Lost and Found

In the grim darkness of 40k, there is only war. 

The galaxy boils in destruction, death, and rot. The common pleasure is forever lost in meaning. Change forever influences the factors of the physical realm. The alien, the mutant, the heretic, and among them is humanity. Trapped in the game hosted by the malevolent gods of the warp.

Khorn the Blood God.

Tzeentch the Changer of Ways.

Nurgle the Plague Lord.

Slaanesh the Dark Prince.

They represented the twisted sense of existence. But there was one that has impeded their wish time and time again.

He was the Emperor of Mankind. A Perpetual Psyker of the highest order. The chosen one for humanity. He has thwarted Chaos time and time again as his Imperium was slowly created. But, Chaos ensues.

The Emperor created sons containing his as well as another perpetual's genetic code. These were the Primarchs, meant to lead the 20 legions across the stars to reunite lost civilizations. But it was during their infancy when tragedy struck.

Chaos scattered all 20 Primarchs into unknown pockets of the Milky Way Galaxy. A set back, for sure, commencing the Great Crusade however showed the return of 18 Primarchs. They were slowly found across the galaxy and later united with their respective legions.

But two legions were to be forever forgotten. They were never found, and their legions obliterated and erased from Imperial records.

It would be that very same tragic history that would bring about an age of fire to light the Imperium to a new age.

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Nowhere and somewhere, a land with no accurate description– land, a loose connection of a word for an unknown realm. Astrol in nature, time a loose restriction. Strings in varied hues acted in suspended space. Languid and chaotic, in a sense of which the surrounded space was one that would overload a normal man's mind. Spectral and ethereal, nothing was physical. Except for a certain pod.

It floated, no destination in mind. All necessary facilitations were disconnected. Yet the steady heart beat of the child inside shows no sign of decay in health.

One of the lost Primarchs was here, a realm of an unknown age and knowledge.

It floats, days, hours, weeks, months, years. A symphony of silence is all that it's ever known. The baby slept uncontested through all of time. The strings cuddled it, doing away with the gestation pod a long time ago. There, in his bare form, the baby was exposed for an unknown amount of time. But in his existence he has gained knowledge. The strings weren't as they seemed. It entered his body– unnaturally– and released numerical text. Codes, history, common sense, things the baby should be learning normally were directly being encoded into the mind of this youngling.

The pulse of existence passed, the young Primarch no longer at the hands of the strings. Instead, it was cradled at the hands of a spectral being. Its translucent yet smokey anatomy held the primarch close and endearingly. It was neither male or female in nature, it was both. Between the fingertips of which touched upon the untainted skin of the child, an unfathomable power kneads the soul of the Primarch. It softened, hardened, weakened, scarred, defiled, and constituted the soul, forging it into something unbreakable at every sense of the word. The spectral being worked its magic fingers as the flow of time continued until it stopped.

The being shifted the boy, giving access to its head. It leaned in, leaving a mark in the form of a kiss on the forehead. An illustration of a dragon, there for but a moment, slowly sank into the skin of the young Primarch. The specter-like being leaned in on the baby's ear before letting go– forever faded.

It was then that the baby began to grow. Infancy, toddler, childhood, adolescence, and into adulthood. Sculpted like a Greek god, the once young Primarch opened his eyes. Bright blue large irises and a vertical pupil. They were beautiful and held this primal pride. Tufts of black hair with silver highlights blocked waves above his head like underwater. He looks down to see his hands, then his arms, then his torso and legs before being wrapped by strings again. This time though, they didn't enter him as they once did, trillions of years ago.

He looked like royalty– of noble blood. A gothic suit fit to his measures. Bone white in color and jade black secondary formed the main color scheme of the suit. Golden trims highlight the suit and silver ornate chest piece gives the suit a sort of pizzazz.

"You won't remember me."

Growl, intrinsic, female and male alike. It spoke with dignity, pride, and a sense of longing. A sort of sadness, as one would have letting go of their own child.

"You drifted. From matter, time, you entered the space of nothingness– of tranquility. For years there was only me. You are a gift, a company I knew nothing about."

A long pause.

"Your destined faith long ended years ago; alone, forgotten and dead. Yet, you're here, with me."

