In a hidden corner of the Webway, a group of figures waited in quiet anticipation. After an untold measure of time, a hooded figure turned toward the nearby Aeldari and asked, "Are they still not here?"
"The guidance of fate does not err. Pray exercise patience, mysterious Lord Cypher," the Shadowseer replied impassively.
At those words, Lord Cypher held his peace. Yet after a vast span passed once more, he broke the silence again, unable to contain himself. "...Has your prophecy truly not gone awry?"
"...Fate... does not err," the Shadowseer reiterated after a moment of silence.
More time trickled away into the void. "...Truly, Sylandri?" Cypher's tone now carried a distinct edge of impatience.
This time, an expression of uncertainty flickered across the Shadowseer's face as well. It made no sense. According to the threads of fate, the Avenging Son should have been captured by the Red Corsairs by now, locked away in the abyssal depths of a Blackstone Fortress.
They were meant to make their grand entrance to rescue him, guiding him onward to Terra's moon. Yet why was there not a single ripple in the Webway? What had gone wrong?
---
The Terran Crusade fleet had set sail once more. Virtually every warship in the armada bore severe damage, painfully limping toward the heart of the Imperial realm.
Long before the crusade fleet neared Terra, whispered rumors of the Primarch's resurrection had spread through various channels to the ears of the masses. Yet Terra itself was currently engulfed in violent Warp storms, cutting off the vital supply lines that sustained its billions.
The throneworld was plunging into relentless, widespread rioting. Imperial defense forces across Terra retreated to shrink their perimeters, leaving only the sprawling expanse of the Imperial Palace entirely untouched by the chaos.
The hull of the 'Macragge's Honour' shuddered violently amid the churning torrents of the Immaterium. The Sol System was currently choked by a ferocious Warp storm.
Confronting this tempest, Guilliman did not hesitate for a single second; he ordered the fleet to force its way straight through. He would not allow the tragedies of ten millennia past to repeat themselves.
From the command deck, Guilliman studied the holographic star map before him. Beyond the sealed viewports, the storm raged with increasing fury. Knowing the fleet was on the verge of breaking into the Sol System, every soul made final preparations, holding fast to the belief that they would endure.
As the final violent shudders subsided, an announcement echoed over the vox-channels signaling their exit from the Warp. Just as Guilliman had anticipated, the crusade fleet successfully breached the tempest. Though several more warships were claimed by the void, they had finally reached the Sol System.
The Terran Crusade was drawing to its close. Though ambushed by Chaos along the way and pushed to the absolute brink of annihilation, the timely intervention of that unknown fleet and the Governor of Aiur had delivered them safely to Sol.
Activity erupted across all decks. Guilliman had already ordered advance heralds to announce the arrival of the crusade, ensuring the High Lords of Terra were now fully aware of their presence.
Space rippled violently at the Mandeville Point of the Sol System as a tear split realspace open. Furious Warp energies spewed from the breach as a massive armada breached the void.
As the final warship emerged, the rift behind them slowly sealed shut. From afar, not a single vessel in the fleet remained unscathed; their hulls were etched deep with scars of battle—a state shared even by the colossal 'Macragge's Honour'.
It stood as silent testament that the trials they had endured surpassed all human imagination.
Guided by Imperial vox-beacons, the crusade fleet closed in on a nearby star fort, where senior Imperial officials had long been waiting.
Guilliman, accompanied by Alexei, the Living Saint, and their entourage, boarded a Valkyrie transport. Accompanied by the deafening roar of the engines, they accelerated toward a designated landing bay.
Gazing through the transport's viewport at the colossal artificial star fort, Alexei could not help but marvel. Imperial technology was not inherently weak; rather, it was the foul cesspool of the Immaterium that continually dragged their progress down.
The Valkyrie touched down smoothly. As the hydraulic ramps hissed and lowered, the heavy hatch swung open, revealing a majestic figure to everyone gathered around the landing pad.
High-ranking officials from various Imperial adepta instantly collapsed to their knees in unison. Shivering, they chanted the glorious name of the Gene-primarch, seemingly oblivious to the flash of revulsion that crossed Guilliman's face.
Guilliman was forced to use his own booming voice to command the crowd to rise. Only after the Primarch repeated the order several times did the officials slowly push themselves up, their eyes burning with fanatical fervor as they stared at the scion of a god.
A few High Lords of Terra were present as well. Unlike the unbridled fanaticism of the other officials, their gazes held a sharp measure of wary vigilance. To some among them, the return of a Primarch in the Imperium's current state was not necessarily a welcome turn of events.
Guilliman paid their inner thoughts no mind. Leading his inner circle, he stepped out of the hatch, walking down the path parted by the crowd on either side.
The High Lords stepped forward immediately to greet him. Guilliman swept a cold, calculating gaze across them. Just as the mortals felt on the verge of suffocating beneath the pressure, the Primarch withdrew his oppressive aura and offered a measured smile.
The High Lords breathed a collective sigh of relief. They had feared the Gene-primarch might initiate a bloody purge on the spot—a fate none could have escaped. Relief washed over them as they quickly escorted the Primarch toward another waiting transport.
Guilliman would board this vessel directly to reach the Imperial Palace. Already, he noted two towering guardians clad in shimmering auramite armor stationed on either side of the hatch.
'His father's Custodians.' Guilliman understood implicitly. Ever since his father sat upon the Golden Throne, these golden warriors had refused to step a single pace beyond the palace walls. That they had ventured out to escort him now proved his arrival was a matter of paramount gravity to all.
Guilliman stepped onto the transport alongside his adjutants. As the hatch sealed shut, the craft lifted smoothly, setting a course straight toward Terra.
After an unknown duration, the vibrating transport breached the upper atmosphere of Terra. Alexei observed the world below with quiet curiosity—a planet vastly different from the ancient Earth. The oceans and green biosphere had vanished entirely, replaced by an endless expanse of soaring hive-spires forged of iron and steel.
Gargantuan hive cities dominated the entire surface of Terra. As the transport descended, the sprawling Gothic architecture steeped in Ecclesiarchal symbolism came into view, causing Guilliman's brow to furrow once more.
The Terra of his memories had burned with the radiant light of ambition and progress; now, nothing remained save for deformed industrial complexes and terrifying religious iconography.
Slowly, the revulsion within his heart deepened. As the transport swept over the chaotic hive tiers below, scenes of absolute madness met his eyes. Sensing the shift in mood, a nearby High Lord began offering hurried explanations.
Throughout the briefing, Guilliman remained mute, staring out the viewport with a furrowed brow as he listened to the High Lord's report in silence.
When the transport finally touched down within the Imperial Palace, Guilliman ignored the babbling High Lord behind him and stepped off the craft without hesitation. He needed to see his father immediately; this decaying, rotten shell of Terra was something he could not bear to look upon for another second.
Alexei followed closely behind the Gene-primarch, entirely unhurried. It was the Emperor who had summoned him here; if anyone was anxious, it was the Master of Mankind. He needed only to wait quietly for what was to come.