The capital of Macragge.
The grand plaza had, at this moment, become a boiling ocean of humanity. Dark masses of people poured out from every street, every window, and every high point, converging into a vast sea that stretched beyond the horizon. A multitude of Imperial Aquila banners, Ultramarine Chapter flags, or simply colored fabrics snatched up on a whim, waved under countless arms, turning into wave after wave of surging colored billows.
Cheers rose in one tide after another, striking the foundations of the ancient buildings surrounding the plaza; it felt as if the air itself was vibrating in resonance. Every upturned face was flushed with excitement, and every pair of eyes burned with a near-overflowing ecstasy.
Hope remains! Hope still lives!
For these Imperial citizens, witnessing with their own eyes a legendary Primarch, a son of the Emperor, awakening from a ten-thousand-year slumber and returning like a bolt of lightning to breathe the same air under the same sky was, in itself, a shock to the senses. The sudden transformation of faith and legend into tangible reality brought a level of awe far beyond what any sermon could achieve.
In the wide avenue paved through the center of the plaza, the military parade was reaching its climax.
Ultramarines clad in azure power armor marched in impeccably disciplined ranks. Their steps were perfectly synchronized, the sound of armor grinding together merging into a low, rhythmic roar. Their spears and bolters were like a forest, reflecting cold and holy glints under the sunlight. This discipline and unity, moving as a single entity, were enough to make any commander in the Imperium feel heartfelt envy.
On the viewing platform overlooking the scene, Roboute Guilliman stood tall. He had already changed into the Armor of Fate crafted by Archmagos Cawl, his expression blending approachability with majesty. Guilliman waved in every direction his gaze could reach; his figure was like the most powerful magnet, firmly locking every eye from the crowd below onto him, regardless of distance.
On the other side of the platform, Marneus Calgar rested his hands on the railing, his resolute face relaxing unconsciously. He gazed at the vibrant, flourishing scene before him, feeling the reality of his genetic father standing by his side. Even for one as steadfast as he, a strong sense of unreality washed over him, as if he were in a dream that was almost too good to be true. Although the Ultramarines Chapter did not believe the Emperor to be a god as the State Church preached, instead favoring reason and calculation, witnessing such a miracle caused even the most stoic warrior to feel an involuntary sense of profound gratitude.
Praise the Emperor!
Just then, Calgar turned slightly and caught sight of the First Captain, Severus Agemman, standing beside him. This warrior, whom he viewed as his successor, had a somewhat somber expression. His gaze was not on the cheering crowds but was instead frequently sweeping toward the center of the viewing platform.
"What is it, Agemman?" Calgar asked in a low voice, his words reaching the First Captain clearly through the gaps in the cheering.
Agemman sighed and gestured toward Guilliman with an extremely subtle movement. There, crowding around the Primarch were not the Honor Guards of the current Chapter, but veterans clad in ancient Legion-style armor who had returned from the dust of history for unknown reasons. They were conversing with their genetic father in relaxed postures; occasionally, one could even see a genuine smile on the Primarch's face.
"I... believe those seniors lack the proper reverence for our genetic father," Agemman muttered, almost squeezing the words through his teeth. "They chat and laugh as if... as if they were equals. I do not believe this is a good thing, Chapter Master. It might weaken the majesty the Primarch should possess."
Calgar remained silent. He understood Agemman's concerns and even heard a hint of difficult-to-admit jealousy within them. Calgar could only be secretly thankful that the Second Captain, Cato Sicarius, was currently on a mission at the borders of Ultramar. Given that colleague's boastful and outspoken nature, if he were to witness this, there was no telling what kind of awkward scene might unfold.
At that moment, a warrior clad in deep blue armor and holding a red helmet walked over, appearing at their side. Calgar's expression returned to its usual seriousness, and even the still-brooding Agemman quickly composed himself, solemnly offering a standard military salute to this senior.
Aeonid Thiel, a legendary figure from the Legion era, the first Second Captain of the Ultramarines Chapter, and the original Lord Watchman of Ultramar. Regardless of the circumstances, necessary respect was indispensable for these heroes who had returned from the distant past and been personally introduced by their genetic father.
"Apologies, I did not intend to eavesdrop on your conversation," Thiel acknowledged with a nod, his gaze lingering briefly on the faces of Calgar and Agemman. "However, I must explain: that is not a lack of respect, Captain Agemman."
He spoke slowly, "In our era, within the Legion, such was the atmosphere. We would discuss tactics with our genetic father, argue over policies, and even in the quiet moments between battles, we would talk about the sights of Macragge or strange findings in some star system. He believed this helped us understand each other and better unite as one."
"From our perspective, the way you view our genetic father as some kind of holy entity—that is what is incorrect, and it is not what he desires."
Agemman lowered his head, his face falling into deep thought. Thiel's words were like opening a door to another era; the scenes behind that door were different from the principles he was familiar with, yet they carried an indescribable, vivid vitality.
Thiel seemed to want to say more, but suddenly, he stopped mid-sentence. His helmet snapped toward the rear of the parade ranks in the plaza, and he became abruptly alert. Almost at the same instant, Calgar also sensed an anomaly. His gaze, like a hawk's, shot toward the direction Thiel was looking.
The grand military parade was nearing its end. Following the disciplined military formations, according to tradition, was the float parade segment showcasing the shared joy between the people of Macragge and the Ultramarines. Various magnificently decorated floats with different themes rolled slowly by, surrounded by the populace. The music was cheerful, and performers threw petals or small souvenirs into the crowd, drawing bursts of even louder cheering.
This should have been a perfectly normal sight. However, the problem lay with one of the floats.
That float was massive, its decoration style exceptionally complex and ornate, filled with flowing curves and strange reliefs that were completely out of place with the surrounding floats. Even more eye-catching were the performers on the float's platform. They were slender and tall, their movements agile to a non-human degree, leaping and maneuvering at a dizzying speed as they performed some ancient and graceful drama.
Every spin, every moment of suspension in the air, carried a natural rhythm. Their skill was so high that it was difficult for even the dynamic vision of Astartes, known for their superhuman reactions, to fully track their trajectories.
The people of Macragge gave thunderous applause to this unprecedentedly brilliant performance, but on the viewing platform, the hearts of several Astartes suddenly sank. Calgar's gaze locked onto those performers; hidden beneath the ornate costumes and face paint, he could vaguely discern the outlines of pointed ears.
As the Chapter Master of a First Founding Chapter, he recognized this xenos race at a glance.
"—It's the Aeldari!"