Then, He Closed His Eyes (End)

Sexdu had seen the sea many times.

That was back when he could still take up arms and fight.

On some ocean worlds, Sexdu had exchanged fire with the most tenacious xenos foes.

Under the aftermath of countless weapons, giant waves surged, oceans evaporated, and seawater was polluted.

Both sides had exhausted every means at their disposal until the enemy was completely annihilated.

He had only ever seen the sea in its fury.

It had never been as calm as this before.

Chemos's dim twin suns tugged at the tides, lapping against the sandy shore, while the sunset's radiance painted the beach a golden hue.

The horizon was as smooth as a mirror. At this moment, only the sound of the waves and the distant cries of gulls and herons echoed in his ears.

"Look! It's the sea!"

Yulia was the first to step onto the sand. Her full power armor crunched against the beach, producing a series of dull footsteps.

Sexdu was not so childish.

He simply stood on the shore, quietly taking it all in.

The sunset, the beach, the gulls and herons, and the waves.

And the person before him.

He drank it all in.

As if he wanted to freeze this moment in time, forever etched into his mind.

When the last trace of the sunset's glow had vanished behind the mountains at their backs, Sexdu knew their single day of leave was over.

"I hope you've enjoyed Chemos, and this day."

Fulgrim held tightly to Kasgar, who was trying to squirm free, as she slowly walked down the beach, smiling at the members of the Third Legion.

She was confident that everyone would appreciate her arrangements.

"My Lord, the Third Legion is grateful for your selfless gift."

Sexdu, along with the dozens of warriors of the Third Legion behind him, stepped forward to approach her.

"As for now, allow us, with our withered bodies, to bid you a final farewell."

It was getting late.

Sexdu had to lay it all out now.

"You know?"

Fulgrim was surprised.

Of course he knew.

As a sufferer of the Withering Sickness, he should have been gone before ever meeting his primarch.

This was all to prove the purity of the gene-seed, and for the sake of the Third Legion's "dignity."

Yet somehow, Fulgrim had learned of the rumors about the Withering Sickness within the Legion before they even landed.

For the sake of these Space Marines who were already doomed to die, Fulgrim and Kasgar had wrangled a single day of leave for them from the Emperor.

They had even argued with the Emperor over it.

This was information he had gleaned from the whispered words of that Custodes shield-captain.

The Emperor had no real dissatisfaction with Kasgar, this sudden son-in-law.

After all, He was not the sort to add no less than two and no more than four spoonfuls of sugar to His coffee.

At the time, the Emperor had said only one word to him.

The Emperor: "Mm."

He had simply nodded in acknowledgment, utterly flat, and then moved on to ask Fulgrim about the next matters.

As if He had long expected Kasgar to appear here.

Then, Fulgrim had insisted on spending an extra day on Chemos, even now when every second of the Great Crusade was precious.

To let those Space Marines, withered in body and mind, rest properly.

The Emperor, of course, disagreed.

The Withering Sickness was the Third Legion's shame, a discarded tool, something the primarch should never have known about.

Still less should it slow the Great Crusade by even a single second.

But in the end, even He could not refuse this daughter He had only just reunited with.

He granted her wish.

For the sake of these failures, who should have been dead long ago.

The Custodes shield-captain had not explained everything to him before boarding, but Sexdu could still piece together a guess from the fragments.

"But I never imagined you would come for us failures."

"No."

"There is no need to feel inferior because of this."

Fulgrim spoke softly, offering comfort.

"Lift your heads high, Space Marines of the Third Legion."

"You have never failed."

"Though we have never met, you are still my proudest sons."

"Perhaps the Withering Sickness has stolen your proud appearance and prowess, but your hearts remain strong, brave, and flawless."

"Even though misfortune has struck us, our nobility has always come from our actions!"

"It has never been determined by bloodline, appearance, or even achievements!"

She drew her longsword toward the distant shore, the blade gleaming silver-white in the sunset.

The sea breeze stirred Fulgrim's silver hair and the faint, elegant smile at the corners of her lips.

"You have done your best, my children."

"I am proud of you."

"My Lord, thank you for your words."

Yulia stepped forward and bowed in salute.

In these final moments, she seemed to have grown much quieter.

Not that she had been too rowdy before, but rather—

It was just that Sexdu was still not quite used to it.

"In this last hour, please allow us to remove our helmets and truly feel the air of Chemos."

She said this.

"Stop, Yulia!"

Sexdu tried to halt her.

"At this stage of the Withering Sickness, our appearance will become very—"

"—grotesque."

He clearly remembered how devastated she had been when she first learned she had contracted the Withering Sickness.

The Third Legion were all perfect Space Marines.

And the Withering Sickness not only withered one's internal organs, but also gradually decayed and ruined even the most exquisite, flawless face.

