[A crown of brass and steel was placed upon your head. The weight was substantial, both physical and metaphorical.]
[Several Iron Priests surrounded you, their whispered prayers filling the air with reverent sound. The Crown of Knowledge activated, and information began flooding into your mind in an overwhelming torrent.]
[This wasn't simple data transfer. The ancient knowledge carried within it was multidimensional. Words and memories, yes, but also images that moved with perfect clarity. Sounds that echoed as if you were truly present. Emotions that washed over you with visceral intensity.]
[You experienced the founding of the Space Wolves Legion as if you'd been there. Saw the earliest days when Leman Russ first gathered his warriors on Fenris and forged them into the Emperor's executioners.]
[You witnessed the Great Crusade from the perspective of those who'd fought in it. The glory of bringing lost human worlds back into the Imperium's fold. The righteousness of purpose that had driven humanity to reclaim the galaxy.]
[You saw Russ as he'd been in his youth. Vital, powerful, full of barely contained energy and savage joy. And there, always present but never quite in focus, was the Emperor. His face remained blurred no matter how you tried to perceive it, His form perpetually shrouded in brilliant golden light that defied direct observation.]
[Then came the betrayal. Horus, the Warmaster, once the most beloved of all Primarchs, turning against everything he'd sworn to protect. The shock of it resonated through the memories, raw and fresh despite ten thousand years having passed.]
[You felt the grief of the Wolf Brothers, the extinct successor Chapter that had fought and died for the Imperium during the Horus Heresy. Their heroic sacrifices played out before your inner eye, each death a tragedy, each stand a monument to courage.]
[More knowledge poured in, relentless and vast. Your brain absorbed it like a sponge, enhanced Astartes neurology allowing you to process and retain information that would have destroyed a baseline human mind.]
[You saw the Wolf Lords who'd led the twelve Great Companies throughout the millennia. Learned their names, their deeds, their victories and defeats. Each one a legend in their own right.]
[The secret of the Thirteenth Company was revealed to you. The Lost Company, disappeared into the Eye of Terror pursuing the Thousand Sons, fighting an eternal war against Chaos for ten thousand years. Warriors who'd never returned home but never stopped fighting.]
[The broader scope of the Imperium's situation became clear. Terrifying alien forces pressing in from every direction. Orks, Tyranids, Eldar, Tau, Necrons, and worse. The impossible burden the Imperium bore just to maintain humanity's existence, let alone expand it. The constant state of warfare that defined humanity's struggle for survival.]
[While you sat with eyes tightly closed, drowning in ancient knowledge and history, Wolf Priest Ulric approached.]
[The scent of sacred incense clung to his robes as he moved with solemn purpose. Today, he would personally armor you, performing the ritual that would mark your full acceptance into the Chapter.]
[The Iron Priests' prayers shifted in tone and rhythm, marking the beginning of a new phase in the ceremony.]
[Power armor was brought forward. Not standard issue, but master-crafted equipment that far exceeded normal specifications. Each piece had been forged with exceptional care, blessed by the Chapter's priests, inscribed with protective runes.]
[The armor began covering your body piece by piece. Boots first, then greaves. Thigh guards connecting to the waist assembly. Each component interfaced perfectly with the black carapace beneath your skin, the biological ports creating seamless connections between flesh and machine.]
[The backpack power plant mounted with a satisfying click. Arms slid into place, the servos responding to your nervous system as naturally as your original limbs. The chest plate, decorated with a golden wolf head emblem against black ceramite, sealed over your torso.]
[Finally, the helmet. As it locked into position, your senses suddenly expanded through the armor's systems. Targeting data overlaid your vision. Audio filters isolated and enhanced specific sounds. The armor became an extension of yourself, amplifying your already metahuman capabilities.]
[The Crown of Knowledge released its hold on your mind. You gradually emerged from the knowledge infusion, consciousness returning to full awareness of your physical surroundings.]
[You clenched your power-armored fist experimentally. Strength flooded through you, far beyond what you'd possessed even moments before. The armor multiplied your already enhanced strength, making you feel capable of anything.]
["Careful, little boy." Wolf Priest Ulric's warning came sharp and immediate. "You need extensive training to properly control power armor. Many overconfident recruits have crushed door handles, broken furniture, or injured themselves through carelessness."]
