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queen-of-nightmare-16 · 8 days ago

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OUR LOVE | Alt Vander X Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS - Fluff • Brief mention on near death • Season 2 Spoilers! •

PAIRING: Alt Universe Vander X Fem Reader

SUMMARY: ever since a certain day in your lives, life in Zaun has never been better. And although your adopted children might’ve grown and flown the nest, there’s still laughter at the bar

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

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Dawn had finally started to spill into Zaun, the sun glimmering off a soft morning dew of mist. Ever since Piltover and Zaun came together, life had become euphoric for all. Everyone united, the sons and daughters of Zaun no longer cut off from opportunities and fortune. Sure there was the odd spat between the two but nothing seemed to sever the bond between cities.

All seemingly possible because your kids stupidly nearly got themselves killed in Piltover. After receiving a tip from Ekko, your and Vander’s kids decided to sneak into a lavish Piltover apartment and attempt to burgle it for riches. Until for some unknown reason, an explosion nearly took the life of your oldest daughter Vi. It all but broke you and Vander to see her broken body. She had been so close to death that finally the Council decided their obliviousness to the Undercity’s problems had to come to an end.

And so it did. As Vi healed, so did Zaun. The air was cleaned. Health care provided. Chem-barons operations dismantled. Until finally the Zaun you grew up in became a thing of the past and the dream of a free Zaun became a reality.

Eventually the kids grew into adults, like baby birds leaving the nest and writing their own stories. Choosing their own fates. Powder and Ekko had been accepted into the academy furthering their brilliance for gadgets. Claggor turned his eye to further clearing the air in the fissures, using plants natural ability to produce oxygen. Mylo was still Mylo, happily jumping from one opportunity to the next but always there to help his brother with his projects. And Vi had followed in Vander’s footsteps, becoming a professional boxer. Along with starting a relationship with a councillors daughter. The bar that was once full of laughter became quiet. Though you and your husband were content. Just you and him. To do as you pleased.

At least for a year it was.

The two of you were sleeping together in bed; your bodies lying on your sides and intertwined with each other. Vander’s arms held you tightly to his body, one of his hands buried in your hair. Your own wrapped around his waist whilst you buried your face into his bare chest, feeling his soft snores tussle your hair at each exhale. Nothing could interrupt the peaceful bliss of sleep between you two. Until the door to your bedroom suddenly swung open.

“Dad! Come on, dad! You gotta get up!” A voice suddenly called, the two of you huffing out quietly when you felt the bed dip behind Vander. “Dad? Dad!”.

A slight snicker escaped your lips when you felt you husband shoulder being shoved by a tiny force, the child repeatedly calling for his fathers attention. “I think your son is awake,” you whispered into his chest. Vander’s arms tightened around your waist, burying his head further into the crown of your head.

“Before sunrise he’s your son,” he grumbled, voice still ripe with sleep.

“Dad! DAD!” The young lad yelped. Vander suddenly grunted out in shock and a small mixture of pain when your son hopped up and landed on his thigh, causing him to crack an eye open. “Come on, dad! You promised we’d decorate the bar!”. The boys brows furrowed in a very familia glare. One he had no doubted inherited from his father.

“Alright, alright. I’m up ya lil tike,” Vander groaned, yawning tiredly as the boy leaped off the bed and ran out the room in excitement. Of course, it was suddenly coming back to him. The academy that Ekko and Powder were studying at was hosting an inventions fair. Both teens excited beyond belief so you and Vander promised to host a party at the Last Drop. Win or lose, you were more than proud of the two teens. But at the same time, Vander also promised your now 7 year old son that he could help decorate the bar in the morning. Seems he took it a little too literally.

Your husband huffed out in exhaustion and rolled onto his back, running a hand down his face. “So much for sleeping in till 9”.

“Ha! Good luck with that,” you grinned, rolling with him to rest your chin on his chest. “He has the same amount of energy you had when you were that age”.

“Gods help us,” he huffed with a sleepy chuckle as his knuckles trailed down between your shoulder blades. “Why did I get you pregnant when all the kids had finally moved out?”.

