-Omnis crucible, Command Bridge
[Entering real space in 3… 2… 1…]
An officer announces via vox channel.
Nusa watches as the blinding tunnel vision of the jump flickered and collapsed into the cold clarity of realspace. The view before them was staggering — rows upon rows of warships, arrayed in flawless order.
The 3rd Iron Cohort stood in parade formation, forming a twin corridor of armored leviathans. Their void-lamps shone brightly, beams of cold, perfect light stretching ahead like a corridor of lances in the void.
A vox-hail crackled over the comm-net.
[Welcome, Lord Machinist, to the cradle of mankind.]
As the Exile fleet advanced, the ships of the 3rd iron Cohort began raising their void-lamps one after another, the ascending glow forming a shifting canopy of illumination above the fleet's path. A ritualized salute, ancient in form but rarely witnessed.
As the lead formation passed the last of 3rd iron cohort formation, another transmission followed.
[We wish you success in your endeavor, my lord.]
The 3rd Iron Cohort's fleet commander, his voice crisp and reverent.
The Exile fleet continued its solemn, implacable approach. From the icy boundary of the Kuiper Belt, past scattered imperial outposts and grey knights fleet, toward the beating heart of the Sol system.
In Terra Control chamber, Guilliman stood at the command dais, his gaze fixed on the hololithic display. Even as a Primarch, his breath caught at the sight.
Murmurs rippled through the gathered officers and Astartes commanders. Custodes helms turned imperceptibly. The distinct, rapid-fire clicks of vox-channels opening and closing betrayed hurried, whispered conversations.
'Even the Custodes were unsettled.' Guilliman noted.
At the forefront of the formation, four Gloriana-class battleships formed a diamond screen. Massive, venerable vessels. The Imperium, as far as Guilliman knew, had but one Gloriana in active service, his own.
His concern deepened as his gaze found the heart of the Exile formation.
Two immense warships, each dwarfing even the Glorianas. Twenty kilometers of adamantium and reinforced void-matter. Their hulls bore no ornament, only the sigil of the Machinist and their designation names.
Omnis crucible and Iron Cataclysm.
Bucephalus-class.
Ancient ships, once reserved for the Emperor of Mankind alone. Guilliman's stomach tightened believing that the danger level of exile has increased in his mind.
He turned to the pair of shinobi at his side.
They stood motionless, eyes locked on the display with an intensity that spoke of fervent reverence. Their impassive expressions betrayed no fear, only awe.
"Is that your master's flagship?" Guilliman asked, his voice carefully measured. "Which one does he sail in?"
Seiji gave a flat answer. "Both, Lord Primarch. My master deemed it appropriate to deploy twin Bucephalus-class ships for this visit."
Guilliman's jaw tightened, understanding that Machinist wishes for which ship he is in to be in secret.
"And you are certain he wishes to visit Mars before setting foot on Terra?" Guilliman ask once more to confirm the request.
"It is his will, my lord," Seiji confirmed evenly. "He wishes to see his old home before his birthplace."
Guilliman nodded curtly. He turned to a vox-officer.
"Relay immediate clearance to Mars orbital control. Priority code Guilliman-Rho-Epsilon."
The officer worked her console, then shook her head, face pale.
"No reply from Mars, my lord. They've yet to acknowledge your prior communique."
Guilliman's brow furrowed. The Mechanicus rarely delayed their responses.
At that moment, a system-wide transmission cracked across the command net.
Not a coded signal — a direct vox-broadcast, clear and sharp.
[Greetings, Imperial Command.]
The voice of the Machinist echoed through every Imperial channel, though his targeting protocols ensured only the Mechanicus Council, Terra Control, and the High Lords received the invitation to reply.
[I am the Machinist and Master of the Exile. I arrive in good will. May mankind be prosperous.]
Guilliman drew a steadying breath and stepped forward, his reply immediate.
"This is Roboute Guilliman, Lord Commander of the Imperium. I bid you welcome to the Sol system, Lord Machinist."
[Well met, Primarch.] The Machinist's voice carried faint amusement. [if you allow me, i would like to visit my old home on Mars. Do I have leave to do so?]
A long pause followed.
Guilliman's gaze darted to the vox-officer, who shook her head again. No reply from the Fabricator-General.
'Mars is either delaying or unwilling to host the Machinist.' Guilliman grumbled.
The Primarch exhaled slowly. "I must contact the Fabricator-General for formal clearance. Stand by."
[No need.] Nusa's voice cut through the delay. [He receives this transmission as well. I repeat my question, what is your reply, Fabricator-General?]
The silence stretched a moment longer than was comfortable. Even in Terra Control, unease stirred.
At last, an ancient, mechanical voice crackled over the line.
[…Compliance. Request of visitation logged. Permission granted.]
The response was curt. Too forced.
Guilliman's expression hardened. Even Mars was unnerved.