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[b][i]The Council of Nikaea[/i][/b]
[b]Interim[/b]
[b]The Great Reception Hall[/b]
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The grand assembly of the Council had brought much cause for the great and good of the Imperium to gather in one place. Some were present to provide testimony and evidence, some to weigh their opinion on the final verdict. Many more were simply in attendance to partake in such an auspicious occurrence, even if just simply as an observer. Many of these guests could likely be dismissed by the scions of the Emperor should they wish to, but there was an elite cadre who could not be so easily dismissed or expected to bow simply to authority. The Titan legions’ independence from the rest of Imperial authority was as sacrosanct as could be found within the Imperium, separate even from the authority of the Primarchs and - for the most part - even the Mechanicum from which they hailed. There were few, of course, who would truly call upon the letter of the law in outright rejecting the will of the Primarchs, but it was good form to still pay lip service to such things.

In one of the many larger chambers of the conclave, the retinue of Sekhmetara had established a large dining hall for the occasion. Fresh from yet another day of debate and casework a more lighthearted expression of the unity of the Imperium was something all but the most conflict-craving of the attendants could appreciate and the invitation had been extended to all the members of the Titan Legions in attendance, from the noble princeps themselves to their gifted bridge crews. Several further invitations had been extended to members of import from other aspects of the Imperium, particularly those who had not yet fought alongside the Tears of Dawn and their Primarch. As part of the draw for those assembled, the heirs of the Emperor had, in full, been invited themselves, should they wish to attend.

The tables of the hall had been pushed to the side, bearing food and drink of the highest quality found across the Imperium, albeit with the particular flavours and spices of the Mithran Savannah, allowing guests to mingle, perhaps dance, in the great central space. At the beating heart of the social gathering was Sekhmetara herself. She was resplendent in such a way that was less formal than her council appearances, but no less poised. Her eyelids and lips were painted gold to match sub-dermal markings across her skin, her form clad in spun golden sink, threaded with cloth of red. While the front of the gown was distinctly two piece, behind her and threaded to her wrists it joined together, a belt of gold itself resting high on her form just beneath her chest, the centerpiece emblazoned with a large emerald cut into the symbolic face of the Panthera, her personal device. Each movement perfectly swept her gown behind her as she moved, the majestic figure currently speaking with another woman. While Sekhmetara was onyx, her companion of conversation possessed a complexion of a dusty tone, the authoritative lupine look she and her sisters were known for.

“Nee-Yar, Esha Ani Mohana,” Sekhmetara greeted the woman in the native tongue of the Legio Salara, craning down to press a kiss of greeting to her cheek. “It has been too long since your hunters walked with my Daughters.” While no doubt formal in their mannerisms, there was clearly at least some warmth of familiarity between the two women. Both were hunters of the greatest foes humanity had to face.

“Mholweni, Daughter of the Omnissiah. Each day that the Imperial Hunters stride beside lesser hosts we are weaker for it.” While Esha Ani Mohana lacked the semi-divine perfection of the Primarch now beside her, there was no doubt of her noble bearing and dangerous sense of beauty. The highest ranking of Mohana Mankata’s clone daughters, maturity and war had yet to play their toll on the Principes.

“A solution we can hopefully rectify sooner rather than later.” Sekhmetara mused with an almost mischievous look on her face, leaning back up as she took a sip from her goblet, satisfied with the raised eyebrow her words earned her from the Principes.

“I have heard rumour of where your attentions turn once the matters here are decided. Important work, but better suited to the scalpel that is your legion, than the hammer that is a titan legio.” The expression Esha Ani gave Sekmetara was polite, but the tone was not entirely hidden. Work beneath the auspice of a titan. There were few who could give such an expression to a primarch, but most of them were within the room.

“Matters are moving faster than is known, I promise that there is chance at glory, especially for those on the spearpoint alongside me.” Sekhemtara’s voice was low, not betraying the conversation over the din of the social gathering even if she naturally drew much attention, especially as the principes she was discussing matters with looked increasingly interested.

“Perhaps, but your siblings are gathering forces for a grand effort. Titans have never walked upon the surface of an Eldar craftworld, as far as I am aware, and the Mechanicum itself calls us to such glory.” Even if her words were reproachful, the princeps tone was clear. [i]Convince me[/i], that was certainly something Sekhmetara could do.

“That is true, but none understand the worth of the Legio Solaria better than I. The daughters of Mohana Mankata have long been sisters of my soul, you hunt as I hunt, even if you do so from within a skin of sacred steel. I long wish that I could have spent more time with your Mother before she was bound forever within Luxor Invictoria.” It was perhaps a little blunt for Sekhmetara’s taste, but she knew well the loyalty the heir had for the mother, and very few still living could claim a personal connection with the progenitor of the Imperial Hunters. “The foes we face will be many and strong, and unlike my brothers I will not make the mistake of favouring brutes over nobility.” She watched the expression on Esha Ani’s face sour with hidden triumph, knowing well that the trap had been set.

“The Legio Vulpa walk with your brothers?” The contempt bled into her every word, her form straightening at the thought of her house’s most hated rivals.

“A conclave of the Mechanicum has been called for a siege of unprecedented scale, who do you believe my less subtle brothers will favour in such things?” Sekhmetara’s eyes settled on Esha Ani’s own, studying the storm within. There was a personal rage there which eclipsed even the usual sense of hostility between the two legios. That was a matter she would have to delve into.

“...Then the Legio Vulpa walks with Sol Invicta once more, may our foes never see the bolt which strikes.” Her words were more tense than when they had begun, but still, buried beneath temporary offence was the desire to hunt, and to hunt beside kin-sisters. That was good, it would soften the blow when the extent of her machinations were no longer hidden.

“Even if they do, it will not save them.” The Primarch smiled, before drifting away, tilting her head as the comm-bead hidden in the gemstones of her jewellery crackled to life.

“How did that go?” The sing-song voice of Isabis sounded in her adopted sister’s ear from afar, the same teasing tone the pair always had in private no doubt whispered into a similarly hidden device.

“Good, are you with the Princeps Vulpa?”

“Oh, by blessed coincidence I am dearest-of-my-heart, how ever could you have known?” It took a force of will for Sekhmetara not to react to her sister’s response, the ghost of a grin tugging at her smile.

“How grand, please do suggest to the Princeps that the Legio Solaria are walking with the Tears of Dawn in Obscurus, perhaps they have sniffed out some hidden glory they’re unwilling to share?”

“Quite so sister, I can already hear him chomping at the bit.” Isabis laughed, no doubt publicly appearing to laugh at some socially appropriate point in wider conversation in her corner of the gathering, but privately to their combined plot. Two legios was a fair prize for five minutes of work.

