The scholar slowly paced over to Imotekh, took the royal staff from his hand, and raised it overhead, examining the Scepter in that faint glimmer of light.
"You know, intelligence and stupidity have nothing to do with rank or birth. But the worst thing is a fool who doesn't know his place."
"Just like those who foolishly believe they can control everything simply by returning to the galactic stage."
"Stupid!"
"Clever!"
The parrot on the scholar's shoulder squawked.
With a gentle sweep of his hand, the scholar conjured an image.
It showed the Old Ones trapped in the Warp, fighting a host of Chaos creatures.
"Thanks to the legacy of the Old Ones, you were fortunate enough to rule the galaxy for a time. That was already the greatest blessing your pathetic race could hope for."
"Yet even now, you fail to grasp the situation. Utter stupidity. By comparison, even the Aeldari know better than you how to read the times."
The scholar placed his hand on Imotekh's shoulder and looked toward Bona with him.
"I have waited hundreds of millions of years for this opportunity, and so have they. We will not allow anything to go wrong."
"You overstepped your bounds. For that, you must die."
"Be more careful in your next life."
With that, threads of fate flowed from the pages of the book, and the scholar gently nudged fate onto a different course.
His slender fingers swept past, weaving a length of thread into the main strand.
The imaginary-number engine's target shifted from Bona to Imotekh.
Imotekh's vocal apparatus hummed faintly. He tried to say something, but never moved again.
In the blink of an eye, time raced backward, returning to the point where it all began.
When Bona kicked open the doors to the Throne Room