Roger learns more of the threat he will soon face, a history lesson that has somehow come back to life, while Alwyn speaks with her daughter on matters of great importance on Ducaish, revealing an affliction she must bear. Roger learns a bit more about D'Uxfords turbulent relationship with his mother, while the sudden arrival of a friendly face has unexpected results...

Roger looked back at the Bishop of Chelmster, slightly confused.

"Temple Tendency?"

"It refers," Inquisitor Beauchamp cut-in, "To the original name of what we now know as the Imperial Church, or Cult if you prefer. The official name of it was the "Temple of the Saviour Emperor." After the disaster that saw the Holy God-Emperor placed on the Golden Throne, many religious movements centered around him vied to be considered the true faith to venerate him. The Temple was the last one standing after a few centuries of war."

"You seem very informed about them," he replied.

"I had suspicions that they were behind the attacks, even before the pieces of evidence that proved their involvement here in the Haikk system. We have reports and files on them, but they are few and little in detail. Despite their age, they are quite secretive."

"And we have even less information, probably on purpose," Canoness Izabel said ruefully. "Considering they are heretics, but not obvious ones, they most likely have infiltrated Ecclesiarchal records and archives."

"So, whatever I'm going to help you with, I'm going in blind?"

"Essentially," the Bishop said.

"Marvelous. But what makes you think these Temple Tendency people are the ones we're after Your Grace?"

"I have dealt with their ilk before. Not spoken of for obvious reasons, but many of the same patterns here: their love for intricate and lavish places of worship, their silent guards, and most obviously, their hatred for Sororitas."

"Why's that?"

The Inquisitor made a slight hum before speaking.

"What do you know of Imperial history, Sir Roger?"

"The basics. I unfortunately am more versed in Anglerre's involvement for obvious reasons."

"Yes. Well, during the Age of Apostasy, four to five thousand years ago, we were led by a man named Goge Vandire. He nearly destroyed the Imperium through his own malice, corruption, and insanity. In fact, the name "Temple Tendency" is still a by-word for those of the cloth acting with only one's interest or excess. But he was a product of that time and the Temple itself, which favored wealth and power over everything. If the Imperium was a body, then its soul was wretched and rotted. His fall led to the reformations of Saint Sebastian Thor; do you know him?"

"Oh, him! I always wondered where he fit in the stories."

"Yes. Well, not only were there individuals who thought his reformations were unneeded or outright wrong, but there were those who actively fought against them in the shadows. And one of the results of the reformation, and the most hated for those of the Tendency, were the Adepta Sororitas."

Roger looked at Izabel, who nodded.

"Our orders were originally formed to serve Goge Vandire as a personal guard. When we turned to Thor and the light of truth, it brought his downfall. The great reformer then rewarded the original Sororitas with a permanent place in the Ecclesiarchy. It takes little reason to understand why those who believe the old faith and ways would have a distaste for us."

"And that also means you can trust the Sororitas with your mission," Beauchamp added. "The Tendency never recruits or interacts with Sororitas unless absolutely necessary, and even then, they will attempt to strike at them at the closest opportunity."

"And you three as well, of course."

"Yes."

Roger sat back and mulled the information over. He suddenly realized he got what he wanted: a purpose and a mission fitting his unit. But he began to think that Anya was right in getting exactly what he wanted in the worst way possible. He sighed and tapped his fingers on the table.

"Why me and my unit?"

The Bishop chuckled slightly.

"Is it not obvious? Your unit is unique; without any affiliation or ability to be infiltrated by any member of the Tendency or having a connection to the Ecclesiarchy. Actually, you are beyond the Imperium itself!"

"Well, I'm aware of that. But what exactly do you want me to do?"

"Your unit, though neither the Bishop nor the Inquisitor have informed me why it is so unique, will be our way of investigating not only why they are so powerful in this system, but… a way of figuring out if an old legend is true."

Izabel was obviously unhappy about being left in the dark, but a sharp glance from the Bishop informed Roger to not enlighten her. And given the fact she was the Canoness of a Sororitas order, it did not take much for him to agree.

