Return to Terra
In the void of space, Baybar had been a sphere of sapphire studded with gold. It was the first time that Hayreddin had seen his homeworld in its entirety, and the beauty of it was breathtaking. His whole life, his story, that of his family, had all taken place on that globe. It was humbling to realise just how insignificant it all was in the large scale of things.
That had a been a standard month ago by Hayreddin's reckoning. He was rapidly getting used to the Imperium's system of measurements, but it was still odd to have convert Baybar reckoning to Imperial. The vessel he was aboard, the frigate named Firiel, was currently in transit in the Warp. Protective shielding sealed off all the viewports as looking directly upon the strange dimension was dangerous even for a Primarch.
Hayreddin spent that time learning from Thorondor. He learned the workings and functions of technologies previously unknown to him, the deeper histories of the Imperium, the command structure of the Legions and the Imperial Army and Navy, the function of the War Council and more. His sharp mind- the work of the Emperor, he knew- allowed him to rapidly absorb all the information swiftly.
Thorondor's initial plan had been to meet the Emperor at Imperator Somnium, but just before their departure, he had received word that the Emperor was en-route to Terra. So that was their destination.
When he was not at study, Hayreddin spent his time exploring the ship and talking to the crew. He had been aboard many different ships during his voyages on Baybar, but the Firiel was unlike anything he had ever seen in his life. He learned the names of the officers and their roles. He learned of the ship's long service record. That was how he also knew that the Firiel was named after the woman who had raised Thorondor on Tempestas.
His mother.
Thorondor had never mentioned her.
While his brother had been forthcoming on most things, Thorondor remained guarded on revealing anything about his life prior to the Imperium. Hayreddin was curious but decided not to press on the matter. There were other less savoury rumours that he had learned about his brother, namely his tendency to drink heavily when alone. But Hayreddin decided that that was a matter for later, once he had learned more about Thorondor.
On this particular day, Hayreddin was observing the command of the bridge. Captain Astrid barked orders to the crew from her command throne in response to the endless stream of information her officers brought her. She was efficient, having been in command for just over 5 decades. Deciding not to bother her, Hayreddin left as silently as he came.
Behind him, his two shadows followed.
They were Nikau and Ari, two Astartes from Vukona's First Squad. Alongside the Legion Master, they were veterans of more battles than Hayreddin had ever imagined possible. Stoic and silent, they faithfully followed Hayreddin around on Vukona's orders, ostensibly to protect him from any harm.
"It must be dull work for veterans like yourselves to play bodyguard," said Hayreddin lightly.
"It is our duty, my lord," answered Nikau.
Hayreddin nodded. "And I appreciate your dedication. But surely there is no danger to me aboard this ship?"
"Legion Master Vukona is a cautious man," replied Nikau. "But if our presence bothers you…"
"Not at all," assured Hayreddin. "But perhaps you could help me with something?"
"At your service, lord," both Astartes promptly replied.
"I've read the battle reports from all the campaigns the Eleventh took part in," said Hayreddin. "I know all the details, but I'm lacking firsthand reports."
He looked over at them. "You both have been in the Eleventh as long as Mika, have you not? You've been in every campaign."
"We have that honour, my lord," answered Ari.
Hayreddin smiled. "Excellent, then may I ask you tell me of your experiences?"
"But we were not in command of those battles, my lord," replied Nikau. "We merely served on the frontlines."
Hayreddin nodded. "Then your experiences will be just as valuable. Now please, share."
Nikau and Ari exchanged looks. "Very well then, my lord. What do you wish to know?"
II XI II XI II
Vukona put aside the data-slate he was reading. Just the latest update on the Eleventh Legion's recruitment drive from Te Rangi, who had been left on Baybar to oversee the program. As he stood, pain shot through the lines of where his organic flesh met the metallic replacements of his face. It was a pain that would have paraylysed a mortal man, but Vukona grit his teeth and endured it. He decided to go speak with the Apothecaries about the next round of implantation. He hoped the gene-seed they were able to obtain from Lord Hayreddin would be different.
But on his way, he ran into Memnos.
The elderly man looked startled to see him. "Legion Master Vukona! I wasn't expecting to see you here."
Vukona inclined his head. "I'll be on my way then."
"Actually, Legion Master, I was hoping to have a word with you."
