Capítulo 22: Darius Request
Kayvaan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned his thoughts to the Adeptus Astartes. He understood their importance all too well. The Space Marines weren't just warriors; they were the shields and swords of the Imperium. Aboard towering voidships, they patrolled the galaxy, defending humanity and the Emperor's realm.
In the days of the Great Crusade, the Emperor created twenty Space Marine Legions, each led by a Primarch—genetically engineered sons of the Emperor. Each Legion was a massive force of thousands of superhuman warriors. They swept across the stars, reclaiming lost human worlds, crushing alien threats, and expanding the Imperium's reach. But that was before the Horus Heresy.
When the Heresy began, half the Legions turned traitor. The Emperor, grievously wounded, was entombed on the Golden Throne. The loyalists triumphed, but the Imperium was shattered. The traitor Legions fled into the Eye of Terror, leaving a scarred galaxy behind. To prevent such devastation from happening again, the Legions were divided into smaller Chapters under the Codex Astartes, written by Roboute Guilliman. No Chapter could number more than a thousand warriors.
"I never imagined they'd entrust me with this kind of power," Kayvaan murmured, exhaling deeply. "No wonder the review process was so strict."
"Of course," Kayvaan interjected earnestly. "The Empire would never neglect a war hero from the legendary era like you, Captain. If I may ask, sir—what's your final decision on my application?"
Kayvaan regarded the young man thoughtfully. "You should know that applying to join the Space Marine corps isn't about glory or recognition. It's a death sentence. I've reviewed the recent records. As for the Old Ravens and other chapters, they're in a sorry state. Centuries of war have left their gene pools fractured, their technology lost. Many things we once took for granted are now ancient relics.
"These days, any young man hoping to join the Space Marine must endure brutal tests. Failure often means death. From your attire and demeanor, I can tell you live comfortably and have a good education. Are you certain you want to give all that up? Dedicating yourself to the vast void of the stars isn't just dangerous—it's almost a guarantee you won't survive. Are you really prepared for that?"
Darius stood firm. His expression was resolute as he replied, "I understand the risks. I may suffer a mental breakdown from the pain, mutate into a mindless monster, or even die on the operating table. I've thought about all of it, sir. But despite the dangers, I still want to become Space Marine. I can't stand this hollow life anymore—living off the reputation of my ancestors without purpose. I want to follow you and become a true soldier, to fight and, if necessary, die with honor on the battlefield, just like my forefathers."
Kayvaan's eyes narrowed. "Why do you feel so strongly about this?"
Darius straightened his posture, his voice unwavering. "Because I want my life to matter, sir. I want the strength to protect others, to safeguard the Empire and serve the Emperor. I don't want to waste my life on meaningless indulgences. I need to do something that counts!"
The words rang with conviction, though Kayvaan knew lofty ideals often masked hidden motives. Still, he nodded. For an Imperial citizen, such awareness was commendable. "Very well," Kayvaan said. "If I succeed in forming a Space Marine corps, I promise you'll be among the first I consider for recruitment."
Darius's face lit up with a rare smile. He saluted sharply. "Thank you, Captain Kayvaan!"
"Don't celebrate just yet," Kayvaan cautioned. "Even with the Emperor's letter of appointment, the outcome isn't certain. There are still many obstacles ahead."
The truth weighed heavily on Kayvaan's mind. The Emperor had been silent, entombed on the Golden Throne for nine millennia. 'How much of his power remained?' Darius couldn't help but doubt.
Although the Emperor was now the cornerstone of humanity's faith, to many, he had become less of a person and more of a symbol—an idolized figure or even a god created by human belief. Yet Kayvaan remembered clearly: this was not what the Emperor had wanted.
The Emperor had despised worship. In life, he had openly declared himself a man, not a god. A firm materialist, he believed only in what could be seen and proven. He had no patience for the ignorance of superstition, magic, or divine worship.
The irony was staggering. Now, in this broken age, the Emperor was revered as a deity by the very people he had sought to enlighten. For Kayvaan, it was a bitter reminder of how much the Empire had lost—not just technology, but also the vision and values that had once united them.
The emperor once tried to pass laws banning anyone from worshiping him as a god. Yet, despite his efforts, secret religious groups kept appearing, like sparks that wouldn't extinguish. When the emperor was gravely injured and retreated to the Golden Throne, these underground movements only intensified. Over time, this devotion evolved into a fully-fledged state religion, entrenched in the empire's long history.
As the emperor ascended to the status of a divine figure, secular power naturally shifted to others. The true authority within the empire now lay in the hands of an institution known as the The High Lords of Terra, which wielded immense influence over the galaxy.
On a bright afternoon, young Darius stepped out of Kayvaan's hut with a contented smile after their conversation. Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet, night had blanketed the earth, but the skies over the heart of the empire glowed with perpetual light. This place, even during humanity's darkest moments—the Great Rebellion—never dimmed.
Here, in the heart of the Imperium, silence reigned. Golden-armored Custodians patrolled its halls, their presence a living reminder of the Emperor's glory. Deep within the palace, beneath layers of defenses, lay the Golden Throne—a symbol of humanity's faith and survival.
Beyond the Emperor's resting place, a small council gathered in a chamber near the palace outskirts. The room, though grand, was marked by its humble round table—old and worn, yet central to the Imperium's rule. Four figures debated Intensely around it, their words sharp and urgent.
Each decision they made rippled across the galaxy, shaping the Imperium's future. For those with ambition, this room represented the pinnacle of power. This was the High Lords of Terra—the true rulers of humanity.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder