That night, the Scarlet Scar hung behind the spires of Angel Keep.
The lights in the spires flickered, and only the low hum of servo-skulls and the monotonous sound of Dante writing documents echoed in the room.
Dante wasn't wearing his Power Armor; instead, he was clad in a simple linen robe, revealing his modified, muscular physique.
At this moment, he was like a marble sculpture created by Greek sculptors on Ancient Terra, seemingly the embodiment of perfect male form; even the exposed black neural interfaces on his body didn't detract from its aesthetic beauty.
Yet, Dante knew the age and weariness that showed on his face when he wasn't wearing the Mask of Sanguinius.
Few Adeptus Astartes lived as long as he did.
Many believed that Adeptus Astartes were immortal, never dying of old age, only perishing in prolonged wars.
But time had indeed left its mark on Dante's face; beneath his somewhat dry golden hair, his expression showed weariness and age.
On Dante's desk was a small mirror, allowing him to see his own face.
Gazing at his reflection, Dante was surprised to find a trace of his late father, the prematurely aged salt merchant, in his own features.
Most Adeptus Astartes warriors, after their transformation, no longer yearned for their former families or maintained any contact with them.
But Dante always missed his father; he had left him behind, going alone to participate in the trials and become an Archangel.
Yet, he never returned to see him before or even after his death. Dante didn't know if he couldn't or wouldn't go back.
He always felt guilty about this, and now, seeing the similar signs of aging in his own face as his father's, this guilt intensified.
But he had to hide this guilt in the deepest part of his heart.
Dante was the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels, a servant of the Emperor's wrath, noble, pure, and excellent. The Emperor protected mortals, and Dante was his way of protecting them.
More matters awaited his judgment and handling.
That lictor. Dante recalled the lictor that had suddenly appeared in the Red Council.
Undoubtedly, that was the lictor Mephiston had been hunting.
He had clearly succeeded, but the appearance of that pinkish-red wooden door caused Dante unease.
Without a doubt, that door belonged to Saint Doraemon, an apparent entity in the Warp, almost god-like.
Currently, Dante only knew fragments from Mephiston's words.
He knew that Doraemon was, in some ways, occupying three positions in the Warp; if he succeeded, he would become more powerful than the Chaos Gods.
Doraemon had, to some extent, shown hostility towards the Tyranid and goodwill towards the Blood Angels.
For now, Doraemon, apart from being a bit light-fingered, didn't seem to pose any other threat. Well, hopefully, the Crimson Blades Chapter Master wouldn't keep dwelling on that Chapter relic.
Dante had selected an equally exquisite Power Sword from the Blood Angels' collection and presented it to Ka'Ang, Chapter Master of the Crimson Blades, to compensate him for his loss.
And that Saint Doraemon, Dante wondered if he was connected to the prophecy of the Archangel's resurrection.
Mephiston seemed to have formed a partnership with him. Or perhaps Mephiston had fallen? Corrupted by Doraemon?
A Warp entity, a Adeptus Astartes too deeply immersed in the Warp, potentially connected to the Primarch's return.
Dante couldn't help but worry about this, reaching up to rub his brow.
And that door, it could appear directly in the Red Great Hall?
The Eldar's Webway required specific gates, and Chaos Sorcerers needed to pass through the Warp; neither could easily achieve this.
Did that door have no restrictions? Did it not require positioning or a map?
Dante's brow furrowed slightly.
Mephiston? Did Mephiston give Doraemon a map of the Angel Keep's interior?
Now Dante had to suspect Mephiston even more deeply.
If that were true, couldn't that wooden door appear directly in front of Dante?
This made Dante frown intensely, but he couldn't think of any way to counter it.
"Must I simply wait for them to act?"
Dante lowered his hand from his brow and murmured softly:
"Since they've partnered with Mephiston, I presume they will come to visit me."
This made Dante feel even more weary.
The only good news was that, despite some unexpected developments, the current situation had not completely deviated from his plan.
Tomorrow, a series of battles would take place in the Angel Keep's arena, where the sons of Sanguinius would resolve all disagreements, using combat to settle all conflicts. After this, all disputes would be set aside, and all sons of the Archangel would unite.
Dante sighed, weariness washing over him again. He leaned back in his chair involuntarily.
And Dante's face was fully reflected in the mirror on the desk.
That rare, aged Adeptus Astartes face was reflected in the mirror: golden hair, handsome features, gifts of Sanguinius' gene-seed.
Dante recalled the visions he saw while undergoing his transformation in the Blood Coffin.
He had witnessed Sanguinius' entire life within it.
Thinking of this, his weariness deepened. Dante truly didn't want to recall what he had seen.
Father, how could you be like Lion and Guilliman? You were so foolish!
Dante couldn't help but sigh. He was curious if any other Chapter brothers had seen these things.
Or had they, like Dante, chosen silence?
Dante continued to gaze at his reflection, once again discerning faint traces of his biological father's genes in his aged face.
These marks were already very indistinct, almost imperceptible, but strangely, as Dante gazed, the traces of his father on his face became increasingly clear.
Dante's face seemed to gradually resemble that of his biological father, Aereas, the salt merchant from Baal II.
