849.M30 — Olympia
Olympia's sky had once been a dull, leaden gray—the most common weather over the city-state of Lochos, a byproduct of industrial emissions mingling with natural cloud cover. In Perturabo's memory, that was how it looked when he first descended upon this world.
But now, after his governance, it had grown even darker.
Even though the star of the Olympian system remained in its prime, the vast orbital rings and shipyards encircling Olympia sealed the planet so tightly that not even those standing atop the highest domes could receive the light of its sun.
During this time, Perturabo had accomplished much. The constraints of realspace had failed to hinder the Lord of Iron's ingenuity in matters of technology.
Though a warp engine had yet to be successfully developed, free navigation within the star system was no longer a distant dream.
The Olympian system had already been brought under Perturabo's control. Four mining worlds had been reforged into two massive shipyards, while another specialized in the production of weapons, equipment, and vehicles.
As for the final mining planet, he had directly dragged it into the Warp.
That world would serve as an "anchor point" linking realspace and the Immaterium. In the future, he would prepare more such "anchors," enabling his "daemon legions" to launch directly into battle.
Of course, such power could not be used excessively. If the veil of reality were thinned too much, Chaos would seize the opportunity to invade the material universe in force—and that would be disastrous.
The Olympian system was not a particularly wealthy one. Even its single agricultural world had only been established through immense effort and cost on Perturabo's part.
Only then could the entire system barely qualify as a self-sustaining "functional world."
His sister, Stephanie, found his exacting standards and relentless perfectionism deeply exasperating. If every future world were held to such requirements, just how much work would await her?
She didn't dare imagine it. The thought alone made her dizzy.
Fortunately, the logic engine had been continuously upgraded by Perturabo, ensuring its computational capacity never lagged behind. That was the only reason Stephanie could still manage administrative affairs with relative ease.
Before stability was achieved, Perturabo preferred absolute control—forcing planetary development along the blueprint he had designed. Only once a world reached a certain level of advancement would he slightly loosen his grip.
It was only then that grand theaters and art galleries would appear upon those worlds.
And only then would the relocated populations begin to feel that they were not merely living as walking corpses.
For the sake of efficiency and progress, Perturabo exploited his population to the utmost—without the slightest trace of mercy or compassion.
Ironically, even in this comparatively "sane" era of the 30th millennium, such tyrannical rule could still be considered effective—and even "reasonable."
Because he ensured people survived.
They had food, clothing, work. Through their own labor, they could provide for their families—feed them, clothe them, and send their children to school.
Even if all of it had been twisted beyond recognition by Perturabo's hand.
His control over thought and the rigid constraints on behavior made him seem terrifying. Even his strikingly handsome features could not mask the oppressive gloom that surrounded him.
Those melancholy yet intelligent azure eyes made him appear as though he ought to be a revolutionary—one who would worry for the nation and its people, one willing to dedicate himself entirely to them.
But in truth—
He was merely a tyrant. A dictator whom even the Emperor and the other Primarchs would not hesitate to criticize, and who relentlessly exploited those under his rule.
He had become just like his adoptive father, Damocles.
He had exiled the man—
Yet become an even more terrifying despot in his place.
Perturabo was clearly aware of this.
Stephanie knew it. Andos knew it. The people beneath the domes knew it. Nearly everyone on Olympia understood it.
And yet—no one resisted.
His sister and Andos continued to believe in him. The people beneath the domes derived their authority from him, their survival, their order, their livelihoods—all depended on him.
And the consequences of rebellion… had been made abundantly clear long ago.
So what could anyone do?
Perturabo did not care what others thought of him. He simply followed his whims, "slacking off" in his own way.
If he were to truly abandon his responsibilities—or allow his true nature to fully surface—
Then those very people would likely beg, through tears, for this "tyrant" to continue ruling them.
And as for the Imperium?
Even if the Emperor and his brothers disliked his methods—what could they do?
Kill him?
Perturabo sneered inwardly.
He knew exactly what the Imperium was like. When the time came, they would likely swallow their pride and beg him for more weapons and equipment to survive their crises.
"What are you thinking about again, Perty?"
His sister always noticed his changes in mood immediately.
"Nothing. They're coming."
Perturabo stood atop the dome with her. The Olympian system had been fortified into an impregnable fortress under his rule.
Yet within the Warp, he had already seen them—
A massive fleet.
At its forefront, a colossal golden warship charged forward, crushing all daemons in its path as it led the fleet through the Immaterium.
