The bay lighting automatically adjusted to optimal brightness the moment Perturabo stepped inside.
Behind him followed Dantioch, Chapter Master Hector of the Hearts of Iron, Commander Volf of the Black Dragons, along with Frixus and several other Iron Warriors Chapter Masters.
It was an exceptionally "luxurious" exploration team for a space hulk.
Everyone had completed their final gear checks. The servo-systems of the Tyrant Terminators and Centurion armors hummed in steady operational tones, while the disengagement of weapon safeties clicked in crisp, synchronized reverberations through the enclosed space.
If one spoke of exploring a space hulk, the true veterans of the trade were the Salamanders.
After all, those towering, dark-skinned warriors possessed physical stature and raw strength on par with the Iron Warriors, while every single one of them functioned as an accomplished Techmarine. Every piece of power armor and weaponry they carried had been individually customized and up-armored over baseline standard patterns to suit their unique physical frames.
Consider the reality of a cramped, narrow ship corridor where one suddenly encountered three Astartes encased in six-meter Centurion armors—veritable walking main battle tanks carrying compact armories capable of razing the entire space hulk several times over.
Leaving aside how utterly despondent any lurking xenos or Daemons would feel upon encountering such relentless monsters, the team currently facing the Hope was of that exact crushing weight.
Frixus and Volf, the two largest hulks, led the advance. Their seven-meter-tall Centurion suits resembled walking Scimitar-pattern tanks, their every step sending low vibrations shuddering through the Hope's deck plates.
Behind them marched a squad of Chapter Masters, all similarly encased in Centurion suits, maintaining formation directly behind their Primarch.
Perturabo, by contrast, harbored no concerns whatsoever. Clad in his comfortable white robes, he was by far the smallest physical presence on the field, yet the sense of absolute security he radiated felt far more tangible than the massive Centurion armors surrounding him.
The deck corridors were far wider than Perturabo had anticipated—spacious and tall enough to accommodate two Warhound-class Titans walking side-by-side. The lateral bulkheads were coated in a pale golden finish that gleamed with a warm, subtle luster under the soft glow of the illumination panels.
Most importantly, despite having drifted through the Warp for an indeterminate period, the Hope bore no trace of Warp corruption. Perturabo had already scanned the vessel inside and out using his psychic senses.
The atmospheric systems were fully operational, proving that the ship's environmental recycling matrix had remained completely undamaged over the millennia.
The interior air quality was surprisingly pristine—devoid of stale odors, mold, or rust—carrying instead a faint, unfamiliar aroma reminiscent of ozone mixed with botanical sweetness, creating an ambiance that felt remarkably relaxing.
The Master Forge-Smiths who constructed this vessel centuries ago had clearly considered every detail.
Perturabo's boots struck the deck with measured, heavy steps, followed by the deep, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the Astartes echoing through the broad corridor.
"Have sensors picked up anything?" Perturabo asked.
"Oxygen content is at twenty-two point four percent, nitrogen at seventy-three point one percent, with trace gases accounting for the remainder," Dantioch's muffled voice came through the suit comms.
"It is fully breathable for human baseline physiology, with zero toxic compounds detected. Furthermore, the atmospheric cycling system is functioning normally, despite the vessel drifting through the Warp for at least seven millennia."
"The technology and engineering of the Dark Age were vastly more durable and advanced than we imagined," Dantioch observed, profoundly moved by the vessel.
"It was constructed specifically to serve as the foundation for humanity's eventual resurgence. Any enemy capable of bringing down the humanity of that era must have been formidable indeed, so the contingencies they left behind had to be equally exceptional."
"Yet who could have anticipated that the sudden end of the Golden Age and the subsequent historical collapse would prevent this ship from serving as the intended spark for mankind's rebirth, stranding it within the Warp instead?"
Perturabo's tone carried a trace of melancholy as his gaze settled upon the massive hatchway at the end of the corridor.
Inscribed upon the hatch surface was a line of High Gothic, rendered in clean, precise lettering as if painstakingly inlaid by a laser-engraving rig:
The Flame of Humanity Shall Not Extinguish; Supreme Glory Persists Eternal.
Perturabo recited the text softly, then extended his hand, releasing a pulse of psychic power to disengage the lock mechanism.
It was an effortless act for him, requiring no security codes or physical keys.
All talk of self-destruct protocols and security hazards was meaningless before him—did anyone truly believe his title as the Lord of Iron in the Warp and Master of Malefic Arts was mere decoration?
The next moment, the scene behind the opening doors brought the entire team to a halt.
