Dieshe Hive City on Terra, his birthplace.
A cold wind swirled with grit across the scorched remnants of walls; the sky was that oppressive lead-gray from the era of the Unification Wars.
The power armor on his body was gone, replaced by a basic set of black Carapace armor.
He had no sword in his hand, but his palms still bore the callouses from years of gripping a blade, and even carried a faint scent of blood.
Almost by instinct, the Astartes’ combat nerves tightened instantly.
But there were no enemies around.
Not until he turned his head and saw that fire.
At the end of the ruins, a campfire was burning.
The flames flickered steadily, dispelling much of the surrounding chill.
A man wearing an old brown leather coat sat with his back to him by the fire, casually poking at the wood with a branch in his hand.
The man’s figure was not towering.
But with just one look at that back, Kulen’s blood felt as if it had frozen instantly.
His knees lost all control and buckled directly.
This feeling was even more familiar and awe-inspiring than facing his genetic father—Lion El’Jonson.
He recognized him.
That was his Lord, his Creator.
The supreme sovereign of all Astartes and Primarchs!
The Emperor of Mankind, the Emperor!
“You have come, my child.” The man turned around.
His face looked gentle, yet it carried the exhaustion and sharpness settled from countless battles over thousands of years.
Those eyes were so deep they seemed to hold the entire galaxy, able to see through all the pain and obsession hidden within Kulen’s soul at a single glance.
Kulen’s knee slammed heavily onto the ground.
He lowered his head deeply, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.
Ten thousand years of grievances, anger, and confusion were all choked up in his throat.
Finally, they converged into a single, most pure and devout oath: “My Lord.” “Rise, child.” The Emperor’s voice was very soft.
Yet it directly overrode the howling wind around them, settling firmly in the deepest part of his soul.
“You do not need to kneel to me.” “You have already, with your sword, your blood, and these ten thousand years of suffering…” “…proven your loyalty to me.” “I have always strictly maintained my loyalty to you!
I am the sharpest sword of you and my father Lion!” Kulen suddenly looked up, the veteran’s eyes red as he stared intently at the man before him.
“To see you again now, I can die without regrets!” “No.” The man spoke, slowly shaking his head.
“You cannot die.
For now, at this moment, you cannot.” “My Lord, then what should I do?” “Protect him, help him,” the man said in a deep voice.
“You witnessed his appearance with your own eyes.
You are certain he is not the head of the rebellion in your memories; he is indeed Lupercal, and not Horus.” “You need me to help that Wolf Shepherd God?” Kulen’s face was full of disbelief.
“But he is a traitor.” “During Horus Heresy, he was the first of my children to die,” the man sighed, his tone tinged with heavy sorrow.
“Despicable and shameless enemies plotted against him and controlled him.” “The him of now is that gentle yet sharp Lupercal we knew, not the Arch-traitor Horus.” “I need him, the Imperium needs him, and the Guilliman and Lion of the future will also need him.” Hearing his genetic father’s name, Kulen suddenly clenched his fist.
That mortal named Karen hadn’t lied to him; The Lion really would return!
“But you must also be wary of the young man beside him.” The man’s tone suddenly shifted, his brow revealing a rare sense of inquiry and doubt toward Karen.
“My Lord, you mean that Scavenger named Karen?” “Yes.” The man paused, his deep gaze seemingly piercing through the veil between dream and reality as he added: “But please also trust that person.
If the time is right, bring him to Terra, bring him before me.”