A Shared Victory

The procession was long, as victory parades often are. The high-sided buildings of the main boulevard loomed impressively into a clear sky, carrying the jubilant cheers of humanity. In their shadow strode the victors, ranks upon ranks of Guardsmen, marching in lockstep. Their engines growling as tanks passed by, the crowd cheered louder, waving as one to the commanders in their cupolas. Military bands played music through vox speakers throughout the city for all to hear, letting the shadow over their world and hearts lift in unison, until, silence. As the sounds of marching faded away a great peal of horns sounded, and the crowd held it's breath. A forest of tingling bells and drums beat out in rhythm as the Tripa Ganden and his sons strode forth. Swathed in bright red, orange and yellow robes the Astartes still towered above the crowds, even bereft of their armour. Digital light playing across their tanned bodies as they chanted, the lights seeming to pass from one individual to another. At their head, standing head and shoulders above them all, was Tenzin, barefoot and dressed in simple robes mirroring his sons. Mesmerised, some in the crowd began to bow as the Astartes walked past, others, simply staring in wonder as the cacophony of noise overwhelmed them. Tenzin's bright smile seemed serene, calming all those who looked upon it with a warmth rarely felt in their old, dark past.

Partway down the boulevard though, through the jubilant cheering, horns, thanks and the small shout of a mother, the world seemed to quiet completely as a single girl ran into the path of the Primarch. Having squeezed through the barrier she stared in wonderment and excitement at the veritable giant that stood before her, though the tensed marines at his side and worried shouted of her parent seemed entirely lost on her. The city watched as Tenzin, the Usurper of Rukarr and Son of the Emperor, was confronted by a child no older than ten, and simply laughed. Swapping the spear in his hand over, he knelt down and offered a hand to the girl. The palm given to her dwarfing her own several times over. She beamed a toothy grin back at him and took it. With a great heft she was lifted up, and planted firmly on one of his broad shoulders, before motioning to the Arbites to let her mother through. With a shockingly embarrassed parent in tow, the collective breath the crowd had held for almost a minute rushed back out as they cheered and the horns, bells and drums pealed out once more as the Monastic Ascendants strode forth. Not just for their lord, but for humanity. [[Category:A]]