The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 137: Celebrations



Franklin Valorian sat in his personal quarters aboard the Sweet Liberty, his massive frame dwarfing the ornate chair specifically crafted to accommodate his Primarch physique. Before him, suspended in mid-air by technologies beyond even his comprehension, floated what appeared to be a simple library card - though "simple" was hardly the word for an artifact granted by the Laughing God himself. Beside it, displayed on a stand of wraithbone and adamantium, was the elaborate suit of a Harlequin Troupe Master.

The mask of the suit winked at him.

Franklin blinked, then squinted. He had checked the mask for sentience three times already, finding nothing but ancient Aeldari runes programmed with specific behaviors. The wink happened again, and he could have sworn the mask's permanent grin grew just a fraction wider.

"What do you make of this?" Franklin asked aloud, though not to any mortal ears. Within his mind, the presence of Khaine stirred - not the fractured, raging thing that existed in Avatars across the galaxy, but a more complete consciousness, bound to him through the sword Anaris.

Khaine's voice resonated in his thoughts, carrying the heat of a forge and the sharp edge of a blade. "It is, as many things are with my brother, a matter of trust." There was a hint of exasperated fondness in the god's tone. "Cegorach has always had his... peculiarities in choosing allies."

Franklin raised an eyebrow. "I'm sensing a story there."

"Many stories," Khaine replied, and Franklin could feel the god's amusement. "You must understand, among all the variations of you and your brothers he has observed across the skein of fate, you are his preferred Primarch. His words, not mine, were something along the lines of 'excellent comedic timing, and jokes that are literally deadly.""

Franklin grinned. "I'm flattered. I think."

"Do not be too flattered," Khaine warned, though there was humor in his voice. "The Laughing God's gifts always serve multiple purposes. Yes, this suit will complement your ability to take the form of an Aeldari - and paired with the mannerisms and speech patterns, I taught you, like one from the ancient empire, which might be rather conspicuous. But knowing Cegorach, he likely sees you as another piece on the Great Game's board, one he can position against the Chaos Gods."

"So I'm a pawn?" Franklin asked, reaching out to touch the mask.

"No," Khaine responded firmly. "You are more akin to what humans would call a wild card. Cegorach believes - and I find myself agreeing - that your particular approach to warfare and leadership mirrors his own in certain ways. Where I would simply strike down an enemy..."

"You'd stab them," Franklin interjected.

"I would stab them," Khaine agreed, without shame. "But Cegorach? He would orchestrate events so precisely that the enemy would end up stabbing themselves, and somehow find it poetically appropriate."

Franklin leaned back, considering this. "You sound like you speak from experience."

The god's presence shifted, and Franklin felt what could only be described as divine embarrassment. "There were... incidents, during the height of the Aeldari empire. Cegorach and I, despite our drastically different natures, often found ourselves in each other's company. I was the empire's god of war, yes, but warfare requires strategy as much as strength. And Cegorach... well, he had his own ideas about military planning."n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Do tell," Franklin prompted, thoroughly amused by the direction this conversation was taking.

"There was one particular campaign against a race of silicon-based entities," Khaine began, his tone suggesting the beginning of a long-suffered tale. "I had gathered the military leaders for a strategic briefing. Cegorach appeared - uninvited, I might add - and decided that the best way to explain his proposed battle plan was through interpretative dance."

Franklin nearly choked. "He didn't."

"He did. Three hours of increasingly elaborate movements, each one supposedly representing different troop movements and tactical objectives. The worst part? It worked. His plan was brilliant, once you understood the metaphorical significance of his pirouettes."

Franklin found himself laughing, the sound echoing through his quarters. "Please tell me there's more."

"There was the time he replaced all my weapons with prop swords that turned into bouquets of crystalfire flowers when swung. Or when he convinced an entire Webway portal to redirect into a theatre he had prepared, just so he could force me to watch his latest performance art piece about the futility of uncontrolled anger. He called it 'The Angry God Gets Anger Management.""

"And you put up with this because...?"

Khaine's presence warmed slightly. "Because beneath all his foolishness and tricks, Cegorach sees patterns that even I cannot. His methods may seem mad, but they have purpose. When he appeared to me before a great battle, juggling soulstones and telling ridiculous jokes, it was his way of showing me that I was taking myself too seriously, becoming too rigid in my thinking. A warrior who cannot adapt, who cannot see the absurdity in existence, becomes predictable. And predictable warriors die."

Franklin looked again at the Harlequin suit, understanding dawning. "So this gift..."

