V3 Chapter 35: A New Crusade, A New Beginning
When the fleet re-entered the Macragge system, many other fleets were already holding nearby courses.
Those ships came from across Ultramar. Some were Astra Militarum transport fleets, others were Ultramar Auxilia formations, and several warships carried the markings of different Chapters, slowly adjusting position in the light of Macragge's star.
Most of them shared the same purpose.
Some had come to see with their own eyes the being who had until now existed only in legend and sacred icons: the true lord of Ultramar, the Lord of the Thirteenth Legion, Roboute Guilliman.
Others had come for the crusade toward Terra that was about to begin.
Guilliman had not yet given the crusade a formal name. In official documentation, it remained only a strategic expedition from Macragge to Terra.
Privately, some had already begun calling it the Dawn Crusade.
Others in the fleet, Ecclesiarchy personnel and ordinary crew members, used a more reverent term.
The Pilgrimage Crusade.
Everyone in the fleet understood this would not be a simple voyage back to Terra. Guilliman would lead the fleet to restore key transit corridors along the route, clear xenos and Chaos strongholds threatening the flanks and supply lines, and gather whatever forces still capable of answering the Imperial call could be brought together.
Until the fleet reached Terra.
Duvette stood at the bridge viewport of the Resolute as Macragge's main sequence star spread its light across the deck.
Golden light fell across the instruments and the bridge officers, bringing a brief quiet to this warship that had just come back from fighting. Duvette watched Macragge's outline growing clearer in the distance and felt something in his chest ease slightly.
Lady Tarasha Euten and Sergeant Amon stood behind him.
Over the past week, they had gained a basic understanding of the current state of the Imperium and Ultramar. Duvette had not put everything on them at once, but even the filtered account was enough to shake people from the era of the Thirtieth Millennium Legion.
What had surprised Duvette somewhat was that Tarasha Euten, after taking in the essentials, had shown only a quiet sadness.
She heard about the Imperial Faith, about the High Lords of Terra, about the breaking of the Legions, about ten thousand years of war and loss, and she simply sat in silence for a long time. Then she returned to composure.
Amon's reaction had been more visceral.
The atmosphere of ignorant fanaticism that now pervaded the Imperium, the reduction of greater Ultramar, the Thirteenth Legion broken into Chapters: all of it struck him like blows. He had belonged to the Thirteenth Legion, and now everything he recognised had been taken apart by time.
Tarasha Euten had settled him.
She told Amon that since Roboute Guilliman had returned, everything would start to change. Even if things could not return immediately to what they had been, direction would appear again.
Amon had accepted that, in the end.
Whatever circumstances Guilliman would have to face, he would stand beside him. Whether the Legion was still intact, whether the age was unfamiliar: none of that could change his position.
Tarasha had listened to Amon's answer and only given a quiet smile. She did not add anything further.
The bridge fell into silence.
Duvette raised one hand and pointed toward a distant shape that was barely visible as a small dark point.
"Look there," he said. "That is a Successor Chapter fleet. It should include a strike cruiser and several escort vessels. Further back, there are also battle barges."
Amon looked up.
"Successors?"
"Yes," Duvette said. "They share the same bloodline as the Ultramarines. After the Horus Heresy, the Legions were divided. Many Chapters were formed from the sons of the Thirteenth Legion, or founded from its bloodline."
Amon said nothing.
Duvette continued. "Several thousand years have passed for them, and they have developed their own customs, their own cultures, their own home worlds. That fleet comes from the Nova Marines. They are also sons of Guilliman."
Amon was quiet.
He looked at those barely visible shapes in the distance, as though trying to find something familiar in them. What he found instead were unfamiliar Chapter markings, unfamiliar fleet formations, and an age that had moved on by nearly ten thousand years.
Duvette did not interrupt him.
After a moment, he continued. "As Guilliman wakes, every Successor Chapter that receives word and can spare the strength will begin responding to Macragge in turn."
"Bloodlines scattered for nearly ten thousand years will come together again."
Amon turned to look at him.
Duvette was looking at the blue outline of Macragge in the distance, his voice even.
