Above the orbit of Shenlong.
Inside the armory of the Battle Barge, the lights were pale and cold. Raldoron stood before rows of neatly hanging weapons, his fingers brushing against the cold metal casings. His movements were practiced and precise, a fluid sequence without a single wasted motion.
This was a long-held habit. As an exceptional leader who had guided the Blood Angels out of the shadow of their Primarch's death, he knew that details determined survival. It was this near-obsessive attention to detail that allowed Raldoron to stabilize the crumbling Chapter after the Horus Heresy, reuniting brothers consumed by grief into a force that struck fear into their enemies. Even now, ten thousand years later, this habit remained unchanged.
"Hmm?" Raldoron's fingers suddenly stopped. He looked up alertly toward the armory doors. Footsteps echoed in the corridor, slow and steady. The heavy doors opened slowly, and a figure emerged.
Mephiston stood there, staff in hand, clad in crimson plate. His pale, nearly inhuman eyes swept across the interior before settling on the figure by the weapon racks. Two warriors in Blood Angel red stared at each other.
"Greetings," Mephiston said with a slow nod. His voice was deep, sounding as if it came from a distant abyss.
"Is there something you need?" Raldoron set down the bolter, his brow furrowed. He was confused—why had this junior sought him out? More importantly, how had he found him? To avoid unnecessary trouble, Raldoron had avoided revealing his presence to these successors of the M41 era. He knew that explaining resurrection was tedious. While Ferrus Manus had returned first, he understood that to these men, a Primarch was more of a religious icon than a physical entity. A Primarch's return brought inspiration without much question, but the return of an Astartes like himself would draw greater suspicion.
Raldoron had intended to remain unseen until their gene-father was restored. Did I fail to hide after all?
"I harbor doubts about your existence," Mephiston spoke slowly. "The markings on your armor are those of the Blood Angels Chapter, but I have never seen you among our ranks."
As the Chief Librarian and advisor to Dante, Mephiston had been tasked with investigating the "Archangel Reincarnation" event alongside Ferrus. His tone carried obvious suspicion. "Who exactly are you?"
Raldoron watched him, silent for a moment. Since he had been discovered, he saw no point in further concealment. His character did not allow him to hide the honors he bore.
"I am Raldoron. First Captain of the Blood Angels Legion, first Chapter Master of the Blood Angels, and Chief Advisor to Sanguinius," he said firmly, each title ringing with authority. As he spoke, his mind raced to think of how to prove his identity. It was a difficult task—who would believe a man dead for ten thousand years was standing before them?
However, Mephiston simply nodded slowly. He straightened, leaned his staff against a rack, and bowed his head in a standard salute of respect. "I see."
Raldoron: "???"
He just believes me? Raldoron felt a sense of frustration, like a powerful punch hitting soft cotton. The long explanation he had prepared was stuck in his throat.
"Forgive me, I had already surmised as much," Mephiston sighed, a glint of realization in his eyes. "I could perceive it through my psychic senses—you are essentially a being existing within the Warp, yet the Emperor's radiance blankets you. I have only seen such a condition in the Sanguinor." He paused and nodded to the elder again.
"You are indeed a fine Librarian," Raldoron remarked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Such psychic skill was impressive even to him; to perceive so much information in such a short time proved the strength of this junior.
"Thank you," Mephiston replied, though his expression soon turned solemn. "Forgive me, I actually came here with another question—one I felt compelled to ask." He chose his words carefully to be more tactful. "Do you think... Lord Ferrus's decisiveness and rapid pace might be a cause for concern?"
Mephiston recalled the start of this journey. The Primarch of the Iron Hands had bluntly abandoned the plan for a full fleet advance, proposing to Dante that he personally meet this "Primarch reincarnation." After Dante agreed, Ferrus had left his Gloriana-class battleship behind and boarded this single Battle Barge to race here at incredible speed.
Even more shocking to Mephiston was that Ferrus seemed to use an unknown technology that bypassed Warp travel entirely, hurtling through realspace at a staggering velocity to reach their destination in record time. But to leave the main fleet behind like this—was it not too reckless? Mephiston even had a blasphemous thought: Is this Istvaan repeating itself? In the Imperial records, he had read of that betrayal. Ferrus's current disregard for caution was exactly like the tales of old. Has his old flaw returned?
"Rest easy," Raldoron shook his head, his tone calm and certain. "Lord Ferrus has made sufficient preparations. You must trust the wisdom of a Primarch." He stepped forward, looking Mephiston in the eye.
"You may not have fought alongside a Primarch before. Let me tell you—you do not need to be a religious fanatic believing they are omnipotent; remember, Primarchs are men. But at the same time, trust in their capabilities." Raldoron's voice echoed in the armory, carrying a conviction that had not faded over ten millennia. "I have glimpsed some of Lord Ferrus's preparations. Even if the Great Enemy has laid a trap below, he will tear through it with ease."
Mephiston nodded slowly, the doubt in his eyes fading. Raldoron walked past him, leaving a final, calm statement.
"Fear not. Those heretics shall surely tremble in the punishment that is coming."