The crimson glow of a supergiant star poured through the stained-glass dome of the Red Council Hall, casting its bloody light across the ancient angelic reliefs and enormous hanging banners of honor.
At the Savior's summons, numerous Chapter Masters had gathered in this majestic hall. They had been informed that both they and their warriors were about to embark on a dangerous mission—into the perilous realm of the Eye of Terror.
This swirling maelstrom of tightly packed stars was a hell where reality and the Warp entwined. It was, true to its name, a monstrous black eye glowing ominously in the galactic north, a vile jewel embedded in the Milky Way.
It was a storm—the maddest storm in the galaxy—where chaotic energies spread outward in all directions, affecting every corner of the galaxy.
A paradise for daemons, monsters, and human traitors, they ruled countless corrupted worlds there.
To enter it was to step into a coffin.
But the Emperor's Angels of Death feared no such thing. Instead, they were eager, hoping to follow their great Primarch and Savior into the heart of that Chaos nest.
To unleash their wrath upon the daemons and traitors.
These Chapter Masters straightened their backs, radiating a unique aura of determination.
Their expectant eyes turned toward the two towering figures upon the royal dais—the Savior and the Regent—and their hearing sharpened.
Because the Savior was now calling out names.
Only the chosen Chapters would earn the honor of following the Savior into the Eye of Terror.
Eden stood tall atop the platform, reading the names of the selected Chapters one by one, each announcement met with roaring pride from those called.
...
Not far below the dais…
The Chapter Masters of the Carcharodons and the Lamenters, old rivals, stood eyeing each other warily—Tyberos and Marakin, locked once more in their familiar silent clash.
"You'd better not get your hopes up," Tyberos said with a hint of mockery. "The Savior would never allow unluck-bringers like you into the Eye of Terror. If you're chosen, the whole plan could be doomed."
The Lamenters had long been notorious throughout the Imperium for a string of misfortunes so unnatural it seemed they bore a curse. Every campaign they joined seemed to end in calamity and staggering losses.
Marakin's expression darkened. "By the Emperor's name, that curse is long lifted. Not a single mishap occurred during this entire war."
Tyberos scoffed, "Can you guarantee that? We're passing through planets under the control of all sorts of Chaos scum. If anything goes wrong and we get cut off—" he sneered, "then we're all cursed."
But even before he could finish—
The Savior called the Lamenters by name.
Marakin instantly stood tall, elated.
With reverence, he bowed to the Savior, promising that the Lamenters would give their all, no matter the cost.
"Savage. The Lamenters have earned their place. But you?" he smirked. "You might be staying behind. Perhaps your tribe of brutes isn't up to the task."
Now it was Tyberos' turn to feel nervous.
Surely, the Savior wouldn't leave the Carcharodons behind? They were his warriors, weren't they?
But so far… no mention of them.
If they were excluded, it would mean the Carcharodons were deemed unfit for this most glorious of campaigns. A shame he would never live down—and Marakin would be laughing about it for decades.
Time passed.
Tyberos grew more restless by the moment, aching to leap forward and volunteer.
But in the presence of the Savior and the Regent, he dared not act so rashly.
On the platform…
Eden continued calmly reading out names. This venture into the Eye of Terror, to tear into Abaddon's lair, didn't require numbers.
Only tens of thousands of elite Space Marines would form the core.
The Custodes would return to Holy Terra. The newly appointed Lord Commander of the Custodes would oversee its restructuring, readying them for the wars to come.
It wasn't just elite warriors being selected, but ships too.
Smaller strike craft couldn't withstand the chaotic energies saturating the Eye of Terror—they'd be reduced to floating wrecks. Instead, hundreds of capital warships, each over eight kilometers long, were designated for this voyage.
Eden glanced at the remaining names and continued calling them out.
Along with the Thunder Wardens, the Angels of War, and other Chapters born from his geneseed…
He preferred warrior Chapters that acted swiftly, independently, and, ideally, were clever opportunists.
Chapters like the Blood Ravens—pity they weren't here.
Still, he had others, the likes of Children of the People, Carcharodons, and other crafty, audacious forces.
As for the Lamenters—he included them purely as a hedge against misfortune.