"And with you a gift of longing, of emotion. Something I never knew. I saw your world, your life. One you had no knowledge of until now."

"Within you are memories. A life you've been robbed of. A normal life many were able to have. It's the least I could do, to give you something in return for these gifts."

The astral plane shook. A portal, oval, stars scattered within.

"Before you is my last gift," its voice grew weak. A sadness envelopes it, "I'm no longer nothingness, feelingless. Once thought stagnant, now ever changing– in motion. You gave me purpose, now I must do the same."

"In here, you are stagnant. You're not of this realm my child. The portal shall lead you to another world. One where you'll strive and grow."

Two balls of light formed atop a small tornado until whole. They floated and circled before his eyes.

"These are gifts as well my child, as well as a reminder that I'm with you forever and in eternity."

The lights rushed into the Primarchs chest with a hum. Gone, a warm feeling washes over the Primarch as the lights embedded itself.

"I love you Duraeus Vendrandar. To you, our time was short. But to me, you're all I've ever known. Go now and remember, give me grandchildren in the real world ~Teehee~."

The Primarchs eyes widened. Through this whole time he has not made sense of things. This plane of existence or the voice talking to him now. All he's ever known was high rise buildings, arcades, stories, good food, and friends. His life was normal. Even though he only had a mom, she held the best of the best in life. He did find it odd that she never found someone else to call her own, other than that he enjoyed life.

His eyes widened for only one person can laugh like that, much less insist on getting grandchildren. It seems the being had fun teasing the young Primarch as the astral plane danced around Duraeus.

"I'll be watching you, my little Duraeus."

"Wait!"

Duraeus was gently glided into the portal, guided by the astral winds of the realm. But to Duraeus, it felt more like his mother nudging him towards a group of cute girls. That unlocked some devastating memories.

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Amidst and unsuspecting forest, a flash of light leaving a man confuzzled and disoriented. He leans on a nearby tree, breath stabilizing, memories organizing, and grasping his situation.

"What the fuck?"

"How'd I get here?"

The astral being, his mother was right in saying he won't remember their meeting in the astral plane. To him, he saw a metal box moving at high speeds, a flicker of light, and then darkness before coming here. He was out on a leisure stroll in the night. He often did so as the night sky was welcoming. He lived in the suburbs of the U.S. in the early 2000s. Along his walk, he decided to get the newest game at the time. Two actually, Crysis 2 and Battlefield 3. Two franchises he adored back then. Alongside Halo, Gears, Space Marine, and Batman. Well, Space Marine wasn't much of a franchise, but something about the game spoke to him. The Warhammer world was something he collected and read up on the regular. Among other worlds.

All digressions aside, his trip was short lived, ultimately ending up here. In a forest of unknown origin. 

"This is like those stories I've read online."

Indeed it was. Living a normal life, dying, then being sent into the unknown. For him, he met his mother, which was secretly a higher being that was stagnant for a long time. It decided to give him a life, a simulation in return for the gift of emotion. Now, it gave him something more, a life in the real world. 

Akin to a baby bird taking its first flight.

Curiosity, interests, and wariness. Most would succumb to common emotions. But he was stalwart, as if in the know. His eyes didn't see a forest, he saw instead a new life. Maybe it was the workings of his mother and the astral plane, or it was his Primarch physiology in the works, but doubt wasn't the first thing in his mind.

'Remember son, when stranded in the unknown. Fear is a friend. It's one of the very many basic primal emotions us humans have. It's a gift, a sense for when a situation isn't what it seems. So when stranded, ask yourself. What is there to be afraid of?'

"Nothing."

His upbringing was abnormal. Where one normal household taught of academics, history, discipline; his was of common sense, the use of human anatomy, the use of their very own functions. His mother taught him many of the basics of what humans dictates as academics, but philosophy was his middle name. He was often left alone but in view of his mother. She watched as he explored what it meant to be in contact with the peculiar. Why things burned, how to regulate emotions, how best to tackle the unknown and the unexpected. All was self taught by himself, he learned for himself what it was to be human. His mother was merely a failsafe, telling the truth when asked yet never nudging him in a certain direction.

