[In The Emperor's grand blueprint, the critical moment to advance the next step of the plan had arrived.
The commander of the 16th Astartes Legion, the first Primarch to be found by The Emperor during the Great Crusade.
Also The Emperor's most favored son, he was bestowed with a new mission and glory.
He was granted a title symbolizing power and responsibility, and in the days to come, he would take The Emperor's place, commanding his brothers and leading the Imperial forces to continue the Great Crusade.
Meanwhile, The Emperor himself returned to the palace on Terra, immersing himself in a vital secret research project.
A great undertaking aimed at completely freeing humanity from the influence of the Warp.
At this time, the Astartes Legions were scattered across various star systems. Driven by the Great Crusade, the Empire's territory expanded rapidly, already covering more than half of the galaxy.
People began to call this era the second Golden Age of humanity.
Under The Emperor's leadership, Order was redistributed to every corner of the galaxy, and humanity was once again united under a single regime.
It was as if all the suffering of the Dark Age had faded away, and a new dawn was rising.
However, history has a way of repeating itself. Just as humanity thought they were walking toward the light, the Chaos Gods had already begun to move quietly.
The corrupting vapors of the Warp, like invisible poisonous mists, began to permeate those glorious and noble Legions.
This corruption was silent yet omnipresent, eroding the souls of the warriors, twisting their beliefs, and turning former glory into ashes.
The Emperor perhaps never imagined that his most trusted and beloved son would become the first sacrifice to Loki in this storm.
Malicious pride began to spread, and former glory and faith were replaced by darkness.
The unleashed wolf brings ashes, and another storm is forming.
The galaxy began to burn under the fires of this betrayal; former allies became enemies, and former glory turned to dust.
This storm not only threatened the unity of the Empire but also pushed the entire galaxy toward endless darkness.
The Emperor's plans and the future of humanity were all teetering in this storm.
And at the center of this storm was the son once most favored by The Emperor; his betrayal was like a sharp blade piercing the heart of the Empire.]
————
"Betrayal?" Fulgrim, the Phoenix with a paranoid pursuit of perfection, was the first to break the silence.
His voice had lost its usual elegance and confidence, becoming dry and fragile.
"This... this is impossible. The word itself is a defect, an ugly blemish; it should not exist among us."
His gaze swept over Horus, over Sanguinius, and over those brilliant brothers he was once so proud of.
"We are Father's most perfect creations. How could we... betray?"
"Betrayal is powerful because it is unimaginable."
A cold, hard voice, like rock striking rock, rang out.
Rogal Dorn, the Primarch of the Imperial Fists, stated a cruel fact expressionlessly.
He looked at no one, his gaze locked firmly onto the pitch-black screen, as if trying to pierce through it with his will.
"Any structure, no matter how solid, must consider its weakest link. Now, it tells us the crack comes from within."
His words turned invisible suspicion into a tangible threat, making the atmosphere even more heavy.
Just then, the text on the screen changed again, like the chisel of fate, carving a name deep into everyone's retinas.
[The Horus Heresy] At that moment, time seemed to stand still.
"No..." Horus took a step back almost instinctively, the face that always overflowed with leadership, charm, and confidence instantly losing all color.
He staggered, as if struck in the chest by an invisible Warhammer, finally slumping helplessly back into his throne.
"No... this isn't true... this is a lie! It's the enemy's deception!"
His denial was so pale, because on the screen, a new image had already unfolded.
In the image, a figure he was intimately familiar with appeared.
It was himself, yet it was not him.
That figure wore pitch-black Terminator armor covered in evil runes, eyes burning with the crimson fury of the Warp, and a savage, unfamiliar smile on his face.
He was standing atop a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, engaged in a cruel slaughter against Astartes wearing the yellow armor of the Imperial Fists.
["This was never what I wanted! I never thought of ordering my Legion to launch an attack! We once banished the Old Night together, but you betrayed me!"]
["You stole the power of the gods and lied to your sons. Humanity has only one chance for restoration. If you cannot grasp it, then let me complete it..."]
That blasphemous voice, filled with spite and arrogance, spat from the mouth of the "Horus" on the screen.
Every word was like a poisonous thorn, stabbing into the heart of every loyalist in the Throne Room.
"Horus..." Sanguinius's voice was filled with unbelievable pain.
On his angelic, perfect face, such deep sorrow was revealed for the first time.
He looked at his once closest brother, that being who had become so strange in the images, his massive wings drooping helplessly behind him.
