Guilliman's voice was unexpectedly gentle.
He extended a power-armored hand, reaching out with incredible delicacy, and picked up the first medal from the tray.
The medal was heavy, weighing roughly two kilograms. It was cast from some high-density alloy and its edges were polished perfectly smooth.
"This medal is exceptionally well-crafted," Guilliman examined it closely. "Your artisans possess considerable skill."
"It was made by the uncles and aunties at the Governor's Office!" Mira's eyes grew even brighter. "They said we have to give the best gifts to our most honored guests!"
At this time, the other two children stepped forward.
When the young boy handed the second medal to Ferrus Manus, a look of unfamiliarity seemed to cross the usually cold and rigid face of the Iron Hands Primarch.
He accepted the medal. His living-metal fingers gently stroked the surface, feeling the fine details of the engraving.
He offered a slight nod.
The third medal was accepted by Sanguinius.
As he took the medal, Sanguinius's fingers seemingly accidentally brushed against the back of the young boy's hand.
In that instant, the Primarch's superhuman senses caught the fluctuations of the boy's emotional aura.
There was no fear. There was no nervousness.
There was only pure curiosity, a little bit of excitement, and... a sense of expectation.
"What is your name?" Sanguinius asked softly.
"Ian, my lord," the boy replied quietly.
"Ian," Sanguinius repeated the name, a warm smile blossoming within his amber-gold slit pupils. "This is a beautiful medal. I will treasure it."
After the three Primarchs accepted their medals, Mira, Ian, and the third boy, Tom, turned and ran back to the formation.
They retrieved slightly smaller, yet equally exquisite medals from wooden boxes held by the other children, and began distributing them to the Legion commanders standing behind the Primarchs.
When Dantioch received his medal, a subtle expression flickered across the usually stern face of the Warsmith.
He stared at the gear emblem in the center of the medal for several seconds before solemnly pinning it to the most prominent spot on his breastplate.
Marius carefully gripped his medal in his hand. The Ultramarines First Captain lowered his head, the golden sunrise reflected in his eyes, lost in thought.
Azkaellon simply clamped his medal directly onto the pauldron of his power armor, the magnetic hardpoints of the Sanguinary Guard commander's artificer armor holding it firmly in place. The dark red medal stood out strikingly against his golden armor.
Tobias hesitated for a moment upon receiving his, ultimately choosing to secure it to his utility belt.
As the Second Captain made his move, [Paradox Player Not a War Criminal] sharply caught sight of a familiar figure among the welcoming crowd.
Seranaphy Nori.
The Champion of the Blood Angels Fifth Company. The warrior who had dragged his festering body to hold the line at the rift in the Aru Industrial Zone, and was ultimately saved by the players.
The wounds on Seranaphy's face had mostly healed. Tech-Priests had grafted synth-skin over the worst of the damage. Although the coloration differed slightly from the surrounding tissue, at least it was no longer festering and oozing pus.
There was a prominent repair mark on the left pauldron of his artificer armor, a patch welded over the ceramite that had been melted away by the Nurgle daemons.
When [Paradox Player Not a War Criminal] met Seranaphy's gaze, the Blood Angels Champion offered a slight nod.
It was a very subtle gesture, but it carried a deep sense of gratitude.
At that moment, Cogboy stepped forward, accompanied by Blood Angel, and the others.
Governor Cage Lawrence was dressed in a relatively formal, dark grey robe today, his exoskeleton framework hidden beneath the fabric.
He pounded his right fist against his left breastplate. "Thank you, Lord Sanguinius, Lord Guilliman, Lord Ferrus, and all honored Legion commanders, for taking time out of your grueling schedules to grace Kent Hive with your presence."
Cogboy's voice carried the perfect measure of respect.
"Today marks the very first festival we have established for this hive: Spring Festival, New Year's Eve."
"Spring Festival?" Sanguinius tilted his head slightly, his white wings giving a soft flutter. "Does this name carry a specific symbolic meaning?"
Blood Angel stepped forward to answer Sanguinius's question, his voice steady and calm.
"To answer Lord Sanguinius: the Spring Festival is a tradition we reconstructed from fortuitously recovered historical archives. It marks the transition of the year."
"Spring represents the revival of all things, the beginning of new life."
"Festival signifies a momentous point in time."
His gaze swept across the three Primarchs, his voice taking on a deeper resonance.
"On this day, people gather together, share food, exchange blessings, and welcome a brand-new beginning with the most passionate celebrations. Because no matter how dark the past may have been, a new year always represents..."
"...the possibility of hope rekindled."
Guilliman's fingers unconsciously tapped against his sword hilt.
"Bidding farewell to the old year, welcoming new life," Guilliman repeated softly. "A very simple ideal, yet it strikes directly at the core." He looked at Cogboy. "How long have you been preparing for this festival?"
"From finalizing the date to today, the actual preparation time was twenty-seven days," Cogboy answered frankly. "However, the underlying philosophy has been foundational to the Crimson Dawn since its inception. We believe that humanity requires ritual to anchor its memories, and festivals to forge collective identity. And the Spring Festival is one of the anchors we have chosen."
Ferrus spoke up then, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Rituals consume resources. Lanterns, decorations, supplementary food rations, the organization of public events... all of this requires manpower and material wealth. According to my rough estimates, the resources expended to prepare for this Spring Festival in Kent Hive alone would be sufficient to arm five standard infantry companies."
His eyes fixed on Cogboy.
"Is it worth it?"
It was a sharp question, but Cogboy simply smiled.
"Lord Ferrus, you are correct," Cogboy nodded. "From a purely resource-conversion-efficiency standpoint, it is not worth it. But there are some things that cannot be measured by efficiency alone."
He reached out, pointing toward the workers in the distant streets who were hanging up the last batch of lanterns.
"Those workers spent the last year working fourteen-hour days, living in leaky shacks, and subsisting on nutrient paste that barely kept them alive. They need more than just the resources to survive. They also need..."
"A reason to live."
"And festivals, celebrations, reunions, laughter... these seemingly inefficient things are precisely what grant meaning to life. When a person knows why they are living, their productive efficiency increases by over thirty percent. When a group of people shares common rituals and memories, their collaborative efficiency grows exponentially."
Cogboy looked at Ferrus, his tone resolute.
"Therefore, in the long term, this investment..."
"...yields an exceptionally high return."
Ferrus did not offer a rebuttal. His eyes simply swept across his surroundings once more.
Sanguinius let out a soft chuckle then.
The sound was warm and clear.
"Show us around," Sanguinius said slowly. "I wish to see with my own eyes what you have prepared for this Spring Festival."
--
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