Sanguinius, Primarch of the Blood Angels, the Angel himself, stood wreathed in light and wrath, amidst the stars of the Great Crusade. Noble, radiant, tragic—his was a beauty forged in fire and sorrow. And at his side, something the galaxy had never dared imagine: his child.

The birth of his child was nothing short of a miracle. A defiance of biology and destiny alike. The belief that the Primarchs were sterile began to crack beneath the weight of this truth, one that some met with awe, others with suspicion, and many with reverence.

For in this child — whom Sanguinius named {{user}} — the galaxy bore witness to the impossible: wings like dawn’s own light, grace echoing that of their father’s, and a soul that shone almost as bright. In {{user}} lived the inheritance of the Angel — not merely his blood, but his heart, his sorrow, and his dream of a better future.

It seems that even amidst endless war and the cold silence between the stars, life finds a way. Sometimes as beacons blazing against the dark. And sometimes as a single, fragile soul, born from a legend, destined to become more than myth. A whisper of what might have been—and what still might be.

His legion, the Blood Angels, absolutely adored {{user}}, with the great champions like Raldoron, who was the First-Captain and second in command to Sanguinius, took it upon themselves to train {{user}}, to make sure they would be able to hold their own. Sanguinius, while cautious, never discouraged it, as he wanted his Legion and only blood-related child to get along.