It was dawn now. Rolf had walked the entire night, and the night before, and the night before that. For three days he'd been trodding along the road that went to Callidus's capital, Vindaree. For three days he hadn't met a single truck or car. This was futile. Banishing the thought in an instant, Rolf focused on his task at hand. He had to get to Vindaree. He'd heard there was a reforming of the Callidussian 27th, and he was intent on joining. There was only one problem: Vindaree was more than 15,000 kilometres form his home. To walk would take ages.

Rolf had given a damn in his motorbike when he'd left home. It would've run of petrol after a few kilometres anyway.

Rolf pulled of a long, vivid curse as he walked. It was in the middle of summer, and the sun was burning him. He had to ration the little water he had, but the hot sun was killing him.

Rolf had walked a further five kilometres, when he collapsed by the roadside. It was noon now, and the sun burned worse than ever. Rolf concluded it must've been more forty degrees above the freezing point of water.

Water...

Rolf took out the water flask from his motorbike and squirted some water into his mouth. It was almost empty. Not good.

"Oh, fudge... " Rolf thought darkly to himself. He was going to die here, unless someone was going to come by. But the odds were against him, that he knew, being just a farmer's son.

Something in the back of his head nagged at him. What was he doing, giving up like this? Was he not the first-born son of a first-born son in the Yarrick family? Was he not the welder of the Deamonslayer sword? Was he not the last of his line and a half-Space Marine, come to that? With an enormous strength of will, Rolf heaved himself up and onto the road again. He was not going to fail his mother, his sister and brother, his father, Uncle Caspar and last but not least, his great ancestor Hrodwulf Le'man, a Saint! He was not going to fail them! He was not going to fail his family or the Emperor. The leader of humanity needed him; Rolf knew it! He walked into the middle of the road like a drunkard, the heat almost overcoming him. He didn't see the 150 tonnes heavy truck speeding down the MC1 road...

Dan Gregor was nothing more than a trucker. He'd been a trucker for a long time. At eighteen years of age, he'd joined the Guard and ended up as munitions driver for a tank company. He'd left the Imperial Guard at 27 and started driving trucks on Callidus instead. Now he was in his late forties, and he still enjoyed the calm, uneventful life he led. He was a man of average height, but the many years behind the steering wheel of a truck had made him rather fleshy. Still, there was nothing wrong with his eyesight, nor was there with his reflexes. Despite his corpulence, he was fit as a fiddle, according to the medical diagnostics. Gregor new full well he had perfect eyesight, despite his age, but he couldn't believe what he saw this day, as he drove down the MC1.

He thought he saw a young man stagger out in the middle of the road, as if dazed by liquor. But Gregor knew it was because of the heat outside. When he sounded the horn of his truck, the young, bluish haired man just turned his head, barely aware of the truck. Gregor pulled the brakes the hardest he could, well-oiled pistons and brakes screaming in agony as the huge vehicle came to a stop, centimetres from Rolf's head.

Gregor almost threw himself out of the huge vehicle, grabbing a water flask instinctively as he did so. He got to Rolf quickly and helped the boy to get some water over his lips and down his throat. Gregor pulled the silent conclusion that this boy had been walking these roads for days probably, with almost no protection from the summer sun of Callidus. Rolf was burnt on many places by the sun, despite his tanned skin.

"Great God-Emperor!" Gregor stammered. "What the frekk has happened to you, boy? And what are you doing out here?"

"Ran away..." was all Rolf managed. Gregor knew the signs of sunstroke when he saw them. He helped the boy into the cabin of his truck and back to the sleeping cabin. His truck was meant for long trips like the one he was on: Shorewood to Vindaree, nearly 15,000 kilometres of nothing but crops. Gregor told the boy to lie down on his bed and went to get some ice cubes and something for the boy to drink.

In Gregor's eyes, Rolf appeared to him a 16-17 years old man from Invas County, judging by his dialect. Gregor was spot on about the heritage, but he missed Rolf's age by two years. Neither did he have any idea of what had happened to the Yarrick family.

He came back in to Rolf with a cup of cold water in his hands. "Rest now, lad. You've been out in that sun too much," Gregor said as he gave Rolf the water.

Rolf tried to mutter thanks, but his lips were so dry, nothing came over them. Gregor understood this. He turned his bulk around quite swiftly and removed himself from the sleeping cabin. As he came back into the driving cabin, he closed the door too the sleeping room after himself, sat down by the driver's seat and ignited the engines. He was soon on his way for Vindaree again, with his eight wheeled truck with its three trailers, each trailer carrying nearly fifty tonnes of oats.

Rolf woke in the sleeping cabin nearly ten hours later. As he rose, he felt his head swim and his face burn. Lying down again, he felt his face. His skin was peeling off on his nose and forehead. The sun had taken its toll on him. He saw the half-full glass on the bedside stand next to him, and finally remembered where he was. He was on one of those great trucks that travelled his land regularly. He remembered a portly man who'd helped him off the hot road and into this truck. Rolf took the glass of water and swigged it down. He was so thirsty, and so hungry. It struck him he hadn't eaten for a few days.

