he doors closed behind Aurelius with the soft weight of inevitability. The golden light inside was unlike anything the galaxy offered — warm yet absolute, radiant yet crushing. It was not illumination. It was presence.
The Throne Hall stretched out before him, vast enough to swallow titans whole. At the far end sat the Golden Throne itself, a monolith of gold, adamantium, and machinery older than most civilizations. Upon it, the Emperor of Mankind — robed, armored, bound to His eternal seat of power — fixed Aurelius with a gaze that did not belong to any mortal or demi-god.
The air was thick with psychic force, though Aurelius knew this was only the surface of His will. Even the greatest psykers described such moments as drowning in an ocean while a sun burned overhead.
Aurelius advanced, each step echoing on the marble like a war drum. He moved with the poise of the Ten Thousand, but every instinct in his being screamed that he was treading on the knife's edge between reverence and obliteration.
"You are Aurelius," the Emperor said at last. His voice carried not through the air, but through Aurelius — a resonance that seemed to speak directly to his bones, his memories, his truth.
"Yes, my Lord," Aurelius replied, bowing deeply.
The Emperor regarded him in silence for several heartbeats.
"Rise."
Aurelius obeyed.
"You have done much in little time," the Emperor continued. "Caltrius lives because you stood between it and annihilation. Yet it is not your blade alone that interests me."
Aurelius met His gaze without defiance. "You speak of my… gift."
"I speak of something that should not exist within this galaxy's rules," the Emperor said. "It is not the warp. It is not of my design. And yet, it serves humanity. That alone makes it precious. But what serves may also enslave."
The Emperor's voice fell away. The air shifted. Aurelius felt pressure around him — invisible at first, then undeniable.
It began as weight, pressing down on his body. A test of his physical endurance? No. It was deeper. The force reached into him, not clawing like the warp, but grinding, trying to measure the exact shape of his will.
Aurelius's Observation Haki flared instinctively, mapping the pressure as if it were a battlefield. There were no weak points. This was not an enemy to strike. It was a mountain, and he was being told to stand against it.
The weight grew. His vision dimmed. Memories flashed — the endless training, the first time he donned auramite plate, the sound of Varian's voice in the tunnels of Caltrius, the surge of Haki as he drove back the Chaos warband leader.
He understood then: this was not cruelty. This was truth. The Emperor wanted to see the core. Not the armor. Not the weapons. The man.
Aurelius's Conqueror's Haki rose in answer, not as a wave to overwhelm, but as a pillar to endure. Black-edged will bled into the chamber, pressing back against the Emperor's weight. The marble beneath his boots cracked.
The Emperor's eyes narrowed slightly — approval, or curiosity, Aurelius could not tell.
"Good," the Emperor said. "You do not kneel beneath the first gale."
The pressure shifted, becoming sharper. No longer a test of endurance, but precision. It probed, searching for fear, doubt, ambition that might twist this gift.
For an instant, the visions came — fractured futures glimpsed in the haze of his Observation:
An Inquisitorial conclave, debating whether Aurelius was too dangerous to live.
A Primarch returned, standing beside him on a battlefield of stars.
Terra burning, the Throne silent.
The images burned away as quickly as they came.
Then, the Emperor spoke again. "What you wield… it is not mine to give, but I can shape the man who carries it. I can make you the wall against which the warp will break."
"I am yours to command," Aurelius said.
"You are mine to test," the Emperor corrected. "And there will be many tests. Already the High Lords whisper. The Inquisition prepares its questions. Even among the Custodes, there are those who wonder if this power is… pure."
The word lingered in the air like the point of a blade.
The Emperor's tone softened, though the weight never left. "You will return to your duties, Aurelius. But know this — you walk with a gift that will attract every eye, friendly and hostile. Your victories will be measured not only in blood spilled, but in the loyalty you inspire. Build it. Guard it. For when the true storm comes, you will not stand alone… but only if they choose to stand with you."
Aurelius bowed his head. "I understand."
"I think you will," the Emperor said, leaning back in the Throne. "Go. And make them understand as well."
As Aurelius turned to leave, the great doors opened once more. Waiting in the hall beyond were Valdor and three senior Shield-Captains. All watched him with the same expressionless intensity — but he felt the weight of their curiosity.
One of them spoke as the doors closed behind him. "The Master sees something in you. That will make you a brother to some… and a threat to others."
Aurelius met the man's gaze. "Then let them choose which."