"Roboute."
Julius slumped dejectedly over his desk. "My father is simply insufferable. He cannot grasp the grand vision we've conceived. All he knows is clinging to his pitiful little share of power."
"All he does is stick to outdated conventions, hindering social progress!"
Julius's indignation didn't make Guilliman look up from his book. "But he is your father, after all."
"Yes, he is my father!" Julius sighed long and hard, a complex mix of emotions in his eyes.
The common masses hope that those in power will uphold the law impartially, siding with reason over relation.
After all, if even the lawmakers no longer uphold the law, the people have nowhere left to turn.
Yet human nature is inherently selfish. Siding with relation over reason is the norm of society.
At this moment, Julius was also trapped in a dilemma.
Should he defy his father for the sake of his grand vision, or abandon his grand vision for the sake of his father?
"But he is my father. What am I supposed to do?" Julius murmured.
"Why not try to persuade him?"
"He won't listen." Julius shook his head helplessly.
His father had been stubborn for most of his life, preferring to sink into the abyss clinging to the old ways rather than embrace change.
"Julius, if your father's persistence would harm Macragge, would you choose to resist or blindly follow?"
After a long silence, Julius suddenly smiled bitterly. "Roboute, I envy you."
"You have talents and abilities I lack. And you have a happy, harmonious family."
"Your parents love you deeply. They support you, encourage you. They aren't stumbling blocks."
"Parents are never stumbling blocks. And this isn't an either-or choice."
"Roboute, do you have a way to have both?" A glimmer of hope shone in Julius's eyes.
Guilliman shook his head. "No."
Julius was crestfallen, but Guilliman continued. "But we can compromise."
"Compromise?" Julius frowned. The word sounded like a synonym for surrender to him.
"Father taught me that if you're facing an enemy, it's a zero-sum game. You must defeat him utterly. There is no middle ground."
"But if you're facing an old friend or a blood relative, victory is not the only goal."
Julius raised his head, renewed hope in his eyes.
"If the pie is too small, we make it larger. If both sides get more than expected, the conflict naturally disappears."
Julius asked, "What if the pie can't be made larger?"
"Then we find a compromise, so neither side loses everything, and perhaps both gain something."
"That's the essence of compromise. It doesn't obsess over total victory. It aims for neither side to lose."
Julius gazed thoughtfully out the window at the sky.
"Father craves power, and I want change. Why can't I reserve a place for Father within that change? That way, change is achieved, and his power is preserved!"
Julius's face lit up. His voice rose with excitement. This was the best of both worlds he had been seeking!
"Whoever invented compromise was a genius!" Julius exclaimed sincerely.
But he soon became troubled. "But if I have no power, how can I achieve change?"
"Then why not seize power?"
"But the power is held by my father!" Julius spread his hands helplessly. "Though I am his heir, it will be at least eight years before I can inherit his position!"
He was six years old now. His father was fourteen. The average lifespan on Macragge was twenty-five years. For nobles, it was as high as forty.
His father was in his prime. Why would he willingly retire from the Consulship?
Even if his successor was his son, he wouldn't be at ease.
A middle-aged man's ambition is often at its peak. His father had his own grand vision. He certainly wouldn't cede the seat of power to Julius.
"You are his only heir. Power will be yours eventually. Even after you inherit it, you could give it back to him."
Guilliman's reminder enlightened Julius. Julius shot to his feet, his expression one of intense excitement. "Roboute, you're a genius!"
'Roboute was right!
I could simply seize power first to implement change, then return the power to my father. Thus, both problems would be solved!'
Orfeo, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, asked cautiously, "Doesn't this mean... we're rebelling?"
Guilliman put down his book, his expression as calm as a deep pool. "Failure is rebellion. Success is revolution."
Dolores asked thoughtfully, "What if the one obstructing you is your father?"
"I would choose revolution. For the sake of Macragge."
Guilliman's voice was very soft, because he believed such a situation would never arise between him and his own fathers.
If it ever came to that, he would rather compromise.
Julius declared, "Let's take the plunge. For Macragge!"
For the sake of Macragge, he would just have to temporarily disappoint his father!
....
"Such a loving, filial son!"
Caelan sighed in admiration. A Primarch was a Primarch, after all.
Within a single standard Terran month, Guilliman, with his astonishing political talent, had forged the sons of Macragge's most prominent powerful families into an unbreakable alliance.
The son of a Consul, the grandson of the Chief Justice, and the son of a Legion Commander, this lineup was the absolute pinnacle, a 'Death Star' level power on Macragge.
