In the threads of fate, all things are void, naless and formless. This is the source of the mind. Yet the mind exists without substance; form carries the mind, and thought is born therefrom. This is 'Passing.' Within the unford threads of fate, the threads split, yet no ti flows; this is 'Existence.' There is an energy that grants vitality to all things, allowing form to gain mind and develop thought. Forms that create thought share this energy; this is 'Life.' Abandon life, and one returns to existence; abandon existence, and one returns to passing; abandon passing, and one returns to the mind. Beco the mind, and one becos one with the threads of fate.
—— Aeldari Novel Path of the Seer
After letting go of everything, Enkidu—or rather, sothing defined by the na "Enkidu"—felt a long-lost sense of clarity and weightlessness. At this mont, limbs, torso, and even the five senses beca encumbrances. There was only a single will, a wisp of thought wandering within the Soulstone.
It opened its eyes, if a wisp of thought could be said to have eyes.
An infinite universe unfolded. The exterior constructed by concepts and habits collapsed entirely, revealing the reality hidden beneath. It saw that everything in the Soulstone had beco nothingness; there was no boat, no earth, and certainly no Aeldari Seer. Only a flickering candle-fla of a soul held on desperately in a bottomless corner, looking as though it would soon be swallowed by Him.
It left that tedious little fla and wandered a circle within the Soulstone, suddenly feeling the space was too restrictive—like a cage. So, It simply leaped out, rging with its original consciousness.
The silver-haired Astartes slumped silently, leaning over the desk like an overworked mortal. It ignored the body, instead rising with novelty to a high vantage point, looking down upon the entire ship as if peering at a ga map.
Tens of thousands of fireflies flickered within the ship, like the glowing tails of insects at dusk. They were dimr than the fla in the Soulstone, but they were vastly more colorful.
It saw the fireflies in the lower decks; they were as dim as shadows, unable even to let out a groan. Only a bitterness as thick as ink lingered there, with small flecks of gold interspersed among them, though they were extrely faint. It looked upon those fireflies with pity, then moved on.
Drip.
A drop of condensation slid off a pipe and was gathered preciously by a servile, placed into a crude water purifier that had been in use for years.
Amidst the intricate maze of pipes, so scattered, strange spots of light huddled together. They resembled those grey fireflies, yet were different. It poked one tentatively; the spot of light burst instantly, and in that mont, It heard a cacophony of hungry, chattering insectile chirps.
This caused It extre discomfort, so It averted its gaze, turning toward the fireflies that were stronger and brighter.
Though they numbered fewer than thirty, these fireflies were distinctly categorized.
A bright gold shone upon the majority of them, but their outermost layer shimred with a faint silver light. The second largest group consisted of fireflies of a turbid pinkish-purple; giggling whispers and sobs drifted from within them, and a nearly imperceptible thread extended from each firefly, bypassing the ship's structure to vanish into the invisible.
Finally, It discovered a rare, pure silver firefly. To Its eyes, this firefly was quite damaged, as if soone had taken a massive bite out of it. The wound also seeped a turbid purple, but It rembered It had nded him, and so he had turned from purple to silver.
This was a truly remarkable achievent.
It lowered its perspective, circling that fla once, then cast its gaze further afield.
"What?"
Armand, who was in the middle of a conversation, suddenly felt his consciousness blur, causing him to miss a vital piece of information Telax was relaying.
"Are you even listening?" Telax said darkly. Since turning to the Gods, the brothers would occasionally suffer minor "glitches," yet this feeling of being ignored still sparked his ire. "Morpheus was killed by Virsuto, that idiot."
He spat, though it wasn't clear who he was cursing.
"While the Craftworlders were boarding, that guy took out the Apothecary and then ca to to claim credit? Does he think he's clever? Killing the only man who can heal us when everyone is dying? And the chemicals are missing. Who does he think he is? That he can make everyone bow to him with a few vials of stimms?"
"Who knows," Armand said. "You know the dogs Varex keeps are brainless. Maybe he thinks he can actually pull it off."
"Then I'll make sure he can't."
"Then watch your back."
The dialogue between the two continued, but it reached only each other's ears. The formless entity had already left them, ascending higher.
It floated completely away from its source, flying toward a more distant reaches.
Pale gold pipes extended endlessly forward, like so sort of undersea tunnel. It peered through the "glass" of the tunnel and saw two magnificent sights simultaneously.
One was cold, dark, and silent, like the dead of night.
The other scene possessed trillions of colors, trillions of sounds, and trillions of possibilities. Countless threads intertwined and shattered in the ocean of Chaos, breaking apart and recombining. Most threads were born in isolation and vanished in isolation, snuffed out in the chaotic tides where "no one" cared. Others were seized by certain entities and forcibly pulled elsewhere.
Within that brilliantly colored ocean, It saw a joyous palace of art, an arena of roar and glory, a tranquil green garden of harmony, a crystalline library storing knowledge and magic, and a cetery taking shape, illuminated by a golden sun.
These domains were like five colossal blue whales, or the legendary divine turtles that carried islands, wandering through the boundless sea. Beside these five giants, many smaller specks swam through the ocean, constructing their own nests.
It swam gleefully toward that magnificent ocean, but—thump—It slamd into the golden glass. The glass curtain wall contracted violently, nearly flattening It, while the wall itself developed a dense web of cracks, looking as though it might shatter at any mont.
Oh, it seems I've done sothing stupid.
It thought with regret. Watching the "glass wall" surface slowly heal itself, a tiny voice echoed in its heart. It dug back through its recent mories and realized it was the advice the pointy-ear had given: anchor your own existence.
Anchor myself...
It looked back and found that its own ship was getting further and further away. It panicked for a split second, flicked its tail, and darted back, diving back into that body which was growing cold.
The airy sense of freedom vanished, replaced by weight, stagnation, and restriction—like an elephant being forcibly stuffed into a palm-sized doll. Enkidu lifted his head groggily, feeling as though he had just woken from a magnificent dream and gained much miraculous knowledge.
But as for what exactly was in that dream, he had forgotten it entirely.
My Lord. The Soulstone on the table flickered, now covered in cracks of unknown origin. Could you... help find a better Soulstone? Mine is about to shatter.
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