2nd Primarch

Dukor's journey was beyond the expectations of many.

The beings hidden deep in the Warp wondered why the resurrected Primarch did not immediately set course for Terra.

This Primarch, long removed from the throne, should have been eager to gain recognition from the Imperium and meet the Emperor on the Golden Throne.

Why, then, did he stop at the galaxy's edge?

Upon learning of Dukor's actions, some fallen Primarchs lowered their heads in silence. Once, they too had fought for the Imperium, striving to protect the hope of humanity. Now, they were but accomplices to the horrors inflicted on the innocent.

These thoughts reverberated among the forces of Chaos but dissipated quickly.

The agents of the Ruinous Powers adjusted their strategies in response to the actions of the Second Primarch. They were certain Dukor would not evade their hunt.

The Crystal Maze, Tzeentch's domain, stirred. Great daemons, weavers of fate, observed with keen interest. In certain fragments of destiny, the future became unclear.

This anomaly defied the laws of Chaos. The cosmos was meant to move according to the whims of the gods, every event a strand in their web of control. Yet, these unknown variables had begun to emerge.

Tzeentch's servants found the disruption amusing, their laughter echoing across the Warp. The burgeoning changes promised delightful chaos, a symphony of unpredictability for their master.

Dukor remained unaware of these ripples in fate.

At that moment, he stood among the survivors, offering solace to the grief-stricken.

Perhaps it was the courage of the woman before that dispelled the people's fear of the Primarch.

One after another, they brought their children forward. Fathers and mothers who had shielded their young through chaos now held them aloft, hoping for Dukor's blessing.

Dukor welcomed them all.

The Primarch's psychic power, rooted in the purest will of humanity, could shield these children from harm, nurture their growth, and even awaken latent potential within them.

For Dukor, the cost of such blessings was negligible.

Each child blessed was a seed of hope. Who could say whether these infants, once fragile and starving, might not grow to become the stalwarts of the Imperium's future?

Under Dukor's touch, emaciated children grew plump, their once-malnourished faces filling out, their pallid skin glowing with health. Fear faded from their eyes, replaced by bright, lively determination.

The parents, overwhelmed with gratitude, cheered Dukor's name. Their joy was infectious, their faith in the Imperium rekindled.

Among them stood Efilar, a battle sister hardened by years of service. She watched in quiet awe.

Once, she had dismissed the idea of comforting the wounded, believing her duty was solely to fight. Yet, seeing the smiles of the people and the unwavering compassion of the Primarch, she found new purpose in her struggle.

What is our war truly for? For the Emperor? Certainly. But perhaps... perhaps there is more worth protecting.

Dukor did not linger long with the civilians. He soon made his way to the encampment of the rescued soldiers.

They were a shattered force, many suffering from grievous wounds and trauma. Some had fought Chaos to their last breath; others had endured unspeakable torture as prisoners.

The camp was a somber place, heavy with despair. Astra Militarum sentinels stood vigilant, wary of any sign of corruption among the Space Marines. No precaution was deemed excessive when it came to the Primarch's safety.

When Dukor approached, a commissar stepped forward, blocking his path.

"Your Highness, we cannot vouch for their loyalty. Your compassion may place you at risk. The Imperium cannot afford to lose you," the commissar warned.

Dukor raised a hand, silencing him.

"We cannot treat our comrades with such suspicion. Despair feeds the enemy. Do not worry, Commissar. I am the Emperor's son. None can defeat me, and I fear no danger."

The commissar hesitated but eventually stepped aside.

Dukor entered the camp without hesitation. With no need for words, he extended his psychic power, soothing the soldiers' frayed minds.

"Second Highness," a Space Marine spoke, his voice trembling with both awe and uncertainty.

"Is... is our Gene-Father as powerful as you? And," he hesitated, searching for the right words, "as merciful?"

Dukor regarded the Marine's blue armor and the sigil of Ultramar adorning it. These were Guilliman's sons.

"Your father," Dukor began, choosing his words carefully. Memories of his brother flooded back—stubborn, proud, and relentless, a rock unyielding against any tide. Dukor's lips twitched, suppressing a smile.

How much of the truth should he share?

"In the long, long past, I fought side by side with your Gene-Father," Dukor said at last. "He is my brother, and I have always admired his courage."

The Marines listened intently, eyes wide with wonder.

"I was impressed by his perseverance and tenacity," Dukor continued. "And he has always been well-regarded for his wisdom and his ability to inspire those around him."

Dukor omitted mention of Guilliman's more abrasive traits or the countless times he'd provoked their other brothers. Such details seemed... unnecessary.

Instead, he shared stories of Guilliman's bravery and strength, painting a picture of an ideal leader.

The Marines' faces brightened with pride, their morale bolstered. Dukor knew it was a white lie, but a necessary one.

One day, these sons of Ultramar would meet their Gene-Father. The dissonance between their hero and reality might sting—but for now, hope was more important.

As the soldiers stood taller, their spirits rekindled, Dukor allowed himself a moment of satisfaction.

Telling lies for the greater good, he mused. A curious sin for a son of the Emperor.