Hope Primarch's Armory.
This was one of the wealthiest armories in the entire Imperium.
Its space could easily hold a whole row of Warlord-class Titans, and tier upon tier of forcefield-sealed racks displayed rare artifacts—either recovered from across the galaxy or forged here.
Even legendary weapons and armor were not uncommon.
But the Hope Primarch himself rarely used these armaments, keeping the place as more of a private collection hall.
Only those gene-sons most favored by the Hope Primarch were permitted entry—to receive armaments personally bestowed by him.
"Such generosity and grace… do I truly deserve this honor?"
Titus knelt on one knee, both hands reverently holding a legendary power sword named Glory, a faint pang of guilt in his heart.
It was the personal blade of the Savior—the Hope Primarch and his gene-father—bearing the Primarch's own engraved sigil. It had accompanied him through countless ages and wars.
It had tasted the blood of heretics and xenos beyond number, carrying with it unmatched honor.
Now, that exalted being was bestowing this legendary blade upon him—a warrior recently freed from the Inquisition's prison, one still tainted by suspicion.
Titus, loyal and steadfast, could not help but wonder if he was worthy of it.
In his old thinking, he would need many more battles of atonement before regaining his past honor.
Yet his gene-father was giving him so much, so soon.
"Titus, you deserve all of it."
Eden saw his son's hesitation, shoved the Glory power sword into his hands, and allowed no refusal.
"Think of it as an advance payment. I believe you'll earn that glory with your own hands."
He was half-joking—was there anything the Savior couldn't give away?
Titus was a chosen of Khorne's ultimate standard—a warrior who could swim through the tides of the Warp or xenos swarms in nothing but standard-issue armor.
With high-grade gear, he'd be unstoppable.
Besides, Eden didn't really need these himself.
Weapons like Glory or Arbiter—legendary Primarch armaments he'd "borrowed" from old Guilliman's armory and restyled—were rarely used.
Mostly they were display pieces, like oversized gold chains, just to look impressive.
As his fame swelled, he'd grown even lazier about wearing them; they just gathered dust in the Hope Primarch's armory.
Originally, he'd thought about giving them to Carter, but that man preferred… less subtle implements.
So, giving them to Titus was perfect.
A former Ultramarine, armed with the Ultramarines' Primarch's own relics—just right.
Eden felt no guilt whatsoever.
They were his spoils; he could do whatever he wanted with them. If someone didn't like it, they could send old Guilliman over for a chat.
Besides, the resources he supplied Guilliman were worth far more than these trinkets.
Titus solemnly took the Hope Primarch's sword; even the scars on his face seemed to set with gravity.
"I will forge this glory with my life."
"No need to be so formal here. Come on, I'll show you the rest—see something you like, take it."
Eden gestured for his gene-son to rise and led him deeper into the vault.
He was never stingy with worthy sons.
In his eyes, having the gear on his sons was no different from having it himself—and far better than leaving it to rot here.
Following Eden, Titus took in the racks of wargear that most warriors could only dream of. His awe deepened with every step.
Yet he made no further requests; what he had already received was more than his honor warranted.
"This one's nice—yours. And this—good backup."
Eden wasn't thinking about moderation. He was aiming for maximum shock value.
Especially since, soon enough, his Dark Eldar clone would be taking Titus into Commorragh itself.
For a King Arthur among men and a Hengreon among steeds, your bodyguard's gear had better match.
He handed over a skull-shaped relic amulet shrouded in a special forcefield, along with a Mechanicus purity seal capable of detecting heretical energy—supposedly from a legendary warrior.
Then, under Titus' stunned gaze…
Eden casually dragged out a golden legendary Iron Halo.
Iron Halos—usually ring- or half-ring-shaped, mounted on a helm or the back of the head—were ancient, rare pieces of Astartes forcefield technology.
Often treated as symbols of honor, they were awarded only to the most extraordinary warriors, able to stop even the fiercest attacks.
Even within the Ultramarines, few had such treasures; usually only Captains or Chapter Masters were allowed one, signifying command authority.
Some poor Chapters had only a single Iron Halo in the whole force, passing it down as a sacred relic.
Eden, of course, skipped the priests and incense and just yanked out a Halo more valuable than most.
But that wasn't the shocking part.
The shocking part was whose Halo it had been.
"My lord… I cannot bear such an honor…"
Titus swallowed hard, voice hoarse.
This golden Halo was all too familiar.
The earlier relics, heavily modified, hadn't raised his suspicions. But this? It was unchanged. One glance was enough to know.
It had belonged to the other gene-father—the Primarch of the Ultramarines, Roboute Guilliman himself.
It had been in countless portraits and statues—every Ultramarine could recognize it instantly.
How in the Throne's name did the Hope Primarch have Guilliman's Iron Halo?
"You can handle it. A true warrior fears nothing."
Eden lifted a hand; the Halo floated into place behind Titus' head, locking into his armor's gorget and backpack in standby mode.
"It's another advance payment. Use it well."
