Guilliman's vessel entered the Warp, and Calgar took over command. Guilliman slowly walked into Lady Euten's room.
"I have some things to consider. How long until we rendezvous with the main force?" Guilliman asked from the doorway, his voice commanding.
"Approximately nineteen Terran hours."
"Good. Get back to work." Guilliman slowly turned, entered the room, and closed the metal door.
Lady Euten wore white, a traditional Macragge garment used to welcome victorious warriors home.
"My lord, welcome... my lord!" Lady Euten cried out.
The instant Guilliman closed the door, he collapsed heavily onto the floor, gasping for breath. "Let me rest a moment. Just a moment."
The Primarch panted, his voice horribly muffled, as though blood and chunks of flesh clogged his throat. He had banished a Greater Daemon and countless Lesser Daemons, and even he had suffered grievous injuries. But he could not show it. He had teleported onto the bridge, where countless mortals watched him, seeing him as their faith and their hope. He could not fall.
Suppressing his injuries had likely worsened Guilliman's internal damage. Even a Primarch's physique, coupled with the power of a Living Saint, needed time to heal.
"Don't tell anyone, including the Apothecaries." Guilliman struggled to raise his great hand and gently stroked Lady Euten's head with one finger.
"I'm fine. I just need time to rest. Calgar is in command."
Lady Euten suppressed her panic and tried to make Guilliman more comfortable, but even with all her strength, she could not lift so much as one of his fingers.
In the end, she rested Guilliman's head on her lap, lifting the hem of her white robe to wipe away the grime and blood on his body.
She opened her mouth, then decided she must not trouble him now. Every question would make