Occasionally mixed with one or two faint murmurs, seemingly about a size or a clasp, the voice soft and sweet, indistinct.
A few minutes later, the sounds of dressing ceased.
It was quiet for another moment.
Then, the door slowly opened inward.
The first thing to step out was a foot wearing a beautifully decorated white ankle boot.
The boot was snug and petite, with golden Greek key patterns decorating the edge of the shaft and a small sapphire adorning the toe.
Next came a fair, slender leg with a graceful curve, which seemed to have its own soft glow under the bathroom’s gentle lighting.
Without stockings, the skin was directly exposed, appearing even more translucent and clear.
The blue and white skirt hem swayed gently with each step.
The deep blue bodice perfectly outlined the girl’s slender yet curvaceous figure, and the white sash cinched a waist that could be held in one’s hand.
The white skirt billowed gently like waves as she walked, those fine vertical pleats creating wonderful light and shadow changes in the light.
Her arms hung naturally at her sides, their lines smooth and graceful.
On her left hand was an intricately designed blue gauntlet, shaped like wings, which had been temporarily modified from spare decorative pieces of the Primarch’s power armor, unexpectedly matching the overall style.
Her right hand…
was temporarily empty.
Most striking were her face and hair accessories.
Her long golden hair had been simply combed and hung softly over her shoulders and back, the tips still carrying a hint of dampness.
And on top of her head, she wore the fresh, emerald-green olive wreath, with golden threads and sapphires faintly visible amidst her smooth golden hair, setting off her fair forehead.
There was no heavy makeup on her face (nor was it needed), but her skin after the bath was white with a rosy tint, delicate enough to break at a touch.
Those originally azure eyes now revealed a hint of captivating emerald green under the light, like the deepest jade lake, echoing perfectly with the wreath in her hair and the blue and white of her dress.
She stood there quietly, a faint, warm, and non-dazzling golden halo seemingly flowing naturally around her, not deliberately activated, but rather like a natural expression of some trait of this new body.
This halo made her look both real and possessed of an otherworldly sanctity and mystery.
Sacred, elegant, refined, yet not lacking the dignity and bearing appropriate for a ruler.
At this moment, she was no longer the lost, crying girl in the bathroom, nor the panicked “accidental product” she had been when she first awakened.
She was Guilliman, Lord of Macragge, the gene-Primarch returned from a long slumber; no matter how her form changed, that nobility and sense of responsibility deeply rooted in her soul had already begun to merge with this new body, clearly conveyed through this appropriate attire.
Calgar and all the members of the Honour Guard were completely stunned.
They forgot to breathe, forgot to move, just staring blankly at the figure who had walked out from inside, as if she had stepped out of a classical fresco or a sacred poem.
“Too…
beautiful.” “No, it’s not just beauty.” “It is a shock that transcends pure sight and strikes directly at the soul.” “It is loyalty and reverence finding their most perfect, most unexpected embodiment.” Guilliman looked at the group of petrified steel giants before her, actually feeling a bit nervous inside.
This dress was indeed much more comfortable to wear than power armor, movement was convenient, and the wreath was not heavy.
But what was the effect?
Would it be strange?
Was there any dignity?
She gave a light cough, trying to break the silence, and asked in as steady a tone as possible, “How is it?
Is it…
appropriate?” This sound awakened everyone.
Calgar was the first to react; almost instinctively, he performed the most standard single-knee kneeling salute, lowered his head, and said in an unprecedented voice filled with excitement and devotion: “You…
you are radiant, Father!
This attire…
perfectly fits your status and dignity!” The other Honour Guard members also knelt in unison, lowered their heads, and said in unison, “Primarch!” In their voices, there was no longer any previous confusion or hesitation, only pure, burning loyalty and reverence.
At this moment, the impact brought by the appearance was covered by a deeper identification with the essence of “Guilliman,” even sublimated by this unprecedented sacred image.
Guilliman looked at the blue giants kneeling on the ground, feeling a bit more settled.
It seemed this outfit was effective.
She looked down at herself and couldn’t help but walk over to the large mirror that hadn’t been moved yet.
In the mirror, the girl with golden hair and green eyes, wearing a green wreath and a blue and white dress, with a faint golden light flowing around her body, also looked at her quietly.
Their eyes met.
The corners of Guilliman’s mouth slowly and involuntarily curled up into a subtle arc, yet one sufficient to make the stars pale.
“Not bad,” she said softly to herself, a flash of determination in her emerald eyes, “Then, it’s time to go to the meeting.” She turned around, her skirt tracing an elegant arc, and looked at Calgar, who had already stood up.
“Lead the way, Chapter Master.
To the strategic room.” “Yes!
Primarch, please follow me!” Calgar straightened his chest, like the most honored honor guard captain, leading the way in front.
The Honour Guard automatically split into two columns, guarding her sides.
Guilliman took a step, her white ankle boots clicking crisply and steadily on the marble floor.
The blue and white skirt swayed slightly, her long golden hair flowing behind her, and the olive wreath on her head exuded a fresh scent.
She walked through the corridor, amidst her warriors, heading towards the first formal meeting since her awakening, heading towards this galactic stage that had waited for her for ten thousand years and had been in chaos for ten thousand years.