Permorelian

Pt1 - The Permorélian Cycle

Bel Lainne

20 Jul 2026 • 45 min read

Intralogue I: The Permorélian Cycle

First, I fear I must disclaim the record contained herein. Sortiarius is a place of subjective truths. Scholarship must be performed with an eye to such concerns: appropriate warding is critical. My sceptical eye and razor-edged memory are helpful in discerning…the Changes, but the key, I have found, is to prevent them to begin with.

My first days of tutelage as an adept under Magister Phaen of the Cult of Knowledge prepared me in no small way towards this task. From his personal archives in the heart of Tizca, he instructed me on the rites which form the bedrock of my scholarly credentials, and underline the legitimacy of this project’s findings.

However, there have been failures. Lost data and records. Several sources, early in the piece, vanished from the page as read. Several more rewrote themselves into inscrutably contradictory echoes of prophecy, so decontextualised from the present as to be unfathomably abstruse. One document - an Administratum data-slate of notable antiquity - grew legs and a mouth and scurried into the stacks in back of the Obsidian Archive from which I perform my daily duties. Even now, I hear its voice; taunting me, mocking my vocation. It shall not have the best of me. I shall persevere.

The setbacks, though frustrating, were instructive. My methodology for preventing the Ink Curses is comprised of seven hundred and twelve interlinked wardings - developed and cast in collaboration with my benefactor, Magister Phaen - and I received approval to fortify my chambers with additional runes, specifically according to the Magister’s learned suggestions. As a result, much time has passed…insofar as ‘time’ can be divined to have done so on Sortiarius…since last I was frustrated by the Ink Curses.

Attend, if you will, to the record of Saerith Veth: a central figure of the Asuryani Permorélian Cycle (more commonly known as the Prophecy of the Half-Dark Star).

Acolyte Kaelan Korth of the Obsidian Spires

1.1. Aelianiss of the Aemira Clan

Archivist’s Note: Transcript obtained from the Cult of Knowledge collection on contemporaneous cultural artifacts relating to Craftworld Ulthwe. Relates to Vae’ethryn Lec, a Farseer of Ulthwe, and Aelianiss of the Aemira Exodite clan. This ‘written’ communique (psychically embedded runic inscriptions on wraithbone shard) was originally delivered to Farseer Vae’ethryn directly after the event known in Imperial records as the ‘Fall of Kreen’, concerning Aelianiss’s decision to relocate to Craftworld Ulthwe to walk the ‘Path’ of the ‘Warp Spiders’. Records indicate that the Farseer did not impede the transition.

Farseer Vae’ethryn Lec. Half-Dark Star. Kin to our Kinless Kin. An explanation is not owed, but offered freely. As the shadows lengthen and twist betwixt the glow of our thrice-fractured moon, my path forks. You have known me as Aelianiss…faithful daughter of the Aemira Exodites. But I am she no longer. And being other than her, I realise now that I must travel to Ulthwe to walk the Path. The Path your sister once eschewed, I will now return to.

Why? My choice is an abstract thing, more compulsion than agency. Two rivers flowed in twain, adjacent but distinct. No more. They met and merged and split again. But their waters had become one, briefly. Indistinct. Unitary. Then suddenly, violently, no more. Neither tributary is now what it was. Less or more remains to be seen.

You have asked of me…what happened that day? When your design arrived at its terminal conjunction? And I have kept you waiting. No more. Let me tell you of your sister. What we shared, and found, and lost.

Our first steps on our shared path - mine and your sister’s - were taken during the mon-keigh incursion that coincided with the return of the shadow of Ulthwe to Aemira. The cull was swift - natural and correct - and our presence remained obscured from the settlement to the north. The ‘Hive’, as the mon-keigh of the Path Misguided name it. Kreen. For a hundred cycles - more - we had tolerated their presence, and their blundering. This time was no different. They walked into our forests. They did not walk out.

I recall the planting of the seeds of your design; the clearing of the path forward. We trusted in its shape, though its destination was unknown to us. Saerith remained with us while you returned to Ulthwe. Time passed. Cycles and arcs melted together, as they do. Saerith became our protector; your coordinator; my kinless kin. Between these beginnings and what was to come…these are the parts you do not know. That you should know.

The distance behind her eyes when she spoke of you grew with time, Vae’ethryn. Of your design, and of the Council’s machinations. Her only freedom was in distance from it, as though she herself was burdened with a sliver of your sight. The burden weighed heavier on remembering it being borne. I could not see, entirely, why. I surmised that the burden was mere heft; the heaviness of scale, of enacting a thing that stretched out to the horizon so far from where one stood. I failed to realise the horror of the immediate. But you did not. I see that now.

The light in her eyes when we hunted, and swam, and danced. I could lose myself in that glow, Vae’ethryn. Drown in it. In her. I did, between duties.

You tasked us with negotiating with the Dark Kin; ensuring the passage of artifacts from places unknown into Kreen…weaving, braiding your skein with relics and threads of our people’s despair, and…of course Saerith insisted on putting herself between us and them, Farseer. You knew she would. It was why she was here. But the cost of it. And knowing, as she did, what we did not: that the culmination of your design was to feed the Hive to She Who Thirsts; a desperate gambit to guide the Misguided into action? What of the price? To her; to you; to all of us? The design holds, Half-Dark Star, don’t mistake me: but is retaking Aemira for the Asuryani in its entirety - and not even now, countless cycles hence, when the Hunger That Walks lumbers forth and toward Aemira - truly worth the sundering of it? Tainting its soul, poisoning its soil? Time will tell.

And it matters not. It matters not at all. All we have left is the sacrifice of us, so what would we do other than sell ourselves a piece at a time? And yet…it haunts me, Farseer. As I know it haunts you.

But we trod your path. Gilded your design. The mon-keigh of the Path Misguided slipped into corruption. Predictably, inexorably, they lost their footing and began to sink. Our watchers watched and reported back as Drukhari tinctures and potions spread through the underhive like a virus at the behest of their Merchants’ guild; as the Great Enemy’s baited lures hooked deep and held fast. A triumph for the council, the efficiency of it. And soon came the day. The day you predicted. I could see it in Saerith’s eyes as we moved through that place, see those…stern glances into nowhere, and I knew that the contents of her mind were pointed at you. Did you hear her, Etta? Did you see the big one - their ‘Governor Roth’ - like lightning with that blue glowing gun…ugly steel and crude vents, pointed at the cultist and fired? The certainty of that motion…he moved, for a brief moment, like one of us. And then it all came crashing down.

I’m not like you, Farseer. Or…I was not. My life, to you, I suppose, would be something very small. No grand Path, just people and place. Even Kreen itself had always been merely mon-keigh spectacle. Billions of chittering rodents, burrowing deeper. Scavenging wider. We feared them the way that one fears pests who might come for your crops, not…the way that…I’ll say it plain, Vae’ethryn: the shroud slipped and fell. The walls between here and there began to dissolve. Not simply without, but within. The pleasure Her acolytes felt as they came into alignment with Her dark purpose; the rage and inertia of it bore down on us like a crushing weight. We felt Her. Heard Her. She pulled at us, taunted us…the place was saturated with Her. Creatures stalked those narrow paths, rending the terrified. Frenzied mon-keigh, blood drenched and howling, enacted an unknowing pantomime of our darkest days. We felt the pull of it. We tried to center ourselves enough to keep moving. Saerith reached for the Path. I watched as her footing shuddered upon it. I offered her the blade, helped her to retreat into base sensation. It bought us a mere moment. Which was enough.

I know how you view the choice she made, Vae’ethryn. To bring the pack, the last vestige of her former calling as an adherent to the shrine of the Spiders…to surmise the worst in advance, and to use it to take us both, risking both our souls to the greedy maw of the Great Enemy. I know you think that she risked her soul for the love of me. That I let her. And you’re right. She did. And I did. But it was your design, Farseer.

