Out of the vast number of Il'sariadh's domes, the importance of only a few could be compared to the Thiarnali Dome.
It was a marvelous feat of engineering, a result of the united vision of countless bonesingers and artisans working together, a massive amphitheater with rows upon rows of masterfully crafted seats and lodges, capable of accommodating a huge part of Il'sariadh's population. However, it wasn't the building that was important, but its purpose.
The Thiarnali Dome was the meeting ground for the Grand Conclave - gathering of all Il'sariadh's Seers, Autarchs and Heads of the Houses. It was them who ultimately steered the craftworld towards the future and made the final decisions. Any Il'sariadhian was free to witness the proceedings; either in person, or relayed through the Infinity Circuit if they were unable to attend them. And most utilized these opportunities.
However, the Thiarnali Dome remained vacant most of the time, for there was seldom a necessity to gather this august body.
In reality, most of the matters were dealt with by numerous Councils of Seers. Some were affiliated with one of the major Il'sariadhian factions, others formed by the High Council to oversee a certain region of the galaxy, respond to a threat, or make sure that an event would come to pass. Presence of at least a single Autarch was customary during their proceedings, to both provide his own insights on the matters or demand bringing them to the Conclave. Having the backing of their respective factions, the Councils were capable of solving most of the problems on their own - or more precisely resolving them before they even emerged.
The High Council of Seers oversaw their work, offering guidance or stepping in whenever the seers representing different factions wished to aim for conflicting goals. The dome where they gathered wasn't nearly as opulent as the Thiarnali Dome, neither had their proceedings garnered even a fraction of attention.
The current gathering was no exception; in the audience, outside of younger seers observing their elders, only a single scholar and two painters have taken the seats. The last two far more interested in depicting the High Council than the matters they discussed.
"Moving on; we shall discuss our stance concerning Isynelean," E'lahil said.
E'lahil was an oddity among the High Council; a middling psyker on his best days, neither one blessed with a potent foresight. And yet he still remained on the Path of the Seer, even longer than some of those who already received the title of the Farseer. Some even believed that despite being the Seer, he had become lost on the Path of Service, focusing more on administrative work rather than unveiling threads of fate in the Skeins.
"This matter has been already decided. We had offered them asylum. The Exodites could have gone into hiding, leaving only a few to keep nurturing their World Spirit. Then we would have helped them convince the colonists that the planet is far less hospitable than their prospectors assumed," Ilyve Karesh sneered. "It wouldn't have been the first time we dealt with mon-keigh this way."
Malgath Il'sari nodded sadly, "They have chosen Biel-Tan's way, despite portents being less clear on that path. Faced with firm resistance, the humans should have retreated in search for easier worlds to conquer, but this outcome was never assured. We've agreed to distance ourselves, letting the Biel-Tan guide the fates as they deem fit. However, under their guidance the conflict only escalates, Isyneleanians slain in thousands. Even if the Exodites declined our assistance before, Biel-Tanians offer them only a token support. Are we content to observe our kin being exterminated?"
"Intervening at this point only brings death to our own people," Rilitar Eldren argued. "For little gain; even if we fight off humans now, it will be passes before the Exodites rebuild and the trade with their world blossoms once again. They've made their choices and the consequences of their decisions are on themselves."
Autarch Shaerra Yesro grimaced at his words.
"Would you have abandoned Il'sariadh, heeding the warning of a farseer from another craftworld? Or desperately searched for other threads of fate to shape a different path? Also, don't dismiss the Swordwind's strategies so easily. When the Rogue Trader prospecting Isynelean pleaded for help, the mon-keighs who were already engaged in their so-called crusades over the nearby sector responded. As the fighting continues, more Imperial forces are relocated there, allowing Biel-Tan to liberate and fortify other planets. They bleed locals to achieve a strategic victory over the sector. A heartless but effective strategy."
"Continuation of the bloodshed is inevitable now," Arhorwal Naer, the Head Farseer of Il'sariadh added his input. "However, I'm afraid Biel-Tan's Swordwind, in their dedication to culling forces of the Imperium, misses a less obvious threat."
