The Milky Way.
The Ultima Segmentum.
A beautiful planet floated quietly in the boundless void. Its surface was not the usual mottled patches of a typical world, but a single, flowing expanse of emerald green, as if every leaf on the surface was whispering in unison.
When the World Spirit breathed, the entire planet rippled like eternal waves stirred upon the surface of a jade gemstone. The atmosphere was thin as a cicada's wing, yet it unnaturally filtered the star's light into a pale golden mist that shrouded the surface, dreaming and ethereal.
This was a Maiden World.
It was the pinnacle of surface-transformation technology from the ancient Aeldari Empire before the Fall.
On the highest mountain range of the planet's northern hemisphere, a figure walked slowly along a ridge paved with crystal.
Eldrad Ulthran stopped and looked up.
He held a staff topped with a triangular head, inset with a gemstone that constantly shifted its form. His skin was as pale as the moon, untouched by the passage of vast eons. Within his deep-set sockets, a pair of pitch-black eyes gazed into the infinite darkness of the sky.
Though Ulthran's face bore a resemblance to a human's, the pointed ears and his unmistakable air of grace proved his noble lineage.
The Aeldari.
"It is not that I cannot see it, but that I cannot understand it," Ulthran whispered to himself.
"Why?"
Just moments ago, the Aeldari Farseer had sensed a psychic shockwave echoing through the Warp like an invisible tsunami. To the psykers of most primitive races, it was merely a brief moment of mental tinnitus. But to a Farseer like Ulthran—perhaps the most powerful among them—it was enough to see many things clearly.
He witnessed the shriek of the Hive Mind as it was torn asunder, and simultaneously saw the sudden burst of blazing light emanating from the God of Humanity seated upon the Golden Throne.
For an Aeldari Farseer who had communicated with the Emperor during the Great Crusade and honed his craft in the ways of the Warp for tens of thousands of years, this was an inconceivable reality.
"Why?" he questioned in confusion, the mountain swallowing his words into the wind. "How can an extinguished star be reignited?"
"—We share the same question."
Without warning, a voice rang out three meters behind him. It was elegant and clear, like a musical note condensing out of thin air.
Ulthran did not turn around. His psychic senses had already outlined the newcomer.
A streamlined black carapace fit a slender frame, decorated at the joints with the secret ciphers of a Harlequin Troupe. The face was entirely obscured by a helmet, save for two diamond-shaped crystal lenses for eyes that reflected the light of the emerald planet.
It was a Shadowseer of the Harlequin Troupes.
"Sylandri," Ulthran said. "The Troupes do not step off the stage lightly."
"When a chapter appears in the script that was never written," Sylandri chanted, "the actors must confirm whether this is an improvisation or if the author has finally put pen to paper."
She took a step forward, her toes lightly touching the ground.
"Which layer of the veil have you lifted, old Seer? Did you see the machinery behind the stage, or the eyes in the audience?"
Ulthran finally turned around. Their gazes met in the air.
"I saw the God on the Throne open His eyes," Ulthran said. "Not fully awake, but enough to move a finger resting on His knee. He cast a light and sent forth His messenger—just as our Pantheon displayed miracles during the War in Heaven."
"I do not know how He achieved this. According to the original threads of fate, He was meant to ascend into a true Chaos Power through the endless worship of humanity, joining the Great Game of the Empyrean."
"Just as our race did."
"There is nothing new under the sun; what has been done will be done again," Sylandri recited the proverb, her helmet tilting slightly to one side. "So, the next page of the Book of Future is...?"
Ulthran closed his eyes.
"I pulled back the veil of destiny," he said slowly. "But I saw only mist—not the mist of Chaos, but a fog composed of excessively bright light. Countless possibilities boiled, perished, and were reborn within it."
"I am certain an unknown factor has appeared among humanity, but it is being protected by that God. Everything is shrouded in light, blurred and indistinct."
"And for our kin?" the Veilwalker pressed.
Ulthran opened his eyes. This time, rapidly flickering images appeared in his pupils. "I saw a phoenix bound by silver threads. When the threads snap, the feathers will ignite with blue fire, though I know not if it is a rebirth or an end in ash."
"I saw the final fork in a labyrinth. Both paths lead to a cliff, but beneath one are jagged rocks, and beneath the other is the sea."
"I saw flowers of decay and buds of hope blooming simultaneously upon the Infinity Circuit of a Craftworld—they share the same root."
He took a deep breath. The air of the Maiden World carried the sweet-bitter scent of ten thousand years ago.
"There is the unknown, there is annihilation, there is death—" Ulthran finally summarized. "But there is also the outline of salvation, a spark of hope. I do not know which is reality and which is the echo—"
"But I must try. I will seek out that unknown factor. For our race, which currently hurtles toward a predetermined end, the unknown is the greatest blessing."
Sylandri remained silent for three heartbeats. Then, her right hand brushed her left shoulder, tracing three arcs in the air—an ancient Aeldari gesture to a Seer, meaning "I respect your vision."
"In this regard," she said, "the Harlequins are with you. The Troupe can provide you with... backstage passes. There are some veils the Harlequins know how to lift without alerting the guards."
"The price?"
"If that future truly exists, write our story into it as well." For the first time, her voice betrayed something akin to emotion. "Our race cannot end as specimens in a museum, nor as playthings in the hands of the Thirsty Lady."
Ulthran nodded, casting his gaze toward the distant, dense forests. In his vision, the Maiden World began to reveal its unparalleled beauty. It was the final masterpiece of a dying era.
Nothing more.
"Live on," he seemed to whisper to himself. "Only by living can one earn the right to speak of the future."
"A civilization without living beings is meaningless."
Sylandri's figure began to fade, like ink dissolving in water.
"May the Laughing God protect us both."
The final words scattered with the wind. The Harlequin vanished.
Ulthran stood alone atop the mountain, the gemstone on his staff gradually returning to stillness. At that moment, another breeze swept through the sea of forest, and the entire planet rippled with emerald green once more, as if trembling softly for an ending yet to be written.