Dukel's expedition fleet was en route back to Terra. The sheer distance in the material realm was staggering, spanning nearly half the galaxy. Even though he had already covered half the journey, it would still take weeks to reach the Throneworld.
Meanwhile, the Lion and the Regent had already arrived, their reunions preceding his return.
Within the vast and majestic Imperial Palace, the heart of the Imperium and an indomitable fortress, the long-separated brothers stood face to face once more.
This world-city had withstood the siege of six Traitor Legions and yet endured. A miracle of defiance immortalized in the annals of the Imperium.
"I thought I would be angry."
The Lion murmured to himself as he watched Guilliman approach. A rare, almost imperceptible smile softened his normally severe features.
Their past had been rife with disputes, a rivalry bred from opposing views and irreconcilable differences. Waking from a ten-thousand-year slumber to find his First Legion scattered and diminished under Guilliman's Codex Astartes had ignited his fury.
"Have I ever said that I dislike you?" Guilliman's superhuman senses caught the whispered words. He smiled, arms spreading wide in welcome. "But now, all I wish to say is—it's good to see you, brother."
The Lion hesitated for but a moment before responding in kind.
"Me too. Seeing you... it reminds me that I am not alone."
The two Primarchs, sundered by millennia of separation and war, embraced as brothers once more. Past grudges, however bitter, paled in the face of the eternity they had lost.
For all their stature, their genetic perfection, their godlike presence among men, at this moment, they allowed themselves a rare moment of unguarded kinship.
"Brother, you were never alone." Guilliman's voice held warmth as they parted.
There was more he wished to say—news he believed would lift the weight of sorrow from the Lion's shoulders.
"Lion, Dukel has returned. He saved both Sanguinius and me. Blood ties have not been severed by time."
Yet, instead of the joy Guilliman expected, the Lion was silent.
The stillness between them was almost deafening.
"Brother?" Guilliman's brow furrowed. "Are you not pleased?"
The Lion remained silent, then gestured to his face. "Look here."
Guilliman's gaze followed his hand, and for the first time, he noticed the deep bruises hidden beneath his brother's thick beard.
For a Primarch's wounds to linger was no small thing. Their transhuman physiology should have healed such injuries within moments. The fact that they remained was troubling.
"Who could have done this to you?" Guilliman's expression darkened.
The Lion's reply was measured. "Dukel struck me."
Guilliman was taken aback. "Dukel? Why?"
The Lion sighed, touching the bruises as if they still throbbed. "The reasons are complex. Not something easily explained in a few words." He exhaled sharply. "But, if I had to guess… I think he simply wanted to punch me."
Guilliman sighed, shaking his head. "That certainly sounds like Dukel."
As they walked the vast halls of the Imperial Palace, they spoke of many things. Restricted zones such as the Eternity Gate and the sanctum of the Emperor's throne remained off-limits, but otherwise, the two Primarchs were free to traverse this immense fortress-city.
The Palace was more than a structure—it was a continent in itself, housing the Sanctum Imperialis, the Ecclesiarchal Hall, the Arsenal, the Astronomican, the High Lords' chambers, and countless other institutions vital to the Imperium's function.
And beneath it, in its deepest vaults, lay secrets of such magnitude that even the Primarchs themselves were forbidden from venturing too close without the Emperor's leave. Ancient relics, dark artifacts, and the remnants of unspeakable horrors were locked away in those abyssal depths.
Neither Guilliman nor the Lion had any desire to unearth those forbidden things. Their concerns lay in the present—and in the corruption that festered within the Imperium.
"Lion, I arrived at Terra months before you," Guilliman began. "The rot within the Imperium is worse than even I feared. The bureaucracy is bloated with sycophants and incompetents. My every decree is obstructed by men who care only for their own power."
His voice was thick with restrained anger. "They mock efficiency and governance while they feast on the suffering of those they were sworn to protect."
The Lion listened in silence before replying, "These mortals have never known the Imperium as it was meant to be. To them, the status quo is all that exists." A shadow passed over his golden eyes. "But I will not tolerate those who betray the Emperor's ideals."
Guilliman looked at him with surprise. "I did not expect you to take such an interest in governance."
The Lion sighed. "Before meeting Dukel, I did not. My only concern was whether this Imperium would even accept us. But now, I see how far it has fallen."
His voice grew heavier. "It is a sorrowful thing, Guilliman. Our father built a foundation of hope, only for that hope to be devoured by dogma and ignorance the moment he ascended the Throne. Enlightenment was replaced by fanaticism, reason supplanted by cruelty. The Imperium rots while its rulers squabble over scraps of power."
Guilliman's expression hardened. "Dukel will not stand for this either. If we do not direct his fury, he may well raze the entire Imperium himself."
For a moment, they both stood in silence, staring at the gilded architecture around them. The towering statues, the stained-glass mosaics, the endless halls of gold and marble.
All symbols of a dream long since defiled.
"But even in such a grim reality, not all mortals deserve death. Some are worthy of our admiration."
Hearing the Lion's words, Guilliman nodded in agreement. "It is true. Once, I was deeply disappointed—not just in humanity, but in our father as well."
