Ullanor had been transformed in a short time. The Ork world of foul dens and filthy camps had been reshaped into a grand stage by the terraforming equipment of four Mechanicum industrial fleets.
Mountains were flattened and pulverized. Dark canyons were filled. Rolling hills were smoothed.
Millions of servitors, and penal laborers had laid down a smooth granite surface, five hundred meters wide and five hundred kilometers long.
Their sweat and blood had forged this grand avenue.
On either side, pillars rose, each adorned with the skulls of greenskins.
Pits of fuel blazed around them. The pyres of Ork bodies, stacked by the Luna Wolves, burned, sending columns of black smoke skyward.
Eight million Imperial soldiers had assembled on Ullanor. Countless banners fluttered in the wind.
Nowhere, save the Eternity Gate, had ever seen such a dazzling sea of color.
Tens of thousands of armored vehicles, their engines roaring.
Hundreds of Titans, their heavy footsteps shaking the ground.
Fifteen Astartes Legions had answered the Emperor's call. One hundred and twenty thousand transhuman warriors were present.
Upon the mirror-like granite plain, the only remnant of the old world was the lair of the Ork Warlord, Gharkul Blackfang.
Most of the mountain had been removed, leaving a flat, steel-plated platform, serving as the stage for the Emperor and his sons.
Ten Primarchs stood on either side of the Emperor.
Horus Lupercal stood closest to the Emperor's right shoulder. Beside him, his close friend Sanguinius; Fulgrim, his pride etched with the twin-headed eagle; Mortarion, his hooded form; and the restless Angron.
Nareth stood to the Emperor's left. Beside him, Lorgar Aurelian, his achievements rising rapidly; the rock-like Rogal Dorn; Magnus, his mutable eye blazing gold; and the aloof Jaghatai Khan.
"Soldiers of the Imperium! Today, we gather on Ullanor to celebrate a glorious victory in the Great Crusade! We have destroyed the greatest evil of the galaxy, the greenskin empire!"
"Let us remember that it was Horus who, in this battle, personally slew the Ork Warlord, Urrlak Urg!"
"Over the past two hundred years, we have achieved glorious things! We have reclaimed one lost brother-world after another! We have overthrown the xenos who oppressed us in the Dark Age!"
"We proclaim the resurgence of humanity! The galaxy belongs to Man!"
Nareth looked down from the high platform. The thunderous cheering shook the earth, celebrating the apex of the Imperium of Man.
"The time has come!" The Master of Mankind's voice cut through the cheering, echoing in the minds of eight million soldiers, one hundred and twenty thousand Astartes, and hundreds of God-machines.
"Now, it is time to show that the Primarchs are the greatest of leaders! That they can lead this fight for humanity's salvation!"
The cheering stopped.
The soldiers were stunned, wondering if they had heard an illusion.
The Astartes were bewildered, a deep sorrow settling upon them.
In the silence, the Emperor removed the golden laurel wreath from his brow and spoke to Horus.
"You are my son. We have fought together and conquered the galaxy."
"Now, the time has come for me to retire to Terra."
"My duty as a warrior I now pass to you, for I have a greater task to complete in my seclusion."
He placed the golden laurel wreath upon Horus's head. "I grant you with the title of Warmaster. Henceforth, all my armies and all my generals will obey you, as if the command were my own."
Sanguinius's wings trembled. Fulgrim's shimmering white hair stirred. They maintained their perfect composure while covertly watching the Emperor's other side.
Mortarion's expression was dark. 'The Emperor's folly, appointing anyone as Warmaster, will only deepen the rifts between the Primarchs.'
'Still, Horus is the best choice.'
'Nareth is capable in other ways, but his fondness for sorcery is a step towards the abyss.'
Angron's fists clenched. 'You forced me to abandon my brothers and sisters on Nuceria!'
'You told me I was your general. Now, you have failed me again!'
'You are abandoning us! You are abandoning everyone!'
The Butcher's Nails whirred.
'The Emperor's folly! The time for Chaos to rise is at hand!' Lorgar, the High Priest of Chaos, his eyes gleaming, thought.
He studied Nareth with interest. 'Nareth, Guilliman, the Lion, and Ferrus, all possible candidates for Warmaster.'
'Among them, Nareth's achievements are closest to Horus's. The Rangdan campaign was a greater feat than even Ullanor, though Malcador downplayed it to avoid inciting fear of the xenos.'
'Nareth is the most likely to be discontent with the Emperor and Horus. Perhaps he can be used in my grand plan of enlightenment.'
Dorn studied Nareth with wary eyes, much like Constantin Valdor beneath the canopy, as if assessing a potential threat.
