In orbit above Kha-IV, the ancient silence was broken.
The Strike Cruiser Nightfall (Warship Name), like a deep blue ghost shark, slowly adjusted its posture, its plasma engines spewing out an ethereal blue tail flame as it began to depart from the cold cradle of this forgotten star system.
However, an even more awe-inspiring sight followed immediately after—
Behind the Nightfall (Warship Name), an even larger, more menacing steel star slowly glided out from the planet's shadowed side.
Its appearance seemed to bring a profound night haunter directly into the real universe.
The ship's hull was an entirely light-devouring matte black, its scale far exceeding that of ordinary warships, with a magnificent silhouette featuring Gothic spires and an oppressive presence.
The bow was carved with a massive, winged bat insignia, poised for flight, and the portholes on either side were like countless cold eyes peering into the void.
This was the Eighth Legion's Night Lords' flagship, the Gloriana-class battleship Nightfall (Warship Name), which struck fear into the hearts of many during the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy ten thousand years ago.
This legendary warship once accompanied its master, Konrad Curze, across the galaxy, sowing terror, and after the Horus Heresy, it followed its disheartened Primarch into hiding on this fringe planet.
Like its master, it lay dormant for a long time, almost becoming a cold, colossal tomb.
The bloody labyrinth within the ship, once used to torture captives and conduct horrific rituals, had long been purged, replaced by more solemn decorations that better suited the true nature of the Night Lords—dark metal bas-reliefs depicting the harsh landscapes of Nostramo and the epic early campaigns of the Legion.
Ethereal blue lights cast long shadows in the corridors, and the air was filled with the scent of cold machine oil and ancient metal, as if a giant beast that had slept for ten thousand years was slowly awakening.
At this moment, in the heart of this behemoth—the Nightfall (Warship Name)'s cathedral-like, tiered bridge—a tall figure stood at the foremost observation window, gazing down at the gradually shrinking, grayish-white planet below.
Konrad Curze.
He was no longer the gaunt hermit, clad in rough animal hides, cultivating fungi in the cold wind.
His Power Armor, unworn for ten millennia, once again covered his tall, slender frame.
This armor was a variant of the ancient Mark IV 'Maximus' pattern, entirely black like the deepest midnight, with dark silver patterns outlining the edges of the plates, and a fearsome bat-winged skull insignia—the symbol of the Eighth Legion—emblazoned on the pauldrons.
The armor was covered in minute scratches and ancient battle marks, telling tales of the endless slaughter it had endured.
Although Koz's face remained gaunt, his sunken eyes gave him an air of lingering weariness and gloom, yet when he donned this battle-dress, standing upright, the natural aura of a Primarch, of the night haunter, emanated tangibly, enveloping the entire bridge.
Ten thousand years seemed compressed into this moment; the Lord of the Legion, who once made countless worlds tremble in fear, seemed to have returned.
Zso Sahaal, the head of the Black Guard, stood silently a little behind Koz, like his most loyal shadow.
He had once again donned his iconic bat-winged helmet, its crimson visors glowing with a cold light, his posture respectful and solemn.
His heart was filled with an unspeakable excitement and a heavy sense of responsibility.
Lord Zaharon had finally chosen to take up arms again, which far exceeded his best expectations.
This meant that the true revival of the Eighth Legion would be personally ushered in by their Primarch.
At Sahar's feet, Koreni peered out with her small head, curiously observing the tall, formidable figure in front.
She tugged at a corner of Sahar's cloak and, in a very low, timid voice, asked, "Lord Zaharon... is he... is he your 'father'? He's... so tall... and a little... scary..." Her purple eyes were filled with an instinctive fear of the unknown giant, but even more with pure curiosity.
Sahar lowered his head, and through his helmet, in a slightly distorted mechanical voice converted by a translator, he responded softly, with an unquestionable reverence: "Yes, Ms. Kolaesa. He is the Lord of the Eighth Legion, the night haunter, my gene-father." He did not elaborate on the "scary" part; to the Night Lords, fear was inherently part of their power.
Just then, an almost inaudible sound of footsteps came from behind.
Another tall figure stepped onto the bridge, his arrival seemingly bringing with it a quality of absorbing light and merging into shadows.
Corvus Corax, the Raven Lord, still wore his unassuming black robe, but as he stood still, the deep, abyssal aura of a Primarch naturally contended with Koz's imposing presence.
Corvus Corax walked to Koz's side and looked out at the boundless star sea from the observation window with him.
His eyes, like black whirlpools, turned to his brother, his voice ethereal and calm, cutting straight to the core:
"Konrad, what do you intend to do?"
Koz did not answer immediately; his gaze remained fixed on the distance, as if he could pierce through the void to see his scattered sons across the galaxy, like lost lone wolves.
A moment later, his dry, calm voice resonated on the bridge, without impassioned declarations or fervent incitement, only a coolness as if stating an established fact:
"Rebuild the Eighth Legion, reunite the Sons of the Night Bat.
It's that simple."
The words were concise, yet heavy as a thousand pounds.
This short sentence, however, contained meaning profound enough to stir new waves in the galaxy.
