The Primarch of Liberty

The sweet aroma of Libertan cigars filled the Grand meeting Chamber aboard the Sweet Liberty. Through the viewport, distant stars twinkled like scattered diamonds against the void. Five of the Emperor's sons had gathered here: Roboute Guilliman, Sanguinius, Magnus, and Franklin Valorian engaged in animated discussion near the viewport, while Rogal Dorn and the recently discovered Lion El'Jonson sat apart, sharing a quiet moment.

Dorn sat ramrod straight in his artificer-crafted chair, his face an impassive mask as he regarded his newly found brother. "You wish to know of my experiences on Caliban, brother?" the Lion asked, his voice carrying an edge of careful measurement.

"Yes." Dorn's response was characteristically blunt. "I find it prudent to understand the origins of all my brothers."

The Lion's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yet you gather here, away from your duties. Does this not compromise the Great Crusade's efficiency? Why does our Father permit such... congregation aboard Franklin's vessel?"

"No." Dorn's reply was immediate and certain. "Your concern is logical but incorrect. Franklin is an exceptional brother and leader. The Sweet Liberty could accommodate all twenty-one of us and our Father comfortably. Its size is not merely ostentation, but practical necessity."

"You speak of Franklin's leadership," the Lion observed, his tone carrying a note of skepticism. "Does he presume to lead in our Father's stead?"

Dorn's golden armor gleamed as he shifted slightly. "You misunderstand. Franklin was among the first to stand at our Father's side. The Emperor frequently defers to his counsel on matters of great import. This is observable fact, not speculation."

The Lion's gaze drifted to where Franklin was gesturing expressively, drawing a laugh from Sanguinius. "And what of this Independence Sector? Surely such autonomy poses a risk?"

"Dorn took a deep drag from his cigar and let the smoke curl from his lips as he spoke. "It is his home system, once 300 worlds. Under Franklin's leadership, it is now 50,000 worlds strong. Recently, the Mechanicum and the sector signed a white peace. Their cold war ended with the ascension of Belisarius Cawl to Fabricator General of Mars. Cawl, you see, is a close associate of Franklin. It is worth noting that Franklin's domain preserves Golden Age technology – not Dark Age, as is commonly misunderstood. The distinction is significant."

The Lion leaned forward, his voice dropping lower. "There must be more. Why would our Father permit such concentration of power and knowledge outside His direct control?"

"Yes." Dorn's simple response carried weight. "The Emperor's reasons are His own. However, if any of our brothers knows the full scope of our Father's designs, it would be Franklin. Since the formation of what has been termed the 'League of Primarchs' – an accident of circumstance – the Emperor has granted us greater autonomy in prosecuting the Crusade. This may be attributed to Franklin's influence, either directly or indirectly."

"You mentioned another brother – Horus? How does he compare?"

"Horus Lupercal commands the Luna Wolves. Franklin considers him a younger brother, though I advise discretion with this knowledge." Dorn's expression remained unchanged as he continued. "Both possess remarkable charisma, but their approaches differ fundamentally. Horus emulates our Father's rigid command structure. Franklin advocates for independence within a strategic framework. He grants his followers autonomy, trusting them to carry out the larger plan without constant oversight. It is a style that most of us, myself included, find more palatable, though few would openly admit it. Except Russ, who would follow Franklin into a literal warpstorm if asked"

The Lion watched Franklin laugh at something Roboute had said. "Why such loyalty?"

"Resources and independence," Dorn stated plainly. "We are Primarchs, the pinnacle of humanity's achievement. This engenders natural resistance to accepting authority from our equals. We follow our Father out of duty and filial obligation and because he is our Superior. Franklin provides resources and respects autonomy while maintaining the Emperor's confidence. His jovial demeanor does not diminish his serious approach to duty. What you observe is genuine, not artifice."

"You speak at unusual length about him, Rogal."

"Yes. This is correct."

The Lion fell silent, processing this wealth of information. His recent reunion with his Legion had already presented numerous challenges, but this revelation about Franklin's influence and position added layers of complexity he hadn't anticipated. The implications were both fascinating and troubling – if Franklin ever turned against the Imperium, the consequences would be catastrophic.

