Before the Throne

Terra's sky was not a clear azure, but a murky halo shrouded beneath heavy industrial smog and the refraction of energy shields.

The air was thick with ozone, the pungent stink of low-grade fuel burning, and something deeper—a suffocating weight formed from the gathered despair of countless souls.

The once-glorious hive spires pointed toward the gray sky like rusted greatswords, while the chaotic clamor of the lower hives drifted faintly upward like a wound that would never heal.

The commander of the Adeptus Custodes personally led Guilliman and Obi-Wan Kenobi through a secret passage forged of Adamantium and inscribed with ancient anti-psyker runes. This route led directly to the heart of the Imperial Palace, bypassing Terra's surface hives, where chaos reigned and cults flourished.

The walls of the passage were cold and smooth, illuminated only by the faint blue glow of energy nodes and the light reflected from the Custodians' golden armor.

Obi-Wan walked calmly, with little emotion visible on his gentle face. Yet with every step, the depths of those blue eyes that could see into men's hearts grew a shade more solemn.

He "heard" certain voices through the Force—the cries of pain, hunger, chaos, and imminent collapse emanating from this planet's core.

Riots caused by shortages, cults born from shattered faith, and billions of souls plunged into despair after losing the Astronomican's guidance... This was vastly different from what he had imagined the heart of a galactic Imperium to be.

Guilliman's feelings were more direct, and more furious.

His towering body seemed constrained within the passage, and the blue-and-gold Armor of Fate still bore the scorch marks of the battle on Luna.

His face beneath the helmet was ashen, and his tightly pressed lips showed the rage he was struggling to suppress.

The Terra before him was practically a different planet from the sacred throne world he remembered from the height of the Great Crusade, beneath the Emperor's radiance!

The incompetence and corruption of the High Lords' Council, along with their whitewashing of the Imperium's condition, appeared especially glaring and unforgivable at this moment!

His clenched fists turned white at the knuckles, and even the hilt of the Emperor's Sword seemed to resonate with his fury.

"Regent," the commander of the Adeptus Custodes said as he stopped before an immense arched door covered in complex energy barriers and physical locks, his voice as level as ever. "The Marshal is waiting."

The heavy archway slid soundlessly apart, revealing a space even grander, yet even more oppressive.

The Throne Vestibule.

The space was so vast it made one dizzy. Its lofty dome vanished into the shadows, while colossal pillars supported structures that seemed to reach the heavens.

The air was heavy with incense, ozone, and an... indescribable scent, an uncanny mixture of sanctity and decay.

Energy conduits wound across the floor and walls like thick blood vessels, ultimately converging upon an even more colossal portal at the far end of the hall—the Golden Throne Gate, which radiated a pressure so immense it made souls tremble.

Trajan had clearly received some omen from the Emperor. He did not make things difficult for this foreign envoy, nor did he speak much with Guilliman.

Led by Marshal Trajan, Guilliman and Obi-Wan finally entered the Imperium of Man's most sacred and forbidden core—the Golden Throne Hall.

The sight before them was enough to shatter even the strongest will in an instant.

At the center of the hall stood that immense creation personally designed by the Emperor—the Golden Throne.

It was itself like a magnificent pyramid, flowing with rune-light that never faded. Layer upon layer of mechanical structures, too complex for mortal understanding, emitted a deep and eternal hum.

Yet at the heart of the throne sat... an existence.

It was difficult to call it "human" any longer.

A massive, shriveled body, covered in decaying golden armor and embedded with countless life-support tubes and neural conduits, like a specimen forcibly fixed upon the throne.

Its skin clung to bone like dried parchment, bearing an unnatural waxy yellow hue.

The face that had once represented supreme majesty now retained only sunken eye sockets, cracked lips, and twisted contours that seemed to embody pain eternally frozen in place.

Countless tubes, thick and thin, pierced deeply into His body like parasitic vines. They connected to the throne itself and to the massive psychic arrays deep within the hall's dome, which glittered like stars and sustained the Astronomican's projection.

Vast psychic power, enough to tear planets apart, was forcibly drawn from that withered shell like an inexhaustible torrent and poured into the throne. It sustained the Astronomican's light that guided humanity across the galaxy, while also suppressing the unhealing, horrifying wound beneath the throne that led to the deepest reaches of the Warp—the Webway Gate.

His very existence was a bridge between reality and illusion, order and Chaos, as well as the prison that bound Him for eternity.

The air was filled with an indescribable mingling of scents—the richness of holy incense, the cloying sweetness of rotting flesh, the bite of ozone, and the burnt stench of souls being eternally scorched.

