The light rays of the sun shone through the glass dome ceiling of the garden, one of the last remaining ones in the Imperical Palace, free from the horrors of war or the hands of bureaucracy. God.. just the thought of Imperial politics made Clonegrim shudder. He was stressed enough as it is after recently being integrated into the Imperium. Well, that's why he's here in the garden, to take his mind off things.

Clonegrim strolls leisurely through the paved path of the garden, his eyes roamed over the perfectly pruned flora, the perfectly crafted statues of men and women alike, and the calming pools of water placed around the garden. It was perfect, just as he was.

He sighed, both from the beauty of the garden but also the weight of responsibility of being a Primarch, and the responsibility of filling the shoes of his former self - the original Fulgrim, the one who had fallen to corruption. Clonegrim had inherited all his memories, his ambition, his pride, and perfectionism, but none of the corruption.