A figure did stand out from the rest of the Legios, an obvious form that had entered the hall only to somewhat shuffle to the side of the room to try his best to not get involved with the festivities that were occurring. The man looked over all the other guests present and his white garb clashed with the walls themselves as his deep blue eyes looked around the gathering only to settle on the form of Sekhmetara, a seeming look of utter emotionless deadness staring at the other primarch. It may have not been immediately obvious, but the bald, pale stranger who seemed to wear nothing but a plain tunic was the form of the Lord of the Nineteenth, Usriel Andreadth was never seen without his armor even by the vast majority of his own sons. In his attempt to hide himself from the rest of the guests, it only made him stick out more and more as he was never found in such environments.

Sekhmetara’s secretive conversation with her sister was cut short as her eyes settled in turn on Usriel across the crowds of dignitaries. Her goblet of wine sitting, frozen in place, at her lips as she regarded the geneforged giant. While she had never seen her sibling out of his armour, it took her but a moment to determine who it [i]must[/i] be. Her supernatural senses and perfectly crafted mind measured his dimensions against the rest of the Primarchs and drew no correlation but that. Still, she allowed the moments to stretch on, studying with curiosity, learning the lines of his face, the detail of his form beneath his armour. A moment of perhaps one sided intimacy between siblings. For that extended few heartbeats of her masterful form, nothing in the room mattered but them.

She was moving before the delay could even be noticed, finishing the gulp of her wine before setting the goblet down on the tray of a passing servant, the Mithran primarch sweeping through the throng of delegates to the far more mundanely garbed, somewhat out of place, primarch of the Nineteenth.

“Lord Usriel, come to walk among the few alive who might stand to hope to threaten those great fortresses of yours?” She spoke only as she drew close, motioning to the princeps around them. She had noticed her brother’s lack of familiar terms with his fellow primachs, and shifted her tone to exclude them. Perhaps an issue to be raised another time. 

“I come in support of you, Sekhmetera, for volunteering yourself to take on the vision of my son, Nodis,” Usriel corrected, his face unmoving with the exception of his lips as he wrapped his arms behind his form and entered a stance of attention. His eyes traced her form momentarily, moving onto the princeps to absorb their forms one by one despite the attention that his sister was giving him in the moment. Returning his gaze to her once more he spoke again, “Truthfully, I am not as naturally fitting in this environment as you are.”

"If it helps, few are." Sekhmetara replied with something of a wry smile, her eyes dipping to examine Usriel once more, now in a more matter of fact manner than a familiarisation of his nature. While she had been intrigued by the sight of the Primarch out of armour, cheered by the opportunity to see her brother as something other than an armoured suit, it was indeed clear he may require some assistance with matters. "While we can never amount to being unimpressive. A more commanding fashion may help. Among people like this, they seek grandeur, akin to their own, to lead them." She tilted her head slightly as she watched Usriel, her expertise already calculating how best to enshrine him in grander attire. "Fortunately, I have staff on hand for this sort of thing."

Usriel’s face threatened emotion, almost showing a face of awkward discomfort as he looked down at his tabard before looking back up to Sekhmetara. It was clear the idea of having to be fashionable outside of his armor was one that was foreign to him, even in his many hundreds of years of life it was the motion of having to dress appropriately that seemed to knock him back. He uttered a statement, nearly in a stunned silence at his sibling’s suggestion of dressing him, “I do not believe that to be necessary, Sekhmetara.”

“Necessary, perhaps not,” The Mithran primach smiled in a manner approaching a grin, tilting her head again slightly as she studied Usriel up close, already the cogs of her mind styling the towering male more appropriately. “But we are among the few people it is actually worth impressing, and I would hate for you to fall behind some of the other gene-scions of the Emperor in such matters, the Titan Legions would surely compliment your sons well in your preferred styles of fighting.” Her smile eased slightly, becoming very much the picture of friendly decorum. “Please consider it an exchange of gifts, for trusting me so with one of your prized sons.”

Sekhmetara’s peer seemed to contemplate for a moment, clear that his mind analyzed the words that she had said and the idea of having those great machines of war aid in the defense of the Imperium. Usriel tilted his head upwards, before he reluctantly spoke, “I suppose you are right. I will accept this [i]gift[/i], perhaps even swaying a single titan legion to aid my sons would save many of them.”

In the hopes of avoiding a big diplomatic scene, the Pact delegation, three strong, slipped quietly into the proceedings. Wode, clad in the same rumpled service khakis he had worn during the day’s discussions, had in tow with him a startlingly ugly Astartes officer, and the diminutive form of Saul Imogen, the odd human in the Pact’s Space Marine command structure. A feast was welcome, certainly, but the Tenth was a legion uncertain of itself in the social battlefield of a diplomatic function, and the three of them did their best not to catch anyone’s eye as they chased empty seats. 

“Think they got ambull ‘ere?” The ugly Astartes officer spoke up, his voice a diesel rumble. His face was a mess of augmentics, and from the clomp-thump of his walk, at least one leg was too.

“Ambull’s too rich.” Saul mused, his walking stick tapping on the polished floor. “We’re not gonna survive multiple courses of Ambull. Least I won’t, but I’d love some Grox wellington.”

“Sure, Grieg, they’ve got everything. It’s my sister, she’ll have butchered every blasted thing on four legs in the sector.” Wode growled, “Now, can you hurry your crippled ass up and find a seat? Even Saul’s moving faster than you and he’s got half the bloody stride.”

Grieg laughed, a wheezing, grinding sound, reminiscent of a transmission leaping from a stricken truck in suicidal glee. They eventually sat, at ideal seats in the far corner of the room, but not that far from the delicacies on offer. Grieg availed himself immediately, sating Astartes-level gluttony on fine Mithran cuisine, heaped haphazardly onto a plate that barely held everything he’d piled onto it. Saul looked on in dumb wonder at this, while Wode stared directly ahead, trying to tune out the sound of his Praetor chewing with his mouth open.

After the arrivals had settled in and the dull roar of the chattering crowd subsumed even the sound of Praetor Grieg’s feasting, yet another of Sekhmetara’s siblings made their entrance. Where Usriel and Wode had done their best to appear invisible and get straight to the business at hand, the latest Primarch had taken a page from the Mithran’s book.

Daena entered resplendent in a backless gown as dark as the void, studded with precisely two hundred diamonds, every facet gleaming in the light. Upon her brow sat a diadem of silver, made of two finely wrought lightning bolts wed by an upturned crescent, her raised wings framing her face as she made her debut.

With the entrance of her gleaming sister, Sekhmetara’s eyes widened slightly in enjoyment, watching her sweep into the room with relish, momentarily pausing her conversation with Usriel to admire the sight, before speaking more softly to the male primarch. “You see? Lady Daena has taken my advice from the week well, I doubt there will be a single Princeps present who does not court her attention now.” As she finished speaking, one of her attendants arrived, bowing to both Sekhmetara and Usriel, before offering to take Usriel aside to offer him the services of the Mithran tailors, even as the remainder of Daena’s retinue followed their primach into the room.

