At that very moment, Rowan was in the Black Library, delivering a textbook example of a con to the Goddess of Life, who still lay on the floor looking bewildered. He was trying to coax the detailed formula for every toxin she had tasted in the Plague Cauldron out of her.
Elsewhere in the Galaxy.
The Webway.
Caliban's ancient trees stood silently in the dim light.
Every leaf in the forests born from the fragments of Ouroboros carried the unmistakable essence of Caliban.
They had formed a strange symbiosis with the Webway's own wraithbone structure, as though two entirely different creations were embracing one another.
Lion El'Jonson emerged from the forest.
His steps were unhurried, his hunter's eyes sweeping every corner of the Webway passage where a threat might lurk.
A squad of Redeemed Angels followed close behind him. Their armor shone dark green in the dim light, and every warrior kept his hands near his weapons, ready to spring into battle at any moment.
Yet this recently formed squad, already perfectly coordinated through their past experience and the bonds of their blood, had barely traveled any distance before a light appeared around a bend ahead.
Then an entire squad of Astartes in white Power Armor rounded the corner.
A little while later.
"So you are the Primarch, Lion El'Jonson?"
Kor'sarro Khan stared wide-eyed at the green-armored giant before him.
As he asked the question, his usual unruly defiance had, for once, given way to genuine respect.
It was hardly surprising.
That overwhelming presence could not be faked.
Kor'sarro Khan had met Primarchs before. He had fought alongside Ferrus Manus and witnessed the Iron Hands' machine-precise art of command. He had also seen several other Primarchs from afar, their figures striding across battlefields like gods descending to earth.
But the