The year spoken in Sage Olliel's faintly crackling binary voice detonated like a Melta Bomb in the mind of the Custodian Aurellion.
M42? Twelve thousand years later?!
The solid ground beneath his feet seemed to turn instantly to quicksand, threatening to swallow him and the Sons of War behind him into the abyss of time.
Those two brief sentences tore apart the map of humanity in his memories, drawn by the Emperor's own hand and still being forged in blood and fire.
"The Emperor..."
Aurellion's voice carried a metallic rasp and tremor that even he failed to notice.
"My lord... is His Majesty the Emperor still alive?"
The compound lenses that formed Sage Olliel's "eyes" flickered several times, and the cooling fans inside his skull abruptly rose to a higher whine.
Although his metal-covered face could form no expression, a complex mixture of reverence, pity, and even a trace of barely perceptible awkwardness reached the five men present as clearly as invisible radio waves.
"By the Omnissiah."
"Since the Emperor was wounded... he has remained seated upon the Golden Throne on Holy Terra for ten thousand years. Through his supreme will and power, he sustains the radiance of the Astronomican, guiding Imperial Ships through the raging tides of the Warp and holding back the endless threats from its depths."
"Wounded... ten thousand years?!"
A Son of War gave a suppressed growl like a wounded beast. He instinctively tightened his grip on his Boltgun, his knuckles scraping against his Mark II armour with a piercing sound.
The word pierced their sacred understanding of the Emperor—the invincible ruler of the stars—like a Poisoned Dagger.
Aurellion abruptly seized Olliel.
"Are you making fools of us? The Emperor was wounded? Who could possibly wound the Emperor?!"
Deep within his glacial blue eyes lay the