The golden light of the Emperor's throne room bathed Achilles, his golden armor gleaming like a beacon in the dimness. Centuries stretched before him, each a testament to his unwavering vigil. Yet, time held no meaning within these hallowed walls. Here, only duty remained.

His posture was as unwavering as the adamantium he bore. His gaze, though seemingly unfocused, scanned every corner of the vast chamber. Every flicker of light, every hum of machinery, every stray mote of dust dancing in the holy incense smoke - all registered in his augmented senses. He was a statue come alive, a silent guardian angel at the heart of the Imperium