[You took his warning to heart, moving with exaggerated caution as you descended from the armoring altar. Each step was deliberate, testing the armor's response, learning how it translated your intentions into motion.]
[Gradually, you began to understand the armor's performance characteristics. The weight distribution. The servo-assisted movement. The way it anticipated your actions through neural interface.]
[You followed Wolf Priest Ulric from the Chapter armory called Jotunheim, your movements growing steadily more confident.]
[He led you through corridors lined with shrines. Each one was dedicated to Space Wolves who'd fallen in service to the Emperor and the Chapter. Martyrs whose sacrifices had earned them eternal remembrance. You walked past hundreds of names, each one representing a story of courage and duty.]
[The path led upward, climbing toward the Fang's highest levels. You passed through the tomb of Harek Ironhelm, a Great Wolf who'd fallen during the Battle of the Fang, defending the Chapter's fortress monastery against overwhelming odds.]
[You paused before his statue, a massive figure carved from black stone. Without conscious thought, your hand rose to touch your chest in salute, offering respect to the fallen hero.]
["Well done," Ulric said quietly, genuine approval in his voice. "You understand what it means to honor those who came before."]
[Finally, you arrived at your destination. The Hall of the Great Wolf, brilliantly illuminated despite the late hour. Light seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere.]
[As soon as you crossed the threshold, you saw it.]
[The Dreadnought stood in the center of the hall like a monument to immortality. Five meters of ancient machinery, its form humanoid but massive, its armor scarred by millennia of warfare. This was no ordinary Dreadnought. This was the Revered Fallen, the Trueclaw, the Sacred Ancient.]
[This was Bjorn the Fell-Handed. The last of Leman Russ's personal guard. The oldest living Space Marine in the entire Imperium. A warrior who'd fought in the Great Crusade alongside the Primarchs and the Emperor Himself.]
[You stared at Bjorn's enormous power claw, the weapon from which he'd earned his epithet "Fell-Handed." The brutal efficiency of that claw was legendary. It had torn apart enemies for over ten thousand years.]
[You drew a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Meeting a living legend was daunting even for an Astartes.]
[You followed Ulric's respectful approach, moving forward with measured steps. When you reached the Dreadnought's position, you began to drop to one knee in proper respect.]
["STAND UP!" The voice that erupted from the Dreadnought's vox-caster was deep and powerful, like a volcano's roar given words. "DON'T KNEEL!"]
[The command echoed through the entire hall, resonating in your chest.]
[You froze mid-motion, uncertain. Your eyes darted to Ulric for guidance.]
["The old man doesn't like people kneeling to him," Ulric whispered, his voice barely audible even to your enhanced hearing. He winked conspiratorially.]
["ULRIC, YOU LITTLE BRAT!" Bjorn's voice boomed again, somehow even louder. "I'M JUST OLD, NOT DEAF!"]
[The massive metal hand of the sacred Dreadnought suddenly moved, batting at Wolf Priest Ulric with surprising gentleness. The elderly warrior stumbled backward, trying desperately to hold back laughter. His snow-white beard trembled with the effort of maintaining composure.]
[Mechanical servos whirred as the Dreadnought shifted position. The enormous power claw moved with surprising delicacy, coming to rest gently on your shoulder. Despite its size and obvious lethality, the touch was careful, almost tender.]
["Young brat," Bjorn's voice emerged from the Dreadnought, still powerful but now carrying a warmth that belied his harsh words. "I am Bjorn. An old man who wanted to die but couldn't manage it."]
[You tried to crane your neck upward to better see the Dreadnought's face, to show proper attention to his words.]
["You're good! Very good indeed." Approval colored Bjorn's tone. "The Space Wolves need youngsters like you. By the way, when the Wolf King returned, did he say anything to you?"]
[The praise came first, genuine and unrestrained. Then, after a moment's hesitation that you sensed even through the machine shell, came the question that truly mattered to the ancient warrior.]
[You told him everything. Your encounter with Leman Russ. The week spent training under the Primarch's personal guidance. The Wolf King's final words before he departed back into the Warp. You held nothing back, sensing that this ancient warrior deserved the complete truth.]
[You felt the power claw trembling on your shoulder. The vibration was subtle but unmistakable.]
["Haha!" Bjorn's laughter exploded through the vox-casters. "The Wolf King really does still remember this old man!"]
