Yes, Horus, too, harbored pain in the deepest recesses of his heart.
During the ten thousand years he had spent within Bona's body, Horus had confronted everything he had done.
Although he knew full well that the man responsible had not been him, the unbearable memories of slaying his own brother with his own hands, of his father still trying to save him at the very last moment, always plunged Horus into anguish.
He had always put on a confident, powerful front before the others, but he could not forget that brutal history.
"It's all right."
A hand rested gently on the back of Horus's, and Sanguinius gave him a warm smile.
"I don't blame you."
"After all, we both knew what was happening back then."
"You did the best you could. It was only when I stood between life and death that I saw through the thick mists of the Empyrean and learned how long you had held out in that temple."
Horus gave a bitter smile and rubbed his bald head.
"Heh. I'd almost forgotten that time until you mentioned it."
Both men burst into free, joyous laughter.
As they had long ago, they told each other about their experiences and shared amusing stories.
But they found fewer and fewer things to talk about. Without a word, they both fell silent and turned to gaze at the sky outside the window.
"You've seen Father, haven't you? How is he now?" Horus asked first.
Sanguinius shook his head.
"Hmm?" Horus looked over in puzzlement.
But Sanguinius only shook his head again.
Horus nodded at once and asked no more about it.
By unspoken agreement, neither spoke again. They simply enjoyed their last moments together as friends.
Once they parted, they could only be enemies.
Even if the ideals in