Chapter 1007 Visionary Eye
For a psyker, every recovery after meditation is not so much an awakening as a rebirth.
It was always like this, after trance, Melissa Springer always allowed subtle perceptions and concepts to escape her attention, moving her thoughts from the inner realm to the outer In the earthly world, that is, the realm of traditional perception and thought.
She returned to her physical self, like an eagle returning to its nest, breathing in the sweet scent of honey and enjoying the slow trickle of physical sensations that felt like blood flowing through hungry arteries.
In the Academy of Psionics, she had learned to call it the Father's Gift: the brief moment of warmth and contentment that followed the meditation of divination, like a reward from the Emperor's hand.
She let it flow into every limb, flexing her toes and arching her back.
The Acolyte Master taught – enjoy every moment of it.
After all, only one aspect of psionic induction can prove the word "gift", and all other aspects are more equivalent to a curse.
The gift of the father will not last, it will disappear in a very short period of time. At that unpleasant moment, all the strong memories of the trance will rush into her heart and drown her.
After that, she opened her eyes and focused on a dim candle in the center of the divination ring, breaking through the mud of memories.
Her first thought was this: something was coming out of the other side of the curtain.
The meditation room is very simple.
Four rock walls arch overhead, forming together a crude dome, at the center of which is a bronze needle: the conduction point of the astral body.
But that was not the case in her old meditation room, but gone were the scriptures painted in gold, silver and marble on every wall, gone were the abstract star maps and spells on the soothsayer dome patterns, buzzing Gone too were the great twisted racks of buzzing incense skulls.
She had had a nourishing life on Terra, and the humble cube was far from what she had expected, and given the indifference her new master had shown her, she thought she should be open to anything All grateful, but still...within limits.
A wizened servitor poked her shoulder with a stunted limb, while a pale eye twitched convulsively.
It tried to speak, but the rune-engraved nails on its lips and chin only elicited wet gurgling sounds from him while a long string of drool swayed from its chin.
On Terra, her meditative awakenings were tended by living servants, and although those smooth-skinned subordinates had their tongues removed and signs of ownership nailed to each eye, they remained Someone alive who knew how to wipe her sweat away when she tired, massage her shoulders, and lovingly record on scented parchment any insights that came from meditation.
On Terra, her meditation chamber is crowded with locust-like automatons with emerald eyes and ruby chins, colorful streamers of psychoactive pheromones dripping like musk behind them.
In Terra, there are a dozen cogitators serving only to explain her visions.
In Terra, the majesty of her quarters was matched by the view from the central attic, and between assignments she could spend hours gazing at the distant mountains.
In Terra, her family was able to demonstrate their influence through art and money.
So, her current situation is a bit uncomfortable.
Here, that one-armed man, machine with a tech pen and a slug is the best the Inquisitor has to offer.
It poked her again, leaving a stupid streak of ink on her exposed skin, then looked away and rolled its eyes.
Above it, a malfunctioning servo drone moved haphazardly on the ceiling, emitting a cheap scent, before it crashed frustratingly against the wall, and Melissa found herself mindlessly counting - , like a plastic heart beating.
Here, anything could distract her from her memories.
The gift of her father has passed, there is nothing left to stay in this dreary little room, and the growing pressure behind her eyes cannot be contained forever. Melissa sighed, draped a simple robe over her shoulders, clenched her chin, extinguished the candle, and focused on the details of meditation, her mind still burning brightly.
"Record."
She waved the order, and the servitor straightened up immediately. The stylus rested on a swinging fortune-telling stone and made a prepared sound.
"Narration follows."
She rolled her eyes, ignoring the whispers of the minion's joints.
"In the name of the Emperor, the Chief Predictor under Inquisitor Lennart Meyerstus stalks the Imperial world, serving the Most Blessed Inquisition and loyal to the Golden Throne, I prove the origin of this account with my soul and swear that it is true without a doubt - otherwise I may my master judge me."
After saying that, she took a deep breath and shuddered in the cold air. trembling.
"Blessed be his throne and his rule, praise the Emperor!"
She watched the servitor scribble the inscription with mechanical twitches, scrolling the dataslate to a clean line.
She took a moment to calm down, pursed her lips, and then continued.
"The third time, referring to the previous records, meditation began with... a high degree of perception."
She closed her eyes, thinking of the cold, the abyss opening in all directions, the kind of nothingness Dizziness, frost condensing on her skin.
As a psyker in training, her power is called "visionary eye", which is a kind of prophecy that favors short-term accurate perception. Usually, such power is used in the Astra Militarum to provide strategic deployment for the generals. Be supportive.
Immersed in her memories, she continued to talk, using the skills she had been taught since childhood.
“I...I feel like I’m standing on a very high place. The ground around me collapses, like on a lonely peak. I can’t see anything but...a mountain made of metal. , there are so many colors, but I know if I go too far in any direction, I will fall. I will fall, and never stop, falling into... the bottomless darkness, where there is no light. , I can't see anything, but... I know something is there, I can feel it, there is a moment of fear, but..."
She smiled dryly, with a certain kind of pride.
“...Although today, for the first time, I didn’t vomit.”
She then continued her narrative in a formal tone.
"Something is approaching, passing through the curtain and the ice. Although I am scared, I still stand where I am..."
She bit her lip, her eyes wet.
"Perhaps I was more afraid of falling than of the approaching presence, I don't know, from the meditative state I had been in before, I had woken up by this time, and my efforts to know more details were thwarted, Today I... persevered, and I'm sure I caught a glimpse of... a presence in the shadows that I didn't realize until now seemed to be me."
She looked up and realized what it sounded like. How ridiculous.
No matter how insightful the servitor was, he would not show it and would just wait for her next words as blankly as ever.
(End of this chapter)