[The Dreadnought shook with emotion, and consequently, so did you. The power claw gripping your shoulder tightened slightly in Bjorn's excitement.]
[You glanced down and noticed fresh, deep scratches marring your brand-new master-crafted armor. Your cyan wolf eyes widened slightly, a flicker of dismay crossing your features.]
["Haha, sorry about that, little brat!" Bjorn had clearly noticed your reaction. His laughter continued as he released your shoulder. "I forget my own strength sometimes."]
["Logan, little brat! Come out!" Bjorn called, his voice filled with good humor despite the gruff terminology.]
[Another figure entered the hall, his movements confident and purposeful. He wore Terminator armor, its bulk making even a Space Marine appear massively imposing. This was Logan Grimnar himself, the Great Wolf, Chapter Master of the Space Wolves, High King of Fenris, the oldest and most revered warrior in the Chapter save for Bjorn alone.]
[You stared at his distinctive appearance. The slightly shiny bald head. The magnificent snow-white beard that spoke of centuries of service. You bowed quickly, showing proper respect to your Chapter Master.]
[A heavy sound cut through the air. Something massive was flying directly toward you.]
[Training and instinct took over. You straightened your back instantly, raised your power-armored hand, and caught the object firmly. The weight was substantial but manageable.]
[A brand-new double-bladed power axe 'Frost Fang' rested in your grip. Runes covered the weapon's surface, each one meticulously carved and filled with precious metals. An ice-blue gem was embedded at the center where the two blades met, and it seemed to actively absorb heat from the surrounding air, radiating a cold that you could feel even through your armor's environmental seals.]
["This is a replica of my weapon, the Axe of Morkai," Chapter Master Logan said, his expression gentle despite the formality of the moment. "It's also a masterwork in its own right. Now it belongs to you."]
[The gift was extraordinary. A personal weapon crafted to match the Chapter Master's own legendary axe, given freely to a newly-made Blood Claw. The honor was almost overwhelming.]
["Haha, young brat! It's not impossible for you to claim his actual Axe of Morkai!" Old man Bjorn's laughter filled the hall once more. "But first, you should think about which Great Company you want to join!"]
[Bjorn and Ulric fell silent, their gazes expectant. This was the moment of choice that would define your service.]
[Chapter Master Logan spoke, his voice measured and informative, laying out the options before you.]
[Ragnar Blackmane, currently deployed off-world, had sent strong recommendations urging you to join his Blackmane Company. Ragnar believed that the joy of cleaving through greenskin Orks would appeal to your combat style. His message had been enthusiastic and direct, filled with promises of glorious battle.]
[Logan's own Great Company, the Champions of Fenris, would also welcome you. The Chapter Master made a tempting offer: you could skip the Blood Claw stage entirely and begin service as a Grey Hunter, the veteran warriors who formed the backbone of each Company. It was an unprecedented honor for someone so new to the Chapter.]
[If you preferred heavy firepower, the Red Moon Company specialized in devastating ranged combat. Their devastator squads were legendary throughout the Chapter.]
[If speed and passion called to you, the Seawolves conducted rapid assault operations, striking hard and fast before vanishing like ghosts.]
[The Sons of Morkai excelled at infiltration and stealth operations, functioning as the Chapter's hidden blade. If you enjoyed operating in the shadows, eliminating enemies before they knew battle had begun, they would welcome you.]
[Old man Bjorn's own Company, the Storm Wolf, hated subtlety and lived for direct confrontation. They believed in honest combat, shield wall to shield wall, axe to axe. If you wanted to simply enjoy fighting in its purest form, they awaited your arrival.]
[If you wanted to start from scratch and help rebuild something from the ground up, both the Firehowlers and Iron Wolves were being reconstituted after suffering devastating losses. Join them, prove yourself through exceptional service, and you might rapidly rise to become their new Wolf Lord.]
[The remaining Companies each had their own character and specialty. Dragonslayers. Deathwolves. Champions of Bloodmaw. Each one represented different tactical doctrines, different combat philosophies, different paths to glory.]
[You gripped the still-unnamed power axe tightly, feeling its weight, considering the magnitude of the choice before you.]
[When you spoke, your words were measured and rational.]
[You expressed your apologies to everyone present. You explained that you felt you needed more training, more battle experience, more time to truly understand what it meant to be a Space Wolf before committing to any particular Company.]
