Holy Terra.
As the colossal planet—swathed in countless hive cities, orbital rings, and defense platforms—slowly drifted into view through the observation ports of the Red Tear's bridge, a fleeting trace of relief crossed Sanguinius's golden-amber eyes.
Three months.
Ever since the Warp anomaly on Aurelian IV was quelled and G Bro handed the planet's governance over to Crimson Dawn.
It had been exactly three months since the three Primarchs led their fleets away from that sector.
Throughout this voyage, Sanguinius had repeatedly scrutinized every single detail.
The mysterious power of that Adeptus Custodes covert inquisition unit that had appeared out of nowhere.`
The Custodian Tribune who called himself Demetrian Titus.
The highly efficient tactical purification system used against Warp entities.
And finally, the little girl and the silver staff in her hands that unleashed a blinding light of absolute purification.
He carried far too many questions. Questions that only his father, the Emperor of Mankind, could personally answer.
"Lion's Gate main port has granted docking clearance," the Navigator's announcement echoed across the bridge. "Welcome home, Lord Sanguinius."
The Red Tear slowly navigated into the gargantuan spaceport, a true marvel of human engineering.
Lion's Gate.
One of the largest starports in Terran orbit, possessing a scale massive enough to simultaneously berth dozens of battleship-class vessels.
At this moment, the port was a bustling hive of activity. Transport ships, patrol craft, and military barges wove through the void in a complex, ceaseless dance.
Personnel and resources from across the galaxy converged here, funneling down to the surface via hundreds of space elevators.
This was the heart of the Sol System, the cradle of humanity. The very pulse of the Imperium of Man beat right here.
Sanguinius slowly stepped out of the Red Tear's airlock.
A squad clad in white power armor already stood at attention, flanking both sides of the docking gantry.
At their head was a commander of the White Scars. With his helmet tucked under his arm, his distinct, hardened features were laid bare.
He slammed his right fist over his left breastplate in a crisp, sharp salute.
"The Great Khan sends his regards, Lord Sanguinius," the commander's voice rang out loud and clear. "The Great Khan was notified of your arrival and entrusted me to pass on a message... If the Great Angel has the time, you are welcome to join him for some kumiss."
The corner of Sanguinius's mouth curled up slightly.
"Thank The Great Khan for his hospitality," Sanguinius replied. "May his martial fortunes prosper."
Azkaellon followed closely behind his Primarch father.
He nodded in acknowledgment but said no more, walking straight toward the exclusive orbital elevator pod bound for the surface.
Hundreds of colossal orbital elevator tethers, each over a kilometer in diameter, extended vertically from the port's foundation, their opposite ends anchored to receiving platforms on the planetary surface below.
The exterior of each tether was plated with heavy armor, while the hollow interiors housed mag-lev tracks broad enough for heavy armor contingents to transit.
Sanguinius stepped into the VIP pod. Motion-sensor lumens flickered on sequentially, illuminating a spartan yet solemn interior.
The walls bore grand reliefs depicting the Emperor unifying Terra and launching the Great Crusade.
"Sequence initiated," a synthesized, mechanical voice chimed. "Estimated time to surface: ten minutes. Please brace for descent."
The pod plummeted at a dizzying velocity.
Through the viewports, the surface of Terra grew sharper and clearer.
It was a sprawling ocean of rockcrete, ferro-steel, and blazing lumens.
Hive cities loomed like artificial mountain ranges, tier upon overlapping tier, piercing straight through the smog-choked, polluted cloud cover.
Ancient historical ruins were swallowed and suffocated by massive, brutalist Imperial architecture.
Only occasionally could one glimpse the lingering aesthetic grace of the Dark Age of Technology protruding from a harsh, jagged corner.
But Sanguinius's gaze remained locked on the most magnificent architectural complex dominating the planet's northern hemisphere.
The Imperial Palace of Holy Terra.
As far as the eye could see, titanic walls soared thousands of meters into the sky, carved with colossal aquilas of the Imperium.
Anti-grav platforms hundreds of meters long hovered in the air, bristling with auto-turrets and sentries.
The ground was paved with massive slabs of black basalt, each stretching fifty meters across.
This was no mere palace.