A blazing golden radiance illuminated the Warp. Its brilliance stabbed into Perturabo's eyes—the intensity of that golden "sun" rendering even the gigantic fleet behind it insignificant.
Even the few smaller, equally radiant points within the Warp were completely overshadowed by that golden light.
Overwhelming.
Unstoppable.
That was Perturabo's first impression of the fleet.
"Is it your father and your brothers?" Stephanie asked, unable to hide her curiosity after hearing so much about them.
"Yes."
"Where are they? The logic engine hasn't issued any warnings, but you've clearly mobilized a great deal of force to surround a specific region. Will they suddenly appear there?"
"Yes. They have a type of engine that allows them to travel through a dimension you cannot perceive. Our current technology cannot track them."
Perturabo answered calmly.
But Stephanie could tell—he could clearly locate them. And he was utterly certain of it.
"But you—"
"Yes. I can find them. It's nothing, sister. You'll understand in time. Soon, we'll have that kind of technology as well."
Stephanie fell silent.
She could sense the contradiction within him. He didn't like these "family members" of his—but for some reason, he seemed compelled to accept them.
A trace of excitement flickered within his blue eyes, mixed with something more complicated.
He wondered—
Could this fleet break through the encirclement of his "legions" in the Warp?
And how would they react to the "preparations" he had set at the Mandeville Point?
For a moment, Perturabo considered letting his forces in the Warp "educate" his brothers.
But when he noticed several gray-black vessels within the fleet being carefully "protected," he abandoned the idea.
Even the "little surprises" he had prepared at the Mandeville Point were withdrawn.
"…Hah."
A soft scoff escaped his lips.
Stephanie sensed the shift in his mood, but this time she said nothing.
Her brother had his own way of thinking. She would simply watch what he chose to do.
Surely, even if he disliked his family, he wouldn't go too far—
At most, perhaps a little mischief… right?
---
They stood at the highest observation platform atop the dome—three hundred meters above the main body of the city, overlooking half of Olympia's surface.
Below them, orderly geometric structures cascaded down the mountainside in layered formations. Transport vehicles glided silently along elevated rails, while mechanical arms in the distant mining zones operated with rhythmic precision.
Everything was exact.
Efficient.
Predictable.
---
At the Mandeville Point—
The golden warship burst forth, followed by an endless stream of vessels. Among them was even a massive space fortress.
As the Gellar Field disengaged, those aboard finally gained some understanding of their destination.
An utterly unremarkable star system.
Most of the Primarchs remained wary. After all, this was the only brother so far whose retrieval had required their father to personally gather them all.
At first, even Horus had felt a trace of jealousy—much like when the Emperor found Russ, and he had once wanted to bombard Fenris to pieces.
But determined to be a good elder brother—and for the sake of the Imperium and the Great Crusade—Horus suppressed those feelings.
He resolved to guide this returning brother well, to spare their father concern, and to ensure the newcomer would not feel out of place.
Years of warfare and the gradual reunion of half his brothers had tempered the First Found's temperament. During the most difficult period of the Great Crusade, it was he who had stood beside the Imperium's armies, carving a path forward.
He held great prestige within the Imperium.
Yet after Ferrus and Guilliman returned, he had begun to feel a subtle sense of urgency.
Especially after the recent return of Lion El'Jonson—
A far more ruthless executioner than even Russ.
With a single glance, Horus had seen the beast within him.
Clever. Cunning. Brutal. Merciless.
In just three years, he had firmly seized control of the First Legion.
To the others, this eldest brother inspired more fear than familiarity. Even Russ rarely joked in his presence.
As Horus looked toward Lion, seated in shadow with sword in hand, his severe, finely wrought armor could not conceal the savage sharpness in his gaze.
Horus was certain—
This brother carried a heavy judgment toward the one they were about to meet.
And it was likely sanctioned by their father.
Otherwise, why would both the First and Sixth Legions be present?
The Fourth Legion had come to find their father—so why were they positioned in the middle?
Even Dorn's Phalanx had been brought from Terra.
This didn't look like a simple reunion of a Primarch.
Everyone understood—
Something was wrong.
When had the Regent of the Imperium ever accompanied the Emperor personally?
Even the Custodian Guard had been largely withdrawn from Terra.
This fleet alone rivaled nearly half a Legion's strength.
Just what kind of brother's return warranted such overwhelming force?
Not only the Primarchs, but also mortal commanders and Astartes alike were filled with curiosity.
Only the warriors of the Fourth Legion felt a growing unease.
Yet when they emerged from the Mandeville Point—
Disappointment spread.
