The voice faded. Many people had not even realized how astonishing the information in those words was. But as time passed and the soldiers quieted down to mull it over, they began to understand.
Some soldiers looked at the equally shocked and bewildered commissars and asked in disbelief, "Did it just say that the Emperor... that he rose from the Golden Throne?"
"I... I think so."
Their lips moved, but for a long time they did not know what to say. The Emperor was too lofty and too distant for them.
What was the Emperor?
He was the holy icon in the churches, towering and majestic, beyond desecration. An Emperor statue often consumed the finest materials and talent a world could offer. At its feet knelt worshippers, surrounded by countless incense candles set upon the white skulls of saints.
What was the Emperor?
He was legend—the Creator recorded in the scriptures of countless worlds, the one eternal ruler and true god of the Imperium of Man. Merciful yet stern, he watched over every mortal soul, judging whether they were worthy to ascend into the Golden Throne.
Such an existence had stood up. They could not imagine it, nor did they dare to. Some bolder soldiers could only picture the Emperor as far larger than a Space Marine, perhaps even as great as a Knight Titan or more. Then they draped him in magnificent jewels and surrounded him with layers of unbearable halos.
Such fantasies had appeared once before, long ago. People had argued over a man's appearance, saying he had a large head, a large build, and plenty of ideas. Yet when they finally met him, they discovered that he was not so different from most ordinary people. Thrown into a crowd, he was like water poured into a lake—impossible