+Many things about you.+
+You found out?+
+What reason would I have not to?+
The man raised his head and gave a soft smile. The blazing sun still hung overhead, and one of his sons was not far away, sulking as he struggled with great clods of overturned earth. The man shouldered his hoe, putting on the appearance of taking a break.
+Since you found out, then, do you intend to stop them?+
+Stop what?+
+You know—make them stop, for instance, or simply alter their cognition en masse. I know you can do it.+
+I can, but I won't. Even if they know, it will change nothing. The Astral Beacon must burn.+
Stubborn.
The man smelled that familiar scent. He set down the hoe, letting it sink deep into the soil.
Then he sat down. The field he was responsible for had already been partly tilled. Not long ago, he had even joked that once this wheat ripened, perhaps he could try making some food himself and taste it. Surely it would not be too bad. After all, he was a farmer's son.
Everyone was a farmer's son.
The one speaking with him had mocked his leisurely mood at the time, but now, that person had lost even the strength for that.
Aside from stubbornness, he also smelled the scent produced after burning. A familiar smell. Over the past ten thousand years, every day he had smelled the odor produced after his own mind, soul, and flesh had been burned.
He raised his head, his gaze piercing through this space and reaching straight into The Warp. He stared at the burning Astral Beacon, saying nothing for a time, and only spoke again several minutes later.
+They are gathering their strength... I can tell.+
+Oh, well, that really is rare. So