Dukel's journey defied the expectations of many.
Those beings lurking deep within the Warp were perplexed as to why the resurrected Primarch had not gone to Terra immediately.
This son of the Emperor, long removed from the heart of the Imperium, should have been eager to reclaim his place and meet the Master of Mankind upon the Golden Throne.
Yet, he paused at the galaxy's edge.
When news of Dukel's deeds reached the fallen Primarchs, some lowered their heads in silence. Once, they had fought for the Imperium and the future of humanity. Now, they had become agents of ruin, spreading suffering to the innocent.
These reflections were fleeting. The forces of Chaos swiftly adapted their strategies, certain that the Second Primarch would not evade their grasp.
In the Crystal Labyrinth, the domain of Tzeentch, powerful daemons weaving the threads of fate sensed an anomaly.
Fragments of destiny, once clear, now blurred into obscurity.
Such unpredictability defied the eternal laws. The galaxy was a grand game, its pieces fated to dance at the whims of the Chaos Gods.
These disruptions intrigued the daemons of Tzeentch, who cackled in eerie laughter. The growing variables promised to delight the Architect of Fate.
Meanwhile, Dukel remained unaware of these sinister machinations.
At that moment, he stood among the survivors, offering solace. Perhaps it was the Sister Superior who had softened their fear of the towering Primarch.
Families approached him with trembling hope, fathers and mothers lifting their children high. They sought blessings from the son of the Emperor.
Dukel welcomed them all.
Through the purity of human will, he channeled psychic energy, imbuing the children with vitality and hope. Their frail, malnourished forms grew stronger, their sunken cheeks filling with life. Fear faded from their once-haunted eyes, replaced by courage and clarity.
The cost to Dukel was negligible, but the seeds he planted were priceless. Who could say whether one of these children might one day rise to carry humanity's hope?
The joy of the parents was palpable. They called his name with reverence, their voices filled with gratitude.
Among the onlookers was Sister Efilar. Once reluctant to even console the wounded, she now stood transfixed by the scene.
Trained from childhood as a Sister of Battle, she had endured the harshest trials, spilling the blood of countless heretics and daemons.
Yet now, she questioned her purpose.
Was it truly only for the Emperor?
Her gaze lingered on the smiling faces of Dukel and the people.
Perhaps there were others worth protecting.
Dukel did not rest after consoling the survivors. Instead, he turned to the soldiers who had been rescued.
Many were broken—both in body and spirit—after enduring the horrors of Chaos. Some bore grievous wounds; others had suffered the unspeakable torments of captivity.
The camp housing these warriors was grim, the air thick with despair. Astra Militarum guards patrolled the perimeter, their vigilance unwavering. Even now, none could be certain that the taint of Chaos had not taken root within the soldiers.
As Dukel approached, the camp commissar intercepted him.
"Your Highness, their loyalty cannot be guaranteed. Allowing you to enter puts the Imperium's hope at unnecessary risk."
Dukel raised a hand, silencing the officer.
"We cannot abandon our comrades to despair. Fear weakens us all. I am the Emperor's son—no harm can come to me."
The commissar hesitated, then reluctantly stepped aside.
Within the camp, Dukel walked silently among the wounded, his presence commanding awe. Without words, he extended his psychic power, soothing their tormented minds.
"Second Highness," a hoarse voice called out.
A battered Space Marine rose to his feet, his gaze heavy with uncertainty.
"Your Highness, may I ask... is our Gene-Father like you?"
The question lingered.
Dukel studied the Marine's power armor, adorned with the heraldry of the Ultramarines. These warriors were Guilliman's sons.
"Your father?"
The Second Primarch was silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully.
In Dukel's mind, Guilliman had never been particularly strong—certainly not by the standards of the Primarchs. Even ten thousand years ago, Dukel had been confident he could best his brother in single combat without much effort.
As for Guilliman's personality, Dukel remembered him as disciplined yet inflexible, with a tendency toward aristocratic pride. Guilliman often came across as stubborn and overly pragmatic, like an unyielding stone.
But were these the right words to share with his brother's sons?
Obviously not. The unvarnished truth would only sow doubt or even disillusionment in the hearts of these young warriors.
After a moment of thought, Dukel began slowly. "In the long, long past, I once fought side by side with your father. He is my brother, and I admire his courage greatly."
The Ultramarines gathered around him, their attention unwavering. Dukel continued, offering carefully chosen praise. "I was deeply impressed by his perseverance and tenacity."
He thought back to Guilliman's infamous duel with Angron, where the XIII Primarch had been battered mercilessly yet refused to yield. Guilliman had taunted Angron even while crawling, bloodied and broken—a stubbornness that Dukel could begrudgingly respect.
"And he is... easygoing and well-liked."
Dukel recalled the rare stories of Guilliman's charm, particularly his rumored dalliances and the ever-mysterious "Thirteenth Princess." The memory of such gossip brought a faint smirk to the Second Primarch's face, though he kept his tone serious.
"I remember one battle in particular," Dukel said, seating himself among the Marines like a storyteller of old. "It was during the Golden Age of humanity, in the hazy star regions. Your father's valor was unparalleled."
The Ultramarines listened with rapt attention as Dukel wove a tale of Guilliman's bravery, resilience, and wisdom.
In his recounting, Guilliman became a larger-than-life figure: a perfect son of the Emperor, embodying all the virtues a Primarch could possess. As Dukel spoke, he noticed the awe and pride growing in the eyes of the gathered warriors.
By the end of his tale, the Ultramarines' morale had visibly lifted. Their faith in their Gene-Father, and by extension themselves, was renewed.
Dukel stood, observing their shining faces. Inwardly, he chuckled. This "buyer's show" version of Guilliman was far removed from the "seller's show" reality. What would these poor warriors think when they met their Gene-Father in person and discovered the truth?
Tsk. What a sin.