaxy. Before this, I had only seen their radiance emanating from Lord Lion El'Jonson."
The Primarch of the First Legion stood to the side, watching his two kin speak. In the words of both Morgan and Vulkan, Lion El'Jonson heard only the most sincere conviction.
At this moment, the Lion of Caliban's confidence in this arduous victory reached its peak: something that even repeatedly counting the powerful forces in his hands could not achieve.
But Lion El'Jonson did not indulge. His gaze was fixed on his silver-haired kin, urging her to quickly begin the real topic.
He knew Morgan would understand his silent admonition.
"You flatter me, Lady Morgan."
Vulkan's sincerity made Morgan feel as if she were hallucinating.
"I am merely a smith. I once earnestly desired to become a general, but always failed. Perhaps there isn't much I can do. I only hope that I can do my best to help you, and that you are in need of my strength at this time."
"Indeed, Your Excellency. We certainly need the will from the flames and the forge to hammer out true victory."
Morgan smiled, her smile appearing even more sincere than Vulkan's.
"After all, we share the same purpose."
"We all hope for the war to end soon, for peace to descend early, and for countless Imperial citizens to return to their tranquility and embrace the happiness of life once more, forever."
These words caused Vulkan to pause involuntarily.
"I must admit, Lady Morgan, your words are moving... and also difficult."
"Of course, it's difficult."
Morgan's words were like the biting drizzle of early spring, whispering in the ears of the two Primarchs.
"But someone must try for it, mustn't they?"
"If there must be someone in the world to make such a sacrifice, then let me be that person."
"Shall we begin, Your Excellency?"
Once again, Morgan extended her hand.
And once again, Vulkan clasped it tightly.
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