[You rejected Chapter Master Logan's generous offer of immediate promotion. You declined Grandfather Bjorn's expectation that you'd join his Storm Wolf Company.]
[You wanted to start at the very beginning, as the most basic Blood Claw recruit. To earn your progression through merit and experience rather than reputation or favor. Only after proving yourself in that crucible would you choose which Company to join permanently.]
[The room was silent for a moment.]
[Then Chapter Master Logan nodded, genuine approval evident in his expression. Your decision had impressed him. Many young warriors, flush with pride after surviving the trials and receiving such attention from the Chapter's leadership, would have accepted the shortcuts offered. Your humility and wisdom spoke well of your character.]
["A wise choice," Logan said firmly. "You understand that true strength must be earned, not given."]
[Even Grandfather Bjorn, despite being rejected, expressed encouragement rather than disappointment.]
["You have the wisdom to become a proper Wolf Lord someday, young brat," the ancient warrior rumbled. "Your patience and self-awareness will serve you well."]
[Then you remembered something. Lucas, the red-haired troublemaker who'd pushed you through the Gate of Morkai prematurely. He'd been demoted to Blood Claw as punishment, stripped of his former honors and sent back to the beginning of his service.]
[You proposed joining the same Blood Claw pack as Lucas. Perhaps you could help guide him, provide stability, be a positive influence on a brother who clearly struggled with impulse control.]
[The effect was immediate and dramatic.]
[Grandfather Bjorn's laughter stopped instantly, cutting off mid-boom as if someone had flipped a switch. Chapter Master Logan stared at you with an expression caught somewhere between horror and disbelief. Wolf Priest Ulric's face turned red as he fought desperately to contain his reaction, his efforts failing spectacularly as he began shaking with suppressed laughter.]
[Then the dam broke.]
[Laughter erupted violently, shaking the entire Hall of the Great Wolf. Bjorn's ancient Dreadnought frame actually vibrated with the force of his mirth, his power claw waving wildly as he lost all semblance of composure.]
[Chapter Master Logan strode quickly toward you. He slapped your shoulder plate hard enough that you heard the ceramite ring. When you looked into his deep eyes, you saw something unexpected: gratitude.]
[Your gaze shifted to Wolf Priest Ulric, who had nearly collapsed to one knee, overcome by laughter so intense he could barely breathe. Then back to Bjorn's shaking Dreadnought shell.]
[You stood there, completely lost, like a Fenrisian elk surrounded by wolf packs and unable to determine which direction to flee.]
["What... what are you all laughing at?" you asked, bewildered.]
[Logan struggled valiantly to maintain his composure. His face settled into what he probably believed was a kind and supportive expression, though his efforts were undermined by his trembling jaw.]
["We must remain in awe and respect of any decision made by a young brother," he declared solemnly. "Your choice is commendable and will be honored."]
[You noticed the corners of Logan's mouth twitching uncontrollably. The Chapter Master was fighting a losing battle against his own amusement.]
[Understanding crashed over you like a wave of ice water.]
[You'd accidentally chosen enormous trouble. You'd volunteered to join what was apparently the most problematic pack in the entire Chapter. Lucas wasn't just a troublemaker. He was THE troublemaker. Legendary for all the wrong reasons.]
[But it was too late to withdraw your request now. The decision had been made and accepted.]
[Logan seized the opportunity immediately, before you could reconsider. You were promoted on the spot to Blood Claw Pack Leader. Someone had to keep Lucas and his fellow problems under control, and apparently, you'd just volunteered for that thankless duty.]
[In the process of accepting your new position, you learned Lucas's full reputation. His nickname was widely circulated throughout the Chapter. It had even become a popular curse phrase among the mortal humans of Fenris.]
[May the Great Liar Lucas always deceive you...]
[The saying was apparently used when someone wanted to wish misfortune upon their enemies. The fact that a Space Marine's name had become synonymous with deception and chaos spoke volumes about Lucas's historical behavior.]
[You stood there in your scratched master-crafted armor, holding your new power axe, promoted to pack leader of what was evidently the Chapter's most notorious troublemakers, while ancient warriors laughed at your expense.]
[Your new life as a Blood Claw of the Space Wolves had officially begun.]
[And you were already starting to regret some of your choices.]