"Mm, understood."
Lorgar's voice was calm and even, like a pebble dropped into a deep pool, its faint ripples fading almost at once.
Upon hearing Perturabo's shocking preparations, laden with icy murderous intent, Lorgar showed no excessive reaction.
No shock, no attempt to dissuade him, no doubt, not even an obvious flicker of emotion.
He merely gave Perturabo a long look with his golden eyes, as though he had read, understood, and assessed the full weight, reasons, and resolve behind those words in an instant.
Then he nodded calmly.
That simple gesture conveyed a complex attitude. Lorgar had no intention of stopping Perturabo, or even trying to.
Because he understood.
He understood Perturabo's bone-deep hatred of his adoptive father, Loken—a mixture of the humiliation of being manipulated, the rage of being treated as a tool, resentment over a twisted childhood, and fury at his only family being dragged into it.
After so many years, that hatred had long since grown beyond anything an outsider could soothe or redirect with a few words.
It needed a volcanic eruption, thorough and bloody, that would bring everything to an end.
To Lorgar, this was Perturabo's personal choice, a chain of twisted fate that he had to sever with his own blade.
As his brother, Lorgar could offer support or tacit approval, but he had neither the need nor the standing to force his way into a private matter rooted in the very depths of Perturabo's soul.
Everyone had their own path, and darkness they had to face alone.
As long as it did not compromise the Imperium's greater interests or violate more fundamental principles, he chose to respect that weighty decision.
"Mm... ah..."
Receiving such a calm response from Lorgar, Perturabo instead let out a long, complicated sigh.
There was a trace of