A/N:
Author's Note: Adrien's father's words at the beginning of this chapter is actually a quote by George S. Patton. I found it and felt it was fitting for the beginning segment of this chapter.

Also, there's a bit of a time-jump in this chapter.

Adrien's father had taught him: "The time to take counsel of your fears is before you make an important battle decision. That's the time to listen to every fear you can imagine! When you have collected all the facts and fears and made your decision, turn off all your fears and go ahead."

Those words had always stuck with Victus throughout his military career, but more so when he was promoted to general. They were words he did his best to live by and when Tarquin came of age, he would learn them too

'Did you think of them before you made your call, Tarquin?' He would never know.

As Adrien and Garrus put a whole meter between themselves and the exit at their backs, Victus found himself thinking those words now. Each and every krogan around them had the ability to cave in his exposed skull with one well-placed punch.

'And none of them look happy to see me.'

All around him, krogan ceased movement, pausing whatever task they had been performing to watch the two evidently suicidal turians enter their domain. Adrien didn't have to look to know that hundreds of eyes had narrowed with suspicion on Garrus and himself. There was no mistaking the collective viewpoint on their visit. It was an intrusion.

Victus ignored them. All of them. Instead, he and Garrus zeroed in on the first steel crate they saw and made their way toward it. They made sure to keep their stride relaxed and calm, as if strolling through a park and not through the potential death ring that they were. A symphony of aggressive grunts and growls erupted from the choir of living tanks as Adrien and Garrus began to root through the metal box as if to take stock of its contents. They would exchange quiet comments on the items they found like they were of some crucial significance and, most importantly, as if they owned it.

"We could use this drill gun," Garrus commented, but his sub-harmonics deciphered a message only Victus could understand.
"They really don't look happy," they whispered.

"We'll take this soldering iron too," he replied, but his own sub-harmonics sang,
"I know."

Garrus nodded his understanding and said, "kind of a shitty brand, but it'll do."
"You know, we could die in here."

"It'll have to."
"I know."

Garrus withdrew the soldering iron and drill gun and set them aside. He then reached inside for an extension cord and commented, "We'll take this too."
"After everything that's happened, dying in a smelly krogan holdout wasn't how I thought I'd go."

"Can never have enough extension cords."
"You can still leave. Run now and you might make it."

"Enough good extension cord, you mean. This one's clearly seen better days," and he wadded the mass of cord and threw it callously aside.
"And be known as the turian that left the Primarch to die? Not a chance."

Despite the situation, a smile tugged at Adrien's mandibles as he continued to rifle through the crates contents.

"Now this one. Much better." Garrus pulled up a second extension cord that had been coiled neatly at the bottom of the box.
"Looks like one's coming over."

"I know," both of his vocals spoke.

As he anticipated, one lone, big krogan separated himself from his agitated brethren and stomped his way toward the two turians. One quick glance was all that was needed to recognize the intentional show of strength and sheer size the krogan was putting on as he did so. As he grew closer, Victus decided that the word, 'big', was not accurate enough to describe him. He was absolutely massive.

The crown of plates protecting his skull shown a deep rust color in the afternoon sunlight and the hide of his face was colored a light shade of brown. A pair of yellow eyes, set in a scarred, grizzly face burned holes into the two turians as he grew ever nearer, quaking the ground slightly with each step.

'Wrex did say to find the biggest, meanest male. This must be my man.'

Before he'd even set foot in there, he had a rough plan of action. He generally avoided fighting krogan hand to hand when he could, but this certainly wouldn't be his first tangle with one. In order to have the best chance of survival during such a match up, he would have to make sure that each and every use of his energy counted. In contrast to his tactic, the krogan, Victus knew, need only grab him once.

"Don't think we don't know who you two are," he growled in a deep baritone that rivaled Wrex's in octave. "And don't, for a minute, think we care."

At the sound of his voice, The General stepped in and smothered his fear in the same way he would on a battlefield, making him grow cold and detached from the instincts that told him to run. He focused on controlling his breath and not on the hulk of destruction before him or how his heart hammered traitorously against his chest. He spared the krogan a brief, unimpressed look before lifting the crate to his chest. As he moved to pass the krogan for the exit behind him, a large hand rose to bump solidly into the crate, pushing it in against Victus' chest.

As he predicted.

"I don't know where you think you're going with that, Primarch ," the brute sneered the title. "But that's my crate you're holding."

