Every crusade begins with a grand opening ceremony. Once again at the Fortress of Hera, Alexei stood behind Guilliman, squinting slightly against the sunlight, with Inquisitor Diana at his side.
Within his line of sight, vast formations of Astartes and mortal Auxilia stood in crisp formation, flanked by towering war machines on both sides. Everyone shouted Guilliman's name in unison.
Finally, the Master of the Thirteenth Legion, the Primarch of the Ultramarines, barked out the command. Everyone began their final preparations as they readied to leave Macragge for Terra.
Alexei followed Guilliman to the void-dwelling behemoth serving as the flagship of this crusade fleet: the 'Macragge's Honour', a 26-kilometer Gloriana-class battleship. In today's Imperial Navy, it was second only to the Imperial Fists' 'Phalanx'.
Built for the Ultramarines back when they functioned as a full legion, this Gloriana-class battleship was capable of housing thousands of Space Marines alongside swarms of Chapter serfs and Auxilia. However, after Guilliman instituted the Codex Astartes, far fewer souls walked its decks.
As a result, most of the ship's halls and quarters had remained vacant, including Guilliman's personal chambers and offices. Now, with the Primarch's return and the recall of all surrounding Chapters, the 'Macragge's Honour' bustled with life once more.
Guilliman led Alexei and his entourage down the ship's spine avenue—a boulevard wide enough for two Titans to stride side-by-side. Alexei examined the interior decorations of the colossal vessel with keen interest, noting the pervasive gothic religious aesthetic.
Alexei knew for a fact that Guilliman loathed these decorations; he could already sense the suppressed distaste radiating from the Primarch. Even the once-pragmatic Ultramarines had inevitably succumbed to the Imperial Cult's influence over the millennia.
Then there were those eerie cherubs. When the Primarch first saw one, a look of utter disbelief had crossed his face. Seeing a floating construct that closely resembled a human infant made him question whether the modern Adeptus Mechanicus remained loyal to the Imperium at all.
Even after learning that these units were no longer crafted from human infants, the Primarch's expression remained one of deep disgust, and it took him a long while to reluctantly accept their existence.
The group walked in silence toward the command deck. For a warship more than ten times the size of an Aiur Behemoth-class battlecruiser, its bridge was predictably vast.
Gathered here were the crusade fleet's highest commanders: Astartes leaders, the Canoness Superior of the Adepta Sororitas, mortal Auxilia generals, Archmagi of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the halo-crowned Living Saint.
Everyone silently watched the Primarch step up to the podium, waiting for what was to come.
Standing in the crowd, Alexei glanced sideways at Cawl's sub-mind construct. As a proxy for the Archmagos, its physical size was much smaller than Cawl's main body, and its intelligence was notably lower than Alexei had anticipated.
It seemed capable only of simple Q&A. Whenever a complex query arose, it had to forward the request to Cawl himself for a response.
To ease the anxieties of the Inquisition and his Mechanicus peers, Cawl had insisted that this unit operated strictly on pre-programmed code. As for the actual truth, only Cawl knew for sure.
At the very least, it lagged far behind Alexei's own void-projection. Recalling his gaze, Alexei clenched his hands, feeling the power swelling within his body.
A few months had done nothing to weaken his void-projection's strength; every power and ability possessed by his main body remained available here.
He glanced left at Inquisitor Diana, who was staring intently at the Primarch. During his time on Macragge, Diana had proven immensely helpful; having an Inquisitor by his side was enough to head off most troubles.
Combined with the special authorization granted by the Primarch, Alexei had gained access to all the archives and libraries across Macragge to study detailed Imperial history. Naturally, that record was incomplete—at the very least, Alexei hadn't stumbled upon any of Guilliman's personal secrets.
Even so, he had gathered plenty of useful intelligence.
After a long silence, a voice interrupted Alexei's thoughts. "My Lord, all ships are ready," the fleet commander reported loudly toward the podium.
Guilliman nodded, gazing through the viewport at the gray atmosphere of Macragge. A moment later, he raised his left hand and pointed forward. "Engage!"
The mighty Imperial fleet set sail, the trails of countless engines carving through the void toward humanity's birth world.
They first had to travel to the system's edge to enter the violent Warp tides. Under strict demands from the fleet's Navigators and Astropaths, the crusade fleet would execute only short Warp jumps. Even then, there was no guarantee every ship would emerge safely from the churning Warp.
At present, all of Ultramar was encircled by a raging Warp storm, and crossing it required paying a heavy toll.
Standing at the podium, the Primarch stared into the eye of the Warp storm. It reminded him of the storm thousands of years ago that had prevented him from reaching Terra to reinforce his father, leading to tragedy. This time, no matter the cost, he would reach the Imperial Palace.
On the command deck, mortal officers and operators threw themselves into their duties while the Astartes moved to their assigned stations. Alexei had nothing to attend to, so he stood quietly before the viewport, watching the fleet prepare to plunge into the churning Warp.
'What a tedious hassle...' Alexei thought to himself. If they had Warp-Fold Engines, the fleet could reach Terra in just over a month with a fraction of the danger. Instead, they had to crawl forward step-by-step.
Furthermore, Alexei knew what awaited them. Guilliman's brother was lying in wait within the Maelstrom, ready to ambush them. The Terran Crusade fleet was destined to suffer an inevitable defeat: the Primarch captured, the mortals slaughtered, and the 'Macragge's Honour' lost in the Warp.
'Or so it should be...' Alexei smiled faintly. But now that he was standing here, that so-called certainty was about to change. He eagerly anticipated the look on Magnus's face when his fleet ran headfirst into the Golden Fleet. Fate and plans held no weight over him—he had always been an anomaly outside their design.
When the final warship disappeared into the Warp, the Mandeville point in realspace settled back into stillness, as if that vast fleet had never been there at all.
The gears of fate began to turn, though this time, a tiny pebble lay wedged between them, unnoticed by all.