The outskirts of Magna City. The peak of Mount Hera.
The morning mist in the Laponis Valley had yet to fully dissipate, but the silhouette of the Fortress of Hera was already emerging in the first rays of starlight.
This fortress-monastery of the Ultramarines Legion, personally overseen during its construction by Roboute Guilliman, silently watched over the awakening capital at the foot of the mountain.
Its walls, forged from granite and cerramite, towered a hundred meters high. The surface was engraved with the scriptures of the Ultramarines' past campaigns.
Every groove carved into the stone represented a victory. Every name etched into the metal signified the final resting place of a fallen brother.
Deep within the fortress lay the Hall of Truth.
It was a circular grand hall capable of holding three thousand people for council at once. Forty alabaster pillars supported a vaulted ceiling that soared over a hundred meters high. At the very center of that dome sat a massive, single-piece crystal harvested from Macragge's moon, filtering the harsh starlight and scattering a soft glow into every corner of the room.
On a raised dais to the due north, a colossal statue of the Emperor stood half-shrouded in shadow, His sculpted eyes looking down in judgment over the hall. Below the statue sat three tiers of black granite steps. At the apex rested a seat of command—simple, yet radiating undeniable authority.
Roboute Guilliman sat upon it.
His short blonde hair was combed neatly back, revealing a classically perfect face. It was absolute perfection in the truest sense of the word. Not the delicate, artistic perfection of Fulgrim, but the flawless amalgamation of pure rationality and raw power. He was the ultimate paragon of both a commander and a ruler.
With his high-bridged nose, a sharply chiseled jawline, and those eternally rational, piercing ice-blue eyes, he missed nothing.
He wore his signature suit of artificer power armor. The deep cobalt-blue plating was etched with golden litanies, the Ultramarines heraldry proud on his pauldrons, the double-headed aquila spreading its wings across his chest. Every minute detail screamed of his identity and status as a Primarch.
Dead center on his breastplate, the massive Ultima symbol gleamed with a cold metallic sheen under the hall's light. Below it was a tiny line of script.
Fight for Humanity.
During the late stages of the Great Crusade, after the Emperor handed supreme military command over to Warmaster Horus, Guilliman had returned to Ultramar. For many years since, he spent most of his time sitting exactly here in the Hall of Truth, utilizing his preternatural gift of cold logic to govern the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.
Right now, the Gene-Father of the Thirteenth Legion was leaning back slightly, his frosty gaze resting on the two figures standing below the dais.
Marius Gage. First Captain of the Ultramarines, the Legion's second-in-command, and one of Guilliman's most trusted sons. He stood on the right side of the platform, sporting a textbook Astartes physique clad in cobalt power armor. His weather-beaten face was a map of history—every deep wrinkle a testament to a hard-fought campaign.
Dio Promus. Chief Librarian of the Ultramarines, Guilliman's right-hand man when it came to all things psychic. He stood across from Gage, draped in deep blue Librarian robes embroidered with stars and lightning bolts. His face looked even older than Marius's, but the psychic fire burning behind his eyes looked intense enough to incinerate an entire fleet.
"Father," Dio Promus spoke first, his steady voice carrying that distinct, ethereal resonance unique to psykers. "The warp storms in the Korianis Sector—the area you ordered us to closely monitor—have been quiet for over two months now. According to the Navigators from fleets passing through the vicinity, warp activity in that sector has completely flatlined. There is zero chance of a new storm brewing in the short term."
Guilliman tapped his finger against the armrest twice.
Warp storms. Twenty-five years ago, it was exactly those abruptly manifesting storms that had completely choked the warp routes to Aurelian IV, forcing his and Sanguinius's fleets to turn back.
Now, the skies were clear.
"Furthermore..." Promus continued, a trace of complex emotion creeping into his voice. "According to the latest Astropathic choir relays, Lord Sanguinius will be returning to Macragge in just over a month."
The Hall of Truth fell into a brief, heavy silence.
A barely perceptible sharpness glinted deep within Guilliman's icy eyes. He spoke slowly, his tone as calm as the morning breeze sweeping over the peak of Mount Hera. "So, it's finally stopped. It seems Sanguinius hasn't let the events of that year go after all."
Promus and Marius Gage exchanged a look but kept their mouths shut.
Very few people in the entire Ultramarines Legion actually knew about that incident. Twenty-five years ago, Sanguinius had personally visited Macragge to meet with their father. The two Primarchs had then mobilized a joint fleet headed straight for Aurelian IV, only to get stonewalled halfway there by a massive, sudden warp storm.
But what truly stuck in Guilliman's mind wasn't the failed voyage itself.
It was the story Sanguinius had told him.
A story about an Adeptus Custodes Tribune named Demetrian Titus.
Upon returning to Terra, Sanguinius had personally reported the matter to the Emperor. The result? Captain-General Constantin Valdor had categorically confirmed that the Custodian Guard had never, at any point in its history, housed a member named Demetrian Titus.
