Chapter 350: Look to the distant Warmaster
Only the Angel and the Khan remained the calmest spectators after that farce—yet a calm surface did not mean calm beneath. Too much had been exposed in Mortarion and Lorgar's quarrel—though neither of them realized it.
Sanguinius blinked, concealing the waves beneath his gaze.
The Great Angel stood, raising his glass. The crystalline wine shimmered within; his eyes, shining through the liquid, were brighter than diamonds, purer than gold—enough to make one's soul tremble beneath the gaze of the Emperor's purest son.
"Horus, I am sincerely overjoyed that you can bear this crown."
Horus sat beside him, weariness tugging at the corner of his smile. He waved a hand lightly, and with a crisp clink of glass, the two drank deep the dark wine.
Within the lavish chamber prepared for the Warmaster alone, the two dearest brothers had already passed the awkwardness of earlier probing; now they spoke freely.
Sanguinius teased and congratulated Horus again. The Angel described in detail the heartfelt blessings of his brothers when they heard of Horus's promotion: Fulgrim cheering with delight, the ascetic Lorgar showing a rare smile, Dorn offering his highest respect and blessing—
And Sanguinius himself, who was sincerely happy for Horus…
The Warmaster could only be Horus; the Angel could not imagine a future where someone else bore that title.
Horus responded with laughter, following each topic the Angel offered.
Sanguinius was far warmer than usual…
Were they trying to cover something with all this cheer?
Horus grew thoughtful, his hand subconsciously brushing the sapphire pendant newly awarded to him—cut in the shape of the Eye of Terra, symbolizing the power and glory granted to him.
"Father gave me this."
Horus suddenly said. But he did not mean the necklace. Carefully, he drew out a small case from the pouch beside his belt-knife.
He opened it. Sanguinius saw an old golden ring.
"This ring was forged a year before he was born,"
"He told me I am his centaur—wherever I ride, the Legion will ride with me."
The Angel smiled warmly, his eyes gleaming like stars.
"You almost make me jealous, Horus."
But unusually, Horus did not take the cue. Holding the box, he fell silent for a moment.
The silver-tongued Wolf-King faltered.
"He— I mean, I expected this gift. We are his sons, his generals. He grants authority and gives me his trust; he has placed his sharpest sword in my hand, without reservation."
The Angel tilted his head, listening patiently.
"But… not just that."
Horus carefully set the ring box aside and pulled out another one from his other side.
Sanguinius raised a brow, slightly surprised.
"He gave you two rings?"
Horus nodded slowly. In his eyes, the Angel saw something rare—hesitation, doubt. Confusion.
He opened the second box.
The wine in the Angel's firmly held glass rippled as though struck.
"This is… a clay ring?!"
His voice broke for a moment. Inside lay a crudely made ring of hardened clay, tied with a strand of grass holding a small piece of bone like a crude gem. It looked as if it could not even be worn—too fragile, ready to crumble at a touch.
"…I was as shocked as you."
Horus said slowly, voice calm yet trembling slightly.
"My son—"
Horus began, and the Angel realized he was repeating the Emperor's own words.
"This is the ring I made in my childhood."
"I used it to help guide thread while repairing my clothes."
The Emperor's voice had been calm. The brilliance that once made Horus's head spin was gone now. Malcador stood in his shadow, hood hiding the old man's gaze.
"It was made after the first murder."
The first murder in the history of humanity—when Neoth's uncle killed Neoth's father. From that moment, the boy named Neoth became the Emperor, killing his uncle in turn—his first act of vengeance.
"Lupercal, you and this ring were both born in the wake of the first murder."
The Emperor's tone did not waver.
"I am sorry that I cannot take you—and humanity—back to the time before all of this."
"Father?" Horus trembled slightly. "I don't understand."
Cold eyes gazed upon him—nothing like the smile that had accompanied the golden ring. Too much sorrow drowned within them.
"You were brought into a cruel world."
"A world where murder, revenge, and kin-slaying had already taken root."
The Emperor spoke. Behind him, Malcador's form swayed ever so slightly, but Horus ignored the mortal entirely. Confusion and unease fixed his gaze solely upon his father.
"It was never my intention."
The Emperor paused.
"At least, when I saw you—my first-found son, Lupercal—I realized that I am as cruel as this world. I command a child to confront a reality already stained by murder."
Horus bared his teeth, attempting a smile.
"Father, I can bear all of this. I have led the Legion to conquer countless worlds. I do not hesitate to fire a shot. I fan the flames of war—and the Exterminatus is not a burden I fear."
The Emperor still stared at him. He looked… sorrowful, like a father who could not scrape together travel fare for his child, even after gifting him the armies of the entire galaxy.
"...I believe you can do all of that, Horus."
"As I did—face it."
"Face this world."
"Face the first murder."
He continued, eyes falling to the clay ring. For a fleeting moment, Horus thought he saw it glimmer—golden light flickering from dull and fragile matter.
"Rings are usually ornaments—symbols of wealth, of power, of status."
"But in ancient Terra, they were once tools—practical things."
Silence.
"I hope you will carry it with you."
Horus hesitated. He carefully lifted the clay ring from its box. Beside him, the Angel leaned in, staring at the relic with silent caution.
Sanguinius' voice was hushed as feather-light whisper:
"Perhaps he knows what you will face, Horus—yet he still chooses to trust you."
Horus slowly turned the ring between his fingers.
"But… what will I face?"
. . .
"The Imperium currently deploys the Sister of Silence to combat psykers."
"Their commander is Hades, and they are now fighting alongside the World Eaters in the Ultima Segmentum."
"Like the Custodes, you may contact them, but you have no authority to command. Whether they assist or not is at their discretion."
