Returning Home

The void between galaxies stretched before the Battlefleet Liberty like an endless ocean of darkness. At the helm of the mighty Gloriana-class battleship "Sweet Liberty," Primarch Franklin Valorian stood, his imposing 15-foot frame dwarfing even the tallest of his gene-sons. The Ghoul Stars Crusade had concluded with a resounding victory, the capital planet of the Cythor Fiends reduced to nothing by the power of Sweet Liberty.

Franklin gazed upon the distant pinprick of light that was the Andromeda Galaxy. A smirk played across his lips as he considered the vast expanse of unexplored space.

"Well, boys," he announced to his bridge crew, his voice carrying a hint of amusement, "I reckon we've gone far enough. Time to head back and see what other trouble we can stir up in our own backyard."

As the fleet began its long journey home, Franklin made an impromptu decision. "Let's take the scenic route," he declared. "We'll skirt the edge of the Milky Way. Who knows what we might find?"

Days turned to weeks as the Battlefleet Liberty cruised along the galactic rim. It was during a routine scan that a young officer called out, "My Lord, we've detected a system ahead. Initial readings suggest... a human civilization."

The void ships of Battlefleet Liberty emerged from the starless expanse, their sleek, triangular forms a stark contrast to the Gothic architecture typical of Imperial vessels. At the helm of the Sweet Liberty, Franklin Valorian gazed upon the Istvaan System with keen interest.

"Well, well," he mused, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Looks like we've stumbled upon a piece of the past, boys. Let's say hello, shall we?"

As the fleet approached, the comm channels crackled to life. A cautious voice spoke, "Unidentified vessels, this is Istvaan Control. Please state your intentions."

Franklin leaned forward, his charismatic voice filling the channel. "Greetings, Istvaan Control. This is Primarch Franklin Valorian of the Imperium of Man. We come as friends, representatives of a united humanity seeking to reconnect with our lost brothers and sisters."

There was a pause, then a reply tinged with hope and disbelief. "Primarch?...is that some sort of rank?" the voice asked.

Franklin chuckled "Sort of, like a General"

"United Humanity? Is The Men of Iron Rebellion is over?"

Franklin's eyes twinkled. "Indeed it is, my friends. Humanity has weathered the storm and now seeks to rebuild. We'd be honored to meet with your leaders and share news of our progress."

Within hours, Franklin found himself in a grand meeting hall on Istvaan III, facing a panel of wide-eyed administrators and officials. He cut an impressive figure, his towering frame and noble bearing commanding attention.

The grand meeting hall on Istvaan III buzzed with anticipation as Franklin Valorian strode in, his imposing figure drawing all eyes. He flashed a disarming smile at the assembled leaders.

"Esteemed council of Istvaan," he began, his voice rich and warm, "I can't tell you how thrilled I am to be here. It's not every day we stumble upon a thriving human world."

An elderly woman, introduced as Councilor Mara, leaned forward. "General Valorian, your arrival is... unexpected. We had thought ourselves alone in the galaxy."

Franklin chuckled. "Oh, far from it, Councilor. Humanity is vast and resilient. We've weathered the storm of the Age of Strife, and now we're rebuilding."

A younger man, Councilor Thax, interjected, "But your ships, they're unlike anything we've seen. How is this possible?"

"Ah, observant!" Franklin's eyes twinkled. "We've been fortunate enough to preserve much of our technology. It hasn't been easy, mind you, but necessity is the mother of invention."

Mara's eyes narrowed slightly. "And this... Imperium you mentioned. What exactly is it?" She knew what an Imperium meant.

Franklin spread his hands. "Think of it as a grand alliance of human worlds. We're united in purpose, but diverse in governance. The Emperor - a visionary leader, I might add - provides guidance, but each world retains significant autonomy."

"A confederation, then?" Thax asked, hope evident in his voice.

"In many ways, yes," Franklin nodded. "We've found that a balance between central leadership and local rule works best in these trying times."

Another councilor, a stern-faced man named Varnus, spoke up. "And what of individual freedoms? Democracy? We've seen some rather unsavory things in an Imperium throughout History."

Franklin's expression turned serious. "Ah, the eternal question of liberty versus security. It's a delicate balance, especially when facing the threats that lurk in the void." He paused, then continued with a wry smile, "Let me ask you this - is a man truly free if he lives in constant fear of alien invasion or worse?"

Varnus frowned. "That doesn't quite answer the question, Primarch."

