Liriel hurried through leaf-strewn paths under the baleful gaze of a full moon. Exposed under the witchlight of the Scar cutting across the heavens above her, she fought to shake off the feeling of vulnerability. She was, after all, returning here exalted.

The city of Ynriad, such as it was, emerged in glimpses and hints through dense undergrowth and twisted trees; a tangle of plants that might be a garden, a carven slab of rock in a sward of soft grass to denote a market square, or a thicket of trees and shrubbery that would make the living wall of a home. Some houses were built into the living trunks of massive trees themselves, artisanal epiphytes arranged around them in a manner pleasing to their residents. Where living greenery did not suffice, stone faces delicately carved with frescoes and painted in a rainbow hue of colours fulfilled the role.

In another life, the scene would have been almost comforting to Liriel. A city sleeping peacefully in the quiet stillness of the night. But knowledge dragged her mind down to dark thoughts. She could see the traces of the sickness here, perhaps even more strongly than in the outlying villages she had skirted around in her travels. It was the little things; the dead and wilted leaves that were allowed to remain, the abandoned hollowness she could feel from so many residences, the rot in the stone and decoration, the subtle signs of disuse that had been allowed to creep through the streets and plazas and homes.

It was the big things too; the darkness that was too dark, the quiet too quiet, the stillness too still. Ynriad had the air of an elegy about it, without the revelry and activity that a city this size should have, would have had in the far past. All things she would never have noticed, could never have noticed, where it not for the mad words her mentor had spoken.

She was as Morai-Heg supping from the stump of her own wrist, blessed and cursed with sight beyond sight; no longer would the safe delusions of stasis shield her from comprehension of the doom slowly choking these people. Her people, she chided herself into thinking, but the correction came with no barb.

Liriel navigated the winding paths of the city as though she were born to them. Few marked her passing; nocturnal habits or restless dreams always kept some awake, but to walk unseen was second nature to her. Over the river, her target emerged before her. The palace rested atop the hill in the centre of Ynriad as if it disdained its place in the conurbation. Its graceful spires and delicate walls, the last and lasting symbol of the origins of the people here, made no concession to the forest or the planet. Spires rose and spiraled in defiance of gravity and, to Liriel's eye, good taste. Lights still glowed in a multitude of windows, precious lamp-oil wasted. Milk-white wraithbone reflected the pale moonlight, a beacon and challenge to all who looked upon it, and a direct boast of wealth - here, it declared, are the most powerful people on the planet. Here is their wealth, so vast that they build their home out of it.

Liriel had no patience or interest in the artistry of its construction, or the waste of its stewards, or the greed of its occupants. She walked more briskly now along a path laid closely with cobblestones, forcing herself to quell her natural urge to secrecy.

The path led directly to the open front gates. Two stood before it, long spears held formally at their sides. They were of similar build, with faces hidden behind full helms, and light, supple armor of megadon leather and ornately decorated metal covering their bodies. The guards regarded her warily, the more so when the left-hand one recognized her face. He raised his weapon immediately; it would have been amusing to see him try to use it against her. But before they could raise an alarm, she spoke, keeping a calm, authoritative tone, just as her mentor had belabored teaching her to do.

"Peace. I am here to take over Anathan's duties as Seer for the King." In the shocked silence that followed her words, she glided past them into the palace proper.

They raised a commotion behind her, but they weren't stupid enough to try to stop her by force, so she put them out of her mind. Instead, she turned her attention to the wide hallways she passed through, the richly woven rugs burying the tread of her boots. The palace had originally been the vessel the exodites had traveled to this world in, a colony ship in a fleet of them housing hundreds of thousands of souls. It was virtually unrecognizable from those times, its wraithbone structure repurposed so many times in the millenia since the Fall in accordance with the will of the planet's rulers that no one would suspect its original form.

Liriel did not well know the way to the Seer's Tower, relying on fragmentary memories of her first time at the palace to guide her steps. She found herself lost and wandering, using the varied art and sculptures to serve as markers for where she had been before. Even here, to her distaste, the sickness could be felt.

