"Lakub, Lakub, are you in there?"
Baal Sector. System of Pandorax.
The corridors of the underhive were forever permeated with a mixture of industrial exhaust and stagnant, moldy vapor. Old Luke stood before a rust-stained door, his aged face written with helplessness. He raised his hand, hesitated for a moment, and then knocked heavily.
As an ordinary Imperial underhive worker, Old Luke's life over the past few months had been nothing short of a dream. All of this transformation stemmed from the appearance of that golden-armored giant.
He still remembered that day clearly. The giant, radiating a chilling aura, stood on the high platform, his voice sweeping across the plaza like rolling thunder. He declared the Governor fallen and executed the bloated man in front of everyone.
What shocked Old Luke even more was what happened afterward. Those "Angels of Death" spoken of in scripture—the Astartes in crimson armor—cleansed the foul cults entrenched deep in the underhive with startling efficiency, guided by the golden giant who was said to be the Emperor's Custodian.
Old Luke had personally seen a group of cultists cornered in a discarded tunnel, the fanatics screaming blasphemies about the "Emperor having four arms." He had been stunned—how could the Emperor have four arms? Were these people insane?
But everything had passed. Under the pressure of that golden giant, the officials who used to be arrogant now kept their heads down. Even the tax collectors carried kind smiles, and when they spoke, they would even use the word "please." At sixty-three years old, Old Luke was seeing such a sight for the first time. By the Emperor, it was as if the sun had risen from the west.
Old Luke originally thought he would spend the rest of his life working hard under the Emperor's grace and passing away peacefully, just as the Ministorum priests preached. But his nephew, Lakub, had become a thorn in his side.
"Look at what you're doing now!" Old Luke's voice rose an octave.
Silence reigned inside the room.
"Even if the Emperor's grace lets us live a good life, you can't be this lazy!" Old Luke knocked again. He had spent his life on the factory assembly lines; in the past, an eighteen-hour workday was standard. Now that better days had arrived and there was finally hope, his nephew spent all day cooped up in his room. How could he not be angry?
After a long while, footsteps finally came from behind the door.
"Alright, alright, what are you shouting about?" The door opened a crack, and a sleepy young face peered out. Lakub looked at Old Luke with squinted eyes, his face full of impatience. Disturbing my sleep just for this nonsense?
"Look at you, what have you turned into?" Old Luke glared, pointing at Lakub's nose. "Are you worthy of the grace the Emperor has bestowed? We must repay the Emperor's kindness; you won't return to the Golden Throne like this!"
Lakub rolled his eyes. "Hmph, what do you know?"
"What do I know? I see you sleeping!" Old Luke sneered. If this kid couldn't give a proper explanation today, he would have to enforce some family discipline.
Lakub finally yielded and stepped aside, revealing the room. A piece of equipment occupied half the space, displaying sleek silver-gray curves and a faint blue glow. Several crudely made cables extended from the device, connected to a helmet that looked like it was salvaged from the black market.
"I'm doing proper work, of course." A rare hint of excitement appeared in Lakub's tone. "That device issued by the Administratum is a stroke of genius! Do you know what it is? It's an endless ocean of knowledge! You can experience the lives of others here, just like a dream!"
His eyes suddenly lit up, his blue pupils shimmering with light. "Seeking knowledge is the most powerful source of human motivation! It is the ladder of human progress!"
Old Luke frowned at his nephew, sensing an aura that made him slightly uncomfortable. Is it my imagination? He shook his head and decided to set that issue aside for now.
"From today on, you're coming to work with us," Old Luke said in an unquestionable tone. "We've formed a family cooperation committee. Everyone helps each other and works in harmony. And they're teaching a certain health exercise there—"
Before he could finish, an anomaly occurred. Both men froze simultaneously. Old Luke felt his heart skip a beat—an indescribable sensation, as if something was poured in from the top of his head, traveled down his spine, and exploded in his chest.
"W-what's happening?" he stammered.
Lakub didn't speak; he just walked quickly toward the door. The street was already packed with people.
As Old Luke followed his nephew outside, he saw a sight he had never imagined—an endless sea of people was churning. People waved various colorful banners, spontaneously merging into rushing rivers of humanity.
A parade? Old Luke was dazed. He hadn't heard of any religious holiday today. Then he saw the icon being held high.
Sanguinius.
That compassionate face appeared exceptionally clear. The Angel's gaze seemed to pierce through time and space, staring at every person looking up at him. Among the Emperor's ten thousand children, the Primarch of the Blood Angels had always occupied the most special position. Having sacrificed his life for the Emperor aboard the Vengeful Spirit, he had long become the ultimate symbol of sacrifice and redemption. No other scion of the Emperor could stand beside him in religious significance.
Old Luke and Lakub both looked up and saw that glorious face. Then, they heard the cheering. The cheers surged like a tide, spreading from the deepest part of the underhive to the upper layers, as if the entire system was waking up at once.
At the front of the crowd, a figure in Ministorum robes was particularly conspicuous. Old Luke recognized him—it was the priest who often preached in this area, a man recognized by everyone as good. At this moment, the usually calm and steady priest had a face flushed to a near-morbid degree. His eyes were wide, and his lips trembled with excitement.
He held the icon of Sanguinius high, his voice hoarse yet filled with a near-mad frenzy:
"This is the grace bestowed by the Emperor!" His voice exploded in the air, sweeping past everyone's ears like thunder. "Sanguinius is resurrected!"
Old Luke's mind went blank. In that instant, the power that had swept through earlier surged again, clearer and more real than before. He felt something warm penetrate his body. The joint pains that had plagued him for decades seemed to vanish at this moment.
He looked up instinctively. In a trance, he seemed to see a pair of eyes—eyes that swept here from a high, indescribable place. It was only for a brief moment, yet it dispelled all the fog in his heart. Old Luke didn't know how to describe the feeling. It was as if he had lived sixty-three years and was seeing the world clearly for the first time today.
He turned his head blankly and saw Lakub standing frozen beside him. The usually aimless young man now had an expression that was foreign to him—it was courage, determination, something he had never seen in his nephew's eyes.
It wasn't just them. Throughout the street, among the crowds swept by that power, many people stumbled. They felt a certain strength emerge from within their bodies, dispelling fatigue, illness, and despair. Some knelt, praying with tears streaming down their faces. Some held icons high, cheering with all their might. Some hugged each other tightly, weeping uncontrollably.
The news spread through the sea of stars at a speed exceeding physical limits—
Sanguinius, the third Gene-primarch to return from death, was resurrected. In Baal, on Terra, and in the skies above the ten thousand worlds across the galaxy, the same message was echoing. It crossed the sea of stars, pierced the barriers of the Warp, and reached the ears of every citizen of the Empire!
Sanguinius was resurrected. The third Primarch had returned.
Hope remains! Hope lives on!