History
The sun rose like it always did, uncaring of the momentous events that had taken place in Nuba - no, all Baybar. As it climbed its usual path in the sky, the same path it had taken for countless millennia, the people of Nuba went about their business. The city guard were on patrol, merchants dealt out their wares and the ships still called at port. But there was a vacant air about every action, as though everyone were simply going through the motions of normality.
With good reason, for who could ignore the titanic eagle perched upon the administrative palace?
A curious crowd had gathered outside the palace despite it being closed that day. Most were staring at the eagle on the palace. The beast gazed down upon them haughtily. Its dark eyes were cold and its feathers glinted like polished steel. At one point it stretched its wings, and people gasped at the mighty pinions, each one easily longer than the frigates that made up the backbone of Nuba's navy.
While most of attention was taken up by the mighty eagle, just as many focused on the new guards that formed a perimeter around the administrative palace.
These were not the usual guards that guarded palace. They were not even Nuban. Towering over the general populace, the warriors armoured in dark grey were what the people of Nuba had learned to call Astartes: warriors from the stars in the service of the mysterious Emperor, the man who declared himself the sole sovereign ruler of Mankind. There was a buzz of excitement as to what this all could mean for Baybar: feats of technology hitherto unimagined had already been demonstrated, so wondrous that it almost seemed magical.
Of course, some of the older generation muttered about daemons, but they were largely ignored.
XI XI XI
It was not long ago that Memnos had wondered if his life's work was done, that he would have nothing left to write about. How foolish that notion seemed now. He had stacks upon stacks of papers crammed with notes from the past few days alone, and was adding even more from the present meeting alone.
The Imperium.
The Astartes.
Terra.
The Primarchs.
The Emperor.
So many things to write about, and this was just the beginning. So many things that Lord Thorondor had explained made little sense to Memnos, but others had made sense. The reason for Hayreddin's otherworldliness, for example. His unending youth, his force of personality and his brilliance.
Hayreddin was a Primarch. For lack of a better word, he was a demigod among men, elevated far above their limitations and weaknesses. He was created to be so.
He would never say it, but in light of these recent revelations, Memnos wondered if it diminished Hayreddin's past achievements. Could the history of the man called Hayreddin be viewed differently? Was it no longer a case of a man overcoming overwhelming odds, so much as man created to overcome overwhelming odds? Memnos didn't know, but it was not his place to decide such things, merely record it. And thanks to Lord Thorondor, he had a lot to write about.
They were all in the main conference hall of the administrative palace. The two Primarchs were seated at the head of the table in the room's centre. The various officials in Nuba were also in attendance, including Kazan and Jerod. Apart from Lord Thorondor, those present representing the Imperium was Sergeant Matharias of the Storm Riders, which Memnos understood was an elite company under Lord Thorondor's command, the Eleventh Legion Master Mika Vukona and his second, Te Rangi. All three were Astartes of course. From the explanations provided, Memnos now knew that they were once mortal men who had -by the advance science and technology of the Imperium- been elevated to the superhuman. They were the vanguard of the Imperium's armies, the tip of the sword.
Unlike the others, the three Astartes were standing at attention, as still as statues.
It was eerie to watch.
Also representing the Imperium were a group of people known as iterators. Memnos knew that they functioned as scholars and debaters, as well as recorders of momentous events. He understood they also served as educators.
In truth, just writing about the Astartes and iterators and their various roles within the Imperium would fill many volumes. And perhaps, if he lived long enough, Memnos would one day get to it. But for now, the two Primarchs together drew all his attention.
Over the past several days, Lord Thorondor had recounted the history of the Imperium to Hayreddin and the fascinated Nuban officials. He spoke of the darkness of Old Night on Terra, the sundering of the first great human galactic empire. According to him, all the human civilisations spread across the stars, including Baybar and Tempestas, were descended from that great empire. Thorondor then spoke of the Unification War of Terra, where the Emperor, leading the mighty Thunder Warriors who once bore the Raptor Imperialis -which was now borne proudly by the Storm Eagles- cast down the various warlords to unify the planet under his rule.
Thorondor then spoke of the Pacification of Luna, and the eventual establishment of the Treaty of Olympus Mons, the official joining of Terra and Mars which laid the foundation of the Imperium.
