GW - [ 351 ] (Patreon)

AN: I seem to be haemorrhaging subscribers these last three months. I don't blame any of them, but if any of you cancel your subscription in the future, I would really appreciate it if you took the time to fill out the Exit Surveys so I know whether I'm doing something wrong or if it's just a personal reason.

****

In the weeks following my first sighting of the Craftworld, I received follow-up reports from every surveillance station that the titanic world-ship passed by. It was made abundantly clear that their arrival hadn’t been an accident and that they knew exactly where they were going. A small fleet of scouts spread out a few light-years ahead of the Craftworld, watching and surveying but never attacking anything. 

Slowly and with the surety of a rolling mountain, Craftworld Ulthwé made its way into the territories of the Astral Dominion, sometimes slipping through Webway Gates to pop out dozens of light-years ahead from another one. It made absolutely zero sense how a continent-sized ship could fit through the Gates that were at most a kilometre or two across. Most Webway Gates were just large enough to let a smaller Imperial Titan through, a Warhound or maybe a Reaver. Ones large enough for voidships to pass through were scarce.

Not that the Craftworld cared one bit what I thought the limits of metaphysics were in this messed-up galaxy. One of my spy ships had even caught them in the act once, and now I stood watching the video feed. I watched a ship that could house Eurasia on it with space left over … basically spagettify itself as it was slurped up by the comparatively comically tiny Webway Gate. 

Not a second later, a Webway gate 15 light-years away disgorged it the same way. I’d checked the timestamps, then rechecked them just to be sure. Whatever they were doing, it was instantaneous travel, and the Craftworld was obviously not trudging through the Webway paths like I’d been doing. It was somehow using them to teleport over interstellar distances. 

Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. How the fuck are they doing it, though? 

An intense curiosity gnawed at me, making me forget everything else. The anxiety and expectation fell away; I didn’t spare a single thought for the question of why they were coming, focusing only on the how.

Some hidden, underlying mechanism built into the Webway paths? Alex had managed some fascinating things himself with that tiny slice of the Labyrinthian Dimension he had made his own. It was clear the Webway had been once more than a mere sub-dimensional highway linked to a network of gates. It was still more than that; the problem was that its creators didn’t exactly leave behind a user’s manual, and even the Aeldari probably knew only the bare minimum needed to function as the Old Ones’ slave soldiers.

What other secrets could it hold? Would the Laughing God know? Surely he would, he had made his home in the depths of the Webway, hidden away on his own tiny Craftworld. 

A tiny prickle of curiosity bloomed in my mind at that thought. How had I not run into a single Harlequin despite spending so much time in the Webway? Were they afraid? Did they not care? Did they know something I didn’t? Maybe I was part of some scheme I didn't know about?

I put that line of questions on the back burner, made a mental note of it, and set it aside in favour of much more interesting curiosities. 

The Craftworld clambered to a stop deep in space, light-years from any populated star system. A squadron of sleek voidships slipped free of its hangars, looking like flies upon the body of a living mountain. I could see them now, or at least sense the minute gravitational ripples their passing generated. They were less than two light-years away from Vallia, and here the Oort cloud was filled to the brim with my most advanced surveillance satellites. 

It took them a few weeks, but inevitably the squadron of Aeldari ships reached the system, slowing down to sublight speeds as they entered the local star’s gravitational well.

“Shall we greet them?” I asked, my tone light but my expression pulled into a tight frown. At least they hadn’t shown up in that fucking Craftworld of theirs on my front porch; was it a courtesy or an attempt at stealth? Did they think I didn’t have every Webway Gate in the sector under surveillance? That I couldn’t detect a ship that size just because it was skulking about in deep space?

“We should,” Alex said, though he, too, frowned thoughtfully. I was feeding him my own sensory feedback from my aura, so whatever had him frowning was probably something he’d deduced from that. “That presence feels … familiar.”

“And strong,” I said after a moment, focusing on the most impressive of all the gathered souls inside that small fleet. It whispered of immense potential shackled to an insurmountable will. As my focus deepened, I could feel that presence ... turn toward me.

I was seen. Then, a strange feeling emanated from that presence, the psychic equivalent of eye contact and a respectful nod of greeting.

