Why am I here?
Guilliman stared at the contorted, acrobatic figures before him and felt something close to existential discomfort.
They were not human.
They were Aeldari.
Specifically—Harlequins.
If humanity had a god, Guilliman would say it was the Emperor.
The Aeldari had once possessed a pantheon.
Asuryan. Khaine. Isha.
And Cegorach—the Laughing God.
The only one who survived the Fall intact.
The Harlequins were his devotees.
Mad dancers.
Lore-keepers.
Actors of cosmic tragedy.
And occasionally… diplomats.
They were infamous for their inscrutable motives. Yet paradoxically, they were among the few Aeldari factions willing to cooperate with other species when it suited their designs—particularly against Chaos.
That did not make this situation comfortable.
Because this was Terra.
And Harlequins were performing in the open.
The Realization
Yuki had dragged Guilliman here under the pretense of watching a travelling troupe.
He had agreed.
Partly because she insisted.
Partly because, yes—he had not had a day free in months.
But the moment they arrived in the central hive plaza and Guilliman observed the stage through the crowd—
He knew.
"Sister. Something is wrong."
Yuki nodded slightly.
"Yes. They are Aeldari."
The crowd did not notice the two towering demigods standing among them.
Or rather—they were not reacting appropriately.
The Harlequins' performance was… compelling.
Movement so fluid it distorted perception.
Gestures that told layered stories of betrayal, hubris, fall, rebirth.
Most civilians simply found it mesmerizing.
Few Terrans had ever seen an Aeldari.
Fewer still could distinguish one from a slightly elegant abhuman at distance.
And this was Terra.
No one expected aliens here.
Which made it the perfect place.
Guilliman's jaw tightened.
"How did they breach Sol?"
"And why," he added flatly, "are they putting on theatre?"
Yuki answered quietly.
"They have been moving closer to the Palace over several days."
Guilliman's expression darkened.
Makador had only just identified irregularities.
That meant the Harlequins had already outplayed Imperial security layers.
"Kill them," Guilliman said simply.
His 30K instincts were uncompromising.
Alien presence on Terra was intolerable.
"Not yet," Yuki replied.
He understood immediately.
"There are more."
"Obviously."
Eldrad Ulthran
The crowd shifted.
A tall robed Aeldari walked toward them.
Unnoticed.
Unimpeded.
As though reality bent around him.
He stopped before them and inclined his head.
"Eldrad Ulthran. Greetings, daughter of the Emperor."
Guilliman's muscles tensed.
Eldrad Ulthran.
Farseer of Ulthwé.
Ancient even by Aeldari standards.
Manipulator of strands of fate.
Yuki did not return the courtesy.
"Choose your next words carefully," she said coldly. "If I hear the word 'prophecy,' I will incinerate you."
Eldrad paused.
That had not been his expected opening exchange.
"I come seeking cooperation."
Guilliman's internal reaction was immediate:
Absurd.
The Emperor did not befriend xenos.
The Great Crusade was built upon that principle.
Yuki's hands ignited with pale flame.
She did not care about diplomacy.
She wanted a reason.
Inside her head—
Yuki: @Father. Eldrad Ulthran claims acquaintance. Confirm?
Emperor: We have conversed. Our objectives occasionally align.
Yuki: That's enough.
Emperor: ?
So.
Not friends.
Not enemies.
Complicated.
Yuki looked back at Eldrad.
"You have one chance."
Eldrad inhaled.
"I will help you sever humanity's reliance upon the Warp entirely."
Silence.
The flames subsided.
That was not a small claim.
That was a cosmic one.
The Webway and Beyond
The Emperor's plan centered on the Webway.
A human-controlled network, free from Warp travel.
But Yuki understood something critical:
The Aeldari had mastered the Webway.
They had still fallen.
The Webway removed dependence on the Warp.
It did not remove Chaos from existence.
It did not prevent psychic corruption.
It did not erase the gods.
If there was even a fragment of possibility beyond that—
She would gamble.
Guilliman did not like this.
Aeldari deals rarely ended cleanly.
But she looked at him and said softly:
"Trust me."
She left with Eldrad.
Guilliman remained behind.
Surrounded by Harlequin performance.
Which he found deeply unsettling.
He almost missed Fulgrim's recitals.
Almost.
Enter the Other Brothers
Guilliman sensed them before he saw them.
Lorgar.
Mortarion.
Approaching through the thinning crowd.
Lorgar squinted at the stage.
"They are not human."
Mortarion nodded once.
His scythe slid free with soft inevitability.
The civilians dispersed instantly.
Only the Harlequins continued performing.
Guilliman stepped forward quickly and grabbed Mortarion's wrist.
"Wait."
Mortarion stared at him.
Lorgar stared at him.
All nearby Astartes stared at him.
Why was everyone staring?
Lorgar leaned close and slung an arm over Guilliman's shoulder.
"You actually did it?"
Guilliman blinked.
"…Did what?"
Understanding dawned.
His face flushed.
"I have absolutely no involvement with the Aeldari!"
Mortarion snorted.
"I do not believe you."
The rumors about Guilliman's supposed fascination with elegant alien diplomats were usually jokes.
This, however—
This looked suspicious.
Guilliman could not explain.
Yuki's negotiation was potentially classified.
He pivoted.
"Why are you here?"
Mortarion jerked a thumb toward Lorgar.
"To stop him from writing on state-issued parchment."
Lorgar brightened.
"I am drafting The Emperor's Sacred Words—"
"No," Guilliman cut in immediately. "Stop."
Lorgar protested.
"Mortarion is writing a treatise on numerological determinism!"
Mortarion lifted his scythe slightly.
"And?"
"No problem," Lorgar conceded quickly.
Guilliman stared at both of them.
What was happening to Imperial literature?
Was no one producing balanced, doctrinal, structurally sound texts?
The Codex Astartes suddenly felt extremely necessary.
Vulkan and Curze
Guilliman shifted topics.
"Why has Vulkan severed ties with Curze?"
Lorgar hesitated.
"I believe I know."
He explained.
A compliant alien world—near-humanoid, tax-compliant, politically stable—had joined the Imperium peacefully under the Salamanders' oversight.
Later, Night Lords and Word Bearers fleets arrived to resupply.
Suddenly—
The planet revolted.
Brutally.
The retaliation was swift.
Mass casualties.
Vulkan returned, horrified.
Investigation revealed that an Astartes—disguised as Salamanders—had tortured and murdered the planet's monarch.
Evidence suggested Night Lords methods.
Curze denied authorizing it.
He ordered Sevatar to investigate.
But then—
Curze told Vulkan:
"Fear ensures compliance. You should cultivate it."
From Curze's perspective, it was practical advice.
From Vulkan's perspective—
It was monstrous.
They argued.
And the fracture became personal.
Guilliman frowned.
"Was the perpetrator found?"
Lorgar shook his head.
Mortarion suddenly froze.
Then kicked Lorgar.
"This is your Legion's fault."
Lorgar stumbled.
"What?"
Mortarion calculated again.
The brutality.
The misdirection.
The strategic manipulation.
It did not feel like Curze.
It felt like something subtler.
"Word Bearer," Mortarion muttered.
Lorgar's eyes widened.
"I was not present!"
"Was it your Legion?" Mortarion pressed.
"…Possibly."
"Then it is your fault."
Lorgar dodged another kick.
"If I find who did it, I will personally strap him to the atmosphere of Barbarus!"
So.
Who was it?
Erebus:
Yes. This time—it was me.
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