She was a mother of a different aspect. She encouraged questioning, as well as violence. Especially violence, the philosophy behind it. While others were taught not to lift a finger when challenged, he was taught of equal rights. But it also comes in moderation for indeed violence doesn't solve everything, only 80% of the problems while the remaining 20% requires finesse of all kinds. Oratory skills, stealth, illusions, leadership, dexterity, he mastered it underneath the teachings of experience and guidance of his mother.

He is what a Primarch would be if they had not been separated by their gene-father… maybe, the Emperor isn't much of a father at times… most times. 

Instead of falling into the fear of the unknown, he surveilled, heeded potential key points of interest. Making sure to follow his mother's teachings.

"Odd, it's almost as if she prepared me for this."

Duraeus was ever absorbent but he was many years too late to realize that fact.

The forest was lush. A mixture of green and brown as mother nature was bare in the eyes of Duraeus. Beautiful and tranquil. Organisms living in tragic harmony, kill or be killed– eat or be eaten. Thankfully, it was day time. The trees weren't so close and huddled together as a decent amount of sunlight punctured through. He was still leaning on the tree. But as he attempted to take a step–

"Agh!"

Pain erupts in his head, as if his brain was splitting in two.

Visions, glimpses of a world grimdark in nature. Wars, famine, traitors and xenos. A world he knew well. But what he found odd was himself. In a gestation pod, the creation of his existence as he saw the Emperor. Then, his visions shift. Moments he's read upon: the Age of Strife, the Horus Heresy, the Great Crusade– all played like a movie, condensed into small glimpses as the finer details were silently installed in his head.

For what seemed like hours only amounted to seconds. He didn't scream nor squirm in pain. He bit the bullet and took it all in– what else was he supposed to do. Then a brief respite before another wave, this time of a different fact.

Knowledge of two systems, the two gifts his mother granted to him before being sent here– all unbeknownst to him.

One was the Reward System. A particular system that rewards violence. Each final blow granted an item. From currency to world breaking weapons to beacons that vary in effects. It even comes with a dedicated inventory with infinite space; able to store inanimate objects– even the dead. Must be in arms reach though. It can also scrap items for currency, usable in his current world and his other system. The items range from white, green, blue, yellow, purple, and orange– Common, Uncommon, Rare, Elite, Masterwork, and Legendary– respectively.

The other was the Legion System. Create vehicles as well as the Adeptus Astartes of the II Legion: The Draconian Revenants. Comes with upgradable tech that in itself evolves depending on the assimilation of his current world. Accompanied with a Command View, granting him with a map he alone can see. Birds eye view of the AO, designate orders through vox calls in real time. Spawn his sons of the Draconian Revenant, often arriving through portal, drop pod, or aerial transport. It even holds already spawned vehicles and marines by use of a built in stronghold.There they can recuperate and upgrade their gear. Deploying already deployed marines doesn't cost Legion Points (LP). The system works off of Legion Points. It can be generated through the conversion of currency at a 1:1 conversion rate.

How fitting that the second system was bound to him for he is a Primarch, the knowledge which escaped him until now.

He wondered why he was taller back home. Taller, stronger, not prone to injury. Of the 37 years of life he's experienced, he wasn't able to come up with the correct explanations. Neither experts nor doctors, even his mother who was much shorter. Well, it wasn't that she didn't have an answer, more or less deflected it. Avoided it like a plague. So much so he himself expected to be a Primarch, a silly notion… until now.

His confused face at the revelation says it all.

'That's why I was taller and stronger. Smarter and faster.'

'That's why my mother avoided answering my question of being– well me.'

How wrong he was. It was merely because he wasn't ready. To him, he awoke in a world of normalcy, like a toddler suddenly gaining consciousness. To be told he was a Primarch lost in time and space would be bonkers, hard for one to wrap their mind around.

But now he understood. He was a being to be lost, but instead found himself in another world. Sheltered by his mother. Never shunned, only loved. Never feared, only looked up upon. Never faltered, only strived to be better.

A minute, then another, before he took a deep breath… and relaxed.

He was himself. Both his old life as well as his original fate– both belonged to him, or he belonged to. He awoke here, in the lush greenery. Both he and his surroundings fresh. He was given a new life with all the truths laid bare to him. Now, all he has to do is choose.