He then spoke of the Great Crusade, the discovery of Horus on Cthonia, the other Primarchs and the unbelievable goal to unify all the worlds of Man. Thorondor also spoke of the various challenges the Imperium faced, from the fickle entity known as the Warp, which was used to traverse the stars, to the hostile inhuman races that inhabited the various worlds, and the various strands of Mankind which resisted the Imperium's noble goals.
As Thorondor continued to speak, Memnos, his hand almost automatically copying down what was being said, took the time to study the Primarch of the Storm Eagles.
He had shed the armour he wore upon his arrival, and was now dressed in simple blue fatigues. Yet in no way was his presence diminished. Seeing Thorondor and Hayreddin side by side, it was easy to see how they were kin. But Memnos could also easily spot the essential differences. Though he was clearly learned, articulate and knowledgeable in the arts of diplomacy and statesmanship, Thorondor exuded a martial aura that Hayreddin so conspicuously lacked. He was no warrior himself, but Memnos knew that Thorondor was a man forged in the flames of war, a man who lived and reveled in it.
Hayreddin had of course, led men into war himself. He had been the command-in-chief during the Pirate War, deftly formulating strategy and directing his forces with great tactical acumen. And as the Siege of Ain so long ago demonstrated, he was a great warrior in his own right, more than capable of fighting on the front lines. He was also the greatest swordsman on Baybar. But it was no secret that Hayreddin loathed war, deploring the necessity of it. He was made for the art of governing, diplomacy and politics.
Thorondor was clearly a warrior-born. Hayreddin was not.
And side by side, the sheer difference in physical size between the two Primarchs was staggering.
Hayreddin was tall, far taller than any man on Baybar, with a lean build that belied an inhuman strength. But he was completely dwarfed by Thorondor, his head barely reaching past the other Primarch's elbows. And Thorondor's build exuded power in every ounce of rippling muscle, his every movement subtle and graceful.
Even in force of personality, Thorondor seemed to outshine Hayreddin. He was gregarious, courteous, given to easy humour and wit.
Yet on that front, though outshone, Memnos did not think that Hayreddin was any less charismatic than Thorondor. Hayreddin's charisma was more…subtle.
Pausing to dip his quill into the inkwell, Memnos glanced at his assistant, who was drawing the events that were happening in the room. Specifically, she was drawing Thorondor and Hayreddin together.
"That's very good," Memnos whispered to her approvingly, and she nodded her thanks, not taking her eyes off the Primarchs, her hands flying around the paper seemingly of their own volition.
Memnos turned back to his own papers and continued to write.
XI XI XI
Once they were done for the day, the officials were dismissed and the two Primarchs made to retire to Hayreddin's quarters. Thorondor had also dismissed Sergeant Matharias, who bowed and left, but Vukona and Te Rangi had remained, looking uncertain. Hayreddin glanced over to them.
"Is there something else, Legion Master?" asked Hayreddin.
"Do you wish us to leave as well, my lord?" asked Vukona.
Hayreddin was startled, but did not show it. The question seemed rather juvenile, almost infantile, coming from a warrior of countless battles. But he supposed the chain of command that Vukona and the Eleventh Legion once followed had now been altered now that Hayreddin had been restored to his Legion.
Although, he had not officially taken command of his Legion.
"That will be all for today, Legion Master. Thank you," said Hayreddin. It was odd to see the mighty warrior and his subordinate bow and obediently leave, almost mechanical in their movements.
Hayreddin turned back to Thorondor who, as always, was smiling.
As the two Primarchs walked together in the now empty hallways, Hayreddin studied his...brother intently. This was the first time since they had met that they were alone together. Hayreddin had so many questions to ask. Thorondor had given the broad strokes of the Imperium, but Hayreddin wanted details on so many things, he did not know where to start. It also did not help that he found Thorondor rather intimidating.
Hayreddin had no doubt that the other Primarch was a superlative warrior who surpassed him in martial pursuits. From what Thorondor had told him, he had fought in far more campaigns than Hayreddin could possibly fathom. By contrast, the Siege of Ain and the Pirate War, the only two major campaigns that Hayreddin had fought in his lifetime, seemed rather pathetic by comparison.