Trailing in their gene-sire’s wake were the Doomsayer’s Legion Mistress and Equerry, the genetically modified warriors far more uncomfortable in the finery that their mother had foisted upon them than she herself was. Both were Terran-born and had avoided the strange mimicking found among those of the Legion whose Daena’s blood flowed most strongly in, and so had retained the hard faces common to those who had survived and thrived on humanity’s birthworld before the coming of the Emperor.

The former woman was at least permitted the dignity of dress uniform, Vairya Kurus dressed in a black tunic and trousers cut the same way as untold billions of soldiers had worn before. A brilliant silver strand ran down the center and across her breast, illuminating a strand of gold braiding interrupted only by the weight of medals and honors as well as the silver sword and scales icon of the Legion. Her counterpart had no such martial glory however, Yeketerina Ascania wore instead a loose black dress with silver adornments upon the collar with a silver brooch shaped as a pair of wings in profile.

Rounding out the retinue was a mortal man in the formal white and blue dress jacket of an Imperial Engineer, the Legion’s icon placed directly under that of the Saturyne Ordo. So vaunted was his rank that the blue trim and adornments were interspersed with lines of golden thread and insignia denoting him as none less than the Doomsayer’s Lord Engineer, Gustav Hohenheim. Unlike his unflappable Primarch, or the stern-faced Astartes, he made no secret of his excitement to be among those who commanded the might of the God-Machines, and seemed poised to reintroduce himself to those Princeps who had Walked with the Legion before.

As if reading his mind, Daena turned her head to whisper to her three followers. “I would be greeted by my sister before we enjoyed ourselves. We have much to discuss.”

Just as the words left Daena’s lips, her angle of view and height gave her the perfect vantage point to behold as Augor Astren entered the chamber with his retinue. Although no longer adorned in his full armaments and servo-harness as he had been during the formal proceedings of the Council itself, his formal attire was nonetheless intended to humbly impress. Traditional long and flowing crimson Martian robes, trimmed with ceremonial designs in gold. Beneath the robes he wore a black body-glove with silvery electric-blue embroidery, his chest decorated with a modest number of badges and signs of office and with an ebon tabard and sash running from his shoulder down to the length of the floor, colorfully depicting a vertical  storm-and-lightning filled diorama of the Vaomir Campaign. Mounted upon Augor’s back where he would normally have worn his servo-harness was instead a massive ceremonial Iron-Halo that framed both his head and shoulders, wreathed in gold and pulsing blue capacitor lines that illuminated the very space around his figure with a fulminous blue light. He had installed bionic eyes for the proceedings, likely for the purposes of endearing himself further with the Princeps - the right eye had built onto its exterior casing a partial face-mask that extending across the top and side of the twelfth Primarch’s face, terminating just beneath his thin and wry smiling lips. His left bionic eye had its own secondary ring of iron around its rim with strategically placed diodes fluttering with light, almost like its own orbital system.

To his right stood the Archmagos Mephitor, an almost expected presence at the gathering. In a blatant power-move, he was not even standing on the floor but was using his Abeyant to purposefully and evidently drift more than a meter off of it, extending his already exaggerated mechanical height to new extremes that brought him only somewhat short of even Augor’s height. He had otherwise retained his Omnissiah Axe as it served as the formal regalia for his office, but had added to several of his mechadendrites and sero-arms either ceremonial emblems or else censers emanating with effervescent and iridescent light. 

For as deliberately overdone as the entrance of the Primarch and the Archmagos were however, their spotlight was utterly stolen - for Daena at least - but the comparatively diminutive and unremarkable figure of one Baron Sigveyr, the commander of the Ordo Astranoma’s Knight Legion who would otherwise have been recognized from his appearance aboard the Twelfth Primarch’s Ordinatus Barge during the Triumph of Ullanor. He wore a simple and elegant body-glove and long-coat as preferred by the nobility of certain Hiveworlds and bore a long ceremonial relic-blade in an ornate scabbard mounted across his back rather than at his hip. Beyond his left single bionic eye of subdued and practical design, the only abnormal quality to him was the fact that attending him was a single servo-skull with a neural uplink running directly from it and adjoining the base of the Baron’s skull. He filled the center of Daena’s attention.

Even as the Primarch and the Archmagos moved forward beside him, soaking up most if not all of the attention that might otherwise have caused people to take note, the Baron was walking with one arm propped out at the elbow, his head turned down and to the side as he murmured softly to the empty air. His servo-skull hovered scant centimeters away and below his own head, as if listening intently to him.

And as Daena took this in, she could truly [i]see[/i] with the gifts she had been graced with by the Emperor what was there. The skull - it contained still some mind, unburdened of a body. Alive. Active. The mind of a [i]psyker[/i] - a potent one. From the way the baron was posed and walked, it made clear - he was locked arm-and-arm with something, somebody, only he could see and hear.

As Daena realized this, she saw the mind turn its awareness to her. The Baron’s murmuring halted abruptly and he turned his one cool, slate-gray eye to her. His gaze had a dull, almost glazed-over quality to it, but his expression turned from casual to stern. The contours of his visage hardened, making clear that whatever Daena thought she saw, he was evidently neither afraid nor apologetic.

Though she had originally intended to seek out Sekhmetara, all thoughts of that had been forgotten as her mind’s eye realized the true identity of the Baron’s companion. Deciding not to draw attention to the matter, for she doubted he was the sort to appreciate it, she simply remained where she was, outwardly looking for her sister and host. Internally however, the first steps in establishing correspondence began.

[i]Good evening, my lady. I take it it has been some time since you have been properly greeted.[/i]

For a moment there was only silence, although the presence seemed to shift in response to her words - and the Baron’s whirring servo skull seemed to rear back and orient its dead, hollow gaze towards the Primarch as the Baron returned to full and proper posture. Eventually, something approximating a response was returned - white noise, a hiss of tinnitus that seethed in Daena’s mind for several long moments until a faint, light and fluttering voice drifted through the static haze.

[i]’Pardon me my lack of decorum, oh serene Primarch. Indeed it is…’[/i]

The voice broke apart in a wash of more static haze before resuming.

[i]’...the case that for some time my one true love and master has been all the company deigned to take notice of me. I pray you will…’[/i] Another burst of wretched static interceded. It was the first time Daena had ever heard a telepathic message with this sort of distortion to it - even astropathic messages from long distances tended to be clearer, albeit more cryptic.

[i]’...forgive me if I do not attend to your personage, for I am joined ‘twixt the one to whom I am eternally avowed - and he had many duties he must see to. Though I am honored…’[/i]
 Another sharp wheeze of static that seemed to drown out the other voice’s words, although it came back seemingly unbroken, almost as if the speaker themselves was aware of them.