This was not merely about gathering forces, but about re-establishing the spiritual core and path of the Eighth Legion, to re-forge the Night Lords warbands—those who had lost their way in ten millennia of chaos, indulged in meaningless brutality, or simply struggled for survival—into a unified force that followed the Primarch's will.
Corvus Corax was silent for a moment, his sharp gaze seemingly able to penetrate Koz's deepest struggles.
He spoke again, asking the most crucial and sensitive question:
"Then will you return to... the Imperium?"
This question made Sahar, who stood by, involuntarily hold his breath, his gaze beneath his helmet fixed on Koz's back.
This was also the greatest question and knot in the hearts of all the Night Lords' sons.
Return to the Imperium?
For their Legion, which had borne the name of 'traitor' for ten millennia, it sounded like a fantasy.
Koz slowly turned his head, his sunken eyes, seemingly holding endless pain and foresight, met Corvus Corax's dark gaze.
There was no hint of emotion on his face, only a stillness almost like death, after ten millennia of profound contemplation.
"Corvus," Koz's voice was low and clear, "as you said, no betrayal is too great to forgive, no sacrifice too small to forget."
He repeated Corvus Corax's comforting words from before, each word seemingly carrying heavy weight.
"I will atone for my sins."
He did not explicitly say he would return, nor did he flatly refuse.
He merely stated his purpose—'atonement'.
As for how he would atone, or whether it would be through returning to the Imperium, he did not specify.
But this phrase, 'atone for my sins,' already indicated a complete break from his past state of self-exile and despairing prophecy.
He would face his past and that of his sons through action, not through silent demise.
Corvus Corax looked deeply at his brother, not pressing further.
He understood Konrad's complexity and stubbornness; for him to take this step, to utter the words 'atonement,' was already a significant achievement.
The path ahead was for him to walk and choose himself.
Koz's gaze returned to the stars; he raised a hand and, with a finger covered in black armor, waved it gently forward.
A simple gesture, yet imbued with undeniable resolve.
"Send the signal," he commanded Sahar, and all the Night Lords Warriors on the bridge who stood at attention, those who had just boarded the ship with him from their refuge, and those who originally belonged to the Nightfall (Warship Name).
"In the name of the night haunter, Konrad Curze."
"Issue a summons to all Sons of the Night Bat still soaring through the galaxy."
His voice was not loud, yet it struck like cold bedrock into the heart of every listener:
"Tell them, I have returned."
"I will once again command the Eighth Legion, leading all my sons who are willing to follow me, to cut through past confusion and corruption, and return to... our rightful path."
He did not describe a glorious future, promise wealth or power, or even clearly define what the 'rightful path' entailed.
But the five words 'the night haunter has returned,' for every Astartes with the blood of the Eighth Legion, were the most powerful and irresistible summons.
It was a resonance etched deep in their genes, an ultimate call to their origins and belonging.
The massive Nightfall (Warship Name) bridge immediately entered a state of high efficiency.
Ancient, powerful Warp communication arrays were activated, and encrypted summons, bearing specific identification codes and Koz's own psychic imprint, were sent out like giant stones cast into a calm lake.
From Kha-IV as the origin, they spread to every corner of the galaxy, to Night Lords warbands, large or small, infamous or unknown, to every Son of the Night Bat walking alone in the darkness, struggling amidst betrayal and blood, sending a call across ten millennia of star-sea.
The message content was concise and powerful:
"The great night haunter has returned."
"The Eighth Legion shall reunite."
"All Sons loyal to the Shadow of Nostramo, eager to restore the Legion's glory, answer the call, and gather beneath the banner of Nightfall (Warship Name)."
"We will abandon needless slaughter, purge internal corruption, and rediscover the true meaning of strength."
"Follow the Primarch, return to the correct path."
With the dispatch of the summons, the colossal Gloriana-class battleship Nightfall (Warship Name), leading the relatively smaller but equally dangerous Nightfall (Warship Name), officially began its journey.
The engine lights drew long trails in the void, and the two warships, like the awakened Night Bat King and its vanguard, unhesitatingly sailed into the vast star-sea, towards a future full of unknowns, challenges, and opportunities.
Their destination was yet unclear, but their actions themselves had already cast a huge and profound shadow across the dark side of the galaxy.
Ten millennia later, the night haunter returns, and the banner of the Eighth Legion is once again raised in the star-sea, destined to stir unpredictable ripples and storms in the already chaotic galactic landscape.
During a brief respite when the Macragge's Honour concluded another Warp journey and temporarily returned to real space for navigation calibration and rest, Sergeant Karl used this precious period of calm to go to the armory for routine weapon maintenance.
The armory was brightly lit, and the air was filled with the distinct smells of weapon cleaner, machine oil, and metal.
Various models of Bolters, plasma weapons, melta gun, and others were neatly arranged on shelves or fixed on maintenance stands, with Tech-Sergeant and servitors moving among them, carrying out maintenance work.
Gaius found his workbench.
He carefully disassembled his 'Hawkeye' sniper rifle, placing each part in strict order.