'Turn off all your fears, and go ahead.'

Victus didn't need a mirror to know his face gave away nothing. He kept his visage as calm and stoic as he possibly could while he slowly lowered the crate to the ground. He watched for the instant the bottom met the broken street the walls encircling them had been built on. From above, he heard a deep chortle from the mountainous man. Then he noticed his weight shifting, the krogan moving his upper body over Victus' bowed frame, just enough to cast a shadow over him. It was clearly a position to radiate his dominance over the turian leader.

"That's what I thought," he heard him gloat.

The General had control and he knew how to convert his body into a lethal weapon. A split second was all he needed for his honed muscles to jerk his frame back up, using his lowered position to violently slam the hardest part of his browplate into the soft, unprotected face beneath the krogan's thick, rusty crown. It hurt, but by the way the krogan roared and recoiled, it hurt him even more. Utilizing the kind of quick reflexes only years of experience could harness, the General drew his gun. It twitched toward his opponent's face, the eye being a habitual target, but he reined in his arm, firing a shot right into the middle of the three-toed boot instead.

The krogan's roar turned into something akin to a scream and he raised his arms in an attempt to attack, but pain blinded him. The General dodged two punches that would have caved in his head and then swiftly stepped aside just in time before the mad krogan lowered himself to charge, throwing all eight-hundred-pounds barreling past him. His injured foot would soon start to regenerate, but as it was now, it proved unable to support the man's weight and he buckled after a short distance, catching himself on one knee.

Seeing the krogan lurch and lumber for purchase to pull himself back up, the world blurred at his visual edges as Victus darted towards him before he could succeed. He stepped up behind the downed krogan, making sure to stay out of his reach, to extend his arm down to grasp the krogan's head. He sunk his claws beneath the rim of the krogan's plate where it met his face. In the back of his mind, he recognized that this grab was a common torture tactic used by krogans on turians. The irony was not lost on him.

Victus heaved, yanking the heavy head back to bring the krogan's eyes up to meet the golden sky above before he brought his own head down to collide his browplate into the krogan's face for a second time. He released him quickly and stepped away so as not to get grabbed as the krogan groped at his injured face, orange blood seeping through his hands. With his head still tilted back and only one good foot to use for purchase, the krogan's immense weight was shifted backwards. This upset his center of balance and brought him slumping back onto his hump.

It was only after he'd subdued his opponent did Victus finally notice that none of the krogan around him had moved to help. They just watched with rapt attention on the brawl, eager to see who would come out on top in the end. To them, this wasn't personal. This was simply diplomacy at work. He raised his pistol, which had yet to leave his hand, and leveled it with the back of his opponent's hands as they continued to shield his face.

"That is my crate," Victus finally spoke to the krogan. He knew precisely the amount of authority that laced his voice. "This is my compound. This is my planet. And you," he growled, the word leaving his chest wrapped in a deep rumble, "are my guest."

Victus paused, allowing the echo of his voice to linger between him and his adversary. In the silence, their gazes locked. The krogan's eyes peered from the tops of his shielding hands while Victus' were completely unobscured and sharp in their intensity.

"You will act like it. No longer will you and your brethren shit in buckets and pour it out on the street. This eyesore-" He motioned to the walls around them with his free hand. "-will be torn down by days end because I demand it. Consider yourself, and every krogan here civilians to my empire and you will be treated as such."

Victus extended a hand to the prone man on the ground, knowing exactly the risk he put himself in by doing so.

"Know that until the day comes when you leave my planet..." and by the look the krogan gave him, he knew it went without saying, but he would anyway. "I am the Hierarchy. I am your Primarch."

A deafening silence fell around them. He could feel the hundreds of eyes on them, but he dared not look away from the krogan before him. The seconds ticked by in heartbeats. It must have been around the sixteenth or seventeenth heartbeat when the krogan broke their unblinking stare first. He glanced down at the barrel still aimed closely at his face and then his eyes settled on the turian hand still outstretched and waiting.

Victus didn't move. His eyes watched every muscle twitch of the krogan below him. He knew without looking that his injured foot would already be clotting any second now and then it would only be minutes for it to return to use again. He had his tactic planned out if that happened. He felt ready for anything the krogan would throw at him. Anything, except the huge, toothy grin that broke across the gnarled landscape of the krogan's face, his teeth stained a citrus orange.

