I believe this is my first time addressing all of you directly since my return. First of all, thank you all for your continued encouragement even during my long hiatus. Secondly, thank you for your kind wishes to my health and well-being, though I must clarify to some that I am from Malaysia, not Myanmar, but I appreciate it nonetheless. Thirdly, there is some among my readers who persistently ask me questions about my planned details for the Eleventh Legion. You know who you are, and I apologise for not answering your direct messages though I have read them all, but I'd rather reveal the details in the story itself. This chapter is dedicated to you, and I hope it does your expectations justice. Thank you all again, for your continued feedbacks and encouragement.
Much love, dorawarrior.
The Sand Ravens of Baybar
The dying light of the sun glimmered like gold in the waters of the oasis. The birds were chirping, bidding the day farewell as they settled into their nests. A pleasant cool breeze rustled the palm trees, making the waters ripple, causing the golden light of the sunset to sparkle across its surface.
It was almost heavenly.
He knew better though.
The were eyes everywhere, waiting for their chance to strike. Whether to grab some much-needed water after a day's harsh fight, or for the chance to prey upon the unwary for much-needed resources, the predators were always watching and waiting.
So he waited, as still as a stone, his ears sifting through all the sounds, searching for any signs of danger. His eyes were alert, looking for any anomalies that might signal a potential threat. He kept ever so still, so that he would not give himself away even as the light grew dim. Before long, the sky darkened and the golden light dancing on the water turned to dim stars twinkling on the shifting waves.
It was time.
Slowly, he crept from his hiding place, knife held ready at his side in one hand, and a waterskin in the other. He moved with the grace and subtlety of a cautious predator, keeping an eye out for other beasts. His head swiveled constantly, eyes already adjusting to the onset of the night's darkness. In a few short strides, he had reached the water's edge and dipped his waterskin in.
The cool trail the water left in his throat was absolute bliss, reinvigorating him after the day's trials. Nevertheless, he did not lose himself to the sensation, keeping his eyes peeled and ears sharp even as he drank. Once he had his fill, he began filling up a few other waterskins he brought with him, something to keep the thirst at bay for a while so that he would not have to put himself in a vulnerable position too often.
A shifting noise, the sound of grass being moved aside. In one swift moment, he hooked the waterskins to his belt and whirled around, knife pointed out in front of him.
There were three of them, slightly older than him if he was any judge.
They had their own knives, but held at their sides instead of outwards in a gesture of threat. The trio had halted, as though they had not expected to find anyone else there.
It was all that stopped him from leaping forward to kill them.
One of them squinted at him in the dark.
"Just one, a boy too," said one of them. "Let's kill him and take the waterskin."
"No need for killing if he just hands it over to us, right?" said another.
In answer, he whirled the knife down to his side, ready to kill the first one to charge. The movement seemed to startle the trio's leader, who gave a hiss of recognition.
"You fools, shut up," he hissed. "That's Revan. Do you want to die?"
"Shit, this is Revan?" asked one.
"Don't look like much…" said the other doubtfully, but the leader punched him in the chest to silence him. He sheathed his knife, signaling to the other two to do the same. They slowly obeyed.
"Peace, Revan," said the leader. "We don't know want trouble. We just want a drink, alright?"
Revan said nothing, tense and ready, like a snake waiting to strike.
The leader started moving to his right, toward the far side of the water's bank. The others moved with him. "We'll just get out of your way and leave you in peace, alright? No need to fight, no need for killing. Live and let live, you agree?"
Revan remained silent, his eyes watching them as they moved away, his ears listening for any potential ambushes. The trio seemed to take his silence for agreement, as they moved more quickly to the far side of the bank, away from him.
Once they were far enough, Revan moved, melting away into the oasis' grass.
He took a long circuitous route back to his shelter. Perhaps that trio had been honest about not wanting trouble, but Revan wasn't taking any chances. They might change their minds and trail him for an ambush.
It had happened before.
Revan kept at it, doubling back every now and then to make sure he wasn't being followed. By the time he was satisfied that no one was following, the moon had fully risen in the night sky, accompanied by the legions of stars.
Looking around one last time to make sure no one was following him, Revan struck out to a barely discernable outcrop of rocks jutting out not far from the oasis. Most of it was buried beneath the desert sands, which suited his purpose nicely. Glancing around, Revan slipped through a crevice under the rock, entering the small hollow cavern underneath. How long had he been living there? Revan wasn't sure anymore; it had been so long.
