Chapter 186: They Are Heroes |
Inside The Warp, aboard the Emperor-class Battleship The Dawnlight, time unknown.
The Xenos and heretics on Asteria had been completely purged, leaving absolutely no trace behind in the truest sense of the word.
Because the World Soul survived, humanity did not even need to worry about the planet's climate restoration. With just the passage of time, the planet would naturally revert to being the shining pearl of eastern Ultramar.
The Warp remained the same as always: a realm of ceaseless chaos. Agonized howls echoed through the tides of the immaterial world, and occasionally, massive, grotesque void-creatures could be seen drifting by.
Amidst such turmoil, The Dawnlight fleet remained perfectly serene, as if even the Daemons knew better than to touch it. Only the faint hum of servo-skulls echoed down the corridors. The children had long since fallen asleep in their respective cabins, and the entire fleet was enveloped in a rare, pre-war tranquility, proceeding as usual.
Meanwhile, inside the battleship's ceremonial Sanctum, a sacred commendation was underway.
The Blood Angels held lit censers, the fragrant smoke drifting between their power armor. They stood solemnly in a flawless, wing-like formation, enveloping the Lamenters Chapter within their ranks.
The stone pathway outside the temple was lined with caskets holding mutilated corpses. Each casket was draped with a banner embroidered with a Chapter's insignia.
The insignia of the Lamenters was the most numerous among them.
Facing the envious gazes of his bloodline brothers, the radiant light cascading from the Seraphim, and the garrison banners and armaments that symbolized supreme Honor.
The Chapter Master of the Lamenters, Malakim Phoros, appeared quite restless in this moment.
In a single battle, they had lost a third of their Space Marines, yet only managed to save a tenth of the human population on the planet. Had it not been for the timely arrival of The Dawnlight fleet, the number of comrades they saved would have been undeniably fewer.
From the bottom of his Heart, he believed this war was a tragic failure for the Lamenters.
This thought gnawed at his Heart like a sharp knife, causing his voice to drop even lower:
"We are not worthy."
Flames of fury practically burst from the eyes of a Flesh Tearer nearby, his respirator releasing a rapid burst of sharp static.
Seriously, Lord Karna valued them so highly, yet they still claimed they were unworthy.
Then what did that make the rest of them?
Karna sighed softly. Perhaps due to their long history of terrible luck and their unconventional methods that drew constant prejudice, the Lamenters always harbored an inexplicable sense of inferiority when interacting with their fellow Battle-Brothers.
Furthermore, they genuinely believed that failing to save more lives with the sacrifices of their Battle-Brothers was a profound disgrace.
However, in the eyes of the vast majority of the Adeptus Astartes, such behavior came across as an unforgivable arrogance—
They actually dared to refuse the Honor bestowed upon them by The Angel.
When one stepped onto an unprecedentedly noble path, enduring loneliness was inevitable.
The Angel did not voice any reprimand. Instead, he reached out and gently touched the casket beside him. The engravings and memorial inscriptions upon it had all been carved by his own hand. As the fingertips of his artificer armor traced over the grooves, they produced a faint, rustling sound.
"Is it worth it?"
His voice was extremely soft, yet it caused the very air in the Sanctum to stagnate.
"It is worth it,"
Phoros answered without a shred of hesitation.
"Sacrifice is made to save lives."
He was simply devastated that he could not provide a better return for his Battle-Brothers' sacrifices.
"Then you are worthy."
——
On the high balcony of the estate, Arthur rested his hands on the railing, still as a statue.
"Lord Arthur."
Aglaia walked over, dragging her exhausted body. Although her eyes still held a lingering dullness from long periods of high-intensity work, the excitement hidden within them simply could not be concealed.
"Congratulations."
Arthur briefly shifted his gaze away from the caskets below and let it fall upon the Inquisitor.
His gaze was as calm as a winter mist, yet it carried a subconscious, nearly imperceptible hint of scrutiny.
The edges of her long sleeves were still stained with faint ink smudges, and the embroidery was slightly wrinkled from repeated friction. It was obvious she had not rested recently.
The Inquisitor had been busy lately settling the Psykers she had taken in.
Judging by her slightly shining eyes and brisk pace, the results must have been positive.
Unprecedentedly positive.
"What is the matter?"
He tilted his head slightly. The cold light from beyond the balcony slanted across his stern profile, casting a sharp shadow.
Aglaia took a deep breath, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing the frayed embroidered edges of her cuffs. Then, she lifted her face, her eyes firm and earnest.
"My Lord, I hope to integrate these children into The Dawnlight fleet's educational system. Naturally, I also hope that the branch of the Source Tracing Conclave, which I represent, can be granted talent recruitment opportunities through the 'Dawn Education Project'."
Her voice was soft, carrying an unignorable persistence.
The overwhelming pressure of the Tyranid Hive Fleet, coupled with the bizarre incompetence of the Imperium's defensive forces, left her feeling severely lacking in security.
In the future, her land on Asteria would serve as a temporary office in the southwestern Segmentum Ultima. Its primary mission would be to gather healthy, stable Psykers and provide them with a relatively safe and secure environment in which to grow.
However, for the ultimate destination of these children, Aglaia ultimately chose the Wings of Dawn.
There was no need to even mention the living environment; in this day and age, a faction capable of providing humanity with such growing conditions was impossible to find, even if one searched the entire Galaxy with a lantern.
As for education, Rameses, as an expert in psychic matters, possessed profound experience in the application of The Warp. The Grimoires he had compiled, such as "The Nature and Application of Psychic Power (Preschool Edition)", were studied by her every single day, and she had benefited immensely from them.
