 For posterity. I suspect this means you have something of import to ask of me. Again, yes, my lord. I am aware of my remit under the laws of the Logos Historic Avertia. I am aware of my reach, but I am aware of my limits. I know that the scope of my knowledge by virtue of your will eclipses that of uncounted billions that I am privy to teachings long denied to all but the few, but this has its limits. And some of these I have come to question. I see. You may wish to choose your next words carefully, chronicler. I have heard them from the lips of others in ages past. It has not always led to good. Believe me, Lord Primark, that I am very much aware of this. You, more than any of us, know the dangers that lie at the end of certain paths, which is why I must petition you personally upon the subject of my next treatise. Dare. My lord, I must- Absolutely not. If I may, it is an asses- Do you know how many have been where you stand now? Have asked the same questions? Have sought the same answers? I realize that precedent dictates- Do not speak to me of precedent. I lived my sons, my father's imperious, the hands of those who thought themselves clever enough to ask what you seek, to ask. As taken, I believe the task can be accomplished. Restorator, you were selected for your rigor and insight. I had expected somewhat more perspective on this, given what you have already committed to imperial record. Perspective is precisely what I seek, my lord. You saved me from execution to learn, to rediscover what has been lost. How? How can I better aid the Imperium if such things as this are to remain sequestered from me? Because there are things in this universe that can shatter a mortal mind with but a look. I should know I have gazed upon them myself. But how can we possibly defeat that which is unknown? Knowledge is a weapon, my lord one. We can turn against the foe. You yourself- You dare to turn my own words against me? Are you utterly incapable of even hearing yourself speak? What recourse do I have? I have been reclaimed from the cusp of death to accomplish all that I can, and this is all I know how to do. Information is victory. Your words, lord Gullivan, your own hand. One cannot and should not dismiss any data until one is in a position to evaluate its significance, and that only comes with hindsight. All detail is important until circumstances render it redundant. You speak to me of hindsight. You have ten thousand years of it. This shambling corpse of my father's empire is the product of humanity's retrospective terror. Exactly, my lord, the gross excess of the few who knew the face of the enemy and sought to expunge it, to pretend that which is simply is not. Redact, purge, erase. Better to deny the true nature of things than risk a single corruption. Do not think I am unaware of why I implore you. I have read into the forbidden histories of your brothers, thrown I have compiled several myself. I know what lies before me is dangerous beyond words. I do not court this danger idly. I do not even want to undertake this. I'd rather be able to bury my head in the sand with the rest of humanity, but I simply cannot. Not after what I have seen. This is too important. Many have sat where you do now, speaking these same words. We have both of us read of their fates, but only I have seen it with my own two eyes. Removed from you by the gulf of time, perhaps, but the cataclysm of their ball still reverberates around the dark stars to this day. The things they heard, the whispers that crept into their ears, they are sinister things of that I have no doubt. I despise the rotting carcass of my father's imperium. Our species touched for the briefest time pure enlightenment, and the promise of all that comes with it, before we were dragged back down into the depths by the ignorance of my pathetic brothers. And yet you endured. Humanity endured. You rose above. The self-same things that tore your brothers down found no purchase in you, and you used what you knew to take the battle to them. To my end, historical. If any presence here begs to differ, my lord good of it. Do not think you'll please fall on deaf ears. I am, if anything, sympathetic. But if there is a single thing I have learned on this from my years, it has been to not underestimate what it is you are seeking to commit here. Old Earth had a saying. Of the road to hell being paved with good intentions, not without value. And that is something only that hindsight I spoke of has granted me. It of Magnus, but no. Do not look. I bear them, curse their names with every fiber of my beings for what they have done, and yet remember them for what they once were. Your brothers were titanic figures, my lord. I do not see what the loss of one such as myself could matter. That, beyond anything you have said, terrifies me the most, historical. Do not think you would be spared by virtue of your standing. These things, they care not for humility. Every mind is a potential victory for them, and no victory is small. Your fall would be as tragic as horses in its own way. Do not treat the one life you have with such callous disregard. It saddens me. It is a life I owe to your grace, Lord Regent. No. Who I was died that day upon the Inquisitor's pyre. All that I am now is an eyed alarm. An instrument of the God Emperor's will and yours. Do not speak of my father in that tone, please. I doubt I could stop you from walking this path even if I tried. To an extent, that is the purpose of the Logos Historica. To uncover, to investigate, to make us see that which self-important men have ruled we are not allowed to. By not but their own wicked or misguided judgment. Maybe I do not quite know what I unleashed. Information is victory. I know this as a fundamental truth. The creation of the practical from the theoretical withdrawal data as the fuel. But I also know this world is madness. Maybe it has always been so, and we simply did not see it. What am I to do when knowledge is insanity, when inquiry leads only to a loss of all reason? Your hands are tied, my Primarch. And by circumstance, dare I say perhaps, feet? If this is to be mine, then it is a path I trod willingly. It all begins that way. The first step on the road. Do not be so sure of your own agency. For that itself may be a deception wrought by that which you simply cannot imagine. Do I have your writ, then? Yes. Throne damn me, but yes. Information is victory. And victory is sorely needed. My thanks, Lord Gullivan. I shall begin to make the necessary preparations. Historitor? Yes, my lord. My protection can only extend so far. Be mindful of that. Down there, in the dark. This video and this channel are made possible through the incredibly kind contributions of my Patreon subscribers. If you'd like to help support the channel, head on over to Patreon.com forward slash Oculus Imperial. And if you're looking to keep in touch with the channel, get regular updates, you can follow me on Twitter, at ButstuffKaiju, or check us out on Discord. A link will be in the description and on the channel page.