He stored his waterskins and tore off some dried meat he kept there. He chewed slowly. The chill of the desert was quickly coming, Revan could feel the warmth bleeding away. Almost automatically, he wrapped himself in the camel skin he kept in the cave, huddling in it for warmth. No fires. As well-hidden his as shelter was, there was always a chance someone might see the flickering flames through the small crevice. It might entice unwanted guests.
He had learned that the hard way before. No fires. The camel skin was sufficient to keep him warm until daybreak.
Briefly, his thoughts drifted to the brazier that had kept his room warm in the Administrative Palace in Nuba. A long time ago. A lifetime ago. He could barely remember the soft sheets and warm blankets of his bed, comforting companions as he drifted off to dream. Now his sleeping companions were the hard rocky floor of the cave and a coarse camel skin so old it had lost its smell.
It didn't matter, it was warm.
He swallowed the meat and took another bite. Chewing, he eyed how much he had left. Not much. Maybe enough for two days. Three, if he tightened his belt. He'd have to hunt again. Birds, lizards, feral camels. Anything would do. Maybe he'd have to rob someone else. It was easier.
Sometimes, in the daily struggle to survive, Revan had trouble remembering why he was doing this. What could be worth giving up all the comforts of his old life to struggle for survival in the desert? Where everything and everyone was looking to kill in the name of survival.
Revan had nightmares when he had his first kill. It was justified, the other boy would have killed him too. In desperation, Revan had driven his knife into the other boy's stomach and gutted him. The smell of the boy's spilled guts had made him vomit, but it was the boy's face that stuck in his mind.
He had killed more since then. He tried not to, but sometimes he had no choice. Revan had even gotten good at it. The other people in the desert feared him. The Wraith, they called him. Revan didn't mind, it made dealing with people easier if they feared him. But he still had to be on guard, they'd stab in the back the moment he let his guard down.
But he never forgot the face of his first kill.
Why was he doing all that?
Right. A chance to serve Mankind. A chance to go to the stars. A chance to serve his beloved Uncle.
What did his Uncle look like again? Revan could remember a beautiful face, eyes full of kindness and a warm voice. He remembered hands that would gently touch him on the shoulder and strong arms that would embrace him.
But those memories had become ghosts to him. No matter how hard he tried, all he remembered was a vague figure of someone he had loved. But whenever he tried to remember the face of his Uncle, all he saw was the face of his first kill.
Revan swallowed the meat and put back the rest. Wrapping the camel skin tightly around him, he closed his eyes. His ears remained sharp for any possible danger, even as he slowly drifted off to sleep.
Would he dream? Revan didn't know, he hadn't dreamed in a long time.
XI XI XI
Revan opened his eyes.
Instead of the brown sandstone of the cave, he was greeted by the sight of dull metal grey. A harsh light from the ceiling illuminated the dormitory, which Revan shared with other Initiates. In normal times, the dormitory would be a buzz of activity as Initiates talked amongst themselves, reviewing tactics and protocol, discussing weaponry and combat techniques, or even jesting and grumbling about the hard time Commander Te Rangi gave them.
But today, the dormitory was silent. Tension filled the air as the Initiates variously set on their bunk beds or paced around.
Revan couldn't blame them, he felt it too. Such emotion had been dulled by the various stages of the gene-seed implantation he had underwent, but he felt nervous for the first time in a long time, that was how big the stakes were.
Today, they would all receive the Black Carapace.
This was the day they would become full-fledged Astartes. Everything they had endured was for this day. Of course they'd all be nervous.
Revan looked over to Ashir, one of the few who had survived the First Trial with him. There had been a total of five Trials, with varying degrees of success, but now, it was time for the survivors of the First to finally ascend as the new Astartes of the Eleventh Legion.
"How are you feeling?" Revan asked Ashir. The other looked startled to be addressed. Revan couldn't really blame him; he had a reputation for being quiet and a loner. Still, his peers respected him, he was resourceful and worked well with them.
"You must be really nervous if you're talking," remarked Ashir. "You usually go without talking for days." Ashir was from one of the desert tribes, Revan knew. Which tribe, he wasn't sure, neither was Ashir. Not anymore. Such individual identities were beaten out of them; they were all the Eleventh Legion, that was all that mattered.
