Infiltrator Shell

Eido and Eris Morn sit together amid disorderly piles of books. Eido neatens the piles as best she can, straightening and arranging and alphabetizing. Eris places an open book face down on the table while her eyes glance over another, Hive runes riddling the uncurled page.

"To Xivu Arath, war and worship are one and the same. Through combat, her desires become our desires. Her conflicts become our conflicts," Eris muses.

Eido has learned the habits of her research partner, how Eris speaks as much to herself as to those around her.

"We are pulled into the same model of action," Eido muses. She smooths the folded page of the first book Eris set aside and leaves a bookmark in its place. "This strengthens Xivu Arath's position."

"Violence always bleeds its own end," Eris says, folding a page corner in the second book before closing it. "Xivu Arath knows this. Her rituals are not apotropaic gestures. They are invitations."

Eido runs the tip of a claw across her datapad, where she has accumulated many meticulous notes.

"But war itself is a ritual," Eido says.

Green eyes meet the Eliksni's blue.

"How so?"

"There are tactics and planning," the Scribe says carefully. "Engagements and losses—sacrifices—all organized to a larger design. To wage war is to invite—or to compel—the participation of one's enemies."

Eido holds Eris's penetrating gaze.

"Savathûn directed us to her desires by making them our own. So, too, does her sister. Their methods differ, but their goal is the same."

Eris rises to her feet. There is an avalanche of papers as a nearby stack of books tips onto the floor.

"We must compose a message to the Techeuns."