"Is both a tool and a lesson," Khaine confirmed. "The suit will allow you to walk paths usually closed to humans, yes. But more importantly, it is Cegorach's way of saying that sometimes the best way to win a war is to make your enemy laugh - right before you strike the killing blow."

"And the winking mask?"

"Knowing my brother, it probably contains the secrets of several major Webway routes, a few devastating weapons, and at least one practical joke that will activate at the most inappropriate moment possible. He once hid the tactical plans for an entire crusade in a juggling ball, simply because he thought it was amusing to watch me try to catch it."

Franklin stood, walking over to examine the suit more closely. "You know, for someone who claims to find him annoying, you seem to have spent a lot of time with him."

"War and laughter, violence and joy - they are not as separate as many believe," Khaine mused. "Cegorach understood this better than most. He knew that my path of bloodshed needed his path of revelry to remain balanced. Just as your Legion's overwhelming firepower is balanced by your own sense of humor and humanity."

"So what you're saying is, I should definitely try on the suit."

Khaine's presence flickered with what might have been resignation. "I am saying that Cegorach chose you for a reason. He sees in you what he saw in me - the potential to

understand that sometimes the greatest victory comes not from the strength of your sword

arm, but from the strength of your performance."

"Plus," Franklin added, reaching for the mask, "it'll really confuse the hell out of anyone who

sees a Primarch doing Aeldari dance moves."

"Just... promise me one thing," Khaine requested.

"Name it."

"When you inevitably end up performing some ridiculous dance number in the middle of a crucial battle because Cegorach's influenced you... make sure someone records it. I want proof that I'm not the only warrior he's managed to turn into an unwitting performer."

The mask winked again, and Franklin could have sworn he heard distant laughter echoing through the Warp - the sound of a god who had just successfully placed another piece on his cosmic game board, and was thoroughly enjoying the show.

The celebration hall of the Sweet Liberty pulsed with life and laughter, the massive space filled with the sounds of revelry and joy. Franklin had spent the better part of an hour engaging in drinking contests with his sons - contests that, despite his enhanced physiology, still left him feeling pleasantly warm. The Libertan beer, specifically crafted to affect even transhuman biology, had done its work well.

Now he found himself standing on one of the upper observation decks, overlooking what might have been the most audacious example of technological achievement in his flagship: an artificial beach, complete with its own captured star. The pale golden light of the miniaturized sun cast everything in a perfect sunset glow, its carefully controlled solar flares creating waves that his mortal auxiliaries surfed with practiced ease.

The manifestation of Khaine beside him was subtle - more of a shimmer in reality than the towering, bloody apparition most would expect from the Aeldari god of war. The deity's voice carried equal parts amusement and bewilderment.

"Let me understand this correctly," Khaine began, his form solidifying as he spoke. "You took ancient Aeldari technology capable of capturing and relocating stars through the Webway..." "Yes," Franklin confirmed, taking another sip of his beer.

"You successfully reverse-engineered this technology, improving upon its efficiency..."

"Correct."

"And your first thought was to use this monumentally powerful technology to create... a

beach? Inside your ship?"

Franklin's grin widened. "The ultimate flex, wouldn't you say? Taking ancient technology and using it not for war or conquest, but to give my people a place to surf and sunbathe? It's like saying 'look what we can do with your toys' while simultaneously throwing the galaxy's most elaborate beach party."

To his surprise, Khaine actually chuckled - a sound like distant thunder. "I suppose there is a certain... artistic irony to it. Though I must admit, watching your mortals surf those solar waves..." The god's form shifted, and Franklin sensed an unexpected nostalgia emanating from him. "It reminds me of the ancient Aeldari. They would do the same, you know. Ride the solar tides between stars, turning even the most fundamental forces of the universe into sources of entertainment."

Below them, a group of auxiliary troops had started a volleyball game, the ball occasionally passing through the carefully controlled gravitational fields that kept the miniature sun's power in check. Franklin watched them for a moment before asking, "What brings you out of your usual contemplative state? Feeling festive?"

"I was curious," Khaine admitted. "This gathering seems different from your usual celebrations. There's an energy, a anticipation that feels... distinct."

"Ah," Franklin nodded, turning to face his divine companion. "It's New Year's Eve. In about

three hours, by Nova Libertas time, we'll transition from 840.M30 to 841.M30. It's a tradition we brought from Old Terra - celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of another."

Khaine's form shifted again, this time radiating genuine confusion. "You're celebrating a planet completing its orbit around a star?"

