Terra grew lively once more — though this time, the returning Primarchs received no welcome at all. Apart from the Emperor, accompanied by Aurelius and a handful of Custodians, no one else came out to greet them.
Not even a single mortal attendant. The vast Lion's Gate Spaceport remained as busy as ever, but the ceremony this time was conspicuously threadbare.
There was no helping it — everyone was either buried in administrative work or hauling documents. They couldn't spare even a single servitor or Obliterator for the occasion.
"Welcome home, my sons."
The Emperor's signature smile and transcendent charisma still left everyone faintly disoriented, but few of the Primarchs this time were genuinely swept up in it — most had built up at least some resistance to it by now.
"Father."
"My Emperor."
The assembled sons offered only token bows of greeting before pressing immediately to ask about the matter that had truly brought them back.
But the Emperor and Aurelius had already seen through their intentions from the start, offering neither a direct answer nor any comment on whether they'd been manipulated or otherwise — simply deflecting the question entirely.
This was best left to Guilliman and Perturabo to explain. The Emperor and Aurelius weren't suited to this kind of thing.
If this had been the old Emperor, he wouldn't have wasted breath explaining anything at all — might even have done something blood-pressure-spiking and infuriating instead. But the current Emperor no longer harbored those instincts.
If he carelessly did something that sent these great sons of his spiraling into wild theories and triggered some disaster, it would be a catastrophe.
He hadn't even managed to retrieve his First-Born yet. He couldn't afford to go through something like that again.
"Let the Warsmith and the Lord Regent explain it to you. I don't think anyone understands this reform better than they do."
Aurelius stepped forward in front of the Emperor and offered the response.
Only then did the assembled Primarchs and Astartes notice that the Emperor had a mortal standing beside him.
He wore an armor of platinum-white, the rank insignia on his shoulder and the gleaming Star of Terra medal on his chest standing out as remarkable even among the Custodians. The Primarchs' attention had been focused almost entirely on the Emperor until now, which was why they had overlooked this clearly extraordinary mortal at his side.
And also — Guilliman as Lord Regent? What in the void was that about? Why hadn't any of them heard a word of this?
"Who are you?"
"Aurelius. The Emperor's first Warmaster. Now the Imperium's Sun King. He will lead the navy in my place to continue the conquest of the galaxy."
Before Aurelius could answer himself, the Emperor stepped in front of his Warmaster to explain to his sons.
First Warmaster?
Sun King?
Weren't those titles supposed to belong to Perturabo? Since when did this mortal hold them?
"Father, Warmaster Aurelius was the one who led us through the original Unification Wars. But he vanished partway through that campaign."
Astaroth spoke to the Lion King, recounting some of this original Warmaster's history for everyone present.
So this — this was Father's true Warmaster?
Several Primarchs found their minds drifting toward uncomfortable conclusions. Looking at that platinum-white uniform, and recalling the Luna Wolves and Horus's old armor, the gathered sons couldn't help but increasingly suspect that their First-Born had perhaps never been quite as favored by Father as everyone had assumed.
"Come inside, don't stand out here. You'll understand soon enough — this reform isn't limited to the Legions. The mortal Auxilia will also undergo some restructuring. Aurelius will be commanding the Auxilia going forward as part of this reform, taking over part of Perturabo's authority."
The Emperor clapped his old friend on the shoulder, his face carrying an easy, relaxed smile. The current state of the Imperium wasn't exactly favorable, but the road ahead still looked bright.
So what exactly was going on here? Suddenly a Warmaster from the Unification Wars era appears, now holding the significant title of Sun King, commanding the mortal Auxilia?
They'd need to go ask Perturabo and Guilliman — after all, those two were the true architects behind this reform.
But even over that relatively short walk, the Primarchs and their sons grew increasingly unsettled. Dorn was the most shaken of all — having personally overseen and fortified Terra for years, he barely recognized this human homeworld he had spent so long maintaining.
Countless Obliterators and mortal attendant-bureaucrats streamed through the upper hive spires. The Palace interior had been extensively renovated, with mountain after mountain of decrees being hauled in by an endless stream of Chimera transports.
The massive throne room stood with its doors open, the decrees inside piled so thick there was barely room to walk. And there, three figures — two towering, one smaller — moved with the assistance of Obliterators, hands a blur of motion as they processed and dispatched decree after decree at staggering speed.
The logic engine systems were even showing signs of lag — and everyone present, accustomed as they were to using logic engines, understood exactly what that meant.
This was the same all-purpose Obliterator intelligence that could, during a full sector-wide war, rapidly and precisely produce hundreds of battle plans, track enemy movement in real time, and coordinate multi-front operations across entire Legions and fleets simultaneously.