The artistry, the splendour, of the aeldari had been their greatest pride. To create beauty with grace, to revel in the gifts of life and feel with incomparable passion the tide of emotion. Even in this dismal planet, this undeveloped backwater, cut off from all their technology and progress, they had had artists. Perhaps not as great as those of their parent civilization, but legendary in their own right, on their own world. Now, they delighted in the dismal and mundane. Celebrations of mediocrity dressed up in craft's finery. Who, in the last hundred years, had been the equal of Morioo, whose paintings drove the even the most sober to gaiety? Or Lainch'i'i, who sang so sweetly that songbirds were humbled? Or Ylsev the sculptor-

Liriel stood in the Garden of Kurnous. Her lip twitched; that was all the emotion she allowed herself to express. In front of her was The Love of Kurnous, Ylsev's greatest masterpiece. She had read a description of the piece, in one of Anathan's old scrolls. A dedication to Kurnous and Isha, both rendered in lines so fine and delicate that they should have been indistinguishable from flesh and blood, if not for the decoration.

Greenery climbed across the sculpture. They were supposed to be artfully placed; different species of plants, all blooming and withering at different times, allowing sight of frescoes of the stories of the gods in the sculpture, or their hands holding a weapon or a cup or simply clasped together. As the seasons passed, the changing position of the sun would alter the cast of shadows over their faces, changing Kurnous from proud to lovestruck to determined, Isha from innocent, to enraptured, to sorrowful.

But that was in an age long past. Purplevine overgrew the piece, the prolific weed choking out everything else. The gods were clouded in the stuff, only Isha's weeping face still visible past the plant's sickly purple leaves.

Liriel walked back to the corridors, a certain grim satisfaction playing across her face.

She should have expected what awaited her back in the hallways. A small contingent of the royal guard was closing on her, and leading them was a familiar face, though only barely.

He was tall, even for an aeldar, and his face bore handsome lines if one could ignore the haunted hardness of his eyes. Scarlet hair in delicate braids framed it, ending with small beads that indicated honours bestowed upon him by the king. His armour was richly decorated, and he moved with the commanding grace that his position assured.

"Ah - Tellyth var Sicheadh, was it? A thousand blessings to you and yours." She gave a respectful nod of the head, as an equal. The protocols of aeldar communication were layered and intricate, but she felt she judged the depth of the nod, the length of time she closed her eyes, her tone of voice, and the angle of her torso toward him correctly.

The polite greeting brought him short, and he held up a fist for his troops to halt.

"Seer…" Her title came hesitantly. Her name did not come at all; no surprise there. He came forward to meet her, his sword still in its sheath.

"Liriel," she finished for him.

He bowed his head in apology for the slight. "A thousand blessings to you and yours, Seer Liriel. The guards informed me of your presence. If we had known the date of your arrival, the palace would have arranged a more suitable welcome."

She considered the leader of the Royal Guard more carefully. He had clearly just been roused from sleep; though his eyes were alert, his armor had been donned in haste, and he had not had time to properly position the small leather bands holding his hair in place. Without a clear danger present, the energy and alarm that must have been fueling him was waning.

"There was no need, war-leader." No need for the attention such an entrance would bring, no need for the delays it would entail. "But I find myself lost yet in the palace; would you be able to guide me to the Seer's Tower?"

Tellyth nodded, questions shining in his eyes. "Of course. Please, follow me."

Liriel fell into step beside him, the other guards following a few paces behind. They walked at an unhurried pace through the winding corridors. Liriel felt no need to speak; she rather enjoyed the quiet, without need to watch her words for unintended insults or watch others' for hidden barbs. Tellyth, though, seemed uncomfortable in the silence, and eventually broke it.

"Did you find the journey arduous? The winter roads can be difficult to travel."