As if sensing his thoughts, Dorn added, "Your concern about potential betrayal is logical but ultimately unnecessary. Franklin's loyalty to humanity transcends even his loyalty to the Emperor. This is why our Father trusts him."

The sound of Franklin's booming laughter drew their attention. He was now demonstrating something to Magnus, his hands weaving patterns in the air that left faint traces of golden light. The Crimson King was nodding thoughtfully, clearly intrigued by whatever theorem or concept was being discussed.

"Tell me, brother," the Lion said finally, "what do you believe is our Father's ultimate goal?"

Dorn considered this for a long moment, his face as impassive as ever. "I believe our Father seeks humanity's ascension. The method and means remain unclear to most. But observe Franklin's technological preservation, the Mega Infrastructure projects in the Imperium, The Cadian Gate, the Supply Nodes, the Galactic Net, his careful balance of independence and unity, his gathering of brothers not just for war councils but for brotherhood itself." He gestured to the room. "This is not mere coincidence, the Emperor has trusted Franklin on uplifting the base of Humanity's ascension"

The Lion watched as Franklin now pulled Roboute into what appeared to be a friendly headlock, the Primarch of the Ultramarines showing uncharacteristic tolerance for such familiarity. Sanguinius's musical laughter rang out, while Magnus shook his head with obvious amusement.

"And you trust this assessment?" the Lion asked.

"I do not deal in trust, brother. I deal in facts. The facts support my conclusion." Dorn raised his own cigar to his lips. "Franklin builds bridges between brothers who would naturally stand apart. He maintains technological advancement while respecting the Mechanicum's authority. He prosecutes the Great Crusade efficiently while fostering independence. These are not the actions of someone seeking power for its own sake."

The Lion absorbed this, his superhuman mind analyzing patterns and possibilities. "You suggest he is implementing some grand design?"

"I suggest nothing. I state what I observe. Franklin acts with purpose, yet never seeks to diminish our Father's authority. He builds consensus rather than demanding compliance. These are observable facts."

Their conversation was interrupted as Franklin called out across the room. "Rogal! Lion! Stop being antisocial and join us! Magnus is about to explain why theoretical physics is actually just spicy mathematics!"

Dorn stood with characteristic precision. "Our brother calls. It would be inefficient to refuse."

The Lion remained seated for a moment longer, watching as Dorn moved to join the others. Franklin immediately threw an arm around Dorn's shoulders, an action that would have earned swift rebuke from most Primarchs. Yet Dorn merely stood, stoic as ever, though the Lion thought he detected the slightest softening around his brother's eyes.

Perhaps, the Lion mused, there was something to be said for Franklin's methods after all. He rose and made his way to join his brothers, determined to observe and learn more about this unusual dynamic. The future of the Imperium might well depend on understanding it correctly.

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The dust of siege warfare still lingered in the air of Incaladion, mixing with the acrid smell of spent ammunition and demolished fortifications. The 4th Legions stood in perfect formation, their gunmetal gray armor bearing the scars of their recent victory. They were the Emperor's siege masters, the breakers of walls, yet something unusual stirred in their ranks today – anticipation.

Before them stood Franklin Valorian, the 11th Primarch, towering even among his transhuman Captains. His presence here carried weight beyond mere ceremony. Every Astartes present knew the unspoken truth: Franklin Valorian was more than just another of the Emperor's sons. He was the Emperor's unofficial liaison, His trusted voice. When Franklin Valorian appeared, it meant the Emperor's eye had turned to watch.

The assembled Corpse Grinders noted how he carried himself – not with the cold distance of authority, but with the warm familiarity of one who understood their burden. His armor, though magnificent, bore signs of recent combat. He had not merely watched their siege; he had participated.

"My brothers," Franklin's voice carried across the assembled ranks, its warmth a stark contrast to the typically grim atmosphere of siege warfare. "I have witnessed your work firsthand. The walls you have shattered, the fortifications you have claimed for humanity's future. While others might sing songs of glory won in open battle, it is your silent labor – your dedication – that carves victory from stone itself."

He paused, his eyes scanning the ranks. The Fourth stood straighter under his gaze. Here was recognition they had long sought – not mere acknowledgment of their victories, but understanding of their purpose.

