In the orbit of Holy Terra, the vast and disciplined fleet of the Ultramarines moved slowly into its anchorage. Aboard the flagship, Macragge's Honour, Roboute Guilliman stood on the bridge, his brow furrowed as he stared through the viewport at the City below. It was a world scarred and battered, its skies not yet fully cleansed of smoke.
The comms channels crackled with a chaotic blend of signals.
Triumphant cheers and sorrowful dirges intertwined, casting a suffocating and heavy atmosphere through the cold air of the bridge, a feeling he had never before experienced on Terra.
"My Lord, we are receiving landing guidance signals from Terra," the ship's captain reported.
"Patch them through immediately," Guilliman's voice was low, laced with a barely perceptible anxiety.
A dark premonition grew stronger in his heart. He had arrived too late, and now all he could do was pray that his father was unharmed.
"Lord Roboute Guilliman," a voice came through the comms. It was Valdor, "Welcome to Terra. By the Emperor's will, we have won the victory, but the cost was heavy."
Guilliman's heart sank. He strode forward. "Captain-General Valdor, the Emperor… my father… is he…" He desperately needed an answer.
Valdor did not reply directly but simply moved aside, making a gesture of invitation. "Please, my Lord, come with me. The loyal Primarchs, Lord Axis, Lord Malcador, and the Imperial high command are waiting for you in the Throne Room. Everything… will be revealed there."
Guilliman nodded. Taking his core retinue of sons, he boarded a lander and descended to the great gates of the Imperial Palace on Holy Terra.
He walked through the palace's long corridors, which were filled with rubble and the ongoing work of clearing the dead. Every step landed upon the remnants of war. Shattered colossal pillars, dried and blackened bloodstains, and the charred wreckage of metal spoke silently of the brutal madness that had unfolded there. With each step, the weight on Guilliman's soul grew heavier.
When he finally stepped into the grand and oppressive Golden Throne Room, the sight before him stole his breath.
An icy chill shot up his spine.
At the far end of the hall stood the immense Golden Throne, a monument that now resembled a cold tombstone, emanating chilling psychic fluctuations. Upon it sat his father, the Master of Mankind, whom he revered as a god.
He was silent.
A faint blue stasis field encased him like a crystal coffin, within which time itself seemed to have frozen completely.
The face that once held boundless majesty and wisdom was now fixed in an expression of indescribable pain and perseverance. The golden armour had lost its former luster, and the terrible, gaping wound in his chest was preserved in its most ghastly state by the stasis field.
Before the Throne stood all the Primarch-brothers who had been on Terra: Rogal Dorn, battered but unyielding as stone; Magnus, his psychic aura a storm of complex emotions; the deep and inscrutable Axis; the battle-frenzied Kratos; Sanguinius, his entire temperament drastically altered; the silent Vulkan; Ferrus Manus; the Wolf King, Leman Russ; and the Lion, Lion El'Jonson. Malcador, the Imperial Regent, stood silently beside the Throne.
"Father!" Guilliman cried out, his voice trembling with disbelief. "What… what happened? How could he… like this?!" The price of victory was the Emperor's eternal imprisonment?
"Roboute Guilliman, first, welcome back," Malcador the Sigillite said, stepping forward, "As you can see, we won the war. Horus's rebellion has been crushed, and the armies of Chaos have been routed and driven back. But the Emperor… to defeat Horus, he paid a price. His body was on the verge of total collapse. In the end… he chose the Golden Throne. From this day forward, he will remain here, unable to communicate with his people ever again."
The words struck Guilliman like a physical blow. Immense grief and regret instantly overwhelmed him. He staggered forward and fell heavily to his knees before the cold throne, bowing his head low and offering a pained confession to the still figure.
"Father! I am so sorry! I was too late! If I… if I had arrived a single step sooner, perhaps I could have stopped your duel with Horus, perhaps…"
The vast army he had meticulously assembled, the inescapable net he had laid for Horus, had all proven to be a useless, belated effort.
"What is done is done, Guilliman," said Rogal Dorn, his golden armour immaculate, as he walked to his brother's side. "What is needed now is for you to be strong. Before Father took his place upon the Golden Throne, he imparted to us his final command."
