"Mm."
The low reply echoed in the empty hall like the lingering tone of an ancient bell, sweeping away the bit of levity Halsey's tease had brought.
The voice came from Samuel Young, standing at the center of the hall.
He wore a grand robe of deep black, Imperial dragon crests worked across it in gleaming gold thread. His tall frame, merely standing still, felt like the pivot of the universe.
Yet what clashed with the ease a celebration should carry was the way dozens of softly glowing hard-light screens "circled" around him.
On them, dense torrents of data, complex strategic star charts, real-time feeds from key nodes in various universes, and reports on resource allocation, social sentiment, and even Warp-energy fluctuation analyses flowed at dizzying speed.
Plainly, even on a "birthday" where the whole Empire rejoiced and his sons gathered, the supreme ruler of mankind had not known a moment truly free from the burden of holding the fate of countless lives.
Halsey seemed long used to such a sight.
She passed easily through the "curtain" of light and data, coming to stand a half-step behind Samuel Young, and dipped in a brief yet respectful bow.
Then she lifted her head, eyes roaming the dazzling screens. With her familiar dry humor, she asked:
"What made you suddenly decide on such a grand birthday feast? Your Majesty, as far as memory serves, you've never thrown something this 'fanfare-heavy' for yourself."
Samuel Young's eyes stayed on the scrolling feeds. Only the corner of his gaze slid her way—deep as a star sea and unreadable.
He did not launch into detail. He only stated, in a level, unquestionable tone:
"The Empire needs a celebration—to draw hearts tighter and deepen belonging. And with the Primarchs holding far-flung fronts, channels among the universes still need strengthening. This is a rare chance."
The answer was brief and practical—exactly how a supreme ruler thought.
Halsey dipped her chin lightly in understanding.
"Fair enough. Solid reasons," she said, her tone back to its usual cool.
Even so, without another word from him, she already saw the deeper layer beneath.
Day and night, this Emperor who bears the weight of the entire Human Empire shoulders alone the thoughts, prayers, pains, and the faint whispers of despair from the multitudes within his vast dominion. That load on his mind is beyond anything ordinary souls can imagine.
And his sons—the Primarchs—are for the most part forever on campaign or governing distant stars, hard to see often.
In this, deep inside, he may be no different in essence from any "empty-nest elder" longing for children under his roof, for the comfort of kin. The difference is only that he hides it well.
The only one who stays long at his side, whose steady presence can share a little of his solitude, is Vulkan—the Primarch famed for loyalty and the forge.
In truth, Samuel Young's motives were just that.
He does want, by "reaching into his own pocket," to raise the people's happiness and thus shore the Empire's base.
At his level, worldly wealth and power stir no flicker of want.
Perhaps, centuries ago, before the Empire, when he was still the "immortal mortal" heading Atlas on Old Earth, such things held some chase. Now they are smoke.
What he feels more sharply now may simply be the wish to look on his children, to witness their growth, to feel that blood-deep bond—and to draw a little consolation of the heart from this brief gathering.
Yet beneath the seeming peace of the feast, another current ran.
The "Omegon" and "Alpharius" present at the banquet were both played by twin Alphas, using their peerless skills of disguise.
Even their Primarch brothers had caught no flaw.
The real Alpharius and Omegon had already taken their Legion's finest infiltrators and slipped into the treacherous depths of the Warp on orders.
Their mission: to find and slip into the Warhammer 40K universe ahead of all others—laying the ground for future Imperial gates and a new wave of Unification—a vanguard task as dangerous as it was secret.
Other than Samuel Young himself and a tiny handful of Alpha Legion's inner circle, no one knew where the twin Primarchs had truly gone.
Then Samuel Young seemed to finish what he was handling. With a small wave, the hard-light screens scattered like fireflies in a gust, dissolving into pinpricks of light. The hall stood suddenly far more open.
He turned his full gaze to Halsey.
"How goes the Marker project?"
