I have to preface that I was largely inspired after listening to the Alpharius Primarch novel, which is why this tale is written as if they were entries in a journal. I also noticed that each of the Primarch's had a talent, skill, or talent, that was similar to something that another had, hence why I made Arwyn the way I did.


Chapter 1: Child of the Sun

Another dream. I dreamt often in the nights of that past decade, but perhaps visions are a better name for them, as every dream was a variation of the previous one. I stood in piecemeal adamantium armor, fur pelts, blue woads evoking the purity of noble predatory animals, my silvered nimisic spear glowed with bale fire, a vermilion gauntlet with a wrist mounted auto guns loaded with pure silver, and my eyes reflect the unnatural crimson hue of a flickering wall of flame. A figure larger than even myself emerged from the flames, its form is not solid but the crimson flame itself, a head shaped like some ancient beast crowned by two onyx horns, and a singular hateful yellow eye painted itself into the fire's surface. There is no doubt that I now face a fomori. It roars silently and manifests a burning weapon, its shape masked by the unwavering flames curling around it. Before I can move, warriors and derwydds of the Wild Hunt rush past me, there is no time for any recognition, as smaller figures emerge from the crimson flame and meet the Hunters' charge. The popping of gunfire, clashing of blades, and static charge of mystical arts swallows all noise, while I can only raise my spear to guard against the downward swing of the fomori's burning weapon. Bale fire engulfs the spear's shaft and hands, creating an impossible barrier of pure beautiful green energy, halting the fomori's weapon but causing my body and soul sear with effort to keep the strike above his head. The creatures roared silently, but I felt it speak messily into my mind.

"Son of a would be god!" It chastised, "Your blood is owed, skull a trophy!" With a sudden surge of disgust, I roar my defiance and twist the guard so that I can slam the shoe of my spear into the monster's eye. Before I can feel the satisfying impact, all light vanishes, and I find myself standing alone lost in a void darker than the dwelling place of the stars. Nearly stumbling from halting my spear's swing, I slowly take in the void before, and I can nearly feel despair reaching to grip my soul, until suddenly a blinding light manifests before me. The light seared my vision with specks of gold, and I realized the light is truly golden, but not the yellow gold of Arcadia's sun, instead the deep shimmering gold of precious metal. A feeling of calm washes over my soul, and I feel as though a question I have long sought has been answered. Then it ends with a single word, yet it was not spoken, more of a concept conveyed into my mind, "Lugh."

I awoke gently in my marital bed, my wives pooled around me, Morrigan hugged my right arm to her chest, Ceri rested her head on my left breast, and Lowri cuddled into Ceri's back. Morrigan is the oldest of my wives, and her flowing once raven black hair had begun to lose its sheen, yet still held its color and she retained her undeniable beauty, albeit matured and more refined. Ceri, the youngest, had her head haloed by her blond hair as she rested on my chest, she looked so delicate while my pectoral is nearly thrice the size of her head. Lowri's curly red hair was a mess on the bed, yet I could not help but appreciate the beauty of her slumbering face, and her freckles that would only highlight the emeralds that were her eyes. The sight was a pleasant one to awaken to, especially after one of my visions, which I can still recall in perfect detail. Already I knew that it had been different from the others, as this was the first that had mentioned Lugh. The word was a name, but not only uttered by the golden light, but it was also the name of Arcadia's sun, and a common enough name for newborn sons of various clans. Through my studies of the ancient and restored texts, I know that for those without the mystic gift dreams act as their subconscious mind processing data, but dreams always felt grander for those with the gift, as if they offered rare insights into the past or future.

At the time, I tried to never place too much faith in such things, as not even I could be sure if they were true dreams or the working of the snickering dark weaver, and I had lost one friend too many to chasing after prophetic dreams. Yet, the dream of the golden light was very familiar to me, long had I dreamed of it, since I was no bigger than a hound, suddenly appearing before me and behaving as if it were trying to tell me something. My mentor believed that the golden light represented some great future that will be offered to me, yet I was unsure. There were times when I dreamt of the light, feeling that odd familiar calm towards it, yet there were other times where I felt nothing but dread and suspicion towards it.

