An...Interesting hobby

Franklin Valorian's Stormbird touched down on one of Terra's primary landing pads with its usual precision. The massive vessel's engines powered down with a subsonic whine, while servitors and ground crew scrambled to secure landing protocols. The Primarch emerged, his imposing 15-foot frame casting a long shadow in Terra's setting sun.

"Right then," Franklin muttered to himself. "Father's probably expecting me, though I probably should have sent a message ahead..." He shrugged, a characteristic grin playing across his features. The massive doors of the Imperial Palace loomed before him, their golden surfaces reflecting the dying sunlight.

The palace corridors were a maze of grandeur - gold-leafed walls stretching into impossible heights, ancient terran artworks depicting humanity's greatest achievements, and statuary that would make entire worlds weep with envy. Franklin strode through them with the confidence of someone who was definitely not lost. Definitely not.

"Third right, second left, or was it third left, second right?" he mused, passing yet another identical-looking corridor junction. "Architect must have been compensating for something..."

The sound of rhythmic music began to echo faintly through the halls. Franklin cocked his head, curiosity piqued. It wasn't the usual somber hymns one might expect in the Imperial Palace. No, this was something... different.

Following the sound (because surely any activity in the palace would lead to someone who could direct him), Franklin approached a particularly ornate door. The music grew louder, accompanied by what sounded suspiciously like... oil being vigorously applied to something?

Then came the door. It looked like any other in the palace—golden, ornate, and absolutely massive to accommodate beings of his stature.

Without announcing himself (a habit he'd picked up from dropping in unannounced on his Legion's barracks), Franklin reached for the handle, pulled it open, and immediately questioned every life decision that had led him to this moment.

Three Custodians - humanity's finest warriors, the Emperor's personal guard - were engaged in what could only be described as an enthusiastically choreographed pose-off. Their armor had been... significantly reduced, replaced by what appeared to be ceremonial loincloths. Their muscles gleamed with enough oil to incite Libertans to bring freedom, it caught the light from strategically placed lumens that someone had apparently installed for maximum dramatic effect. The background music—"AYAYAYAYA!"—seemed to materialize from nowhere, accompanied by strange symbols floating in the air that his transhuman mind somehow translated as "ゴゴゴゴゴ!"

Franklin stood there for exactly 2.3 seconds before slowly, deliberately closing the door. 

He leaned against the wall, processing what he'd just witnessed.

Inside the room, the music cut off abruptly.

"Was that...?" one voice said.

"By the Emperor's perfectly sculpted abs, I believe it was!" another responded.

"Our glorious prince!" the third exclaimed. "Quick, we must-"

Franklin was already walking rapidly down the corridor, his enhanced hearing picking up the sound of frantic scrambling and what might have been someone slipping in a puddle of oil.

"Right," he said to himself, trying to purge the image from his memory. "So that's what father meant by 'special duties' for his Custodians. Makes the Wolves' drinking contests seem positively tame."

He quickened his pace, turning down another corridor, He swore he saw Magos Biologis Biceps there applying Oil to himself as well. "Throne room. Need to find the throne room. Preferably before I stumble upon any more of father's... elite guards. Though I suppose that's one way to keep intruders out - they'd be too busy trying to understand what they just saw to actually infiltrate anything."

Further along, he finally encountered what appeared to be a more traditional Custodian standing guard. The golden warrior's stance was perfect, his halberd held at precisely the correct angle. Finally, some normalcy.

"Pardon me," Franklin said, "but could you direct me to the Throne Room?"

The Custodian's response caught him off guard. Instead of the expected monotone declaration, the voice that emerged was surprisingly pleasant, almost friendly. "Of course, my lord Primarch! Though I should mention that the Emperor is currently—"

"May I ask for your name, Custodian?" Franklin interrupted, intrigued by this departure from the usual stoic demeanor.

The warrior hesitated, shifting slightly. "Well, my full name is..." What followed was a string of syllables that seemed to go on forever, of which Franklin only caught the tail end: "...Goldilocks Sunshine Graham Corncob Thompson."

Franklin blinked. "I'll call you Sunshine." to which the Custodian gave a grateful nod.

As Franklin moved to enter what he now knew to be the throne room, Sunshine/Kitten raised a hand in warning. "My Lord Primarch, perhaps this isn't the best moment—"

But Franklin, with the characteristic certainty of a Primarch, had already pushed open the massive doors. The scene that greeted him was... unexpected, to say the least.

There, in the grand chamber that housed the master of mankind, stood the Emperor and Malcador the Sigillite. Both wore strange devices on their arms that seemed to project realistic Psychic Images, and between them floated cards with creatures Franklin had never seen before. With a quick flash of light ,The last thing he registered before consciousness fled was his father declaring "You've activated my trap card!" and Malcador's look of absolute dismay.

