Chapter 112 - News of Sevatar
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"You're not the stuck-up bird's son. Why are you yelling along like that?"
Kaelen didn't answer Curze right away.
The System was busy crediting him for witnessing the Great Angel's reunion with the Blood Angels.
[Ding! Congratulations, host, for witnessing the reunion of Sanguinius and his Blood Angels]
[Reward points have been issued]
Kaelen watched the points settle into his account with satisfaction before he finally spoke.
"A moment like this is rare in a galaxy this dark. It's not just a father reuniting with his sons. It's myth made flesh. It's faith proven true."
"'Never failing the blood of Sanguinius.'" He said it softly, the way a man might roll fine wine across his tongue. "A vow they've cried out for ten thousand years, a creed they've kept through every horror, answered today. That moves me."
"Romantic heroic-epic sentiment?"
The phrase rolled out of Curze's mouth so casually that Kaelen actually turned his head.
"Where the hell did you pick that up? You can even spot it?"
"Among that pile of books you shoved at me, there was a copy of Homer's Epics. I flipped through a few pages." A pause. "I find that kind of flowery sentiment repulsive."
"Fair enough, fair enough. You're a hardcore realist, order and punishment, that's your whole brand." Kaelen couldn't resist needling him. "Expecting Konrad Curze to deliver a heart-melting speech to his own sons? Yeah, that's a 'wait till the galaxy ends' kind of timeline."
To Kaelen's surprise, Curze didn't shoot back. He actually thought it over for a few seconds, dead serious.
"If Sevatar were standing in front of me, I could say it."
"Please. Nobody even knows if Sevatar's still breathing." Kaelen snorted, unscrewed his tactical canteen, and took a long pull.
"Who said he hasn't come back?"
Curze's voice was quiet, but it went off in Kaelen's ear like a grenade.
"I've seen it in a vision. He's already surfaced."
Kaelen nearly choked on the water.
"What?! Sevatar? He's back?!"
The mortal's face was pure disbelief.
"Mm. On a planet called Avalon."
The Gene-Sire answered straight, the prophecy having come to him mid-battle.
Avalon. Hold on, wasn't that the place where, right after the Lion came back, he sent his son Zabriel out for a smoke run and the poor bastard ran into three Fallen Angels?!
Before Kaelen could marvel at how small the galaxy was, the Blood Angels formation in front of him, moments ago a roaring tide of oaths and tears, went dead silent without warning. That snapped his attention forward.
In front of every watching eye, the Great Angel Sanguinius signaled for Horus to step out of the transport.
The instant the Sons of Sanguinius saw that all-too-familiar bald head, the entire gathering dropped into a graveyard hush.
Even though Commander Dante had, beforehand, issued the harshest of standing orders to every rank of officer — explicit, unambiguous: Horus would be arriving alongside their Gene-Sire, and every man present was to exercise the utmost restraint.
Mental preparation was one thing.
Laying eyes on the living wellspring of their hatred was something else entirely.
Inside the skulls of thousands of Sons of Sanguinius, a brutal tug-of-war was already underway.
Down at the genetic floor, the rapture of their father's return was still surging upward, dopamine cranked to maximum.
But carved into the marrow, the ten-thousand-year curse of the Black Rage and the Red Thirst, the instant their eyes locked onto Horus's face, that side stomped the accelerator straight into the floor.
Two extreme, opposite emotions collided inside a single body.
What showed on their faces was nothing short of grotesque theater.
In the front rank, Chapter Master Seth of the Flesh Tearers had facial muscles spasming wildly. Half his face still carried the flushed joy of seeing his father return. The other half was twisting itself into bloodthirsty fury, his teeth grinding loud enough to hear.
Some had tears still welling in their eyes, but their nostrils were flaring with the heavy, ragged breath of men ready to tear something apart.
Some had locked their hands behind their backs, fighting the pure muscle reflex to draw a bolter and start spraying, their whole bodies trembling.
Joy. Rage. Relief. Murder.
All of it tangled together on their faces in expressions that didn't belong to anything human.
Watching from the rear, Loken couldn't help but feel a knot of worry tighten in his chest.
Kaelen waved him off. Forget the protection of Horus's Terminator armor, forget the Primarch's own speed and reflexes, he had six Combat Iron Men on his side. The second things went sideways, they'd be in there pulling Lupercal out.
