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Sanguinius had never seen a spaceship before, not outside the fractal impressions of them that sailed in his waking dreams. This one, sitting on the desert plain with its golden armour baking in the sun, had the suggestion of vulturishness. It was a thing of power and efficiency, blunt and brutal. Fire made it fly, not any notion of grace.
Clusters of figures surrounded the vessel's imnse landing claws, their golden armor gleaming with the sa radiant intensity as the ship itself. Every inch of that plating bore the mark of painstaking craftsmanship. Among them stood others in star-studded navy blue, no less imposing despite their subtler presentation. And then there was the largest of them-a figure like Sanguinius himself. A brother?
My father's guardians, Sanguinius thought. And what a thought it was, not only that a being such as his father required guardians, but that he had a father at all. All the years of wondering at his own heritage, devoid of insight into his origins - and here, at last, was the truth, standing in the shadow of a vessel from the void.
He leaned into the desert wind, stretching his muscles and rising on a thermal of bitter breeze. The temptation was there - like it always was to soar, to break free of the ground and his responsibilities, taking to the sky and seeking distant lands where the secrets of old wars lay buried. Today that urge was both stronger and weaker; his heart was ill at ease with what this eting would an, but nevertheless, he burned to know what lay ahead.
He arced groundward, landing lightly with a scuff of his boots across the earth and a final furling of his wings. Dust swirled around his shins as he stepped forward. The golden figures carried weapons, a panoply of axes and spears and hard-calibre firearms. Sanguinius carried only his sword, undrawn, riding low on his hip.
'Welco to Baalfora, outlanders.' He spoke Aenokhian, the tongue of his people, the Pure. He wondered if the outlanders would understand him, or whether they would be forced to rely on hand gestures and awkward mimicry.
"My son", said one of the golden ones, sohow speaking it silently.
He felt his father's voice for the first ti as one of his own thoughts, a sensation rather than speech, backed by a trendous feeling of suppressed force. The golden man - if he was a man - that sent the contact seed to be making significant efforts to restrain himself, or to contain the power within himself.
There was... more... there, though. My son rhyd with my weapon and rhyd with the Ninth and rhyd with... other concepts that Sanguinius couldn't parse from the core of the man's aning. A lifeti of perspective was bound up in that contact, and Sanguinius sensed only the gulf between his father's silent words and the aning behind them.
But he felt no threat in the touch of mind upon mind. Confidence. Impatience. Love. Caution. Approximations of those, where words couldn't quite convey the actuality. It was all in there. The man - and he did seem like a man: dark of skin and hair, slling of tal and sweat, in possession of a heartbeat - walked closer.
"I am the Emperor" the man said as He stepped out from the spacecraft's shadow. "And I am your father."
Father, the man had said, the word rhyming in silence with Master, with Shaper, with Creator. Sanguinius t the Emperor's eyes. What he saw there, glinting in the light of his father's gaze, was the answer to a question he'd never even considered.
This being this Emperor - was human. But He was not, exactly, a man.
'I see the light of many souls in your eyes. Many n. Many won.'
The Emperor smiled. "Is that what you see?" He spoke flawless Aenokhian, but that perfection was itself a flaw. He spoke the tongue with the sa dialect and inflection as Sanguinius himself. Either the Emperor was pulling the aning from the Angel's mind or imprinting aning upon it. Whichever was true, He wasn't really speaking the language at all. Nor was Sanguinius entirely certain he could see the man's mouth move.
"I have sought you for many years" said the Emperor. And behind those words, Sanguinius sensed the cheering of crowds and the burning of worlds. His blood ran cold in the desert heat. 'I've seen shades of this eting many tis in my dreams,' Sanguinius confessed. A heavier gust blew from the east. He instinctively lifted a wing to shield himself from the gritty air. The Emperor's eyes followed the movent. He began to circle Sanguinius in a slow walk, one gauntleted hand reaching out, fingertips running down the Angel's feathers. Sanguinius' pale gaze tracked his circling father, but his wings rippled with discomfort each ti the Emperor moved behind him, out of sight.
'You are uneasy,' said the Emperor. 'That is natural, my son. I have co not only to liberate you from exile, but to ease your heart and mind with all you need to know.'
Sanguinius felt a lifeti of questions trapped on his tongue. There was one, however, that was always going to break free first. One question above all others had plagued him and haunted his people, since the Tribe of Pure Blood had discovered him in the wild lands. They worshipped him for his strength and beneficence, but they feared him for the question that now lay unspoken between father and son.