[i]’...to discourse with you, and the graciousness of your notice shall stay with me for all days.’[/i]

The Baron nodded to Daena in a perfunctory fashion, once, and began moving. He split off from the Twelfth Primarch with scarcely a word and began making his way towards a pairing of Princeps of the Legio Suturvora.

Daena returned the nod, making no move as the couple departed. [i]This may be impertinent, but you make a fine couple, Baroness.[/i] And with that she too took her leave.

After minutes of listening to Grieg’s augmentic jaw process fine delicacies into paste, Wode breathed out through his nostrils, and stood up. 

“Saul, keep fatass in line.” Wode said, straightening out his uniform with a single tug, a move that had become famous amongst the Lancers. “I’m going to properly introduce myself to my siblings. I haven’t had a chance to actually talk to any of them since I set foot at this accursed Council.”

“Sure thing, Arnie.” Saul said, quietly agog at Grieg’s feasting. “I’ll… make sure he doesn’t choke.”

With that, Wode strode towards Sekhmentara, cutting a path through the center of the floor like an Army battleship cutting through the Warp. The Lancer Primus of the 10th legion almost plowed through a remembrancer, the man only narrowly avoiding Wode’s stride by half-diving, half stumbling to the side, as he was fast getting inebriated on good Mithran vintage. This incident would later be immortalized in poetry, the limerick becoming a favorite amongst the more light-hearted stories that the Grim Crusade spawned.

“I believe I’ve found my sister,” Daena says ruefully as their brother simply forces his way through the crowd, the Primarch shaking her head with a soft smile. “It would not do to overwhelm the host. Come, ladies. Refreshment before the hunt,” she ordered in a quiet voice, turning with impeccable grace upon a heeled shoe with her retinue trailing behind the train of her gown.

“Sister!” Wode bellowed at Sekh, smiling broadly. “It’s a damn good night to be shot of those damned meetings, eh?”

“Brother!” Sekhmetara responded with only slightly less volume, the elegance of her poise and tone not quite matching the boisterous nature of her fellow primarch, but notably flooding the air with the same sense of familiarity, a look of joy on her features as he strode towards her. As she drew close, she leaned in, placing a kiss to the cheek of gene-enhanced male before leaning back, selecting for herself a crystal glass of sparkling Terran wine from a passing servant, handing one to Wode while sipping her own. “Indeed, were we to be solving matters in my way, we’d be having these every night.” She grinned, waving her hands around the room. Her eyes caught the sight of her brother’s own legionnaires and their complete lack of decorum, but far from being aghast, the Mithran primarch chuckles, her sing-song good humour dancing in the air around her. “I see your men are enjoying themselves, good, this whole affair has been rather too serious and without joy.”

Wode did his best to swallow his embarrassment, but his face did flush. Grieg, as if timed, chortled at some joke Saul had told, the metallic, ringing laugh echoing through the hall and causing many people to turn and look.

“Grieg, bless his heart, could enjoy sleeping in a foxhole half full of water if there was a meal after.” Wode mused, shaking his head. “I trust him with my life, but he’s coarse, like all the Tenth.”

As the primarchs spoke, another kind of brother approached Sekhmetara. Dressed in the robes of a Mithran tribal noble, rather than the dress uniform of the Imperium’s military, Kvasi cut a figure more intune with his adopted sister than the other delegates of the chamber, his hair as ever, styled into braids, although the beard he had grown for the campaign on Praxia had been trimmed into a smart moustache. Despite his native outfit, Kvasi stood into a brisk military salute to the pair as he drew close, before smiling with combined humour and awe at being in the close presence of two of the great beings, a powerful moment even for one who had grown up with a primarch for a sister.

“My Lord Wode, Sister; Twin-Of-My-Soul, your presence honours us all here, as ever.” As the leader of the Mithran Knight lances, he had a great deal of respect for the force of power Wode’s legion had been reported to bear, rumours that they might be involved in the campaign with the Tears of Dawn going forwards provoking his desire to take account of them in person. 

Wode returned the man’s salute, then moving to shake the man’s hand, grinning. “You must be my sister’s brother. Well. Her… other brother. Heard you were the one to talk to about Knights, sir, I take it you pilot those noble machines?”


A small emerald light blinked from one of the several stones hanging off of the bracelet wrapped around her wrist, barely noticeable to any but her. She counted the light as it blinked two more times, the signal that it was her time to enter, and uncrossed her legs as she rose from the fine cushions she had been waiting on. Her steps clacking softly against the finely worked stones of the floor as she walked to the entrance of Sekhmetara’s stateroom, several heads of dignitaries and high-ranking Auxilia officers alike turning as she passed them by without even a glance.

The doors to the stateroom swung open silently as the genehanced Mithran guards, clad in their masterfully crafted armor wrought in gold and bronze accents acknowledged her approach and bowed their helmeted heads in dutiful respect as she passed. 

Lady Catalina de Cadaval, Seneschal of House Cadaval of the Questor Imperialis entered the banquet. Her hair, curled and shimmering, lay across her back and just barely rested on the dress that was pressed over the breadth of her shoulders. The silk was dyed in the dark blue of the house Cadaval, a generous cut at the front framing a deep yellow gemstone, the second and final color of her House, hung from golden links between her appreciable form. Her dress, slowly at first, shifted colors like that of a calm wave, from the rich blue of the deepest oceans to the far softer tones of the emerald waters of the most splendid aisles, a clear show of respect to House Cadaval’s sworn ally of the Seventeenth Legion Astartes.

As Catalina continued forward, a silent servoskull floated in behind her. Two thin leashes of real leather and studded emeralds running from a mechanism within to a pair of foxes, their vibrant orange coats no doubt the product of generations of breeding by House Cadaval to create perfect images of their House animal. A message to all present of the cunning hunters that House Cadaval styled themselves as.

Making her way as if her destination was already known, Catalina crossed the banquet directly to the presence of two demigods and one achingly human form. 

“[i]We[/i] pilot those noble machines.” Catalina cut in to answer the Primarch of the Tenth. As quickly as she had spoken she offered a curtsy to Sekhmetara, the reams of her dress lifting just enough to expose her ankles and the beautifully crafted anklets with their hanging blue and gold emeralds.

“Lady Sekhmetara, an honor to once more be in your service.” she stated before inclining her head toward the other demigod, “Lord Wode, Lady Catalina de Cadaval, Seneschal of House Cadaval. At your service.” she finished and rose, positioning herself to stand slightly closer to Kvasi as she shifted in her dress.

Wode withdrew his hand, but only in the sense that Lady Catalina showing up allowed any greeting made before to be nullified. He raised his eyebrows, looking between the two Knight Princeps with his lips pursed in approval. “Hell yes, Lady Cadaval, it’s a pleasure to meet you both then.”