Thankfully, at the critical moment, Sanguinius stepped in to cover for his brother.
"My sons, I must tell you a truth."
"My brother, the Warmaster of the Imperium ten thousand years ago, Lupercal, was struck from the shadows and seized by Chaos. That is how the great rebellion began."
"He has returned now, as I have. And he has received the Emperor's pardon. I know you cannot rewrite your image of him in a single moment. But I beg you, set aside the prejudice in your hearts, and master your emotions."
"I will not see a beautiful day stained by blood spilled between brothers."
At those words, the Astartes teetering on the edge finally throttled their killing intent back down.
More than a few forced a cold breath out from deep in their throats and simply turned their heads, refusing to look at that bald skull at all.
Horus stood behind, wearing an expression that almost never crossed his face: awkward, uncomfortable, out of place. He just held himself rigid and said nothing.
Once the situation stabilized, Sanguinius turned. His gaze swept over the formation and locked, precisely, on Kaelen and Curze at the periphery. He raised a hand and beckoned them forward.
"Come on. The stuck-up bird's calling us over."
Curze's legs flexed.
The Lord of the Night launched straight off the ground, carrying Kaelen in a long arc through the air, and dropped them both, clean landing, right between the two Primarchs.
The complete lack of ceremony left Sanguinius momentarily speechless. Curze just gave a careless shrug.
The Great Angel collected himself and gave his sons a brief introduction to Curze's return and the Emperor's pardon.
But that was only the setup.
The main act was still ahead.
Sanguinius lightly clapped his hands.
Golden wings unfurled slightly behind him, washing the entire plaza in soft radiance.
Then Chapter Master Dante stepped forward, bearing the golden laurel crown they had prepared. He presented it to Sanguinius with both hands, bowed deeply, and withdrew to one side.
Sanguinius took the crown in his right hand. His left rested gently on Kaelen's shoulder.
His voice was gentle but clear, like wind moving across the dunes of Baal's deserts, and it carried a power that reached straight into the soul, traveling to every corner of the Angel's Fortress.
"My sons," he said, his eyes moving across the men before him, "before I introduce this friend to you, there is something I must tell you."
"Ten thousand years ago, I believed the fate of humanity could only be carried on the shoulders of us Primarchs. I believed that only those of us who bore the blood of a god could save an Imperium standing at the edge of destruction. Kaelen has shown me that I was wrong."
The Great Angel turned, looking down at the mortal beside him with genuine gratitude and respect in his eyes.
"This is Kaelen. He has no superhuman strength. No immortal life. No god-blood granted by the Emperor. He is a mortal, the same as the billions struggling to survive across this dark galaxy."
"And yet it was this mortal who reached into the abyss of time and saved my shattered soul. He saved me. He saved Lupercal. He saved countless lives that would otherwise have been reduced to ash in the fires of war."
"He taught me that true heroism was never something handed down by blood. True courage is knowing you are no more than a speck of dust, and standing up anyway, for others, for the hope of a better future."
"My sons," his voice rose, edged with absolute conviction, "Lord Kaelen is our friend. He is our benefactor. He is a true hero of humanity."
"He is a brother of the Blood Angels, for all time. From this day forward, for as long as the Blood Angels still draw breath, Kaelen and all he holds dear shall stand under our most unyielding protection. With our lives, with our blood, with our honor, we will repay his kindness."
And then, beneath the gaze of thousands, the noble and flawless Gene-Sire of the Ninth Legion —
bent his right knee.
Knelt.
He raised the golden laurel crown high in both hands, and set it squarely upon Kaelen's head.
Kaelen's heart rate shot through the roof.
A Primarch, kneeling. A Primarch, crowning him. He'd stood through plenty of grand moments, but right now the blood was pounding in his ears.
Still, he held. Spine straight, shoulders square, he accepted the staggering weight of the honor.
The plaza held an absolute, breathless silence for a full five seconds.
Then —
At the very front, Dante drove his fist into the air, raised it high above his head.
"Kaelen! Hero!"
Seth followed an instant later, chainsword thrust skyward, roaring at the top of his lungs.
"Kaelen! Hero!"
Thousands of thick, armored arms stabbed toward the heavens as one.
The deafening surge of sound tore through Baal's red sandstorms, wave after wave, each one rising higher than the last.
➤ Next: All Have Aged
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