It took a moan from Ceri for me to realize that I was still in bed, and that sent forth the urge to rise, so gently I removed myself from the bed, dressed and quietly left the chamber. The reinforced stone hallway greeted me with its usual gentle chilled breath, I was grateful that I had donned my arth furred cloak, and walked the fortress halls with a calm confidence. I could feel the minds and emotional impressions of the various souls that were housed within Annwn, if I wished I could have heard their thoughts and read their emotions with simple ease. Yet, I had never been one to needlessly use my gifts, and I respected my peoples' right to privacy, so I ignored them. However, there was a presence reaching out to me, a greatly familiar one, and I smiled as I lowered my wards allowing the presence into my mind.

"You're up early ol' friend,'' I greeted with my silent voice, "I take it you have news that will disappoint my wives?" The impression of a bemused chuckle filled my mind, followed by the voice of my longest living friend, the first warrior I ever called brother, Celvyn Issacs. A derwyyd whose true gift laid not in the aspects he had mastered, but the range at which he could use them. I remember well the day I first met the dark skinned youth roughly two decades past, we had recently defeated one of the more corrupted sorcerer kings, and while departing I felt his mind screaming for help. I followed the call for nearly five miles, until I came across him, a lad in his adolescence trapped beneath a dead horse. Given his strength with the gift he was offered an apprenticeship with the Wild Hunt, which he had accepted.

"I would've left you four alone," he sent, "Had you decided to sleep as a normal man, Great Arwr." I rolled my eyes at the mockery in his words, as he knew how I did not care for the honorific, and could feel the impression of a short lived chuckle in my mind.

"One of our recon units in the Highlands reported in," he conveyed without any amusement, "They found it. The last gate."

"I take it, that complications arose?"

"To put it lightly," Celvyn answered, "They saw a Fomori blood horde, led by a giant." I did not bother to hide the concern or anger I felt in that moment, and I began to march for the armory.

"Arwyn, even for you it would take two days by foot," my friend pleaded, "Our smiths will have finished repairing the transports in three hours."

"Those wheeled iron coffins will only lessen our journey by half, not enough," I sent back sternly, "Summon five senior derwydds you trust, and as many volunteers for combat. We shall scry for the recon units exact location, then we will open a tunnel to the battlefield."

"Arwyn, we both know you'll take the main strain from the tunnel," Celvyn replied, "Such distance and control will leave a toll even upon your body." I could feel what he wished to say, that such a thing would be far too taxing even for my body, and leave me weak against a fomori horde. While I was confident in my Hunters ability to hold their own against a fomori, if I was to take my dream as prophecy, then the recon unit was facing a greater fomori. Such a powerful entity had not been allowed to walk Arcadian soils in three decades, and I would not allow it to even attempt to undo all we had done to take back our world.

"Celvyn," I stated aloud, "We have sacrificed so much to free our world of their taint. I won't dishonor our fallen by allowing them a foothold back into our world. Help me make this last push, please brother." There is a pause, and I could feel him considering the truth in my words.

"Fine." He exasperated, and I made a note to repay Celvyn for dealing with my ambitions, I fear there were many times that I had asked too much of him. However, getting to the armory was more important at that moment, and it did not take me long to reach it. Slowly, I donned my piecemeal armor of furs, chainmail, adamantium plates, and my wrist mounted autogun. I utter spiritual mantras to embolden my spirit as I retrieve my nimisic spear and a longsword, preparing my soul for the trials I was about to undertake. Through the mantras I rid myself of all stray thoughts, and focus my mind on gathering the strength for opening a tunnel, as the proper ritual for the act required a clear mind and still heart. Some time later, I entered the lowest chamber of Annwn where I joined Celvyn, five other derwydds, and about fifty armed hunters. Scanning over the hunters wargear I nodded to myself, a strange sense of pride at seeing a variety of rifles, blades, and pistols, each weapon etched with protective runes or made of the purest metals.

Upon entering I noted that the five other derwydds sat arranged in a wide circle around Celvyn, who was also seated. The derwydds chanted mantras of focus and calm, while my friend used his gift to search the Highlands for our brethren, and I was certain that it would not be long until he found what he sought. The fifty hunters gathered were completely silent, yet I could feel some of their gazes falling upon me, it bothers me little, for I tower most mortal men and some of the hunters were new blood. I could feel the awe that radiated throughout some of their souls, and I tried my best to not think about how I would have to take measures to ensure it was only ever admiration, never to mutate into worship. I was well aware of what such treacherous thoughts gave shape to, and had killed entire cities simply because they truly believed in the divinity of that which empowered their sorcerer kings. That was a song Arcadia need not ever hear again.

