‘It is not their fault,’ said Magnus, after a moment. ‘They will come to our way of thinking in time. They derive from the same maker as do we, and strive for the same being’s goals.’
‘With respect, lord, you are not Mortarion. You are not Horus, or El’Jonson. You are Magnus the Red, Crimson King of Prospero, patron of scholars and seeker of knowledge. I do not believe you would seek to prevent my explorations of the Great Ocean.’
‘I would. If I decide that I must.’
‘But why?’ The question burst from his breast. ‘No question is more profound, or promises to answer so much.’
Again, Magnus appeared to think deeply before answering. Something unnerving passed the myriad flux of his facial expressions.
‘I am here to judge your studies and its dangers, Aqhet. Do not think to question me.’
Hakoris’ gaze fell away, unable to bear his primarch’s anger.
‘No, lord.’
‘Look at me.’
Hakoris forced his face to turn upwards.
Magnus’ single golden eye drank him in: it was impossible to look into that liquid orb and speak anything but truth.