"Lion had gone a little too far. I could tell he was far too tense and paranoid."
"Horus had become his shadow. Though he refused to admit it, Horus had always been a source of torment in his heart."
After finishing his meeting with his brothers, Sanguinius reclined upon a throne built with ample space for his wings. His right hand supported his chin as the Great Angel gazed deeply at the star chart before him.
"I am worried that his inner shadow will cause him to lose control at a critical moment."
Azkaellon, captain of the Sanguinary Guard, stood beside his father, grooming and polishing the Great Angel's magnificent white feathers, smoothing away every unruly ripple.
This invincible god of slaughter, who could tear apart Khorne Bloodletters with his bare hands on the battlefield, seemed to take great pleasure in it. Azkaellon's movements were exceptionally delicate and gentle, no less tender than those of mortal women caring for their infants.
Yet even the most patient care could not overcome the effect of the Great Angel's troubled heart. A white feather drifted down naturally, and Azkaellon caught it in his palm with the fastest reaction of his life.
A complicated mix of heartache and delight appeared on Azkaellon's face. Just as he was about to put it away, Sanguinius turned his head and looked at the son making furtive little movements.
"You want one of my feathers that badly, Azkaellon?" the Great Angel asked gently.
"Y-yes, my lord," the captain of the Sanguinary Guard answered his gene-father with a slight stammer.
"Then keep it. I am right here, so why are you so obsessed with a feather I have shed?"
The Angel waved a hand and muttered to himself.
Azkaellon, meanwhile, happily tucked the feather into a compartment of his