"My Primarch, we have arrived!"
Inside the Stormbird's cabin, Vosotho's heart surged with emotion.
He was currently crowding around the Primarch along with other high-ranking commanders of the Legion, accompanied by diplomatic envoys carefully selected by the Imperial Administration.
The envoys would be responsible for negotiating the terms of integration to the Imperium with the Consuls of Macragge. They had led the integrations of dozens of worlds and were highly experienced in such matters.
The Imperium's terms were never harsh. As long as one was willing to join the Imperium of Man, the advantages definitely outweighed the disadvantages.
Their negotiations were usually smooth. Even if a world occasionally tried to bargain, the Imperium would use its iron fist to teach them sense.
Diplomacy must be backed by a strong iron fist. The Imperium was willing to grant preferential treatment to worlds that joined willingly to improve efficiency and conserve war resources.
But the Imperium would not tolerate diplomatic blackmail.
If someone was so ungrateful as to mistakenly believe the Imperium was weak, the Astartes would strike hard.
But that was the approach with other human colonies. The Imperium made no secret of its special treatment for Macragge.
Macragge was a Primarch's homeworld, and so far, no Primarch's homeworld had ever been hostile to the Imperium.
Moreover, whenever a Primarch was recovered, the Imperium and the Mechanicum would pour immense resources into the Primarch's homeworld.
Even if it was just a backward feral world, the Imperium would transform it into one of its most advanced technological worlds.
Whatever the Primarch wanted to turn his world into, the Imperium would spare no expense in diverting resources.
The Primarchs didn't need to pay any price for these gifts. the Space Marine Legions' immense contributions during the Great Crusade were the down payment. Their recovery was the greatest reward for the Imperium!
To recover a Primarch, the Imperium would compromise and concede on every front when it came to Macragge.
The Astartes joining the delegation were by no means a show of force. They had come only to pay homage to the Primarch.
THOOM!
The Stormbird's landing gear touched down on the Fountain Plaza outside the Senate House. The diplomatic delegation filed out from the rear compartment, while six giants in grey power armour and six in purple power armour marched out from the slowly lowering forward ramp.
Their ceramite boots struck the ground with a dull thud, causing Macragge's mortal guards to tense up involuntarily.
They were too big!
"So these are the Astartes?"
Gallan and Konor both looked up involuntarily, their eyes a mixture of awe and shock.
Although Konor had long known of these superhuman warriors from Caelan, and in theory, he was their grandfather, the sheer, oppressive presence of these power-armoured giants standing before him still made him hold his breath involuntarily.
They were like gods of war stepping out of myth. The moment mortal eyes fell upon these giants, they felt like ants gazing up at a mountain; even resistance seemed arrogant and ignorant.
The human Imperium that could mass-produce these superhuman warriors possessed technological sophistication and war potential far exceeding Macragge's!
Even if Gallan had any lingering obsessions, they were completely extinguished now.
He and Konor could still compete, but once the Imperium of Man got involved, any further notions on his part would be sheer folly.
Julius was going to study under Guilliman. He couldn't jeopardise his son's future because of a momentary lapse in judgement.
For Julius to follow Guilliman was far better than staying on Macragge his whole life as a mere Consul.
THUD!
The power-armoured giants stood clearly separated according to their heraldry. They knelt in perfect unison on one knee, bowing their heads low before Guilliman.
They were mighty Astartes, having won great honours in the Great Crusade. The ornate decorations on their power armour were symbols of their glory.
Yet now, before their Primarch, all of this meant nothing!
Guilliman walked slowly towards the grey-armoured warrior in the front row, gazing at him, his voice gentle:
"Vosotho. Father has spoken of you. You saved my brother."
"And you, Gage." Guilliman looked at the warrior behind him. "Rise. Your history of fighting for the Imperium of Man is far longer than my life. You need not kneel to me."
"My Lord!"
Vosotho and Gage's eyes glistened with tears. Their voices trembled slightly.
They had never met their gene-father, hadn't even learned his name, yet he could accurately call out their names. This undoubtedly meant their gene-father acknowledged them!
