Sibylla's consciousness traversed through those stagnant memory fragments.
Eventually, she successfully anchored a specific area. The time was just one day ago, extremely close to the present.
The image became clear.
It was a typical safehouse in the lower levels of a hive, patched together from discarded reinforced metal plates, permeated with the smell of low-grade synthetic engine oil and mold. A dim emergency light source barely illuminated a limited area, while gray dust hung suspended in the air.
The owner of the memory—the gang leader who was now a corpse—was staring at an uninvited guest in the center of the room with a confused and vacant gaze.
It was an Eldar.
Her figure was exceptionally tall and slender, her posture carrying a non-human elegance and balance, as if every micro-movement followed some lost rhythm. A peculiarly shaped mask with slender curved horns covered most of the Eldar's face. Despite being in such a filthy place, not a speck of dust clung to this Eldar; she was like a living phantom from another dimension.
Even as a senior Inquisitor, Sibylla could not identify what those decorations represented. They were likely far older than the history of the Imperium of Man itself.
In the memory, the elegant Eldar leaned forward slightly, performing a complex and ancient gesture of etiquette. Clearly, her action was not directed at the crude hive-scum before her whose mind had been tainted by Chaos whispers; her gaze, piercing through the mask, was aimed precisely at Sibylla, who was reading this memory at this very moment.
A voice rang out, using the Imperium's High Gothic, but with a strange resonance, as if multiple voices were chanting in overlap:
"Allow me to introduce myself, respected Inquisitor, or whatever other human official is fortunate enough to witness this scene. I am a Shadowseer from the Masque of the Laughing God, Cegorach. You may call me Sylandri."
Sibylla's heart sank.
Sylandri's chant continued, her voice calm: "For the sake of the common Dark Enemy behind the veil that both our races face—Chaos—I shall use this... relatively safe and one-way method to relay a prophecy to you. Please understand my reasons for choosing such a circuitous route; your methods regarding other intelligent races in the galaxy are truly not very friendly."
Tsk, another prophecy.
Even while reading the memory, Sibylla felt her temples begin to throb. Her fist tightened.
Riddlers, get out of the galaxy! You naturally evil psychic xenos, I'll—
Although Sibylla had maintained a Puritan style since joining the Inquisition and was a firm Puritan Inquisitor who never dabbled in heretical experiments, her baseline had become quite flexible after traveling with Adam for so long.
After witnessing so many things that even an Inquisitor could not imagine, she realized that temporary cooperation with xenos might not be entirely unacceptable if it truly prevented a Chaos conspiracy.
However, Sibylla still found these mystical prophecies to be an absolute headache. Although she was an Alpha-level psyker, she had zero talent for prophecy, being far more skilled in Telekinesis (converting psychic energy into physical force) and Telepathy (contacting and controlling the thoughts of others).
While on Macragge, Sibylla had specifically sought time to consult the Ultramarines' Chief Librarian, Tigurius. After a deep conversation, she soberly realized she truly lacked talent in this field. Her thinking was more rational, relying on logic, evidence, and quantifiable data. Therefore, Sibyll's reality-warping ability also leaned toward precision in manipulation due to her personality; she simply couldn't handle the prophecy business.
(This matter is also documented in the archives of the Global Occult Coalition: most Reality Warpers find it difficult to foresee the future, leaving them vulnerable to ambushes.)
Sylandri's chanting voice rang out again, pulling her back to the memory images.
"Listen well, guardian of Terra. The true serpent is not the monster hissing in the sunlight. Our enemy lurks in the shadows, using the boisterous activities of those 'Genestealers'—who have long since warped and twisted within your race—as a cover."
"Do not become overly entangled with those twisted hive-monsters from beyond the stars. They are a plague, yet they are not the core lesion at this moment. Your gaze must pierce through the smoke of chaos they create like a sharp arrow, pointing directly at the dark conspiracy hidden in the deepest depths of the hive, attempting to extinguish the sun."
"They—those servants who worship the Dark Gods—are entrenched in the lowest levels of the steel, preparing a blasphemous feast. Their goal is to tear a massive scar leading to the void upon the chest of Holy Terra, using the wails of countless souls and a ritual of betrayal."
To be fair, Sibylla felt a sigh of relief. This was much easier to analyze than the riddles she had imagined.
Did the Eldar finally change their ways?
She began to rapidly analyze these prophecies, which had been somewhat poetized by the Eldar.
The true enemy is using Genestealer Cult activities as a cover and distraction? Don't let those xenos draw away the primary firepower? The target is the bottom of the hive... a ritual powerful enough to open a massive Warp rift on Terra?
Her rational mind worked at high speed, attempting to convert these vague images into reliable intelligence.
Sylandri in the memory paused, then continued.
"Furthermore, there is one more matter. Our cousins, an advance party from an Eldar Craftworld, may have also set foot on Holy Terra because they sensed a similar shadow. Should you spare their lives, the Laughing God will remember this restraint and is willing to pay an equivalent reward that humans might find interesting."
Sibylla gave a cold sneer.
Spare the xenos? Are you joking? Let's wait until we actually run into them.
The psychic probe ended, and Sibylla withdrew her hand. The corpse before her completely lost its last bit of vitality.
She stood up, her sharp gaze sweeping across the area that had just been purged, then looked toward the entrance to the lower levels of the hive—a deep abyss that seemed ready to swallow all light.
The wind wailed.
"All soldiers, regroup. Abandon the purge of scattered rioters in the vicinity." Sibylla's voice reached every Tempestus Scion through the comms. "Target change: Enter the hive depths. Maintain maximum alert."
The Tempestus Scions silently adjusted their formation, the elite mortal warriors casting their gazes toward that dark entrance.
At the same time.
Across all of Terra, in countless similar or entirely different corners.
The Inquisition headquarters fortress, the Navigator family enclaves, the Arbites headquarters judgment halls, the Ecarchy palaces, the Skaharac Hive, the Chartist Fleet headquarters Nexus Axiom, the Cathedral of the Emperor deified, the Cathedral of the Savior Emperor, the Scholastia Psykana, the Karellia Hive, the Tashkent Hive, the Damocles Spaceport...
From the secret chambers inside towering cathedral spires to ancient data-graveyards buried deep underground; from busy orbital port warehouse districts to the hidden basements of noble courtyards...
A number of Inquisitors far exceeding the usual, belonging to different factions, were acting just as Sibylla was.
In the name of the Emperor, they were conducting a saturated investigation against every inch of shadow on the homeworld—a feat rare in the history of the Imperium.