Hyram’s voice was forever academic yet always characterized by a warm kindliness. Not merely a courteous kind of tone nor the amused, nearly condescending intonation one used with children. Even his own son was spoken to as if he were an adult. An honest amity, infinitely inviting, as if he were always delighted to see someone. All his frustrations and anger he retained until he was on the battlefield, and there the great commander revealed his ferocity. Rising above cannon fire, his voice could clear gunsmoke and turn a thousand retreating men on their heels.

  Leaning on the wall outside Hyram and Isabella’s master bedroom in the Kasr Polaris manse, Marsh heard that very voice through the cracked door. “Don’t accuse me as if this is something I planned!” hollered Hyram. “I do not control fate nor the actions of Orks!”

  “You prayed for it, did you not!?” cried Isabella, her voice wracked with tears. “You beseeched our Emperor to be sent away to some faraway system to fight! Don’t lie to me!”

  “I am the Emperor’s man and thus I always pray for opportunities to fulfill my duty! But never have I fallen to my knees and appealed to our Emperor, the Father, to tear me away from my family! Why would I!?”

  “Family!? You mean our son! You spare no fretfulness for me!” There was a long pause. Isabella’s footsteps were swift as she marched to the opposite side of the room, no doubt seeking the window for some small escape.

  “You wish to discuss this now?” asked Hyram, tiredly. “This is not the object—”

  “It has always been the object of our arguments! It all comes back to this, Seathan! When has it not!? I am your wife, we swore vows to one another before the God-Emperor! To stay by each other always, to protect one another always, to love each other always! What of those duties!?”

  Her voice was desperate and distraught, as if it were tearing itself apart. Her sobs grew momentarily faint as she buried her face into her hands. Hyram’s heavy footsteps moved towards the window but Isabella quickly darted to the other side of the room. Marsh saw the flash of her plain evening gown as she passed by the door. “Why have I never been good enough for you, Seathan? Am I forever soiled because I was the bride your parents chose? Why must I be guilty when it was they and mine-own sires who forced me upon you? Have I not apologized for it, regardless? Have I not tried to be the woman you might have chosen?”

  “I am sorry, Isabella. So often have I uttered such meager apologies the words must ring hollow. You are right, you are not guilty of our parents’ transgressions. You are a better, stronger person than I. But have I not upheld those vows also? We have taken no lovers, even though we gave each other leave to do. Our marriage is consummated and we have a son that we both love more than life itself. I protect our family, I ensure there is a livelihood for us.”

  “How can you proclaim success when it is all a farce for Sydney’s sake? Your lips are cold against my cheek, our bed is always empty. All your smiles and embraces and laughter when we are together are false! You care more for the livelihoods of others!”

  “You are as safe as you can be here or in Kasr Sonnen! There are billions, trillions of people in the Imperium who have nothing at all! They’ve no shield against the foes that seek this empire’s ruin! Somebody must fight for them, somebody must fight for a better tomorrow. I want Sydney to grow up in a better Imperium than the one his parents did. And if going to Segmentum Pacificus to save an entire planet shall contribute to that tomorrow, then by the Emperor and the Primarchs, I shall go! And then I shall send for you and Sydney, so we may stay together.”

  “Do not make me go through it again, Seathan. I bore your absence for nearly three years and I can’t do it again. I beg you.” Her voice became as fragile as glass. “I know you chafed on Cypra Mundi, I know you needed to do more with your life. But I can’t keep doing this. Even if I am not your love, you are still my treasured companion, and if you are gone, what will happen to us?” She sobbed terribly then. “What will happen to Sydney if he has no father?”

  “He will have you, Isabella!” Hyram rushed over to her, his khaki uniform a blur.

  “But you leave us again!”

  “Then you can come with me as far as Hydraphur. There you can stay, safely, and close by!”

  “I don’t wish to be uprooted again and again. Can you not ask for a transfer? Return to an administrative post or to a general’s staff?”

  “And desert my comrades!?” Hyram’s voice grew fiery then. “Leave them to face every peril and obstacle before us while I stay here, cooped up in another office? Now that is something I shan’t endure ever again, sequestered away, safe and sound, while good men and women do all the fighting and the dying. No, I am Cadian, and I shall not forget the blood of my brothers!”

  “What of the blood of your son!?”

  Marsh Silas squeezed his eyes shut as the argument escalated again. He peeled away from the wall and trundled down the corridor. As he passed Sydney’s room, he noticed light shining through the crack of the door. It was late, the boy should have been abed. Quietly, he pushed it open and peered in. The room he had given Sydney’s was smaller but was still furnished with a desk, dresser, and a large armchair for him to read in. Soft rugs on the floor and a tapestry on the wall depicting Cadian summertime in the mountains warmed the room. Cadian Shock Trooper miniature figurines lined the window sill, waving fixed flags and holding tiny M36 lasrifles.

  Clad in his little evening clothes, Sydney was wrapped in a blanket in his armchair, reading under the lamp that stood beside it. Books from Marsh’s personal collection were stacked on a small table pulled up to the chair. All were immaculate leather-bound tomes compared to the simple parchment manuals Cadians printed. Some were mere primers of moderate size, but most were quite large volumes. In the stack were 700 Wonders of the Imperium, Book of Sanguinius, Deeds of the Adeptus Astartes, A History of Later Imperial Crusades, Insignium Astartes, among many others.