Marshal Trajan stood beside the throne's base like the most loyal of stones. His golden mask concealed every expression, and only his clenched hands revealed the heaviness in his heart.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, the widely experienced Jedi Master, showed deep shock and compassion on his face for the first time, unable to conceal either.

His powerful Force senses surged toward the throne like a tide, only to be struck at once by an even vaster, more agonized, more... inhuman torrent of will!

It was not an attack, but the unconsciously radiated howl of agony from the life essence of the being upon the throne, amplified billions of times over!

Obi-Wan gave a muffled groan. His body swayed slightly, and his face instantly turned pale.

He immediately withdrew his senses, his eyes filled with a gravity he had never known before.

He understood. He understood why Guilliman had been so determined to return, and why the Imperium of Man had become what it was today.

This sacrifice, this eternal torment, was far more crushing than he had imagined.

Guilliman was as though struck by a heavy hammer, his towering body trembling faintly.

For ten thousand years, had his father, humanity's savior, guarded the crumbling Imperium through this eternal agony?

His teeth nearly shattered beneath his helmet. His fury toward the High Lords' Council and every factor that had led to the Imperium's decline nearly burst through the dam of his reason.

"Father..." Guilliman's voice was hoarse and dry, filled with indescribable pain as he dropped to one knee before the cold base of the throne.

At that moment, a voice sounded directly within Guilliman and Obi-Wan's minds.

The voice did not pass through their ears, but struck directly at the depths of their souls. It carried the cold texture of scraping metal, broken and intermittent, as though fragments from countless voices had been forcibly pieced together. Every syllable contained unimaginable pain and irresistible will:

"Ro... bert... you... have returned..."

Guilliman abruptly raised his head. "Father! I have returned! I will restore the Imperium! End this—"

"Listen!" A fragment of the Emperor's will brutally cut him off, carrying unquestionable urgency. "Time... is short... Warp... storms... never cease... Webway... wound... is... worsening..."

Broken images, cold streams of data, and desperate prophecies slammed into Guilliman's mind like hailstones!

The truth of the Great Rift, the source of the Astronomican's weakened light, the ongoing erosion of reality caused by the leaking wound in Terra's Webway, the Imperium's accelerating collapse under the pincer assault of Chaos and xenos... and... one cold, cruel conclusion: the Imperium's old, bloated, inefficient system of rule could not possibly withstand this catastrophe sweeping across the galaxy!

"The old... order... is dead..." The Emperor's will was like a cold wind scraping across the soul.

Guilliman's heart pounded violently. In an instant, he understood the Emperor's intent!

"You... Regent... only... hope..." The fragments of the Emperor's will carried an almost cruel resolve. "Granting... you... highest... authority... reorganize... Imperium... into... war... machine! All... resources... all... strength... only for... survival! Only for... continuation!"

A vast and merciless blueprint unfolded in Guilliman's mind: dissolve the High Lords' Council and establish a military dictatorship under his absolute command; requisition the resources of every star region and concentrate them against the primary threats; impose military rule and conscription decrees of the utmost severity; completely militarize the Imperium's entire social structure... This was wagering the future of an entire civilization on an endless, desperate total war!

"The cost... is heavy... but... there is no... other choice..." Within the Emperor's fragmented will seemed to linger a trace of nearly imperceptible... weariness and sorrow.

Then the fragments of the Emperor's will turned toward Obi-Wan Kenobi.

That vast, agonized torrent of will surged forth once more. This time, however, it carried scrutiny and... a faint, almost vanishing probe.

"Visitor... human... your... power... order... is different..." Fragments of the Emperor's will explored Obi-Wan's Force senses. "But... not... Chaos..."

The fragmented stream of information contained a preliminary analysis of Obi-Wan's power, an assessment of the ordered power displayed by the Hilling Empire, and an extremely subtle warning: "Cooperation... possible... humanity... unite..."

At last, the Emperor's fragments of will gathered again and became a cold, clear command, branded distinctly into Marshal Trajan's consciousness: "Trajan... witness... assist... Regent..."

Marshal Trajan's body shook slightly, then straightened even further, like a statue receiving its final mission.

He deeply lowered his head toward the throne.

The weighty information pressed upon Guilliman and Obi-Wan's hearts like mountains.

Within the Golden Throne Hall, only the eternal hum sustaining the throne remained, along with the silent, eternal pain radiating from that withered body.

The Imperium's fate was rewritten at this moment, setting it upon a road of war filled with thorns, sacrifice, and unknown darkness.

And the Watchers from the Hilling Empire truly glimpsed, at that moment, the Imperium of Man's deepest wound and most brutal choice.