The Passion of Guilliman (Part Two)

"Ah, so this is where you work?"

A masked, jubilant boy sprinted down the corridor. Behind him followed a giant in simple clothes, his expression deeply resigned. "Mm-hmm. Yes, this is where I work."

The sentries standing guard on both sides of the corridor stared straight ahead as they passed, trying hard not to let their eyes fall on the Primarch, while reciting The Emperor's prayers with extreme piety so they would not think about where that child had come from, or why he was wearing a mask.

"This is great!"

The boy stopped. "Have I been here before, in my memories? I can't remember, Guilliman. What did I used to do?"

Nothing much. You merely became Warmaster, betrayed us afterward, tore the entire Empire apart, personally crippled our father, caused several of our brothers to die or disappear, and led to the deaths of tens of trillions of people.

That was all.

Guilliman smiled. "You used to do many great things."

"Did I?" Little Horus tilted his head in confusion. "I don't remember. I mean, I only remember a very small part of it."

Guilliman walked up behind him, opened the door to his own lounge, and asked gently, "Is that so? What do you remember?"

"Just... scattered images."

Little Horus walked into the lounge and took off his mask to catch his breath. "I led a group of people and fought some monsters. Was that really me? And there were fragments of emotions too. Regret, remorse..."

He frowned, clearly trying hard to find the right words.

After a long while, he said seriously, "But the thing there was the most of wasn't an emotion. It was an impulse I don't know how to describe."

"What impulse?" Guilliman asked, still gentle.

"I wanted... to give up?"

After thinking hard