“You were a little too excited that we finally had the house to ourselves … and because you couldn’t resist me in that dress,” you smirked cheekily, your finger drawing shapes over his peck; Vander going on to grunt out in annoyance at you reminder. “Now, come on! What was it you said that night? ‘Gods, love, you look gorgeous in that dress’ even though I was sweaty from running round like a headless chicken for Sevika’s birthday”.

He cocked a brow up at your impression, his hand gliding down to your waist to tug your closer. “Well, you did look gorgeous,” he replied.

“And we got a beautiful boy from it,” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut in content as you rested your cheek back on his chest. “Just think, 11 more years until he hits 18 and then maybe moves out and we’ll have the bar back to ourselves again”.

“Hoorah,” Vander sarcastically cheered, finally raising himself to a sitting position and letting you slide off of him. After attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes he glanced back over to you to see you had snuggled back down into your pillow. “You’re not getting up?” He asked.

“He only asked for you, Papa bear,” you playfully said, a honeyed smile gracing your lips as your eyes remained shut and tugged the quilt back over your shoulder. “I’m not working till later”.

Vander rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I love you,” he impishly teased, leaning over you.

Your eye creeped open, gazing at him lovingly. “You better,” you hushed. Vander smiled, placing a gentle kiss to your lips which you happily accepted, your hand creeping out from under the covers to caress his cheek.

“Dad! Come on!” You suddenly heard your son call from the front room, causing the two of your to pull away with a sigh.

Vander huffed to himself and climbed out of bed. “11 more years,” he prayed for jokingly, feeling his joints click as he walked over to the wardrobe.

“And counting,” you giggled back.

Vander swiftly dressed himself for the day and left you with a kiss on the head. You could feel the pull of sleep lulling you back as you heard your sons joyous laughter along with your husbands. Their footsteps fading away when they walked up the stairs into the bar.

Things were certainly different now. Your children had futures brighter than you could’ve hoped for. Your husband and Silco’s relationship healed. And now the two of your were raising a new life together all over again. Seemed like a dream. One you certainly wouldn’t change for the world.

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I wrote again. How bizarre. Eh, I can’t get this man out my head so I might as well do something productive with it. This was originally gonna be more angsty at the end but I’m not allergic to happiness unlike the Arcane writers so I decided to keep it fluffy instead. Hope y’all enjoyed.

#vander x reader #arcane league of legends #arcane vander #giving him the future he deserved!#netflix arcane #arcane silco #arcane vi #arcane powder #arcane alternate timeline #vander imagine #vander #arcane ekko #arcane caitlyn #arcane x reader #arcane mylo #arcane x you

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lumi-klovstad-games · 2 months ago

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Warhammer 42K: The Age of Reclamation

So, I have been working on a Warhammer 40K alternate timeline (and have been for a little bit) that incorporates my fanon Lost Primarchs and their Legions. AND IT'S FINALLY DONE. ISH. Well, the sandbox is ready for play, at least.

The return of the Lost Second Primarch, Ailani and her Second Legion, the "Imperial Hospitallers", in the waning days of M41 was accompanied by a shriek of psychic jubilation across Human Psykers throughout the galaxy. "The Time of Ending is challenged!", they cried and laughed, "The game begins anew!"

This was followed in the 42nd Millennium with a further psychic event, in which Psykers and Adeptas Sororitas both were overcome by a vision of unparalleled glory: "They have been reclaimed! The Age of Reclamation is imminent!" it was pronounced.

To the great confusion and interest of nearly all galactic powers, loyalist versions of the Traitor Primarchs and their respective Legions, iterations that represent the "Best Possible Version" of each, utterly lacking in the flaws that led the originals to Chaos during the Horus Heresy, subsequently appeared, engaged in battle against the enemies of Mankind. Over a scant 3 decades, they have been reintegrated into the Empire, though not without suspicion.

The presence of these "Reclaimed" Primarchs and Legions promises to move history in a VERY different direction as new versions of those who once fought to destroy the Imperium now rise to become its greatest champions. However, the threat presented by the Chaos Primarchs is not ended: the original Traitors still persist, unchanged, and most assuredly will not take kindly to the news of their uncorrupted and incorruptible doppelgangers.

