Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

Minutes later, the Ebony Shadow launch into the void of space, its engines roaring to life in bursts of crimson fire as it hurtled toward the distant stars. Back in his quarters, Kayvaan poured himself a glass of golden ale, froth spilling over the rim as he took a long sip. His chambers were sparse: a pair of worn sofas, a modest wine cabinet, and a few scattered datapads. The simplicity suited him.

Jacob, his think-tank director, lounged nearby with a cup of recaf in hand, idly stirring the steaming liquid. "Since you've agreed to this mission," Jacob began, his voice calm but probing, "what's your take on it?"

Kayvaan chuckled, downing another mouthful of ale. "That's an interesting question. Not a smart one, but interesting." He gestured toward the glass. "Want some? Brewed on Agron Reach—finest drink this side of the Segmentum."

Jacob shook his head. "Recaf suits me just fine."

"Your loss," Kayvaan replied, setting the glass down with a clink. He leaned back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "You know, Jacob, we're just like canaries."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "Canaries?"

"Yeah," Kayvaan said with a dry laugh. "Golden feathers, sweet songs—fragile little creatures. Back in the Dark Age, miners used to send them into abandoned shafts. If the canary came back alive, it meant the air was safe. If not…" He shrugged. "Nobody ever asked the bird for its opinion, did they?"

Jacob frowned, his cup forgotten for a moment. "Even so, it's the right thing to do. We have a duty to those Guardsmen. Every day, countless souls give their lives for the Imperium. If it's our turn, we should accept it with honor."

Kayvaan smirked, swirling the frothy liquid in his glass. "Honor? You're right, of course. Dying for the Imperium is our glorious destiny, isn't it?" He sighed, setting his glass down. "But not everyone shares that view. Take Elizabeth, for example. Did you notice she only brought her personal retinue? That's because she doesn't have anything else—no support, no resources. She's been exiled to this forgotten corner of the galaxy, and now she has to rely on us."

"She's not popular," Jacob remarked, taking a slow sip of recaf. "The Sisters of Battle were never meant to be politicians. Too pious, too uncompromising. People mistrust zealots when it comes to nuanced decisions."

"Exactly," Kayvaan said bitterly. "She's been discarded—left here to fade away while her peers jockey for power on Holy Terra. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. But don't be fooled—she's using us. If this mission goes sideways, we'll be the ones buried in the rubble while she finds her escape route. She's expendable to the Inquisition, just like we're expendable to her."

Jacob set down his cup, his voice measured. "And yet, she's here. That counts for something. Maybe there's still a glimmer of purpose driving her. Maybe this mission will give her the chance she needs to prove herself."

Kayvaan shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Hope, huh? Let's just say I'd rather face a horde of greenskins than spend another hour with her breathing down my neck. If this mission gets her promoted—or, Emperor willing, reassigned to the other side of the Segmentum—I'll consider it a victory."

 Jacob simply shrugged, his tone indifferent.

"So, what's your plan?" he asked.

Kayvaan leaned back in his chair. "How's Darius progressing?"

Jacob smirked faintly. "The lad's shaping up well—better than I expected. Honestly, it's as if he was born for the Astartes. The initial hypno-indoctrination went smoothly during transit, and most of his augmentations have been integrated without complications. He's cleared the physical evaluations, and he's now adapting to his new organs through training."

"Then I'll take over his training," Kayvaan said firmly.

Jacob's brow arched. "You're taking him to the battlefield already? Isn't that too soon? He's green as a Catachan sapling. Darius was just another spoiled noble from Terra. He's never killed, never fought xenos—certainly not Eldar Rangers."

Kayvaan drained the last of his ale, his expression dark. "I know the risks, but we can't afford the luxury of gradual training. I've been studying the Ordos' reports—we're dealing with Alaitoc Eldar. Their Rangers are outstanding even among their kind. Their usual strategy is infiltration, precision strikes, and prolonged harassment to cripple enemy lines. This suppression isn't their endgame—it's the opening act. If my instincts are right, we're on the brink of something far bigger than a skirmish."

Jacob's frown deepened. "A war?"

Kayvaan nodded grimly. "The winds are blowing, and the scent of war is thick. Alaitoc doesn't move without cause. The Inquisition wants prisoners—alive. But you and I both know the Eldar won't suffer such an affront without retaliation. This will escalate, and it won't end quietly."

"You think the Alaitoc will retaliate?"

"They'll have no choice," Kayvaan said, his voice cold. "The Inquisition's tactics are reckless as ever. Anyone they drag back is subjected to unspeakable fates—dissected, interrogated, mind-scraped. To the Eldar, that's sacrilege. Alaitoc will strike back. Mark my words, it'll be fire and blood."

Jacob remained silent, processing the weight of his words. "And the Inquisition?"

"They're blinded by their objective. They'll keep pushing until the xenos lash out, and when that happens, it's us who'll pay the price." Kayvaan shook his head. "We need to prepare, strengthen our position. But don't worry—I'm not throwing Darius into the jaws of Eldar Rangers. Not yet." He paused. "What's the status on the headquarters?"

Jacob took the shift in topic as a cue. "I've shortlisted several systems. The Ferrum system stands out—it's far more developed than the others. Agron Reach, specifically, has potential."

Kayvaan raised an eyebrow. "Agron Reach? It's an agri-world. Too serene, don't you think? The climate's practically idyllic year-round."

Jacob explained patiently. "True, but the planet has pockets of harsh terrain—enough to train initiates effectively. It also serves as a gateway to the Death World in the Reach system. If we need to push harder, we can send them there. For now, Agron Reach strikes the right balance: tough enough to forge warriors, but controlled enough to avoid breaking them too early."

Kayvaan considered it, then nodded. "Fair reasoning. Very well. We'll pass Agron Reach in two days—I'll drop you there along with Mechanicus Enginseer Bell. The fortress-monastery's construction will be your responsibility."

"You can count on me, Lord Kayvaan."

"Good. Now, where's Darius? I want to see his progress for myself."

Jacob sipped his recaf. "Last I checked, he was in the chapel."

Kayvaan found Darius kneeling before the gilded statue of the God-Emperor, his posture rigid with strain, his lips silently moving in prayer. "What are you doing, Darius?" Kayvaan asked, his voice level.

Without turning, Darius replied, his voice strained. "Praying, my lord. Asking the God-Emperor to grant me strength… to forgive my sins… to help me endure."

Kayvaan exhaled, stepping closer. "Don't look for too much, Darius. The Emperor has already given you a warrior's body, the tools you need. Your struggles now? They're not His—they're yours. Learn to endure them yourself. The Emperor protects those who cannot fend for themselves. We, the strong, stand because we must. Now, end your prayers. Rise."