"They may not become the old Legion again. But under the same father's call, they will fight for the same purpose, standing together."
He paused.
"To restore greater Ultramar. To move humanity back toward the position it should have held. At minimum, that will be what Guilliman intends."
Amon was still quiet.
Duvette turned to look at the Astartes Sergeant who had come from ten thousand years ago.
"So there is no need to be lost, Sergeant," Duvette said. "Your father is still here."
After those words, Amon's gaze finally steadied.
He looked as though he had caught hold of something at the core of things again. The Legion broken apart, the Imperium unrecognisable, nearly ten thousand years gone: all of that remained heavy.
But Roboute Guilliman was still here.
As long as that was true, he knew where he needed to stand.
Tarasha Euten looked at Duvette.
She had noticed something familiar in this young General. Not in his appearance or bloodline, but in the will to press chaos back into order.
It reminded her of Roboute.
She gave Duvette a look that held approval and gratitude. Amon had spent these days struggling with disorientation and grief, and she had been thinking about how to reach him.
Duvette had done it for her.
Amon said quietly: "Thank you."
Duvette looked at him.
"I understand now," Amon said.
Duvette gave a small smile and said nothing more.
The fleet continued pushing toward Macragge's orbital plane.
The number of ships around them increased steadily. The orbital shipyards in the distance began to emerge in the viewport, enormous structures turning slowly in Macragge's orbit, lights moving between their metal frameworks as transports and shuttles moved among them.
The Resolute was guided toward a sealed docking bay.
Duvette had already received Guilliman's message before arrival. The Primarch would personally meet their return, and no public announcement had been made.
Docking approach signals arrived on the bridge.
Admiral Villent supervised the berthing procedure in person. The great ship slowed, the external docking arms locked onto the hull, and heavy vibrations came up through the deck.
Once the ship was secured, Duvette led Tarasha Euten, Sergeant Amon, and several Storm Troopers toward the docking deck.
The descent ramp lowered.
The light of the dock's lamps filled Duvette's field of vision. Ahead was a wide sealed corridor with Ultramarines Honour Guard standing in two lines on either side, the blue power armour arranged in precise order under the lights.
At the far end of the corridor stood a much taller figure.
Roboute Guilliman was in the armour of fate.
The blue-gold armour enclosed his frame, light moving along the chest plate and pauldrons. Calgar stood at his side, his expression more serious than usual, with several Honour Guard maintaining their watch.
Duvette walked forward.
As the distance closed, he saw the change beginning in Guilliman's expression.
The Primarch was making every effort to hold his composure, but his gaze had already moved past Duvette and settled on the elderly woman walking behind him.
Tarasha Euten also stopped.
She looked at the tall blue-gold figure, and for the first time the calmness in her eyes showed a clear shift. She did not speak immediately. She only gave the smile that Guilliman recognised.
Guilliman looked at her.
Reason told him that verification was still required.
Xenos technology, Warp deception, a trap constructed around him personally: all of it remained possible. As a commander, he could not simply accept a result that was too close to what he most needed.
But when that familiar old woman was truly standing in front of him, he already knew.
This was Tarasha Euten.
This was his mother.
That certainty did not come from any instrument or gene-test. It came from a child she had raised with her own hands, from the voices and the way of looking at things that had been pressed into the deepest part of his memory.
The corridor held complete silence.
Beneath the stunned eyes of the Honour Guard and Calgar, Guilliman lowered himself onto one knee before Tarasha Euten.
The loyal Primarch, Lord of the Thirteenth Legion, Lord of Ultramar, knelt before an elderly mortal woman.
He reached out his right hand.
When his voice came, it was lower than usual.
"Euten..."
He paused, as though much had gathered in his throat and none of it found a way through.
Then he simply said: "Mother."
Tarasha Euten looked at him, and a smile appeared on her face that came from somewhere deep and genuine.
She reached out and placed her hand lightly on top of his gauntlet.
"Roboute."
Her voice was quiet, but it made the entire corridor go still.
"My child. It is so good to see you again."
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