In Ultramar, within the Fortress of Hera on Macragge, a towering, majestic figure sat cross-legged inside a tiny isolation cell. Guilliman kept his eyes closed, feeling the calm within his mind.
He had only just returned to Macragge. Though merely a few months had passed, a trace of exhaustion had already surfaced on the Primarch's normally radiant face. Even though he no longer required sleep from the moment he escaped death's grasp, the sheer volume of political affairs now consumed every second of his personal time.
During this period, he had begun to delve deeply into the current state of the Imperium of Man. However, Guilliman discovered that the Imperium no longer possessed a complete or accurate history. The records of the once-glorious Great Crusade era had scattered to the wind, ignored by all; even the calendar created by his father had not survived intact.
Whenever he attempted to investigate the historical truth of these past ten millennia, he found himself blocked by the Inquisition. All he learned were fragmented historical accounts proving that humanity had fallen into an unbelievably dark future.
He could not find even the slightest shred of reason within it. Boundless pain and solitude frequently welled up in Guilliman's heart. There were moments when, despite his unwavering belief in the Imperial Truth, he wondered if he was actually dead, trapped in an extreme, war-torn religious hell.
Yet, in the very next second, he would immediately snap clear-headed. Guilliman knew that the repulsive Chaos was waiting for his despair, waiting for his fall. But Guilliman merely looked upon them with contempt, just as his father had.
Even if everyone else chose to give up, as the sole remaining hope, he would keep pushing forward.
Thus, he immediately established an organization—one dedicated to gathering and constructing an accurate Imperial history for himself and the Imperium. Guilliman named it the Logos Historica Veritas.
Armed with letters bearing his personal seal, its scholars could enter every forbidden library and archive to examine all taboo pasts and histories. In the future, under his orders, they would travel to every corner of the galaxy to uncover the truth of history.
Guilliman rigorously handpicked every single member—those who possessed logic, restraint, perseverance, and honesty. Among them, the one who left the deepest impression on him was the Governor from Aiur.
That man had never looked at him with the fanatical, worshipful gaze others harbored. Guilliman despised such sickening religious adoration; he viewed himself as a human, not a so-called demigod.
The Governor from Aiur, however, was different. He would question him, point out flaws in his orders, and raise his own doubts and perplexities. Guilliman was more than willing to converse and debate with him. In this age dominated by ignorance, the rational were always a minority.
Currently, the Godblight was still raging across Ultramar. However, Guilliman entrusted the plague prevention duties to the Chapter's Apothecaries, leaving the administration of all Ultramar and Macragge in the hands of his most capable living son, Marneus Calgar.
Meanwhile, the Primarch himself would assemble a massive fleet comprising the Imperial Navy, the Ultramarines, the Auxilia, the Adepta Sororitas, and the Adeptus Mechanicus to launch a crusade to Terra. He would personally meet his father to seek hope and a luminous future.
Inside the isolation cell, Guilliman slowly opened his eyes and stood up, his massive body towering within the space. Reaching out slightly, he pressed the control switch. The doors of the isolation cell slowly opened, and the two Honor Guards standing outside immediately saluted him.
Guilliman nodded and walked toward his office. The xenos who had allied with them not long ago were about to leave, and he was going to see them one last time.
In the quiet corridors, numerous mortal scribes and clerks saluted excitedly upon seeing Guilliman. Before, they would have dropped to their knees and shouted his name, but after Guilliman voiced his distaste for such displays, no one did so anymore.
The Primarch pushed open the wooden doors ahead. The two Aeldari envoys had been waiting for a long time, while his adjutants were busily attending to state affairs.
Yvraine and Visarch bowed gracefully to the Primarch, after which she spoke slowly, "The stars are dimming, and the road ahead holds only endless darkness. Take care, Primarch. You have successfully cheated death for now, but do not grow arrogant."
Guilliman nodded. "It is a pity. If this crusade had your aid, it would be worth ten thousand armies."
Yvraine shook her head. "Our departure is set. There are still matters in the galaxy that require our attention. You have already received our gift—one for which many of our kin were sacrificed."
"I hold that close to my heart," Guilliman said with a touch of apology. "Yet, I have one question. Even though Cawl crafted this armor, he could not have awakened me on his own, could he?"
Yvraine let out a soft laugh. "His armor healed your physical flesh, but the true damage was to your soul. That you walk this world once more is thanks to the grace of Ynnead. Primarch, keep this in mind: do not attempt to remove the Armor of Fate."
Hearing this, Guilliman immediately pursed his lips, his brow furrowing as a majestic aura radiated from him. "Perhaps I should force you to reveal everything, if only to prove that I have not been touched by some unknown sacrilege."
The Primarch's words caused both Aeldari envoys to tense up. In the next moment, Guilliman's voice came again, "However, considering we just established an alliance not long ago, it would be improper of me to ruin it for personal reasons. I shall seek the truth myself."
Yvraine breathed a quiet sigh of relief, slightly relaxing her right hand from the hilt of her sword. "May victory crown your crusade, Roboute Guilliman."
"We shall meet again one day. Before fate converges, do not die." After offering their bow, the Aeldari envoys turned and left the room under Guilliman's gaze.
In the final moment before pulling the door shut, Yvraine stole a glance at the figure buried in administrative work. 'Perhaps fate has already shifted, even if we do not yet know it...'
Long after, Guilliman turned around to look at everyone hard at work. He walked over to one of the figures. "Lord Alexei, how are the fleet's preparations coming along?"
"They've entered the final stage. Everything is expected to be fully ready in two days," the Governor of Aiur said, laying down his parchment and looking up at Guilliman.
"Very good. My thanks to your hard work. On this crusade, you will accompany us—I require your assistance." After leaving those final words, Guilliman turned and departed.
"Inevitably, my Lord," Alexei's void-projection replied, smiling for the first time in a long while.