Responding to his motion a part of the Infinity Circuit exposed itself. He touched it, and with a gentle mental nudge a crystal hovering above the chamber lit up. While there was no need to utilize such a device to share the vision with other seers, it allowed the less psychically sensitive audience to gain at least a superficial glimpse to the matters discussed by the Council.
"Head Farseer, your proposition only further escalates this war," the Autarch frowned. "Biel-Tanians have already slain the High Marshal on this world, enacting your plan might spell doom for the Exodites."
"It would neuter the threat you foresaw, but at what cost?" Farseer Malgath Il'sari supported the warrior. "It won't be just Isynelean that would be destroyed. There must be a better way!"
"Far too often, there are only bad outcomes for us to choose from," Vaeri Praie, usually content to spend proceedings in silence, deigned speak. "I too, have witnessed similar fate on the tapestry, albeit with far less clarity," she gestured to the Head Farseer with acclaim, "With this threat left unchecked, destruction would be postponed, but far larger in scope. I support the vision."
"The worlds of Exodites will burn either way," Ilyve Karesh said having finished her own divination. "Our intervention isn't necessary. We should let Biel-Tan fight the threat on their own. I vote against the vision."
Rilitar Eldren continued drumming his fingers, wraithbone runes dancing around them, in his attempts to pierce the Skein of Possibilities riding the current created by the Head Farseer's prophecy, hoping to clarify his own reading.
"We should slay the new beast while it's stillborn, instead of giving it more time to grow, and hoping Biel-Tan manages to contain it then," he finally said. "I also support the vision."
E'lahil looked around the chamber, waiting for the rest of the High Council to finish their own divinations and voice their opinions. When all were finished, he asked them to choose the outcome they wished to pursue.
A thought to cast the vote himself never crossed his mind. Neither anyone in the Council expected him to.
Isynelean had been once a beautiful world, full of lush forests teeming with life. Wild and untamed, as breathtaking as deadly. Like on most Exodite Worlds, dragons of numerous species were plentiful there, the reptiles both the greatest threat and symbiont necessary for the Exodites' way of life.
Fia was never on Isynelean before, but lived on enough Exodite Worlds to understand this. Since she had chosen to become an Outcast almost two arcs ago, she kept retreating to them once in a while, whenever she wanted to unwind.
Contrary to popular beliefs about Outcasts, it didn't mean she had abandoned her roots. Fia still loved Il'sariadh, her home, and cherished her memories of living there. However, she was always too wild and adventurous to remain content when chained by a single Path, and staying on the craftworld was not easy for an Eldar like her. It wasn't solely restlessness and urge to explore. No, it was a subtle nudging from the Infinity Circuit, a faint sensation of disapproval from Those-Who-Walked-Before. They tried to direct her, urged to take a Path and assume a proper function within the society. As Fia stubbornly refused, the feeling grew stronger, until she finally understood she either accepts their will or leaves.
Now, passes later, Those-Who-Walked-Before had no objections to her periodically returning back to Il'sariadh as a ranger, however they were still making it obvious whenever she was overstaying her welcome.
And Fia had no qualms about leaving the worldship by this point. In fact, she rarely wished to stay so long, her experiences making her perceive the craftworld akin to a gilded cage her compatriots built for themselves.
It was the reason, definitely. It wasn't like Fia actually believed the stories spreaded by some outcasts, that the Eldar unwilling to commit to any Path had a habit of mysteriously disappearing one cycle. Not in a 'disappear to join the harlequins' fashion, but as a permanent removal of the threat to the future of the craftworld. Oh, she didn't doubt the seers would eventually exile such an Eldar - in fact knew a few corsairs whose career began this way - but to actually steep so low as to sanction an outright murder? They weren't bloodthirsty Commorites, for Asuryan's sake! It wouldn't have happened on Il'sariadh, nor any of the craftworlds she knew about. Well, barring Il-Kaithe, they were always a grim breed…
Still, it would have been not only an atrocity, but the one short-sighted at that. Despite what some entitled craftworlders might have claimed - outcasts had a tendency to pick a multitude of skills that were simply too useful to let waste.
