"Is it our turn?"
"Is it finally our time to make our entrance?"
"Commander, give the order!"
In orbit above Caliban, five hundred Astartes crowded into the troop compartment of a battle barge. Every one of them held their breath, their eyes fixed upon the towering figure displayed on the hololithic screen, terrified of missing even the slightest movement.
Lion El'Jonson.
Their gene-father.
With lightning speed, he severed the head of a Great Beast.
They had already arrived at Caliban but because of the Emperor's orders, they had been forbidden to descend.
Until the Lion completed the unification of Caliban, they could only wait anxiously aboard their cold voidship.
Now fortune had finally smiled upon the First Legion.
The moment they had longed for had finally arrived.
The Librarian declared excitedly, "Our gene-father has united Caliban. It's finally our turn to pay homage to him!"
Midris looked around at the visibly restless Astartes.
After several seconds, his voice came over the vox channel, carrying a tone of exasperation.
"Patience, Israfael!"
"We are the Emperor's blade. Under no circumstances can we disgrace the honor of the First Legion!"
Israfael folded his arms, "In that case, you can remain in orbit and stand guard."
"Absurd! Israfael, I'm the commander!"
"Precisely because you're the commander, you should remain in orbit and oversee the overall situation."
"Then why don't you stay behind?"
Israfael shrugged, "I have no patience."
"I can't wait another second to meet our gene-father."
"You're more patient than I am and far more responsible."
"Only if you personally remain in orbit can I feel at ease."
Midris barked back, "No!"
"I'm the commander!"
Israfael snorted, 'As if I don't know you.'
Midris belonged to the original five thousand Astartes of the First Legion.
His record of honors far surpassed that of most warriors within the Legion only fellow veterans of the Unification Wars could compare with him.
"Midris," Israfael sighed.
"You really should work on your personality."
"If the Sigillite hadn't decided your temperament made you unsuitable for high command, you'd probably already have a seat on the Council of Lords."
The First Legion was the earliest of all the Astarte Legions.
At its founding, it already numbered five thousand warriors, far exceeding every Legion that followed.
After years of the Great Crusade, the First Legion now boasted at least one hundred thousand Astartes.
As the Emperor's personal legion, the First Legion was nominally under his direct command.
But since the Emperor was busy leading the Custodes on crusades and couldn't always command the First Legion, thus the burden of overall command fell on the shoulders of the Regent Malcador.
The current Legion Master, Urian Vendraig, had personally been elevated by Malcador.
In terms of seniority, however, he had only joined the Legion after the Unification Wars had ended.
Meanwhile, tens of thousands of veterans who had fought through the blood and fire of Unification still served within the Legion.
As for military achievements and honors before becoming Legion Master, he had merely commanded the Fourteenth Company of the Eighth Chapter. There were thousands of officers of equal rank. Hundreds even outranked him.
Although Urian Vendreig enjoyed unanimous support from the Council of Lords the legitimacy of his appointment rested entirely upon Malcador's nomination.
Malcador was the executor of the Emperor's will.
His nomination was regarded as the Emperor's own command.
Who would dare oppose it?
Unfortunately for Midris Malcador disliked his personality.
That single judgment had virtually sealed off any chance of promotion.
Midris snorted over the vox, "What do you know? Why do you think the honor of welcoming back the Primarch fell to me?"
Israfael found himself unable to argue.
The First Legion was renowned for both its age and glory but even it could not escape internal factionalism.
From its earliest days Hector Seran had ruled the Legion with ruthless authority. Though unified on the surface it was fractured internally by countless competing factions.
When Hector Seran fell in battle against the xenos the Lords immediately began arguing over who should succeed him as Legion Master.
Had Malcador not personally settled the matter the mighty First Legion might well have fractured apart.
The reason Urian Vendraig had emerged victorious was precisely because he belonged to none of the factions.
That was also Midris' greatest value. His personality wasn't particularly likable.
But only someone completely unaffiliated like him was suitable for the sacred mission of greeting the Primarch.