He first used specialized cleaning tools to meticulously remove accumulated dust and firing residue from the barrel's inner wall, then used a precision measuring instrument to calibrate each optical lens and sensor, ensuring absolute accuracy during ultra-long-range shooting.
His movements were skilled and focused, like performing a precise ritual.
For a sniper like him, a weapon was an extension of life, and any minor error could lead to fatal consequences on the battlefield.
Next, he took down the Power Sword 'steadfast will' worn at his waist.
This master-crafted weapon, entrusted by Primarch Guilliman and handed over by an Imperial Fists Captain, flowed with an ethereal blue energy glow along its blade, and the hilt was inlaid with the Ultramarines' insignia and a laurel wreath of honor.
Gaius used a soft velvet cloth dipped in special sword oil, meticulously wiping it from hilt to tip, ensuring the energy conduction lines were unobstructed and the blade was as clean as new.
He could feel the subtle touch from the hilt, almost merging with his palm; this sword was not just a weapon, but a symbol of honor and responsibility.
Finally, he checked the 'Airas' pattern Power Fist equipped on his left arm.
This little gadget, developed by that quirky Dark Eldar girl, while not as formidable as the Legion's standard Power Fist, often proved surprisingly effective in close-quarters combat with its instantaneous burst of power.
He tested the charging efficiency of the energy capacitor and checked the pressure transmission system, ensuring that when needed, he could deliver a crushing blow to the enemy without hesitation.
Just as he finished checking the Power Fist and was about to begin reassembling his sniper rifle, the armory's automatic door slid open, and a tall figure, whose bruises had just faded but whose front teeth had been repaired, walked in.
It was Dorian.
"Hey! Gaius!" Dorian's loud voice immediately echoed through the relatively quiet armory, causing several working Tech-Sergeant to look up.
He strode to Gaius's workbench in a few steps, a mischievous smile mixing curiosity, gossip, and 'I get you' on his face.
He nudged Gaius's arm armor with his elbow, "So? Last night... with that pointy-eared beauty, pretty good, huh?"
Gaius didn't even look up, continuing to assemble his sniper rifle, responding in a flat tone: "I followed the Apothecary's instructions, supervised her taking her medication on time, and ensured she got enough rest.
Her physical condition is steadily recovering."
"Tsk, who asked you about that!" Dorian pouted unhappily, leaned closer, lowered his voice, and said with a wink, "I mean... something else! A deeper exchange! You should have seen the way she looked at you, tsk tsk, almost like she was melting!
I just don't believe that you two, living in the same room, just... slept separately at night? She didn't do anything to you? Or you didn't do anything to her... hmm?"
Sergeant Karl's movements as he assembled his weapon didn't falter in the slightest, nor did his breathing pattern change. He lifted his eyelids, glancing at Dorian, whose face was practically screaming "curiosity," and his tone remained perfectly calm: "Dorian, if you have so much excess energy, I suggest you go to the training ground for five hundred sets of weighted squats, or find Lieutenant Golden to see if he has any extra paperwork that needs help."
"Hey! Don't change the subject, you! Dorian was a little anxious, "I heard that last night when Luna sent Airas to remove my inhibitor, that little girl passed by your cabin and seemed to hear some… unusual sounds inside? Like someone was crying? Did you bully her? Or… hehe…" His smile grew increasingly lecherous.
Sergeant Karl finally stopped what he was doing, turned his head, and gazed calmly at Dorian with his azure blue eyes. His gaze wasn't sharp, but it carried a steady pressure that made Dorian instinctively rein in his smile.
"Dorian," Sergeant Karl's voice was not loud, but every word was clear, "Ms. Kolaesa is our 'guest,' approved by the Chapter Master himself to remain on the ship. Ensuring her physical and mental well-being is my duty. Beyond that, any unnecessary speculation and rumors are not only disrespectful to her but also a stain on an Astartes Brother's honor. I hope this is the last time I hear you discuss this topic."
There was no threat in his words, but an undeniable resolve. Dorian opened his mouth, looked at Sergeant Karl's unyielding and righteous demeanor, and finally, like a deflated ball, mumbled, "Alright, alright, no more jokes, okay? You're really… no fun at all." He knew Sergeant Karl was serious, and if he kept pestering him, he might actually be sent to do squats while wearing Terminator armor.
To ease the awkwardness, Dorian changed the subject. He touched his recently repaired front tooth and said with lingering fear, "But seriously, that inhibitor Luna made was really something… I lay on the ground all day, feeling like my bones had been sucked out, couldn't even move a finger! I can't provoke her again next time…" He paused, then remembered something else, a schadenfreude smile appearing on his face, "However, compared to the Captain, I'm lucky. Did you hear? The Captain was punished by having his synthetic bread and nutrient paste rations confiscated for the next three months because he kicked down those two brig doors! Hahaha, just thinking about him only being able to drink basic energy fluid for the next ninety days, and maybe even having to swallow his pride and beg Lieutenant Golden for food, makes me feel like that beating was worth it!"