“I would never be so lofty as to call it service, my lady, but I will be proud to share the battlefield with you once more.” Sekhmetara’s smile broadened at the arrival of Lady Catalina, which soon broke into words of admiration. “And such a wonderful gown, you must be glad to have fought with us of late. My sister is many things, but appreciating fashion is not her greatest strength.” She laughed with no hint of animosity, her tone holding her great affection for Nelchitl even as she made a slight joke at her expense.

With a bow of her head, Catalina felt the Primarch’s words feeding her pride with every word. As calmly as she could she thanked Sekhmetara with a simple smile though her eyes gave away her awe at the being before her, “I find that though we complement one another in many ways, there are some pursuits we do not share. So indeed My Lady, I am glad that her sisters share such appreciations with me.” she joked as she followed along with the demigod, her heart racing as she spoke with such stunning familiarity to Sekhmetara.

While Sekhmetara greeted Catalina, Kvasi knelt down for the moment to greet the equally aristocratic animals who followed in their mistress' wake, the orange furred foxes responding to his slight fussing with restrained enthusiasm, such was the extent of their breeding. He stood as his sister finished speaking, smiling and taking Catalina’s hand in his own for a moment, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “My Lady, for once even my sister’s words do not quite do matters justice.” He smiled charmingly as he examined her dress, before turning to regard the twin primarchs once more. Drawn closer to him, Kvasi, in typical Mithran confidence, placed his arm around the Lady’s waist as the conversation continued in a hold that was proper in its elegance, but no doubt familiar.


With a practiced movement that spoke of her noble birth, Catalina allowed the rising Kvasi to take her hand, offering a restrained smile in return as he complimented her. “You’re too kind Kvasi.” she beamed as he brought his arm around her waist in a single movement. Tilting her head to the side she grabbed a passing glass and took a small sip from its bubbling contents before she spoke softly to Kvasi, “You yourself are looking fine tonight as well Lord.” she remarked as she took in the rich burgundy of his traditional Mithran garb, the fit cutting a fine form around the de facto Head of the Mithran Lances.

Wode smiled, face crinkling in an avuncular manner. He flagged down a passing waiter and removed a snifter of something bubbly. He downed it, then, nodded in approval, scooping the rest of the snifters off the tray in turn and downing them. The waiter was eventually sent off to re-up, his tray now emptied.

“So, I suppose you’ve heard of the 10th by now.” Wode said, “I imagine you all might have questions, especially since it seems my boys might be pitching in alongside the forces arrayed here. I’m getting just buzzed enough to answer them, if you’re curious.”

“My Daughters lack terribly in the field I believe your ‘boys’ to excel.” Sekmetara took the bait, even as her eyes drifted over Catalina and Kvasi, a slight smirk pulling on her lips, before her gaze settled on her gene-brother once more. “Although I suppose I can be blamed for that as much as anyone else. To me, war is the rush of flight, swift blows and screeching jets. I could not ask my daughters to fight in a way I would refuse myself. That does not mean, however, that I do not appreciate the strengths of such warfare, and that is why we shall be so deadly together, dearest brother, I doubt any foe can stand before our masteries combined.”

“I think you’re right, sister.” Wode nodded. “We don’t do a glamorous job, but it’s necessary. If an Astartes can be the best infantryman in the galaxy, he can be the best pilot, the best tanker, the best artillery crewman, the best anything. As long as he’s only asked to do one of those things at a time. The Emperor made us strong, but we only got so many arms, legs, and brains after all.”

Turning to the Seneschals, he said, “Of course, you’ve never seen an Astartes princeps, so there’s things even they can’t do. Cooperation between specialties, between legions, between experts in one thing working in perfect tandem with experts in another thing, that’s how we’ll win this galaxy. I believe that sincerely.”

“That, and neither we, nor our astartes gene-children can fit inside a Questoris throne.” Sekhmetara chuckled, smirking a little to Wode. “Believe me, back on Mithra they really did try, I had to resort to extreme measures to get them to stop.” Her good humour was mirrored by her brother, his arm still around Catalina, smiling to her warm words, before laughing along with Sekhmetara’s 

“I believe they stopped, sister, because you pulled the arm off a Knight. It was a bit moot trying to force you into one after that.” He sipped his own acquired drink as Sekhmetara rolled her eyes, and laughed again, to his reply.

“Yes, I suppose it probably was that. But you are correct, brother, no wing of humanity, not even an astartes legion, can stand on its own, nor would such a thing be optimal. This is why occasions such as this are important, to bring us all together, not just in cause, but in spirit.” She smiled happily to her fellow primarch, again distracted momentarily with mirth as she watched Kvasi mumble something to Catalina. A private exchange that left a smile on her features. Distracting herself from her adopted sibling’s antics, Sekhmetara waved down one of the attendants. “Speaking of bringing us together….Please do locate our sister Daena and have her join us, I need to compliment her on an outfit well executed.” The servant quickly bowing their head before rushing to attend to the duty, only mid-act did it quite register they had been given the fearsome task of summoning a primarch.

A hand leaving her drink to cover her mouth as she let out a soft laugh, Catalina brought it down to Kvasi’s flank as he finished speaking, “The Lady Sekhmetara is irreplaceable, you and I however.” she gave his side a small squeeze, “I’ll take the honor and am humbled by it.” she admitted as she took another small sip from her glass, her restrained smile hiding the sheer overwhelming nature of what was taking place before her. Not only was Lady Sekhmetara showing a surprising amount of humility and understanding toward her and other’s worth in their great undertaking, but Kvasi had been far more forward than she had expected. Her meticulously planned entrance had been shattered with a compliment from a demigod so surprising as to be practically intoxicating, and Kvasi had followed up in perfect concert with his adopted sister. The Seneschal of House Cadaval realized with a laugh that it was her who was in fact being hunted here. 

“Do you dance, brother?” Sekhmetara’s question broke almost out of nowhere as she sipped from her wine flute, her eyes resting on the wide open space of the cleared dining room where for now none had dared to actually begin much in the way of merriment. Her tone was pleasant, but in no way a true question, as she extended one hand to her fellow primarch. “If not, I’m sure you will be a swift learner. Much as I prefer the livelier celebrations of my homeworld, a Terran waltz is likely more at home here.” Sekhmetara’s gown shimmered as she moved, the red and gold cascade of silks down her moving with the perfect sculpture of her form, the light of the room catching on the gold tones across her skin. As her hand was taken, she looked over her shoulder to Kvasi and Catalina with a smile. “You both know the steps I presume? Do join us.” The Mithran primarch offering the honour of joining the pair of primarchs in the first dance at such a grand occasion as if she was merely advising on a new activity to while away the evening.

“I have never danced before, Sister, but I can start tonight.” Wode said, smiling, taking her hand in what he thought was a dignified way. “At least not a ballroom dance. If you lead, I’ll follow.”

