An unknown system. In orbit around an unnamed planet. The bridge of the Red Tear.
The soft light of the illuminators cascaded into every corner, yet failed to dispel the gloom hanging heavily over the command deck.
Sanguinius sat upon his command throne.
His long blonde hair fell neatly over his shoulders. His flawless face was entirely devoid of expression.
But those pale golden-amber eyes... The same eyes that used to burn with blistering martial intent whenever the Blood Angels charged into battle... Were currently fixed on the planet outside the viewport, a storm of complex emotions surging deep within his pupils.
"Titus..." he murmured, so softly that only he could hear it.
But that voice echoed across the silent bridge, reaching the ears of every high-ranking Blood Angel present.
Azkaellon stood on the right side of the dais. The crimson power armor of the Sanguinary Guard gleamed with a bloody luster under the illuminators. At his sides, his fists slowly clenched.
It had been twenty-three years.
He would never forget that battle. The warp rifts tearing open the City of the Holy Anthem, the swarming warp heretics, and that golden figure.
Demetrian Titus.
Custodian Tribune.
The man who had stepped in to help during the Blood Angels' most perilous moment. The warrior who had single-handedly turned the tide of battle.
Azkaellon remembered the image of that golden figure weaving through the demonic horde. He remembered the moment that battleaxe cleaved through the heretics' bodies, remembered the calm eyes of Titus when he looked back at them.
Those were the eyes of a comrade-in-arms. The eyes of a savior.
But only later did they learn the truth. The Custodian Guard had never housed a member named Demetrian Titus.
Azkaellon's nails dug into his palms. He didn't hate Titus. But he couldn't accept that this man had deceived his father. And because of this deception, his father had lost all the respect of the Emperor.
On the other side of the bridge, a ragged, heavy breath shattered the brief silence.
Nassir Amit.
Captain of the Blood Angels' Fifth Company, infamous for his explosive temper and suicidal combat style, known widely as the Flesh Tearer. His power armor still bore the scars of their most recent campaign—scorched bullet impacts and dried xenos blood. But right now, his rugged face burned with a fury hotter than any battlefield.
"Father," Amit rasped. "Once we find this Titus... I will personally rip his head off and offer it!" He rested his right hand on the hilt of his chainsword, his metal gauntlet scraping against the grip with a harsh, grating sound.
The bridge fell into a brief silence.
Raldoron stood beside Amit. The First Captain of the Blood Angels, one of the three great heroes of the Great Crusade, merely frowned slightly. He didn't speak. But his eternally calm eyes flickered with a complex light.
As First Captain, he was required to process all information within the Legion. Though he hadn't been present during that battle twenty-three years ago, he knew better than anyone just how strong this Titus was, purely from Azkaellon and Amit's after-action reports.
Soloing a massive warp entity. Flawlessly masquerading as a Custodian without detection.
An existence of that caliber...
Raldoron's gaze swept over the chainsword resting at Amit's waist, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. Amit, you absolute brute. You really will say anything.
Nearby, Dahka Berus slowly lifted his head. The leader of the Blood Angels' Wardens wore deep crimson robes that starkly contrasted with the armor of the other warriors. A bloody chalice emblem, the symbol of Warden authority, hung over his chest. His face looked older than anyone else's present, his eyes harboring the accumulated wisdom of countless years.
"Amit," Berus spoke, his voice elderly but carrying unquestionable authority. "Put away your sword. That man's strength far exceeds your imagination. Furthermore... he deceived us, yes, but he also saved us. Debts of gratitude and grievances cannot be settled through brute force."
Amit opened his mouth to argue, but upon meeting Berus's gaze, he ultimately snapped it shut.
The Wardens held a unique status within the Legion. They didn't participate in standard chain-of-command operations, but they were responsible for maintaining Legion traditions, monitoring gene-seed flaws, mentoring initiates, and executing martial law.
In other words... you never messed with a Warden. Otherwise, the day your gene-seed acted up or your neophytes suddenly found themselves going through hellish training regiments, you wouldn't even have a place to go cry about it.
Meros stood on the opposite side of the bridge, the Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels. He wore deep blue Librarian robes embroidered with the distinctive bloody chalice pattern of the Legion. His eyes, burning with psychic fire, stared out into space beyond the viewports, the faint ripples of the immaterium reflecting deep within his pupils.
He didn't say a word. But he could feel the confusion and the profound conflict warring within his father's heart.
