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The Smoke Beneath Glass
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 22:30:02 +0000 UTCThe Hall of Reflection was high and silent. Eleven thrones circled its heart—one for each Farseer of the Council. They sat like statues, adorned in robes of lightweave, their helms retracted, expressions unreadable.
Cassian found himself standing at the center again after fifteen days.
To his left, Magos Farran: motionless, his robes were moving faintly with servo-movement. To his right, Faevelith—deep on her own thoughts.
“We submit the following in evidence,” Faevelith said, stepping forward, voice low and practiced. “The recording of the soul-displacement event inside Elithior’s sanctum. Three separate impressions from spirit-scryers who confirmed an invasive presence within the Seer. The runic scorch on the ceiling vault—a mark of Pharaa’gueotla.”
“The daemon prince is known,” Farran added. “Data Logs from vaults refer to him being sealed by the Emperor but somehow escaping. More Information is unknown.”
He flicked a mechadendrite. A projection bloomed from a palm—a flickering list of dead worlds and dates, Imperial High Gothic mixed with Eldarithic notations.
“This is everything we have one this entity,” Farran spoke as he ended the conversation.
Faevelith stepped closer to the center. She pulled free a single soulstone from the folds of her robe—small, grey-veined, dim.
“This was Elithior’s backup. The emergency imprint he left before his body was overtaken. He hid it. His last coherent thoughts are trapped within.”
She handed it to one of the Council.
“The Prince suppressed it. But Cassian’s presence, his confrontation, destabilized the possession long enough for the failsafe to awaken.”
A new voice from one of the seated Farseers, harsh and skeptical:
“And how do we know he did not plant it? That he is not staging all this to cleanse his name?”
Farran’s mechadendrites retracted sharply.
Cassian raised his eyes, finally.
“Because I could’ve left.”
Quietness filled the room
“You made it very clear I wasn’t welcome. I could’ve slipped into the Webway with Farran and never returned. But I didn’t. Because I’m not your enemy.”
A long silence.
Another Farseer—a younger one, with warpaint burned into his cheeks—sighed.
“So he is innocent.”
Maevrith nodded.
“He is not Elithior’s puppet. Nor the daemon’s tool.”
He looked around, slowly.
The crystal dome above them groaned faintly.
Several Farseers sighed. One looked up.
Faevelith's voice cut in, quiet and sharp.
“The daemon won’t stay inside Elithior much longer.”
“Then we put him under suppression collars and exile him from craftworld.” Maevrith said.
Several Eldari voted in this course of action. And it was approved.
The trial concluded after three hours. The final chorus sung, the proofs tallied.
Cassian had not spoken during it. He’d sat in the inner cells beneath the wraithbone spire, while the Eldar deliberated whether he was a liar, a traitor, or a possessed thing in disguise.
Now the judgment would be declared.
Maevrith, concluded the trial.
“We have reviewed the witness accounts,” she began, voice reverberating through the halls. “The security vis-tapes from the orbital archives. The soul-imprints left upon the door to Elithior’s chambers. The fragments of conversation recorded by Sentinel Spiritstones.”
She paused. Her gaze hovered on Cassian, not with hatred, but with caution.
“In light of new data, we formally withdraw the charge of willful corruption.”
A quiet murmur fluttered through the other Farseers.
“The human is not a servant of the warp.”
Another pause.
“He is merely... touched by it.”
The word hung. She did not need to say that but she did as they needed to save the council’s face. Politics.
Cassian knew this but he ultimately said nothing as their opinion meant nothing to him.
Maevrith finally nodded.
“Your record is expunged, Cassian Vale. You will not be executed.”
She paused.
“But you are still not trusted.”
Cassian exhaled once.
He didn't give a shit about that. He just felt a massive weight fell of his chest as he would not longer be hunted by a species.
The council dismissed. One by one, the thrones emptied. Some left with eyes averted. Others lingered longer—watching him, not with hatred anymore, but with apprehension.
---
The chamber stank of incense and ozone.
Magos Farran sat hunched beside a tangled mass of cogitators, feeding data-slates into whirring archives. Servo arms twitched above his shoulders. The air shimmered faintly from suspended null-sigils—old Mechanicus heresies encoded into three-dimensional prayer.
Cassian entered without being announced.
Farran didn’t look up.
