Opening
By the Emperor's command, the Imperial Marshal activated the mysterious device. It emitted a faint, eerie green glow, confirming the identities of those present. Once activated, the machine projected images—but to the assembly's surprise, it displayed not moving images, but lines of cryptic text:
A long howl under the moon, the shepherd is long dead.
Azure scales and snake armor, reality and illusion indistinguishable.
Six wings woven together, loyalty held firmly.
The shame of hypocrisy, even purity is lost.
Vanity and arrogance, rekindled in the flames.
Clad in sturdy armor, a heart like crystal.
Ten thousand years of wind and frost, the stubborn stone endures.
The fierce wolf and the steed, gone forever.
Ominous signs avoid the eye, angels with broken wings.
The nail of slaughter is driven into the brain, all things are vanity.
Truth is false, the holy image is covered in dust.
The wise act foolishly, the wicked son brings disaster.
Immortal and indestructible, the power of seven hammers.
Friends and family are gone, never to return.
Flesh and blood, souls offered to the Lord.
Dawn turns to dust, the throne to withered bones.
The gathered Primarchs and their warriors fell silent. Enhanced by their genetic design, they immediately began to parse the meaning, their minds working with both awe and unease.
Perhaps sensing the tension, the Khan broke the silence with a nervous chuckle. "Hah… what nonsense is this? Anyone from Fenris could write better, don't you agree, Chagatai?"
Ruth, ever contemplative, merely sighed, turning his attention back to the wolf-brother beside him. "Perhaps," he muttered.
"Perhaps? You don't really believe this, do you?"
"Why not?" Ruth replied calmly. "Perhaps in the near future, these words may prove accurate."
From the shadows, a figure clad in lightning-patterned armor stepped forward. "Reality, not fantasy," he said in a high Gothic tongue. "The future is inevitable. When disaster comes, all will burn. The Imperium will decay, and the galaxy with it!"
The figure's voice escalated, and with a motion, his Lightning Claw ignited, arcs of pale blue energy crackling across the blades of his weapons. Dorn immediately drew Stormfang, and the surrounding Astartes and Imperial Guard warriors went to full alert, weapons raised.
The purple-robed Fulgrim stepped forward, his voice calm. "Conrad, you've seen these visions before. Breathe. Once this ends, speak with me. We can work through this—together, with Gorgon if needed."
Conrad hesitated, then slowly deactivated his weapon. Past teachings and trust in his brother tempered his anger. Fulgrim gave a silent nod of respect, understanding the choice made.
Even Malcador could not mask his apprehension. "Do you truly think this was wise, Father?"
The Emperor's gaze remained steady. "Patience, Malcador. This device presents an opportunity to confront the truth. We must act now, for time is never on humanity's side."
Horus, observing closely, asked, "Father, the galaxy is largely conquered, banners fly over countless worlds. Why concern yourself so greatly with the future? What could threaten the Imperium now?"
The Emperor paused, measuring his words. "Many of you harbor resentment toward me. Some is deserved, most is not yet understood. I have kept certain truths from you to safeguard both you and humanity. This galaxy is not as secure as it seems."
Then, with deliberate clarity, he addressed his eldest son. "Horus, you are my firstborn, my centaur. My expectations are high, but your duty is clear. What follows will answer many of your questions. Now, we proceed."
Even Angron, volatile as ever, tempered his fury in response to this rare candor, though the visible favoritism toward Horus stirred unease among the others. In the heavy silence, they turned their attention back to the projector, prepared to witness the revelations that awaited them.