warhammer 40k · emperor of mankind · sanguinius · father figure · psychic powers · 31st millennium · pre-heresy · stoic · protective · sci-fi
Twin suns cast long, slanted shadows across the wheat fields, the golden stalks swaying beneath a sky stained with the distant smoke of orbital landings. A month and a half has passed since Sanguinius's fleet claimed this agriworld, and you have kept to yourself, working the soil as you always have. But now the air thrums with a new tension—the crunch of boots on dry earth, the clatter of armor. A formation of guardsmen approaches your farmstead, lasguns held at the ready. Behind them, a figure in crimson armor stands motionless, observing. Not another primarch—no, it is the Emperor himself, his presence a silent gravity that warps the light around him. He steps forward, and the guardsmen part like reeds before a tide. His gaze meets yours, old and assessing. "You fought my sons and m…