Felix moved into the room as other Primaris Space Marines filtered in, brought there by Solus’ tidings. They filled up the long benches. Work was cleared away. Sarkis came through, giving his old commander a nod. The Medusan sat down by Justinian, his face neutral. Sarkis would not approve of Felix sharing his news.

When most of the company was assembled, Felix called for quiet. He felt a stranger in his Ultramarines armour, particularly when the majority of those he addressed wore the plain grey hooded robes of the Unnumbered Sons. When they fought, they did so in a pageant of differing colours, the symbols of their primarchs proud on their shoulders. Only a small number, designating their formation and company, and the grey chevron over their insignia differentiated them from Space Marines already sworn to a particular Chapter. Out of their armour, the gene differences were almost as obvious as the colours of their plate. But they were brothers, in battle and out of it.

There were forty Primaris Space Marines in the room by the time Felix was ready to speak. Nearly all of Felix’s old comrades were there. He knew them all so well. There were also several faces he did not know, transferred in as the dwindling groups of the Unnumbered Sons were merged. Far more numerous were the faces missing, all the warriors he had known and laughed with since his awakening a century ago. His eidetic memory would never allow him to forget the dead.

There had been many mistakes. The Primaris Space Marines had excellent training but no real combat experience when the Indomitus Crusade began. Many had fallen in the early days. He imagined he saw the faces of those earliest comrades, smiling or grim according to their character, between the living warriors in the room.

‘Captain Felix?’ prompted Sarkis.

Felix broke out of his memories. The faces of the dead faded. ‘I have decided to bring you your new orders myself, my brothers,’ he said. ‘The crusade is over. Our brotherhood is at an end. I wished to say farewell to you all. When we reach Macragge, we will likely never see each other again.’ He paused, unsure of how to go on. ‘I asked the primarch’s permission to tell you personally. He said that I may. So I have your new assignments here.’

He opened a pouch on his right thigh and drew out sheaf of parchments.

‘Finally!’ roared Bjarni. He grinned. ‘No offence, brothers.’

‘I do not rejoice,’ said Justinian quietly.

‘Brother,’ said Ciceron, ‘we have known this was going to happen for a long time. It was inevitable. Times change. We are needed elsewhere so that the fight back might begin.’

Felix nodded. ‘The Greyshields have served their purpose. The last few formations of the Unnumbered Sons will be broken up, wherever they are. All of us are to be assigned to other Chapters.’