Malcador reported coldly, now covering the details conveniently left out earlier—after the Emperor and Horus had concluded their tender father-son performance.
He watched Horus pretend to listen attentively—but the Wolf-King's mind was clearly still lost in the Emperor's words, not the Regent's briefing.
Malcador desperately wished the Warmaster would engage that brain now clouded by paternal sentiment. Why was the briefing about the Sister of Silence the only task omitted earlier—and why did the Emperor emphasize them only after that talk?
In truth, aside from a few specific Primarchs, most had some knowledge—at least vaguely—of the entities of the Warp. Magnus knew the most. After him, Horus. The Khan and the Angel learned instinctively—and held the greatest vigilance toward the Warp.
Then there was Mortarion—Malcador had no idea how much Hades had told him, but he was certain that man leaked information like a cracked dam.
The briefing concluded. The old man sank back into the shadows.
The Emperor coughed lightly.
"Lupercal—when dealing with matters of psykers and the Warp, you may seek aid from the Sister of Silence."
. . .
"He also wants me to communicate more with the Sister of Silence."
Horus finally spoke.
"The Sister of Silence… are as abrupt in their appearance as their leader."
Horus mused aloud, while beside him Sanguinius' expression darkened—just for the briefest moment.
Earlier on, the Great Angel held Fulgrim back because he hoped to learn more. Mortarion clearly knew something—and so did Lorgar.
Sanguinius spoke softly, patting Horus's shoulder plate:
"The deeper we push into the galaxy, the more psykers we encounter. To better eradicate them… I believe that may be his intention."
Horus lowered his gaze, thumb still rubbing the ring's rough surface. He recalled the incident in the Luna Wolves—soldiers possessed by creatures from the Warp.
"It seems I will be facing far more psyker problems in the future… You were just with Mortarion, weren't you, my friend?"
The tips of the Angel's wings twitched.
"Yes. I spoke with him… along with Fulgrim, the Khan, and Lorgar. Just a casual chat."
Horus sighed.
"I hope he and Fulgrim got along well?"
Sanguinius glanced away. Truthfully, Mortarion and Fulgrim should have gotten along terribly—until Lorgar arrived.
After thinking carefully, the Angel chose his words:
"Fulgrim was slightly… displeased with Mortarion's manners. But overall, they got along fine."
Horus let out a loud laugh tinged with relief.
"I know, Angel. You're hiding something—but I appreciate the kindness."
"You care greatly for Mortarion?"
The Angel's question, bold even for their close friendship, was delivered with playful mischief. Horus laughed, shaking his head helplessly.
"I was the first Primarch to return to our father's side, Angel. He told me he hoped I would be a good elder brother."
"You are a good brother—even now, as Warmaster."
Sanguinius replied warmly. Horus waved the compliment away.
"The second Primarch found was Leman Russ. I still remember standing there, furious—I couldn't accept that someone had arrived to steal our father's attention from me."
The Angel's silence was encouragement. Horus continued, hands opening in a shrug.
"But later… I realized Russ was not what he appears. The moment he and I walked into a room alone, he instantly dropped the wolf-pelt façade."
Horus laughed, amused by the memory.
"I was shocked—terrified, even. But immediately I understood: my brothers were grown men. I could no longer face them with the jealousy of a child. I had to speak to you all as an adult. That helped me survive those difficult early days."
Sanguinius laughed as well.
"A calm, rational Russ—apologies," the Angel chuckled harder, the chains and ornaments on his wings chiming merrily, "but perhaps only you have seen that version of him, Horus ."
"Yes," Horus replied with satisfaction.
"Being the eldest allowed me to see different sides of you all."
He paused again, fingers returning to the clay ring.
"Mortarion was the same. From the moment I saw him, I knew he would be a major trouble. The air around him… was too wild. Too untouched by civilization."
Mortarion bore the marks of someone who had once farmed for survival—plain as day in the way he wielded his great scythe.
It had shocked Horus deeply. A Primarch who could not depend on supplies given to him—who had to till soil with his own hands. Not even hunting—no noble rifle or warrior's chase.
A Primarch with a scythe… accepted far less than one with a gun.
Sanguinius looked at Horus. He recalled Mortarion mixing drinks just moments before.
"Perhaps he even enjoys it in his own way… But I understand now—you feel responsible for him, Horus. Is that it?"
Horus lowered his eyes, rubbing the ring again with an awkward smile.
"Ordinary methods of communication don't work with Mortarion. He's very alert when it comes to sensing malice or hypocrisy."
"So you tried a… less mature method of communication, Horus?"
Horus nodded.
"There's guilt as well. I didn't expect Curze to lash out so suddenly—that was my failure. Mortarion had just begun to trust me."
The light in the Angel's eyes flickered.
"He cares deeply about that Death Guard, doesn't he?"
The question snapped Horus instantly out of his reflection. The Wolf-King straightened—this was the true direction he wanted the discussion to go.
"Very deeply. What exactly is the relationship between the Death Guard and the Sister of Silence? Sanguinius, did you hear anything?"
Sanguinius' wings rustled, his expression turning grave.
"I heard quite a bit, actually."
"It seems our father is far more wary of the Warp than we ever imagined."
. . .
The Emperor stood there, silently watching the Wolf-King's departing figure. Behind him, Malcador's raspy voice emerged from the shadows:
"My lord… do you truly love them equally?"
"Is what you give to Sixteen equal to what you give to Twelve?"
It had not been planned for the Emperor to suggest that Horus stay in close contact with the Sister of Silence. That was something born of instinct—of concern for Horus himself.
The Emperor said nothing for a long time.
Then, slowly, the Master of Mankind spoke:
"Lupercal… he is the one who resembles humanity the most."
<+>
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