This was how you bound loyalty—and it worked best on the loyal.
Titus took a deep breath, wondering how many battles, how many heretics and xenos he'd have to destroy to repay these "advances."
Even a Chapter Master had never been shown such favor.
If he knew that half his new wargear were Guilliman's own relics, he might faint outright.
This was classic Savior strategy—saturation gifting. Give so much to mortals or super-soldiers that they'd never finish repaying it, and so they'd serve you forever.
Just look at the Terra law enforcement units—when sweeping hive underbellies, six baton strikes per second was just the baseline.
Not because it was all they could do, but because if they swung any faster, the Savior might not see.
Eden nodded in satisfaction at the fully armed Titus.
"Good. Only thing is, that Halo's color clashes. I'll have someone repaint it later."
Just then, a request for audience came in.
Ultramarines Chapter Master Calgar wished to see the Savior, to discuss the matter of Titus.
——
Hope Primarch's Throne Hall.
Calgar strode in quickly.
He had been on duty in the Segmentum Solar when he'd heard of Titus' situation, and had rushed to Terra—hoping to return this great warrior to the Chapter.
Privately, he felt some guilt. The Ultramarines had failed this hero.
But there had been no choice.
When Titus was arrested by the Inquisition, Guilliman had not yet returned, and it was near impossible to oppose the Inquisition in matters of heresy.
For the next century, the Inquisitor responsible had blocked all visitors and sealed all information.
The Ultramarines could do little, and the Great Rift's arrival buried the matter further in chaos.
It was the Chapter's strict adherence to the Codex and honor that had doomed him.
A more barbaric Chapter would have just stormed in and taken him—what could the Inquisition do?
Calgar's only hope now was that the Savior would agree to let Captain Titus return.
He wasn't confident in his own ability to negotiate with a Primarch, so he'd contacted Guilliman—away in another sector overseeing reforms—and had the Regent appear via holo-projection.
Technically, they could have just called.
But Calgar came in person, out of respect.
"My lord Savior…"
He bowed formally.
Then he looked up—and saw Titus standing beside the throne.
The former Captain was clad in ornate dark-gold armor, wearing the insignia of the Hope Primarch's closest bloodline sons.
And on his head… the Iron Halo of Roboute Guilliman himself.
Calgar's mind went blank. His rehearsed speech died in his throat.
"By the Throne… what in the Emperor's name is going on?"
Titus… a blood-son of the Hope Primarch? Impossible.
Astartes gene-lineage testing was strict, especially for such pure blood. There was no room for accidents.
Otherwise, the White Consuls wouldn't have launched a crusade just to find their "true father."
But… could it be true?
Calgar considered it.
With gene-seed so scarce, many Chapters' lines were a muddled mess. Who knew where some seeds had come from? A single Chapter often carried multiple Primarch lineages.
As long as it wasn't from a traitor Primarch, and there was no proof, it was fine.
Still—the Ultramarines were supposed to be above that.
If this were true, it could trigger a full identity crisis. Every Ultramarine would have to be retested.
Including him.
The thought made him sweat. If he turned out to be one of the Hope Primarch's sons… how was he supposed to face that?
And another thing—Titus' current kit was actually better than his own Chapter Master gear.
These were Primarch-grade relics!
???
Beside him, Guilliman's holo-image also froze, eyes wide.
What in the Warp? My son is now Eden's son?
And Eden gave him my old wargear?
This… was going to be awkward.
Beside the throne, Titus still wore that stern, disciplined expression—
but inside, his composure was hanging by a thread, his gaze dropping slightly.
The whole scene felt… awkward.
It was like having your "real father" and your "stepfather" meet, while you stood behind the latter wearing your real father's legendary Iron Halo.
No matter what, after accepting the Hope Primarch's gifts, there was no going back to the Ultramarines—
at least not until he'd earned honors to match.
In the throne hall, aside from the thick-skinned Hope Primarch, everyone else involved was at a loss for words.
For a moment, no one knew what to say.
Eden coughed lightly, frowning with an air of seriousness.
"This is… complicated. I'll need to speak with the Imperial Regent privately."
This sort of thing had to be settled with old Guilliman directly—no need for the "sons" to sit in.
Titus and Calgar withdrew, and the Savior and the Regent spoke behind closed doors.
It wasn't long before the hall opened again, allowing Titus and Calgar back inside.
Guilliman declared Titus a recognized gene-son of the Hope Primarch—
but also affirmed that the former Captain would always be part of the Ultramarines.
For now, he would remain in the Hope Primarch's service.
The Regent finished the announcement with a touch of awkwardness, ending the transmission.
Calgar, seeing matters resolved, bowed and took his leave.
This was the joint decision of two Primarchs—essentially Imperial law.
There was nothing anyone could do but obey.
Still, before leaving, his eyes couldn't help sliding toward the golden Iron Halo on Titus' armor.
By the Throne…
That was a dream-tier relic for any Astartes—even Calgar himself felt a pang of envy.
Perhaps… I could petition my gene-father for some wargear of my own?
