After leaving the shop, Amon found the inn. Without a word, he tossed a gold coin to the owner, who caught it almost with his teeth, and ascended to the first available room. The sorcerer had gathered a lot of information and intended to ponder it in peace.
Moreover, he had decided to make another attempt to reach the warp. He had wanted to do this earlier, while he was in the hold of a pirate ship, but a series of events and a brutal fight with the Templars had exhausted Amon. He had then fallen into a light sleep for several hours, which was a substitute for the sleep of the Space Marines. Now, the sorcerer felt fully recharged and confident of success.
The room greeted Amon with a wooden bed and a log as a pillow, a dirty floor, and thin walls. They were so flimsy that the sounds of conversation, the clinking of bottles, and the fake moans of the prostitutes were clearly audible through them.
Amon took off the sack that served as his clothing. He sat on the floor, crossing his legs. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Nothing had changed. He still sat on the hard planks, feeling their oily surface, while the darkness in his eyes did not shift to the cool tranquility of emptiness.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
'I need more time,' thought Amon. 'Too many events. I spent a huge amount of energy on the battle with the Templars, summoning the demon, and the magical shield. All of it knocked me off course. Meditation will help bring my mind back into order.'
He sighed deeply, more than necessary, and tried to relax. But tranquility did not come. He was constantly distracted by external sounds. Mice were scratching beneath the floorboards, drunken voices and loud laughter echoed from the corridor, and above, a bed creaked rhythmically.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Sensing Amon's scent, fleas and bedbugs crawled from all sides, swarming in the cracks. Unable to bite through the thick skin of the Space Marine, they ran aimlessly over his exposed body, tickling it with their legs.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
No matter what Amon did, the warp energy did not flow through his nerves. There was no familiar tingling in his fingertips, ready to burst forth as magical lightning or sorcerous fire. No sinister voices whispered, merging into an endless white noise at the edge of his consciousness.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
"I tell him," came a voice from outside, "Take that damn metal thing off, rookie, before I shove this hook up your ass!"
A deafening laugh from beyond the door brought Amon to fury.
The sorcerer jumped to his feet.
"Shut up!" he bellowed with a thunderous voice. "I'll tear your tongues out!"
For a few seconds, the chatter died down, and then someone on the other side of the wall hissed:
"Who is this? My ears are ringing."
"Probably a neighbor. Damn, what a voice... With that, you don't need a trumpet. Should we visit him? He's threatening decent folk..."
"What kind of lungs does he have to yell like that? Just like our late captain, rest his soul... better have another drink, for the captain... let's remember his soul..."
Glasses clinked. The guests, who had been quiet after Amon's shout, once again filled the inn with their hoarse laughter and chatter.
Having let his anger out, Amon suddenly calmed down. He lay on the floor on his back, resting his hands behind his head. The sorcerer collected his thoughts, as if preparing for a leisurely debate in his homeland, Prospero, where the beauty of expression mattered as much as their truth.
'I won't succeed,' Amon thought distantly. 'And it's not because of the minor distractions. I've cast spells in the thick of battle before. Bolter rounds were roaring, chain swords were tearing through ceramite, and cannonades were deafening. And despite all that, I freely scooped power with both hands, spending it as if I wouldn't have to pay for it later.
But now, I've looked inside myself, and I haven't found a single coin in my soul. I've lost my sorcery. The warp is gone. Why? That's the question.'
The sorcerer continued pondering.
Perhaps this world is covered by a suppressive field created by ancient xeno-technologies? I've encountered them on my path before. There's no need to look far for examples. Everyone in the Long War knows about Cadia.
No, that's not it. On abandoned planets, where the ancient masters of the galaxy still slumber in their depths, I've always felt cold and emptiness in my mind. But now – I'm alert, and my mind is clear, like a dew drop at dawn. Also, the shopkeeper mentioned a school of mages in El-Farrah in the east. If there was a suppressive field here, no one would be able to cast spells. This option doesn't fit.
My visionless gaze was fixed on the ceiling, stained and blackened by humidity. Thoughts flowed calmly and smoothly.
Maybe I've developed a new uncontrollable mutation. The sorcerous shield I used on the "Dark Truth" couldn't fully protect my body from the warp. And the warp – is a synonym for change. Perhaps it's harmed my body, damaging the psyker gene. The fact that the acidic saliva no longer flows in my mouth is an argument in favor.
But on the other hand, I've never heard that a psyker can lose their powers through mutation. If this were true, who would stop the creation of a virus that destroys the necessary part of the cell? Oh, the Imperium would gladly use such a weapon! No, that's also wrong. The psyker gene is very resistant, it's practically impossible to destroy it completely, and it has a reflection in the warp.
But if that were so, why would such a sudden, powerful mutation be so selective? Why didn't it turn me into a heap of senseless flesh?
The ceiling blurred into a single brown spot. Amon blinked.
There's one more option – this is all just a hallucination. I lost to the Templars, and instead of killing me, they handed me over to the Inquisition. The damn loyalists injected my body with drugs, and I'm slowly going insane, trapped by fantasies and visions. But that way, I could explain everything. And besides, I don't want that! Because in that case, nothing depends on me.
I could lie here and think, doing nothing, since all my actions would be meaningless. But I want to live, I want to fight, I want to return to the Eye of Terror and continue my path to power, dominance, and revenge against the filthy Wolves! No! There must be another explanation.