Father and Son
Location: Ultramar Sector, Iax – Trench Zone 77
Time: 999.M41, in the aftermath of the Great Rift
---
The wind died.
For months, plague-storms had howled across Iax, carrying the fetid whispers of Grandfather Nurgle. Now there was only silence.
Silence broken by the faint hiss of power-armour cooling systems.
And the heavy breathing of a kneeling Primarch.
Roboute Guilliman bowed his head. Through vision blurred by heat and unshed tears, he saw only a pair of bare feet hovering slightly above purified white sand, faintly luminous.
"Thirteenth Son… are you well?"
The words struck him again and again, battering the walls of reason he had spent ten thousand years constructing.
He should stand.
He was the Lord Commander of the Imperium.
He should not break before soldiers, Custodians, or Space Marines.
But he could not rise.
The loneliness of millennia had become weight. That simple, human greeting crushed him more completely than any daemon blade.
"Father…"
The word scraped from his throat like rusted metal.
He did not dare look up.
On Terra, in the Throne Room of the Imperial Palace, he had felt only cold calculation — the inhuman will of a god bound to the Golden Throne.
That presence had been vast.
Terrible.
Distant.
This—
Was warm.
---
[Carrier Integrity: 0.65% – Structural Fractures Detected]
[Output Power: Forcefully Restricted – Preventing Catastrophic Collapse]
From behind the "curtain" of divinity, I watched him.
Roboute Guilliman.
The Primarch who rebuilt Ultramar. The architect of the Codex Astartes. The man who held a shattered Imperium together through reason and discipline.
Now kneeling like a child starved of affection.
Even through the Armor of Fate — relic of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the Aeldari — he looked unbearably human.
Honestly?
Seeing a three-meter-tall demigod on the verge of crying in front of you is… intense.
I sighed internally.
"Real Emperor," I muttered mentally toward the distant Golden Throne, "look what you did. Ten thousand years of emotional neglect. Of course he turned out like this."
Fine.
If I'm the substitute account, I'll do it properly.
As a modern human from 2025, I at least understand basic emotional communication.
Time was running out.
I guided Eileen's fragile body downward until bare feet touched the purified sand.
Guilliman felt the warmth approach.
A small, bandaged hand — glowing faintly gold — rested against his shoulder pauldron.
The contact was light.
But to Guilliman, it pierced auramite, ceramite, and gene-forged pride alike.
"Stand, Roboute."
The voice still carried layered resonance — billions of echoes — but now there was something else.
Encouragement.
Guilliman trembled.
Servo motors groaned as he obeyed.
He rose slowly.
The height difference was immense. Standing on the ground, I barely reached his chest. He bent deeply so that his gaze could meet mine.
He looked into the golden fire of Eileen's eyes.
There was no cold calculation there.
No distant utilitarian cruelty.
Only warmth.
"I… failed," he said hoarsely. "Mortarion escaped. The Imperium burns. The Cicatrix Maledictum divides the galaxy. I cannot close it. I tried—"
"Look at me."
I lifted my hand.
Too short.
There was an awkward pause.
Guilliman immediately understood and bowed his head further, almost reverently, bringing his scarred cheek within reach.
My palm pressed gently against it.
[System Notice: Minor Soothing Psychic Pulse Released – Efficiency: Optimal]
"You did not fail."
I held his gaze.
"When I was silent upon the Throne, it was you who bore the weight of the stars. When the darkness swallowed half the galaxy, you did not retreat. You endured."
A calculated pause.
"You are the Avenging Son of Ultramar. But right now… you are simply a son who has done well."
I let the words settle.
"I am proud of you, Roboute."
Something cracked.
Not armor.
Not bone.
The fortress of his mind.
His eyes reddened instantly. Tears — real, unstoppable — fell, sliding across my fingers.
"Proud…?" he whispered, as though encountering a forbidden concept. "You never…"
Yes. The original you definitely never said it.
"In another time, I believed ruthless logic was the only path," I continued smoothly. "But humanity survives not on logic alone. It survives because sons like you refuse to yield."
Golden fluid trickled from Eileen's nose.
[Carrier Integrity: 0.3% – Critical Failure Imminent]
[Warning: Immediate Disengagement Required]
Guilliman noticed at once.
Hairline fractures spread across Eileen's cheeks like porcelain under stress. Golden ichor seeped from eyes and nose.
His newfound peace turned to panic.
"Father! This vessel cannot withstand you!" He reached out but stopped short, terrified of shattering her with his strength. "Withdraw! I will find a stronger host—"
"No."
I shook my head gently.
"She is pure. That is enough."
The golden aura dimmed slightly as I began retracting output.
"I must rest. This body is not yet accustomed to my presence."
The voice weakened, gradually losing its cosmic resonance.
"Protect her. As you would protect the future of the Imperium."
Guilliman nodded fiercely.
"I swear it. By my gene-sire's name and by Terra itself — nothing shall harm her."
"Good."
A countdown flashed.
[3… 2… 1…]
Before disconnecting, I gave him one final expression.
Not divine.
Not solemn.
A faintly mischievous smile.
"Do not bury yourself in paperwork forever, Roboute. Stand in the sunlight sometimes."
[Disconnection Complete]
[High-Dimensional Consciousness Receding]
[System Entering Standby]
---
The light vanished.
The vast psychic pressure dissipated.
What remained was a frail mortal girl.
Without divine support, Eileen's body collapsed forward.
"No!"
Guilliman moved with Primarch speed.
But not violence.
His massive gauntlets caught her with impossible gentleness.
She was terrifyingly light.
In his arms, she felt like a starving fledgling.
Eyes closed. Skin pale. Golden residue beneath her nose.
Breathing faint.
But alive.
Through armor sensors, he detected her weak body heat.
To him, it felt like a star.
"Regent!"
Shield-Captain Mardova Corquan of the Adeptus Custodes approached at speed, guardian spear active. Several Custodians formed a perimeter, scanning for renewed warp incursion.
Corquan halted when he saw the girl in Guilliman's arms.
For once, the Custodian's usually impassive face showed open reverence.
"Is He… still present?" he asked quietly.
Guilliman lifted his head.
The tears were gone.
In their place burned something sharper.
Hope.
"He rests," Guilliman said firmly. "And He has entrusted her to us."
He adjusted his hold carefully, supporting her head.
"Shield-Captain."
"Lord Commander."
"Seal this entire warzone. Omega Extremis classification. No unauthorized astropathic transmission leaves Iax."
"Yes, my lord."
"We return to the Macragge's Honour."
His voice carried renewed strength.
"Summon the finest Apothecaries of the Ultramarines. Adepta Sororitas Hospitallers. Mechanicus bio-adepts if necessary. If a single strand of her hair is harmed through negligence, I will personally see to the consequences."
"Yes, Lord Commander."
Space Marines and Guardsmen parted in silence as Guilliman carried Eileen toward the waiting Thunderhawk.
The sky above Iax was clearer than it had been in months.
Guilliman looked down at the unconscious girl in his arms.
"Rest," he murmured softly. "Father… or child of destiny."
"You called me a good son."
His jaw tightened.
"Then I will not fail you."
The Thunderhawk's engines roared.
Under a sky no longer choked by plague-clouds, the Lord Commander of the Imperium departed Iax — carrying in his arms the fragile vessel of a miracle.