The news that there was no hidden barb for Marcus to uncover is met with a tip of his head, something relenting in his sharply neutral default that stops itself from listing all the way into apologetic.

"The Chantry," he says, after a moment, "and its dismantling is what I recall being promised, in that dream. I suppose I've never viewed our institutions here as offering its hand out in quite the same way the Imperium has appeared to. But," a glance down at the scrolls, a fidget of them between his hands, "its promises end in the same way. Further enslavement, annihilation. The Red Templars. Whatever southern mages it manages to recruit to fill out its frontline. These allies of ours might look to the south to understand the cost of it."

A look back up follows a subtle turn of his hand, signalling he has no further questions.