A gentle psychic pressure was at the forefront of my mind, and I realized Celvyn had found our expedition forces, now he wished to link our minds, so I would know what he knew. I lowered my guard, and welcomed his presence into my mind. Soon I could feel a shower of images dancing into my mind, but when I recognized an area of the Highlands, along with the echoes of souls, I latched onto that image until it solidified within my mind's eye, and it whispered what I needed to know. Silently, Celvyn stood aside giving me the center of the circle, I channeled my inner fire into my spear, as it silently screamed with a burst of energy I began the evocation, then thrusted the spear into the open air, slowly began pulling downward and peeled a layer of reality away with emerald fire. I continued dragging the spear tip down until the tear in reality formed a rough portal, and now the derwydds chanted repelling songs, before three of them entered the portal, shortly followed by the fifty hunters.

I could feel the howling of the beasts on the Otherside, as they desperately lashed out at both my mind and sought to tear into the tunnel of my portal. They found no purchase regardless, yet Celvyn was correct it was taxing upon my mind and soul, as it took all of the strength of my inner voice to banish any foreign whispers that entered my mind, while simultaneously focusing the correct amount of power the tunnel required. Had I performed the feat alone, I would have likely failed to ensure the safety of my hunters and derwydds, and I thank the spirits that I was not. After the last of the hunters had stepped through the tunnel, the remaining derwydds and Celvyn entered, and I followed shortly behind. My entire body, mind, and soul tensed with concentration as we walked through the tunnel, but despite the near physical silence within, I could still feel the roars of those that hungered outside the tunnel. I cannot recall how long it took us to depart the tunnel, only that it felt like a small eternity, and I was grateful when Celvyn and the derwydds sealed the breach after we emerged.

"I need only a minute." I told my friend as I fell to a knee, securing my spear into the ground, and leaning into it for support. In truth, I was positive I needed more time. Not only did my mind ache, or my muscles pulse with flaring pains, but I could feel my very soul shiver from the strain. Had the thunder of a nearby battle not stolen everyone's attention, I assume Celvyn would have known the truth, but luckily I had succeeded in delivering us to the Highlands. We had emerged upon a small hill overlooking, a once pleasant valley that sat leagues away from the base of mountains, now it played host to a small bloody war.

Derwydds armed with their gift and purified blades, alongside other hunters clad in armor while carrying sanctified ballistic bayoneted rifles. The cracking and popping of their weapons filled the air, accompanied by the unnatural howls of the nightmarish fomori horde, their shimmering blood red skin and hellish blades scorched away the beauty of their surroundings. I felt anger, knowing that this valley would have to be quarantined off for several generations before the damage of the fomori's presence could be undone. That was when I first caught a glimpse of it, a towering red behemoth draped in crude leathers, adorned in the clinking bones of its conquests, a great searing ax gripped firmly in its swing, and a lone hateful eye that scorned every life before it. It was like peering into my dream all over again, yet now my true eyes were watching it kill agents of the Wild Hunt.

The desire to use my gift to quicken my recovery burned hot, before I drew a deep breath, reminding myself that my body was greater than any other human I had encountered. I knew I would recover, but I would need time, time I knew Celvyn would selflessly provide me. From the corner of my vision I saw my brother's gaze fall upon me, and a solemn look stole his face. He then turned to our hunters, and like a hero of old spoke clearly to them.

"Come huntsmen!" He roared without a trace of doubt or fear, "Let us show the Famori curs that they shall be denied our lands, and that it is by our power they are rejected." He started the sixth of the nine songs of the ancestor spirits, then charged towards the war, followed and joined in song shortly by those we had brought. I marveled as I both felt and saw the sixth song emboldened the hunters' souls, each time another voice joined into the song their strength to resist the nightmares they faced swelled even greater. The song even seemed to hasten my soul's recovery from the strain of conjuring and warding the tunnel, and soon I felt a gentle ease to the throbbing beneath my skin. I was never more grateful for the strangeness to my body, than in that moment.

Suddenly, a four legged crimson nightmare parody of a skinned hound lept towards me, my mind did not bother trying to rationalize how it appeared from thin air, instead my instincts took control. With both hands and from my crouched position, I channeled bale fire along the length of my spear, then thrusted the weapon straight into the open jaws of the fomori nightmare. The spear tore into the creature's form, while the balefire burned away its eldritch existence, banishing it from this world. As I rose to my feet, two more appeared, seemingly intent on avenging their leader, but it did not matter. Against fomori of such caliber, I was unworried about my chances of victory. They tried to pierce my mind with silent speech, but their attempts were lacking against my mental wards.