“You shouldn't be here,” he said, voice flat, dry. “You’ve already invited the eye of too many things.”
Cassian stepped closer. The door sealed behind him.
“I need something from you,” he said.
Farran paused. Turned. One eye clicked as it refocused.
“Clarify.”
“I want to bind that thing,” Cassian said. “The daemon prince. Pharaa’gueotla.”
Farran froze.
“You want to what?”
“Look it may sound insan-.”
Farran stood. Not with rage. But With an underlying tension. Cassian felt actual threat from Magos for first time.
“Cassian, that thing melted the inside of a Farseer’s skull just by nesting there. You don’t harness that. You don't leash a sun.”
“I’m not asking for your approval.”
“Good,” Farran said. “Because I would never give it.”
“But I am asking for your help.”
Farran looked at him. Long. Cold.
“You're walking the path of apostasy,” he said. “First the xenos witch. Now the Ruinous Powers. I tolerated the first. I understood the necessity. Even respected it. But Chaos—no.”
His voice trembled, the vocal modulator choking against his own emotion. The barely held rage.
“We do not bargain with the Warp, Cassian. We do not barter with the abyss. That is not strategy. That is corruption with a longer fuse. I suspect you are under that thing’s influence. Whatever it did to you while you were comunicating with that thing”
“I'm already in danger from the Warp,” Cassian said. “I am a psyker. I bleed through the warp. I see things I shouldn’t. And I can either suffocate waiting to be devoured by it—or I can use it. Cut a leash from the very chain that binds me.”
Farran didn’t reply.
Cassian continued. “I want to weaponize it.”
There was a long pause. Farron didn’t move. His face hardened, his gaze never leaving Cassian, as if searching for some hint of madness or weakness in his eyes. “You want to use it like a tool,” he said finally, and the contempt in his voice was palpable. “A daemon. A creature of the Warp. You want to turn it into a weapon.”
Cassian said nothing. But his Silence told Farron everything.
Farron shook his head, his fingers twitching as if he could feel the weight of the daemon’s presence through the room. “You don’t get it, Cassian. You don’t control a daemon. You don’t make it obey you. You might chain it, bind it, lock it in a cage, but it’s always watching. Always waiting. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up its puppet.”
“I know the risks,” Cassian said, his voice a little sharper now, his frustration creeping through. “But we can’t just—wait.” His eyes hardened. “I’ve spent too long dealing with unknowns. We have the chance to use it. We bind it to a vessel. A host. Something we can control. Not a human, not some wrecked soul—something engineered. Something stronger.”
Farron’s nostrils flared, his gaze flicking to the side as if to find some escape, some reason to reject the idea outright. But his gaze landed back on Cassian with a quiet, resigned anger. “And you think that’s a solution?” he asked, voice dangerously low. “You think putting a daemon in a ‘vessel’ makes it better? You’re talking about creating a weapon, Cassian. A bomb with a soul.”
“I’m talking about survival,” Cassian retorted.
Farron’s eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You want to bind it to a vat-grown host. A synthetic body, something we can build. You want to trap it there, keep it inside, make sure it’s obedient.” He paced slowly, each step measured, like a man trying to calm himself. His voice dropped to a whisper, edged with anger. “But you don’t get it. That thing is ancient. Malevolent. It’ll wear your chains down. It’ll find its way out. And you’ll end up with nothing but a corpse and a daemon that’s been set loose on everything around you.”
“I know the risks,” Cassian repeated, his voice rough now. “But if we don’t act, it will break out or worse leave and plot against us. You know that. We both know that.” His hands flexed as he spoke, as though his body was already preparing for the weight of the decision. “We need it contained. We need control over it. Otherwise, we’re just waiting for the storm to hit.”
Farron stopped pacing, his face softening slightly. He crossed his arms, looking away for a moment as if weighing the costs. Farron turned back to Cassian, his tone suddenly more measured.
“Okay,” Farron said, but the word was heavy, resigned. “Let’s say we can do this. Let’s say we create a vessel. We bind it, but we do it right. We reinforce the shell. We add layers of protection. We need to make sure it can’t escape. If it does—if it slips through the cracks—you’re dead before you even realize it.”
Cassian nodded sharply. “I want to make sure the shell’s more than just a body. We need to reinforce the soul-binding. Something to hold it down, to block the daemon’s reach. We don’t need a human. We need something stronger. Something that can hold its own against the daemon’s will.”
