"The audience chamber is ready, my lord," Lady Euten said softly as she entered the primarch's office.
Thanks to the successful operation on Sotha, Guilliman had lit a brilliant beacon in the eastern galaxy. All surviving loyalists had been able to escape the Warp and eventually gather on the capital world of the Five Hundred Worlds.
As the only known primarch in the eastern galaxy who remained loyal, and the master of Ultramar, Guilliman had to personally receive the representatives who had weathered the raging tides of the Warp and followed the beacon's light to Macragge.
Guilliman straightened from behind his desk. A Servitor swiftly replaced the severely worn quill at his side, and the primarch smiled as he accepted a fresh laurel wreath from Lady Euten.
He bent down, allowing Lady Euten to place the wreath amid his golden hair.
"Go. Comfort those frightened, restless people. You are everyone's pillar now, Roboute." Draped in a pale blue shawl and wearing an off-white gown, Lady Euten stroked her son's somewhat haggard face.
The ruler of Ultramar bore the hopes of all the people in the far eastern stars. The responsibility upon his shoulders was immeasurably heavy.
"I understand."
Roboute Guilliman stood straight as a battle blade just beginning to bare its edge. His suit of armour was likewise adorned with many extravagant decorations, its gilded emblems making it seem more ornate than practical.
His gentleness had shown itself only briefly beneath Lady Euten's touch. Now, he was the lord of Macragge, about to receive and console the heroes who had endured countless hardships to reach this place.
Guilliman took a pristine cloak from a nearby rack and casually draped it over his broad, armoured shoulders.
Cloaked, Guilliman radiated an overwhelming regal presence—noble, majestic, impossible to look upon directly.
He carried