*Hera Fortress, Macragge.*
*The Hall of the Sacred Tomb.*
As the holiest site in all of the Ultramar's Five Hundred Worlds, every wall within the Hall of the Sacred Tomb was adorned with frescoes depicting the legendary deeds of Roboute Guilliman, the Primarch who had forged their legacy.
Lining the road leading to the hall stood elite units of the Ultramar Auxilia. Like the majority of Ultramar's citizens, these soldiers radiated health, prosperity, and an optimistic vigor unique to their worlds.
Belisarius Cawl walked amidst his alien companions, two Eldar garbed in black robes concealing their figures. Beneath their cloaks, they wore spirit bone apparatus to mask their extraterrestrial features. Celestine, the Living Saint, floated just behind Cawl, her presence bathing those around her in a serene, comforting light.
"Archmagos, welcome to the most sacred place on Macragge," came the voice of Tigurius, the Chief Librarian of the Ultramarines, as he emerged alone from the Hall of the Sacred Tomb to greet them.
Cawl had prepared for this meeting, equipping his mind with data-chips containing comprehensive Ultramar ceremonial protocols. However, he noted with curiosity that Tigurius was unaccompanied by Marneus Calgar, as tradition dictated.
Tigurius approached Cawl and murmured, "During the Battle for Cadia, I foresaw Macragge consumed in the flames of rebellion, brought by traitors. Your arrival and that of your allies would be hard-won, yet the circumstances now seem… different. If you intend to proceed with your purpose, it will not be without challenges."
Cawl paused, his towering figure casting a shadow over the Librarian.
"I do not know your full intentions," Tigurius continued, "but for reasons unknown, I have glimpsed farther and clearer than before. I will aid you."
"Your insight is appreciated," Cawl replied, acknowledging the alliance before continuing toward the Hall.
To any onlooker, their exchange appeared to be no more than a courteous greeting, Tigurius having masked their conversation with psychic craft.
As the massive doors to the Hall were pushed open by two Ultramarines, the visitors beheld its sanctified interior. Roboute Guilliman, seated upon his throne, remained a monument to grandeur and vitality, albeit visibly pallid—a testament to his long, suspended existence.
Cawl understood the Primarch's plight. Once mortally wounded by his brother and driven to the brink of death, Guilliman had been preserved in a stasis field for over ten millennia, perpetually trapped on the threshold between life and death. This was a history cloaked in utmost secrecy, for the Imperium could scarcely acknowledge the existence of traitorous sons among the Emperor's progeny.
"Welcome, Archmagos," greeted Marneus Calgar, striding forward from Guilliman's throne with his honor guard in tow. Though his words were polite, his expression betrayed the weight of sorrow. The tragedy of their gene-father was a shared burden, felt keenly by all present.
"Thank you for allowing me this honor," Cawl responded, his tone measured and respectful as he advanced toward the throne.
Calgar exchanged a glance with Tigurius, who gave a subtle nod and moved closer to the stasis field protecting their gene-father.
"I would like to inspect the field safeguarding the Primarch, if I may," Cawl requested.
Calgar inclined his head in approval, already intending to grant such access.
Circling the stasis field, Cawl examined its every detail, confirming that it functioned optimally. Yet whether it functioned well was no longer the central concern.
"Indeed, the Archmagos has another purpose for being here," Tigurius declared, his voice carrying a weight of foresight. "I have foreseen it."
The Librarian's words were met with a hushed intensity. Calgar knew Tigurius' prophecies to be unnervingly precise and turned to him with curiosity. "What is his intent?"
Tigurius looked to Cawl, who nodded solemnly before stepping forward.
"I have come to fulfill a promise made to the Primarch," Cawl declared.
A ripple of astonishment swept through the Hall.
Cawl retrieved a sanctified casket from beneath his voluminous robes, its sheer size and weight such that only someone of his augmented stature could have carried it.
"Ten thousand years ago, before the Primarch departed for battle, he foresaw the possibility of his fate. He entrusted me to prepare for such an eventuality."
"I forged this armor," Cawl continued, his voice reverberating through the chamber. "An armor designed to sustain his life, much as the stasis field has. Should the Primarch don it, he can walk among us once more."
The Archmagos' proclamation was met with a chorus of murmurs, even among the stalwart honor guard.
"Every word the Archmagos speaks is true," Tigurius affirmed, lending his voice to the gravity of the revelation.
Calgar's mind raced, torn between hope and skepticism. For any son of Guilliman, the prospect of their gene-father's return was a temptation too profound to ignore. Yet doubt lingered—could such a monumental endeavor succeed, and was it wise to place their faith in one individual's invention?
"If what you claim is true," Calgar asked cautiously, "what do you propose next?"
"To equip the Primarch with this armor," Cawl replied, placing the casket reverently upon the ground. "Under your watchful eyes."
"And if the stasis field is disabled?"
"The Primarch's vitality is immense," Cawl assured him. "It would take the duration of an entire Ultramar day without protection for harm to befall him."
"Then there is risk?" Calgar pressed, his tone firm.
Cawl met his gaze without hesitation. "A calculated one, yes. But the potential rewards far outweigh it."
Tigurius interjected, "This is the work of ten millennia, a destiny the Archmagos was entrusted with by the Primarch himself. We should trust in its purpose."
"We must exercise caution, brother Tigurius," Calgar countered, the weight of his responsibility evident.
Without further persuasion, Cawl presented documentation: schematics of the armor, records of the Primarch's instructions, and extensive data—evidence painstakingly curated to assuage doubt.
The Archmagos trusted in Calgar's reasoned judgment. Ultramar was a land of logic and order, and its leaders, above all, sought the greater good.