Radiance Beyond Measure
As soon as he finished speaking, the wind and rain seemed to pause.
A young man could no longer contain the surging emotions within him.
He burst out of the crowd, holding a flag high in his hand.
It was a bright red flag, as red as blood, as red as flames, as red as the most intense rosy dawn before sunrise.
In the center of the flag, a golden Aquila symbol spreads its wings, overlooking the earth.
But above the Aquila's head, a blue-gold blade hung high.
That wasn't a sword; that was hope.
The new Imperium flag.
The son of the God-Emperor has returned, bringing with him a blue-gold hope, as vast as the sea of stars and as expansive as the Milky Way!
"Long live the Master of Mankind!" the youth shouted, raising his arms. "Long live the Thirteen Primarch!"
The crowd was set ablaze.
"Long live the Thirteen Primarch!"
"Long live the King of Macragge!"
Long live the Master of Mankind!
At first, there were only a few scattered shouts, but more and more people joined in, eventually creating a deafening roar.
The sound waves pierced through the wind and rain, through the palace walls, through the ancient stone walls that had accumulated over thousands of years, and rushed straight into the palace.
mortal.
Fragile mortals.
Ordinary people shivering in the wind and rain, yet still standing tall.
They stood outside the palace, not crossing the line.
But that surging emotion, like a raging fire, like a raging torrent, like the light of billions of stars burning simultaneously, rushed straight into the heart of the person sitting alone.
Guilliman looked up abruptly.
The emotion came crashing down on me like a golden storm.
Despite the raging wind and rain, the sky was not gloomy.
A bright sun hangs high in the sky, turning every cloud and every raindrop golden.
Every breeze is softened by it.
Every drop of rain is made intense by it.
True intensity.
Guilliman smiled.
He slowly stood up and walked to the edge of the platform.
He remembered what that person had once said—
"From the people, to the people."
"The people, and only the people, are the motive force in the making of history."
"A single spark can start a prairie fire."
He recalled the people who followed him when he was building his ideal world in the Five Hundred Worlds.
They are not Primarch, not Space Marines, not any Superman beings.
They are just ordinary people; they get hungry, they get tired, and they die.
But there is light in their eyes.
That is the light of humanity.
It is the light that enabled humanity to emerge from ignorance, crawl out of darkness, and struggle back from the brink of extinction time and time again.
This light has never been extinguished.
Even in the darkest of millennia, this light still burns in the hearts of every ordinary person.
They may not even know it themselves, but their very existence is proof of humanity's immortality.
Guilliman stood on the edge of the platform.
The Emperor remained silent on the throne behind him.
Not far from him, his brothers stood silently, their eyes following his figure.
Further away, Malcador held a cup of slightly cooled red tea, a smile he hadn't seen in ages appearing on his aged face.
Outside the palace, the Adeptus Custodes and Grey Knights stood solemnly, letting the wind and rain soak through their armor.
Further away, there was a dense crowd, a deafening roar, and countless eyes looking in this direction.
Guilliman took a deep breath.
He remembered what his instructor had said—
"The world belongs to you, and to us, but ultimately it belongs to you."
You young people are full of vigor and vitality, in your prime, like the sun at eight or nine in the morning.
"Our hopes are pinned on you."
He recalled the questions he had pondered countless nights: What makes humanity great? How can humanity achieve greatness?
Now he knows.
It wasn't due to genetic modification, steel warships, or Psionic Energy power.
Based on --
That figure that refused to leave in the wind and rain.
That light that refused to be extinguished even in dire straits.
Those eyes that still dare to dream in the darkness.
Based on --
people.
Guilliman took a step.
He stepped out of the palace's protective walls and stood on the high platform, braving the wind and rain.
The wind tore at his long hair, and the rain lashed his face, but his gaze was like a raging fire, like the blazing sun, like the flame of hope that has never been extinguished in the millions of years of humankind's history.
He opened his arms.
Raise it high towards the sky.