"Praise the great Savior!"
When the name Carcharodons rang out, Tyberos jumped out in joy, saluting with pride as though he had just won a grand prize.
Eden, slightly amused, shot a long look at the giant shark of a man—attentive subordinates always drew more favor.
The selection was complete.
Those not chosen were clearly disappointed.
They had stayed in Baal too long and would now return to their assigned sectors, continuing the fight against Chaos and xenos incursions.
But just as the crowd began to disperse—
A new Chapter arrived.
They requested audience with the Savior.
Clad in white-and-black power armor, they were quickly permitted into the hall, marching forward with excitement and a trace of unease.
They were squads from the White Consuls.
Confused murmurs rippled through the assembled Astartes as they stepped aside to let the White Consuls pass.
Eden looked down at the man at their head—Captain Malachai—and smiled warmly. "You're late, Captain. The victory ceremony is long concluded."
Malachai looked around nervously before raising his voice, "Savior, Regent—We are here for something important. It concerns the fate of our Chapter. We ask you all to bear holy witness!"
This sparked interest.
Many present had heard the rumors.
The Departmento Munitorum had accused the White Consuls of harboring impure blood—perhaps even heretical.
Such suspicions cast a long shadow. If true, they were not to be trusted… possibly even on the brink of betrayal.
The Imperium had seen this before.
These betrayals had cost dearly in blood.
The White Consuls bore the gaze of the crowd in silence, stung by the distrust—but a spark of hope brightened their eyes. What was about to happen could change everything.
Maybe, after today, no one would ever doubt them again.
Eden's attention sharpened as he waited for Malachai's next words.
With a clang of ceramite on marble, nearly a hundred White Consuls dropped to one knee before the Savior.
They bowed their heads in unison and cried out:
"Father!"
…What?
Everyone, including the Regent, was momentarily stunned.
All eyes shifted to the White Consuls—then back to Eden.
Had the White Consuls just… publicly acknowledged him as their gene-father?
Even Eden was taken aback.
A whole squad of "sons" appearing out of nowhere would rattle anyone. And he knew full well that these so-called "sons" had absolutely nothing to do with his actual geneseed.
Still, he quickly composed himself.
Eden said nothing—merely turned his gaze to Captain Malachai, waiting for an explanation.
If they wanted to claim him as father, they'd better have proof.
Malachai took a deep breath and projected a genetic comparison chart into the air. On it, the alignment between the White Consuls' geneseed and the Savior's was clear.
After acquiring samples of Eden's geneseed, the White Consuls had immediately begun analysis—and the results shocked them.
Their geneseed was over 70% genetically compatible with the Savior's.
In an age when geneseed was increasingly unstable, this match rate was higher than many Chapters had with their own Primarchs or First Founding ancestors.
There was now overwhelming evidence: the Savior might very well be the White Consuls' gene-father.
The Chapter Master had received this data while leading a campaign to uncover their origins. The result thrilled him… and also gave him pause.
Because they had been following another lead too—one pointing to a different origin, perhaps even a traitor Primarch.
Two truths in conflict.
And so, the Chapter Master made a choice.
He destroyed the other lead.
He couldn't gamble on a possible traitor's bloodline. Nor did the White Consuls have time to continue investigating. They were already at risk of being declared heretics or being sent on a penitent crusade.
He had to protect the Chapter.
And this Savior—this living, breathing Primarch—was the better path.
There was no surer guardian than a gene-father standing in the light.
So he ordered the campaign ended and sent Malachai to deliver the news to the Savior himself.
Malachai knew little of this. Only that his Chapter Master and the Chapter's senior Techmarines had deemed the findings conclusive.
He had been sent to request—no, beg—that the White Consuls be welcomed home.
Before fate could turn again.
...
Within the grand hall—
After witnessing the astonishing genetic compatibility data and hearing the White Consuls captain's explanation, most of the suspicion lingering in the hearts of the assembled warriors faded away.
The numbers didn't lie—the match looked purer than some Chapters had with their known Primarchs. What grounds were left for doubt?
Besides, no one dared to fabricate such a claim.