"The seasons hold no dangers to me," Liriel replied curtly. She did not know at what distance to hold the war-leader. He would be a useful ally in her efforts here, but his own loyalties lay elsewhere. It was fair to say that he was the only power intent on keeping the current King on the throne - but that influence came with the political caution that would keep him safe from the degree of persuasive manipulation she could perform. A dangerous element that she needed to sway to her side, somehow.

Tellyth did not seem to take her short reply badly. "I suppose they wouldn't, given your history. It is a wonder what a difference a few years have made. I remember when you first arrived here. Locked in a cage, raging like a wild animal."

So that was how he wished to be. Liriel managed a slight grimace that could be taken for embarrassment. "Yes… Apologies about your eye. I see it has healed well." A miracle, considering the last time she had seen him, his left eye was hanging out of its socket. No damage was visible anymore on his face - the gashes she had once torn in it had healed completely.

Tellyth shrugged, the insult of the old wound waved away with a gesture. "Given the circumstances in which you first came, it was an understandable reaction." He seemed sincere in his nonchalance, but Liriel could hardly relax her guard before he continued. "Although I'm glad we won't have to worry about a repeat of that encounter."

"Not unless you plan on caging me again," Liriel said, a small, wry smile emerging on her face.

Tellyth took her words for a joke, chuckling beside her. "That would be quite a fight, with the knowledge Anathan must surely have passed on to you. I remember seeing him fight once, during the Coup…" The war-leader trailed off, lost in the reminiscence of a battle long past.

Liriel said nothing, hoping that he would move on from the subject quickly. Alas, that was not to be.

"To be honest, I was worried when the Seer declared he would take you as his apprentice. When he left, I was certain that you were going to kill him."

A spasm of guilt ran through her, but her face remained cool and impassive. Her smile did not move at all. "I've changed quite a bit since then."

"It is a wonder. Will he be rejoining us soon? Perhaps once the weather turns? I believe the guards said you were here to replace him, but surely he has not decided to retire already. And without informing us."

"No." Liriel said flatly. "He… worsened in the last few years." If her mentor had been right, the various factions in the palace would have known he had left his domicile over a year ago. Then again, it had been hard, at the end, to pluck the truth and wisdom from his paranoid rantings. "He is with the World Spirit now."

Tellyth was not crass enough to narrow his eyes at her. Instead, he simply muttered a short prayer to the old Seer's soul, echoed politely by Liriel and a few of the soldiers behind them. "When? We should have been informed immediately. Despite his feelings towards the court, he was still a necessary member of it."

"Only a few weeks ago. I was with him in the end, and came here immediately when he…" Liriel cursed herself silently as the words fell from her lips.

Tellyth tensed almost imperceptibly. She knew the suspicions that must be running through his mind. The contagion was in him too, of course. Poisoning his beliefs. This was why she was unsuited for this role! It needed a delicate touch, the subtle mind. Not her. Not even an hour and she had already damaged her chances. "His illness was becoming worse. He demanded we leave his estates and live in the forests. I was caring for him, but he was old, unused to such a life. He grew sicker, and there was nothing I could do."

Not a single word was a untrue. She lacked the easy guile that life in the royal court seemed to encourage in the people here, and knew that any lie would be easily spotted. Tellyth simply glanced at her unreadably. They stopped before an elaborately carved doorway bordered by finely crafted runes. "It is truly a tragedy. We will have to conduct the funeral ceremony immediately. I'll see to it as soon as the King has returned. He is currently on a tour of his lands in the royal shuttle. In the meantime, this is the entrance to the tower, Seer Liriel."

She nodded, grateful that their conversation was at an end, but unwilling to let this thread go yet. Perhaps a hint of the danger they were all in would sway the war-leader. It was his duty, after all, to be aware and responsive to such matters. "Please inform the King that I must speak to him as soon as possible. There is much to be done. Much he needs to be informed of."

Tellyth looked at her with an expression she could not place; worry, or suspicion, or disbelief. "I hope you have the chance to do so," he said, though his tone carried no conviction in it. "Perhaps at the funeral."