"Canoness, I can assure you that my troops are up to the challenge and will not be hamstrung by such trivialities."

"Good. We have all conferred and decided on a plan of action that we will be involved with."

She turned to the Bishop and Inquisitor, waiting for a reply.

"Thank you, Canoness. Katherine and I have determined that we cannot destroy the leadership or tear down and rebuild the Church here, though it is enticing. The crusade would not survive such an upheaval, and we have no interest in that. Therefore, we have started to investigate how they are maintaining themselves, and more importantly, why the Tendency is so strong in this system. We have looked through ancient reports, asked questions… and found something interesting."

Chelmster sat back, lifting a hand to the Inquisitor.

"His Grace, through what little we have on the Haikk system, has found rumors and legends of an ancient treasure. One that was evacuated long ago by the associates of Vandire. If this is true, it explains the reaction and open nature they take in attacking us."

"It's not usual for them to do that?"

"No. In fact, they normally strike after times of Imperial disaster. Their relation to the rebellion is opaque, but it is believed that the current campaign on Haikk Four involves their influence."

"Volkster," Roger hissed.

"Yes. His sudden turn of allegiance is partially why I am here. I investigated his family before I arrived here, and as it turns out, they have ancient ties to Vandire and the Temple Tendency. It took more than a little to get that information… especially out of his brothers. But certain facts have fallen into place now."

He opened his mouth to ask something, but then stopped. He wrinkled his nose in thought as certain bits of information started to connect, followed by a sudden realization.

"So, I'm not killing anyone, just finding a treasure that may or may not be real?"

"Essentially."

"Hm. And how exactly are we going to do this? Are you my commanders now?"

"No," Izabel answered. "You will still be under the command of Prince Edmund and Lord D'Uxford, but the information we provide and make Edmund think is worth sending you will come from us. And you will report any information you glean or collect involving the Tendency and anything related to their activities."

"I thought you said you had barely any information on them."

The Inquisitor cut in quickly.

"Correct, but we have leads. Good ones. Edmund will be informed of this, and you will begin your investigation."

"Do you need me to figure out-"

"Leave that to us, Roger," Chelmster said. "And don't try to over-exert yourself. You are merely finding answers, and if necessary, for lack of a better term, troubleshooting. Literally and metaphorically."

Roger nodded. He was not entirely happy at this, but did he have a choice? He already agreed to help them like an idiot, but there was something about this he found…. Exciting. A secret cult, treasure, Ecclesiarchial secrets, the Inquisition even! How could he say no, especially when he had spent the last few months doing mundane tasks like blowing up bridges.

"Right. Well, whatever you will need of me, I will try to provide."

"Good," Beauchamp said politely.

"Then we all are bound by secrecy," Izabel added.

"You have not failed Edmund yet. I pray you won't start now," the Bishop finished.

"To my utmost ability Your Grace. Is there anything else you need of me?"

"No, you are free to leave. You will be given more information soon. Emperor protect you, and all of us. I cannot promise you that the path ahead isn't dangerous, or if you'll survive, but you're our best chance."

"Aye," Roger said as he stood. "Your Grace, Madame Inquisitor, Canoness."

He bowed and moved to the door, knocking to alert the sentries outside he was leaving.

"Remember, Sir Roger," Beauchamp said, caution in her voice. "Nothing we just spoke of leaves this room."

"Of course."

The doors opened and he stepped into the cavernous decks of the Langriano. Moving away and trying to retrace the steps Edmund led him down, he began to think about everything he just learned. Then the doubt set in. Could he follow their orders? Had he been sent on a wild goose chase? What could he tell the Eldar? Or his own men? What would Evita think if they had to start shooting priests?

"Bugger," he spat.

He was lost in his own conscience and the maze-like halls of the Starfort.