To lie about lineage was to invite the scorn of the Imperium and risk inciting a Primarch's wrath—banishment would be the least of their problems.
Now that Eden finally understood why they had wanted his geneseed—turns out it was for a paternity test—he found the whole situation a little absurd.
Still, children were children. And if they were being handed over for free—why refuse?
Especially when the White Consuls had already suffered so much. If he didn't accept them, with the Imperium's erratic politics, more tragedies might follow.
It wouldn't be the first time the Imperium had forced a loyal Chapter to rebellion. Many had been exiled or thrown into suicidal Redemption Crusades in the Eye of Terror—basically just donating troops and supplies to Chaos.
Eden turned his gaze to the Regent—Roboute Guilliman—seeking his opinion or perhaps confirmation that the White Consuls were indeed not his.
After all, it would be terribly awkward if it turned out he was merely the stepfather.
Guilliman caught Eden's look and blinked. He returned the glance with a "That's your kid, not mine" expression.
Truth was, the Regent had been asleep for ten thousand years. He didn't even know how many successors bore his geneseed anymore.
Due to rampant genetic drift, war losses, and trafficking, the geneseed of many Chapters was so intermixed that no one could clearly trace its origin.
Some of Guilliman's gene material had even ended up inside the Eye of Terror, forming new Chaos Marine warbands.
It was all a mess.
In fact, Guilliman had already adopted several "fatherless" Chapters, granting them legitimacy.
So, he simply nodded solemnly, officially acknowledging the White Consuls as legitimate.
This gesture by the Imperium's Regent and the Primarch of the Ultramarines bestowed immense legal authority.
All eyes turned back to Eden now.
If the Savior accepted them, the matter would be sealed. The once-suspected White Consuls would become unquestionably loyal Astartes in the eyes of the Imperium.
The White Consuls stood rigid, anxiety in their eyes, awaiting the judgment of their supposed gene-father.
Eden slowly descended from the dais and approached Malachai.
He reached out and helped the captain to his feet.
"Welcome back… my sons."
With those words, the Savior embraced the returning sons with gentle authority and allowed Malachai to stand at his side.
It was a proclamation.
The accusations against the White Consuls were washed away. They were now affirmed to be the Savior's cherished gene-sons.
The gaze of those around them shifted.
No longer mistrustful—they now looked at the White Consuls with warmth, respect, and the knowledge that these were warriors they could entrust their lives to.
Overcome with emotion, many of the White Consuls trembled and shed tears of joy.
The years of suspicion and shame were finally over.
Over the next several days—
The Savior hosted a grand reinstatement ceremony for the White Consuls, with the Regent, high-ranking Tech-priests, Chapter Masters, and nobility bearing witness to the sacred moment.
A public declaration was issued across the Imperium: the White Consuls had returned to their rightful lineage.
...
One week later.
The massive fleet that had once blanketed the skies over Baal was gone.
The Regent had already departed, leading the Indomitus Crusade's First Fleet into the Webway at top speed, en route to the Nachmund Corridor in the Obscurus sector to confront Abaddon and the Chaos alliance.
...
Baal's outer orbital port.
Hundreds of massive warships loomed above, casting colossal shadows.
Endless waves of war materiel and logistical supplies were being moved into their cargo holds. Thousands of Astartes were boarding in sequence.
Tyberos was checking over his gear.
He glanced toward the distant figure of Malachai, now standing beside the Savior.
The White Consuls had proven their pure lineage and earned the Savior's protection—receiving generous resources and brand-new gear.
Each of their warriors was now equipped with state-of-the-art arms and armor and had been assigned an enormous flagship as their mobile base.
Tyberos couldn't help but feel a hint of envy.
It was that strange feeling… like watching someone else being recognized as the favored child while you stood off to the side.
He fell into thought.
Then, nudged Marakin beside him with his elbow.
"Hey, unluck-bringer… do you think we, the Carcharodons, might also be the Savior's sons?"
Only now did he realize—he wasn't exactly sure who their gene-father was either.
"???"
Marakin stared at him wide-eyed.
He looked Tyberos up and down with a mix of disdain and disbelief—as if to say, what kind of stupid idea is that?
Tyberos ignored the look.