Each of the Reclaimed Primarchs maintains a memory of what their original selves did up until the end of the Horus Heresy, but, rather than a lived memory, their knowledge and experiences are more like a bad dream they have just woken up from, and it is only as they open their eyes once more and look out at the state of the Galaxy do they realize the horror and the shame of what their original selves had done. None of the Reclaimed felt the guilt more keenly than Horus and Lorgar, who looked at the state of mankind and the Galaxy and wrestled intensely with the knowledge that it is largely their handiwork from another life.

Horus perhaps felt the need to do better most keenly. Casting aside his old name, he embraced the name "Osiris", and soon came to believe he had risen from the dead to embrace his true destiny of redemption. The Sons of Horus restored their name to the Luna Wolves, and reported for duty, embracing the Crusade to come, ready to burn their path to forgiveness and absolution across the stars, even as they were divided up into Codex Compliant Chapters by their Primarch — all the better to never to be in a position to threaten mankind ever again. But though the Luna Wolves now consist of many packs, they know how to assemble and fight as one, if needed, and the day may come sooner than they think whence such a reunion is needed.

Refusing all offers of a position of leadership out of shame, Osiris has sent himself into a grueling never ending Crusade of redemption, pushing himself to his limits to, in some way, atone for sins that are not even fully his. He does not shoulder this burden alone, and his Marines follow him on his endless quest, hoping to one day right the scales, and wipe the name of the Horus Heresy from memory and relevance, determined to atone for the Heresy, even if the quest might devour him wholly in the end. If it takes their very lives to wash away the stain of the Heresy, then they will give them freely. In the end, their aim is to ensure that the name "Horus" becomes a relic of history, supplanted by "Osiris," a symbol of redemption achieved through sacrifice and undying loyalty to the Imperium.

Lorgar has taken it upon himself to seize control of the Ecclesiarchy, and now seeks to undo the cultural damage his prior work, both as Loyalist and Traitor, had done to the Imperium. Adopting the name "Gregorium", he works tirelessly, to say nothing of working carefully yet diligently, seeking to unravel the Gordian Knot of tyranny, paranoia, and repression the Lectitio Divinatus unleashed. The Word Bearers became known as the Truthbringers, which maintained close ties with its successor chapters. All Space Marine Chapters of Truthbringer stock serve effortlessly alongside the Sisters of Battle, each side galvanized by the other's zeal and commitment to the Imperial Truth, even as High Father Gregorium steadily tries to reform and redefine that Truth to become ever closer to the Emperor's original vision.

Unfortunately, such is the ten thousand year rut that the Imperium has existed within that many prefer the backwards beliefs and the regime that is beyond even the concept of cruelty. They refuse to leave the dark hovel that has been the Imperium of Man for generations upon generations, for to risk anything else is to lose all they, and anyone who has ever lived, have ever known. And so Gregorium must move much slower than his sense of duty impels him. Ironically, this has rendered the Truthbringers’ original methods from the Great Crusade more useful than ever: no mere transhuman butchers, but builders of cities and societies, preachers of good news and pious goodness. That which originally vexed the Emperor of Mankind now serves the original plan, and Gregorium is a patient man. Whether it takes ten years or ten thousand, his soul burns bright with the sense of purpose he had always desired; he will work until the work is done, however long it takes.

Magnus assumed command of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, and began working to improve the lot of Psykers around the Imperium. He makes his immense knowledge of the Warp and the threats therein a weapon, one that is wielded by many a branch of the Emperor's Imperium of Man to terrific effect. The Reclaimed Thousand Sons take up the name of "Warpwatchers" and they and their new successors devote themselves wholly to eradicating demonic threats, wherever they may be found. Magnus does not change his name because he, famously, did nothing wrong. He does, however, adopt the title "The Just" to distinguish himself from "The Red".