"Father's command?" Guilliman looked up, his eyes bloodshot.
Malcador stepped forward once more, his voice rising with sacred solemnity. "Roboute Guilliman, kneel! Hear the final and most sacred will of the Emperor!"
Without hesitation, Guilliman went down on one knee again, his head bowed, ready to receive his father's last decree.
Malcador unfurled a scroll, and his formal voice echoed through the silent and oppressive Throne Room.
"By my name as Master of the Imperium of Man, eternal ruler of Holy Terra, I issue this final edict at this most sacred hour:
"My body is bound to the Throne, yet the Imperium cannot be without a master. I hereby appoint my thirteenth son, the Master of Ultramar, the Primarch of the Ultramarines Legion, Roboute Guilliman, as Lord Regent of the Imperium of Man! His authority and station shall be second only to my own.
"During the period in which I am unable to rule personally, Lord Regent Guilliman shall act with my full authority, command the military and government of the Imperium, pass judgment on all affairs, and be responsible for the survival and prosperity of the Imperium.
"Only the twelfth Primarch, Axis, who bears a special mission, is granted dispensation and is not bound to the Lord Regent's command. He is hereby invested as the King of Equal Standing of the Imperium of Man, his station equivalent to that of the Lord Regent.
"All other Primarchs, Imperial institutions, military forces, Space Marine Legions, the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Navigator Houses, and all Planetary Governors… whether mortal or Astartes, must unconditionally obey the commands and laws of the Lord Regent.
"The High Lords of Terra shall be preserved, presided over by the Imperial Regent Malcador, to assist the Lord Regent in managing the affairs of the Imperium and maintaining its function.
"This decree is effective immediately. For the future of mankind, you shall all work together as one to overcome these difficult times."
When the proclamation was finished, a dead silence enveloped the Throne Room.
Guilliman's head shot up, his eyes filled with absolute shock and disbelief.
Lord Regent? To lead the entire Imperium?
This was far beyond his expectations. He had assumed it would be the immensely accomplished and inscrutable Axis, or Dorn who had defended Terra, or perhaps the highly esteemed Sanguinius.
In any scenario, it should not have been him, the one far away in Ultramar who had failed to participate in the final battle for Terra.
But what truly set alarms ringing in his mind was the sudden title, "King of Equal Standing"! Axis's rank was to be equal to his own? What did that imply? An unseen check on his power? If their orders conflicted, whom was the Imperium to obey?
"King of Equal Standing? What does this mean? That your station is equal to mine, Axis? If we were to issue contradictory orders, whose will would the Imperium follow?" Guilliman's gaze fell sharply on Axis, trying to find an answer on the Primarch's face.
The title itself felt foreign, completely alien to the traditions of the Imperium.
Axis spoke. "It means exactly what it says, Guilliman. My station is equivalent to yours. However, the daily governance of the Imperium is not my forte, nor will I readily use this authority. I have a more important and urgent matters to complete."
The creation of the title stemmed from Rogal Dorn's deep-seated unease. To entrust the entire Imperium to one man was too great a risk.
Dorn's staunch support, along with the tacit approval of Magnus, the Wolf King, the Lion, and even Sanguinius, had ultimately led to the establishment of this unique title.
"Guilliman," Malcador's voice held a note of finality, "this is all the Emperor's will." The Emperor's last command was the highest law.
Guilliman took a deep breath, suppressing his swirling doubts and the immense weight of his new responsibility.
He knew Axis well enough to believe his brother. His true interests lay elsewhere. The burden of the Imperium would ultimately fall upon his own shoulders. Guilliman turned to the Golden Throne, his voice low and firm, like an oath.
"Before you, Father, your will is my mission! I, Roboute Guilliman, swear on my life and honour that I will do everything in my power to fulfill the duties of the Lord Regent! I will rebuild the order of the Imperium, heal the wounds of war, and safeguard the Imperium of Man until my last drop of blood is spilled!"
After his simple declaration, Guilliman immediately displayed the efficiency expected of a Lord Regent and began to inquire about the details of the war.