What came next was…a death. A rebirth. Neither of us quite gone; neither quite who we had been. Two shattered mirrors, reconstituted out of the base most shards of ourselves and each other; knotted together to the sound of her laughter, sweet and gentle and knowing…barbed and bladed and slicing. I wonder if I carry a shard of her in me now, too. But don’t we all? She is made of us. Which means…

Even now, I can’t say the name. The name you refused to say. The name Saerith refused to not. And she was right, Vae’ethryn: it is true and correct. If you can’t name a thing, what hope have you of harnessing it?

2.1. Inquisitor Argent Laibach

Status update on the Kreen situation.

Whether this was the Drukhari’s aim seems, at this point, immaterial. We are no longer seeing any traffic along the predictable routes into or out of the Hive of Kreen itself. Similarly, our sources have dried up entirely. As bad as this sounds: it’s worse. In my estimation, this tells us we were never surveilling them: they were managing our intelligence.

Here’s what we actually know: over a billion dead in the sub-hive (minimum estimate). The entire upper tier purged, including the Governor. Cultists have established what possibly, from their perspective, qualifies as an ‘administration’. Initial intervention attempts harried by Aeldari forces in orbit. Unable to pinpoint the source, but records and locale suggest Ulthwe. The possibility of Craftworld intervention gives me pause, particularly after Drukhari facilitation. Filing for further investigation. Regardless: net result is that we’ve been unable to land reinforcements or resupply the garrison. PDF entirely unresponsive.

Next: mitigation. Kreen is an ‘Island’ economy. Single Hive city, tightly controlled surrounds, hostile but uninhabited southern continent. Nominally, justification towards intervention based on rich silicate deposits beneath the city itself. Less well known: the surrounding fauna is a source of Rejuvenat. Kreen boasts a highly developed extraction network including several orbital refinement facilities. Unaffected. Sector High Command are pushing for Astartes; trying to call in favours from the Munitorum. They won’t get them.

Recommendation: The Ordo Hereticus should be contacted for procurement. High Command won’t let this go, and as we know: the taint persists. For my part, I have some Drukhari ‘volunteers’ to ’liaise’ with. We will get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

The Emperor Protects.

1.2. Dae’ro Kyreth Oele

Archivist’s Note: Transcript procured from the Cult of Knowledge collection on contemporaneous cultural artifacts relating to Craftworld Alaitoc. Decontextualising Autarch Dae’ro Kyreth Oele - Lance of the Shatter-Spear Nexus - from his specific, later role in the thwarting of a key expansion of the Kingdom of the Sorcerers is critical; at the time of this ‘writing’ (liquid wraithbone tablet; psycho-archival) his activities were localised to direct interventions in immediate Alaitoc concerns. This tablet has been chronologically placed as having been logged shortly after - a week, roughly - the ‘Fall of Kreen’. It would appear Saerith Veth left Aemira for Alaitoc almost immediately proceeding from the event. Alaitoc is notable as a destination: for a Ranger such as Veth, Alaitoc is a rigid Path-centric bureaucracy which conversely relies heavily on transient Rangers and Anhrathe (Corsairs) to supplement their capabilities. Temporary stays are often ‘paid’ via ‘Compact’; informal and bounded participation in a specific, pre-agreed action. Further on opaque translations: the ‘Path Circuitous’ appears to be in reference to the Alaitoc bureaucracy (Scribe-Path and similar), who manage legislative and procedural processes.

To pre-empt the inevitable critique: I see no reason to attend the exarchs council at this time. Nor am I under any obligation to do so. Given the situation, I will furnish you with my thoughts on the matter in absentia, which you may provide to the Seers and Pathweavers and what-have-you. I will reserve my actual presence for the Autarch’s council.

Several cycles past, an unassuming vagrant - one Saerith Veth - felt compelled to impose on our hospitality. In the wake of the travesty on Aemira, one could not begrudge her a brief respite from the politicking of Ulthran’s council of sycophants, so respite we provided. As is procedurally standard, I enlisted her in a Compact for the good of the Craftworld. A minor encounter: the Oeriss Exodites on Laethe had managed to get themselves entangled with the Dischordant Prayer - the ’Farsight Enclaves’ I believe they refer to themselves as - and as the Oeriss’s benefactors, Alaitoc was obligated to bring some much needed clarity to the situation. Veth rounded out the Ranger contingent. I was accompanied in command by exarchs from the Banshee and Spider shrines heading Aspect detachments.

Outcomes: uneventful. At the Oeriss’s behest, we have allowed the Dischordants freedom of trade and movement, and permitted their continued existence upon a small rock in the mid-system for staging and mining and so forth. In recompense for our equanimity…a defensive guarantee against external aggression towards the Oeriss. The particulars have been made available to our kin of the Path Circuitous. Now. To Prophecy.

Who - or what - is Saerith Veth? Questions burgeon and flow like a river bursting its bank at the delta’s apex, and yet, Alaitoc, what do we actually know about the actions of Ulthwe on Aemira? Precious little, it’s fair to say. We know Veth’s sister is the Farseer whom the Aemira tribe have bestowed the epithet ‘Half-Dark Star’ upon. We know this is prophecy. We know it is policy for Craftworld Ulthwe. We know that this ‘Vae’ethryn Lec’ engineered the rise of a cult of the Great Enemy amongst the mon-keigh of the Path Misguided in the Hive City of Kreen. And we know Saerith Veth was in Kreen as it fell. At a glance, these sisters of Ulthwe - fate-touched; dangerous - present a microcosm of Ulthwe itself. Undisciplined. Needlessly complicated. Meddlers. But having been in a room with Saerith Veth, I find myself…confused.

Who is this Outcast?

Seers: I suggest you do your work. The skein is shrouded; the vista opaque. We need more information on this prophecy, on these sisters, on the intent of Ulthwe’s hubris. This is a matter of significance.

Archivist’s Note: The following transcript (coded transmission: voice only) was obtained from the Cult of Knowledge collection on contemporaneous cultural artifacts relating to the Tau (Farsight Enclaves as opposed to Empire). Again, we must decontextualise Vior’la Kest from his later role re. The Shatter-Spear Nexus campaign. Though it is arguable that the event referred to in these documents was the starting point in the Autarch and Shas’o’s collaborative endeavour, that debate is chronologically non-relevant to our larger enquiry.

Mission Report. Shas’O Vior’la Kest, Darkknife Cadre. Interesting developments. Accord reached with Alaitoc itself. Unexpected. Our Oeriss friends warned us about the Craftworlders. Accurate intel but lacking.

Specifics of the accord were in line with our aims: free movement and ingress/egress re. the system, and non-interference with an expanded presence in the mid-system staging/mining hubs. In return, we will continue to guarantee the Oeriss Tribes independence and safety. Agreeable terms.

Watched a commander - ‘Autarch’ - dressed down by a subordinate (a ‘Ranger’). Watched the tone shift: like witnessing water caste preside over fire when competencies shift. Hidden well but noted. Useful context for future negotiations if consistent.

Military estimation: crossed purposes best avoided. Current resources insufficient to counter. A point was made along these lines; the efficacy of their stealth tactics cannot be overstated.

Strategic summary: goals achieved, trade consolidation and freedoms of movement guaranteed by the Oeriss’s benefactors. Expansion of terms potentially fruitful but can’t emphasise enough: we must tread carefully.

2.2. Volunteers

Archivist’s Note: Communiques from Inquisitor Argent Laibach to Lord Inquisitor Vyzen Braiak (whom she reports to directly within the Ordo Xenos) procured from The Order of The Loom at the request of Magister Phaen. This communique (voice only) was dispatched roughly two weeks after the ‘Fall of Kreen’ from the Adeptus Arbites Strike Cruiser (the Tribunus Ater).

Status update re. Kreen.

Subject one. Kabalite under the thrall of one Naevir Quoraine. Intelligence indicates Quoraine to be a rising influence broker in Commorragh. His acolyte provided little prior to the termination of our interview, but more than he believed he had. Certainly enough to confirm the theory that the Drukhari intoxicants trade prior to the fall of Kreen went a ways beyond simple opportunism. Sending transcription.

Subject two. Misidentified: human pleasure slave, Drukhari captive. Knew little, said less. Identified as potentially in possession of sensitive information irrelevant to the investigation. Custody relinquished to the Arbites.