"Others may see only the destruction in your wake, but I see the foundation you lay for humanity's future. You are not the shadow of the Imperium, as some might whisper. You are its bedrock, its unshakeable foundation."

At a gesture from Franklin, Director John Ezra stepped forward, activating a sophisticated holo-display. The air filled with the ghostly blue images of siege engines that made even veteran siege masters draw sharp breaths. These were not mere improvements on existing designs – they were revelations in the art of siege warfare.

"Today, I bring you tools worthy of your mastery," Franklin continued, his voice carrying pride. "But understand this – these are not gifts. I do not offer charity to the Fourth. These are investments in your future, in the future you will build for humanity. Each weapon, each piece of technology, is a testament to my faith – and the Emperor's faith – in your purpose."

The holo-display shifted, showing the weapons in action, demonstrating capabilities that seemed to bridge the gap between current Imperial technology and the legendary works of the Dark Age of Technology.

"With these tools, you will not merely break walls – you will reshape the very foundations of worlds. The galaxy will remember the 4th Legion not as simple siege masters, but as the unbroken vanguard of humanity's advance. Each fortress you breach opens another path for mankind's dominion."

A murmur rippled through the ranks – not the usual stoic silence of the Corpse Grinders, but something more. Pride, perhaps, or the first stirrings of hope. Many among them had grown used to being viewed as tools, useful but unlovely. Franklin spoke to them as artisans, as masters of their craft.

Franklin produced a data-slate, its surface gleaming with the Imperial Aquila. "I carry with me a record of your victories, acknowledged and named by the Emperor Himself. The siege we conclude today shall be recorded in Imperial history as the Iron Siege of Incaladion, a testament to your mastery and dedication."

The Fourth remained disciplined, but their pride was palpable. Their victories had names now, their achievements recognized not just in dry tactical reports but in the very histories of the Imperium.

Turning to Forrix, the First Captain of the Fourth Legion, Franklin's voice carried a note of conspiracy, as if sharing a secret between brothers. "First Captain, you'll want to designate someone to receive what comes next. The paperwork alone might constitute a siege in itself."

A rare ripple of amusement passed through the ranks. Even Forrix's stoic expression softened slightly as he nodded in acknowledgment.

Franklin turned back to address the full assembly, his voice rising with the gravity of his next pronouncement. "And as a personal mark of the Emperor's approval and recognition of your service, I am authorized to inform you that a Rammiles-class Star-Fort will be transferred to Fourth Legion's command."

This announcement broke even Fourth Legion's discipline. A cheer rose from the assembled ranks, quickly controlled but genuine. A Star-Fort was more than a mere garrison post – it was a mobile fortress, a void-borne citadel that would serve as both base and testament to their importance to the Great Crusade.

Franklin allowed the moment to resonate, understanding the significance of this display of emotion from the usually stoic Fourth Legion. In this moment, he had given them something many had thought forever beyond their reach – recognition not just of their utility, but of their worth.

---------------------------

Captain Mikael Algarian stood on the bridge of his merchant vessel Fortune's Gambit, watching as the void ahead seemed to shimmer. Where there had been empty space moments before, three vessels materialized – sleek, deadly, and impossibly advanced. His ship's augurs hadn't detected them at all, yet there they were, their gleaming hulls bearing the mark of the Independence Sector Fleet.

"Approaching merchant vessel, this is Independence Sector Defense Force. Maintain your current trajectory and prepare for standard inspection. Any deviation will be considered hostile action." The vox-transmission was crystal clear, lacking the usual static of void communications.

Mikael smiled slightly, even as his son Thomas fidgeted nervously beside him. "First time seeing the Sector Fleet, boy?"

"They... they just appeared, father. Our augurs didn't..."

"Welcome to the Independence Sector," Mikael chuckled. "Where everything you think you know about technology becomes a child's tale."

The inspection was, as Mikael had anticipated, quick and clinical. He watched as a Valorian Sector drone—some sleek, automated craft—performed scans of the Fortune's Gambit without ever boarding. They didn't even bother with Imperial pomp or bureaucracy. Within the hour, they were cleared for entry and escorted toward the Valorian Trading Station Alpha.