Because there was nothing remarkable about this place.
Most Imperial worlds surpassed it easily. It felt stagnant—lifeless.
Even Dorn and Guilliman sensed nothing here worthy of such a grand mobilization.
There were no bustling ports, no thriving trade, no formidable defenses.
This insignificant system couldn't even properly resupply such a fleet.
So what was the Emperor seeking here?
No one understood.
But when they looked at that towering golden figure, they wisely chose not to ask.
The fleet's arrival naturally triggered the defensive systems Perturabo had established.
Yet he opened a clear path for them—
A flawless passage.
So seamless that neither Lion nor Russ detected even the slightest hint of danger.
Perturabo had always been meticulous.
And precise.
Stephanie knew what her brother had done, but as she watched the images transmitted from the logic engine, she still found it hard to believe.
Such a massive fleet—had simply appeared out of nowhere?
There had been no warning, no detectable mechanism whatsoever. How could that even be possible?
She looked toward her brother, hoping for an explanation. But Perturabo was staring fixedly in a single direction, his eyes filled with vigilance and scrutiny.
This was the second time he had ignored her.
The first had been when she greeted him on the day he was found—only to be disregarded just the same.
Perturabo locked eyes with the Emperor.
Their psychic might collided in the Warp, stirring up towering waves. Countless daemons were annihilated in that instant—consumed by golden flames and warped mechanical constructs alike.
The forces of Chaos watched intently.
These two anomalies among their kind had drawn their full attention. Their daemon hosts stirred restlessly, eager to ignite another divine war.
But only moments later—
The golden flames receded. The twisted mechanical entities drifted once more through the Immaterium.
To the watching Chaos powers, it was… disappointingly brief.
The Sixfold Labyrinth was the first to withdraw. From within it came a faint, irritated "Tch", as though the brief "performance" had left it unsatisfied—or stuck just shy of a long-awaited climax.
From the Garden came a warm, benevolent chuckle, like that of a kindly old man looking after a younger generation—
If one ignored the tides of pestilence swirling within.
From the Crystal Labyrinth rang the triumphant laughter of the Changer of Ways, laced with phrases like "all according to plan" and "well within expectations." His ever-shifting daemon legions dispersed in mirth.
Only the Crimson Realm responded with fury.
A thunderous roar erupted, followed by a crimson blade of light that cleaved through the Warp itself—weakening the veil between reality and the Immaterium before departing in lingering rage.
The Changer's mocking laughter only grew louder—
Until another crimson slash struck back. A roar echoed above the Crystal Labyrinth as a massive axe tore its way inside. Endless Bloodletters and Flesh Hounds surged through the rift.
Soon, the Garden and the Labyrinth of Excess returned as well, joining the fray—
And the scene devolved into utter chaos.
Amid the disorder, the Changer of Ways—slightly disheveled—still managed to laugh and declare, "Everything is proceeding as planned," before slipping away, leaving behind a confused host of Horrors and Lords of Change, who soon burst into laughter and scattered in all directions.
---
Ignoring the mess left behind in the Warp, Perturabo stood atop Olympia's dome, watching with interest as a psychic projection of the Emperor manifested upon a distant snow-capped mountain.
The Emperor could tell—
Perturabo had touched upon forbidden ground.
This son of his had used Abominable Intelligence—one of the Imperium's absolute taboos.
Anger stirred within him.
Looking at Perturabo's expression—somewhere between mockery and cold amusement—the Emperor felt certain this was intentional.
He had never implanted such knowledge into the Fourth, nor provided him with such advanced technological foundations.
And yet—
He had still developed to this extent.
"Where is my son?"
Suppressing his anger, the Emperor's voice resounded directly within Perturabo's mind.
"Who? Me? Perturabo? Or… Number Four?"
Perturabo spoke aloud.
Stephanie blinked in surprise.
What… was happening to her brother?
"Do not play games with me. Where is my son? What have you done to him?!"
The Emperor's voice surged with fury, his psychic presence intensifying.
"I am him. He is me. There's no difference—no distinction. He simply gained some memories that did not originally belong to him."
"Brother… what's wrong?"
Stephanie asked, concern evident in her voice.
"I'm fine, sister. Don't worry."
Perturabo smiled faintly.
"When did this happen?" the Emperor demanded.
"When I was drawn into the Warp. Our memories merged quite well… and my strength improved considerably."
Silence followed.
The Emperor's psychic projection dissipated atop the snowy peak.
Perturabo shifted his gaze toward the stars.
