The flickering glow of the cogitation lamp cast long shadows across the otherwise spartan office. Roboute Guilliman, primarch and Lord Commander of the Imperium, sat hunched over a massive desk piled high with datapads and vox scrolls. His brow furrowed in concentration, not at the strategic maneuvers against the Orks or the political machinations of the Administratum, but at a far more mundane task.

He tapped a stylus rhythmically against a data slate, frustration creeping into his gaze. "Frag it," he muttered under his breath. "This damned Antragstellung form is more confounding than a Geller Field malfunction."