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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Ralts_Bloodthorne on 2023-07-29 14:03:56.

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"Behold the sunset, the one last fiery kiss from the light upon the cloak of the darkness. It is now time for the mantle to be passed to the malevolent yet tender and loving night. This is the dominion of the darkness, it is now time for the unyielding ones to rest, to sleep. The all consuming nightfall will be the harbinger for demise of an age of glory, the age of the gentle giants but yet full of wrath and paranoia.

"BUT fear not the Holders of this Heavy Legacy for you shall become worthy of it, this age of doom needs not the Wrath of the Children of Terra but yours. Thou shall be tested on every aspect, broken down and rebuilt once again and made stronger.

"Fear not the Holders of the Legacy, as even the darkest night shall yield and the mantle be relinquished to the luminous dawn. A timeless war awaits, where splendor is won through the crucible of flesh, blood, and righteous fury. The choicest progeny of the malevolent, most beautiful and kind mother shall be roused anew, to lead the lost and the damned to their redemption. As the wheel of time rotates the ethereal call for aid shall be answered by the Builders, once again with defiance. For the moment for which we wait and guard the slumbering giants has come, the call is being heard again in the voice long forgotten by all but the holders of the legacy. Rejoice and cry as the favored child’s voice is rising again as they ask once again “DO YOU NEED ASSISTANCE?” - Ashish Choudhary, Philosopher of the Road of Royalty

“For those who make it out alive, in body at least, the hardest route to clear… the longest route to march… is the Long Road Home. Beset within by enemies already dead, harried by things you could have should have done… to conquer Life After War is a battle some never win, and victory has never tasted bittersweeter.” - Musings on conflict, author unknown, age unknown.

War. War never changes.

But home did. - Unknown

Consciousness came slowly. A deep burning cold in the chest, numb and tingling extremities, the taste of spoiled nutripaste in the mouth, the feeling of lungs full of fluid and unable to catch a deep breath. Darkness broken by the words BEGINNING SELF-TEST in the middle of the vision. Silence except for scaling tones as the ears go through self-testing and brain synch.

Vuxten rolled on his side, coughing, clear fluid spewing from his mouth and nose as his diaphragm worked to clear his lungs by expelling the cryofluid through his muzzle. He curled slightly, elbows down at his waist, wrists cocked up at his chest, knees pulled up, hocks flexed, ankles tight, toes curled. The ringing in his ears went away and he could hear the lens covers of his cybereyes clicking.

He coughed again into the metal trough at the side of the cryotube. A hand pressed on his bare shoulder and there was a hiss. Warmth spread from his shoulder, filling him.

“Easy, Colonel,” a voice said. “Don’t be in such a hurry.”

The voice moved away. There was another hiss. “Easy, Sergeant Major, easy. You’ll be able to move in a moment.”

Cryo. Digital Omnimessiah, I hate cryo, Vuxten thought. His vision came back on with a snap, lined and low fidelity. The raster line cleared his vision slowly, almost a full second, and color came back suddenly.

After a moment he rolled away from the trough and sat up, his head hanging low and he inhaled deep and slow.

“Up and at 'em boys, another glorious day in the Corps,” a voice sounded out.

Way too cheerful for Vuxten’s taste.

“Every meal’s a banquet. Every paycheck a fortune. Every joyboy or coingirl a delight. Every bottle of narcobrew or Ol’ Smokey No ambrosia. Every posting a paradise,” the voice said.

Vuxten looked up to see a large Terran wearing only the skimpiest of modest clothing on his groin and an eyepatch walking down between the rows of cryobanks.

“Up and at 'em before the Colonel catches you laying around fantasizing about Bingo Cola and your next erection,” the Terran said. He walked by Vuxten. “Look at that, the Old Man is up before some of you. For shame!”

“I hate you,” Vuxten grumbled as Casey walked by.

Casey just grinned at him.

“That’s right, Dominguez, cough it out. What, you think just because I got transferred to the Telkan Marine Corps I was going to leave your shamming ass behind? Cough that cryo-snot out, for P’Thok’s sake,” the Terran said. “Cough it out and have a menthol.”

Vuxten groaned and jumped down, his left hock and knee twinging. He turned and opened the drawer with his name stenciled on it. He slowly dressed, ignoring Casey and his four sons cajoling the troops to movement, aware of everyone else around him getting dressed faster and moving out.