  “Planning on becoming a neophyte?” asked Marsh. Sydney looked up, his little violet eyes red and puffy. Marsh Silas sighed and mussed the boy’s hair. “Move over, little fellow.” He sat down with an exaggerated sigh and put his arm around Sydney, who in turn rested his head on Marsh’s chest. They tucked the blanket back around the boy and then stayed that way for some time, quiet and still underneath the lamp. Down the hall, Hyram and Isabella’s argument was reduced to a series of muffled noises and the occasional shout.

  Thank the Emperor for thick walls. Barlocke’s fragment sounded ever so slightly unnerved. He always seemed that way on the occasions that the couple fought. “You can keep those books, I have copies,” said Marsh, patting Sydney’s back, but the boy was still withdrawn. “It’ll all be alright.”

  “I don’t like it when papa and mama fight.”

  “Aye, me neither,” admitted Marsh. “Tis something parents do, unfortunately. Even my dear mama and papa shared harsh words with each other. When the man was around, at least. He was often away on campaign. He wasn’t like your papa, who came home as often as he could. Frankly, my mother was not around like yours either. She couldn’t be, for she toiled in the manufactorum.”

  “Mamas and papas love each other, don’t they?”

  “They’re supposed to.”

  “If mamas and papas love each other, why do they fight?”

  “Mamas and papas are still people, Syd,” said Marsh, leaning back into the cushion of the plush armchair. “They have thresholds, needs, and expectations. Doubly so when two commit their lives to one another.” He readjusted and craned his neck to meet Sydney’s watery eyes. The boy gazed up sadly and Marsh smiled tenderly. “When you choose to love someone, you do not just live for yourself anymore. You live for them as well, and they for you. Such a union can be very beautiful but it also brings with it greater challenges. Those challenges can help two souls grow and bond, although for others, it can drive those souls apart. It all depends on the people.”

  He looked up at the wall. Like the rest of the Cross manse, there were many paintings and pict-captures of the wall. Nearly every one featured a member of Bloody Platoon or, more often, the entire unit. Sometimes they were depicted in a soldier’s hall, a barracks, or on the march or parade. Hanging over Sydney’s bed was an image of Hyram, Lilias, and Marsh at the Kasr Sonnen hall. There, a drunken, smiling Hyram pointed at a pict of Sydney. Across from him, Marsh and Lilias smiled fondly at the camera. They held one another’s hand underneath the table.

  Marsh smiled his crooked smile and looked down again. “I like to think that had I married my beloved Lilias, we would have argued now and again as well.”

  “Why would you want to fight?” asked a sleepy Sydney.

  “Because every couple is tested. She and I certainly were, and we disagreed sometimes. But we never quite fought. Not truly, although perhaps it is just my fond memory deceiving me. When you love someone, Syd, you want to see all sides of them. Their best, and their worst. The moments when they are their most beautiful and the moments they’d prefer weren’t captured in picts.”

  He pointed to a trio of picts lower on the wall. Taken from behind a messy-haired Lilias and Marsh at Army’s Meadow, she kissed him on the cheek in the first pict. In the second, she turned around to look at Valens and his picter. Both she and Marsh looked quite surprised. Although, her expression changed in the third, where she stormed towards Valens with her fist raised. Her brow was drawn in anger and her mouth snarled as she hurled a reprimand at him. Behind her, Marsh merely laughed while Hyram appeared in frame, concerned and his hand outstretched to stop her.

  Sydney giggled at the pict and Marsh couldn’t help himself either. “Don’t you worry about a thing, my boy. Now, you think you have it in you to teach this old soldier a lesson before he has to put you to bed?”

  The boy, though his eyelids drooped, eagerly slid a heavy tome off the top of the stack. In gold printed characters, the title read Cultures, Beliefs, and Myths of Adeptus Astartes Progenitors and their Successors. “That’s a mouthful,” said Marsh as Sydney flipped through the pages to his bookmark on the three-hundred fifty-fifth page. “You’re this far in the book already? I haven’t even gotten past page ninety yet.”

  “You seem quite busy, uncle,” teased Sydney.

  “That I am.”

  “This is the Iron Snakes chapter, who hail from the world of Ithaka.” Their chapter badge, featured beside their title at the top of the page, depicted a hissing blue serpent on a field of white with a red border. A link of white chain ran across the bottom of the crimson trim. “On their homeworld, they consider their oceans sacred. So when one of warriors departs home for a campaign, he fills a flask of copper with water. It is called the Rite of Claiming Water.”

  “And it is to be kept as a talisman? A reminder of home?”

  “Yes, but also so that they may release a few drops upon every world they land on. In that fashion, they anoint the planet with their cherished lifewater. It is the Rite of Giving Water. If a brother of the Iron Snakes returns home with water still in the flask, he empties it back into Ithaka’s oceans. They call that the Rite of Returning.”

  Marsh Silas read as Sydney spoke. But his eyes drifted back to his nephew and he smiled fondly at him. “Perhaps, when we go to Kasr Sonnen in the morn, Hyram and I can go to the sea and fill flasks of our own before we depart. When we come back, you can help us with the Rite of Returning.” Sydney nodded eagerly. But Marsh placed the bookmark back and closed the tome. “I thank you. But it’s time for you to rest. You need your strength, and leave fatigue for fools like me.”

  He picked Sydney up and carried him over to the bed. Instead of playfully dropping him onto the mattress like he usually did, he simply pulled the sheets back and placed his head gently on the pillow. Almost immediately, Sydney’s eyes began to close. Marsh smoothed out his hair and kissed him on the forehead before he returned to the armchair to turn off the lamp.

