The projector hummed to life, its drone echoing off the metal walls as a cold beam of light spread across the long table.

The footage was not clean. Warp interference hung over every frame like a layer of dirty gauze, colors surging to full saturation one moment and draining away the next, edges twisting and crawling without stop.

But even so, when that figure wreathed in flame emerged from the depths of the image, every breath in the conference hall stopped.

Ferrus Manus.

His body was coiled in fire, the light gilding every contour with the gleam of a furnace.

He bore no Iron Hands insignia. But those iconic metal arms needed no marking to announce who he was.

The sons of Ferrus went still.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Tears spilled from the edges of those eyes that still remained flesh, sliding silently down cheeks.

The footage pushed on.

They saw the twisted purple-gold figure, the fallen Fulgrim, serpentine in grace and malice both — and their teeth ground together.

Then a second Fulgrim appeared.

A clone, Kaelen interjected, deliberately.

Two Fulgrims tore into each other across the scorched earth of Iax, blade-light and blood-mist interweaving, shards of purple-gold plate scattering in every direction.

When Ferrus Manus opened his arms and pulled Clone-Fulgrim into an embrace, every Iron Hands officer's expression collapsed into something extraordinarily tangled: shock, bewilderment, a relief that could not be named aloud, and an awkwardness equally impossible to name, all locked together in a death grip.

The sight was not unlike what Kaelen had witnessed before among the Blood Angels, that collective expression of extreme constipation the first time they saw Sanguinius standing shoulder to shoulder with Horus.

But the Iron Hands had it slightly easier than the Blood Angels.

At the end, Clone-Fulgrim had killed the fallen Fulgrim in open battle.

Both of them were called Fulgrim. But one thing had nothing to do with the other.

Kaelen guessed that somewhere in their heads, every man in this room was thinking the same thing: good riddance.

The projection ended.

The beam retracted into the device, and pale light reclaimed the hall.

The shift in Kardan and those around him was visible to the naked eye, a thaw, however slight.

"By the Emperor. We never imagined such things had come to pass."

"But why would our Primarch end up in that state?"

Kardan's gaze settled on Kaelen.

"Was it you who summoned him, my lord?"

"In truth, that is not within my abilities." Kaelen gave a quiet cough. "Before the Golden Throne, I had an exchange with the Emperor. He told me certain things — among them, the whereabouts of Lord Ferrus Manus. As matters stand, the Emperor still requires him to complete certain tasks. It relates to the plans of the Master of Mankind."

"Praise be to Him."

Kardan bowed his head. Behind him, the company captains murmured the words in unison without prompting.

Their eyes were still rimmed red, as though they could see that broken body upon the Golden Throne, in eternal silence and pain, still moving every piece on the board, still charting every path for the Imperium of Man.

What greatness that was.

A chime sounded from Kaelen's communicator. He picked it up. Loken had word, the evidence was secured, someone already on the way.

Kaelen glanced across the table at Horus.

Time to lay that matter out.

The Wolf God's cough drew the Iron Hands' attention back into the room.

"There is another matter we came here to discuss."

"Please speak, Lord Lupercal."

"The delegation you sent to us attempted to assassinate me."

Horus said it plainly.

"They failed. My brother Konrad Curze arrived in time, killed most of the assassins, but the last few detonated on site and destroyed the bulk of the evidence."

"What did you say?"

-----------

Loken's heart was on fire.

The young Cthonians, along with several key individuals and the evidence, had boarded two Stormbird transports bound for the Iron Hands Chapter's encampment.

Throughout the journey he had rehearsed the worst: the Iron Hands receiving the news and erupting in fury, weapons leveled at his gene-sire.

He had no desire to lose his Primarch a second time. Not over a matter of diplomacy.

"Lord Horus will succeed."

A low, rough voice reached his ears.

He looked up. Across from him sat a Primaris Space Marine in a MkVI Corvus helmet.

