The sunlight of Barbarus spilled gently over its soil, tender as a mother's hand.
Unlike the fierce, scorching light of other worlds, which seemed intent on baking everything dry, this sunlight was a soft gold tinged with warmth. It passed through thin clouds and fell over rolling hills and broad fields, bathing the whole world in peace and tranquillity.
A breeze carried the fresh scent of earth and plants, mingled with a faint floral fragrance from the distant forest, drifting slowly through the air.
Vorx was tending a patch of farmland.
At that moment, the Death Guard Legion's master of siege warfare stood amid waist-high wheat like an ordinary farmer.
He had shed his signature grey-green Power Armour and wore only a simple linen shirt and coarse work trousers, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal muscular forearms covered in scars.
Holding a long-handled sickle, he bent over and harvested the ripe wheat with practised movements.
Each stroke precisely cut a sheaf of stalks, which he then laid neatly on the pile of wheat bundles behind him.
Sunlight fell across his weathered face, allowing his usually tense, murderous expression to relax for once. There was even a hint of peaceful satisfaction.
Mortarion leaned against a nearby haystack, his posture loose and casual.
The enormous scythe named Silence lay quietly on the hay beside him, its blade giving off a dull metallic gleam in the sunlight.
The weapon that struck terror into countless enemies on the battlefield had been casually set aside like an ordinary farming tool, as though it were nothing more than a scythe for harvesting wheat.
Mortarion had removed his armour and wore only the peasant clothing he had once worn on Barbarus.
A coarse, patched linen shirt, loose dark trousers, and a pair of old