At the University of Talon Prime, Guilliman stood outside a classroom, leaning against the wall as he listened to the voices drifting out. Beside him, Andrida looked resigned, her expression caught between frustration and unease.
Now Guilliman understood why Andrida had hesitated to bring him here. The subject being taught today was... sensitive.
It wasn't forbidden knowledge about the Warp—such lessons were restricted to a select few, and only the soulless dared delve into such realms. No, today's lecture was on events that unfolded ten millennia ago: from the Great Crusade to the shadowy rebellion that should not be named.
The lecture didn't delve into exhaustive details; it read more like a summary, a broad-stroke retelling of history.
"We've discussed the Emperor previously. His true name remains a mystery. He emerged during humanity's fragmentation, uniting Terra and launching a grand expedition to consolidate humanity across the galaxy."
"The Ecclesiarchy reveres Astartes as angels dispatched by the Emperor, but in truth, they are products of his biotechnology, transformed into superhuman warriors through the implantation of gene-seed and extensive surgical modifications."
"The Emperor's Great Crusade wiped out numerous human and xenos factions, often employing methods that were less than noble. Yet, the Crusade carried the spirit of liberation and progress."
"During this era, the Astartes operated as massive Legions. Their eventual reorganization into smaller Chapters stemmed from the writings of the Thirteenth Primarch, Roboute Guilliman, who authored the Codex Astartes. The Codex provided a comprehensive framework governing the lives and operations of Astartes."
"However, it's worth noting—during our earlier discussions on the Horus Heresy—that while the Codex effectively prevented large-scale rebellions like those during the Heresy, its regulations have become increasingly unsuited to the intensifying warfare of today."
Guilliman listened in silence as the lecturer referenced his Codex Astartes, but rather than anger, he found himself in agreement. Indeed, the Codex's rigid structure had become anachronistic. The escalating ferocity of modern conflicts underscored this fact. Take the battle for Baal, for instance. Without Dante rallying the Blood Angels to fight as a unified Legion, Baal would have long since fallen.
The lecture continued.
The teacher began to recount the Emperor's deeds during the Crusade—his unwavering focus on whether a planet pledged loyalty to the Imperium, with little concern for the morality or methods of its rulers.
Then came the evaluation of the Emperor himself. Guilliman straightened, his focus sharpening. This was what he had been waiting for, though it filled him with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. How did the people of Talon perceive the Emperor?
A tyrant who condemned Talon to centuries of darkness?
A savior who redeemed humanity?
A megalomaniac conqueror? Or a slave master indifferent to the fate of his subjects?
"The Emperor was, without question, a tyrant," the lecturer stated.
"He loved no individual, yet he may have loved humanity as a species."
"The Golden Throne is a torture device for psykers, and the Emperor willingly took that seat, enduring endless agony. Through his psychic beacon, he guides humanity's ships, enduring this torment for ten thousand years so that the Imperium might stagger on through the cold, merciless void."
"Had the Emperor not made this sacrifice, the Imperium would have crumbled, and humanity would have been swallowed by the icy abyss of the Warp. The Emperor of Mankind—his title is well-deserved."
Andrida glanced nervously at Guilliman, apprehensive that he might take offense at this portrayal in the Talon curriculum. Yet her fears were unfounded.
Guilliman merely bowed his head, his expression pensive. After a few moments of silence, he raised his head and offered Andrida a faint smile. "This is the gentlest evaluation I've ever heard. One of my brothers once called the Emperor a brutal executioner, a despicable slave master."
"Do you share that view?" Andrida asked, curiosity etched across her face.
"Me?" Guilliman's gaze grew distant as memories flooded back.
The Emperor's inexplicable coldness toward certain of his sons.
The meticulously prepared chambers in the Imperial Palace for each of his Primarchs.
The Emperor's appallingly poor emotional intelligence—sending a brother who cherished fraternity to destroy Lorgar's perfect city.
For a long moment, Guilliman pondered these fragmented recollections before shaking his head. "I can only say this: he was not a good father."
Andrida remained silent, recognizing that no matter how much she knew, it could never rival the insights of a Primarch who had lived through it all.
Then, a voice resonated in Guilliman's mind, deep and commanding, yet faintly accusatory.
"Do you share Angron's view as well? That I am a slave master and executioner?"
Startled, Guilliman looked up. Time itself seemed to freeze—the classroom fell silent, Andrida stood rigid, and reality appeared suspended.
Before him stood a golden-haired woman, her presence radiating a palpable psychic power. Yet Guilliman knew at once that she was merely a vessel, her essence housing a sliver of the Emperor's consciousness.
"Father… is it truly you?" Guilliman's voice wavered with disbelief.
A torrent of knowledge flooded his mind, granting him clarity. What stood before him was but a faint fragment of the Emperor's humanity—a fragile, diminished echo. It had forgotten much, its weakened state allowing it to briefly inhabit the body of a gifted psyker without shattering her entirely.
Guilliman now understood the Emperor's plight. The being on the Golden Throne—the Emperor, warped by suffering and faith—was not the same as the Emperor of ten millennia past.
"I do not share Angron's view," Guilliman replied, his voice steady. "But his hatred for you was not without reason."
"Reason?" the Emperor's voice grew sharper. "I sought him out personally, competed with him in smithing and hunting salamanders, spoke with him, placed my hopes in him—and he betrayed me. And you defend him?"
"Are we speaking of the same person?" Guilliman snapped before sighing, resignation overtaking his frustration.
Angron had never felt the Emperor's hope. When the Emperor found him, Angron was fighting alongside his fellow gladiators, defying their oppressors in a desperate stand. He had shared his blood with them to sustain their lives, laughed with them even in the face of starvation.
Then the Emperor appeared. He took Angron away, thrusting him into an unfamiliar legion of warriors while leaving his gladiator siblings to die. The slavers continued to rule, and Angron's hatred festered.
This fragment of the Emperor—so far removed from reality—did not even comprehend these events. Small wonder he hadn't aided Qin Mo in advancing the dimensional engine.