  “I think you would’ve been a good papa, uncle.” Marsh’s hand froze on the switch. He saw them, Lilias kneeling beside a scrappy youth with orange hair and violet eyes. Both smiled and laughed as she helped him button up his little khaki tunic. Mustering a smile, he turned around and faced Sydney, no more than a small face in a sea of blankets.

  “If I had a son, I pray he would’ve been a good boy like you.” Sydney’s smile was enough to make his heart glow. “Goodnight, Syd.”

  He turned the light off, shut the door, and ran his hand over his face. Marsh exhaled heavily and then followed it up with a deep breath. Sister Ruo had told him on another visit that deep breathing helped with moments. Although it seemed foolish to him, he practiced it nonetheless, equating it to the controlled breathing techniques he learned on the firing ranges as a boy.

  Marsh Silas tramped down the steps and meandered through the first floor corridor. His boots thumped and thudded heavily on the false floorboards. Orange light flickered at the end of the hall and the snaps flame grew louder as he approached the study.

  Faye sat close to the hearth and stared into the flames. Ghent sat across from her, his plump blonde locks glowing in the firelight. Beside him was Overton, who had been reading from his data-slate but his gaze had drifted away. All were still and silent, eyes transfixed and distant. They seemed shadows then, outlined by the candescence of the flames.

  “Your papa and I quarreled like that,” said Faye without looking back. “Not often, but…”

  “My lady wife and I had words such as those but once,” said Ghent. “It was only a year after our son was born.” Faye got out of her chair, walked over to the Commissar, and leaned against the mantle with one hand. She placed the other on his shoulder and squeezed it tightly. After a moment, Ghent reached up and touched her hand. “It was a long time ago, sergeant major,” he said quietly.

  “Time has got nothing to do with it.”

  Marsh ventured in, hands in his trouser pockets. He passed the desk and the liquor cabinet. Upon it were several bottles of expensive old-foiz and raenka. The crystalline glasses, turned upside down, glinted in the firelight. Although he stared for what seemed like an eternity, Marsh passed them by and took his mother’s chair. She sat on the arm rest, and ran her fingers through his hair.

  White running lights flashed through the window as all manner of trucks, armored personnel carriers, and tanks rumbled by. “You know it is a proper Cadian muster when the soldiery marches at all hours from all kasrs,” murmured Ghent. He picked up his glass of raenka and took a sip. “I have seen the reports. Nine other regiments are already at Port Narak. All will be ready for tomorrow’s departure.” Ghent finished his drink and set the glass down. “Other regiments are responding as well. They’ll wait to join the host at Hydraphur and then all shall make way for Vellania.”

  “The 412th is coming too,” added Overton. “It took a great deal of convincing but my regimental commander finally agreed. The Cadians who perished on Lorn V fighting the Orks must be avenged. One greekskin is as good as another.”

  “It has been years since we fought Orks,” murmured Marsh Silas. “We did not fare so well.”

  “Last time you were hardly Shock Troopers,” said Ghent, swiftly. “Now, you are Kasrkin. You have faced the two of the Traitor Legions and survived. If a man can battle their foul ilk and win, then you surely can against the xenos.” Overton appeared uneasy then. He turned to utter something to the Commissar, but he bit his lip. Marsh waited until his old friend managed to look back into the room. He met his eyes firmly.

  “Silas, Orks are ferocious creatures. You know as well as I, they are not the fat, ungainly little monsters they showed us in the primers. Those books lied to us about their strength, speed, endurance, and their tenacity. The 412th is a combined arms regiment; we are a veritable corps in our own right. But for all our might, we could not stop greekskins from wiping out entire platoons. How they ambushed us in the snowy gulleys, how they charged over their mountains of dead in the streets. Were it not for the Kasrkin General Sturnn brought with us, many times we would have died. But many of those brave warriors fell in the snow of Lorn V, to xenos and traitors alike.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it anymore,” said Faye. “No more.”

  Marsh reached up and took his mother by the hand. He squeezed it for a moment and then smiled at Ghent. “I wish you were coming with us, old man,” he said to him.

  “I feel the call, Silas, but there is another I must answer.” The Commissar gazed up at the portraits above the mantle. One depicted the Cross family; Dayton and Faye, an arm around one another, and a hand on the shoulder of their messy-haired son. Beside it was a profile of Lilias, her orange hair flowing from underneath her Commissariat cap. How noble, brave, and bright she appeared, like a flame burning in the night. “She was never one to forgo her duty to her fellow man. I thought I understood that once, but truly she was the one who taught me what it meant to serve others. For that, I carry on in her name and her beliefs.” He smiled as he stood up. “Our beliefs.”

  As he walked by, he squeezed Marsh’s shoulder. Hyram appeared at the end of the study. He was haggard, his hair askew, and his eyes red. Ghent planted his hand on the officer’s chest to stop him, earning a surprised glance from Hyram. But after a moment, his head lowered so far his forehead nearly rested on Ghent’s shoulder. The Commissar coiled an arm around Hyram’s neck and scratched the back of his head. When they finally met each other’s eyes, they nodded and parted.

  “I think that is all for me,” said Overton. “I bid thee goodnight.” He followed Ghent to the guest chambers. Hyram and the major nodded cordially before the former took his seat. He nearly dropped into the chair and instantly sunk into it.

  “Brother?” asked Marsh. Hyram shook his head and held up his hand. “Alright.”

  “I pray we did not wake the boy,” said Hyram, mournfully.

  “He’s asleep. I made sure.”

  “I wonder, will we sleep?” muttered Hyram.

  Marsh allowed himself a chuckle. He was curious if the sleeping pills Ruo gave him would have any effect that night. But even if sleep didn’t come, he would be thankful for his dry sheets. She had managed to cure that, at least.

