He'd played their games, living another man's life. He'd listened to the others that begged him, that needed it all to matter. His destiny was to be with the men and women who needed him, who called for him, who followed him into the mountains, and died without him. He was walking another man's destiny now. He remembered the cold moment of truth as he stood in the dark, his hurting eyes healing, that every day he breathed was an unwanted gift. He remembered the mechanical thunder of absolute betrayal, when he was stolen from the death he'd so richly earned. He remembered refusing to abandon his brothers and sisters, beneath a blue sky at high-sun, far from the city of Desh'ea. “He remembered being blinded by his father's light. Either way, his service was to the Emperor, and his service would be true to the end.” Alone, far away from his comrades and his Legion, dying from cruel wounds on some nameless rock, his passing as memorable as smoke. Then, briefly, he imagined another death. A great battle, upon which human culture would be based. Such an hour would become so ingrained in the minds of men that it would be the cornerstone of all that came after. Loken would battle, and die, and perhaps even Horus would die, to save the Emperor at the last. Primarch Horus would be there, of course. He imagined himself at the Emperor’s side, fighting some great, last stand against an unknown foe. Fabled, imaginary combats flashed through his mind. He tried to picture the manner of his own death. Men would cry out for Abaddon’s return, but he would never come. There would be a time when Abaddon no longer waged bloody war across the territories of humanity. Not even the great First Captain Ezekyle Abaddon would survive forever. “Loken tried to imagine the future, but the image would not form. You know nothing of courage! Honor is resisting a tyrant when all others suckle and grow fat on the hypocrisy he feeds them. Which one of us landed on a paradise of civilization to be raised by a foster father, Roboute? Which one of us was given armies to lead after training in the halls of the Macraggian High Riders? Which one of us inherited a strong, cultured kingdom? And which one of us had to rise up against a kingdom with nothing but a horde of starving slaves? Which one of us was a child enslaved on a world of monsters, with his brain cut up by carving knives? Listen to your blue clad wretches yelling courage and honor, courage and honor, courage and honor! Do you even know the meaning of those words? Courage is fighting the kingdom which enslaves you, no matter that their armies outnumber yours by ten-thousand to one. “What would you know of struggle, perfect son? When have you fought against the mutilation of your mind? When have you had to do anything other than tally compliance's and polish your armor? The people of your world named you "Great One".
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