"My lord, are you... not worried at all? Worried that Lorgar might follow in Turing's footsteps?" Malcador asked.
He was not questioning the Emperor's judgment, and he understood perfectly well the fundamental, decisive difference between Lorgar and Alan Turing.
Yet concern did not arise entirely from rational comparison.
The "Silverheart" incident had revealed a disturbing truth: even Primarchs were not absolutely immune to certain extraordinary influences and temptations from ancient or alien sources.
And at Lorgar's side stood precisely such a mysterious, extraordinarily capable Men of Iron intelligence, one whom he trusted deeply.
The Emperor slowly turned, his golden eyes settling calmly on Malcador's aged, anxious face.
"I am not worried. Lorgar will not betray us."
Malcador did not let the matter rest. He took an almost imperceptible half step forward and asked the more central, more pointed question:
"And Anna? That Men of Iron intelligence. My lord, we know almost nothing about her. What lies at her core? Is her allegiance truly to Lorgar, or to something else? Does she remain at his side of her own free will, or under some directive we have yet to detect? An ancient intelligence capable of involving herself so deeply in a Primarch's affairs is, by her very existence, an enormous variable."
This time, the Emperor did not answer immediately.
He fell silent for a moment, his gaze seeming to drift toward some invisible expanse within the hall, as though tracing a fragment of an ancient memory worn indistinct by the river of time.
"Anna... I always feel... as though I have seen her somewhere before."
"Nevertheless, based on the established course and the glimmers of many possible futures, prophecy indicates that neither she nor Lorgar will be a traitor. Their paths may be filled with thorns, misunderstandings, and difficult choices, but