"Ask" said the Emperor. "Ask the question I sense lying upon your tongue."
The Angel pulled back from his father, not furling his wings but spreading them. With sudden passion, he beat a fist against the animal hide of his breastplate. A lone feather, swan-white, drifted in an arcing dance down to the dusty earth.
"What am I?"
"You are my son," said the Emperor. And, again, anings and concepts danced beneath those words. You are my son was overlaid by you are a primarch, and you are my Ninth General, and you are a component of the Great Work and you were stolen by the enemy, and - most unsettling of all – you may have been changed by them.
"I don't know what you an."
"You will," the Emperor assured him.
"You are the death of faith, "Sanguinius replied. "That I know."
The Emperor regarded him before speaking. "Yes," his father agreed, "and also, no. How do you know of such things?"
"I told you, I have dread of this day. Fragnts. Shadows. Suggestions. Sotis they co to , fierce with emotion yet raked clean of detail."
"Faith is a weapon," said the Emperor. "A weapon that the species cannot be trusted to
wield."
"My people revere as their god,' Sanguinius replied. 'That brings them a asure of peace. No doubt to you and your sky-sailing kind, we are nothing but primitives. Roaches in this poisoned desert. But I reward their faith in . I am their servant. I am rcy when my people need it most, and I am death to their enemies."
"That does not make you a god, my son."
"I never said I was a god. I said my people believe to be one."
Sanguinius stared into his father's inhuman, too-human eyes.
"My people, the Pure, are to be left in peace. Whatever pacts you and I swear this day, my inviolate condition is this - no ship will enter Baalfora's heavens without my mandate, and no interference will be permitted to the Clans of Pure Blood without my permission. We have carved out the solace of peace here, together. You will not threaten it, father."
The Emperor nodded, not in agreent, but in sudden understanding. "That is why you fear , is it not? You fear the endangernt of what you have achieved here."
"I speak of loyalty and love," the Angel said gently.
"And you speak of achievent."
"Am I wrong?" asked the Emperor.
"I fear for the lives of my people, who deserve only peace. A peace we have fought so hard for. Behind your words, I hear the triumph of cultures that see you as their saviour. But I also hear the razing of cities and the burning of worlds. I hear the dirges of faiths now forbidden, and the mourning of those nations that followed them. Am I wrong?"
The Emperor said nothing.
Later - many tis over the decades to co - Sanguinius would think back on those words. For all the purity of the Emperor's intent, there were so many compromises. Faith could not be tolerated... except for when it could. Religions were drowned in the ashes of defiant worlds... except when their usefulness aligned with the Great Work. The Emperor needed the Martian chanicum, and he allowed them to worship Him as the Omnissiah, the incarnated avatar of the Machine-God. Perhaps necessity carves holes in everyone's principles, human
and god alike.
Once more Sanguinius heard the adulations of crowds in bright sunlight, and the cries of populations on burning worlds.
He asked then what no other primarch had given voice to. Even Angron, upon his discovery, would act without asking the question Sanguinius now asked.
"What if I refuse?"
The Emperor seed to weigh this. "You will not refuse. I know your soul. Here, you've saved
tens of thousands of lives. With , you will save billions of lives on millions of worlds. You
will save the life of every human yet to be born. That is not sothing you could turn your
back on."
They stared into each other's eyes, father and son, creator and created. Neither argued against the truth of the Emperor's words.
"I want sothing from you. I want your oath."
The Emperor was silent, allowing His son to continue.
"Do you swear, on whatever oaths hold value to you, that you will leave the Clans of Pure
Blood in peace? Untouched by your designs unless they desire otherwise. Free to exist as they already exist, believing whatever they choose to believe."
The Emperor hesitated. Sanguinius saw the calculation in his father's eyes, and he wondered:
"is He taken aback by the love I bear for my people, or is He rely considering alternate avenues
around this obstacle in His Great Work?"
The Emperor finally spoke. "You have my promise."
Sanguinius closed his wings. "Then let us speak of the future, father."
And so, they did.
"And now, my son," the Emperor's voice broke the stillness, carrying the quiet thunder of
ages. "You will et one of your brothers."
The word brother resonated deeply within Sanguinius, echoing through the halls of his
mories, stirring thoughts of the family he had longed for in the isolation of Baal. The realization was bittersweet. He had spent countless years alone, battling the harsh world and himself, imagining what it would be like to finally et his kin. He had dread of brothers in the purest sense-comrades who would share in the burden of their shared blood. And now, that dream was about to take shape before him.