Sergeant Karl was already accustomed to Dorian's "comparing misery" optimism. He shook his head and continued to focus on the sniper rifle in his hands. However, Dorian's words were like a stone thrown into a lake, creating ripples in his calm heart. He couldn't help but recall Ms. Kolaesa's burning tears from last night, her cold skin pressed against his back, and her desperate, pleading confession… He forced himself to pull his attention back to the weapon in front of him, using more focused movements to dispel the chaotic thoughts in his mind. Duty, honor, the Chapter's regulations… these were the cornerstones he should firmly uphold.
Meanwhile, inside Sergeant Karl's cabin, Ms. Kolaesa sat alone by the bed.
Last night's impulsive act had exhausted all her courage. Recalling it now, she felt her cheeks flush, her heart filled with shyness, regret, and an inexplicable sense of loss. What did Sergeant Karl's final gesture—covering her hand with his—truly mean? Was it silent comfort? Helpless tolerance? Or… a minuscule hint of acceptance?
She didn't know. His silence was like the hardest armor, preventing her from peering into his true thoughts beneath.
She looked down at the white casual clothes of the Ultramarines she was wearing, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem. This warship, this room, and that silent giant who made her feel incredibly safe… all of it felt like a fleeting, illusory dream. And dreams always end.
The news brought by Captain Orpha brought her relief; the safety of her people was her greatest concern. But this also meant that when the fleet reached its destination, she would inevitably face separation. Should she return to her people, resume her responsibilities as an Autarch, and lead the survivors to rebuild their home on an unfamiliar Craftworld? Or… the thought of "staying" resurfaced uncontrollably, accompanied by a pang of anxiety. She knew clearly how unrealistic and difficult this was. Race, culture, faith, the iron laws of the Chapter… an almost insurmountable chasm lay between her and Sergeant Karl. Her method of "repayment" last night, in retrospect, seemed so naive and reckless. She might not only cause trouble for Sergeant Karl but also put herself in a more awkward and dangerous position.
However, the thought of leaving him, returning to the familiar yet treacherous Eldar society, devoid of their homeland, filled her with a strong sense of resistance and reluctance. By Sergeant Karl's side, she felt a pure, unspoken sense of security, a respectful protection distinctly different from other Astartes. This feeling was something she had never experienced as an Autarch on a Craftworld in the past.
The uncertainty of the future hung over her like a thick fog. Where should she go? How should she place this quietly growing, yet seemingly hopeless, emotion?
Ms. Kolaesa hugged her knees, burying her face in her arms, and let out an almost inaudible sigh. Her silver hair fell, obscuring her beautiful face, which was filled with confusion and struggle… On the upper deck of the warship, in First Company Captain Cassius's office, the atmosphere was somewhat oppressive.
Captain Cassius sat behind his brand-new desk, his face so grim it could almost drip water. On the data-slate in front of him, the disciplinary notice regarding his three-month special ration deduction for property damage was displayed. The thought of facing bland, basic energy fluids, barely enough to sustain life, for the next ninety days made his stomach churn. For an Astartes Brother accustomed to high-intensity combat and energy expenditure, this was nothing short of chronic torture.
"Damn Dorian…" Captain Cassius gnashed the name through his teeth. If it weren't for that big-mouthed idiot, how could he have lost control and kicked the door? And how could he have ended up in this situation?
Just then, there was a knock on the office door.
"Enter." Captain Cassius responded gruffly.
The door slid open, and First Company Lieutenant Golden entered. He held a data-slate in his hand, his face bearing its usual steady expression, as if completely oblivious to the Captain's almost murderous gaze.
"Captain, this is the preliminary statistical list of survivors rescued by the 7th Company and Eighth Company from the Kha-IV evacuation operation, along with the resettlement plan. It requires your review." Lieutenant Golden placed the data-slate in front of Captain Cassius, his tone calm.
Captain Cassius waved his hand irritably: "Put it there, I'll look at it later." His mind was currently consumed with the problem of the next three months of "famine."
Lieutenant Golden nodded but did not leave immediately. He hesitated, then asked, "Captain, regarding Sergeant Karl and Ms. Kolaesa sharing a cabin… does the Chapter Master need us to prepare a more detailed report? After all, this involves relations with xenos and could attract some… unnecessary attention."
Upon hearing this, Captain Cassius's brow furrowed even deeper. This was indeed a troublesome matter. When he had impulsively assigned Ms. Kolaesa to Sergeant Karl, he had thought it was just a temporary expedient, but now it seemed to be turning into something more permanent? Although current reports indicated that Sergeant Karl had strictly followed regulations and committed no transgressions, an Astartes Sergeant and an Eldar female living together long-term would inevitably lead to unsavory rumors. If certain sharp-nosed Inquisitors or internal review bodies found out, it would undoubtedly cause another stir.
He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. Dorian's loose tongue, his own rations, and now this business with Sergeant Karl… why were all the problems piling up at once?
"Keep it under wraps for now." Captain Cassius finally decided, "The Chapter Master's current focus is on the defenses in the Connar region and the placement of the Eldar children. As long as Sergeant Karl doesn't cause any trouble, there's no need to bother him with such minor matters for now. Privately remind Sergeant Karl again to be mindful of appearances, keep that Eldar woman in line, and avoid any trouble."