“It is a waltz brother, you will lead, but I can guide you.” Sekhmetara spoke with a grin, even as the guests naturally responded to the two primachs drawing to the centre of the room, spreading out to accommodate them..

Next to Sekh, Wode looked plain, his uniform a ruddy khaki and olive green, but his boots were shiny, and his decorations polished. In a lot of ways he was the opposite of the stateswoman that was the Primarch of the Tears of Dawn, but in many ways, he was her equal as well, both siblings possessed of an unusual, room-dominating charisma and presence that came from different places but had much the same effect. Picts of the two accepting their dance became treasured pictures of this era of Imperial history, but that was a story for another time.


With a quizzical smile Catalina curtsied to the Primarch of the Twentieth, “It would be an honor to share the floor my Lady.” she responded. With a quick movement she placed the glass in her hand back onto a passing servers tray and shifted her hand away from Kvasi’s side, “Lead the way.” she smiled as she offered her arm to the Mithran, a soft blush filling the Seneschal’s cheeks.

Across the hall, the poor servant dispatched by Sekhmetara finally mustered the courage to perform their duty, marshaling the composure to guide Daena to her sister. The Primarch of the XIVth had already acquired a glass of wine, her subordinates having turned to the feast. Strangely, they seemed almost relieved to see their mistress depart to attend to the whims of their host.

“Sekmetara, my sun and succor,” Daena said as she greeted her gene-sister, looking over her companions with an appraising eye. Strangely, for the Angel at least, instead of her typical immaculately composed face, she wore an easy smile that for once seemed to be genuine. “And Wode, I have heard much of you. Some of it even good,” she joked, before surveying the scene while taking a sip of her wine.

“Well if it was good, whoever told you must’ve been a good liar.” Wode said, smiling behind a glass of wine, which he proceeded to down in one go. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you up close, Daena. I must say actually meeting my siblings instead of listening to them bitch has been very reviving.”

From another, the reminder of the Council meetings may have spoiled the Primarch’s mood, but Wode’s sheer lack of concern managed to buoy her spirits. “I do not believe Nelchitl knows how to lie, Wode,” she said, covering her smile with her own glass. “Though, it is very nice for you to admit I’m far more charming in person,” she added, sliding into self-deprecation.

“She doesn’t know how to pull a punch either, bless her heart.” Wode said, looking at the palm of his hand. His physiology had all but done away with the grievous injuries of before, but he remembered how she’d damn near killed him by way of greeting. He smiled. “Don’t get it twisted up now, I never said you were charming. Just that it’s nice to meet you.”

He punctuated his own joke with a sharp laugh, no doubt fueled by the gallons of wine he’d consumed during this idle chatter. He sobered up though, squinting as if re-thinking what he’d said. “Kidding, of course, I’m kidding.”

“I think brother, that of all of us, you are the most human,” Daena said warmly, appraising her brother with a peaceful look on her face, as if she had witnessed a miracle. And then the moment passed, and whatever fleeting sense of satisfaction she had felt faded.

“So, who am I to dance with?” she asked, turning her head to Sekhmetara. Her sister, for all her talents, was not particularly subtle.

Daena’s words brought an even greater smile to Sekhmetara’s full lips, immediately interrupting their progress to the centre of the room to press a kiss to both of Daena’s cheeks, without slipping free from Wode’s hold. “Dearest sister, you are reborn, truly we are each the diadems in the Imperium’s crown this evening.” She laughed, full of good humour and joy at the occasion. “Do watch that door, Sister, I have a surprise for you that shouldn’t be long in the making. We will wait for you to begin.” Sekhmetara motioned with her one free hand to the archway leading out to her more private chambers, where Usriel had been led away.

Kvasi took Catalina’s arm without delay and led her in the wake of the two primarchs. Even his steps and decorum, otherwise so intune with the typical nobility of the occasion, had something of a Mithran flair, the Huntsmaster appearing somewhat exotic among the wider arrayed crowd of Princeps who for the most part stuck closely to Terran and Martian culture. Once they reached the gradually clearing area at the centre of the room, their presence earned them almost as much attention as the two primarchs. Among the wider galaxy a lord and lady at the head of a knight lance would be an honoured guest, but there their knights were children among giants. To be given pride of place beside Sekhmetara and Wode in the presence of the greatest of the Emperor’s fighting forces spoke of how highly they were considered. 

In time, the Primarch Usriel had returned to the event, this time not hiding his presence from the rest of the attendees like he had when he first arrived, seemingly invigorated by the prospects of garnering support from other Titan Legions. That said, his face still held a cold indifference as befit his normal demeanor as he walked back into the event. The outfit Sekhmetara's tailors had prepared for Usriel writ the dress uniform of an imperial office large, suitable for his greatly enhanced form. True in keeping to Sekhmetara's word, the outfit has been designed with pomp and circumstance in mind, but befitting of Usriel's much less extravagant nature. Cream of cloth detailed with lines of dark green, the high collar of the jacket was studded with two pins, one the Aquila of the Imperium, the other the sigil of his legion. Across his shoulders draped a dress-cape of the lighter green of the Sentinels' armour, completing the outfit in full.

Even though he had clearly been moved by Sekhmetara’s words, that did not stop him from promptly moving to the side of the party to merely look at those who attended with a cold glare. Such were the ways of the Steel Sentinels’ Primarch.

As his gaze roamed about the hall, it could not but pass over the party which just then came tromping through the doorway. A trio of Astartes filed in as if on a deployment march, their regular martial step clicking jarringly through the easeful rustling of the gathering. Although the full battle-plate they donned struck in itself a strident contrast to the parade of the other attendees’ ornate clothing, it was by far the least extravagant detail about them.

At their head came the by then recognisable figure of Issnos Traal, Equerry to the Ninth Primarch, who for once had left the looming shadow of his progenitor, as if to prove that he had not yet fully merged with it. The pair that followed him, however, was a completely novel sight to anyone who had never accompanied the elusive Legion on the battlefield. Rattling and clattering on limbs that were as much bionic as flesh, the two Expergefactors, adepts of the cryptic Abyssal Forge-Cult, scanned the celebration with the dully glinting lenses that coruscated around where their eyes ought to have been. Despite their station, most of their armour was painted in the Ninth’s dark blue, with only trims, stripes and iconography - including a curious symbol of three converging lightning bolts over a shield - shining in the distinctive red of the Mechanicum. One of them was conspicuously missing the best part of his right arm, which had been replaced by an outlandish bifurcated mechanical limb ending in two three-pronged grips, as well as the lower half of his helmet visor, whose absence exposed the vox-grille serving as his mouth. The other was not as outrageously mutilated, but no less bizarre - a swarm of lashing mechadendrites protruded from under the sea-blue and Martian-red robes draped over his shoulders, like a stirring nest of vipers threatening to emerge at any moment.