Revan grunted. "It's a huge step."
Ashir nodded. "That's true."
He was jiggling his legs, a nervous tic that had gotten them into trouble before during their more stealth-oriented training. Ashir had managed to stop doing it during training and drills, but it seemed he couldn't quite suppress it in private.
"I hope when you get the Black Carapace the process knocks that out of you," remarked Revan, injecting a rare dose of humour. Ashir chuckled ruefully as he forced his legs to go still.
"Sorry," he replied. "Some habits die hard."
"I don't mind," said Revan. "As long as you don't do it at crucial moments."
XI XI XI
Fire.
Someone had actually made a fire out in the desert. It was the singular most stupidest thing anyone could do, in a place rife with battles for survival. Fire attracted attention. From hunters.
Predators.
Revan crept closer, effortlessly masking any noise. He skirted around the circle of light from the fire, making his way to an outcrop of rocks against which the fools had made their camp. With cat-like agility, Revan glided up the rock, reaching the top in a matter of minutes. From his new perch, he looked down at the camp.
Five boys.
He judged them to be around his age. He hadn't encountered this bunch before. They must be new to the desert if they were foolish enough to make a fire. No doubt they thought the rock would shelter them.
Revan knew better.
He would wait until they were asleep. Asleep or dead, whichever came first. Then he would take what he needed. He could kill them himself, of course. But no need to put himself in potential danger unless absolutely necessary.
And Revan preferred not to kill if possible.
So he waited, still as stone as the boys under him huddled together for warmth.
Revan felt it before he even heard it. A prickling feeling crept up along his spine, warning him something was about to happen. Then, he heard the sands shifting before the eruption. The previously tranquil sea of sand roiled and burst, disgorging a Biwak.
At least 20 feet long and as heavy as a small frigate, it charged forward, attracted by the warmth of the fire.
Though the fire was what first drew the beast's attention, it was also what prevented the boys from being killed instantly. The light from the fire hurt the Biwak's sensitive eyes, and it halted, hissing as it turned away.
The five boys were scrambling away, trying to use the distraction to escape.
Their intentions were smart, their execution, foolish. Revan had enough experience with Biwaks to know that running out towards the desert would enable the beast to hunt them more easily. What they should have done was put the fire between them and the Biwak, making using of the blinding light to creep away. Running haphazardly would ensure at least one or two of them will die.
Revan could have let them go on, and just pilfer their resources when the Biwak went after them.
It would have been smarter.
Instead, Revan stood and shouted. "Don't just run away, idiots! Keep the fire between you and that monster!"
Only three of them heard him, and only two obeyed.
Fast as lightning, the Biwak went after one of them, snapping the unfortunate victim up in its jaws even as the wretched boy shrieked.
A sickening crunch, and the shrieks ended.
The Biwak was not even done swallowing when it snapped up another boy, ripping him into bloody shreds within seconds. It was not even done chewing as it pursued a third.
Again, Revan surprised himself.
He leaped down from the rock, landing lightly beside the other two.
"If you want a chance of living through this, do exactly as I say," he said, without even looking at them.
"Shouldn't we be getting away now?" asked one, his voice shrill with terror.
"We wouldn't get far enough," snapped Revan. "If you have oil, pour it on the fire, make it burn brighter. Hurry! We don't have much time!"
The other two boys scrambled to obey. Apart from what oil they had, they threw anything flammable to make the fire burn bright.
"Here it comes, stay close! Keep the fire between us and that damn thing no matter what happens," hissed Revan, crouching as close to the fire as he could, drawing his knife.
The Biwak crept close, hissing. Revan could see the beast narrowing its eyes against the firelight, turning its head away in pain. It circled to its right, trying to move around the fire. The boys quickly repositioned themselves accordingly, staying on the far side of the fire.
The Biwak hissed in frustration as it tried to get closer but retreated slightly as the light from the fire hurt its eyes too much. Revan hoped the firelight would deter it and that it would give up. Instead, it paced back and forth, not coming close enough so that the light could hurt its eyes, but not far enough that the boys could escape.
That was not good.
"Its going to wait us out," whispered Revan.
"What do we do?" asked one of the boys fearfully.