"Understood." Lieutenant Golden replied, seemingly having anticipated this. He paused, then added, "Also, Captain, regarding your nutritional supplies for the next three months… if you don't mind, I can share a portion of my rations with you."
Captain Cassius suddenly looked up, staring at Lieutenant Golden. The Lieutenant's face remained expressionless, but a subtle hint of concern flickered in his eyes. Captain Cassius's old face flushed, and he coughed awkwardly. Accepting charity from a subordinate? If word got out, where would he, a First Company Captain, put his face?
"...No need." Captain Cassius refused stiffly, "Just three months, I can handle it!" Despite his words, he was already calculating whether he could use the excuse of inspection to "occasionally" mooch a few meals from other companies' mess halls… Lieutenant Golden did not insist, merely nodding slightly before turning and leaving the office.
Captain Cassius sat alone in his office, gazing at the vast star-sea outside the window, his gloom undiminished. He had a vague premonition that the matter between Sergeant Karl and that Eldar woman would likely not end so simply. And that scoundrel Dorian… when he found the chance, he would definitely make him experience what a Captain's "care" truly meant!
While the "Macragge's Honour" was experiencing minor ripples due to various trivial matters, in the distant dark side of the galaxy, the summons issued by the "Nightfall (Warship Name)" had begun to take effect.
In orbit around war-torn planets, in dark asteroid belt bases, at the secret rendezvous points of raiding fleets, warships painted deep blue, adorned with lightning and bat-wing insignia, received the message from their Primarch.
At first there was suspicion, disbelief. The night haunter returned? It sounded like an elaborate trap, or a lie spread by a warband leader to consolidate power.
However, the unique psychic imprint contained within the message, the cold and vast remnant of Konrad Curze's own will, could not be faked. It was an unforgeable resonance, etched deep within the gene-sequence of every Night Lords.
After the shock, there were various complex reactions. Some warband leaders were ecstatic, believing that the era of legion revival and renewed glory had arrived; others adopted a cautious wait-and-see attitude, wondering if this was another test or punishment set by the Primarch; and still others, warbands long since completely submerged in the forces of Chaos or anarchic brutality, scoffed at it, believing that the so-called "right path" was merely a sign of weakness.
But no matter what, the news of "the night haunter's return" itself acted like a giant magnet, beginning to attract those Night Lords who still felt a sense of belonging to the Legion, were lost in their current situation, or yearned to survive and thrive under more powerful leadership. One by one, Night Lords warships of varying sizes, painted in midnight blue, began to quietly adjust their courses, heading towards the constantly updated, encrypted rendezvous coordinates attached to the message.
Ten millennia later, the scattered night haunter, for the first time, heard the call of their King.
A larger Night Lords warband, the "Blood Bat Claws," hidden within the Eye of Terror, led by an ancient warrior named Val Tarrok, after repeatedly confirming the authenticity of the message, stood on the bridge of his warship, gazing at the distant coordinates on the navigation star chart, and solemnly announced to the warriors behind him:
"Assemble all ships, inventory ammunition and supplies."
"The night haunter calls his sons."
"It is time… to go home."
His words represented the sentiments of a significant portion of the Night Lords. To go home, to return to the command of their Primarch, to return under the banner of the Legion. Although the road ahead was unknown, and despite the heavy past they carried, the call from their bloodline overrode their doubts about the future.
The massive Gloriana-class battleship "Nightfall (Warship Name)," like a moving fortress, sailed through the star-sea. On the bridge, Koz silently gazed at the endless void ahead. Sahar stood by, ready for orders. Koreni, meanwhile, curiously observed everything inside the gigantic warship; for her, this was another completely new journey, full of unknowns.
Corvus Corax's figure had vanished at some point, as silently as he had arrived, perhaps returning to his own, more secretive domain. He had left the key to open the door, and the path ahead was for Koz to walk himself.
Koz knew that reuniting the Legion was only the first step. How to integrate these diverse and complex sons, how to define the so-called "right path," how to face the reactions of the Imperium, Chaos, and other factions, how to truly begin his long and arduous "atonement"… all of these would be immensely severe challenges before him.
But his eyes no longer held the confusion and pain of ten millennia; only a cold, steadfast will, like the eternal night of Nostramo, remained.
Night had returned, and the night haunter were coming home. The story of the Eighth Legion turned a new page. And this Chapter was destined to be written by steel, shadows, and the Primarch's will to seek redemption.
When Gaius, smelling faintly of a mix of oil and cleaning agents, returned to chamber i-10-a after maintaining and cleaning his weapons, the turmoil in his heart had not yet fully subsided.
Dorian's pointed words in the armory echoed in his mind like lingering sounds, intertwining with the extraordinary intimacy he had experienced last night, causing ripples in his usually ice-bound heart that were impossible to ignore.
The chamber i-10-a door slid silently shut behind him.
He saw Kolesa still sitting on the bed, her posture almost identical to when he had left, only her purple eyes immediately lifted the moment he entered, locking firmly onto him.
The emotions in her gaze were complex and hard to decipher: unease, anticipation, a hint of shyness, and, deeper still, a kind of desperate resolve, as if she were staking everything.
A subtle sense of stagnation permeated the air.
