Promethean Sun

“I know that, brother.” There was resignation in his tone.

“You risk your men and you risk your life; you ca

“The nodes we collapsed, they were keeping that thing dormant.” He gestured to the arch. “It’s a gateway. I’ve seen them before, long ago. They lead to the endless darkness where only horror and torture await. I have done this, Ferrus. I have condemned this planet to the same fate as my own. How am I supposed to live with that knowledge?”

“More worlds will burn before this crusade is done—i

Ferrus stalked away, his Stormbird ready to launch, and Vulkan was left to contemplate the raging flames.

He was not alone for long.

“Primarch, the ships are leaving.” It was Numeon, come to summon his liege-lord.

Vulkan turned to the equerry. “Did you find the remembrancer as I asked?”

Numeon stepped aside, revealing a robed and erudite-looking figure. “I did, my lord.”

Vulkan frowned. “That is not Verace.”

“Primarch?”

“That is not Verace,” Vulkan repeated.

The remembrancer bowed nervously. “My name is Glaivarzel, my lord. You offered to relate your life’s origins to me so that I might capture it for posterity.”

Vulkan ignored the human, his attention on Numeon.

“Bring me Remembrancer Verace. I will speak to this man later.”

Numeon hastily dismissed Glaivarzel, but returned with a confused expression.

“Primarch, I don’t know of whom you speak.”

“Are you trying to vex me, equerry?” Vulkan grew angry. “Bring me the other—” He stopped. There was utterly no recognition in Numeon’s eyes, none at all.

A stranger’s words came back to him.

I’ll try to watch over you when I can.

All the fury in him drained away. Vulkan held Numeon’s shoulders as father to son.

“I’m sorry. Ready the ship. I’ll be there in a few moments.”

If Numeon understood what had just happened he didn’t show it. He merely nodded and went to his duty.

Vulkan was left alone with his thoughts.

An ocean of fire was washing across the jungle. Its trees would blacken and die, its leaves would wither to dust. An arid plain would rise from a fertile land and a race would be forsaken to memory. He imagined the settlers that would come after them, the burgeoning Imperial landers brimming with people. It was a new world for the expeditionaries to inhabit, for pioneers to map and colonise. World One-Five-Four Four. It would not be easy for them.

The dusk-wraiths would return, Vulkan was sure, but the colonists would take up arms and fight them just as his people had. It would be a hard life, but a good and noble one. N’bel had taught him the importance of that.

As a primarch, he had come to Ibsen with his humours out of balance, his purpose blunted. He had wanted to save these people and though he could not, Vulkan had rediscovered a part of himself he thought lost. Compassion was seen as a flaw to some. Certainly, Ferrus Manus thought so. But an Outlander had opened Vulkan’s eyes and shown him it was his greatest strength.

“I will name this place Caldera,” he said aloud, and vowed he would protect it with the same ferocity as Nocturne. It would not become just another compliant world, a number without a heart. Vulkan had taken much but he could give it that at least.

The flames of the conflagration were rising. Thick clouds of ash scurried across the reddish sky at the eve of a fresh Hell-dawn. Vulkan turned his face to the heavens and met the glare of the baleful sun. A Promethean sun.