  Hyram gazed into the fire, reflecting the dancing flames in his violet eyes. He inhaled deeply. “Silas, do you think Bloody Platoon is ready? And I speak not of the Kasrkin.” Hyram looked up at him and managed a small smile. “What is it, Sy? What drives you to anger so swiftly? Are you that belabored by these people?”

  “Leave me alone,” moaned Marsh. “I changed my mind about the Astropaths, didn’t I?”

  “Silas, we are going to war again. Our ideals will be challenged on the battlefield. How can they withstand the test if you so constantly deride and deny them? Should not such eager volunteers, who embrace the tenets that we espouse, be welcomed?”

  “I told you, I hold true to the proposal. If we stray, von Bracken will reject it.”

  “I do not believe you,” said Hyram quietly. “I know you bear no malice for the abhumans as before. Not even the platoon does, for they make them more welcome than you. So what is it? Put a name to it. Where are my brother’s smiles? Where is his good spirit?”

  “Hyram.” Marsh’s tone was piercing. Hyram did not shudder or recoil. He merely pursed his lips and sighed sadly. Rising from his seat, he gripped the mantle’s edge and gazed into the fire.

  “We’ve fought on Kasr Holn, Kasr Partox, and the planet that shares the name of our Lilias’s city, Kasr Sonnen,” he said. “We’ve trained at Prosan and Vigilatum, protected Korolis and Solar Mariatus, and put down prison riots at St. Josmane’s Hope. But Segmentum Pacificus is so many lightyears away. Few ever return to the sacred soil of Cadia.”

  “I have,” said Faye. “So did Dayton, Honeycutt, Ghent, and even that Constantine fellow.”

  Hyram paused and gazed sadly at Faye. “I should feel joy in my heart. This is what I always dreamed of. When I toiled fruitlessly in that office, I saw the names of millions of other Cadians going off to distant war zones. How I wished to be one of them, to stand on the soil of the homeworld with my own two feet and to feel the Emperor’s hand guide me to where I am most needed. Now that it’s here…”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “It feels almost cruel.” Faye and Hyram both looked at Marsh, surprised. “Finally, after years and years, I have my mother back. I have my home back. Even beset by enemies and troubles, I allowed myself some moments of happiness. I believed I would orchestrate the great changes to the army here, under Lilias’s watchful eye, with my family beside me.”

  Marsh stood up, approached the hearth, and gripped the mantle with both hands. “Yet, in my heart of hearts, I knew there might one day be a call. Not the calling I felt when Barlocke enlightened me, not the Emperor who gave unto me my destiny, but man’s call. I thought He on Terra would allow me this joy for some time longer before we were required to leave.” He turned around and faced Faye, her own eyes shimmering. Although her gaze was sorrowful, her lips pressed firmly together. Her muscles grew rigid. There was the old soldier, the one who had campaigned across the stars in her youth, the sergeant major who had saved her regiment time and time again: the warrior who understood.

  He took his mother’s hands in his own. “But I will go forth, resolved to fulfill my destiny and uphold my duty, just as Lilias did. Just as papa did, and all my comrades before me. I resolve to fight to make this Imperium one worth living in.”

  Tears rolled down Faye’s cheeks and she touched Marsh’s face. He leaned into her palm. “You are my boy, my little Silas,” she said. “Hear me, now, mother to son, soldier to soldier. I believe in you. What you do is good. But I still see the space in you, that void, the one Lilias left.”

  Marsh blinked away his tears. “I must tell you a sad truth. I lacked the zeal that you possess. Too many times, I watched my brothers and sisters of the creche killed in pointless firefights in places no one cared to write about. I felt as though I were drowning. A buoy was needed, and Dayton was mine. It was not love that drove me into his arms, but a means to escape. To be the lover of an officer was a way to survive, not a means of replacing my departed friends.”

  She choked back a sob and looked away from Marsh. “It was not love that made me his wife, it was you, the boy I had not planned for. When you opened your eyes, the emptiness inside felt suddenly filled. I learned to love you and I learned to love your father. You must learn it also, not to replace Lilias, but to fill that void that surrounds your heart. Not just for your sake, but for theirs also.” Faye gasped slightly, covered her mouth, and pressed her hand to her stomach. “I never told anyone but Landon. I’m sorry.”

  “Mama, do not be. Be not ashamed.” What shock he felt was dispelled then, for he could not bear her tears. Marsh pulled his mother into his chest and held her tightly. Hyram came around and held her shoulders as well. Faye shuddered as she cried into her son’s chest.

  “It had to be said,” she said. “It had to be. You have to live.”

  ***

  In the thin, gray morning that settled over Kasr Sonnen, a patrolling sentry might have cast his gaze to the west. He would have seen the curve of the coast running that led to a sprawling hinterland. But jutting conspicuously into the basin was a small peninsula called Army’s Meadow, anchored only by a simple rockrete bridge. While the firebase at its head might have given it a crown of gray iron, its body was purely gold.

  That sentry, too, might have glimpsed a pair of motorbikes speeding down the main supply route. They swerved onto the bridge and parked their vehicles by the guard post. There, they showed their identification papers and walked down the long road. Surrounded by that golden sea, the pair stopped only to pluck flowers and bundle them together. Passing through the gate of the base, they ascended a cliff at the very end where a barracks stood.

  Those guardsmen who stood the morning watch might have found the two officers queerly out of place. Why did they cast their gazes to Kasr Fortis, rising from the fog across the channel? White lights shone among the city’s spires and castles. Lonely Valkyries passed by or descended to a skyshield landing pad in the kasr’s depths. Long the pair stood, murmuring to one another.