XXXXXX

It was a place of reverence, one of inevitability and a reminder of what lay ahead. In a fitting way, it was the one place an Eldar could find themselves that reflected their species. A group of eight moved slowly to the center of the dome, holding stones of varying quantity. One by one they reached their destination of a pillar, glowing in a brilliant rainbow of colors. The stones were placed on the pillar one by one, each of the Eldari whispering names of the souls departing their stones and becoming one with Ducaish' sacred and ancient Infinity Circuit. On a nearby bench, made of the same firm and essential Wraithbone that formed all things by the children of Asuryan, two females with blazing red hair sat.

"Your concern is unwarranted daughter. This is the end of all Eldar."

"I do not understand why you brought me here."

Farseer Alwyn Syneoch, one of the most powerful Eldari not only on her Craftworld, but her entire species, felt a mix of emotions whenever she visited the Dome of Crystal Seers. Every Craftworld had one, a place where the most sacred and precious moment of an Eldars soul, to become one with the Circuit and protect their kin, finally occurred. She felt calm here, a way to briefly forget the trials ahead of not only her, but her people. But then, itching at the back of her unbelievably skilled mind, was dread. It filled her daughter as well, but it had nothing to do with the transfer from stone to Circuit. That was reserved for the statue-like crystals in various places around the dome. All were nearly perfect replicas of the Eldar form, gently glowing and in various poses: some bent over in grief, others meditation, and a few frozen in motion. All respected, all maintained. All of them long-dead Farseers.

"And one day, I shall join them," Alwyn whispered.

"Mother?"

"Nothing, dear child."

"You did not answer me."

Alwyn gripped her staff and moved to her feet.

"Anya, one day, you will find the same comfort I do in being here."

Anya Syneoch, wearing the armor and robes of the Rangers, stood as well.

"For the last time mother, I have no interest in becoming a Seer of any sort."

As the final Eldar pressed his set of stones on the pillar, Alwyn sighed.

"I understand what you feel. I was the same way once, terrified of being trapped on a path. But your father-"

"Is dead and does not speak."

"And it pains me so. I was to say that he gave you a streak of rebellion that made my youthful indiscretions look orderly. You need stability at this time in your life. And yet-"

Anya gritted her teeth.

"If this is about your suitors for me-"

"That was a poor idea, I will admit. All my husbands, your father included, were found and desired by me, not planned or arranged. I do apologize."

"Accepted. I ask you not to attempt again."

The last of the eight moved silently from the center, Alwyn and Anya following them.

"Our alliance with the humans is strong still?"

"Of course."

"Edmund?"

"Well enough. He seems to be angry at being sent away from the fighting, but he is doing what he can in the current circumstances."

Alwyn nodded.

"He needs to stay safe and away from harm as long as we can help it. I can not explain, but he may be vital in the future survival of the Craftworld. And what of Roger Wessyng?"

"He is well, but his mind is filled with doubt and concern. I believe even fear."

Most Eldar would be suspicious of being so close to a human that one could tell such things, but Alwyn was filled with pride at the obvious ability inherited from herself. Most Eldar could barely read an animal's thoughts, let alone a humans so vividly unless one was indebted with the skills or inherent knowledge.

"Oh?"

"He is troubled by nightmares, but not of any sort one would expect from the tribulations of a warrior. Something is deeply worrying him, and now… he has said little, but I believe he and our warriors have been called to assist their Church."

"That seems rather ludicrous, given their opinions on any non-humans."

"Secrecy of some sort. He is fairly certain that we will be traveling throughout the system in whatever lays ahead of us."

"I see. I do not think I need to remind you, but artifacts and ruins of our past lie on the other planets as well. Stay aware and-"

"You will be notified if we find anything of use."

Alwyn smiled.

"My dear daughter. So trustworthy and intelligent, yet she lives the life of an Outcast."

"Freedom is what it is, mother. Freedom. And it is benign given the options available to me. I could join one of our erstwhile family members on any variety of ill-thought ways to live one's life. Maybe I will join Ellyna on her new found-"

The rest of the sentence died as Anya felt the burning rage under her mothers skin.

"Do not speak of her. Ever again."

