At the height of the crowd's anticipation and roaring cheers, while the lingering might of the Titans and the steel tread of the Legions still trembled in the air, the true star of the day finally appeared at the glorious starting point of the parade avenue, beneath the shadow of the Imperial Palace's magnificent Helios Gate.
Horus Lupercal walked out at a measured pace.
Unlike the splendid finery people had imagined, glittering with jewels and laden with honours, his attire was remarkably simple, even understated.
He had not donned his dazzling pearl white Artificer Armour, instead wearing an ordinary suit of metal armour in a classic style.
Apart from the Luna Wolves emblem on his pauldrons, the armour bore no ornamentation. Its matte surface absorbed the extravagantly brilliant light around him, lending it a quiet solidity. At his waist hung a ceremonial short sword of an austere, ancient design, Imperial maxims engraved upon its scabbard, symbolising the sacred duties of the Warmaster.
Against the fluttering streamers, deafening cheers, and lavish ceremony, that deliberate simplicity instead radiated a peculiar appeal—a return to essentials, focused on duty itself.
It seemed to proclaim to everyone: The title of Warmaster bears an immense weight; what I take upon myself is not a splendid crown, but a greatness forged through conquest and blood.
Those guarding his sides embodied the very heart of his power.
The elite of the Justaerin Terminators guard advanced like moving walls of steel. Their heavy Terminator Armour struck the ground with a deep, synchronised thunder, while sharp eyes behind their faceplates scanned every direction, keeping any potential threat beyond an invisible boundary.
Walking beside him were the members of the Four Kings Council, the decision-making core of the Luna Wolves.
They too wore solemn armour, their expressions grave, surrounding their Gene-Father