From the distance, a figure approached. At first glance, Franklin Valorian seed deceptively ordinary. His broad shoulders, frad in practical regalia that held an air of imperial splendor, carried a presence that made the very desert seem to shift under his feet. Brown hair tossed in the wind, and eyes-eyes that held the depth of ancient wisdom and the warmth of understanding-watched Sanguinius steadily. A half-smile, more knowing than amused, rested on his lips, as if he were privy to a joke no one else could yet comprehend.
But Franklin was more than the man before him, as Sanguinius's perception expanded beyond
mortal bounds.
For a fleeting heartbeat, A Bloody-Handed God stood before him, wreathed in a terrible, crimson glory. In one hand, the god gripped a weapon forged from the light of dying stars, its
edges soaked in the blood of conquest. Worlds crumbled and foes perished in the shadow of this deity's wrath. Yet, even in this horrifying majesty, the god smirked at Sanguinius, an unsettling amusent dancing in its gaze, as though it delighted in being seen. The vision shifted, folding into sothing more rcurial. Sanguinius now beheld a Laughing God, its expression lit with uncanny mirth. The god's laughter was sharp and knowing, its movents as unpredictable as the reflections of light on water. Sanguinius stared into the being's kaleidoscopic form, and it honked back-a sound at once absurd and profound. The god offered Sanguinius a slight bow, its grin widening, as though inviting him to appreciate the cosmic absurdity of existence.
Then the vision expanded, deepened, and grew weightier. The Ultimate Manifestation of Humanity's Manifest Destiny erged, vast and overwhelming. Sanguinius saw a conqueror whose confidence radiated with such intensity that it seed to bend reality itself, blazing with humanity's boundless ambition and their unshakable claim to the stars.
And finally, binding them all together, Sanguinius saw an Eagle-monuntal, majestic, and resplendent. Its wings spread wide, casting a shadow of freedom that stretched across the galaxy. The eagle's talons gripped chains of tyranny, tearing them apart with savage elegance. Its piercing cry echoed in Sanguinius's mind, a clarion call that heralded liberty, victory, and unyielding hope for all who dared to dream.
The visions layered, rging into one another until they beca indistinguishable. Each was a part of the whole, and together they ford Franklin Valorian.
As Franklin drew closer, his smirk widening just enough to suggest he was fully aware of what had transpired, Sanguinius could not help but compare him to the Emperor. The realization was a nagging truth that refused to be ignored: This Brother was the closest thing to their
father he had ever encountered.
It was as though the Emperor's light had found another vessel-not a copy, but a reflection
refracted through a different lens. Franklin carried the sa cosmic weight, the sa unyielding purpose, yet he was tempered by sothing the Emperor lacked: a warmth. "Welco to the family, brother. I hope you like barbecue."
As Franklin approached his newfound brother across Baal's crimson sands, he felt Khaine's
presence stir within his mind. The God of War's consciousness erged like heat shimr off a blade, his thoughts interweaving with Franklin's own.
"So," Khaine's voice resonated with ancient mory, "this is where that challenger of mine fell." Franklin's ntal response carried his characteristic blend of curiosity and irreverence. "Challenger? You have challengers?"
The god's laughter echoed through Franklin's consciousness, a sound like clashing armies
and breaking shields. "The Aeldari Pantheon stood for sixty-five million years, Franklin. Did you think we spent all that ti sitting on golden thrones and writing poetry? We crushed nurous challengers during our reign. It wasn't all rainbows and sunshine, as you well know." "Yes, yes, I know the history," Franklin's thoughts carried a hint of amused exasperation. "But who exactly is stupid enough to challenge the God of War? That seems like a particularly poor life choice."
"Many," Khaine's response held dark mirth, "and all of them died, as you might expect. But this
one..." The god's presence shifted, like a warrior adjusting his stance before telling a tale of significant battle. "This challenger was powerful even by the standards of gods. If not for , perhaps only Asuryan himself could have brought it down." Franklin felt Khaine's pride in the mory, mixed with sothing else - respect, perhaps, for
a worthy opponent. The god continued, "I cleaved it in half with Anaris, a strike so perfect it split not just flesh but essence. One half beca a being of light, the other of darkness. But now..." Through their shared perception, they both observed Sanguinius - the Angel of Baal, whose
soul shone with a familiar radiance. "Now I see those halves have beco one again. The minor warp god that dwells within your brother is that ancient challenger, reborn and remade." "Wait," Franklin's thoughts sharpened with sudden interest. "Are you telling that Sanguinius has an uber power warp god inside him? One that you personally bisected?"