Subject three. Ynnari. Too much information, too freely given. Claim the first: scheme by Asdrubael Vect to draw Imperial attention away from piratic raids. Laughable. Claim the second: enslaved by the Drukhari; uninvolved. Implausible, subject captured in isolation. Claim the third: Cooperation with Craftworld Ulthwe to destabilise Kreen to provoke an imperial garrison expansion. Unlikely but possible. Subject remains in custody for further questioning.

Thoughts: it is generally accepted amongst those who know enough to know that Drukhari Kabalites are deeply influential to - if not outright in control of - the vast majority of organised illicit trade in the Galaxy. The cleanest cut is that this was the case in Kreen. Trade in intoxicants, exotics and relics allow easy access to intelligence and are expedient to broader piratic ventures.

However.

The Xenos ships over Kreen as it fell, preventing immediate reinforcement, were not Drukhari ships. Drukhari do not utilise wraithbone or solar sails. One possibility that occurred to me was the Ynnari themselves - but records indicate patchwork fleets of variable design. These ships were of unified design, wraithbone schema, carried the archetypal ‘fin’ solar sail construction, and utilised holo-fields when moving in to attack. Post-hoc analysis indicates their holo-field frequencies were aligned. All evidence points to Craftworlders. The investigation continues.

Ancillary: as per your direction, Lord Inquisitor, in lieu of my initial recommendation of enlisting the Ordo Hereticus, I have reached out to the Deathwatch. The response was positive. Sector High Command will be overjoyed: it would appear they are receiving their Astartes after all.

The Emperor Protects.

1.3. Effenrae

Archivist’s Note: Transcript procured from the Cult of Knowledge collection on contemporaneous cultural artifacts relating to Asuryani Corsair tribes. The transcription was derived from a Ships Log (voice only); assumed preserved for posterity during a celebration/event? Recorded roughly two weeks proceeding from the ‘Fall of Kreen’. I do feel the need at this point - if you’d indulge me - to include an addendum in relation to my own curiosity-driven research into Aeldari naming conventions. The impetus was largely uncertainty around Saerith and Vae’ethryn’s parents names (Laethan of the Veil vs Vae’Lorryn Errys). Now…the impulse - understandably, from a Human frame of reference - is to associate the standard first-last structure as name-surname, as is the case broadly across most Terra-derived human cultures. This, as it turns out, is not the case. Let us take the example of Vae’ethryn Lec: Aeldari names are singular - so Vae’ethryn - often attached to a ‘defining’ or ‘descriptive’ epithet. In this case, then, ‘Lec’ would be an assigned or chosen ‘minor’ epithet, permanently attached. Saerith Veth, similarly. It is notable that these are commonly held dear, but are typically mutable, indicating personal attachment over inherent nomenclature (Hence Laethan’s ‘of the Veil’). This is the case for most Aeldari. However, there are three notable exceptions I have identified. The most obvious is the Asuryani of Saim-Hann. Wild Rider designations tend to be more florid, battle-won epithets. The second is the Drukhari, who often replace these ‘minor designates’ at the first opportunity with more ‘colourful’ allusions to victory or violence. The third, applicable to Vae’ethryn Lec, hails from the (former) Craftworld of Biel-Tan. In this case, it is common for matrilineal prefixes to append to the given names of the children of notable warrior lineages (hence Vae’Lorryn Errys, mother to Vae’ethryn Lec). Additionally and finally: worth noting, the subject of this Transcript (Effenrae - an ‘Anhrathe’ or ‘Corsair’) more commonly known in the present by the epithet ‘Beacon of the Ocularis Malifica’.

Give me some space! Isha’s Tears! Faell, get me some ‘Sec. the good stuff. We’ll drink to her. I’ll drink to anything, it’s true, but let’s do this right. Gather round. Let me tell you about Saerith…fucking…Veth.

Long ago and far away from here, I was on the Path of Asurmen. Aye - don’t you start, Faell. I was an Avenger. My friend - an Asuryani as serious as you’ll ever meet - Laethan of the Veil…met a Banshee. Vae’Lorryn Errys was her name. Biel-Tan if you can believe it. Of the Screaming Swordwind. They say the Aspects of Biel-Tann are an overly focussed lot, not much for outsiders, or that which lies beyond the call to war, or…fun. And yet, somehow, the swaying sapling impregnated a cyclone. Could you imagine such a thing? I could barely, and I witnessed the whole dance, from first steps to final. But that was how Saerith Veth and Vae’ethryn Lec were born. Daughters of Ulthwe. Twins.

And the tragedy started early for those two. They were barely fifty when Vae’Lorryn died fending off mon-keigh of the Sundered Path…warp-drunk chattel to Isha’s cruel captor. After that, Laethan may as well have died himself, the way he retreated into the hollow her absence had etched out of the heart of him. Made it worth it, though. Laethan of the Veil…soft spoken warlock, a soul accreted from care and reflection and restraint…learned to scream and burn and immolate, losing himself to the Path of the Dragon. Became an exarch who, in time, helped to raise the Bloody Handed God against the same mon-keigh who took his wife. Maybe I’ve lived too long, friends…but I told those girls, and truly believe: that man knew. That Warlock braided a vicious skein; paved a path toward revenge, step by step, over cycles and arcs and passes. Saerith and Vae’ethryn barely knew him by the end of it. Was it worth it? Aye: to Laethan, certainly. Still. Etta now carries her father’s ‘Stone’, remnant echo of the Rite of the Young King though it may be. Saerith carries her mother’s.

By that time, I’d grown tired of the Warrior Path. I fell into an artisan calling - spending my time crafting pots and statuary - so I could devote the most of my time to helping take care of them until they found their feet. Still barely a hundred passes, they were, weighing up options, alone but for each other and through the fog of their grief.

Saerith never had a taste for the Paths. Restless, that girl. Like me. Etta, though…some say she’d never been anything but a Farseer. She walked the Scorpion path like it bored her; the Hawk path like it was a penance. Just biding her time until she could get where she truly wanted to be. I left Ulthwe soon after Saerith began on the path of the Spiders. Soon after that - or so I hear, Vae’ethryn finally took her place amongst the Seers.

A lifetime later, give or take, Saerith set herself to wander; became Kinless Kin. But before she picked up the long-rifle, she was one of us. She sought me out, travelled with me for a time. Aye, I have the sharpest memories of that woman, wheeling around with a smile as jagged as that mon-keigh combat knife she’d got her hands on somehow…ducking and weaving, dancing around the defenders of boarded ships like a Solitaire performing. I’m not a man given to sentiment - shut your mouth, Faell - but seeing the Corsair she’d become gave shape to my Skein for the first time in as long as my long memory could recall. When she moved on and towards the Ranger’s Path, those memories of her lived on in my heart of hearts.

A wanderer wanders. That’s natural and correct, as those damn Path-walkers sometimes say. But now, my daughter is back on my ship and all is well. After we sleep, we raid that cursed hulk; we take everything worth carrying, and - with any luck, save some of our Il Kaithe kin’s stones from the boredom of spending eternity in the bowels of some junked mon-keigh frigate!

2.3. Arbites

Archivist’s Note: Communiques from Inquisitor Argent Laibach to Lord Inquisitor Vyzen Braiak (whom she reports to directly within the Ordo Xenos) procured from The Order of The Loom at the request of Magister Phaen. This communique (voice only) was dispatched roughly three weeks proceeding from the ‘Fall of Kreen’ from Thracian Primaris itself (Capital world of the Scarus Sector). Speculatively, context suggests that Argent Laibach’s reference to ‘Chinchare’ is in reference to the Sub-Sector (relatively proximous to Scarus) rather than the System for which it was originally named, which has - quite dramatically and through a series of events we don’t have capacity to delve into - relocated to the ‘Halo Stars’ region of space.

Status update. Minor.

Testing the theory: we have been aware, for some time, of a well established Drukhari network running goods between Chinchare and Scarus - in specific, Thracian Primaris. We know this network has value to Ulthwe. This is the closest I am aware of to an active, persistent bridge between Ulthwe and Commorragh.