“Huh,” I said intelligently, scratching at my cheek thoughtfully. “Well, that happened.”

Valenith emerged from a subtle spatial fold behind me, taking up his spot at my shoulder, hands clasped behind his back, spine straight and eyes narrowed. 

“It’s him,” Val said simply, with utmost confidence. There was a strange gleam in his eyes, maybe excitement, maybe a touch of anxiety. “My former master has come. It was inevitable, I think.”

“Eldrad,” Alex said, breathing a weary sigh. “Of course he is still around. Well, I suppose I better prepare for an awkward reunion.”

“Awkward?” I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were allies of sorts.”

“Until my imprisonment, yes.” Alex winced. “Then came Molech, the Primarchs, and the Great Crusade. Our cordial relationship suffered greatly when my forces treated Eldar the same way they treated Orks and any other Xenos species they stumbled upon. I doubt he will be happy to see me.”

“Master Eldrad knows how to prioritise the ‘big picture’ over personal feelings,” Valenith said stiffly. “With the salvation of our species at stake, he would have allied with the Drukhari if that was what it took.”

“We will get to see, I suppose.” Alex looked on into space with a tight-lipped frown, appearing lost in thought. I decided to leave him to it.

******

Eldrad let none of his internal shock show, neither on his face nor anywhere else. He could still feel that all-pervasive cloud of perception clinging to him. It’d become slightly more reserved once he’d made it clear he had noticed the attention, but he had little doubt that anything as small as a microexpression or a flicker of real emotion escaping his vice-like grip would be noticed and noted. 

He didn’t think the being he’d come to meet would be quite this powerful. Power was a double-edged blade, and often it cost either sanity, autonomy or both for one even half as powerful as the presence he could sense. 

It … She was like a blanket draped over the entire system. Not quite omniscient, but close within her sphere of perception. 

He could sense control; this was not a psyker merely projecting their Empyrean presence as far and wide as they could. There was control in it; this aura was not just an unleashed power, but an extra ‘limb’ that the owner could still move with dexterity.

That boded well. It also confirmed some of what he’d heard and also some of what he’d foreseen. She couldn’t be divined, not directly, not even by him, but he had his own tricks. She wouldn’t be the first blank spot he’d been forced to work around, or with. Still, most of those had not been mortal psykers. Either the soul-dark, ‘Nulls’ as the humans called them, or holding some manner of Higher Power.

Solitaires of the Laughing God were hard to predict, for example, and trying to divine their master's schemes was an effort in futility. Safe to say, the same was very much the case for the more powerful servants of the Primordial Annihilator. Eldrad, unfortunately, had extensive experience with both.

Blanks were empty voids that made the threads of fate wither in their vicinity, while beings of great power could either hide themselves upon the weave, or obscure great portions of it around themselves. The latter group was not, however, entirely divorced from fate. They were still bound to it: Daemons, Psykers, Primarchs and Gods. Fate had its threads woven around them all. Primarchs were the most interesting of the lot, beings who could almost at times appear to make their own Fates, or if not that, then have such a great pull on the threads that they might as well have bent Fate itself to their stubborn, immature wills.

This being he sensed watching him was something other. If he had to put it into words, it was almost as if she touched Fate only when she wanted to. It was as if she was above it all. Aloof from the world, even from the scant few rules and laws that governed the Empyrean.

What a fascinating creature. Eldrad found himself thinking. He had had his doubts when he’d received some of his erstwhile pupil's early reports, assuming the fool had gotten his mind twisted into a knot by some witch or Daemon. He’d been so needlessly elusive and confusing in his messages; in all honesty, he hadn’t even been sure it’d been the boy who sent those reports, despite nearly all security codes and measures being observed properly. 

Well, perhaps young Valenith was not quite as deluded as he’d initially thought. If so, he might meet his once-pupil again in just a few hours. When the boy had vanished from the weave, Eldrad had thought him dead or worse, but what if … No, there was no use in theorising on that front. He knew far too little to do anything but guess. Eldrad Ulthran did not guess. 

The ancient Farseer spent the entire ride studying the sensation of that ephemeral cloud of perception. He kept it passive, never actively studying it for fear of offending the source.

