803. Excellent

No one answered.

None of them knew what they should say.

The word "brother" had carried great weight throughout human history. In humanity's understanding, it could refer to many kinds of bonds: brothers by blood, those who were kindred spirits or shared the same ideals, or those bound by deep friendship.

There were seven Primarchs present. To them, how should that word define one another? Were they brothers by blood, men of the same ideals, or friends bound by profound affection?

No one could give an answer. No one even knew how to begin explaining it to Vulkan.

They only looked at this brother who had just regained consciousness with complicated eyes—the most towering of all the Primarchs, the strongest, the gentlest. A man who, even in a contest, had been unwilling to use his full strength for fear of hurting his opponent.

How were you supposed to explain all this complexity to him?

Vulkan let out a deep sigh, as if he had already found his answer in their silence. The sigh was so long it made them feel as though they were suffocating.

He sat up, carefully gazing at the floor. Only after bracing himself did he raise his head again and sweep his eyes over each of their faces, as though afraid his illusion would vanish then and there.

"Even in a dream, we are not whole."

He pressed his lips together tightly and said, "I only see the six of you. Ah."

Vulkan lowered his head, braced his hands on his knees, then covered his face with both hands. His muffled voice echoed from between those heavy palms. "It should not be like this. Are we truly fated to stand opposed to one another? Unable to reunite even in a dream?"

Russ rubbed his arms and