The cloaked man reached for a small pendant hanging from his neck. He touched the small effigy and a tear fell down on his cheek from his non-electronic eye. He remembered, and what he remembered, it pained him deeply.
"My Emperor… for ten thousand years you were forced to suffer the pain and the unending misery of the Golden Throne…You saved us all, but who would save you from this hell? Forced to see your beloved subjects turning the Imperium into… this! Your children betraying you, destroying everything you created was one thing, but seeing them turning into mindless, soulless… drones in the name of religion, ruining themselves in the process…It must be incredibly hard…"
"Not just for him, but for all of us!" The cloaked man's 'prayer' was interrupted by an Eldar, a powerful one, a Farseer. "She-Who-Thirsts' evil forces would be kept at bay if the Imperium and my people could find some common ground." The unknown human sighed:
"I am afraid that's not possible. Not now, at least. I wonder, Farseer Keilon, if it's possible for us to do this…"
"For ten thousand years we planned this and now, you question everything we've accomplished so far? Humans are weird. You crave change but when you are so close of obtaining it, you start to fear!"
"It's not about fear!" The cloaked man spoke in a decisive manner. "It's about survival. It's about the fate of the universe. It's about fighting the Chaos. It's only natural to question everything."
"The universe is full of evil and misery! What we are trying to do would help achieve peace, finally, after so many eons! If we fail, everything will be destroyed and nobody would remember our plights, nobody will remain to sing songs about our labors. And that… believe me, it's not very different from what we are at the moment. We are broken, both the Eldar and the humans. If we fail, Chaos will consume us all… the same thing would happen if we would do nothing. Either way, after so many years of fighting secret wars all across the galaxy, I believe it's worth trying! Your Imperium needs this!" Keilon pointed his finger towards his Spirit Stone. "We need this!"
The Farseer's interlocutor smiled, rising from his small armchair and starting to walk around the room they were in. "You are right, Farseer! But you must understand the fact that we suffered too much. We cannot afford another disappointment."
"Neither do us. We won't fail!"
"So… it's there a reason you are here, Farseer? Or do you just want to talk philosophy with me?"
"Pathfinder Heyrin returned from his mission. He found her!"
The cloaked man's natural eye opened so wide that it looked like it wants to go on his own, out of its socket. "Where is he?"
"Heyrin already left the Craftworld. His wanderlust is too powerful… More than one or two days here would drive him insane. But his prize is with the Seer Council. Their divinations would help us tremendously, if she is who we believe she is!" For the first time in a very long time, the human felt a bit of optimism:
"We should not waste any moment! As soon as the Council confirms her identity, we should inform House Belisarius. It's time they repay their sixth debt!"
The two comrades left the quarters they talked in and wandered for a bit outside the imposing palace of Farseer Keilon. The Craftworld looked incredibly imposing. Tall towers, grey in color united by sinewy bridges and wires, connected into one powerful, titanic starship that carried more Eldar than any human has ever seen in the entire history of the Imperium. Soon, the two reached the fabled Gate of Ghreivan, one of the many Warp Portals people on Ulthwe use to reach distant locations on the Craftworld. Farseer Keilon opened the portal and the two walked inside, being almost immediately transported to another exquisite palace, even more beautiful than the Farseer's: the great palace of the Seer Council of Ulthwe, the most powerful Farseers of the Craftworld, immensely skilled in the art of divination of the future.
"What did you find out? Is she the one?" The human asked, without any bit of reverence and formality. The first Seer spoke with a gruff voice:
"The dices have been thrown. The pieces are in place! It is now or never, human! The woman you needed is here, under this very roof. She will give birth to the one you sought, the one who would bring us peace! His very birth would be the culmination of our efforts and She-Who-Thirsts must never find him!" The second seer continued:
"A crown will be on his head, the crown of the one who preceded him! And you will be his herald, his advisor, his right hand!"
"Just as you were the herald, the advisor and the right hand of the one who preceded him… Sigillite!"
Yes… the cloaked man was none other than Malcador the Sigillite, one of the most powerful psykers of the Imperium, thought long dead.
"I understand. Thank you for your advice!"
Malcador left the Council chamber, followed by Farseer Keilon.
"What happens now, Sigillite?"
"Contact House Belisarius. It's time they play their part in the events to come! And also…" Malcador put on his fingers two rings, one on each hand, one branded with II, the other with XI. "…it's time for the lost children of the Emperor to come and serve him one last time!"