‘Not this form. Our task will be to end its possibility.’ If we can. Father, you should have warned us.

The Lion experienced a glimmer of hope when he saw the first sign that Sanguinius’ theory was correct. Roboute would congratulate you on the precision of your theoretical, he thought.

There was a gate. It came into view as the fleets travelled towards the galactic east. As far as the Lion could tell, it ran the entire height of the wall. By this time, the peaks of the battlements were long out of sight. The gate extended above and below the Invincible Reason’s position to the limits of perception, a universe of daemonic might. The fleets increased the angle of descent, heading for the promised base.

For much of the journey, the gate seemed endless, but it had a design, and so the Lion knew it must end. It took a long time for him to make out the engraving in the middle of the portal. This close, it resembled a mountain chain, a topography as big as a thousand worlds pressed together. The mountains had lines, though. They were constructed, they were art, and so they had meaning. The Lion watched the portions of the design as it passed by the oculus. He held the fragmented visions in his head, and assembled the pieces into a whole. It was an eight-pointed star. It was a brand upon the universe. It was a wound in reality, and it was a declaration of rule. As soon as the Lion understood its contours, it seemed to look back at him, an eye more monstrous and knowing than any of the red glows in the wall. It gazed at the dust motes of the fleet, and it looked upon the Lion from inside his mind.

His lip curled in defiance. He focused on the progress of the Reason’s journey. He promised the symbol destruction as he stared forwards. We will hurl you from the galaxy. By whatever means necessary.

The gate and the star slid by. The pace was agonising, though the fleet moved at full speed. The heat bloom detected by the Blood Angels became more intense and more defined in the long-range auspex scans. At last, its source became visible.

‘Sanguinius,’ the Lion voxed, ‘we have located your foundations.’

The eastern hinge of the gate was anchored to a world. As it came into sight, the planet was tiny, barely an excrescence at the bottom of the wall. But the intersection of gate and planet flared with enormous energy, far more than the disparity in size would suggest. The bloom originated in the planet, and travelled, spreading out a long way up the height and breadth of the gate before it faded.

‘So pitiful a foundation for so immense a construct,’ said the Lion.

‘We have nothing to boast of,’ Guilliman said, angry regret breaking through. ‘I declared the Imperium Secundus with even less of a foundation.’