The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 81: Daddy's Home, Thoughts



The vastness of the Craftworld's hangar dwarfed even Franklin's massive form, wraithbone arches soaring overhead like frozen waves. Battle damage marked the walls, evidence to their recent escape from the Eye of Terror. Franklin turned to Henry, noting how his son from the future carried himself with that characteristic mix of nobility and barely contained enthusiasm.

"Well?" Franklin grinned, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. "About to meet your historical heroes. Feeling starstruck?"

Henry adjusted his exo armor's collar in that distinctly proper way of his, trying and failing to suppress an excited smile. "It's... rather surreal, if I'm being completely honest." His ancient terran accent carried that same precise diction that had survived several millenia. "I've spent countless hours studying the historical records, "In my time, these warriors are legends. Their statues stand in the Hall of Heroes. We study their tactics, their philosophies..." "Oh?" Franklin crossed his arms, grinning. "Tell me about them - from your perspective. What do your history texts say?"

Henry's face lit up like a child being asked about his favorite stories. "Well, Chapter Master...First Captain Washington - we have entire strategic courses dedicated to his campaigns. The way he combined precision strikes with overwhelming force" He gestured enthusiastically. "There's this famous battle on Hydra Tertius where he..."

"Ah-ah," Franklin raised a finger. "Let's not spoil his future achievements for me."

"Right, sorry," Henry laughed, running a hand through his dark hair. "But Steven Armstrong! His 'Make Liberty Great Again' speeches are required study at the Academy. The way he could motivate troops while simultaneously terrifying the enemy..." He paused, eyes widening. "Though perhaps I shouldn't mention the specific dates of those speeches."

Franklin nodded sagely, though his eyes danced with mirth. "Probably wise. What about old Vladimir?"

"Chief Librarian Mendelev?" Henry's voice took on an almost reverential tone. "His treatise on techno-psychic warfare formed the foundation of our modern Techno-Seer training. And the artifacts he left behind... The Mendelev Codex is still our most treasured text." He caught himself again. "Though I suppose I shouldn't mention what's in it."

"And John Ezra?"

"The architect of the greatest intelligence network in Imperial history," Henry said with genuine admiration. "In my time, we still use many of his protocols. The way he transformed the Secret Service into..." He stopped, looking sheepish. "I should probably stop there."

Franklin laughed, the sound echoing through the hangar. "You know, it's refreshing to see them through your eyes. Sometimes we forget how legends are made - they're just my sons doing their best every day." He placed a massive hand on Henry's shoulder. "Though I notice you're carefully avoiding mentioning anything about my future, besides the one I died though."

Henry's expression became carefully neutral. "That would be unwise, father."

"Smart lad." Franklin turned back to watch the approaching fleet. "Sweet Liberty hasn't changed much, has she? Still the most beautiful ship in the galaxy."

"She's... different in my time," Henry said carefully, his voice soft with reverence. "You know, in our histories, she's remembered as the Ship That Broke The Storm." His expression grew somber. "During the Dropsite Massacre, she held the line against an Abyss-class battleship. The Blessed Lady, they called it. Sweet Liberty was a third its size, but she and her battlegroup bought time for the loyalist forces to retreat."

Franklin's eyes narrowed. "How did she fare?"

"She died as she lived - defiant and magnificent. Overrun by boarding parties, systems failing, but she kept fighting. Used her Black Hole Cannon as a final act of defiance. Took the Blessed Lady and the opposing Traitor fleet with her into oblivion setting the Traitors back" Henry's voice carried pride mixed with old pain. "The Liberty Eagles never forgot. We still maintain a vigil every year on the anniversary"

Franklin's eyes gleamed with technical interest. "And this Abyss-class... tell me more." Henry caught himself, remembering his father's notorious appetite for technological advancement. "Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned that. Timeline implications and all..." Franklin waved away the concern. "The timeline's already changed by your presence, son. Besides," he grinned, the same boyish enthusiasm he'd noted in Henry now evident in his own expression, "no one said we couldn't improve on history's design."

"Father..." Henry groaned, but couldn't help smiling. "You're already planning the upgrades, aren't you?"

Franklin mused, already sketching mental diagrams. "If she's going to face something three times her size, then perhaps I should make remake her like Imperator Somnium..."

Franklin studied his future son's face for a moment. "You know, for someone who's traveled through time and fought impossible battles, you look remarkably like an excited neophyte right now."

Henry laughed, his composure finally breaking completely. "Can you blame me? This is... this is history happening right in front of me. The original Continental High Command of the Liberty Eagles, all in one place!" His eyes sparkled with barely contained joy. "I grew up reading about these warriors, father. They're not just legends to us - they're the embodiment of everything we strive to be."