It was a colossal central grand hall, its vaulted ceiling reaching a height of over five hundred meters, covering an area equivalent to the central plaza of a major hive-spire.
The floor of the hall was paved in brilliant gold, etched with intricate, organic patterns that resembled natural stone grain, though Perturabo recognized it immediately as advanced synthetic construction.
At the center of the hall stood a sixty-meter-tall monument depicting a human palm holding a glowing sphere upward. Pale blue data streams flowed continuously across the sphere's surface, operating as an active information display system.
"Magnificent," Volf muttered from within his armor, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. Embedded across the dark canopy were countless faint luminous nodes, mimicking a starlit night sky brought indoors.
These were the true legacies of Golden Age humanity—every single "star" in that vaulted sky contained a repository of lost technical knowledge.
"These assets remained perfectly preserved here, awaiting the day when we, their descendants, would discover them and lead humanity toward its true rebirth," Perturabo said as he walked beneath the monument. Constructing a hand out of psychic energy, he touched the surface of the glowing sphere.
The pale blue data streams accelerated instantly, coalescing at the center of the hall into a massive holographic projection screen nearly two kilometers wide.
The screen opened with a simple greeting text before expanding into a complete directory structure written in ancient Terran script. It was categorized into twenty-four master branches, each further divided into thousands of sub-directories, which nested even deeper into endless sub-projects.
The projection screen could not possibly hold such a staggering volume of information at once, requiring sequential browsing. Yet for someone of Perturabo's caliber, the moment his mind made contact with the node, the entirety of its contents unfolded within his consciousness.
Perturabo's psychic perception swept rapidly across the category headings. For several seconds, his breathing became exceptionally shallow, unwilling to overlook a single line of data.
The Astartes standing behind him remained utterly silent, the quiet hum of their armor's servo-motors the only sound in the vast hall.
The sheer scale of knowledge contained here was staggering. Aside from their father—this Primarch before them—along with the Emperor and the Fabricator-General, it was unlikely anyone else in the modern Imperium possessed the capacity to comprehend, synthesize, and disseminate these concepts.
"Energy systems: containing complete photonic engine blueprints, room-temperature superconductor formulas, and structural schematics for two thousand eight hundred and forty-two variations of fusion reactors—"
"Materials science: containing complete manufacturing processes for four hundred and sixteen thousand three hundred and forty-one alloys and composite materials, over ten thousand of which are difficult for even my current understanding to fully grasp—"
"Agricultural science: containing high-yield crop gene-sequence designs adapted for extreme environments, alongside fully closed-loop hydroponic and atmospheric management systems—"
"Medical sciences—"
"Engineering protocols—"
"Manufacturing systems—"
Perturabo spent nearly half a Terran hour providing merely the briefest overview of the primary categories, summarizing only the most vital highlights.
The Chapter Masters stood behind him, their eyes fixed on the holographic display in silent awe.
As Astartes, they understood better than anyone what these technologies represented. It was not merely a quantum leap in the Imperium's military capabilities, but a total, comprehensive elevation of human civilization itself.
The Iron Warriors and Salamanders, possessing a deep structural appreciation for technical mastery, recognized the sheer transformative power these advancements offered to humanity.
Yet what captured Perturabo's attention most was the aerospace knowledge.
It contained advanced algorithms for Warp-navigation arrays, protective field designs, and several alternative FTL transit frameworks he had never encountered before. A portion of those methods bypassed the Warp entirely, utilizing spatial folding techniques remarkably similar in principle to Necron technology.
This proved beyond doubt that ancient humanity possessed non-Warp FTL transit methods, yet neither the Emperor nor Malcador had managed to preserve such priceless knowledge.
What an absolute waste of millennia. Did those Perpetuals truly fail to grasp how invaluable such knowledge was?
Perturabo had long desired a true, non-Warp FTL propulsion system; the Webway was merely a safer alternative path.
Who wouldn't prefer non-Warp FTL transit, making direct spatial jumps like the Necrons?
The Dolmen Gates were merely another high-speed option for the Necrons, not a sign that their starships lacked native FTL capabilities.
Though the Necrons were currently a shadow of their former selves—having voluntarily entered stasis to avoid the Aeldari at the height of their power—if Perturabo could restore humanity to Golden Age technical levels, any fully awakened Necron dynasty would face a choice between retreating once more or suffering total extinction.
Perturabo had no desire to serve as humanity's sole, ultimate crutch forever. After all, Warp-based power remained inherently tied to the Warp; overwhelming supernatural strength was no substitute for true material mastery.
