[Everyone was dead. When Rogal Dorn stood aboard his flagship, his reaction was silence. He had always been that way; his silence was a constant. But this time was different. Even a blind man could feel the terrible rage leaking into the air.]
[Then came the rumors—some said Rogal Dorn had killed them. The Imperial Fists vehemently opposed that rumor, but to no avail. And in the years that followed, worse things came one after another.]
[First, the surviving Librarians began to die one by one. They had not died in that catastrophe for all kinds of reasons: some had been carrying out missions, while others had been unable to arrive in time. What they had thought was the beginning of good fortune, they had never imagined would become the final chapter of misfortune.]
[After that, every Psionic selected from within the Imperial Fists proved unable to coexist with Rogal Dorn's Gene Seed. No matter how exceptional their physical condition had been before the surgery, none of them could successfully survive the operation.]
[It was like a curse. At the time, they did not know. Looking back now, it was merely another act of harm by those Evil Gods.]
"What concerns me more than the harm he claims was done by the Evil Gods is something else."
Corvus Corax's brows were tightly furrowed. "He mentioned the Primarchs. He did not mention the word 'readers.' That doesn't fit his habits. Does this mean he is crossing time and worlds, borrowing this text from us to speak?"
The conference room fell into silence.
Then the aged Lion spoke. "Your conjecture is not without reason, but it is chilling and absurd. How could an obscure scribe accomplish such a thing?"
"His loyalty earned him this work," Roboute Guilliman said. "And to complete the