Then--
Long live humanity!!!
That sound wasn't Psionic Energy, nor any supernatural power.
It's just a human voice.
A voice from the heart.
But the sound resonated, it carried on, it pierced through wind and rain, through palace walls, through millennia of vicissitudes, reaching the ears of everyone, reaching the hearts of everyone.
The sound reverberated, soaring straight into the sky.
The clouds churned and flowed backwards.
A golden ray of light descended from the swirling clouds.
Hanging down above the earth.
It spreads indefinitely.
Where the light shines, the wind and rain cease.
That light was not the radiance of Emperor, nor the power of the Warp, nor any supernatural miracle.
That is the light of the human heart, the embodiment of hope, the flame ignited by millions of people waiting in the wind and rain, and by the one who shouted from the high platform.
The flames spread.
Beyond the solemn figures of the Adeptus Custodes, beyond the silent battle formation of the Grey Knights, beyond those who stood firm in the wind and rain.
Beyond the tears of the elderly, beyond the laughter of children, beyond the banner of youth.
Passing through every pair of eyes, every heart.
Sanguinius stood inside the temple, gazing at the figure in the light.
His eyes welled up with tears, but he didn't go out.
He understood what Angron meant—at this moment, that person didn't need company.
He needs to stand alone, face his people alone, and bear the Destiny he has chosen alone.
Angron stood behind him, the hand on his shoulder tightening slightly.
A look that had never appeared on the face of the Lord of Red Sands in ten thousand years appeared.
It wasn't anger, nor madness, but a kind of almost pious tranquility.
He finally understood what he was protecting.
It's not about a particular planet, a particular legion, or some vague and unattainable ideal.
It's a person.
It is everyone who struggles to survive.
Magnus picked up his now-cold cup of black tea and drank it all in one gulp.
His single eye shone with a light like the dawn.
He recalled the countless nights he had spent in Prospero, those days spent studying classic texts and exploring the truth.
He once believed that truth lay in books, in Psionic Energy, and in the mysteries of the universe.
Now he knows.
Truth is among people.
Malcador still stood beside the Emperor's throne, the cup of tea, now cold, still in his hand.
He didn't drink; he just gazed at the light outside the hall, and at the person within that light.
a thousand years.
He waited for a full ten thousand years.
Waiting for someone who can truly understand why Emperor fight, why they suffer, and why they sit here in solitude for ten thousand years.
It's not about becoming king or conquering.
It is not for eternal life.
This is for--
Human beings.
He lowered his head and looked at the Emperor on the throne.
Something seemed to tremble slightly on that gaunt face.
Something seemed to be quietly moistening in those eyes that had been dry for millennia.
Outside the palace, bathed in light, Guilliman slowly lowered his arms.
He stood there on the high platform, in the silence after the storm, in the golden light that descended from the sky.
He didn't speak.
He just looked at those people.
Those mortals.
Those fragile yet resilient, insignificant yet great mortals.
The elderly knelt down, the children knelt down, the youth knelt down, countless people knelt down.
But not out of fear, not out of awe.
It's because of love.
It's because they finally know that in the deepest part of the starry sea, in the coldest and darkest place, there is someone willing to fight for them.
Guilliman looked at them.
He recalled another phrase he had once said—
"We Communists are like seeds, and the people are like the soil."
When we arrive at a place, we must unite with the people there, and take root and flourish among them."
Now, the seed has taken root.
It will bloom into the most magnificent flower of humankind on this land.
The golden light continued to spread.
It spread across every inch of Terra, across every planet in the Solar System, across every world of the Imperium, and across every corner where people still live.
It wasn't about conquest.
It's not about ruling.
It's about waking up.
Awaken those hearts that have slumbered in darkness for too long.
Awaken those souls that have eked out a living in fear for too long.
Awaken those who have waited too long in despair.
Tell them--
Humanity still exists.
Long live humanity!
Humanity will be great again.
That night, Terra in darkness and storm.
That night, Terra shone brightly.