Chapter 139 - Farewell, Return to the Sanctum
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Three months. The voyage was finally over.
The moment the expedition fleet dropped out of the Warp, Vigilus filled the portholes. Everyone exhaled at once. The time for farewells had come.
They hadn't even docked yet when they spotted the fleet already waiting — lined up neat and proper, there to escort their Gene-Sire and the Lord of the First Legion home.
Solemn music drifted from the landing pad.
A band of mortal musicians played with everything they had, the tune soaring and grave, that particular Imperial melody that made your spine straighten without you ever deciding to.
Sanguinius and Lion walked side by side, their retinue at their backs, ready to board and leave the expedition fleet.
The time for farewell had come.
Horus stepped forward first and pulled Sanguinius into a firm embrace. The two clapped each other on the back, neither saying a word. Neither had to.
Curze stepped up as well, rare for him, and shook hands with both brothers, muttering something about safe travels.
Kaelen came last, working his way down the line, saying goodbye to each Primarch in turn. He was smiling. But there was something in his eyes that didn't quite match the smile.
Lion and Horus held each other last.
The Lion's arms were like iron. He struck the Wolf's back twice, heavy and deliberate, then let go.
Then he reached into his pocket and pressed something small into Horus's hand.
Horus looked down.
A little wooden lion.
The carving wasn't particularly refined, you could see places where the knife had hesitated, where the hand had been learning. But every cut had been made with care, and somehow the thing still had presence. It carried the Lion's bearing.
"Is this for me, Johnson?" Horus asked, smiling, his thumb tracing the lion's back.
"No." Lion exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting somewhere distant. "It's for... Roboute."
Horus paused. Then he understood.
Lion had carved it himself.
Which was strange, when you thought about it, because the one who'd taught him was Curze. That particular brother's interests had been expanding in peculiar directions lately. Legal consultation, chess piece carving, handcraft assemblies. Broader horizons, apparently.
"Bring it to him for me." Lion paused, weighing something. Then he added, "I am proud of him. In every respect, he deserves my recognition and admiration." A beat. "Even if he is, at times, infuriating."
"Now I am no longer alone. I have all of you — and I have him."
Horus raised an eyebrow.
That was very much like Lion.
"Rest assured." He nodded and carefully stowed the wooden lion away. "I'll see it delivered."
Across the pad, Sanguinius was distributing his own gifts.
Four feathers. Each one white as snow, catching the light with a quiet, held stillness, like sunlight that had decided not to move.
The Great Angel had plucked them from his own wings with his own hands, handing them to Horus, Curze, and Kaelen. Curze received an extra one. That share was specifically for Sevatar.
Each feather held a thread of his psychic power woven through it.
Sanguinius had no love for the Ecclesiarchy's rituals, and kept the Imperial Truth at a respectful arm's length. But none of that stopped him from using this method to send his brothers off with something like a blessing. A token, at least. Better than empty hands.
Then he embraced everyone in turn, and began working through a list of small parting instructions with characteristic thoroughness.
Starting with Curze's personal hygiene.
"I hope the next time I see you, you won't have returned to that state you were in before, brother." Sanguinius regarded the Night Lord with a warm, patient smile, the exact smile you'd use on a child you weren't quite sure would behave. "Otherwise..."
Curze saw the smile.
The Angel's smile was genuinely beautiful. Everyone knew that. But right now, for reasons Curze couldn't entirely explain, that smile sent a chill running down his spine. Goosebumps rose across his skin.
"Nonsense!" He turned his face away, tone stiff. The bluster was there. The conviction, less so. "Arrogant little bird. I am perfectly capable of maintaining my own hygiene. I don't need you fretting over it."
The Great Angel did not take offense at "arrogant little bird."
He simply smiled and reached out, resting his hand briefly on top of Curze's head, light as a thought, easy as breathing. The way you'd stroke a cat that had puffed itself up for no good reason.
Curze's expression curdled. He didn't move away.
Then Sanguinius's gaze shifted to Kaelen. Those amber eyes narrowed slightly, catching the faint flicker of hesitation the mortal hadn't quite managed to hide.
"Is there something you want to say, Kaelen?" Sanguinius asked, his smile unchanged, something gently irresistible in his manner. "Don't tell me... you're thinking of staying with me in the Dark Imperium?"
Beside them, Horus's brow drew together, almost before the words had finished.
Kaelen felt a jolt go through his chest. He laughed and shook his head quickly.
"Spare me, Lord Angel."
He took a breath, found his words.