It was a continental super-structure—a man-made mountain range composed of walls, bastions, spires, keeps, and countless other macro-buildings.
Its scale was vast enough to house billions, its defensive depth terrifying enough to make any invading armada despair.
Except, of course, for a certain individual destined to set the galaxy aflame.
The outer ramparts of the Imperial Palace were inlaid with interlocking dull-gold alloys and obsidian-like stone, their surfaces etched with sweeping, grandiose reliefs.
They depicted mankind's glorious conquest of the stars, the Emperor fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with His eighteen Primarchs, and the bloody, relentless crusades against the xenos.
The iridescent sheen of energy shields washed over the stonework like liquid light.
Void shields cast complex, shifting fractal patterns across the sky above, their energy outputs so staggeringly high they would fry the circuits of the most advanced augurs.
Every few hundred meters, clusters of macro-cannons and laser-defense batteries thrust their vicious muzzles outward.
Formations of Lightning fighters and Stormraven gunships relentlessly patrolled the airspace above.
Down below, Adeptus Custodes resplendent in auric power armor patrolled predefined routes in silent three-man squads.
Their footfalls were perfectly synchronized, the heavy thud of their armored boots striking the ground as a single, unified heartbeat.
They exuded an aura of absolute lethal majesty.
This was the true nexus of power for the Imperium of Man. This was the seat of humanity's greatest Emperor, the sovereign bedrock upon which a galaxy-spanning empire of billions of light-years was built.
The elevator pod finally came to a halt at a discreet docking platform built into the Palace's outer wall.
When Sanguinius stepped out, a squad of Custodians was already waiting for him.
Six of them in total.
Brilliant in their golden armor, guardian spears held at perfect attention, the gazes behind their crested helms felt as cold and penetrating as auspex sweeps.
They didn't speak. They simply pivoted slightly, opening up the path toward the Inner Palace.
For these were the laws of the Imperial Palace on Holy Terra.
Even a Primarch required an escort of Custodians to guide them through the halls... or rather, to watch them.
Sanguinius was used to it. He strode forward.
Azkaellon was left behind on the platform. It was another of the Custodes' ironclad edicts: those who were not explicitly summoned could not set foot into the depths of the Inner Palace.
He walked through corridors stretching for dozens of kilometers.
On either side, colossal pillars soared up to the vaulted ceilings, their surfaces carved with murals of every major war in human history.
The air was thick with the scent of ozone, heavy incense, and the lingering residue of ancient, esoteric energies.
The heavy footsteps of Sanguinius and his Custodian escort echoed through the cavernous halls.
Finally, they arrived at the gates.
The great doors to the Sanctum Imperialis.
Standing a hundred meters tall and forty meters wide, they were forged from solid star-core alloy. Complex psychic runes and Mechanicus cants were etched across their imposing surfaces.
A sliver of golden light bled through the crack between the doors. It was warm and divine, yet carried an indescribable, overwhelming sense of pressure.
His Custodian escort parted to either side, planting the butts of their guardian spears firmly against the floor.
With a deep, resonant rumble, the colossal doors glided soundlessly inward.
Sanguinius took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold.
The volume of the main hall was so impossibly vast that a frigate could have comfortably hovered within it.
The distant, soaring ceiling was embedded with a holographic projection of the stellar map, displaying the real-time strategic conditions of key systems across the Imperium's domains.
The floor was made of polished black stone, highly reflective like a mirror, perfectly capturing the reflection of the towering statues lining the nave.
They were effigies of the eighteen Primarchs, sculpted in their most idealized forms, each standing a staggering thirty meters tall.
At the far end of the grand hall was a monolithic staircase of five hundred steps.
Resting atop that summit was a colossal, terrifyingly complex throne.
This was the Golden Throne of the Imperium of Man.
It looked less like a seat of governance...
...and more like a super-mechanism forged from tangled cables, power conduits, psychic amplifiers, and arcane technological components.
And upon that throne sat a lone figure.
He was the greatest Emperor in all of human history, the ultimate victor of the Unification Wars, the instigator of the Great Crusade, the creator of the Primarchs, and... their father?
He was draped in a simple, unadorned white robe. His golden hair cascaded over his shoulders like molten sunlight. His visage was as flawless as a classical marble sculpture, radiating a cold, inhuman detachment.
