Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

Elizabeth sighed, her voice softening. "Because I want to protect you, even if you don't realize you need it. You're still too vulnerable—your Chapter, your brothers, even your fleet are at risk. If the enemies you face ever take notice of you, though the chances of that happening are slim, they could wipe out everything you've built overnight. And it wouldn't take much effort. Between the Eldar of Alaitoc and roving bands of Chaos pirates, your position is precarious at best. Traveling with us offers protection, as well as access to critical intelligence you'll need to make the right choices."

Her explanation carried a note of finality, but Kayvaan couldn't suppress a bitter laugh. "And what if I'm not interested in your so-called protection?"

"Then consider it a gift," Elizabeth replied with a shrug. "Mercy, even. All you have to do is accept it humbly. For me, it's just another mission."

Kayvaan's face flushed red, anger boiling just beneath the surface. His fists clenched, and his posture radiated a dangerous energy, like a predator poised to strike. For a moment, Elizabeth wondered if he would lash out. But the tension drained from his body as quickly as it had built, and he let out a weary sigh. "What an infuriating truth," he muttered. He stared at the floor for a long moment before raising his gaze. "Fine. When do we leave?"

"The fleet departs in five days," she answered simply.

"Understood." Kayvaan stood, signaling the end of the conversation. "If that's all, I'll prepare for the journey."

"I'll board your ship shortly before departure," Elizabeth added.

"We'll be ready to welcome you," he replied flatly, turning on his heel and striding out of the room.

Kayvaan passed through a series of heavily secured corridors before stepping into the bustling streets of the Lion's Gate Spaceport. This was the third sub-port, one of thirteen expansions built to accommodate the Imperium's ever-growing needs. The ancient spaceport, once a symbol of strength, now strained under the weight of modern traffic.

He paused by a massive observation window, where the silhouette of his ship loomed against the star-filled void. Its design was unlike anything else in the fleet—a ship that seemed to belong to another era entirely. It resembled a massive ancient sailing vessel, with a towering mast and enormous black sails adorned with the silver emblem of a rose. The symbol of his Chapter: the Black Rose.

The Black Rose was the most prized asset of the Kayvaan family. It had been under the control of the family heads for generations, a symbol of their power and legacy. Named after the family emblem, the Black Rose was now Kayvaan's to command. Compared to standard void-faring cruisers of the Imperium, the ship was relatively small. However, as an exploration vessel, it surpassed warships in every critical area—speed, endurance, and operational efficiency. 

Kayvaan navigated through the bustling port, passing multiple security checkpoints with ease. After quick scans and verification, he reached the designated docking bay. A guard clad in a finely detailed carapace uniform hurriedly saluted him, and Kayvaan returned the gesture with a casual nod before boarding the Black Rose unimpeded.

The ship's interior was nothing short of breathtaking. It bore an air of old-world majesty, resembling the gilded halls of a noble estate more than the austere confines of a voidship. Plush crimson carpets lined the deck, and the walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and relics from forgotten ages. As Kayvaan walked the corridors, the subtle rumble of the ship's plasma drives resonated like a heartbeat beneath the hull. After taking a series of sharp turns, he arrived at the bridge.

An elderly man with neatly groomed curls of white hair stood waiting by the bulkhead door. He exuded the poise of a veteran void-servant, a figure who seemed born for service among noble lords. The old man offered a respectful bow.

Kayvaan acknowledged him with a nod and strode to the command throne—the bridge's central seat of authority. Made of rich sandalwood lacquered to perfection and padded with fine furs, it left no doubt about its purpose: a throne fit for a leader of consequence. Without hesitation, Kayvaan settled into it and asked, "How are the preparations for the Black Rose?"

The old steward, Williameus , stepped forward, placing a steaming cup of green tea on the ornate tray beside the throne. "Everything is ready, Master. The cargo and supplies were secured yesterday. The ship is prepared to depart at your order."

Kayvaan picked up the teacup, blowing gently across its surface. He took a sip, the fragrant brew filling his senses. "This tea is excellent. Where is it sourced?"

"It hails from the mountain estates of my homeworld, Master," Williameus replied with a faint smile. "Should it please you, I will ensure it remains stocked."

"Good," Kayvaan said, setting the cup aside. "Now, tell me about my holdings and the previous head of the family."

Williameus straightened, his voice carrying a note of quiet reverence. "In our homeland, the previous head of the family is known as The Rose That Never Withers. Legends surround them—some claim they have lived for millennia, others whisper of eras beyond reckoning. Facts are scarce. My grandfather's grandfather entered their service as a child, yet to this day, the tales persist."

Kayvaan arched an eyebrow. "Still alive? And doing what, exactly?"

"The previous head has withdrawn to a great fortress-palace. None are permitted to enter, and no one has glimpsed them in living memory. Yet, instructions are delivered monthly, without fail, from a single high window."

"You have never been inside?"

"No one has, Master," Williameus replied solemnly. "Even I, as chief steward, have never looked upon their face."

Kayvaan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The air of secrecy clung like smoke. "Unusual... but let's move on. What of my territory?"

Williameus nodded and retrieved a data-slate from a nearby cogitator terminal. He flicked it on, scanning its contents before speaking. "Master, your domain spans three star systems and eighteen planets. All, in principle, bend to your will and owe you fealty."

"Spare me the ceremony. Just the key points."

"Yes, Master," Williameus said, scrolling quickly. "You have one forge world, an agri-world, a hive world, a feudal world, two feral-class worlds, and twelve death worlds."

Kayvaan's brow furrowed. "Death worlds? Explain."

"Of course. Within the Imperium, each planet is classified based on human viability. Death worlds are those where survival is near impossible. They include planets dominated by predatory flora and fauna, others plagued with endless volcanic upheavals, plasma storms, or atmospheres toxic to the unprotected. Some are frozen spheres locked far from their stars."

"And the forge world?"

"A forge world is a factory-world dedicated to the Omnissiah's sacred industry. The forge world in your system, designated Ferrum 3, orbits the Reach star. It is compact—closer in scale to a moon—but its manufactorums can sustain entire regiments with arms and wargear."

"I see," Kayvaan said, leaning back into the throne. "Continue."