Chapter Text
I: Inceptum
Ahriman drew his robe closer around his body. His hood feel over his eyes, and shadowed his identity. The bowels of The Vengeful Spirit were quiet on this evening, just as Horus had promised. Ahriman had been winding deeper and deeper into the bowels of the ship for at least an hour now, and had yet to encounter any mortals. He had yet to see anyone. Ahriman fought back the instinct to question whether he was going the right way. He knew he was.
He walked a little faster as he thought of the events of the last twelve hours. Since Prospero, he had been at his father’s side. He had talked at length about the duration of the campaign, and what lay ahead for the Thousand Sons. They would fight, that much was certain. The fires of war still burnt bright in them, but they were all sceptical how much help would be. They all knew that if they didn’t fight now, then there would likely never be an Imperium to fight for again.
This was why Horus tearing him away from his father puzzled Ahriman. Not that Magnus seemed to have minded. Horus had simply taken him after he had spoken at length with Magnus, neither of them saying a word. He was then marched through the corridors, Horus still not speaking a word to him. Horus had then put him in the thunderhawk he had arrived in, hurried him into the storage bay and told him not to leave until instructed. Ahriman had stayed there for hours before he heard voices. Still, no one beckoned him out. He felt the air-craft take off, and still did not make a sound. Even once he felt the metal bird land, no one told him to move. It was silent for a long period after that.
Finally, a metal tap had resonated through the compartment he was holed up in. He opened the door to be greeted only be a servitor carrying a folded robe and a data-slate. “Exchange your armour for the robe. Horus expects you” came the metal chime. “Why?” Ahriman had asked. . “Exchange your armour for the robe. Horus expects you” was the only response he got. Ahriman had growled quietly to himself. He had done as he was told and handed the servitor his armour and donned the robe and glanced at the data sheet for where he was to go.
Finally he reached the chamber in the bottom-most reaches of the ship. He tapped twice on the bare metal with his bare hand. The door slid open just a crack and Ahriman opened it the rest of the way, stepping inside. To a mere-human, there would appear to be no one there, but Ahriman could see a fellow seven figures at the peripheries of the room. He took a few steps forward. Everyone else here seemed equally as confused as him as to their purpose here, but none left. They just stood there waiting for whoever had told them to be here to appear.
A few moments passed in silence before the ninth person appeared. The stature of the man testified to who he was. He pulled hood down to reveal his face. “Sons. Surrogates. These are dark times.” Horus began with none of his usual charisma. His voice was deep and sombre, a testament to how desperate their situation was. “Our father has fallen to the Dark Gods. He had warned us not to dabble to deeply in the things of the Warp…” Horus continued, and Ahriman was surprised not to feel every eye instantly converge on him, as was usually the custom. But, so far the only identities he knew where his own and Horus’. The rest were still veiled by their hoods, similar to his own. “…least we fall prey to the evil he himself has. The Imperium readies for war with itself and all we have striven to build seems to be on the edge of ruin. Our strength of arms can match our brothers, and worlds loyal to the original ideals on which this Imperium was built join with us.”
Here Horus paused, very deliberately as always, but Ahriman could not guess why. They all knew the situation they faced, so why was he reminding them again. “Our father had made pacts with powers beyond his control and we are at a disadvantage. We need a weapon to combat this threat. Remove your hoods and let your brothers see your faces.” There was a moment of hesitancy, no one yet comprehending what their purpose here was. Tylos Rubio pulled back his hood first. A split second later, Ahriman removed his. Then Umojen. Then Targutai. Then several others whom Ahriman did not know removed theirs until they all stood with unveiled faces. “Tylos. Ahriman. Kastix. Targutai. Valleus. Balsar. Guryoi. Felix. You are to be our first weapons. Our bright true swords.”
“That still doesn’t explain why we are here, sir.” Ahriman said, only a fraction of a second later realising he had said what the whole company of warriors was thinking. A tenth figure stepped out of the shadows. “You are all here because you possess a measure of psychic talent, active or latent, and that it the only thing which can harm the denizens of the warp.” His lithe form and pointed helm marked him out as inhuman. “Brothers this is Eldrad of Craftworld…”
“Xenos witch!” Came the spat remark from Felix. His hard-set jawline and grim stance made Ahriman guess that he was an Iron Warrior. And a techmarine, judging by the mechanicum brand on his forehead. The Iron Warriors had never been comfortable with psykers. “Sir, with all due respect, I will not consort which this xenos monstrosity or be accused of witch-craft!”
“No one accuses you of that Felix. But you are gifted. We have all seen you work with machines.” Felix seemed to look noticeably uncomfortable at this point.
“I’m just…well trained sir.” Horus smiled. Not out of humour but out of pity that the man in front of him was having to face something he had always avoided.
“You know that’s not true. You have surpassed veterans’ knowledge without much effort at all. How many times have you achieved impossible repairs or found your opponents weapons jamming or failing simply because you wished they would.” The light of realisation was slowly dawning in Felix’s eyes.
“I’m not a witch.” He said out of blind defiance, unwilling to become what he had always hated. Horus laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder and with one sentence washed away any doubt, as only a Primarch could.
“No, but you are a psyker, and that is what we need you to be.”
Felix’s stance slackened, but his eyes still glared at the elder psyker before him.
“I understand your mistrust. Truth be told, I have no more pleasure in dealing with your race than you do with mine. But, as your…” Eldrad seemed to almost gag at the word, as if it were unpalatable or unnatural to him. “…Warmaster said, these are dark times, and we must ally ourselves with one another if we are to survive the coming storm.” Horus resumed his mantle of spokesman once again.
“The Eldar have a suppository of knowledge which they have gathered on the powers of the warp. You have all proven yourself as able warriors and, as psykers, resistant to the temptations of the warp. But I must ask more of you. You must be more than resistant, you must be incorruptible. You will be tested as never before. Your legions will mourn you, for you must die to them so you may live for our cause. Your old lives are gone, all that remains is to begin your new ones. You will go with Eldrad to hangar Gamma-6 and take the Stormraven. In it you will find new suits of armour, bare of all iconography or legion allegiance, for you are all one brotherhood now. You will join the Craftworld and they will take you on from there. You will likely not see these forces for at least a year, and when you return you will be changed. Then, your task will begin in ernest. Now go my sons and surrogates.”
They all saluted Horus and left being led by the Eldar Farseer, as Ahriman believed they were called. They were being forged into a new weapon against the powers of the warp. Ahriman could see the benefits of having psykers in such a brotherhood, but why did they need the Eldar? Where were they going? What awaited them? So many unanswered questions echoed around in Ahriman’s mind as he walked in silence with cousins from different legions. They were supposed to become a brotherhood, but the Thousand Sons were the only brothers he had known and leaving them pained him. Leaving his primarch pained him. Still their hard footsteps resonated through the barren corridors though which they walked just as the unanswerable questions resonated through all the psykers minds. They boarded the light transport Horus had instructed them to, still all to absorbed in their private thoughts to communicate with one another. As they lifted off, the only sound that could be heard in the confines of the hull was the dull rumble of the engines.