"Well, I'll be damned," he rumbled. "Looks like the Primarch's got a quad after all," and he reached up and took hold of Victus' offered hand and allowed himself to be helped up.

It wouldn't be until he and Garrus had seated themselves in his car and he got it off the ground that he released the pent-up breath of air he'd been holding in his lungs. He allowed his frame to deflate in his seat as his adrenaline left his body and relief washed over him like a warm shower.

"There it is," Garrus quipped, as he eyed him expectantly, a slight smirk on his face. "I was wondering how long you'd last. And I must say, Primarch, your face has never looked better."

Victus' eyes flickered to the mirror to take in his appearance. Orange blood coated his face, obscuring the majority of his tattoos. In some places, the trickles had turned a sickly green color as it mixed with some of his own spent blue blood. He used his finger as a wiper blade to clear some of the blood from his face, wincing when it smarted his overly sensitive nose. Any of the swelling that had gone down after his fight with Garrus was already returning in full force.

He had nothing to offer in response except a short, ragged breath of laughter.

The press had a field day.

"This," Han began, holding up a data pad of the day's news, "Is what I meant when we discussed publicity stunts." It was hard to tell if he was upset or pleased. Victus wondered if even the volus knew.

Sure enough, he and Garrus had both been sighted entering and exiting the krogan walls. And of course they zoomed in on his face as they left, making a prominent show of the orange blood that had painted his brow and ran down his face. Scrolling down the datapad, that picture was followed by a clip of the walls crashing down later that evening. There were several more articles on it, some labeling him a reckless warhead, hellbent on dragging Palaven back to the dark ages, but most were positive. Too positive, in Victus' opinion, going as far as to label him a modern-age conquering war hero that enforced peace. One or two, to his chagrin, even went as far as to use the word ' kaisar .' That, he knew, he would hear about when next he would gather with his Hierarchy Advisors.

It would be weeks before news would die down about it and Victus was glad when it finally did. The krogan were moved into better lodgings and were treated as citizens to the empire rather than barely tolerated guests and they seemed to appreciate that. Some still kept to themselves and Victus made sure to check up on them often to make sure they stayed out of trouble. Others branched out and even began to volunteer time to help rebuild. Some even found employment, mostly as heavy laborers.

Most surprising of all was when the krogan he had fought, whom he learned went by Jorgal Naash, put in a formal request to speak with Victus in his office and offered his services as a bodyguard. A 'krantt' he called it. Victus was dubious at the offer at first, but seeing as Attilia had returned to her station with the Black Watch and the media was starting to become far more annoying, he reluctantly agreed. However, his tune changed immediately after the first time Naash walked in during the tail-end of a Hierarchy meeting. Weeks later, it would bring a seemingly random smile to Adrien's face when he would remember the comically alarmed expressions on his advisers faces. He recalled the way Trella Mardex leapt to her feet and drew her pistol and even Lucso Saberius' hand stilled its incessant tapping.

Naash ignored them as he moved toward Victus, the floor thudding loudly under each step he took. He held out a fist and then opened it to present a tiny, crushed electronic device.

"Caught some pyjacks trying to stick this bug on your car," he rumbled.

"I hope you didn't hurt them too badly," Victus responded as he pinched the bug between his thumb and forefinger to dangle the device in front of his eyes to get a better look at it.

"Didn't have to," he grunted, smiling with pride. "They got one look at me and scrammed."

"Appreciated."

Victus watched the krogan leave and as he turned his eyes back toward the now downright incredulous faces of his advisers, he grinned and quipped, "Sweet guy."

With the reenactment of the V.F.I, more businesses began to open, and credits began to circulate again. Slowly but surely, Palaven's economy was dragging itself back up from the financial abyss. As if by reflection of that, the rebuilding efforts of all the major cities quadrupled with the help of the krogan and after two months, Han declared 65% of Cipritine rebuilt. Of course, some cities were irreparable. Whole towns turned to black ash with no other option than to level them and start anew.

Garrus had gotten to work with his Reaper task force, which consisted primarily of new members with the exception of two souls that had survived the war. The relief in Garrus sub-harmonics when he had learned of their survival was palpable. Indeed, he seemed to have bonded with them during their time together leading up to the Reaper invasion. Victus supposed he saw why considering they were one of the few people who believed Garrus about the Reapers when few did and were willing to commit themselves to his command. Together with his task force, they had successfully tracked down dozens of fallen Reapers and continued to find more almost daily.

