"Pei Min, was it?"
A voice sounded at the edge of the boisterous bonfire gathering and singing, steady and low, at once blending with the lively atmosphere and subtly detached from it.
It was not loud, but it cut clearly through the din and reached Pei Min, who was sipping butter tea and nodding gently to the melody.
Pei Min looked up.
Jaghatai Khan, lord of the White Scars, had approached without him noticing.
He was not wearing his full, magnificent Primarch armour, only simple clothing that allowed him to move freely. Yet his bearing, as steadfast as a mountain and as intangible as a powerful wind, drew every reverent gaze like a magnet even among these tall, valiant warriors.
The Khan's gaze rested calmly on Pei Min. Those deep eyes seemed capable of piercing his Power Armour and outward disguise to look directly at the soul from the Word Bearers beneath.
"It seems," the Khan said, his voice betraying little emotion, as though stating an observed fact, "you have adjusted to life in the Legion."
The bonfire's light danced across the Khan's sharply defined profile and illuminated the contrasting emblems on Pei Min's shoulder armour.
Pei Min set down his metal cup and immediately straightened into a regulation military stance, striking his left breast with his right fist. His movement held the distinctive precision of the Word Bearers, yet seemed to incorporate something of the crispness of a White Scars salute.
"Yes, my lord."
His voice was equally steady, but a careful listener could discern a trace of solemnity at being acknowledged.
He paused briefly, as though gathering his words, then continued candidly:
"At first... I thought the White Scars were a force like... lightning. Swift, merciless, tearing through everything before vanishing."
He raised his eyes and looked around