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Ok, so some context first. This is just a tiny snippet of something that wouldn't leave me alone. The idea that all the Primarchs are taken in by the humans that find them. They fall from the sky and come from somewhere else and they're taken in as blessings and such. So an idea formed . . . Bright. The child closes his eyes, an instinctual behaviour he has come to realise stops the pain in his eyes. He wanders, feeling the grit beneath his bare feet. He has only recently mastered the art of walking, his small frame toddling along in the wilderness, but he has travelled far. It is something no normal child could achieve, but he does not know that. Instead he continues to walk, searching, yearning. He follows the black shape before him on the ground, the thing that moves as the brightness in the sky circles over him. There is something wrong, he can feel it. He is alone, but he should not be. He searches for that connection, to belong. There must be someone somewhere. Noises come from behind him. Like many things moving at once. The small child turns around, his eyes squinting against the brightness. Shapes appear, big ones. A noise instinctively tries to come from the boy’s throat, but it is a new and untested act, one that hurts his dry throat and cracks his dry lips. ‘That must be him.’ The boy cannot know the sounds the shapes make are words, he has never heard them before, but a meaning starts to form in his mind, an implication of what it is meant. ‘A child? I don’t think a child could’ve come from that pod.’ ‘But sire, look at how he walks in the wastes, no child would survive a second out here, never mind weeks. We almost lost Barsha just tracking this thing. Look at his skin, it looks like its covered in oil or wax. He is no child.’ The shapes coalesce into focus. The boy has never seen himself properly, just what he can see whenever he looks down at himself, but he knows their shape. His mind instinctively feels recognition as the shapes continue to make noises, continue to talk. They are like him. They are his kind. Finally come to take him away and protect him. He feels that connection begin to bud, a link to another being through virtue of being the same. He belongs. Family, the word echoes in his mind. He toddles towards the shapes, his small legs shaking with the effort. Hands reaching out to the men before him, almost begging to be embraced and comforted. One of the men strides towards him, he is coming to take the child home. The bright hurts the boy’s eyes, he cannot see properly. He desperately reaches out for salvation, for something. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore. The boy is so close to the man now, tears roll down the child’s face. Home. That is when the spear punched through his chest. The boy is savagely rammed onto the ground, the spear tip buried in his small chest. The cold metal stings as it slices through the child’s chest and he finally finds his voice, wailing in agony as he writhes on the ground, pinned in place by the spear skewering him. ‘Die, filthy abomination.’ The man’s voice is laced with anger, with disgust, concepts the boy doesn’t fully grasp but he understands the intent. He is hated. He does not know why. He only wanted to be loved. To not be alone. The spear twists. The child screams. Then with a savage yank, the spear is ripped free, splashing the child’s skin with the hot sting of his own blood. The shape moves away, leaving the boy behind. ‘Are you leaving it alive sire?’ ‘I have pierced the things heart, it will die soon enough. I do not want to wait in this heat to watch its last breath, it has taken enough of our time already.’ The boy cannot see the shapes anymore, his chest hurts too much to move. But he can hear them move away. He can hear them abandon him. The boy lies there, his heart pumping his blood through the wound. He can feel the warmth of his blood spread over the coldness growing in his chest, it is almost comforting. He does not know of death, but his mind somehow understands this is the end. He will die, he will stop being here. The child struggles, he can’t die. He is alone, he cannot die alone. Where are the ones who love him? Are there any who love him? He is alone. He will die alone. The brightness begins to fade, his eyes closing as a creeping weakness begins to take him. It is an embrace that promises him comfort. He can feel his heart slow, the pumping in his chest is weaker now. The tears still roll down his cheeks. He is hated. He is alone. He is dying. He does not know why. That is when he feels something else begin to pump within his tiny chest, something strong and ready. A second heart. It begins to pump with a strength the boy can feel resonate deep within him. He can feel his blood become sticky as it stops flowing freely. The pain lessens, strength returns. He will not die. He does not know how, but he knows he will not die. He is hated. He is alone. But he will not die. He rises. And the life of the Primarch begins. This Primarch goes on to hate humanity, he knows he is different. He knows he is faster, stronger and smarter than the weak race that once tried to kill him. He has no mercy in his hearts for them. He goes on to kill many of the humans on his homeworld, becoming the ruler of a terrified and subservient peoples. When the Empeoror arrives the Primarch explains his hate for these people, and the Emperor understands. He spirits his son away, leaving behind a force with orders to wipe out the world that nearly cost him one of his precious Primarchs, for while the Emperor expects beasts and nature to test his sons, he did not expect humanity to. The Primarch ends up developing the view that Astartes are superior to mankind, and makes it clear wherever he is that no human may dictate or command him or his Legion. Depending on whether this Primarch exists within the Horus Heresy as a Missing Primarch or another Alternative Universe will dictate how this attitude will affect him and how his story ends.