The Forest of Caliban remained as wild and untamed as ever. Towering trees stretched toward the heavens, their trunks so massive that six or seven mortals together could not encircle them. Beneath the canopy, the ground was a tangled mass of thick, gnarled undergrowth, twisting in all directions like mischievous children playing beneath the feet of giants.
The Lion walked through the dense foliage, Dante trailing behind him. Yet, despite the forest's vibrant life, his heart felt hollow and fatigued, weighed down by months of relentless pursuit.
The Emperor's Second Son had hunted him across the stars, driving him to exhaustion in both body and spirit. But here, within this sacred forest, the Lion possessed an advantage—through the ancient pathways of Caliban, he could slip through the Immaterium itself, traversing vast distances in the blink of an eye. None should have been able to follow him.
And yet, Dukel had.
The Second Son had chased him through the Warp like a roaring inferno, an unrelenting force that never wavered. The Lion had buried his secrets deep, ensuring Ran Dan's truth would never surface, yet there was no victory in this deception. Instead, his heart grew heavier. He had deceived Dukel once again. He had betrayed his own kin.
More than anything, he needed certainty.
Had he chosen the right path? The 'King' he glimpsed in his visions had spoken no clear command. Every action taken had been his own decision, guided only by instinct and desperate hope. Now, he sought confirmation. He longed to see a flicker of relief in his king's gaze—to know that his loyalty had meaning.
Loyalty was the highest reward of the faithful. If he could only be certain that he walked the path his King intended, then every sacrifice, every deception, would be justified.
At last, the castle came into view. It stood unchanged, neither grand nor crumbling, an eternal monolith upon the landscape.
The Lion stepped forward and beheld the King once more.
The figure before him was ancient, but not as he had once been. Seated within a small boat upon the river's surface, the King's face was sunken, his limbs thin, his skin marred with gray decay. His long hair hung lifeless, and atop his pallid brow rested a crown.
"King, allow me to ask once more," the Lion's voice was steady, deep. "Does my path align with your will?"
The silence stretched as the Lion fixed his eyes upon the withered monarch, his breath steady but his heart uncertain. He needed an answer, and he knew the King could not speak. Instead, the answer would come in the smallest flickers of emotion—those subtle, near-invisible shifts in expression.
He waited.
At last, the King's gaze met his own.
A chill ran through the Lion's body. His heart plummeted like a stone into a frozen abyss. His breath caught, his vision wavered, and for the first time in centuries, true exhaustion threatened to pull him under.
There was no affirmation in the King's eyes. No approval. No expectation.
Only cold, unwavering disappointment.
The abyssal depths of that gaze swallowed him whole.
"Was everything I did a mistake?" The Lion's voice wavered, though he fought to steady it. "Was this path not yours, but my own foolish delusion?"
His mind reeled. He had deceived his brothers, buried the truth of a thousand years past, all while being pursued by his own blood. He had justified it all as necessity—yet what if it had been nothing but misguided folly?
The King did not reply. He simply looked away, his gaze returning to the water, as though the Lion no longer existed.
"No! Great King, you cannot do this to me!" The Lion took a step forward, desperation breaking through his composure. He waded into the cold river, but after only a few steps, a vast shadow beneath the surface barred his way.
The darkness loomed, deep and impenetrable. Trapped, the Lion could do nothing but plead, his voice carrying the sorrow of a forsaken child.
"Please, King. Look upon me once more. I am your eldest son, your fearless knight, your loyal servant! Grant me clarity! Do not leave me to wander in doubt!"
"Please."
His cry echoed into the emptiness, but the King remained unmoved. Instead, crimson drops fell from his wounds, staining the river below.
Yet the shadows in the water stirred. They abandoned the blood, turning instead toward the Lion, creeping ever closer.
And still, he did not notice.
Not until—
Caw!
A harsh, grating cry shattered the silence.
The Lion jolted, his senses returning in an instant. His head snapped upward, searching for the source of the sound.
Perched on a towering branch, a single black raven observed him in silence.
"When did it get there?"
His honed instincts should have alerted him, yet the raven had gone unnoticed. Whenever he looked away, it was as if the creature ceased to exist.
Then, with a slight twitch of its beak, the raven exhaled a flicker of crimson flame—so brief it could have been imagined.
"Dante! We leave. Now."
The Blood Angel did not hesitate. Without looking back, they fled into the depths of the forest.
But no matter how fast the Lion moved, every time he glanced upward, the raven remained, ever-watchful upon the highest branches.
He altered his path, weaving through the labyrinthine undergrowth. No one knew the forests of Caliban better than he.
Yet still, the raven followed.
At last, the truth became undeniable.
Across the entire forest, upon every branch of every tree, a raven perched, their countless black eyes locked upon him.
There was no escape.
"Why, Clarks?" The Lion turned, his voice tinged with anguish. "Why do you stand against me? Everything I have done has been to prevent our brothers from repeating the past. I fight to protect them—to protect our Imperium!"
The crows stirred, their wings beating in unison as they took to the sky, forming a massive black cloud.
Then, from the heart of the darkness, a figure emerged.
Clarks—worn, yet still imposing—stepped forward.
"Rebellion? What rebellion?" His voice was measured, unyielding. "Lion, you misunderstand. Dukel has never been a traitor. His loyalty has never wavered."
