1: A Farewell

Helvar did not want to be here. He knew that his personal misgivings made no difference, that his Chapter had received the call and he had been the one to answer, yet the uneasy feeling he had felt since the orders were given to him five days ago refused to abate. It felt ominous, though Helvar did not believe in such superstitions. There were facts and interpretations of said facts, and that was all he needed.

Fact: He had been reassigned to take the black and serve the Emperor as a member of the Deathwatch, the chamber-militant of the Ordos Xenos, until his death in the line of duty. This in itself was an honour, to be viewed as such an asset by his chapter. He was proud to bear the mark of the Raptors chapter against the alien.

Fact: He was on route to Watch-Post Astraeum, aboard the Raptors' strike cruiser Talon, where he would be delivered to his new post, while the rest of the Solblade strike force he had been a part of for the last two years would continue their fight against the encroaching tendrils of Hive-Fleet Leviathan.

Fact: His predecessor, Andromedus, spent the last two hundred and nine years serving as a member of the Deathwatch. A once-promising sergeant, in the process of being groomed for captaincy, Andromedus had been all but forgotten in the annals of the chapter, a footnote in the glorious legacies of other, greater, Astartes. Reports of his death were classified, beyond that of Helvar's clearance. All that he knew was that Andromedus was dead, the fact simple enough to force his presence.

Was that all Helvar was destined to be? A passing reference in the histories of his brothers? The thought troubled him, as much as he wished it did not.

He had nothing but time for thoughts such as these to eat away at him. He was alone on the ship, his only company being serfs and servitors, neither of whom he desired to converse with outside of what was required. Most of his time was spent in the practise cages, honing his skills with blade and bolter, tearing apart practice drones and servitors with brutal efficiency. Helvar took pride in his shot placement, in the speed and minimalism with which he finished his targets. It was the way of the Raptors to finish their battles however they must, eschewing glory and honour for success.

As such, Helvar spent most of his time in the cages in marksmanship drills. Long-range sniper courses, rapid-fire engagements, even combat scenarios against live-firing turrets. He fired hundreds of thousands of rounds, oiling and thoroughly cleaning his boltgun and sidearm three times a day. He enjoyed the repetitive nature of it, the way time seemed to fade away as he reset the range, how each day he improved ever so slightly on the previous day's efforts. It kept him stimulated and engaged, a luxury that avoided the murky half-sleep of stasis which Helvar so despised.

Fact: He could now eliminate ten human-sized servitors armoured in standard Astra Militarum issue flak armour in 2.398 seconds. He hoped to have his time down to 2.396 by the time he reached Watch-Post Astraeum.

Watch-Post Astraeum. The Inquisition's outpost in the Geld system, on the far reaches of the Eastern Fringe. Roughly equal distance from the Eye of Terror and Macragge, the system was as remote and isolated as the Imperium got, especially since Guilliman's Indomitus Crusade began a century ago. According to the data-slates available, it currently housed forty-three Astartes, divided into seven kill-teams of various numbers, with no data as to the mix of First-Born and Primaris.

Forty-two now, since Andromedus was dead.

The isolation of the Watch-Post was nothing new to Helvar, and he welcomed the thought of not being one amongst a crowd of hundreds of Astartes, as was the fate of those assigned to larger Watch-Posts and Stations across the Imperium. The Raptors operated as smaller strike forces, fleet-based units comprised of no more than a Battle-Company, that rarely operated in conjunction with each other. Helvar knew the faces and names of each and every battle-brother in the Third Company.

He knew his squad-mates even closer, the individual creases and lines on their faces. Nadir's brow creased easily, deep wrinkles that emerged whenever he frowned or smiled, the former being far more likely. Hakon often flexed his fingers, stretching and clenching them in an unconscious habit, like he was holding a weapon constantly. Ardan's biotic eye never quite seemed to focus, the red lens widening and closing seemingly at random, a simple repair that he disregarded as unessential. Badin was a taciturn, near-emotionless warrior, who's mouth would twitch into a half-smirk which could mean anything from amusement to anger.

Fact: He would never see his brothers again. When a Raptor took the black, he took it for life. He would be remembered as Andromedus was - a footnote.

It was during this melancholy reflection that his study was interrupted, by the soft patter of footsteps approaching. Helvar did not look up from the dataslate he was reading, already knowing who was approaching. Melvan, the Chapter serf who acted as the ship's helmsman, stood a respectful distance away from him, waiting to be acknowledged.

