Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
The light was dim in the Hall of Rites. It had been some time since the Andronius had been back to Chemos to recruit new warriors. That time, Ancient Rylanor of the Emperor’s Children hoped, would come again soon; it was necessary a year ago.
Two warriors now stood in front of him, though they were not new recruits by any measure. To Rylanor’s left stood Lord Commander Eidolon; to his right, the equally ranked Vespasian. Both were more magnificent than ever in armor rather too decorated for Rylanor’s preference; odd, jarring sigils littered it. Off to the side, Rylanor could see First Captain Julius Kaesoron in even more convoluted plate.
“Why have I been awoken?” Rylanor rumbled.
“Times have changed,” Vespasian answered.
“It was considered necessary to inform you,” Eidolon added.
Rylanor groaned. “Is Fulgrim still our lord? Do we still serve the Emperor? Is our aim still perfection?”
“Of course,” echoed both Lord Commanders.
“Then I will stay here and maintain my vigil over the fallen.”
Fabius Bile’s modifications to the Third Legion’s gene-seed had had a massive detrimental effect on recruitment. Casualty rates had gone beyond all reasonable bounds. It was Rylanor’s fault as much as Bile’s, though; a closer watch could have saved many of those Initiates.
He had failed. Not as gravely as Fabius- though the Apothecary, to his knowledge, still had Primarch Fulgrim’s favor due to his alterations’ effectiveness- but too deeply for a perfect Legion nevertheless.
Vespasian and Kaesoron accepted the refusal and walked off, their slow footsteps echoing across the massive hall. Eidolon stayed. “The Emperor,” he said, “has made certain… changes.”
“What is hanging below your chin?” Rylanor inquired out of honest curiosity. The organ looked like a deadly disease of some kind; if the Dreadnought’s cameras were right, it was actually hanging out of the Lord Commander’s power armor through a dissolved hole.
“Apothecary Bile has bettered me. I feel sorry for you, truly; your organic body will never be improved by his touch.”
“I never thought I would be glad I have died once, but you have led me to that. Well done. Now GET OUT!” Rylanor roared the last two words, trying to put as much of his righteous fury into them as possible. It worked- Eidolon rushed from the hall, which shook with Rylanor’s scream. Its vibrations produced a harsh music of their own, echoing Rylanor’s rage over and over.
Insulting an elder was never acceptable, especially not with Eidolon’s flippancy. But worse, Eidolon was not lying. The Commander was truly glad Bile had worked his horrors on him. And when Rylanor remembered the sight of the other two Astartes, he recognized Kaesoron and Vespasian had accepted the modifications too, albeit less of them.
What was Fabius doing to the captains? What was he doing to the Legion? In past times, Rylanor would have contacted the Primarch with such problems, but now it seemed even Fulgrim’s judgment was clouded.
With no answers, Rylanor turned back to the marble statues that he had spent painstaking months creating- marble statues of the neophytes whose would never become Children of the Emperor due to his folly.
“Tasober,” he muttered, “Apkalus, Olastalil….”