Star Souls X

Snorri wasn't sure what to make of the Sigillite. He couldn't even bring himself to think of him as his father. He wasn't like his mother or like the parents of other boys that he knew. If he were to be honest, he'd have preferred to have a cooler father, one who didn't look old and could take him somewhere interesting. Instead, they just met in the Sigillite's study roughly once a month, something Snorri was quite grateful for: it was enough that he had to fidget and listen to an old man. At least this way none of his friends would see him talk about the sort of stuff that interested old administrators.

"How is school?" the Sigillite asked.

"Fine," Snorri replied almost reflexively. Mother wouldn't have asked like that, but then mother knew what he was learning. He supposed the Sigillite did not know it.

"Did you learn anything interesting lately?" The next question was accompanied with what could be best described as kind, grandfatherly smile.

"Earth used to have oceans, did you know that?" Snorri answered almost without thinking. That had been fascinating: the world he lived on used to be vibrant and full of life, and then there were wars, and it wasn't anymore.

"I've seen the last one, before it evaporated," the Sigillite said. The grandfatherly smile was replaced by a different, more wistful one.

"What was it like?" Snorri asked. He'd seen a few reproductions of old paintings and picts, but from all of the descriptions, he somehow had expected something grander. Not just blue, or blue-green, or green, or grey water on and on.

"Big, wet and rather toxic, by the end," the Sigillite replied. "Nowadays, it's mostly a symbol of what had been destroyed. It's by far not the only thing, and certainly not the most important." He paused and looked at Snorri searchingly. "Do you know how much was lost during the Long Night?"

Snorri considered his answer—was this a prelude to hearing more about the oceans, or maybe on how they were lost, or would there be some boring old people stuff? It did seem that he was expected to participate and provide some sort of reply, so he hazarded an "A lot?" It earned him an arched eyebrow.

"A succinct answer to a complex question," the Sigillite said. "But I suppose for you it should matter that we will recover what was lost."

The boy remained puzzled, starting to feel as if he was missing a significant part of the conversation. He really preferred talking with mother—she didn't make him feel completely confused.

"I believe you will have homework to do," the Sigillite said. "Don't let me detain you."

Snorri decided not to think about why the Sigillite's words made him uneasy and all but fled.

Atharva regarded the boy. Though young, he was tall and already showing signs that as an adult he would be powerfully-built. He wasn't as pale as a native Fenrisian, and his hair was dark, but one could still see the heritage of the icy death world in him. Compared to his older brother, he was definitely a lot less… volatile. Given that he had grown up on Terra and was familiar with a civilised society, it was to be expected.

There was a sense of unease about the boy, too. Atharva had to wonder if he was uneasy in the presence of a psyker, or if it was something else. He knew that the Wolves of Fenris were peculiar when it came to those with psychic gifts, and he couldn't help but wonder if the boy's mother would have taught him such prejudice even on Terra. Or was it the instinctive antipathy that he had been told could crop up between his Legion and the Rout?

Still, he needed to focus on his task—Snorri's prejudices, if there were any, were not relevant in any way.

"Try to relax," he said, and smiled at the boy.

The smile that Snorri returned had something of a nervous grimace in it, but Atharva chose to ignore it and act as if it had been perfectly genuine. There was no sense in embarrassing or antagonizing the boy, after all.

He focused and tried to glean a better sense of the boy's Warp presence. The first thing he read were Snorri's emotions, but he did not dwell on them. Instead, he tried to probe deeper and see the power that was housed in the boy. It was not as blinding as that of the Princess, nor as wild as that of the Fenrisian Stormqueen. It was… frantic? There was a sense of constant motion, energy and movement.

But it was nothing like the presence of a psyker.

In retrospect, he supposed it was obvious—the boy's soul was not in the Warp, though it did influence it heavily. It echoed, like that of any human being, save for perhaps the Silent Sisters—it spilled into it and radiated like a small star, but the boy could neither absorb the powers of the Aether, nor channel them.

In short, although Snorri's father was one of the most powerful psykers in the Imperium, the boy was most certainly not one.

Alvar Bulveyesson had always been in a unique situation. He had railed against it and sometimes still felt pangs of shame when he thought back to his first visit to Terra and the damage he had done. Still, he couldn't decline meeting Snorri – who besides him would understand the challenges the boy faced, when he grew up under the surgical sight of the Terran Adepts and in the shadow of such unique parents?

