A Cold God, Chapter 38

I did not know much about Horus Lupercal, and so I did not know what to expect. What I did know was enough to frame him in my mind before the meeting. He was one of the Emperor’s most accomplished sons, the Warmaster, the favored commander whose victories had carried the Great Crusade from one side of the galaxy to the other. His name carried weight in every record I had drawn from the memories of my Astartes. Armies feared him. The Legions followed him without hesitation. He was trusted more than any other Primarch.

That was impressive. More important, however, was the simple fact that he would be the first of my siblings I would meet face to face. I had no measure of what that would mean. I had never stood in the presence of another Primarch, never spoken to one, never compared myself to them outside of speculation. My only direct contact had been with the Emperor. Horus would be the first true test of what it meant to be a brother among them.

Why he had come here was less clear. My world lay far from the main fronts of the Great Crusade. The fleets of the Imperium were pushing deeper into the galactic core, striking against entrenched civilizations, fortified systems, and empires old enough to have forgotten their beginnings. By all accounts, there was little of immediate value here. The system was stable, the colonies were new, the People had only just begun to rise from the shadow of the Long Night. There were no great fortresses here. No fleets worth claiming. No enemies to break.

If Horus expected a triumphal procession, he would not find it. There were no parades, no banners, no festivals prepared for his arrival. The People did not know him, and the Imperials here were too focused on building to spare time for ceremony. What awaited him was a city of steel and stone still under construction, half-paved streets, unfinished towers, and smoke from the forges hanging low over the valley. He would see the reality of a world in the process of being remade, not one polished for display. He would see the resilience and strength of my people.

He would also see that this world was in no way, shape, or form to be joining their Great Crusade–as much as the thought loomed over my head. 

That was fine. I had no desire to dress this place in falsehoods for his sake.

The carrier broke through the clouds and descended toward the platform in a controlled drop, its engines cutting to a low growl as it maneuvered into position. The landing struts deployed with a mechanical thud, locking into place against the half-finished ferrocrete surface. Dust and snow swirled outward in sheets, coating the scaffolding and workers who had been cleared from the site. The structure was not complete, but the deck was stable enough to bear the weight of the small transport.

I had ensured that no crowd gathered here. Only my sons stood with me—twelve in total, armored and silent, their presence a clear signal of discipline and readiness. They did not move as the ramp of the craft lowered.

Horus’s warriors came first. A dozen of the Luna Wolves marched in tight formation, their armor painted in stark white, accented by the muted gleam of polished steel. Each one carried his weapon at the ready position, muzzles angled down but never relaxed. Their eyes swept across my sons, across the platform, and across the horizon beyond. There was no tension in their movements, but there was no complacency either. Every step was measured. Every angle covered.

Then Horus emerged. He walked ahead of his guard, unhurried, the weight of command evident in the way his Legionnaires shifted slightly to accommodate his pace. He too wore white armor, cleaner and more ornate than that of his men, its plates trimmed with fine detailing that marked his rank without ostentation. A half-smile spread across his face as he closed the distance between us, his gaze moving over me and my sons with open assessment.

When he reached the center of the platform, Horus spread his hands wide and called out, his voice carrying easily across the cold air. “Ha! I have been most eager to finally meet you, brother! You’re even paler than I imagined!”

The words came with a deliberate ease, his tone was light, which I supposed was aimed at setting aside the stiffness of formality. Yet his eyes did not match the looseness of his voice. He studied me closely, watching the smallest movement of my shoulders, the tilt of my head, the way I carried my weight. He measured everything, as though cataloging me before I even opened my mouth. Amusing. Unfortunately for him, he’d find nothing. I had no micromovements, not even the tiniest ones. I didn’t even blink. 

I closed the distance between us at a steady pace. When I stood before him, I offered a small smile of my own. Up close, I realized I was slightly taller, even without the aid of Power Armor, which meant I was even taller than my brother if he wasn’t wearing one. Horus bore himself with confidence, but the cold radiating from me touched him all the same. His composure did not break, but the strain showed faintly in the way his jaw tightened, the subtle shift of his breath against the air. He did not recoil, yet it was plain that he felt the discomfort of my presence.

“And you’re balder than I thought,” I said, my tone even, my gaze fixed on him.

For a brief moment he stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then he broke into a sharp, sudden laugh that carried across the platform. The tension broke with it. I allowed myself to laugh as well, the sound far quieter but no less genuine.