"Fair point," Franklin conceded. "The truth is, different worlds within the Imperium handle governance differently. Some maintain traditional democratic systems, others have adapted to more... streamlined approaches. But the core principles of human liberty? Those we strive to uphold everywhere."

Mara interjected, "But surely there must be some universal laws?"

Franklin nodded sagely. "Of course. The protection of human life is paramount. We have strict policies against certain dangerous technologies and practices that could threaten humanity as a whole. But day-to-day governance? That's largely up to each world."

Thax leaned in, curiosity burning in his eyes. "And how does one join this Imperium?"

Franklin's face lit up. "Eager, aren't we? I like that! Joining is a process of mutual agreement. We're not in the business of forcing worlds into the fold. We offer protection, resources, and a connection to the broader human family. In return, we ask for loyalty to the Imperium's greater goals and some contribution to our shared defense."

Varnus, still skeptical, pressed further. "And if a world wishes to leave?"

For a moment, a shadow crossed Franklin's face, but it was gone so quickly one might have imagined it. "Now why would anyone want to leave such a grand endeavor?" he said with a laugh. "Our goal is to make membership so beneficial that leaving would be unthinkable. We're building something magnificent here, something that will stand for millennia to come."

As the questioning continued, Franklin deftly maneuvered through each topic, always ready with an anecdote or a clever turn of phrase to assuage concerns and stoke excitement.

When asked about the more militant aspects of the Imperium, he sighed dramatically. "If only we lived in a galaxy where words alone could solve all conflicts. Sadly, there are threats out there that understand only the language of force. Our military strength is a regrettable necessity, a shield behind which human culture and progress can flourish."

Hours passed, and as the meeting drew to a close, Franklin could see the shift in the room. The initial wariness had given way to cautious optimism, even excitement.

Mara stood, her eyes bright. "Primarch Valorian, you've given us much to consider. Your Imperium sounds... well, it sounds like something we'd very much like to be part of."

Franklin beamed. "My dear councilors, nothing would make me happier. Shall we discuss the next steps?"

As they began to file out, Varnus approached Franklin privately. "You're very persuasive, Primarch," he said quietly. "I just hope we don't come to regret this decision."

Franklin placed a massive hand on Varnus's shoulder. "My friend, the only thing you'll regret is not joining sooner. Trust me, the best is yet to come."

Later, aboard the Sweet Liberty, Denzel found Franklin in his private quarters, sipping amasec.

"Quite the performance, sir," Denzel remarked. "You had them eating out of your hand."

Franklin grinned. "The trick, Denzel, is to tell them what they want to hear while carefully omitting what they don't need to know. A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, as they used to say."

Denzel raised an eyebrow. "And when they discover the full truth?"

Franklin's grin turned wolfish. "By then, it'll be far too late. They'll be so deeply entrenched in the Imperium that leaving will be unthinkable. Sometimes, the cage with golden bars is the most effective prison of all."

He raised his glass in a toast. "To Istvaan - the latest unwitting addition to our grand Imperium. May their blissful ignorance last as long as possible."

As the Sweet Liberty prepared to depart the Istvaan System, Franklin stood at the observation deck, gazing at the planets below. His expression was a mixture of satisfaction and contemplation.

"Another world brought into compliance," he mused aloud. "And without a drop of blood spilled. That's the way to do it."

Denzel, standing nearby, nodded in agreement. "It's certainly more efficient than some of the methods we've heard about from other expeditionary fleets."

Franklin turned to his First Captain, a wry smile on his face. "Indeed. The Istvaan leadership will have to grapple with the reality of the Imperium soon enough. But they'll do so from a position of strength, thanks to us."

"Sir?" Denzel queried, not quite following.

"Think about it, Denzel," Franklin explained, gesturing towards the planet. "The worlds we bring into compliance – they're getting the best face of the Imperium. Our technology, our productivity... it's leagues ahead of what some of our future brother Primarchs will offer."

He chuckled, a sound tinged with both pride and irony. "In a way, we're setting a standard that the rest of the Imperium might struggle to meet. But that's a problem for another day."

Franklin's expression turned more serious. "For now, we've done our job. Istvaan is part of the Imperium, and they'll be better for it, even if they don't fully realize it yet."

He turned away from the viewport, his voice taking on a commanding tone. "Set course for Terra. We'll make our report to the Emperor, then head back to the Independence Cluster. We need to restock and repair before we continue the Crusade."

As the fleet prepared to enter the Warp, Franklin allowed himself one last look at Istvaan. "Farewell," he murmured. "May you thrive under the Eagle's wings."

