849.M30, Olympia.
The sky of Olympia was originally leaden gray—the most common weather in the city-state of Lochos, a result of industrial emissions mixing with natural cloud cover. In Perturabo's memory, that was exactly how it looked when he first descended.
But now, after his governance, the sky had grown even darker. Even though the star of the Olympian system was still in its prime, the planetary rings and orbital docks he had constructed surrounded the world so tightly that not even those at the peak of the Great Dam could receive the star's radiance.
Perturabo had accomplished much in this time. The constraints of the material universe had not hindered the Lord of Iron's creative genius in technology. Although he had yet to successfully reverse-engineer a Warp drive, free travel within the star system was no longer a distant dream.
The Olympian system had been brought to heel. Four mining planets were forged into two massive shipyards and one specialized facility for weapons and vehicles. Another mining planet was dragged directly into the Warp; this would serve as his "anchor point" between reality and the Immaterium, allowing his "Demon Legions" to strike directly. He knew such power could not be overused, lest the veil of reality wear thin and allow Chaos a permanent foothold.
Olympia was not a wealthy system. It took a massive expenditure of resources for Perturabo to barely terraform an Agri-world. Only then did the Olympian system qualify as a "competent world" capable of self-sufficiency.
His sister, Calliphone, was constantly frustrated by his strict standards and nitpicking. If every world in the future required such a "standard," how much work would she have? The thought made her dizzy. Fortunately, Perturabo constantly upgraded her Logic Engine, ensuring its processing power never lagged, allowing her to handle administrative affairs with ease.
Before a planet was fully stabilized, Perturabo favored absolute control, forcing development to follow his precise blueprints. Only when a certain level of progress was reached would he slightly loosen his grip. Only then would grand theaters and art galleries appear, and only then would the relocated populations feel like something more than walking corpses.
For the sake of efficiency and progress, Perturabo squeezed his population to the limit, showing no mercy or kindness. Yet, ironically, even in this relatively "sane" era of 30K, Perturabo's dictatorial rule could be described as effective and "rational." He ensured people survived, were fed, clothed, and employed. They could use their hands to ensure their families were fed and their children educated—even if those systems were twisted by his design.
The forced constraints on thought and behavior made him appear terrifying. Even his handsome features and brooding charisma couldn't hide the darkness within. With his melancholic yet brilliant blue eyes, he looked like a revolutionary who would sacrifice himself for his people. In reality, he was a tyrant who would be spat upon by both the Emperor and his fellow Primarchs for the way he exploited his subjects.
He was like his adoptive father, Dammekos. He had exiled the man, only to become a far more terrifying tyrant himself. Perturabo was aware of this. Calliphone was aware. His brother Andros was aware. Even the people atop the Dam knew it. Everyone on Olympia realized it, but no one resisted. Calliphone and Andros believed in him; the elites' power came from him; the masses' survival depended on the order he provided. They had seen the consequences of rebellion long ago.
So, what could they do?
Perturabo didn't care what people thought of him. He was just "slacking off" in his own way. If he truly quit or let his true nature run wild, the people would likely beg for their "dictator" to return and lead them. As for the Imperium—even if the Emperor and his brothers disliked his methods, what could they do? Kill him?
Perturabo was dismissive. He knew the Imperium's nature. Likely, they would come crawling with a smile, begging for more weapons and gear to get through their own crises.
"What are you thinking about again, Abo?" Calliphone was always quick to notice when he drifted away.
"Nothing. It's just that they are coming."
Perturabo stood with his sister at the peak of the Dam. He had turned the Olympian system into an iron fortress, but in the Warp, he saw a massive fleet approaching. The golden flagship at the lead charged through the Immaterium, crushing every demon in its path. A blazing golden light shone in the Warp, so fierce that the massive fleet behind it seemed insignificant. Even the other bright spots in the Warp—his brothers—were eclipsed by this golden sun.
Dominating and invincible. That was Perturabo's first impression.
"Is it your father and brothers?" Calliphone asked. She had heard so much about them lately and was curious.
"Yes."
"Where are they? The Logic Engine shows no warning. But you've moved so much power to intercept one spot—will they appear there?"
"Yes. They have an engine that allows them to sail in a dimension you cannot see. Our current technology cannot track them yet," Perturabo explained. Calliphone could tell he had them locked on with total certainty, completely unbothered.
"But you..."
"I can find them. It's nothing, sister. You'll understand later; we'll have that technology soon."
Calliphone fell silent. She could feel his internal conflict. He didn't seem to like his "family" much, yet there was a reason he felt forced to accept them.
