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Kea’hi crouched at the diving edge of the Northeastern tower, surrounded by a group of Epimethus’s elders. The elders were dressed in gnorl-whale leathers and brocades that had travelled across the planet from Heliosa, with underlayers of imported offworld synthetics. He, however, was nude from head to toe. Ancient Nocturnean sigils had been scribed upon his night-dark skin in white ash, lying atop the beautifully branded honour scars that snaked up and down his torso. His red eyes, which scanned the currents below, were ringed in white too. Only one person in the tower showed any sign of emotion: the worried mother of the youth who was currently far beneath the waves.
Kea’hi was one of eight Astartes serving as lifesaver for Epimethus’s youth trials. At the highest tides of the year, the citizens of the island city would select eight male ten-year-olds, one for each of the city’s diving-towers. Each child was to throw an iron ring into the sea and attempt to retrieve it. Retrieving the ring was considered exceptional. The true challenge was to return at all.
The chosen children had already been singled out as potential recruits for the Adeptus Astartes. A successful return led to a Chapter aspirant. A child who became stranded and required rescue, however, would be sent home, never to cross the threshold of the Salamanders’ austere, fortress-like bastion beside the South port.
Unlike most of his battle-brothers, Kea’hi had been a taciturn child. He had never cared for other children. After he succeeded at his youth trial, he had found himself thrust, to his dismay, into a gaggle of other young aspirants. His quiet demeanour had quickly evolved into meanness and sarcasm, which kept the other children at arms’ length. When he managed to ascend, he hadn’t expected to mesh with his squad. However, to his amazement, his 6th company squadmates had found his snark endearing. Finally finding himself in a group that liked him, Kea’hi had mellowed. Yet, he had never warmed to little ones and refused to take in any forgechildren.
The wind howled past Kea’hi’s ears now as it had on the day of his own youth trial. His mind drifted back to that day, which had begun to grow hazy over the past thirty-five years. He remembered the smell of white ash paste, the feeling of the Ignax’s fingers daubing sigils on his skin and of his toes curled over the sharp diving edge. Most of all, he remembered the look of heartbreak on his mother’s face.
Back then, he hadn’t understood her sadness, instead feeling a rush of anger at her seeming lack of belief in his abilities. That anger had propelled him forward, sustaining him through to the iron ring.
Now, though, Kea’hi could see the same expression he remembered on the face of the woman whose child was on trial. Though his mother had been a humble dock worker and the woman standing behind him wore the regalia of Epimethus’s Master Smiths, he found he understood their shared expressions now. Her child would likely die beneath the waves or resurface to enter the bastion. Either way, the Master Smith might lose her son that day. Such was the lot of an exceptional boy's mother on an Astartes planet.
Kea’hi felt for the woman. His eyes searched the waves, hoping for a sign of her child.
“Three minutes,” an elder holding a chrono said.
The Master Smith began to weep.
Kea’hi had no words to comfort her. For a half-second, his muscles tensed. Then, he launched himself from the platform, cleaving the air like a missile, his dive creating the perfect arc into the sea.
When he was ten, he had imagined himself as a gnorl-calf: little, lithe, with smooth, leathery scales that kept him warm. Now, he did not need to imagine anything. The cold did not bite, the salt did not sting. Kea’hi was focused on one thing alone: finding the lost child.
He dove deep. The sea darkened around him. As his feet touched the algae at the bottom, he looked up, searching for a little shadow somewhere above. He expected to see one floating limply on a current, but, to his surprise, the shadow he spotted seemed to be moving upwards and away from him, towards the beach.
Kea’hi let himself rise, following the little shadow from below. He was confused when the boy seemed to speed up. Why was he doing that, Kea’hi wondered? Surely the boy could swim more sedately now he had reached the surface, making his way to the shore safely. He let himself rise further, drawing nearer. He could see the iron ring in the boy’s hand; excellent.
Suddenly, the boy seemed to falter, treading water. Concerned, Kea’hi sped towards him. He reached out to scoop the child in his arms, only to find himself being ineffectually kicked and beaten with the iron ring.
Kea’hi restrained the boy, pushing him above the water before surfacing himself. The boy quieted, but Kea’hi could see a fire in his scowling dark eyes. “You scared me!” the boy shouted, his voice high and shrill. “I thought you were a gnorl-whale!”
Kea’hi was stunned by the child’s bravado. “If I had been, you would barely make a mouthful,” he said.
“I’d have fought you from the inside,” the boy declared. “But you ruined my trial now! I even got the ring, but now it looks like you saved me…” The boy was fighting back tears. “Let me go!” He brought the iron ring down hard on Kea’hi’s head.
Kea’hi swore, releasing him out of surprise. The boy instantly pushed off Kea’hi’s chest, swimming back towards the shore as fast as his little body could manage.
Kea’hi let him go, watching as the boy hauled himself out of the water and waved at the elders in the tower, ring in hand. Unexpectedly, he found himself smiling.
He would never raise a forgechild, but he might keep an eye on this boy.