Their alliance wasn't simple blind obedience. After deep consideration, they had fully embraced Guilliman's vision.
Though the seeds of these ideas were subtly planted by Guilliman, for these young men, it was still an invaluable gift.
It might have been the first, and perhaps only, time they truly opened their eyes to the world.
What was even more astonishing was that this 'Death Star' had a powerful escort fleet.
Their classmates, and the children of their families' political allies, essentially comprised the entire younger generation of Macragge's high society.
If these people united for a revolution, the chance of success was extremely high.
Moreover, these young men weren't fighting alone. The faction led by Konor would fully support them.
Because Konor's political goals aligned perfectly with his adopted son's: both aimed to create a stronger, more prosperous Macragge.
Konor gazed at his adopted son, his eyes full of pride and approval. "Roboute, I believe in your influence among your peers. But you still need military glory to establish your prestige."
"The barbarians in the north have been raiding our border towns. I will propose to the Senate that the younger generation form an expeditionary force to fight the barbarians."
Guilliman thought for a moment, then spoke seriously. "Father, I am confident I can end the conflict. But I need one item."
Konor answered without hesitation. "Name it. Whatever you need, I will support you fully!"
"The Ring of Illyrium," Guilliman stated.
Euten offered, "I'll get it for you at once."
Guilliman gently held back Lady Euten, his voice soft. "Mother, don't trouble yourself. I'll go myself."
Watching his adopted son's retreating figure, Konor's heart was full of mixed emotions.
"I've always known," he suddenly said.
Lady Euten frowned slightly. "Consul, this isn't the Senate. When speaking to your family, please do not speak in riddles."
Konor explained , "The day he landed on Macragge, I had a dream. I dreamed a tall man solemnly placed an infant in my hands by the Falls of Hera."
"Where you found him?" Euten gasped, covering her mouth. Her gaze fell on Caelan.
Caelan shook his head gently. "Not me. The Emperor."
Euten asked softly, "Caelan, what kind of person is Roboute's biological father, really?"
"A noble hero, a great ruler, a man who has transcended vulgar interests. And also a naive fool."
"He is the most potent psyker in the existence. And also the most incompetent husband."
"He could neither protect his own children nor control his own wife."
Lady Euten frowned in confusion. "Wait. I remember you told Roboute he has no birth mother. You lied to him?"
"I wouldn't lie to him. But I would rather he had no birth mother."
"Is that also your prophecy?"
"It is an undeniable fact."
The usually gentle Caelan rarely expressed his feelings so directly, but now his disdain for that 'Mother of Primarchs' was utterly unconcealed.
Though she had never met her, Euten's opinion of her was poor by association. She must have done something unforgivable.
Konor asked, "Since he could send me a dream, why didn't he come find his child himself?"
"You overestimate him. The Emperor is not a god."
"Sending you a dream was more like a preventative measure. And there are countless similar measures."
"Many are contingency plans he left behind, to make amends if his plans failed."
"If his plans succeeded, these contingencies would be useless."
"But not all preventative measures work. His enemies stop him."
"He sensed your presence from across the vast universe and sent you prophetic fragments through the Warp."
"But he might not even know who you are, or where Roboute is."
"Prophecy isn't omniscient. It only gives you vague fragments."
Caelan searched for an appropriate analogy. "It's like seeing your death in a prophecy, but only as a still image."
"You can deduce some details from it, but the specific time and manner of death remain unknown."
"Can a prophetic future be avoided?" Konor asked.
Caelan nodded, "Of course. The future is like a sky full of stars. Prophecy only reveals one of them."
"Suppose you see yourself dying in a bedroom. If you demolish the bedroom and stay far away from it, you can avoid that death."
"But the future you change is just one of many. In other futures, you might die the same way in a garden."
"Or, by chance, you might enter another bedroom identical to the one in the prophecy and die there."
"Until the future becomes reality, everything is unknown. All possibilities exist simultaneously."
Konor smiled wryly and shook his head. "These principles are too profound for me."
He wasn't a prophet. Overthinking would only make him worry needlessly.
"Think of it this way: fate is a fickle bitch. Only the strong can make her grovel."
Lady Euten frowned slightly. "Caelan, how can you be so crude?"
Konor coughed lightly. "That analogy is indeed somewhat inelegant."
"Crude as it is, it's fitting!"
Fate is a fickle bitch. The gods who control fate are equally fickle.
The Four have two aspects. They are both gods of order and gods of chaos.
Though They usually show only Their chaotic aspect, Their orderly aspect still exists.
Just as Tzeentch is both the Weaver of Despair and the Giver of Hope.
