“Venerable Brother,” The Regent bows his head reverently, “I cannot tell you what an honor it is to speak with you. Thank you for your time.”
The Ancient does not speak. Guilliman understands.
“I have come,” The Regent continues, “to speak with you regarding certain matters in relation to your service in the days before the Grey Knights.”
The Ancient considers. “I will try... to tell you... what I can... My Lord.” Guilliman nods, “I know this subject is difficult. If there was another way...”
The Ancient’s hidden eyes regard the Primarch. “I...know.”
“Venerable Brother, I’ll be direct. I am attempting to learn what I can of the dissolution of your Legion. The Emperor has given assent, such as it is. It is a complex matter.”
There is silence. Perhaps for only a few moments. To Roboute Guilliman, it seems an age. He is a kind man, however, and a patient one. At last, the Ancient speaks. “My oath...was to the Emperor... To be lifted.. only by direct command... of the Emperor. I am afraid... I cannot answer most... of your questions.”
Guilliman nods, “I know, and I understand. I would never question your honor, nor seek to waste your time. I had hoped...” he considers, “I had hoped perhaps you might be able to tell me something about your time with The Eleventh.”
The Ancient does not answer.
“Specifically, in this case, if any insight might be gleaned regarding....” The Regent visibly saddens at this, “the fate of my lost siblings.”
The Ancient does not hesitate this time. “Service with your brother... was the greatest... honor... of my life. I.. am truly sorry for... your loss.”
Guilliman favors the dreadnought with a sad smile. “I am sure he would have said the same of you. And... I echo your sentiment. It seems we both have reason to mourn him.”
The Ancient does not respond.
“Can you tell me anything of his disappearance? Of that of the other? The records say you were there.”
Guilliman nods, “I am sorry.”
The Ancient speaks, “My oath... precludes... further elucidation...on the subject.”
Guilliman’s eyes are sad. “I understand, brother. Thank you. It is simply that... “ he shakes his head, unable to find the words. “I had hoped, after all this time. We might find closure. The Imperium needs men like my brother’s sons. And I... I need to know that...” he sighs, “Thank you for your time, brother.” He stands, and offers the sign of that Aquila.
The Ancient’s optics flicker. “I made... another oath.”
Guilliman raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“A blood pact. That I have not... forgotten.”
Guilliman watches. Wordless.
“I swore.... that he would not be forgotten. That they... would not be forgotten. So few of us... remain. I...” Is that a tremor in the Ancient’s voice? “If you require answers... I cannot give them.”
Guilliman is crestfallen. To be given hope, and then to have it dashed away....
“But there are places... that might... hold the answers you seek.”
Guilliman’s eyes are like fire. “Please, Revered and Venerable Brother. Anything.”
“Some... might be found... on Aix. Prism. “
Guilliman nods, “And the others?”
“The others... “ the dreadnought says, “may yet haunt... The Warp.”
