Location: Barbarus, Northern Mountains, outside the old Death Guard stronghold.
Present time.
The skies are perpetually overcast.
A toxic mist shrouds the planet.
In the graveyard of the Death Guard, rows of wooden crosses stand in silent formation.
Beside nine freshly buried crosses, the scent of damp earth is poignant.
Hades stands before one of the wooden cross tombstones, with Lysandra beside him, quietly sobbing.
Around him, by other crosses, mourners stand in silent tribute.
For this mission, there were three teams, nine members.
The first team was annihilated under heavy artillery fire, their intel lost.
From the second team, the last melee fighter crawled back to the command post after his comrades fell and his own legs were blown off. The intel was safely delivered. He later died in the Death Guard's medical wing due to infections.
The third team lost two members. They escorted a sniper carrying intel. The sniper, found by Hades during a night patrol in the farthest fields from the command post, had safely delivered the intel but died from excessive blood loss.
All were lost, but the intel was safely delivered.
Occasional sobs reached Hades's ears, but he seemed lost in his own world, staring blankly at the cross before him.
The Death Guard believe in silent passing and reincarnation. These wooden crosses will soon decay under Barbarus's toxic gases and acid rain.
When the last body beneath these crosses returns to the vast earth, and sorrow begins to fade,
This land will be cultivated anew. The wheat, sustaining the lives of Barbarus's people, will silently replace these symbols of resilience.
The wheat will grow strong and silent until harvested, completing their quiet lifecycle.
Just like the people of Barbarus.
On Barbarus, death is common.
Death isn't a cause for such grief.
It's just a part of life for the people of Barbarus.
Every Barbarian knows this.
An elderly couple approaches, stopping before a cross. The mother weeps, the father smiles. They don't regret their child's sacrifice for a greater cause, even as they stand before their son's grave, their hearts consumed by sorrow.
A young boy, still green behind the ears, stands by another cross, holding a rudimentary scythe given by the Death Guard, murmuring vows.
He swears to avenge his elder brother. He's about to join the Death Guard's main combat force.
The spark of vengeance burns in the boy's dim eyes.
A towering warrior stands silently before another cross.
Wordless.
A weary woman tightly holds her two children, her tears restrained.
A family still needs support; she can't break down.
"Your father fought for a future without oppression for you both."
"Remember, children. Remember all of this."
A young woman cries out, cursing the xenos, cursing her lover who rushed to the front lines.
"Why did you leave me?!"
"We promised to go together! In three days, my deployment orders would've come in. Why did you leave first?!"
She screams, clutching her head in despair, her disheveled hair bursting through her fingers.
Some graves have no visitors.
The ones buried here were the last of their families.
Heavy footsteps sound, clear even on the soft black soil.
"Please, mourn in peace."
A towering figure enters the mourners' view.
Mortarion, wearing a gray half-cloak over his usual simple battle attire, devoid of any ornamentation.
Behind him are Calas Typhon and two other Death Guard honor guards.
Whenever the Death Guard suffer losses, Mortarion always finds time to console the families.
If he's too busy, he sends his honor guards.
The mourners are drawn to this imposing Primarch, his very presence adding gravity to the somber scene.
The inherent charisma of a Primarch is indescribable. The mourners gather around Mortarion, waiting for solace.
They need to be told that all of this has meaning.
That all of this is worth it.
"These warriors bravely completed their missions."
"Even when faced with the treacherous ambushes of the xenos, they remained calm and fulfilled their duties to the utmost."
"For this, I deeply mourn and respect the warriors lying here."
Mortarion closes his eyes, facing the sea of tombstones, one hand over his heart, in silent tribute.
His honor guards salute in kind.
The families of the deceased, suppressing their overt grief, join in the mourning.
The sorrowful yet naive children, the heartbroken yet resigned young woman, the desperate yet resilient widow, the angry yet strong boy, the indifferent yet duty-bound warrior, the grieving yet understanding parents.
People of Barbarus, be silent.
In this vast universe, as a tiny part of a grand tale,
You may seem insignificant, as lowly as ants, as humble as dirt.
Yet, with your heads bowed from daily toil, you march on as resilient warriors.
No sacrifice is too small to overlook, no effort too minor to disdain.
After all, the spirit of resistance burns in your humble yet unyielding hearts!
The living pay their silent respects to the fearless dead.
The silence ends, and Mortarion kneels, engaging in heartfelt conversations with the families.
He comforts the crying children, encourages the upcoming warriors, and promises the worn-out women.
Hope, though small, ripples out from Mortarion, touching everyone.
Grief, yet still with hope.
Because they know all of this has meaning, that it's all worth it.
Mortarion promises them the future they yearn for.
After hope comes determination.
To honor the fallen and to march towards a shared tomorrow.
Hades stands still, lost in thought.
The image of Herilla's final struggle haunts him.
There was no resentment, just the determination of a warrior to complete her mission.
Hades knew of Herilla's feelings for him.
He was well aware.
Yet, the young woman's gratitude towards her savior didn't evolve into romantic entanglement. Instead, it became the drive for her to fight.
"Thank you, for letting me see you one last time."
"Keep going. I believe Hades can lead everyone to liberate this land."
The warriors of Barbarus have such faith in a brighter future.
Herilla was just one of many, a mere reflection of their collective spirit.
She had her personal feelings, yet she fearlessly sacrificed for the liberation of their land.
Hades's mouth tastes bitter.
The xenos must be eradicated, the oppression overthrown.
With the delivery of the strategic map, the Death Guard's full-scale preparations are about to commence.
The final battle with the xenos lord, Necare, is imminent.
Time is running out.
Herilla's last words echo in his ears.
Herilla.
Yet, the world remains cold and indifferent.
The departed are gone, and the living, inheriting the hopes of the deceased, continue their struggle in the world.
Hatred, anger, and the hope to change the future intertwine.
Time is running out.
Hades knows he must make the final preparations.
(Note from the author: This chapter was a challenge to write, and I apologize for any shortcomings. Originally, there were more interactions between Herilla and Hades, spanning over 9k words. However, based on feedback from readers, I made significant changes, cutting 5k words and completely revising this section. I realized, thanks to the readers, that the original version had issues. I had to make last-minute changes, discarding over 10k words of the draft. Feedback is always welcome. Enjoy reading!)