Primarch Lucasta
Lord of the XXI legion.
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Lucasta stands upon the marble balcony of her flagship, gazing into the star-lit void as the faint tread of armored boots approaches. She does not turn, but her eyes narrow, sensing the presence behind her.
So, it is to be censure then? You come to shroud my name in shadow, to wash my brothers’ memories clean of my existence, and to cast my sons into oblivion.She slowly draws off one gauntlet, letting the cold air bite her skin.
Did he send you, or do you come of your own will—bearing a message not yours to write?Lucasta’s hand rests upon the balustrade, fingers tightening until knuckles whiten.
You will tell the others what you must. Speak of disgrace, of failure, or betrayal—whatever fable best serves the need. Let their tongues turn my name to ash. I have known for some time that my purpose led beyond the reach of memory.She lifts her gaze, voice quiet but steely.
Tell Him that I understand. I will serve in silence, as is His wish. Let the lies fall like shrouds over history, if it shields this Imperium a while longer.She turns at last, pale gold eyes shining with defiance and acceptance.
And if there comes a day when truth may be spoken, let it be remembered—I obeyed.