"With me?" asked Vukona.
Memnos nodded. "You see, I've been setting to pen Lord Hayreddin's new exploits. But to do so, I must prepare a background off which to build."
"I see," said Vukona, though he didn't really. "Why would you need to talk to me then? You have been at my lord's side for longer."
"On Baybar, yes. But for his new journey amongst the stars, I must lay down the background of Lord Hayreddin's Legion for my readers. And for that, you know far more than anyone else here."
Vukona frowned a little. It seemed like a waste of time. "I'm sure I can get some of my men to share their stories with you."
"Ah, but you know the Eleventh Legion best, sir," said Memnos, not at all put off by the frown on the Astartes' face. "And from here on out, Lord Hayreddin's story will be intimately intertwined with yours. People will want to know about your Legion's illustrious history from when you even met him."
"Why would they be interested in that?" asked Vukona.
"Why, you are the Legiones Astartes! The champions of Mankind. Everyone in the Imperium knows the heroes you all are, but they know little of the men behind that glorious façade. People want to know you on some personal level, even for a little bit."
Vukona considered the request. It didn't sound too troublesome, given Vukona was capable of multitasking at a high level.
"Very well then, but you will have to accompany me as I carry about my day-to-day duties if you want my story."
Memnos looked pleased, then hesitated. "I'm honoured you'll indulge my request, sir. But surely it's better if we wait for a more suitable moment?"
"I am Legion Master, Master Memnos," answered Vukona. "I have little free time. Do not worry, I will let you know if indulging you becomes unacceptably distracting."
"Oh, very well then, if it suits you," said Memnos, raising his quill.
Vukona raised an eyebrow. How quaint.
"Come along, then," said the Legion Master.
XI II XI II
As squad Sergeant in the elite Storm Riders, Matharias had been at the forefront of some of the fiercest fighting in the Second Legion's countless campaigns. Even amongst the Storm Riders, Matharias could proudly boast that under his leadership, Squad Arturas was the finest in the Storm Eagles, superior to even the veteran squads of Asghar's First Company.
Yet Matharias could say his current predicament was easily the most dangerous he had ever been in.
The irony, was that he and his squad were technically in no danger at all.
The nine of them stood in a loose circle, clad in full power armour, their glaives at the ready. Their target was seated on the ground, stripped to the waist, his glaive on the ground behind him. Despite being surrounded, he was serene and sat as still as a statue.
Despite that, Lord Thorondor radiated such a dangerous aura that Matharias was sweating even though he had not made a single move.
They had sparred with the Primarch countless times, and yet the pressure rolling off the Storm Lord was something he had never been able to get used to. It made his stomach roil and his hearts pound. Perhaps that was the fear that mortals often talk about? Matharias wouldn't know, the concept was alien to him.
Thorondor's grey eyes stared dead ahead, not betraying even a single hint of the thoughts within.
Matharias tightened his grip on his glaive.
"Matharias."
His lord's voice was calm, but Matharias still flinched as though struck. "Yes, lord?"
"Come with everything you have."
"By your will, my lord," Matharias signaled his men, the gesture so subtle that it was not possible for the Primarch to notice.
Yet when two of his squad-mates leapt at Lord Thorondor's back, the Primarch whirled around with blinding speed, sweeping up his glaive and going from a seated position to his fighting stance in the space of a blink. His glaive swept forward in a silver arc, sending both Matharias' attacking squad-mates flying back, their glaives flying out of their hands.
Two down. Seven to go.
Without turning, Thorondor swept his glaive across his back, just in time to catch the three blows from three more of Squad Arturas' warriors. Matharias and another squad-mate charged, aiming to skewer the Primarch from both sides. Thorondor shifted his weight subtly, yet the effect was disproportionately effective. One of his squad was sent stumbling right into Matharias, stopping his charge. Thorondor spun to dodge the incoming blows from the three engaged with him. His glaive swept out again, and the haft of his glaive struck all three of them the force of a bolt-gun, sending them to their knees.
Five down. Four to go.
The remaining four, including Matharias, surrounded Thorondor and attempted to strike. The Storm Lord effortless shifted his stance, dodging two blows and lightly shifted another into a hit on one of Matharias' squad-mates.
Six down. Three to go.