There were a lot of them.

In addition to his work with his task force, and if his schedule allowed, he began to sit in on some of the Hierarchy meetings. Though Victus suspected that Garrus would ultimately decline his position as next in line in the meritocracy, Victus was glad to see he was at least taking the idea seriously. In the event Garrus did decline, Victus reasoned that he would just bring Castis in instead. He would likely always remember walking beside Garrus after he had sat in on a meeting for the first time. As they made their way down the hall, away from the meeting room, a suppressed chortle pulled Victus' eyes to the younger turian that walked beside him. When Garrus caught his eye, he began to fail in his endeavor to subdue his chuckle, though he continued to try. After making it three-fourths of the way down the corridor, the dam broke and Garrus rolled his head back, laughing boisterously.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he gasped out, waving a hand in a mollifying gesture. "I'm just... thinking of how-" he broke off to vent more laughter from his system before continuing, "-my dad would have reacted years ago if someone told him his ne'er-do-well son would be sitting in on a Hierarchy meeting by the time he reached his mid-thirties."

Victus tried to keep his face straight, but the laughter proved to be too contagious and he felt his mandibles pull into a smile.

It was a proud moment when he stood aboard the Vitaez with Garrus and the men and women of his task force, watching the first Reaper they had rocketed out of Palaven's atmosphere and sent it on a collision course with Trebia. It had been the same one he had discovered lying next to the ruins of his old home. They watched for as long as they could through a porthole, but when the Reaper became a tiny speck in the blackness of space, they had to settle for a holographic display that calculated the Reapers movement and when it would enter within range to be destroyed by the star.

The holo was set in a table and as they gathered around it, no one said a word as the blue dot that represented the Reaper grew closer and closer to the white ball that represented Trebia. Even the dreadnought's crew sat motionless in their seats, their eyes locked on their screens to watch their own viewing. The atmosphere was thick with tension, as if they expected the Reaper to suddenly reactivate and save itself. Victus shuddered at the thought.

It didn't. In reality, the display was unimpressive. It was as simple as the blue dot existing one moment and then blinking out the next, but the impact it had on Victus left him gripping the edge of the table, a heavy sigh of relief escaping him. It was as if Trebia had acted on behalf of the lifeforms that evolved around it, taking sweet revenge on an enemy that dared to threaten them. How he wished he could have watched it disintegrate up close.

He glanced up and found Garrus reacting in a similar way, but where Victus found triumph, Garrus found grief. His eyes were closed and his head hung in a way that made Victus think he was giving his own silent eulogy. By the tightness of his throat, he could tell that he was suppressing his sub-vocals, keeping them from singing the dirge. Of course he knew it wasn't for the Reaper. He didn't need to ask who it was for.

Later, Victus would find him in the forward battery, sitting alone on a crate with a half empty bottle in his hand. He looked up at him as he entered, obviously drunk, but Victus was pleased to see no trace of cloudiness in his eyes.

"Hey," The younger turian greeted without an ounce of formality. He was simply a man greeting an old friend and not a soldier addressing a Primarch, which Adrien was thankful for. He grabbed a crate for himself and dragged it over to Garrus, positioning it beside him before sitting down.

"Willing to share some of that?" Adrien asked and Garrus wordlessly passed the bottle to him. He took one gulp, relishing the feeling of fire in his throat before he passed it back to Garrus and waited quietly. He occupied his mind by playing the holographic sun swallowing up the tiny Reaper dot like a vid on repeat over and over again. After several minutes, his patience was rewarded as Garrus decided to speak.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to drag the mood down back there. It's just... it wasn't what I anticipated." He took another swig from the bottle, pausing to map out his words before continuing. "I guess I expected to feel happy or triumphant, but... I didn't."

His blue eyes shifted to stare blankly at the metal floor. "She and I spent so much time trying to figure out a way to destroy those things. So many sleepless nights. In the end, all it took was rocket fuel, some calculations on a screen, and a chunk of credits to make one disappear... like it never existed at all. Like she..."

Garrus didn't even bother to stop them as his sub-vocals rang with mourning. He placed the bottle on the floor at his feet before he crumpled, his face finding refuge in the palms of his hands. It was then Victus felt, dare he thought, a paternal stirring in his chest as he watched the younger turian shake with grief.