"Well then," Franklin said, noting the approaching Stormbirds, "let's not keep your childhood heroes waiting. Though perhaps don't mention the 'childhood heroes' part - some of them might find it a bit odd coming from someone who looks older than they do."

Henry straightened, attempting to regain his dignified bearing, though he couldn't quite suppress his smile. "Of course, father. I shall maintain absolute professionalism."

"No, you won't," Franklin grinned. "But that's perfectly fine. After all, we Liberty Eagles have always believed in being genuine - it's part of what makes us who we are."

The Stormbird was approaching the hangar now, its engines sending ripples through the atmospheric barrier.

"Ready to meet your heroes, son?" Franklin asked.

The moment Franklin's Stormbird touched down in Sweet Liberty's hangar bay, the air crackled with electric anticipation. Drones hovered everywhere, capturing every angle of this historic moment. The assembled Astartes stood at attention, but their barely contained excitement was palpable - like children trying to maintain composure while their favorite uncle returned from a long journey.

When the Stormbird's ramp descended and Franklin's massive form appeared, his signature smirk already in place, hearts stopped. "Daddy's back... and I brought the milk!" His voice boomed through the hangar, carrying that perfect blend of authority and mischief that only

he could achieve.

The silence lasted exactly three seconds before Sergeant Marcus, a veteran of a hundred campaigns, broke first - a snort of laughter escaping his vox-grille. Like a dam breaking, the laughter spread through the ranks until three thousand Astartes were bellowing in joy. "MILK! MILK! MILK!" The chant shook the very deck plates, a thunderous expression of relief and love for their returned father.

Their reaction spoke volumes about who Franklin was to them. Not just a gene-sire, not just a commander, but a father who understood that even superhuman warriors needed to laugh, to celebrate, to live. The Liberty Eagles weren't just his soldiers - they were his sons, and every one of them knew it in their enhanced hearts.

Within minutes, the hangar emptied as the celebration moved to the designated party area - a massive chamber specifically designed for Liberty Eagle celebrations. Franklin, true to form, crowd-surfed atop his exo-armored sons, his laughter mixing with theirs as they carried him like a conquering hero returned home.

In the party chamber, Brother-Sergeant Jorge pulled out the ceremonial autocannons - relics from old earth that had been preserved specifically for these occasions. The ceiling and walls, reinforced with adamantium, stood ready for the traditional salute.

"Better hold onto your helmets, boys!" the veteran shouted, and thousands of autocannons roared in unison. The chamber erupted in a spectacular display of controlled chaos - shells ricocheting off walls, sparks flying everywhere, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and

joy.

What made it special wasn't just the spectacular display - it was how it embodied everything Franklin had built. Any other Legion would consider such behavior undisciplined and dangerous. But Franklin had created something different: warriors who could laugh while they fought, who could celebrate life even as they dealt death, who could be both the Emperor's finest warriors and still remain fundamentally human.

"Franklin, you mad bastard, you never change!" someone shouted from the back, voice filled

with affection.

Amidst the celebration, personal moments played out everywhere. A group of veterans surrounded Franklin, sharing stories of their campaigns during his absence. Young Astartes,

inducted during the past five years, finally met their gene-father in person, their usual transhuman composure cracking into pure joy.

"To the only Primarch who knows how to party!" roared Armstrong, raising a barrel of something that probably violated several Imperial safety regulations.

Franklin grabbed his own barrel. "To the sons who kept the dream of liberty alive!" he countered, and both drained their containers in one go.

The celebration spread throughout the ship. Crew members joined in the party as they watched their transhuman comrades let loose. Drones carried trays of food and drinks.

As the celebration continued, Franklin stood on a makeshift platform, his massive form somehow even more impressive in the casual setting than in battle.

"My sons!" he called out, and immediate silence fell. "Five years ago, I was dragged into the Warp. Want to know what I thought about during those long years of fighting?" He paused, his smile softening. "I thought about this. About coming home to my family. About hearing your laughter, sharing your victories, standing among those who understand that true strength comes not from grim dedication alone, but from the joy we take in fighting alongside those we love!"

The roar that followed threatened to breach the void shields. Franklin raised his hands, his eyes gleaming with both mischief and genuine emotion.

"Now, who's ready for the traditional Orbital Drop Competition?"

Captain Henry Cavill stood at the periphery of the celebration, his enhanced mind struggling

to reconcile the scenes before him with the histories he'd studied. The Liberty Eagles of his time still celebrated, still maintained their reputation as the most spirited of loyalist chapters, but watching this... this was something else entirely.

