Guilliman strode deeper into the Imperial Palace led by a squad of Custodes, with Alexei following closely at his heels. The rest of their party had split off to attend to their respective duties.
The arrival of the Living Saint on Terra was no less earth-shattering than the return of the Gene-primarch. She had already departed with the Adepta Sororitas to quell riots in the regions surrounding the Palace.
Inquisitor Diana, who had stuck by Alexei's side throughout their journey, headed to the Ordo Malleus to report and reunite with her former mentor. Alexei had taken care to caution her beforehand to stay alert around the Inquisition's weirder elements, lest she accidentally slip up.
Thus, Alexei remained the sole companion following in Guilliman's footsteps. The golden palace carved into the Himalayan plateau was a marvel of breathtaking grandeur. They lost track of time as they traversed its cavernous halls, Guilliman's presence drawing out massive honor guards of Custodes.
Guilliman's inner thoughts tumbled in turmoil along the way. After ten thousand years, he stood within this palace once again. He knew not what awaited him—what had his father, the Master of Mankind, become? Was he still human, or... a god? And how was he supposed to face him?
As his emotions surged, his ragged breathing was suddenly calmed by the echo of Lady Euten's familiar voice floating back into his mind. His resolve hardened once more. Regardless of what his father had transformed into, he would cling to his conviction: the Master of Mankind belonged forever to humanity.
Alexei, meanwhile, spent the walk eyeing the towering golden warriors flanking the hall, his mouth practically watering. If he could somehow trick a Custodian back to Aiur and run a quick bio-scan on him, the genetic engineering tech far surpassing ordinary Astartes would be his for the taking.
Handing that over to Abathur for a bit of refinement might yield his own legion of Custodes before long. Just as Alexei was lost in thought, Guilliman came to a sudden halt.
Alexei stopped as well. They stood before an opulent, golden corridor illuminated by brilliant lumens. A deep crimson carpet stretched down the hall, flanked by vigilant Custodes. Every fixture here held enough value to purchase an entire remote star sector.
At the far end of the corridor stood a massive adamantium door. Beside it stood a Custodian Eagle Watcher, who struck the butt of his guardian spear heavily against the floor three times.
'Clang! Clang! Clang!'
The Eagle Watcher raised his voice, demanding in resonant High Gothic, "Who goes there?"
'What is this, necessary theatrical protocol?' Alexei's expression grew faintly amused. He found it hard to believe the Custodes failed to recognize a Primarch. However, the Shield-Captain leading their escort immediately reported the Primarch's identity in High Gothic, followed by Guilliman stating his purpose in kind.
The Eagle Watcher gave a firm nod, then pointed at Alexei while shaking his head. "Only you may enter."
Guilliman was about to protest, but Alexei cut in quietly from behind. "I'll wait out here." Having made it all the way to the threshold, he doubted the Emperor could resist inviting him in.
Guilliman glanced back at the Governor of Aiur, gave a single nod, and walked with heavy, deliberate steps toward the grand door. As he halted before it, the massive adamantium portals ground open.
The light within was mysteriously dim, obscuring the interior. Taking a deep breath, Guilliman stepped over the threshold. As the heavy doors sealed behind him, he finally set eyes upon his... father.
The Master of Mankind resembled little more than a withered corpse. His form was reduced to a paper-thin layer of skin draped over bone, sunken deep into the structure known as the Golden Throne.
The massive mechanism—filling his entire field of vision—hummed incessantly, its dense clusters of thick cabling throbbing as it drew power. A heavy, deafening hum filled Guilliman's ears.
The Primarch knew precisely what the machine was doing: it was greedily, voraciously siphoning his father's psychic essence, draining in every passing second enough raw power to hollow out an Alpha-level psyker.
For ten thousand long years, his father had sat upon this throne without a moment's reprieve, subjected to unendurable torment every fraction of a second. Guilliman slowly approached the foot of the throne, dropping to one knee in reverence. "Father... I have returned..."
Yet time stretched on in heavy silence, broken only by the rhythmic throbbing of machinery. Guilliman looked up toward the figure seated on high. Was the Emperor refusing to acknowledge him? He tried again, "Fa—"
Before the word fully formed, a terrifying phenomenon exploded through the chamber. The air boiled like liquid over a flame, and a blinding surge of psychic light—so vast it overwhelmed even a Primarch's senses—flooded his conscious mind.
