Crackle.
Sparks rose from the hearth, floated lightly into the air, then burst with a faint pop before vanishing in a final bright flash.
The room was clean and warm at the moment. Freshly baked pastries and the lingering steam of strong tea slowly filled the entire space.
Hades hesitated over the pastry in his hand.
In the end, he set down his snack. The mixture of flour, sugar, and oil returned to the plate, its greasy porcelain surface reflecting the faces of the two people conversing.
"Sorry."
Hades said, his expression hidden in shadow. A primarch could see darkness hundreds of miles away, yet he could not see through the shadows cast by the Underking.
"I'm saddened by the story you told... but I think... if I had been in that situation, I would have done the same thing as him. And for the other 'me,' perhaps it meant release."
[There is no need to apologize.]
Mortarion said flatly. The pain of the past and his memories still wounded him, twisting his organs together until they ached faintly.
[This... this was the past we created together... a fact that has already happened.]
"I regret what the other me went through, but I believe he would not regret it in the end."
Would not regret it...
Would he not regret it?
Mortarion looked up at Hades across from him. This was an entirely different Hades, one who existed on a fate line where he had arrived two years earlier.
If he had reached Barbarus sooner...
Perhaps he would not have needed to feel such sorrow now.
Hades might not regret it. The Deceased never said anything more; only the living struggled in painful reality, using dreams of the past for what little comfort they offered, blinding their own overly sharp