Franklin - no longer the stern face carved in countless statues but a living, laughing god among his sons - surfed another wave of Astartes across the chamber. The pure, uninhibited joy was almost painful to watch. In Henry's time, such celebrations were more structured, more... contained. The weight of ten millennia of tradition and loss had transformed their revelry into something more ceremonial.

"You stand like a man at a funeral, not a homecoming."

Henry turned to find the Legendary Captains he knew only in History. They immediately approached the strange Space Marine with the advanced exo-suit that were beyond those of their own time. The fact that he followed his Primarch intrigued these Captains.

He briefly gazed at Denzel Washington studying him. This was not the grim Chapter Master whose led the Liberty Eagles through Dark Times, whose words were quoted in every strategic treatise. This Denzel moved with grace, like a sword still in its sheath - dangerous but at

peace with its purpose, not the unsheathed and aggressive stanced Chapter Master he was

familiar with.

"Lord Washington," Henry bowed slightly, trying to maintain his composure. "I... apologize

if I seem distant." Denzel's dark eyes held wisdom, but not the haunting knowledge that Henry was quite

familiar with. "No need for formality here, brother. Though 'brother' seems... not quite right in your case."

Before Henry could respond, a massive barrel appeared between them, held by the grinning form of Steven Armstrong. His nanomachines gleamed under his skin, towering over Henry despite his Primaris upgrade.

"Here," Armstrong thrust the barrel at Henry. "You look like you need this more than most. Something about you is odd, brother, but a Liberty Eagle is a Liberty Eagle." He slapped Henry's shoulder with enough force to stagger a normal Astartes. "Even if you're carrying

enough secrets to make old John here nervous."

John Ezra, who had approached silently, merely nodded. The Head of the Secret Service was

already legendary for his stoic demeanor.

"The weight of knowledge," Vladimir Mendelev's voice broke through softly, his Russian accent lending a contemplative tone to his words. His psychic presence, unlike the overwhelming force Henry had read about in historical accounts, felt more like a gentle touch -a quiet probe of curiosity rather than intrusion. "You see this moment differently from the others," Vladimir added, his gaze piercing yet kind. "I do not pry, but the sense of time

weighs on you in ways it does not on them."

Henry took a long pull from his drink, feeling the burn settle his nerves, tethering him momentarily to the here and now. "It's just... surreal," he confessed, his voice dropping

almost to a whisper. "Seeing you all here, like this..." He trailed off, his eyes moving over the legendary figures surrounding him-men he had only known through stories and records, now alive and larger than life. It was almost too much to take in. Armstrong's booming laugh filled the air, dispelling the tension. "We're still breathing, brother! Save the reverence for after we're dead. Tonight, we're living!"

Denzel's eyes lingered on Henry, an understanding glint visible as his hand rested on the hilt

of Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi. "You look at us like a man who's seen too much," he said thoughtfully. "As if you know things the rest of us don't."

Henry tried to smile, but it was strained, his mind juggling the weight of the moment. "Is it

that obvious?" he asked, attempting to keep his tone light, though the strain was there. John's calm voice broke through, his usual quiet authority present. "It's not hard to notice.

You carry yourself like someone surrounded by the weight of a legacy they don't fully know how to shoulder."

Vladimir's staff hummed faintly, its resonance complementing the air of reflection. "In your time, perhaps we are but echoes," he mused. "Our deeds and memories passed down through generations. But now, we are more than that. Here, we are men. You must feel that weight

too, da?"

Henry glanced at Franklin, across the room, laughing heartily as he arm-wrestled with an entire tactical squad. "It's hard to explain," he said, his words carefully chosen. "But being here... It feels like more than just history. It's alive." Armstrong downed another swig, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, when you put it like that, we do sound impressive. But tonight, we're just warriors celebrating our father's return. Let's leave the legends for tomorrow."

Vladimir's gaze didn't waver, though his tone softened. "The weight of living among those whose shadows stretch across time... a heavy thing, indeed."

Denzel chuckled, breaking the somber moment. "Let's not get too deep, Vova. Tonight's for

celebrating. Whatever burdens we carry, we'll face them tomorrow." He passed the barrel to Henry with a grin. "Right now, brother? Right now is for joy."

Henry gazed upon them - these legends in their full, unbridled prime, glowing with then/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

vitality of the moment.

"To the present, then," Henry raised the barrel. "And to the Liberty Eagles - past, present,

and future."

"Now that," Armstrong grinned, "is a toast worthy of the moment!"

As they drank, Henry felt something in his hearts shift. These weren't the austere figures from

his histories they were brothers, warriors, friends. And for this brief, shining moment, he

was privileged to stand among them not as a student of their legends, but as a fellow Liberty

Eagle.