Nyérëlindë stumbled down the alleyway, the sun rising higher above the horizon. Soon there would be no shadows to hide in, chased away by the light of the new day. Still, the new day was a new hope for her…her first day free of the psychic conditioning and domination of the Inquisitor, Gaius Romulus Saevitiae.
She grit her teeth against the pain as she leaned against the wall of a concrete bunker. Her head was pounding from her liberal use of her psychic prowess. Her hip was numb, thanks to the anesthetic in the medkit, but it was still hampering her movement. She knew the humans had not given up looking for her, but she knew she had bought some time…time enough to apply some of the salve to her wounds.
She felt the pressing need to continue onward, not only from the pressure of her pursuers, but also the telepathic pull that was relentlessly dragging her forward. Some event of terrible consequence had sent ripples through the Warp, powerful enough to wash over her mind in the Administratum. Those waves had crashed into the walls the Inquisitor had built around her mind, toppling them. She was free again. She was no longer Mollë the slave…she was once again Nyérëlindë the Farseer of Craftworld Uthwë.
The dull throb of that psychic eminence still tugged unyielding at her, drawing her further and further into the devastated human military facility. She didn't know what lay at the epicenter, but she knew she had to find it. With the humans now alerted to her escape, her chances of escaping alive were shrinking by the minute. However, that seemed to be dwarfed by her need to avenge herself upon the architect of her misery, the Inquisitor. The call of the telepathic phenomenon before her was overwhelming her instinct for self-preservation. She tried to peer into the future to find answers, but the probabilities were jumbled and fluid, refusing to settle before her potent mind.
The Farseer continued forward, like a fish being reeled in on a telepathic hook. Stronger and stronger the emanations became as she walked, seemingly entranced. The closer she came, the further back in her mind the danger of her pursuers drifted. The gentle waves increased to become a pulsing reverberation in her skull, maddeningly calling her forward. Soon she stood before a metal door, her hand moving of its own volition to the doorknob. The pulsating throb of power in her head had reached an agonizing crescendo, as her hand shook…
Once her fingers touched the doorknob, her head was filled with thunderous silence. Where before she had been entranced, now her senses were refined to pinpoint clarity. She opened the door slowly, stepping in with her blade held firmly…
She fell to her knees as her jaw dropped. The hangar-like garage was filled with chains suspended from the beams and cranes above. Hanging in those chains were two dozen of her people. Some were clearly dead, their blood in pools upon the concrete floor. Others were shivering or even writhing in pain, connected to machines of clearly torturous design. Bound tightly into agonizing positions and unable to scream aloud, their spectral howls echoed in her head. The wails of the ghosts of the dead competed in volume with the psychic shrieks of the tortured. Somewhere in the center, she sensed an eye in the storm, a circle of silence in the hideous cacophony of terror and pain.
Her dream rose suddenly in her mind, and her blood went cold. "No…" She whimpered. "Not you, dear Helwa…" Dizzy from the ghostly din, she crawled forward toward the area of quiet, her hands splashing in the sticky, half-congealed blood on the floor. Each step was harder than the one preceding, as though the force that had drawn her inexorably here now wished to prevent her from reaching the center of the room…to spare her what she knew was there. Closing her eyes and panting with effort, she pressed forward, sliding her hands through the gore.
After what seemed like an eternity, she collapsed on the floor, falling into the quiet in the eye of the storm. She opened her eyes, spots dancing in her vision from how tightly she had squeezed her eyelids. Nyérëlindë looked up, and her heart caught in her throat.