Had any faction been chosen instead the Legion's delicate political balance would have collapsed.
Israfael finally asked, "Midris when are we leaving to welcome our Primarch?"
Midris answered calmly over the vox.
"The time hasn't come be patient, brother."
Israfael narrowed his eyes.
He didn't remember Midris ever being this patient.
Staring closely he suddenly noticed something strange.
They were standing practically next to one another. So why insist on communicating through the vox?
Without warning, Israfael shut off his communicator.
Then he tore off his helmet and barked, "Astarte!"
"Remove your helmet immediately!"
"That is an order!"
As the Legion's Librarian, he couldn't read Midris' expression through the thick helm.
But when the warrior reluctantly removed it
The face beneath wasn't Midris at all.
Israfael's face instantly darkened.
"Zeviel?"
"Why are you here?"
Zeviel lowered his head awkwardly.
"My lord the commander exchanged power armor with me."
"You just agreed?" Israfael nearly exploded in frustration but there wasn't time to lecture the rookie.
He reopened the vox immediately.
"Captain Richard pull up every Stormbird flight log. Check whether any unauthorized departures occurred within the last 24 hours."
Richard answered steadily, "Lord Israfael there have been no Stormbird departures during the past 24 hours. However thirty-five hours ago, one Stormbird departed for reconnaissance over southern Caliban."
Israfael laughed in disbelief, "Midris you really know how to hide."
'Your brothers treat you with absolute sincerity and this is how you play them?'
"Prepare a Stormbird immediately!"
"Lord Israfael the commander issued standing orders. Without his authorization no one is permitted to leave their assigned post."
Israfael's face turned completely black.
"Fine so that's how you want to play it."
...
"Fly at ground level."
Midris instructed the pilot, "Since these stubborn mortals refuse to submit to our gene-father, we'll give them a lesson they'll never forget, teach them the meaning of awe!"
He hummed happily to himself.
'Israfael's probably furious by now.'
'The struggle for succession was always like this. How could he still be so naive?'
He had exchanged power armor with Richard as a result, they could share visual feeds.
Earlier, however, he had deliberately severed communications.
That had prevented anyone from continuing to secretly, no, observe the gene-father.
Fortunately he had already obtained the precise coordinates.
Nothing could go wrong and those mortal being allowed to kneel before his lord was an honor but some of them still failed to appreciate it.
....
"My fellow people of Caliban the dawn of a new age has arrived."
"I have seen the glimpsed within my dreams. It is a golden age beyond all our imagination."
"Now we stand but one step away from that new era."
Lion spread his arms wide, as if embracing the new age.
But before the echo of his speech had faded, a turbulent, scorching wind suddenly swept across the wilderness.
The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning metal, as if they were standing inside a giant furnace.
Luther abruptly looked upward his pupils contracted sharply.
Above the heavens a gigantic black object roared through the sky.
"Prepare for battle!"
The knight commanders shouted orders. The well-trained knights immediately reined in their horses to prevent a panic.
The creature's wings blotted out the sky. Blue flames erupted from its back. The scorching air nearly burned Luther's face.
The howling wind nearly threw them from their saddles. Their cloaks snapped violently in the turbulent gusts.
Zahariel stared upward in disbelief, "What are those?"
"A species of Great Beast we've never seen?"
"Impossible! we killed all the Great Beasts!"
Nemiel said, "Obviously not!"
Luther desperately looked toward Lion.
He hoped the Lion's expression would reveal that these flying monsters had also been anticipated.
Yet the Lion merely stood silently watching the immense beasts soaring across the heavens.
"Lion!"
"What are these-"
Luther's voice disappeared beneath the overwhelming roar.
The flying monsters eclipsed the sun. They circled overhead casting vast shadows across the land.
Their shrieking resembled grinding metal. The stench of scorched steel was nauseating. The hurricane winds they created sent leaves spiraling into towering vortices.
Tree branches groaned beneath the relentless gale.
Amadis looked upward. Blinding blue light poured from the belly of one circling monster.
He instinctively raised an arm to shield his eyes. The shriek it emitted sounded like metal scraping against metal.