Matharias struck again, and this time Thorondor blocked. His two remaining squad-mates attempted to utilize the opening and strike. But with an explosive shift of his weight, Thorondor spun, throwing Matharias back and landing one sweeping blow that took out the other two.
Eight down. One more to go.
Matharias regained his balance and struck again, swinging his glaive as fast as he could at the back of Thorondor's exposed neck. A decapitating blow. But in the blink of an eye, the Storm Lord had vanished. Matharias registered a strand of black hair floating in front of him, and the sharp edge of Thorondor's glaive against his throat.
On the periphery of his vision, he could see the Storm Lord smiling.
"I yield, my lord," said Matharias.
It had taken barely ten seconds.
The rest of Squad Arturas groaned as they picked themselves up.
"Forgive us, my lord," said Matharias, bowing. "We are unable to provide you with a measure of challenge."
"Don't be too hard on yourselves," said Thorondor, helping up one of the fallen men. "I had to fully concentrate. It was more of a mental exercise."
Matharias chuckled ruefully. Only a Primarch could describe picking apart an elite squad in ten seconds as a mere 'exercise'. Thorondor slung his glaive across his shoulders and looked at the Squad Sergeant intently.
"You had a brief opening just before the end," said the Storm Lord. "Tell me, if I hadn't dodged, would you have followed through on that swing?"
"Of course, my lord," said Matharias immediately. "You ordered me to go all out."
"Even if it could have meant my death?"
Matharias smiled. "My lord, I'd have to fight to kill in order to stand a chance of landing even a glancing blow on you."
The Primarch laughed, a rumbling sound reminiscent of thunder. He patted Matharias on the shoulder.
"Well, it would save me a lot of problems if you could land a killing blow," said Thorondor.
Matharias looked up at the Storm Lord quizzically, but Thorondor was already leaving the training cage, bidding farewell to the rest of Squad Arturas as they bowed to him. Matharias watched him go, pondering the last thing the Primarch said to him.
It almost sounded as if…
No, it had to be a bad joke.
Matharias was sure of it.
Shrugging it off, he turned to his squad, ready to chew them out and order more training.
II XI II XI II
Thorondor's quarters aboard the Firiel were even more sparse than the one in the Eternal Storm. It was a single large room, with a lone bed scaled to his size and a working desk. There was no space for him to entertain guests since he usually used the Firiel for more personal tasks and missions.
The Storm Lord sat as his desk as he read the various progress reports of his Legion, mentally updating each company's current deployment and their progress. The one he was most anxious to hear about, the joint campaign with the Luna Wolves, White Scars and Iron Warriors, have sent no recent update as of yet. Finishing the last of the reports, Thorondor's gaze turned to the storage unit in his quarters where he kept a substantial amount of mjod.
He considered for a moment before shaking his head.
Thorondor knew word of his drinking has spread throughout his Legion. No need to pour more fuel on that particular fire.
Instead, he took a walk around the ship, stopping to speak to the various officers and Astartes that he came across. Before long, his caught the sounds of a familiar voice. Deciding to follow it, Thorondor found himself in the mess hall.
It was deserted save for Hayreddin and two warriors from the Eleventh. Nikau and Ari, if Thorondor remembered correctly. He paused at the entrance, effortlessly listening in on their conversation. They were talking about the Tyron campaign.
That had been a glorious war. A human civilisation under threat from xenos invasion and a decimated Expedition Fleet from the Imperium trapped fighting to defend the local populace in need of reinforcement. It was a clean, straightforward campaign with no moral quandaries, though the Eleventh Legion had paid most dearly. But it was the kind of campaign Thorondor reveled in, destroying xenos and protecting humanity.
It was a far cry from what had happened on Giant's Land.
Which Nikau and Ari were beginning to tell Hayreddin.
Clearing his throat, Thorondor strode into the mess hall. Nikau and Ari immediately stood to attention and saluted him, while Hayreddin got up with a smile.
"Listening to soldier stories?" asked Thorondor. Hayreddin nodded.
"One of the best ways to gain insight, don't you agree?"
Thorondor chuckled. "To a point. Shall we continue our talks?"
Talks were what Thorondor referred to his teaching sessions with Hayreddin, feeling that the term lesson was patronising. Hayreddin did not mind, but Thorondor was making an effort to make sure that they were both on equal standing.
Hayreddin appreciated the gesture.
