Saladin had just pressed the last of his churning thoughts and untimely doubts back into the depths of his consciousness, restoring his breathing and heartbeat to a rhythm as steady and cool as a desert night.
He straightened the uncreased hem of his robe, as though brushing away invisible dust.
Just then, a measured, rhythmic knock came from beyond the door. Three clear, firm raps.
"Father, the Primarch of the Word Bearers has arrived aboard our ship and is waiting in the reception room."
It was Biberus's voice, carrying through the heavy door, as respectful and efficient as ever.
The last flicker of turmoil in Saladin's eyes subsided completely.
He checked once more that his appearance was impeccable. This was not vanity, but basic courtesy toward a visitor, especially a brother Primarch of equal standing, and part of maintaining his own dignity.
"Please ask Brother Lorgar to wait a moment in the reception room. I will be there shortly." His voice carried out evenly.
"Yes."
Saladin lingered no longer. He reached out and pushed open the heavy wooden door of the Meditation Chamber.
The corridor outside was brightly lit. Several servants in plain white robes were already waiting, their heads bowed.
Without a word, they led the way with light, silent footsteps toward the reception room on the warship's upper decks, reserved for distinguished guests.
The guest reception room
Lorgar Aurelian sat on a broad, low sofa in the center of the reception room, furnished with exquisitely embroidered cushions.
He wore no helmet, and his dark gray power armour looked solemn and understated in the room's soft light.
He surveyed his surroundings with interest. Intricate geometric stars adorned the domed ceiling, while colorful glazed ceramic tiles inlaid into the walls depicted ancient desert oases, caravans, and celestial patterns.
Thick woven