He went straight to it, voice steady and intent.
At that, Halsey's usual edge of banter fell away, replaced by rigor and gravity.
She took a moment to marshal her thoughts, then reported in clear, precise strokes:
"Your Majesty, we're into deep deconstruction and application.
We've reverse-engineered the Marker's information-encoding from the silicon matrix and, combined with Sisters of Battle psy-guidance, we've 'formatted' and 'reprogrammed' captured Marker units.
Early trials show that the modified Markers' signal emissions provoke strong 'rejection' and 'purifying' effects on common low-tier Warp entities—effectively neutralizing the chaotic fields they need to exist."
As she spoke, her fingers traced in the air—calling up a simple model of energy interaction by holo.
"The key is redirecting the Marker's innate 'material reconstruction' capability.
The aim is no longer gross, uncontrolled flesh-distortion, but directed 'orderly repair'—
for example, rapid healing of biological tissue damage, rebuilding tainted ecologies, even… attempting 'biological-level' cleansing of individuals bearing light Warp taint.
Risks remain, especially around psychic backdoors—we must weld those shut completely. But theory and initial in‑vivo tests on nonhumans and D‑class personnel show extremely high feasibility.
It's like a very dangerous double-edged sword. We are trying to forge an absolutely reliable hilt—turning it from a source of corruption into a weapon against Chaos."
Her report laid out gains and hazards and the road ahead—without inflation or omission.
She ended: "Based on this work, we've built three prototype 'Order Markers.'
One sits in Earth‑20's highest-level isolation research complex. The other two are in deep underground labs on Saint Shield 7 in universe 20—under the Diwuzu elites of Sui Meng's command and the tightest energy wards."
Her tone shifted, cautious:
"We've not run any full-power activation tests yet. In theory it all holds—but once an Order Marker's field fully unfolds, its unique energy—directly opposed to the Warp's chaos—is likely to flare like a beacon in a dark sea, drawing violent attention from the Chaos gods and their minions.
They may strike at any cost—even in 'nothing left to lose' frenzies—to destroy the sites and prototypes before we master them.
Even with the Diwuzu on guard, facing Chaos at full reckless tilt, we may still pay dearly—perhaps even with collateral among civilians.
Once Human-Imperial 'Order Markers' go into mass production and deployment, any stable zone they cover would render the Warp's whispers, corruption, and mental assaults on sapients inside utterly void.
That would cut off a key arm Chaos uses to seep into the real. They will not sit idle."
Listening, Samuel Young's face—still as an untouched well—betrayed no hint of doubt or fear.
A sharp gold glint, instead, flashed in his eyes.
"Precisely why Marker mass-production and deployment must move to the top of the list—driven as a project of highest Imperial priority."
His voice was low and sure—the sound of someone who sees the war entire. "Chaos is the final—and necessary—obstacle for the Human Empire, and all human civilizations in every universe, on the road to true peace.
We cannot stall in fear of its backlash. Only by striking first—and wielding weapons that truly counter it—can we end this conflict that's dragged across eons."
He looked to Halsey—eyes full of trust and expectation:
"There is risk—but the Empire's strength is equal to any challenge. Go ahead, Katherine. Every resource the Empire has will serve this program."
"I understand, Your Majesty."
Halsey nodded once—taking the weight and the trust into herself.
Samuel Young then smoothed a small crease in the black-and-gold robe.
Turning toward the exit, he said quietly to her:
"Enough. In name this is my birthday feast; as its focus, it's time I faced the guests. Come."
"…"
Halsey inclined her head and followed in silence.
The moment Samuel Young appeared at the hall's doors and stepped out onto the plaza, now washed in starlight and bright with lanterns, it was as though a stone had been dropped into a still lake—a thousand waves bursting outward.
The first to see him were the Empire's elites on the terrace—Primarchs at their talk and officials in their murmurs—who almost in the same instant halted and turned every eye to that towering form.
