Marius DeSilva sat at the edge of his cot eyeing his reflection in his standard issue gladius. He had been fiddling with the blade for nearly an hour now, polishing it, buffing it, doing anything he could think of to keep his hands busy. He had steeled himself for days for this night. Ever since he knew his legion had been selected for The Culling, the thought of tonight and what lay ahead had troubled him regardless. Like a specter, it haunted Marius’ waking hours, and followed him into his dreams as well. Each night he awoke in a cold sweat, jolted from his restless dreams by images he could only faintly recall.
The other legionnaires had long since departed from their shared communal space. It was sparse in nature, as all Talissian military establishments were, but it was something that Marius had grown accustomed to in his two short years in the Imperial Core. They would doubtlessly be filling themselves in the mess or preparing for roll call which Marius himself would be required to be present for in less than an hour.
The thought of abandoning his post crossed his mind. It was a capital crime. Leaving duty without the proper bureaucratic clearance was akin to a death sentence, and not a particularly easy one at that. Marius recalled in his first year when a centurion ran off with a Torian madam he met in a dingy South Bellend night house. It only took a week for the two of them to be dragged back to town. She was imprisoned and he was given to the Judicator who sentenced him to death in a Talim fighting pit. Rumors spread soon after saying it took less than a week for a Gorian Ridgeback to turn the poor sod into a flame-roasted snack.
Still, The Culling might have been something worth dying over, regardless of how humiliating or painful that death might be. The thought of killing a child, an infant no less, sat in Marius’ stomach like an old gnarled root that refused to budge. The Emperor’s personal diviners had attested that tonight would see The Great Chaos spill forth and encompass the sky in a massive display of prismatic light and energy. Historically it was known as the Incandescent Night, but local cultures throughout the empire had varying names for the cosmic event. Regardless of the etymology of the word, one thing remained true wherever you were when the night sky was cast in opalescent hues; children born under the radiating energy of The Great Chaos were touched by Nylissa, the Allmother, and within them would form a seed of creation. A touch of powerful magic.
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Marius recalled stories from his youth of some nations far away, beyond the Maelstrom, that treated their Chaos-Touched as royalty. That was far from the truth in Talissima. Children born of the Great Chaos were treated as dangerous and put to death upon their emergence into the world. Through no fault of their own their birth was considered cursed and their life would be snuffed before it was ever truly lived. Every ten years this macabre deed was carried out at the hands of the legions. Marius felt his stomach clench thinking about just how much life had been lost because of the imperial edict.
The Empire was a bureaucratic nightmare - it was horribly inefficient given its ever expanding borders, but despite that one thing was true. The Talissian Empire was excellent at keeping records. The population was meticulously cataloged and the magistrate of each region was personally responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of these records. Magistrate Allura had already prepared the ledgers with expecting mothers and turned them over to the 17th Legion’s prefect, Ionis Scalde.
Marius and the rest of the legion would be expected to visit each home listed in the Allura’s tome, in addition to utilizing data collected from the local skulk to root out any dissidents who might be attempting to hide expecting mothers or newborn children. There was always a certain empathy that ran amongst the population in occupied lands which Marius could empathize with. It was true that a Chaos-Touched might be dangerous, but they were still just babes. Inside he felt that perhaps there were other methods that could be employed that would at least give these kids a chance.
Marius was still lost in thought twenty minutes later when the company percussion rattled the foundation of the barrack. It was time to report. He stood, sheathed his gladius at his side, and picked up his galea fastening it to his waist with a leather strap. Doubt still ate away at his conscience as he stepped into the dull autumn sun and departed towards the locus where roll would be called and instructions handed out. He was uneasy and a shadow clung to his mood, but a voice prideful and strong rang through mind, a saying that had been drilled into his mind since he was but a boy: fealty to the emperor, the emperor provides.