"I am Rogal Dorn."
"I am Magnus… your Seventh Brother."
Magnus's recent campaign for support had ended in disaster.
He failed to win Guilliman's vote on Terra.
He offended Russ.
He alienated half the palace.
So he boarded the Radiant and sailed toward the Great Crusade front lines, hoping distance — and sincerity — might succeed where politics had failed.
His reasoning was simple:
Seventh Brother is alone.
If I offer support… surely he will appreciate it.
Unfortunately, Magnus did not understand why Dorn was operating alone.
An Unwelcome Concern
"Seventh Brother," Magnus said warmly, stepping closer, "how fares the Great Crusade? If you face difficulties, the Thousand Sons can assist the Imperial Fists."
Magnus radiated earnest concern.
Dorn felt a chill.
"What do you want?"
Magnus blinked.
"I am merely concerned. Why would I want anything?"
Dorn stared at him.
Then rose.
"I am leaving. Do not follow me."
"Wait!" Magnus hurried forward, catching Dorn's arm. "Actually… there is something I require your help with."
Dorn stopped.
Magnus explained everything.
From the Warp research…
to the brothers' vote…
to his belief that understanding the Immaterium was essential.
By the time he finished, Dorn's expression had hardened into stone.
He was furious.
The Line That Must Not Be Crossed
"If I had known this was your purpose," Dorn said coldly, "I would have walked away."
His voice rose like thunder.
"Magnus, do you understand what you are proposing? Do you intend to betray the Imperium and deliver yourself to Chaos?"
For Dorn, loyalty was absolute.
The mere possibility of betrayal was intolerable.
That he had not struck Magnus already was evidence of iron discipline.
Magnus raised his hands quickly.
"Seventh Brother, no! I do not intend betrayal. I only—"
"You cloak vanity in the language of wisdom."
Dorn stepped closer.
"You know what the Warp is. You know Father's warnings. Yet you persist in defiance."
"I only wish to understand—"
"If you argue further," Dorn said, voice flat, "I will strike you."
Magnus stopped speaking.
Moments later, he departed.
A Son's Frustration
Back aboard the Radiant, Magnus slumped into a command chair.
"I never intended betrayal. Why does everyone believe that studying the Warp means turning against them?"
Ahriman and Ohrmuzd exchanged a glance.
For once, they did not rebuke him.
"It's alright, Father," Ahriman said gently. "We know you are loyal."
The Thousand Sons understood Magnus.
He was not malicious.
He was stubborn.
He had always been the model prodigy — the one praised for brilliance and self-mastery. He trusted his ability to discern truth from deception.
To others, that confidence resembled arrogance.
To his sons, it resembled danger.
If Magnus ever truly erred, the consequences would not be small.
That was why they watched him.
Always.
Magnus exhaled.
"It's fine. We will seek other brothers. Someone will believe me."
Will they?
Ahriman said nothing.
The Campaign Continues
Horus:
"Sorry, brother. I follow Father and Sister. Also — have I ever told you about the campaign thirty years ago on—"
Magnus: Next.
Mordecai & Ferrus Manus:
"No opinion. We abstain."
Magnus: "…Next."
Fulgrim:
"You should heed Father's warnings. Warp matters rarely end well."
Magnus: …
Vulkan:
"I'm only a smith. But Father is usually right."
Magnus stared at the deck.
The future looked bleak.
Inside the Radiant, Magnus looked ready to strike his own head against a bulkhead.
Ahriman hesitated.
Did the princes' votes even matter?
If the Emperor or Yuki gave approval, no Primarch could prevent Magnus from proceeding.
But Ahriman did not say this.
The current limitations were… safer.
Ohrmuzd sent a psychic whisper:
"The campaign has failed."
"Unless…" Ahriman replied.
"Unless what?"
"…nothing."
Unless a new Primarch arrived who could persuade them all.
Impossible.
No one commanded universal trust.
Except—
Ahriman suppressed a laugh.
Ridiculous.
A Brilliant Idea (Possibly Fatal)
Magnus suddenly sat upright.
"If Father wants me to stop researching the Warp… why don't I persuade him?"
Ahriman froze.
How had Father arrived at this conclusion?
Petitioning the Emperor directly?
That was not bravery.
That was suicide.
Magnus grew more confident by the second.
"Yes. I will speak with him face to face."
The twins exchanged looks.
The Emperor probably would not kill his own son.
…probably.
Let's hope so.
Terra
"Guilliman, your wish will come true. Believe me."
Yuki sipped her tea.
Guilliman reviewed documents with a weary sigh.
"…let's hope so."
He truly wished his brothers could sit together one day.
On Macragge he had designed a hall large enough to host twenty Primarchs.
He imagined them sharing a meal, speaking as comrades rather than rivals.
But the more brothers he met, the more impossible that dream seemed.
They were shaped by different worlds, different wars, different philosophies.
That they did not despise one another was already miraculous.
Yuki's presence softened them.
Where she stood, tensions eased.
Misunderstandings unraveled.
Yet she was always busy.
Guilliman frowned slightly.
He had assumed most administrative burdens.
Why, then, was she never idle?
"Sister, what occupies your time?"
She paused, then smiled.
"Not busy enough? Would you like more work?"
His expression twitched.
"…if you don't wish to answer, I will not press."
She studied him for a moment.
"Do you know why Mordecai left Terra?"
Guilliman shook his head.
"I do not."
"He lost his family to the Rangdan. When news of them resurfaced, he became consumed by vengeance."
Guilliman's expression hardened.
"I see."
"He is driven — perhaps dangerously so. And the enemy is more complex than we understand. I require accurate intelligence."
"So you've been researching the Rangdan?"
"Not only that," she said. "There are other matters. You will understand when the remaining brothers return."
Guilliman hesitated.
Prophecy again.
Psykers were remarkable.
Magnus: Psykers truly are remarkable.
Emperor: I will show you remarkable.
Magnus: "Father, stop—! That hurts!"
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