The Immortal King

At any other time, Mika Vukona would have been awed by the scale and grandeur of the Imperial Palace. But being kept apart from his Primarch had the Legion Master on edge.

The Eleventh Legion were housed in one of the many towering buildings within the compound of the Palace. With little else to do, Vukona had drawn up a regimen of watch duty and intense training to keep his men busy. The Custodes at least had the courtesy to leave them to their own devices and not keep watch on them like prison wardens, though they were barred from leaving the confines of the building until further notice.

When he was not training with his men, Vukona spent his time sifting through the reports coming from Te Rangi, who had been left behind on Baybar to oversee the first batch of recruitments. Reports were promising, and in just a short amount of time, the Eleventh Legion would soon have a new crop of promising recruits to fill their ranks.

Vukona hoped that whatever malady that afflicted their gene-seed would be resolved by then. He did not want to waste the lives of the potential future of the Legion.

"Forgive me, Legion Master. But to clarify on this point, you and your warriors actually…"

Speaking to Memnos about the history of the Eleventh Legion had been another way for Vukona to pass the time. His Primarch's scribe had become something of a constant fixture, shadowing Vukona as he went about his duties. Some might consider it a nuisance, but Memnos had proven to be unobtrusive, speaking only during Vukona's more 'relaxed' moments. In a way, the Legion Master found speaking to Memnos about his Legion's history to be cathartic.

As the scribe jotted down the most recent information Vukona provided, Memnos leaned back, frowning thoughtfully. The expression did not go unnoticed by Vukona.

"Something troubles you, Master Memnos?" asked Vukona, using the title out of respect for Memnos' position even though he was far older.

"No, it's just…" Memnos hesitated for a moment before ploughing on. "You've told me about the Eleventh Legion's battles. I've just noticed a trend."

"Yes?"

"Compared to what I've learned of the other Legions, the Eleventh's way of combat seems…"

"Underhanded? Cowardly?" the organic side of Vukona's face twisted into a rare smile to show he was not upset.

"Not the words I was going to use," assured Memnos. "From what I've read, most of the other Legions prefer to face their enemies head on. The Storm Eagles, Luna Wolves and Blood Angels for instance, seem to favour diving right into the heart of battle. The Imperial Fists and Iron Warriors implacably grind down the enemy. The Ultramarines and Space Wolves seem to have an all-encompassing way of battle that adapt to the circumstances as needed. But the Eleventh…your way seems more subtle. It seems dependent on stealth, subterfuge, ambush and sabotage."

Vukona nodded. "As you know, Master, even before the disaster at Tyron, the Eleventh Legion's numbers were never great. As such, we were ill-equipped for high attrition battles. The previous Legion Master before me, Jonah Toa, simply adopted a way of battle that allowed us to efficiently use our small numbers while minimising losses. I simply carried on and refined that way of battle when Legion Master Toa fell."

"I see," said Memnos. "Is it for this reason I do not see as many battle-honours of the Eleventh recorded among the history of the Legiones Astartes?"

"Our way of fighting does not entirely sit well with other Legions," replied Vukona, shrugging. "We do not charge our enemies in a blaze of glory. We find away to flank and strike them unseen, to break them as quickly as possible. We do not break a fortress from without, we find a way to bring it down upon itself. This way of fighting was necessitated by our small numbers. It may seem cowardly to the other Legions, but it gets the job done."

"So why did you stand and fight at Tyron?" asked Memnos. "Why did you abandon your way of fighting then?"

"Because if we did, millions of people would have died," answered Vukona matter-of-factly. "The people of Tyron had peacefully accepted Compliance prior to the Ork invasion. With the bulk our auxiliary and mechanised support destroyed, standing our ground was the best way to protect them."

"You abandoned your combat doctrines…to protect the people of Tyron?"

Vukona nodded. "They had become part of the Imperium. We were not going to abandon them. It might have been foolish, considering the losses we sustained…"

"Not at all," Memnos was looking at Vukona with an expression full of respect. "What you and the Eleventh Legion did…was admirable."

Vukona was not sure how to handle that. It was oddly similar to when Lord Thorondor had praised him and the Eleventh Legion for their sacrifice. "I…I thank you. But we merely did our duty."