Before his brain could catch up with him, his hand gripped Garrus' shoulder and he began to hum a comforting vibration.

"I know it hurts," Victus murmured. "You can let it out."

His only response was a low keen that gripped his heart. Adrien tightened his hold on Garrus' shoulder while he waited for the trembling to stop and when it eventually did and Garrus composed himself again, Adrien said, "you don't have to watch the others when they go up."

Garrus shook his head.

"No," he said, his voice suddenly resolved. "I have to."

And he did.

They sent two more up by the end of the month and Garrus was present for both. His reaction was the same for the second Reaper, if anything a little subdued, but Adrien sat with him in the forward battery all the same. By the third one, he was far more composed, having conquered at least one more climb up his mountain of pain in his quest to move on with his life without his mate. It was a struggle Adrien remembered all too well.

It was six weeks after the third Reaper had been launched when he received word that the Aralakh mass relay was functioning once again, which meant the occupying krogan could at last be sent home. Of course, things are rarely so easy, for he was surprised to discover that some of the krogan simply didn't want to leave. He was afraid of something like that happening, but never gave it much thought because why would a krogan want to stay on Palaven?

Apparently Naash did, and the look of betrayal that he gave Victus actually managed to yank strings of sympathy within the Primarch.

"Have I not been a good enough krantt?" He asked.

"No!" Victus was quick to reply. "You've been a great krantt!"

"I don't understand," Naash stated, his hands opening at his sides in a puzzled gesture. His voice had taken on the saddest tone Adrien had ever heard from a krogan in his life.

"It's complicated, Naash," Victus responded, pointedly ignoring the way this conversation was beginning to sound like a breakup between lovers.

"We've been behaving ourselves. I've made sure of it," Naash reasoned.

Victus was just going to have to say it.

"The krogan are cured now, Naash, which is what complicates things. Your females can have up to a thousand eggs in one year. The fact of the matter is I can't have tens of thousands of krogan over-populating Palaven. My people can't afford that."

"You're worried about us starting families here?"

"Yes."

"You wouldn't have to worry about that with my mate and I," Naash pressed, earnestly.

With a sympathetic look, Victus replied with, "Don't you want to go start a family?"

Naash shrugged before explaining, "Well, I never really thought a family would be in the cards for us. On Tuchanka, all children are raised with the females in their clans, which means adoption was never an option. My mate and I are both male, so we're not having any of our own."

"Wait, you're-"

"Gay. Yeah."

"I didn't know," was his lame reply. In actuality, he had never even entertained the thought that krogan could have different sexual preferences. Every one he'd met had always been bitter about the genophage so he just poorly assumed they were all heterosexual.

Naash nodded, as if expecting his answer.

"It's something my mate and I learned to keep quiet a long time ago. Since the genophage, same-sex coupling has been-uh... frowned upon in krogan culture. Many clans see it as selfish and... ' detrimental to our race's survival ,'" he bit the last part out as if the words were a poison he's had to swallow for years. His face twisted with anger as he undoubtedly recalled a bitter memory. "It's even worse for our women."

"You don't think it will improve now that the genophage is cured?"

Naash scoffed.

"I don't know. Maybe. The thing is, I don't care. We started building a life here, Primarch. My mate -his name's Toxx- has started working construction. He's already made some friends and your people don't care if someone's gay or not. And I like being your krantt. You got a lot of people coming around that need scarin' off and I'm happy to do it." He grinned at Victus and continued with, "We're happier here than we ever were at that shit-hole, Tuchanka. You strolling into that compound and shooting me in the foot was one of the best things to ever happen to me."

'Fuck me,' Adrien thought to himself, exacerbated. He was not looking forward to discussing this in the next meeting with the Hierarchy.

He did, and after going back and forth with them for hours they had reached a tentative compromise. In recognition for the krogan that had fought for Palaven during the invasion they, and only them, could stay as citizens to the Hierarchy if they wished. However, in doing so, they would agree to forego their right to repopulate. If they wanted children, they would have to leave and raise them elsewhere.

Victus would be lying if he said he was disappointed that most of the krogan ultimately decided to leave. The thought of finally being able to start families of their own was far too alluring. Fewer krogan on Palaven would make his job slightly easier and Naash seemed content enough with the outcome.

"Maybe adoption is a possible option after all," Naash mused when he heard the news. "Wouldn't have to be a krogan. I'm sure there's plenty of turian orphans right now that could use a papa. How much safer can a kid get when they've got two krogan to call dad."

