Facing the dark muzzle, Nur remembered that day a hundred years ago.
It was a chapter of history whose details had largely been erased from the Imperium's official records, but for those who had lived through it, those scenes could never be forgotten.
When news of the Eleventh Legion's lord returning spread through the Legion, they had rejoiced, believing the moment had finally come for their father to take his rightful place.
They wanted to become his blade and his shield, to wage war across the cosmos in the name of the Eleventh Legion, to have that name carved into the Great Crusade's wall of honour and remembered by the Emperor and everyone else.
They yearned for hope, for their father's praise, to stand behind him in the glory of the Great Crusade's victory and possess honours of their own, just like the other Legions.
Yet before long, disaster struck.
For reasons unknown, their Primarch was cast into the Imperial Palace Black Cells, and their Legion was to be dissolved.
The warriors who had once proudly worn the Eleventh Legion's insignia were reorganized and absorbed into the Ultramarines Legion. Their Legion's name was erased, its number revoked, and every record of their past torn out page by page.
At that moment, they became outsiders, potential "heretics" who might betray the Imperium.
No one said it openly, but every glance, every silence carried that invisible scrutiny.
Nur remembered clearly how unfamiliar the sound of the Power Armour sealing around him had been when he first donned the armour of the Ultramarines. To him, that blue-and-white shell felt as though it were burning his skin.
From that moment on, Nur had wished for death.
He hoped to prove his loyalty through sacrifice.
More than once, he had thought that if he fell