Macragge, Fortress of Hera.
The Temple of Correction sits deep within this magnificent stronghold. Rather than a mere building, it is a perfect work of art—a relic condensing ten thousand years of faith, wisdom, and might of the 13th Legion.
However, this temple is famous throughout the Imperium of Man not merely for its humanly inconceivable beauty.
In the center of the temple, bathed in the convergence of countless beams of light, sat the only living Primarch remaining in the Imperium.
—The Lord of the 13th Legion, Protector of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, Roboute Guilliman.
The Primarch sat upon a massive stone throne like a perfect sculpture of an ancient classical god. His face was etched with sorrow, his eyes slightly closed. Without a doubt, anyone seeing this sight would be instantly overwhelmed by his majesty.
But drawing slightly closer, the cruel reality beneath that perfect surface stung the eyes of all onlookers. On one side of his long, powerful neck, a thin yet deep, horrific wound was clearly visible. It was no ordinary scar; its very existence defied healing. Tiny beads of blood, pure as the finest rubies, seeped incredibly slowly from the depths of the wound, winding down the contours of his armor.
This trauma, inflicted ten thousand years ago by the traitorous Daemon Primarch Fulgrim, had not only nearly claimed Guilliman's life but had forced this mighty Primarch to slumber within a meticulously maintained stasis field just to preserve his existence.
Currently, the reigning Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, Marneus Calgar, stood alone in the Temple of Correction. Only dozens of meters separated him from his gene-father as he silently gazed at the figure resembling a marble statue.
Calgar's face was likewise as cold and hard as carved rock, with sharp features, pursed lips, and a deeply furrowed brow that gave him a slight resemblance to the Primarch on the throne. But he knew in his heart that this was merely a clumsy imitation.
He had studied the heavy tomes more than once, from yellowed parchment to data slates, reviewing every glorious campaign, every exquisite policy, and every decisive moment of his gene-father. He sought to draw a spark of the Primarch's wisdom and spirit from between the lines. In Calgar's heart, the image of Guilliman had long surpassed that of a military leader or ruler; it was shrouded in a halo of near-divinity.
As the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines and the Protector of the Five Hundred Worlds, Calgar was no fool. He had long smelled the coming storm.
The tempest the Imperium was about to face was more violent and more... desperate than any before. Tyranids, Orks, the T'au Empire, Chaos rebels, Necrons, Aeldari raiders... the Imperial domain was like a piece of rotting wood being gnawed by countless termites simultaneously, fires breaking out everywhere as they rushed to put them out.
What should we do, Gene-father? Calgar asked silently in his heart.
The Codex Astartes left by the Primarch—the tome that was once the benchmark for quelling chaos and regulating Chapters—had, in some instances ten thousand years later, become a rigid shackle. He, Calgar, could hardly implement a policy as simple as an "adaptive adjustment to Hive Fleet tactics" based on combat experience within his own Chapter without facing unimaginable resistance and criticism from both internal members and other Codex Chapters.
He felt a deep sense of powerlessness.
Just then, he heard steady, light footsteps behind him—the distinctive sound of power boot soles being placed down with deliberate care. There were very few Astartes who could enter the Temple of Correction without prior announcement.
Calgar slowly turned around.
The newcomer was tall, clad in Astartes battle plate adorned with psychic runes. Most striking were the dense psychic connection cables extending from behind his helmet; these cables moved slightly like living things before disappearing into his backpack. He held a magnificent force staff, the psychic crystal at its tip flickering with a ghostly blue light in rhythm with his breathing.
Varro Tigurius.
The Chief Librarian of the Ultramarines, and perhaps one of the Astartes most deeply versed in the arts of psychic prophecy in the entire Imperium.
"My old friend," Calgar spoke first, his voice carrying an imperceptible trace of fatigue. "What prophecy have you brought me today? In which sector has a new powerful enemy appeared, or which Chaos force is beginning to stir?"
This was no joke. Tigurius's prophetic abilities had been verified countless times, and their accuracy was often chilling. He had once predicted the exact coordinates and time of a massive Ork Warboss's arrival months in advance, allowing the Ultramarines to mass their forces and strike a crushing blow at the vulnerable moment the Ork fleet exited the Warp.
However, Tigurius shook his head.
"No, my Lord. This time... it is not an omen of destruction." His voice could not hide the tremor beneath it. "What I perceive... is hope. An... inexpressible hope, making its way toward Macragge."
"Hope?" Calgar's brow furrowed even deeper.
Compared to Tigurius's previous prophecies that clearly pointed to a specific battle or enemy, this word felt too broad, even... a bit empty.
"Yes, hope. But this did not come from my personal prophecy," Tigurius said. "This is an omen from the Emperor."
An omen from the Emperor? Calgar was momentarily stunned.
"And, after receiving this vague revelation," Tigurius continued, raising his hand not holding the staff, palm upward as psychic arcs jumped between his fingers, "I attempted to confirm and refine it through more traditional means. I used the Emperor's Tarot."
Calgar nodded. The Emperor's Tarot was a common divinatory tool used by Space Marine Librarians—a set of 78 cards containing complex symbolism. He was no stranger to it.
Tigurius raised his hand, and a physical card floated up, flying steadily toward Calgar's face. Calgar reached out and took it. The card's material was neither metal nor leather, warm to the touch, with a faint golden halo flowing around its edges.
On the face of the card was a giant who towered between heaven and earth. He was clad in shimmering golden armor and a red cloak, wearing a laurel wreath upon his head. His posture was magnificent and majestic—the very image of the Emperor, Lord of Mankind.
But unlike the common depictions of a withered corpse sitting upon the Golden Throne, the Emperor on this card stood tall upon a high platform, holding a flaming sword aloft as if issuing a stirring proclamation to the endless armies and people below.
Gazing at it for only a moment, Calgar could not help but recall the glorious history of the Great Crusade's Golden Age, when the glory of humanity spread across the galaxy.
"This is..." Calgar looked up, his eyes filled with unbelievable confusion.
He was familiar with every card of the Emperor's Tarot, but the imagery and style of this card were entirely absent from the standard 78.
"This is a brand-new 79th card," Tigurius's voice carried the solemnity of witnessing history. "A will presented me with a card that has never existed. I do not know exactly what event or person it represents, but combined with the omen of hope, my Lord, I believe... this is no accident."
"Hope..." Calgar repeated the word. But his experience and reason immediately issued a warning. "Tigurius, hope often comes with the unknown, and the unknown... can bring even more complex problems. We..."
Before he could finish, both men simultaneously sensed a rapid, clearly urgent set of footsteps approaching from outside the heavy, soundproofed doors of the Temple of Correction. When Calgar was alone with the Gene-father, no one would dare interrupt unless there was a major development.
Calgar and Tigurius exchanged a look, both seeing the confusion in each other's eyes.
The temple doors were pushed open from the outside, and a warrior clad in artificer power armor belonging to the Ultramarines Honor Guard strode in. His face was hidden behind a helmet, and his voice came through the vox-grille.
"Lord Calgar, Chief Librarian Tigurius. Seven standard Terran minutes ago, the orbital monitoring arrays and system defense nodes detected a vessel of entirely unknown identity, model, and affiliation. It is heading directly for Macragge!"