The Way Is Not Lonely

These past years...

Mortarion sprawled on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Once again, he felt the strength of his adaptability. The tension of their first meeting had faded away. Before that mass of surging darkness... he...

...was sleepy.

He felt his hazy vision gradually dimming as a long, lingering weariness washed over him—the price of overextending himself for the past ten thousand years.

I still did some things.

The primarch mildly rebuked himself for his slackness. His wings creaked. Over the past ten thousand years, their master had not treated them as kindly as he had treated this chair.

But really... Mortarion exhaled a puff of mist. Why not rest?

Mortarion was not a primarch possessed of the virtue of humility. In all honesty, he believed he had done more than enough—no primarch, perhaps not even the being upon the Golden Throne, had been as competent as him.

...Except the Emperor.

But that had been effort in the opposite direction.

When his thoughts touched upon the Emperor, alarm bells rang in Mortarion's heart. Yet the urgent ringing gradually drifted away... at least now, they had someone who could pull the Emperor down at any time.

Thinking of that, Mortarion relaxed again. His former self might have chastised his laziness and slackness, but now? Now he was simply too tired.

He slowly sensed his mist drifting outward. Strands of white vapor touched the swelling black sea, only to vanish without a trace before they could even scream.

"You did quite a lot."

Hades corrected Mortarion. He picked up a teacup from the table and poured himself a little liquor.

"Just looking through the documents you approved before... I could feel the pressure."

I want some too.

Mortarion raised a hand and accepted the poisoned wine Hades offered him... This was