As an aside? Expect a complaint, Lord Inquisitor. I requisitioned some of the more talented Arbites from Thracian. I fear it’s been too long since the planet’s last inquisitorial visit. The Hive Governor I spoke to - Decius-something-or-other - had to be pulled into line on several matters of etiquette, and then immediately ran to the Sub-Sector Lord Commander about the Arbites. I heard nothing further on the matter. But you may.

For the sake of brevity, I will compress: I had the Arbites intercept a cargo exchange in the Thracian outer-system. Situation devolved quickly. We lost several; they lost more. Their pilot made a break for it while we were boarding; lost a couple more. Stuck in transit, we took the ship. Small, freighter class. Not Drukhari. Imperial; stolen. Slave crewed, largely, as you’d expect. The Drukhari pilot was lost while taking command. I handled charting the route back to Thracian Primaris.

Predictably, the cargo manifest was entirely fictitious, so we took stock manually. As it turns out, shaking the tree dislodged some very interesting fruit. No signs of direct links to Ulthwe. But the Drukhari have been trafficking in something much more useful. Thirty Spirit Stones. I call that leverage. And now it’s ours.

The Emperor Protects.

1.4. Faell Noethiira

Archivist’s Note: transcript procured from the Cult of Knowledge collection on contemporaneous cultural artifacts relating to Craftworld Ulthwe. The original medium of this letter was runic carvings into a small, polished shard of wraithbone which the Cult believes may have been hewn from the Anhrathe ship itself. There is a possibility that this is a cultural gesture carrying particular meaning. It appears to have been dispatched roughly three weeks from the ‘Fall of Kreen’. Now…I have been attempting to keep my additional contextualisations brief: gallingly, the Data Slate howls with laughter every time I try to expand or provide addenda (I am unsure of the source of the amusement), but here I feel it is necessary to address a concern: the ‘Fallen Phoenix’ appears to be a direct reference to the progenitor of the Striking Scorpions Aspect Shrine: Arhra. This Phoenix Lord is, explicitly, a figure of Asuryani myth from the early days proceeding from The Fall. I would be remiss to not qualify that there is no existing historical documentation to validate the claim that the ‘Fallen’ Phoenix Lord was on the ship in question, nor that Saerith Veth or Effenrae’s crew encountered them directly.

Vae’ethryn Lec. I am one Faell Noethiira. You do not know of me, but I know of you. Though his pride does not permit, I know Effenrae yearns to reach out across the void, to hold you as you learn the truth of this thing. But an embrace requires two to bend, and perhaps you are, more than you would wish to admit, this man’s daughter.

Your sister is lost to us. I say it plain. On a drifting hulk, orbiting a dimming red star, we ran from a fallen Phoenix, and she did not. What irony, that as immortals we place value on fragments, moments and brief alignments moreso than those for whom a life lived is a thing fleeting. But we do. And I will give you these fragments as best I can.

It was the Dischordant Prayer who first identified the ship. Old - even by our standards - drifting in and out of the Empyrean as it circled that faint, cosmic ember. It was I who first identified the signal coming from the heart of it: distress. Il-Kaithe. So far from home. We were obligated. Effenrae spoke of glory, but the hollow behind his eyes betrayed him. Saerith as well.

The moments that define us are, so often, the inactions, don’t you find? What we don’t do. What we refuse to countenance. The words we bite back behind our lips. The surrounding context of those omissions. Not so much for your sister. Perhaps you know her better. I do not know your past. I only glimpsed her present.

We sunk into the bowels of that ship, thinking ourselves predators. We were not. But one such beast found us there. Routed us. Few survived, even fewer with a clear image of it to haunt our nightmares. Fewer still if not for Saerith baiting its wrath. I see it still: that Aspect armour seemingly feeding on light. Moving fast as lightning, but quiet as breeze. Unmistakably…it was him. The Fallen Phoenix.

It should not be possible. And yet I saw it. Effenrae and I waited for several cycles, hoping…but nothing. We left as we saw the ship swallowed again by the tides of the Empyrean; gone.

Vae’ethryn…I am sorry.

2.4. Lothlaen Yae

Archivist’s Note: Communiques from Inquisitor Argent Laibach to Lord Inquisitor Vyzen Braiak (whom she reports to directly within the Ordo Xenos) procured from The Order of The Loom at the request of Magister Phaen. This recording was made several days after Laibach’s last (audio-visual) and dispatched from an Adeptus Arbites Prison Barge (Iustitia Thracica) in the vicinity of Thracian Primaris roughly four weeks following the ‘Fall of Kreen’. Several fascinating questions accrue in the absence of context: Laibach’s communique - including the ‘interrogation’ file - failed to specify the organisation of the parlay, or the events preceding the conversation between herself and Lothlaen Yae (Aeldari Warlock; Ulthwe). Similarly, the details regarding Lothlaen’s ingress into imperial space have been notably omitted. As such, alas, answers elude us.

Lothlaen Yae: Speak.

Argent Laibach: I am Inquisitor Argent Laibach, and I would like to make a deal.

Lothlaen Yae: Yes, I’m sure you would.

Argent Laibach: I’m going to make this excruciatingly simple for you, Craftworlder: the Drukhari network you’ve been working with has been trading in Spirit Stones. They are now in my possession.

Lothlaen Yae: How many?

Argent Laibach: Thirty.

Lothlaen Yae: What do you want, human?

Argent Laibach: Let’s start with…a name, shall we? And we’ll move forward from there.

Lothlaen Yae: I am one Lothlaen Yae. Warlock of Ulthwe.

Argent Laibach: What was Ulthwe doing on Kreen, Lothlaen?

Lothlaen Yae: Kreen?

Argent Laibach: 29.

Lothlaen Yae: What?

Argent Laibach: The number of Spirit Stones in my possession. One just left the negotiating table. Now it’s 29.

Lothlaen Yae: Inquisitor Argent Laibach of the Ordo Xenos. Subordinate to Lord Inquisitor Vyzen Braiak. Offspring of Ephrael and Jeksa Laibach, now deceased. Keeper of a small predatory animal suffering from albinism named ‘Celestine’, which you routinely joke about having been a ‘heretical’ choice of name. Are you prepared to reach the destination to which the path you just blundered onto leads?

Argent Laibach: Warlock Lothlaen Yae. Assistant to Farseer Vae’ethryn Lec. Child of Ulthwe. Former Black Guardian. Of middling potential and maximal arrogance. Yes. Yes I am. 28.

Lothlaen Yae: Mon-keigh -

Argent Laibach: - I know what that means. 27.

Lothlaen Yae: Inquisitor Laibach.

Argent Laibach: Hmm?

Lothlaen Yae: You can’t know what those stones are to us.

Argent Laibach: My understanding is that they enshrine your souls at the moment of death to protect them from being devoured by Slaanesh. Which is, from context, a less than desirable outcome? Or do you think I don’t understand them emotionally? That I don’t know that every stone could contain the shadow of a great hero of Ulthwe, or a legendary poet or artist…and even if they don’t…family? Lost and mourned over aeons? I know what they are Lothlaen. They are the gold standard of bargaining chips, and you’re letting them slip through your fingers like sand for the sake of hubris. Now tell me: what were Ulthwe doing on Kreen?

Lothlaen Yae: It is beyond your -

Argent Laibach: - 26. Try again.

Lothlaen Yae: Enough.

Argent Laibach: I’ll decide when it’s enough, Lothlaen. What did Ulthwe want with Kreen? Why…why are you smiling?

Lothlaen Yae: You’re not unimpressive, Inquisitor. It was a bold gamble. And your abilities…stronger than you think. But not strong enough.

Argent Laibach: Meaning?

Lothlaen Yae: I think you know. Your mind opens to me. We have the location. We will collect the stones ourselves. Thank you for retrieving them for us. Now…allow me a moment to explain how this ends. I will walk from this room, to my ship, and leave. Your guard dogs will do nothing but bleed gently from the ears and nose. But don’t trouble yourself worrying; an hour, perhaps, and they will be fine. You will never see me again. If your fingers so much as graze the inlays of one of our Spirit Stones again…it will not be I who am extracting them from your possession but someone…much worse. I think that is all. Goodbye, Inquisitor Argent Laibach. It has been a genuine pleasure. We shall remember your name. My…apologies for the collateral.