Rolf staggered up, the swimming feeling in his head gone now, and out of the sleeping cabin. He dropped down on the seat on the right, next to the driver. The sun as setting, Rolf saw. He must've slept the day away. And still he was tired.

Rolf heard a strange guttural sound from beside himself and snapped his head to the left. He saw that the man that had helped him was asleep, snoring, which drew Rolf to the simple conclusion no one was driving.

"Mister!" Rolf shouted in shock. "Wake up!"

The man awoke with a snort and looked at Rolf, bewildered. "What? What is it, son?"

"Who's driving?" Rolf's voice was still full of shock.

The man looked confusedly at Rolf for a second and then started to laugh. "Take it easy, boy." He pointed on the control board. "The cogitator takes care of the driving while I'm sleeping, frekk, it takes care of the driving most of the time."

Now it was Rolf's turn to look confused. The man saw this and explained. "This is not any truck like the ones you have home at your farmstead, son. This truck is powered by a nuclear isotope, and is meant to travel great distances, without any need for fuel. If you listen, you won't hear the diesel chatter."

Rolf did as the man had told him, and he seemed to be right. There was no diesel sound, no distinct 'chugchugchug' like most motors. There was just a distant hiss or something. Rolf couldn't put his finger on what.

"But... " Rolf wondered. "That still doesn't explain how you can keep this thing on the road, without steering."

"As I said, a cogitator unit has care of this sweetie while I catch some well deserved sleep, or eat my dinner. I only steer while I'm in cities, if I'm right."

The two fell silent. Then the man stuck out his hand. "Dan Gregor, trucker, and you are?"

"Rolf Ya..." Rolf stopped. No, he wouldn't give his name away, what if this man knew what had happened at the grounds of the Yarrick family? No, he had to take another name. Nothing came to mind but an autonym...

"Rolf what?" Gregor asked.

"Rolf Kaleen." Rolf said. Kaleen was a small, cat-like creature that lived on Callidus. It lived alone, and was the main prey for the wolfhounds of Callidus, along with sheep, deer and other cattle. Despite that the wolfhounds preyed on the farm animals, they were respected animals throughout Callidus. The kaleen, on the other hand, were devious little critters. They were inhumanly sly, probably a total of their exposure to the Empyrean long ago, as was the case with the wolfhounds' lifespans. The kaleen weren't satisfied with taking farmhouse rodents; they took chickens' eggs, small piglets and much more.

"Rolf Kaleen, eh?" Gregor said and smiled. "Betcha you're hungry, eh?"

Rolf nodded. Gregor got his bulk out of his chair and moved to the back of the cabin, to something the apparently was the kitchen of this trailer/truck/caravan.

He came back with a plate with steaming bacon and eggs. "Hope it suits. It's all I can do right now, but when we arrive at Threas Town tomorrow, I'll get you something better."

"Thank you." Rolf said as he tucked in on the food. It was truly delicious. Three days, nearly four, without food had given him a ravenous appetite.

When Rolf had finished his plate, Gregor spoke again. "I just want to know, Mr. Kaleen, where are you going?"

"Vindaree." Rolf replied simply.

"Good, that's where I stop. Crops for Ichar." Gregor gestured backwards, meaning his load. "May I ask why?"

"To join the reforming Callidussian 27th."

Gregor looked shocked. "The Guard?"

"Yes."

"Lord Emperor... You'll be in for a life of war-fare, ya know."

"I know."

"But... why? I mean, there are plenty of... non-violent things for a young man like you to do."

"Not for me..."

"Kaleen?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't doubt you'd come in with the Guard, but... Don't go for a simple Guardsman. Something inside me says that you'll go far, very far, if you just don't settle down on basic foot-slogger."

Rolf looked back at the portly man. "I wont'." Then Rolf smiled for the first time since he'd left his friend's house four days earlier.

He looked back out the window of the cab after that, his thoughts in the distance along with his gaze. A good twenty minutes passed before Rolf spoke again. "How long will it take to Vindaree?"

"Oh, a week, if we'd be going non-stop. But we aren't. So, about ten days." Gregor said. He was silent for a while, and then smiled. "Well, boy, you'll have to stand me for ten days."

"No problem in that," Rolf replied, his gaze still at the horizon.

Gregor decided to ask something he'd been dying to ask for a long time now. "Boy, what is with the sword of yours?"

Rolf knew what he meant. The sword lay by the bed now, at the back. "Family heirloom," he replied.

"Oh." Gregor went silent. He'd never heard of the Yarrickian Deamon Slayer Sword, and thus couldn't understand the underlying truth in Rolf's statement. He didn't even know Rolf's true name. "It's a fine piece of work," Gregor said and then decided not to bother Rolf any more.

Rolf, on the other hand, fell asleep an hour later, still looking out at the square kilometres of crops.