The Primarch of Liberty

846.30M

The void of space stretched endlessly before them, a canvas of infinite black punctuated by distant stars. Through the massive viewport of the Imperator Somnium, the Emperor of Mankind and Franklin Valorian gazed down at the death world below. Its surface was a tapestry of purples and greens, beautiful yet tainted by the touch of the Warp. Beasts of corruption roamed its surface, the home of one of his brothers, Caliban.

The Emperor stood in his usual magnificent armor, though its golden shine seemed subdued in quiet contemplation. Beside him, Franklin somehow managed to carry a relaxed bearing despite the grave sight before them. The contrast between father and son was striking – one ancient and dignified, the other powerful yet carrying himself with an almost irreverent ease.

"What do you see as your purpose, Franklin?" the Emperor's voice carried through the chamber, resonating with power even in its gentleness. "Among your brothers, what role do you believe you serve?"

Franklin took a moment to consider, his brown eyes reflecting the corrupt world below. Despite his usual quick wit, he gave the question the weight it deserved. "I'm a creator, father. An industrialist at heart," he began, his voice carrying the confidence of someone who had long since made peace with his role. "I build the foundations upon which the Imperium will stand. The Galactic Internet, the Cadian Gate, the Supply Nodes – these aren't just structures, they're the arteries through which humanity's future will flow."

He turned slightly, gesturing at the vastness of space before them. "Trade routes, technological uplift programs – everything that will allow mankind to stand on its own feet again. That's what I build. The infrastructure that will outlast even us."

The Emperor's psychic presence brushed against Franklin's mind, gentle but probing. "You truly hold no desire for power?" The question hung in the air, heavy with implications.

Franklin's response was unexpected – a deep, resonant laugh that echoed through the chamber. The Emperor's face twitched with slight annoyance, but there was a hint of fondness in his eyes.

"Father," Franklin said, still chuckling, "I grow weary just leading my sons and guiding the ignorant masses toward ascendancy. If anything, I want the Great Crusade to finish faster so I can retire." He grinned, the expression somehow both respectful and irreverent. "Give me a fishing rod, or a hunting expedition with my sons. Maybe a barbecue under an alien sun. Let someone else sit in the high seats of power – Nova Libertas, the Valorian Gigacorporation, even the High Lords' seat reserved for the Libertan President. They're means to an end, not my ambition."

The Emperor's gaze shifted back to the death world below, his expression unreadable. "And what of your brother, Lion El'Johnson? What purpose do you believe the First Legion serves?"

Franklin's expression grew more serious, his future knowledge weighing heavily on his mind. "The First Legion..." he paused, choosing his words carefully. "They're the ones who keep the darkest secrets, aren't they? If I had to make an analogy, the First Legion is like that one person who won't divulge secrets no matter how much you beat them, while the Twentieth Legion..." he chuckled, "well, they're the ones with schizophrenia."

His face grew more serious as he continued, "Lion is your Exterminator, father. Where Leman is your Executioner, Lion is the one you send when something needs to be completely erased from existence. The future data suggests as much – the campaigns against the Khrave, for instance."

The Emperor nodded slowly, then turned the conversation to a different matter. "The Excindio Battle-Automata – can they be salvaged?"

Franklin's head shake was immediate and decisive. "No. The divide there runs too deep. The Sector A.I. won't even communicate with them, and vice versa. It's like..." he searched for the right words, "digital racism, if you will." He chuckled at his own comparison. "The Sector A.I. shun the Excindio for their actions during the Cybernetic Rebellion, and the Excindio, in their madness, try to corrupt and attack the Sector A.I. only to be rebuffed. They're incompatible on a fundamental level."

The Emperor was quiet for a long moment, his golden eyes reflecting the corrupted world below. "When your brother is reunited," he said finally, "I want you to give the Battle-Automata to them, along with some of your more destructive technologies. The ones capable of laying waste to entire systems."

Franklin raised an eyebrow, waiting for the explanation he knew would come.

"The Liberty Eagles will step back from the extermination campaigns," the Emperor continued. "Let the First Legion take point in dealing with the more problematic xenos species."

Franklin nodded readily, relief evident in his posture. "Sure thing, Pops. I'd rather not waste my sons' lives if I can help it. I've got quite the arsenal - should I let Lion pick what he wants, or would you prefer to choose?"

The Emperor shook his head, a barely perceptible smile touching his lips. Though he could read Franklin's thoughts, there was something genuinely refreshing about having a son who understood his burden, who could share in the weight of his grand vision while maintaining his own identity although being incorruptible certainly helps.

"Let your brother choose," he said simply.