Last night's sudden confession and physical contact hung between them like an invisible membrane.
Some things needed to be made clear.
Some boundaries needed to be re-established.
This was not only for the tenets he held dear but also for her future.
Gaius walked to the center of the room and stopped.
He did not, as usual, walk directly to his desk or begin training, but stood there, meeting Kolesa's gaze with a calm look.
He took a deep breath, deciding to confront the issue in the clearest, most rational way he could.
"Kolesa," his voice was low and steady, breaking the silence in the chamber i-10-a, "Regarding last night... what you said."
He paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, "I appreciate your... trust, and your... feelings."
Kolesa's body tensed slightly, her hands unconsciously clutching the bedsheet beneath her, anticipating what he was about to say.
Gaius continued, his tone devoid of any scorn or disgust, only a calm, factual statement, even carrying a hint of imperceptible... admonition: "However, you need to understand that I am an Astartes Brother.
My life, my entirety, has long been dedicated to the Emperor, the Primarch, and Ultramar.
My purpose is to fight, to protect, to obey orders.
Emotions... especially the kind of emotions you speak of, are considered disruptive factors in our tenets, potentially affecting judgment and weakening will."
His words were like cold raindrops, striking Kolesa's heart.
Her eyes quickly misted over, but she bravely held back her tears, only looking at him defiantly.
"And you," Gaius's gaze fell on her pale face, "You are an Aeldari Autarch.
You possess a long life, powerful psychic potential, and the responsibility to lead your people to rebuild their home and revive their civilization, as well as... a bright future.
Your future should be in your world, among the stars, and not..." He paused, as if the word was difficult to utter, "...trapped on this human Strike Cruiser, bound to a warrior destined to die on the battlefield."
He finally spoke the cruelest, yet most realistic possibility: "I might die tomorrow, or on the next mission, on some nameless battlefield.
I will have no regrets, because I am a warrior of Ultramar, and to die protecting the glory of the Imperium of Man and Ultramar is my duty and my honor."
He tried to use rational analysis, the definition of their respective identities, and a cruel preview of the future to sever this nascent, yet seemingly impossible, emotional bond.
He hoped she would understand that this path was fraught with thorns, and its end would likely be nothingness.
He did not want, because of a moment of weakness or pity, to plunge her into deeper pain, or to delay the future she should have had after returning to her people.
After saying this, Gaius fell silent, awaiting her reaction.
He anticipated that she might cry, might argue, or might fall into desperate silence.
He was prepared for any reaction.
However, Kolesa's reaction was completely unexpected.
She did not break down, nor did she argue excitedly.
She just listened quietly, her tear-filled purple eyes gazing at him unblinkingly.
It was not until he finished speaking, and silence once again fell in the chamber i-10-a, that she slowly, and with a voice that was incredibly soft yet seemed to hold immense power, began to speak:
"Gaius... I understand everything you've said."
Her voice trembled slightly, yet it was exceptionally clear, "I understand the tenets of the Astartes, I understand the chasm between our races, and I also understand... the ruthlessness of war."
She took a soft breath, as if gathering all her courage, and then she made a move that made Gaius's pupils contract—she stood up and walked towards him.
She stopped in front of him, the distance between them close enough to feel each other's breath.
Due to the vast difference in height, she had to strain to look up to meet his gaze.
And Gaius, almost instinctively, knelt down on one knee, bringing his eyes level with hers.
This action instantly shortened his massive body, as if a mountain had stooped to listen to the whisper of a flower.
At this moment, they were no longer the towering Astartes and the delicate Aeldari, but merely two equal individuals engaged in a conversation.
Kolesa reached out her slender, pale, yet somewhat cold hands and gently cupped Gaius's stern, weathered face.
Her movements were incredibly gentle, almost reverently tender.
The cool touch of her fingertips, however, seemed to carry a strange warmth, burning Gaius's skin.
Her purple eyes gazed deeply into his serene, ocean-blue eyes, and tears finally fell uncontrollably, rolling down her smooth cheeks and dripping onto the power armor on Gaius's chest, leaving tiny wet marks.
Her voice was thick with tears, every word seemingly spoken with all her strength, filled with humble, desperate pleading:
"The future you speak of, your duty, your honor... I don't care about any of it."
"A long life without meaning is merely prolonged suffering."
"The revival of my people... is important, but that is a responsibility, not... not the destination I desire."
"All I want... is..."
She choked, almost unable to continue, but finally struggled to utter the words that could shake an iron will, clearly:
"Then let me accompany you, to die for Ultramar together, okay...?"
After speaking, she withdrew one of the hands cupping his face and extended it towards him, palm up, fingers trembling slightly, as if awaiting a crucial promise, a response that would determine her future fate.
"I ask for no title, no reciprocation, only... to be by your side.
Whether as a servant, an assistant... or merely... a cumbersome Aeldari who needs your protection."
Her tears fell like broken pearls, "As long as I can be by your side, watching you, confirming your safety when you return from battle... even if, as you said, we eventually die together on some battlefield... for me, that would be... the best ending."
Her words, like an incredibly sharp and incredibly gentle dagger, precisely pierced Gaius's most solid inner defense.