Unfortunately, while Warpwatchers and their Successors who undergo the Rubicon Primaris or are born as Primaris Marines in the first place see moderately to significantly reduced rates of mutation, their gene seed remains flawed to the point of gradual but inevitable non-viability, forcing these Marines to rely upon their Father and a host of Tech Magi trained in the art of Gene Seed crafting by Belisarius Cawl himself, to provide regular donations of freshly cultured gene seed, lest the Legion and its many sons be eventually swallowed up forever by the insidious twisting of their flesh. Magnus the Just has given some consideration to the thought of taking his Father’s place on the Golden Throne as he now believes the plan had been for his original self, but has so far been dissuaded by Guilliman – there is no guarantee even the Emperor might eventually recover from such decay as his body has undergone thus far; he may simply die if removed from the Throne. Or, as the Cawl Inferior has theorized, the worst case may be that the Emperor DOES recover, but what emerges from the Throne Room may not be what went in 10,000 years ago.

Magnus has spent many hours trying to reach his father’s psyche, beseeching him to tell him what to do, and how best to apply his gifts. So far, he has gone without an answer, and perhaps that is best for his very soul. Whether this absence of communication is due to the Emperor's fading state or some deeper purpose remains unknown. Perhaps the lack of an answer is a trial for Magnus, a test of his patience and judgment, meant to force him to chart his own path and prove the worth of his gifts on his terms. For now, Magnus holds his course, his dedication unshaken, trusting that the path of righteousness and redemption will eventually reveal itself in full.

Pertuabo stepped, perhaps a bit too effortlessly, into the shoes of the MIA Rogal Dorn as Master of the Defense of the Imperium. Adopting the name "Aegis", he collaborates with Roboute Guilliman in overhauling the defensive lines of the Imperium of Man. Though Aegis is a much improved man compared to the original Pertuabo, he still takes a well earned and perhaps smug satisfaction of not just restoring Dorn's great defensive works and strategies, but also improving on them. His Iron Warriors took the new name of the "Steelforged" to indicate that they have been "reforged" without the impurities that led to their original counterpart's fall to Chaos, and made better and stronger for it. They begrudgingly accepted being divided up into myriad new chapters, acknowledging the value in smaller unit tactics, but like the Imperial Fists, retain protocols to temporarily reassemble, even so far as to full Legion Strength, should it be deemed tactically or strategically necessary. To the great chagrin of the High Lords of Terra, the Steelforged and their many successor Chapters have been significantly more liberal with these “reunions” than the Imperial Fists have been, though typically only a handful of Chapters temporarily join together, united by shared lineage and common cause. As of this time, the Fourth Legion has NOT seen fit to reassemble.

The Steelforged have once more become the tip of the spear in many Astartes operations; unwilling to sit idly by and wait for the call to react. Like the Black Templars, they and their successors are nearly always on Crusade, with each Crusading Chapter many times the regularly proscribed "full strength" of the Codex Astartes, an engine of war certainly and surely working its way from one end of the galaxy to the other towards the Imperium's greatest threats, with massive secondments to the Deathwatch and Solblade initiatives, including whole Chapters enthusiastically volunteering for the latter. Their deep involvement in these organizations stems from their belief that the Imperium must strike at its foes preemptively rather than simply react to attacks. For Aegis, the defense of the Imperium is not just about reinforcing walls and waiting for enemies to come; it’s about pushing out, taking the fight to the galaxy’s greatest threats, and ensuring that every world held in the Emperor's name is worth defending.

The Reclaimed Angron took more time than his brothers to shed himself of the expectations of pain from the Butcher's Nails that no longer afflicted him. Indeed, the memory of those torture devices now seemed like a distant nightmare that he had finally awoken from. Free to think, free to FEEL as he wanted, he shed his name of rage and violence, and took the name "Archeos", after a famed and just warrior prince from Terra's distant past. Even so, even freed to feel the scope of the complete human experience, Archeos knew he was a warrior at heart. But, no longer a rabid dog of war or a devourer of worlds, he could choose for the first time what kind of warrior he wanted to be — and his heart wept upon learning Sanguinius' ultimate fate. And so Archeos stepped up as best he could to fulfill his fallen brother's legacy, to be for the Imperium what Sanguinius had once been. His steps thus far in the role have been uneven and inexperienced, marked by a warrior’s eagerness to act and a lack of experience with statesmanship and empathy. Yet his sincerity is undeniable, and his effort to bring a new kind of honor to the Astartes is genuine.

