Before the Assassination

The past

Terra

Back then, they had all been quite content, though they sometimes felt busy and exhausted.

But the malice of this world was far greater than they had imagined—the vast ocean watched them from the far shore beyond the five senses.

Another wonderful day.

Angron's voice came from behind him. Guilliman caught the fragrance of pastries, but did not turn around. He merely buried himself in thought amid the documents on his desk.

The faint light of dawn fell over the papers before Regent Guilliman. The sky had only just begun to brighten, with a few stars still scattered across the pale gray heavens, gradually fading beneath the sunlight.

The smoked parchment gave off a faint fragrance.

Clink, clink.

Angron set down the plate of pastries in his hand. The porcelain plate struck the desk with a crisp, light sound.

Seashell mille-feuille, Sicilian cream rolls, maritozzi, and a few other things—I dropped by the kitchen and helped myself to some food.

Guilliman had originally intended to keep reviewing documents, but Angron's arm had already thrust itself between him and the papers without discussion. Guilliman took a deep breath and looked up.

The Butcher's Nails had long since been removed from Angron's head. The primarch had not chosen to go bald or keep his hair cropped short. Influenced by his homeworld, Angron had grown it out and braided it into dreadlocks.

Yet the moment Guilliman looked up, he found Angron staring at him with complete focus. A sense of foreboding suddenly rose within Guilliman.

Angron was exceptionally sensitive to emotions, and when the Lord of the Red Sands fixed you with those rough, clear eyes, like the red sands of an Arena—you knew he had already seen through you.

Even after working with Angron for so long, Guilliman had