A few months earlier, several weeks after Lorgar disappeared.
The Second Legion could hardly wait to launch its expedition and reclaim the systems occupied by the Rangdan.
"Waiting is the most useless whetstone," Saladin had once said of the time spent holding position.
Now, on the central staging deck of the Second Legion's flagship, the Soul of the Sea of Sand, a space vast enough for several companies to muster at once, he was proving his own words.
He had shed the ornate ceremonial armour he wore for formal occasions or audiences with envoys, replacing it with lightweight power armour better suited to rapid assaults and close combat.
The armour retained his beloved dark gold, the colour of a desert dusk. Its lines were sleek and sharp, its joints engraved with ancient runes of wind and sand that gleamed dully beneath the bridge's cold lighting.
There was no cape, no profusion of medals or ribbons, only the emblem of a scimitar piercing a star on his shoulder plate, declaring his identity with stark simplicity.
Commander Biberus waited nearby, directing the attendants as they fitted Saladin's armour.
"That will do, Biberus." Saladin flexed his armoured fingers with a faint hydraulic hiss, his gaze already turning toward the grim silver ocean below the platform.
There stood the foundation of the Second Legion, the scimitar blades in which he took such pride.
A hundred thousand Space Marines of the Lord of the Yellow Sands stood in company formations, their ranks as precise as if measured with ruler and compass.
They stood silent and still, fine traces of dust and sand not yet fully brushed from their power armour—the marks of their last battle and the prelude to their next conquest.
Bolters rested against their thighs. Power weapons hung at their waists or across