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

Steven Armstrong stood at the viewport of the Liberty Eagles' training facility, his massive Astartes frame a result of the transformation he had undergone just months ago. At 21, he was among the oldest of the new recruits, his mind still sharp with the memories of his mortal life.

A year had passed since Franklin Valorian had left the Independence Cluster to join the Great Crusade. In that time, 60,000 Astartes had been created from the adult population, Armstrong among them. His tactical acumen and fiery personality had quickly set him apart from his brothers.

"Brother Armstrong," a voice called from behind him. "The new recruits are assembled for your address."

Armstrong turned, a grin spreading across his face. "Excellent. Let's show them what it means to be a Liberty Eagle."

As he strode towards the gathering hall, Armstrong's mind raced with thoughts of his gene-father. He had been just 20 when Franklin unified the cluster under his vision of Managed Democracy. The memory of that time, of the speeches and the rallies, still burned bright in his enhanced mind.

Entering the hall, Armstrong was met with the sight of thousands of newly-minted Astartes, their eyes filled with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. He took his place at the podium, his presence immediately commanding attention.

"Brothers," he began, his voice booming across the chamber. "You stand here today as the newest sons of Franklin Valorian, the Liberator, the bringer of freedom to the stars!"

A cheer went up from the assembled Astartes. Armstrong raised his hand for silence.

"But what does it mean to be a son of Valorian? To be a Liberty Eagle?" He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. "It means to be the vanguard of freedom, the hammer of justice against the enemies of mankind!"

He tapped a control, and a holographic display sprang to life behind him, showing footage of Franklin's exploits across the galaxy.

"Look upon our gene-father's works!" Armstrong declared. "World after world brought into the Imperial fold, not through mindless bloodshed, but through the power of his words, his unmatched charisma!"

The display showed Franklin addressing crowds on distant worlds, his presence electrifying even through the hologram.

"But make no mistake," Armstrong continued, his voice dropping to a growl. "When words fail, when our enemies prove deaf to reason, our father does not hesitate to unleash the full might of the Liberty Eagles!"

The image changed to show a barren world, its surface scarred by massive impact craters.

"This was once a xenos-infested hellhole," Armstrong explained. "Rather than risk a single Liberty Eagle in ground combat, our father chose to cleanse it with fire and steel. From the ashes of our enemies, we will build a new bastion of humanity!"

A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd. Armstrong nodded, satisfied.

"This is the way of the Liberty Eagles. We are not mindless butchers, but neither are we weak-willed diplomats. We are the perfect synthesis of word and deed, of diplomacy and strength!"

As he concluded his speech, Armstrong could see the fire of devotion burning in the eyes of his brothers. He had done it again, rallying them to the cause just as Franklin had once rallied the people of the Independence Cluster.

Later, in his private quarters, Armstrong scrolled through the latest reports of Franklin's crusade. World after world brought into compliance, often with minimal bloodshed. The statistics were impressive, but Armstrong found himself frowning.

"It shouldn't be possible," he muttered to himself. "No one should be able to sway entire worlds with just words."

He replayed a holographic recording of one of Franklin's speeches. The words were inspiring, certainly, but Armstrong felt that something was missing. The raw charisma, the sheer force of personality that he remembered from his mortal days, seemed somehow diminished in the recording.

"The holograms," Armstrong realized. "They're not capturing it. They can't capture it."

In that moment, Armstrong's desire to meet his gene-father face-to-face intensified. He needed to see for himself the man who could reshape the galaxy with words alone, to understand the source of that incredible charisma.

"Soon," he promised himself, clenching his fist. "Soon, Father, I'll stand at your side. And together, we'll bring liberty to every corner of this galaxy, no matter the cost."

As he turned back to his duties, Armstrong's mind was filled with visions of glory, of worlds brought to heel under the banner of the Liberty Eagles. He would make himself indispensable, the perfect instrument of Franklin's will. And when the time came, he would be ready to take his place as the Liberator's most devoted son.

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

The golden halls of the Imperial Palace echoed with the heavy footfalls of Franklin Valorian as he made his way to Malcador's private study. The Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, towering and resplendent in his power armor, cut an impressive figure even among the wonders of Terra.

As he entered the study, Franklin's face broke into a wide grin at the sight of the wizened Sigillite. "Uncle Mal! Still holding down the fort, I see."

Malcador looked up from his ancient tomes, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Franklin. I trust your journey was uneventful?"

"Oh, you know, just the usual. Liberating worlds, spreading democracy, all in a day's work," Franklin chuckled, taking a seat opposite Malcador at a ornate chess table. "I hear the old man's out on his own crusade?"