The massive fleet had begun to subtly alter the gravitational balance of the Olympian system.
Yet among them, that radiant golden warship still shone with unmatched brilliance.
Perturabo could clearly see—
The Emperor and Malcador, studying him from afar.
Nearby stood a slightly dazed Rogal Dorn.
And beside the Emperor, the tallest of the Custodians had already begun charging the Apollonian Spear the moment he sensed something amiss.
It felt exactly like when Perturabo had once tested the Custodes' defensive vulnerabilities alongside Alpharius—
Only far more dangerous.
The other Custodians were slower to react, but most had already realized something was wrong—though they could not pinpoint the source.
Faster than Valdor were the Primarchs.
Lion and Russ reacted first. Their instincts for danger were razor-sharp—and to them, this was unmistakably a provocation.
A powerful psyker was observing them openly—
As though they were beasts in a gladiatorial pit.
Dorn and Ferrus sensed something off as well, but the feeling was vague. Even after reacting, they remained slightly delayed.
Guilliman and Horus, however, responded differently.
Sensing no hostility in that gaze, they chose not to resist it. They understood—this was likely their brother observing his elder siblings.
Sanguinius and Vulkan felt it too.
Kind by nature, they sensed no malice—and instead chose to respond with openness. Especially Sanguinius, who even returned the psychic "gaze" with a gesture of goodwill.
Fulgrim, noticing Ferrus's lack of response, simply ignored it.
Magnus, on the other hand, found it intriguing. Like Sanguinius, he responded—just as he once had with the Emperor. This was something he was thoroughly familiar with.
Alpharius, hidden among the Custodians, felt the gaze linger on him for a brief moment—
Then pass on.
He understood immediately—
He had been exposed.
But since he wasn't being called out, he saw no reason to act.
Sensing the psychic responses from two of his brothers, Perturabo merely smiled faintly and turned back toward his sister.
"What just happened, Perty?"
Stephanie asked, still worried.
But seeing how calm he appeared—and sensing no lingering tension—her tightly wound nerves eased slightly.
"It's nothing. They've arrived. Father just spoke with me briefly… and a few of my brothers sent me their greetings. They're welcoming my return."
"Really?"
Stephanie was unconvinced. The unease she had felt earlier was too real to dismiss.
"Really. Sister, wait here for me. I'll go speak with them."
Perturabo crouched slightly.
Now restored to his full stature—nearly six meters tall—even this posture made him tower over her.
"How are you going to get there?"
"Simple. Don't worry. I'll be back soon."
His figure gradually faded—
And vanished before her eyes.
---
Aboard the Imperator Somnium—
The unusual reactions of the Primarchs caught the attention of the accompanying Space Marines.
Unfortunately, none of them were armed.
After all—
What danger could possibly exist aboard the Emperor's own flagship?
Yet when a figure suddenly materialized directly before the Emperor—
Both Astartes and Custodians instinctively assumed combat stances.
Lion and Russ stepped forward, sword and spear in hand, placing themselves between the Emperor and the newcomer.
But the Emperor and Malcador stopped them.
At the Emperor's signal, the other Primarchs gradually lowered their guard.
The Custodians, however, remained vigilant—maintaining their stance until Malcador himself spoke to calm them.
They looked upon the man before them.
He stood half a head taller than even the Emperor, clad in white robes, with long black hair.
No words were needed.
His presence—his aura alone—was enough to confirm his identity.
A Primarch.
And an exceptionally powerful one.
Yet aside from the Emperor, Malcador, Horus, and Sanguinius—
No one truly relaxed.
This Primarch…
Was dangerous.
Their instincts screamed it.
He was no benevolent figure—no matter how deceiving his appearance.
"So it seems the welcome prepared for my return is quite grand… Father."
Perturabo spoke, his expression devoid of humor.
Now that he stood before them in person, he had cast aside any inclination for jest.
Yet the moment he spoke—
The tension eased by more than half.
The Emperor said nothing.
He stepped forward, studying this son who now felt… unfamiliar.
Perturabo did nothing in return.
He simply stood there, allowing their scrutiny, utterly unconcerned.
Silence fell over the Imperator Somnium.
A suffocating stillness.
Even Horus, who had intended to speak, found himself at a loss for words.
Sanguinius and the others, who had harbored goodwill, also remained silent—fearful of provoking their father at such a moment.
At last—
After a long pause—
The Emperor spoke.
"Welcome back… my fourth son."
But the weight behind those words—
Was unmistakable.
It felt as though they had been forced out—
Through immense restraint.