As the Lord of Change, Their essence is eternal flux.
Even in the most desperate situation, They will forcibly create a sliver of hope. But the chance of success is usually infinitesimal, beyond any mortal's grasp.
Conversely, even in seemingly certain victories...
They will sow seeds of failure, even if the possibility is only one in ten million.
But if Tzeentch intervenes personally, that one in ten million becomes a billion percent.
Tzeentch's changes are indiscriminate. Even when their own daemons execute Their commands, They will still interfere.
As long as there is change, no matter who wins, Tzeentch has already secured victory.
The Four are eternal, yet They still bow to their domains. It is their nature.
Perhaps only the Warp itself can transcend all things.
If the material universe has a cosmic will, it's not impossible for the Warp to have a sentient Warp will.
But for Caelan, these things were too ethereal.
He only needed to focus on the Primarchs.
...
"The Ring of Illyrium."
In the treasury of the Consul's domus, Guilliman found the artifact recorded in the ancient texts.
It was a simple gold ring, lying quietly on a velvet cushion. This seemingly plain piece of jewellery had no intricate carvings, no precious gems.
Guilliman carefully picked up this ancient artifact. Compared to the flashy gem-encrusted pieces around it, it was a nobody, having been obscure for centuries.
But this simple gold ring carried centuries of Macragge's history and secrets.
The people of Macragge had long forgotten this history. Not everyone, like Guilliman, could read and memorise every book in the library.
With this ring, Guilliman could easily subdue the barbarian tribes in the north.
Guilliman had waited long enough.
He was three years old.
One year on Macragge equated to 2.85 standard Terran years. Compared to his brothers, he had received far more parental companionship.
But his opportunity to earn honour had been greatly diminished too.
At a similar age, his brothers had already unified their worlds, some even joining the Great Crusade.
While he was still at school playing house with a bunch of children.
This was the trial his father had set for him. Guilliman had no complaints about it.
But deep down, he craved honour just as much.
He yearned to make his mark, to unify a world like his brothers.
He had waited three years for an opportunity!
He wanted to prove something, not to show he was great, but to tell his father he was no less capable than any of his brothers!
He had spent three years diligently studying in the library. He used reason and logic to suppress his nature.
Father told him this was a virtue.
He wouldn't be complacent about honour. Pride is the beginning of the fall.
But if he had no honour, then whatever he said, others would assume he was just sour grapes, pretending he didn't want what he couldn't have.
Only those who have attained honour are qualified to disdain it.
The Primarchs were the latter. They all had extraordinary perseverance.
Guilliman believed his brothers would understand. It was something difficult to suppress or replace with any amount of rational, calm thought.
He didn't yet know the goals his brothers pursued, but he genuinely craved war. His nature was burning his reason!
Huff!
Guilliman recited the prayers his mother had taught him, steadying his breath, emptying his mind.
A moment later, he left the treasury.
He believed war was a necessary sacrifice. Countless wars awaited him across the galaxy.
Humanity's revival would not be smooth sailing. Countless enemies eyed them hungrily.
But he would never wage an unjust war.
Whatever his nature, it must stay under his control.
He was the master of his body!
What his nature was didn't matter at all. Only beasts are driven by instinct.
What makes humans human is their ability to overcome instinct with reason!
Sacrifice, dedication, selflessness, facing death with equanimity – humanity has never lacked individuals who defy their instincts.
Countless such great individuals throughout history have kept the flame of human civilisation burning.
As a Primarch, he was even more obliged to restrain his nature.
Otherwise, he would be no Primarch, just a beast driven by instinct.
"Speak. Say my name. That is your true name!" The voice whispered, but with a suppressed growl.
"No."
"You deny your power, coward!" His nature roared in his heart.
Guilliman replied calmly, "You're wrong. This is true courage."
"We are one!" The voice screamed unwillingly.
"You are not me. I am me."
"You're rejecting yourself!"
"If I cannot control you, then I will reject you. I will not be driven by instinct."
"You're only deceiving yourself!" The voice roared.
"You are merely a slave to instinct."
Guilliman spoke to himself. No one knew the debate raging inside his mind.
"He never suppressed the other Primarchs, yet he alone forces you to suppress your nature. He doesn't love you!"
"You are wrong again. This is precisely because Father loves me. I would wager my brothers are jealous of me. Even the one who has spent the most time with Father doesn't come close to me."
"Besides, you are neither me nor my brothers. How could you know they haven't suppressed their natures?'"
"Roboute Guilliman, you will regret this!"
"I am the Primarch."