Hayreddin did not relish war, he never had. But now he was expected to wage wars on countless worlds? According to Thorondor, the Primarchs were created to be generals of the Astartes Legions, to lead the Great Crusade. He had already heard some of the exploits of his other brothers: Horus, Leman Russ, the Khan, Sanguinius...could he truly compare with such mighty warriors? Warriors who had conquered their own worlds, became kings in their own right before being found by the Imperium.
Did Thorondor find Hayreddin a disappointment by comparison?
"You have no idea how much this means to him."
Hayreddin looked up at his brother. Thorondor's grey eyes were kind.
"Vukona. You have no idea how much finding you means to him and the Eleventh Legion."
When Thorondor had introduced the Eleventh Legion Master, Hayreddin had been horrified by Vukona's disfigurement. Half the warrior's face was made up of metal, the eye a glowing red orb. Hayreddin had hid his horror, but perhaps the Astartes had sensed it. Though almost as tall as Hayreddin in his power armour, Vukona had turned his face to the ground and knelt before him. As did the rest of his warriors.
Hesitating, Hayreddin had lifted Vukona's face so that he could study the details of injury. Vukona bore it stoically enough, but Hayreddin had felt the slightest trembling from the Legion Master.
"What happened to you, warrior?" Hayreddin had asked.
"An old injury, my lord," Vukona had answered quietly. "It is nothing."
Gently, Hayreddin had touched the metal plating on Vukona's face. "Does it hurt?"
"Only the shame of standing before you with a diminished Legion pains me, my lord. This...this is my penance."
Hayreddin had looked into the warrior's face and he had seen something there. A sense of despair, now tempered by hope. A deep hurt that went to the soul. A sense of shame, matched only by a burning desire to atone for it.
Something had happened to Vukona, to the Eleventh Legion. Something that had wounded them in body and soul.
It terrified Hayreddin.
"I swear to you, my lord, I will not fail you again," Vukona had said. "I will gladly die before I allow that to happen."
All Hayreddin could say to that had been: "I hope I will be worthy of your loyalty."
Now, alone with Thorondor, it was all he could say again. "I hope I will be worthy of their loyalty."
Thorondor said nothing to that, walking on.
"What was it like for you?" asked Hayreddin. "What was it like when the Emperor found you?"
Thorondor's smile softened. "It was Russ who first found me. He descended on my homeworld rather belligerently. We fought."
"You fought each other?"
"Yes, we did," chuckled Thorondor. "It was a good fight and no matter what he tells you when you meet him, I won that fight."
Thorondor laughed out loud at that. Hayreddin smiled a little at the sound, slowly relaxing.
"What is your home like?" he asked.
Thorondor looked out to Baybar's horizon. The sun was still high in the sky, though it was making its descent downwards. Sunset would be due in several hours. The sounds of Nuba's lively bustle could be heard. Soon the merchants would pack their wares and go home. Guards would change shifts and civil servants would go around lighting the night fires. People would go home to be with their families or out to drink with friends.
"Nothing like this," said Thorondor quietly. "Tempestas...is a harsh mistress. My world is covered by the Eternal Storm. Every day, every hour, every second, we are caught in its wet and cold embrace."
A vision flashed in Hayreddin's mind.
A world beneath an unending storm.
"It sounds…" Dreadful was what Hayreddin wanted to say, but he didn't want to offend Thorondor.
Perhaps the other Primarch knew what he was thinking, because he laughed softly. "It's alright, Tempestas is a brutal place to call home. But because of that, we Tempestans are strong. Our brotherhood is strong. Because that's all we have under the Eternal Storm."
Hayreddin could hear the love in Thorondor's voice. A deep love for this harsh world that he had never seen. He wondered what it would be like to see another world. Would it make him appreciate Baybar even more?
"You've mentioned some of our brothers," said Hayreddin. "Can you tell me more about them?"
So, as they made their way to Hayreddin's quarters, Thorondor filled him in. He spoke of the implacable, iron-willed Rogal Dorn. The brilliance of Roboute Guilliman. The mighty Ferrus Manus. The stoic determination and the limitless compassion of Vulkan, and so many more.
