Of course, there was one thing that Simotriene, who had just been sent to prepare for his "respawn match," could never have imagined. He had misunderstood one thing: the Aeldari Farseer had cut off their communication not out of mere contempt, but because something of true importance had emerged.
Inside a cavern, the Aeldari Farseer deactivated the communication array before him. He stood up calmly, gripped his staff tightly, and barked in a low voice, "Who is there? Come out!"
At that moment, a figure appeared silently behind him. The psychic veil cast by the newcomer was so far beyond the Warp-sensory abilities the Farseer took such pride in that it left him visibly shaken.
Truly, this was one of the most powerful Aeldari Seers.
However, once he caught sight of the intruder, his tone grew hostile. "Ulthran, what business do you have with me?"
Although the Aeldari had been shattered into fragments during the ancient birth of Slaanesh, becoming the most disunited race in the galaxy, they still recognized their own. Humanity might be fractured, but they at least maintained a unified empire of sorts, held together by the Ecclesiarchy and faith in the Emperor. The Tyranids were a gestalt consciousness; the Necrons, though divided into many dynasties, would largely unite under the Silent King. Even the Orks would coalesce into a Great Waaagh! under a figure like Ghazghkull.
The Aeldari were different. Different Craftworlds held different fragments of Webway maps and followed specific paths; not only might they never meet, but there was a high risk of conflict if they did. Exodites isolated themselves on their worlds; the Drukhari huddled in the "cultured" den of Commorragh, a mess of internal strife.
Even the relatively unified Harlequins could not bridge everyone's perspectives. Even in the future, the rise of the Ynnari would fail to achieve true unity, with many Drukhari believing the birth of the God of Death would destroy everything and thus hunting the Ynnari down.
Thus, seeing a kinsman so wary of him, the old Seer of Ulthwé merely sighed and stated his purpose directly, abandoning his usual cryptic style: "Idranel, you must cease your actions. Your behavior is leading our people toward a future of extinction."
"Hah, I don't believe you." Farseer Idranel sneered.
To most Craftworld Aeldari, the reputation of the old Seer Eldrad was roughly equivalent to that of a certain Necron Museum Curator—reputable only for being untrustworthy and viewed with hostility or even exiled by the major Craftworlds.
You expect me to believe you just like that? What a joke! I am executing a grand plan to save our people. What are you doing?
"What do you want? To stop me?" Idranel snorted disdainfully.
"I know your starting point is good, but you shouldn't have started," Ulthran's eyes were filled with sorrow. "Once, I was like you, and it brought unacceptable consequences. Believe me, this path leads only to ruin. Your interpretation of the future is entirely wrong."
Idranel, naturally, could not accept this. Again, why should he believe him? Aeldari Farseers were unshakably certain of their own prophecies. Holding this conviction, Idranel spoke coldly, "Then you must have a profound understanding of what I have seen and what my plan entails, yes? You couldn't have seen nothing at all."
"I certainly know your plan."
"Ah?" Idranel's heart skipped a beat.
Ulthran looked at him and shook his head wordlessly. "As I said, one only needs to look to know. For your future, it is that simple. One hardly needs to observe to understand: you wish to use your power to conduct a series of disruptive activities within the depths of the hive. You intend to fund humans driven mad by the hellish conditions and subsequently corrupted by Chaos, sparking a wave of rebellion to make the situation uncontrollable. Is that not easy to deduce?"
"Then, when everything is beyond repair, you will cast a fatal bait to force the Primarch to descend and investigate. At that point, using the elite forces of your Craftworld, you will open a temporary Webway gate and find any means necessary to cast the target inside and seal him away. That is your thought, is it not?"
As he spoke, Ulthran shook his head. To be honest, when he had investigated these details, he had even wondered if he had made a mistake. This was Holy Terra! Setting aside how one would produce a unit capable of matching a Primarch, did they truly think the One sitting upon the Golden Throne was dead?
"What?" Idranel's initial emotion was shock, followed quickly by humiliated rage. "How dare you?"
On the path of the Warp, all things had a fixed measure. Thinking a thing and speaking it aloud were two completely different concepts. In a sense, this was why many Aeldari Farseers preferred to speak in riddles. If he spoke it clearly, even those primitive "Mon-keigh" psykers who were so backward in the ways of the Warp might easily prophesy that the Primarch was in danger. His plan would be half-failed before it even began!
What he didn't know was that Ulthran was even more furious than he was. Although the Primarch had returned to Holy Terra in an unknown manner that had caught Ulthran off guard, the old Seer had quickly reacted. He was trying to gather his people to offer aid to the Primarch as a gesture of goodwill. To encounter a kinsman stirring up such trouble made anyone want to strike out in frustration. These people were simply intoxicated by past glory, unable to clearly see what had happened to the Aeldari in the long river of history or their place in the galaxy.
He was painstakingly searching for the single variable hidden by the Human God, a variable still hiding within the mists of fate, difficult to identify. He had locked onto several individuals who could be suspects, but he dared not conduct any tests. After all, he was just an ordinary Aeldari Farseer with no margin for error.
"Enough. You have only two choices now. Either abandon your impractical plan immediately, or die right here. I will take proper care of your Soulstone." The old Seer Ulthran gripped his staff, a surge of psychic energy radiating from him.
"You want my life and my Soulstone? Fine, then come and take them yourself." Having fallen completely into rage, Farseer Idranel also gripped his staff, his eyes filled with hatred.
It seemed a duel was about to erupt instantly.
However, in the next moment, the expressions of both changed simultaneously. In the distance, a human figure slowly manifested. Following closely were numerous, heavily armed, and alert Tempestus Scions.
"You certainly made me search for a while," Sibylla looked at the two xenos before her, her voice almost sounding as if she were gnashing her teeth. "I have to ask—do you two really think Holy Terra is your own home? Coming and going as you please?"