1.5. Etriz the Splinterer

Archivist’s Note: Transcript procured from The Order of The Loom at the request of Magister Phaen. After much confirmation, I place this communique (voice only) at a similar time - less than a day following, certainly - to Faell Noethiira’s dispatch to Farseer Vae’ethryn Lec (source 1.4). Chronologically and based on events, this situated Saerith Veth on ‘Arhra’’s hulk for a duration in the realm of three days. This both aligns with Noethiira’s account of when the hulk re-entered the Warp, and further validates the thesis that something entirely other than the Fallen Phoenix was on that ship. Taking the claim at face value, the implausibility of a lone Aeldari Ranger surviving three days hunted alone on a ship with this specific mythic figure is…statistically unlikely, to leverage an extreme understatement.

Sybarite - it appears that our traps have ensnared some most interesting prey. In the Eastern outer, currently, securing the prize.

For your consideration: the collapsed spar nearish that old hulk you-know-who is stuck on; an Asuryani Ranger, no word of a lie, appears to have jumped from the airlock and through the breach as it cycled out of its’ system and close-by the tear in the Webway. How she wasn’t torn apart by the Khymerae the instant she hit wraithbone, we’ll never know. According to Quoraine’s Mandrakes, they appeared to ignore her. Interesting enough, in and of itself. I enlisted some Hellions for the journey out, soon as I heard.

Now, I’ve heard the mon-keigh say it’s a small Galaxy, but…it would appear that our soon-to-be Guest is none other than that cursed Farseer’s sister. The one who bought our Kabal into Aemira. A pity, really. You know Quoraine’s going to insist she remains intact, either for Vect or for ransom. No matter.

Will be back soon. Pass it upwards, if you would?

2.5. Fallout

Status update on Ulthwe.

I think ‘abject failure’ is a little strong. The Spirit Stones were a means to an end, and I got what I needed regardless of losing them.

Here’s what we now have: based on the immediate and quite aggressive reprisals against Drukhari convoys in the area, we know that Ulthwe were not aware of the trade in Spirit Stones. We also now know how to bring them to the table if needs be: we just need to ensure that said table is correctly laid out next time. We know the ship the Warlock arrived on is an exact match for the ships we saw over Kreen as it fell and that its Holo-field frequency aligns with those same ships.

As a side benefit, a minor war between Drukhari black-marketeers and the Craftworlders benefits Chinchare and Scarus enormously. We’ve been tracking notable reductions in minor piracy events and the Thracian Primaris traders guild seem very pleased with the emerging market left by the Drukhari networks thinning out. The only downside is for me, personally, in that possibly the only honest words out of that sneering Aeldari mouth were that they wouldn’t forget my name. As I’ve been consistently reminded throughout my life, the individual is expendable. The Imperium is not.

We do have a small concern to address. The Warlock commented on ‘abilities’. The Arbites monitoring the situation seem concerned. I am unsure how to navigate this situation. Guidance would be appreciated.

The Emperor Protects.

1.6. Naevir Quoraine

Archivist’s Note: Transcript procured from The Order of The Loom at the request of Magister Phaen. This recording (audio only) was obtained from sources within the Kabal of the Venom Glaive, within which Naevir Quoraine was - at this time - Archon. Unable to validate why Asdrubael Vect’s interjections were not parsed with the recording; initially I had assumed this to be a transcription error, but on obtaining a copy of the recording itself it would appear that some selective interference has obscured these portions of the recording. It has been slightly difficult to establish the chronology of this recording, but validating by context I have placed it at around five weeks from the ‘Fall of Kreen’.

Supreme Lord Vect…Witness to the Fall and Keeper of its Echoes, I…Naevir Quoraine, your humble facilitator, come before you promptly and as requested…to e-explain the foul, Craftworld trickery our enemies unleashed. To confirm its mitigation a-and…yes, My Lord. Very good. To the meat of it, then.

It is true, as you’ve heard. The Sister of the Half-Dark Star was here in Commorragh. Procured, naturally, as tribute. To yourself, my Lord. A trifling thing, admittedly, in the dark and blinding light of your supreme majesty. Merely a gesture. Then those damned clowns…no, yes, of course my Lord, I realise the Rillietann a-are under your protection within the City, and I respect this, of course! But we were attacked, in our own…no, of course. But we believe their actions were sanctioned by Ulthwe, yet another reprisal following on from…no, yes, I understand, Lord Vect. My underlings truly have much to answer for in allowing the Craftworlders to uncover…well yes, I am responsible for their…yes, Lord Vect. No excuses.

Correct. No harms were inflicted upon the sister of the Half-Dark Star during her time as our Guest. Nothing physical. Yes. I promise you, it will be handled forthwith. Your mercy is immense, my Lord, and I do not take it…yes. Consider it done.

2.6. Cleanup

Archivist’s Note: Communiques from Inquisitor Argent Laibach to Lord Inquisitor Vyzen Braiak (whom she reports to directly within the Ordo Xenos) procured from The Order of The Loom at the request of Magister Phaen. Communique (voice only) dispatched roughly five weeks from the ’Fall of Kreen’; mere days after Argent Laibach’s previous. One must take a moment to admire the efficacy. Laibach’s reference to the ‘Thracian Atrocity’ appears to reference an incident wherein an attack by psykers on the civilian population of Thracian while under the administration of Governor Faurlitz IV precipitated a pogrom aimed at suspected latent psykers. It is understood that Inquisitor Gregor Eisenhorn was detained in relation to these events, hence Laibach’s concern.

Update re. The ‘abilities’ confusion.

We can likely consider the door closed on this one. I’m sure you’ve heard some semblance of the details, but allow me to summarise, for the record.

I received your data transfer of my tests and results from intake into the Ordo. I reviewed them, of course: a good Inquisitor is her own cruellest Interrogator, after all. But yes, as expected, no presentation whatsoever. Obviously.

At this time, I learned that Proctor Vrett - the head of my Arbites detail - had taken his suspicions to Hive Governor Decius, who, as mentioned in previous communiques, had little reason to vouch for my continued ability to draw breath.

Now…I am aware of Thracian Primaris’s history with potential latent psykers in the Inquisition, specifically the Sub-Sector Lord Commander Faurlitz’s family themselves. The Thracian Atrocity, hundreds of years ago though it was, cast a long shadow. Navigating within it was a genuine concern. I had no wish to follow in the footsteps of Inquisitor Eisenhorn. So the calculus of whether going over Decius’s head potentially carried the risk of losing my own…gave me pause. I’m sure, on reflection, it was not a course of action which you would have advised. But the choice was mine to make, and expediency was a factor.

I took my records directly to the Lord Commander’s palace, I made my plea on the basis of interference with Inquisitorial prerogatives bordering on heresy, and I offered to assist in any way that I could to assuage any concerns Lord Faurlitz may have had on the matter. Or his subordinate Hive Governors, or the Arbites in question themselves.

To cut a long story short, I have a joint execution to attend this afternoon, followed by an ’apology dinner’ with what I am assured will be the best Amasec Thracian Primaris has to offer. I am not entirely convinced, but will report back on the vintage.

Thank you, Lord Inquisitor.

The Emperor Protects.

1.7. Recovery

Archivist’s Note: Transcript procured from the Cult of Knowledge collection on contemporaneous cultural artifacts relating to Asuryani Corsair tribes. Log (voice only) recorded roughly five weeks from the ‘Fall of Kreen’, directly subsequent (a day or thereabouts) to Saerith Veth’s departure from Commorragh.

Ships Log:

We found her. And now I suppose I have to tell a damn Farseer she was right. Not just any damn Farseer, either, but…aye. The ‘sec is well worth the pour.

It’s been a full cycle, now, and she’s still resting. She was walking the Webway on foot. Never seen anything like it. Strong, that girl. Tired though: spoke of Harlequins and Dark Kin, Khymerae and flesh-beasts and pits full of screamers. Insisted she’d jumped out an airlock and into the Webway through the raw Empyrean itself. I’m unsure what to make of any of it. All I know is this: if I ever get the chance, Naevir Quoraine will wish he’d made an enemy of Asdrubael Vect by the time I’m through with him.