Horus stepped forward then, closing the gap, and raised his arms. His hands caught my shoulders, firm and assured, and he pulled me in. It was an embrace, simple and direct, the kind given between brothers who had no need for barriers in that moment. The weight of his armor pressed against me, solid and heavy, and his grip did not falter.

It was the first time I had been embraced in this new life. That was a fact, plain and undeniable. It might have sounded bleak, but the truth of it did not weigh on me. I accepted it without sentiment. What mattered was that it had happened, here and now, between the two of us.

When he released me, Horus gave a short nod, his expression still marked by that faint smile. His warriors remained in formation, silent and unmoving. My sons had not stirred either, their watchful presence steady as ever. For this moment, nothing further was needed.

“It is good to be the first to meet the newest and, without question, the most peculiar of all our brothers,” Horus said. “I have seen the work of your sons before they found you. I will not dress my words in ceremony—there is nothing like it in the rest of the Crusade. No world has ever been left more silent than the ones they leave behind. Frozen, emptied, dead. Now, I am the first among our kin to meet the hand that shaped them.”

He glanced around, his smile turning faintly wry. “And, if you will permit me some honesty, this world of yours is an even greater hellhole than Fenris. That is saying much, for Fenris is already named among the Death Worlds in the Emperor’s charts.”

I gave a slow nod. “Much of this world was once fertile. I buried it beneath the ice myself. In time, the cold will recede. Give it some decades, and it will be green again.”

Horus turned his head, eyes tracing the outline of the city rising from the snow in the valley below. Stone and plasteel structures caught the pale light, columns of smoke rising in straight lines from forges and chimneys. 

“Your people build with purpose,” he said. Then he looked back to me. “Shall we walk together, brother? Just the two of us. There is much for us to speak of.”

I nodded once. “There is a path through the tundra. It is quiet and seldom used. We may speak there without interruption. Your warriors may remain here if they choose, but they are welcome to enter my hall. They will be given food and drink, nothing more than the common fare, but enough to show courtesy. My sons will see to them.”

Horus’s smile broadened. “Very well.”

He turned his head, raising his voice slightly without breaking his calm tone. “Ezekyle. You will follow the sons of my brother, the Primarch Arthas. See that the men are made comfortable. Await my return.”

The First Captain of the Luna Wolves stepped forward. “It will be done, sire.”

The Luna Wolves shifted as one, their discipline unbroken, and began to follow the gestures of my own sons who stepped forward to lead them toward the palace. The sound of their armored boots striking against the frozen stone carried across the platform until distance began to swallow it.

Horus and I turned and walked the opposite direction, far away from the city and into the frost-laden lands beyond it.  

“What did you wish to speak of, brother?” I asked. The word still felt unusual on my tongue. I had not grown with siblings, and the Emperor’s mention of them had always felt distant, abstract. But there were twenty Primarchs in total, which meant twenty brothers. I supposed I would have to learn the shape of that word. It was not unpleasant. A large family had its appeal. Still, I remembered what the Emperor had said of some of them—that Mortarion was grim company, that Konrad Curze was worse, and others carried reputations that did not suggest harmony. If my Legion’s work was any indication, however, and our apparent specialty, then I would not meet most of them unless they chose to come to me, as Horus had. Otherwise, distance and duty would keep us apart.

Horus’s smile faded. His voice lowered and grew steady, each word carrying more weight than the last. “Father would not approve of what I tell you now. He believes you are not yet ready to hear it. But I see no other choice. I carry duties elsewhere on other fronts and I cannot ride out to meet this threat, no matter how much I want to. You, brother, are the only one I see who may offer the solution.”

I studied him. The change in his tone was sharp. This was no passing concern. I gave a single nod. “Then speak, brother. What is the matter?”

“Four months ago,” Horus said, his expression firm, “the Imperium met an enemy unlike any we have faced before. An alien empire, powerful beyond any comparison we have in our records. They have made it their purpose to destroy us outright, not to raid our borders, not to slow our advance, but to erase the Imperium itself and everything we have built. They are called the Rangdan.”

He let the name hang in the cold air for a moment before continuing. “Their strength is greater than any other xenos we have encountered. They fight with a ferocity and endurance that has already cost us dearly. Entire sectors burn. Worlds are gone. Our Legions are bled white holding them at bay. The Emperor and Malcador may not have told you this, but the war with the Rangdan is now the greatest threat to the Great Crusade.”

Horus’s gaze fixed on me. “And I believe you and your sons are the perfect counter to them. Where others falter, your cold can endure. Where armies are overwhelmed, your dead can rise again. You bring silence and winter. That, brother, may be exactly what we need.”

I nodded. “Tell me everything.”