Pausing for a moment to sweep their stares around, the three Lurkers exchanged some bursts of gesticulation in their occult signage, before aligning their optics on a section of the tables. They began to trudge their way towards it, but all of a sudden deviated mid-stride towards Usriel, as if only then having recognised him. Their fists, or, in one case, manipulators struck their left pauldrons in salute as they approached, though with a subdued enough force.

[i]Lord of the Nineteenth,[/i] Traal signed in greeting, [i]A joyous occasion. My brethren wished to speak their gratitude to you and your kin.[/i]

“Expergefactor Iuvris,” the one-armed Techmarine introduced himself, metallic claws still held in salutation, through the scraping staccato of his synthesizer.

“Expergefactor Thenal,” the unexpectedly deep voice of his companion rejoindered, his visible mechadendrites coiling in reverence for a moment, “The husk your sons returned to us has been of great benefit for crucial data recovery, Scion of the Throne. We humbly extend the thanks of our fraternity to your anointed eminence.” 

“Good day, sons of Sarghaul,” Usriel stated, bowing his head to each of his nephews, his stern look morphing into a one of nere serene calm with dealing with the astartes. The Primarch looked between the Expergefactors before speaking once more, a smooth voice coming from him, almost as if it was a parental coo, “I need no thanks, nephews. To know that my sons and your brothers may grow closer is all I need.”

[i]We stand ever as one rank,[/i] the Equerry gestured, before the three bowed their helmets in unison and withdrew into the thick of the festivities. Traal’s unmarked carapace was surprisingly quick to disappear among the bright crowd, Iuvris ambled towards where the colours of the Legio Vulturum could be seen, while Thenal resumed his erstwhile path to the tables. Once there, he deftly caught hold of a capacious wine glass, dropped a haphazard assortment of berries, morsels of meat and pieces of fruit into it, then dipped a mechadendrite into the mix, which unfolded into a whirring circle of miniature blades. A flexible metallic tube snaked out from beneath the Expergefactor’s visor to dip into the blended slurry, and the cyborg clanked off to rejoin his brother, sipping at his meal as he went.

Daena had taken her orders to heart, and true to Sekhmetara’s words it did not take long for her designated dance partner to appear. Yet, so long did she stare in abject amazement at Usriel’s transformation that she was not the first to approach him, the woman taking the opportunity to finish her wine as she waited for Sarghaul’s Marines to tromp off.

And then her opportunity was there, the Angel immediately descending upon her brother before another could delay them any further. “Usriel, I see that our sister has sunk her hooks into you as well. Let us dance.” It was not a request.

Had Usriel even sought to deny Daena her wish, he stayed silent for the briefest of moments with his stern face coming back to him as he merely held out his hand for his sister. His gaze meeting hers as he spoke, “As you wish, Daena. Let us impress these Princeps.”

“Oh, Usriel. We both know it is not my wishes being entertained this evening,” she said slyly as she took his hand in hers and boldly ushered him to join their siblings and the true stars of the evening, the mortal man and woman for whom demigods prepared a celebration.

The primarchs, of course, stole the greater deal of attention, but the presence of one pair of mortals among them did not go unnoticed.

Even as the hushed mutterings began, Kvasi took several steps away from Catalina, bowing theatrically to her in a show of chivalric decorum, before closing the distance and taking her into a waltz hold, albeit with one hand a little scandalously low on her back. Risque as the Mithran might be, his steps were immaculate, and he began to lead Catalina with almost as much grace as his primach-sister guided Wode through his own steps. 

Not allowing the weight of the moment to cloud her mind, the silk of Catalina’s dress rose as she curtsied to the Huntsmen before her. Her showing complete she rose to her full height as Kvasi came up from his own bow and crossed to her. With practiced ease she fell into place in his arms, one hand running the length of Kvasi’s arm before coming to slide into his own hand while the other came to rest atop his opposite arm as it fell into place a little lower than was expected. With a sly smile and a devious glint in her eyes, she allowed the Mithran to indulge himself. She quietly stepped with him as he began to lead her in their waltz. Her dress flowing around her like the lapping of the tide with every turn, the necklace and gemstone shifting slightly over her bare chest as her partner moved, her heels making only the slightest of noise as she stepped expertly along with Kvasi.

Wode, for his part, followed along, his movements mechanical, precise, but lacking in the grace and ease only experience with such things can provide. His face was alight with pleasure though, his stiffness easily forgiven by how much he was enjoying himself. His favorite was when he was directed to hold Sekh at arm’s length and spin her around, a move he never seemed to tire of. 

His legionaries, Grieg and Saul, edged through the crowd to see this, not wanting to miss the chance to see their leader and gene-father, in Grieg’s case, actually enjoying himself. Eventually, not to be outshone, Grieg stepped out onto the floor, leading the much shorter, much smaller Saul Imogen in tow, where they both butchered the elegant waltz with childish enthusiasm, Grieg being far too clumsy and Saul being far too small to be an effective partner. The crowd seemed to like when the Astartes picked up the smaller man and spun him though, so their performance was at least spirited.

Daena and Usriel followed soon after, the Angel immediately realizing that her brother had never danced a Terran waltz and deciding to do something about it. Though what she did was far different from her sister’s deft guidance, the Primarch taking the lead instead of attempting to teach her brother as they went. “Perhaps you can show me one of your own dances later, but I believe we are meant to follow the script to begin with,” she said with a soft smile as she placed her hand upon the small of his back and guided his to her bare shoulder.

The Nineteenth Primarch’s features betrayed him for a moment, confusion taking hold as he had to for once let someone else be in control of the situation. Usriel tensed as his hand was led to his sister’s shoulder and he took in what could be called a nervous breath as he maintained sight with his Daena. In a moment he spoke, his voice still a stern whisper, “The dances of Vion 5 are the only ones I am familiar with and I have only done such once.”

“Once is more than enough for you to have achieved perfection, Usriel,” Daena said, her compliment lacking any of the subtle artifice of her sister. “I shall make you a master of this yet,” she added, heeled feet soon whisking across the floor with a grace that seemed to rival and at times even surpass Sekhmetara, the Angel appearing to literally glide across the floor. The fact, of course, was that she [i]was[/i], the Primarch seeing no reason not to use the advantage of her wings.

Usriel ignored her compliment, instead focusing on the dance itself with his feet - while still awkward and stiff by the standards of demi-gods - glided across the floor with Daena leading him around. It was likely that his partner could see the error in his steps, errors that he made up for by following her and keeping a steady pace. He was meticulous with each movement, that much was clear and even as he was getting the hang of such dance, an odd comment came from the Primarch who hid in fortresses, “This dance is too slow, Daena,”

“I agree,” she said, before immediately alighting three feet off the floor, hovering in mid-air to twirl the giant man by his hand then pulling him close once more. “The dances of court are nothing like those of my homeworld, or of my own daughters’ tastes. But just a moment more, yes?” she asked, turning her head to look at Kvasi and Catalina, the mortals at the heart of the constellation of Primarchs. “Sekhmetara will up the tempo soon enough.”