"One thing at a time, Naash."

As more relays opened, so too did his connection with the other turian colonies. Or... what was left of them. Before the war, there were fourteen Primarchs, and one Chief Primarch, which is Victus' technical title because he is the Primarch in charge of the homeworld. The other Primarchs had jurisdiction over Cannis, Edessan, Epyrus, Baetika, Farin II, Gothis, Macedyn, Oma Ker, Pulan, Quadim, Silona, Solregit, Taetrus and last, and perhaps most infamous of all, Invictus.

Of the fourteen, only nine Primarchs lived to see the end. Of those nine, two of them, Invictus and Solregit, were more Separatist in nature. While Invictus has been a clusterfuck for centuries now, it could be argued that Solregit was considered Separatist only recently. Throughout history, the ruling loyalist Primarchs have faced heavy adversity with Solregit's mixed population of Loyalists and Separatists, who called themselves the Sundowners. During the Invasion, Solregit cycled through several Primarchs, each one systematically succumbing to indoctrination. When the office fell to Mayor Selene Khairus, she made a statement saying, "I can no longer trust the loyalty or stability of my surviving staff. Therefore, I am exercising the powers under the War Measures Act to choose a successor outside the standard lineage." That was how, Victus was shocked to learn, the Primarchy transferred to Louki Fidele of the Sundowners following Khairus' death three months into the War.

Victus' platoon tangled with the Sundowners several times over the years, including skirmishes that involved Fidele himself. One such encounter with Victus' men cost Fidele his left leg. After that, Hierarchy intel gathered that while he was unable to fight on foot with his men, he continued to take part in assaults as a vehicle operator before assuming a command position.

'And now we face each other again as Primarchs,' Victus mused to himself with no small amount of distaste as he stepped into the communication chamber. 'This will prove interesting.'

His deep-rooted ire for the new Primarch of Solregit could only be surpassed by his complete and utter detestation for the Primarch of Invictus, Devius Agoril. Out of the millions of words in the Imperan language, Victus could see no way to combine them in such a way to describe just how much he wanted to beat that man with the first blunt object within reach. He deserved no more than a swift execution for his treasonous behavior during the invasion. It was fortunate for him that their first meeting would be over holographic connection because Victus knew his short limits for patience would result with the man's death.

From outside, Solana established the communication and, after several seconds, the Primarchs began to appear sporadically around him. They stood in their own communication chambers so that their images transmitted in a way that made them appear almost physical. Victus took a moment to take them in. Some of them he admired even before working with them directly during the war. Primarchs Hadriana Nyx of Edessan, Tabris Rumix of Gothis and Caeltus Octaso of Baetika made tenacious and inspiring leaders during the war. The Primarchs of Farin II, Oma Ker, Pulan, and Taetrus were new, having been elected by their officials recently during the communication black out.

Then his eyes swept ominously over the five empty spots where the Primarchs of the ill-fated colonies of Cannis, Epyrus, Macedyn, Silona, and Quadim would have stood. In particular, his eyes lingered on the place where he knew the Primarch of Macedyn, Tacia Paetril would have stood. Macedyn had put up a valiant fight, but the unrelenting Reapers eventually secured their victory over the colony. Rather than provide the Reapers with more husk fodder to bolster their ranks with, Primarch Paetril made the call to drop nukes on her own people, denying the enemy their victory spoils. She could have escaped, but she chose to die along with her people. She had a communication line open with Victus when she'd made the call.

Sometimes at night, he could still hear the gun she had raised to her own skull right after apologizing to him and wishing him luck.

"If it isn't the Hierarchy's pet varren himself!"

'So that's how it's going to be.' Victus' focus shifted to the one-legged turian that stood with the use of a prosthetic. Louki Fidele met his eyes, his expression one of barely suppressed contempt. The stark tattoos on Fidele's face reflected not of the official Solregit markings, but those of his Sundowners.

The original founders of Solregit's Hierarchy population adopted a full-face solar-burst tattoo design. Over time, the solar-burst changed and evolved, reflecting the way the planet began to divide both geologically and politically between the Loyalist south and the Separatist north. The northerners began placing solar-ray patterns on their fringes and starbursts on their browplates, eventually dropping the top half of the rays entirely, so they'd stand out from the Loyalist south.

