The great golden doors of the Senatorum Imperialis boomed shut, sealing the delegation inside with the twelve most powerful mortals in the galaxy. The High Lords of Terra, ancient and augmented beyond the limits of natural life, stared down from their colossal thrones. They were not merely men; they were institutions, the living embodiments of the crushing, sclerotic bureaucracy that held the Imperium together.
The Master of the Administratum, a withered creature fused into a throne of humming data-slates, was the first to break the silence. His voice was the dry rasp of a billion pieces of parchment. "Lord Commander Guilliman," he began, his tone dripping with condescending protocol. "Your presence is an honor. But the presence of this... xenos... in the Sanctum Imperialis is a transgression of every law and tradition we have upheld for ten millennia. It is an impurity. It must be removed and sanctified."
Before Guilliman could even respond, the Ecclesiarch, the gilded and corpulent head of the Imperial Church, rose to his feet. "An impurity?" his voice boomed, full of righteous fury. "You are blind, Lord Scribe! This is the Saint of the Ghoul Stars! The Angel of Helios! He is a divine miracle made manifest! He should be on his knees before the Golden Throne, not questioned by faithless bureaucrats!"
The Fabricator-General of Mars, a being more machine than man, added his own synthesized voice, a burst of binary preceding his High Gothic. [01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01001111 01101101 01101110 01101001 01110011 01110011 01101001 01100001 01101000 00100000 01110011 01110000 01100101 01100001 01101011 01110011 00100001] "The entity possesses knowledge of technologies lost since the Great Heresy! It is a living font of holy science! It must be brought to the great forges of Mars for immediate and comprehensive study!"
The chamber erupted into a cacophony of demands. The Lord Commander Militant of the Imperial Guard saw a weapon that could win a thousand wars. The Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum saw a target of impossible difficulty, or a tool of unparalleled utility. The Master of the Astronomican saw a psyker of unimaginable power. Each High Lord saw Rimuru not as a person, but as a reflection of their own desires, a tool to further the goals of their own monolithic institution.
They were vultures squabbling over a prize.
Guilliman let the bickering swell for a moment, his face a mask of profound, weary contempt. This was the government he was forced to lead. This was the rot at the heart of his father's empire. Finally, he raised a single, gauntleted hand. The chamber fell silent.
"You are all fools," the Primarch said, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of absolute authority. "You see a weapon, a saint, a specimen. You are blind. I brought before you a sovereign king from another reality, and you squabble like merchants over a new commodity."
He turned to the High Lords. "This being, Rimuru Tempest, single-handedly saved the Forge World of Ryza from a WAAAGH!. He personally cleansed the Helios Sector of Nurgle's taint, unmaking a Daemon Prince. He led my finest warriors to victory against a xenos empire that has bled the Ghoul Stars for a century. He has brought us the secret to safe, instantaneous FTL travel. He is not a tool to be exploited. He is an ally whose power and wisdom exceed our own."
The High Lords were stunned into silence by the Primarch's fierce defense.
It was then that Rimuru, who had been watching this political theater with a calm, analytical patience, stepped forward. The twelve most powerful men in the galaxy and a living demigod all turned their attention to him.
"You are the leaders of this Imperium?" he asked, his voice clear and steady, without a trace of fear or even deference. "Then perhaps you should speak to me, not about me."
He looked at each of the High Lords in turn, his golden eyes seeming to pierce through their layers of augmentation and authority. "I am not your saint. I am not your weapon. And I am not a specimen for your laboratories. I am a king who wishes to return to his own people. I have aided your Imperium in its struggles, and I am willing to continue to do so. But my cooperation is conditional on you fulfilling your end of the bargain: to aid me in my journey home. I am here to negotiate as an equal, not to be dissected or worshipped."
This simple, direct declaration of personal agency was perhaps the most shocking thing the High Lords had ever heard. An alien... a being... speaking to them as an equal? In this chamber? The sheer audacity was unthinkable.
The Master of the Administratum began to rasp a rebuttal about protocol, but he was cut off by a new voice.
It was a voice that did not speak to their ears, but bloomed in their minds. It was calm, ancient, and resonated with a power and authority so absolute that it made even the Primarch go still.
The psychic voice emanated from the chamber's entrance, where a figure had appeared, silent and unnoticed. It was the Shield-Captain of the Adeptus Custodes, Valerius, his golden armor seeming to absorb all the light in the room. He was not alone. He was flanked by a contingent of his brethren, the Emperor's own guardians.
A wave of disbelief and terror washed over the High Lords. The Custodes answered to no one but the Emperor. For them to intervene was an event that had not occurred in millennia.
The Shield-Captain's golden, implacable gaze settled on Rimuru.
The Shield-Captain raised his guardian spear, pointing it not as a weapon, but as a guide, down the grand processional way, towards the deepest, most holy heart of the palace.