"The life of a Corsair is-"

"I will not merely disown you, should you even think about becoming one of those wretched pirates. I will follow wherever you go and drag you back to Ducaish, imprison you however I see fit. Were it not for the powerful amours and friends she has made, I would wipe the stain put on our family's name at the nearest convenience."

Anya shook her head and sighed.

"Yes, mother, you have told not just me, but every member of the family about-"

"No more."

They had left the dome and moved along the wraithbone platforms that connected hundreds of similar domes of various uses. Alwyn stopped suddenly, Anya doing the same.

"I brought you there, child, because I hoped you would finally see what I want for you."

"To become a Seer? Do not jest mother."

"I would like to see it before…"

The Farseer paused and swallowed, opening and closing her green emerald eyes as if it were painful to do so.

"I did not wish to frighten, but should it finally be what convinces you, I must."

She moved the staff from her right hand to her left, grasping it while pulling the glove off her right.

"Mother, what is this abo-"

The glove she wore that stretched up to her elbow slipped away, revealing a shimmering sapphire crystal shaped like an arm. Anya gasped.

"Mother!"

"I apologize my child. But I worry that by the time you will follow your destiny, it will be too late for me to see it."

Her daughter looked at the affliction, a uniquely Eldari, and specifically Farseer trait that eventually ended their lives.

"It is only the arm for now. But my right foot… I am starting to lose feeling in my outer toes," she said with a sardonic laugh.

"I… was not aware," Anya said, attempting to hide the grief that twinged her words.

"I did not want to scare you. It is one thing to die suddenly and bravely like your dear father, but to slowly fade into nothing… no, worse than nothing, mere rock. And not being able to stop or do anything to slow it can be a grim experience."

"Then why do you want me to meet the same fate?"

Alwyn pulled the glove back on her right arm, still able to move the rocks that were once fingers. At the very least she had that, her elbow still untouched and allowing movement with little impasse.

"Because I have had thirty children, dear one. And none were as skilled in the arts of the Seer and unable to realize it as you. The path ahead is always clouded, and almost unreadable, but I can tell that you will be a great one, and maybe the other key to saving our home from disaster."

Anya opened her mouth to speak, but no words could accurately describe her sense of horror, anger, and dread that filled her with this information. Alwyn moved the staff back to her changed right hand and used the left to pull her daughter into an embrace.

"Anya, this path is one of pain, grief, and insurmountable suffering of every kind. But should anyone have to tread it, none will do it as well or as successfully as you. I know it, even without looking through the Runes of Fate. I just wish for you to gain sense and understand why I wish you to do so. I have done well as a Farseer, but I will pale in comparison to you."

Anya swallowed hard and embraced her mother in return. Alwyn could sense her mind as a whirlwind of emotions, struggling to understand or accept what she had been told. There was also a small glimmer of… acceptance. As if she knew her mother was right, and that she had to accept that her future was already chosen.

"I understand your fear, and I sympathize. But I know that you are capable of so much, and I do not want you to die before your story can truly begin."

Anya's body stayed still, but her mind continued to race. She let her mother go and moved away.

"I… have much to think on, mother."

"Of course, my dear. Are you returning to that human station?"

"I have stayed here for more than a few cycles. I should return, it is my place of duty."

"Please stay safe, my shining star."

Anya smiled slightly at the nickname, one her mother used for as long as she could remember.

"I… think I shall stay at least for a meal before I leave."

"Of course," Alwyn said with a smile.

The more time she had left to spend with her final child, the better.

XXXXXX

"Well Roger, it's a goddamn nightmare, if you're wondering. The Ecclesiarchy can't figure its holy ass from its sacred elbow, and now I have Ducks mother breathing down my neck on every bloody thing we've worked on so far."

Roger Wessyng rubbed his eyes as he sat in one of the armchairs across from Prince Edmund.

"I understand that Your Highness, but this is essential to whatever Chelmster wanted. And I do need all the help I can get."

"And I will try to provide it. I don't exactly know why I can't be involved in whatever you're up to."

"It's complicated, Your Highness. Believe me, I wish you were involved somehow, but given the circumstances, that's not possible at the moment."