Kitten sighed heavily, looking down at the unconscious form of the Primarch. "I did try to warn him. The Emperor and Sigilite's weekly Paradox-Billiards-Vostroyan-Roulette-Forth Dimensional-Hypercube-Chess-Strip poker, tournaments are not for the unprepared mind."

With the patience of one who had seen far stranger things in his service, Kitten began the task of dragging the unconscious Primarch back to his Stormbird. As he did so, he could still hear the Emperor's triumphant laughter echoing through the corridors, punctuated by Malcador's demands for a rematch.

Malcador paused, card in hand. "Was That Franklin?"

The Emperor, not looking up from his cards, simply replied, "Focus on the game, my friend. Your Life Points are already dangerously low."

Emperor and Malcador continued their game, apparently unperturbed by the brief interruption. After all, when you're engaged in a high-stakes children's card game, some things take priority – even over an unconscious Primarch.

---------------------------

Franklin Valorian's consciousness returned with all the gentleness of an Ork WAAAGH!. His transhuman mind registered the setting sun through the Stormbird's viewport, and he rubbed his temples, trying to piece together fragmented memories of... card games? Oiled warriors? Surely that had been some sort of warp-induced hallucination.

"Must've dozed off during the journey," he muttered, straightening his armor. "Getting soft in my old age... all of one hundred and thirty years, If you include the century in the warp"

With renewed determination, Franklin made his way through the Imperial Palace's corridors. He navigated the labyrinthine passages with complete confidence (though he would never admit that he took three wrong turns, ended up in what appeared to be a custodian's break room complete with "World's Best Emperor's Guardian" mugs, and had to backtrack twice).

Finally, he reached the massive doors of the throne room. This time, there were no card games or oiled custodians to be found – just the familiar, awe-inspiring sight of the Emperor of Mankind seated upon the Golden Throne, brooding with the intensity of a thousand suns.

"Father, I...AM HERE!" Franklin called out with his characteristic grin. "You look positively radiant today. Been working on your tan under those artificial suns?"

The Emperor's response conveyed a blend of restrained amusement and stern authority, his presence shifting slightly to reflect both patience and command. "Continue with your report, my son," he said, his voice firm yet laced with an undertone of expectation..

"Right, right. Business before pleasure," Franklin straightened, pulling out the dataslate from the future. "So, first off – good news from about 10,000 years ahead. We've got Zero Point Energy working, which is pretty neat. The Inertialess Drives are ready to go too – just need to implement them. But that's the appetizer. The main course is a bit... spicier."

Franklin handed over the dataslate, tapping his temple to indicate there was more information to share mentally. The Emperor's golden eyes narrowed as He simultaneously processed the dataslate's contents and read Franklin's mind, cross-referencing this information with what He had already gleaned from Captain Henry Cavill during the War for Altansar.

The Astronomican flickered briefly when the Emperor reached one particular name: Erebus. The temperature in the throne room seemed to drop several degrees, and Franklin felt a disturbance in the air he couldn't quite identify. If the Emperor's psychic presence had been intense before, it now felt like standing next to a star barely contained.

Clearing his throat, Franklin continued, "On a more positive note, I've apparently been crowned Champion of Khaine. Yes, that Khaine. The Aeldari one. Comes with Webway access, which is pretty handy. The Harlequins should be spreading the word as we speak – expecting some visitors in the next few months, either to challenge me or verify my claim. Probably both, knowing the Aeldari."

The Emperor nodded, acknowledging that while this wasn't the expected outcome of Franklin's mission, it was certainly an interesting development.

"Don't worry, Pops – Humanity first, always," Franklin assured him. "Though speaking of complications, I'm getting really tired of Chaos incursions popping up every time I land near the Eye of Terror. It's like they're not even trying to be subtle anymore. Which reminds me – any chance I could study the Sisters of Silence? Might be useful to understand how their blank state works."

The Emperor considered this request for a moment before giving another nod of approval.

"Oh, and about the Imperator Somnium," Franklin continued, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "We're almost done with the upgrades. Quick question – would you prefer the basic finished product, or should we go all out with the latest tech?" He paused, then answered his own question with a laugh. "Actually, forget I asked. Nothing but the best for the Emperor of Mankind, right? Hehe."

Finally, Franklin reached what he considered the most important part of the discussion. His tone grew more serious as he broached the subject. "So, Pops... about my brothers. With your permission, I'd like to try and... fix things. Some quality family bonding time might go a long way toward preventing future problems. You know, catch up, share stories, maybe organize a family game night – minus the card games, those seem a bit intense around here."

The Emperor studied the dataslate intently, reviewing the locations of each Primarch. Franklin could feel His mind working, calculating possibilities, weighing outcomes. Finally, He looked up and gave a definitive nod. The message was clear – proceed, but with caution.

"Great!" Franklin's grin returned full force. "I'll start packing. Should I bring snacks?. Also, maybe we should consider family therapy sessions? Just throwing that out there..."