What indeed? Revan's knife was hardly adequate for slicing though the beast's tough hide. The eyes were the only viable target, but without a weapon long enough, Revan couldn't get anyway near it without the beast scoffing him down first. He eyed the rock cropping above them.
It was madness. But the fire was flickering, and who knew how much longer it would last.
"Give me your knives, both of you," whispered Revan.
"What, why?" asked one of the boys. He was jiggling his leg, and the noise it made was irritating Revan.
"Because we're stuck here, and I have no intention of waiting for the fire to die so that thing can get us," snapped Revan. "Now give me your knives, or I leave you here."
With trembling hands, they both handed him their knives.
"Now, when that thing goes mad, run like hell," whispered Revan.
"What are you…?" Leg-jiggle started asking, but Revan was already moving. Darting out of the fire's light, he shouted, drawing the Biwak's attention. The beast immediately sprung at him, and Revan threw one of the knives as hard as he could right at it before rolling out of the way.
The Biwak let out a bellow and shook its head, pawing at its snout with its foreleg where the knife had sunk into the soft flesh.
Shouting, Revan darted up the rock outcropping even as the other two boys fled as the beast trashed around in pain. The shout caught the Biwak's attention and hissing in rage, it went after Revan, clawing up the rock with frightening speed.
Using the higher ground, Revan hurled another knife, aiming for the eye. It barely missed, slashing the Biwak's skin just under it. It only seemed to enraged the beast even more, and it tore its way up, intent on devouring the little human that had cause it pain.
Revan drew his own knife, raising it for another throw when the beast's claws smashed the rocks just below him, throwing him off balance.
The knife fell from Revan's hand.
That was not good. He scrambled up the rock as far as he could, thinking he would leap off it and land by the fire again to buy him time. But even as he reach it, he saw it was no good, the fire had been put out, likely by the beast's trashing.
The hissing behind him grew louder as the Biwak drew closer, its sand-coloured hide illuminated by the moonlight.
Idly, Revan wondered what it would feel like to die.
"Hey you, catch!"
It was Leg-jiggle. He had come back and was throwing Revan's fallen knife towards him. Without thinking, Revan caught it neatly by the handle just as the Biwak lunged, the reek of old death and fresh blood emanating from its open maw.
Revan leaped.
By pure luck, he landed right on the upper half of the beast's snout, right on the already-embedded knife, driving it in further. Bellowing in pain, the beast swatted at its snout, but Revan was already gone. He found himself looking at his own reflection right into a big, yellow eye…
Before it darkened, collapsing under the stab of his knife, inundating Revan in foul-smelling fluids as the Biwak's agonised roar rattled his very bones. Pulling out the knife, Revan stabbed again and again as the beast tried to shake him off, roaring in agony. Revan held on, stabbing and stabbing until it felt like his arm would break.
Even when the Biwak had stopped moving, Revan kept stabbing, unaware that at some point, all the stabbing had finally killed it.
"Hey, hey enough! It's dead," called one of the boys, cutting through Revan's stab-crazed mind. Revan paused, finally registering that the Biwak, was in fact, dead. He let the knife fall from his hand and fell back, exhausted.
One the boys picked up the knife and knelt beside Revan. He instinctively tensed, but he was too tired to defend himself…
But the boy, Leg-jiggle, simply wiped the knife clean off his own dirty tunic, and handed it back to him, hilt-first.
"Thanks for saving us," he said.
"Thanks for coming back," replied Revan, taking his knife back. "You didn't have to do that."
"Actually, we did," said the other boy. "If it snapped you up, it would have come after us. We wouldn't have gotten far."
"True enough," said Revan.
Leg-jiggle offered him his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Revan took it.
"I'm Ashir," said Leg-jiggle. "That's Rosh over there."
"Revan."
Ashir nodded. "Thanks again, Revan."
"No problem, I won't have to worry about meat for awhile…"
XI XI XI
Heavy footsteps shook Revan from his reminiscence. As one, all the initiates stood as Commander Te Rangi strode into the dormitory. He had overseen recruitment for the first batch of the Baybarian candidates for the Eleventh Legion. Te Rangi had picked up those who survived the initial weaning and had supervised their training as they were gradually transformed into Astartes.
He was a hard man, but fair. The initiates deeply respected him.
Te Rangi eyed them all solemnly. He was clad in the unpainted steel grey power-armour of the Eleventh Legion. On his left pauldron, a gold-brown raven had been painted on.
