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"Sergeant, for your outstanding performance, you and your retainers have been awarded the Imperial Cross by the Castellan, along with a promotion to Captain! Castellan Creed has granted you command of a full-strength elite infantry platoon!"
"Thank you for the good news, Commissar."
A week later, at the Phoenix Guard infantry regint's encampnt, the Commissar handed Castellan Creed's official letter of authorization to Kaelen.
The old Commissar's perpetually rigid face managed to crack into sothing resembling a smile. He clapped Kaelen hard on the shoulder.
"Do well! You've got the makings of sothing great. And those two Ogryn of yours — freakishly fierce, the pair of them."
"I trust they'll keep carving through the at grinder ahead!"
"Yes, sir! All for the Emperor!"
The formalities done, the Commissar lifted the tent flap and left, fully satisfied.
Kaelen casually weighed the parchnt in his hand, then turned around.
In the corner, Horus had been wiping down his power armor with a rag alongside Kullen. He looked up. "It seems that commander from the 8th Regint has risen high?"
Kaelen nodded.
"The surviving regintal commanders, Commissars, Cult chanicus Magi, and even the planetary Inquisition representative all unanimously recomnded him. His record and ability speak for themselves. Ursarkar Creed is more than qualified to hold the title of Castellan-Lord."
"That doesn't surprise ." Horus wiped his ritual short blade with a cloth. "I could see it in that man, the qualities of an excellent military leader. Beloved by his soldiers. Recognized by rivals and peers alike."
"He is indeed beloved by his soldiers. An outstanding commander. And now that he's Castellan, an outstanding general as well."
Kaelen walked over and grabbed a small stool, settling in beside Horus.
"Though in my opinion, he can't match you in tactical command."
Horus snorted with pride. "Of course. Don't you forget who I am. Horus Lupercal. The finest Legion commander of the Great Crusade. I led countless campaigns and won countless victories for the Imperium and the Emperor. I still rember the Hall of Honors aboard the Vengeful Spirit, piled high with trophies."
Kullen's disdain was imdiate and silent.
You're saying this to a veteran of three Rangdan Xenocides?
You're saying this to a veteran who, since the Legion's very founding, was commanded by the Emperor himself to exterminate horrifying xenos and carry out clandestine operations?
In battle honors, in trophies, the Lion and the First Legion were in no way inferior to the Sixteenth.
He thought this to himself. His hands unconsciously sped up against the power armor.
"However." Kaelen's tone shifted. "Your performance during the final phase of the Horus Heresy — the Siege of Terra, the battle that laid the foundation for the Imperium's ten-thousand-year ss — was, shall we say, rather hard to describe."
The mont the words left his mouth, the temperature inside the tent dropped three full degrees.
The Horus Heresy. The Siege of Terra.
Those two phrases together ford a hamr dipped in lethal poison, driving straight into Horus's central nervous system.
The Wolf Shepherd's body went through an extrely subtle stiffening. He possessed a pure soul now. That did not an he could simply disregard the boundless sins that "himself" had personally wrought in the original tiline.
Even Kullen, who had kept his back to them the entire ti, stopped working.
After Caliban's destruction, Kullen had spent 10,000 years as a fugitive. The specific details of the Battle of Terra were largely unknown to him, pieced together from rumors that were half-truth at best. That battle was the final nexus of every tragedy. He was just as desperate to know what had actually happened.
Kaelen watched Horus's reaction.
No rampage. No loss of control.
The Primarch's self-restraint had held.
After a mont of frozen silence, Horus exhaled a long, slow breath.
The facts could not be evaded. Even if the one who committed those evils was a shell corrupted by the Four Gods, the signature was still Horus Lupercal's.
Running from the past was not his way.
"I need to know." Horus leaned back against the canvas pile, hands folded over his knees, his gaze utterly steady. "Tell in detail. What foolish things did I do in that final siege? How far did I fall?"
Kaelen straightened up.
"Since you want to hear it, prepare yourself. This isn't so story of a hero's twilight. This is an ugly chronicle of corruption."
He cleared his throat and pulled up those heavy lore entries from mory, the ones he'd read through countless tis in his previous life.
The Battle of Molech, where power was gained through the Four Gods' trials. The Wolf King Leman Russ's boarding assassination attempt. The Spear of Russ driving Horus deeper into corruption. The relentless advance toward the Throneworld. The brutal Titan Legion civil war at Beta-Garmon. The Battle of Tallarn. And finally, the Siege of Terra.
The account took 2 full hours. Kaelen did everything he could to lay out every detail he rembered for the two n before him.
The Siege of Terra especially. Kaelen practically perford it like a storyteller, recounting that legendary scene from The End and the Death where Horus rattled off demon nas like a waiter reading a restaurant nu, delivering it to the Wolf Shepherd and the old knight with full dramatic effect.
How to put this: the Warmaster Horus of that book had permanently cented his place as an unrivaled titan of unintentional cody.
Constantly mistaking people's identities. Holding full conversations with imaginary friends and demons. Wildly emotionally unstable, yet always convinced his intellect dominated the entire room, treating every loyalist brother like a fool.
And Perturabo, who had handled command in the early-to-mid stages of the rebellion? He'd grabbed his bucket and walked off the job long ago.
Every ti Kaelen described the expression on that Warmaster's face, he couldn't quite hold back a stifled laugh.
In fact, Kullen was also stifling a laugh. He kept his eyes fixed on the boltgun in his hands, turning it over, examining it with great apparent interest.
This Imperium-made boltgun really is exquisite craftsmanship, wouldn't you say, Wolf Shepherd?
Of course, regarding the Warmaster's peculiar and twisted obsession with the Corpse Emperor, Kaelen absolutely did not dare go there.
Because the face of the genuine Wolf Shepherd sitting before him had already gone black as the bottom of a cooking pot.
Right now, Horus felt like he was grinding his teeth to powder.
Like a straight-A honor student forced to sit and listen to a recording of himself blackout drunk, running naked across the sports field.
"After the Warmaster finished reciting the nas of those demons, the entire war council chamber fell completely silent. Only the scratching of the rembrancer's pen could be heard..."
Kaelen finished. Parched beyond endurance, he drained his cup of water in one long gulp.
He couldn't help but think: no wonder Ezekyle changed the Legion's na from the Sons of Horus to the Black Legion after the rebellion ended.
If so demon ever recognized the old na, hey, Abaddon, was your dad Horus the one doing that senile na-recital routine in the war council?
How was Brother Ezekyle supposed to show his face in the Eye of Terror after that?
➤ Next: What Is a Chosen
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