I want to say this before anything else: I knew nothing about Warhammer 40,000. Maybe a figure scrolling past on some meme page, a name I never looked twice at. I had never read the lore. I had never searched a single thing about it. That matters, because of what came next.
I had a dream that I went up to my higher self, and he was super surprised by me. He was fighting against some invaders, and he told me that they had some problems, but they will make it for sure. They looked like Warhammer 40,000 Space Marines (Ultramarines).
My higher self was with a brother (battle brother) who was in a yellow-blue outfit, which seems to be the Crimson Fists, according to my research.
My higher self told me that they were fighting, and that was also the reason for the turmoil in my reality, but they are winning and I should not worry, as they will finish this in the near future.
Further, he was surprised that he saw me, because it was not meant to be possible to transcend from the lower to the higher realm — in this case, me going to their realm. He told me that I can go back and everything will be alright. During our talk they kept firing, as they were in the middle of a fight. They kept firing from their super-heavy guns.
As above, so below.
On the world of Macragge — home to the Ultramarines — the term “Illyrian rebels” refers to the fierce native tribes of the planet’s far-northern highlands (the region of Illyrium, often simply called “bandit country”). Now it’s getting crazy because if you know Albanians, the descendants of Illyrians — this is exactly how they have categorized them for so long.
These Illyrian tribes were the last to submit when Macragge was first unified under Consul Konor’s rule and, even after their initial defeat, remained a thorn in the side of the planetary government for centuries.
Now for me it gets even more crazy, hear me out:
1st Level — I own a Submariner Rolex — Sub level
2nd Level — Marin my son — Ground Level
3rd Level — Ultramarines — Higher Self
Illyrium — Ultramarines
Let me explain this simply, because one week ago I also had no idea what any of this means.
Warhammer 40,000 is a science-fiction universe — one of the biggest fictional worlds ever created. Its most famous warriors are the Space Marines: genetically engineered super-soldiers. And the strongest, most celebrated of them all are the Ultramarines — the ones I saw in my dream.
The Ultramarines have a home planet: Macragge. And on Macragge, the story goes like this:
The Illyrian rebels lost their war — but they didn’t disappear. The planet absorbed them. The surviving rebels and their families were folded into the army.
And that army is exactly where the Ultramarines recruit their new warriors. Not from nobles. Not from loyal cities. From whoever proves himself. The trials don’t ask where you were born — only if you are strong enough. And who rises in a system built on merit? The ones forged by resistance. The rebels.
Centuries pass. Records fade. Nobody remembers which warrior’s bloodline started in bandit country. So the strongest warriors of that entire universe are built, quietly, on rebel blood.
Now read it again as an Albanian. Defeated by empires. Absorbed into their armies. Rising on merit — Illyrian soldiers became Roman emperors, Albanian boys became Ottoman generals and Grand Viziers. And history forgot where its strongest sons came from.
The same story. One written in lore, one written in our blood.
So what are the chances? A man who never knew this universe dreams of its strongest warriors — and inside their world, he finds his own people’s name, living the story his people already lived.
Suffering is our prayer — Faith is our armor
Before finishing this, I had one more rational question to kill. Did the writers of this game invent all of this — or did they know what they were doing?
They knew.
Warhammer 40,000 was never pure imagination. The Ultramarines are deliberately Roman — that’s how the faction has been written from the very beginning. The Latin names, the codes, the whole society of their homeworld built from Greek and Roman history. And Illyrium? Lifted straight off the map of the ancient Balkans. In some of the books, the region is even called “Illyria” outright. Not a hint. Not a disguise. The actual name of our ancestral land.
Even “Auxilia” is a real Roman word. It was the actual institution: non-citizen troops, recruited from conquered peoples. And who filled the real Auxilia? My ancestors. The Great Illyrian Revolt — a war so brutal that the Roman historian Suetonius called it the hardest Rome had faced since the Punic Wars — began among Illyrians recruited as auxiliary troops. Real Illyrians, in the real Auxilia, of the real empire. The writers didn’t invent the pattern. They copied it.
Even the forgetting is borrowed. Rick Priestley, the creator of Warhammer 40,000, deliberately built erased records into his universe — taken from damnatio memoriae, the Roman custom of officially deleting a person from history. The forgetting of the strongest sons is not an accident of the lore. It is the design.
So here is where I landed.
The fiction knowing my people — that’s no mystery. Humans wrote it, they wrote it from history, and my people’s story was already legendary in the records they copied.
But my dream knowing the fiction — that, nobody can explain to me. I had never opened that universe. And something walked me straight to the one shelf where our story was stored.
Maybe the unconscious reaches for whatever images it can find. Maybe the blood remembers what the mind never learned. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.
It was just a dream or it wasn’t….
But it was the realest dream I ever had, and it knew things I didn’t.
Suffering is our prayer — Faith is our armor
I still don’t understand what I got — but I definitely got into Warhammer 40,000.
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Prishtinë, 29.08.2026