Magnus's eye shifted to blue, and he, with Jaghatai's hawk-like gaze, looked at Nareth.
Nareth felt their eyes upon him. In the absence of Guilliman and others, he, as the most likely alternative for Warmaster, was the center of attention.
The other Primarchs were watching his reaction.
'A title that will only last a few years. Whoever wants it can have it. '
'I'm not in a hurry to raise my banner.'
Nareth smiled calmly, as if unconcerned.
Lorgar's smile froze.
'How can this be?'
'Nareth shows no sign of discontent? Impossible! Does he feel no resentment?'
The Emperor took in Nareth's expression. He looked around at his sons, addressing them.
"You still have much work to do. Many worlds still need liberation. Many people still need deliverance."
The Emperor turned his gaze to Horus before him.
"My trust is with you!"
His authoritative voice spread across Ullanor, broadcast via holographic images to the orbiting fleets.
"Praise Horus!"
"Praise the Warmaster!"
"Praise the Warmaster!" Ezekyle Abaddon, First Captain, was the first to shout, followed by the honored Luna Wolves.
The celebration on Ullanor turned to mourning. Many Astartes Legions and Auxiliaries found the Emperor's withdrawal to Terra difficult to accept.
The Astartes wept, tears fell within their helmets, wetting their cheeks.
Even their transhuman minds could not contain their grief.
Beyond the Luna Wolves, who alone savored their complex mix of emotions, the Shadows of Order also felt no sorrow.
Santiago, looked up at the high platform, his fists clenched.
Pat, the Chaplain Master, his eyes blazing gold, 'False Emperor!'
The "Dreamwalker" swore an oath in his heart: 'By the gift of immortality bestowed by my Lord, I shall etch the truth into the subconscious of every Shadows of Order: Only the Black Emperor, Nareth, is the one true God!'
'All others are false!'
'The Imperial Truth is a lie! The Emperor is a false god!'
The celebration of the Triumph of Ullanor ended as the stars began to set.
The eight million soldiers and Astartes, still in shock, returned to their camps.
Within the golden tent, the Emperor smiled.
"My son, do you remember the first gift I gave you?"
"Of course," Horus said, his memory drawn back over two hundred years.
"It was an astronomy book, with a star chart."
"Which is your favorite constellation?" the Emperor asked.
"I admire the nobility and ferocity of Leo, the sturdy armor and sharp blades of Scorpio, the stubborn resolve of Taurus, and Libra appeals to my sense of justice and fairness."
The Emperor's smile froze. His memory returned to another victory celebration.
"The Wheel of Fire."
At the daytime celebration, he had given Nareth the Dionysian Spear.
That night, speaking with Nareth about the constellations, his answer had been remarkably similar to Horus's words now.
"You and Nareth share similar views on the constellations."
Horus paused, looking at his father. Nareth had been another candidate for Warmaster.
The Emperor saw the doubt in his beloved son's eyes.
Guilliman was the perfect administrator, but he still needed, and was better suited to be, the commander of the Great Crusade.
Nareth was a competent commander, but his Legion was steeped in worship, and his support for psychic powers would draw fierce opposition from Angron and Mortarion.
...
"I admire your choices, but you should look again." The Emperor raised his hand.
A vivid image materialized: a mounted archer, bow drawn.
"He is a terrible hunter, the constellation that best represents war."
"He is strong, cold, untamed, swift, and precise."
"In ancient times, he represented the very concept of power. The saggitary was most revered."
The Emperor's voice was deep, lost in memory.
"In Anatolia, where I grew up, the saggitary was a highly respected symbol."
"The horse-man, the galloping warrior, united in myth, represent the perfect fusion of man and the arsenal of war."
"This is the model you should emulate."
The Emperor's voice returned to the present, his tone becoming more stirring.
"From this day, my armies and the tools of war are in your hands, like a rider and his mount, united."
"My saggitary, ride on the star without me and they will ride with you!"
The Emperor raised his hand, placing an old, gold ring on Horus's left little finger.
The ring was worn with age. Only faint traces of a horse's hoof, an arm, and a bow could be discerned.
"It was made in Persia, a year before I was born."
"The Dreadful Sagittary. Now, it is yours."
"My Warmaster. My Archer."
The Emperor smiled, encouraging him.
"All Legions will answer to you. They will advance and retreat with you. They will fight alongside you."
"After I am gone, continue to ride!"
"My son, the armies of the Imperium will be at your side!"
Horus stared at his father's majestic back, his chest swelling with pride.
"Father, I understand."
"I was born to be a dreaded hunter."
"I will lead my brother Primarchs. I will continue to ride!"
His eyes gleamed. He decided to speak with each of his brothers, to earn their loyalty.
The first would be Nareth.