Dukel sat on the ground, recounting a tale from thousands of years ago. He had embellished the story, painting a picture of heroism and grandeur from the Golden Age of Humanity.
It was a time when the Primarchs were invincible paragons, and the roar of humanity's armies drove heretics and xenos alike into retreat. The light of the Emperor's glory shone across the galaxy, illuminating every corner with the promise of unity and strength.
More and more Ultramarines gathered around, blocking the area entirely. Even those confined to their beds by injuries strained to listen, their expressions alert and eager. None wanted to miss a word of the Primarch's tale.
The scene resembled a family elder regaling children with tales of their ancestor's greatness—a rare warmth among warriors bred for war. Unlike mortal families where such moments might seem tiresome or exaggerated, for the Astartes, it was something they had longed for yet never dared to dream of.
Time seemed to flow swiftly as Dukel spoke. Hours passed unnoticed. The taciturn Primarch, unaccustomed to such lengthy storytelling, eventually found himself at a loss for words, having exhausted both his memory and patience.
Even a demigod, it seemed, could feel the weariness of entertaining children.
As the sun began to set, Dukel made an excuse to leave. But before he could rise, an Ultramarines Captain emerged from the crowd. His expression was solemn, as though he bore a sacred duty.
Kneeling on one knee, the Captain performed the formal Aquila Salute, crossing his hands over his chest in the shape of the Emperor's double-headed eagle.
"Your Highness Dukel, Captain Gray of the Ultramarines reporting!" His voice rang with conviction. "Please accept our loyalty. We vow to follow your will, fight at your side to the end of the galaxy, and restore the glory of the Imperium!"
As his words echoed, the gathered Ultramarines followed suit.
In perfect unison, the warriors knelt and repeated the pledge. Even the bedridden soldiers struggled to rise, saluting as best they could while adding their voices to the chorus:
"Please accept our loyalty. We vow to follow your will, fight at your side to the end of the galaxy, and restore the glory of the Imperium!"
The resounding chant shook the air, filling Dukel with unexpected emotion. It was the first time since his resurrection that he had been formally sworn allegiance by an Astartes Chapter.
In the aftermath of his revival, those Astartes Chapters beyond the Great Rift had either shunned him out of fear and distrust or pledged their loyalty to Guilliman. Those trapped within the Great Rift, meanwhile, were besieged by Chaos forces, struggling merely to survive.
Even the Space Marines stationed on Ophelia VII were few in number—scattered forces overshadowed by the Ecclesiarchy and the Sisters of Battle.
Thus, this display of loyalty from the Ultramarines was entirely unexpected.
After a brief moment of surprise, Dukel placed a firm hand on Captain Gray's shoulder.
"You do not fight for me, Captain," Dukel said, his voice low yet resolute. "You fight for humanity. One day, Guilliman and I will meet again beneath the Emperor's Throne. Until then, if you wish to follow me, I will lead you—and I promise to reunite you with your Gene-Father. Does this satisfy you?"
The Captain's eyes glistened with emotion. He nodded firmly, his voice breaking slightly as he replied, "It does, my lord."
Dukel left the camp shortly after.
Behind him, Sister Efilar followed in silence, her expression pensive. Whatever thoughts occupied her mind, she did not voice them, and Dukel paid her little attention as he dismissed his guards and returned to his quarters.
Within the privacy of his room, Dukel did not rest—though rest was a concept foreign to him since his resurrection. His body, sustained by the boundless strength of the Emperor's genetic legacy, required no sleep. Even after more than a year without rest, he felt neither fatigue nor weakness, only a ceaseless energy that demanded focus.
Seated at his desk, Dukel turned his mind to his usual work: deriving and refining technologies using the computational power of the Noospheric MindNet. Most of the innovations used by his expeditionary force were products of his design—modernized adaptations of Golden Age knowledge, altered to suit the Imperium's current needs.
Yet despite the vast potential of the MindNet, two of his most ambitious projects remained frustratingly stagnant: the Spiritual Cultivation Technology and Biomagnetic Field Technology.
The fourth level of spiritual cultivation required a magnetic field exceeding 50,000 horsepower to stabilize the user's biomagnetic field. However, achieving this breakthrough had begun to feel less like science and more like idealism—a troubling direction for any Primarch. Without the necessary technical advancements, even infinite computational power was useless.
"It seems I'll need to capture some Orks for study," Dukel mused aloud.
The green-skinned xenos were infamous for their bizarre biology, a crude yet functional amalgamation of ancient Old One technologies. Studying their genetic structure could yield insights that even the MindNet couldn't simulate.
Meanwhile, Sister Efilar had returned to her own quarters.
The white-haired Battle Sister knelt as always, beginning her nightly prayers. Yet tonight, she found herself unable to focus.
The events of the day replayed in her mind—the cheers of the Ultramarines, the smiling faces of civilians, and above all, the quiet strength of the Primarch.
These memories, unbidden and persistent, filled her with conflicting emotions. Eventually, she abandoned her usual prayers and instead whispered words she had never uttered before:
"Great Highness Dukel, son of the Emperor, leader of warriors, protector of the faithful."
"Your mercy is radiant, your strength a blessing to the weak. May you sweep away the darkness and establish an everlasting legacy. May even the gods tremble before your might."
As her prayer ended, a faint chime echoed through her thoughts.
"Bite!"
Even with her eyes closed, a translucent Noospheric panel appeared in her vision, its golden light unmistakable.
It bore the unmistakable signature of the Primarch's presence—a fluctuation within the MindNet that only he could create.