Several apprentices collapsed to the ground in agony.
Then amid the chaos vague silhouettes became visible inside the creature's belly.
Armored entirely in black descending upon wings of fire.
Luther said in utter disbelief, "Black angels descending upon wings of light and fire"
"The mighty and terrifying Dark Angels"
Throughout every castle, every forest, every village of Caliban ancient legends of the Dark Angels had always been told. In humanity's earliest colonial days when mankind struggled simply to survive upon this unfamiliar world
Mysterious warriors clad in black armor descended like divine champions.
With irresistible force they annihilated the Great Beasts.
Later generations remembered them as righteous avengers.
As bards sang of their deeds their legends only became more sacred. They became the eternal ideal every Calibanite knight sought to emulate.
When the first angel wrapped in flame descended Luther felt as though his heart would burst.
The angel's fully armored form was enormous. Dust from the landing concealed many of its details.
One after another yhe remaining angels descended.
Ten giants now stood before tens of thousands of knights.
Each giant was immensely more powerful than any knight.
Yet their armor bore astonishing similarities.
Each wore a power pack upon his back.
The leading giant carried a chainsword and a pistol. They were identical to the weapons used by Caliban's knights, only much larger.
The assembled knights watched these unexpected visitors warily.
No one would worship strangers simply because of an ancient legend.
Especially not strangers whose arrival had bordered upon outright provocation.
Hands tightened around weapons.
At a single word from Lion they would gladly fight these giants.
Perhaps individually they were weaker but overwhelming numbers could compensate for inferior strength.
Lion stood alone before the ten giants.
His expression remained as calm as a perfectly still lake. The leading giant reached toward his helmet.
With a hiss of released pressure he slowly removed it.
Revealing a breathtaking face handsome, broad-featured, his facial structure resembled a living classical sculpture.
The wary expressions of the knights immediately transformed into astonishment.
Their eyes shifted repeatedly between Lion and the giant.
Because the two looked remarkably alike.
Lion spoke first, "Your name."
"Midris."
The giant immediately dropped to one knee, the remaining giants followed in perfect unison.
"My lord. We come under the Emperor's command to welcome you back into the Imperium."
Lion asked, "So you've come to take me back to Terra?"
Midris bowed his head respectfully, "My lord wherever you are that is where we belong."
Midris secretly congratulated himself.
'Perfect.'
'That was an incredibly high emotional-intelligence answer.'
Lion's gaze swept across the kneeling giants.
Then shifted toward the mortal knights.
"You should not have treated your brothers that way."
His tone remained completely calm but Midris instantly understood the hidden meaning.
Still kneeling he turned toward the assembled knights.
Lowering his head sincerely, he declared, "Brothers of Caliban please accept my sincerest apology."
"I simply wished to meet our gene-father too badly."
Secretly Midris breathed a sigh of relief.
Although his good intentions had caused trouble the outcome didn't seem too terrible.
Apologizing? That was easy.
He had spent an enormous fortune purchasing priceless historical recordings from other Legions documenting the return of their Primarchs.
He had studied every reunion, for hundreds, no, thousands of hours.
Every procedure had been memorized perfectly.
He had also formed a preliminary understanding of the Primarchs.
Each Primarch had one, well, two fathers.
That unusual upbringing meant every Primarch possessed a unique personality but they also shared certain common traits.
For example every one of them deeply cared about ordinary humans.
Since that was the case apologizing had always been the obvious choice.
Every Primarch eventually turned his homeworld into his Legion's recruiting world.
The warriors of Caliban would one day become his own battle-brothers.
There was no shame in bowing to them.
More importantly no matter what happened
He was the first of the First Legion to stand before their Primarch.
He was First.
Everything else was secondary.
As long as he was first. This first meeting would surely leave a deep impression upon the Primarch.
Not necessarily a bad one. The Primarch might think he was somewhat reckless
But at least hhad the courage to immediately admit his mistake.
Wasn't that willingness to face one's own faults openly proof of admirable character?