Perturabo's blue eyes held a mix of excitement and complexity. He couldn't describe the feeling, but he was curious if this giant fleet could break through his "legion's" encirclement. Or what their faces would look like when they saw his "preparations" at the Mandeville Point.
He considered letting his legion give his brothers a "lesson" in the Warp, but when he saw several grey-black ships being "thoughtfully" protected by the main fleet, he changed his mind. He even stood down the "little surprises" aimed at the Mandeville Point.
"Tch."
Calliphone felt his mood shift again but didn't ask. Her brother had his own ideas. She would see what he did. Even if he didn't like his family, he probably wouldn't do anything drastic... maybe just a prank?
They stood on the highest observation deck, 300 meters above the main city, overlooking half the surface of Olympia. Below, orderly geometric buildings stacked up the mountainside, transport vehicles glided silently on elevated rails, and mechanical arms in the mining zones moved rhythmically. Everything was precise, efficient, and predictable.
At the Mandeville Point, the golden flagship leapt out of the Warp, followed by an endless fleet and even a massive space fortress. As the Geller fields dropped, the newcomers finally saw their destination.
It was an unremarkable system. Most of the Primarchs remained on high alert; this was the first brother that Father had gathered them all to find together. Initially, this had caused Horus a flicker of jealousy—reminiscent of how he wanted to blow up Fenris when the Emperor found Russ. But, determined to be a good elder brother for the sake of the Imperium, Horus set those feelings aside. He decided to guide this brother well so Father wouldn't worry and the newcomer wouldn't feel out of place.
Years of war and the recovery of half his brothers had matured the First Found. He held immense prestige, but since the return of Ferrus and Guilliman, he felt a faint sense of urgency. Especially after the return of Lion El'Jonson—a butcher far more brutal than Russ. Horus saw the beast and the savage within the Lion at a glance. The Lion was clever, cunning, and ruthless; in just three years, he had the First Legion firmly in his grip.
The others felt a sense of fear and coldness toward this "eldest" brother. Even Russ rarely joked when facing the Lion. Looking at the Lion sitting with his sword in the shadows, his fierce eyes visible beneath his helm, Horus was certain this brother intended to pass a heavy judgment on the newcomer.
Likely, it was at Father's behest. Otherwise, why would the First and Sixth Legions be here? The Fourth Legion was here to find their Father, yet they were sandwiched in the middle. Even Dorn's Phalanx had been pulled away from Terra. This didn't look like a simple family reunion.
All the Primarchs and high-ranking officers understood there might be something "wrong" with this brother. When did the Regent of the Imperium ever travel with the Emperor? The Primarchs disliked the Regent, but they couldn't deny Malcador's importance. Even the Custodes were out in force. This fleet had the strength of half the Legions combined. Who was this brother that required such a formal greeting?
The mortals and Astartes were just as curious, while the warriors of the Fourth Legion felt a sense of trepidation.
However, after jumping into realspace, many were disappointed. From the outside, the place looked mundane. Most Imperial worlds looked better. Even Dorn and Guilliman couldn't see why the Emperor had made such a fuss. A brother's return was worth celebrating, but this level of mobilization seemed irrational. There were no busy ports, no thriving trade, and no visible defense systems. How could such a small place supply this invincible fleet?
They didn't understand, but looking at the tall, golden figure of the Emperor, they knew better than to ask.
The fleet triggered Perturabo's defenses, but he gave them a green light. Not even the Lion or Russ sensed a threat; Perturabo was always thorough. Calliphone watched the Logic Engine's feed in disbelief. A fleet this size had simply appeared out of nowhere without warning. How was that possible?
She looked to her brother for an answer, but he was staring fixedly in one direction with an expression of intense scrutiny. This was only the second time he hadn't responded to her—the first being when he was found and had ignored her initial greeting.
Perturabo and the Emperor locked eyes. Their psychic presence clashed in the Warp, creating tsunamis that dissolved countless demons in golden fire and twisted machinery. The Chaos powers watched with bated breath, waiting for a divine war to break out so they could feast.
But a moment later, the golden flames receded, and the mechanical constructs drifted back into the Warp's depths. The Chaos observers were disappointed. Slaanesh was the first to leave with a bored huff. Nurgle let out a grandfatherly chuckle. Tzeentch laughed and claimed everything was "according to plan."
Only Khorne let out an angry roar, striking a blow with his blade that thinned the veil of reality before retreating in a huff. Tzeentch mocked him, leading to a clash where a brass axe split the Crystal Labyrinth and Bloodletters poured in. Soon, the four powers were locked in their usual free-for-all.