Strong as he was, Eldrad Ulthran had long learned that to survive one had to know what fights could be taken, and what fights should be considered victories when you managed to escape them with your life. Besides, he was here with peaceful, diplomatic intent in his heart, so his actions ought to reflect that. 

He was tempted to pry, to send out a scry, some divination, to study the threads, but he held off. His gut told him she would somehow know if he had not abided by the spirit of diplomacy, even if she could not actually detect his more intrusive attempts to learn more. His rational mind also insisted that it was a needless risk. 

Passive observation it was. Thankfully, he had become quite adept at that as well and managed to learn a fair bit about the woman he was about to meet during the lengthy journey. 

He had the feeling she was annoyed, likely due to the Craftworld’s unannounced entry into what she might have considered her territory. A simple enough reason. Perhaps he should have urged more caution, but the choice was long made, so there was no use in thinking of what-ifs. He would just have to deal with the consequences, whatever they would turn out to be.

But even in annoyance, her power was controlled, constrained, shackled to her will. It lacked finesse and fine control, so perhaps it was partially instinctive? Some Psykers did perceive their Empyrean power expressions as parts of their bodies. Like extra limbs, of sorts. It could be akin to that. 

She would hear him out, and he very much doubted he or any of the others aboard the ships would be harmed without due cause. He could sense the lack of harmful intent, though there was some hostility, so he would have to prepare accordingly for an incredibly powerful psyker on a hair trigger. 

It would be good to know what culture she hailed from. There were so many moral guidelines the innumerable beings of the galaxy followed, and what might seem like a gesture of goodwill in one culture, another might take grievous offence to. Even within a single species, such cultural differences existed. 

He would have to play things very carefully, and make sure none of the others spoke or acted without his express permission or command. A young fool’s recklessness wouldn't be allowed to trigger a breakdown of civility. He had a feeling they would only be leaving this system alive with the blessing of that woman, or not at all.

Thankfully, had full command of this diplomatic fleet, so he spent the last few minutes as they broke into the atmosphere on a handful of small, unarmed shuttles, making sure everyone he was taking along knew how to act. He directed them to land in a clearing in the middle of a large forest, where a familiar, beckoning telepathic beacon could be felt. 

Parts of it fit Valenith, but it was distinctly off. If he had to put it into words, then he’d say the flavour of the energy used was strange. He wasn’t sure yet whether that strangeness was good or bad. At the very least, it wasn’t choked with the taint of the Primordial Annihilator, so that boded well.

The shuttles landed one after the other in perfect formation, making barely a sound even as their sleek bulk settled down. He could sense her clearly now, sitting at the centre of that fog of perception like some primordial star being born at the core of a nebula. Her body housed more energy than his could at his prime, and he had the distinct impression that she wasn’t even trying. What he could see was her current output, perhaps to intimidate or just to sustain herself?

It didn’t matter. He could sense faint notions of her potential, of how much energy she could channel if the need arose. It was faint, uncertain, less a thing of numbers and more a magnitude. 

He was glad he’d chosen peaceful diplomacy. 

The ramps descended, the doors opened, and he strode out at the head of a contingent of Warlocks and Aspect Warriors. Four other such groups descended from the other shuttles, led by trusted pupils and comrades. 

Eldrad stopped five metres away from the three figures. In all honesty, he had only noticed the other two presences minutes before his shuttle landed, and their proximity to the Silver Star made it hard to see anything specific even now. 

Now, his ancient gaze didn’t land on the creature he’d been studying for hours, nor on his erstwhile student, who very noticeably lacked the Mark of Slaanesh. No. It landed on him.

He could never mistake that presence now that it wasn’t actively being hidden, now that the Silver Star was no longer concealing him. 

“Revelation,” Eldrad spoke, eyes fixed on the creature hiding behind the guise of a human child. 

He could almost see the golden threads of Fate thrum around him as they connected to the greater whole. With anyone else, Eldrad would have felt ashamed or annoyed at missing the presence of someone so obvious. Someone who weighed so heavily upon the weave. 

Not with Revelation. It was … par for the course with him. May the Gods curse him.

“Eldrad,” Revelation replied in a child's voice, feigning a tiny grimace. 

Well, that changed things.