"I'm sorry, sir. Our Primarch has declined all visitors for the time being."
Sanguinius folded his wings slightly, the motion betraying a flicker of disappointment.
"Could you inform your father that your sister is deeply worried about him," he said gently, "and asked me to come? Perhaps he would reconsider."
The two Astartes exchanged a glance before one nodded.
"Yes, sir. Please wait."
Sanguinius sighed as the door sealed again.
Yuki had barely recovered on Terra before preparing to return to the Rangdan front. He had stopped her.
"Sister," he had said softly, "our brothers hold the line. Why must you rush back so soon?"
"I'm afraid they will do something foolish."
She had not elaborated, but she did not need to.
The Rangdan war had already surpassed every previous campaign in cost and blood. Entire companies erased. Fleets shattered. Worlds scarred.
And Mordecai…
Sanguinius understood enough of guilt to recognize its danger. A man burdened by loss could mistake self-destruction for atonement.
He had placed a hand over his heart.
"Don't worry, sister. I will go."
He had been confident. He had soothed kings and warlords. He had reconciled tribes that had fought for generations.
Yet now, he could not even see the man.
The reception chamber was austere.
Sanguinius sat with quiet grace, eating fruit to pass the time, idly turning the ruby earring at his ear between two fingers.
Then he heard measured footsteps.
And a calm, unfamiliar voice.
"I have come to see your Primarch."
"My lord, our father said—"
"This is by order of the Emperor."
A pause.
"…I will inform him."
Sanguinius turned.
A towering man stood nearby.
Golden hair combed with exacting precision. Beard trimmed to perfect lines. Armor ornate yet functional, reminiscent of knightly panoply from ancient Terra.
He stood motionless while waiting, like a statue carved from discipline itself.
Sanguinius rose quickly, wiping fruit juice from his fingers.
This could only be their eldest brother.
He approached with warm composure.
"Brother, you must be our first-found."
The man turned his gaze upon him.
Silent.
Sanguinius felt, for a fleeting instant, like a child before a winter storm.
"I am Sanguinius," he added gently.
A pause.
Then:
"Lion El'Jonson."
Silence returned.
Sanguinius blinked.
And then?
Nothing.
Inside the Lion's mind, thoughts moved with tactical urgency.
Is this sufficient?
Should I say more?
Are we expected to exchange pleasantries?
Luther would normally handle this.
He remained still.
Sanguinius attempted rescue.
"Brother, you look like a knight from Terra's ancient histories."
"I am a knight," the Lion replied.
"…Ah."
Sanguinius suppressed a laugh.
He had not expected literalism.
The door opened again.
Mordecai entered.
"Apologies, brothers. Matters required my attention."
Sanguinius studied him discreetly.
Black hair. Black eyes. Gentle expression.
Nothing outwardly wrong.
He reached gently into the currents of prescience.
Nothing.
Not absence.
Not obstruction.
Just… still water.
Unsettling.
The Lion spoke first.
"I have come to assume command of my Legion, under Father's order."
Mordecai nodded.
"Understood."
The Lion continued:
"I will prosecute the war against the Rangdan."
A pause.
"But I will not place my Legion under your operational command."
Sanguinius's eyes flickered.
The words sounded severe.
Too severe.
Yet the Lion's intention was not defiance.
He had learned that elements of the First Legion had been compromised. He would not risk further corruption spreading between Legions.
He would isolate his sons.
Protect them.
Protect the others.
He simply did not say so.
(Just say it.)
Mordecai did not react.
"Very well."
The Lion inclined his head once, rose, and departed.
Sanguinius stared after him.
Big brother… you are leaving already?
Mordecai turned back.
"This is our first meeting, brother. You resemble our sister."
Sanguinius smiled faintly.
"If we speak of resemblance, that honor belongs to my third brother."
Mordecai chuckled softly.
Sanguinius watched him carefully.
No scent of blood.
None.
His heightened senses detected nothing.
Was Yuki mistaken?
"Brother," Sanguinius asked gently, "why have you shut yourself away?"
"My sister is worried," he added.
Silence stretched.
Then:
"Please tell her… I am sorry."
Sanguinius lifted his cup.
"Why not tell her yourself?"
Mordecai's smile faltered.
He did not answer.
He stood.
"I must return to my duties. You are free to remain."
He left.
Sanguinius's gaze followed him, sharp as a blade.
Something is wrong.
Not madness.
Not corruption.
Something colder.
He folded his wings and departed.
He would speak with Yuki.
Immediately.
Luther
"Are you Lion's adoptive father?"
Luther exhaled slowly.
"I believe I am."
The truth was less simple.
His wife and daughter had died young. When he found the boy in the forest, pity had struck him like a blade.
He raised him.
Taught him.
Forged him.
Yet when the boy joined the Order, Luther maintained formal distance to avoid favoritism. They addressed one another as brothers, as all knights did.
So was he father?
Brother?
Mentor?
Now the galaxy had swallowed Caliban.
To remain beside the Lion, Luther would undergo gene-forging.
Would that make him… his son?
The thought unsettled him.
Worse still were darker thoughts he hated.
If not for the Lion…
I would have been Supreme Master.
The greatest knight.
Each time the thought arose, he despised himself.
Ryan was his son.
A father should rejoice in a son's greatness.
But did the Lion think of him as father?
He had never said the word.
Yet when the Emperor appeared…
He had said it immediately.
Father.
Luther had smiled.
And something inside him had broken.
The first Calibanite Astartes had arrived on Terra.
Yuki had performed their ascension personally.
When Luther saw her, towering and radiant, he understood immediately: the Lion was indeed her kin.
But then the oppressive aura softened.
Warmth replaced awe.
She approached and smiled.
"You must be Lion's adoptive father."
"I only raised him."
"Then you are his adoptive father."
Luther clenched his jaw.
"What difference does it make?"
Yuki stepped closer and took his hand.
"Without you, there would be no Lion."
Luther swallowed.
"His greatness is his own."
She gently wrapped something around his wrist.
He looked down.
Several strands of pure white hair.
He looked up.
"You may call him Caliban's hero," Yuki said softly.
"But you are his."
His throat tightened.
His hands trembled, calluses digging into his palms.
"You are important to him," she continued.
"Even if neither of you understands how much."
"You haven't even met him," Luther said hoarsely.
"How can you know?"
She tilted her head.
"When your ascension is complete, I will escort you to the Rangdan front."
A small smile.
"Then we shall wager."
"A wager?"
"To see whether Lion truly does not care."
Luther lowered his gaze.
His heart churned.
"…Very well."
He tightened his grip on the white strands.
"It's a deal."
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