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"I thought you'd be shocked by Horus's appearance. Not paying attention to ."
Guilliman extended his hand. Kaelen matched the gesture, and they shook, brief, polite.
The Primarch's palm was broad and thick, his grip deliberately restrained. Careful not to crush mortal bones.
"I am, of course, shocked by my brother's return." Guilliman released his hand. His voice carried the low, rough timbre of soone still recovering from a long illness. "But from a rational, scientific standpoint, his return is a miracle. One you created."
"Saint Celestine told everything that happened along the way. You helped my brother. You fought in the Battle of Cadia. You saved tens of thousands of lives." Guilliman folded his hands across his chest and bowed his head with solemn gravity. "You are a hero of the Imperium and of humanity. I, Roboute Guilliman, am deeply grateful."
The whole thing was so formal it made Kaelen a little uncomfortable. He rubbed his nose, ready to deflect with sothing modest.
"Is there a reward you require, Mr. Kaelen?" Guilliman cut straight to it, practical as ever. "What you've contributed entitles you to claim whatever you wish. Within my power to grant."
Wealth? Power? The pleasures of beauty?
Guilliman watched the mortal quietly. The most classic desires. The most instinctive ones.
His resources were more than sufficient to satisfy any of them.
Then, at the edge of his vision, the Lord of Ultramar noticed his brother smiling. Just slightly. With a faint edge of mockery.
"Rewards." Kaelen shook his head. "Nothing I want right now."
"There's only one thing I want to do." He raised his head and t Guilliman's gaze. "Take Horus back to Holy Terra and get an audience with the Emperor. Have the one on the Throne issue him a formal decree of absolution. And while we're at it, maybe bump up the daily rations and travel conditions for the three of us. That's all I'm asking."
He had thought about wealth, power, and beauty. But wealth, in this universe, was the least valuable currency. What actually mattered was favors and connections.
And power and beauty? If that's what he and Horus had been chasing this whole ti, he could've grabbed both back on Rys without running himself ragged across the galaxy.
"Lord Guilliman, there's only one thing that drives ." Kaelen's voice was easy, unhurried. "Witnessing miracles."
"Lupercal's return. Your awakening. Every one of them, a miracle. In this vast galaxy, is there anything more precious than watching miracles happen and being part of them?"
He finished with a loose, easy smile.
Guilliman went quiet.
In this dark millennium, drowning in blind faith and madness, he rarely heard anything so pure from a mortal's mouth. So genuinely idealistic. The stale, suffocating weight that had been pressing against his chest for ten thousand years eased, just slightly.
"Roboute." Horus stepped forward and clapped a hand on Guilliman's shoulder armor. "Just do what my friend says. Improve the three of us a little."
Guilliman gave a small nod. A quiet acceptance of a request that was, for once, deeply human.
Then the Lord of Ultramar turned his attention to the one who had been silent the entire ti.
The veteran wore black power armor stripped of all chapter markings. Five golden service studs were nailed into his forehead, each one a proof of a combat record written in blood. The aura coming off him felt strangely familiar to Guilliman.
That aloofness. That rigidity. And a particular brand of stubbornness that gave him a headache.
"Dark Angels Legion. Son of the Lion. Knight of the Thirteenth Battle Company, Cullen, reporting to Lord Guilliman."
The old knight stepped forward, one fist pressed to his chest, and perford a salute so ancient and precise it belonged to another age entirely.
A son of the Lion.
The tension in Guilliman's face released completely. No wonder he'd looked familiar.
"Cullen. Saint Celestine ntioned you as well. Thank you for your protection along the way, for keeping my brother safe."
"Actually—"
Horus cut him off before he could finish.
"Cullen is an outstanding warrior. He protected . He protected Kaelen. He is every bit worthy of being a son of the Lion, courageous, formidable, loyal without question."
"The Lion was always the finest knight among us." Horus let the words settle, then glanced at Guilliman. "His sons are naturally the sa. Wouldn't you agree, brother?"
Guilliman nodded without hesitation.
"Indeed. Warriors the Lion trained are always trustworthy."
Cullen's expression shifted into sothing complicated. He looked toward the Wolf Shepherd. Horus just raised an eyebrow at him, still smiling.
The pleasantries ran their course.
The command room went quiet.
