The atmosphere was heavy on the D-77 docking platform of the Crimson Drake Gate.
Thousands of Crimson Drake Gate PDF soldiers stood in tight, perfectly aligned squares. Under the harsh glare of the starport's floodlights, their pale crimson uniforms projected absolute authority.
They stood ramrod straight, ceremonial rifles polished to a mirror shine and angled sharply toward the sky.
A potent mix of solemnity and fierce pride was written across every young face in the formation.
They were waiting to welcome true demigods of the Imperium of Man.
At the very front of the formation stood Cogboy, wearing a dark gray planetary governor's uniform.
The emblem of the Crimson Dawn was embroidered over his heart: a rising sun breaking the horizon, wreathed by stalks of wheat, cogwheels, and stars.
Today, his otherwise average face wore a perfectly measured look of dignity and barely contained excitement.
Right behind him were the faces that Guilliman and Sanguinius would immediately recognize: [Blood Angel], [Schrödinger Bro], [Paradox Player Not a War Criminal], and the rest of the veteran crew.
These were the old-school players who had spent New Year's Eve with the two Primarchs twenty-three years ago. Now, every single one of them showed varying degrees of aging.
[Blood Angel] had gray showing at his temples. [Schrödinger Bro] had a network of fine wrinkles around his eyes. Even [Paradox Player Not a War Criminal], usually known for his cynical smirk, looked a bit more grounded, carrying a quiet maturity that only came with time.
Of course, all of this was just a clever disguise, courtesy of the cash shop's character customization feature.
As far as the galaxy knew, they were just regular humans. It had been over two decades; if they hadn't aged a day, Guilliman and Sanguinius would have instantly been suspicious.
But standing together like this, their underlying spirit was unmistakable.
The sheer confidence and unbreakable resolve radiating from them hadn't changed a bit since that night twenty-three years ago.
When the two massive figures finally stepped down the boarding ramp, the air across the entire docking platform seemed to freeze in place.
Roboute Guilliman.
He was clad in master-crafted cerulean power armor etched with golden litanies, the Ultramarines' inverted Omega gleaming blindingly under the overhead lights.
A faint, evaluating look rested on his flawless, classically handsome face.
Sanguinius.
His resplendent golden armor cast a soft, warm glow. The majestic, snow-white wings folded against his back twitched ever so slightly, every single feather looking like the purest winter snow.
His immaculate face betrayed a tangled mess of emotions—anticipation, confusion, and a deep, barely hidden sense of urgency.
The two Primarchs stood shoulder to shoulder. Just standing there, they felt like twin, insurmountable mountains.
Cogboy took a deep breath and stepped forward.
He stopped exactly three meters from the Primarchs, slammed his right fist over his left heart, and snapped a flawless Imperial Aquila salute.
The gesture carried a heavy, genuine reverence.
"Planetary Governor of Aurelian IV, Cage Lawrence," he announced.
His voice was steady and powerful, ringing out across the dead-silent platform:
"Welcome back to Aurelian IV, Lord Sanguinius, Lord Guilliman!"
"The Crimson Dawn welcomes you both, ready for the promised audit!"
The second he finished speaking, the hundred-plus veteran players behind him threw their right fists over their hearts in perfect unison.
The collective thud sounded like a single, massive heartbeat.
A split second later, the thousands of PDF soldiers broke their silence.
Over four thousand voices crashed together into a roaring tidal wave that echoed through the cavernous starport:
"WELCOME TO AURELIAN FOR THE AUDIT, LORD SANGUINIUS, LORD GUILLIMAN!!"
The sheer volume was earth-shattering, yet it wasn't a chaotic scream; it was fiercely disciplined, radiating a terrifyingly unified solemnity.
Guilliman and Sanguinius exchanged a quick look.
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before both offered a subtle nod.
Guilliman turned back, his ice-blue eyes locking onto Cogboy.
The corner of his mouth ticked up into a faint smile.
"Governor Cage Lawrence."
His voice was calm and mild, carrying the inherent majesty of a Primarch, but laced with a surprising warmth:
"It's been over twenty years, hasn't it?"
Cogboy slowly raised his head, taking in Guilliman's classically flawless features.
He let out a soft chuckle, a sound heavy with the grit of time and undeniable nostalgia:
"It sure has, Lord Guilliman."
"Twenty-three years."
His tone drifted, like he was getting lost in memories of a bygone era:
"Not since you and the sector officials handed me the governorship of Aurelian."
He paused, letting his gaze linger on Guilliman's completely unchanged face, his tone shifting into genuine admiration:
"After all these years, you haven't aged a day. You still look the same."
"Time is nothing but a joke to the great Primarch."
