The Primarch received Daniel in a modest, private reception room. The space was simple, almost spartan. A large, worn wooden table was covered in data crystal columns and government documents. A few well-read books were stacked haphazardly in the corner.
The Primarch stood up from the large chair behind his desk as Daniel entered and walked over to shake his hand.
"Welcome, Guide," Guilliman said, his enthusiasm palpable. "I apologize for keeping you waiting until last." He paused, a slight smile touching his lips. "I assure you, it was nothing personal. I simply wanted to save our conversation for last so we could really chew the fat."
After the battle, Guilliman had excused everyone, taking some time alone to collect his thoughts. He was a Primarch, after all, with a terrifying capacity for mental fortitude. He quickly fought his way out of the initial feelings of loss and pessimism and returned to his duty as the Emperor's son.
He first met with Calgar, the Aeldari Death Army representative (Yvraine, the Visarch, and Eldrad), Living Saint Celestine, and others. He carefully gathered intelligence on the current state of the Imperium.
Throughout these interviews, Guilliman employed every ounce of his political cunning and affability, striving to create a harmonious atmosphere that encouraged his guests to speak freely. He expertly masked the profound emotional turmoil caused by their answers.
Everyone who spoke with Guilliman left with a smile, warmed by the Primarch's sincerity and optimism. None of them, however, noticed the anguish and pain hidden deep in his eyes.
The current state of the Imperium was a hot mess. Between the religious zealotry, bureaucratic rot, and rampant ignorance, confusion and utter dread nearly choked Guilliman. The grief and sorrow almost brought him to tears.
But he didn't dare show it. He was the Primarch, the Emperor's last surviving son, the linchpin supporting those in despair. Every eye in the galaxy was on him.
"I think this arrangement was perfect," Daniel replied calmly.
"Has anyone ever told you that you bear a striking resemblance to my brother, Sanguinius?" Guilliman looked at the pure white wings spreading behind Daniel. He subconsciously wanted to reach out and touch them, but quickly checked the impulse. This man is not my brother.
"Many people say so. Even the Daemons say so," Daniel confirmed, looking straight at Guilliman. "You're thinking about your brother right now, aren't you? You're wishing I were him."
Guilliman's face flashed with surprise and a hint of discomfort. "You read my mind? Are you probing my thoughts?"
"No," Daniel shook his head. "I never use my psychic abilities on anyone unless they are a prisoner or an enemy holding vital intelligence." He paused. "Your thoughts are just too loud, Lord Guilliman. I can hear your inner voice without even trying."
Guilliman let out a ragged breath. "I suppose I need to learn to control and shield my heart, then. You are right. When you walked in, I genuinely thought for a moment that you were Sanguinius. When I realized you truly weren't, a palpable sense of loss hit me like a ton of bricks."
Daniel walked over to the tall window and looked out at the efforts to rebuild Macragge through the stained glass. "That's just human nature. It's perfectly understandable."
Guilliman joined him. "I never imagined that when I opened my eyes, it would be ten thousand years later. My memory is still stuck on the Battle of Thessala. My traitor brother drove his sword through my throat. I heard the desperate cries of my sons and finally fell into a deep sleep. Then I woke up. Ten millennia later."
He sighed, his words thick with deep sorrow and sheer exhaustion. "I failed. I let my Father down. I should have focused my energy on rebuilding the fledgling Imperium, but my anger and arrogance led to the disastrous defeat at the Battle of Thessala."
This was a side of Guilliman he would never show anyone else. He was speaking freely, using Daniel as a proxy for his lost brother, a sounding board to vent his grief. Daniel listened silently, knowing the Primarch needed an audience, not empty assurances or quick answers.
"My brothers, my Father, and I built the Imperium, and we brought it to the brink of collapse because of our own arrogance," Guilliman lamented. "If Horus were still alive, I think he would be cackling with glee at the state of things. The Imperium we poured our hearts into has become a corrupt, bloated corpse, devoid of any shred of reason or hope."
He clenched his fist, punching the air hard before restraining himself. He didn't even dare to fully vent his anger. He was the only remaining standard-bearer of the Imperium; indulging his own emotions was a luxury he couldn't afford.
His face clouded with grief as he mentioned the Battle of Terra. He could never forgive himself for failing to arrive in time. They were just nine hours short. By the time he reached Terra, the Chaos traitors had been defeated.
He thought the Emperor had prevailed over the Arch-Traitor, but only upon landing did he grasp the true catastrophe. The Imperial Palace was a smoking ruin. Bodies lay piled high; the sheer horror of the death toll defied description. Sanguinius was gone. Malcador was gone.
The Emperor himself sat mortally wounded upon the Golden Throne. Several Astartes Legions had been gutted, with only a handful of survivors remaining. The empire was shattered.
As Guilliman fell silent, Daniel placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Lord Guilliman, look at the people outside. They are still rebuilding their homes with fierce enthusiasm. In this desperate time, they haven't thrown in the towel.
