He Remembered!
Guilliman spread his arms, and the blue-gold flames suddenly spread out, transforming into a pillar of light that shot into the sky.
The beam of light pierced through the void, through the stars, through the Warp, reaching Terra, reaching the Golden Throne, reaching the old woman who was praying.
Lady Euten knelt before the Golden Throne, her hands clasped together, her eyes closed, and her lips moving slightly.
Her voice was soft, gentle, and aged, but the power contained within it was enough to cause the entire Warp to tremble.
"O Emperor, protect my son."
Let him return safely from the battlefield, let him defeat all his enemies, let him—come back alive."
That was a mother's prayer.
That was a woman's purest, most selfless, and deepest love for her child.
That love is not powerful, not domineering, and not devastating.
But it is warm, it is steadfast, it is unshakable.
The Emperor answered her prayer.
The black sun trembled slightly, its golden light mingling with the blue-gold flames, amplifying the prayer amplified and amplified it once more.
It spread from the Golden Throne to Terra, from Terra to the Solar System, from the Solar System to the entire Milky Way, and from the Milky Way to the Warp.
Ms. Euten's prayer was like a faint, visible ripple in Warp.
But propelled by the combined Psionic Energy and the blue-gold flames, the Psionic Energy surged like a tsunami, shaking the entire Warp.
Layer upon layer, item by item, climbing higher and higher.
The waves rolled high, as if they could reach the edge of the the Warp.
Since the birth of the the Warp, there has never been such boundless maternal love.
The Four Chaos Gods stared silently at the blue-gold tsunami.
A complex emotion flickered in Khorne's eyes as the reflection of the ocean waves appeared in Tzeentch's crystal ball.
The withered flowers in Garden of Nurgle bloomed anew, and the mad music in Slaanesh's Palace fell silent.
The Emperor was delighted by this maternal love.
The black sun trembled slightly, and a rare gentleness appeared in its golden light.
The Son of War is empowered by this maternal love.
The blue-gold flames suddenly surged, and the pillar of light shot into the sky, illuminating the entire starry sea.
The Burning One was stunned.
He is C'tan, the embodiment of the Material Universe, and an insulator of Psionic Energy.
He could not sense the Warp, Psionic Energy, or any non-material existence.
But at this moment, he felt it.
He felt the blue-gold tsunami, the tide of maternal love surging from the the Warp.
It is not powerful, not domineering, and not devastating.
But it is warm, it is steadfast, it is unshakable.
It reminded him of a long, long time ago, when he was still a Chaos flame in the universe, when he had no consciousness, no form, no madness—that feeling of being embraced by some being.
He shook his head, banishing the thought from his mind.
He is C'tan, the ruler of the Material Universe, and the embodiment of destruction.
He doesn't need love, warmth, or any human emotions.
"Thank you, Mom."
Guilliman's voice was so soft that only he could hear it.
But the power contained in that sound caused the entire starry sea to tremble.
He felt the gentle waves lapping against him, like a mother's hand caressing his cheek.
Behind Guilliman, a rift in the Warp opened.
Generally speaking, for the entire Material Universe, the unfolding of Warp Rift signifies the fragmentation of the Material Universe Material Universe, and signifies its lamentation and anger.
Chaos demons will pour out from the cracks, corrupting, devouring, and destroying everything.
But at this moment, the Warp wave was not like that.
It was just a very small crack.
As fine as a hair, as thin as a thread, as soft as a sigh.
It lingered there for a moment, then began to heal itself through the self-repairing mechanisms of the Material Universe.
But before it healed, the waves within had already reached the Material Universe.
It was a cloud of blue and gold.
Formless and intangible, like thought, like drifting clouds, like the lightest thing in the world.
It is not powerful, not domineering, and not devastating.
It gently rippled around Guilliman, like a mother's hand caressing his cheek, like a father's embrace warming his soul.
Amidst this blue-gold mist, a figure is smiling gently.
She was an old woman, aged yet kind, her face etched with the marks of time, but her eyes sparkled with youthful light.
She was dressed in traditional Macragge attire and holding a thick photo album.
She looked at Guilliman with eyes full of pride, love, and a mother's concern for her son.
All the soldiers were stunned.
Whether they were Space Marines or Necrons, humans or machines, they all stopped what they were doing at that moment.
They stared at the old woman's figure, their eyes filled with shock, disbelief, and an uncontrollable hint of envy.
The Space Marines were stunned.
They were astonished by the Lord Regent of the Imperium of Man, who smiled amidst a blue-gold Warp ocean.
They sensed something ancient and primordial within that mist.
Those are human thoughts, those are the human soul, those are all of humanity's reflections and desires regarding war.
Those are Son of War.
Every Space Marines was acutely aware that Robert Guilliman was war itself.
It wasn't because he was good at fighting, or because he was powerful, but because he was the embodiment of the will of all human warriors.
It is the embodiment of all humanity's desire for victory, and the concrete manifestation of all humanity's understanding of war.
But for the Necrons, the feeling is quite different.
They gazed at the blue-gold clouds, at the old woman's figure, and at the warm, soft, and vibrant light.
Their processors were running at full speed, trying to analyze the composition of the light, trying to understand its meaning, and trying to extract some quantifiable data from it.
But they failed.
Because that's not data, that's love.
That's something they lost 65 million years ago, something they can never get back, something they can't even dream of.
Some of the Necrons muttered to themselves, their lips moving but no sound escaping.
Some of the Necrons squatted helplessly on the ground, their Necrodermis knees striking the ground with dull thuds.
They clearly didn't even have that advanced emotional simulation matrix, and their emotional system had completely died out over the course of 65 million years.
But at this moment, the remaining fragments of the Necrons's soul were filled with such pain and such lamentation.
They felt it.
Everything that existed 65 million years ago.
The warm sunshine, the gentle breeze, the mother's hand, the father's embrace, the child's laughter, the lover's gaze—everything has returned.
A Necrons knelt on the ground.
He covered his face with his hands, his Necrodermis fingers resting on the cold, metallic surface.
He wanted to wail, but he had no right to utter a sound of lamentation.
He wanted to cry, but his metal body didn't shed a single tear.
His processor was running at full speed, his emotional simulation system was sounding alarms, and his logic array was collapsing.
Then, he remembered.
He remembered everything.