The warriors of the Third Legion, who valued appearance above all else, could never accept such a cruel fate!

That was why they had always worn full power armor, never removing their helmets for even a moment.

She was afraid to see her own ugliness and disfigurement.

And at the same time, she was afraid to see it herself.

They all were.

"I know, Sexdu."

"But our perfection has always come from within our hearts. Isn't that so?"

Smiling, Yulia slowly removed her helmet.

Rot had crawled across her entire face.

The skin of her face was inevitably festering and corroding, looking utterly horrifying. Her hair had nearly vanished under the virus's influence, save for a few strands of silver remaining on the side farthest from the decay.

All beauty had faded with this accursed disease.

Only those pale violet eyes remained as bright as he remembered them.

"...Yulia, you—"

Sexdu could not believe it.

That beautiful girl, always wearing a lively smile—how had she become like this?

And what about himself?

Suffering from the same Withering Sickness, would he also—

"Sexdu."

"Am I very ugly now?"

She lowered her head and asked hesitantly.

No.

The girl in his memory had never disappeared.

She had always been here, right in front of him.

"Yulia."

"You were never ugly."

Sexdu gazed into her still-bright eyes.

"The ugly one is me."

"It's us, who couldn't even accept our true selves."

If they couldn't even face their own flaws, how could the Third Legion ever claim to achieve perfection?

Sexdu heard countless sobs from those before and behind him.

He, along with the hundreds of Space Marines of the Third Legion afflicted with the Withering Sickness, removed their helmets one by one.

Then, for the first time, they took deep breaths of Chemos's air.

So beautiful, and so real.

Accepting one's imperfection is always the prerequisite for perfection, isn't it?

Fulgrim?

"Pfft."

Looking at Sexdu, who had taken off his helmet, Yulia smiled and gently caressed his scar-covered face.

"You're crying, Sexdu."

"I am not."

"But you clearly—"

"I am not!"

He retorted loudly, then lowered his voice until it was barely audible.

"It's just... my eyes are withering too."

The sea wind howled past their ears.

In the distance, gulls and herons still softly sang their drunken songs.

They simply gazed at each other in silence, at each other's faces—covered in sores and rot, yet flawless.

Not a word was spoken.

Sexdu felt he had so much more to say.

But it also seemed he had nothing left to say at all.

At this moment, his withered body no longer ached.

In these final moments, he had finally accepted his broken self, and the future of the Third Legion—a future he would never live to see.

What a remarkable person you are, Fulgrim.

He recalled the orderly, beautiful, and happy city of Karax he had witnessed.

How much greater would her achievements be in the future?

Under her leadership, how dazzling and ideal would the Third Legion become?

When would they spread the Imperial Truth across this dark and ignorant world?

When would they reunite all the scattered stars across the cosmos, never to be separated again?

And when that day came, how... eagerly anticipated it would be.

Kasgar had originally planned to arrange for people nearby to care for them in their final days, but the warriors of the Third Legion refused his kindness.

They did not wish to linger in pain, nor did they want to burden their Primarch any longer.

Now, it was time to say goodbye.

Sexdu lay on the beach, gripping Yulia's hand, staring up at the endless starry sky.

He thought of his childhood, of the carefree sword practice with his elder brother on Terra.

He thought of the teachings of the Third Legion's commander-instructors, and the tedious, intricate courtly etiquette of the honor guard.

He thought of the Battle Brothers who had fought alongside him during the Great Crusade, how they had cut down one gene-cultist and monster after another to protect the Gene-seed.

He thought of the one-day journey he had just experienced, of the small, nameless gravestone beneath the endless green mountains.

He recalled the entire path he had walked.

What a long journey it had been.

The old sun sets behind the mountains, and a new sun rises from the sea.

A new day begins again.

Isn't it always like this, Sexdu?

The sun will always rise as usual.

As for now...

It was time to finally rest.

Sexdu, a Terran-born noble of Old Europa, a Space Marine of the Third Legion, bearer of the double-headed eagle insignia, a Son of the Emperor, a member of the Emperor's Honor Guard, a company captain, a sufferer of the Withering Sickness, and Yulia's beloved.

He had endured the Unification Wars of Terra, undergone the first Space Marine gene-seed implants, fought in the earliest battles of the Great Crusade, served as the Emperor's loyal guardian, and stood with his Legion Master and mentor to protect the Gene-seed until the very last moment.

And in the final stretch of his journey, he had found his Primarch, secured the future of the Third Legion. With boundless hope for what lay ahead, he lay quietly beneath the floating light of Chemos' newborn sun.

Then, he closed his eyes.

The hook had been buried too long; everyone was getting impatient.

My fault.

So let me gift everyone an extra chapter.

The story of Chemos ends here. Next up—the Great Crusade.