Chapter 46: The Order of Precedence
Cenos System
Imperial Fleet
AnchoragePrimary Rendezvous Coordinates
The battleship Terra's Glory, under Captain-Tribune Diocletian's command, translated from the Empyrean with textbook precision, emerging from the Warp's roiling depths to rejoin the Emperor's primary expeditionary force.
Word of the vessel's precious cargo spread through the fleet with the speed of thought; the First and Sixth Primarchs had been recovered and now traveled among the Emperor's chosen.
Throughout the assembled flotilla, the Legiones Astartes of the First Legion and the Rout erupted in celebration.
For too long, they had endured the barely concealed superiority of their brother legions, the Luna Wolves and World Eaters had recovered their gene-sires early in the Great Crusade, leading to insufferable displays of pride and accomplishment.
Particularly galling had been the conduct of certain newly elevated warriors, Ezekyle Abaddon of the XVI Legion and Khârn of the XII, who seemed incapable of casual conversation without extolling their Primarchs' virtues to any who would listen.
Their behavior bordered on the evangelical, as though their gene-fathers' names were sacred mantras requiring constant repetition.
Now, with their own Primarchs restored, the I and VI Legions anticipated their moment of vindication.
They would demonstrate to their rivals that the return of a Primarch was hardly extraordinary, after all, who among the Legiones Astartes did not possess such a birthright?
The reunion was arranged within one of the flagship's most opulent reception chambers, a space normally reserved for diplomatic functions and high ceremonial occasions.
Imperial Flagship
Emperor's Grand Design
Reception Chamber Aurelius
Post-Recovery Briefing Session
Leman Russ occupied his assigned position with characteristic disregard for formal protocol.
The Wolf King hunched over the ornate dining surface, ignoring the precisely arranged ceremonial tableware in favor of direct consumption.
Meat filled one massive fist while mjöd occupied the other, both being consumed with the enthusiastic vigor that marked all Fenrisian cultural expressions.
Occasional belches punctuated his meal, interspersed with booming laughter that echoed through the chamber's vaulted ceiling.
Lion El'Jonson, seated adjacent to his brother, maintained rigid composure despite the visible tension in his jaw.
The Lord of Caliban sat with perfect posture, consuming his meal with the measured dignity befitting a knight of the Order.
Every gesture reflected centuries of courtly training, creating a stark contrast to his companion's barbarian enthusiasm.
Horus Lupercal and Angron arrived before the Emperor's scheduled appearance, their presence announced by the measured tread of transhuman footsteps.
"It brings great joy to meet you both, my brothers," Horus declared, advancing with the confident bearing that had made him legendary across a hundred worlds.
"I am Horus Lupercal, first among the recovered sons, and our Father's most trusted lieutenant in this Great Crusade."
Leman Russ looked up from his meal, fixing the newcomer with a predatory stare that seemed to measure combat potential rather than diplomatic worth.
"So you would be the 'favored son' we have heard whispered of," Russ observed, his tone carrying the casual challenge that marked all Fenrisian discourse.
"An interesting claim for one of merely middle rank."
"The term 'favored son' perhaps lacks precision," Horus replied with diplomatic care. "Perhaps 'proven son' or 'eldest brother' would better reflect our relationship."
"I am the First," Lion El'Jonson interjected, his words cutting through the conversation with absolute finality.
Horus turned toward the Lion, his expression subtly shifting as an unexpected emotion stirred within his transhuman psyche.
Here was a brother whose very designation challenged something fundamental to Horus's self-perception.
The First Legion. The First Primarch. That numerical designation carried weight beyond mere administrative convenience; it implied precedence, priority, perhaps even preference in their Father's estimation.
When future chroniclers recorded the deeds of the Primarchs, when Imperial remembrancers composed their epic verses, this pale knight's name would be spoken first by virtue of simple numerical order.
But I was here first, Horus thought with growing irritation. I proved my worth while this one slumbered in ignorance on some backwater world.
"Numerical designation reflects nothing more than arbitrary classification," Horus stated, his diplomatic training barely containing his annoyance.
"We were created simultaneously; no hierarchy of birth exists among us."
"I am the First," Lion repeated with the implacable certainty of natural law. "This designation carries meaning beyond mere convenience."
"Priority belongs to accomplishment, not accident of naming," Horus replied, patience wearing thin despite his best efforts.
"I am first-recovered, first-proven, first in our Father's confidence, thus first in truth."
"I am the First," the Lion stated again, each word delivered with the precision of a sword thrust.
The repetition shattered Horus's diplomatic composure entirely. "I have no desire to engage in a pointless argument. Let deeds speak louder than titles, let honor determine precedence."
"I shall prove my position beyond question," Lion replied, his tone suggesting the matter was already settled by forces beyond negotiation.
Tension crackled between the two Primarchs like barely contained electrical discharge. Combat seemed moments away when an unexpected interruption shifted the chamber's entire dynamic.
"Ah, my beloved gene-sons, your secondary progenitor has arrived!"
The voice carried notes of irreverent humor entirely inappropriate to the occasion's gravity.