"The Emperor sees us as nothing more than tools, devoid of emotion or purpose beyond his will. As for mortals, during the Heresy, those same worlds that swore unwavering loyalty to the Imperium turned their banners overnight. In the blink of an eye, they pledged fealty to Horus and raised their weapons against the Emperor."
"I questioned whether humanity was even worth saving. Betrayal, it seemed, was woven into their very nature, needing only the smallest provocation to flourish. They once worshiped the Emperor as their savior, his word absolute and unquestionable. Yet, when Horus declared his rebellion, half the Imperium followed him without hesitation."
"But after awakening from the stasis field, I gained a new perspective on mortals. For ten thousand years, in our absence, they faced countless wars and teetered on the brink of annihilation. Each time despair loomed, mortals sacrificed themselves willingly. Though weak in flesh, they demonstrated wisdom and courage beyond expectation, fighting against the tide of destruction with nothing but sheer determination."
Guilliman recounted all he had seen since his return, painting a grim picture of an Imperium suffocating under its own corruption. Yet, amidst the darkness, there was always a glimmer of hope.
"There is still hope," he concluded.
The Lion inclined his head. "Then we must act together. We must see the true nature of those who wield power. They may claim absolute loyalty to the Emperor, but in the face of ambition, they trample upon their own faith."
Guilliman nodded.
For the time being, the two Primarchs endured in silence.
Their restraint only emboldened those in power. The so-called rulers of the Imperium reveled in their perceived dominance, mocking the so-called "demigods" behind closed doors at their opulent feasts. Here, on Terra, no will could challenge their authority. No name, no title, not even that of a Primarch, was sacred before their might. Even in ages past, when the Emperor himself walked among them, there were those who sought to shape His will to their advantage.
Weeks Later…
The expedition fleet finally arrived at the final realspace node. They sailed unwaveringly across the roiling tides of the Immaterium. The storms of Chaos could not break their resolve, nor could the temptations of the warp lead them astray.
Dukel stood at the bow of the Soulfire, holding aloft the Fate's Sky Eagle banner. Before him stretched an ocean of banners, the assembled might of an entire crusade. On the Glorious Queen, the decks teemed with millions of warriors, clad in gleaming armor and ready for war. Across the vast fleet, every vessel bore the same scene—a grand host prepared to bring judgment upon the stars.
Dante stood aboard the Blood Angels flagship, his gaze fixed upon the colossal figure at the prow of the Inner Fire. Then, his eyes shifted to the young Primarch seated before him.
Little Sanguinius, though youthful in form, now bore a suit of power armor fitted to his stature. His expression was calm, his demeanor noble.
"Holy Father, what exactly is Highness Dukel planning?" Dante asked.
The young Sanguinius smiled knowingly. "Dante, you already know the answer. My brother and I have returned to Terra to meet our father. What else could it be?"
Dante knelt on one knee, bowing his head. He did not doubt his father. He trusted that young Sanguinius was merely jesting. Yet, the vast host at their command told a different story. This was not a simple pilgrimage.
The crusade was at full strength. Not only did the mortal auxiliary regiments stand ready, but over a thousand Doom Warriors, fifty thousand Sisters of the Spirit, and three hundred thousand Second Legion reserves had all entered a state of war-readiness.
The Doom Warriors and the Sisters needed no introduction—their names were synonymous with relentless conquest. Even the Second Legion's mortal reserves, bolstered by gene-enhancements exceeding fifty thousand horsepower per soldier, were a force to rival the Adeptus Astartes. Each warrior possessed the might to stand beside their transhuman kin.
And at their head stood the Second Primarch, a living demigod whose sheer presence turned the tide of battle.
Such an army did not assemble merely to exchange pleasantries with the Emperor.
Dante's eyes lingered on the looming warship, Inner Fire. In his gut, he felt the unmistakable scent of blood upon the winds of fate.
Aboard the Soulfire…
Dukel stood motionless at the bow, his piercing gaze fixed upon the roiling expanse of the Immaterium. His sight extended beyond the veil of realspace, past the final reality node, toward the Throneworld itself.
He could see the rot at the heart of the Imperium.
His expression did not change, but the weight of his presence darkened.
"Terra in the forty-first millennium… is far too decadent."
Murderous intent flickered behind his cold eyes.
"Engage the realspace node."
With a single command, the Fate's Sky Eagle Battle Standard ignited in golden radiance.
A surge of psychic energy erupted, piercing the surface of the warp, scattering the denizens of the Immaterium with its purity. The golden light converged upon the reality node ahead, manifesting as a thousand lances of holy fire.
The veil between realms tore asunder.
A blinding flash illuminated the void as the vast fleet burst into realspace, shattering the barrier like a storm breaking upon the shore. The light of the stars dimmed, eclipsed by the radiance of the crusading host. Terra itself was bathed in the all-consuming glow of the Imperium's might.
For the first time in millennia, Holy Terra knew no distinction between day and night. From the Eastern Hemisphere to the Western Spires, the capital world was drenched in the golden light of war.
At the heart of the Astronomican, the mummified husk of Carlos radiated Primarch-level psychic energy. His power manifested across the void, imprinting the image of the Golden Sky Eagle into the subconscious of every living being upon the Throneworld.
Loyalty. Honor.
Against this unyielding radiance, the vast fleet of warships emerged in full view, descending upon the sacred world in all its terrible majesty.
The Imperium would never be the same again.