Nareth's psychic projection crossed the void, descending upon the Golden Palace on Terra.
As he took his seat, he immediately noticed a difference from many previous war councils.
Since the Emperor had been spending more and more time on Terra, His Regent usually accompanied Him, appearing at the last moment.
But today, Malcador was already seated. His weather-beaten face, worn by the burdens of Imperial governance, held a smile.
"Lorgar, your father is very pleased with your performance."
Nareth followed the gaze beneath Malcador's hood to Lorgar's seat.
Lorgar Aurelian, who used to sit alone in the last row, had rapidly ascended to the sixth seat opposite him.
This meant he had risen to ninth in the order of the Primarchs' achievements.
Beside him sat Sanguinius, with his pristine white wings. Above him was Ferrus Manus, who had served as Warmaster in the early days of the Great Crusade.
Roboute Guilliman, whose Legion and conquests were drawing ever closer to those of himself and Horus, looked at Lorgar with approval and a trace of barely perceptible guilt.
Nareth noticed that not everyone reacted positively to Lorgar's change. Beyond the expressionless Lion El'Jonson and the stone-faced Rogal Dorn, Perturabo's ice-blue eyes were somber.
Clearly, Perturabo, who had spent the last century guarding the western edge of the galaxy, far from the heart of the Great Crusade, was dissatisfied with his fall to thirteenth place.
Nareth withdrew his gaze. He sat beside the Lion, Dorn, and the loathsome Space Wolf, Russ.
Only eight Primarchs now surpassed Lorgar.
'Just as I thought. Malcador truly appreciates Lorgar.'
He knew that while Malcador had tutored Russ and other Primarchs, Lorgar was among his favorites.
He had been the only one to try to soothe Lorgar when Monarchia was destroyed.
Even after the Council of Nikaea, it was he who, inspired by the Chaplains of the 17th, promoted the Chaplaincy across the Legions, hoping to ensure they disbanded their Librarians as the Emperor had commanded.
But Lorgar had turned this to his advantage, spreading the faith of Chaos throughout the Legions.
During the Heresy, Malcador had repeatedly expressed his belief that his master, the Emperor, had been wrong in how he treated Lorgar. The Primarch he most wished to save from damnation was Lorgar.
"I have received revelation. I know what I must do."
Lorgar's words carried a double meaning. Only Nareth grasped his intent.
'Hmm... I must admit, Lorgar is quite capable as a Chaos High Priest. He's a good farmer. His Legion's size has grown immensely, and his rate of conquest has skyrocketed.'
For over a century after his return to the Imperium, Lorgar's achievements had been few. But after his 'pilgrimage' in 968, the number of worlds he brought into compliance had surged.
Nareth estimated that by 999, in thirty years, he would have been responsible for more compliances than any but Horus and Guilliman.
'However, these worlds are nothing like the stable Imperial worlds of the past.'
Nareth knew that the old Word Bearers had 'patiently' transformed the worlds they visited, offering them up to the Emperor.
Though few in number, each had been a world truly integrated into the Imperium.
They had not only accepted Imperial technology but had also fully embraced Imperial institutions and culture.
Aside from their faith, they were the most perfect Imperial territories.
Of course, these very worlds they had once built were the ones the Word Bearers most desperately wanted to destroy in the future.
The newly compliant worlds, in contrast, had been subjected to the Word Bearers' ruthless, religious purges. They had imposed the worship of the Chaos Gods upon them.
All but the faithful and the modified Word Bearers were cruelly killed or enslaved.
They had stripped every resource these worlds had to offer, using them to swell their Legion, leaving behind only desolation.
'Hmm, if I hadn't secured the Ark Reach Cluster, the four star systems the Word Bearers passed through would differ little from the xenos worlds the Dark Angels had purged, or the ruins left by the Space Wolves and World Eaters.'
As these thoughts raced through Nareth's mind, the palace gates opened.
He turned, and noted another difference.
The Fabricator General of Mars, who usually walked in alongside the Emperor, arrived alone.
This new Fabricator General was tall. He had no face. A pair of strange green, bulbous diodes were set into a cold steel plate where his face should have been.
His chest was visible beneath the ragged edges of his red robe. Wiry servo-tendrils and ribbed steel tubes replaced his organic organs and blood vessels.
A set of mechadendrites extended from his back, like a spider's legs, tipped with saws, knives, and other arcane instruments.
Kelbor-Hal.
Nareth's gaze sharpened as he watched Kelbor-Hal's mechadendrites sway.
He knew that the man before him was a true genius among the Mechanicum. In just a few decades, he had risen from an apprentice to the most powerful man on Mars.
He was one of the Mechanicum's most creative minds, having designed and built the Despoiler-class battleship, which was only second to the Gloriana-class. Only Cawl could rival him in this regard.
He was a formidable warrior, possibly the only one who could match the Tyrant of Xana, Anacharis Scoria.
He was also ambitious, chafing against restrictions. He would tear up the Treaty of Olympus and openly lead his followers in rebellion against the Emperor.
Unlike unsociable and ostracized Archmagi like Arkhan Land, he was politically astute and ruthless, uniting the factions on Mars and other Forge Worlds that harbored resentment against the Emperor.
Kelbor-Hal took a seat at the end of the long table, his consciousness sinking into his internal cogitator, accessing his personal memory imprints, awaiting the start of the council.
Nareth leaned back in his seat, the cool touch of metal reaching his body through the psychic link.
Watching Lorgar's rise and Kelbor-Hal's ascension, he realized the War Council was changing.
Forty-eight seconds later, the heavy doors opened again. The Emperor entered the palace, accompanied by Captain-General Constantin Valdor.
He received the salutes of those present, took his seat, and surveyed the Primarchs.
His gaze swept over Lorgar, and he nodded with approval.
After countless admonitions, Lorgar had finally changed, actively embracing his role as a general, leading his Legion to conquer many worlds for the Imperium.
Though the death of a Custodian in the rebellion was lamentable, the Word Bearers were still satisfactory.
His gaze swept past the only empty seat, Angron's.
He was a violent, uncontrollable killer, but still a competent commander.
He had conquered more worlds than even the gentle Vulkan and the last-returned Corax.
The Emperor withdrew his gaze, looking at his Regent.
"Before this council, Malcador presented me with an idea."
....
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