He was already plotting to ask the Savior for a sample of his geneseed at the next opportunity.
...
Not long after—
The elite fleet under the Savior's command also entered the Webway…
...
Webway.
Bridge of the Dreamweaver.
Eden stood beneath the panoramic dome, gazing at the colossal architecture of the Webway—the fusion of realspace and the Warp.
Black barriers stretched endlessly, disappearing into the unknown.
The Webway was under intense development.
Orks and armored workers bustled through construction sites, erecting all manner of infrastructure.
Occasional flashes of holy light from towering spires pushed back the encroaching Warp corruption.
The construction had been going on for a long time.
As they passed a major junction, Eden saw a colossal city in mid-reconstruction.
Built atop Aeldari ruins, it was to become a human super-city, one of a scale greater than any Hive World.
Like a floating continent within the Webway.
It could house tens of trillions.
Building within the Webway was grueling and required vast technological support and resources beyond imagination.
This particular city was the largest project of the Savior's dominion—built with the output of over a thousand worlds.
It was to be the beating heart of a Galactic Trade Hub, connecting Imperial territories with reliable logistics routes, enabling mutual trade across countless human worlds.
A massive undertaking.
Completion would take decades—if not centuries—and mountains of resources.
Thankfully, the project was divided into zones.
Phase One of the trade hub was nearing late construction stages.
Bzzzz…
The Dreamweaver's Warp engines trembled faintly.
It was the result of Chaos energy interference.
Eden looked up.
Visible in the distance were several damaged areas where Warp corruption seeped in, greatly slowing construction.
The Chaos seepage was like groundwater—flooding in and making construction near-impossible.
And yet, the workers persisted.
His gaze turned to a nearby black, prism-shaped machine.
This was a Blackstone Suppressor—an ancient device forged of Necron Blackstone, capable of suppressing Warp energy.
It was invaluable for repair and construction efforts across the Webway.
Eden's haste to launch this campaign against Abaddon's fortress was driven by one goal—Blackstone and its related technologies.
The Imperium possessed large Blackstone structures: obelisks, fortresses, and mines.
For years, they were considered xenos architecture—primarily Necron in origin.
But during the Black Crusades, Abaddon wielded Blackstone with terrifying results—one fortress alone could ignite stars into supernovae.
Only then did the Imperium's factions, especially the Inquisition and Adeptus Mechanicus, begin truly researching Blackstone.
Progress was slow.
Until just before the Great Rift.
Only then did Archmagos Belisarius Cawl finally decipher some of its mysteries.
Now, the Imperium understood: Blackstone was the key to fighting the Warp.
It might even hold the power to seal the Great Rift—or close the Eye of Terror.
Chaos and xenos forces coveted it just as much.
Abaddon's repeated Crusades had targeted Blackstone structures, aiming to destroy them and accelerate the Warp's expansion.
Worse yet, he had learned how to weaponize Blackstone—like the Obsidian Crown, a device that reversed Blackstone's polarity to open stable Warp rifts for daemons.
Other massive constructs could sever entire sectors from the galaxy, annihilating warp routes and communications.
Blackstone was nearly impervious to firepower, requiring heavy-duty power drills to extract.
Its significance could not be overstated.
Every race in the galaxy, including the daemons, now fought desperately for Blackstone.
Victory in this technological arms race would determine who survived the coming galactic hellscape—and who thrived.
As a result, brutal wars raged across the galaxy over these resources.
The Vigilus War Zone, rich in Blackstone deposits, had become the deadliest battlefield in the galaxy.
For now, the Savior's domain lacked the strength to seize Vigilus from Chaos and xenos factions.
But he could pillage Abaddon's private Blackstone vaults in the Eye of Terror.
Eden took one final look at the Blackstone device beside him and walked over to his command chair.
He had many plans to make—many targets to claim.
...
One month later, Northwestern Obscurus Sector.
Hundreds of warships tore out of the Warp and dropped into silent running mode.
Cloaking fields engaged, minimizing detectable emissions.
Ahead—
A vast, black vortex loomed across the stars.
Warp energies churned within like a twisting, spinning storm.
A bottomless abyss.
It was the Eye of Terror.
(End of Chapter)
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