Fia's presence on battletorn Isynelean was a proof of that; after all it was her particular skill set that made a representative of the Il'sariadhian Seer Council to reach out to her.
The ranger swiftly moved through foliage, numerous trees of the ancient forest marked with scars from recent clashes. The righteous anger was palpable everywhere around, almost suffocating her senses. The very consciousness of Isynelean's World Spirit has awoken in its Aspect of the Dragon, the planet itself opposing the invaders. Periodically the ground trembled, and Fia could almost imagine tectonic plates shifting to create massive earthquakes that would swallow xenos forces. The air was thick with ashes, distant volcanos brightened by fresh rivers of magma, ruptured pieces of crust cast through the Immaterium as projectiles against the airborne and voidborne assets of the invaders.
The World Spirit's animalistic fury threatened to destroy the very planet it was trying to protect, but given enough time, after the repulsive xenos defying it in the name of their petty god would have been repealed, the world could have eventually healed. However, the Council believed the planet was already beyond salvation, and through Fia's actions its death at least won't be meaningless.
+Hide.+
A thought slithered into her mind and she froze still, her cameleoline cloak immediately blending her with surroundings. A few heartbeats later a group of Exodite Dragon Knights passed near her hiding spot. Both the warriors and their mounts remained oblivious to her presence and soon disappeared from her sight.
Fia cast a glance towards her longrifle. It wasn't the weapon she was used to, but the one provided to her by the Council, to help her during this mission. Actually, calling it merely a rifle was doing it disservice; it was as much a weapon as a piece of art. She barely had to hear its specs to know there would have been no way she'd agreed to returning it afterwards. Alas, expecting and negotiating for a tangible reward for oneself was one of the perks of being an Outcast.
Her conviction had wavered when she had first touched it. It was how she had found out that the weapon held a spirit stone of the Pathfinder of old, Korhil Yvresse. The first contact with him had startled her, making her question the deal she had struck with the Seer Council. Carrying such a weapon was not only ghastly, it also meant the responsibility of preserving the soul of another in the most literal sense. It also created an intimate connection, one Fia was unsure she was ready for, even more so given the other Asuryani was long dead. Especially if he was a complete stranger; something she ought to rectify in the future if she decides to keep the weapon.
After their initial contact, Korhil remained silent. However, even since she stepped on Isynelean, Fia felt the Pathfinder's soul was stirring in response to the World Spirit's anger. It was an eerie, slightly frightening sensation, when the dead's disjointed thoughts gained moments of clarity and substance making them almost indiscernible from those of living Asuryani. And where Fia's psychic senses were overwhelmed by all-encompassing fury of the World Spirit, Korhil was able to ride it, probably perceiving the area far clearer than she could.
It took her a while to reach the ridge she had scouted for yesterday. The vantage point overlooked massive, ugly, half-built fortifications of the mon-keigh. It was one of their countless attempts to establish a permanent foothold of the planet, one they paid for dearly in blood given the wreckage of the area, but, ultimately, a successful one. They managed to power their Void Shield Generator, and now throngs of humans from the Imperial Guard slaved under its protection, using prefab components dropped from the orbit to further entrench their position.
Their short-lived respite was about to end.
From the horizon, numerous potent beams of energy flared out, clashing against the Void Shield. From her spot Fia could barely discern shapes of long-necked Brachiosaurs and two-legged Carnosaurs, each mounting Prism Weapons of their own, Exodite-trained dinosaurs distorted by their protective fields. Their weapons continued shooting, the Eldar utilizing their superior range to overwhelm the shield.
It only took a single shot that passed through the momentary overloaded shield generator for the Imperial commander to understand they had to react.
And the mon-keigh reacted; the gates of the fortress opened, releasing an unending stream of the vehicles, walkers, and regular foot-soldiers.