He looked down at his own body, noting the frail, organic flesh that hadn't been replaced by cybernetics, and gave a self-deprecating laugh:
"Meanwhile, I'm just getting old and falling apart."
Guilliman watched him closely. The man who had been a sharp, spirited middle-aged guy twenty-three years ago now sported graying temples.
The Primarch gave a small nod but stayed silent.
Instead, his gaze slid past Cogboy to the familiar faces lined up behind him.
[Blood Angel], [Schrödinger Bro], [Paradox Player Not a War Criminal], [Studying Med is Worse Than Falling to Chaos], [Teaching Nurgle How to Read in the Warp], [The Most Incorruptible Logistics King of the Imperium], [Slaanesh Just Wants to Slack Off Today]...
These were the guys who had folded dumplings, watched fireworks, and shot the breeze about their wildest ideals with him on that New Year's Eve.
Now, every single one of them wore the toll of passing years.
A flash of deep, complex emotion sparked deep inside Guilliman's eyes, almost too quick to catch.
He finally spoke, his voice cool and steady:
"We are here today to fulfill the promise we made back then."
He swept his gaze over every familiar face before locking back onto Cogboy:
"Sanguinius and I want to see if you've lived up to what you promised us that night."
He paused, his tone dropping into something far more serious:
"This audit determines whether your Crimson Dawn will be allowed to keep governing this world."
He laid it out straight.
No sugarcoating, no polite corporate speak.
But that was Guilliman in a nutshell. Rational, blunt, and driven entirely by cold facts and ruthless efficiency... A true Primarch.
Everyone present knew exactly what was on the line.
This was make-or-break. Whether they got to keep their planet or have the Imperium snatch it all away hinged entirely on how this audit went.
Yet, Cogboy didn't even flinch.
He kept that easy, relaxed smile and offered a slight bow:
"We'd be more than happy to."
His voice didn't waver an inch:
"We welcome your inspection, my lords."
He looked up, meeting Guilliman's gaze dead on. There wasn't an ounce of fear in his eyes, just total confidence:
"To be completely honest, we've been ready for thirteen years."
"We were just waiting for you both to finally show up."
He stepped aside, sweeping his right arm out toward the exit:
"Right this way!"
"We've already prepped a massive festival to welcome you back to Aurelian!"
Guilliman nodded.
He shot a glance at Sanguinius, and the two Primarchs stepped forward in sync, heading deeper into the starport.
The high command of their Legions immediately fell into step behind them.
As Marius Gage walked past Cage Lawrence, his eyes lingered on the governor's face for a split second.
Azkaellon did the same when he passed by.
When Nassir Amit stomped past, the Flesh Tearer's brutal features held a flash of undeniable... curiosity.
Where the hell did this baseline mortal get the guts to act so cool in front of two Primarchs?
Cage Lawrence didn't move until the very last Astartes commander disappeared down the hallway.
He glanced over his shoulder at his veteran brothers.
[Blood Angel] gave him a solid nod.
[Schrödinger Bro] flashed an 'OK' sign.
With that, the old guard fell in behind him, escorting the two Primarchs deep into the heart of the Crimson Drake Gate.
--
The four thousand PDF soldiers held their formation, watching the entourage shrink into the distance.
It wasn't until the VIPs completely vanished into the corridors that a wave of hushed, frantic whispers broke out across the docking platform.
"So those are the Primarchs of the Imperium..."
A young PDF trooper muttered, his eyes wide with absolute awe:
"They're... they're insane."
"Just standing near them made it hard to breathe."
An older veteran next to him clapped a hand on his shoulder and grinned:
"You get used to it."
"The first time I saw Lord Guilliman, I was in way worse shape than you."
"I straight up collapsed on the floor afterward."
The rookie blinked. "Seriously?"
"Dead serious."
The vet nodded, staring down the hallway with a heavy dose of nostalgia:
"Twenty-three years, man..."
"I was just a greenhorn when I joined the Crimson Dawn."
"I remember standing in the plaza of Kent Hive, watching the Primarch up on that stage handing over the planet to us."
"That's a memory you take to the grave."
The young soldier went quiet for a few seconds before speaking up again:
"So... do you think we'll pass the audit this time?"
The vet looked over at the worried kid and suddenly laughed.
It was a laugh built on twenty-three years of grinding, a laugh full of absolute rock-solid confidence:
"Relax, kid."
"You know better than anyone what Aurelian looks like right now."
"As long as those two Primarchs aren't blind, we'll pass with flying colors."
The rookie thought about it for a second, then nodded.
He was right.
He knew exactly what Aurelian had become.
The spotless surface cities, the lush green farmland, the crystal-clear rivers, the plazas constantly filled with laughter...
They had built this home with their bare hands over the last twenty-three years.
With a world like that, what the hell was there to be afraid of?
--
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