AN: I'm sorry this took so long. Christmas is coming and there's just way too much stuff to do.
Books
The Warmaster seldom has a moment of peace. The title is but unworn and new to him, but the duties that burden him have all but increased. The paperwork alone occupies a large bulk of his time. He can only hope that soon he will be able to delegate it to his subordinates. What is more, his elevation has not absolved him of his duties as the commander of an Expedition Fleet. The usual complications and issues await his attention.
Nevertheless, he has managed to find a moment, in which he will not have to be the Warmaster. For a while, he can just be Horus. He has sent away his advisors and instructed them not to bother him, unless it's at least a small scale invasion. Now, he stands in his sanctum and tries to chase away the thoughts of obligations.
Shaking his head, he stops in front of his books. Those he keeps in his private sanctuary are merely a drop in the sea of knowledge he has absorbed. They are his most beloved pieces of writing, the ones he enjoys most. All of them are worn from multiple readings. His hand hovers over the tomes, before electing to take the oldest one.
It is not a book the public would expect a Primarch to read, but it is one of Horus's most treasured possessions. While he does concur that he cannot learn anything of value from this tome, he considers it a treasure none the less. It is the very first gift he has received from his father. The memory of the day when he was given it is still fresh in his mind.
He flips the pages casually, as he wanders back to his desk. Once he stops, he leans against the massive piece of furniture, his hand resting on the scarred wood; too engrossed to bother sitting down. He opens the tome and reading the chapter on the Dreadful Sagittary anew.
By now, he knows it practically by heart, but it is of little consequence to him. It is the sign Father has chosen for him and when he reads about it, it feels like he is still with him.