  Eventually, the two officers, their blonde heads bare to the morning mist, shook each other’s hands. They walked down the cliff and onto the beach. Leaving trails of footprints in the moist sand, they walked into the surf. Both men filled round flasks with seawater and capped them. Whatever words they spoke were lost in the crash of the surf. Curiously, they both dipped their hands into the water and then ran their fingers through their hair. After dabbing one another’s foreheads with water, they each took a handful of seawater and drank it. How bitter the salt must have tasted.

  The peculiar ceremony concluded and the two men, with their flasks and flowers, walked back down Army’s Meadow and mounted their bikes once more. Without casting a glance over their shoulders, they drove back up the road towards Kasr Sonnen. If the sentry still watched, he might have seen them pass through the kasr’s gates. From his superior vantage point, he would watch as they navigated those jagged streets and passed by the convoys. All the noisy checkpoints, squads on patrol, preachers delivering sermons to the troops, congregations lining up to enter the cathedrals, drunken men staggering away from soldier’s hall, roving searchlights, colorful morale posters, heroic statues and busts, heavy guns pointed heavenward, swiveling turrets, towers, fortresses, and young Whiteshields jogging in formation. These are what the two men passed before they reached a fortified schola on a hill in the city’s western borough. Only then, would the sentry have lost sight and finally looked away.

  Marsh Silas and Hyram walked underneath the marble statues of their fallen friends. A few Cadet Commissars and junior officers hurried to their morning classes, although they still remembered to salute. Lecture hall doors slammed shut and the halls became vacant. Wind whistled through the halls and leaves from fallen sentinel trees scraped across the tiles.

  In the secluded citadel, they found Faye, Ghent, Isabella, and Sydney waiting among the pale, grooved columns. After gazing up at the fresco depicting the famous Charge of the 1333rd Regiment outside of Kasr Sonnen, they walked over the yellow petals which covered the entire floor. The wind blew again, making the flowers flutter and dance. More golden petals flew through the air and swirled on the marble tiles. Water as clear and shining as crystal trickled through the troughs that surrounded and divided the garden beds. All led to the pedestal in the center. Marsh knelt before the statue and ran his hand over the words, ‘Carstensen the Cadian: Hero.’

  Hyram stood beside him and gently placed the bouquet of flos infinitus on top of the pedestal. He gazed up at the life-sized statue of Lilias, then clasped her cold, marble hand. “We are going now,” he said to her. “Every time we left Cadia for another planet in the subsector, I worried that we would suffer some peril away from your sight. But I know now that no matter how far we travel from our homeworld, you will always watch over us. I shall have a new banner woven, and it shall bear your name and visage, so your spirit will always be with us.” His lip quivered and he pressed his face into her hand. “Yet, I still feel compelled to say farewell, my dearest sister.” He laughed then, his voice still heavy. “Or should I call you daughter, for I adopted you, remember?”

  Hyram stepped back, squeezed the statue’s hand one last time, and drew away. Wiping tears from his cheeks, he touched Marsh Silas on the shoulder before he joined his family. They and Ghent left the chamber then. Marsh was alone with the flowers, the wind, the water, and Lilias. He sat down on the pedestal and hunched forward, still holding the bouquet. Loose blonde locks slid over his brow and trembled in the breeze. Eventually, he took a deep breath and looked around.

  “Oh, Lilias,” he said tiredly. “Everything moves so fast these days. Oft, I think back to the times we spent on Army’s Meadow. Back when Barlocke was in charge and all we had to fight were a few ragged heretics.” He heard the fragment’s gentle laughter in his ears. “It all seemed so simple then. There are times now where I wish to turn in my times of strife and find you there. Your strength and courage would be undimmed. No matter the challenge, your will was indomitable.”

  He smiled slyly up at her. “Only I knew that most tender soul of yours.” Marsh looked back down, rested his cheek in his hand, and balanced the bouquet on his lap. “Bloody hell, girl, do I miss you. Just to speak to you for a little while, feel your lips against mine, to touch your cheek and run my thumb across your scar, not in a dream but in this very moment, I would give it all.”

  Marsh stood up, his long khaki coat covered in yellow petals. He climbed onto the pedestal and looked into the smooth, round aquamarine gems that were the statue’s eyes. “I’ve got a whole mess of new people to take charge of. I know it is the right course but I am uncertain if I can hold it. Never mind our enemies or those in the noble ranks who would sooner quash it. In here,” he tapped his chest, “I withhold. Hyram asks me to put a name to it, but I fear if I give it voice, it shall truly be realized. Then, all will fail. What is there to do, but hold firm and let courage and resolve steady me?” Marsh rested his forehead against the statue’s shoulder. “I shall be brave like you, my love, steadfast like you. That shall win the day.”

  Wind ran through the chamber. It pressed and rolled at the back of his head. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Is that you, Lilias? Do you hold me now? Please, Emperor please, let that be her.” When the breeze finally abated, he pressed his lips against the statue’s. The marble was smooth, firm, and cold. Not like the woman who fought with all the energy the God-Emperor gave her.

  He finally parted from her. “Be it here, by the Emperor’s side, or when the Celestial Army descends to mortal realms, we shall meet again Lilias, my love.” Marsh climbed down from the pedestal, placed the bouquet by her feet, and went to the door. As he opened it, he cast one last backward glance. As the morning sun finally pierced the clouds, golden light filled the chamber, wreathing Lilias’s statue in its god-like rays. The aquamarine eyes shimmered, like the flecks of spray cast from the surf of Army’s Meadow.

