In the amphitheater box, Perturabo's ice-blue eyes stared at Nimrod as he walked toward the dais.
His steps were calm and composed, neither brimming with malice like Mortarion's nor carrying Magnus's flair as a lecturer.
He clenched his fist as scene after scene flashed through his mind:
Dawn Star, and Magnus's lively brilliance.
At the heart of the galaxy, he and Magnus had entered the Shadow of the Throne and witnessed a palace of chaos and disorder that nevertheless proclaimed its artistry.
Nimrod had given him the Rangdan homeworld to commemorate the iron defensive line with which he had resisted the xenos army.
Before he set out to garrison the western reaches of the galaxy, Nimrod had built a grand theater for him in Vostonia, with splendid performances brought from many worlds.
Flames kindled in Perturabo's eyes. He almost threw caution to the wind, rushed out of the box, and stood with his two friends on trial.
Boom!
Cold starlight snuffed out the blazing flames.
A powerful, muscular bull came charging in.
"My son, do you still remember what I said to you when we first met?"
"I remember. You said, 'Your path will be harsh and difficult, but few are worthy of it.'"
"You also said, 'I have arranged many trials for you: tireless, unyielding, ever forward. You will become my Lord of Iron.'"
Golden light struck into his eyes. "Then how did you answer?"
"I said, 'I ask for nothing else! I swear that I will be forever loyal and serve you. I make this oath.'"
"Good. Today, I will tell you this as well: you are not only my Lord of Iron, you are also my golden bull. You have shown your fortitude, but that is not all..."
His father's words were steady and powerful, cooling