The Farseer.
At first glance, the title did not sound like a combat role.
And in truth, it wasn't.
Aside from a few rare individuals of extraordinary power, most Aeldari Farseers were not warriors. Their value lay elsewhere— in intelligence and foresight.
With their formidable prophetic abilities, they could glimpse potential futures, allowing their people to snuff out threats before they fully emerged.
At the commander's order, the Farseer's consciousness plunged into a murky vision-space.
A wave of dizziness overcame him.
He saw the Aeldari fleet attack again and again, only for the human ships to evade and counterattack with equal persistence.
His task was simple, if grueling: search the branching timelines until he found the one in which their fleet struck true. Then commit every detail to memory and report it back—so the Aeldari could replicate that future in reality.
It was, in essence, like peeking into the future for a strategy guide.
While the Farseer worked, the Aeldari commander strolled to the central control dais. Smiling faintly, she told her crew:
"Let us amuse ourselves with this little fleet for a while."
There was not a trace of tension in her voice.
As the galaxy's ruling power, the Aeldari never lacked confidence.
---
The two fleets clashed, exchanging every manner of weapon.
From standard munitions powerful enough to level mountain ranges, to antimatter warheads capable of shattering entire planets—devastating firepower lit the void like a storm of fireworks.
It soon became clear, even to an untrained observer, that the Aeldari fleet's raw strength eclipsed that of their human opponents.
Time after time, the Aeldari ships didn't even bother to evade. Instead, they raised shimmering composite energy shields, absorbing strikes that could have shattered continental plates.
They stood immovable, clad in impregnable defenses.
The Human Federation's ships, by contrast, relied on agility.
They darted and weaved like nimble warriors, slipping past barrages with uncanny precision. Only wide-area attacks forced them into genuine danger.
From every angle, at every rhythm, they probed the Aeldari's defenses—searching desperately for a hidden weakness.
---
Aboard the Federation's flagship, the high council watched through virtual projections.
Their brows furrowed as they witnessed the Aeldari's staggering defenses.
The disparity was undeniable.
Even with the Federation's most advanced warships—cutting-edge models—their weapons scarcely made an impact. And intelligence suggested that the Aeldari ships before them weren't elite units at all, but merely standard models.
Their finest steeds were already being outpaced by the enemy's workhorses.
That was the reality of the Federation's position.
The President exhaled softly, accepting the truth with composure.
This confrontation had always been about one thing: measuring the gap.
For centuries, projections and data models had estimated how many years humanity needed to catch up to the Aeldari. But numbers were abstractions.
They needed to see it for themselves.
Thus, the council had encouraged Commander Colt to adopt a firm stance, knowing it would provoke the arrogant Aeldari into fighting. A direct clash was the only way to gather real data.
Now, as explosions lit the void, the President understood.
The gap was vast.
After a moment of thought, he addressed Colt calmly:
"Continue the attack. When defeat is inevitable, you are authorized to surrender. The Federation will pay the ransom."
"Understood!"
To him, victory was never the objective.
Facing an overwhelmingly superior foe, surrender was no shame. What mattered was the wealth of combat data being generated—data their artificial intelligences would parse tirelessly, building a foundation for humanity's future growth.
---
Ten minutes later.
The Aeldari commander lounged at her station, humming a soft melody from the Sanctum of Art, a song beloved among her people. Its light, uplifting rhythm soothed the spirit.
Mid-verse, she sensed the Farseer stirring from his trance.
She smiled. The game was ending.
Still pale from the ordeal, the Farseer nevertheless bowed and recited a string of coordinates. Then, pointing at a sector of the star map, he added:
"When their ships begin to dodge the next barrage, strike here with a full-force psychic blast."
"Understood."
The commander asked no questions. With the precise data in hand, she sent the Farseer to rest, then turned her amused gaze back toward the human fleet.
Moments later, another storm of firepower surged forth.
Among the torrent, hundreds of especially devastating shots targeted the Farseer's coordinates.
As expected, the human ships maneuvered to evade—only for a surge of psychic energy to rupture space at a critical juncture, disrupting their movements for a fraction of a second.
It was enough.
The deadly salvo, which should have missed, instead struck home.
Hundreds of Federation warships were ripped apart, their reactors detonating in blinding blossoms of fire.
Dozens of suns seemed to bloom in the void, each a brief, terrible flower of annihilation.
___
🎉 Big Shoutout to Villads Tomming!🎉
A heartfelt thank you to Villads Tommingfor joining my Patreon and supporting this journey! 🙏✨
Your generosity truly makes a difference and helps bring chapters out faster for everyone. 🚀
Welcome to the VIP family, Villads Tomming—you're awesome! 💎🙌