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"Of course I know that! This is sacred Terra, the howorld of all humanity."
"This is the sacred domain of the Master of Mankind, his cradle. You Custodians are indeed his loyal guardians — but that gives you no right to treat a returning gene-father with such contemptuous disrespect!"
"Even the forr Captain-General of the Custodians, Constantin Valdor, upon seeing the Wolf God return today — he might feel revulsion, he might feel wariness, but he would never behave as you have, Custodian. You may hold your silence. You may let your disgust show on your face. But to speak it aloud is an act of presumption against your lord, the Emperor of Mankind!"
Whether the lingering authority from Magnus's banishnt still held sway or not, the Custodian found himself stunned into silence by Kaelan's sharp rebuttal.
Horus was surprised too. Surprised by the courage in it, and by the force behind the words. That Kaelan had spoken up on his behalf moved him.
He seed to see, in this friend of his, a reflection of the Sigillite of old, his uncle, who, when facing those who challenged or sought to usurp the Emperor of Mankind, always delivered his cutting counterstrikes in exactly this tone.
The young Custodian snapped back to his senses, his face flushing with embarrassed anger.
"You dare—"
"Enough! Custodian, watch your words!"
Guilliman strode forward and barked the order.
The Lord of Ultramar's expression was stone. He found the young Custodian's verbal humiliation of his brother just as repugnant as Kaelan did. The weight of a Primarch's fury was suffocating, and the young Custodian swallowed the rest of his words whole.
Seeing the situation on the verge of spiraling out of control, Shield-Captain Tae Eidolon stepped in imdiately.
"The Lion's Gate defense line requires reinforcent." Tae Eidolon turned and issued a direct order to the young Custodian. "You are to proceed to the Lion's Gate at once and fill the line."
The young Custodian shot Kaelan a vicious glare, obeyed, and turned to leave in sullen resentnt.
After the expeditionary force arrived on Terra, the vast majority of its strength had already been deployed to the outer periter to fight the tide of Khorne daemons. Only the core guard remained.
Saint Celestine moved lightly to Kaelan's side.
"He is simply too arrogant, Mr. Kaelan." Her voice was gentle, attempting to ease the tension. "Please forgive that noble warrior for what just occurred. And please, calm yourself."
"I'm not angry, Saint. That was a warning."
Kaelan's expression had already settled back to calm. He turned his head and replied in a low voice.
"He can maintain his suspicion and wariness all he likes. But he cannot use those words to humiliate my friend in front of ." Kaelan paused, rubbing his chin. "When all is said and done, it would be so much better if the old man on the throne could just speak. If he could open his mouth, no one would be able to twist his aning."
Wait — open his mouth and speak?
A bolt of lightning cracked through Kaelan's mind.
That's right. Isn't at least half of the Imperium's ten-thousand-year disaster caused by the simple fact that the old man physically cannot speak?
The High Lords exploit so-called divine revelations to run amok. The Custodians cling to rigid dogma and refuse to move. But if the Emperor of Mankind could genuinely speak aloud in High Gothic, every last charlatan waving his banner would be out of a job on the spot. So many disasters could be avoided.
I am an absolute genius.
Kaelan's breathing quickened.
Celestine noticed his unusual state and asked softly, "What have you thought of?"
"A way to make the Emperor of Mankind speak."
He pulled up the system panel and searched the shop. He still had points remaining.
Found it. The Wondrous Marvelous Speech Device.
-------
The group passed through one magnificent gateway and spectacle after another.
So many that it beca genuinely maddening.
Golden carvings lined both sides of the corridors. Clusters of servo-skulls drifted overhead. Endless colossal war murals stretched on without end. This was no palace, it was a relentless attempt to brainwash every visitor into believing this place could never, ever fall.
Guilliman and Horus walked at the center of the group. These two demigods had fought through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, and they agreed: this tedious ceremonial pilgrimage was sohow more exhausting than any of it.
The footsteps of the two brothers grew heavier and heavier.
At last, an imnse golden gate appeared at the far end of the corridor.
Beyond that gate lay the Emperor of Mankind's Throne Room.
All one had to do was push open that door.
The golden doors of the Throne Room stood deep within a towering sanctum. Countless stone-paved paths converged upon this point from all directions. Under normal circumstances, these ancient flagstone paths would be packed every day by millions of fervent pilgrims.
But today, the sanctum had been completely sealed off.
20 Custodians in golden armor stood arrayed upon the broad steps, guardian spears gripped in both hands, standing in full readiness.
The procession halted at the foot of the steps.
Horus lowered his gaze. Guilliman raised his. The Primarchs' eyes t the cold, piercing stares of the Custodians.
The Custodian captain at the very top of the steps took one pace forward.
The butt of his guardian spear struck the auramite floor 3 tis. The blows rang out heavy and resonant, sending echoes rolling through the hall.
"Eagle of the Emperor, Kalim Varanno."
He announced his na in flawless High Gothic, then looked down from his elevated position and demanded the visitors announce theirs.
The whole procedure was rigidly formulaic to the point of madness.
Shield-Captain Tae Eidolon stepped forward and, in equally impeccable High Gothic, reported the nas of the expeditionary force's leaders one by one.