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Franklin Valorian stood in the shadow of Caliban's ancient fortress-monastery, the weight of unfolding history palpable in the air. The rebellion against the Emperor and Lion El'Jonson had been a mere footnote in his future knowledge, yet seeing it materialize with his own eyes gave him a fresh perspective on the gravity of such events. The swiftness with which the insurgency was quelled spoke volumes of both his father's unyielding will and his brother's calculated precision.

The day had begun with all the grandeur befitting an Imperial visit. The Emperor had descended upon Caliban, his radiant presence commanding both awe and submission. His golden armor gleamed faintly under the muted sunlight that filtered through the dense canopy of Caliban's forests, contrasting starkly with the rugged medieval splendor of The Order's knights. Beside him stood the Lion—tall, composed, and exuding an aura of unshakable authority. Every movement, every measured word from him underscored his nature: a noble king forged in the fires of pragmatism.

The ceremony's pageantry was abruptly disrupted when Zahariel, a young knight of The Order, broke formation. What many perceived as reckless impulsivity, Franklin recognized as the precise moment the conspiracy unraveled. The ripple of tension that followed was electric. Zahariel's swift actions uncovered a plot festering beneath the surface, one that sought to undermine the Emperor's dominion and the Lion's burgeoning authority.

The response was immediate and surgical. Astartes clad in black moved through the fortress, their presence an unstoppable tide of retribution. The rebels, men who had once pledged loyalty to The Order, were swiftly rooted out. Those who resisted were met with uncompromising force, their feudal armaments no match for the unyielding might of the Dark Angels. Franklin observed the Lion orchestrating it all with a detached, almost clinical efficiency. No move was wasted; no mercy was offered. Every act was calculated to restore order with the least collateral damage possible—though he clearly would not hesitate to unleash total annihilation if the situation required it.

Within the great hall of the fortress, the Emperor presided over the interrogation of the rebellion's leaders. His psychic presence saturated the chamber, a golden beacon of both illumination and intimidation. The conspirators' minds were laid bare under his probing gaze, their motivations revealed for all to see. Some were driven by a misguided sense of tradition, others by desperation, and a few by naked ambition. It mattered little to the Emperor—treason was treason.

Franklin's attention, however, remained fixed on his brother. The Lion stood silently to one side, his expression carved from stone. Yet behind his icy exterior, Franklin could sense the quiet sting of betrayal. These were men the Lion had fought alongside, trusted, and perhaps even admired in his own reserved way. Their disloyalty was a scar that would remain hidden, but it would not alter his actions. Duty demanded justice, and the Lion was nothing if not a servant to his purpose.

Luther, standing just behind the Lion, was a study in conflict. The man who had raised the Primarch wore his emotions more openly, his face betraying a mix of sorrow, loyalty, and resignation. Franklin noted the tension in Luther's posture—the strain of watching the old ways of Caliban dissolve under the weight of Imperial progress. The seeds of future strife were evident, though for now, they lay dormant.

By the day's end, the rebellion was extinguished.

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As the Emperor's golden form disappeared from view, Lion El'Jonson became aware of another presence nearby. He had noticed this figure earlier - a brother Primarch who had been observing the day's events from the shadows. Now, in the relative privacy following their father's departure, the Lion finally had a chance to study this peculiar sibling more closely.

The approaching Primarch carried himself with an easy confidence that seemed almost casual - a stark contrast to the Lion's own rigid bearing. A sword hung at his hip, marking him as a fellow practitioner of bladework, though his relaxed stance suggested none of the constant vigilance that the Lion maintained. Most striking was his regalia, adorned with stars and eagles, a visual representation of freedom that seemed almost boastful to the Lion's ascetic sensibilities.

"Franklin Valorian, Primarch of the 11th, at your service, brother," the newcomer announced, extending his hand with a warm smile that the Lion found oddly disconcerting. The greeting was too familiar, too immediate for someone who was, effectively, a stranger. Nevertheless, protocol demanded a response, and the Lion clasped the offered hand with precise formality.

"Lion El'Jonson, Primarch of the 1st," he replied, his words measured and exact, devoid of the unnecessary warmth that colored his brother's introduction.

Before the Lion could properly arrange his thoughts into the questions he wanted to ask, Franklin continued speaking, his tone conversational as if they were old friends rather than newly met brothers. "I'm here to inform you about the current state of affairs in the Imperium."

"Why you in particular?" The Lion cut in, his suspicion crystallizing into words before he could moderate his tone. The question came out sharper than intended, but Franklin's response was merely a chuckle - a sound that grated against the Lion's sense of proper decorum.

"Because I am one of two options you can choose for supply nodes," Franklin explained, his tone suggesting this should be obvious. "The other is the Mechanicum of Mars. If you want quality, you come to me. If you want quantity, Mars would gladly provide it." The casual way he discussed such significant strategic matters grated against the Lion's sense of proper protocol and security.

