The Impossible Fortress, Medrengard-
Strictly speaking, Medrengard was not a realm, but a planet.
Vast quantities of steel covered its surface. Seen from above, it was a world of sweeping artistic structures and fortress artillery.
The entire planet lay against the stars in an extraordinarily orderly arrangement.
The Iron Warriors had harnessed the power of the Warp to forge gun towers several kilometers tall, along with warped structures that should have been impossible to build.
Beneath the planet's surface, however, countless factories ran day and night, while hordes of mortals and Daemons toiled under the lash, crushed by their burdens.
Anyone who stumbled and fell, slowing production, would be executed on the spot by a nearby Iron Warrior.
This was the home of the Iron Warriors, or rather, their world.
At the center of that world stood an immense fortress. The Men of Iron kept the Iron Warriors out, while their Gene-Father huddled within like a snail in its shell.
The Lord of Iron-Perturabo.
You hammer-headed king of hang-ups.
At that moment, the Primarch sat in his cramped laboratory, looking at the woman before him.
She was his sister, Calliphone, the sister he had known when he still belonged to that family on Olympia.
They simply stared at one another until Perturabo finally spoke.
"It has been a long time, sister."
"Hello, Perturabo," Calliphone said with a smile.
But Perturabo said nothing more. He merely watched her in silence.
Puzzled, Calliphone waved a hand in front of his face.
"What's wrong? Are you unhappy?"
"What do you think of me?"
"You? You're talented and learned, the most remarkable person on Olympia."
Perturabo gently laid his hand against Calliphone's face and stroked it, while she tenderly held his broad palm.
Perturabo continued stroking her in silence. Then his hand gradually tightened.