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Marneus Calgar had been waiting for so ti.
The current ruler of Macragge stood fully ard before the massive adamantium gates of the Fortress of Hera, a contingent of Ultramarines Honour Guard arrayed at his back.
Honestly, his mind was full of question marks.
A Magos from Mars — of all the tis to choose, had picked this exact mont. A Chaos fleet was besieging Macragge. The entire Ultramar sector was being torn apart. And this man had sent word demanding an audience with the Lord of Ultramar by na.
Calgar had racked his brains for a long while and could not recall ever having any dealings with one Belisarius Cawl.
But the Five Hundred Worlds had its diplomatic traditions, and those traditions did not pause for orbital bombardnt. So here he was, pulled away from the roaring guns to personally receive a group of very strangely dressed guests.
The blast doors ground open.
Cawl's massive chanical body was the first to roll over the threshold. Behind him ca the Living Saint, the Black Templar, the Inquisitor, and two glaringly conspicuous Eldar xenos. At the very tail of the procession: a human Captain, and two giants wrapped in canvas cloaks.
"Lord Magos, Macragge welcos your arrival." Calgar held his patience and prepared to work through the formalities.
Cawl didn't bother.
The Magos cut off the Chapter Master's pleasantries without ceremony.
"I did not co here to see you, Lord Calgar."
His electronic voice echoed through the empty corridor. "The one I seek is the true Lord of Ultramar — the ruler of the Five Hundred Worlds, your gene-sire."
"Roboute Guilliman!"
The demand landed like a slap. Every Ultramarine in the hall went still. Even Calgar's brow twitched. The sole exception was Chief Librarian Tigurius, who remained perfectly calm, his gaze fixed on the tall, canvas-hooded figure standing among the visitors.
Yvraine and the Visarch wore faint smiles, as if watching the Ultramarines stumble through a joke they already knew the punchline to. Kaelen wore the sa expression.
"That is impossible!"
First Captain Agemman's voice rang out, sharp with indignation.
"How could our gene-father have any connection with you? If he truly did, why do we not know of it?"
"Because this was a pact I made with Lord Guilliman 10,000 years ago," Cawl said. "He foresaw his own fall. He entrusted with the task of reviving him when the ti ca. And now I am here to fulfill that pact."
Then Cawl revealed what he had brought.
A ticulously crafted suit of power armour. Armour designed specifically to heal a Primarch's wounds.
What the Magos did not disclose, not yet, was the prerequisite. That Yvraine would first need to use the Cronesword to kill Guilliman completely before any of it could work.
Calgar and the others hesitated. Breathing grew tight.
Revive a Primarch.
So audacious. So insane.
To allow a mythological figure from 10,000 years ago, the gene-father of the Ultramarines, to walk the mortal world once more. For any Astartes carrying the blood of Guilliman, this was an ultimate temptation. The kind that was almost impossible to refuse.
But a na surfaced in Calgar's mind, unbidden.
The paragon of treachery recorded in the Chapter's historical archives. The Imperial Warmaster, Horus Lupercal. The rebellion that nearly destroyed all of humanity had begun the sa way: Horus gravely wounded on Davin, Abaddon and the other Sons of Horus seduced by a cult's promises of resurrection, and in the end, the Warmaster corrupted beyond saving.
While the rest of the command staff still wavered, Calgar had already made his decision.
The slim hope of resurrection ant nothing. Protecting the Primarch's body from the taint of the Warp was the only priority that mattered.
"No."
"We will not allow this. And you have brought two xenos into this fortress."
Resolute. Final.
Cawl was irritated. How could these sons of Guilliman be so impossibly stubborn?
But soone ca to his rescue. Tigurius stepped forward.
"Chapter Master," the Chief Librarian said quietly. "Do you rember the prophecy I made?"
Calgar turned his head. "I rember."
"The iron bird cos from the red-gear planet. The white bird and the moon wolf accompany it. Everything they do is watched by a crimson eye..."
Tigurius recited the passage, then stopped. He did not speak the next line aloud.
The moon wolf's arrival will let the Avenging Son no longer be alone. Brothers shall finally et.
He knew exactly what it ant. The Avenging Son was his gene-father. And the only thing that could make a Primarch feel less alone was another Primarch. Across the entire span of the Great Crusade, there was only one figure who could be called the Moon Wolf. Only one master of the Luna Wolves. There was no one else it could possibly refer to.
