On the Homeworld, two veterans watched the assembled "Neophytes" with deep regret.
"Hudson, how long has it been since your Black Carapace fully healed?"
"Reporting, approximately nine years, eight months, nineteen days, and twenty Terran hours."
The Transport Craft's engines roared overhead. It slowed gradually, preparing to land on the platform behind the veterans.
"You are full of life, with promising futures ahead of you. Unfortunately, the enemy won't wait for us to grow stronger. You are about to join a war that will decide humanity's fate. The destiny of every human in the galaxy may be rewritten. We must give it everything we have. Perhaps only ten of us will return after this battle, or five, or none at all. But we must go. This is precisely what we were born for."
The Neophytes showed no hesitation. Most were Terran, elites selected from the most loyal worlds of the Solar Sanctum. They would never hesitate to serve the Emperor.
"Captain, who is our enemy?"
"I don't know."
???
"This isn't a distress signal from our Chapter's main force. It's a summons. Only a main force carrying large numbers of psykers, or a sufficiently powerful Primaris Librarian, can issue one. It is only activated in a war that could decide the fate of all humanity, because the price of activating it is death. We have only the coordinates, and all we need to do is reach them."
"But... Captain, couldn't this be a trap?"
"A trap? Hahahaha!" Both veterans laughed heartily. The Transport Craft settled onto the platform, and the steam released as its hatch opened obscured their faces.
"Come on, greenhorns. Let me show you what the Emperor's contingency plans look like."
The same scene played out on the Homeworlds of other Chapters. The Neophytes Guilliman had sent