One Terran month later.
In the Primarch's private quarters aboard the Law of Faith, flagship of the Word Bearers, Lorgar stood before the enormous observation window. His gaze seemed to reach into the depths of the Sea of Stars, yet also seemed to rest on nothing at all.
Complex tactical holograms shifted silently behind him, illuminating his stern features.
He was wondering why there had been no battle reports from Ullanor for so long, and whether something had gone wrong on Horus's end.
Just then, a communications alert sounded at a frequency impossible to ignore, interrupting his wandering thoughts.
He turned and activated the adamantium communications platform, emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila, with a wave of his hand.
A holographic image emerged amid converging particles of light.
The figure was not particularly tall, yet he carried an almost tangible weight that compelled the soul itself to fall silent.
The golden radiance did not come from his armor. It seemed to flow from his very existence, illuminating the dim deck.
The Master of Mankind, the Emperor, was watching him.
"Er, Lorgar..."
The Emperor's voice sounded directly in his mind, calm and majestic, stripped of every unnecessary trace of emotion. Yet in this particular context, there was something subtly peculiar about it.
"There's a small favor," the Emperor said, "that I need your help with."
"Me?" Lorgar asked, raising his eyebrows.
Lorgar knew that whenever the old bastard put it that way, nothing good ever followed.
It had been the same with Saladin, with Turing, and with Corax.
"What is it?"
Even so, Lorgar reined in his overly revealing expression, though the curiosity and faint, almost imperceptible wariness in his voice remained.
Any mission assigned by the Emperor himself was never simple.
The Emperor's image seemed to become slightly more solid. Beneath