"My place has long been chosen. Walking this stretch of road under your wings has already been more honor than I had any right to expect. But if I truly stayed..." He tilted his chin toward Horus. "I suspect the Wolf Lord would be the first to object."
Sanguinius laughed, warm and genuine. Horus's brow smoothed. He gave a short exhale through his nose and said nothing.
"That said..." Kaelen shifted. "Could I ask you for one more feather?"
"A feather?" Sanguinius raised an eyebrow. "Of course."
He reached back and drew another from his wing, holding it out.
"Something specific in mind?" he asked.
Kaelen met his eyes and smiled.
"Yes. Though I imagine you've already guessed."
The Great Angel smiled softly. He didn't deny it.
He had guessed. The power of foresight had long since shown him where that feather would go.
It was then that something in Horus's peripheral vision caught his attention.
Corswain.
He stood at the head of their formation, facing Sanguinius and Lion as they prepared to board. Back straight. Perfectly still. He hadn't stepped forward to say goodbye. He hadn't shown any expression at all. He simply stood there, quiet.
Horus frowned and was about to ask — but Lion spoke first.
"Corswain has asked to stay with you." The Lion's voice was low and even. "I granted his request."
He turned and set a hand on Horus's pauldron. The weight of it said more than the words.
"To rebuild the Luna Wolves, you'll need a solid command backbone. Corswain can fill that role." A pause. "Consider him on loan."
Horus blinked. Then he laughed.
It was the most genuine smile he'd worn all day.
He reached out and clasped Lion's hand.
"Endless gratitude, brother."
Lion said nothing more. He nodded, turned, and walked toward the Stormbird.
Sanguinius raised a hand in farewell, his great wings catching the light and scattering warmth across the pad. The Sanguinary Guard and the rest of the retinue fell in behind him, and the group moved through the boarding passage until they were gone.
The transport lifted with a roar, cleared the pad, and cut a clean arc through the stars, until it was just a point of light rejoining the Blood Angels fleet in the distance.
Horus stood and watched until the light disappeared.
"Let's go." He turned. His voice was steady.
Kaelen and Curze exchanged a glance and fell in behind him without a word.
Corswain joined the column as well, his pace unhurried and precise. Within a few steps, he had simply become part of the formation.
Time together always runs short.
But the new story was only just beginning.
---
The expedition fleet passed through the Nachmund Gauntlet and arrived at Baal, one of the critical worlds of the Imperial Sanctum.
Horus did not push immediately for Macragge. Instead, he halted to regroup and split off a quarter of his fleet to remain as garrison.
Part of that decision came from what Kaelen had told him: that the Nachmund Gauntlet would become a flashpoint in the wars to come. But part of it was simply Horus himself, reading the ground the way any supreme commander would. The location was too important to leave unguarded. He detached the garrison to hold it and keep the nearby Imperial defenders supplied.
Once that was arranged, he took the remaining fleet onward.
Macragge's orbital docks were as busy as ever. Transports, warships, supply vessels moving in and out in smooth, unbroken order, the unmistakable signature of Guilliman's hand. Only he could make logistics look like this.
Regent Guilliman came to the docks himself to receive them.
He saw Horus and the others step off safely, and something in his posture eased.
"How was the road? Any trouble?" He stepped forward and shook Horus's hand.
"Smooth throughout. Nothing to report."
"Good." Guilliman's gaze moved across the group, Curze, Kaelen, Loken and the others. Something settled in his eyes.
After a few pleasantries, Horus reached into his inner pocket and produced the small wooden lion. He held it out.
"This is for you."
Guilliman took it and looked at it. The lion sat quietly in his palm. The carving wasn't precise, but every cut was deliberate. Every line had intention behind it.
"This is..." Something clicked. He looked up. "Did Lion give this to you?"
"No." Horus shook his head, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. "He said it was for you."
Guilliman went still.
"He also said he is proud of you." Horus let that sit for a beat. "That in many respects, you deserve his recognition and admiration."
The Regent's brow rose slightly.
"Just that you can be, in his estimation, rather infuriating."
"And he said he is no longer alone — because of us. That includes you."
Guilliman looked down at the wooden lion in his palm. He was quiet for 2 full seconds.
Then he smiled.
It came from somewhere real. A little helpless. A little warm.
"He hasn't changed at all."
He closed his hand around the lion. His thumb moved slowly along the ridge of its back, tracing the fine cut-marks there.
"We were never close. He keeps his own counsel, never lets anyone see what's in his heart."
"But I revere him still."
➤ Next: Declaration of War? Or Negotiation?
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