4. Horus Lupercal

Sunlight spilled through the windows of the stone house, gently illuminating its ordinary interior—tables, chairs, and benches. Firewood for the winter was piled in one corner, while a sickle and hoe leaned against the wall behind the door. The stove in the southeast corner burned quietly, filling the entire room with the scent of tea.

And Horus Lupercal, the greatest traitor in human history, was steadily carrying two cups of tea.

His face closely resembled the people in those portraits that had long since been burned to ashes, yet it was also somewhat different.

Perhaps it had been the painters' collective decision, or perhaps that was simply what the man had truly been like. In any case, in those paintings, something indescribable always flowed between Warmaster Horus's brows—strength, honor, power. All three bowed at his feet, ultimately shaping a face that could only belong to a ruler.

He himself knew this, which was why he always smiled in those portraits, hoping to lessen his majesty. Thus, almost everyone was drawn to him.

But the man now setting down the teacups was different.

"Please, do try it," he said.

Karyl lifted his cup and took a small sip. He had never known much about this drink, which had already been popular throughout the Imperium ten thousand years ago, but its rich fragrance and the lingering sweetness after its faint bitterness still made the conclusion easy to reach.

He nodded and said softly, "It's very good."

Vulkan raised his head, lifted the small bucket that dwarfed Karyl's wooden cup, and drained it in one swallow. The scalding heat meant nothing to the Lord of Drakes. He even chewed and swallowed the tea leaves, wasting not a single bit.

The sight made his brother smile despite himself, but as though mindful of something,