Edmund had his boots on his desk, obviously not caring for professionalism or any sort of attempt at the commanding presence he normally held. Roger knew the royal well enough to be amused at this but understood his frustration at being sidelined. It was not even the lack of information on the mission, but the fact he was stuck in a dead-end intelligence office, not even able to do his very job.

"Right. Well, I won't argue, the Bishop's been a good help to me. And pissing off the Sororitas and Inquisition is no way to live in my opinion. Oh well. Whatever you need or any assistance, I will give it to you without question. Within reason of course."

"If I start asking for more Sisters to join us, you should look into it."

Edmund swung his feet off the desk with a thunderous laugh.

"Ah! I wouldn't, being surrounded by such fit, holy women sounds quite nice actually. Mm. Just even thinking about it reminds me, I need to bother Marie for the rest of the day. But that can wait. Are you busy?"

"No, Your Highness, I am merely waiting for my next mission."

"So, you would not mind sharing a drink?"

Roger thought it over for a little bit before shrugging. Anya had been gone a few days, so it was not like he had anyone to spend the evening with. He bit his cheek at the desire for her to be back with him again.

"Can't hurt."

"That's the spirit Roger! All I seem to do nowadays is talk to people and offer them drinks. No more charging on Boucicault and leading the men of Anglerre into glory."

The last part of his statement was said with venom and a touch of fury. The knight instantly got nervous at the prospect of dealing with an angry Prince Edmund, the Planjou family being known for legendary attacks of unending and unstoppable rage. But as suddenly as he started to anger, he sighed.

"Fucking disgraceful. Wouldn't you say?"

"I've not seen peace since I got here, Your Highness. I wouldn't mind sitting behind a desk for a little while."

Edmund let out another laugh as he poured a mixture of wine and whiskey into two glasses. As he finished them off he paused, looking away from Roger and through the massive glass window of his office that was shaped like a cathedrals glass pane.

"Those who fight the hardest wish for peace, and those who live in peace wish to fight the hardest. Strange, isn't it?"

He walked back to Roger and handed him a glass.

"To His Majesty and the God-Emperor, Your Highness."

"A good toast-" Edmund said as the two glasses clinked. "Long may he reign. And may one of my brothers take the throne and let me stay a Prince."

"Y-your Highness?"

"I can lead men on the field, but it's another to deal with hundreds of nobles in various states of anger and hatred towards the crown. I'll stay in my mountains and grape fields, rule over the Gascs and end my life staring out some castle turret and thinking I didn't bugger it all up too much. I doubt I'll get that however."

Roger took a sip of his drink and said nothing, unsure how to even respond.

"Gasc nobles are easy to deal with, they kill each other in duels so often that should one piss you off, they already got a lance through their chest. Avalonian ones hate anyone stepping on their rights, Vretans follow you if you don't oppress them too much or ask about their bloodlines, and the Western Islanders…"

Edmund shook his head.

"Fucking mess that place is."

"Lord D'Uxfords family keeps it well under control."

"That they do. Old Ralph treats them fairly. Fair as one can treat those Fae-born bastards. Not that I judge, they've been on Anglerre longer than my family. Probably yours as well."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Roger gave this answer with a bit of nervousness. His mother had been one of the Fae, those mysterious people who lived in the forests of Avalon and the woods of Vretan and freely throughout the Western Isles. To Avalonians, Fae were objects of suspicion, unsure of their true nature. Even the Vretans and Western Islanders had few answers about their kin on the largest and most populous region of all Anglerre.

"I guess that knowing the truth of Duck explains some things, like why he isn't as dim as the rest of the miserable nobility on that God-Emperor cursed set of windswept rocks."

"A little bit. How exactly did you know about Inquisitor Beauchamp?"

"It was the D'Uxford open secret, I'm afraid. I don't know the complete details, but from what I can gather, the Inquisitor was investigating some parts of Anglerre that were disloyal and had fallen from the Emperor's grace. As it turned out, she was right, considering the War of the Lions, but I don't think my dear friend was part of her plan."