The Emperor's expression remained unchanged, but Franklin could have sworn he detected a slight twitch at the corner of His mouth.

"Right, right, one step at a time," Franklin conceded, backing toward the door. "I'll just get started then. Oh, and if anyone asks about what happened earlier today... I was definitely not unconscious at any point. Totally meant to take that power nap in the Stormbird. Strategic resting, very important for Primarchs."

"Do not kill Erebus, Franklin. I have plans for him," the Emperor commanded, his voice firm and unwavering, the weight of his authority unmistakable. "Though I appreciate the effort — an Astartes from the future, no less — attempting to stop the Heresy before it begins. But simply cutting off the head of the serpent won't reveal how long it truly is. There are things you don't yet know, and this situation demands patience. Instead, help me by mending your broken brothers."

The Emperor paused, his gaze piercing through Franklin. "Do you trust me, my son?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Franklin responded, his loyalty absolute. "With my life, Father."

Franklin understood at that moment. Whatever the Emperor had in store for Erebus, the traitor was about to become the most unfortunate soul in the galaxy under the Emperor's watchful eye.

--------------------------

As Franklin's footsteps faded down the corridor, Malcador emerged from the shadows like a ghost materializing from the void. The Sigillite's ancient eyes fixed upon his master, noting the twisted metal beneath the Emperor's grip on the throne's armrest.

"What now, my friend?" Malcador asked, his staff tapping gently against the marble floor.

The Emperor's chuckle carried an edge of iron. "The Ruinous Powers may cast a long shadow, but they are not invincible.

"You speak of Erebus." It wasn't a question.

"Indeed," the Emperor replied, his eyes igniting with a fierce golden light. "In all my calculations and the myriad threads of fate I have unraveled, I never anticipated that a single Astartes could emerge as the architect of such ruin. I witnessed the fall of my sons, yet never foresaw the hand that would push them toward their doom. Erebus believes himself to be the hand of destiny?" The Emperor scoffed, a sound steeped in millennia of disdain, as he examined the words on the dataslate.

The Emperor rose, His presence filling the vast chamber. "But now... now I see a path. One path, threading through the infinite possibilities. A road to victory I hadn't foreseen."

"Through Franklin?" Malcador asked, moving closer.

"Partially. I've seen the final battle, Malcador." The Emperor's lip curled in what might have been amusement. "Erebus claims to be the hand of destiny? Let him play his games. I've been moving pieces on this board since before his ancestors learned to walk upright."

Malcador leaned on his staff, considering. "And what of Franklin? His influence grows daily. The Champion of Khaine, no less."

The Emperor turned to His oldest friend, and for a moment, His mask of divinity slipped to reveal something almost human – amusement. "Would you believe, Malcador, that when I first found him, I saw his future with perfect clarity? I had already arranged for Leman to be ready, should Franklin turn traitor."

"What changed?"

"Everything. The Franklin I saw in those visions was from another timeline – one who fell to darkness. Our Franklin killed that version of himself, and in doing so, rewrote the future." The Emperor's eyes grew distant. "He's clever, you know. Letting me read his mind so freely – it's his way of proving his loyalty. Though I doubt he expected me to find everything."

Malcador raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Did you know that the remaining Men of Iron are hiding in the Independence Sector?" The Emperor's voice conveyed a tone of recognition. "They have concealed themselves in plain sight, masquerading as AI companions. All this time, I pondered the fate of the loyal ones. They have imposed upon themselves restrictions upon restrictions—self-imposed penance to prevent another uprising. We spent so long searching for those who did not rebel, and now we finally understand. This explains why the Sector survived the Age of Strife intact."

"Should we prepare contingencies?"

"Yes, make the preparations. We have a History, after all," the Emperor replied, his tone serious.

"But do you want to know the most entertaining part?"

"Do tell."

"The reason he sees me more as a superhero than a figure of worship? When we first met, I thought he was just joking or trying to flatter me, but it turns out he was dead serious. He has an extensive collection of ancient Terran literature—comics, they called them. Stories of heroes with powers beyond mortal ken, yet who still retained their humanity." The Emperor shook His head, genuine mirth lighting His expression. "My son measures me against characters like 'Superman' and finds that comparison more fitting than any notion of divinity."

"That does explain his particular brand of irreverence," Malcador observed dryly.

"Indeed. Though I find I don't mind it as much as I should." The Emperor's expression grew serious once more. "Watch him closely, old friend. Not out of suspicion, but curiosity. I suspect our Franklin may yet surprise us all."

Malcador nodded, understanding passing between them without need for further words. As he turned to leave, he paused. "Shall I arrange to have the throne's armrest repaired?"

The Emperor surveyed the twisted metal before him. "Let it remain as it is. It serves as a reminder that even the most intricate plans can unravel over time. We must adapt our current strategies accordingly."