"When you put it that way, it sounds a bit silly," Franklin laughed. "But yes. Sweet Liberty's internal chronometry is synchronized with Nova Libertas's orbital period. We maintain that connection even when we're light-years away. It helps maintain a sense of home, of

continuity."

"Is this celebration practiced throughout the Imperium?" Khaine asked, watching as a particularly skilled surfer executed a complex maneuver through a solar flare. Franklin's expression sobered slightly. "No, it's mainly a Libertan thing now. The Imperium... well, during the Long Night, they lost most of their celebrations and holidays. The Age of Strife stripped away so much of humanity's cultural heritage. It's one of the things we're

trying to preserve and restore."

"A celebration of the passage of time..." Khaine mused, his form flickering with what might have been amusement. "Is this one of those concepts that only makes sense to short-lived species? Something my immortal perspective fails to grasp?"

Franklin burst out laughing, the sound carrying across the artificial beach below. Several partygoers looked up, raising their drinks in salute to their Primarch. "Oh, that's rich coming from you! Are you seriously telling me that in sixty-five million years of ruling the galaxy, the Aeldari never had celebrations? No festivals? No markers of time?" Khaine's form shimmered with what might have been embarrassment. "We... had our observations. Our cycles. The great festivals of..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "Perhaps I should rephrase my question. Why mark such a relatively arbitrary point in time? Why this particular revolution around your star?"

Franklin leaned against the railing, considering his answer. "It's not about the astronomical

event itself. It's about reflection and renewal. Humans need these moments of transition, these symbolic fresh starts. We look back at what we've accomplished, acknowledge our failures, and make promises about doing better in the cycle to come. It's hope, wrapped in the

trappings of astronomy."

"Ah," Khaine's form solidified further, taking on a more distinct shape. "Now that, I understand better than you might think. The Aeldari had similar practices, though on vastly different scales. We marked the transitions of ages, the great cycles of empire. Cegorach would often insist on the most elaborate performances to mark these occasions." The god's tone carried a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "Once, he orchestrated a play that lasted for a thousand years, with the final act coinciding with the alignment of three galactic arms."

"Now that's commitment to a bit," Franklin chuckled. "Though I have to ask - did anyone actually stay for the whole performance?"

"The beauty of immortality," Khaine replied dryly, "is that you can take intermissions lasting several centuries and not miss much of the plot. Though Cegorach did insist that anyone who left had to wear a special mask that would randomly spray them with crystal-water when they

returned."

Below them, the party was reaching a new level of energy. Someone had started a conga line that wound its way along the beach, weaving between the carefully controlled gravity wells that kept the miniature sun's power in check. Astartes and mortals alike had joined in, their laughter echoing off the vast chambers walls.

"Your people seem happy," Khaine observed. "At peace, despite being at war." "That's part of what we're fighting for," Franklin replied. "Not just survival, not just victory,

but the right to have moments like these. To celebrate, to laugh, to mark the passing of time

in our own way. The Emperor wants to unite humanity, and I support that goal. But unity doesn't have to mean uniformity." "A wise distinction," Khaine agreed.

A countdown had started below, though they were still hours from midnight. Someone had

apparently decided that somewhere on some world, it must be New Year's already, and that was reason enough to celebrate. Franklin watched as his sons and their mortal companions counted down from ten, raised their glasses, and cheered for a moment that wasn't quite here

yet.

"Would you like to join them?" Franklin asked, turning to his divine companion with a mischievous grin. "I'm sure they'd love to see the Aeldari god of war doing the conga." Khaine's form flickered with what might have been horror. "I think I'll maintain my dignity,

thank you. Though..." The god paused, his next words carrying a hint of amusement. "If you're looking for divine participation in your revelry, I suggest waiting until you try on Cegorach's gift. I have a feeling the Laughing God would be far more amenable to joining a conga line."

"Now there's an idea," Franklin laughed. "Imagine the headlines: 'Primarch and Laughing God Lead Galaxy's Longest Conga Line Through Webway."" "Please don't give him ideas," Khaine groaned. "He's insufferable enough as it is. Though..."

The god's form shifted once more, taking on a more contemplative aspect. "Perhaps there is wisdom in your way of marking time. Even for immortals, perhaps especially for immortals, it's important to pause. To reflect. To remember that even in the midst of war and darkness,

there can be moments of joy."

"That's what we're fighting for," Franklin agreed, raising his glass. "Not just to survive, but

to live. To celebrate. To surf solar waves and do the conga and mark arbitrary points in our

planet's orbit with hope and joy."