"Look at what you've done! Sorcerer!"
A crude roar suddenly exploded; Leman Russ, Lord of the Space Wolves, glared at Magnus with bloodshot eyes.
"It's you! It's your damned sorcery! You're the one who turned our brother into this monstrous state! You corrupted him with those lies from the Warp!"
"Be silent! You brawling, stupid wolf!" Magnus, the Crimson King, stood up abruptly, fire of anger and grievance burning in his single eye.
"Jie! Jie! Jie! Jie!"
Konrad Curze's blood-curdling laughter rang out again; like an excited night owl, he flapped his Talons in the chaos.
"Look! Look! What did I say? I told you long ago that beneath this shiny exterior hide the same rot and maggots! Order? Loyalty?"
"That is nothing more than a fig leaf you use to cover your murderous nature! Now, it has been torn away!"
"And you, Father!" Konrad Curze suddenly turned toward the Golden Throne, issuing the sharpest interrogation.
"This is your most beloved child! You handed the authority of the galaxy into his hands, and he repays you with a rebellion that sweeps the galaxy! Where is your judgment?!"
"Enough!" A thunderous roar came not from The Emperor, but from Roboute Guilliman.
The Lord of Ultramar no longer had his usual calm and composure; in its place was a cold rage born from seeing his ideals completely trampled.
"Now is not the time for mutual accusations! This is a disaster! A systemic, logical total collapse!"
He looked at Horus, his eyes filled with disappointment and incomprehension.
"I cannot understand it! Horus, your strategy, your deployment, every one of your decisions was perfect!"
"Why would you make such a... such a stupid mistake on the most fundamental issue of loyalty?!"
"Because he never truly possessed loyalty; all he possessed was ambition."
Perturabo's somber voice rang out as he looked at Dorn, a trace of morbid, vengeful pleasure on his face.
"Now do you see, Dorn? That palace you guard, that fortress you are so proud of—the biggest breach was opened by the very Warmaster you trusted most."
"What a... exquisite irony."
Dorn did not respond; he just stood there like a silent mountain range.
But everyone could feel that inside that mountain range, violent geological activity was occurring.
Just as the tension reached its peak and the bonds of trust between the Primarchs were about to snap completely, the figure seated upon the Golden Throne finally spoke.
"Horus."
The Emperor's voice was not loud, yet it instantly drowned out all the arguing and roaring.
In that voice, there was no anger, no disappointment, only a deep calm that transcended time, and a barely perceptible... weariness.
Hearing the voice, Horus lifted his head stiffly like a walking corpse, his face covered in cold sweat, his lips trembling, yet unable to utter a single word.
"Come forward." Under the complex gazes of all his brothers, Horus stood up mechanically and, step by step, walked heavily toward the stairs that reached the heavens.
Every step seemed to crush his glory of the past two hundred years.
"Father, I..." He knelt before the throne, his voice choking, "I... I didn't know... I never thought..." "I know."
The Emperor interrupted him.
"I know your heart at this moment. Just as I know that in the thirty years since you returned to my side, there has never been a single thought of betrayal."
The Emperor's gaze swept over all his sons below, his voice echoing in each of their souls.
"What you see is a 'possible' future. A darkest 'possibility' woven together by fear, suspicion, and lies."
"The Gods of Chaos do not create; they only corrupt. They cannot defeat the strongest warriors, so they choose to defile the brightest stars. Horus,"
The Emperor's gaze fell upon the Warmaster again, "They chose you not because of your weakness, but precisely because of your strength, your brilliance, and your being beloved."
"Because only by defiling you can the entire galaxy be plunged into the most complete despair."
"This is the script they have prepared for you. A script that sacrifices my most beloved son to ignite a war that burns the entire galaxy."
The Emperor's words shook all the Primarchs. He did not deny the occurrence of the betrayal, but elevated it from a simple 'defection'.
It was raised to a long-premeditated cosmic conspiracy targeting the Empire's brightest symbol.
"Now, step down and return to your brothers." The Emperor's voice regained its majesty.
"You are still my Warmaster, my Centaur."
"But remember, from this day forward, all of you will face a new war. A war against the shadows in your own hearts."
Horus slowly stood up and walked back to his position, looking soul-shaken.
He did not look at any of his brothers again, only hanging his head deeply.
Inside the Throne Room, a deathly silence descended once more.
But this time, it was no longer due to shock, but because an invisible rift had forever opened between them—The Emperor's greatest creations.