The Reclaimed World Eaters reformed as the Spartican Brotherhood, taking their name from an oppressed underclass rebellion from ancient Terra, and symbolizing how they now exist to fight for all those who exist in the gutters of the Imperium, the selfsame gutters from which they were once lifted from to glory. The Sparticans in particular show a streak of selfless nobility and empathy towards even the lowest citizens of the Imperium in their operations that rivals even the Salamanders, though they bring with them still the same boisterous love of savage and intense combat that once defined the War Hounds and the World Eaters.

The last thing Konrad Curze remembered was his death. It was as final an end as any might have hoped for. Yet he awoke, and felt life in his lungs. And the nightmares… the nightmare visions that had plagued him from his childhood, were now tempered by visions of beauty and nobility. Somehow, the whole scope of the future now finally lay open to him. Taking the name "Lucian" to distance himself from the monster that had preceded him, he became the Master of the Adeptus Arbites, finding an outlet for his intense drive for justice, as well as an advisor to Guilliman, counseling his brother with the contents of his myriad visions.

Lucian believed strongly in reforming the Arbites and Imperial Justice, so that it might be more just, but this clashed with his strong need to punish the guilty. In the end, a massive overhaul of Imperial Justice was conceived and executed by Lucian and Guilliman, creating the Departmento Justito, in which those of the Imperium who had grown fat and corrupt feasting on the Imperium's soul like a parasite would finally all face justice, one after the other. Due to the scale of corruption and hypocrisy within the Imperium's bloated structure, it's ever maze-like and cavernous endless bureaucracies, and unwillingness to look too closely into the precise dealings of its noble houses and Rogue Trader dynasties, this might prove to be perhaps an impossible task, doomed to last another ten thousand years, but one which feeds Lucian's never-ending craving for justice. The Reclaimed Night Lords, free of their darkest aspects, took the name "Duskbringers", and became once more a force of frightening intimidation, shock and awe, and psychological warfare, much as a lone vigilante might use theatricality and deception to create an effect on a city's criminal population far greater than what he typically could have accomplished alone. The Duskbringers are more than a Space Marine force; they and their successors have become an Icon, an Idea, and one which has taught all those enemies of the Imperium which hide in shadows to fear the dark.

The Reclaimed Fulgrim and the Reborn Emperor's Children were discovered by the 3rd Company of the Redemptor Roses, a loyal Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes forged from the original Fulgrim's gene seed in the late 40th millennium. After much diplomacy, Fulgrim managed to convince his sons of the reality: that Traitor and Primarch were now two VERY different men. Taking the name "Caelum", he guides his Reclaimed Legion, now known as the Exalted Sons, down the difficult road of reintegrating with the Imperial forces, dividing into myriad chapters, and adopting the Codex Astartes into their existing combat doctrines. The Redemptor Roses, led by their Chapter Master, Gautier Boudreaux, have largely taken the lead in managing this integration, giving the Exalted Sons the benefit of their long experience and commitment with being heirs to the legacy of the Great Crusade-era Third Legion while wrestling with the knowledge and the reality of what that legion ultimately became, and their pains and efforts to avoid the same fate.

Caelum himself has taken to lending Roboute Guilliman his expertise as a natural polymath, with the keen intellect that once saved and united Chemos without firing a shot now turns to assisting his brother in reforming the Imperium and helping coordinate its massive war machine, though on campaigns of particular importance, he will depart Holy Terra to join his Sons in battle. Much of Caelum's time on Terra has been spent fussing over the quality of life of the Imperium's Citizenry, and the struggle to convince them to accept better standards than the regime has permitted them to even WANT for ten thousand years. Caelum seeks to introduce art, music, poetry, and the finer things to every level of Imperial Life, though he frequently finds his efforts stymied by the quagmire that is the Adeptus Administorum, the Ecclesiarchy (despite Gregorium's best efforts), and the Inquisition.

