The frigate that had escaped Solemnace was now sailing quietly through the cold of realspace.
On the bridge stood Horus Lupercal, the great Warmaster, the glory of the Imperium, and... the greatest traitor in the history of the Milky Way Galaxy.
He held a silver-haired, violet-eyed infant in his arms, clumsily wiping the drool from the corner of the baby's mouth with a clean white cloth.
"Gah." Baby Fulgrim seemed to enjoy the service. He reached out a chubby little hand and grabbed the menacing, single-eyed emblem on Horus's breastplate, treating it as some sort of teething toy.
The scene was so surreal and absurd that everyone on the bridge felt their understanding of reality teetering on the brink of collapse.
"Warmaster..."
At last, a voice broke the eerie silence.
It was Shield-Captain Valerian. His body, like a golden sculpture, took a step forward. The voice beneath his helmet was deep and commanding, devoid of emotion, yet a careful listener could detect a trace of barely perceptible... bewilderment.
"Where... should we go?"
The question struck like a boulder thrown into a lake, instantly setting off a thousand waves.
"Terra, of course!" Alcato, captain of the Imperial Fists' Seventh Company, all but shouted. He was a typical Imperial Fist: stubborn, resolute, with nothing but duty in his head. "We must return to Holy Terra at once! We must report everything we have discovered-the gene-seed, your return and... Primarch Fulgrim's-to the Throne!"
His words immediately met with widespread agreement. To these veterans of 30K, "Terra" was the ultimate destination of their faith, the beginning and end of all their loyalty.
"That's right! We must return to the Emperor's side!" The Blood Angels captain's eyes shone with fervor.
"We now have hope of rebuilding the Legions! We must let the Emperor know!"
"Silence."