Fidele had one horizontal red ray over his mandibles, and one from his eyes to the upper lip, representing the bottom half of the sun; tying in with the name, Sundowners . Additionally, he had a set of jaws painted around his real mouth, "battle teeth," they called them. It was an old tradition dating back to the Unification Wars. The battle teeth are painted over the lower lip of their soldiers, extending the vertical ray from the top lip onto the bottom lip, but only for a blooded veteran. From Victus' own experience with the man, he certainly was.

"Fidele," Victus acknowledged him with a smile he knew didn't meet his eyes. "It's been too long. How's the leg?" He gestured to the prosthetic that supported the weight of his old rival.

Fidele spared his prosthetic a brief glance as he chuckled darkly.

"From what I hear, it's doing about as well as your son." Victus caught himself before the sting of the exposed nerve showed on his face.

"I disagree. I lost my son to an honorable death for a worthy cause. You lost your leg to a misguided pipe dream you continue to cling to like a child afraid to grow up and face reality." If there was any way to piss off a Separatist, it's to point out the futility of their pointless cause.

Fidele's eyes burned and he opened both his physical and painted jaws to spout his retort.

"I'm sure a petty man like you would consider the loss of a limb some sort of great victory, but-"

Victus moved quickly into Fidele's holographic face, his mandibles mere inches from the double jaws of his adversary. A feral smile spread across his own visage as he said, "I admit, it's a memory I stroke myself to nightly."

"Charming," Primarch Hadriana Nyx chastised, sub-vocals humming with disapproval. "Are you two Primarchs or children?"

"He's no Primarch," growled the only man in the room Victus hated more than the Sundowner before him; Devius Agoril.

Victus immediately reined himself in. It was one thing to posture -and really, that's what is was- in front of Fidele; a man he considered an old rival, but grudgingly respected... in a way. If there was anything positive to be said about Louki Fidele, it was that he hadn't done any real harm to the people below him. In fact, he seemed to be making an effort to be neutral, treating both the Separatists and Loyalists of Solregit equally. Loss of life and damage to infrastructure on the colony, while substantial, was still below average compared to the other colonies. According to his supporters, his success is largely credited to his "lifetime of experience in fighting a technologically and numerically superior foe." In short, Fidele wasn't a complete waste of air and actually proved himself useful during the war. Victus no longer had a reason to kill him and Fidele knew that.

Agoril, though, was a different story. If not for his title, Victus would deem it unnecessary to acknowledge the traitor's existence at all. He forced himself still, his eyes cold and void of emotion as he turned them onto the Invictus Primarch. While Fidele didn't bother to hide his dislike for Victus, he had still made an effort to uphold a confident and professional stance. Probably due to their albeit bloody, but long history with each other. They knew the other's strengths and capabilities and that brought with it a silent and reluctant respect that they shared. All of that was absent in the Invictus Primarch. He looked just as eager to kill Victus.

Victus could tell he had more to say, so he waited. Not as a polite gesture, but as a show of dominance. Agoril could continue because he allowed it.

"Like it or not, Agoril," Nyx growled, conveying her own loathing for the man, "You are addressing the Chief Primarch."

"Chief Primarch," he sneered. "He's barely fit to lead a group of greenhorns, let alone us. He's a farce!"

The loyalist Primarchs visibly bristled at the accusation of a superior. Victus held up a hand, staving off any shots. Agoril continued.

"The war's over now, Victus. Going to return my troops any time soon?" He asked with a condescending tilt of his head. The two simple strokes of purple on his mandibles shone florescent as they caught the lighting in the chamber.

"If they wish it. Many of them seem quite content."

"You're holding them hostage," Agoril accused.

"I've done no such thing, though I have executed the deserters that ceased fire on our enemies, and allowed civilians to be captured. An order given by their Primarch, I understand."

"Only after you refused to return my forces when I needed them!" He snapped.

Victus felt his cold anger begin to simmer and he took a step toward Agoril's holographic self.

"I kept a close watch on Invictus as I did with every colony," A low, feral rumble began to emit from the depths of Victus' chest. "Your world never fell under the kind siege the others had. As Palaven had. So yes. I denied your inane requests time and again because I could not spare the resources when my other worlds needed them more, as I told you."

