"Go on," Guilliman said.
Cawl glanced around and waved a hand lightly, sending all the Tech-Priests present out of the room.
To the low hum of the plasma reactor, the lights in the research facility went out one by one, leaving only the roars of the Tyranid Tyrant.
Only then did Cawl open his personal terminal.
"Based on the data I have collected, I am certain that the Golden Throne is spiraling out of control, and the scale of its explosion could create a warp rift far larger than the Eye of Terror."
Guilliman's pupils contracted. He looked around, making sure that only the Tyranid Tyrant remained, still roaring, before turning back to Cawl.
"We must do everything in our power to repair the Golden Throne. Cawl, what support do you need? My brothers and I can speak to Trajann Valoris about the Adeptus Custodes."
But Cawl shook his head slightly.
"It cannot be repaired. The Golden Throne is breaking down from the inside out."
In an instant, Guilliman understood what Cawl meant. He stared at him in disbelief.
He knew Cawl well. For ten thousand years, Cawl had worked tirelessly to fulfill the promise he had made to Guilliman. He would not say something like this lightly.
Even so, Guilliman could not help speaking.
"Cawl, I want concrete evidence for something like this."
Cawl's sole remaining, withered organic eye stared fixedly at Guilliman, the blood vessels across it swelling slightly.
"Lord Regent, you experienced the Plague War and witnessed those 'miracles.' I believe you should understand better than anyone what those 'Living Saints' more closely resemble."
Guilliman fell silent. There was no surprise on his face, as though he had expected this all along.
"We must take the necessary precautions. When the Golden Throne fails completely, the entity we