"You all know what this day means," said the commander. "From the deserts of Baybar, to the hellish training I've put you all through; all of it was meant for this day. Today will be the final step in your ascension to the ranks of the Astartes. It will also be the first step of the revival of the Eleventh Legion."
Te Rangi slowly walked down the dorm, looking at all of them. His eyes lingered longest on Revan, who straightened up under the gaze, unflinching.
"I will not lie to you," continued Te Rangi. "As you know, receiving the gene-seed is a blessing, but it is dangerous. Some of those who survived the desert died receiving it. We mourn and honour their deaths. But the implementation of the Black Carapace, has always been the most dangerous step in the creation of our Legion."
Te Rangi surveyed them all. "I was the sole survivor of my batch during my initiation. As Astartes, we do not know fear. But I admit that I feel anxious."
"Because this is different. You are the first to receive the gene-seed that has been cultivated directly from our Lord Hayreddin. The Primarch himself has worked to ensure that we would be free from the curse of the past. So go. Face your future and bring honour to the Eleventh Legion. For the Emperor! For Lord Hayreddin!"
"For the Emperor! For Lord Hayreddin!" Revan echoed with his fellow initiates.
XI XI XI
As the initiates marched to the operating theatre, Hayreddin, Vukona and the Chief Apothecary were meeting in another part of the headquarters the Eleventh Legion had established.
"As we've informed you before my lord, the implantation of the Black Carapace was historically the most lethal part of the process for the Eleventh Legion," said Vukona. "The bulk of our initiates prior to this tended to have adverse neurological rejection of the implant that proved fatal."
"But thanks to your insight and the pure genome we were able to extract from you my lord, our projections estimate that the survivability of the implant has been improved to approximately 67%," said Chief Apothecary Ardern. He was a grim man, even by the standards of Astartes. He had seen far too many initiates die during the implantation despite his best efforts and considerable intellect.
"I still think 67% is too low," remarked Hayreddin.
"I understand, my lord," said Ardern. "But the only way to take it further is to actually put the measures you've come up with into practice. The data we gain from that will allow us to improve further."
"And we need to rebuild the Legion as soon as we can," added Vukona. "I understand your reservations, my lord. But 67% survivability is a vast improvement over what we've been doing, with all due respect to Chief Apothecary Ardern."
Ardern simply bowed his head. "That is true."
Hayreddin sighed. "Very well, then."
Vukona continued. "As you know, we took in a hundred and fifty new recruits. All from Baybar. Deaths during the earlier stages of the gene-seed implantation have been within the normal range of fifteen percent. But in the past, our Black Carapace implantation have seen the death rate surge up to as high as ninety. With the improved gene-seed we have now, we should see fewer deaths."
"As you requested, my lord," said Ardern, handing a data-slate to Hayreddin. "Here is the list of the surviving batch from Baybar who will undergo the Black Carapace implantation today."
As Vukona and Ardern outlined the procedure along with the additional measures Hayreddin had put in place, the Primarch scanned the names of the recruits, committing them to memory to honour their courage and potential sacrifice.
Until he saw the name.
Vukona and Ardern's voices faded away, and Hayreddin's world narrowed down to that single name.
Revan.
Hayreddin had not seen his beloved nephew since departing Baybar. Revan would be a young man now, enhanced by the gene-seed implantation. Joy filled Hayreddin at the realisation that Revan had not only survived the arduous selection process of the Eleventh Legion, but that he had survived the gene-seed implantation thus far.
The joy was quickly replaced by dread as he realised that Revan would be among the first to be implanted with the newly created Black Carapace. While data indicated that it was more survivable than the Eleventh's Legion's original stock, it was still experimental.
Hayreddin had reluctantly accepted that he would be gambling with the lives of these fresh recruits. But he had not been prepared that Revan's life would be one of those he was gambling with. The desire to order a halt to the proceedings arose in his heart. His mouth opened, ready to form the words.
He stopped himself. Shame coursed through Hayreddin. Did he consider the lives of the other initiates to be less worthy than Revan's? Hayreddin knew he would have allowed the procedure to go ahead if Revan had not been there, no matter how reluctantly. If he were to call it off, he would be shaming not only those initiates, but Revan too.