"I doubt so, considering how he reacted to her being nearby."

"I met her when I was thirteen, she had returned to inspect Anglerre and see if all was well. I had known Duck for a few years at that point, and he always spoke highly of her. So, we go to the landing pad to greet her, and then she steps out to present herself to my father and Earl D'Uxford. They seemed happy to see each other, and I looked over to see Duck, nervous as all hell. I mean, he hadn't seen her in nine years, so why wouldn't he be? Father introduces me, then Ralph does the same for Duck."

The smile at the memory quickly vanished.

"All she said was "You have my eyes and your fathers face." Then she went into the Tower… and that's all she said to him for that entire week she visited. Didn't even bother to say goodbye to him."

"Ah."

"And that was, until a few days ago, the last time they saw each other face to face for… fifteen years. Explains some things, eh?"

"Yes, it does."

"If she just said, "I hate you," I think it would have stung less. To be completely ignored by your mother is something I could never imagine, thank the Emperor for making me so lucky. What about you Roger, you have good relations with your mother?"

He swallowed hard before answering.

"She was there the first ten years of my life, and then had to leave. I haven't seen her since, but unlike Lord D'Uxford, I hope she's well."

"Oh Throne, I seem to surround myself with those with mommy issues. I jest. I'm deeply sorry for you. Why did she leave?"

"Never said. Just had to."

"Criminal?"

"If she was, it never seemed that way. And my father is the bailiff of Moressley Manor, I doubt a criminal would hide with the very person who would hunt her down and make sure justice was done."

"Maybe she was smart. Hiding in plain sight. Good heavens, here I am telling a knight in my service his mother was a criminal! Were you dumber and prouder, or a Gasc, you would have challenged my honor already!"

"I can take a joke, Your Highness."

"Well thank the Emperor. I've heard about your swordsmanship from Diazon and even Moressley when I asked about you back home, and I'd prefer to not learn about it firsthand."

"Thank you for the compliment, Your Highness."

The clock in the corner of his office started to ring, making the Prince finish his drink.

"I got one of Ducks agents coming in soon, Throne help me. I'll speak with you later Roger."

"Of course, Your Highness," he replied, finishing his own drink and handing the glass to the Prince.

"I'd take a chance to speak with Duck, but wait a few days if you could. He's been in a foul mood for multiple reasons."

"Yes. Farewell Your Highness."

"You as well Roger."

The knight bowed and moved backwards towards the door. Leaving the office, he nodded at the long-suffering Sister Marie and began to head back to his quarters. As with most things these last few days, he was left with more questions than answers.

XXXXXX

…status of the human members of my unit is green. The Eldar do not seem aware of what our operations are involved with, or why, but I think they are smarter than they let on and are figuring certain aspects out. I would not be concerned; they have little interest in our affairs and merely serve myself. The goals and benefits of our operations to them seem inconsequential, yet they willingly serve us. I do not understand, even explanations from my second-in-command answer little. We are prepared for any mission we are to be sent on. I am confident of that.

Roger put the pen down and rubbed his right wrist. He had written only for an hour, but it had been a while since he had to make reports and other such bureaucratic nonsense. But his new commanders wanted updates, and by the Emperor he would do so. Given the set of people he could not afford to disappoint or irritate, it was as much a part of the job as ensuring his own survival. He sat at his desk, the fireplace lighting up his quarters. For all the faith he had put into the new mission he had been given, seeing action and a purpose, there had been barely any information since he had seen the Inquisitor, Bishop, and Canoness three or so days before. He took a sip of water, trying to wash the rough drink Edmund had given him earlier out of his mouth.

"Bloody lightweight you are," he grumbled to himself.

As he picked the pen up to start writing again, he felt a chill wind come from the library. Not expecting company from the lower levels, his arm darted towards his boot, where a small, razor-sharp dagger rested in case of emergencies where ones sword was out of reach. The bookshelf in the corner opened gently, closing just as quickly. A figure moved from the dimly lit part of his room, revealing white armor covered by a green robe, red hair tied in an organized ponytail.