In adjacent developments, Faell is still looking into our options for cracking that bloody Hulk. I think the boy might want that Ghost’s head nearly as much as I do. Not much we can do without a fleet, versus a ship that huge.

Been working on this theory, though.

Imperium ships from that time - this one included - sometimes had Nova Cannons. If we can access it remotely and override any restrictions they had in place for preventing overload…well: Phoenix or no, nothing walks away from an encounter with the inside of a new-born star.

2.7. Return

Update re. Kreen.

Transmission received from the Deathwatch: Aeldari Raiders back over Kreen. Harassing Astra Militarum landing parties, mostly. Not a significant or unexpected issue. We knew they’d be back. From the cadence of it, I can tell our Astartes are eager and well prepared. ‘Brother’ this, ‘For the Emperor’ that; you know how they are. All very manly and inspiring in a testosterone-addled sort of way.

I will be departing from Thracian Primaris tomorrow. Leads have run dry.

The Amasec was actually exceptional. I have organised for a crate to be sent back to you; have left it in the care of a Rogue Trader Scion I believe you’re acquainted with who happens to be heading in your direction.

The Emperor Protects.

1.8. Aemira

Archivist’s Note: Transcript on loan from the Cult of Knowledge collection on contemporaneous cultural artifacts relating to Craftworld Ulthwe. Communication (voice only) took place roughly eight weeks from the ‘Fall of Kreen’.

Saerith Veth: Lothlaen.

Lothlaen Yae: Saerith. You have returned to Aemira.

Saerith Veth: Briefly. Then to Alaitoc, then to Ulthwe. Why over comms?

Lothlaen Yae: For your comfort. I recall holding our minds together strains you over too long a distance.

Saerith Veth: How kind.

Lothlaen Yae: As you say.

Saerith Veth: How goes my sister’s Design?

Lothlaen Yae: The roots deepen into fresh soil. The trunk swells, the boughs widthen. And yet…

Saerith Veth: I was careful about coming here. I was not detected.

Lothlaen Yae: What was your counsel to me, all that time ago? Ahh yes: “In the darkness, the grand design is littered with obscene randomness”.

Saerith Veth: I believe I was conveying that much of the time, a thing in proximity to a Design is merely noise, not counter-force.

Lothlaen Yae: And I believe that as we weave our skein, it is helpful to have less ‘obscene randomness’ rather than more. Do not blight this growth, Saerith.

Saerith Veth: Of all Asuryani, are you truly comfortable lecturing me on blight, Lothlaen.

Lothlaen Yae: …Apologies. Merely…take care?

Saerith Veth: Mmm. Where is Aelianiss?

Lothlaen Yae: You have not heard?

Saerith Veth: Warlock. Say it plain.

Lothlaen Yae: It is not my place to discuss it but I will tell you this much: Aelianiss is safe and on Ulthwe. She has chosen to join the Craftworld and walk the Path of the Spider.

Saerith Veth: I see. Much has changed.

Lothlaen Yae: And much has not.

Saerith Veth: Natural and correct.

Lothlaen Yae: Wander, wanderer, and speak to your sister on Ulthwe. You have much to discuss.

2.8. Orix Kohl

Status update re. Preparations.

Arrived safely in orbit. I was just in time to get a close-in view of an Aeldari assault on one of the asteroid refineries in orbit. The speed is the thing: like a silent strike of lightning, gone just as fast. The Deathwatch response was decisive, but the Xenos were gone before they could even get into position. Just a blur of motion and ordnance peppering the installation. No real damage to speak of; no casualties. Militarum seem to be labouring under the delusion that the Emperor’s Angels are keeping the Aeldari off balance. Doesn’t read ’off balance’ to me. Reads ‘strategic’.

Met with the Librarian - Orix Kohl, I believe - who tends to agree. Quiet man. Seems almost…small. Insofar as an eight foot specimen of a being can be. Offered to show me the inside of a Thunderhawk. Politely declined; sounded like innuendo, and I’m not curious enough about the ‘eunuch’ stories to risk it.

I won’t bore you with the operationals. Boilerplate stuff, suffice to say. Concerned about the commissars, though. I’ve seen emergent grapes riper than these children. Crushed for wine, they’ll be a bitter batch if drinkable at all. Is the Commissariat running low on veterans? Or do they just think this is a minor enough sortie to cut some teeth on? Won’t die on this hill, but someone’s liable to.

There’s tension in the air, Lord Inquisitor. Starting to feel the Deathwatch chants and axioms in my bones.

The Emperor Protects.

1.9. Alaitoc

Archivist’s Note: Transcription procured from The Order of The Loom at the request of Magister Phaen. I, myself, transcribed - perhaps ‘translated’ would be more accurate - the memory preserved in the copied data-crystal residing in the Loom’s collection. The runes of the original message - translated from inscribed wraithbone and psycho-embedded contextual residue - were…from the perspective of a researcher into such things, I might speculate: rushed. We know that this message was left for Dae’ro in his private quarters on Alaitoc mere days after Saerith had returned to Aemira, and that she would subsequently journey, in short order, back to Ulthwe, then Aemira. So chronologically we place the message itself roughly nine weeks from the ‘Fall of Kreen’. However, contextually, the events conveyed in the translated data crystal attached seem to reference back somewhat earlier; to directly following Saerith’s harlequin-assisted exfiltration from Commorragh and into the Webway corridors adjacent.

Dae’ro. As you read this, I will be gone. I apologize for imposing on Alaitoc’s hospitality after we agreed - the last time - that it was best our relationship remain one of distant admiration. And I also apologise for the rudimentary nature of this communication: the Scribes Path was never of interest to me. Place your focus, as I have my emphasis, in the feeling etched behind these glyphs.

I have thought much about our first meeting. I realise not much time has passed for you, but…for myself, arcs and passes seem to have converged into singularity around me since then. Some of it…you would certainly not believe. As I, myself, do not.

Dae’ro, I am compelled to confide in you in a way that is not reasonable, nor safe. But we both know the dangers of suppressing, of allowing tension to fester at the heart of you. We both know the value of…disclosure, even with the risk it inevitably carries, both the potential danger of not disclosing and of disclosing scaling sympathetically with the severity of what is known.

I recently found myself a ‘Guest’ of Archon Naevir Quoraine in Commorragh. Ultimately, my sister’s name and prophetic epithet shielded me, but an altogether different source delivered me. Rillietann. The Children of the Laughing God have, more likely than not, ensured Quoraine’s personal and undying loathing. But this is a problem for the future. Should I, indeed, have one. Touch the crystal, Autarch. See what I saw. Know what I now know.

Archivist’s Note: As noted, the following Memory Crystal Translation has been tenuously dated at around five weeks following on from the ‘Fall of Kreen’.

“A shadow cast by no one strides through dusky corridors…” Saerith heard the whisper, both in her mind and out, and slowed her steps. “It pauses, startled: ‘What is that voice?’, it thinks to itself. Then it says…” the voice trailed off. Saerith looked around. Naught but vast, empty corridors, branching, shearing apart, winding and loping into the distance in all directions. “Then it says…” the voice reiterated.

“It says: I am not the Laughing God’s punchline - “

“ - The shadow said, unaware of the ocean of truth beneath the fragile eddies of its words. Enter…the Three.” The final words were only audible; Saerith felt the difference as the intrusion cut apart from her mind. She turned slowly, correctly assuming the point of ingress: wherever she hadn’t been looking at the moment the words were spoken. She found herself face to face - a bare metre away, if that - from three figures in simple, grey priestly cloaks…masks partially obscured under thick hoods. One mask smiled out effusively. One was locked in a rigid glare. One appeared to be silently crying, a tear etched from pale wraithbone directly below an ornate ‘eye’. “Behold.” They said in unison: “We, the Three.”

“The Three?” Saerith echoed, folding her arms across her chest.

