Sanguinius held that rough, enormous hand and could clearly feel the violent turmoil within its owner—a complex emotion mingling boundless sorrow, deeply buried anger, and an almost despairing resignation.
She exchanged looks with Horus and Angron.
No words were needed. Through the memories restored by the Mind Cube, memories that had once been altered, they instantly recognized this brother who had been utterly erased from Imperium history, whose very name had become taboo—the Primarch of the Eleventh Legion.
Sanguinius immediately looked up at the roaring Golden Throne, trying to sense the Emperor's will.
Yet the throne bore only its eternal, unchanging divine radiance. No new command or emotion descended from it.
The surrounding Adeptus Custodes remained on high alert, but they appeared to have received no order to attack or expel him.
This silence... was it acquiescence? Or had the Emperor simply not paid attention?
She relaxed slightly and looked once more at the grieving giant before her.
Horus's eyes were likewise filled with shock and gravity.
They all understood what this brother's appearance meant.
The Emperor had once purged the Second and Eleventh Legions with thunderous ruthlessness. This had been the root of the rift many Primarchs held deep within their hearts toward the Emperor.
Sympathizing with his fate was one thing, but assessing the potential threat he posed to the current Imperium was a responsibility they had to prioritize.
"Brother, this is not the place to talk." Sanguinius kept her voice low, but it carried a gentle strength that brooked no refusal. "Come with us. We need to have a proper conversation."
Icarus's immense body trembled faintly. His deep, sorrowful gaze returned to the Golden Throne, as though he were making one final farewell—or seeking an answer he would never receive.
At last, he slowly nodded and allowed