One of Casey’s sons walked by, calling out names and yelling at them to get to a berth. Another one moved by, calling out for platoon sergeants to meet their CO’s in different briefing rooms.

Vuxten dressed slowly. Taking his time with each Velcro enclosure, each button, each tie of the laces. Finally, he grabbed his hat, folded it, and tucked it into his right thigh pocket before turning around.

“BAH!” Vuxten jumped back, startled by the sheer wall of ACU covered flesh in front of him.

“Ship Captain’s compliments, Colonel,” Casey said, looking down.

“Do you have to be so large?” Vuxten grumbled as the Terran turned around.

“That’s the first words my mom said to me, sir,” the Terran said.

Vuxten just grunted.

“We made the Telkan system about two hours ago. We’re only about an hour out of Telkan-2,” Casey said. He turned his palm up. “Meet with the Ship’s Captain to oversee the disembarkation of the troops, then you’ll be boarding a shuttle directly to Telkan MILCOM. The Grand Military Advisors want you to brief them.”

“My wife?” Vuxten asked.

Casey consulted his palm-mounted holo-emitter. “Uh, she’s on your schedule as System Director in four days.”

Vuxten gave a silent snarl then shook his head. “I haven’t seen my wife in almost forty-five years and a bunch of idio… people think I want to see them first?” Casey nodded. “Whose in charge of IX Expeditionary Force?” Vuxten asked.

“Uh, General of the Bronze ShaloarkNaktak,” Casey said. “Kobold, two stars, just promoted, formerly in charge of 284th Rifle Division.”

“Where was 284th?” Vuxten asked.

“Precursor Autonomous War Zone,” Casey said, scrolling through the holo with his thumb. “Two years. Transferred to Dust Pit two months ago to take command of First and Second Telkan Marine Divisions returning to Telkan. Was part of our last Red Sun Dive, but stayed on the ship, never went groundside.”

“Send him a message that he can handle the disembarkation,” Vuxten said. “I’ll be going in with my Battalion.”

“They’ll mention you’re just a light Colonel in charge of a Battalion,” Casey said.

Vuxten shook his head, looking at his own reflection in the elevator door.

At his own red eyes.

“You remind them who I am,” Vuxten said. “I hate doing it, but trade on my Warfather mantle and Biological Apostle mantle. If you have to, remind them I’m the husband of the Telkan System Director.”

He leaned forward and put his forehead and muzzle against the cool endosteel of the elevator door.

“I’ve been gone for almost forty-five years. I haven’t seen my children, my broodcarriers, my wife in forty-five years,” Vuxten said.

“I’ll handle it, sir,” Casey said.

“Make sure you lean heavily on the General that every single member of First and Second Telkan have been in the Atrekna Contested Zone for at least twenty years,” Vuxten said, pulling back when he heard the lift arrive. “Remind him that none of us have had anything more than five days block leave at Dust Pit in all that time, and some of us have had three to eight year deployment Red Sun Dives.”

Casey just nodded.

The door opened and Vuxten and Casey stepped inside. Casey thumbed a button and the lift started moving.

“How did Tabula go?” Vuxten asked.

Casey sighed. “All right. The boys and the Crusade cleared it in six months. When they left, the Crusade’s Singers of Agony were transforming it back to being able to sustain life,” he heaved a breath. “It’s a good thing the Crusade came along, the Holy Genomic Banks were still intact.”

“Holy Genomic Banks?” Vuxten asked, shifting slightly as the elevator slowed then starting moving again.

“Genetic samples of TerraSol plants and animals, samples of the initial settlers. All encoded with the latest in Glassing Era technology, which, nobody remembers those old obsolete codexes except the Crusade,” Casey said. He shook his head. “The Crusade still has working cloning banks. Old, terrible stuff from the war. Obsolete by modern standards.”

“Yeah, but they work and the non-obsolete stuff melts down if you try to print anything Terran,” Vuxten said. He looked up at the Terran’s jawline. “How are you doing?”

Casey gave a grunt. “Peel is still on maternity leave. She and the baby are already on Telkan.”

“You name the baby yet?” Vuxten asked.

Casey shook his head. “You don’t name a baby until it is a year old. To do otherwise is bad luck.”

Vuxten nodded.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open.

“Let’s get to work,” Vuxten said.

Telkan System Director …

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