The prophecy had shaken Tigurius badly when it first ca to him. It was not until Grand Master Voldus of the Grey Knights arrived at Macragge that the two of them privately cross-referenced the fragnts of intelligence filtering in from the Warp. And then there were the daemons in the Sea of Souls, their mad, frenzied howling about the return of Lupercal growing louder by the day.
Tigurius was certain. The return of the master of the Luna Wolves was a miracle the Master of Mankind on the Golden Throne had permitted.
"Tsk."
Calgar trusted Tigurius's prophetic abilities. He always had.
With the Chief Librarian vouching for it, and with a full company of Terminator veterans, the Third Company elites, and Grey Knight Grand Master Voldus all present, Cawl's small group was not going to cause any trouble they couldn't handle.
"Clear the passage." Calgar waved a hand, then fixed his gaze on Cawl. "You may enter."
"But make no mistake — any unnecessary movents, and this ends badly for you."
The group moved into the depths of the Fortress of Hera.
As they walked, Cawl began recounting the fall of Cadia to Calgar, laying out the tragedy piece by piece, building toward sothing like trust.
Kaelen walked at the rear of the procession, taking in the surroundings with quiet interest. This place was less a military fortress than a grand historical morial. Enormous murals in an ancient Romanesque style swept across the dod ceilings. White stone sculptures of Guilliman's adoptive parents, Consul Konor and Lady Euten, stood sentinel along the colonnade. Of all the Chapters in the Imperium, the Ultramarines had preserved the traces of civilization better than anyone.
Horus wasn't looking at any of it. His gaze was fixed on the portraits of Roboute, and sothing unnaable churned in his chest. Beside him, Cullen kept his eyes on the Ultramarines lining the corridor, tracking the hostile glances that followed their passage.
At last, the group reached the deepest chamber of the sanctum.
And there he was.
Roboute Guilliman, seated upright at the center of a stasis field. Perfectly preserved. Perfectly still. The Sleeping Beauty of the Imperium, frozen in amber for 10,000 years.
The visitors drew a collective breath.
Horus looked at his slumbering brother. Beneath the hood, the corners of his eyes grew wet without him quite knowing when it had happened.
Ah, Roboute.
Excellent Roboute.
Exasperating Roboute.
Admirable Roboute.
What Horus had wanted most, once, was not only the Emperor's attention. He had wanted recognition from his peers, especially from Dorn and Guilliman. In his eyes, both of them were the most loyal, most zealous embodints of everything the Imperium stood for. They had led their Legions on crusade with unparalleled devotion. Dorn's military mind. Guilliman's rigorous discipline. The Lion's heroic bearing. These were things Horus had genuinely envied and admired, and precisely because of that, he had regarded them as his most formidable rivals.
But look at Guilliman now. 10,000 years in a stasis field. The future he had envisioned never ca to pass. All that ti, wasted.
Horus felt a flicker of bitter self-mockery. He envied Guilliman, in a strange way, because Guilliman was the first Primarch to witness this dark age. He had been here for all of it, even if he had seen none of it.
Just as guilt was beginning to work its way through him again, Kaelen's peripheral vision caught sothing.
The silver shadows in the corners of the sanctum had moved.
Grand Master Voldus, leading several mbers of a Nesis Strike Squad, was drifting toward the rear of the procession. Unhurried. Relaxed. Not a trace of killing intent. But their positioning was deliberate, they had cut off the firing angles between the Ultramarines Honour Guard and Kaelen's trio with quiet precision.
"Are we about to fight?" Cullen's voice dropped low. His palm had already closed around the hilt of his power sword. "They're moving in."
"No. They're probably here to protect us."
Kaelen gave a small shake of his head.
At that exact mont, Calgar turned to face the stasis field. Every Ultramarine in the room followed his lead. Together, they bowed, deep, solemn, unhurried. A gesture of reverence that filled the chamber with silence.
Then Calgar straightened and turned to Cawl.
"Now. Explain your resurrection procedure in detail, Magos." His voice was flat and very calm. "If there is any possibility of desecration in what you describe, I will have all of you executed on the spot."
Cawl's electronic eyes flickered twice. He turned to Yvraine.
The Eldar Emissary didn't flinch. She stepped forward half a pace and answered in flawless High Gothic, her voice carrying clearly through the hall.
"The procedure is quite simple, actually."
"Step one: we completely sever the stasis field generator. Then I use this Cronesword to cut away Guilliman's remaining life force entirely." She paused, letting the words settle. "To speak plainly — we let him die first. Completely."
The words hit the great hall like a Cyclonic torpedo.
Every Ultramarine erupted at once.
➤ Next: Curved Loyalty of the Black Legion
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