Warhammer: Dawn of Annihilation

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Yassilli's attitude was one of deep respect—not only because Guilliman was the Emperor's son, but because she owed him her very life.

She had been one of the many so-called heretics the Primarch liberated from the missionary world of Espandor.

The charges against her had been absurd. The state church's guards had arrested her for disrespecting the Emperor and spreading heretical ideas. She was a non-believer, devoid of faith. By all rights, she should have been sentenced to the flames.

But fate intervened. Guilliman arrived just days before her scheduled execution.

After a review, she was released—not pardoned by the state church, but given new purpose under the Primarch's command. It was her knowledge that secured her place at his side.

Yassilli hailed from a merchant family, one that had long operated on the fringes of the Empire. She had spent years traversing its borders, even venturing into the dark voids where the Emperor's light could not reach, seeking wealth and forgotten knowledge.

But family matters had drawn her back into the Empire's inner worlds. Compared to the openness of the frontier, she found the heart of the Imperium suffocating—rigid, ignorant, unwilling to accept new ideas.

Here, rationality was feared. Science was shunned.

To the state church, Yassilli's refusal to surrender to blind faith made her a heretic.

Her arrest had been inevitable.

The alien atlas she had compiled—painstakingly gathered through her travels—was used as evidence against her. The priests of the state church saw no value in understanding the xenos; to them, even knowledge was heresy.

Yassilli had been outraged. She had only wished to educate the Imperium's people, to make them aware of the universe beyond. Instead, she had been branded a traitor.

And the church did not allow her to plead her case.

The priests had already deemed her guilty. No defense would be heard, no appeal would be granted.

Had Guilliman not arrived when he did, she would have been another forgotten casualty of the Imperium's madness.

It was terrifying to think of how many others like her—men and women who still clung to reason in this age of superstition—had been silenced under the weight of religious fanaticism.

Even now, the thought made Guilliman seethe. The state church was a disease.

Yassilli found herself deeply unsettled as she took in the simplicity of Guilliman's chamber.

The room was practical, almost barren. It was not that she had expected the opulence of the Imperial aristocracy—she had no patience for the gaudy displays of those fools who mistook wealth for taste.

But even she had not anticipated this level of austerity.

It was as if all worldly desires had been stripped away from the Primarch.

The most prominent feature of the room was a collection of old books, each worn from use. Clearly, these were Guilliman's means of relaxation—his escape.

Data crystals used for administrating the Imperium were scattered haphazardly across a massive table. A holo-projector sat at one end, its machinery exposed. The nobility would sneer at such an unsightly arrangement.

Against one wall stood a portable bed, large yet still barely enough for a being of his stature.

Yassilli's mind wandered, imagining what dreams a Primarch might have—what great visions occupied his rest.

Did he even need to sleep?

She had never considered it before. She had assumed the Primarchs were beyond such mortal needs, that they were tireless as well as ageless.

Her musings were cut short when Guilliman's voice broke the silence.

"They defy me. They use every despicable means at their disposal to test my resolve—to see whether I will choose humanity's salvation or their own interests."

His tone was measured, but there was steel beneath it.

"They believe the Imperium will collapse without them. That without their rule, the machine will cease to function. They are wrong. I will show them that the Imperium does not need parasites."

Guilliman turned his gaze upon Yassilli.

"But I cannot do this alone. I can govern a world, a system, even a sector—but the Imperium is vast beyond reckoning. It holds countless lives, spans countless stars. I cannot remain in one place indefinitely. I must rely on those who share my vision."

His eyes locked onto hers.

"You are one of those people, Yassilli. I see in you a mind unbroken by this age of madness. That is why I am entrusting you with a special mission. Once I purge the nobles of the Natal Galaxy, you will ensure its stability. You will oversee its recovery—until it can sustain itself again."

Yassilli felt a flicker of unease. Such trust. Such responsibility.

"My lord, this is an honor beyond words."

"You are suited to this task." Guilliman's tone allowed no argument. "You possess reason, a thirst for knowledge, and the instincts of a merchant. You understand a planet's worth—not just in wealth, but in its role within a grander plan. Unlike those worthless nobles, you comprehend the enormity of the challenge we face. In this era of insanity, that knowledge alone elevates you above ninety-nine percent of humanity. Do not refuse my charge."

Yassilli hesitated no longer. She lowered her head in acceptance.

"If this is your will, my lord, then I accept. It will be my honor."

The blood of explorers and free traders ran through her veins. She had no use for the empty rituals of the nobility, for the pomp and arrogance they wielded like a weapon.

But respect—true respect—she understood.

"My lord, I have a question."

Guilliman nodded. "Ask. There is still time."

"Why the urgency in appointing outsiders? Could you not find capable individuals within the Natal system? Do you truly believe none of the nobles are fit to rule?"

A small smirk crossed Guilliman's face.

"When Terra was still called Earth, a man named Lu once said: 'If you see a cockroach, assume there are many more hiding in the walls.'"

Yassilli frowned. "A historical figure?"

"You could say that."

Guilliman's expression darkened.

"The Grouse family defied my rule. That means one of two things—either the other noble houses are too weak to challenge them, or they have chosen to side with them. Either way, they are unworthy."

His voice hardened.

"Loyalty to the Emperor must be absolute. Anything less is treason. These nobles swore to serve the Imperium—to safeguard its people. Yet they stood by while another house rebelled, while laws were broken. Whether through cowardice or complicity, they have failed their duty."

"But what if some are innocent?" Yassilli asked.

Guilliman's gaze was cold.

"They are not. They had power and did not act. They failed the Imperium, and so they will be replaced."

He exhaled, his expression momentarily weary.

"There are too few people I can trust, Yassilli. Religion has seeped into every soul. Men and women like you—who still uphold reason and science—are a rarity. I cannot afford mistakes. The Natal system must be secured. The old nobility will be purged. The people must see that my reforms bring hope, not ruin."

The weight of his words settled upon her.

Yassilli nodded. "I will not fail you, my lord."

Guilliman's expression softened slightly. "Good. Go and prepare. I despise the state church, but I will use it to my advantage. If the nobles resist, I will brand them heretics. The church will do the rest."

A tremor rippled through the ship.

Beyond the viewport, the massive form of Macragge's Glory burst from the warp, emerging into realspace.

Across the Natal system, sensors flared. Nobles and warlords alike would soon know the Primarch had arrived.