I shocked them by leaping towards one, spear outstretched before scoring a taste of fading flesh, and smoothly kicking the other's open maw as it jumped towards me. I doubt that those beasts had ever met one like me, nor do I believe they cared, even if I lacked the gift, I would have recognized the insane blood lust that lit their eyes. It nearly surprised me that their forms were already fading in and out, but then again the Wild Hunt had become more thorough in weakening their kind's foothold upon Arcadia. With a quick flickering sweep of my wrist, I unloaded a burst of pure silver bullets into the disgusting fomori, and they disappeared in bursts of blood. I did not pause to appreciate my skill, for in truth their banishment was not something to linger upon, instead I thundered my way towards the battle below the hill, adding my voice to the chorus of the sixth song.

My perception of time had always been unique, at least when it came to the heated moments of war, as Celvyn had once informed me he could hardly recall some of the battles we led as nothing more than blurred movements and bloody screams. Whereas I could almost perfectly recall every action and detail I had perceived in a battle, and to this day I am not sure if this is a curse or a blessing. I will always remember the howl and dull gaze of a dead boy, whose skin had been burned with fomori slave marks, his teeth filed to be cannibalistically sharp, and the sorrow that rang throughout every fiber of being. I could recall with perfect clarity the second I heard the strange distant whistling of a catapulted boulder encased with sickly fire, while engaged with cultists, and the strain of summoning a tempest to alter its course towards the Sorcerer King of Dulhilbn's castle walls.

So when I tell you that before even approaching the giant fomori cyclops, that the battle of the Highlands was but a blurry whirlwind of thrusts, parries, evocations, and banishments, I want you to understand the speed in which the chaos of that battlefield dictated. I saved those hunters and derwydds I was able to, but I was still diminished from the use of my tunnel, so it shames me to admit I failed many of them. Yet those I could not save, I avenged with fury and speed. Somewhere along the way, I had lost sight of Celvyn and the others, and then I realized I had cleaved into the heart of the melee. The strange echoing boom of shimmering hooves soon filled my hearing, and I turned to see the cyclops approaching me, casually hacking down fomori and huntsmen alike if they got in his way. His hateful eye was locked on me, I recognized that there was disgusted and eagerness in it.

"Finally!" It roared in strange angry glee, "The Child of Anathema! Your skull is promised to Khorith's throne. Your blood for his cup!" I was not surprised by the creature's words, for I had heard similar things from those amongst the fomori capable of speech. At the time I had long given up decrypting their poisoned words, and had come to accept that nothing they ever said could be trusted. I switched to a one handed grip on my spear, unsheathed my longsword, and poised myself to fight the lumbering thing.

"Know that Belor is your death!" It spat excitedly, "Your shade scream its name to the truest god." At that, I launched myself towards it, I was in no mood to listen to another broken decree to those the fomori called gods. I had already destroyed cults, shrines, fetishes, and scripture dedicated to the fomori's gods, who had been responsible for the rise of the sorcerer kings and decline of Arcadia. I had been determined to not only erase their presence or influence on my world, but I wanted to ensure they would be unable to cross back onto Arcadian soil without some dark miracle. My blade rang out when it met Belor's ax, it was powerful, perhaps the most physically powerful I had ever faced, but I was able to match it, albeit barely.

"Then know my name, you one eyed bastard," I growled, "Arwyn Clay, Master of the Wild Hunt is the one who bested you here!" As we fought the battle seemed to halo around us, as if both sides understood and respected our claims to each other's lives. My focus was solely dedicated to the giant before me, he moved with a speed that betrayed his bulk, each parry and blow dodged took a combination of instinct and strength to pull off. Spirits alone know what we truly looked like to the others, but I recall a song of how we became a tempest of blade and flames. However, at some point I began reciting the third ballad of Ancient Wisdom, and my weapons ignited with balefire, clashing against Belor's putride red fires, then I heard the silent whispers of long dead heroes, sages, and families. To this day I swore I heard the hushed voices of my parents, feeding forgotten lore stored in the Hunt's archives into the back of my mind, as I focused on dueling the fomori giant.

I cannot recall how long we battled, such was the intensity of focus the battle required for me to stay alive and call upon the ancient wisdom carved into ballads. All that mattered to me in those moments was the clash of blades, and the occasional wounds we dealt each other. Belor had smashed apart my wrist gun, slashed bloody lines along my spear arm, and a wound on my upper torso from a nasty bite of the fomori ax. I had painted its chest and stomach with stab wounds, nearly cleaved off its non-dominant arm, and put a few cracks in the face of the axe's blade. Yet somehow both of us fought unhindered by our injuries, for the fomori it was only a familiar truth, but I felt rejuvenated by a familiar feeling of becoming whole while fighting the invader.