Memnos nodded. "Moving back to the subject of the Eleventh's combat doctrine, I believe you maintained the same doctrine when you were attached to the Storm Eagles?"

"That is correct. Lord Thorondor made no attempt to interfere with our way of battle. Instead, he incorporated it into his overall strategy. We acted as scouts and preemptive strike forces for the Second Legion's advance. We pinpointed and took out potential rallying points and defensive positions. We disrupted enemy communications and supply lines. Many a time, when the Storm Eagles have the enemy locked in combat, the Storm Lord would have us stealthily deliver the killing blow to the enemy command to break them."

"I see," noted Memnos as he jotted down the information. "It seems Lord Thorondor understands and makes full use of your Legion's different combat doctrines."

Vukona nodded. "He…he has shown us tremendous respect. Lord Thorondor could have simple left us out of the battle on the pretext of the Eleventh needing to focus on rebuilding. But instead, he honoured us by including us in crucial points of his battles. We will forever be grateful to him."

Memnos looked the Legion Master curiously. "Now that Lord Hayreddin is restored to you, the Eleventh Legion will be operating under his command instead of Lord Thorondor, with whom you've fought alongside for a long time. How does that make you feel?"

"Having Lord Hayreddin returned to us is a great joy, no question," answered Vukona. "We will follow him wherever he takes us. But the Eleventh Legion will never forget what Lord Thorondor has done for us. Lord Hayreddin is our gene-sire, our Primarch. But Lord Thorondor is our adopted Primarch. Always."

XI XI XI

The time spent at the Imperial Palace with his brothers proved to be a fruitful one for Hayreddin. He spent the most time with Magnus, studying the existing gene-seed of the Eleventh Legion and comparing against the ones obtained from his own genetic material. The depth of knowledge Magnus displayed was astounding even for a Primarch, as Thorondor had told Hayreddin. In the short time he spent in Magnus' presence, they had made great progress on identifying the issues with the Eleventh Legion's gene-seed, something that would please Vukona to no end. Though a definite solution remained elusive, with Magnus' knowledge, and Hayreddin's own growing understanding of the science behind it, they were making promising strides in the right direction.

Apart from the incredible depth of his knowledge, Magnus proved to be pleasant company. He was inquisitive, often asking Hayreddin to describe Baybar's people and culture as they worked. He was also forthcoming on stories about Prospero, though he remained notedly guarded on the nature of his Legion's abilities. Hayreddin could hardly fault him for that, given the suspicion he now understood that Magnus was constantly subjected to by his other brothers. Furthermore, while Thorondor had done a good job of getting Hayreddin up to speed with the general workings of the Imperium and Great Crusade, Magnus was able to give more detailed insight and aspects on some of the more subtle workings of the Imperium.

Thanks to Magnus, Hayreddin was able to fully grasp how large an undertaking the Great Crusade was, with countless Expedition Fleets spread out throughout the galaxy, ever expanding outwards in the quest claim it for Mankind. He also understood that the War Council was the central power that governed the Imperium, with the Emperor at its head.

Privately, Hayreddin felt such a centralised form of governance was impractical. He wondered why the role of governance had not been separated into different bodies to better manage the mammoth undertaking of running a galactic empire. He chose not to question it for the moment, as he had far more pressing things to do.

But apart from the constant study, it was the time spent bonding with his brothers that Hayreddin truly appreciated. Even as they worked, Hayreddin and Magnus often discussed philosophy, law and the various points of humanity's history. Hayreddin had met many a great mind during his time on Baybar, but they all paled in comparison to the spirited, intellectual debate he had with Magnus, often with good-humoured jibes traded every now and then.

Hayreddin had also found himself growing closer to Fulgrim. The Phoenician, as he now knew Fulgrim was called, would take any opportunity to get him to explore the countless works of art found within the Imperial Palace. They would discuss anything from the fine details of every sculpture they saw, every stroke of brush on a painting, the details on the architectural design of the Palace itself. At times, Hayreddin would show Fulgrim some of Baybar's own works that he had brought with him. Though Hayreddin felt they were humbler compared to the grandeur of all he had seen, Fulgrim had graciously studied each and every one, praising the subtle details that went into their making. It was also Fulgrim who had given Hayreddin some insight to Thorondor.