"Valdor, have the staff prepare some of those fried tuber strips with the tomato-based condiment, specifically the new variant with enhanced capsaicin content and the smooth textural profile."
All four Primarchs turned toward the chamber entrance as the Emperor approached, surrounded by His Custodian Guard in their full ceremonial panoply.
Captain-General Valdor strode at His right hand, golden armor gleaming beneath the chamber's illumination.
Upon Valdor's shoulder perched a familiar corvid, its talons scratching thoughtfully at the Custodian's helmet plating.
"Father," Horus and Angron spoke in unison, performing the ritual salute of acknowledgment.
Lion and Russ rose from their positions, mimicking the gesture with varying degrees of precision.
"Formality is unnecessary here," the Emperor replied, His voice carrying genuine warmth. "First, Sixth, it brings Me great satisfaction to witness your return to the fold."
The Raven flapped from Valdor's shoulder to perch upon the Emperor's, fixing the newcomers with intelligent black eyes.
"Greetings, Wolf-Prince and Lion-Knight," the avian declared with casual familiarity.
"I am your secondary progenitor, as mentioned. Should you find the concept agreeable, we might share consumption of those delightful fried tubers and their accompanying condiment."
Angron and Horus received this announcement with complete equanimity, their expressions suggesting nothing unusual had occurred.
The moment they observed the Raven, memories seemed to slot into place, knowledge of its significance and role appearing as though it had always existed.
Russ and Lion, however, stared in open astonishment. Though their travels had exposed them to countless xenobiological specimens and technological marvels, a conversing corvid represented an entirely novel experience.
The Emperor provided the necessary context for His newly recovered sons.
"This is Master Raven, co-regent of the Imperium. One head of our sacred aquila represents his authority within our domain."
"I could not help but overhear your discussion regarding precedence," the Raven continued with academic interest.
"Such concerns are entirely unnecessary. Whichever among you can acquire the most exceptional fried tubers and tomato condiment in the galaxy, that individual shall be designated eldest son, future Warmaster, and Imperial Regent."
Valdor: "..."
Horus: "..."
Angron: "..."
Russ widened his eyes in frank disbelief. Was this Imperial hierarchy truly a legitimate governmental structure?
What manner of organization selected its supreme military commander based primarily on culinary acquisition capabilities?
The Emperor smiled slightly, clearly accustomed to His companion's unconventional declarations.
Anyone who had experienced the treacherous currents of political maneuvering would recognize the value of an ally whose ambitions extended no further than gastronomic excellence.
The Raven sought neither power nor glory nor wealth, only the perfect combination of fried sustenance and flavored accompaniment.
"Consider this carefully," the Raven continued, warming to his theme.
"How can a Primarch unwilling to seek out the simple pleasures enjoyed by common citizens hope to govern them effectively?
"The people of the Imperium represent our sacred charge, not mere instruments for achieving grand objectives. If Imperial citizens cannot find happiness in small things, what value do our greatest victories possess?"
"To elevate a Primarch incapable of understanding ordinary human joy would constitute disaster, bringing misery rather than prosperity to those we are sworn to protect."
The four Primarchs found themselves genuinely considering these unexpected words, each recognizing kernels of wisdom wrapped in apparently frivolous packaging.
"You are manipulating them again," the Emperor observed via psychic communication.
"I am providing ideological guidance to the Primarchs, establishing proper moral frameworks," the Raven replied with wounded dignity. "To characterize this as 'manipulation' constitutes slander of the most egregious sort."
"Furthermore, given this unjust accusation, I demand compensation in the form of several new varieties of tuber and tomato cultivation. Failure to comply will result in the termination of our alliance, leaving you bereft of my invaluable counsel."
The Emperor: "..."
The reunion proceeded with the Emperor engaging each of His sons in detailed conversation regarding the Imperium's future and the tremendous responsibilities that accompanied their enhanced capabilities.
He presented Lion and Russ with the same choice previously offered to Horus and Angron: a life of comfortable anonymity within the Imperium, or acceptance of trials that would qualify them to lead their respective Legions.
Both chose the path of testing without hesitation. The call of destiny burned too brightly within their enhanced souls to accept peaceful obscurity when the galaxy offered infinite opportunities for glory and achievement.
As the Great Crusade prepared for another lengthy translation through the Empyrean, the Emperor and His corvid companion engaged in strategic planning.
"We should return to the Super God Universe for reconnaissance," the Emperor mused, recalling His first interdimensional sojourn.
"Multiple hostile civilizations had begun targeting Terra before my departure. Though I left behind adapted Gene Engine technology, their technological superiority remains concerning."
"During this lull in Crusade operations, direct observation seems prudent. If circumstances permit, I shall work from shadow to guide their development and establish necessary infrastructure. Once the Imperium develops reliable inter-dimensional capabilities, integration into our domain will proceed smoothly."
"Should the situation prove untenable, however, direct intervention will become necessary."
The Emperor's golden gaze turned toward the viewport, contemplating the infinite possibilities that awaited beyond the boundaries of their current reality.
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Hmm, there it was, though for some obvious reason, I feel it won't take long before you guys get more bonus chapters.
And here's the new goal:
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Just check my Patreon.
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