Aboard the Red Tear, Sanguinius stood before the flickering holo-display, his wings hanging low, his fingers gripping the edge of the console. His golden eyes, so often a beacon of hope, were sharp and restless. The Conqueror, Angron's flagship, floated lifeless in the void. Its engines were dead, its lights extinguished, its signal silent. No vox transmissions, no distress calls. Nothing. The massive vessel hung in the void like a tomb.
Sanguinius's lips pressed into a thin line. He leaned closer to the display, his gaze scanning the wreck. There were no signs of life aboard. The mad Primarch who had driven the World Eaters into ruin was likely dead. Killed by Argall.
The Angel straightened, his wings trembling faintly as he stepped back from the console. His expression was blank, but his hands curled into fists at his sides. He turned away, gesturing to one of the attendants to initiate long-range vox communication.
"Open a channel," Sanguinius said, his voice steady, but clipped.
The attendant worked swiftly, fingers moving over the console. A faint hiss filled the room as the vox channels opened, broadcasting across the void toward the remaining Hyperborean fleet.
"This is Sanguinius, Primarch of the Blood Angels," he said, his voice cutting through the static. "To the leader of the Hyperborean fleet – Argall – if you can hear me, I request a parley. The Imperium seeks dialogue, not conflict. Please respond."
The silence stretched, the static filling the room like a suffocating weight. Sanguinius's gaze flickered to the holo-display again, where the Hyperborean ships still held formation around the planet. They hovered there, untouched, their sleek designs glowing faintly against the void.
He waited, his wings shifting slightly, feathers catching the dim light of the command deck. Seconds passed. Then a minute. The channel remained silent.
"Repeat the transmission," he ordered. The attendant obeyed, sending the hail once more. Still, there was no response.
Sanguinius's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. The Hyperborean fleet began to move, their engines flaring in unison. One by one, the vessels blinked out of existence, their forms vanishing in flashes of white light.
He stepped closer to the display, his brow furrowing as he watched.
"Track their trajectory," he said, his voice sharp.
Another attendant spoke, her tone clipped. "Their signatures are... gone, my lord. Completely erased."
Sanguinius's wings unfurled slightly, his frustration evident in the faint shudder of his frame. His fingers brushed over the edge of the console as the last Hyperborean vessel disappeared, leaving only empty space where their fleet had once been.
The Angel exhaled slowly, his golden eyes closing for a brief moment. He straightened, turning toward the communications officer.
"Send one last message," he said, his tone quieter now. "Thank them for showing restraint and tell them... we are willing to meet again, under better circumstances."
The officer nodded, her hands moving over the controls. The transmission went out, though Sanguinius doubted it would ever reach its intended audience.
Dorn, observing the entire exchange from the bridge of the Eternal Crusader, stood silent. His fists were clenched at his sides, his expression unreadable. He could almost feel Sanguinius's disappointment radiating across the vox channels, like a heavy weight pressing on the air. Dorn's own frustration simmered beneath his stoic exterior. Argall's departure robbed them of answers – of closure.
Sanguinius's image flickered on Dorn's private display. The Angel turned toward the screen, his wings low, his gaze steady despite the tension visible in the set of his shoulders.
"They've left," Sanguinius said simply, his voice softer now. "No word. No answer. Just silence."
Dorn inclined his head slightly, his jaw tightening. "It was expected. Their leader is cautious, calculating. This... Argall will not be drawn into anything he does not control. We overstepped."
Sanguinius's lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. "Overstepped? Or failed completely? Angron may have forced his hand, but we all carry the blame."
Dorn's silence was all the answer he gave. The two Primarchs stared at each other across the vox channel, the weight of their failure palpable. The Hyperboreans were gone, and Angron's fate remained a grim shadow over their victory.
And yet, Dorn thought, there was still hope.
"I will prepare," he said finally, breaking the silence. "For when they return. Because they will return, Sanguinius. One way or another, this is not the end."
Sanguinius nodded faintly, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting Dorn's again.
"For all our sakes, brother, I hope you're right." The channel cut, leaving Dorn alone in the quiet of the Eternal Crusader's bridge.
He turned back to the void beyond, the emptiness where the Hyperborean fleet had vanished. His hands tightened behind his back, his mind already working through the possibilities. War with Argall was still a distant threat, but peace was no closer. Both paths were uncertain, but Dorn knew one thing for sure: they could not afford to fail again.
Rogal Dorn stood in the observation chamber of the Eternal Crusader, the faint hum of the ship's systems a constant undertone. He clasped his hands behind his back, his posture rigid, his expression thoughtful. Before him, the holo-display of the star system flickered faintly, showing nothing but empty space where the Hyperborean fleet had once hovered in defiance of the Imperium. Now, they were gone.
He activated the recording device on his gauntlet, the soft click breaking the silence.
"Their means of teleportation made no use of Warp-based technology," Dorn began, his tone precise, each word measured. "This much is certain. Whatever mechanism they employed, it was beyond our capacity to trace or follow. Attempts to monitor their movements using tracers failed entirely. The devices went dark the moment their vessels engaged their Faster-Than-Light travel, likely disabled by an intense electrical discharge inherent to their system of propulsion."
Dorn paused, his eyes narrowing at the empty display. His thoughts turned over the situation, weighing the implications. The Hyperboreans had evaded pursuit, a feat that even the most cunning foes of the Imperium rarely achieved. This was not due to luck but superior technology, a fact both humbling and troubling.