Liriel nodded, grateful to wring any positive outcome out of the exchange. "Should the heavens will it, war-leader, he will see me tomorrow. Now, it has been a long journey, and I ache for sleep."

"Of course," he acceded with grace, calling his followers to him as he left.

Liriel entered the doorway to find a receiving room on the other side, narrow wooden benches arranged around low tables. A console on the near side carried a lamp that she lit off of one of the smokeless lanterns in the outer hallway. The rest of the room's contents held little interest to her. She started to climb the narrow stairs up the wraithbone tower, pausing at every floor to learn its contents. There was more space in here than she knew what to do with, each floor devoted to a purpose.

The first level above the waiting room was a formal sitting room, with well-appointed seating and a low, wide table. At one end of the room was an arweh preparation set in a display case. Another inescapable aspect of the political manoeuvering that would be expected of her. Liriel paused over it just long enough to ensure that the leaves inside their gold-chased container were still fragrant, that the sap was still malleable, and the sidhin still usable, then passed it by. She enjoyed arweh, but was not one to partake in the mild narcotic without good cause.

A library and study took up the next level, with a meditation nook scribed all around with runes. A safe place to scry the paths of the empyrean, with fewer of the inherent risks of bringing the Seer to the attention of the beings that hunted through it for souls. Useful as it would be, her attention was directed instead to the tool that this room had been built to hold. The centerpiece of the room, sunk into a small hole in the ground that allowed it to stand straight, was the staff.

Liriel lifted it out of its cradle carefully. It was slightly larger than the spear she had trained with, and heavier at the top, which bulged outwards slightly to accommodate the shards of translucent crystal embedded in the wood. They were dormant, now, folded down as to be nearly undetectable to the touch, but Liriel knew how dangerous they could truly be. Were a psyker to call upon the Warp and feed its power through the rune-scribed channels carved into the staff, those same crystals would jut outwards, that energy bleeding out into realspace around their razor-sharp edges. Any solid matter nearing that boundary would be torn asunder as thoroughly as a chunk of meat before a kolos fish.

But more than that, it would assist a Seer in directing their power, protecting them from the inevitable backlash that overuse of their power would bring. Masters had crafted this piece, handed down from Seer to Seer since the world had been settled by her ancient ancestors. She held it reverently, a tangible piece of the planet's past, before returning it to its place.

Finally, at the top of the stairs, she found Anathan's old quarters.

It was much the same as she imagined he had left it, the day that he had declared he would be both taking her as his apprentice and leaving the palace entirely, though someone had made an abortive attempt at cleaning the place. A smell of disuse hung in the air. Liriel opened the room's wide window to clear it, allowing the night's cold crisp breeze in to flutter the window shades. Setting the lamp on the bedside table, she walked around the room methodically. The other rooms she cared little for at the moment, but it was her habit never to sleep somewhere she did not know the layout of.

The few items in the dressers and chests she pulled out and set aside. They were useless to her, with the exception of the tehra, the traditional formal garment of the Seers. This one was comprised of four wide bands of multicoloured cloth which would be wrapped and arranged around the wearer's body. Each configuration and pattern of the cloth bands would reveal some intent, convey a message to the beholder. The tehra was the ultimate expression of the aeldari practice of subtle, intentional communication; clothing that conveyed a thousand words.

It was possible, though very difficult, to wear one without the use of telekinesis, as long as one had a helper. Liriel contented herself with an examination of the cloth, running her hand over the carefully woven fabric and ensuring that it had suffered no indignity in its long storage. She then stored the few clothes she had brought with her in a single drawer.

Her rounds of the room complete, Liriel sat cross-legged upon the bed and began to recite her old mantra, focusing her mind on her purpose here and allowing all doubts and fears to slip away. There was no place for hesitancy or uncertainty in the coming days; if she were to accomplish her goal, it would only be through the exercise of absolute will and control.

"Asuryan, Phoenix King of the gods, ruler of fire and light…"

The Seer slipped between conscious mind and meditative trance as the night deepened and the moon glared at her through the half-drawn windows.

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