Melvan was ancient by unaugmented human standards, almost eighty years old, his back beginning to hunch over, with a slow, deliberate pace. He was bald, and his skin was leathery and wrinkled. It struck Helvar as an oddity that despite being twenty years older, he looked young enough to pass as Melvan's son. He almost pitied the older man for his frailty.

"What?" he asked the helmsman. Melvan took a step forward, standing as tall as he could, chin held high in a parade-ready stance.

"We are commencing final approach with the Watch-Post, sire." Helvar looked up from his dataslate at this news. He was surprised.

"I believed we were not due to arrive for another day?" he asked Melvan. The helmsman shifted slightly, his posture relaxing into something more natural.

"Yes, but the Warp was favourable during our transit. As such, we have made good time. We should be docking within the hour." Helvar did not react visibly to the news. On the inside, that churning feeling in his gut grew more intense. He felt like a neophyte again, hurtling towards a forgotten world in his first drop-pod assault. The uncertainty of it all, the unknown elements and variables that could alter his combat effectiveness, it was enough to make him uneasy.

"Shall I have the servitors prepare a shuttle for your arrival?" Melvan asked, a slight curiousness in his voice. Dropping off a lone Astartes was not a routine detail, certainly not to the Chamber Militant of the Ordos Xenos. The rest of the Solblade on board the strike cruiser was headed for the front lines of the Fourth Tyrannic War, intercepting hive fleet tendrils to try and blunt the knife-edge being driven into the Imperium.

Since he had received word of his impending redeployment, Helvar had kept to himself as the other Astartes prepared for war. Partially, it would serve no tactical purpose to train alongside battle-brothers he would not deploy with. Operationally, you had to trust the warriors fighting beside you, and a void or unfamiliar presence would disrupt the rest of his squad.

It made Helvar feel as though he was already dead. A ghost haunting his comrades, every moment spent in their presence a reminder of their impending absence.

There was another reason why Helvar was choosing solitude, though he refused to admit it. He would miss his battle-brothers.

"Yes. Load my armour and weapons on board. I will be in the chapel. Inform me once you are prepared." Helvar said curtly, giving no hint of the melancholy he was feeling. With the orders given, Melvan nodded and retreated back the way he had come, to the bridge. Less than an hour. Less than an hour until he left behind everything he had ever known.

Watch-Post Astraeum was smaller than Helvar had expected. Truth be told, he was unsure of what to expect, but the small cluster of buildings etched into the airless surface of the moon was nowhere near as grandiose or magnificent as what he had experienced in his two dealings with the Inquisition before this. He could make out the general layout of the Post, the hangars, the armouries, the living quarters and so forth, viewing their descent from the bridge.

Melvan was busy giving orders, ensuring the landing would be a smooth one. The serfs around Helvar ignored him as best they could, scurrying around like mice fleeing a cat. He could feel their eyes, watching him when they thought he was not looking. The reverent bows of heads, the nervous aversion of eye contact, the wide berths they gave him. It was something that Helvar was used to, yet it still felt strange. He was used to only viewing normal humans as they ran away from whatever threat he was engaging.

He heard their idle chatter, their nervous rumours and clipped status reports. This was an unusual mission for an Astartes battle-barge, and any mention of the Inquisition was likely to make anyone on board nervous.

Helvar paid them little attention. His head was bent down in prayer, as he whispered a litany. He wasn't sure which one. The Imperial Creed was not one he personally subscribed to, yet there was something comforting in those words. He needed solace. Normally, he would speak to Chaplain Ideus to settle his mind. He was gentle for an Astartes, with a simple way of looking at life that had always helped to settle Helvar's troubles. He doubted any Chaplain stationed at the Watch-Post would provide such solace.

The chapel on board the strike cruiser would likely be a better place for such introspection, but there was little time for these matters. Besides which, Helvar wanted to see for himself the Watch-Post he would call home for the rest of his life, as well as to avoid bumping into anyone he knew for an awkward goodbye.

The Watch-Post, upon further inspection, seemed to be designed to blend in with the barren rock of the moon itself. Carved into craggy mountains were a series of towers and barracks, bristling with an array of defensive weaponry atop mountaintops and perched on peaks.

It was an impressive fortification, deceptively simple yet likely far larger than what Helvar originally imagined based on what he had first seen. He would live here, he would train here, he would be sent out to fight from here, and when he died, it was here that his body would return to. In other words, Watch-Post Astraeum would be his home.

They were waiting for him in the landing bay. He was to take a Storm Raven to the Watch-Post, where he would be dropped off, and the remains of Andromedus would be returned to the chapter. His arms and armour were to be left on the Talon, passed onto an initiate who would replace him in the battle-line, and as such he would report to the Deathwatch in the simple olive-green drab robes of his chapter.

