"You noticed something was wrong with that 'Silverheart' too, didn't you?" Anastasia answered with a question of her own.
Her azure eyes, which seemed to hold a sea of stars, watched Lorgar without blinking.
"Yes." Lorgar walked to the center of the room and stopped, habitually folding his arms across his chest.
"I have a question. On that planet it called 'Novalors,' what could possibly have inflicted 'life-threatening' injuries on a Primarch who had just fallen there? Injuries so severe that one of the Men of Iron had to use relics of the Dark Age to perform emergency treatment and modifications bordering on reconstruction just to keep him alive?"
"A Primarch's resilience far exceeds that of ordinary creatures. Falling from a great height, extreme environments, even his earliest battles might leave him battered or injured, but they would never bring him to the brink of death, forcing an outside power to 'reshape' him to prolong his existence."
"According to Turing's account and our own observations, Novalors is a highly ordered, almost 'harmless' world under 'Silverheart's' management. Its inhabitants? Its natural environment? Neither could have done it."
He raised his eyes to Anastasia.
"So, once we eliminate everything impossible, the only variable left is 'Silverheart' itself. The only entity on that planet capable of such a thing. I'm curious: did 'Firmament's' defenses 'accidentally' overload? Or, after 'discovering' Turing, was 'Silverheart's' first action not to treat him, but to do something we know nothing about that left him critically injured?"
"The chain of logic holds." Anastasia nodded, her movement as precise as an instrument being calibrated.
She showed not even a trace of surprise, as though she had long since worked through a similar line of reasoning.
She raised her right hand, her slender fingers seemingly no different from a human girl's,