“I…” the figure on the left - with the smiling mask - bowed deeply, ceremoniously, and - most importantly, Saerith felt, implicitly understanding where the emphasis was being placed - balletically: “Am one Vae’ethryn Lec! Farseer of Craftworld Ulthwe! Burdened by grand purpose!” The other two stumbled performatively backward, shielding their faces with theatrically synchronised gasps:

“The Half-Dark Star!” They crooned. Resetting their posture, it was the turn of the middle figure, glaring angrily out from under the hood:

“I…” it began, holding a hand up towards its chest, making a show of gravitas: “Am one Saerith Veth! Outcast of Ulthwe! Sister of Prophecy! Refuser of epithets! These ones do not count!” The other two turned away, play-acting dismissiveness. They reset their stance again, clearly preparing for the third stanza. Saerith turned on her heel, stalking away and into the webway.

“The shadow sulked,” She heard from behind her: “For the knowledge - “ She turned back:

“ - What do you want, Harlequins? If it was my death, I’d be dead. I cannot waste time on a play - “

“ - It said to the Three, its lines memorised; its posture sharp - “

“ - Lines? So you suggest I am known? A puppet - “

“ - It rebuked them, refused them: it knew well its role.”

“Cegorach!” Saerith shouted into the void. The Three stood silent: “This is farce! Entertain me, kill me, or leave me be!”

“The shadow demanded, in a place where - and to one who - must not be demanded of.” The Three feigned gasps, holding their hands up to their cheeks.

“Clowns,” Saerith snarled: “Name the third and finish this. Aelianiss? Correct?”

“It is not yet ready.” The smiler said to the scowler. The weeper remained silent.

“It must be.” The scowler scowled: “The play unfolds regardless, with or without it.”

“Who is the third?” Saerith demanded. The Three ignored her, rearranging.

“I am Laethan of the Veil” The smiler bowed a shallow little bow: “Humble as I am impotent; weak as the dirt from which fresh shoots emerge strong. My daughters will be careful.”

“And I am Vae’lorryn Errys of the Screaming Swordwind; lightning blade of the Jain Zar…cruel and unforgiving as the tempest herself! My daughters will be useful.”

“Father. Mother.” Saerith acknowledged drily.

“Shall I tell you of Ulthanesh and Eldanesh, child? He who raised himself above his kin, and he who raised arms against the fury of Khaine?” the scowler leaned forward:

“Shall I whisper to you tales of The Rise and of The Fall, child? Of how we found the path and then lost our way, forever doomed to atone for both?” The smiler leaned in to match the scowler’s stance.

“What is the purpose of this masque? I knew my parents. I recall the stories of my childhood. I am not Vae’ethryn; my sister may bow to the legacy of the failed and the fallen but I do not.” The Three bent back, laughing in mocking unison.

“The refuser refuses!” The smiler smiled.

“The shadow casts itself!” The scowler scowled.

“Walk the path…refuse the path…”

“But the path less trod is not a path you make…”

“A web betwixt the brush is no less a predators mesh...”

“Stop this!” Saerith shouted. They laughed again, continuing on:

“I am now the Emissary of Ynnead!” The scowler howled, wringing its hands: “Elegant, prophesied! Burdened, cursed with purpose! Walker of many paths, adherent to only one!”

“I…” The smiler stepped forward: “Am now the great Eldrad Ulthran! He who leads through following! He who acts through inaction! Who shadows and carves the skeins of fate, and - “

“ - Saerith,” the third, weeping mask spoke for the first time, directly to her, voice like velvet…soft and frictionless. She’d heard that voice before, but couldn’t place it: “Do you know what makes a prophecy interesting?”

“Is now the time?” Saerith asked, crossing her arms back over her chest.

“Now is the time.” The Three bowed their heads, perfectly synchronised as they echoed her words.

“I do not understand…” Saerith trailed off, realising the trap she had stepped into a moment too late:

“It is not yet ready.” The smiler mocked.

“It must be.” The scowler reiterated in playful sing-song: “The play unfolds regardless, with or without it.”

“Yes, yes. Very clever. The bird and the shadow and the mirror. The tri-fold path. Spiders and webs and the Half-Dark Star. What does it have to do with my mother? My father? The thrice-damned Ynnari and the meddler Eldrad? Speak plain.”

“Oh, they don’t do that.” The weeping mask stated dismissively. “But I will, should you wish it.”

“I wish it.”

“And well you might, little spider.” Saerith felt a chill run through her. She knew those words, and now she knew the voice. “A good prophecy…” the weeper stepped forward: “Is much like a joke. Setup…subversion…punchline.” It held its hand up to its face, slowly pulling the weeping mask off and out from under its hood, letting it drop to the ground, where its glassy, translucent architecture shattered into a cacophony of light and echo. Its face beneath was hidden by shadow but Saerith noticed a metallic glint from out of the darkness; a brush of light against a sinuous metal horn: “Your forbears lacked the former. No setup. Subversive yes, but weak punchlines. And then, a most remarkably unremarkable thing amidst the twilight of the Asuryani. Vae’Lorryn Errys and Laethan of the Veil brought forth two souls born in parallel. The bird and its shadow. Vae’ethryn Lec and Saerith Veth. Twins of Ulthwe.”

“They birthed us. Little more.” Saerith shrugged dispassionately.

“You were birthed by a legacy of obligation. Like all of our kind, even before the Fall. Before Her. Before the War in Heaven. The universe shakes when an Asuryani forgets their duty. This is what you were born to; born into. Little more.”

“And the Ynnari?”

“Birthed by the very same.”

“So the Ynnari are the same joke as the Half-Dark Star?”

“Twins. You of all Asuryani know how different twins can be.”

“Different…how?”

“The prophecy of Ynnead? Too much setup. Good subversion, but…then?” The weeper looked up slowly, revealing the hidden mask in full. Gilded metal, twisted horns…a leering, furious expression of rage and desperation. Saerith had never seen a Solitaire before, but she recognised the mask nonetheless. Recognised what it meant. Chose to ignore it. The Solitaire continued: “We’ve done better, have we not? The three of us? You, Vae’ethryn and myself? A joke about a joke; shadows of prophecy and divinity of old?”

“Who are you?” Saerith’s eyes narrowed. “What role do you inhabit?”

“You spoke my name before.” The Solitaire requested innocently: “Speak it again.”

“Aelianiss.”

“You may wish it; you may want it, but you know the truth. Speak it.” Saerith paused. It was a long pause; the silence and the stillness stretching out for aeons between herself and the hooded Solitaire. Finally, she murmured the name:

“Sai’lanthresh.” The third mask bowed.

“The third. The silent third.”

“Why? A shadow prophecy? A misdirection?”

“Merely the boredom of a God whose favourite toys could not knit a good narrative from the most pliable of thread. So I did it for them. To them. At them.”

“So Vae’ethryn and I - “

“ - A joke that became a fixation. Two spiders; one web.” The Solitaire intoned. Saerith shuddered under the weight of those recursive words, pulled from her shattered memories of the Empyrean.

”A joke. At the Ynnari’s expense. Seeded as prophecy amongst the Aemira. Adopted by Ulthwe. How would - “

” - Little Spider. Lost little Spider. You know me. I was born from Asuryani: from our unquenchable thirst for escalation and excess. Our endless hunger for every sensation, every moment, every story…Ever more. Ever brighter. Never dimming. Never dying.” Saerith, again, shuddered involuntarily, mind tracking back through Commorragh…the drifting hulk…Alaitoc…Aemira…Ulthwe, and further still. To her sister, Effenrae, her parents…to the stories and myths and prophecies they had all been drowning in since birth. To Sai’Lanthresh…goddess of pleasure and sensation, but, deeper still, of excess and escalation. Mistress of her domain; not immune to it. Saerith inhaled sharply, forcing her eyes back onto the metallic sheen of the Solitaire’s mask.

“And where is the Laughing God in Her design? Why tell me this? Reveal Her design to me through you? A warning? A counterpoint?”

”Why indeed?” The Solitaire chuckled.

“Perhaps to call you to action.” The scowler scowled.

”Perhaps to see what you would do.” The smiler smiled.