Below them, another countdown had started. This time, Franklin joined in, his voice carrying across the artificial beach. And if anyone noticed that the miniature sun's light seemed to

pulse in time with the numbers, or that the solar waves created a pattern that looked suspiciously like a laughing face, well... that could be blamed on the Libertan beer. After all, even gods could use a good party now and then.

The Continental High Command chamber aboard the Sweet Liberty fell into an unusual

silence as Franklin Valorian strode in wearing the elaborate costume of a Harlequin Troupe Master. The outfit, a masterwork of Aeldari artistry, shifted colors with each movement, creating patterns that seemed to tell stories of their own. But it was the mask that drew the

most attention - particularly when it winked at Denzel, causing the First Captain to nearly spill his recaff.

"Brothers," Franklin addressed them, his voice carrying its usual warmth despite coming from behind the enigmatic mask. "I've called you here because I'm about to undertake a rather... unique expedition."

Steven Armstrong, the Second Captain, cleared his throat. "Sir, with all due respect, is that

mask supposed to be doing that?" He pointed as the mask performed what could only be

described as an elaborate eyebrow waggle at him.

"Oh, that's normal," Franklin waved dismissively. "It's actually quite restrained compared to what Cegorach's artifacts usually do. You should see what happened when I tried to eat breakfast wearing it."

John Ezra, head of the Secret Service, leaned forward. "My lord, are you certain about this

course of action? Entering the Black Library... even with the Laughing God's blessing, it's unprecedented." "That's what makes it fun!" Franklin's grin was audible in his voice, even if hidden behind the mask. "Besides, we need the information stored there. The library card Cegorach gave me is legitimate – probably the first ever issued to a human, which I'm thinking of putting on my resume." Samuel L. Jaxsen, Director of the CIA, raised an eyebrow. "And you're sure this isn't some elaborate prank by the Laughing God?"

The mask winked at him.

"Oh, it's definitely also a prank," Franklin admitted cheerfully. "But that's just Cegorach's

way. He never does anything for just one reason. It's probably simultaneously a test, a joke, a

deeply meaningful metaphor, and a way to annoy Khaine."

As if on cue, the presence of the War God manifested briefly, just enough to convey a feeling

of divine eye-rolling.

"Your instructions while I'm gone are simple," Franklin continued, straightening to his full height. "Maintain course to the nearest Webway gate. Keep the party supplies stocked - you know how our auxiliaries get when they run out of those little cocktail umbrellas. And try not to worry too much about the occasional killer clown that might pop by to check on things." "Killer clowns, sir?" Vladimir Mendeley, the Chief Librarian, asked with concern. "Harlequins," Franklin clarified. "They'll probably stop by to make sure we're not misusing their boss's gifts. Just... try to appreciate their jokes, even the deadly ones. Especially the deadly ones, actually - they put a lot of effort into those."

Behind Franklin, reality began to shimmer as a Webway portal materialized. The patterns on his costume seemed to respond, flowing like liquid light across the fabric. "Sir," Denzel spoke up, "Should we prepare any particular protocols for your return?" "Just the usual," Franklin replied, already moving toward the portal. "If I come back speaking

entirely in riddles and dancing instead of walking, that's probably normal. If I come back with a sudden appreciation for paradox-based humor, also normal. If I come back with a collection

of books that try to read you instead of the other way around... well, that's just basic Black

Library etiquette."

He paused at the threshold of the portal, turning back to face his commanders. The mask's expression had shifted to something more serious, though it still couldn't resist throwing in a final wink. "In all seriousness, brothers, I trust each of you with my life and the lives of our Legion. The Black Library holds knowledge we need what Magnus needs to cure his Legion's Flesh Change, and Cegorach has offered us a chance few humans will ever receive. Keep our people

safe, keep them happy, and remember - if anyone asks where I am, tell them I'm doing research at the library. It's technically not even a lie!"

With a final salute that somehow managed to be both perfectly regulation and slightly

theatrical, Franklin stepped through the portal. As it closed behind him, the assembled commanders exchanged glances.

"So," Armstrong finally broke the silence, "who's going to explain to the crew why their

Primarch just left dressed as a space elf court jester?"

"Leave that to me," Jaxsen sighed. "I'll file it under 'routine diplomatic outreach' in the

official reports. Though I do have one question - did anyone else's coffee cup just wink at

them, or should I be concerned?"

The laughter that followed was only slightly nervous, as somewhere in the distance, the faint

sound of a divine chuckle echoed through the halls of the Sweet Liberty. A/N: Happy New Year!!!!