They had been looking at a winged statue and Hayreddin had remarked on how the countless cultures he had studied so far had always described angels in the same way regardless of the distance between them.

"Apparently not on Tempestas though," Fulgrim had commented. "Thor was captivated when he first saw a statue of an angel."

"Truly?" Hayreddin had asked, curious by this little tidbit of information on his brother.

"Indeed," Fulgrim had replied. "I'm sure Thorondor told you how dreadful Tempestas is."

"Not in those exact words," remarked Hayreddin with a smile. Fulgrim had chuckled with amusement.

"I've never been to Tempestas myself. But it's a harsh place from how he described it. Survival was the only priority. Anything not related to martial prowess, survival skills, productivity…simply had no place there. So I doubt the Tempestans had any inclination of arts and culture. Yet-" Fulgrim gestured to the angelic statue. "- something about this caught Thor's imagination. Given how important the Storm Eagles are on Tempestas, for a man to have wings there would be the ultimate freedom. That's how I understood it when he told me."

Hayreddin nodded, appreciating this information on Thorondor and his mysterious homeworld. "Is that why he gets along so well with Sanguinius?"

Fulgrim had laughed. "Sanguinius is a charmer. Looking like an actual angel is just a bonus."

Despite his taciturn nature, Hayreddin had also spent some time with Ferrus Manus. He had watched with amazement as the Primarch of the Iron Hands molded metal with his bare hands. Through Fulgrim, Hayreddin had heard the story about how Ferrus obtained his hands, through slaying a mighty silver wyrm called Asirnoth. He had also heard about other fantastical stories about the Gorgon battling storm giants, slaying monsters and machine-creatures that were relics of a long-forgotten age on Medusa. It all sounded like one of the myths that used to be told in the ancient times of Terra. When Hayreddin had tentatively asked Ferrus if any of it were true, the Primarch of the Iron Hands had simply told him there were more important things for him to do.

And while Hayreddin found Lorgar's intense zeal regarding the Great Crusade somewhat off-putting at times, the Primarch of the Word Bearers was actually soft-spoken, humble and almost reserved whenever the conversation turned towards personal matters. Both Hayreddin and Lorgar had shared stories about the people who had raised them.

"They sound like good people," said Lorgar, after being told about Babar and Ani. "Few people would have risked the wrath of their community to do the right thing."

"They were," agreed Hayreddin, smiling sadly at their memory. "But they loved me unconditionally because to them, I was their son. Not because I was changing Baybar and the old ways."

Lorgar looked almost sad upon hearing Hayreddin's words. He had spoken to Hayreddin about Kor Phaeron, his own foster father on Cholchis. But the tone in which Lorgar spoke of him indicated a certain disappointment and wistfulness, rather than any genuine affection and love.

"What happened to them?" Lorgar asked. "You speak as though they are no longer with you."

Memories of that dark night stirred in Hayreddin's mind, but he quickly pushed them away. "They are gone," was all he said. "It still hurts for me to speak of it."

Lorgar's smile was compassionate and understanding, and his touch on Hayreddin's shoulder was gentle.

Apart from personal matters, Hayreddin and Lorgar often debated on the nature of executing the Great Crusade. While every human world that willingly returned to the fold of the Imperium was a cause for celebration, there were many more that needed to be pacified by conquest. Some of these worlds were openly hostile to the Imperium's goals and were therefore a threat. But it was the worlds that simply wished to remain independent that brought up a moral dilemma.

Both Hayreddin and Lorgar agreed that these worlds should not be conquered outright, but rather won over. Lorgar himself had indicated the number of worlds he had brought back into the Imperium in such a manner. Despite the time it took, the worlds Lorgar had won back were loyal, productive and dedicated members of the Imperium. It was something to be celebrated, but Lorgar lamented that there were those in the War Council that criticised the lengthy time it took for the Word Bearers to bring worlds into Compliance in such a manner.

"But surely it is worth it?" Hayreddin had asked during their discussion. "If it means fully winning over the people of those worlds?"