The Exalted Sons, meanwhile, have integrated the Redemptor Roses' fierce commitment to banishing the chance of Chaos Corruption, and they and their successors have joined in many campaigns alongside those of the Luna Wolves and the Ultramarines and their kin, and have reminded the galaxy precisely why they were once considered the apex of what it meant to be a Space Marine during the Great Crusade, so long ago. Caelum’s presence on Terra and in the Imperium’s war efforts serve as a constant reminder that redemption is a path of both creation and destruction—destroying the old to create something better. He constantly advocates for the acceptance of beauty as a fundamental aspect of life, not a distraction from it, striving to make the Imperium a place where the human spirit could thrive, even amid endless war. It is a struggle that consumes him as much as the martial demands of leading his sons into battle, but one he pursues with the same fervor he brings to every aspect of his being. In this way, Caelum and the Exalted Sons seek not only to reclaim the legacy of the Emperor's Children but to transcend it, leaving behind a legacy far brighter and nobler than any they had once imagined.

Mortarion claimed the name "Thanatos" for his own, and the Death Guard were reborn as the "Pale Hawks", the Imperium's first, and best, line of defense against the forces of Chaos and its insidious corruption. Ever watchful over the areas of the Imperium long ago neglected by the Administorum and Departmento Munitorum, the Pale Hawks rove in great Casts across the fringes of the Imperium, bringing hope and protection to long isolated worlds that have not had them in ages. To that end, the Pale Hawks and their Successors find themselves working alongside the forces of the old Second Legion, the Imperial Hospitallers, in a reborn version of the Great Crusade of ancient times - bringing the God Emperor's protection, and his intended standard of living, to even the most distant and forgotten worlds. And where Chaos might be found, the Pale Hawks find themselves working closely if uncomfortably alongside the Warpwatchers and their sons, with the sons of the 15th Legion holding much wisdom and knowledge in the matters of the Warp and its inhabitants, and bring a gift for killing them, not simply banishing them. Thanatos, though not a particularly politically-minded Primarch like some of his brothers, often advises Guilliman and the other politically active Primarchs on matters relating to Chaos incursions, plagues, or other threats that require quick, decisive action. As much of his Son's duty and role has them ministering their talents to the Dark Imperium, he must rely on the Psykers of the Astra Telepathica to communicate his advice to his brothers on Holy Terra, which, even free of his corruptive traits, is a reliance he still would vastly prefer to not have.

He must also work alongside Ailani in dealing with the various Rogue Trader dynasties and fiefdoms of the Dark Imperium, fiefdoms which, while still loyal in the broadest sense, have developed an uncomfortable ease with their own way of doing things in their long isolation and independence that frequently conflicts with Thanatos' own sense of what loyalty ought to look like. Despite the difficulties posed by these challenges, Thanatos and the Pale Hawks remain steadfast in their mission to cleanse the Imperium of Chaos’s taint. They act not only as warriors but also as healers and guardians, seeking to mend the wounds left by ten thousand years of war and neglect. For Thanatos, redemption is not an end in itself, but an ongoing struggle to make the Imperium a better place, a struggle that will continue as long as the galaxy remains a battlefield. In this endeavor, the Pale Hawks would not falter, for they had become more than mere soldiers—they were the shield against the darkness, the bringers of hope to the forsaken, and the harbingers of humanity’s rebirth.

The Reclaimed Twin Primarchs of the 20th Legion, Alpharius and Omegon, took the names of Kaleidos and Janus, though both answer only to Kaleidos for anyone but each other. Together, they are once again the Ghost Who Walks In Many Places, and their Alpha Legion has been reborn as the Lernaean Serpents, a further reference to the Hydra of Myth and Legend. The Twins have taken command of the Solblade Initiative, finding the Tyranid threat both a clear and present danger to the Imperium, but also a shifting, ceaseless foe that is truly worthy of their talents and warfighting intellect; a chance at long last for the 20th Legion to show its quality and earn glory long overdue since the Great Crusade.

While the Lernaean Serpents took to the splintering of their legion into chapters the easiest of all the Reclaimed, nobody who knows their methods is convinced for even a minute that the Chapter has TRULY divided – they are simply doing what they have always done best: breaking up into decentralized warbands, each committed to its task. Among the Solblades, Kaleidos and his Marines impart that same knowledge and wisdom to the constituent forces, teaching even the lowliest Guardsmen and PDF volunteers how to be effective combatants no matter how many "heads" are "sliced off" by such a foe as the Tyranids -- to the Solblades and Imperial Guard units trained by the Primarchs and their Sons, whether their force is 2 million men strong or just 20, they will always have a strategy to be as effective as possible, even in environments where traditional communications or the chain of command collapses entirely. “Every soldier a rifleman, every grunt an officer.” Everyone knows everyone else's job well enough to do it effectively, should the need arise to do it.