In a display of fanatical bravery and lack of self-preservation instinct they charged against the Exodites, dying in scores each second. Their tanks and armored carriers exploded one after another, taken out by the explosives dropped from flying Pterosaurs, but the humans pressed on. A group of power armored female warriors - Sisters of Battle, Fia remembered their designation - led the sortie, inspiring the Imperial Guardsmen to follow them in this insanity.
For, for an Asuryani, there was no other name to describe the sight. To blatantly throw away so many lives, even if in result they were gaining ground and approaching positions of the enemy, was repulsive madness.
Still, if the mon-keigh expected to face solely Exodite artillery, they would be sorely mistaken. Now that they were outside of perimeter defenses of their fortress, Dragon Raiders joined the fight against the invaders. Similarly to the warriors Fia saw earlier, many of the Exodites eschewed their regular weapons, utilizing the ones obviously provided to them by the craftworlders. In fact, now that the fight was turning into melee, she could spot a few squads of Aspect Warriors bearing Biel-Tan insignia supporting the locals. They were the minority, however that might be changing soon. Fia felt the atmosphere was shifting; the wild and primal anger of the World Spirit had been joined by another; one more orderly and focused; the Avatar of Khaine was approaching.
So far the events were unfolding in accordance with the Council's predictions. And the imminent appearance of Biel-Tan's Avatar was her cue to get ready.
The battle seemed to fade away as Fia removed a clip from her longrifle. It was rarely done, given the single magazine could store countless needles, but her task required a different ammunition. She retrieved a heavily warded satchel from her armor and, with her heart racing, carefully opened it. Only five bullets were stored within, each of the crystalline needles surprisingly mundane. Slightly longer and thicker than the regular ones, only a faint glint of minuscule amount of liquid stored within revealing their true nature.
She loaded them into her rifle, checking each and every one for flaws. They were secure right now - that she still had the capacity for inspecting them was proof enough. But would they survive the forces released by the rifle, withstand the beam of energy propelling them forward?
Fia was told about the effects the bullets would have. It was hideous ammunition, something she doubted most Il'sariadhians would have even attempted researching. However, they didn't have to; the description she was given remained well in lines with one of the recent Webway Myths. It was said that such ammunition became the new favorite toy of Haemonculi Covens, and a few Commorragh's power struggles were abruptly ended through its usage.
The ranger doubted anyone but House Karesh would try to obtain the samples, however she doubted that they alone would have managed to make them work with longrifles. After all, as far as she knew, even the Commorrites themselves have been utilizing the viral agent solely with short-ranged ammunition. It had something to do with difficulties of creating proper containment fields for it.
+The Council would have probably warned me if they had thought I might have died due to a faulty prototype,+ Fia finished loading, ignoring a sudden bout of amusement coming from her rifle, and took another glance at the battlefield, this time through her weapon's pan-spectral sights.
The Eldar were advancing now. The fortress' Void Shield has been overwhelmed by the sustained prism-fire, most of its heavy weapon emplacement destroyed. Bolstered by Biel-Tan's warhost, Exodites were enacting revenge for their world. Even if the mon-keigh were outnumbering the Eldar, their morale was wavering.
On one of the fronts, the Avatar charged against a pocket of forces held together by one of the fanatical warriors. This one was crucified and strapped in front of the war-walker, her body long torn apart by Aeldari weapons, yet despite the wounds that should have killed the pilot many times over, she kept fighting. It was only when the Suin Daellae skewered both her and the machine, searing the pentinent's flesh with flames and liquifying metal of her own machine that the pilot gave the final agonized scream and died.
Nearby mon-keigh faltered at the sight of their fallen engine. The Eldar pressed their advantage, Dragon Riders and Shining Spears leading the counterstrike. The strugglers were cut down with Aeldari blades, lances and shuriken weapons. Those xenos who tried to retreat - to Fia's utter disgust - were executed by the fire from their own brethren.