Farron thought for a long moment, his fingers tapping against his own arm in thought. He glanced at the nearby data-slates, scrolling through them without much thought, clearly distracted. “Could it hold, permanently? Anchor it there—in the shell?”
Cassian stepped forward, watching Farron’s every movement. “Could it?”
The Magos inhaled through his rebreather, the sound sharp and mechanical. “You’re betting that the soul-binding will be enough to keep it in check. But we’d be dealing with a force that has bent reality for centuries. We need something stronger than steel or containment fields. We need something that can resist the Warp itself.”
Cassian’s eyes hardened. “You’re not saying it’s impossible.”
Farron exhaled slowly, like the idea was already weighing down on him. “Nothing is impossible. But you’re asking for a soul-conduction lattice that isn’t just keyed to Eldari runes. We’ll need something beyond standard human—something more, something ancient...”
“And we need to reinforce it, layer it. The daemon can’t break free—not unless we’re ready to fight it off.”
Farron looked at him, his mechanical eye flicking over Cassian’s face as though assessing something unseen. The tension in the room thickened, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, Farron’s voice broke the silence, heavy with the gravity of their decision.
“Fine. But you understand this isn’t just some quick fix. This will take time. Preparation. If it breaks out…” His gaze was cold, but it held something deeper now, an unspoken warning. “If you slip even for a moment, Cassian, I will destroy the host. Do you understand?”
Cassian met his gaze, unwavering. “I understand.”
The deal was set. The daemon’s fate would be sealed. There was no turning back now.
Outside, the Craftworld spun endlessly through the stars.
And in some distant, invisible place, Pharaa’gueotla grinned its gaze toward the flickering heat of a soul that dared to dream of fire.
---
The chamber was dim, lit only by the faint runes humming above the archways—quiet and pulsing, like the veins of a sleeping beast.
Faevelith sat near the window, high above the Craftworld’s shining inner dome. Her profile was still, elegant. She watched the light dance over the distant soul-core as if scrying something too deep to name. Donning only a thin robe.
Cassian entered without knocking. She didn’t turn.
“I was wondering when you’d show,” she said.
He stayed near the threshold. Arms crossed. “I had… preparations.”
“Alone?”
He didn’t answer.
She rose slowly, robes falling around her like water. Her expression unreadable.
“I could feel the tension from my chambers,” she said. “Like something being stretched too far. You’re holding something back.”
His jaw tensed. “A lot of things.”
She stepped toward him. Bare feet, No sound but the slow breath between them.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I do.”
She studied his face. There was a flicker in her gaze but she said nothing.
He shifted his weight. “You want honesty?”
“No,” she said. “I want you.”
The room contracted.
“Don’t play,” he murmured.
“I never play.”
She stopped in front of him. Close enough to touch. But she didn’t.
“I know what you are,” she said. “What you carry. You can bury your secrets under iron walls, Cassian. I’ll still feel the weight pressing through them.”
He looked at her.
“I need to breathe.”
“I won’t choke you.”
Her hand found his chest. Palm flat. No seduction. Just certainty.
“But I won’t let you drift, either. You’re mine. And you know it.”
His breath caught in his throat.
“I’m not good at this.”
“I am,” she said.
A pause. Her fingers traced his collarbone, slow and deliberate. No games. No pretense.
He didn't stop her.
Whatever strength he’d brought into the room cracked—gently, and all at once.
There were no more words.
Her hands found his, and the wall behind him became something else. Her mouth was soft against his jaw, and then not soft at all. His reply wasn’t permission—it was inevitability.
There was no seduction. No ceremony. Just gravity, and hunger too long denied.
No one needed to speak.
And nothing after that needed to be seen.
---
The light that broke hours later was dim and silver. She lay curled against him, possessive even in sleep. One leg tangled over his. One arm across his chest like a brand.
Cassian stared at the ceiling, sleepless.
Her heartbeat matched his.
As he slowly closed himself to the Warp.
Comments
Koral
Faron: What you want to do is dangerous, apostate and a whole bunch of other bad things Cassian: I understand. I know the risks. Faron: Ok. I'll help. ???? What ????
Darth Bane
Amen
Artherion
Goth Eldar Mommy: get