Lorgar had shrugged. "There are many worlds to win back. In the time it takes my Legion to fully win over a world, others win back thirty to fifty more."

His time with Lorgar had also made Hayreddin aware of the fact that his other brothers did not hold the Word Bearers' Primarch in the same esteem Thorondor did. He noticed how Ferrus and Fulgrim seemed distant with Lorgar, and how despite his civility, there was a guardedness in the way Sanguinius interacted with him. Only Magnus, Thorondor and Hayreddin himself seemed to have a good relationship with Lorgar.

Despite this unsettling revelation, Hayreddin bonded with his brothers as best as he could in the time he had with them.

But all too soon, the time for goodbyes came.

First to depart was Fulgrim. He had embraced Hayreddin and promised to have some of the finest clothing woven by the most masterful tailors ready at their next meeting. Fulgrim also made Hayreddin promise to help him dress Thorondor in something more elegant the next time they all got together. Hayreddin had agreed with good humour.

The next to go was Ferrus. He had offered Hayreddin his silver-metallic hand, and Hayreddin had clasped wrists with his brother the way he saw Thorondor did. As Hayreddin marveled at the strength he sensed in Ferrus' grip, the Iron Hand Primarch spoke.

"Thorondor thinks highly of you," he said, silver eyes regarding Hayreddin. "He expects great things of you and I have never known him to be a poor judge of character."

Hayreddin nodded. "Thorondor has been kind and a good teacher. I intend to live up to his expectations."

For the first time since they met, the corners of Ferrus' mouth had twitched into a shadow of a smile.

Lorgar would be the next to depart. He and Hayreddin embraced before their departure, their sorrow at parting genuine and heartfelt.

"It has truly been a pleasure to meet you, Hayreddin," said Lorgar. "The next time we meet, you will truly be the master of the Eleventh Legion. I looked forward to hearing of your victories in bringing father's light to Mankind."

"Your guidance, kindness and friendship have been an immeasurable gift, Lorgar," Hayreddin returned sincerely. "I will be counting the days to our next meeting. We will have more to speak of then."

Lorgar smiled. "I will be looking forward to it, my brother."

With Fulgrim, Ferrus and Lorgar returning to the Crusade, Hayreddin was left with Sanguinius and Magnus. The Angel had taken over the role of mentoring him in Thorondor's absence, explaining in depth Imperium policy for the myriad of worlds they had to bring to Compliance. While some seemed reasonable enough, others sounded extreme, such as the Imperium's zero-tolerance policy for artificial intelligence and xenos.

"Surely not all xenos are evil?" Hayreddin asked, genuinely curious.

Sanguinius shook his head. "Nothing in our contacts with aliens have proven otherwise." He went on to describe the relentless savagery of the Orks, the vicious Vermikanid, the Giants, the treacherous Eldar and more.

"The Giants were a particularly tragic case," remarked Sanguinius, shaking his head. "An entire strand of Mankind was reduced to nothing more than animals. They deserved every bit of the destruction Thorondor and Jaghatai brought upon them."

Hayreddin nodded, understanding the barely suppressed anger in the Angel's voice, even if he himself found the absolute annihilation of an entire race shocking.

"What happened to the humans after Thorondor and Jaghatai killed the Giants?" he asked.

Sanguinius gave him an odd look. "Thorondor didn't tell you?"

Hayreddin shook his head and his brother seemed to understand something.

"Then perhaps it's best I say nothing more on the matter. It's Thor's decision if he wishes to share this."

Hayreddin frowned. It was the first time that Sanguinius had been deliberately evasive on a subject with him.

Beyond that, the Angel explained in-depth on how the Imperium sustained itself. He explained how whole worlds were dedicated to particular industries from agriculture, goods, weaponry, munition; some were even fully dedicated to producing only soldiers. It was a scale on which Hayreddin had never even fathomed not too long ago. But he absorbed all the information effortlessly, asking questions where prudent and engaging Sanguinius in debate on various matters.