Ignoring the mess in the Warp, Perturabo watched the psychic projection of the Emperor appear on a nearby snowy peak. The Emperor could see that Perturabo had touched a forbidden taboo: Abominable Intelligence. A red line the Imperium would not tolerate.
The Emperor was angry. Looking at Perturabo—who wore a look somewhere between a sneer and a smirk—he felt it was deliberate. He hadn't implanted these technologies in the Fourth's memory or provided such results, yet he had developed them anyway.
"Where is my son?" the Emperor asked via psychic projection, his voice vibrating in Perturabo's mind.
"Who? Me? Perturabo? Or Number Four?" Perturabo asked aloud. Calliphone was startled by his tone.
"Do not play games with me. Where is my son? What have you done to him!" The Emperor's voice was thick with rage.
"I am him, and he is me. There is no difference, except he has a few memories that didn't belong to him."
"Abo, what's wrong?" Calliphone asked, worried.
"I'm fine, sister. Don't worry," Perturabo smiled.
"When?" the Emperor demanded.
"When I was tossed into the Warp. But our memories merged well, and my strength has improved quite a bit."
The Emperor's projection vanished from the mountain. Perturabo looked back up at the stars. The massive fleet was large enough to slightly alter the local gravity, but the golden flagship remained the centerpiece.
Perturabo could easily see the Emperor and Malcador watching him, along with a somewhat dazed Valdor—though the Captain-General began charging the Apollonian Spear as soon as he felt the anomaly. It felt just like when he tested Alpharius's defenses, but much more dangerous. The other Custodes were slower to react, but they knew something was wrong.
Faster than Valdor were the Primarchs. Lion and Russ were the most sensitive; to them, this uninhibited gaze was a blatant provocation, as if they were being watched like beasts in a pit. Dorn and Ferrus sensed something was off, but the feeling was muddled.
Guilliman and Horus were different. Sensing no malice in the gaze, they didn't push back. They realized this was likely their brother observing them. Sanguinius and Vulkan felt it too; being kind-natured, they responded with warmth. Sanguinius even used his own psychic presence to greet the gaze. Fulgrim, seeing Ferrus ignore it, followed suit. Magnus responded to Perturabo with interest, much like he had done with the Emperor.
Alpharius was hidden among the Custodes. The gaze lingered on him for a moment before moving on. He knew he was exposed, but since he wasn't called out, he stayed put.
Feeling the responses from his brothers, Perturabo smiled and looked at his sister.
"What happened, Abo?" Calliphone was worried, but seeing his calm demeanor and the lack of immediate tension, she relaxed slightly.
"Nothing. They're here. Father and I just had a talk, and my brothers sent word that they welcome my return."
"Really?" She didn't quite believe him; her intuition told her otherwise.
"Really, sister. Wait here for me; I'm going to go have a chat with them."
Perturabo crouched down. Even crouched, his nearly six-meter frame towered over her.
"How will you get there?"
"Easy. Don't worry, I'll be back soon."
Perturabo's figure began to fade, vanishing before her eyes.
Aboard the Bucephalus, the Primarchs' sudden tension alerted the Astartes, though they were unarmed on the flagship. Danger on the Emperor's own vessel?
When a figure materialized directly in front of the Emperor, the Astartes and Custodes instinctively took combat stances. Lion and Russ moved to block the Emperor with sword and spear, but the Emperor and Malcador stayed them. The other Primarchs lowered their guard at the Emperor's signal, though the Custodes under Valdor kept their weapons ready until Malcador intervened.
Looking at the man—half a head taller than the Emperor, with long black hair and a white robe—no one needed to be told he was a Primarch. His aura and charisma were proof enough. But aside from the Emperor, Malcador, Horus, and Sanguinius, the others remained wary.
This brother was dangerous. Their instincts told them not to be fooled by his appearance.
"It seems the welcoming committee for my return is quite grand, Father."
Perturabo wasn't smiling now. Facing them in person, he set the jokes aside.
The Emperor didn't answer immediately. He stepped forward, studying this son who felt so like a stranger. Perturabo stood still, letting them observe him without concern.
A heavy silence fell over the Bucephalus. The atmosphere was so oppressive that even Horus didn't know how to break it. Sanguinius and the others who felt well-disposed toward him didn't dare speak, fearing they would anger their Father.
"Welcome back, my fourth son."
After the long silence, the Emperor finally spoke. But the weight in his voice made the Primarchs feel an underlying tension—as if he had to swallow a great deal of discomfort just to say those words.