He knew other Astartes were being requisitioned for the Watch-Post, from a myriad of chapters all across the Imperium. With the opening salvos of the Fourth Tyrannic War being fired, the Deathwatch was establishing larger forces to enable them to send kill-teams further afield, and to conduct precise strikes against high-value targets. Who these Astartes were, and how they were to be assigned, he did not know.

As he approached the Storm Raven set to deliver him to the Watch-Post, he saw five figures stood in full Astartes battle-plate by the exit ramp, helmets mag-clamped to their belts. Helvar paused for a moment, unsure of how to approach. It was his squad-mates, the Intercessors of Squad Ardan, as well as Lieutenant Belikan, the commander of the Solblade they were serving in. They were waiting for him, to bid farewell.

Astartes were not built to say goodbye. They were built to mourn, to grieve their fallen battle-brothers and to honour their sacrifice with righteous fury. Saying farewell to a comrade with whom you had shed blood was an unfamiliar experience. Even when he had transferred squads to different roles within strike forces, Helvar had always known where his battle-brothers were, and what they were doing, as well as if and how they fell.

There was an uncertainty to this, an unknown factor which made his stomach sink. He would never see these men again, and likely not know where their lives led them. Belikan was a young star within the chapter, a tactical mastermind destined for high command. Helvar would never know if he achieved the lofty aspirations placed upon his commander's shoulders. Nadir had once confided in him that he sought to take up the mantle of a company champion, testing his skill with a blade against the champions of enemies without number. Hakon's skill with a bolt rifle was sure to see him honoured in due time.

They would not know of his tales, of the exploits he undertook while serving the Ordos Xenos. The only time Squad Ardan would hear the name Helvar again would be when the chapter was informed of his death, and the request for another battle-brother to replace him with it.

This was not a death, but a goodbye. In all honesty, Helvar wished for the former.

"Here he is." Badin saw him approach. "Told you he'd be late." Helvar shot him a look, and Badin returned with that half-smirk. There was no mirth in it today, and to Helvar it looked to be as much a mask as if Badin was wearing his helm.

"We could not let you sneak off into the darkness without a farewell." Nadir smiled, offering his hand. "After all, you're leaving to be the best of us." Helvar took it in a firm grip, before Nadir yanked him in close for a tight embrace. The height difference between Helvar's unarmoured frame and Nadir's in power armour made it awkward, but Helvar welcomed it all the same. Nadir released him, clasping his shoulder and grinning wider without humour.

"That couldn't be possible, brother." Helvar replied. "Not without you keeping me honest."

"All the same." Sergeant Ardan interjected, offering his hand. "Good luck, brother. Do us proud." Helvar shook his hand next, a moment of silence passing between them. Ardan was as solid as they came, a battle-tested warrior with a calm confidence that inspired Helvar.

"Thanks for the advice. I was thinking of making a mess of it." Helvar half-heartedly joked. The others laughed, but it was more out of politeness than humour. None of them knew how to do this. He shook hands and embraced Hakon and Badin with as much warmth he could muster, before Lieutenant Belikan stepped forward.

"Do well, brother. Honour the chapter, honour Andromedus, but most importantly, honour yourself." He spoke with the confidence of command, and Helvar instinctively raised his head and nodded in response. Belikan held out a sheathed combat blade in his hands, handing it to Helvar with great reverence. The knife was as long as an unaugmented man's arm, but in the hands of an Astartes it would barely count as a shortsword. "This blade was mine. It saved my life more than once, and now I hand it to you to give it a legacy worthy of telling those who come after us." Helvar took it carefully, unsheathing the blade to admire it. The monomolecular edge was razor sharp, and the pommel was a bronze sigil of the chapter's icon, a side-on hawk head.

"My thanks, Lieutenant. I will wield it with pride." He offered his hand to his commanding officer, who took it in a vice grip.

"Suffer not the alien to live, Helvar." Belikan ordered. "Live with honour, die with pride."

That was as much of a farewell as any of the Astartes could manage, so without another word, Helvar boarded the Storm Raven. As he took a seat in the cabin of the boxy gunship, the brothers of Squad Ardan turned their backs and began to make for the elevator up to the main floors of the strike cruiser. The ramp of the Storm Raven began to rise with a mechanical whir. Helvar watched his brothers depart as the ramp hid them from view. He knew in his heart that it was the last time he would see them.

Despite himself, Helvar felt tears forming as the ramp closed and the Storm Raven took off with a muffled roar. For the first time in his life, he was truly alone.