His eyes were half-closed, as if lost in deep contemplation, or perhaps peering into a dimension utterly untouchable by mortal minds. He was...
When Sanguinius reached the base of the dais and sank to one knee, the Emperor slowly opened His eyes.
Those eyes...
Every time Sanguinius looked directly into them, he felt an overwhelming sense of insignificance.
Be it in raw power or sheer cosmic awareness, even he—the Great Angel of the Imperium—would forever remain impossibly small in the presence of his father.
It was as though everything he had ever learned, witnessed, or thought was nothing more than child's play when compared to the unfathomable depths of knowledge and wisdom anchored behind those eyes.
Sanguinius knelt on one knee at the base of the dais, bowing his head.
"Father," his voice echoed through the cavernous hall. "I have returned."
After a brief silence, the figure on the throne stirred slightly. A gaze carrying almost physical weight fell upon Sanguinius.
"Sanguinius," the Emperor's voice was calm and gentle, yet carried a certain inhuman hollowness. "You have returned earlier than anticipated."
"Yes, Father. The Warp entities have been purged," Sanguinius said, raising his head. He paused, a flicker of confusion surfacing in his amber-gold eyes. "My urgent return is due to the decree you issued through Custodian Tribune Demetrian Titus. You stated that once the purification was complete, I was to return to Terra immediately so I could personally ask you about the... discrepancies regarding the Aurelian IV incident."
Having finished, Sanguinius waited in silence for his father to provide the answers he sought.
Then, he noticed the Emperor on the throne tilt His head slightly. That piercing gaze seemed... confused?
"...What? Warp entities... purged? Aurelian IV?" A rare note of bewilderment bled into the Emperor's voice as He repeated the planet's name, His tone suggesting He was completely unfamiliar with it. "When did I ever... order your urgent return for a briefing?"
Sanguinius froze. "Father, it was your Custodian Tribune, Demetrian Titus, who personally delivered your decree to me on Aurelian IV," his pace quickening as he tried desperately to jog the Emperor's memory. "He said that His Majesty the Emperor had an oral decree: upon completing the purification, I was permitted to return to Terra, where you would personally resolve the doubts in my heart..."
As those words fell, a suffocating silence consumed the grand hall.
Slowly, the Emperor rose from the Golden Throne.
The movement was unhurried, yet it instantly thickened the air in the chamber, making it heavy and oppressive. He descended the stairs one step at a time, the hem of His white robe brushing against the pitch-black stone.
Finally, He came to a halt mere meters away from Sanguinius.
Those eyes, seemingly forged from molten gold and harboring the eons of humanity's wisdom, stared directly into Sanguinius.
"My son," the Emperor's voice dropped to a low timbre. "Did you... encounter a Warp storm during your voyage? Or perhaps the lingering taint of Warp anomalies has compromised your memories and cognition?"
Sanguinius felt as though a giant, invisible hand had seized his heart. "Father, I—"
"I have never dispatched a Custodian Tribune named Demetrian Titus to this Aurelian IV you speak of," the Emperor stated calmly, His tone radiating absolute certainty. "In fact, within the ranks of my Adeptus Custodes, there has never been—nor is there currently—a member by the name of Titus."
Light-years away in his magisterial office on Macragge, Guilliman suddenly felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine, completely oblivious to the reason why.
BOOM!
It felt as though a bolt of lightning had struck Sanguinius directly in the brain. His amber-gold pupils contracted violently. The blood roared in his ears.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. For the first time in his life, a look of sheer, blank shock and bewilderment fractured his artistically flawless features.
No... impossible... That aura... the mastercrafted perfection of that golden Terminator armor... That flawless, demigod-like presence in his every movement, utterly identical to Captain-General Valdor, uniquely belonging to the Custodians personally forged by the Emperor... How could it... how could it be fake?
A flicker of complex emotion passed through the depths of the Emperor's eyes as He studied Sanguinius's expression. Reaching out, He laid a broad, reassuring hand on Sanguinius's shoulder guard.
"Tell me, Sanguinius," His voice took on an undeniable tone of command. "Everything you experienced on Aurelian IV... From beginning to end, every single detail, without omitting a single thing... tell me all of it."
--
Goal = 550 Powerstones.
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