Chapter 78 - Turncoat
The Farseer, confined within the prison on Genesis Prime's Moon, gazed upon the Gravewalkers with a steady and determined expression. As she removed her helmet, revealing her blond hair and azure pupils aglow with Aether power, she held in her hands the Imperial Drakon—a symbol of profound significance in the Imperium.
The intricate design of the Imperial Drakon spoke volumes of its meaning. The golden dragon, wings outstretched and majestic, symbolized the dual nature of the Emperor—both divine ruler and mortal man. Crowned atop its head, the dragon embodied the fierce and powerful essence of the Imperium. Additional symbols adorned the Imperial Drakon, the phoenix representing rebirth and improvement, and the dragon clutching a tree signifying the ever-expanding and growing Empire.
This revered symbol found its place on banners, armor, and standards throughout the Imperium, serving as a constant reminder of the Imperium's might and the duty of its citizens to defend and expand across the stars.
The Farseer, holding the Imperial Drakon, made a request that echoed in the cold confines of the prison: "I request an audience with the God-Emperor." The Gravewalkers, vigilant and wary, reacted with suspicion. One of them sternly questioned, "Did you kill the Imperial Bishop?"
In the cold, sterile confines of the prison, the Farseer's revelation about obtaining the Imperial Drakon without resorting to violence raised eyebrows among the Gravewalkers. One of them, a stern warrior, questioned the implausibility of convincing an Imperial Bishop to part with such a revered symbol. The Farseer, unmoved, simply stated, "I convinced him."
As the conversation unfolded, Brother Varon of the Deathguard 1st Company, part of the Primarch's Honor Guard, interjected. His stern voice resonated through the communication channel, "This is Brother Varon Deathguard 1st Company, Primarch Honour Guard. Bring in one of those Batboys." The gravity of his tone conveyed the seriousness of the situation. "It appears that this Farseer has an Imperial Drakon with a Bishop's name and is requesting to see the Emperor. Yes, I am aware that a Bishop does not have the power to ask the Emperor for an audience, but I am more concerned about how a Xenos was able to convince a Bishop to give his Drakon. We all know that a Bishop does not even give us Space Marines their Drakon, even if we request them."
Acknowledging the severity of the matter, Varon continued, "One of the Night Lords will arrive shortly." With a final nod, he left the communication channel, leaving the Farseer to anticipate an imminent interrogation by the Night Lords, known for their ruthless pursuit of justice.
"Thank you," the Farseer offered in response, understanding the impending scrutiny she would face.
The Night Lord's arrival cast an eerie atmosphere within the prison, his sleek Combat Skin blending seamlessly with the shadows, a manifestation of the Legion's association with fear and terror. The midnight blue, adorned with lightning-like patterns, bespoke the Night Lords' fearsome appearance on the battlefield. The helmet, elongated and menacing, featured stylized faceplates and Vox-grilles shaped like fangs, adding to the overall intimidating effect.
As he emerged, the Night Lord confronted the Farseer with a straightforward question, his voice cutting through the silence, "A Xeno has the Drakon of an Imperial Bishop...that's interesting. Tell me, Xeno, what's stopping us from torturing you?"
In the dimly lit prison, the Farseer stood her ground, her features composed despite the looming threat. "What stops you," she calmly responded, "is the truth. I hold this symbol not through coercion or violence, but through persuasion. Your methods of torture may reveal pain, but they won't unveil deception. The truth is my shield."
The Night Lord's phasing movements persisted, his unsettling presence weaving in and out of the confined space. Shadows twisted and writhed around him, intensifying the atmosphere of dread. His voice echoed through the chamber, a haunting symphony of interrogation.
In the midst of this surreal dance, the Night Lord projected vivid illusions into the Farseer's mind, exploiting the Eldranthii's heightened sensitivity to emotions. Scenes of horror, loss, and death played out before her, each illusion carrying the weight of reality. For a normal Eldranthii, these mental torments would be enough to shatter the psyche, but a Farseer, accustomed to navigating the currents of fate, proved more resilient.
"Why do you seek an audience with the Emperor, Farseer?" The Night Lord's words intertwined with the haunting images, his question probing the core of her intentions. "Your Phoenix King has forbidden any and all Eldranthii from meeting with Imperial Forces in friendly terms. In fact, all of us are a kill on sight."
