Imperial Reckoning: Humanity Return

Chapter 48: Redirect

With the fall of Malevolon Creek, the battle-scarred planet that had cost so much blood, the Emperor had decided it was time for his son, Shepard, to return to the Imperial Palace. Shepard had given everything in the campaign, and the toll it had taken was evident in the lines on his face, the weight in his steps. The newly declared Warmaster Horia was to continue the Crusade against the Batarians, her rise swift and meteoric after the battle.

Though relieved to return home, Shepard’s heart was heavy as he found himself in the familiar, yet suddenly foreign, comfort of his quarters within the Imperial Palace. For three days, he had barely left his room, plagued by the relentless visions that haunted his dreams, refusing to grant him any peace. Every time he closed his eyes, they returned—the flashes of war, of pain, of destruction.

In these visions, a figure always loomed at the center. The black-armored Primarch, whose face remained a mystery, but whose presence carried with it an undeniable sense of doom. Shepard had seen this figure in the thick of battle, not only waging war against the Imperium but laying waste to it.

And then, there were the other visions—ones that chilled him even more. The Citadel, the heart of intergalactic diplomacy, engulfed in flames, destroyed by the very force that was meant to protect it. Even worse, Shepard had seen something that shook him to his core: the Emperor himself, standing alongside Malcador, dismissing his Primarchs, not as his beloved children, but as mere tools.

That last vision had left a deep scar on Shepard’s soul, one he could not simply ignore.

His restlessness had not gone unnoticed. The Emperor, always aware of the state of his children, eventually came to his bedside. His presence filled the room, but his expression, for once, carried genuine concern.

"My son," the Emperor's voice was soft, though it carried the weight of worlds. "What troubles you? You’ve been back for days, but you’ve isolated yourself. I know what you have seen, and yet I need to hear it from your own lips. Speak to me, Shepard."

Shepard sighed, his chest heavy as he tried to summon the words. "Father… it’s not the campaign itself, though the horrors of war are ever-present. It’s the visions. They… they won’t leave me." He hesitated before continuing, realizing he could not hide the truth from the Emperor. "I’ve seen things I don’t understand. A black-armored Primarch who wages war against us. The Citadel, burning. But worse than that… I saw you."

The Emperor's gaze remained steady, but his silence was palpable.

"I saw you," Shepard repeated, "with Malcador. You spoke of us as if we were nothing but tools. Instruments to be used and discarded. Is that how you truly see us? Am I just… a weapon to you?"

The Emperor, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, appeared taken aback. His expression didn’t betray his thoughts, but Shepard could see the hesitation, the pause before the Emperor responded. After a moment, he placed a hand on Shepard’s shoulder.

"Of course not, my son," the Emperor said, his voice firm but with a trace of something that felt almost like regret. "You are my children, all of you. I would never reduce you to mere tools. You are more important to me than you could ever know."

But Shepard saw no change in his father’s face. He wanted to believe those words, but something inside him twisted. Still, he nodded, his doubts momentarily pushed aside.

The Emperor then shifted the topic to the black-armored Primarch. "Tell me, do you believe you know who this figure is? Have you recognized anything?"

Shepard hesitated for only a moment. The symbol on the Primarch’s armor had become clear in his mind. "It’s Horia," he finally admitted. "The newly declared Warmaster. The symbols… the way she carries herself. I… I’m sure of it."

The Emperor’s expression darkened at this revelation. "Horia…" he muttered, almost to himself. "Before she departed to join you on your campaign, I saw great potential in her. If she could overcome her failings, her ambition could make her even greater than Sanguina. But this…"

The room was silent for a long moment, the weight of the revelation hanging heavy between father and son.

"We must watch her closely," the Emperor finally said. "If she becomes a traitor so will the Luna Wolves. but that's not even the end of it." the emperor said his mind jumping to a different thing entirely

"Even with the Luna Wolves she won't have the strength to beat the Imperium. she'll most likely try to bring other Primarch to her side, it will be a rebellion that will bring us into a new age of strife. we should send one of the sisters to watch over and report back on every Legion, we need to ensure that we do not lose anyone."

Shepard nodded, his mind racing. "Who will you send to watch them?"

The Emperor was silent for a moment, contemplating. "This task must be handled with care. The Word Bearers could be of use. Loranna could plant one of her…" The Emperor’s voice faltered, clearly distasteful of what he was about to say, "... chaplains, to keep an eye on her and the others. We must ensure their loyalty."

The Emperor then stood, pulling his son into a half-embrace. "Thank you, Shepard, for bringing this to my attention. We will handle this, as we always do."

Shepard smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. As his father left the room, he felt a small sense of relief, though the burden of the visions still weighed heavily on him. Maybe now, with the Emperor's reassurance, he could finally get some rest.

Shepard lay back down, willing himself to sleep, his body aching for the reprieve. But just as he began to drift off, one last vision pierced his mind.

The same black-armored Primarch appeared before him, their form more concealed this time, their face hidden beneath a helmet, a cloak draped over their power armor. The figure stood motionless, watching him from the shadows, the cold, unyielding darkness wrapping around them.

That was the last image Shepard saw before he finally succumbed to exhaustion, falling into a deep, troubled sleep.