"Anya," he said pulling his hand away from his weapon. "You've been gone for days!"

She moved closer as he pushed the chair away from the desk.

"Is everything alright?"

She stopped in front of him, looking down from her impressive stature straight into him, saying nothing.

"We haven't had any information on our new mission, but I think we'll be heading out soon."

He started getting nervous, as she seemed completely impassive and not remarking at anything he said. But just before he was about to try and say something else, she fell on top of him, nearly toppling the chair with sudden force.

"Throne!"

He felt her arms wrapped around him as she buried her face into his left shoulder. He was about to ask if she was all right, but as he looked over, there was a single tear visible on her cheek.

"Anya-"

"Roger," she almost whimpered.

He was silent for a few moments. Yes, she had shown vulnerability, and an openness Eldar rarely afforded a human, but this… this was different.

"Is everything alright?"

"It's about mother," she sniffled, her face still mostly hidden.

"What happened to her?"

He asked out of genuine concern, and a bit of fear. As much as he was frustrated with Alwyn, he never had anything but a positive opinion of her. She was also the only thing allowing the Leopards to exist from the Eldar side of things.

"She is fine but…Roger, I do not know what to do."

"Did she say something? Are you going to have to leave?"

"No, but destiny is starting to close in on her and myself with… brutal results."

"Anya, dumb human you're talking to. Explain."

She pulled herself off his shoulder and looked at him. There were only a few tears, all of them quickly wiped away before she spoke.

"Mother is dying. And there is nothing to stop it."

"I am… sorry to hear that. But nobody and nothing lives forever."

"She is a Farseer. It was not to be this soon!"

"She's strong. And wise. She will know what to do, and how to handle it. But what about you?"

"She wants me to go on the path of the Seer. Like she did. I have much potential, and I may save Ducaish one day."

Roger sat up a bit, her frame thankfully light.

"Well, that's a bit important!"

"You do not understand!" she almost yelled, swallowing before taking a breath to calm herself.

"I need to follow the path of the Warrior. Then I need to become a Warlock. Then, when I am lost on that path…"

She shuddered at the thought.

"It-I-I do not know what to do," she said with a trembling voice. "I know that is duty and destiny but… I am not ready. I am not ready."

"Not ready for what?"

"To serve Khaine, to use powers that will tear at my soul, to have my life dedicated to one thing alone… and to lose any chance of being near you."

Roger looked at her, trying to understand all she said. The last part was the only one he did, but he had to take action. He moved his hand to her cheek, wiping away a new tear running down her face.

"Anya, I doubt all that will happen at once. We still can have time together. And I know you don't want to hear this, but as much as I-"

He paused, almost unable to say it.

"Love you, and you feel the same for me, Ducaish is more important than my life. Maybe it is your destiny, but I won't stand in the way of it. And you shouldn't move from that path for a little human."

She grasped his hand and stared back at him, the emotions gradually melting away from her face.

"It pains me to hear you say that."

"The truth always hurts."

The two stayed there for a few moments before he moved his arm around her and pulled her head on top of his shoulder.

"But we can use the time we have together. You might know your fate, but it never stays the same or turns out that way in the end, right?"

She dug into him and took a shuddering breath.

"I… am scared Roger. It has been a good while since I have felt this."

"I get it. Even for an Eldar, I bet it's normal. Do you want some food, water?"

"Just… be here. Hold me."

He moved his head to nuzzle her neck.

"I can do that."

They stayed like that for a while before moving to bed. She maintained a vice-like grip on him for the night, shivering or letting out a sob or two. He was upset to see her that way but was more devastated he could do nothing to help. But something else bothered him as she drifted into sleep, as the moon closest to the station, that of Haikk One's, filled his window. He could not prove it, but he swore he saw a woman, watching from the solid white glow that it emanated. One with silver hair and white robes.

He pulled Anya in closer before he fell asleep as well, as much to comfort her as to hide himself from the figure's gaze.