With that thought in mind, Hayreddin pushed down his familial feelings for his nephew, and read on, committing the other names to memory. All he could do was hope that Revan survived the implantation.
XI XI XI
"So this is the famous Revan? The fearsome Wraith?"
The older boys sneered down at him. Admittedly, Revan didn't feel particularly fearsome. Being tied back-to-back with Ashir and Rosh definitely had something to do with that. In truth, Revan probably wouldn't have got himself into his current predicament, but for the fact that he had gone back for them.
Despite the lone wolf mentality he had developed during his time in the desert, Revan had gotten used to having Ashir and Rosh around. They had quickly picked up the necessary skills to survive, and they didn't seem to have any intention of stabbing him in the back.
Not that that stopped Revan from keeping an eye out for it. But they were useful: an extra set of eyes to watch out for danger, additional manpower for hunting and scavenging, warm bodies to huddle with when the nights got exceptionally cold. Revan's experience in the desert had rendered any notions of friendship obsolete, but he did come to somewhat care about his companions.
While they were still useful, of course. The moment they became liabilities, he'd abandon them without hesitation.
So he told himself.
But when Rosh got ambushed during a foraging, he hadn't hesitated in following Ashir to rush to his aid. He hadn't even taken the time to consider the situation as he was concerned that Rosh might get killed if he reacted too slowly. Of course, that reckless rush had left them open to being ambushed in turn.
Now here they are.
The older boys were rummaging through their supplies, eating the food they had painstakingly gathered. That was their first mistake. While the boys were indulging in their gluttony, Revan's fingers were already working to loosen the ropes around Ashir's wrists. Once he had them sufficiently undone, Ashir returned the favour. As Revan worked to loosen Rosh's, the other boy leaned over slightly so he could whisper.
"What do we do, Revan? Do we kill them? Or run?"
Revan glanced over at the older boys. Five of them. Their guard was down for the moment as they indulged in their spoils. They had taken Revan and his companions' knives away but instead of holding on to them, they had simply put them in a pile not far away from where Revan, Ashir and Rosh were tied up. Their second mistake.
He assessed the distance. It was possible to get them while they were being lax in their caution. But should they?
"They caught us and they know where we're based at," whispered Ashir. "Not much of a choice, is it?"
Revan nodded. "Quickly now. When I give the signal."
The moment Rosh's binds were undone, Revan and his companions darted over to their knives before the older boys realised what was happening.
"BIWAK!" roared Revan, making the older boys jump and look around. Before they knew it, Ashir and Rosh had each slit the throats of two. Revan had darted forward and quickly sank his knife into one of the other's throat. Blood spurted, shockingly red against the pale-gold sand.
Two more left.
While they were still scrabbling for their own knives, Ashir kicked up the sand to blind one. He and Rosh brought their unfortunate victim down, knives flashing in fountains of crimson. Revan charged at the last one, who had finally gotten his knife out. Revan ducked under the wild slash and sank his knife right into the older boy's jugular.
The older boy slumped to his knees, eyes meeting Revan's in shock and terror even as the life in them faded away.
"This is why I'm called the Wraith," whispered Revan, pulling his knife out.
The sun was sinking over the horizon as Revan and his companions were done salvaging what they could. Revan surveyed the area for anything he might have missed; they should leave soon. The smell of the bodies and fresh blood was bound to attract predators. They didn't want to be around in case a Biwak actually came.
"Come on," Revan called to Ashir and Rosh. "Let's get moving."
A shadow fell over Revan.
Quick as thought, Revan whirled around, his knife flashing.
A massive hand, clad in ceramite, effortless blocked the blow. Revan spun around in a roundhouse kick, but suddenly found himself hanging upside down by his leg. He heard cries of pain from Ashir and Rosh, and knew they had been incapacitated.
Without hesitating, Revan lashed out with his fist, aiming for his attacker's face. His fist was block by another gauntleted hand.
"I was ready for it this time, little man."
Revan recognised the voice. It may have been a long time ago, but he would never forget the voice and face of Te Rangi, the first Astartes he had ever spoken to. Nevertheless, Revan didn't relax, weighing his options and strategies…
"Relax, little man. You and your companions have been selected."
Te Rangi dropped Revan, but he twisted mid air to land on his feet. He looked up at the towering form of Te Rangi. The Astartes looked even bigger than he remembered. Then Te Rangi's words registered.