"The Hyperboreans," he continued, his voice steady, "are led by an individual named Argall. Based on available evidence and corroboration from Sanguinius, I am convinced that Argall is a lost Primarch. A sibling of ours. Though, further testing may be required to ascertain his true heritage; my feelings on the matter are irrelevant. His presence – and the advanced civilization he commands – poses both an unprecedented opportunity and a potential threat."
Dorn's gaze shifted to the faint outlines of the remaining Hyperborean vessels on the tactical display. A handful of them had been left behind, drifting in the void after sustaining damage in their battle with the World Eaters. Even crippled, the ships radiated an aura of mystery and power, their design elegant yet utterly alien in concept.
"Their stance toward diplomacy appears agreeable," Dorn stated, "as evidenced by their restraint during the initial encounter and their willingness to communicate. However, this initial goodwill is tempered by their unflinching display of technological and martial superiority. Their fleet demonstrated remarkable coordination, overwhelming Angron's forces with precision and efficiency that no mortal crew could achieve. I suspect – though cannot confirm – that their vessels are directed by a form of artificial intelligence."
He allowed himself a small pause, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered the ramifications of that possibility. Artificial intelligence. The very words would send the Mechanicum into a fervor of outrage. The Cult of Mars had long declared such creations to be abominations, heretical remnants of humanity's Dark Age. And yet, if the Hyperboreans had mastered such systems, they represented a challenge to both the Imperium's doctrines and the Mechanicum's self-proclaimed technological supremacy.
"Should this suspicion prove true," Dorn resumed, his tone heavier, "the implications for any future relations with the Mechanicum are dire. The presence of AI – if confirmed – would strain diplomacy beyond measure. The Tech-Priests would view the Hyperboreans as an affront to the Machine God. It is imperative, therefore, that Martian influence in our dealings with them be minimized, at least until the Hyperboreans are peacefully brought into the fold."
His words hung in the air for a moment as he shifted his stance, his eyes drawn to the reports streaming in from the damaged Hyperborean vessels.
"Their technological prowess extends far beyond mere AI. Their mastery of gene-crafting is evident in the very physiology of their people. According to Sanguinius, their civilians are physically comparable to Astartes. This was achieved without the flaws or deformities that plague our own methods. Their advancements in genetics represent a significant opportunity for the Imperium, potentially allowing us to address the many deficiencies in the current processes of creating Astartes and even improving the longevity and resilience of baseline humans."
"Of course, the combat performance of their more... combative types have been thoroughly recorded, during Argall's rampage through the Conqueror," Dorn's expression tightened briefly as he reflected on what Sanguinius had shared about the Hyperborean delegates. Civilians with the strength of Space Marines, yet unscarred by war. It was a tantalizing glimpse into what humanity could achieve if it overcame its reliance on brute force and dogma.
"Furthermore," Dorn continued, "their energy systems are leagues ahead of anything the Imperium currently possesses. Scans of their vessels reveal reactors of incredible efficiency, capable of generating power far beyond our highest-yield plasma cores. This alone could revolutionize the Imperium's infrastructure, allowing for greater expansion and sustainability."
He took a measured breath, his tone shifting slightly as he acknowledged the darker possibilities.
"However, these advancements are not without their risks. Their weapons, for instance, demonstrated a unique ability to bypass Void Shields during their initial engagements. While subsequent adjustments mitigated this advantage, the fact remains that their weaponry is unlike anything we've encountered before. Should relations deteriorate, the Hyperboreans would pose a significant threat to the Imperium's fleets and worlds. They have the means to wage war on a scale that could rival even the most powerful xenos empires."
Dorn's jaw tightened. The memory of Angron's recklessness was still fresh. The Butcher's blind assault had not only cost the lives of countless World Eaters but had also soured what could have been a fruitful first contact. And yet, the Hyperboreans had shown remarkable restraint, engaging only in defense and sparing those who did not directly oppose them.
"Despite these concerns," Dorn said, his voice softening slightly, "there is hope for peace. Argall himself appears to value diplomacy, and his actions thus far suggest a desire to protect his people rather than seek conquest. This presents us with a rare opportunity – if we approach them with caution and respect."
He allowed himself a moment of silence, his eyes fixed on the empty void where the Hyperboreans had vanished.
"The Hyperboreans represent both a challenge and a promise," he concluded, his tone resolute. "Handled correctly, they could bring about advancements that would strengthen humanity for millennia. Mishandled, they could become a foe unlike any we have faced. It is my recommendation that all future dealings with them be conducted with the utmost care. Our strength alone will not bring them into the fold. We must offer them something greater – something they cannot refuse."
Dorn deactivated the recorder, his hand falling to his side. He turned back to the void, his brow furrowing as he stared into the infinite blackness. "But what could be possibly offer them?"
Of course, Dorn did not record his private thoughts – the ones that lingered in the silence between words. The truth that gnawed at him was simple: he did not want to wage war against a brother. A lost Primarch, no less. To destroy such a figure, someone who might have stood alongside them, was a loss far greater than any battlefield defeat. Argall's potential as an ally loomed large, a future filled with possibilities that Dorn wasn't ready to discard.
Yet, the path to that alliance was shrouded in uncertainty.
AN: Chapter 57 is out on (Pat)reon!