The ancient rite of audience was supposed to be long and elaborate. But today, with two living Primarchs present, the ceremony carried an additional weight, suffocating, almost sacred in its solemnity.
The announcent was complete. Guilliman's purpose was entirely clear: the Primarch requested an audience with his father, the Emperor of Mankind.
Kalim Varanno was silent for 2 seconds. His gaze did not fall on Guilliman. It passed straight over the crowd and fixed itself on Horus, who wore the stasis shackles.
"He must remove his power armor and relinquish all weapons and protection."
Varanno raised his right arm, clad in a golden gauntlet, and pointed directly at Horus. His voice left absolutely no room for negotiation.
"Otherwise, he has no right whatsoever to seek audience with our Undying King!"
The demand was arrogant and deeply insulting.
To remove one's power armor before an audience, this was an extraordinarily rare treatnt even across the entire history of the Primarchs.
Guilliman's brow twitched. He imdiately moved to step forward and argue.
"That will not be necessary, Roboute."
Horus extended his shackled hands and held his brother back.
The Wolf God's expression did not change. He gave a slight nod toward the steps. "I accept."
Under the watch of several Custodians, a senior chanicus Priest accompanied by 2 servitors stepped forward.
The disassembly tools let out a harsh HISS of pneumatic venting.
The heavy Terminator armor was removed piece by piece. This legendary suit, known as Serpent's Scales, had once accompanied the Warmaster in sweeping across the galaxy. Now it was tossed aside like a heap of scrap tal at the foot of the steps.
With the final chest plate falling to the ground, Horus's massive fra was fully exposed to the cold air.
He wore nothing beneath it. His entire body was covered in scars of all sizes, left by ten thousand years of war.
One of the attendants stepped forward and draped a tattered linen cloak over Horus's shoulders, its edges frayed and worn, of unknown origin, casually thrown across him like an afterthought.
This should have been a naked humiliation.
But the Wolf God simply gathered the ragged cloth around himself with quiet composure. He stood at the foot of the steps, his posture perfectly upright. Those deep eyes held no sha. Only the serene calm of a man who has seen through the ways of the world.
Even without the power armor. Even draped in nothing but a piece of worn cloth. Horus at this mont was still every inch a king.
That unbroken aura of his caused several Custodians in the front rank to instinctively tighten their grip on their guardian spears.
Varanno stood above on the steps, watching Horus's composed and dignified bearing, and the brow beneath his helt furrowed deeply.
He had intended to use this mont to see the arch-traitor humiliated. Instead, his opponent had deflected the malice with complete ease.
He was displeased. But there was nothing he could do. He waved his hand and signaled them to proceed.
"The audience list contains two nas only. Roboute Guilliman, and Horus Lupercal."
Guilliman did not move imdiately. He turned and looked back at Kaelan.
"Mr. Kaelan must attend the audience with the Master of Mankind as well. And that loyal warrior of the Dark Angels, Cullen." Guilliman looked toward Varanno.
"They have no right!"
Varanno refused outright.
The relentless stream of demands had pushed this Eagle Guard to the edge of his patience. The Primarchs were practically challenging the very limits of what the Custodians would tolerate.
"They do."
A voice, extrely soft and feminine, echoed without warning through the vast, empty sanctum.
The instant those words fell, sothing strange happened.
Every prayer candle on both sides of the sanctum, every single fla, simultaneously shrank to the size of a pinprick.
A trendous pressure, the kind that made every person present want to drop to their knees and prostrate themselves, instantly filled the entire space.
Every Custodian's body shuddered. The hands gripping their guardian spears began to tremble beyond their control. They all turned in astonishnt, their gazes locking onto the Living Saint behind them.
Celestine had changed.
She was no longer the gentle and compassionate Battle Sister. Her eyes erupted with an intensely brilliant golden light. A layer of golden flas, heavy with crushing pressure, enveloped her entire body.
"My lord?"
Kalim Varanno's voice cracked. Every single Custodian bowed their head, assuming the posture of those ready to kneel at any mont.
The possessed Celestine tilted her head slightly upward. Her voice beca profoundly deep and ancient, resonating within the very soul of every person present.
"Let. Them. In."
Five words.
They exhausted every last ounce of energy this body could bear.
The golden light vanished.
The power armor on Celestine lost all its luminescence. Her entire body went limp at the knees, and she toppled straight toward the ground.
Kaelan was closest. He moved before he thought, one lunging step forward, both hands catching the Living Saint under her arms, holding her steady.
The entire hall fell into dead silence.
Kaelan slowly transferred Celestine into the care of the twin handmaidens beside her.
He raised his head.
He faced the group of golden-armored Custodians on the steps.
Kaelan tugged at the corner of his mouth, and the smile that spread across his face was thoroughly asking to be punched.
"Hear that? The old man has spoken. He said the two of us can go in."
Kaelan fell into step behind the two Primarchs, Cullen at his side, and the four of them walked straight up the steps and passed right by Varanno.
The Custodians looked at one another. Not a single one dared to raise a hand to stop them.
The doors of the Throne Room finally began to open, slowly. A blinding halo of light seeped through the widening gap. The ancient sound of chanical gears ground heavily in the ears of every person present.
The four entered.
The great doors closed behind them.
— .—— .—— .—— .—— .——
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