The peak of the Himalayas was a realm of eternal white-outs and thin air. Suddenly, a rainbow-hued pillar of energy tore through the clouds, slamming into the summit with the force of a falling comet. The shockwave instantly cleared the snowstorm for miles.
As the air stilled, two figures stepped out of the fading radiance: Odin, resplendent in his golden battle-plate, and Emrys.
"The Bifrost," Emrys murmured, his gaze tracing the lingering spatial distortions with undisguised envy. Odin noticed the look and instinctively tightened his grip on Gungnir, as if fearing the young man might try to dismantle the bridge for parts.
To cross light-years in seconds was a feat of engineering that even the finest warp-drives struggled to match without the risk of daemonic incursion.
"Do not covet what you cannot master," Odin warned, his voice heavy. "The Bifrost is not a machine; it is a manifestation of the World Tree. To wield it, one must be of Aesir blood. Do you truly wish to tie your soul to the parasite that feeds on my people?"
"...No, thank you." Emrys felt a flicker of regret. Another shortcut lost. If the bridge was tied to the World Tree, it was useless to him; he couldn't exactly transplant a cosmic parasite into the Warhammer universe.
Emrys looked at the thick fog and the ancient stone structures emerging from the cliffs. He had suspected as much. Odin's "old friend" was the Sorcerer Supreme.
"Allfather. Emrys."
A man in traditional sorcerer's robes stepped from the shadows of a mountain pass. He lowered his hood, revealing a face marked by a sincere, almost rigid discipline.
"The Sorcerer Supreme has sensed your arrival," the man said. "I am Mordo. I have been sent to escort you to Kamar-Taj."
Emrys stiffened for a fraction of a second. Mordo. The future architect of the sorcerous purges. He wondered if the Ancient One already knew of the darkness brewing in her student's heart, or if she simply viewed it as an inevitability.
Mordo traced a circle in the air with a Sling Ring. A shower of sparks formed a portal, and the three of them stepped from the freezing Himalayan peak into the sun-drenched courtyard of a temple.
Students in simple tunics moved through the grounds, practicing the somatic components of spells. None looked up. Odin's presence was shielded by his own divinity, and Emrys followed in his wake. Mordo led them to a modest wooden door, bowed, and retreated.
Inside, a woman with a shaven head and a simple white robe sat in a meditative posture. She looked like an ascetic, yet the air around her hummed with the weight of centuries. On her face, time had no purchase.
"Sit," the Ancient One said, raising a hand. A tea table appeared between them as if it had always been there, three cups of steaming water waiting.
Odin sat with the familiarity of an old comrade, ignoring protocol. "You know why we are here. State your price, Stephen's predecessor."
"It is... difficult," the Ancient One replied, her voice calm as a still lake.
Difficult means possible, Emrys thought. He leaned forward. "If there is a service I can provide for the Sorcery of Earth, name it."
The Ancient One smiled, but her eyes remained on Odin. "Allfather, may I speak with the young traveler alone?"
Odin raised an eyebrow, looking between the two, then stood. "Talk, then. I shall wait in the gardens." With a shimmer, he vanished.
"Do not be tense, Merlin," the Ancient One said, pouring a cup of tea. "I have lived for a long time. I am not in the habit of harming those who seek to save themselves."
"You look different than I imagined," Emrys said, testing the waters.
"If you prefer a white-haired old man, I can accommodate you," she replied, her form shimmering briefly into a more comic-accurate, aged visage before returning to her feminine shape. "Form is an illusion. What matters is intent. Shall we reach the point?"
"Your conditions," Emrys stated.
"Three of them," she said, her galaxy-deep eyes locking onto his. "The first: would you be interested in taking my mantle? Become the next Sorcerer Supreme."
"No. Absolutely not. Never." Emrys stood up to leave immediately.
Becoming the Sorcerer Supreme meant becoming a puppet of the Vishanti. It was a gilded cage, a lifetime of service to multiversal entities who demanded a high price for their 'white magic.' Emrys had no intention of trading his freedom for a new set of masters.
He took two steps, but found himself walking in a geometric loop, ending up exactly where he started. The Ancient One had touched the floor, folding space like paper.
"I'm not a prisoner, am I?" Emrys's eyes narrowed, his hand hovering near his belt.
"I'm merely asking," she sighed. "Why the refusal? The compensation is vast."
"Because I don't believe in free lunches," Emrys replied. "And I don't want to be a puppet on a string."
"A fair assessment," she said, gesturing for him to sit. "I can feel the 'authorities' in your soul, Merlin. It is a... crowded place. War, Slaughter, Knowledge, Change, Sickness, Desire. I have never seen so many competing echoes in a single spirit."
Emrys felt a cold sweat. War and Slaughter—Khorne. Knowledge and Change—Tzeentch. Sickness—Nurgle. Desire—Slaanesh. The Four Gods of Chaos. The Warp had left its mark on him, deeper than he had feared.
"Can you purge them?" he asked urgently.
The Ancient One paused. "A human is defined by these things. Without Desire, you are a stone. Without Hope, you are a corpse. I cannot 'purge' the fundamental emotions of your soul, for that would leave nothing behind."
She looked at him with sympathy. "These echoes in your soul—they are your light and your shadow. As long as you maintain your 'original intention,' they cannot claim you. But you ask for a way to deal with concept-proximate entities? Gods born of resonance?"
"Yes," Emrys whispered. "How do you kill a god made of Hope? Or a god made of War?"
"You don't," the Ancient One said. "Even if you shatter their manifestation, they are reborn as long as their core concept exists in the hearts of living beings. To kill the gods of the Warp, you would have to kill every thinking creature in the cosmos."
Emrys felt a crushing weight. He had suspected as much, but hearing it from the Sorcerer Supreme made the reality of the Warhammer universe seem even more hopeless.
"However," the Ancient One continued, "my first actual request is simple. You will stay here, in Kamar-Taj, for three months. You will learn the basics of our art. You will not communicate with the other students, and you will never tell a soul that you were trained here."
"That's it?" Emrys asked, suspicious.
"Three months. Then you leave. Whether you have mastered a spark or nothing at all, you will be driven from these halls. Do you agree?"
Emrys thought of the Destroyer armor, the Warp-tainted blade in his possession, and the encroaching darkness. "I agree."