This is the bonus chapter for reaching 500 Powerstones.
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The mag-lev train gradually slowed, gliding to a smooth halt at the platform of the central transit hub in the City of the Holy Anthem.
The moment the doors hissed open, a warm breeze swept into the carriage, carrying the rich scent of street food and blooming flowers. It was the vibrant, unmistakable breath of a living, breathing city.
Guilliman and Sanguinius stepped out of the train side by side. As their boots hit the platform and they looked out over what used to be a sprawling ruin, both Primarchs froze in their tracks.
Guilliman's eyes narrowed in sheer disbelief.
Sanguinius actually forgot to breathe for a split second.
The sight before them was a universe away from the war-torn, Warp-ravaged hive city etched into their memories.
The City of the Holy Anthem—a hive that had been practically wiped off the map during the catastrophe twenty-four years ago—now towered over the landscape in a way that defied all logic. It hadn't just been patched up. It had been reborn, grander and more awe-inspiring than ever before.
A pristine steel framework armored the kilometer-high spire. Sunlight glinted off the outer plating, giving the city a sleek, gunmetal gleam. Countless transparent observation walkways crisscrossed the hive's exterior like glowing veins. Through the glass, you could see a ceaseless flow of people moving under artificial lights that blazed as bright as high noon.
But the real showstoppers were the colossal holographic screens plastered across the hive's interior facades. Some of these displays were so massive they swallowed entire walls. Right now, they were broadcasting scenes from the Mid-Autumn Harvest Festival happening all over Aurelian. The feeds showed sweeping shots of golden wheat fields, plantation avenues bursting with ripe fruit, and kids laughing as they chased each other through the plazas of Dawn City.
Scrolling ticker text rolled beneath the vibrant imagery:
A full moon brings us together. Crimson Dawn wishes every Aurelian citizen a safe and joyous Mid-Autumn.
Hard work builds our home; hope lights the way back.
Wherever you are tonight, look up. We all share the same moon.
Down on the platform, the crowd was packed shoulder to shoulder. Today was a planetary holiday across Aurelian. Countless citizens had traveled from neighboring cities to visit family and friends, while locals gave out-of-towners grand tours of the resurrected metropolis. Throngs of sharply dressed people flooded the station.
Kids giggling, couples whispering, and street vendors hawking mooncakes and sweet osmanthus wine all blended together into a chaotic but heartwarming symphony. Delicious smells wafted from every direction. At the concourse shops, freshly baked mooncakes were stacked high on counters, their sweet and savory fillings steaming up the display glass. Skewers of meat sizzled on hot griddles nearby, while candied fruit glistened under the neon signs.
Surprisingly, nobody shot fearful or alienated looks at the two Primarchs or their power-armored entourage. Instead, as the towering giants walked by, the crowds naturally parted to make way. People offered warm smiles and polite nods, treating them like honored guests rolling into town rather than terrifying demigods.
At one point, a little boy—maybe four or five years old—tugged his hand free from his mother's grip and jogged right up to Sanguinius. Craning his neck to stare at the folded white wings on the Primarch's back, the kid asked in a sweet, piping voice, "Mr. Angel, your wings are so pretty! Can I get wings like yours? I really want to go up in the sky and look around. Could you take me up there? Mommy says my daddy is up in the sky."
Sanguinius looked down into the boy's bright, innocent eyes, completely at a loss for words. The child's mother rushed over in a total panic, blurting out apologies as she tried to scoop up her son. But Sanguinius simply raised a massive hand and gently ruffled the kid's soft hair.
"Not today, little one," he said, his voice incredibly soft. "But someday... maybe you will."
The boy flashed a wide, missing-tooth grin before his beet-red mother finally whisked him away.
Guilliman stood off to the side watching the exchange, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He turned to glance at Cogboy trailing behind them. "Governor Cage, what's the current population of this hive?"
Cogboy stepped forward, his mechanical optics whirring as they flared with light. "To answer your question, Lord Guilliman, the City of the Holy Anthem is currently the largest metropolitan hub on Aurelian. We boast a permanent population of roughly 1.97 billion, which spikes past 2.2 billion during peak travel seasons."
He raised a heavily augmented arm, pointing toward the gleaming spires catching the sun near the hive's peak. "The upper spire serves as the heart of Aurelian's military education. Seven of the top ten military academies on the planet are stationed up there. Every year, over a hundred thousand cadets graduate from those halls and deploy to various posts within the Dawn Defense Force."
He paused, a distinct note of pride creeping into his synthesized voice. "A great many of them are the orphans of the fallen. They take up their parents' mantles, stepping up to protect the very dawn their fathers and mothers died to secure."
Guilliman gave a slow nod, a flicker of profound emotion passing through his ice-blue eyes.
The group navigated the bustling platform and boarded an internal transit rail car. This particular train ran straight down the hive's central axis, slicing through the entire mega-city. Transparent walls gave the passengers a front-row seat to the blurring urban landscape outside. They zipped past packed retail districts, cozy residential blocks lit up like a sea of stars, deeply illuminated libraries and labs in the academic sectors, and the flawlessly humming automated assembly lines of the industrial zones.
Everything ran like clockwork. Everything was bursting with life.
At every stop, a completely different slice of life piled into the train. Fresh-faced cadets in uniform. Researchers clutching thick textbooks. Blue-collar engineers hauling toolboxes. Factory workers in coveralls, and exhausted parents wrangling toddlers.
Yet, despite their differences, every single one of them wore the exact same expression.
Peace.
Contentment.
Hope.
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