The door was slowly pushed open.
The moment Guilliman stepped into the Stargazing Chamber, his breath hitched.
Beyond the massive curved dome lay the magnificent and majestic sight of the "Tear of Heaven" nebula.
Countless stars flowed slowly within ribbons of colored light, like a silent cosmic epic.
Inside, however, it was as silent as a sanctuary forgotten by time.
There was no blinding golden light, nor any majestic divinity.
What Guilliman saw was merely a small figure dressed in a white robe.
She was sitting on a soft white carpet, clutching a crudely sewn but very clean rag doll in her arms, seemingly whispering secrets to it.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, she turned her head.
The moment those golden eyes, pure and without a single trace of impurity, looked toward him—
Boom—!
Guilliman's brain, belonging to a Primarch—this super biological computer that had processed billions of pieces of information—completely crashed at this moment.
An aura so familiar it made his very soul tremble submerged him instantly, like a silent tsunami.
It was his father's aura.
But it was also completely different.
In his memory, his father's aura was majestic, grand, and as blazing as a star, making one dare not look directly at it.
But the aura before him...
Was warm.
Was pure.
It was like the first ray of sunlight on an early spring morning, carrying a gentle power capable of melting ten thousand years of glaciers.
This Imperial Regent, who commanded half the galaxy and made countless worlds tremble, felt at a loss for the first time in his life.
He stood there stiffly, like a cold blue statue recently unearthed from an ancient tomb.
What should he say?
His proud, logic-driven brain whirred frantically, yet couldn't find a single appropriate word.
"Your Majesty"?
Saying that word to a girl who looked only seven or eight years old seemed utterly absurd.
"Father"?
He didn't dare.
That word was the deepest, most sacred, and most painful taboo in his heart.
He didn't even dare to think it.
For ten thousand years, he had faced Chaos Gods, confronted Xenos Overlords, and suppressed rebellions that swept across galaxies.
He had never had even a second of hesitation.
But now, in this quiet Stargazing Chamber, before this small, golden figure, the mental ramparts he had constructed of iron will and absolute rationality cracked for the first time.
Any mortal language seemed pale and foolish at this moment.
All the diplomatic protocols of the Imperium and all the majestic articles of the codex became laughable scraps of paper in an instant.
Silence.
A suffocating silence spread through the room.
Time seemed stretched to its limit.
Every second felt as long as a century.
Guilliman could even hear his Primarch heart thumping like a Warhammer.
Ultimately, it was that small figure who broke this frozen void.
Terrania didn't seem to care about the landslide-like inner storm within the blue giant before her.
She was merely curious.
She set down the rag doll in her arms and stood up from the carpet.
With her small, snow-white bare feet, she stepped onto the cold floor one step at a time, walking until she was in front of Guilliman.
She tilted her little face up, carefully and earnestly scrutinizing him.
She studied his face, which was like an ancient sculpture etched with exhaustion and the passage of time.
She studied the bottomless loneliness deep within his azure eyes—a loneliness he himself hadn't even noticed.
In her golden eyes, there was no fear, no awe, and not even any sense of being a stranger.
There was only the purest, most unadulterated curiosity.
Like a child looking at a familiar family member she hadn't seen in a long time.
Under the gaze of those pure eyes, Guilliman felt all his disguises being stripped away, layer by layer, without mercy.
The majesty of the Imperial Regent.
The power of a Primarch.
The incarnation of logic and reason.
The Conqueror of Ultramar.
The Guardian of the Human Empire...
All these heavy, glittering titles and masks shattered into pieces under those eyes, turning to dust.
In the end, only that confused, lonely, and exhausted soul named Robert remained.
A lost child who had spent ten thousand years stumbling forward in a dark universe, carrying a decaying empire on his back alone.
Terrania tilted her head.
In her small head, she seemed to be considering a very complex problem.
Then, in a soft, clear, and slightly puzzled child's voice, she asked the question that made the entire universe fall silent.
"Uncle."
She paused, as if confirming whether the address was correct.
Then, she continued.
"You..."
"Why do you look so tired?"
Tired.
One word.
The simplest word, spoken billions of times every day in the mortal world.
At this moment, it was like an invisible hammer forged from the weight of the entire galaxy.
Boom!
Violently, it smashed the final layer of psychological ice Guilliman had built with ten thousand years of loneliness and duty!
His body jolted violently.
Those azure eyes, which always remained calm and calculating, suddenly contracted to pinpricks!
Ten thousand years.
A full ten thousand years.
From the moment he woke up, all anyone saw was the Regent of the Empire, the Son of the Emperor, and the incarnation of Hope.
Subjects knelt before him, praying for his salvation.
Enemies feared him, cursing his existence.
Colleagues held him in awe, relying on his decisions.
No one had ever asked him.
Roboute Guilliman.
Are you tired?
This question was like a key forgotten for ten thousand years, instantly unlocking the long-rusted floodgate in the depths of his soul named "Emotion."
Endless exhaustion.
Bone-deep loneliness.
Grief over the betrayal of his brothers.
Anger at the Decay of the empire.
Uncertainty about the future...
All these torrents of emotion, which he had forcibly suppressed beneath the boulder of "duty" and were enough to submerge the stars, burst through the dam at this moment!
Guilliman could no longer maintain his imperial posture.
His tall frame seemed drained of all strength, and he took a slow, weak step back.
Thud.
His back hit a cold metal chair nearby.
He simply let himself sink down into it.
That hand, which had signed countless decrees deciding the life and death of billions, rose uncontrollably, wanting to grasp something, but ultimately fell weakly.
From his throat came the heavy, suppressed breath of a wounded beast.
He lowered his head, using every ounce of his strength to prevent that hot, unfamiliar liquid from welling out of his eyes.
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