Malcador nodded, moving a pawn forward. "Indeed. The Emperor continues his search for your brothers."

Franklin mirrored the move, his massive hand dwarfing the chess piece. "Well, I hope he's having better luck than I am. The galaxy's a big place, Uncle. You'd think it'd be easier to spot a demigod or two."

"The ways of the Warp are mysterious, even to one such as your father," Malcador replied, his tone even but his eyes twinkling with hidden mirth.

As they played, Franklin's gaze wandered around the study, taking in the countless scrolls and artifacts. "You've got your hands full here, haven't you? Running the Imperium, terraforming Terra... Have you considered setting up an IRS? I hear they were quite effective in the old days."

Malcador paused, his hand hovering over a bishop. "An IRS? Interesting. That could indeed streamline our tax collection efforts."

Franklin's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, you're actually considering it? I was joking, Uncle Mal. Don't tell me the Imperium's going to have tax auditors now."

"In governance, Franklin, even jokes can hold kernels of wisdom," Malcador replied, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

The game continued, each move accompanied by witty banter and veiled lessons. As they neared the endgame, Malcador's expression grew more serious.

"Franklin, there is a matter we must discuss," he began, capturing one of Franklin's knights. "Your methods, while undeniably effective, are setting a rather high standard for your brothers to follow."

Franklin leaned back, his jovial expression fading slightly. "Ah, I was wondering when we'd get to that. Horus having trouble keeping up, is he?"

Malcador nodded. "He strives to emulate your diplomatic approach, but often finds himself in... less favorable situations. The pressure to match your bloodless conquests is taking its toll."

"I see," Franklin mused, stroking his chin. "Well, we can't have that, can we? What if I were to prepare a sanitized report for my dear brothers? The full truth for you and father, of course, and the usual Imperial Truth for the masses. But for Horus and the others, a... shall we say, more achievable version of events?"

Malcador considered this, his ancient eyes studying Franklin intently. "A intriguing proposition. But tell me, what would this 'achievable version' entail?"

Franklin grinned, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Oh, you know, a few more skirmishes here, a stubborn planetary governor there. Nothing too drastic, mind you. Just enough to make my victories seem a tad more... relatable."

The Sigillite was silent for a long moment, his fingers steepled in thought. Finally, he spoke. "I have seen the worlds you've brought into compliance, Franklin. They are indeed the very image of the Imperial Truth. Your results cannot be denied." He paused, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Very well. Prepare your third report. But be cautious. Even well-intentioned deceptions have a way of growing beyond our control."

"Uncle Mal, you wound me," Franklin said, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "When have I ever been anything but the soul of caution?"

Malcador's response was a raised eyebrow that spoke volumes.

As their game concluded - a narrow victory for the Sigillite - Franklin reached into a compartment in his armor. "Before I forget, I have something for you, Uncle. A token of my appreciation for all you do."

He produced a staff, obsidian black and deceptively simple in appearance. "I call it the Staff of the Sigillite. Found it during my travels in the outer reaches. It should give your already formidable abilities a nice little boost."

Malcador took the staff, his eyes widening slightly as he felt the power thrumming within it. "This is... most generous, Franklin. A relic of the Dark Age, if I'm not mistaken."

"Only the best for my favorite uncle," Franklin beamed, rising to his feet. "Now, much as I'd love to stay and chat, duty calls. Worlds to liberate, hearts and minds to win, you know how it is."

Before Malcador could respond, Franklin had scooped him up in a bear hug, lifting the ancient psyker clear off the ground. Malcador wheezed, tapping frantically on the Primarch's armored shoulder.

"Oops, sorry about that," Franklin chuckled, setting Malcador down gently. "Sometimes I forget my own strength."

Malcador straightened his robes, trying to maintain his dignity. "Yes, well... do try to remember in the future. And Franklin?"

The Primarch paused at the doorway, looking back.

"Do be careful out there. The galaxy is full of dangers, even for one such as you."

Franklin's expression softened for a moment, a glimpse of the weight he carried beneath his jovial exterior. "Always, Uncle Mal. Always."

As the door closed behind the Liberator, Malcador turned his attention to the Staff of the Sigillite, a small smile playing on his lips. "Reckless, impulsive, and entirely too clever for his own good," he muttered. "The Emperor certainly knew what he was doing with that one."

With a shake of his head, Malcador returned to his work, the Imperium waiting for no man - not even the favored uncle of a Primarch.

The Eagle is Returning to it's nest.