It could control hundreds of thousands of Obliterators at once while rationally directing an entire space battle, and still analyze enemy disposition for ground forces in the same breath.
And even something like that was lagging now?
"The logic engines won't hold up much longer, Warsmith. I'll pull a fresh batch of my sons in to handle the administrative load. You should set this part aside and go research improvements instead — your talents shouldn't be wasted on this."
Guilliman spoke without lifting his head.
"That was an oversight on my part. I'd hoped I could shoulder some of this for you."
Perturabo couldn't understand why, with the overall situation steadily improving, the administrative burden kept growing instead of shrinking.
"You've already helped us enormously, Warsmith. The sooner you improve the logic engines, the sooner we might all get some relief."
"Understood."
Perturabo sighed, but his hands never stopped moving — after all, the others hadn't arrived yet.
Guilliman did nothing further, simply letting a gentle blue breeze sweep through the room, "blowing" the scattered decrees on the floor into perfectly orderly stacks with effortless precision, instantly opening up a vast clear space across the throne room.
"Come in. Don't just stand there like fools. Isn't this why you came back — to discuss the reform?"
Perturabo addressed everyone through psychic projection.
The Primarchs didn't hesitate, following the Emperor and Aurelius into the throne room. Some Custodians and Astartes followed in as well, while the rest remained standing on the steps outside, watching from a distance.
The scene was eerily reminiscent of that moment before the Eternity Gate, when Perturabo had imprisoned the Emperor and then convinced his brothers to continue the Great Crusade.
"Why abolish the Legion system?"
Dorn wasted no words, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
"Because the current Legions have grown too bloated, with resources excessively concentrated and wasted. It no longer suits the nature of galactic warfare as it stands now."
Guilliman responded to Dorn in a level tone — but the reasoning clearly failed to convince any of them.
"Doesn't suit? How many bloody battles have we fought through these past years? How many enemies of humanity and traitors to the Imperium have we wiped out, all for the Emperor and the Imperium? And now you're telling me this system 'doesn't suit'?"
"Roboute, you are insulting every warrior who has bled and died for this Imperium."
"I am not insulting them. I am simply stating a fact, and working hard to change things in this regard."
Guilliman didn't lift his head, his hands still moving through the unending administrative work.
"Fact? All I know is that the Ninth Legion is something my sons rebuilt through endless blood and tears — and now you intend to break them apart with a single sheet of paper."
Sanguinius's voice was soft but cutting. He stepped forward, almost reaching Guilliman's desk, looking directly at this brother of his.
"We have contributed countless acts of honor to this Imperium over the years. The Blood Angels have never once faltered in any battle."
"And now, because of your order, my Legion is to be torn apart, my brothers scattered once more — all for the sake of some so-called 'fact'?"
"Yes. That is the fact. For the sake of better efficiency, and to better project our strength across every galaxy — this reform is a necessary measure."
Guilliman's words stirred genuine anger in several of the Primarchs present, because not once throughout the exchange had he lifted his noble head to meet their eyes.
"Under the standard Legion structure, how long does it take to respond to a threat? From detection to decision, from mobilization to deployment — even with Obliterator assistance, the average response time still comes to three standard Terran months."
"That is more than enough time for xenos or traitors to exterminate an entire world's population three times over."
"But broken into Chapters? Take a single Legion and split it into dozens, even hundreds, of independent operational units, each Chapter with a fixed troop count, its own fleet, its own supply lines, its own chain of command."
"A single Chapter would only need to be responsible for one or a few sectors, and response time would shrink to three weeks — smothering any threat in its cradle."
Guilliman's explanation still failed to win his brothers' understanding. If anything, his refusal throughout to ever lift his head and meet their eyes directly only enraged a good many of them further.
"So you're telling me you want my Wolves broken apart into a pack of lone wolves?"
A dangerous glint flickered in Russ's eyes. He had never been a calm man, however clever he might be.
"What I'm telling you — what I'm telling all of you — is that a pack of wolves should be protecting the vulnerable within its territory, not huddled together in a single mass for no reason. That's unnecessary. And if you ever truly face a crisis too great to handle alone, you will still have the means to reunite and face it together."
"That sounds lovely, but you still haven't answered one question — what about our legacy? Our culture?"
Angron said.
"They remain your sons. They still carry your bloodline and your ideals — only their methods of warfare may differ somewhat from before. This is for the sake of the galaxy's longer-term stability and prosperity."
"You are plainly seizing power! And trying to morph all of our sons into copies of the Ultramarines!"
Cypher said coldly.
