Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

Jomina was no ordinary soldier. She was the Hunter. She moved unseen, struck with precision, and navigated terrain that would break lesser warriors. Her body was finely honed—not in brute strength, but in efficiency. Every step calculated. Every motion exact. Her mind was steel. She did not break. And yet, At that moment—She shook. Her body trembled. Her face, usually composed and sharp, was pale. There was no Hunter in her expression now. Her breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Her golden eyes, once fierce and unwavering, were wide with disbelief. Tears welled, though she bit her lip to hold them back.

Kayvaan saw it all. "Jomina." 

She instinctively raised her foot—years of training compelling her to obey. But the moment she moved—she stopped. Then, she slammed her foot back down. Her voice cracked with anger. "No." She lifted her chin defiantly. "I will not step back."

Kayvaan exhaled through his nose. "You know why."

"No." Her voice was louder now. "No, I do not!" Her fingers curled tightly around the dagger at her belt. "Why can they go forward, but I cannot? Why should I be cast aside?" Her breath was ragged, but her words were unwavering. "Is it because I am a woman?"

Kayvaan sighed. "It is not…"

"Do not lie to me!" A spark of rage lit her face. "I have fought as hard as any of them!" she snapped. "I have bled beside them! I have never run from battle! And you think I will run from this?" The other warriors shifted uneasily, but no one spoke. Jomina's voice trembled—but it was not fear. It was fury. "I have trained alongside them for three years," she said. "Three years. I have endured everything you put before me. I have killed as many enemies as anyone here. If I stand among men, then I am their equal. I will not be cast aside." She tore her dagger from its sheath. The tension in the room snapped taut. 

In one fluid motion, She reached up, And ripped open her tunic. The firelight caught on her exposed skin, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. "If it is my body that denies me this right," she said coldly, "then I will remove it." The dagger gleamed in her grip—And she moved. She would have done it. Would have cut herself open right there. But before the blade could bite, A hand shot forward and caught her wrist. Kayvaan's grip was iron. For a second, neither of them spoke. "Enough."

With a simple flick of his wrist, the dagger flew from Jomina's grasp. The blade clattered against the stone floor, the sharp ding echoing through the vast hall. The sound seemed to linger, stretching the silence, making the air feel heavier. "Jomina," Kayvaan sighed, his voice measured, softer than before. "It's useless."

She stood frozen, her breath shallow, her wide, stricken eyes locked on his. "I know how hard you've worked," he continued. "You've surpassed most men, not just in skill, but in sheer will. But there are things that effort alone cannot change. A woman cannot become an Astartes."

Her face paled. Her body trembled.

"I'm not discriminating against you," Kayvaan said firmly. "This is simply reality. The process that grants an Astartes his strength—the gene-seed of the God-Emperor—can only take root in male physiology. It has been this way for ten thousand years. No woman has ever survived it, and no woman ever will."

"Why?" Jomina's voice cracked. "How can this be?" She took a step back, unsteady, as if the weight of his words had struck her physically. The fierce huntress, the unshakable warrior, now looked lost—like a child abandoned in the dark. "Mentor, you wouldn't lie to me, would you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet the plea in it cut deeper than any scream. "How can the God-Emperor be so cruel? If I can't have glory—if I cannot fight on the battlefield—then what purpose do I have?"

Kayvaan studied her, his expression unreadable.

"Please." Her voice broke. "Let me take the trial, even if it kills me. I would rather die on the path to the battlefield than live in disgrace."

Kayvaan's gaze did not waver, but there was something else in his eyes now—something only Darius, standing at his side, could recognize. Pity. Once, before coming to this galaxy, Kayvaan might not have understood people like Jomina. Once, in a different time, in a different place, he might have thought she was the fool.

What was the meaning of life? Back on Terra, before the Age of Strife, it was a question philosophers pondered. In an age of comfort, of wealth and stability, it was an abstract thought—something distant, something people could afford to question. But here, in the grim dark of the Imperium—where life was measured in war and death, where entire planets burned and whole populations were extinguished overnight—the question was different. 

It was not "What is the meaning of life?" 

It was "How do I give my life meaning?"

Here, in this cruel, unyielding galaxy, death was constant. The only certainty. And for many, the only thing that mattered was how they met that end.

Jomina had already found her answer. In her mind, there had been only one path—one destiny. She had imagined her death on a battlefield, amidst fire and blood, fighting alongside Kayvaan in a war beyond reckoning. Perhaps, in her final moments, she would fall, broken but victorious, in the arms of the mentor she had devoted herself to. That dream was now shattered. Not only would she never fight as an Astartes, she would never set foot on the battlefield meant for them.

Without war, without that glory—what was she?Her entire purpose had been ripped away. "You are an excellent warrior," Kayvaan said at last. "And my student. But I cannot let you throw your life away. That would not be an act of kindness. It would be murder."

Jomina clenched her fists, her breath ragged.

"But you are needed," he continued. "Even if you cannot stand beside me as a Templar, you will serve in another way. You will have a greater purpose." She blinked, hesitating.

Kayvaan turned to the side. "Rhianna." The other woman, standing at the edge of the hall, stepped forward at his call. "Take Jomina," Kayvaan ordered. "Outfit her with Valkyrie armor."

Jomina's breath caught. "You will serve there," he continued. "With them."

A long silence stretched between them. Kayvaan could see it—the fury, the pain in her eyes. The deep wound this had left inside her. But then, slowly—hesitantly—Jomina straightened. Her shoulders squared. Her body stilled. And then—she bent a knee, placing a fist over her chest. "...Understood," she said quietly.

Kayvaan gave a nod. Rhianna placed a hand on Jomina's shoulder, guiding her away. The huntress walked with measured steps, her head high. Only the slight tension in her fingers, curled into fists at her sides, betrayed the storm raging inside her.

Kayvaan watched her go. Then, once the doors had closed behind them, he turned back to the remaining twelve. His voice was steel. "Now," he said, "it is time to test you." The air in the hall grew heavy. "You will either become Templars of the Imperium—or you will die worthless." He let the weight of those words sink in before speaking again. "May the God-Emperor guide you." Then, without another word, he turned. "Follow me."