As for future employment, there was even less need to worry.
With the invasion of extragalactic Xenos like the Tyranid Hive Fleet, the intensity of war across the Galaxy would visibly escalate. Lord Rameses had constantly been trying to push for the expansion of the Librarians' ranks, as they held irreplaceable importance in localized combat.
Of course, his ideas were not decided on a mere whim. They were currently still in the talent cultivation phase, which essentially meant catching Librarians from various Space Marine Chapters and dragging them to The Dawnlight for re-education.
Having spent a long time engaging in academic discussions with Aeldari Farseers, Rameses now viewed the vast majority of the Imperium's Psykers as thoroughly unqualified in their application of psychic powers.
Stable Psykers were excellent seeds for future Librarians.
As for the Psykers who failed to pass the Adeptus Astartes' screening process, organizations like the Inquisition, Officio Assassinorum, and the Adeptus Astra Telepathica had plenty of positions available for them.
Even the Culexus Assassins, comprised entirely of Untouchables, had opened a branch aboard The Dawnlight. Aglaia felt she needed to keep pace with the Grand Master of Assassins.
Having followed the four Lords across half the Galaxy, her mindset had inevitably undergone some subtle changes.
Since the Imperium's bloated inefficiency could no longer be relied upon, she might as well hand her power over to the Wings of Dawn, who were far more adept at utilizing it.
"Has the report been submitted?"
Arthur asked.
"The roster and detailed methodologies have been submitted to Lord Romulus. However, formal approval and signatures will still require a decision from the Lords,"
Aglaia replied immediately.
The internal decision-making mechanism of the Wings of Dawn had always been this way. Each core member held veto power, and all major affairs had to receive unanimous approval from all four parties.
Rameses would regularly start a Private Group to handle these types of issues. Naturally, the individuals causing the problems could also choose to visit each of them door-to-door.
At the very least, her own boss had always remained at the center of power.
All around them, the Dark Angels, who had originally been fuming over the Blood Angels' ceremony, instantly settled down considerably.
They also understood that for the safety of the entire fleet, the news of their existence had to be strictly sealed. These highly public events were definitely not places they should be meddling in right now.
Disrupting the strategic deployment of the Wings of Dawn over a momentary fit of pique would be incredibly foolish.
But everything suffered by comparison.
Look at the radiant Blood Angels, worshipped and basking in the spotlight of various Imperial factions.
Then look at the ambitious Ultramarines, orchestrating the entire system and controlling the Wings of Dawn.
Finally, look at themselves: keeping secrets day in and day out. Aside from necessary interactions with unavoidable troublemakers like the Space Wolves, not even their steadfast allies, like Supreme High Marshal Ledodes of the Black Templars, knew the specifics of their existence.
Understanding the necessity was one thing, but the sheer frustration of it was undeniably real.
"I approve."
Arthur replied.
It was just taking in a few more people. They believed their ideological standing was already far above that of the vast majority of Imperial citizens; absorbing these special talents would not be difficult.
If they didn't even have that much confidence, they might as well give up on trying to change the world.
"Thank you, Lord Arthur."
Aglaia bowed slightly. Suddenly, she felt the surrounding atmosphere settle significantly.
War inevitably meant bloodshed, and the losses she had suffered were already among the lightest.
"You should also thank the warriors who fought for this. It is precisely because of their sacrifices that today's miracle was forged,"
Arthur continued.
Unlike normal circumstances where the Exterminatus would be declared to raze the garden world to the ground, the Lamenters chose to fight for the countless living souls. Through their own sacrifices, they allowed countless lives to survive long enough for salvation to arrive.
Aglaia nodded solemnly, understanding the four Lords' reverence for life. She looked down at the Sanctum below. In a vividly illuminated gallery, a series of images perfectly displayed the Lamenters' battlefield before her eyes.
Craters, corpses, and enemies swarming the hills and plains. Warriors standing like stubborn Reefs. The Imperium's aquila banners severed and broken. Yet behind them stood thousands upon thousands of people, surging forward in endless waves.
The sky was profoundly dark, its light like scattered sparks. The earth was blanketed in a sporadic golden hue, intertwined with spilled blood, creating a brilliant mosaic that made it hard to look away.
Mottled yet magnificent, cruel yet sacred.
It was beautiful.
Having weathered numerous wars and witnessed the cruelty of the battlefield through countless texts, this was the first time Aglaia had ever perceived 'beauty' within a war.
This was different from the generous gifts bestowed by the four Lords; this was a glorious epic composed by the Lamenters using their own lives.
Her gaze lingered on a battered banner. The bloodstained Heart icon trembled in the wind, looking as if it were still beating.
This was a 'beauty' that belonged solely to them, one of the few pieces of true grace remaining in this universe.
Karna raised his spear, the tip gleaming in the shaft of light cast down from The Dome of the Sanctum.
By his side, the ceremonial armor and garrison banners symbolizing Honor shone brilliantly. Letters of gratitude from the rescued citizens, recounting their stories, were placed in the most prominent spot.
Phoros's breath caught in his throat.
He watched as Karna's fingertips brushed over a yellowed letter. On it, a child had used immature handwriting to sketch the heroic figure of a Lamenter.
At that moment, he finally understood the profound thoughts hidden within the Primarch.
This was not a simple commendation; it was a validation of the spiritual core of their entire Chapter, an absolute affirmation of the path they had chosen to uphold.
Under the watchful eyes of countless Imperial elites and their bloodline brothers, the Lamenters once again received Karna's invitation.
As he presented those letters filled with overflowing emotion, he declared:
"Come to me, heroes."
They were heroes.
They did not deserve to be alone.