The Lernaean Serpents and their myriad warband Chapters also specialize in rapid reorganization and shifting battle plans, essentially becoming the Imperium's foremost experts on warfare against hive-minded opponents. The Twin Primarchs have seen Holy Terra precious little since their return. Their place is not on the benches of politics, but on the battlefield, proving their ingenuity and strategic brilliance time and time again against the largest, keenest mind the Imperium has yet encountered. And what’s more, they appear to be gradually winning, offering hope that, even against the ceaseless onslaught of the Tyranids, newfound ingenuity and resourcefulness can yet prevail. With Kaleidos’ leadership style finally proving its mettle under fire, their leadership is beginning to influence other Imperial forces, encouraging a more flexible and resilient approach to warfare across the galaxy. While their methods do not suit all factions or chapters, the lessons learned from the Lernaean Serpents may yet shape how the Imperium adapts to future threats, proving the wisdom of Ultramarines Chapter Master Marneus Calgar: “Rules should never make a prisoner of intelligence.”

Saorlaith, the Lost Eleventh Primarch, has been the most recent Reclamation alongside her Legion, the Black Eagles. Motivated to return at long last by whispers in the weave of time, overheard in her scrying at the far edge of space. The Sorceress Queen has decided that now is the proper time to return, for it is now, and no other time, in which her people, ten thousand years in exile, finally have a future they might call their own, but such a future demands decisive action on Saorlaith's part. The dread wailing of the Carnefex now drones across hundreds of worlds, the harbinger of the Crow Queen's return.

Arriving, as Ailani did, to an Imperium who has no memory of her very existence, and led not by the Emperor, but by his struggling sons, Saorlaith casts her lot in with her siblings, for she is older and wiser, and recognizes that she can either protect her people's culture and interests from the inside, or be forced to go it alone in exile once more. Unwilling to deny her people the worthy future she had seen in her dreams, she swallowed her pride and prepared to bend the knee to Roboute Guilliman, Lord Commander of the Imperium. To her shock, Guilliman did not accept her subservience, telling her instead that she "would best serve the Imperium as you are: a Primarch, not a puppet", and that her input would always be welcome. Heartened by acceptance she had never had before, Saorlaith became a staunch ally and confidante of Guilliman, and has found that her reincarnated brothers are MUCH easier for her to find common cause with. She also took quiet relief that, at least for the time being, Leman Russ was nowhere to be found, though she does not doubt for a moment that the Great Wolf will one day return on his own, for her sorcery has told her that "the Reclamations are not yet complete."

The Black Eagles follow the Codex Astartes in some form, though it is broadly interpreted and often recontextualized by the savage and mystic warriors, resulting in one of the loosest interpretations of the text to date, but still one fairly in line with the spirit of the thing. Their roving warbands have delighted in the strength of the enemies they now face across the galaxy, a fitting trial for some of the mightiest and most competitive fighters in Imperial History, long may the crows feast on the bodies of their enemies.

As the Age of Reclamation unfolds, the Imperium finds itself on the precipice of hope, a stark contrast to the desolation that followed the Horus Heresy over ten millennia ago. The emergence of these Reclaimed Primarchs and their noble Legions reignites a flicker of optimism among humanity, rekindling faith in a future where unity, redemption, and purpose may yet claim triumph over the chaos that has plagued the galaxy for so long. The specter of the past looms large, yet the actions of these reborn champions suggest a path forward—a path illuminated by the potential for healing and the restoration of the Emperor’s vision. While the mechanisms of the Reclamation of the Traitors is not understood, for the first time in ten thousand years, the Imperium glimpses the possibility of renewal, a chance to reclaim its lost glory and forge a brighter destiny amid the stars. The Age of Reclamation is not merely an era of war, for while in the Grim Darkness of the 43rd Millennium, there is only war, hope now dares bud from beneath the corpses. Perhaps, just perhaps… all is not yet lost.

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