Usriel’s gaze did not falter from Daena as she looked to the mortals, his face letting out a sigh and relaxing from the stern look it had been giving a majority of the session. He allowed himself a moment free from his paranoia and planning, his body becoming one with the waltz of his sister as his blue eyes focused along the white of her hair. “Moving away from my awkwardness of the court, I will say that I have not danced since my upbringing. It brings back… pleasant memories,” he said in a bit of a melancholy tone.

Daena took an honest delight as her brother permitted himself to flow into the dance, the Primarchs making a show of their superhuman physique as she led him through the steps. “I suppose even the mighty lord of the Steel Sentinels was young once,” she murmured in a kind tone, her voice so quiet that even the ears of their siblings would struggle to hear the words. “Would you tell me of those pleasant days?”

Usriel was silent for a moment before he spoke once more, a voice more quiet than even Daena’s, “It was a time before Imperium, the time I spent with my mother and father, sisters and brothers, is a time that I have not spoken of in hundreds of years. I am sure it holds little relevance now, Daena.”

“Nonsense,” she insisted, slowing down their waltz and bringing the acrobatics to a close. “A part of me is jealous, you know. Such a life is one I never had. A mother, father, siblings… It was not until the Emperor found me that I had anything like that. So, tell me. Of the prize I can never win.”

Another beat of silence, Usriel swayed, stepping with movement as he allowed his memories to come back to him as he spoke, “They were days like any other who would live upon a forge world. I would meet my quota of production and head home and every day I’d see them come home tired and exhausted from work while I still had all the energy in the world.” He brought Daena closer as he continued his story, “My father and mother would always be there with us, they sat and sang while my siblings danced and I would stay seated for a small hab space is no place for our kind. Nonetheless, we always would have the best of fun with each other and we loved each other more than life itself.”

“I was cloistered away for as long as I can remember, I am glad that there are those of us who had mundane childhoods,” she said warmly, her irisless eyes staring up into his with a gentle smile. “But those happy days did not last.”

“No such days last, in the end those days we want are taken from us,” Usriel said sadly with a light nod of his head.

 “Many of our siblings brought their found families with them. I take it yours were already lost,” Daena said softly, the waltz almost entirely forgotten. “I am sorry, Usriel.”

“They-“ Usriel stopped in his sentence as he felt the emotions of his memory come back to him, emotions he had not felt in a time almost before Imperium. The Nineteenth Primarch felt his breath hastened as his hand tightened around Daena’s own, yet no tears came. Whether those tears were being choked back or if Usriel’s body had forgotten how to use them was something unknown to any. A shaky whisper came out, one rife with pain, “I tried to save them.”

“Not even we can save everyone,” she whispered back, her wings descending upon them as she continued the dance by mere rote.

“I could have, but I was afraid. I did not know violence of such kind then,” Usriel shakily stated, before finally a small tear ran down the side of his face. He continued, “I failed them, just as I had failed my sons at Atis.”

“You are Usriel Andredth, Primarch of the Nineteenth, begotten son of the Emperor. But you are not God. There will always be those we cannot save,” she said in a tired voice, the weight of the bodies she bore suddenly visible upon her face as the mask of perfection slipped. “Teach others the dances your family once danced. Sing praises to your fallen sons. Remember and grieve them, but do not let that consume you. Life is for the living, Usriel. They would want you to live, for they know that you did not fail them.”

“I am but a creation of our Emperor, my creator would only look upon me and see a weapon to be used for the Imperium. I am nothing more to the him, yet when I try to be something more, I am shown why I am but a mere pawn,” Usriel stated grimly, his eyes looking past Daena’s own now as he took a sharp inhale of breath and returned his face to the one that Daena had seen when they first started the dance. It was one of disconnection, “They wanted me to live but so did I. My sons, my siblings, my parents… I should have saved them. Yet now, they are gone with the only things to remind me of them are memories that I cannot even bear to remember.”

“Who told you such things, Usriel? You are no mere weapon. You and your sons were made for far more than war,” Daena said, her tone almost chiding as she consoled him. “I have seen our father’s weapons, and you are nobler by far. It is hard to remember, but it is the only way to make them live once more. The memories of your family, those keep them alive. Do not consign them to oblivion.”

“If I am nobler than a mere weapon then why is it that the Emperor offered me no consul, no words to dictate otherwise. He gave me the Legion, but when I met him, it was nothing more than a superior talking to a common soldier,” Usriel said, now casting his gaze away from Daena, his voice not showing any signs of annoyance or animosity but only sadness. “If he truly is my father, then he would not leave me with the fate of bearing the losses I have endured.”

“Our father is… sparing with his affections, it is true. I do not think it treasonous to say that he is perhaps not the [i]best[/i] father in the galaxy,” she said, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “But we are meant for so much more, he wished for us to do so much more, than fight endless war. So, Usriel. When this dance ends, shall we perform one of yours?”

“Perhaps, Daena. Perhaps,” Usriel answered, the beginnings of a smile crept to his face before his eyes went past Daena and turned his face to one of confusion. Silently the primarch spoke to himself, “Why has Belloris come?”

Daena casually spun the pair around, turning to see what had grabbed her brother’s attention and the sight was that of a woman in the armor of the Imperial Army that had been recolored to match that of the Steel Sentinels, blond hair cut short, with brown eyes that had seemed to have a purple inflection within them. Her face was one of silent fury as she glared at the white-haired primarch, a face that not many made to one of the daughters of the Emperor. Her hands were balled into fists, firmly tucked at her sides as she continued staring at Daena.

Another spin and her back was to the woman once more, the Primarch smiling coyly to her brother. “It seems that I am not the only one who desires your company this evening, Usriel. I think I would prefer to watch one of your home’s dances, rather than participate. Perhaps this Belloris of yours should have the next?”

Usriel blinked a few times as he looked back to Daena, confusion still clear on his face, “I am confused. Are you saying that Belloris wants my attention?”

“I am saying Belloris would like to dance with you,” Daena replied, shaking her head at him. “Are you sure Augor is the blind one?”

“Belloris does not need to dance with me nor do I care to dance with her. She is the Orator of the House and so has no business being here and neglecting her duties,” Usriel said, either ignoring or not hearing her question to Usriel’s shortsightedness. 

“Oh Usriel,” Daena said with a soft smile, even as her heart ached for Belloris’ not just unrequited, but entirely unrealized love. “One day you’ll understand,” she promised, words that would take on a far different meaning in the darker days to come that were quite lacking in dances and joy.