  Marsh Silas shut the door. Had he gazed any longer, he would never have left. Hurriedly, he found the nearest stairwell and climbed to the ramparts. Hyram, Ghent, Sydney, Faye, and Isabella waited at the landing pad. A Valkyrie had just touched down and they all quickly boarded. Donning ear protection, they strapped themselves into the seats. Except for Marsh Silas, who sat at the end of the compartment with his legs dangling over the sides. He attached the safety harness to his belt and held a lower handle as the Valkyrie ascended.

  Kasr Fortis, Army’s Meadow, Kasr Sonnen, and the great plateau where he had once fought receded. The glittering sea and spires disappeared over the horizon. Gone were the many roads and trails he once marched upon, the mountains he clawed up, the fields he charged across. Hills and ridges he fought for winked away or were swallowed by fog. He had not looked back at Kasr Polaris when he left it in the dark of the morning. There was no need to, he had said goodbye to that place long ago. But now, he did not wish to tear his eyes away.

  Hyram leaned out from the last seat, watching the familiar roads and forts pass by. It was not yet an hour before they passed over Kasr Proelium. As they circled overhead, hundreds of other Valkyries rose from Fort Carmine and other compounds across the city. Several armored convoys that stretched over multiple kilometers snaked out of the kasr. The air armada formed together and made for the coast. Marsh watched the roads he had ambushed traitors fade away. There he had rescued Holzmann and his squad and in those far northern mountains, he had nearly lost his arm. Further east, he saw the airfield he and the Astartes of the Emperor’s Shadows seized. Now, it was a bustling military base, and hundreds of transports and aircraft rose from its tarmac. All made their way to Port Narak. Yes, there too he had fought. They penetrated the breaches and attacked the traitors in the rear, crushing them within the naval base’s confines.

  Convoys rolled by the administrative and logistical facilities. Past an interior wall, they entered a massive, flat compound that bordered the sea. Ten bridges led to artificial islands that served as gigantic landing areas for dropships. Those ships were as wide as the entire port and taller than a kasr. Such gargantuan haulers could sustain an entire regiment or more. Other, smaller islands conveyed pads for Devourer Dropships and Tetrarch Heavy Landers. Such ships were only a fraction of the size of the great transports, but could still hold many hundreds of men.

  At the bridges, companies formed great blocks and marched across the bridges. Formations of tanks, ten abreast, rolled towards the ships. Men and vehicles ascended the ramps and disappeared into holds. It was as if they were swallowed by some tremendous beast. Marsh was reminded of the slaves who entered the corrupted factorum at Kasr Fortis years ago.

  Valkyries of all classes and numerous other aircraft flew into hangars and bays on both sides of the transports. But theirs descended next to one of the smaller bridges that led to a Tetrarch. Marsh and his companions exited, waited for the Valkyrie to depart, and then gathered by the road. 1st Company marched onward with their Taurox Primes behind them. Prince Constantine, Major Bristol, and Romilly had joined the command retinue. As other officers bid their families farewell, priests and choirs sang, and bands played, Marsh saw another familiar face emerge.

  “Captain Rhodes!” The narrow naval officer was still as durable as ever. Dark-skinned and chiseled, his hair cropped neatly, he refused the salute and took Marsh’s hand.

  “Knight-Captain! May the God-Emperor bless this meeting. Although I am Lord Captain now, thanks in part to the battle we fought at Station Rapitur.” He pointed to the heavy lander. “When I heard the 10th was to join this fleet, I beseeched the admiral to allow me the honor of transporting you. Your company shall have private billets aboard the Gatekeeper. You and your officers shall each have your own cabins as well.”

  “It is we who are honored, sir.”

  “Nonsense! It was you and your Kasrkin who saved my life. I still owe you.” He looked back at the Cadian coastline and sighed. “It is not an easy thing to say farewell to our homeward shore,” he said. “I have prepared an observation deck for you and your platoon, so that you may see the planet as we set out.” Marsh said his thanks and the Lord Captain left with Major Rosenfeld. Bloody Platoon marched by at the head of the company. Marsh Silas nodded to them as they passed. Parting from the crowd was Honeycutt, clad in his best dress uniform.

  “Well, if we are to say farewell, I thought I would look my best,” he said gruffly, smoothing his medal-studded tunic. He shook Marsh’s hand, then Hyram’s. “You two were, are, the best officers I ever knew.” He cleared his throat, although his voice remained heavy. “Although I stay here to tend Lilias’s schola, my heart is forever with Bloody Platoon. I can’t say much more than that, brothers.”

  The trio shared an embrace before Honeycutt stepped aside. Marsh Silas went to Isabella and kissed her cheek. “I will protect him always,” he whispered in her ear. All she could do was nod as she sobbed into her handkerchief. Kneeling in front of Sydney, Marsh held the back of his head and shook him a little. “And you, little fellow, I pray I see you again soon.” Sydney couldn’t speak as tears threatened to pour down his cheeks. They hugged tightly and smiled sweetly to one another.

  Marsh Silas stood up, his legs heavy. He faced his mother. Her eyes were dry—she would spare no more tears. The pair embraced firmly, Faye clutching the back of her son’s head and he gripping the back of her coat. She kissed him on both cheeks and swept his hair back. “Son, there is something I want to say. We all have a destiny, yes. The Emperor has some say in it, and so do we, aye. But many people believe they are special, and I buried countless of those who thought themselves shielded by fate. You have fought for nigh-on fourteen years. Do not forget your training, do not forget your comrades, and Emperor’s teeth, don’t get your arse shot off.”