Not only was his mother the Bellatrix Iovialis, but his father was the Sigillite, the Regent of Terra and one of the most powerful psykers humanity had ever produced. And that wasn't enough: his newest brother was the Bellator Apis, and it seemed like he was going to be the last Terran Wolf, if he lived through the trials. Alvar had to wonder how a child of the Sigilite would do—would his father's blood be a blessing, a curse or neither? Would the blood of Fenris balance the fact that the boy's father was glorified witch-scribe?

The boy he met appeared to be small—but then he supposed it was him, who was huge, and Snorri was probably at least average in size. It had been such a long time since he had to evaluate how tall a child was, he barely had any points of reference.

"Hello," Snorri said, which was not exactly the greeting Alvar was used to either.

"Hello," he replied, feeling rather silly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, and you?" Snorri replied.

"I'm good as well," Alvar said and realized he was running out of social conventions. He could have asked Snorri how he dealt with being a specimen to be experimented on, but that wouldn't have been diplomatic. So he shut up and waited for the boy to come up with a question.

"What is it like being a Space Marine?" Snorri asked, saving Alvar from the burden of finding a new topic for conversation, and instead forcing him to analyze what he was.

"It's..." he paused, considering his words. "It's not easy—you are forever moving from one place to another, and you have to fight countless foes. But you will also know glory that mortal men cannot share—you will fight battles they could never possibly win. And you will know brotherhood that goes beyond mortal bonds of family."

In retrospect, a speech like that was not exactly the best explanation for a boy of Snorri's age. Alvar could see the confusion in the boy's expression and wondered how best to explain to a child.

"You can see that I'm much bigger than other adults," he finally said. "I'm also far stronger and faster. I have better hearing, better eye-sight and a better sense of smell." Those were obvious things, but he supposed he needed to start somewhere. "In consequence, I suppose I see the world differently. When talking with you, I have to remember that you can't notice some things I do, for example."

"So, it's difficult to speak with people who aren't Space Marines for you?" Snorri asked.

"It's not… difficult, just harder than talking with other Space Marines," Alvar said, trying to think of a good comparison. "Think of how easy it is for you to talk with your friends, whom you've known your whole life, and how much more difficult is to talk with somebody you've just met. It's quite like this, I guess."

Snorri frowned, and in this moment, he reminded Alvar of his mother. The expression was very much like the one she wore when thinking deeply.

"Do you think I'd be a good Space Marine?" Snorri asked, giving him a look that was both hopeful and nervous.

Alvar closed his eyes, considering his answer. "I barely know you, little brother, but I believe any child of our mother can become a great warrior."

"You named him after your first son, didn't you?" Leman asked, as he watched a group of youths spar. Most of them were pale, with fair or red hair, but one stood out, marked by the darker tone of his skin and black hair.

"I like the name," Thorgerd replied. She did not look away from the youths. "And you're trying to get me to let my guard down."

"Is it working?" Leman countered, quite unabashed at being caught.

Thorgerd had to laugh—it was one of those things that ought not to work at all, but somehow since it was her adoptive brother doing it, they did. She supposed it was because of what he was, but it did not diminish her good humour.

"It won't be nearly as amusing if I tell you," she answered.

Leman grinned, fangs flashing. It was one of those things she thought she was used to, and yet could not help noticing every time. Then he grew more serious. "Are you sure you want that? He's probably going to live as long as you do anyway."

"It's not my decision," Thorgerd replied. "Not anymore."

Leman glanced at the youths, who by now seemed to be finishing their sparring. "No, I suppose it's not."

For a moment, they stood in silence, watching the boys leave the training cage. They clustered around a red-head with a nose that must have been broken many times, and chatted enthusiastically. Snorri did not seem to be taking the lead, but neither was he being actively rejected by others. He seemed to be fitting in, despite not being a native Fenrisian.

Leman smirked. "I was starting to worry you're trying to take over my Legion, but your sons lack your ambition, sister."

Thorgard snorted. "Give Snorri time. He's still young."

The sanguine crystal hovered glittering softly. The Emperor's gaze was on it, his expression thoughtful. Malcador seated himself comfortably nearby, and looked at the star seed as well. For a moment, he studied it, wondering what potential it was hiding.

"If you wanted to implant this one, you're too late, my friend," he said. "Thorgerd seems to be quite eager to rejoin the Crusade."

A smile tugged at the Emperor's lips. "What would I learn from that?" he asked. "No, it will wait until I can use it to further our understanding of how they work."

"How they work or how to create them?" Malcador asked.

"One leads to the other, Malcador," the Emperor said. "One leads to the other."

AN: And next will be another origin story, which will be posted in www. fanfiction s / 8993147 / 1 / Lovehammer-GE-Primarch-Origins