When I looked into the distance, I realized that the brilliant flashes of the Lances and the wreckage of enemy ships were falling from the sky at the sa ti.
Across the cratered, corpse-strewn landscape, soldiers blanketed the mountains and plains, hunting down the swarm like a sweeping gale. Atop high peaks forged from the bones of their enemies, the Adeptus Astartes, the Astra Militarum, and humans from every walk of life planted their tattered flags at the summits.
Fierce winds howled and the setting sun burned like a torch. When the sunlight finally cascaded through the countless holes torn into the atmosphere by the Lances, it draped the earth in a layer of gold. Intertwined with crimson blood, the kaleidoscope of colors was so srizing that it was impossible to look away.
For countless years to co, there would always be those who rembered that day.
Because it was the very first glimr of dawn before the sun rose.
— Supre Inquisitor of the Source Tracing Conclave: Aglaia Hesiod
Before the shrine of the Bloody Rose in the Hive City of Pierred, an unprecedented victory celebration was underway.
The Emperor's Angels from various Chapters who had participated in this campaign marched in neat formations along roads heavily cratered by the fires of war.
Within the procession, Sisters and clerics cradled sacred urns holding the remains of heroes. The ruined corpses of countless massive Tyranid beasts were dragged along by heavy chains, hauled to the top of the shrine, and cast into a torch that burned eternally thanks to the fiery kiss of Phosphex Weapons.
Surrounding the procession, cheering humans lined the two sloping ramps built from the rubble.
They were not strictly disciplined. So simply sat cross-legged on the ground, leaning against Steel that still radiated the residual heat of battle. Yet, it was precisely this absolute post-war relaxation that allowed them to erupt with boundless enthusiasm in this mont.
The fleet had arrived in low orbit; one only needed to look up to see the elegant silhouette of the Gloriana-class battleship.
The auspex arrays continuously received data from across the entire planet, transmitting the processed results to every communication device capable of receiving the signal.
The enemy had been completely purged, and humanity endured.
"We have won."
On the observation platform, Romulus looked out over the crowd and spoke to Superior Elisa beside him, "Do you know why?"
During the battle, this Superior had strapped herself into a specially modified Paragon Warsuit that sacrificed all defensive capabilities, seeking a glorious death of Honor. However, perhaps due to her overly fanatical Faith, despite charging at the forefront of every assault, she had survived to stand here today.
Hearing Romulus's question, she imdiately replied with profound, unadulterated respect:
"Your plan was ticulous, your command was exceptionally decisive, and the strength of the lords played a..."
"No, you only ntioned us."
Romulus softly interrupted the Superior's flattery, his gaze sweeping over the countless sacred urns carried behind the Adeptus Astartes, each holding the relics of those who had made the ultimate sacrifice.
His eyes lingered on a coffin that was passing by his side, where an elderly man lay flat on his back, his expression peaceful.
Great Sister Arabella was officiating the rites for these fallen warriors.
The various Chapters were also mourning their dead according to their own unique cultural traditions.
This was a celebration, but it was also a funeral.
Romulus extended his hand.
"Victory lies with you, with , with them, and with every human who fought for it."
"Yes, my lord."
Elisa bowed deeply. She did not know much; her inherent lack of a broader education made it difficult for her to grasp concepts like humanistic compassion.
But it did not matter.
Had they won the war?
They had.
Had the citizens of the Imperium survived?
They had.
Since the lords were right, there was no need to overthink it.
Elisa clenched her fists in absolute fervor.
She only needed to fight. She only needed to continuously fight, following the guidance of the lords.
"Arthur! Arthur!"
The crowd erupted into cheers. That was the black knight. He was the one who had kindled the very first spark of resistance among the soldiers. He was the one who had battled on naless battlefields, keeping the predatory claws of the enemy away from humanity.
Arthur stepped onto the high platform alone, taking his place between the two who were already waiting at the observation stand.
"Seraph! Karna!"
Karna was the banner, the torch leading the people forward. If not for his courageous advances, the people would have long since ntally collapsed during the constant emotional turmoil.
The Angel left the military formation and approached Romulus's left side.
Between the two of them, one resided in a distant world, acting as the starlight that guided the warriors, while the other blended into the crowd, becoming the sun that ignited the spark of hope.
Watching his comrades receive such thunderous applause, Romulus offered a genuine, heartfelt smile.
Look, these are heroes.
Clasp—
Steel-clad gauntlets locked together. Facing the masses, facing the jubilant crowd, the hands of the four were raised high in unison.
"Romulus! Romulus!"
Cheers roared out once more, rolling over the plaza like overlapping tidal waves.
Whenever Romulus's calm and composed voice had echoed through their vox-beads, they knew that the lord's gaze was watching over them. They knew that soone was praying for their survival.
That voice never despised their weakness or their flaws. That voice offered them the absolute best and then taught them, step by step, exactly how to stay alive.
Every shot they fired, every tentative command they gave—all of it ca from the teachings of that tranquil voice, from the invisible support repeatedly offered from behind.
Romulus was the one they were most intimately familiar with.
Look, we are all heroes!
Rases laughed heartily. He used his psychic powers to hide himself beneath the veil. His actions were fraught with imnse danger and absolutely could not be exposed to the general public.
The comrades never kept score of each other's gains or losses. As long as they knew of one another's deeds, that was more than enough.
The footsteps of the Transmigrators had finally stepped onto the grand stage of the Galaxy. Their previous experiences were all rooted on this planet, and this world nad Pierred would forever be recorded in the annals of the Imperium's history.
A group of Mortals, a handful of Space Marines, and a detachnt of Adeptus chanicus forces had held back the terrifying Great Devourer, foiled the insidious plots of the great enemy of Chaos, and held the line until reinforcents arrived.
This was a Chaos Ritual forged from the Souls of trillions. This was a Hive Fleet numbering in the millions that had consud colossal amounts of Biomass. And yet, it had catastrophically collapsed right here.
Looking down at the surging crowds, they noticed that nearly everyone was holding a child in their arms.
So of these people were strangers, while others were familiar faces. This was their future.
"...Are you grieving?"
Romulus asked softly.
So many had died in this war. Even by a conservative estimate, millions of the people the Transmigrators had managed to rescue had perished. Moreover, with the collective outbreak of post-war trauma and lingering afflictions, the death toll would only continue to climb.
War would never lack death.
"Sacrifice is the only way to change this universe, so I do not grieve."
Arthur had already taken off his helt. His golden hair shimred brilliantly in the sunlight. Not a trace of gloom could be seen in his eyes; there was only an ever-strengthening, ironclad resolve.
"Only through grand sacrifice are noble ambitions forged, daring to command the sun and moon to bring forth a new sky."
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