She was not asking him to abandon his tenets, nor challenging the Chapter's rules; she was merely requesting the right to "accompany," the possibility of "facing things together," and even... permission to "die together."
With the softest demeanor, she made the most resolute request.
Gaius knelt there, his body rigid as a statue.
In his ocean-blue eyes, for the first time, such clear, such intense struggle appeared.
Reason screamed wildly, warning him of the dangers of such an transgression, and the unpredictable consequences it would bring.
The Chapter's rules, the Primarch's teachings, the strictness of Imperial law... all of these were like invisible shackles, binding his will.
However, looking at the beautiful face before him, tear-streaked and filled with humility and resolve, feeling the fervent desire in her words to follow him even if it meant burning everything away, he found that his heart, frozen like ten thousand years of ice, its emotional core wrapped in layers of duty and dogma, was emitting faint, overburdened cracks.
This short period of time together, from initial vigilance and responsibility, to later pity and protection, and then to last night's sudden intimacy and confession... little by little, it had, without his even realizing it, infiltrated his impregnable mental defenses.
He was an Astartes, but he was not entirely without emotion; those emotions were merely suppressed, transformed, and directed towards loyalty to the Emperor, reverence for the Primarch, camaraderie with his brothers, and fury towards his enemies.
And Kolesa, with her fragility, her dependence, her trust, and now this desperate confession, had forcefully carved a tiny crack in his iron-like heart.
Through that crack flowed a strange emotion he had never experienced before, called "cherishment" and "reluctance to part."
He looked at her outstretched, slightly trembling hand, those pale, slender fingers, seemingly awaiting salvation.
To refuse her? With those cold doctrines?
After she had already expressed her willingness to give up everything, even to die with him?
Would that not be more cruel than an enemy's bolter round?
A long silence stretched between them.
Every second felt like a century.
Finally, Gaius's tightly pressed, stern lips moved almost imperceptibly.
He let out an extremely deep sigh, as if from the depths of his soul.
That sigh was filled with endless complexity, struggle, and... a hint of relief.
He raised his large, powerful hand, covered in power armor.
Compared to Kolesa's slender hand, his hand seemed capable of easily enveloping hers.
But his movements were exceptionally gentle, exceptionally slow.
He extended his index finger, first gently touching Kolesa's fingertip, as if confirming the reality of this warmth and touch.
Then, slowly and firmly, he placed his palm over her upturned, cold palm.
His palm was warm and rough, full of strength.
The moment their hands touched, Kolesa trembled violently, as if infused with life.
Gaius looked up, his gaze deep as he met her tear-filled purple eyes, and with his steady voice, which seemed to carry the weight of a promise, he clearly uttered four words:
"I promise you."
There were no flowery vows, no excited assurances, only these simple four words.
But the meaning they contained surpassed a thousand words.
It meant he accepted her request, acquiesced to her companionship, and even... to some extent, acknowledged this emotional connection that transcended race and identity.
Upon hearing these four words, Kolesa felt as if a tightly strung bowstring had suddenly snapped.
She could no longer suppress her emotions, letting out a whimper like a small animal, and suddenly threw herself into Gaius's arms, tightly wrapping her arms around his broad, firm neck, burying her face deeply in the gap of his shoulder armor, and sobbing loudly.
This time, her crying was no longer the desperate and fearful sobbing of last night, but a release, a sense of relief, a torrent of immense joy and grievance at finally receiving a response.
Her tears quickly soaked the fabric on Gaius's shoulder.
Gaius's body swayed slightly backward from her embrace, but he quickly regained his balance. He knelt on the ground, feeling the violent trembling of her delicate body in his arms and listening to her unreserved sobs. The crack that had just been chiseled open in his heart seemed to be quietly widening. He hesitated for a moment, then raised his arms and, with an extremely gentle force, completely opposite to his physique, slowly and firmly embraced her back.
With his palm, he awkwardly yet soothingly patted Kolesa's back, which was slightly heaving from her crying. His movements were still a bit stiff, but the protection and acceptance they contained were undeniably real.
"Don't cry anymore..." His deep voice echoed in her ear, carrying a gentleness he himself hadn't noticed. "I promised you."
He said nothing more, simply letting her vent her emotions in his arms, using his steady heartbeat and solid embrace as her only reliance and sanctuary at that moment.
Outside the chamber, in the shadows of the corridor, a huge, stealthy figure held its breath, its ear almost pressed against the metal door. It was Dorian.
He had originally intended to find Gaius to see if he could pry out some "follow-up developments," but he happened to hear faint conversations coming from inside the chamber. Curiosity compelled him to stop and begin his grand "eavesdropping" endeavor.
When he heard Gaius's initial, almost cold, rational analyses, he stomped his foot in frustration, mentally cursing Gaius as an unfeeling blockhead. But when Kolesa's tearful, resolute confession rang out, Dorian couldn't help but freeze, then a look of emotion appeared on his face.
"This girl... she's got guts..." he muttered to himself, shaken by Kolesa's desperate courage and deep affection.