The Emperor had lost the ability to temper the intensity of his psychic voice. A sea of discordant voices clamored from every direction. Guilliman strained with all his willpower to hold his mind together and piece the words together as the Emperor addressed him by countless titles at once.
He said, 'My last son.'
He said, 'Master of the Thirteenth.'
'Lord of Ultramar.'
'Traitor.'
'Savior.'
'Thief.'
'My last hope.'
'Tool.'
An avalanche of words tore through Guilliman's mind, twisting his features in agony. He heard every title his father hurled at him, calling out in a frantic, shifting tempest of fury, grief, relief, joy, and cold detachment.
Guilliman felt utterly lost. He could no longer comprehend what the Emperor had become, nor did he know how to respond. Unbidden tears spilled from his eyes as he opened his mouth to scream, only to find himself rendered mute.
The Emperor violently crammed information into his mind—demanding why the Great Crusade had failed to arrive in time, questioning whether the Secundus Empire was an act of treason, demanding why the Astartes Legions had been fractured...
Yet in the next breath, the Emperor praised the prosperity of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, extolling his loyalty and brilliance.
He detailed his grand designs, the future path for the Imperium of Man, piling the weight of all his hopes and expectations onto Guilliman's silent shoulders over and over again.
The Primarch gasped for air, wracked by unbearable agony as a storm of emotions boiled within him. Upon awakening, he had been forced to battle the forces of Chaos instantly; he had put down the uprisings in Ultramar, only to rush to Terra without rest. Even through ambushes, he had carried a glimmer of hope—hoping for answers, for comfort from his father.
Yet now, the Emperor offered no answers and no welcome—only an unending stream of demands, piling an ever-greater burden upon him.
'My finest tool... my last hope... my son... I place all remaining hope... upon you...'
Finally, Guilliman broke. He snapped his head up, eyes bloodshot, and roared in fury, "You never viewed me as a son! I was only ever a convenient tool to you! I have only ever had one true father, and King Konor was his name!"
As his roar faded, absolute silence fell over the chamber. The churning psychic storm vanished instantly, and even the mechanical thrum of the throne seemed to recede into the background.
Realizing he had lost control of his emotions, Guilliman immediately lowered his head. "...Forgive me, Father. I lost my composure..."
In that heavy, suffocating silence, the Primarch thought he caught the faint trace of a sigh floating from nowhere—a fleeting illusion, or perhaps not.
The Emperor's voice resonated in his mind once more, stripped of discord and agony, carrying a single declaration: 'From this day forth, you are the Lord Regent of the Imperium.'
'Rise. Leave. Let the guest from afar step before me...' The Emperor's voice drifted away, and the mechanical hum of the room returned to full force.
Guilliman slowly rose to his feet. He looked up in silence at the frail, terribly diminished figure seated upon the Golden Throne—a form that bore no resemblance to the towering, glorious Emperor of old.
"I understand... I will do everything within my power," Guilliman said quietly, bowing his head before turning toward the exit. Standing before the sealed doors, his mind churned with everything just conveyed to him—the blueprints for the Imperium's future, the hopes for humanity, the burdens placed on his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he made a silent vow: 'I... will not let anyone down.'
Alexei remained at the entrance of the corridor, waiting patiently. The surrounding Custodes kept a watchful eye on this mysterious mortal, intent on safeguarding the Palace from any potential threat.
At long last, the massive adamantium doors ground open. Guilliman's imposing form reemerged into view, his expression restored to its usual calm, as though nothing extraordinary had transpired within.
He murmured a brief command to a nearby Custodian. The guard bowed respectfully, executing the order without a shadow of doubt, as if prior instructions had already been received.
With swift, measured strides, the Custodes moved past the Governor of Aiur. Alexei knew that at this moment, Guilliman had officially assumed the absolute pinnacle of power within the Imperium—a new leader had stepped forth.
Watching the Primarch approach, Alexei stood his ground. Guilliman paused before him and spoke softly, "You were right. The Emperor wishes to see you. Go on inside; he is waiting."
Alexei gave a calm nod, then walked toward the adamantium doors under the gaze of those present.