Truth to be told, just watching the battlefield was leaving a sour taste in Fia's mouths. In her opinion even engaging in battles like this one was already a loss, no matter their outcome.
Fia never understood the lure of Khaine's Path; oh, she could spill the blood just fine, and appreciate the skill of its followers. However, to participate in the mayhem below, even if she could rationale the warlocks and seers bending threads of fate in Eldar favor, was for her a height of recklessness. A small skirmish would be a contest of skill and ability, but an engagement of this scale? One could only hope the Laughing God was with them.
+A brutish, execrable spectacle,+ Korhil mused, echoing Fia's own thoughts.
And yet it was one of the environments which allowed her to showcase her true abilities. With a single shot she would achieve more than hundreds of warriors fighting below.
Fia giggled with anticipation, spotting the prey the Council promised her.
When it seemed nothing would be able to stop the Eldar offensive, Imperial reinforcements arrived. Countless vehicles and infantrymen, led by the contingent of black armored Space Marines.
The warriors were a whirlwind of movement, their prodigal strength even further enhanced by the Power Armors each of them wore, as they threw themselves into the thickest of fighting.
Fia focused her attention on one of the warriors, leading his entourage towards the Avatar.
The seers were right, the Black Templars were predictable creatures, struck with the notions of what they perceive to be an honor and bravery. She trailed her target through the scope, making out every grimace and scar on his unhelmeted face, but she knew it would be pointless to fire right now. Her shot needed to be timed perfectly, and it wasn't solely due to the Iron Halo mounted behind the warrior's head, granting him better protection than any armor could.
It wouldn't be the first Marine Fia has hunted, but comparing her earlier prey to this one was like comparing an average Astarte to an Imperial Guardsman. After all, there were countless rangers who managed to take down a Space Marine, yet she never heard about the one felling a High Marshal.
Fia trailed the warrior and his entourage as they cut their way through Exodites foolish enough to challenge them, barely slowing down their momentum. Moments later Biel-Tan's Howling Banshees and Striking Scorpions engaged them. They seemed to fare better, managing to heavily wound or even kill a few of Sword Brethren in their initial assault, with the Exarchs of both shrines engaging the High Marshal himself.
Seeking her chance, with a quick mental command, the ranger fired. In the span of the bullet's flight, Fia would always feel a tentative connection with her targets. She would know them, like some long-forgotten relatives, capable of predicting where they'd move or what they'd do. Even before the bullet struck, she internally cursed, knowing it would miss. She needn't see the High Marshal to know how he would swing his sword in the wide arc, decapitating one of the Exarchs, continuing the movement just far enough to shatter her projectile harmlessly.
She immediately got up and ran, heading to a different position. She knew far too many rangers too complacent to reposition after shooting who died from the artillery strike called on their location.
By the time Fia reached another position, the High Marshal was engaged in the duel against the Avatar. He even managed to wound the Shard of Khaine, however the success was paid in blood of his entourage. Yet, even if they were bled out in the process, there was no hesitation from the mon-keigh, and they continued to stall the Embodiment of War.
Flashes of blinding light were erupting around them, as most of the Eldar fire directed against them was intercepted by the Iron Halo protecting the warrior.
Weapons of the Black Templars were met by the Wailing Doom, sparks and bursts of molten lava exploding with each parry and every blow. The combatants were exchanging strikes, each faster and stronger than the last.
It was futile to try to stop the God, but the mon-keigh were determined to try. And from the looks of it, they were close to succeeding.
Fia saw the High Marshal's mouth contort as he cried "No pity! No remorse! No fear!" bracing himself against the torrent of psychic fire released by the swing of the Avatar's blade.
The ranger shot again, and this time, despite the warrior's try to steer clear of the bullet, she managed to graze his cheek.
There was a trace of surprise on his face, a heartbeat-long distraction the Avatar was about to use to finish off the Astarte. The Suin Daelle would have claimed his life, if not for the Dreadnought slamming against the Shard of Khaine, pushing him back.