After all, pure-blood gene-sons shouldn't be treated too differently.
Eden watched Guilliman depart without much reaction.
The Regent's awkwardness wasn't about Titus; the brothers wouldn't quarrel over this.
The real reason was their discussion about Yvraine.
Eden had strongly hinted that Guilliman should… cultivate that relationship—
ideally even invite her over.
He'd all but told the Regent to "seal the deal."
The times were growing darker.
The Chaos Gods—especially the Dark Prince—were hungrier than ever for souls.
Even mortal enemies like the Dark Eldar and Craftworld Aeldari were strengthening ties to resist that hunger.
The Imperium and the Aeldari agreed on at least one thing: cooperation between humanity and the Aeldari was the galaxy's future, and only by standing together could they hold back Chaos' corruption.
So Eden intended to leverage Guilliman's connection to Yvraine— building deeper ties and trade routes, paving the way for his own plans.
"Titus, go train with your new gear. You'll be back on the battlefield soon."
The gene-son nodded solemnly and departed with the Adeptus Custodes escort. He would need extensive drills to master the equipment, and study every scrap of intelligence on the Dark Eldar.
Eden reviewed the latest reports.
Eden had just told Him of his plan to claim Commorragh. The old man's reaction was stronger than when Eden had found the Blackstone Webway Gate.
If not for the Golden Throne's shackles, the Emperor might have leapt up to join the operation in person.
The Webway had been His greatest dream.
Though He'd once claimed a fragment, the project had ended in costly failure.
But Commorragh was an entire Webway city— far larger than the Blackstone Gate's fragment.
If humanity could hold it, the Emperor's long-lost dream of Webway routes could be fulfilled— allowing physical passage across the galaxy, from one Webway node to another.
No more reliance on the dangerous Warp for travel— just safe, rapid expansion.
"Looks like I'll need to build more Holy Towers…"
Eden watched as the Emperor, unable to restrain His divine essence, sank back into slumber.
But the Savior's domain was already near the limits of its production and resources.
Mass-producing more psychic venting towers in the short term was impossible.
Unless… he took Commorragh.
Then, through trade, he could harvest galactic resources far faster, building towers across the stars.
Checking the Emperor's state and seeing no sign of deeper corruption, Eden finally relaxed— and headed for his true destination: the Garden of Life.
...
The Garden of Life
The verdant paradise of the Goddess of Life Isha was all beauty and vitality—
and at Eden's arrival, it opened itself entirely, offering no defense against him.
Then his expression darkened— thick Chaos energy was present.
It was the Dark Prince.
No direct attack, no malice— otherwise, the Holy Sun's defenses would already be blazing.
In an instant, he was drawn into an illusion.
The Dark Prince appeared in Isha's form, reclining on a bed— an image of utter invitation.
The Chaos God offered him a bargain— deeper union, and joint dominion over the realm of pleasure.
"Hard pass."
Eden rejected her without a moment's thought, snapping the connection and leaving the Dark Prince shrieking in frustration.
The illusion dissolved, and he was back on the Garden's soft, fragrant grass.
She's desperate.
Since Eden's dark aspect had taken some of Slaanesh's power, he'd been encroaching on her "food supply."
Small though that stolen authority was, it was enough to make the Chaos God wary.
Pleasure encompassed joy, love, family, intimacy, creation— a vast domain.
If the Savior could control it for humanity, mankind would be far safer from corruption.
Recently, the Dark Prince had contacted him often— in short, trying to coax him into becoming her equal partner, rather than an enemy.
But Eden had no interest.
Not because he disliked "being kept"— but because he preferred being the one doing the keeping.
Which was why, at this moment, he was here to enjoy the soft, fragrant company of Isha instead.
He walked the grassy path deeper into the woods.
Vine-curtains drew aside of their own accord to welcome him.
Soon, beside a crystal-clear spring, he found her— the elfin Goddess of Life bathing, radiant beyond words.
Firefly-like motes of life-energy flowed from the spring into a cauldron downstream— once a Nurgle artifact, now the Well of Life.
It was gathering Isha's purest life-force— key to creating soul-healing elixirs, especially potent for the Aeldari.
This would be his trump card for conquering Commorragh.
The Aeldari, once galactic rulers, had souls so strong they could reincarnate endlessly— the very reason Slaanesh had been born, and the source of her power.
If Isha could develop the elixir, Eden could use it to claim the souls and faith of the Dark Eldar—
and all Aeldari.
That would be cutting Slaanesh off at the root.
And when that day came… she might be the one coming to him in tears.
Not that it would be easy.
It would take time, work— and constant defense against Slaanesh and the Aeldari death-god Ynnead.
Still—an opportunity worth the risk.
"My dear…"
Isha's eyes lit up with joy at his arrival, her voice trembling, a flush rising to her cheeks.
She clearly wanted him to stay and… keep her company.
But Eden only said, calmly—
"Sorry. I don't like making the first move."
(End of Chapter)
[Get +20 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Zaelum"]
[Every 500 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]