Three Blanks and three Grey Knights stood at opposite sides of the Golden Throne on Terra when Primarch Guilliman returned from his epic quest to obtain a Blackstone Fortress. It wouldn't have been such an epic quest if the events of Days of Blindness didn't coincide with the Rupture of the Galaxy and the formation of the Zone Mortalis.

Patrocles had advance warning, but just like his father had said, the Starchild was being dramatic about his birth, even flooding Terra when the water broke and rain fell for 6 continuous years.

The Primarch was escorted by his sister Teresa and a certain Eldar princess, equally hated and loved by those who knew what she did.

"Emissary Yvraine! What brings you to my Terra?" The Emperor asked with a curious voice, even opening his eyes to observe the Eldar woman directly.

The richly dressed Eldar looked around the room for a moment, then ignored the Grey Knights to focus on the Blanks instead. All Lancefires too, not by coincidence.

"My Divine patron send his regards. I see His gift was well-used. Lady Justine, how are you?" Yvraine asked in a melodic voice, yet hiding a dozen subtle undertones. The Grey Knights tightened their Aegis aura in visible blue blurs, so the words were probably loaded with a psychic component as well, not that Blanks cared at all.

"Still alive, so that's all good. I would guess my son has also returned from his quest, and makes your Eldar pantheon wary...right?" Justine answered with a studied voice, also inflected with a strange tone, likely picked up in Eldar captivity. Patrocles never knew words could carry so many emotions until now.

Yvraine shivered for a second, before resuming her cool demeanor. "Pef Lancefire is already engaging the Necrons inside the Soul-death Zone. Escorted by a pair of cursed C'tan as well. My Divine patron is worried a new War in Heaven may start next, if problems start on his side."

Patrocles blinked at the news, then nodded. Of course, the Dark Emperor would send the newly returned army of Blanks to clear a path for the Imperial Webway. Who else could resist the soul death with such ease? Abominable Intelligences or Blanks, and none other. Well, the C'tan counted as both, and as none too.

And Blacksouls were still not well-seen in the Imperium Sanctus now, not that they were well treated before. At least the Inquisition sent a report now, if and when a Blank died for the glory of the Emperor. The Blank numbers on this side were close to an extinction event, if the route to the other side remained closed for another 666 years.

Well, other Blanks that were not of Lancefire bloodline at least. Father being a Prime Noble now helped a lot. And Purity having the ear of a God helped as well.

The Emperor tapped a finger on the armrest of his glowing throne, then shook his head. "Pef Lancefire is not a problem, Emissary. He has always been the solution, if enticed properly."

"Three more Craftworlds were raided by the Sons of Malice, Starchild. And we know who leads them, unlike your brainwashed followers." Yvraine spoke with a viperous voice, and even pointed at Primarch Guilliman for some reason.

"Well, I'm back. Emperor, father, brother...what do I call you?" Roboute Guilliman asked the Emperor hosted inside the Vessel body of Primarch Magnus.

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"Call me Sire, Roboute. The Imperium is still a monarchy type of government, and I am your liege. Did you choose to enter this side of the zone by your free will?" the Emperor asked in a different tone. Kinder, perhaps.

"Well, that other Emperor kept calling me a traitor. I was paralyzed with chaos poison in my veins for 10000 years, not taking a vacation!" Roboute explained in a simple tone.

"Hmmm. True, but not the whole truth. Anyway, once the Transwarp Duct is complete, you may return to Ultramar if you wish. Or stay and help me protect humanity on this side." The Emperor said in a compassionate voice. Patrocles had learned to ignore that tone, since it promised violence and bloodshed when obeyed.

"Sire, what is the deal with these Sons of Malice? Yvraine thinks I know them, but I don't." Roboute asked with an irate voice.

"You did know, but the information was deleted from your mind. By your own request too." the Emperor said with a glance at Yvraine.

Roboute frowned for a minute, then sighed. "Nothing comes to mind. Not even potential individuals, which is unlikely for me. I like to plan things ahead."

The Emperor's eyes glowed for a second, and he spoke with reality-shaking words. "Remember, remember the number eleven."

Patrocles realized the same second what happened and deleted the audio track recording from his implant. Enuncia was a potent form of language that warped reality itself, regardless of causality and other laws of nature. Machines had the tendency to explode when parsing that language in any form.

"My eleventh brother, the Primarch of the XI Legion...what an idiot!" Roboute exclaimed as his lost memories returned.

"Yes, calls himself Malice or the Lost now. And loves number eleven for some strange reason. Also has a minor domain in the Warp, malice and anarchy. Quite the rebel teenager, I would say." The Emperor continued with an easy chuckle.

Patrocles exchanged a glance with his sister, who nodded. This would be a Lancefire affair again. It was obviously an Eldar plot, using their Blank gift to get rid of another competitor in the Great Game. The Eldar never changed, no matter what they claimed.

Roboute didn't laugh, though, mulling over things in intense silence. I guess quite a few memories returned with the Enouncement.

"Anyway, Emisarry of Ynnead. If you're here to plead for Lord Lancefire's help, you came to the wrong court. The man might be even upset with me for revoking his Warmaster title. Human politics, nothing wrong about his abilities, to be fair." the Emperor continued in non-enhanced words.

"Yes, humanity is rolling downwards towards destruction without needing our help. But this Malice of yours can become a real threat to all life, just like our excessive teenager was. He will be able to manifest in realspace soon, once their blood games are finished. We have five Craftworlds preparing to face him, but I know it will not be enough. We need your Warhammer." Yvraine demanded in a not-too-polite voice.

Patrocles fist-bumped his sister for a well-timed prediction. It has been too long since he met father anyway. These last 666 years in the company of religious fanatics were a bit strenuous, even for a Tech-marine.