There were times however, when Sanguinius would be sequestered away with Magnus to discuss whatever it was he had come to Terra for. Hayreddin would spend these moments of solitude in the library, reading up on everything he can. He wished he could spend some time with his Legion, but the Custodes had them housed elsewhere, stating that the Astartes were not permitted into Hayreddin's corner of the Palace until further notice.

So Hayreddin poured himself into the books. After a time though, he found himself reading up more and more about Mankind's history. He read up on the fragmented information of the Age of Terra, that golden age where humanity had carved out its mighty interstellar empire. It was an age of reason and progress that was ultimate brought low by Old Night. He read on how the Emperor had risen during the Age of Strife, leading the Thunder Warriors in the Unification Wars that finally ended the self-destruction humanity was inflicting upon itself. He also read how the Thunder Warriors had tragically met their end at the Battle of Mount Ararat, where the hero Arik Taranis had defiantly lifted the Emperor's banner at the very moment Unity had been achieved just before dying.

This made Hayreddin pause. As someone familiar with politics, he recognised propaganda when he saw one, and the story of the Thunder Warriors' end reeked of it. He knew about the Thunder Warriors, of course. Thorondor's Legion had inherited the Raptor Imperialis that had once been their battle-standard. Hayreddin recalled Thorondor describing them as being even more potent than the Astartes. So the idea of all of them dying in one final battle sounded ludicrous.

Hayreddin frowned, he instinctively knew that something had happened to the precursors of the Astartes, something that the general public was not meant to know…

"Reconnecting with the history of Terra, I see?"

The old man could have been standing there for hours and Hayreddin wouldn't have known if he hadn't spoken up. He looked entirely unremarkable, dressed in black robes and his face partially obscured by a hood.

"How do you find everything so far?" asked the old man pleasantly.

The familiarity and relaxed manner in which the old man addressed him suggested to Hayreddin that he was no ordinary man. Still, the courtesy schooled into him behooved him to answer.

"Everything is well. My brothers have been very helpful," replied Hayreddin cautiously. He doubted the old man meant him any harm even if he was capable of it, but he still sensed something hidden underneath his pleasant façade.

"Good, that's good," said the old man, coming closer. Hayreddin could see tubes feeding into his neck, coiling away underneath his robes. It reminded Hayreddin of the tech-priests of Mars that had met, but despite the similarity, the man was clearly no Martian.

"Are you ready then?"

The question threw Hayreddin off. "I beg your pardon?"

"Are you ready to meet your father?"

At last, it clicked for Hayreddin. He should have known better. Thorondor, Sanguinius and Lorgar had described this man often enough. The Emperor's de-facto second and his faithful companion for as long as anyone could remember.

Hayreddin bowed his head. "Forgive me, I did not recognise you, Malcador the Sigilite,"

The old man smiled. "But you have heard of me?"

"Of course, Thorondor spoke of you often," said Hayreddin.

Malcador nodded and now Hayreddin could sense a hint of the power residing in the old man. It reminded him somewhat of Magnus, but different in a way he still did not understand.

"Walk with me, Hayreddin," said Malcador pointing with a staff topped by the Imperial Aquila towards the library door. Hayreddin was certain it had not been there before, and that he had not introduced himself yet. "Your father awaits."

XI XI XI

Malcador led Hayreddin down a series of passageways, his every step filled with the surety of one who had traversed the Imperial Palace countless times.

"Do you often leave Terra?" Hayreddin asked, genuinely curious. There was no one closer to the Emperor than the old man leading him and he wished to know more.

"Not as often," answered Malcador easily. "Of late, I find myself on Terra more often as my lord leads the Crusade. With the frontier expanding, there is much work to do here."

"Do you not fight by the Emperor's side?" asked Hayreddin.

Malcador glanced at him, a wry smile curling in the corner of his lips. "Your brothers are more than well-suited for that role. I'm afraid my task here is not so glorious, though no less important. With so many worlds being brought into Compliance, we need to ensure they are being governed by Imperial law. Oversight of the governance of these worlds are important to ensure there are no abuses of power. We need to ensure appropriate standards of commerce, industry and productivity are adhered to. Resources for defences and much more."

"A monumental task," commented Hayreddin.

"One that the Administratum I am putting into place will eventually handle," replied Malcador. "A monumental task, as you put it. But one that is no less important than the Crusade itself."

