"Our father was always so unfeeling."
The Primarchs sat on the cliff at Kabo Peak in the Himalayas, looking out over a plain that had become completely different from what it had been years ago.
Massive buildings rose from it and pierced the clouds, while countless shuttles flew back and forth, up and down.
That was the Imperium's Adeptus Arbites.
"He would not even go and take one last look when the person who raised his sons was on her deathbed."
Sanguinius complained.
The Primarchs all fell silent. No one spoke, but it was not because they disagreed with Sanguinius. Rather, they agreed so thoroughly that there was nothing more to say. What kind of person was the Emperor? Did that even need explaining?
"Malcador is about the same." Horus suddenly spoke. "I really do not know how Uncle could work with them."
The Primarchs had barely exchanged a few words when Qin Mo descended onto the cliff, carrying an ice bucket full of drinks.
Qin Mo handed each Primarch a drink, then took the last bottle for himself. Looking at their expressions, he could guess what they had just been discussing.
"A person who is bad at expressing himself." Qin Mo floated beyond the edge of the cliff and looked at the Primarchs. "That is your father's personality. If you try very hard to change him, he can improve a little, but not by much."
Hearing Qin Mo speak of their father, the Primarchs listened in silence.
"Objectively speaking, he cares deeply about you. He knows what every one of you likes. When I was building cradle worlds for you, he set aside many of his own affairs and specifically made a plan for how your nurseries should be built."
"Whenever I returned from entering the cradle worlds, I