Great Forest of Caliban

Facing Chaplain Azmodai's near-accusatory opposition, Lion El'Jonson did not grow angry.

He merely raised his eyes slowly. The absolute majesty of a Primarch lay within those emerald eyes, like Caliban's deepest forests, instantly swallowing all clamor.

"Chaplain Azmodai," the Lion King's voice was not loud, yet it rang with icy clarity, piercing the stagnant air, "I recognize your devotion to the Chapter's purity, and I know well the price countless sons have paid for it over ten thousand years.

But you must understand: clinging to doctrines unchanged for ten thousand years cannot meet the demands of a galaxy that has already changed beyond recognition."

He rose to his feet, his towering figure casting a heavy shadow as his gaze swept across every member of the Inner Circle present. "The Imperium faces a crisis of survival. We must gather every loyal force, regardless of where they came from or what labels their pasts have placed upon them.

To judge tragedies of ten thousand years ago through old eyes will only imprison us within self-imposed boundaries and make us miss the chance to strengthen ourselves and mend our fractures."

At last, his gaze returned to Azmodai, and his tone carried the weight of final judgment. "This is not a request. It is an order.

You will obey my will and personally oversee the retrial of every exile still held within the Rock.

The review will focus on two points: first, whether they have any indisputable ties to the forces of Chaos; second, whether their conduct during their long exile violated the fundamental principles of the Imperium and the Adeptus Astartes."

The Lion King paused, as though he intended every word to be branded into their minds. "Those warriors who pass the most stringent review, who are proven never to have fallen and