Moon Wolves, Angels, Ravens, Bats (I)

"How much longer?" a deep voice asked, tinged with a slight complaint. It was almost imperceptible, even to the most perceptive and perceptive individuals.

But

"Are you complaining, my dear brother?" The painter holding the paintbrush couldn't help but laugh.

The studio was lit by only two candles, yet the light was still ample. This credit, of course, cannot be given to the two oil candles; in fact, most of the light emanated from the painter himself.

His skin was so white it seemed to be burning, and a golden Radiance emanated gently from his long, flowing hair and the wings on his back, soothing the air and making everything else beautiful and radiant.

"I thought you already knew when you agreed to my request," the painter said with a shrug.

"What do you know?"

"I know this will take up a lot of our time," the painter chuckled. "Of course, if you'd like to rest for a while, I'll have someone bring you a deck chair. You can take a nap there; I assure you it will be very comfortable."

"A chair that fits my body?"

"I take breaks sometimes, brother." The painter shook his head disapprovingly. "What do you take me for? A Camaras frozen toothfish that only sleeps once a year?"

The model sighed, but still laughed at the painter's humor.

"No, let's forget about it. Most of the furniture we make for you will need to accommodate your wings. I prefer to have a solid, reliable feel on my back when I lie down, rather than two hollow supports."

The painter raised an eyebrow and casually put down his brush. It was undoubtedly a fine work of art, its entire surface engraved with relief. The warm ivory white and gilded colors made the brush look solemn and beautiful, just like its owner.

Yes, it's beautiful.

Although I dislike using this clichéd description to describe the painter himself, what other word could possibly describe him?

What other words could more vividly describe Sanguinius?

"I must say, your words have hurt me a little." Sanguinius frowned slightly, feigning seriousness. "Horus, I remember I've spoken many times about the impact these wings have had on my life."

"But that doesn't prevent it from being helpful to you," the Primarch, known as Horus, said with a slight smile.

Compared to his brother, he was not so handsome. He was bald, with a broad and resolute forehead above a pair of friendly eyes, dark blue with a hint of brown.

The smile on his face was incredibly gentle, but after a brief moment of smiling, he immediately adopted a serious expression, showing remarkable tacit understanding.

"However, if I have offended you, I will apologize," Horus said loudly, even giving a slight bow as a sign of sincerity. "So, have I offended you, brother?"

He slightly raised his head and looked at Sanguinius.

The latter sighed, lowered his head slightly, and straightened his hair. "You really know how to make fun of people, Horus."

When did I ever say a single word mocking you?

"Yes, you didn't say that." The angel winked mockingly. "You just put them into gestures—okay, stop talking about it."

Horus nodded knowingly, and he and Sanguinius simultaneously wiped the smiles off their faces and started a new topic.

"What do you think of Father's talk with Corax?" Sanguinius stood up, put his hands behind his back, and paced around his private room on the Red Tear.

The angel's gait was remarkably relaxed and natural, like that of the finest dancer or the most lethal warrior. Horus stared intently at his brother, pondering the meaning behind those words.

Several seconds later—a considerable amount of time for the Primarch to think—he finally answered.

"It's been a while," Horus said. "However, Corax seems like a man of few words, and Father... you know his personality most of the time. It will inevitably take some time for them to get along."

"Indeed," Sanguinius said thoughtfully, head bowed. "Horus."

He looked up at his brother, his eyes strange, and said nothing more than calling Horus's name. Clearly, he wanted to say something. Horus remained silent, waiting patiently.

After a while, he spoke in a softer tone a story that Horus had never heard before, in response to Horus's previous silence.

"I flew to see him," the angel said. "I remember the throbbing in my back as I stretched, and I remember flying over many dunes that day. Flying isn't as good as you imagine, Horus."

"Yes, it's wonderful to be able to break free from the constraints of gravity, but responsibility doesn't just vanish like gravity. I can't remember how long it took me to find him. I only remember that when I landed, he greeted me without saying a word."