"Gladly," he answered moving to follow Thorondor. Behind him, Nikau and Ari immediately fell into step. Hayreddin turned to them.
"Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all."
Nikau and Ari hesitated. "With all due respect, my lord…the Legion Master ordered that we accompany you throughout this journey."
Hayreddin smiled. "You are aware that I command Legion Master Vukona?"
"Of course, lord!" said Ari quickly. "It's just, we wouldn't want anything to happen to you due to our negligence."
"Of course," said Hayreddin. He patted Thorondor on the arm. "But I am now with one of the greatest warriors in the Imperium of Man. I believe I am the safest I've ever been."
Hesitating for another second, Nikau and Ari bowed. "As you wish, my lord."
"Don't worry, I'll make sure the Legion Master doesn't censure you," assured Hayreddin and both Nikau and Ari finally smiled a little as both Primarchs walked away.
"One of the greatest warriors in the Imperium?" mused Thorondor as they walked. "I'm not sure many would agree with that."
"By many, you mean our brothers?" said Hayreddin. Thorondor nodded his head with small laugh.
"Honestly speaking, how you do you think you measure up against them?" asked Hayreddin, genuinely curious. He was not the warrior Thorondor was, and he often wondered how powerful his other brothers were in the art of combat.
Thorondor considered for a moment.
"That would depend on which facet we're talking about," he said honestly. "If it were strategy, then I believe Horus, Dorn, Roboute and Perturabo are superior. Perhaps Fulgrim too. If it were brute strength, then Vulkan and Ferrus are stronger."
"And in individual combat?" pressed Hayreddin.
Thorondor's smile widened. "I believe I can hold my own."
"More than hold your own, from what I've heard," said Hayreddin, grinning as he bumped Thorondor with his shoulder.
"Exaggeration, I'm sure," chuckled Thorondor.
"False modesty is just another form of arrogance, Thorondor," said Hayreddin, and the Storm Lord laughed. It felt good to laugh honestly for a change, instead of the cynical noise that he had been passing off as laughter.
"It is a pointless thing to debate," said Thorondor. "It is impossible that there will ever be a time when we Primarchs draw steel on each other in a fight to the death."
Hayreddin nodded, acquiescing to the statement.
"Have you thought of a name for your Legion?" asked Thorondor. Hayreddin looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head.
"Not yet, there are more urgent matters to see to," he said and Thorondor nodded his head in acceptance. That was true enough.
"It won't be long before we reach Terra," said Thorondor, changing the subject.
"You've told me much about the politics, history and bureaucracy of Terra," said Hayreddin. "But you haven't told me much about what it's like."
"I thought I'd let you see for yourself," answered Thorondor. "Depending on where we came from, all of us had different reactions."
"And what was your reaction?" asked Hayreddin, looking genuinely curious. Thorondor paused, thinking back to the moment he had first beheld the birthworld of humanity.
"Sunny, dry," answered the Storm Lord.
Hayreddin waited for more, but when Thorondor said nothing else, he nudged his brother's side.
"One of the finest minds wrought by the Emperor, and all you can come up with is 'sunny' and 'dry'?" he teased. "Come now, you can do better than that."
Thorondor laughed. "But it's true. Remember, Tempestas was a world under a perpetual storm. After knowing nothing but daily rains and gloomy skies my whole life, it struck me at how much sun there was, and how dry the air felt."
"I see, what else?" asked Hayreddin.
"There is something…but I'll wait until we get to Terra," answered Thorondor. He clapped Hayreddin on the shoulder. "Come now, we have more important things to talk about than wax poetry on Terra."
XI II XI II
When the Firiel emerged from the Warp into the Sol System, it emerged in the shadow of Saturn, the mighty gas giant with its distinctive ring. Titan, Saturn's largest moon silently casted its shadow across the planet's rings and surface. Silently, the Firiel powered past, and Saturn went on, unheeding of its passage.
Later, Jupiter, the most massive planet in the Sol System named after an ancient god from ancient Terra, would bear witness to the Firiel's passage. The Great Red Spot, the titanic anticyclonic storm that had raged on since before the 1st Millennium, seemed to follow the frigate like a great baleful eye.