The Farseer, caught in the disorienting whirl of visions, felt the relentless throbbing pain in her head. Yet, amidst the torment, she managed to convey her conviction, each word a struggle against the mental onslaught, "I... am... a... believer... of the Emperor!"
As these words escaped her lips, the pain subsided.
The Night Lord's divine vision unfolded, an ability unique to the Angels of Death, especially the Night Lords, whose Primarch held the title of Sovereign Arbiter. This divine vision granted the Night Lord the ability to discern the belief in the Emperor within any being.
As the Night Lord focused his divine gaze on the Eldranthii Farseer, an ethereal glow enveloped her form. The air shimmered with unseen energy, and suddenly, a Golden strand materialized, extending from the Farseer and ascending towards an unseen celestial realm.
The strand led the way to Heaven, where the God-Emperor's divine form sat at the highest point. The Night Lord, attuned to this sacred sight, observed the manifestation of the Eldranthii's belief. The golden connection, a tangible thread of faith, spoke volumes in the silent chamber.
The Night Lord, accustomed to interpreting these celestial threads, nodded in acknowledgment. The Farseer's belief in the Emperor was not a mere proclamation; it was a luminous strand connecting her mortal existence to the divine realm.
The Night Lord's phasing movements paused, and for a moment, the dance of shadows took on a stillness that heightened the tension in the chamber. He regarded the Farseer with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism, his ghostly form flickering in the ambient glow.
"Why?" The Night Lord blurted out, a question that cut through the silence like a blade. The Farseer, undeterred, replied, "Is it wrong to believe in the strongest God?"
The Night Lord's ethereal movements resumed, pacing with an otherworldly grace. "Wrong or not, it is unconventional for an Eldranthii to embrace the faith of the Emperor. Your kind follows the Phoenix King and their pantheon of gods. The Emperor is not a part of that pantheon."
The shadows continued their dance, casting an eerie glow, as the Night Lord delved into the complexities of faith. "Believing in the strongest God is subjective. The Eldranthii have their gods, and we, the Imperium, have the Emperor. Your kind and ours rarely find common ground."
The Farseer stood firm, her gaze unwavering. "The Emperor's light reached me through the shadows of doubt. His strength, his will, spoke to me in a way that transcended the teachings of our pantheon. I seek an audience to convey my allegiance and understanding. Perhaps, in unity, we can forge a path beyond the conflicts that have plagued us."
Alone in the dimly lit chamber, the Eldranthii Farseer took a moment to gather her thoughts. The departure of the Night Lord left her in a state of both relief and bewilderment. She settled into a contemplative posture, crossing her legs and closing her eyes, allowing the quietude of the space to envelop her.
In the stillness, she engaged in deep meditation, seeking to connect with the threads of Aether that surrounded her. The recent encounter had been both mentally and emotionally taxing, and meditation offered her a reprieve—a sanctuary within the confines of her own consciousness.
Aetherius Shadowfall, the Supreme Justiciar and Primarch of the Night Lords, leaned back in his ornate chair, his gauntleted fingers steepled beneath his chin. The office, adorned with the ominous iconography of the Night Lords Legion, seemed to absorb the shadows that clung to the Primarch's presence.
"A Farseer, you say?" Aetherius mused, his voice resonating with a cold authority that matched his reputation as the Supreme Judge of Justice. "An Eldranthii with an Imperial Drakon who professes faith in the Emperor. This is a rare deviation from the norm."
The Night Lord who had brought the report shifted uneasily, aware of the gravity of the situation. "Yes, Father. She claims her belief in the Emperor transcends the teachings of the Eldranthii pantheon. A unique circumstance, to be sure."
Aetherius' piercing gaze bore into the report-bearing Night Lord. "I have seen the threads of faith, the golden strands that connect believers to the Emperor. It is a rare sight indeed among the Eldranthii. Bring her forth; let me judge the sincerity of her allegiance."
With a nod, the Night Lord disappeared into the shadows, leaving Aetherius to contemplate the implications of an Eldranthii seeking an audience with the Emperor.
Aetherius went to seek counsel to his father, as he arrived. The unexpected scene that met his eyes was one that caused a rare flicker of discomfort on his usually stoic countenance.
Aetherius, maintaining a stern expression despite the awkward interruption, spoke with a measured tone, "Father, Mother, forgive the abruptness of my entrance. There is a matter that requires your attention—an Eldranthii Farseer, bearing an Imperial Drakon and claiming allegiance to the Emperor, seeks an audience."