The Lion's mouth opened to protest, but Clarks silenced him with a raised hand.
"You see only fragments, Lion. My own past is lost, just as yours is clouded. But I have confirmed one truth—the King never saw Dukel as a traitor. There are secrets at play beyond our understanding."
Clarks met his gaze, unwavering.
"And for me, it is enough to know that Dukel remains loyal. He aided me once. Now, I return the favor. The Dark Crows remember their debts."
The Lion fell silent, his mind racing.
There was still so much he did not know.
"Our time is short, Leon." Clarks stepped back. "Good luck."
Then, the black cloud dispersed.
From behind them, the sky erupted into flame.
A massive form descended, wreathed in red fire. Rings of searing light overlapped, each adorned with millions of watchful eyes. At their center, an enormous pupil burned with relentless intensity.
The Lion shielded his gaze as the air itself trembled beneath its power.
"Well, well, old Lion—" The voice was a thunderclap of amusement. "You sure know how to run."
The Lion braced himself.
Dukel had arrived.
"Rebellion? When have I ever betrayed the Imperium? Who passed judgment upon me? Was it you, or that old man fishing in the distance?" Dukel's voice was steady, but beneath it lay a simmering anger.
"Then tell me! If what happened ten thousand years ago wasn't treason, then what was it?!" The Lion's voice thundered across the battlefield, his golden mane whipping in the wind.
"That is precisely why I must uncover the truth of those lost ten millennia!" Dukel's declaration echoed like a war cry, carrying his fury into the heavens.
"Enough talk, proud Lion. If words will not bring clarity, then I shall beat the answers out of you. I hope your martial prowess has not dulled in your long slumber."
Flames erupted around Dukel as he stepped forward, his figure towering over even the Lion. Clad in ancient, battle-scarred armor, he was a colossus of war. A crimson cloak billowed behind him, as if the tides of blood themselves surged at his command. His chiseled features were cold and unreadable, his eyes alight with righteous wrath, and his long black hair flowed like a banner of defiance in the firelight.
"Wait! I—"
The Lion barely had time to respond before Dukel surged forward, wreathed in blazing crimson flames, a living comet hurtling toward him. Seeing no alternative, the Lion raised the Emperor's Shield, bracing himself against the inevitable impact.
Dante stood frozen, watching two living demigods collide. Even with his enhanced senses, honed over a thousand years of war, he could barely follow their movements.
Dukel's charge unleashed a firestorm, reducing the once-pristine woodland to cinders. The Lion moved like a specter, his form slipping between the torrents of flame. The Emperor's Shield shone defiantly, and the Lion's blade cut through the inferno with deadly precision, moving with a grace that belied its wielder's immense power.
Dante instinctively took a step back, his battle-hardened instincts screaming at him to retreat. But before he could react further, a shockwave erupted from the duel, hurling him to the ground. The sheer force of their clash sent tremors through his armor, rattling his very bones.
The flames coalesced into a towering vortex, their weapons clashing with thunderous force. Each blow reshaped the land itself, uprooting trees and carving deep gouges into the earth.
Then—
BOOM!
A deafening explosion rocked the battlefield. The ground trembled, and a colossal pillar of fire surged skyward. The illusory forest around them cracked and disintegrated, rippling like disturbed water.
Dante forced himself to his feet, his heart heavy with guilt. If only he had intervened with wisdom rather than passivity, perhaps this battle between blood and duty could have been avoided.
As the dust settled, the figures of the two Primarchs emerged from the center of a newly formed crater. The Lion's sword and shield lay far from him, and he himself was sprawled upon the shattered ground, his once-proud visage marred with bruises.
Dukel stood over him, chest heaving, his armor scorched but intact. Victory had not come easily, but his fury had finally subsided.
"Now," Dukel exhaled, his voice carrying the weight of millennia. "Tell me the truth about Ran Dan, or I will beat it out of you again, brother."
Though his words were sharp, his mind remained cautious. He knew the Lion well—force alone would never break him. The First did not yield.
But—
"For you."
The Lion stirred, raising a trembling gauntlet. Nestled in his massive palm lay a single, withered leaf from Caliban.
Dukel blinked. "You yield the truth so easily?"
He had expected resistance. He had expected a struggle of will, a battle of wits—one where he would have to exploit even the smallest fracture in the Lion's formidable resolve.
Instead—
"I intended to give it to you from the beginning," the Lion growled, his voice rough with exhaustion. "But you, as always, chose violence first. Dukel, how many times do you intend to strike me? I am your brother."
He sighed, his frustration giving way to something softer. "We've made such a commotion that the Emperor must be aware of it by now. And yet, He has not intervened. What does that tell you?"
Slowly, the Lion turned his gaze toward the lone boat on the horizon.
This time, he saw it clearly—
The Emperor, seated in silent contemplation, his fishing line cast into the void. And then, just for a moment, He glanced up—an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement.
A realization settled over the Lion like a long-awaited dawn. He let out a breath, lying flat against the scorched earth, no longer burdened by the weight of unspoken truths.
"So I was right after all..."
His voice was distant, almost wistful.
"Your Majesty, why do You never give me direct guidance? Must I always carry this guilt? Must I always be forced into war against my own blood?"
At last, the weight upon his heart lifted, and for the first time in millennia, the Lion knew peace.