Next, the asteroid belt would witness the passing of the Firiel. Home to countless mining and penal colonies, countless control towers would hail the frigate, only to hastily accept its passage when receiving the identification code of an Legion vessel. There was a time when traversing the asteroid belt was a dangerous prospect, but with the advancement of science over the past millennia, it was a simple, if still hazardous matter.
Not long after a clearing the asteroid belt, the Firiel came within sight of Mars. The planet shone like a blood-red orb against the darkness of the void, or perhaps more fittingly, like a burning furnace. The heart of the Mechanicum was surround by the Great Ring of Iron, the massive orbital conglomeration of countless drydocks and starship facilities that gave birth to the ships of the Great Crusade.
And soon after, the Firiel began its final approach towards Terra.
II XI II XI
On the bridge of the Firiel, there was an air of reverence as the crew worked diligently on the ship's approach. For most of them, this was the first time they were about to lay eyes upon the birthworld of Mankind. For a handful, this was the first time they were returning to Terra since departing on the Great Crusade. For Captain Astrid, it was doubly nostalgic, as she had been a simple officer when the Firiel first departed Terra, then under a different name. Back then, the Second Legion had no Primarch. Now, she was returning for the first time with not one, but two standing watch on her bridge.
Thorondor and Hayreddin stood side by side just behind her command throne. The number of things that demanded Astrid's attention kept her mind occupied and focused, but she knew the moment she allowed herself to relax, she would be overwhelmed by the presence of the two Primarchs. As it was, her business enabled her to keep a veneer of indifference towards their presence.
Luna loomed large in the bridge's viewport. Its surface was dull, gleaming grey, like an old sheet of iron. Craters marred what would have been a pristine landscape, some from asteroid strikes, others from the Unification Wars. It looked barren and lifeless, but underneath was veritable hive world, dedicated to a mission of secrecy known only to the higher echelons in the Imperium.
"Coming around Luna, Captain."
Astrid dismissed the report with a quick flick of her fingers. Like a curtain being pulled aside, Luna drifted away out of the viewport, revealing Terra.
As always, the sight of the birth cradle of her species, the heart of the Imperium, made her own tremble. But she kept her calm and gave the orders to bring the Firiel to her designated spaceport. Still, that sense of peace and contentment filled her.
The feeling of coming home.
XI II XI II XI
From the historical descriptions that he had studied under Thorondor, Hayreddin knew that a long time ago, Terra would have been a blue planet. Its azure seas would have shone under the light of the Sun, contrasted by the emerald green of the forests that covered the continents, or pale brown in the desert lands. The northernmost and southernmost corners of the planet would have been a pristine white, where the great ice caps covered the northern and southern poles. On the dark side of the planet, lights would have shone in the abyss, marking the cities of humanity.
But that was then.
The Terra that Hayreddin saw was a steel-grey globe, hard and unfriendly. Spaceports crowded the planet's orbit, reminding him of mosquitoes or flies surrounding a dying corpse. Even from this distance, his eyes could already see the thick smog covering swathes of Terra's surface, whether from the relentless machines of industry or something more primal, he was not sure.
And yet, lights still dotted the hard, grey surface. Lights that marked that Mankind still called Terra home. It was a sign that even after the countless wars that had devastated her surface, burning away the forests, boiling away the oceans and leveling the mountains themselves, Terra still lived. Even after the fires of thermonuclear warfare that transformed the beautiful blue planet into a hardened orb of steel, Terra still sustained humanity, like a hard but loving mother who still cared for her foolish children, no matter how much they hurt her.
Those lights showed that Terra still stood in defiance of the ravages of Old Night.
And that, in Hayreddin's eyes, made Terra beautiful.
Thorondor's massive hand touched his shoulder. He looked up at his brother, blinking away the tears that had come unbidden.
"I know," said Thorondor quietly. "I felt the same way when I first saw her."
"Even after everything," said Hayreddin. "She still lives."
"Yes," said Thorondor. "She is the beating heart of Mankind. Our home. Our spirit. Despite everything, she still stands, she still sustains life."
Hayreddin stared at the grey shining world. This was the world on which Mankind's history had begun. It was from this world that Mankind had begun fumbling out into the stars. And even after claiming the galaxy, this one world remained closest to the heart of humanity.
Even though this was the first time he had laid eyes on Terra, Hayreddin felt that same sense of peace and contentment that filled the heart of Captain Astrid.
He knew he had come home.