"Look!" The Aereas in the mirror raised his finger high, pointing to the night sky.
The colossal Baal passed through the night sky of Baal II. It was a vast and immense world, with a myriad of landscapes faintly visible upon it, displaying varying shades of red.
The boy stood beside Aereas, looking at Baal following his father's finger, his eyes wide.
Above the equator, a faint beam of light could be seen on Baal's equator.
"Angel Keep!"
The boy's heart pounded as he shouted, looking at the sacred scene.
"Exactly right!"
The boy's father, Aereas, said with a smile:
"That is the great castle where the Archangels of Light and Sacred Blood reside. They are extraordinary, free from mortal worries. They were chosen to be descendants of the God-Emperor, endowed with great power and glory."
"They are the Emperor's wrathful servants, noble, pure, and excellent!"
His father leaned close to the boy's ear, softly telling stories of the Archangels:
"The priests tell us that the Emperor protects mortals, and the Archangels are his way of protecting us."
"They were all chosen from the people of Baal; some may even have been from our tribe. But they are no longer our kin, having been granted eternal life. Our mortal worries no longer belong to them."
His father gently embraced the boy, who stared wide-eyed at the stars and Baal in the sky.
He even forgot to be afraid.
The boy's mother was giving birth in the rover, with only the midwife accompanying her.
His father said his mother was a strong woman, and she would safely bring his younger brother into this world, just as she had once brought Louis Dante himself into this world.
The boy was perceptive, understanding that his father was comforting himself more than him.
"I hope to go there someday," the boy turned his head from his father's embrace and whispered, "Maybe someday I can also become an Archangel?"
The earnestness in the boy's tone made Aereas uneasy. His original intention was surely not to encourage such ambition in his child.
"Most will die in the attempt," Aereas warned, gently holding his child tighter: "Only a very few can pass the trials of Angel Fall city, and even fewer survive."
"Almost everyone fails," the boy repeated, "But some succeed?"
The boy keenly sensed this point: someone always became an Archangel, so why not him?
His father held the boy tightly. He worried about losing his wife tonight and now did not want to fear losing his child in the future.
"Father?" The boy tilted his head in confusion: "After I have a little brother, will you still love me like this?"
Aereas laughed heartily, hugging the boy tightly, making him wince a little.
"Love is a bottomless well, my child."
He said:
"If you feel jealous… Oh, you will, because new life needs more nurturing."
"Then please remember."
His father gently leaned close to Louis Dante's ear and softly said:
"You are the firstborn. We spent this time together, and this will always be yours."
"No matter what happens, I will love you very much, little one, because I will always be your father."
A tear trickled down Commander Dante's cheek. He remembered that day, he would always remember.
His mother died in childbirth. Dante and his father buried her and the stillborn child in the salt flats.
Then, Aereas changed.
He still possessed so much knowledge and remained kind to Dante, but he no longer spoke of Archangels and miracles, no longer recounted those ancient and sacred stories. All he told Dante was how to survive and dig for salt.
Sand from the desert blew up, and several rovers were parked there. Sand swept across Dante's face.
He looked at one of the rovers, listening to the sounds within.
"You cannot go," Aereas said, holding his breath: "I absolutely forbid it. You are my only kin left. To whom would I leave everything?"
The Dante of today could feel the pain in those words, but the then-young Louis Dante could not.
"Marry another wife, have more children," the young Dante in the rover said to his father in a childish voice: "Dad, I have to go."
"No, I'm too old."
"If we're talking about marrying and having children, that Marina person is good. She's your age and cares about you. You can live here together, with you."
"No! If I stay here, maybe I can help Marina. But if I become an Archangel, I can help everyone!"
"If? You'll die! You're not strong enough! You're not special enough!"
The Dante outside the vehicle could barely endure the argument within; he almost wanted to rush in, scold his younger self fiercely, and then proudly tell his father: now he was an Archangel.
He knew he would steal a desert bike that night, leaving his father to go to the trials alone, but Dante...
Dante rushed to the rover door, but gently pushed it open. He looked into the narrow interior of the rover, trying to make his voice gentle.
"Look, Dad," Dante softly said to his father: "I'm an Archangel now."
Dante felt tears streaming from his eyes, yet standing before him was not his biological father.
It was a sublime warrior with broad wings, a compassionate expression, fiery golden hair, enveloped in white light, gently gazing at Dante.
"Louis Dante, Louis of Baal II."
A soft whisper sounded in Dante's ear.
"Mission... return... I'm sorry."
Dante saw the figure in white light slowly spread his wings, as if speaking something to Dante.
"My Lord?!" Dante almost blurted out. He recognized who the figure before him was, yet...
The figure's wings slowly spread, and a faint blue light overflowed, almost merging with Sanguinius.
Dante's expression froze. Blue wings? Blue? Lord of Change??
He suddenly realized he was in a hallucination and a dream. The faint blue light before him shattered, and the scene gradually became clear.
Click. The sound of a wooden door opening suddenly echoed.
Dante immediately looked up, staring sharply ahead.
In his room, before him, a pinkish-red wooden door had appeared at some unknown time.
Theoretically, old man Dante knew about the Second Empire's old affairs. He wondered if Guilliman knew about this.