Although they were battle-hardened Astartes, fearless even against the most dangerous foes...
On the way there, their hearts had been uneasy, worried their gene-father might blame them for coming uninvited.
Now, all their concerns had vanished!
This was their gene-father! This was their bond!
After greeting his sons, Guilliman's gaze fell upon the youth being escorted by the Astartes.
Although Angron was much older than him, he was even shorter than Guilliman had been a year ago, shorter even than some tall mortal warriors.
It was as if his growth had been deliberately interrupted.
"Welcome, brother."
Guilliman extended his hand solemnly. He had deliberately refrained from greeting Angron immediately, not out of neglect or disrespect, but because he didn't want the interlude of reuniting with his sons to interrupt the formal meeting with his brother.
"Welcome back to you too, brother."
Angron also extended his hand, a warm, sunny smile on his face.
Guilliman was already over three meters tall, while Angron was only half that height.
Guilliman had to kneel on one knee to be level with his brother, but the size difference didn't make the meeting look absurd.
When their hands clasped, the scene seemed strangely harmonious.
"Father." Angron looked at Caelan, his eyes still holding restraint.
Caelan's voice held a complex mixture of emotions. "Angron, you haven't grown up yet."
"Only in stature, Father. My mind matured long ago."
He hadn't grown up yet so that Father could witness his growth.
But his mind had matured so Father wouldn't worry.
Caelan's gaze shifted past Angron. "Claudia didn't come with you?"
"Sister Claudia stayed on Nuceria. It seems she has certain restrictions preventing her from leaving easily."
This was within Caelan's expectations.
If not for some special restriction, given Claudia's personality, she would have personally traversed the Webway to find Caelan, not just send her handmaidens.
Then she could have raised the other Primarchs alongside Caelan, becoming the adoptive mother of the majority.
With the support of most Primarchs, she could use them to pressure Caelan. Then who could compete with her?
Caelan's gaze lingered on Angron's purple robe. "I'm guessing the colour scheme was Claudia's doing?"
"She said purple has a certain charm." Angron's voice held a hint of resignation.
His robes were chosen by Claudia, and the entire Legion's heraldry was also personally designed by her.
She cared more about them than Angron did, as if they were her Legion.
Angron had no strong feelings about colours; as long as it wasn't red, any other shade was fine.
So he saw no need to argue with Claudia over such a trivial matter.
And Claudia's aesthetic taste was indeed impeccable. The purple she chose was neither gaudy nor frivolous, but rather exuded nobility and elegance.
Guilliman's gaze lingered briefly on Angron's robe and the purple power armour of the Devourers. The amethyst-like finish shimmered with a restrained brilliance in the sunlight.
But he still preferred blue.
It was Macragge's traditional style.
Just like the cobalt blue robe he was wearing, personally sewn by his adoptive mother, Lady Euten.
Lady Euten understood her son's character. Guilliman disliked ostentation, so this robe didn't have as much gold trim as other garments. Since the blue seemed too monotonous, some white accents were added, but the overall look was still very simple.
Guilliman looked away subtly. He was confident Lady Euten would not lose to Angron's adoptive mother.
But he could call Lady Euten 'mother' without hesitation, while Angron couldn't call Claudia 'mother'.
That was one victory for him.
With one victory for him and zero for Angron, that was a second victory.
By this logic, he had ten victories, and Angron had ten defeats!
Comparison is generally discouraged, but Father had taught him that moderate, healthy competition promotes mutual progress.
Father had also told him that everyone has selfishness.
He shouldn't indulge his selfishness, but neither should he suppress it too much, as extremes meet.
Selfishness stems from emotion, and emotion stems from humanity.
If a person has no humanity, how can they be called human?
In Guilliman's heart, his parents outweighed a thousand innocent lives.
That was also selfishness. Should he suppress that too?
Putting family loyalty before everything else might earn cheap applause from onlookers, but disregarding one's kin would also make his blood relatives despise him.
He had to find a balance.
This was the essence of compromise.
If he had to choose between his parents and a thousand lives, he would choose to protect his parents.
But if he had to choose between his parents and a hundred billion lives, Guilliman would still choose to protect his parents.