As if to compound the breach of operational security, Franklin produced a data-slate and offered it with the same easy manner one might share directions to a local tavern. The Lion's eyes narrowed as he accepted the device, his movements precise and controlled despite his growing internal disquiet.

The contents of the data-slate only increased his concern. Each revelation seemed more outrageous than the last: an egalitarian state, democratic principles, freedom of information - concepts that seemed dangerous in their potential for chaos. Most troubling was the revelation of two Suzerain States within the Imperium, one of which was apparently under this surprisingly cavalier brother's control.

"Why does the Emperor trust you so much?" The Lion's question cut through the air like a blade. "That's too much power for one Primarch." His eyes fixed on Franklin with laser intensity. "Not to mention you teach other brothers?"

Franklin's response was to simply step aside, as if physically demonstrating how the Lion's accusations passed through empty air. "Yes," he said, the single word carrying none of the defensiveness the Lion had expected - hoped for, even. It would have been easier to understand a defensive response, to categorize this brother as someone seeking to justify their position. The Lion found this verbal maneuvering both impressive and deeply unsettling.

"When you are done here," Franklin continued, seemingly unaffected by the weight of the Lion's scrutiny, "please inform me. Father has more equipment for you and said to choose from my very own toys." The word 'toys' to describe what were presumably weapons of significant strategic value made the Lion's jaw tighten imperceptibly.

Each of Franklin's casual remarks, his easy jokes and light manner, struck against the Lion's serious nature like small hammer blows. The contrast between their personalities couldn't have been more stark - the Lion's carefully considered words and movements versus Franklin's seemingly careless openness.

"You are not what I expected," the Lion stated flatly. "I expected someone more serious, more concentrated." The criticism was clear in his tone, though carefully measured.

Franklin's response was a loud laugh that echoed through the chamber, causing the Lion to fight back a wince at the breach of decorum. "You, my brother, are exactly what I expected," Franklin countered, his amusement evident. "Too serious and concentrated will make you look old, produces wrinkles. Anyway, finish your duties here then vox me when you're ready."

The exchange perfectly encapsulated their fundamental differences. The Lion's questions and accusations, sharp and precise as sword thrusts, seemed to simply pass through Franklin like air, finding no purchase against his apparently impenetrable good humor. Where the Lion sought to probe for weaknesses and hidden agendas, Franklin responded with jokes and casual dismissals that provided no tactical advantage.

The Lion found himself in the unusual position of being unable to properly assess his brother. Franklin's openness seemed genuine, which paradoxically made the Lion trust it less. No one in his experience had ever been so transparent unless they were hiding something far more significant. Yet the Emperor clearly trusted this unusual Primarch with considerable power and responsibility.

As Franklin took his leave, his departure as casual as his arrival, the Lion remained standing in the chamber, data-slate in hand, trying to reconcile this encounter with his understanding of proper protocol and behavior. The information before him spoke of significant military and industrial capability, yet its bearer treated such power as if it were of no more consequence than a knight's daily practice routine.

The Lion's analytical mind began categorizing the interaction, searching for patterns and hidden meanings. Franklin's apparent lack of guile could itself be a sophisticated form of deception. The casual mentions of 'toys' and supply chains might be deliberate misdirection. Yet every attempt to construct a logical framework around Franklin's behavior led to contradictions.

Most disturbing was how Franklin had seemed to read him so easily - "exactly what I expected," he had said. The Lion, who prided himself on being inscrutable, found this casual assessment of his character somewhat alarming. It suggested either remarkable insight or access to information that should not be available.

In the end, the Lion was left with more questions than answers. Franklin Valorian represented a type of power he had not encountered before - one that wore its strength lightly and seemed to care little for the usual forms of authority and control. It was, the Lion had to admit, a more subtle form of strength than he was accustomed to dealing with, and therefore potentially more dangerous.

The data-slate in his hands promised resources that could significantly enhance his Legion's capabilities, yet accepting such aid would create a connection to this unpredictable brother. The Lion found himself in the unusual position of having to choose between practical advantage and his natural inclination toward self-sufficiency and secrecy.

As he began reviewing the detailed information before him, the Lion made a mental note to watch this brother carefully. Franklin's casual demeanor might be genuine or might be the most sophisticated mask the Lion had yet encountered. Either way, he would need to adapt his usual strategies when dealing with this particular sibling.

One thing was certain - Franklin Valorian had managed to unsettle him more with a friendly conversation than many opponents had achieved with direct hostility. It was, the Lion reflected, perhaps the most disturbing aspect of their entire encounter.