"We've been selected?" repeated Revan. "We're going to be…?"
Te Rangi raised a finger. "You've been selected for the chance to become Astartes. The three of you have shown promise out here."
"You were watching us the whole time?" asked Revan. Ashir and Rosh had joined up, rubbing their bruises where the other Astartes had struck to subdue them. Revan suddenly realised that they were surrounded by three of the post-humans. That they had done so quietly while clad in power-armour was unnerving.
"Of course, we were watching," said Te Rangi. "You three will now train and receive the gene-seed to become full-fledged warriors of the Eleventh Legion."
Te Rangi grinned, an expression that sent chills down Revan and his companions' spines. "Believe me when I say that what you boys went through out here is paradise compared to the hell I'm going to put you through."
XI XI XI
The doors to the operation chamber looked menacing in the harsh lighting. The colour of the surrounding steel walls reminded Revan of the cold cave he used to shelter in back in the desert. Ashir fidgeted beside him. He was thumbing the hilt of a broken knife in his hands. Revan glanced down at it and felt a small pang of sorrow.
It had once belonged to Rosh. He had not survived the initial implantation of the gene-seed. As much as his time in the desert and training under Te Rangi had hardened him, Revan was still able to find it in himself to mourn his companion. Clearly, Ashir felt it more keenly.
He touched Ashir on the shoulder. "Courage for Rosh."
Ashir nodded, smiling a little. "For Rosh."
The door slid open, and Te Rangi emerged. He looked down at the waiting recruits. "It is time."
Ashir nodded at Revan and stepped past Te Rangi into the operation chamber. Revan was about to follow but Te Rangi stopped him.
Revan looked up at the familiar face of the grizzled veteran. How many times had he wanted to punch that face in for all the hell he went through? How many times had that same man been a source of guidance, wisdom, and harsh encouragement? Revan knew he owed a lot to Te Rangi.
Still, he'd love to punch his face in.
At least once.
Te Rangi seemed to understand what Revan was thinking.
"You little shit," said the commander, chuckling for a moment before becoming serious. "He's here, and he's watching."
"He…?" Revan trailed off, understanding. Hayreddin was here. His beloved uncle from a different lifetime. Now his lord.
His Primarch.
Revan nodded.
"Go in there and make him proud, little man," said Te Rangi. Pausing for a moment, he added: "Make me proud, too."
"I will," said Revan.
Taking a deep breath, Revan stepped into the chamber.
XI XI XI
Hayreddin recognised him immediately. The boy he had once known had grown. The softness of childhood had given way to a hulking mass of post-human alteration. But it was clearly still Revan. He watched as Revan laid down on the operation table along with the other nine initiates. They were to be the first of the new intake to take the final step to becoming full-fledged Astartes.
He watched as the apothecaries began their work.
As some of them screamed.
But Revan remained silent through it all, his face showing no hint of pain as they sliced his flesh open and inserted the Black Carapace. When the neural linking began, Revan only grimaced, his eyes shut. It was the only sign of pain that he would show through it all.
Hayreddin watched with pride.
With horror.
When it was all done, three of them had died, blood pouring from their eyes, nose and ears as their nervous systems violently rejected the Black Carapace. Considering the Eleventh Legion's past, it was a resounding success, but Hayreddin was saddened by their deaths.
But that was for later.
He only had eyes for Revan. He watched as his beloved nephew stood up for the first time as an Astartes. Hayreddin watched as the apothecaries examined him and the others for any adverse effects. He watched as they were officially certified a success.
And that was all.
Revan and six others had become the first of the new batch of Astartes from Baybar.
The heralds of the Eleventh Legion's future.
But all Hayreddin felt was profound sorrow. His nephew was no more. He was now a warrior of the Eleventh Legion.
XI XI XI
"How does it feel?"
Revan looked up at Te Rangi. He stood, his new power-armour whirring as he did. Revan found himself at eye-level with the commander. It was disconcerting; he had gotten used to looking up at Te Rangi.
"It's…new," said Revan, bring his fists up to his face and clenching and unclenching them testingly. "But it feels right."
"It suits you," said Te Rangi, nodding his head in approval. "We'll get new colours to go with it soon."
Revan looked down at his power-armour, still plain grey steel. "I like this well enough."
