This time, however, our thousandth sparring match ended for a different reason.
"Khh..."
Agonizing pain exploded behind my eyes. I immediately dropped my weapon and clutched my head. The pain was unbearable, even after all these years. Worse still, it continued to intensify, growing exponentially with every passing second.
"At last," my opponent murmured. He had dropped his weapon as well and was massaging his temples.
"But first..."
A few graceful movements later, his hand touched my forehead.
The pain vanished instantly.
"Huuuh... Thank you."
Blinking rapidly, I rose from one knee.
"We must hurry." His tone became serious.
Without another word, he sprinted toward a newly opened exit in the black chamber. I followed immediately, snatching up my weapon while pushing every fiber of my Aeldari body to its limits.
We ran as fast as possible toward some destination deep within the heart of the Black Library. Several times I nearly lost sight of my mentor. He was considerably faster than I was.
Yet each time, instinct guided me.
Again and again, I found him.
Again and again, I gave chase.
Through corridors belonging to a place so fantastical and incomprehensible that, to anyone who was not a psyker, it would have seemed empty.
Such was the heart of the ancient world-ship created by the Old Ones.
Eventually my breathing became ragged, and my lungs felt ready to leap from my chest. But before that happened, the mad dash finally ended. I had no idea how many kilometers we had covered or how many minutes had passed.
What mattered was where we had arrived. The chamber resembled every other room I had seen.
Except for one thing.
Floating at its center was a massive black sphere. It appeared to devour all light that touched it.
"Brr..."
I shivered.
Something about the thing was deeply unsettling.
Primordial.
Alien.
Wrong.
I couldn't explain the sensation any other way.
The sphere was simply...
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Simply...
Brrr.
"That is the Sphere of the Old Ones."
For perhaps the first time, Jesting Smile's voice carried genuine reverence. Even his mask reflected respect.
"This is where we undergo Rebirth. Here we dedicate our souls and all future performances to the greatest Fool and Trickster in existence. Here, our connection to the outside world ends. Nothing except our god, not even the lurking predators of the Immaterium, can influence our souls thereafter."
"I see..." I forced myself to stand straighter.
"But I thought Rebirth only occurred after training was complete. I have certain instructions from someone you know."
My mentor shrugged.
"They state that if the Fall begins, you are to undergo Rebirth immediately. There remains a faint mark of the unborn god upon your soul, one our god is aware of. This will completely isolate you from its influence."
He paused.
"Though that is merely my interpretation. None of us can truly understand the thoughts of the Laughing God. Neither you nor I."
"I see." I repeated myself before asking the obvious question.
"So what do I do?"
"Nothing complicated." His mask grinned. "Most Aeldari and younger races probably imagine this to be an immensely mysterious ritual. In truth, the technology of our creators is simply too advanced to require effort on our part."
With a casual gesture, he lowered the sphere.
A deep hum resonated through the chamber, then the dark surface opened. Inside was a hollow chamber, perfectly spherical.
"I suppose I need to go inside."
"Exactly. Forward, young fool who conceived a Grand Jest." His mask flashed a toothy grin.
Long ago, that expression would have unsettled me. Now, it barely registered. Without hesitation, I stepped forward and entered the sphere. The shell closed behind me, and absolute darkness followed. Then the void erupted into a thousand colors.
Second by second, the chaotic lights began forming coherent images.
Rebirth had begun.
…..
The Milky Way Galaxy
The Immaterium is ever-changing. That is an axiom understood by anyone who knows of its existence. Within it, concepts familiar to the material universe lose all meaning.
Including time.
Past.
Present.
Future.
They are one.
Yet they are separate.
Such is the contradiction of the Warp.
Nevertheless, certain moments possess such significance that they echo across reality itself. Now, one of those moments has arrived. The heavens split apart, and the psychic scream of a newborn god echoed across the galaxy.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Warp storms erupted into existence, consuming reality itself.
Entire Aeldari worlds, along with countless planets belonging to other races, plunged into the Immaterium.
Only a handful survived.
Those protected by great black pylons reaching toward the skies endured. It had come, it had entered existence, and it drew its first breath.
Not air.
Souls.
Aeldari souls.
The newborn god manifested simultaneously across thousands of worlds.
It gazed upon its children.
And smiled.
They screamed.
They beheld the being they had unknowingly worshipped.
And they recoiled in horror.
Even souls drowned in decadence and excess recognized the abomination they had created.
Yet their cries lasted only an instant.
For the newborn god drew a second breath.
And the souls of the Aeldari abandoned their bodies.
Thus the empire fell.
And in its heart appeared a wound in reality itself.
The Eye of Terror.
Slaanesh.
The Prince of Pleasure.
The Fourth Chaos God.
Had entered the stage of existence in all its impossible splendor.
….
Note: The Sphere of the Old Ones is an original creation, which means it's not canon.