Solemnace

Guilliman stood amidst the ruins of Solemnace.

In his hands, he held that Stasis Field.

In the center, a woman sat quietly.

Her hair was golden, but it was already turning gray, and it fell sparsely over her shoulders.

Her face is etched with the marks of time, each wrinkle telling a story of a long life.

Her body was hunched over, and she held a thick book in her hands.

Her eyes were closed, and a faint smile played on her lips.

That's Tarasha Euten.

Mother of Macragge.

The grandmother of the Ultramarines.

His mother.

Guilliman's hands were trembling.

He reached out his other hand and gently touched the edge of the Stasis Field.

Golden Psionic Energy surged, and the stance shattered at his fingertips like thin ice.

Tarasha Euten's body slowly leaned forward.

Guilliman caught her with a movement as gentle as catching a falling feather.

She is so light.

Guilliman's throat tightened.

His mother was once such a tall and strong person.

When he was a child, she stood before him like a mountain.

Now, he is a four-meter-tall Primarch, while she, in his arms, appears so small, so light, so fragile.

Her eyes slowly opened.

Those eyes, cloudy and aged, still shone with light.

That was a mother's unique light, a light that would never be extinguished no matter how time erodes it.

She looked at the face before her, a face that was both strange and familiar.

Then, she smiled.

That smile was exactly the same as in the photo—content, gentle, and filled with boundless love.

"Robert."

Her voice was hoarse, like a withered leaf in the wind, "You've grown so much."

Tears welled up in Guilliman's eyes.

Golden tears fell onto her face, onto her hands, onto the photo album she had held for ten thousand years.

"Mother..."

His voice choked with emotion, "I've come to take you home."

Tarasha reached out, her withered fingers gently touching his cheek and wiping away his tears.

Her movements were so slow and gentle, as if she were touching a fragile treasure.

"Don't cry, child."

She said, "Mom's here."

At that moment, the Son of War vanished.

At that moment, the Imperial Regent disappeared.

At that moment, the embodiment of the Law of Eternity vanished.

Only one child remained, a child who had found his mother, a child who could finally cry out loud.

Guilliman knelt on the ground, buried his face in his mother's hands, and cried like a child.

His shoulders were trembling, his breath was choked, and his tears soaked her clothes.

A longing that lasts ten thousand years.

Ten thousand years of solitude.

A wait of ten thousand years.

Tarasha gently stroked his hair, the same gesture she made ten thousand years ago.

Back then, he was just a child. He fell in the wheat field and ran home crying.

She stroked his head and said, "Don't cry, Mommy's here."

"You have been imprisoned for ten thousand years."

Guilliman's voice came from her palm, muffled, "I have been asleep for ten thousand years."

I don't know... If I knew...

Tarasha shook her head. "You don't need to know."

You need to do what you're supposed to do.

Lead humanity, protect the Imperium, and unite your brothers.

She lowered her head, looking into his eyes, her gaze filled with pride. "You did it, Robert."

You did it.

Roge Dorn stood not far away, silently watching all of this.

He stood there, like a stone.

His face was expressionless, his body was motionless, and he even deliberately suppressed his breathing to a minimum.

He shouldn't be here.

This was Guilliman's reunion with his mother; it had nothing to do with him.

But he couldn't leave because he couldn't move freely yet—although the device that Living Black Rage had been removed, its residual effects remained, and his body was still recovering.

So he could only stand there and watch.

The Son of War had fought his way through the Necrons army, withstood the Hyper-Convergence Cannon, and forced Trazyn to his knees begging for mercy, was now kneeling before an old woman, weeping like a child.

Looking at the Imperial Regent who controlled the Law of Eternity and whom even the Four Chaos Gods had to be wary of, he buried his face in his mother's hands, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably.

Dorn's lips curled up slightly.

It was a smile.

It's very faint and light; you can't see it at all unless you look closely.

But for Dorn, this was already the biggest expression he could muster.

He is a stone, and stones don't laugh.

But at that moment, the stone smiled.

Because he saw something he had lost for far too long.

The warmth of home.

A mother's love.

He thought of his mother.

No, he has no mother.

The Primarch has no mother.

They were born in incubation tanks, created by the Emperor, and assigned to various legions.

They had no childhood, no home, no afternoons running through wheat fields and being called by their mothers.

They had only war, only mission, and only Emperor.

But Guilliman does.

Only Guilliman has it.

Dorn's gaze fell on Tarasha.

That old woman, that mortal, that most insignificant being in the Milky Way.

She cannot fight, cannot fly, and cannot live even for a century.

But she accomplished what none of the Primarch could do.

She gave the Son of War a name.

She gave the Imperial Regent a home.

She gave humanity its most powerful weapon—a human heart.

Dorn suddenly understood why Guilliman was so angry.

It wasn't because he lost a loved one, but because he lost the very thing that made him "human."

Without her, Guilliman would only be a Primarch.

A powerful, perfect, and cold war machine.

He became Robert because of her.

He became that boy who would turn around in the wheat field, smile, and say, "I'm here."

Dorn's smile deepened.

Then, he felt a sense of confusion.

Times are changing too fast.

While he slept, the Imperium was still struggling to survive, and the Space Marines were still paying a heavy price for every victory.

When he woke up, Guilliman had already led 2.5 million Ultramarines to crush the Necron Empire.

Those warriors he once knew now exuded an aura of authority comparable to that of the Adeptus Custodes Guard.

They can fly, teleport, and move freely in the vacuum of space.

Each of them could beat a thousand of their former selves.

One thousand.

Dorn watched the Ultramarines cleaning up the battlefield, observing their relaxed demeanor and even their slightly bored expressions.

He suddenly felt as if he had slept for ten thousand years, and when he woke up, he found that the world had become a completely different place.

Some blurry images surfaced in his mind.

Those were his memories from when he was controlled by the Living Black Rage.

He saw Guilliman, and the figure he thought was Horus.

He remembered his frenzied attacks, remembered Guilliman dodging time and time again, remembered that golden light.

He also remembered that Guilliman could have easily killed him.

Every time, if Guilliman wanted to, he could end the fight in an instant.