Guilliman believed his brothers would make the same choice.
But in reality, such idealised scales don't exist.
It's usually a case of either having both or losing both.
He was a Primarch. He should be able to protect everyone, and he could protect everyone.
He should plan ahead, but not fret over things that haven't happened yet. Only then could his thoughts be clear.
Father and son walked into the exquisite gardens outside the Council Chamber.
The paths connecting to the Council Chamber formed a spiralling web. Each path was meant to commemorate the legendary city-states of Macragge: Macragge, Artium, Laphis, Surim, Motenda, and Nova Surim.
These names were meticulously carved into fountain bases and colonnades, surrounding the towering shrubs, forming a labyrinth.
The two Consuls remained in the Council Chamber for formal diplomatic negotiations with the Imperial delegation.
The giants followed at a distance.
Their gene-seed suppressed their emotions, but their emotional intelligence wasn't low.
If anyone dared to disturb the Primarchs now, they wouldn't even need to wait to return to the Legion; they would be kicked into a corner right there!
"Nuceria has built six magnificent Hive Cities. Russ and... have both visited my world."
"Mira has grown into an excellent sanctioned psyker. She and Klest both underwent Sister Claudia's gene-enhancement."
"Onomamoros was too old. He couldn't undergo all the gene-implantation, only half."
"But with the ancient gladiator gene-enhancements, he is still far stronger than an average Space Marine."
"Claudia had her handmaidens join the World Eaters. Each of them is a psyker. Coordinating with the Astartes, they achieve an effect greater than the sum of their parts."
"After you left, the Devourers have conquered hundreds of worlds around Nuceria."
Angron spoke softly about his changes and experiences over the years. A pleased smile appeared on Caelan's face, and Guilliman listened quietly.
"Before the fleet arrived at Macragge, I ordered the Legion to pause its eastward expansion."
Guilliman asked, "Why?"
"Ultramar is too small. We should focus on more distant star regions."
Both Nuceria and Macragge were in the Ultramar sector, and the number of human worlds in this sector was limited.
If the Devourers took the entire sector, what would Guilliman and the Thirteenth Legion do?
Angron didn't want to create discord with his brother over territorial claims. Splitting the sector equally was undoubtedly the most prudent solution.
Guilliman fell silent. He agreed with Angron's proposal. An equal split was not charity.
Otherwise, Angron could easily have brought the entire sector under Devourer rule and then given half to Guilliman.
But this thoughtful gesture from his brother still stirred a subtle feeling within him.
Caelan's gaze shifted between the two Primarchs, a gentle smile on his face. "You are brothers. Why draw such clear lines?"
"Fulgrim and Sanguinius are co-rulers of Baal, even sharing their Legions. Why can't you?"
"Two Primarchs co-ruling Ultramar. I believe this will be a story that the people of Ultramar will be delighted to hear!"
Caelan paused deliberately, letting his deeper voice give his words more weight:
"Ultramar is not a mountain, and you are not tigers. You are brothers, bound by blood!"
"The Imperium can accommodate twenty Primarchs. Can Ultramar not accommodate two?"
Guilliman spoke gently, "Macragge has a tradition of co-rule by two Consuls. Perhaps Ultramar should follow suit."
Angron smiled, "Of course, brother."
The co-ruling arrangement had been on his mind. His brother had clearly anticipated it too.
He had never wanted to monopolize the territory of Ultramar, but neither he nor Guilliman had actively proposed co-rule.
Only Caelan could make the final decision.
They were brothers. They had the same father.
When brothers disagreed, it was fitting for the father to mediate.
Guilliman and Angron exchanged a glance and shared a smile.
Caelan frowned at Guilliman. "What are you laughing at?"
Guilliman replied, "I remembered something happy."
"What happy thing?" Caelan pressed.
"I'm going to be a father."
Caelan was speechless. Guilliman was indeed about to be a father.
Angron couldn't help but laugh out loud.
Caelan stared, "And what are you laughing at?"
"I found my father."
Caelan kept a straight face but didn't say anything.
Palm and the back of the hand are both made of flesh; they were both his sons. What else could he say?
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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