Endless whispers echoed beneath the stars, that quiet Psionics Power resonating between reality and the Shroud.
Brilliant nebulae churned at the center of the system, deep-purple Psionics Power seeping from every part of them.
Every prayer joined the vast whispering in the void. A conical starbase hung between two nebulae, anchored by countless psionic chains.
Mind over matter, idealism eternal.
We are our own overlords.
Beneath elaborate crimson robes, a mysterious Psionic Adept clasped his hands.
"[Teacher], what did you sense?"
"...The gods are angry."
"Why are the gods angry?"
"...Because the foretold godslayer has arrived, and we have done nothing."
"[Teacher], what should we do?"
"...The gods are not gods, and I am myself."
"Your wisdom has always guided us, [Teacher], but we are dull-witted and cannot even comprehend your teachings."
The masked Shroudwalker mentor in red robes turned around and silently drew a teaching rod from his broad sleeve.
"...I mean, what the gods think is none of our business! We don't even believe in those things in the Shroud! You fucking idiot!"
After taking a few strokes, the student ran off, laughing.
[Teacher] returned the rod to his sleeve, gently smoothed the veil over his face, and clasped his hands.
"...The gods, too, have things they fear. They were never gods."
"[Teacher], you're questioning those fellows in the Shroud again."
A red figure appeared below the altar and slowly approached.
"We aren't like those religious, spiritualist empires. We Shroudwalkers merely have a relationship of mutual exploitation with those fellows."
"...Of course I know that."
[Teacher] turned around. His scarlet veil fluttered softly without a breeze, though he released not a trace of Psionics Power.
The two Shroudwalkers looked at one another through their veils, each able to see the other's eyes clearly.
"[Teacher], have you gained another