Deprived of Magnus's command, the Thousand Sons fleet collapsed into unavoidable ruin. Facing the iron blockade of the golden armada, their sole ending was to turn into drifting debris amid endless despair.
One Chaos warship after another burned to ash beneath the relentless bombardment of high-energy weaponry, until only a massive pyramid structure remained in the void, taking concentrated strikes from nearly a hundred Protoss war vessels.
Its master had long since fled, leaving behind a helpless relic crawling toward total destruction.
Guilliman stood on the command deck, watching with his own eyes as the terrifying construct disintegrated into shards under the assault of the golden fleet. Their fleet was safe.
The Primarch turned his gaze toward the equally silent Governor of Aiur. Having witnessed the true power of this humanoid entity, everyone aboard—save for a few old acquaintances—maintained a respectful distance from him.
"We need to have a proper talk," Guilliman spoke slowly.
Alexei did not turn his head, merely letting out a light chuckle in response. "Of course. But before that, I wish to present you with a gift—as a gesture of my goodwill."
The Primarch looked at the man in confusion, but Alexei said no more, simply gesturing for Guilliman to follow him.
The two traversed the cavernous interior of the 'Macragge's Honour'. Even with the massive influx of crew and personnel currently aboard, the vessel—built on the scale of a sprawling metropolis—still held countless long-abandoned chambers.
Guilliman followed the Governor of Aiur in heavy silence, his hand gripping the Emperor's Sword tightly. A voice in his heart warned him that he should strike down this unknown entity where he stood.
Yet the cool logic in his mind constantly urged restraint. The man had aided them in repelling the Chaos ambush and invasion; at the very least, he harbored no malice.
Finally, Alexei brought the Primarch to a damaged door. The frame appeared to have been forced open by immense violent force, revealing pitch darkness within.
This was a room Alexei had spent a long time searching for—a place bound to hit the rawest nerve of the Primarch standing beside him.
Casting a glance back at the perplexed Guilliman, Alexei stepped inside first. As electric candles flickered to life, the interior revealed a scene of utter ruin, bearing the distinct marks of a past, fierce struggle.
Guilliman walked inside, looking at the Governor of Aiur standing mute in the center of the chamber. For reasons unknown, a flicker of unease stirred within his heart—not because of the man before him, but due to something unexplained.
"So, why have you brought me here?" Guilliman asked, his brow furrowed.
"My abilities stem from the C'tan. The power you saw during the battle belongs to Tissakra the Witherer," Alexei said, looking at the Primarch with a faint smile. "And now, I shall demonstrate the power of another C'tan: Xonith, the Time Weaver..."
Seeing Guilliman about to speak, Alexei shook his head. "I know you have countless questions, but for now... please observe with patience."
Alexei slowly raised both hands. To the Primarch's senses, an indescribable energy began surging relentlessly from within the man's body.
This technique was a new ability Alexei had forged by merging Void projection with C'tan power. It allowed him to project things long lost in the river of time back into present realspace.
However, because these projections lacked a physical base like Alexei himself, they could only preserve past states without generating new changes—functioning merely as an interactive projection of what once was.
The lighting in the room shifted continuously as a figure gradually coalesced from translucence to solid form. It was an elderly woman draped in a blue shawl and wearing an elegant white dress. Her features were kind and serene; though advanced in years, her entire posture radiated grace.
Leaning on a walking stick with both hands, her yellow-white hair was neatly coiled behind her head. The gentle wrinkles on her face folded slightly as she offered a warm, comforting smile toward the towering Primarch.
The moment Guilliman laid eyes on the old woman, the heart he believed could never be shaken again trembled violently once more. His pupils contracted and dilated in rapid succession, his mind turning dazed as if dealt a heavy blow.
The hands that were supposed to be as steadfast as bedrock could barely hold the burning blade.
At last, through a throat that worked heavily, the Primarch forced out a single word: "Mother..."
Indeed, the projection of the elderly woman was none other than the Primarch's adoptive mother, Tarasha Euten. And this room was the very place where she had spent her final moments.
During his months on Macragge, Alexei's Void projection had done everything possible to gather every shred of record regarding Lady Euten, using his C'tan power to peer into the echoes of her past silhouette.
Now, in this final chamber, Alexei had manifested a true-to-life projection of everything that honored lady once was.
"She belongs to past history, brought forth to the present only through my manipulation of time," Alexei explained, looking at Guilliman, who stood trembling and frozen. "She will not respond to any of your words or actions; she can only repeat her past words and gestures."
"It will last for only half an hour before dissipating. I will wait outside," Alexei added. Looking at the silent Primarch, he turned, exited the room, and pulled the slightly deformed door shut behind him.
Inside the quiet, ruined chamber, only the tall Primarch and that slightly stooped figure remained.
At this moment, Guilliman found himself completely at a loss. He stared at the familiar figure—the mother he had thought of day and night ever since his awakening—uncertain of what to say.
After a brief silence, Tarasha Euten took hesitant steps toward Guilliman. The Primarch instinctively reached out to support his mother, only to watch his left hand pass right through her body.
Alexei's words echoed in Guilliman's mind—it was merely a projection. He froze in place, bewildered.
Tarasha Euten stopped right in front of Guilliman. "My child..."
"I am here, Mother. I am here..." Guilliman dropped to one knee instantly, lowering his head to gaze intently at his long-lost adoptive mother. Even after ten thousand years of slumber, Lady Euten's face remained vividly etched in his memory.
Tarasha Euten did not reply to Guilliman's call, simply continuing to speak the words the Primarch remembered so well. Guilliman did not interrupt, only offering quiet nods and soft responses at intervals.
Even knowing that everything before him was an illusion, the deep longing in his heart had been made manifest in this very moment.
Outside, Alexei leaned against the alloy wall, his superhuman senses picking up the faint sound of the mother and son talking to each other. He let out a quiet sigh and looked up at the cold ceiling.
'A mother, is it... How nostalgic.'