Even as he absorbed the stories, Hayreddin also noted some subtle nuances. From the way he spoke of them, it was clear that Thorondor had great love for Sanguinius, Horus, Leman Russ, Jaghatai Khan and Vulkan. Others he spoke of with profound respect, such as Guilliman, Dorn, Ferrus and Perturabo. Hayreddin took note of the more neutral tone Thorondor's voice took when speaking of the Lion and Magnus. As well as the slight edge in his voice when speaking of Angron and Konrad Curze that indicated tense relationships. It was clear to Hayreddin that even though the Primarchs were supposedly unified in their goal to unite all Mankind, there were still divisions and tensions between them, an intricate web of relationships.
Perhaps these tensions were what the spirits warned him about.
"And there are seventeen of you?" asked Hayreddin.
Thorondor smiled at Hayreddin. "Eighteen of us, now that we've found you. Only two more left, and we will all be complete."
Hayreddin had to voice the doubt inside him. "How do you know that I'm a Primarch? How can you be so sure? How do you know that you haven't made a mistake?"
Thorondor looked at him questioningly.
"You tell me of Horus, Fulgrim, Ferrus Manus and the other Primarchs...these men have all accomplished great deeds. They've conquered worlds, carved out their own empires. What have I done that can be compared to them? How can I be a Primarch when I've accomplished so little?"
Thorondor stopped, the look he gave Hayreddin was one of amused disbelief.
"You've unified this world under your rule, and as I understand it, you did it with minimal bloodshed."
"I am not the master of Baybar," protested Hayreddin.
"Not in title perhaps, but as a matter of practicality, you are in effect the ruler of Baybar. And you did it with diplomacy, for the most part. If you compared that to the bloodshed Jaghatai and I spilled to unify Chogoris and Tempestas respectively, I'd say that's a great achievement."
"But still…"
"I've seen many worlds Hayreddin, and believe me, for the level of technology you possess, your world is far above average in terms of industry and development compared to similar worlds. Among us, only Fulgrim, Curze, Dorn and Guilliman have achieved such a thing before the Emperor's arrival, and they had access to technology far beyond what you have here. By comparison, I was struggling to govern Tempestas once I conquered the whole planet."
"Baybar's prosperity wasn't just my doing, I had help from so many people," retorted Hayreddin.
"But you were the driving force, no? You had the vision and the determination to coordinate these mish-mash of ideas and talent into a cohesive force. And this is the result," Thorondor gestured out to Nuba. "To me, this is all exactly the work of a Primarch."
The Storm Lord clapped Hayreddin on the shoulder. "And if you had access to the same level of technology Roboute and Fulgrim did, you might have done even better. You might be exploring the stars yourself by now."
Hayreddin still felt doubtful and it must have shown on his face, because Thorondor stooped so that they were both at eye-level. Thorondor's eyes were kind and understanding. "If all of this is not enough to convince you, then perhaps this will: we were all created by the Emperor. There is a bond between all of us. We are kin, and we recognise our own. Look at me, Hayreddin. Can you see it?"
Hayreddin obeyed, and his deep brown eyes met Thorondor's storm-grey ones. There was something there, a deep echo of kinship. Looking into Thorondor's eyes, Hayreddin felt as he did when he once looked into Babar and Ani's eyes. Like when he looked into Jerod's, Kazan's and Revan's. Like Kazanah's and Nebud's.
Like Isan's.
Most of all, like Ravenna's. Like Ravenna's before…
Hayreddin blinked and lowered his gaze.
"I believe you, Thorondor."
They spend the rest of the time talking about other things; from what would be expected of Hayreddin and the Emperor's imminent also touched on recruitment for the Eleventh Legion, but when Hayreddin wanted to delve into details, the Storm Lord had become oddly evasive, saying that it was something Hayreddin should discuss with Vukona. By the time the sun had set, the topic had come around to the sort of technology the Imperium would bring to Baybar.
Hayreddin had poured them both a cup of milu, and though slightly disappointed by the lack of alcohol, Thorondor seemed to be delighted by the drink's flavour. Hayreddin could not help but notice that his brother was a rather heavy drinker. As he listened to Thorondor speak of juvenat treatments, gene-hancing, terraforming and so forth, a thought struck him.
