Late at night, Terra shed every illusion of artificial daylight, revealing its truest, deepest darkness.
Deep within the Imperial Palace, power conduits hummed like the circulating blood of a sleeping beast.
The corridors stood empty. Only the faint blue indicator lights along the foot of the walls provided the barest illumination, stretching everything into long, distorted shadows.
Through this domain ruled by silence, a towering figure crept along, deliberately suppressing every sound he made.
He moved slowly and lightly, the servo system in his power armour's joints set to its lowest output, almost silent.
Every footfall was precisely controlled, avoiding seams or decorations in the floor that might make a sound. He hugged the shadows along the walls like a trained infiltrator, rather than a Primarch who ought to walk openly in the light of day.
It was Roboute Guilliman.
The lord of the Ultramarines Legion, ruler of Macragge, was sneaking through the Imperial Palace's corridors in the dead of night like a thief preparing to steal.
His face bore no particular expression, only the slightly cautious concentration of someone about to perform a necessary courtesy.
He had just escaped a lengthy tactical review meeting. His armour almost seemed to retain the glow of projected star charts and the scent of dataslates.
His purpose was clear: to thank Lorgar in person.
For coming to Ultramar's aid, and for Lady Euten's safety.
During the day, there were too many prying eyes and too many duties to attend to. He had figured that a late-night visit might avoid unnecessary attention and allow him to offer this private yet vitally important thanks.
Rounding a vast corner decorated with an Imperial Aquila relief, he caught sight of the heavy door at the end of the corridor, embossed with the Insignia of the Word Bearers.