"What makes you so certain, Brother Sharrokin?"

Nykona Sharrokin.

From the first moment Loken had laid eyes on this man, he had felt something he couldn't quite name, a vague sense of kinship, something like recognition. The kind of unspoken understanding that only exists between two people who have each been dragged to the bottom by fate and clawed their way back out alone.

On the other side of the cabin, the old knight Cullen sat with arms folded, studying this unaccounted-for Raven Guard with a measuring eye.

They had seen Sharrokin's file. The information was sparse: a son of Corvus Corax, once a member of the Raven Guard Legion ten thousand years past, awakened after ten millennia of slumber, reborn as a Primaris Space Marine, assigned to the nascent Night Lords Legion as a Primaris Greyshield sergeant.

As for what he had done in those ten thousand years before, he never brought it up.

The man operated with a quietness that made him nearly disappear. Like a shadow.

"Why are you so certain, Brother Sharrokin?" Loken asked again.

"The lessons of the past have taught us a great deal."

Sharrokin's voice was low, as though he were speaking to himself.

"As a Primarch, it is impossible that he has not learned from them. Whatever the outcome of the negotiations, his bearing speaks for itself. Even if the sons of Ferrus Manus harbor resentment, they must weigh many things — and the most important of those is the Emperor's pardon."

Yes. The Emperor.

No matter how much anyone said, it carried less weight than a single word from the one seated upon the Golden Throne.

Loken drew a slow breath. The weight on his shoulders eased, just slightly.

"From the way you speak, it sounds as though you have some history with the Iron Hands, Brother Sharrokin." Cullen spoke up, out of nowhere.

Sharrokin was silent for a long time.

The engine roar filled the stillness of the cabin.

Just as Loken decided he wasn't going to answer, Sharrokin spoke.

"Yes."

That was all. No elaboration followed.

-------------

The red glow in Iron Father Kardan's bionic eye flared.

"What did you say?"

His voice was a low-frequency tremor ground up from somewhere deep in his chest. The entire length of the metal table gave a faint, resonant hum.

Behind him, several company captains pressed their hands to the weapon mounts at their hips in the same instant, movement so uniform it could have been copies of a single machine.

Horus did not rise. He did not step back. He did not even shift his posture.

"Your delegation," the Wolf God repeated, cadence unchanged, "attempted to assassinate me in our conference room. They used stasis grenades, plasma weapons, and a dagger bearing Chaos runes. My brother Konrad Curze arrived in time and killed the majority of the assassins, but the last few detonated on site, destroying the bulk of the evidence."

"Absurd!"

A clan company captain slammed to his feet. His chair legs dragged a sharp screech across the metal floor.

"The Iron Hands have never stooped to the cowardice of assassination! You are slandering the honor of our Chapter!"

"Sit down." Kardan's voice crushed every other sound in the room flat.

The captain froze where he stood, chest heaving. Then slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

The Iron Father's gaze locked onto Horus's face, searching for a crack, any crack that would show the Wolf God was lying.

Horus looked back at him. Still as standing water.

"Chapter Master Kardan," Kaelen said, his voice level, cutting into the fracture between the two sides, "it is precisely because we know the Iron Hands do not use assassination that we concluded those men were not yours. They were Alpha Legion, in disguise."

"Alpha?" Kardan's brow drew tighter.

"The Twentieth Legion of old. The Alpha Legion." Kaelen lifted his communicator and gave it a brief wave. "And our evidence is on its way."

Before the last word had settled, the conference hall's comm channel crackled open.

"This is the outer perimeter watch post. Two Stormbirds are requesting clearance to land. Luna Wolves and Space Wolves transponder signals identified aboard. Iron Father, they claim to be carrying critical evidence relating to the assassination attempt and are requesting immediate entry."

Kardan's bionic eye rotated twice, as though weighing something.

"Let them in."

➤ Next: The Diplomatic Crisis Resolved