”Or perhaps…because it is merely more amusing this way?” The Solitaire offered, with a small bow. “The choice is yours, refuser.”

”I…understand. The masque is done.” Saerith acknowledged. The Harlequins, as one, moved back into the shadows…melting into the Webway.

2.9. Spires and Echelons District

Status update.

It was a risk. I acknowledge that, Lord Inquisitor. Here is my justification, post hoc and insufficient though it may be: the Deathwatch had begun moving in. Kohl had advised that they would bring down the remnant spire if needs be. We knew from the initial flurry of comms that, Governor Roth, at the start of it all, had been approached in his chambers by the Heretic head of the Merchants’ Guild, Prefect Janz. It was reported that he dispatched Janz on the spot. Ostensibly the spark that put Kreen to the flame. No one had been there since. I had to see if there was anything to find.

I went alone. Stuck to the shadows and passages. I had my knives, mon-mol threads, that pistol you gave me…little else. I thought it’d be enough. Intel said the Spires and Echelons district was cleared out. The rats had scurried downwards, as they are known to do. Deathwatch were expecting Xenos from above, not within.

Uneventful at first. Got to Roth’s Offices. Vast. Started running the Auspex. Not much at first. Picked up what was left of Janz. Mostly plasma-charred slag. The rest of him’d been dragged off somewhere. Then a Xenotech ping, from floors down. I made my way. Found it. A holo-field generator, tucked in behind a column. The Scanner couldn’t read how long since it had last been active; the energy residue was too degraded. Expected but irritating. More scans. Followed a ping to the ground. Blood. Not much. Aeldari. Timing matched: the Auspex approximated the injury to around the time of the fall of Kreen, give or take a day.

I got lucky. I know I got lucky. I saw them reflected, behind me, in the Auspex screen; that cloak - Aeldari Ranger - rifle primed and ready. Had a split second. Used it. Rolled, pulled the gun…fired. Even in the moment, I didn’t think I could outpace them, but there it was. They slumped into the shadow, still silent, holding the wound. Silent and graceful, even as they tucked out of sight. Didn’t wait to finish the job. Couldn’t. Just ran. Made it out of the Remnant Spire, through the veins and arteries and back to the Deathwatch. Started to say something to Kohl - can’t remember what - and then all hell broke loose. Warp Spiders out of nowhere; Black Guardians…Kohl threw me back and behind them. Must’ve smacked my head quite hard. I woke up with the Militarum in the outer zone. Will be going back in to evaluate progress shortly.

It was a bad call, and I’ve got nothing to show for it.

The Emperor Protects.

1.10. The Remnant Spire

Archivist’s Note: transcript procured from the Cult of Knowledge collection on contemporaneous cultural artifacts relating to Craftworld Ulthwe. Communication (voice only) placed directly subsequent to Argent Laibach’s 2.9 communique; so roughly nine weeks after the ‘Fall of Kreen’.

Vae’ethryn Lec: Saerith? Can you hear me?

Saerith Veth: Vae’ethryn? Why over comms?

Vae’ethryn Lec: The path to you is clouded; the noise is deafening.

Saerith Veth: Yes. I cannot hold you in my mind amidst it. I think they’re going to bring the tower down.

Vae’ethryn Lec: Saerith, there is a craft, atop the remnant spire. You can -

Saerith Veth: - I cannot reach it, Etta. I am wounded. Some…fumbling mon-keigh looking at the scraps we left when the city fell.

Vae’ethryn Lec: You promised me, Saerith, in and out.

Saerith Veth: Curious. Much like the crude piece of metal the mon-keigh put in me.

Vae’ethryn: Where are the Spiders? I sent them to cover your exit.

Saerith Veth: Aelianiss’s Spiders are engaged with the mon-keigh.

Vae’ethryn Lec: We have but moments, then -

Saerith Veth: I think not…

Vae’ethryn Lec: Do not abandon me, Saerith! Move!

Saerith Veth: Sister. I fear -

Vae’ethryn Lec: - No!

Saerith Veth: It is natural and correct, Etta. All skeins sunder to naught. Do not weep for me.

Vae’ethryn Lec: Enough! You will move, Saerith. Drown her voice in mine -

Saerith Veth: How? Your voices accord. The words rhyme.

Vae’ethryn Lec: You would see the end of you to spite her? You can…you can shape your own skein to do that, carve a path from the madness and into something else.

Saerith Veth: As do the Ynnari?

Vae’ethryn Lec: Perhaps so! Or some other design!

Saerith Veth: You believe this mere reprisal? Attempting one final rejection of her design?

Vae’ethryn Lec: A god chose you. It does not make Her your only choice of God.

Saerith Veth: It’s not because of what chose me, Etta. Who chose me. Do you not see? If I were the other one - spoiled, pointy-haired fool that she is - I would still chafe under it; the presumption that one is blessed to be cast in some divine play. We worshipped, once…and for what? Our gods were shattered. Where did it leave us? All that reverence given and agency abandoned? In this, the Deathless have it: Our Old Foe defied and shattered the divine everywhere it was found. Yes, even the Necrontyr learned the lesson: Reverence is a leash, and, to a God, fear is merely a synonym for reverence. Am I expected to quake under the gaze of She Who Thirsts, more than any of us already do? I care not. If her gaze is distracted from a single other Asuryani for a mere moment because it is affixed on me? Good. But I am not defined by the role she has chosen for me. Not because it’s Her - but because it was not my choice. This is my choice. I am not the answer to our people’s struggle, Etta; neither of us are. We are the punchline to the cosmic joke that is the Asuryani.

Vae’ethryn Lec: Then reject her, Saerith, but not at the cost of you! I cannot lose you!

Saerith Veth: Etta -

Vae’ethryn Lec: - Enough! Get up! Move! I command it!

Saerith Veth: I am not your Lothlaen, sister -

Vae’ethryn Lec: - If She wants your story, then give Her one, Saerith. Stay. Live. We will work this skein, step by step, and watch, together, as She devours our story, as She savours every bite of it, and we will laugh as She chokes on it. Let us make Her regret the attention She’s paid you.

Saerith Veth: …Just so.

Vae’ethryn Lec: Atop the remnant spire. You have little time.

Saerith Veth: Aelianiss -

Vae’ethryn Lec: The Spiders will be there, I promise you sister. Now go!

2.10. Skein

Archivist’s note: Communiques from Inquisitor Argent Laibach to Lord Inquisitor Vyzen Braiak (whom she reports to directly within the Ordo Xenos) procured from The Order of The Loom at the request of Magister Phaen. Communique (voice only) sent about nine weeks after the ‘Fall of Kreen.

Status update: the recovery of Kreen.

Work proceeding apace. Astra Militarum have successfully broken the insurgent defence of the sub-hive. Losses significant (forty percent plus at a glance), requisition approved for reinforcements. On the way. Noting for the record: negligence a factor. Young Commissar with vanguard units thought he was Ciaphas-fucking-Cain: was disabused of this notion with a lasgun beam to the face in short order. Occurred during an entirely unnecessary frontal assault on an entrenched position. Recommending posthumous demotion for morale reasons, otherwise any replacements may be in for a good fragging.

Up above, mid-hive handled, minimal casualties. Some holdouts remain but no significant insurgent forces. For efficiency’s sake, the Guard have started collapsing cultist-held structures. Resourceful; exhaustive authority should be restored by week’s end.

Upper hive: cleared.

Spires and Echelons district: herein lies the problem. Crawling with Xenos. Aeldari specifically. Highly organised, centred on defensible choke points, leveraging air support (unknown point of origin). Death Watch handling. The tide appears to be turning; most recent reports indicate Aspect withdrawal, typically a good sign.

Something about this situation reads wrong. Keep remembering what the Ynnari said about Ulthwe: attempt to provoke garrison expansion. If so, it’ll work. Sector High Command are already lobbying up the chain for a permanent Militarum deployment on the planet, especially with the Xenos aspect of this soirée. And burying one truth amongst multiple lies is recognisable opsec. But how does this benefit them? Conventional wisdom is that Aeldari don’t make sense, but it’s my job to know better. They always make sense. If they don’t, you’re missing something. So what am I missing?