They continue to fight tenaciously, unyielding even when surrounded by enemies. There is still hope, still a chance to turn this around. And you won't be going it alone."
"I merely needed to vent a moment," Guilliman said, straightening up. "Nothing can truly break a Primarch."
"That's good to hear," Daniel nodded.
"Now, tell me about yourself," Guilliman requested. "You are full of mysteries, but I can be certain you carry the aura of my Father. Otherwise, I would never have been this candid with you."
"I am a Living Saint of the God-Emperor, His Saint, so I naturally carry His aura," Daniel replied simply.
Guilliman shook his head. "Celestine is also a saint, but there is something fundamentally missing in her that is present in you. I can't put my finger on it, but it's the difference between you two." He paused. "I heard that you hail from the Calixis Sector, a region developed after the Great Crusade, near the Ghoul Stars. Why were you there?"
Daniel mentally shrugged. Can't exactly say the Emperor just chucked me out there. "The Calixis Sector sits right on the Imperial frontier. Terra's control over that area is incredibly weak, which allows me the room I need to accumulate strength."
"You have an issue with Terra?" Guilliman asked, surprised.
"Power corrupts, Lord Guilliman," Daniel replied. "I'm currently pushing for widespread educational reform at Atomal and innovating new technologies. In the eyes of those higher-ups, I'm probably still a mutant." Daniel gestured to his wings. "I have no desire to be chased by the Ecclesiarchy, the Inquisition, and the Adeptus Mechanicus all at once."
"You are a Living Saint, my Father's Saint," Guilliman stressed.
"The Imperium has become so unhinged that anyone who dares to oppose the state religion after receiving a direct sign from the Emperor is considered a heretic and receives two hot shots to the head," Daniel scoffed. "I'm only a half-baked saint, and they'll roast me like a chicken wing."
Daniel's utter disrespect for the Emperor and the Imperium shocked Guilliman, but it also brought him a measure of relief. In this desperate, dark era, finding someone who wasn't utterly mad and who he could speak with normally was a rare gift. Calgar and the others were too worshipful; Celestine was a fanatic. And the Aeldari could never be trusted.
"My Father hated religion more than anything," Guilliman mused. "He believed that faith was the poison that would destroy humanity. Now he is treated as a God, and untold atrocities are carried out in his name. The irony is killing me." He paused. "If my Father ever truly woke up, I'm afraid these religious zealots would be the first ones running for the hills."
Daniel smiled. "Your words remind me of a joke."
"A joke?" Guilliman looked at Daniel with genuine curiosity.
Daniel began the story he remembered: "The Fabricator-General and the Ecclesiarch were swapping boastful tales about the power of their respective institutions. The Fabricator-General boasted that he had unearthed an STC that could produce a single pill capable of resurrecting the dead."
"The Ecclesiarch countered by boasting that the Ecclesiarchy could rely on the pure faith of the God-Emperor to travel from Holy Terra to the Eye of Terror in under ten minutes."
"Later, when the Fabricator-General demanded the Ecclesiarch come through with the resurrection pill, the priest completely panicked and summoned the high-ranking officials to discuss countermeasures."
"One clever priest said, 'That's easy. Tell the Fabricator-General to bring the pills. The moment the God-Emperor takes one and stands up, the entire Ecclesiarchy will be running so fast, we'll make it from Holy Terra to the Eye of Terror in under five minutes!'"
Guilliman instantly appreciated the bitter irony of the joke. His sad face relaxed, and a genuine smile broke through. "That's a good one, Guide. I'm going to write that down in my journal."
"Be my guest," Daniel said generously. "I won't ask for royalties. Though if you insist on giving me one, I wouldn't say no."
"Then you will be disappointed, for I will not give it to you," Guilliman replied with a dry tone.
The two looked at each other and shared a laugh.
After a moment, Guilliman made a subtle, tentative request. "Guide, can you allow me to speak with my Father?"
Daniel looked genuinely troubled. "I don't have the ability to actively summon the God-Emperor." He brightened slightly. "But you can follow me to the nearest shrine. When I receive my reward, you can call out to Him. Perhaps He will respond."
Guilliman nodded. "Let us try it then."
Daniel took Guilliman to the nearest shrine. After Daniel performed the ritual Imperial salute, a hole of golden light appeared above the shrine, as usual. A Cherubim emerged from the light, holding a massive metal box.
Inside the box was the legendary weapon Daniel earned for completing his "Special Mission: Resurrection of Roboute Guilliman."
Daniel suppressed his excitement, turning to Guilliman and signaling for him to begin. Guilliman stepped forward, hoping for some guidance from the Master of Mankind.
Daniel hadn't held out much hope; the Emperor had performed miracles only sparingly over the last ten millennia. But as Guilliman finished his invocation, countless voices rang out near the shrine, as if billions of people were whispering at once.
The Cherubim, which should have flown back to the light, paused. Its eyes blazed with golden light. They were as bright as a star and as old as time itself.
The Cherubim looked directly at Guilliman and spoke, its voice booming with overwhelming authority and power:
"Guilliman, my son, my tool."