So engrossed in the deadly beat of our blades, that I nearly missed an unfamiliar banshee cry from above, and multiple looming shadows. With an evocation of power, I sent Belor sliding backwards several yards, and dared to steal a brief glance skyward. My gaze left the fomori for only a mere moment between heart beats, but I can recall such glorious details of what I saw. Descending on flame spewing engines, were a flock of large boxy avian-like transport with gold plating, and outfitted with weapons that I had never seen at the time. For a heart beat, I was reminded of my vision of the golden light, but the thundering of Belor's hooves snatched my attention away.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" It roared both physically and psychically, its force so potent it temporarily phased its horde out of focus for a moment, causing a few of the hunters to seize up and get beheaded by their opponents. While I felt Belor attempt to brute force his way through my wards and pierce through my soul, thankfully my most important wards held out against the assault, protecting my mind and soul. Yet it caused me pain, enough that I faltered briefly and nearly lost my balance as the fomori charged with its blade falling towards me. For a brief instant, I thought I was done for, and that my soul would be torn ruthlessly from my body as a trophy for the giant's damned god. Then a ball of golden flames engulfed the fomori, and it curled back howling in agony, a beautiful sound that I had never heard before.

"At last," a powerful yet gentle male voice cut through the silence, "I have found another of you, my son." I turned, initially I wanted to be angry, to defy whoever claimed to be my father, he had died long before that day, and both his and mother's presences were missed greatly. Yet when I turned to face the speaker, the defiance died in my throat, and I had to remind myself that I was truly awake. Clad in shining golden armor, was a giant beautiful man, haloed by golden mystic light and carrying a burning greatsword in one of his armored hands. Such was how I first laid eyes on my birth father, the Emperor of Mankind. He was shortly accompanied by lesser golden armored giants, who carried strange speared weapons, and wore oddly shaped helmets with an eagle decorated on their faces, my father's Custodes. They rushed into the fray relieving the pressure on my hunters, and their spears gave thunderous barks, followed by explosions of disappearing fomori.

"Anathema!" Belor shouted as he charged, and my instincts took over. Barely looking I halted the red giant with my balefire clad spear piercing through its chest, and lopping off one of its hooves legs. Belor collapsed, and then in the tongue of the ancients I weaved a chant to banish the fomori away from Arcadia for untold centuries. The thing hissed and roared at me and then the Emperor, before pointlessly screaming over my chant.

"Mark my words!" Belor roared, "No matter how long, I will return! I will burn and crush these lands under hooves. In the Blood God's name I swear!" From the corner of my eye, I caught how uncomfortable the Emperor was by the fomori's words, but the banishment required my attention. As I finished the chant, the bastard cyclops was swallowed in the emerald green of balefire, sent back to his hellish home screaming and cursing as if his words could do harm again. I glanced around the battlefield, saw that enough of my forces had survived the engagement, however they were dazed at the sight of the golden giants, and yet the battle was not done.

"Hunters!" I ordered, "Destroy the Gate. Ensure they can not return easily." My followers snapped out of their dazzlement, the hunters gave salutes before rushing off, while the derwydds tended to what few wounded were left. I caught a brief sight of Celvyn, wounded but alive, and being tended to by a female derwydd. How badly I wanted to go to his side and aid him, but the thudding steps of golden power armor stole my attention, and I watched as my father approached. As he drew closer, it seemed that the intensity of his golden halo lessened slightly, so that I could make the details of his flowing dark hair. It was an odd, yet exciting sight that scratched at some part of my mind, and resonated in my soul.

"You are able to banish them." He stated almost as a question, and some part of me longed to heed his every word. But I resisted.

"We call them fomori," I replied, "And after my hunters destroy the Gate, they will have no easy access to us again." For whatever reason I did not feel the need to explain any further than that, as if somehow I knew he was familiar with these foul creatures, and it would only be later that I would know my instinct was right. I removed my helmet, exposing my face, letting my braided burnt red mohawk drop free, and my woad marked face, to the golden giants before me. Recognition, pride, and joy flashed briefly across his face, then he smiled, handed his sword to another, and approached with open arms.

"I am the Emperor," he introduced himself, "And I have been searching for you, for a long time now. My son."