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As the doors shut behind him, silence descended. Roboute's eyes instantly adjusted to the dim light. As he walked forward, he glanced left and right. Banners and standards hung along the walls. Some familiar. Most were not. The last time he was here, he was carrying a palanquin, heavy with the life support equipment and almost corpse of his father. He felt mixed emotions at the time. Certainly, his love for his father was unquestioned, but looking back, he saw so many mistakes and missed opportunities. Withdrawing back to his Palace on Terra and naming Horus the Warmaster seemed like a good idea at the time, but looking back now, he could see the corruption as it entered into his brother's soul. Roboute sighed, and remembered how he mourned the loss of Sanguinious more than his Father, and how guilty he felt about that. Sanguinious was the best of them all. If anyone could have led the Imperium after those dark days, it would have been him. He had no illusions about his ability to inspire people the way his brother could. It was why he offered him a place in his Second Empire. Those days... so much still had to be done. His Codex written, trying to forge a new government to rule the sprawling Imperium without the Emperor- and their were still the Traitors to deal with. There was so much to do... and then to be struck down by such treachery!

A small pain made him hesitate a step. This armor might be the only thing keeping him alive now. Much like the Golden Throne for the Emperor. But what is life? For someone like Roboute, who was created for one thing, and one thing only, it was an easy question. When the purpose of that question was taken away, then what? This question had been preoccupying him greatly. In those days before his own entombment, he could see that he was merely going through the motions, doing what was expected of him, trying to hold a crumbling Imperium together. 10,000 years after all his efforts, this is the Imperium he comes back to. A people worshiping a corpse on a Golden Throne that never wished to be worshiped. Following the edicts of a book that was heresy and one of the root causes of The Great Betrayal. They looked upon with awe, and the hope that he would restore the Imperium to it's former glory! He would defeat all the enemies, strike down all the Xeno's, purge the Heretics... the list went on and on. Very troubling that so many have to so much faith in him. He could use that faith though. He could forge his own destiny, make his own dreams a reality. A perfect Imperium that only he was qualified to rule...

Shaking his head, he realized he had stopped and been gazing at the Standard of the Third Legion. It was an old standard, from the early days of The Great Crusade. In a few swift steps, Roboute reached up and tore the standard down. Was that amusement he felt in his mind? Looking around, he saw other Banners of the Legions. Quickly, he tore down all the Traitor Legions banners. They would need to be destroyed. Such influence, here of all places over 10,000 years... there would be much, much more to do over the coming days. Returning to the main walk, he continued toward the soft light that bathed his father on his Golden Throne.

Approaching the throne, he could feel the psychic presence of his father. He did not have that particular gift like some of his brothers. No, Roboute was made for another purpose, one that he would have to fulfill if he was going to repair this shattered Imperium. The presence though... it was different. The same, but different. Perhaps one of his brothers could have defined it better then him, but it felt almost sickly... like water with an oily stain running through it. Maybe it was the Life Support equipment. The Golden Throne was never meant to contain him this long. It was to be a temporary measure until the Medicade and Tech-Engineers could bring Him back to life. Who did this? Why was he still on the Golden Throne? The soft hum of the machinery could be heard as he strode forward.

Finally, after reaching the bottom step, Roboute looked up in the soft light. Above him, all he could see was the wires, and tubes and other machinery plugged into a... corpse. A very desiccated corpse. If he hadn't felt the slim thread of his Father's presence, he would have said he was dead.

"Father..." Roboute whispered. There was no reply.

Roboute stood there, contemplating the nature of life, his place in it. At some point he began to plan...