Thomas's jaw dropped as the station came into view. It wasn't just large; it was colossal. Its sweeping docks and spire-like hubs seemed to stretch endlessly, a city in the void where every inch was meticulously designed and gleaming with purpose.

"By the Throne..." Thomas whispered.

Mikael allowed himself a moment of pride in his son's awe. "Now you see the difference between them and us. Imperial stations might be built to last, but this? This is built to impress."

In the trading hall, they were greeted by a representative of the Valorian Gigacorporation. The man was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, exuding quiet confidence. His smile was practiced but faintly sardonic, as though he were already a step ahead of every merchant in the room.

"Captain Algarian," the man said warmly, extending a dataslate. "Welcome back to the Independence Sector. Here is your preliminary tariff assessment."

Thomas, standing just behind his father, leaned over to glimpse the figures. His eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. "This... this is robbery!"

The representative's smile didn't falter. "I assure you, young man, our tariffs are perfectly standard for the value of goods offered."

Mikael didn't even blink as he signed off on the payment. "Thank you," he said, his tone neutral. Only years of experience kept his voice steady. The tariff was staggering—equivalent to the gross tithe of a Minor Merchant World. But he'd known what to expect.

With a nod, the representative handed over a second dataslate. This one was far more enticing, its pages filled with the sector's catalog of goods. As Thomas scrolled through the offerings, his earlier indignation was swiftly replaced by astonishment.

"These prices..." he murmured. "Father, look at this! These medical kits—they could cure entire colonies. And these tools—they're practically miracles. We could mark these up tenfold and still undercut the rest of the sector!"

Mikael nodded, keeping his expression carefully neutral. He understood the game all too well. With half a million worlds and an incalculable number of people across the Imperium, it didn't take much to offset the cost of the tariff. Just a handful of wealthy Imperial Governors purchasing these goods would easily cover the expense—and leave plenty of profit to spare.

Hours later, their holds were filled with goods that would make them a fortune several times over. Thomas still seemed torn between excitement and disbelief as they prepared to depart.

"Father," he said hesitantly as the station shrank in the distance, "I don't understand. The tariffs are insane, but the goods are so... cheap. What's the point? Are they trying to bleed us dry or make us rich?"

Mikael smiled, pouring two glasses of amasec. He handed one to his son and motioned for him to sit. "You've got the questions, lad, but you're missing the answers. Listen carefully."

He took a slow sip before continuing. "Franklin Valorian could crush us all. Don't doubt that for a second. The Independence Sector could field its own merchant fleets, undercut us, and turn the entire Imperium's trade network into dust. But they don't. Why?"

Thomas shook his head. "I don't know. Why?"

"Balance." Mikael tapped his glass against the table. "Those tariffs? They're not just about making us pay. They're about reining in their own corporations. The Primarch knows what unbridled greed can do. So he forces us to pay dearly to trade here, and in doing so, he keeps his corporations honest. We pay high tariffs, but the goods remain affordable for the people who need them most."

"But why not cut us out entirely?"

"Because Franklin Valorian isn't just a leader. He's a builder. Those tariffs aren't just about control—they're about making us part of the system. Every merchant who trades here profits, sure. But more importantly, we become their allies. Their partners. If the Imperium ever tries to bring the Sector to heel, who do you think will speak out against it?"

Thomas's brow furrowed. "The merchants. The nobles. The people who rely on their goods."

"Exactly." Mikael grinned. "The Independence Sector ensures that everyone who benefits from their trade has a stake in their independence. It's not about greed—it's about strategy. They've made us complicit in their freedom."

"And in return," Thomas said slowly, "we fleece the nobility."

"The wheel turns," Mikael agreed. "We pay the tariffs, we sell the goods, and the nobles keep their comforts. Meanwhile, the people get better medicine, better tools, better lives. Everyone profits. Everyone stays invested. And the Independence Sector? They stay free."

Thomas stared out at the shrinking station, a newfound respect in his eyes. "It's brilliant."

Mikael raised his glass. "To Franklin Valorian—may his tariffs stay high, and his goods stay cheap."

A/N: Just this Chapter to improve the world building whilst I brainstorm the next Important Arc.