"I am simply guiding every Chapter toward greater versatility. A Chapter should look like a Chapter ought to look."
"Look like what? Like the Ultramarines?"
"Stripping away every poor cultural habit from your past, and learning every tactic available — evolving with the times. Not becoming Ultramarines, but becoming an all-purpose Chapter."
"You're undermining our authority as Legion Masters and Primarchs?"
Mortarion said, his tone darkening.
"If a single decree could really sever the bonds of bloodline and gene-seed by force, then everything Father sacrificed so much to forge in us and our Legions would be pitifully fragile indeed."
"Then what exactly do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said. Break the Legions apart, retain the parent Chapter, branch out daughter Chapters, and better distribute our strength across the galaxy. I imagine you've all read the reform proposal already — you would still retain the ability to reunify your Legions."
"That so-called Codex Astartes you've written, meant for use as toilet paper? I wouldn't even use it to prop up a wobbly table — too thick."
The Khan showed Guilliman absolutely no courtesy.
"That document represents years of accumulated strategy and tactics drawn from my own experience, along with contingency plans for every conceivable scenario. It might not impress you, but it's more than sufficient as a foundation for running a Chapter. If anyone wishes to refine it further, all the better."
"The Codex can always be revised and iterated on further — that work falls to you all from here on."
Did I really just say that?
The Khan hadn't expected Guilliman to take it so lightly. In truth, he himself didn't have much objection to the reform — he'd simply enjoyed needling Guilliman a bit.
"This reform serves only two purposes — making the Imperium's administration more efficient and streamlined, and helping you understand what our true purpose is, going forward."
"What grand, lofty thing are you about to say now?"
"We've always been positioned as war commanders and weapons of war. From today, that changes. Our true responsibility is to protect humanity."
"Haven't we always been doing that? What's the significance in that? I expected something better from you."
"But I see very little evidence that any of you truly regard them as people. To most of you, they're nothing more than expendable resources, aren't they? How many of you genuinely think this way, deep down?"
"Not me."
Vulkan objected, somewhat quietly.
"Nor me."
Corax stood tall, unbothered by the accusation.
"I know. But that's exactly it — only the two of you."
Guilliman finally raised his head and looked at the assembled brothers and Astartes before him, most of their faces carrying expressions of indifference or outright contempt. His features had grown gaunt from exhaustion, dark circles ringing his eyes.
This struck more than a few present with an unspoken unease. How exhausting must things have become, to leave even a Primarch looking this worn?
"Don't forget — the power armor on your backs, every weapon you carry, was forged by the Mechanicum and by countless people at the bottom working themselves to exhaustion on production lines."
"You yourselves came from among the nobility and the common people. You've simply undergone the enhancement procedures, which is why you're stronger than they are. In essence, you remain human, just as they are."
"And yet I see nothing in any of you that resembles how you regard your own kind — only deep arrogance and contempt."
"You have been separated from genuine humanity for far too long. You've forgotten exactly who it is that truly holds this Imperium up."
"You need to change. Stop drowning yourselves day after day in war and glory. You don't fight for honor or for the Emperor — your true duty is to protect humanity. That, and only that, should be your purpose."
Guilliman desperately wanted everyone to understand this — but it was obvious that even Sanguinius, that perfect archangel, paid his words little real attention.
Guilliman knew this too. His brothers' mindsets couldn't be changed overnight. He'd simply have to wait, let it sink in gradually over time.
"As long as you're here now, there's one more matter I should mention while we're at it."
"Something about the mortal Auxilia?"
The Primarchs assumed it concerned Aurelius and the Auxilia restructuring, but Perturabo simply shook his head.
"The Golden Throne remains critically important. It governs the Astronomican and humanity's stability across the galaxy. Little Magnus has been sitting on it for nearly fifty years now because of this."
An image suddenly appeared before everyone — a haggard, withered red giant figure, clearly worn down by his time on the throne. It was evident this seat was no easy thing to occupy.
The Primarchs recalled various rumors surrounding the Golden Throne and felt an involuntary chill. A vague sense of foreboding settled in.
"So draw lots, and line up by order. From now on, each of you will take a fifty-year turn on the Golden Throne, to relieve Little Magnus."
A sharp intake of breath ran through the room.
What does that mean? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!
The Primarchs were ready to object on the spot — but at that moment, Guilliman cut in once more.
"Or, you could take over my position instead. Sit the Golden Throne, or take over my paperwork. Choose one."
The Primarchs fell silent again. They looked at the mountains of decrees piled across Terra, then looked at that gleaming golden throne, and in that moment, everyone found themselves making their choice.
"I think we could reasonably request a few small improvements to the Golden Throne's comfort level first."