Yearning for Guilliman

Ascension.

Ascension.

Ascension, ascension, ascension.

Malcador opened his eyes and looked at Luther before him with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Long time no see."

The old man's smile remained unchanged.

"I will not be as shameless as you, Warp-touched Malcador."

Luther spoke calmly. Wrinkles creased his brow, and his beard was grizzled.

"I often dreamed of the day you deceived me."

"That was long ago, wasn't it?"

Malcador spread his hands. His cloak draped from his arms; it bore no adornments, yet the fabric gleamed with extravagant splendor.

"We are sitting here now, discussing matters concerning humanity and the Imperium."

That was why he loved politics. Even with a blood feud between them, states had no choice but to greet one another with smiling faces when shared interests were at stake. Humanity was an exceedingly hypocritical species.

That was also why Guilliman was unqualified. Even behind a mask, his sincere heart could not be concealed.

Luther watched coldly, every muscle in his body screaming for him to draw his sword and cleave this hypocrite apart—this bastard who deserved to be judged and hanged.

The seeds Malcador had planted with his words had forever torn Caliban apart. The pain he had caused still hurt; the Lion still wandered, while the First Legion had willingly marginalized itself.

Though Malcador had been a complete clown before the true soul-devourer, outside the court, the jester freely toyed with the unsuspecting masses.

"The First Legion will drag you from your throne themselves, behead you, and display your head to the public, Emperor."

Luther spoke softly, in a voice only the two of them could hear. The amusement in Malcador's eyes deepened as he watched him.

The meeting is starting. Stop bickering.

Thick white mist rapidly rose through the chamber and swiftly