Then, as if pulled by invisible strings, everyone—
Primarchs included—went down on the right knee together, heads bowed, paying highest homage to humanity's sovereign.
In a heartbeat, the roaring plaza fell to total silence. Only the crack of flags in the night wind remained.
Samuel Young swept them with a gentle gaze, raised his right hand, and gave it a light wave. A soft, irresistible wash of psychic force rolled out—carrying his will clear as thought:
"No need for formality."
They felt a warm strength under them, lifting them up. They rose, but the awe in their eyes did not wane.
He did not pause among them, but walked on—straight for a specially built, open-sight dais at the edge of the plaza.
Its placement had been calculated so that not only the guests on the terrace, but the countless celebrants in the outer palace precincts below, could look up to see their Emperor.
The Primarchs, Alexia, Athena, Tinas, Halsey and the other core figures, and the Empire's top officials and commanders drew in behind him—stars circling a single moon.
Quickly, people below noticed his presence too.
Isolated cries rose at first—then, like fire to kindling, cheers and shouts swelled into a tide.
Many from other universes—who had lived through darkness and ruin before the Empire saved them—were in tears, pressing hands together or tracing dragon crests on their chests in heartfelt prayer.
To them, Samuel Young was more than a ruler—he was the incarnation of light, order, and hope.
Standing at the edge of the high platform, he looked down over the sea of lights and faces stretching to the horizon.
He used no amplifier—merely stirred that oceanic mind within him a fraction, and his voice rang as if from the heart of every Imperial soul—calm, clear, and shaking to the core:
"My people."
Four simple words and all clamor snapped to perfect stillness. The whole world held its breath.
"Today, we gather not to praise one man's birth.
We gather to witness a shard of an age—to celebrate the human splendor we have forged together."
His voice was a great bell in every listener's awareness:
"We once lay scattered on lonely stars—struggling in ignorance, want, and endless war.
We have faced threats enough to darken the star-river—from the shriek of xenos to the whispers of heresy… and we have never bowed.
Because we chose unity.
We chose order.
We chose, under the Empire's guidance, to speak with one voice, one will—to shape a human destiny of our own."
Every word bore highest authority and absolute conviction.
"Look around you!"
His tone rose, bright with pride. "Look at this blazing sky. Look at this thriving world. Look at the faces beside you—alight with hope and peace!
This is Imperial power! This is human power! This is the future we win when we cast off infighting and walk forward, shoulder to shoulder!
This glory is not mine alone. It belongs to each farmer overseeing the machines in the fields; to each worker giving their strength in the factories; to each scholar pushing into the unknown in the labs; to each soldier bleeding on the frontiers!
It belongs to you—
every immortal human soul who has lent strength to the Empire's great march!
The road ahead may still be long. There are shadowed corners yet to light.
But I promise you this: so long as human courage does not go out, so long as the Empire's banner flies, the final victory will be ours.
The eternal age will be one we open with our own hands."
It was not a long speech—but every line bore weight and heat—searing into hearts, braiding the Empire's glory, mankind's mission, and boundless faith in tomorrow into a single cord—and driving identity and belonging deeper in all.
At last he opened his arms as if to take in the Empire itself, and his voice rang to the clouds:
"Now—set forms and ceremony aside. Celebrate, my people! For our past, for our present—and for our coming future, bright beyond measure—celebrate with all your hearts!"
His words fell, and a beat of hush broke into thunder—cheers and cries shaking the world. It felt as though the very planet trembled in the fire of faith and joy.
In that living sea, Samuel Young slowly turned, his face's stern lines relaxing a hair.
He looked at the array of sons and pillars behind him, letting his eyes rest a moment on each Primarch.
He said nothing more than what mattered now—his voice quiet, yet holding endless force—as he gave the next order and set the seal on the feast and the road ahead:
"Be ready, my sons. Tomorrow, the Empire will open two new space gates at once."
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