Even if he could crush the Necrons into absolute despair using Warp power, the degree to which the realspace universe would be tainted by Warp energy in the process remained unpredictable, to say nothing of how immensely powerful Chaos might grow as a result.
Therefore, for battles humanity could win through its own physical strength, Perturabo preferred not to intervene directly. Besides, it was debatable how much true military capability the modern Necrons could muster.
Having slept for sixty million years, it was doubtful how much of their original consciousness and operational integrity remained intact.
It was impossible for vast data constructs to endure sixty million years without degradation; even the Silent King had undoubtedly suffered attrition or corruption in some form.
Thus, humanity was fully capable of defeating the Necrons through its own physical power.
Furthermore, Perturabo's ambitions extended far beyond such localized concerns.
The Warhammer universe was trapped in endless, brutal warfare—humans and xenos constantly slaughtering one another until their brains were practically scrambled—yet these grand conflict dimensions were confined entirely within a single, modest galaxy.
It was far too narrow a vision. With the capability to expand beyond the Milky Way into the vast universe, the races of this galaxy seemed inherently shortsighted, content to fight to the death over a single galactic pond.
No matter how grandly the C'tan were hyped, how powerful the Old Ones were portrayed, or how terrifyingly evil Chaos was made out to be, they were all ultimately thrashing about in a single galaxy.
Regardless of dramatic claims, Perturabo—the Master of Malefic Arts, Lord of Iron, and supreme Chaos God occupying half of the Eight-Pointed Star—understood the true nature of this reality better than anyone.
It was simply a galactic war, and a primitive one that still required conventional fleet engagements to achieve victory.
True strategic dominance did not require physical attrition; a simple dimensional strike or spatiotemporal restructuring could eliminate an opponent entirely.
Various factions claimed to possess such ultimate technologies, but what was the actual reality?
If such absolute capabilities truly existed, the modern universe would not feature humanity as the dominant power beating down rival races, nor would alternative timelines degenerate into endless, chaotic brawls.
That was the reality: this universe operated on a blend of conceptual belief and physical material law.
As for the Warp, did anyone understand it better than Perturabo? It was merely what it was—otherwise, how could humanity have ever built the Dark Age of Technology in the first place?
Standing beneath the monument, gazing at the meticulously categorized index of technologies within the holographic projection, his deep blue eyes reflecting the pale blue glow of data streams, Perturabo realized his previous assessment of the Golden Age had been slightly flawed.
He had once assumed Golden Age humanity reached technical perfection while suffering fatal flaws in strategic foresight and governance, leading directly to the Cybernetic Revolt and the loss of their history.
Looking at the Hope now, a society capable of constructing such a vessel—foreseeing the potential collapse of civilization prior to the Old Night and expending vast resources to preserve a spark for future generations—could not have lacked strategic vision.
It was far more likely that the internal fractures and the Iron Rebellion had already begun showing early signs, prompting clear-sighted individuals to plan for catastrophic outcomes.
"I originally believed Golden Age humanity was destroyed purely by its own arrogance and civil war," Perturabo remarked quietly. "But seeing this, I begin to think their downfall was vastly more complex than I assumed."
"A society with the technical mastery to build this vessel—one that even accounted for Warp contingencies—could not have failed to anticipate human civil war or machine rebellion. They must have left other preservation nodes elsewhere. The Hope is likely only one component of a broader legacy."
Dantioch tilted his head slightly. "Father, do you mean that Golden Age humanity deliberately established multiple seed repositories across the galaxy, and that other surviving legacies may be drifting through realspace or the Warp?"
"Yes. These contingencies were likely hidden with extreme subtlety. With deliberate effort, humanity can uncover them, though errors during the collapse clearly caused many to be buried or swept into the Warp."
"Furthermore, I suspect these repositories exist not only within the galaxy, but beyond it as well—just outside the light of the Astronomican. We simply lack the means to detect them at present."
Perturabo turned his attention back to the holographic display.
"Regardless, there is no rush. We will catalog every piece of data aboard the Hope first."
"Divide into four teams based on the twenty-four primary categories I outlined. Scan every storage unit systematic manner. Mark any encrypted or unreadable modules for my personal attention."
"This effort concerns the next millennium of Imperial development. Stay sharp, all of you."
"Prepare to signal the Space Marines and Abominable Intelligences outside to enter. Furthermore, notify Terra immediately—inform the Emperor, the Lord Regent, and the Warmaster to dispatch their representatives at once."
"Tell them we will soon return to the summit of human achievement."
Perturabo's deep blue eyes gazed at the vaulted "stars" above, a endless cascade of code streaming through his gaze.