"It could be said that your task is the true Crusade," said Hayreddin. "It is one thing to conquer a world, another to properly bring into Imperial rule."

"Very true, which is why the efforts of Legions like the Imperial Fists and Ultramarines are highly valued. They make efforts to preserve as much as possible."

Malcador led Hayreddin into an elevator. He had gotten used it by now, but Hayreddin still felt somewhat cramped in the confined space. By his judgment, the elevator was travelling downwards, deep into the earth. Upon reaching its destination, the doors slid open, revealing yet another passageway. Without a word, Malcador led the way.

"Do you know every passageway in the Palace, Lord Malcador?" asked Hayreddin.

The Sigilite let out a small laugh at that. "Well, you are a courteous one. None of your brothers ever referred to me as such. To answer your question, I know more than most. Only the Emperor and perhaps the Custodes know more than I do. The Palace is built on cities and sites far more ancient."

Malcador came to a halt before a set of massive gilded double doors. The left door bore the carving of a woman holding an infant in the crook of one arm and a sword in the other. Her hair flowed like a waterfall, mingling with her billowing dress that merged with long grass at her feet. The right door bore the carving of a man, dressed in worker's overalls. A chain around his neck bore what Hayreddin now recognised to be the lightning bolt of Unification. In one hand he held a wrench, in the other a pistol. Both carved figures looked skywards towards a burning stylised star, surrounded by other pinpricks in the sky. Above the door was an ornate scrollwork bearing a script Hayreddin did not yet recognise.

"What does it say?" he asked Malcador.

The old man looked up at it. "It's an ancient Terran script. It simply says: 'People of Earth. Together.'"

Malcador pushed the doors open, leading the way into a dark hall. But as Hayreddin followed him in, arched windows to the right slid open, letting sunlight stream in to illuminate the hall. Looking out, Hayreddin could see that they were still high up in the mountains despite having descended far by elevator. The now-illuminated hall was several hundred feet long by his reckoning. It contained countless stasis glass cabinets, some small enough to fit the Primarch's palm, others the size of the galleons that sailed across Baybar's oceans. All of them were lined up in rows, giving Hayreddin the impression of an oddly ordered city.

He paused to inspect the nearest cabinet. Inside was an odd piece of machinery that Hayreddin did not recognise even from the countless books he had perused. It was small, having six wheels, resembling a very small cart with a flat, glassy surface on top. The small description plate on the side of the cabinet simply stated: Titan Rover.

"I thought Titans were supposed to be massive?" asked Hayreddin. Thorondor had showed him picts of the incredible war machines forged by the Mechanicum, and the little machine before him looked nothing like it.

"This ancient machine was not made for war," replied Malcador. "It was made for exploration and gathering data. Despite its humble appearance, without it, and others like it, we would not have been able to prepare to colonise even the worlds and moons within the Sol System itself."

Hayreddin nodded in understanding, moving from cabinet to cabinet. He saw shards of broken pottery, pieces of broken machinery, ancient scrolls with faded scripts, a huge black stone with writings carved on every corner, tubes containing some ancient formulas, a broken cylinder with ancient carved with words from a long-dead language and more.

Malcador explained to Hayreddin what they were: the first pieces of pottery moulded by Mankind, pieces from a space exploration probe, ancient writings on philosophy and medicine, a stone containing a proclamation in the script of three different languages which had allowed humans in the past to unlock the key to reading a long-dead language and more. As Malcador continued his explanations, Hayreddin fully grasped the purpose of the hall. It was a museum, preserving artifacts from important moments in Mankind's history.

"Remarkable," said Hayreddin, looking around the room. "All of these ancient treasures from our past were the steppingstones for us to get where we are now."

Malcador looked pleased. "Yes. Without the minds that created them, and the minds that would learn from them, our species would have taken a very different path. That is why we this place the Hall of Victories. To celebrate the artifacts that helped advanced our race."

Hayreddin continued to look around, enthralled. He continued to immerse himself in the pieces of Mankind's past, aided by Malcador's knowledge.

He was caught up in examining a proto-exoskeleton that was the ancestor to power armour when a voice spoke up.