Sanguinius remained seated on his throne. He listened to his sons' words, his flawless face utterly impassive. But when Dahka Berus mentioned that debts and grievances couldn't be settled with brute force, his brow twitched ever so slightly.
Then, he finally spoke.
His voice was gentle, yet it carried a soul-piercing weight that instantly silenced the entire bridge.
"The planet below," Sanguinius said calmly, as if the swirling maelstrom of complex emotions had never existed. "Has its purification and salvation been completed?"
Raldoron took a step forward, slamming his right fist against his breastplate. The metallic crash echoed across the bridge. "It has been completed, Father," he reported, his voice steady and methodical. "The primary resistance forces of the xenos civilization have been entirely eradicated. The remnants are currently undergoing carpet-sweeping extermination by the Imperial Auxilia. We estimate that within three months, not a single xenos will remain alive on this world. As for the subsequent reconstruction and governance, the accompanying Imperial administratum officials have already begun making arrangements. The Sector Governorship will dispatch a new Planetary Governor to take over, restructuring and developing the world according to standard Imperial protocols."
Sanguinius gave a small nod.
He looked out the viewport at the receding planet, a barely perceptible trace of exhaustion flashing deep within his eyes.
Another victory for the Blood Angels.
Another extermination for the Blood Angels.
Yet another xenos civilization ground to absolute dust beneath the iron hooves of the Imperium of Man.
This was the Great Crusade. This was the Emperor's Great Work.
He stood up. His golden power armor gleamed softly under the lights, and the folded, pure white wings resting against his back gave a slight tremble.
"Good," Sanguinius's voice echoed through the command deck, carrying the absolute majesty expected of a Primarch. "Prepare the fleet for departure. Destination... the Ultima Segmentum. The Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar. Macragge. I will travel to Aurelian IV alongside Guilliman. There will be no warp storms this time." His voice suddenly plunged into a freezing chill, as biting as the winter winds of Baal.
The bridge of the Red Tear fell into a brief silence.
Azkaellon's fists clenched even tighter.
A savage, feral smile crept onto Amit's lips.
Raldoron narrowed his eyes, a complicated gleam passing through his eternally calm gaze.
Dahka Berus lowered his head, a thousand unspoken thoughts settling in his ancient eyes.
Meros continued to stare out the window, his psychic-flame-lit eyes reflecting an omen... one that only he could see.
Sanguinius turned and looked out into the vast cosmos. His lips parted slightly, his voice so faint that only he could hear it. "Titus... who exactly are you? Why save my sons, only to deceive me? Why masquerade as a Custodian to my face, only to make me..."
He didn't finish the thought. But the folded white wings behind him twitched.
The voice of a Navigator rang out across the bridge. "Lord Sanguinius, the warp route has been calculated. Estimated travel time... twenty-seven days."
Sanguinius nodded. "Deploy."
The massive armada began to pivot. The crimson hulls bathed in the bloody glow of the starlight as the vast fleet slowly departed from the freshly purified world. The Red Tear led the vanguard, the double-headed aquila on its prow blazing brilliantly across the sea of stars.
Sanguinius stood before the observation deck, watching the stars drift further away.
He thought back to twenty-three years ago, in that demon-infested city. That golden figure. Those calm eyes. That Watcher's Axe cleaving through the body of a Greater Daemon.
He thought back to his return to Terra, and the absolute... humiliation of that moment he faced the Emperor.
Captain-General Constantin Valdor had personally confirmed it. The Custodian Guard had never housed a member named Demetrian Titus.
Never.
Sanguinius closed his eyes. For the first time, a flicker of... pain washed over his flawless face.
"You lied to me," his whisper echoed through the vast, empty space of the bridge. "To a Primarch who believed in you. A Primarch who treated you as a brother-in-arms."
He opened his eyes. Those irises, once as clear as the sunny skies of Chemos, now burned with a complicated light.
In his gaze lay anger, and confusion. And the sheer humiliation of being played for a fool.
"But I will find you," Sanguinius's voice hardened with resolve. "And then..."
He paused, leaving the sentence unfinished.
Because even he didn't know what he would do once he found the man.
Kill him in a fit of rage? The man had saved his life.
Let him walk free? He had deceived him, making him lose all dignity in front of his father.
Sanguinius took a deep breath, burying these thoughts deep within his heart.
Regardless, he needed to find him first.
The Blood Angels fleet accelerated, carving a path toward the Ultima Segmentum.
Straight toward Aurelian IV.
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