For some reason, Sanguinius was uncharacteristically restless.
The Emperor had gone far away. It was said that he had learned how to cross between realms, and had sent them a message through the Central Hub—an approach that drew quite a few complaints, but this time, at least, he had explained what he was going to do.
The Archangel felt that this counted as progress of a sort.
At that moment, he was standing before a half-carved marble statue, watching Fulgrim at work.
Like him, though their reasons for beginning had been different, the Phoenix was equally skilled in art.
In the past, he had possessed a distinctive, effortless pride in this field. Whether sculpting or painting, he worked extremely quickly and never slowed down. Now, however, he was deep in thought over the smallest detail.
That was rare, yet Sanguinius smiled—do not misunderstand; he was not pleased because he had seen Fulgrim's artistic skill decline.
In truth, to his eyes, this statue was better than any work the Phoenix had ever made before, even though it was still unfinished. Naturally, he smiled for another reason.
"What are you laughing at, brother?"
Fulgrim asked without turning his head. His tied-up ponytail swayed behind him. He was bare-chested, which made work easier, and at this moment he was staring intently at some detail on the statue.
"Nothing. I was only thinking that if you sculpt statues for each of them without telling them, some of them may question you afterward instead."
"Are you singling out Perturabo?"
"No." Sanguinius shook his head. "In fact, I think that while he won't show much joy outwardly, he should treasure the gift quite a lot. I think the one who questions you will be Rogal."
The Phoenix sighed and turned back, setting the Sculpting Hammer aside,