"Life is divided into three terms – that which was, which is and which will be."

Hayreddin turned around.

The man standing before him was dressed in a simple brown robes. His face was tanned as one who was no stranger to the light of sun. His hair was long dark, framing his plain face, held in place by a simple gold circlet. He looked pleasant enough, though his presence sent a jolt of electricity through Hayreddin.

"Let us learn from the past to profit from the present, and from the present, to live better in the future," continued the man, his voice deep and pleasant. "These were words by a scholar who lived in ancient times. Their meaning still holds true, millennia later."

Malcador bowed his head and stepped aside as the man approach, confirming Hayreddin's suspicions. He could sense the power residing in the man, dormant, waiting to be called upon as needed. His body moved of its own accord, and Hayreddin knelt before him.

A god in gold, blazing with the light of the sun itself.

Kazanah reciting the ancient prophecy:

On burning wings of gilded gold,

The Immortal King shall come to claim his own.

The Immortal King he was in the ancient prophecy. Throughout the Imperium, he was called the Emperor. But Thorondor and the other brothers Hayreddin met had referred to him by a different title.

"Father," he whispered.

Light emanated softly from the Emperor as he approached. He reached down and lifted Hayreddin's face and their eyes met.

In the Emperor's eyes, Hayreddin saw the loving gleam of Babar and Ani, the no-nonsense grimness of Isan, the world-weariness of Ravenna, the assurance of Thorondor and a hint of all the brothers he had already met. It buoyed Hayreddin, yet a prickle of unease crept down his spine.

Hayreddin sensed an ancientness beyond anything he could ever fathom. In a hall full of ancient artifacts from Mankind's past, the Emperor was far more ancient than most of them. Here was someone who had witnessed much of humanity's history unfold before his very eyes. He had watched civilisations rise and fall, had witnessed Mankind's first stumbling steps towards the stars, the rise of the first great human galactic empire and its demise.

With a jolt, Hayreddin suddenly found himself wondering if the Emperor had been present at every pivotal moment of Mankind's history, guiding or influencing from the shadows. Had Mankind reached its current state because of the Emperor's intervention? Or perhaps the Emperor had intended this for Mankind all along?

"Hayreddin of Baybar," said the Emperor, silencing the sudden cacophony of thoughts in Hayreddin's mind. "Welcome home. Stand and be at peace."

Hayreddin stood and looked upon the Emperor's face once more. Again, he found himself nearly overwhelmed by the ancientness within that seemingly plain face. The history of Mankind itself was written within the lines of that face. He lowered his eyes.

"You…are my true father?" he asked, feeling stupid at having to ask the obvious.

The Emperor put a hand on Hayreddin's shoulder and warmth blossomed at the touch. "You are of me, created from my own blood and genome."

Hayreddin frowned. In his mind, he remembered Babar, the man who had raised him. A short, stout, cheerful man with a big booming voice with an even bigger heart. Babar had been a simple merchant, a man of simple speech with fondness for wine. He had always been quick to clap Hayreddin on the shoulder and embrace him. Hayreddin remembered the feel of his rough, warm hands and the big hard belly that always bumped into him whenever they hugged. He could always feel the simple, honest love that had always exuded from Babar.

Abruptly, Hayreddin felt tears prickling in the back of his eyes. Perhaps he had been naïve, but in some distant corner of his heart, when Thorondor had first told him about the Emperor, his true father, Hayreddin had hoped to feel that love again, to bask in that warmth that he had missed for so long.

He sensed none of it the Emperor. Though the Emperor seemed benevolent, the warmth radiating from him was nothing like what Hayreddin had felt from his own family.

It felt artificial.

The diplomat in him came to the fore.

"I have returned, father," said Hayreddin formally. "My purpose has been made clear, and I am ready to shoulder it."

The Emperor smiled, clearly pleased. "You are ready in spirit, but there is still more for you to learn before you are truly ready. But for now, let us talk, Hayreddin."

XI XI XI

The light in the Hall of Victories seemed somewhat diminished once the Emperor had dismissed Malcador, leaving Hayreddin alone with him. Even the light that had radiated from the Emperor was gone, though Hayreddin sensed the power of it still lurking beneath the surface.

