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Roboute Guilliman surveyed the gathered commanders, his piercing gaze scanning the hardened warriors before him. A faint smile crossed his lips, though it carried the weight of the Imperium's suffering.
The Great Rift had sundered the galaxy, leaving humanity teetering on the precipice of annihilation. From the howling abyss of the warp, nightmares born of the Long War surged forth—Daemon legions, warbands of the Lost and the Damned, and horrors dredged from the blackest depths of Old Night. The Imperium was dying, its domains aflame, its people paralyzed by fear and despair.
Yet, in this darkest hour, these men and women—those who stood before him now—were the final bastion against oblivion. Where bureaucrats wallowed in corruption and planetary governors trembled in cowardice, they had stepped forward to bear the burden of mankind's survival.
"It is good that we can meet here."
Guilliman's voice, powerful and unwavering, carried across the vast chamber without the need for amplification. It reached every ear, every heart.
"Our race faces an unparalleled crisis. The fall of Cadia was merely the beginning. The darkness gathers, greater than ever before. Humanity stands one step from extinction. The Great Rift has torn our empire apart, trapping countless worlds in catastrophe. At this moment, our duty has never been more critical."
His words hung heavy in the air, pressing upon them the enormity of their task.
"To preserve the Imperium, reforms are not an option—they are a necessity. In Ultramar, we have proven that the people's faith can be rekindled, that stability can be restored, that the tide can be turned. We must bring this change to the wider Imperium.
"But there are those who will resist. Those who cling to power for their own gain. Those who place their self-interest above the survival of mankind. They will oppose you. And worse still, the Chaos Gods will not sit idly by as we attempt to rebuild. They will whisper in your ears, tempt you, deceive you. They will seek to lead you astray.
"So I ask you, when that moment of doubt comes, when your resolve is tested—remember why you fight.
"Do you seek glory, to hear your name sung in triumph? Do you crave the adulation of victory? Or do you fight for something greater—for the families who depend on you, for the father whose legacy must not be lost, for the dream he could not complete?"
Guilliman paused, letting the words settle, letting the fire of conviction take hold. Then, he spoke once more, his voice like iron.
"Whatever led you to this path, today, I ask you to fight for humanity. Fight for the Imperium. Fight to honor my father's vision and ensure it does not die with us."
His final words echoed through the chamber.
"I, Roboute Guilliman, Regent of the Imperium and Lord of Ultramar, stand with you."
A storm of voices erupted in response. The chamber shook with the thunderous cheers of Imperial commanders, battle-hardened warriors, and unyielding Space Marines. The vox-speakers crackled as the deafening chorus of Astartes war cries joined the uproar.
Guilliman allowed the moment to stand before proceeding. The war council had not been convened for debate—he had already mapped out the course of action with the aid of First Captain Cato Sicarius, Magos Dominus Belisarius Cawl, and his other trusted strategists. This meeting was to ignite resolve, to steel their hearts for the trials ahead.
The Plan of War
The mission was clear: the Charadon sector, long a crucible of conflict, would be brought firmly under Imperial rule. Xenos filth—Necrons, Orks, and lesser renegade human factions—infested the region, waging endless skirmishes. Guilliman had no patience for prolonged engagements. This war would be swift, decisive, and total.
A vast hololithic projection shimmered into existence above the assembled commanders, mapping the sector's myriad war zones. Star systems blinked with strategic markers, detailing troop deployments, logistical hubs, and enemy strongholds.
Guilliman assigned commands with machine-like precision, ensuring a single, overwhelming strike that would crush all opposition. The gathered officers absorbed their orders with solemn determination. The Imperium did not have the luxury of half-measures.
The council concluded swiftly, but as the commanders departed, Guilliman's voice cut through the departing murmurs.
"Amarich. Celestine. Clovis. Remain."
The three figures exchanged uncertain glances before stepping forward.
A Secret Directive
As the chamber emptied, Guilliman's expression darkened. His voice, though steady, carried the weight of unspoken burdens.
"I have a task for you. One of utmost importance."
Amarich, his veteran features etched with curiosity, nodded. "What is it, my lord?"
Guilliman's gaze swept across them. "You are all aware that the Emperor's Astronomican no longer pierces the Great Rift. The Dark Imperium remains shrouded, adrift without the light of the Golden Throne. Warp travel is perilous. Worse still, my traitorous brother, Magnus, lurks in those blackened stars, scheming to erect his own twisted empire of sorcery."
The three nodded grimly. Clovis, ever the pragmatist, was the first to speak. "What must be done?"
Guilliman raised a hand, summoning a new projection. A planet emerged, rotating slowly in the void.
"Pharos."
Celestine furrowed her brow. "A colonial world. Low development."
Guilliman's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes. But it harbors something… more. A device—an ancient lighthouse, not of human origin."
Clovis' expression hardened. "Xenos technology."
Guilliman anticipated his reaction. "It is knowledge. Knowledge we once wielded, ten thousand years ago. During the darkest days of the Heresy, when the Astronomican flickered and the warp storms raged, I activated this device. It allowed me to reach Sanguinius and Lion El'Jonson. It allowed us to rally against the Warmaster's rebellion."
He did not mention the Second Imperium. Some truths were best left buried.
"A research team has already been dispatched," he continued. "Their task is to study and replicate this technology. If successful, we can construct new beacons across the Imperium Nihilus, guiding our ships safely through the void. But the Chaos Gods will not sit idle. Magnus will not sit idle. He will seek to claim or destroy it."
Clovis remained silent for a long moment, then exhaled sharply. "And you wish for us to safeguard it."
"Yes. Until our scientists have extracted all they can. Until the knowledge is ours."
Clovis hesitated. "Using alien technology…"
Guilliman's eyes bore into him. "Would you rather let billions of Imperial citizens perish in darkness? Do not let stubborn dogma blind you. Knowledge belongs to no one race. It exists to be wielded."
The silence stretched.
Then, Clovis nodded.
"Very well. We will hold Pharos."
A rare smile touched Guilliman's lips. "Then make ready. You leave at once."
A New War Begins
Three days later, as the Imperial war machine mobilized for the Charadon campaign, another fleet departed in secret.
Its destination: Pharos.
Its purpose: to reclaim the light in the darkness.
And in the shadows of the warp, Magnus the Red watched, waiting.
For the battle had already begun.