Yet, the more he learned, the deeper the mystery surrounding the Emperor's ascension to the Golden Throne became.
"I do not understand!" Guilliman turned to Rogal Dorn, his voice seething with repressed anger and profound confusion. "Dorn, you tell me! Axis, Sanguinius, Jaghatai, the Lion… they all arrived on Terra ahead of time! With such incredible power gathered here, how could Horus have even had the chance to mortally wound Father? What is the real truth behind Father's enthronement?!"
According to his own meticulous projections, so long as Magnus could stabilize the webway, the Emperor leading such an elite retinue of Primarchs would have left Horus with absolutely no chance of victory.
The outcome should have been certain, but the Emperor's grievous wounds and eternal confinement were an unacceptable cost, completely outside of any plan.
Magnus's eye darted between Axis and Malcador, a complex emotion flickering within it. "Some truths, Brother Guilliman, the Emperor forbade from being known by any but a select few. You are not among them. Axis shoulders a mission of paramount importance." This secret was the only hope for the Emperor's revival; it could not be jeopardized.
"Guilliman, this is not your concern!" Rogal Dorn's voice was like striking steel, sharp and absolute. "This matter must remain secret. That is an order!"
After the Emperor had fallen silent, the Primarchs who had witnessed that final moment, including Dorn himself, had reached a consensus: they would protect the faint hope of the Emperor's eventual return at any cost.
To that end, they had taken the most extreme of measures. At their request, Magnus had sealed the specific memories of the core truth from every Primarch present, except for Axis, Malcador, and Magnus himself.
All the others remembered only that there was a secret that must be protected, and that the Emperor was on the Throne due to his grievous injuries. The information available to Guilliman was limited to this: Axis had defended the webway, and the Emperor had been mortally wounded after personally fighting Horus.
"You are hiding something from me?!" Guilliman shot to his feet, demanding an answer. "If Father chose me as Lord Regent in his final moments and entrusted the Imperium to me, how can you not trust me? What is this?" Dorn's paranoia and his brothers' secrecy felt like sharp thorns piercing his heart. His father trusted him, but his brothers had erected a wall between them.
The assembled Primarchs exchanged silent glances, and then, with an almost synchronized gravity, they slowly shook their heads. The very act of sealing their memories signified that the secret was of a danger level beyond all else. Guarding it was their irrefutable responsibility, even from the Lord Regent.
"Guilliman," Rogal Dorn said without yielding, his words as cold as ice. "To ensure the absolute security of this secret, I even had Magnus use his sorcery to completely seal the core memory from all of us! Even I only know that it is a secret that must be protected with my life, and nothing more!"
Now, apart from those key three individuals, no one knew the specifics of the truth. The other Primarchs only sensed that Axis was orchestrating some kind of special mission.
"Dorn! You are too extreme!" Guilliman fought back the rage that was about to erupt, forcing the words through his clenched teeth.
He could get along with most of his brothers, but with Dorn, it was as if they were inherently incompatible. In that moment, he was profoundly grateful that their father had not chosen Dorn for the position of Lord Regent.
Forcing his attention to more pressing realities, Guilliman surveyed his brothers, his gaze finally settling on the transformed Sanguinius. "My brothers, Lord Malcador, since Father has chosen me, I will not fail his trust. Sanguinius… are you well?"
The Angel's once-brilliant golden hair had become a dark crimson, like congealed blood, and his holy wings were stained with the same ominous colour. On his pale cheeks, two sharp fangs pierced his lower lip, and he emanated a dark and powerful vampiric aura.
"I will control it, Guilliman," Sanguinius's voice was a little hoarse.
He turned his head and quickly covered his face with a cold iron mask, while pulling his blood-red wings as tightly as he could beneath a wide cloak. "It will just… take some time."
"Then, can you still fight?" Guilliman asked. "The Imperium is in peril. We must not only hunt down the scattered traitors, but also deal with the Rangdan who have already invaded the territory of the Imperium! We must rebuild, and these matters cannot wait."
To restore the borders and quell the widespread conflicts was his first and unavoidable duty as Lord Regent. For that, he needed the Great Angel, not a Blood Angel.
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ps?