They stood side-by-side at one of the windows overlooking the slopes of the Himalazan mountains. The Emperor had asked Hayreddin to tell him of everything he had experienced prior to his return to the Imperium, and Hayreddin had dutifully obeyed.

He spoke of everything, how he had brought changed to Nuba, Ain and later all of Baybar. The wars he had fought, the reforms he had introduced to governance and commerce, the cultural boom and prosperity that had followed. He spoke of his interactions with Thorondor, Fulgrim, Lorgar, Ferrus and Sanguinius. His impression of the Eleventh Legion, his Legion. He spoke of the people who were important in his life, Babar, Ani, Isan, Ravenna, Revan and more.

The only thing he did not speak about, was what happened on the island. The same instinct that had compelled him to remain silent about it throughout the years had warned him to say nothing of it. He had told no one of it, not his family, not his closest associates, not Thorondor and he had no intention of telling the Emperor just yet.

The Emperor did not seem to notice that Hayreddin was holding anything back.

"You've done great work, given the resources at hand," he said. "If you had landed on a world similar to Dorn or Roboute, you may have rivalled them."

"Thank you," replied Hayreddin. "Thor said something similar to me when we met."

"Thor? You've grown close to Thorondor, then?" remarked the Emperor.

"I wouldn't say close," answered Hayreddin. "But he has been kind and patient with me, mentoring me on the workings of the Imperium."

The Emperor nodded. "Thorondor has always been dutiful and faithful. He had served the Imperium with distinction, even when compared to your other brothers."

"I'm well aware of that. The others I've met here have all spoken highly of him."

"Deservedly so," the Emperor looked thoughtful, though his face remained inscrutable. "I'm sure you know that the Eleventh Legion have been attached to the Second for a significant length of time. There is a rapport between your Legion and Thorondor's. I understand that you have already developed one with him as well."

"I have."

"But I understand you have also developed a rapport with Sanguinius and Fulgrim? Their Legions are also highly accomplished, and they have served with distinction as well. Would you like to have your Legion seconded to either one of theirs? They could mentor you as well as Thorondor."

Hayreddin considered the request. It was reasonable enough, he supposed. He had already bonded with the Angel and Fulgrim. They were indeed just as knowledgeable as Thorondor on the workings of the Imperium and the expectations of a Primarch. Why the Emperor had neglected to mention Lorgar, with whom Hayreddin also had good relations, was a mystery to him.

But it was odd. Since Thorondor had been the one to restore Hayreddin to the Imperium, surely the Storm Lord was the natural choice to mentor him? Briefly, Hayreddin wondered if the Emperor intended to keep them apart. But there was no plausible reason he could fathom for that.

In any case, Thorondor had seemed certain that he would continue to mentor Hayreddin. There was also the matter of Sanguinius and Lorgar asking him to keep an eye on the Storm Lord. Who was he to let his brothers down?

"Thank you, but I believe it would be best if I continued with Thorondor. As you say, the Eleventh and the Storm Eagles have worked together for a long time. From a strategic standpoint, it would be unwise to break them apart now."

The Emperor nodded in acceptance. "Very well." He looked at Hayreddin thoughtfully. "From the reports Thorondor sent and what you've told me, you value peaceful means over force. That is good. We should bring as many worlds into Compliance through peaceful means as possible."

"I agree," affirmed Hayreddin.

"But you understand this will not always be possible?" asked the Emperor. There was now a hint of force in his voice, enough to give Hayreddin a glimpse of the power he wielded, and the unshakeable determination that drove him. "If and when the need arises, you must use force to bring worlds into the fold, as regrettable as it may be."

Hayreddin was reminded of the times that violence was indeed needed. The Battle of Ain and the Pirate Wars for instance.

That dark night in Nuba, and his battle against the daemon on the island, unknown to all but himself.

"I understand, father."

"Very good," said the Emperor briskly. "Take this time and learn as much as you can from your brothers. Prepare your Legion. When the time comes, I will send you and the Eleventh to join the Storm Eagles. I expect great things of you, Hayreddin."

Hayreddin bowed. "By your will, father."