"More accurately, he is the god, or rather, what beca of it after my victory. The Emperor's creation of the Primarchs provided an unexpected vessel for its reincarnation. Fascinating, really. In all eons of battle, I've never seen anything quite like it."
Franklin's ntal smile carried a hint of irony. "And here I thought family reunions couldn't
get more complicated. Should I be concerned?" "No," Khaine's response was surprisingly definitive. "What dwells within him now is fundantally changed from what I faced. The Emperor's work and human soul have remade it into sothing new. Sothing that might, in ti, prove to be exactly what humanity needs."
"Along with a healthy dose of liberty and occasional barbecue," Franklin added, earning what
felt like an exasperated sigh from the god of war.
"You never take anything entirely seriously, do you?"
"Says the god who's letting wear his sword like so cosmic fashion accessory."
The desert winds of Baal whispered around them as Franklin and Sanguinius clasped hands in
greeting. The contact was firm, assured - the grip of demigods acknowledging each other's strength while carefully restraining it. In that brief mont of contact, both brothers assessed each other with transhuman senses far beyond mortal ken. Sanguinius's gaze drifted, almost imperceptibly, to Franklin's broad shoulders, a small, habitual motion that only another Primarch could have noticed. A small, searching glance - the kind forged by years of solitude and the painful awareness of being the one different among the already unique. His wings fluttered slightly, the magnificent white feathers catching the twin suns of Baal, shining bright against the red desert.
Franklin caught that glance, understanding imdiately the weight of isolation behind it. He had seen the future that awaited his angelic brother - the burden of being unique even among
the unique, set apart by his wings even from his fellow Primarchs. A small smile played across Franklin's face as an idea ford.
With a thought, Franklin revealed his own gift. The air shimred with potential energy as
wings of steel manifested from his back, spreading wide in the desert sun. They were not the soft, feathered pinions of Sanguinius, but rather deadly works of art - each 'feather' a blade of impossibly sharp tal that could slice through ceramite as easily as paper. The wings
caught the sunlight and scattered it in prismatic patterns across the sand, a display both beautiful and lethal.
Sanguinius stood transfixed, his usual eloquence deserting him. His own wings spread unconsciously in response, white feathers contrasting with Franklin's tallic ones. For a mont, the only sound was the soft whisper of wind through feather and steel. "This way you won't feel alone," Franklin said softly, his usual smirk softening into
sothing more genuine. "I have wings too, you know. The Wings of an Eagle"
The simple statent carried layers of aning between the brothers. It was an acknowledgnt of shared difference, an offering of understanding, and a promise of brotherhood all in one. Franklin's wings might be different in form, but their presence ant Sanguinius would never again have to bear the burden of uniqueness alone. Sanguinius reached out, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence as Franklin nodded
permission. His fingers traced the edge of one tallic feather, feeling the deadly perfection of its edge. "They're beautiful," he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of solitude finally lifted. "And lethal." "Form and function," Franklin grinned. "Though I have to admit, yours are more practical for actual flight. Mine are better suited for combat"
The Emperor watched His sons from a short distance, a smile playing at the corners of His
mouth as He observed their bonding. This was not a mont that had existed in the tiline Franklin knew - a small change, perhaps, but one that might ripple outward in unexpected ways. Sotis, He reflected, the greatest changes ca not from grand strategies or massive battles, but from simple monts of connection.
The vast viewscreen of the Sweet Liberty filled with the rusty expanse of Baal and its twin
moons. Massive terraforming engines, gifts from the Independence Sector, crawled across the surface like chanical insects, their work already visible in patches of green slowly spreading across the desert world. Franklin watched his brother's face as Sanguinius took in the transformation of his howorld.
"It will take ti," Franklin said, his voice carrying the casual confidence that had beco his
trademark, "but your sons will have a proper ho to return to. Though I ask again - are you certain you wish to delay reuniting with them?"
Sanguinius's wings shifted slightly, a tell Franklin had learned ant his brother was deep in thought. "The Emperor himself told of how you've guided our other brothers when they were found. A smile crossed the Angel's perfect features. "I would be a fool to pass up such an
opportunity." Franklin nodded, trying to hide his pleasure at the complint. "Well then, brother, your education begins now." He pulled out a data-slate and handed it to Sanguinius. "First lesson: understanding the political landscape you're stepping into. This contains everything from trade agreents to military doctrines. The Imperium is more complex than it appears on the
surface."
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