  “Yes, mother,” chuckled Marsh. He kissed her on the cheek and hugged her one last time. Faye then waited for Hyram. He kissed Isabella on the cheek, although she did not look him in the eye. The father picked up his son and squeezed Sydney so hard it seemed as though the boy would pop. Hyram kissed him on the head before putting the crying boy back beside his mother.

  Faye touched Hyram on the cheek. “You were born into a noble officer family,” she said. “But are you truly my son’s brother?” Hyram nodded resolutely. “Then that makes you my son also.” Faye pressed Hyram into her shoulder. “I am proud of you both. Stand by each other, always.”

  Hyram promised he would. Then, he and Marsh Silas stood before Commissar Ghent. The man removed his hat, which Faye kindly took, and then he placed a hand on each of their shoulders. He regarded them as warmly as he ever had, his dark eyes twinkling.

  “It appears you’ve made something of yourselves. I’m not sure how you survived this long, but here you are. You stand in the boots of billions of Cadians before you. Do not dishonor your home or your people. Do not forget what sacred duty we abide, both to our Emperor, to this Imperium, and the Imperium of tomorrow. Never desert these ideals we’ve dreamed and the people who have laid down their lives for them. Even as we say farewell, we are forever bound.”

  He shook Hyram’s first and then Marsh’s. Staring into the old soldier’s eye was too much for him. Marsh Silas dropped the Commissar’s hand and embraced him. Although he hesitated, Ghent held him in return. “I am proud of you, son. Your papa would be, too.”

  “I’ll miss those long lectures, old man. I’ll never forgive you for making me polish the bullet.” Still holding him, Marsh drew back. “Would you call on my mama from time to time? It will be a while before she can come and join us.” He then raised a finger and glared. “When I say call on her, I mean—”

  “And have Dayton’s ghost bother me? Thank you, no.” The two shared a final laugh, then Ghent stepped back and saluted sharply. Marsh and Hyram both returned the gesture, then dropped their arms. But Ghent did not, nor did Honeycutt. The two Kasrkin stared at their family, their violet eyes brimming with tears. Without a word, they turned away and jogged after their platoon. As they did, Hyram slowed as he looked back at his son. Sydney tore from his mother and ran onto the bridge. Dropping to his knees, Hyram took the boy into his arms and buried his face into his blonde hair. They rocked back and forth, their sobbing drowned out by the tramp of marching feet.

  Hyram finally let Sydney go, whispered in his ear, and his son nodded. He hurried back to Isabella and cried into her skirt. Marsh picked Hyram up by his arm and, still holding him, hurried his brother up the bridge. Bloody Platoon was nearly at the ramp. Hyram cleaned his face and then went ahead to the command team. Marsh spotted Tolly marching outside the column. She and her squad pushed baggage carts laden with parcels. He recognized the bags carrying his personal belongings on hers. The jarring of the wheels caused one to fall onto the pavement.

  “Blast!” swore Tolly. Marsh approached her and she hastily picked it up. “I’m sorry sir, it wun’t appen’ again, I—” He took the bag from her and placed it back on. Then, he gripped the handle and helped her push it.

  “Don’t be sorry, it’s just clothes,” he said. Tolly nodded and silently padded along. Marsh Silas peered down at her uneasy expression and flitting eyes. “Was it like this departing your home?”

  “I was a wee ting’ when they came for us. Mighty scary it was, for tey’ came in the night. They were far less kinder than this. I was tossed inna truck and driven to a dropship like one of tose’ tings’. Frightened as I was, I said a small prayer for meself, and knew t’Emperor would protect me no matter where he sent me.” She smiled a little. “I’m prayin’ right now.”

  “So am I,” said Marsh Silas. They shared a careful smile before shouting up ahead drew their attention forward. Bloody Platoon was halfway up the ramp but the Ogryn halted near the bottom. Voidmasters shouted at them to move but the Ogryn remained fixed to their spots. Marsh looked at Tolly and she nodded. Reaching the front, he grabbed Seegar. “What’s the damned hold-up?”

  “It’s the Ogryn, sir. They don’t do well with tight spaces like vehicles and dropships,” she said. “All our operations were on foot before, so it hadn’t been an issue.”

  “Three weeks of preparation for this departure and you tell me now the Ogryn are frightened only by small spaces?” he hissed. Marsh pushed the crowd and approached Wit. “Sergeant, you’ve got to keep moving.”

  “I know’s it sah, but d’ese kinda fings are alwayz kinda scary. I don’t how low da top is.”

  “Captain, you’ve got to keep them moving!” shouted a voidmaster. This just made the Ogryn more uncomfortable. Ignoring Seegar’s demand that he remain calm, the voidmaster took a whip from his belt. “If you won’t make them move, then I will.”

  Marsh Silas flew in front of the man, grabbed his wrist with one hand and his collar with the other. “If you so much as lay a hand on one of my men, I’ll break the hand.” The voidmaster, as if remembering he were staring up at a Kasrkin, backed away. Marsh snatched the whip away and tossed it over the railing into the water below. Smoothing out his coat, he approached Wit. “Sergeant, can I tell you something? I dislike small spaces too. Being cramped up makes me worry. The dark too is awful.” He smiled and thumped his fist against Wit’s muscular arm. “But having you come with me would make me feel mighty safe.”