Fafnir, still holding Esdeath close, raised an eyebrow. "An Eldranthii pledging loyalty to me? Now that's a rarity. Bring her forth; let us assess the truth in her words."
Esdeath, finally disentangling herself from Fafnir's embrace, shot a disapproving look at Aetherius. "You have the worst timing, Aetherius. We were discussing important matters."
Aetherius, undeterred by his mother's disapproval, replied, "This matter is of strategic importance, Mother. The Farseer's allegiance could have far-reaching implications in the ongoing war. I trust your judgment in discerning her sincerity."
Fafnir nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Very well. Bring her here, and let us see what threads of fate she weaves in my name."
Yssandra knelt before the luminous majesty of the Golden Throne, a symbol of power so profound it seemed to pierce through the fabric of reality itself. Flanked by Liver and Lelouch, she felt the weight of their scrutiny as well. The Emperor's Empress, Esdeath, stood regally beside the divine monarch, her presence as formidable as the Emperor's own.
The Eldranthii Farseer, Yssandra, bowed her head in reverence before addressing the Emperor of Imperium Dominus. The air was charged with a palpable sense of divinity, an atmosphere that embraced her with a warmth she had not anticipated. Here, in the presence of the Emperor, she felt a stark contrast to the cold and distant aura of Asuryan, the Phoenix King.
Fafnir's voice echoed with divine authority as he addressed her, "Eldranthii Farseer, you tread in the presence of a god. Speak truth, for falsehoods find no refuge in my gaze. Why do you not fear the wrath of Asuryan, and what purpose do you seek in this divine court?"
"Holy Emperor," she began, her voice firm yet respectful, "I am Yssandra, Farseer of the Eldranthii and of Craftworld Ulthyrion Vortaris. I carry the Imperial Drakon, a symbol acquired not through conquest, but through the solace found by an Imperial Bishop in his final moments."
Her gaze met the piercing stare of the Emperor, and she continued, "I stand here not out of fear for the wrath of Asuryan, but out of a vision—a foresight of multiple futures where the Phoenix King leads us to ruin. The climax of the War in Heaven approaches, and in your divine presence, Emperor, I see a path not of doom but of salvation for my people."
Fafnir, the Emperor, regarded the fervent Eldranthii Farseer with a gaze that penetrated the very essence of her being. The threads of belief that connected her to him resonated strongly, a testament to her unwavering faith. Her blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders as she stood before the divine presence, her azure eyes fixed on the Emperor's visage.
She continued, her words ringing with reverence, "O Emperor, you who bring justice, equality, and progress to all. I believe that you will accept us Eldranthii into your vast empire."
Fafnir, acknowledging her conviction, raised a critical point. "Indeed I do, and that is the Imperium now. But your actions may cause a divide among your people. Do you understand this?"
Yssandra, undeterred, expressed her unwavering commitment, "Better to live under the protection of your dominion, your majesty, than face elimination. My people may brand me a traitor, but in the future, they will come to understand that I was right." Her fanaticism for the Emperor and the Imperium shone brightly in her words, a dedication that transcended the concerns of her brethren.
Fafnir, the Emperor, fixed his gaze on the devoted Eldranthii Farseer and posed a crucial question, "When will you lead your people against Asuryan, Farseer?"
Yssandra's response resonated with trust in the Emperor's omniscience, "When the time is right, your Majesty. I believe that in your omnipotence, you can see when.
Fafnir, the Emperor, considered the Farseer's response, his gaze penetrating the fabric of time to discern the optimal moment for her to lead her people against Asuryan. Satisfied with what he saw, he nodded, materializing a Grail as he descended from the majestic structure of the Golden Throne.
As he stood before Yssandra, Fafnir presented the Grail to her. "Drink from this Cup, Farseer, and become a Child of the Honkai. Your soul will no longer be bound to the Eldranthii Pantheon but to Heaven."
Yssandra, with unwavering conviction, accepted the divine offering without hesitation. The liquid inside the Grail, a deep red like the essence of Heaven itself, flowed into her being. In that moment, her connection to Asuryan and the Eldranthii Pantheon was severed, replaced by visions of Heaven. Angels with pure white wings sang hymns of celestial beauty, enveloping her in a realm of divine serenity.
Fafnir spoke, "We will be watching, my child."
"I will not fail you, your Majesty," Yssandra replied as she left, her newfound allegiance solidified in the heavenly embrace of the Emperor's grace.