Guilliman turned away from them. The massive superhuman walked slowly toward the far wall, his footsteps heavy in the silence.
The walls were hung with enormous murals, each one as tall as an Imperial Knight. The exquisitely rendered imagery was dense with ten thousand years of Ultramarines history, xenos slaughtered, heretics executed, worlds saved, planets burned. And at the center of every mural, always the sa figure: the halo-crowned Master of Mankind, worshipped by countless kneeling forms.
"The Imperium has beco riddled with wounds, brother."
Guilliman's voice echoed through the empty chamber. Beneath the steadiness, sothing was fraying.
Not physical exhaustion. Sothing deeper. A weariness that lived in the soul.
"I am in pain." He raised his right hand. His fingertips traced the faces of the fanatics in the mural. "Ten thousand years. Look at what they've beco."
"And us." He withdrew his hand and glanced back at Horus. "The sa. Ignorance. Blind faith. Suffering. Decay. All of it — every nauseating piece of it — carried out in the na of a god."
He twisted the corner of his mouth. The sound that ca out wasn't quite a laugh.
"The most ironic part? This father they kneel to and worship as a god, he despises that title with every fiber of his being."
Kaelen leaned against the edge of the table and said nothing. This was Guilliman's deepest wound. An idealistic materialist wakes up to find the entire world soaked in superstition, and discovers he's beco the superstition's greatest icon.
Pretty fucked up.
"We failed, brother." Guilliman turned back to the mural. His voice climbed. His breathing quickened. "Father failed us. And we failed him."
"Our arrogance. Our vanity. We built this stinking Imperium with our own hands. We failed all of humanity, completely, utterly, without exception."
The room held its breath. Only Guilliman's ragged breathing filled the silence.
Kaelen, Horus, Cullen. None of them spoke.
They could all hear it, the defenses crumbling beneath that controlled voice.
Then,
Guilliman's power fist swung. The tal table exploded with a thunderous CRACK, the surface caving into a deep, jagged crater.
"LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. FATHER."
The Lord of Ultramar threw his head back and roared.
He spun and crossed the room in two strides, stopping directly in front of Horus. Both hands locked onto the Wolf Shepherd's arms. The thick Terminator shoulder armor groaned under the grip.
"You should never have given him the Warmaster's position! We could have done better! We could have governed this galaxy properly!"
He wrenched his head toward the mural, screaming at the painted Emperor, every trace of reason and restraint gone.
"Horus never needed to carry that weight! He didn't need to be manipulated! The Heresy could have been prevented!"
"The Imperium of Man should never have beco THIS!"
The last word rang through the chamber and slowly died.
Guilliman turned back. His gaze found Horus's eyes.
What an expression.
Grief and fury. Despair. Hysteria. A pain that went beyond words.
Horus stood frozen.
From the Great Crusade to this mont, across every battle they had fought side by side, he had never once seen this brother, this man defined by precision and reason, look like this. Even facing xenos hordes in the old days, Roboute had always commanded with unshakable calm.
A single scalding drop fell and shattered against Horus's chestplate.
Guilliman's eyes had gone completely red.
Tears spilled over and ran down his jaw, down the hard lines of his face.
Ten thousand years of loneliness. Ten thousand years of not understanding. All the darkness and tragedy he had witnessed, piled and compressed until it finally broke through, through every wall this demigod had built around himself.
He couldn't hold it anymore.
A broken, voiceless sob tore free from the throat of this towering lord.
Guilliman let go of Horus's arms. He stepped forward and pulled him close, holding on with everything he had.
He pressed his forehead against the Wolf Shepherd's chestplate and wept.
"Why. Why did you do it."
"And why, why did you co back now. When everything has already rotted through."
"My brother. My brother."
The raw, ragged sound of it made Cullen turn away. He fixed his eyes on the floor and didn't move.
Kaelen quietly turned as well, raising a hand to press against his stinging nose.
This grief belonged to Primarchs alone. No one else could touch it.
Horus slowly raised both arms. With the gentlest motion he could manage, he wrapped them around Guilliman, who stood just slightly shorter than himself.
No defense. No long consolation.
"Don't be afraid, brother. I have returned."
"You are no longer alone. I am here."
➤ Next: No Snitches — Let's Hear So Russ Jokes
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