This brought the High Marshal's attention back to the present, the wound on his cheek already healed.
Fia sighed with relief. It would have been awful, to have her kill stolen by the Avatar. She retreated back to the forest, in a jubilant mood.
Her job was done. After all, the Glass Plague would claim even a Space Marine.
Abroad the Eternal Crusader, deep within its Apothecarion, brother Reinhart Koch was engaged in his research.
Like his fellow brothers, he had spent decades eradicating xenos, mutants and heretics, bringing the Galaxy closer to the ideal He-On-Terra wanted to achieve. However, unlike most of the Black Templars, he believed that their methods weren't sufficient for the task.
Cleansing the worlds from filth with the purity of faith and fire might have been enough for him once, but he had found it distasteful that their Holy Task often left worlds destroyed and barren, their gains unworthy of being added to His Imperium.
After this revelation, he had spent years collecting samples of blood, tissue and organs of various xenos races across countless battlefields. He studied them, with fervor that in the eyes of some Chapter Serfs bordered on obsession, searching for some flaw in their genetic codes, looking for a common weakness that could be exploited. To further his work, Brother Koch even reached towards more open-minded members of Adeptus Mechanicus, acquiring obscure texts containing arcane knowledge of bioengineering and genetic manipulation, far surpassing the one gathered within the Apothecarion.
Brother Koch knew he was on the verge of the breakthrough. The Emperor already blessed him with dreams heralding his success; foretellings of his synthetic virus rendering the hostile xenos infertile and dead, leaving their worlds untouched, ripe for contest and colonization. Dreams in which he succeeded in isolating the - so far elusive - Traitor Gene, using it to finally cleanse the Imperium from the heretics. Forever.
His work was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Chief Apothecary, there is an urgent Astropathic message from Isynelean," a fellow Apothecary handed him a data-slate containing its transcription.
"XED-161693," Koch corrected him, using a proper designation for the planet, instead of the filthy word originating from xeno tongue.
He skimmed the message, his frown growing with each word.
"The Emperor is truly tempering hearts of his faithful, using those xenos as his instrument," Brother Koch muttered. "Not even a month ago we elected brother Hoffensauer as the High Marshal. Now, he too has been targeted by vile sorcery of the xenos."
The Crusade was stalled on XED-161693, already claiming the life of the previous High Marshal. Could it be the sign from the Emperor that the way his brothers pursue warfare was getting obsolete?
"Dire times are upon us, Chief Apothecary. However, brother Thietmar believes High Marshal Hoffensauer wasn't targeted by sorcery, but some bio-weapon. Unfortunately, the Astropath lacked the insight of our brother, so the information about his ongoing research concerning the Marshal's condition and prognosis is bare-bones."
"Bio-weapon?" Koch swiped through the data-slate with renewed interest. "Vitrification of tissues… unable to slow spread of infection… contagiousness unknown… most likely fatal outcome despite treatment…"
The Chief Apothecary continued reading, growing convinced that researching the disease affecting the High Marshal could bring his own research to conclusion.
"I never saw mentions of similar diseases within our archives. Why the High Marshal hasn't been extracted from XED-161693 yet if they are unable to treat him planetside?"
"Given the mysterious nature of the disease, the High Marshal decided to stay quarantined. Also, recent sorceries of Eldar made leaving the planet quite hazardous," seeing Koch's unspoken question the Apothecary elaborated. "Most of the shuttles flying off-world have been destroyed by warp-hurled pieces of mountains."
"I thought the reports were massively exaggerating that matter," the Chief Apothecary said, his decision already made. "Order the serfs to prepare my vessel. I will head to XED-161693 and check the condition of the High Marshal myself."
Deep within the Dome of Crystal Seers the Head Farseer of Il'sariadh sat motionless in a meditative pose. If not for a sporadic flicker of a rune crossing the air around him, it would be easy to mistake him for yet another crystal statue resting among the trees.