  Wit’s slack jaw tightened. He stared up at the ramp and seemed to gulp. But he straightened up, flattened his brow, and then held out his hand. Marsh looked around at the curious faces, and slid his hand in between Wit’s meaty fingers. The Ogryn then led him up the ramp. Some of the voidsmen laughed but they were cowed by glares from the Kasrkin. Jacinto, Seegar, Walmsley Major, Tolly, and others accepted the hands of the Ogryn and allowed themselves to enter the dropship.

  “I’ll keep ya safe, sah,” Wit assured Marsh Silas as they filtered into the back of the transport.

  “I feel better already.” Marsh Silas paused at the top of the ramp and gazed back. On the other side of the bridge, he saw his mother Faye. Isabella and Sydney waved. Honeycutt and Ghent still held their salutes.

  “Is dat your papa?” asked Wit.

  “No, my papa was Dayton,” said Marsh. He smiled at his family a final time, then looked up at the Ogryn. “That man Ghent is my father.” As he spoke, he looked up the ramp. Standing amid the flow of Kasrkin was the ghost of Barlocke. He pulled his cap low again, turned, and faded inside.

  Marsh blinked and focused. It was not long before the rest of 1st Company entered the Tetrarch. Warning alarms rang as the ramp shut. The engines roared as if they had exploded and the ship shuddered. With much shaking, the Tetrarch lifted off. Marsh Silas felt Wit’s grip tighten around his hand and worried it would break. But the Ogryn remained gentle. Strangely, he was glad for his hand. In that moment, veiled in the darkness, Marsh felt tears roll down his cheeks. Even among the shoulders and helmeted heads of his Kasrkin, he would have felt alone if not for Wit.

  The ascent to the grand cruiser Gatekeeper was short. Trembling as it slowed down, the Tetrarch entered its flight bay. Marsh listened to the landing gear extend and heard the metal clangs as locking mechanisms stabilized the vessel. Each one sent a reverberation through the hull. The ramp lowered with a long hiss and amid the alarms, they were guided down the ramp by voidsmen.

  After assembling on the deck and taking a roll, Lord Captain Rhodes organized a band of menials to take away the carts, baggage, and boxes of Bloody Platoon’s supply. The captain himself asked Marsh Silas and his troopers to follow him. They weaved between the landers and aircraft that lined the deck. More were suspended above them in gigantic cradles and cranes. Menials, voidsmen, and tech-adepts scurried along tiers of catwalks and decks.

  An orchestra of whirring machines, running engines, creaking cranes, hissing steam, and sizzling tools bombarded Marsh’s eardrums. The relief he felt as they entered a corridor on the starboard side of the ship was enough to make him sigh. But as they hurried through the ship’s cavernous halls, he felt as though he were not above Cadia. It seemed as if he could just find a hatch, open it, and step right back onto its cold soil.

  “Your cabins are located in this hall. Head aft and you can find the common quarters, communal chamber, and private mess area as well.” Rhodes stopped at a bulkhead door and smiled. “Normally, such places are reserved for noble guests. Fitting, for such noble warriors.”

  “Your graciousness knows no bounds,” said Marsh. “We are in your debt.”

  “The observation chamber is through here. Stay as long as you like—our departure is soon.”

  Marsh led Bloody Platoon inside and they fanned out. It was a simple room, with few seating arrangements. Mounted on the wall was a newly woven flag bearing the platoon’s standard. Rhodes truly wanted them to feel at home while they were on his ship. But the Kasrkin did not notice it. One by one, they drifted towards the glass to witness the last of Cadia. The homeworld appeared suspended in the void and nearly glowed in that immense black blanket. Dark blue oceans, white mountains, pale green fields. A hurricane brewed, appearing just out of the dark side of the planet. Little lights rose up from the world. These were the landers and heavy transports joining the rest of the fleet. Soon, they were surrounded by destroyers, frigates, and cruisers. The Cadian Star, a Retribution-class battleship, glided by. Covered in large armaments and glittering with lights, the enormous voidship went to the head of the fleet.

  Soon, the Gatekeeper pressed forward. Marsh Silas felt a hand on his shoulder. Hyram stood beside him at the window, followed by Major Overton. Constantine, Bristol, and Romilly had entered as well. Bloody Platoon and their attachments looked out the observation glass, their cheeks slick. Rowley wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and looked at Drummer Boy sorrowfully as he wrapped his fingers around hers. The Walmsley twins embraced one another. Although it was not their homeworld, Ruo and Lada bowed their heads in prayer. Almost everyone joined them.

  Marsh turned around slowly. “Bloody Platoon, listen up. I need not repeat what many have already said. You know where we go and why. I shan’t extoll those virtues we hold dear and live out every single day, those same virtues our patron Lilias and her departed friends fell for. You bear them in your heart of hearts. Those hearts that break as our world grows small in this glass. But I believe our journey begins anew. I wonder if this is how the Primarchs Sanguinius, Rogal Dorn, Ferrus Manus, Guilliman, Leman Russ, Vulkan, the Great Khan, Raven Lord, and the Lion felt as they stared into the void alongside the Emperor at the outset of the Great Crusade. No matter the peril, no matter where our battles take us, we will stay together. This lodge is best, and it shall find a way to victory.”

  Marsh Silas faced the window once more. He and many others pressed their palms to the glass. Engines flared throughout the fleet. A great purple vortex appeared in the void before the ships. One by one, they entered the Warp, becoming mere blurs before they winked away. Cadia drew farther and farther away, becoming a blue-white dot in a dark expanse. A little further, a little further, a little further. There was a great shudder, purple lightning arced along the exterior hull, and then, darkness.

  “Goodbye, Cadia,” he said, “for I will never see you again.”