"Hiss. You didn't discuss anything… inappropriate while I was gone, did you?"
Roboute Guilliman's transhuman mind—capable of processing multiple lines of thought simultaneously—paused for a fraction of a second.
"What?"
"Nothing," Yuki replied calmly.
The composition of the group was simply too evocative: a Primarch raised by beasts and secrets, the Great Angel of Baal, and the Lord of Macragge. In another age, such a gathering might have rewritten history.
Sanguinius cast Yuki a subtle glance. Yuki lifted an eyebrow in response. Something unpleasant had clearly occurred.
"So," Yuki asked, "why are you all gathered here?"
The question made Guilliman's jaw tighten. He visibly restrained himself, discipline overcoming irritation. Fractures between Legions were dangerous—more dangerous than most xenos threats.
"I came," said Lion El'Jonson evenly, "to assess the situation. And to advise Guilliman not to commit the Ultramarines to this war."
Guilliman's expression hardened.
Sanguinius discreetly placed a hand on Guilliman's arm before he could rise. His wings shifted slightly, feathers rustling with restrained tension. He gave Yuki a helpless look. There—this was the problem.
Yuki turned to the Lion.
"Why?"
Lion El'Jonson answered without hesitation. "Because the First Legion is sufficient. The Dark Angels will prosecute the war."
He did not raise his voice. He did not posture. He merely stated it as fact.
Guilliman inhaled slowly through his nose.
Yuki sighed inwardly.
Lion El'Jonson—Primarch of the Dark Angels, raised alone in the forests of Caliban, accustomed to command without explanation—had once again delivered concern in the form of superiority.
"You think," Yuki said carefully, "that by taking the burden upon yourself, you are protecting him."
Guilliman blinked. "Protect—?"
Lion frowned slightly. "Why is this offensive?"
And there it was.
Lion's mind functioned in absolutes: threat identified, solution implemented. Efficiency above all. Emotional interpretation did not factor into the calculus.
In his view, he had offered the optimal strategy. The First Legion was the most versatile of the Legiones Astartes—masters of specialized wings, ancient Terran war-rites, and forbidden arsenals entrusted to them by the Emperor Himself. If one Legion could prosecute a campaign cleanly, it was his.
Therefore: Guilliman need not risk his sons.
Simple.
Yuki pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Lion," she said patiently, "when you say 'the First Legion is enough,' it sounds like you're saying the Ultramarines are unnecessary."
"They are unnecessary," Lion replied honestly.
Guilliman's gauntlet creaked.
Sanguinius winced.
Yuki exhaled slowly.
"You see?" she said gently. "Intent and impact are not the same."
Lion's brow furrowed deeper. Understanding other people had never come naturally to him. On Caliban, strength and decisiveness had been enough. Among Primarchs—among brothers—it was not.
"If Rogal Dorn were here," Yuki continued, "he would have said: 'I do not wish to see the XIII Legion suffer losses when the First can bear the cost.'"
That would still sting—but it would be understood.
Lion crossed his arms. "I do not speak in hypotheticals."
"No," Yuki agreed. "You speak in verdicts."
There was a pause.
Then Yuki produced a slim data-slate and handed it to him.
Lion glanced at the title displayed across the screen.
On Command and Clarity: Essays on Communication for Strategic Leadership
He stared at it.
"I do not require instruction," he said.
"You do," Guilliman muttered.
Sanguinius coughed delicately.
Lion ignored them and skimmed the first page at inhuman speed.
After a moment, he said quietly:
"I am not adept at interpreting others."
That, at least, was honest.
Yuki smiled faintly. "It's a skill. Skills can be learned."
Lion's gaze shifted.
"Have you met Luther?"
The temperature in the chamber dropped.
"Yes," Yuki replied. "I have."
"He is not my father."
Guilliman's eyes flicked sharply toward him.
Yuki tilted her head. "No. The Emperor is your gene-father. But Luther raised you."
Lion did not immediately respond.
Caliban's forests had shaped him. But Luther had guided him—had given structure to the feral brilliance.
"Luther intends to return to Caliban," Yuki continued. "His physiology is incompatible with full Astartes transformation. At best, partial augmentation is possible. He refused. He does not wish to be remade into something lesser."
Lion's posture changed almost imperceptibly.
"Where is he?"
"On my flagship."
"Take me to him."
Guilliman watched them leave, irritation simmering.
Sanguinius regarded him thoughtfully.
"You are unusually angered," the Angel observed.
Guilliman exhaled. "He discards bonds too easily."
Sanguinius's golden eyes softened.
"Does he?"
Guilliman said nothing further.
Aboard the flagship.
Luther stood before Lion El'Jonson.
He looked smaller now—not physically, but in contrast to the transhuman demigod before him.
"I was clear," Luther said quietly. "My place is no longer at the forefront of conquest."
Lion felt something unfamiliar constrict within him.
He understood the logic. Luther would age. He would weaken. He would never match the gene-wrought sons of the Emperor.
But logic did not quiet the irritation.
"Why do you wish to leave?" Lion asked.
Luther hesitated.
"Why do you wish me to stay?"
Lion searched for the correct answer.
"We were effective together," he said at last. "Our campaigns succeeded."
Luther's expression dimmed.
"That is not what I asked."
Silence stretched.
Yuki, leaning against the bulkhead, said nothing.
Finally:
"I require you," Lion said.
"Why?" Luther pressed.
Lion's jaw tightened.
"I do not require others," he said. "But I require you."
The admission cost him.
Yuki stepped forward gently.
"Do you care for him?"
Lion did not look away.
"Yes."
"Is he your father?"
Lion hesitated.
"The Emperor is my father."
"And Luther?"
A long pause.
"My adoptive father."
Luther closed his eyes briefly.
That was enough.
"When does the surgery begin?" Lion asked.
Yuki smiled slightly. "Immediately."
This time, Luther did not refuse.
Later.
Yuki began recounting an ancient Terran legend to Lion—of kings, pride, and betrayal.
Far away upon Terra, the Emperor of Mankind paused mid-deliberation within the Imperial Palace.
A flicker of psychic irritation brushed the edges of His vast consciousness.
That child again.
A restrained pulse of psychic force traveled across the void.
On the flagship, Lion abruptly clutched his head.
Yuki winced.
"…We were discussing ancient monarchs," Lion said flatly.
"Change of topic," Yuki muttered, rubbing her temple. "Let's discuss… Rome."
Another psychic tap.
Yuki hissed.
Lion regarded her impassively.
Somewhere upon Terra, Malcador the Sigillite sighed without knowing why.
Beside him, Alpharius tilted his head slightly.
"What troubles you, my lord?"
"Nothing," Malcador replied wearily. "Everything."
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