"That sound wasn't just one sound, it was more like..."

Sanguinius fell into deep thought once more.

His room is filled with many precious works of art. There are unique pieces by artists, as well as statues and paintings created by the warriors of the Blood Angels. It includes everything from the works of beginners to the masterpieces of masters.

The creator's name is enclosed in a gilded square next to the artwork; each word was personally written by Sanguinius, his appreciation for it goes without saying. They surround Sanguinius, yet none can match his Radiance.

He is the most eye-catching treasure in this room.

Horus slowly nodded, continuing his brother's words, "It's more like a feeling of your own, isn't it?"

Sanguinius looked up in surprise, but then immediately smiled sheepishly.

"Yes, how could I forget?" The angel shook his head self-deprecatingly. "You've spent far more time with him than any of us."

"Are you trying to subtly convey something to me?" Horus raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, please, bro, don't start now."

"Start with what?"

"You know what I'm talking about." Sanguinius' face hardened.

Horus finally couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Alright, alright. Go on."

The angel looked at him helplessly, trying to recall the feeling he had just experienced while lost in thought, but he could no longer grasp it.

He sighed softly and said, "He called me son, Primarch, general, part of the great cause. He told me everything, but do you know what I was thinking?"

Horus did not speak, but encouraged Sanguinius with his eyes to continue.

"Fear," the angel whispered. "He didn't hide his thoughts from me; he showed me everything. A legion, countless glories, endless victories spanning the stars."

"But I can see more, Horus, you know. I can always see more. I also see the shadows cast by the statues of victory, and the cries of the countless dead within those shadows."

"But you still agreed," Horus said with certainty. "Everything has its price, brother."

"Yes, there was a price, but I agreed to it because he agreed to it too." Sanguinius finally smiled again. "I went to see him with a mindset of never compromising or backing down. It was a conversation between father and son, but it was also a transaction."

"That's why our conversation didn't last long. However, from what I understand, my experience is actually an isolated case. I'm worried that the time he spent might have a negative effect."

"Could it even have the opposite effect?" Horus asked.

"Yes."

Horus Lupercal smiled slowly.

"Don't worry, brother." He laughed. "Father will handle everything, anything, anything— Sanguinius?"

The angel stood still, his gaze fixed blankly ahead. His gaze wasn't fixed on any point in the room, but rather on something much farther away. Horus frowned and turned to look in the direction of Sanguinius's gaze, only to see walls and paintings.

He strode over to Sanguinius, looked at him with concern, and stopped calling out. Several minutes later, Sanguinius emerged from his daze as if from a dream.

He began to breathe softly, his wings fluttering involuntarily. The wind howled, causing the easel to collapse and paint to spill across the floor, gradually mixing with a chilling black on the crimson carpet.

"What's wrong, Sanguinius?" Horus asked worriedly.

The angel did not answer; for a moment, his face seemed to become a mask. Behind his eyes, there was no trace of his usual gentleness, only a chilling coldness. Several minutes passed before he finally answered Horus's question.

"I saw it—" Sanguinius paused for a moment. "I don't know how to describe what I saw to you, Horus."

He frowned, deep in thought, and broke free from Horus's support to continue pacing. Sanguinius was clearly deep in thought.

Horus remained silent, keeping him company through this difficult time, even though he knew nothing about the situation. He observed Sanguinius' expression, trying to find some possible clue, but to no avail.

In fact, Sanguinius's contemplation was quite secretive, revealing no outward emotions. Twenty minutes later, the angel finally let out a long breath and emerged from that terrifying state.

"I apologize." The first thing he did was apologize to Horus. "I'm sorry, Horus, I was just... a little shocked."

Horus nodded silently.

Sanguinius pursed his lips and turned to look at the long porthole of the studio. In that pitch-black, deathly silence, his gaze was long and distant.

"He's here," Baal's Sky murmured softly in his native language. "The darkest place I can see."

Update complete.