Caliban Lion!
No light.
Absolute, all-consuming darkness.
This is the deepest, most Stasis Sanctuary within the Rock.
Since the Horus Heresy, ten thousand years have passed like flowing water, but time here seems to have been frozen.
The walls of the Lightless Stasis Chamber are made of solid Adamantium, hundreds of meters thick, with Anti-Psionic Rune Stones excavated from the ruins of Caliban's home planet embedded in the inner layer.
There was no alternation of day and night, no sound vibrations, and even the Whisper of the Warp were blocked by layers of barriers.
Only the Watchers in the Dark.
Those silent, short, mysterious creatures shrouded in dark cloaks.
Like an unchanging sculpture, they surround the slumbering coffin at the center of the secret chamber.
They have not moved or closed their eyes for thousands of years; only the occasional faint blue light shining from beneath their cloaks proves their continued vitality.
Within the coffin lies a legend.
Lion Johnson, the First Primarch, the Gene-Father of the Dark Angels Legion, the Lion of Caliban.
Ten thousand years ago, he was severely wounded in a life-or-death battle with his nemesis Konrad Curze and was forced into a quiescent sleep.
The Imperium officially declared him dead, but the Dark Angels have guarded this secret for generations.
Waiting for the "return" that was never spoken of but never abandoned.
The air was filled with the subtle fragrance of healing essential oils and the faint glow of tranquil Warp energy.
The roots of the Caliban Ancient Tree.
Those sacred relics that were the only ones preserved from the destroyed home planet.
Like blood vessels, they coiled around the coffin, sustaining the faint pulse of life within in some incomprehensible way.
The Emperor's sacred emblem is inlaid in the center of the dome, emitting a faint golden glow as it has for millennia.
Then--
At one moment, the faint light suddenly trembled.
It wasn't a change in light, but a deeper tremor originating from the boundary between Warp and the Material Universe.
The Watchers in the Dark simultaneously raised their heads, and the eerie blue light beneath their cloaks suddenly intensified!
Inside the coffin, the First Primarch, which had been sleeping for ten thousand years, was "dreaming."
No, it's not a dream.
That's Warp.
Lion Johnson's "consciousness" drifts in endless Chaos.
He no longer remembers who he is or where he came from.
All I knew was that I was a dying spark, the last Mars of a flame about to be extinguished.
Drifting along in this vast ocean of distorted emotions and broken realities.
All around were endless Whisper of madness and countless horrific sights.
It is an illusion composed of the "echoes" of Primarch- level beings that even Chaos Gods are too lazy to devour.
suddenly--
His gaze was drawn to a ray of light.
The light, a blend of blue and gold, shone like a lighthouse in this gray Chaos.
Amidst the light, a figure was engaged in battle.
No, that wasn't a battle, that was a crushing defeat.
The figure was tall and imposing, clad in blue-gold Power Armour, with a scarlet cape fluttering in the Chaos air currents of the Warp.
His back was to Lion, so his face was obscured, but every movement he made carried an indescribable sense of power, as undeniable as the laws of the universe themselves.
He reached out with one hand, his five fingers like iron pincers, and firmly gripped the head of Peacock Demon was lunging at him, its body radiating a foul light.
That demon was a follower of Slaanesh, and every feather on its magnificent wings burned with a corrupting pink flame.
Its roar was enough to instantly turn Space Marines into a slave to desire.
But the scream had barely escaped its lips—
"Snap!"
The blue-gold figure clenched its five fingers together, and the Peacock Demon's head was crushed like a fragile eggshell!
The tainted Psionic Energy blood splattered everywhere, but it evaporated the moment it touched his body!
Another demon, shaped like a twisted bat and covered in barbs, swooped down from the flank with a shriek.
Its claws, sharp enough to pierce Terminator Armour, were like paper before that blue-gold figure.
He didn't even turn around.
With a casual wave of his hand, his palm slashed out like a knife!
"Laugh--!"
The hand chop was incredibly precise, slicing into the howling demon's chest, from the right shoulder to the left rib, cleaving open the entire chest cavity!
