Beneath her hood, the usually cold and self-restrained beautiful face of the Ynnari Emissary of Death showed, for the first time, a clear and intense emotional fluctuation.
Her lavender eyes stared unblinkingly at Guilliman, as if trying to see through the essence of this change completely.
(This isn’t right… the feeling is even stronger.) Yvraine’s heart was turbulent.
(Before, I was shocked by the change itself.
But now… this beauty, this purity, this quality that blends divinity with youth, majesty with softness…) (My thoughts on Guilliman… seem completely different now.) This realization startled even her.
(Before, I viewed her as a powerful human tool that needed to be guarded against, could be utilized, and perhaps had the potential for cooperation.
But now…) She looked at Guilliman’s delicate little face, her emerald eyes, the wings that had stilled behind her after fluttering, and the olive wreath that swayed gently as she tilted her head slightly to survey the room… (She… is so cute…) Yvraine’s fingertips curled slightly under her robe sleeves.
(I really want to… pinch those cheeks that look so soft… stroke that smooth blonde hair… hear what that soft, sweet voice sounds like speaking in the Aeldari language…) (No!
Yvraine!
You are the Emissary of Death!
Your goal is to awaken Ynnead and save the Aeldari!
Not to develop strange interests in a human Primarch here, even if it is a loli version!) But the more she admonished herself, the clearer that thought became.
She had to slightly avert her gaze, take a deep breath, and invoke ancient Aeldari meditation techniques to calm her churning emotions.
However, the corner of her eye still uncontrollably drifted toward the figure at the center of the light.
Just as the entire strategic chamber was caught in a collective, polymorphic “cuteness shock” and inner turmoil, Calgar watched his subordinates—those captains and representatives of successor chapters—each with glazed eyes and flushed faces.
Although their helmets covered them, he could feel their aura; some were even unconsciously puffing out their chests and sucking in their stomachs, attempting to look more imposing in their “shyness.” His own face was turning as red as red paint.
(These guys!
Usually, they are fearless in the face of death, but how do they have such a demeanor now!
Although… Mother—ahem—Father is indeed… but they shouldn’t lose their composure like this!) Calgar was anxious and embarrassed, quickly stepping forward and breaking the silence with a voice as loud and serious as possible: “Mother… ahem!
Father!
Please take your seat!” He pointed to the end of the long table, to the tall, heavy, intricately carved chair that looked like a small throne, reserved for the Primarch.
Everyone’s gaze followed Calgar’s gesture, focusing on that chair, and then looked back at Guilliman, who was petite and delicate, with an estimated height of only 1.65 meters.
The atmosphere instantly became… subtle.
Guilliman naturally saw the chair as well.
It had been designed for Guilliman’s original height of 3.5 meters; for her now, it was practically meant for a giant.
But her expression remained unchanged, a flash of determination in her emerald eyes.
She took a gentle breath and, in that soft, sweet, yet clear voice, as if speaking to herself and yet declaring to everyone, said: “Hmm, come on.
I fear nothing.” As she finished speaking, the golden energy wings behind her unfurled with a “swish,” light flowing across them.
She bent her knees slightly and flapped her wings hard!
“Whoosh—” The small figure lifted lightly from the ground, stirring up a gentle current of air and scattering light dust.
Under the gaze of everyone, filled with slight surprise and anticipation, she flapped her wings, struggling, yet steadily “flying” toward that tall chair.
The scene was… indescribably cute and divine at the same time.
Just as her tiptoes were about to touch the wide seat of the chair, a ruthless, reality-mocking voice rang out coldly deep within her consciousness: [Don’t look.
It’s not the chair that has a problem.] [It’s that you’ve become shorter.] [Shorter.
By.
A.
Lot.] Guilliman: “…!” Her body stiffened, and she almost fell from mid-air.
Fortunately, her wings accelerated their flapping reflexively, allowing her to barely steady herself, and then she scrambled, somewhat awkwardly, using both hands and feet to climb onto that chair, which was far too large for her.
Once seated, her lower legs couldn’t even hang naturally to the floor; they just dangled in the air, her fair calves and delicate boots clearly visible beneath her skirt.
She had to straighten her back to make her line of sight barely rise above the tabletop.
“…” A strange silence filled the strategic chamber.
Everyone looked at the blonde Primarch sitting in the huge chair, who appeared even more petite, even a little pitiful, but still cutely explosive, their feelings complex.
The Ultramarines’ hearts were overflowing with maternal love: The chair is too big!
It must be changed!
Change it immediately!
Celestine’s eyes were filled with even more pity: Emperor, this chair is too unfriendly for her now.
Greyfax’s scrutiny programs malfunctioned again: Is this… does this count as a security risk?
Vordus thought: Is it necessary to customize a command throne for the Primarch that fits her new physique?
Mathieu’s inspiration burst forth: “The humble saint, dwelling on a mortal seat, yet whose heart encompasses the galaxy…” Yvraine: (…I want to make her a cushion.
Aeldari style.) Guilliman sat on the high chair, feeling the rich, meaningful gazes cast from all directions, her lower legs swinging gently and unconsciously in the air, her emerald eyes sweeping across the room, taking in everyone’s reactions.
She coughed gently, trying to regain control of the room.
Then, with those crystal-clear, emerald eyes now filled with seriousness, she looked at the Imperial elites on both sides of the long table, who were still in various states of shock, smitten, suspicion, and worship, and her soft, sweet voice rang out clearly in the silent strategic chamber: “Then, everyone.
Let us begin.”