An unknown entity who had flawlessly masqueraded as one of the Emperor's Ten Thousand. A ghost who had intervened during the warp invasion of the City of the Holy Anthem, commanded with unwavering resolve, and then turned out to be completely fabricated.
Guilliman stood up from his throne. His cobalt armor gleamed softly in the light spilling through the dome, his imposing frame looking like a flawless classical sculpture. He walked to the edge of the dais, looking down at the forty alabaster pillars anchoring the hall. "Very well. Since I promised to accompany him back then, I suppose I'll make the trip with him once more. I am... intensely curious about those people myself. Demetrian Titus."
Guilliman rolled the name over his tongue, his tone terrifyingly calm. "If you are not a Custodian Tribune, then who exactly are you? Why go out of your way to help Sanguinius, only to deceive him?" He turned slowly and strode back to his throne. "And then there is Crimson Dawn. So many years have passed. How have you fared, I wonder?"
Marius Gage tilted his head up, looking at his father's broad back.
"Did you bring the citizens of Aurelian IV the utopian life you promised?" A scrutinizing edge sharpened Guilliman's voice. "Or did you slowly rot from the inside out, corrupted by immense power until you became nothing more than trash begging for judgment? I look forward to seeing the perfect answer sheet you've prepared for me. Because if you fail... I will not lift a single finger to shield you from Sanguinius's wrath."
Dead silence reclaimed the Hall of Truth. Marius and Promus both bowed their heads, offering no response.
Guilliman lingered by his throne. Without taking his seat, he simply rested one massive hand on the back of the chair and glanced at his First Captain. "Marius. Has anything peculiar happened on Macragge recently?"
Marius looked up, sifting through his memories. As the Legion's second-in-command, he was practically required to have a pulse on the entire Five Hundred Worlds. Not a single blade of grass moved in Ultramar without him knowing about it.
"Nothing too out of the ordinary, Father," he replied, his tone steady and methodical. "If I had to point out something... we had a handful of muggers pop up. They were shot dead within three minutes. Which is practically unheard of on Macragge. Our crime rate has hovered at absolute zero for the last few decades."
Guilliman's brow twitched upward. "Muggers?"
"Yes, Father," Marius nodded. "They seemed completely clueless about the rules of Macragge. Their modus operandi was incredibly sloppy. You could even call it outright stupid. But the strange part is, their identity logs clearly showed they had been living right here on Macragge for over twenty years. The medical examiners at the Macragge hospices went over the bodies and didn't find any bizarre neurological diseases or anomalies either. They just suddenly, inexplicably, decided to start robbing people."
Guilliman didn't say a word, offering only a subtle nod.
"There's one more thing," Marius continued. "Across several provinces on Macragge, a handful of previously law-abiding, hard-working citizens have recently started muttering utter nonsense. At first, they were wandering around asking everyone basic, common-sense questions that any native Macraggian would know in their sleep. Their behavior was highly erratic. But then, one day, they just abruptly snapped out of it and quieted down. After that, every single one of them became highly driven to study. They started showing an abnormal level of enthusiasm for passing the civil exams to become administrative or judicial officials. On top of that, they're throwing money around. They keep liquidating strange trinkets and items completely alien to Macragge, trading them for local currency just to fund their studies and exam prep."
The Hall of Truth sank into silence once more.
Guilliman's pupils contracted slightly, a sharp light flickering in the depths of his ice-blue eyes. He remembered something.
Details from twenty-three years ago.
Those strange beings who called themselves Crimson Dawn.
Those absolute lunatics who had successfully bribed Iron Hands Astartes using cigarettes and alcohol.
Guilliman's fingers tapped against the back of his chair twice. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the crushing majesty expected of a Primarch, layered with a bone-chilling frost. "Marius."
"Here, Father."
"Dispatch the elites of the Ultramar Auxilia to keep a close eye on these 'peculiar' individuals," Guilliman ordered, his tone glacial. "I want constant surveillance on their movements. Document every weird thing they say and every bizarre thing they do. If any of them actually manage to pass the exams and land a grassroots position, let them have it. But keep them under a microscope. The absolute second they exhibit any behavior detrimental to the Imperium... you have my authorization to arrest them on the spot, or execute them with extreme prejudice."
Marius slammed his right fist against his breastplate, the metallic clang echoing like thunder through the hall. "Understood, Father!"
Guilliman shifted his gaze. "Promus."
"Father."
"Have the Astropaths maintain their lock on the Korianis Sector. If there is even the slightest anomaly, I want a report instantly."
Promus bowed slightly, the hem of his Librarian robes trailing a dark shadow across the polished floor. "By your command, Father."
Guilliman waved a hand dismissively. "That will be all. The two of you are dismissed. And make sure we prepare a grand welcome for the day Sanguinius arrives."
Marius Gage and Dio Promus shared a quick look before simultaneously striking their breastplates in salute. "Yes, Father!"
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