"If I may, Thorondor?" said Hayreddin. "How is it that you, and everyone from the Imperium, can speak Baybar's Common Tongue?"
Thorondor took another deep gulp of his drink. "What you call the Common Tongue is actually a variation of our language, Low Gothic. There are some subtle differences of course, but we can understand each other well enough."
"Everyone in the Imperium speaks it?"
"Every civilised world we've encountered, yes."
"Are there any other languages? Any that you speak?"
Thorondor's smile widened. "Ya. Saya berbahas Yndonesic juga."
"What was that?"
"That was Yndonesic," answered Thorondor. "The vast majority of my Legion prior to finding me are from the Yndonesic Bloc. The Storm Eagles have adopted the language as our battle-tongue."
"Are there others?"
"Yes. The Wolves of Fenris use Juvjk as their main language, Wurgen as their battle-tongue. The White Scars use Korchin."
Hayreddin shook his head. "There is so much I have to learn."
"And you will," assured Thorondor. "It's inspiring, you know? There are many worlds out there, many of them inimical to human life. But somehow, we've survived. From the Eternal Storm of Tempestas, the radioactive deserts of Baal, the volcanic wastes of Nocturne, our people have made a life out in the harsh galaxy. But for every civilisation that thrives, there are many more that suffer, that scrounge for survival. Some are oppressed and enslaved by the xenos races. That is where the Imperium comes in. It is the Emperor's dream to liberate Mankind from the hostile galaxy, to make our species masters of it. And we will do it by any means necessary."
Hayreddin smiled at the fervour in Thorondor's voice. But abruptly, it vanished.
"By any means necessary, you say?" repeated Hayreddin, disappearing into his room. He emerged with the strange skull he had caught earlier. "Does that include this?"
He laid the skull on his table. Thorondor stared at it. "Unit Eleven."
"What is this?"
"This is a servo-skull," answered Thorondor. "This particular unit was configured for reconnaissance, remote observation and…"
"This was once a person, wasn't it?"
Thorondor said nothing.
"Tell me Thorondor, what could necessitate the use of the dead?" asked Hayreddin. "Are things that dire in the galaxy that even the dead cannot be laid to rest?"
"Her name was Jyoti Rana."
Hayreddin fell silent, studying his brother. Despite the smile on Thorondor's face, there was genuine sorrow as he continued.
"She was an engineer, part of the team that maintained the temporary supply base during the Valahar Campaign. Mortals couldn't survive on the planet's surface, so the base was underground with an artificial atmosphere to sustain the engineering team. We thought the position was safe from attack."
Thorondor sighed and finished his drink in one gulp. "We were resupplying when the Vermikanid attacked. We fought them off, but the damage sustained by the base was substantial. The artificial atmosphere was compromised. We sent our tech-marines in to repair it before any harm could befall the mortal crew, but before they could reach it, the systems were restored."
Thorondor gestured to the skull on the table. "Thanks to her. She saved the crew, despite suffering fatal wounds. The xenos...they had torn her legs off and left her for dead. Despite her pain, despite her fear, despite her impending death, she saved her comrades. I was able to see her before she died. She was so scared and young, Hayreddin. Jyoti...she managed to tell me that all she wanted was to see the other worlds in the galaxy."
Thorondor gently stroked the skull, as though it was a lover.
"This was the best I could do to ensure her wish was honoured."
The Storm Lord rose and turned to look outside at Nuba. The sun was making its descent, casting golden light everywhere. Thorondor closed his eyes, as though he was enjoying the warmth.
"It is a harsh galaxy, Hayreddin. We use everything we can to survive. We do everything we can to survive. It might seem terrible, even macabre to you. It does to me. But it is necessary. Sometimes, for the sake our species, we must be cruel. I have done things I am not proud of, but I've done...will continue to do them for the sake of Mankind. But remember, we are not callous. We do not waste the sacrifices of the countless men and women, Astartes, Mechanicum have made for the Imperium."
Thorondor laid a hand on the skull again. "We will not waste the sacrifices people like Jyoti Rana have made."