Guilliman watched Alexei disappear into the dim chamber. Only when the doors swung shut did he turn to leave. 'Governor of Aiur, perhaps you are the true hope after all.'
Inside the chamber, Alexei gazed up at the figure resting atop the massive apparatus. Amidst the hum of machinery, he walked with steady steps to the base of the throne.
He offered a respectful bow to the Emperor of Mankind, then stood quietly observing the withered form, confident the Emperor would be the one to break the silence.
After a long stretch of quiet, a vast wave of energy surged through the room once more. Alexei stood unbothered amidst the wild psychic gale—a pressure far exceeding the intensity that had caused Guilliman such agony.
Yet the Governor of Aiur remained entirely composed at the base of the throne. Alexei sensed a subtle shift, as if the Emperor were manifesting something. Before long, the psychic storm subsided.
Alexei looked toward the side of the throne in surprise. A figure had materialized there—a tired-looking, middle-aged man with deep bronze skin. He stood slightly shorter than Alexei himself, his dark hair reaching just past his neck, with messy, wavy strands adding to his weary appearance.
Dressed in a simple linen tunic, the man walked slowly toward Alexei, his deep eyes reflecting a complex mix of emotions.
Halting before Alexei, he spoke softly, "Greetings, guest from afar. We have met before."
Alexei stared at the man in surprise, asking tentatively, "A fragment of your humanity?"
The fragment of the Emperor's humanity nodded. "We used our psychic power to separate a single soul fragment," he said, casting a backward glance at the withered body on the throne. "We all agreed to it."
Alexei's brow twitched faintly. 'We? The Emperor really is suffering from split personalities...'
The Emperor spoke again, "I cannot remain out here for long. Your previous encounter was an anomaly; if I develop a reluctance to return, things can go wrong very quickly."
"Very well. So, why have you summoned me?" Alexei asked with a sigh.
"I have been watching you ever since that encounter. I have seen everything you have done..." the fragment said.
'So I've been spied on this whole time...' Alexei thought dryly. After a short pause, he asked, "Are you here to hold me accountable, then?"
"No," the man replied, shaking his head. "I know you are not human."
"Perhaps," Alexei said after a moment's reflection. "Or perhaps it isn't quite that simple?"
A faint smile touched the middle-aged man's lips. "I do not believe a mere human could absorb fragments of the C'tan. Yet the humanity you possess exceeds that of most humans. You pity the weak, aid your friends, despise your foes, and hold firm to your convictions."
"Fair enough. And your point?" Alexei asked, looking at the fragment.
"I wish to strike a bargain with you," the man stated calmly. "As I suspect you already know, buried deep within Mars lies a powerful C'tan shard belonging to an extraordinarily formidable Star God."
"I defeated and sealed him there long ago," the fragment continued. "So long as you promise to assist Guilliman and aid humanity, I agree to bestow that C'tan shard upon you."
A look of genuine surprise crossed Alexei's face. "Are you not worried I might break my word?"
"I have observed you for a decade. You are not that sort of person," the man replied with a slight smile.
"And what if I refuse to follow Guilliman's orders?"
"I do not care."
"What if I set up my own realm later and turn against the Imperium?"
"I do not care."
"What if I—"
"I do not care," the Emperor interrupted, gazing deeply at the Governor of Aiur. "So long as humanity secures a new future, nothing else matters to me."
The Emperor turned, stepping back toward the throne, his voice echoing clearly in Alexei's ears.
"I have walked among mortals since the dawn of humanity. I have been a king, I have been a thief; I have witnessed the most noble heights of human nature, and its most vile depths. I have watched over humanity from the moment we first looked up at the stars, through the era when countless warships conquered the galaxy, down to this moment where I sit as a decaying corpse stepping closer to death."
Stopping beside the throne, the Emperor looked upon his withered, paper-thin body. "I believed in this species. I wanted to lead humanity back to its golden zenith, but I failed. Humanity today is sliding irreversibly into the abyss—a fate even the return of my sons cannot alter, barring a miracle."
He turned his gaze back to Alexei. "Your appearance granted me a glimmer of possibility, though I know not whether you can truly save humanity..."
Alexei paused for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle. "Who knows? Perhaps I am the sole miracle in the destiny of mankind."