And when, finally, Gaius's "I promised you" clearly reached his ears, followed by Kolesa's uncontrollable sobs, Dorian's eyes widened first, then an extremely exaggerated smile, mixed with relief, excitement, and an "I knew it all along" expression, appeared on his face.
He clenched his fist forcefully and made a silent, triumphant pump, so excited he almost jumped.
"Good lad! He finally got it!" Dorian roared in his heart. "That's more like it! Who cares about Astartes or Aeldari! The girl has said so much, if he didn't agree, is he even a man?!"
In his opinion, the Chapter's rules and racial divides seemed so pale, so powerless, so... rigid in the face of such genuine, fervent emotion!
"What a load of rubbish rules!" Dorian pouted, thinking dismissively. "The Imperium is no longer the Imperium of ten thousand years ago! Primarch Guilliman himself has an ambiguous relationship with that Aeldari Ynnari seer... er, a close collaboration! Why can't we ordinary warriors have some 'hobbies' of our own?"
The more he thought about it, the more he felt it made sense: "Besides, I've worn out my copy of the codex astartes, which page, which article says, 'Astartes Brothers are strictly forbidden from forming relationships beyond camaraderie with Aeldari females'? None, right?! If the Codex didn't write it, then it's allowed! Yes, that's how it is!"
Dorian's logic was simple and direct. In his view, Kolesa was not a threat; she deeply loved Gaius, and Gaius clearly cared about her (otherwise, why would he agree?). That was enough. Why should mutual affection be bound by those stale rules?
"As for whether Captain, Chapter Master, or Primarch agree..." Dorian touched his recently repaired front teeth and chuckled, "That's for later! First, let's get the raw rice... er, let's stabilize the relationship first! They can't just force them apart then, can they? We Ultramarines are reasonable!"
He seemed to already see the future scene of Gaius and Kolesa living "happily" on the battleship. Although the path would undoubtedly be difficult, at least Gaius's frozen heart had finally begun to melt. For these veterans, who had experienced too much loss and sacrifice, this was a form of solace.
Dorian listened at the door for a while longer. Inside, only Kolesa's gradually subsiding sobs and Gaius's low comforting voice remained. He knew it was time for him, the third wheel, to disappear. He nodded with satisfaction, like a cat that had stolen fish, tiptoeing away with a knowing, ambiguous smile, deciding not to disturb the "special" couple who had just broken through the window paper.
Inside the chamber, Kolesa's crying gradually subsided, turning into soft whimpers. She still held Gaius tightly, as if he would vanish if she let go. Gaius maintained the embrace, without rushing or impatience.
He felt the cold yet vibrant body in his arms, her unreserved reliance and trust in him. The fog in his heart, caused by the conflict between duty and emotion, didn't seem to have completely dissipated, but at least he had made a choice. A choice that might defy dogma, but followed his heart's truest reaction.
Future storms might arise because of this. But at this moment, in this cold metal chamber, two hearts that had crossed the chasm of race and destiny were for the first time so closely intertwined. Although the path ahead was unknown, at least they had each other and the heavy yet warm vow they had just made.
Just as Gaius and Kolesa made their cross-species vow in the chamber, First Company Captain Cassius was buried among the mountain of documents and data-slates in his office.
As the First Company Captain, especially with Chapter Master Marius Calgar needing to oversee the entire situation, Cassius bore an extremely heavy burden. From the division of defense zones and logistics supply allocation after the companies arrived in the Conna region, to the preliminary review of long-term placement plans for newly received Aeldari children, and then to fleet maintenance reports and personnel rotation schedules... countless tedious but crucial tasks required his review, approval, or forwarding to the Chapter Master. He felt his brain, accustomed to facing enemies on the battlefield and making swift decisions, was about to be drowned by this paperwork.
Just as he finished reviewing a report on the routine maintenance cycle of the 7th Company's Unyielding Will Strike Cruiser and was about to pick up the next data-slate concerning the Eighth Company's ammunition reserves, suddenly, his right eyelid twitched violently and without warning several times.
Cassius frowned, put down the data-slate, and rubbed his slightly strained eyes. "What's going on?" he muttered softly. "Am I too tired lately?"
The high-intensity work, coupled with the frustration of having his three-month ration allocation deducted earlier, and the continuous annoyance brought by that idiot Dorian, had indeed left him physically and mentally exhausted. He glanced at the timer built into the corner of his desk; there were less than three standard hours until the fleet was expected to exit the Warp and arrive at the outskirts of the Conna region. At that time, more, and more complex, practical deployment tasks would follow, and he had to maintain a clear head and ample energy, absolutely not faltering at this critical moment.
"I need to rest for a while," Cassius told himself. He decided to temporarily put down his work; even just fifteen minutes of closing his eyes could slightly relax his taut nerves.
He leaned back in his chair, adjusted to a relatively comfortable position, and was just about to close his eyes and empty his mind—
"Thump, thump, thump."
The metal door of the office was knocked. The sound was unhurried, with the characteristic steadiness of an Astartes Brother.
Cassius's brow instantly furrowed into a knot. He had finally resolved to rest for a moment; who was so oblivious? He called out impatiently, "Come in!"
The door slid open. The figure at the doorway made Cassius pause slightly.
It was Gaius.