The demon's entrails, filthy blood, and twisted Warp Essence crumbled instantly before that pure cutting power!
The two Greater Daemon were killed in two separate blows.
Lion was completely absorbed in watching "consciousness".
He didn't know who it was, or why they were fighting, but every movement of that figure was like a brand, deeply etched into his last vestige of clarity that was about to be extinguished.
Those were soldiers.
A true warrior.
For the first time in ten thousand years, he felt this resonance.
Seemingly sensing his gaze, the blue-gold figure turned around.
Lion saw that face.
Handsome, dignified, with a kind of composure and power that transcends the mundane, like that of an ancient deity.
Those azure eyes pierced through the Chaos of Warp, traversed endless distances, and landed directly on his fading consciousness.
Then--
A smile appeared on that face.
A gentle smile, like that of an old friend reunited.
Welcome back, brother.
The sound pierced through all the noise in the Warp and entered the depths of Lion's consciousness with perfect clarity.
Along with that sound, a terrifying Psionic Energy power surged forth like a tidal wave, completely enveloping, lifting, and propelling his extinguished "Mars"!
That was not an attack.
That was a summons.
That was an irresistible call to return home from the Material Universe!
Lion Johnson felt himself being "squeezed out" of this Chaos.
The power was so immense, so pure, so unquestionable that he couldn't even muster the thought of struggling.
He was merely passively swept away, like a withered leaf in a torrent, hurtling rapidly in a certain direction.
Towards the light.
Towards reality.
Towards...
Return.
The Rock, the deepest, most Stasis Sanctuary.
A golden light suddenly burst forth from the coffin!
The light did not come from the Emperor's Sacred Sigil, but from inside the coffin—from the body itself that had slept for ten thousand years!
Like a star ignited, golden Psionic Energy flames soared into the sky, illuminating the secret place, which had never been lit for thousands of years, as if it were midday!
The Watchers in the Dark simultaneously took a step back, their eerie blue light flashing intensely beneath their cloaks!
Their unchanging silence of millennia has finally been broken.
It uttered some ancient and mysterious Whisper, like a hymn, like a welcome, like a resonance of a wait that had finally been fulfilled after thousands of years!
The coffin lid shattered with a deafening roar!
An arm extends from the coffin.
The muscles in his arms were bulging, and golden light flowed beneath his bronze skin; every vein shone as brightly as lava.
It gripped the edge of the coffin, straining—
The entire coffin, along with its surrounding Adamantium base, was crushed to pieces!
Lion Johnson slowly sat up.
He was shirtless, his muscles perfectly sculpted like those of a classical sculpture, yet they contained a terrifying power capable of tearing apart warships.
His face was as resolute as a rock, with high brow bones, a straight nose, and tightly pursed lips.
It carries with it the majesty and pride of a "lion" that even ten thousand years of slumber cannot erase.
What's most striking is his eyes—
Those eyes slowly opened, and deep within their pupils, golden light danced like flames.
That was not the Emperor's Psionic Energy, nor was it any external gift.
Rather, it was the flame of life he ignited himself as the First Primarch, as the "Caliban Lion," and as the Father of the Dark Angels.
He looked down at his hands.
For the first time in ten thousand years, those hands felt the movement of air.
For the first time, I felt my muscles contract; for the first time, I felt my blood rushing.
He raised his head and looked at the slightly swaying Emperor's Sacred Sigil on the dome.
Looking around at those silent, yet clearly trembling, Watchers in the Dark, looking at this world that is both familiar and strange, ten thousand years in the future.
His lips moved slightly.
A hoarse voice, unused for millennia, slowly rose to the occasion:
"Where am I?"
The Watchers in the Dark did not answer.
They simply bowed even deeper, as if on a pilgrimage.
But Lion Johnson didn't need their answers.
Because the last scene from the Warp still lingered in his mind.
That blue-gold figure, that hand that crushed the demon's head, that hand-blade that cleaved the demon's chest, and that smile, that sentence:
Welcome back, brother.