"You're not getting a say in it," chuckled Te Rangi, clapping Revan on the shoulder plate before stepping back to address the new Astartes of the Eleventh legion.
"Alright, form up! You're to line-up alongside the veterans of the Eleventh. These men are heroes of more campaigns than you can imagine! Their legacy is what you'll aspiring to reach! You'll show them you're worthy of it, am I clear?"
As one with his battle-brothers, Revan banged his fist to his chest. Ashir looked over at him, grinning. The smallest hint of a smiled curled at the edge of Revan's lips.
It had felt like a lifetime, but he had reached his new life.
With his battle-brothers, Revan marched in perfect formation into the hall where the rest of the Eleventh Legion awaited. Veterans of countless campaigns stood at attention; their weapons held at rest. None of them so much as glanced at the newcomers, such was their discipline.
At Te Rangi's signal, Revan and the new Astartes of the Eleventh Legion came to a halt, standing at attention. They waited patiently, as still as stone.
Mika Vukona, the Legion Master, strode out to face them. Clad in his full power armour, he was a sight to behold. He had been the one to guide and steer the Eleventh Legion since its early days, leading them to countless victories and glories.
He had also held the Legion together when it was on the brink of destruction. For his accomplishments and sacrifices, Mika Vukona was revered and deeply respected by his Legion.
But the fate of the Eleventh Legion was no longer his alone to command.
"My brothers," began Vukona. "You know I am not one for long speeches. But today is the day we begin anew. Today marks the beginning of the Eleventh's rebirth. For the day we have long awaited has come at last."
Vukona stepped aside and knelt. As one, the Eleventh Legion followed suit.
Their Primarch strode out to meet them.
In his bronze artificier power-armour, Hayreddin looked like a warrior-king from Terra's myths. An ebony cape flowed down his back, and his dark-brown hair seemed to shine with its own radiance. His face, as beautiful as Fulgrim's and Sanguinius' solemnly surveyed the Eleventh Legion with dark-brown eyes.
He looked at his warriors for a long moment of silence before he finally spoke up.
"Please remove your helms. I wish to see your faces."
Without hesitation, the Astartes of the Eleventh Legion removed their helmets, placing by their feet as they continued kneeling. Hayreddin surveyed their faces as though committing them to memory.
"You have suffered, this I know. You have sacrificed much in your service to Mankind. The Eleventh Legion brought itself to the brink of destruction to defend humanity. For this, I ask that you stand."
Slowly, the Eleventh Legion obeyed, standing as one.
Hayreddin surveyed them for a moment, before suddenly kneeling before them in one swift movement.
The Astartes of the Eleventh gasped and Vukona stepped forward. "My lord…"
Hayreddin raised a hand to halt Vukona.
"No. For all you have done, it is I who should kneel before you. I am your Primarch, but the Eleventh has served the Imperium long before I was returned to you. You have all made your mark on the Imperium's history, and I vow that I will honour that history as I lead you all as you deserve. I vow that that I will rebuild the Eleventh and take us all to greater heights than we have ever been. Together, we will forge a better world for all Mankind. This I vow as your Primarch, if you'll have me."
Vukona knelt before Hayreddin once more. "My lord, please stand. You are our gene-father. As we have vowed to serve the Emperor and Mankind, we have vowed to serve you. The Eleventh Legion is yours to command."
Hayreddin stood, gesturing that Vukona do the same. "You honour me and the Imperium with your service."
He gestured to where Revan stood with the new batch of Astartes. "As you see, here are your new eighty brothers. The first to come from Baybar. They are the first step to the Eleventh Legion's future and the melding of Baybar and Terra together. My noble veterans of Terra, I ask that you guide them well so that we may all climb to greater heights than ever before. As our Legion grows, your guidance will become ever more vital."
Hayreddin took a step back so he could survey his oh-so-small Legion, but no less capable in its potency when compared to the other Legions.
"We may be a small Legion now, so we must be more than simple warriors. You will not only be harbingers of war, but bearers of glad tidings to the strands of our brethren amongst the stars. In Baybarian culture, the Sand Raven, rarest of all animals, are considered heralds of good omens and new beginnings. That is what we will be. Heralds of good omens and new beginnings to all Mankinds."
Hayreddin's dark eyes looked at all of them, shining with pride. "You will be my Sand Ravens. And we will serve Mankind well."