When the Titan's Spear translated out of the Mandeville point, every Salamanders vessel standing sentry over Nocturne's orbit blared with vox-alarms.
Upon Nocturne's moon, Prometheus, lay a sprawling orbital bastion, the primary shipyard and anchorage of the Salamanders. Within the base, scores of battle-brothers and Chapter Neophytes moved with practiced urgency.
Though the return of the Iron Men had been known for some time, the galaxy was vast beyond measure. Even though Titan-class vessels had appeared more than once across Segmentum Ultima, those within the Imperium who had laid eyes upon them remained few.
Perhaps a portion of the Salamanders who had participated in the relief of Segmentum Pacificus or the reinforcements within the Pariah Nexus had encountered these machine-allies and their gargantuan mechanical fleets. Yet, for the vast majority, the existence of the Iron Men remained as ethereal as a myth from the Age of Darkness.
Confronted by a terrifying dreadnought whose brutal geometry differed wildly from Imperial ship-design, the Salamanders displayed their characteristic discipline. However, when the visage of Vulkan appeared across every ship's vox-screen, the entire sector fell into a stunned silence.
Tu'Shan, Chapter Master of the Salamanders, stared in disbelief at the figure, a man he had only ever known through cold statuary. His voice trembled with uncharacteristic emotion.
"Father?! Lord Primarch?!"
Vulkan offered a warm, weary smile.
"I have returned, my sons. And I have found a new hope. Go now, to the city of Hesiod upon Nocturne's surface. I shall await you there."
Terminating the link, Vulkan followed a lobotomized automaton onto a waiting transport craft. Inside the hold, two Eight-Legs crouched in the corners, their multi-limbed forms looming over a massive reinforced vat. Through the vat's thick glasteel viewing port, a strange, shimmering liquid pulsed with a soft, ethereal radiance.
Vulkan knew its contents: several tons of the Panacea.
When he had been wounded aboard the Titan's Spear, an automaton had injected him with this concoction born of ancient science. A mere handful of millilitres had restored him to full vitality.
The reason two Eight-Legs were assigned to escort it was not merely due to the sheer weight of the chemicals, but the specialized nature of the containment unit. The Panacea held a staggering amount of latent energy; should that energy dissipate over time, the elixir would lose its miraculous properties. To ensure the potency remained stable, these giant vats, equipped with the same localized reactor cores found in Destroyer-class heavy automata, were a necessity. Such massive tanks, weighing tens of tons, were far beyond the lifting capacity of standard servitors.
Once the Primarch and the medicine were delivered to the surface, the transport quickly returned to the Titan's Spear. Shortly thereafter, the great vessel vanished into the void, though a peculiar disturbance signal had already caught the attention of Axion.
Upon his return to the soil of Nocturne, Vulkan finally met Tu'Shan. Sensing the undeniable pull of the gene-blood, the Angel of the Emperor knelt without hesitation.
"Lord Primarch, we have waited for this moment since the fires of old were lit. It is the dream of the entire Chapter made manifest."
"Your return fills us with strength and renewed purpose. In your absence, we have held fast to your Promethean Creed and your traditions, striving to shield the Imperium and its people."
Vulkan looked upon his scion with a gentle smile and reached out to haul Tu'Shan to his feet.
"I know. I have seen the toil of my sons. You have not disappointed me. Maintain this loyalty and courage, and together, we shall make the fires of the Salamanders burn ever brighter, to light this darkened universe."
Though Vulkan did not know Tu'Shan personally, he easily deduced his identity from the reverence of the surrounding battle-brothers. This was the current master of his lineage. A wave of melancholy washed over the Primarch; he had never met most of these sons. Over ten thousand years, countless Salamanders had lived and died yearning for the return of their father.
But that was a burden for another time.
"Summon the Apothecaries to me. It may be that this day, every son of Nocturne shall receive the Emperor's deliverance."
While Vulkan had experienced the effects of the Panacea himself, whether it could be safely adapted for the physiology of his sons required rigorous testing.
…
While the Apothecaries began their trials under Vulkan's guidance, the Titan's Spear translated into realspace near a planet designated as Naxish. Hanging in high orbit was a Strike Cruiser bearing the livery of the Iron Hands.
Unlike the Salamanders, the Iron Hands recognized the titan-ship instantly. Since the Iron Men had begun to openly participate in Imperial campaigns, every mechanical signature and hull-pattern had been meticulously cataloged by these warriors obsessed with the sanctity of the machine. They tracked the fleet's movements with the fervor of cult-devotees.
Detecting several massive energy spikes on the planet below, Axion opened a vox-channel to the Strike Cruiser, identified as the Iron Arbiter, to inquire if they required combat assistance.
The response from the Iron Hands was immediate and uncharacteristically eager, expressing a profound desire to fight alongside the forces of the Iron Men. However, when Axion requested intelligence on the enemy, the warriors of the Tenth Legion fell into a long, awkward silence.
Eventually, they explained the situation with a palpable sense of shame.
According to ancient archives, this planet housed a specialized armory constructed by their Primarch, Ferrus Manus. Within were sealed relics of ancient technology recovered by the Gorgon during the Great Crusade.
In those bygone years, both Vulkan and Ferrus had forged weapons of terrifying potency. Ferrus, however, possessed a particular obsession with collecting xenos tech and archaeotech, a trait that had made him a kindred spirit to the red-robed priests of Mars. While Vulkan had chosen to cast his more dangerous creations into the fires of the Chalice of Fire to be destroyed, Ferrus had taken a different path.
The Gorgon had cached vast quantities of gear, xenos devices, and experimental weapons across numerous worlds throughout the galaxy, shielding them behind layers of sophisticated, automated defense systems.
The Iron Hands had come to reclaim their genetic father's legacy to better serve the Imperium. However, the security systems Ferrus had built appeared to be malfunctioning, or perhaps they were working exactly as intended. The automated defenses, personally calibrated by the Primarch, were currently unleashing a devastating firestorm upon his own sons.
The sheer power of these ancient constructs had already inflicted significant casualties upon the Iron Hands.
The irony of the situation was not lost on Axion. A father builds a vault, installs a security system, and the system not only bars the door to the sons but beats them half to death for trying to enter.
Utilizing the combat logs and data shared by the Iron Hands, Axion easily localized the ancient vault. Furthermore, the strange signal that had piqued his interest earlier was emanating from within this very armory.
With the mission parameters confirmed, Axion deployed a contingent of troops via transport, descending toward the surface of the hostile, storm-wracked world.
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