Sotha, deep within the Pharos.
Dantioch looked suspiciously at Lox beside him. In barely a dozen minutes, an extraordinarily complex range of emotions had crossed his face.
Shock, bewilderment, pain, conflict, helplessness.
Had something happened to Macragge?
For a moment, the Warsmith's thoughts scattered. Since the Necrons' awakening, he had devoted himself wholly to the great work of deciphering the Pharos miracle beneath his feet.
Only when he was dedicating himself to the Imperium and to the ideals in his heart could the Warsmith feel his aged body, his nearly stagnant thick blood, surge once more.
Lox had once worried about how relentlessly he pushed himself. Dantioch barely slept, only getting a few hours of rest every half month.
Even for a Space Marine, such an intense workload was extremely difficult to endure.
"Hey! Kid, what's wrong?"
The Warsmith's hoarse voice echoed through Alpha Prime.
He was just about to put down his work and spare a few seconds to check on Lox.
But before he could act, Lox opened his eyes.
"Yes, something happened on Macragge. One of those things also concerns your Iron Warriors."
For some reason, Dantioch felt that Lox was looking at him strangely.
As though he knew some dirt on the Warsmith, yet was holding it in and refusing to say it.
"Was it the primarch? What happened to Lord Roboute?" Dantioch's voice sharpened considerably.
He was genuinely nervous. Only Roboute Guilliman had been willing to accept and trust him, even entrusting the great responsibility of sustaining the Five Hundred Worlds to an Iron Warrior who had betrayed the Imperium.
Dantioch was utterly resolved to die for the one who had truly understood him.
"All right, all right, don't panic. The matter on Macragge has already been resolved."
Lox hurried to soothe the overly agitated