Here, shielded and assisted by the souls of seers long gone, Arhorwal Naer could cast his gaze further and wider, inspecting even the most elusive threads of the tapestry, unhindered by his tired body.
Such trances often brought the temptation to let go of the body, to join the Crystal Seers. Yet, the Head Farseer learned to refute such whispers arcs ago. He would join them one cycle, when he could trust the others with steering Il'sariadh towards the future. It was still not the time for his respite.
His silhouette gently swayed, perceiving the abrupt shift in the tapestry. Pivotal events unfolded, crucial decisions were made, certain paths dissolving into nothingness, letting others emerge. Threads that were faint and fickle before, now gained more substance and were eager to come to pass.
While the tapestry was aligning itself in semblance to the shape envisioned by the Council, it still needed careful adjustments. It wasn't merely the immediate future they were going to influence, after all.
Arhorwal Naer began another divination.
Three runes immediately came forth from his pouch, almost unbidden by him at this point.
There were times when he envied those still capable of predicting good outcomes. For he was amongst those who knew that if you looked far enough, there were only three destinations awaiting Aeldari: Death, Damnation and Oblivion.
Yet, as every farseer knew, even the direst portents could be twisted. Meanings of the runes weren't always literal nor set in stone. Some, like Eldrad Ulthran, believed that through Death the Aeldari would rise again, but Arhorwal wasn't convinced. The thread was fickle and he wasn't about to bet the survival of their whole race without taking precautions and exploring other possible paths.
Aeldari were bound to fade from the galaxy; they currently lacked the means to avert that fate. But becoming forgotten wasn't consonant to becoming extinct. There was a thin line between disappearance and extinction. The Old Ones stepped it after the War in Heaven.
The Head Farseer reached for Oblivion, willing the unchosen runes to fade to the background. Of the two remaining, Damnation was a persistent one; like a carrion it latched itself to the fate of his people, unwilling to let go. With a gesture more runes sprang from his pouch, encircling it and pulling to another part of the array.
Now, Damnation was not a portent that would cloud the future, but a reminder of his past. Of the choices he made, of the hideous Path he had to once undertake, from which he separated himself with a fervor of an Alaitoci wearing a War Mask.
The runes that were bounding it also held the meanings of their own.
The Black Library; another signifier of Arhorwal's past, of knowledge he gathered and dreadful rituals he underwent.
Yme-Loc; the Crucible of Souls. Some would interpret the rune as a reminder that the fate of Aeldari is still theirs to forge. For Arhorwal it symbolized the burden willingly shouldered by the Inner Cabal of Seers from House Naer. They agreed to perform the same rites he learned in the Black Library, preferring to succumb in a controlled environment rather than risk the corruption later. Not all of them had the fortitude required to endure them.
Conjoined together, the triplet of runes gained its final meaning.
The Anchors called from Beyond. The knowledge House Naer used, the burden they placed on the oblivious souls of innocents. The sin they committed, hoping it would spell the salvation of their species when all else fails.
For despite the might of Primordial Annihilator, they were far from omnipresent and omnipotent. The Skeins were vast, and contrary to what they wanted the mortals to believe, not solely theirs to control. Once, Aeldari Pantheon claimed its part as their own, as still do crude orkish deities or even the Corpse on the Throne. Even after the Fall, within the Empyrean, there still exist mortal beings that elude their reach; Khrave, Krell, and more. And if one dared to reach beyond the true terrors of the Deep, he could hope to find galaxies devoid of the Great Enemy's influence.
But to become the Guides, the Anchors first needed to be tested and tempered, or even those that held the promise would fail to repeat the feat of the Old Ones. And if, in the process, one of them assisted in severing a thread of fate that had to be removed, all the better.
Arhorwal added more runes to his divination, scrying emerging fates, discarding the ones he deemed too fickle to pursue, searching for a handful worth bringing to the Council's attention.
Throughout the process, a part of Arhorwal remained certain, that as much as he wished for satisfaction of being the one proving the smug Ulthwéian wrong, he far preferred his own plans to remain merely in the realm of contingencies...