He was now inches from Agoril's mandibles, burning holes into his head with his amber eyes. " You-" the word came out in the form of snarl, like an insult. "-ordered your troops to cease fire on our enemies. At the time, I thought you had been indoctrinated. That no one would be that stupid ,-" his growl grew louder, and his jaw slackened of its own accord in a threatening display of his teeth. How he wished he could rip his throat out. "-that cowardly. You might as well of fucked us over yourself."

Victus gestured to the empty spots where five other Primarchs would have stood, his eyes never breaking from Agoril's. He ended his tirade there, allowing the unspoken word 'traitor' to float in the minds around him.

"Don't you dare pin that on me," he seethed. "The only traitor in here is you , Victus. You diverted forces to help client races over your own people!"

"They are my people too."

"Is that what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night?" He laughed. "All you cared about was Palaven and some volus on their backwater planet."

"Palaven is the heart of our entire empire."

"And what's a heart without its limbs?"

"What's a limb without blood pumping through it?" All eyes turned to the turian that cut in. Louki Fidele took in the stares, his eyes alert, but his posture eased as he watched Victus and his fellow Separatist. Victus and Agoril met his gaze, both shocked, but for different reasons. Victus for his unexpected support. Agoril for his unexpected betrayal. Fidele shrugged before he quipped, "Trust me. I know the answer to that."

In a later moment, at a later time, Victus would think back on that and laugh as he shared the memory with Garrus. Right now though, he was far too angry to even fake a smile.

"Your line isn't even of Palaven!" Agoril blustered as he tried to regain some lost ground. "Your family is of Invictus!"

It was a true enough statement. Victus' family had been one of the first settlers on the colony world, hence his name, but that was centuries ago. His clan had long since dropped the four simple purple strokes of the Invictus tattoo for the grand, full face sweeps of Palaven's. He considered Invictus about as much a part of him as he considered the other colony worlds.

"And we -" Victus spread his arms, gesturing to all the Primarchs that watched their argument from their colony worlds light years away "-are all of Palaven."

His posture deflated from confident to defeated as soon as the communication was cut and the lights died around him, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He took a private moment to lower himself to the cold metal floor in the middle of the chamber so he could reflect on his encounter and the sobering realization of the outcome. He felt older than he had in years.

After his confrontation with Agoril died down, they had moved on to discussing the statuses of the colony worlds and plans to restore the lost ones. Once that business was taken care of, they had come down to the last scheduled topic for the evening.

He had been officially voted in to represent the entire turian race as the new Citadel Councilor.

It sickened him when it came back as almost unanimous. Even Louki Fidele cast his vote for him and Victus couldn't shake the feeling that he did so as a slight. His own twisted cut for revenge because he knew how much Victus wouldn't want the position.

"It's not fair," he said quietly, but aloud to himself, knowing exactly how juvenile he sounded. He was still learning to be a Primarch. Not only that, he was learning to enjoy it and take pride in it. Find peace in it. He felt he was only just starting to get good at the job when yet another rug was yanked out from underneath him. He thought of the faces in the crowd that smiled at him, that shared their grief with him. Their hope in him. He didn't want to leave them.

He knew he could refuse the vote and he had time to think on it. Restoration of the Citadel had been predicted to take another year, at least. He hadn't even elected a Vice Primarch yet and his next-in-line was a man who wanted the job even less than he did. Yet, a traitorous voice echoed in his thoughts.

'You knew this would happen.' It said. 'Who else did you honestly think they would pick? Of all the Primarchs, you've garnered the most experience working alongside other races. It has to be you.'

His fist cracked as it slammed into the metal floor. The pain did nothing to abate his stormy mood.

When Victus at long last stepped out of the communication chamber, he felt both physically and emotionally drained. As he rounded the chamber, Solana looked up at him from her desk with a face he wasn't prepared for, stopping him in his tracks. It was sympathy. Had she been watching him?

"Your office, sir," was all she said. It was all she needed to say for his stomach to instantly drop uncomfortably under the sheer sobriety of her tone. There was something there that made him worry. Made him feel like he had to hurry.

Without a single look backwards, he turned away from her and darted from the room, running as fast as he could to his office. He typed in the door's password in his omni-tool as he ran and it flew open to him before he was even halfway down the corridor. When he stepped into the room, his eyes flickered to his desk where he found Han waiting for him. He didn't know how long he had been waiting, but that was a thought for another time because Adrien's amber eyes sought the item the volus held carefully in his small arms.

Adrien's body froze in place as his brain registered the shape of the object.

An urn.