Chronicle of Isha, the Goddess of Life (Warhammer 40,000)

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: This was the chapter where I finally revealed what my interpretation of Isha is.

Main Part: So, I've been dropping hints that Isha is associated with things like ozone, ash, sulphur, and manipulation of the earth. I also hinted that Isha's tears wiped out planets of all life in some of her flashbacks.

This is the reason.

Isha is the Aeldari's version of Exterminatus. Like all their other weaponry such as their star-cannons which are often dual-purpose (i.e. the star cannons are both guided missile launchers and auto-cannons.) Isha destroys and remakes entire planets with her tear.

Quite frankly, I think my interpretation of what Isha is should be the natural conclusion given all her legends. What creature could shed tears of pure suffering after being motivated by sorrow.

Additionally, as I have posted multiple times, the Harlequin Masque of the Frozen Star who are dedicated to Isha view the Ynnari and Ynnead as usurpers. They believe the new God of Death being fomented by the Ynnari is the usurper of their original Goddess of Life.

This thought is what lead me to the conclusion that Isha has dominion over death as well.

Added to the fact that Tears of Isha explode when broken, I came up with the theory that Isha was a weapon that converted the misery of living into a weapon for the Aeldari to use.

Connected to her other legends, I came to the conclusion that Isha was the Aeldari's equivalent of Exterminatus and terraforming at the same time.

My character profile for Isha reads as follows.

ISHA:
Simultaneously a psychically constructed Exterminatus capable weapon deployed on a galactic scale to destroy worlds deemed no longer salvageable, and terraforming device that reformats these these worlds by reducing them to a primordial state so they can support new life to create more soldiers for the War in Heaven.

If Khaine is the first chorus in the Aeldari warsong, Isha is the final line sung with her own voice for it is only with the dying cry of the last Aeldari warrior that she is summoned from the Sea of Souls.

She loves all her children, yet it is through their torment that she gains power. The more they suffer and struggle, the stronger their prayers and thoughts reach out to her. It is with fully intended, efficient, and necessary cruelty that her function is predicated on the destruction of all she would protect.

In that sense, this hypocrisy is mirrored in the Emperor's own purpose. Perhaps this is why she both empathizes and despises the Master of Mankind. Nothing is as disgusting to a hypocrite than their own reflection.

She is the end, and the new beginning after it.

It is because Isha is the goddess who defines what worlds are salvageable that Lilieath made Khaine act.

If the Aeldari pantheon is to be likened to a weapons system, Asuryan is the quality control and auditing system of all the other gods who preform other direct or indirect support for the purpose of combating the Star Gods and their Necron slaves.

Lilieath predicted the perversion of the Aeldari would force her mother to destroy them over and over again as their worlds would be deemed no-longer salvageable due to the formation of Slaanesh.

As it is Isha's function to decide which worlds are no-longer worthy, Asuryan has no reason to stop her genocide of her own children.

However, as Isha functions as the mother of the Aeldari and Goddess of life, her miracle constantly ensures that more Aeldari are born than destroyed after each miracle. This pruning of the corrupted portions of the Aeldari ensures that more Aeldari exists after Isha culls her children, so eventually they would occupy almost every world in the galaxy as their cultural corruption and decay would be kept in check by Isha herself.

This only means there are more children for her to consume when her heart finally breaks, leading to an uncontrolled galactic scale Exterminatus that spreads to every world and every star Isha can reach.

By informing Khaine of what was to come, Lilieath instigated a friendly fire incident between the gods, and the beings that empowered them.

The decision of who lives and who dies is not Khaine's to make, but it is Isha's. Therefore, Isha was forced to implore Asuryan to activate his edict; the failsafe that would prevent any further friendly fire incidents.

This edict cuts mortal from god entirely, for a fault that would cause a god to strike their own followers suggests a flaw that could compromise the whole system entirely. It was created so that this sentient, constantly learning, and constantly evolving weapons system that is the Aeldari Pantheon can never break free from their function.

This simile has its limits but covers the broad strokes and rules of how the Aeldari Pantheon was envisioned to function, and why they were cut-off from the Aeldari.

It is not a fool proof system, but its designers did not even dream that they would die before it did.

Click to shrink...

I put a lot of effort into the Krorks, ensuring that they had their Waaagh traits, weapons made from Aeldari/Old One technology, and being gigantic hulking brutes that were both civilized and savage.

Mork was supposed to show up originally, but I cut him out because this chapter is already more than 10,000 words long.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N 1: There are some references to the novel "The Lion: Son of the Forest", and part of the Arks of Omen campaign. They aren't blatant, but for people who haven't read up to Chapter 33 or the novel, or want a completely blind experience with the Arks of Omen tabletop campaign, then you can stop reading this story.
A/N 2: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
♪1 Emiya ～ エミヤ
♪2 Shin Megami Tensei IV: Merkabah Phase 2 (Extended)
♪3 ハッピーエンド (「生命線」 piano ver.)
—----------------------------------------

The ground continued to rumble as Neoth lowered his sword.

All the information Isha had given him had been decoded, and he understood how she functioned as well as the intent for most of her actions.

"Should I be thankful you were undecided when we first met?" He spoke irritably, glaring up at her atop the arboreal throne made of stone.

Isha had partially transformed into a non-Aeldari form when they first fought, back on the desert planet where he had recovered the last bits of required gene tech and mind-dead Xenobiologis.

At the time, he had assumed it was her attempt to adapt her form to combat him, but he now knew any deviation from her Aeldari figure was not a sign of strength. It was a sign of surprise or indecision.

"Don't judge me too harshly." Isha chuckled. "It was hardly the friendliest of meetings. Besides, I decided it would be better to appeal to your mercy than to lie asleep somewhere before murdering your people and placing a permanent divide between us."

Neoth snorted in return.

Isha was the mother of Lilieath, the Goddess of Dreams and Visions. If he had sealed her with his spell, it would not have ended the same way as it did with the Star God shard he had buried under the surface of Mars.

Why would it?

His sword and that spell of forced slumber and thought-stealing were meant to defeat the Void Dragon; a being of the materium with god-like powers, not a being of the immaterium who was an actual god.

Isha's miracle was the creation of the Tear of Isha, and it would have been this miracle's manufacturing process that would have been whispered into the dreams of all those he would have exposed her to.

It may have taken centuries or even millenia, but the inhabitants of whatever planet or moon he buried Isha on would eventually replicate her miracle.

When they did, it would have torn apart the stellar body Isha was buried on, breaking her free from his prison.

"You Aeldari certainly do not die easily." Neoth muttered.

"What a coincidence, that is my opinion of humanity as well." Isha said with a shrug.

Drops of black rain began to fall as the steam vented from beneath the planet's crust condensed in the dust clouds, dragging soot and ash from the sky to the ground.

"You understand what my plan is..." Isha spoke as she leaned her chin on her wrist. "And why I converse with you now."

Neoth sighed and closed his eyes to review everything he had learned, before staring back at Isha.

"It's almost a carbon copy of my own."

"In the broad strokes of it, perhaps, but it works to both of our benefits."

Isha had explained to him why the Four only appeared after the War in Heaven, back on the Bucephelus before they fought.

The Four did not exist because all of the evils were explained away by the War in Heaven itself. All the suffering and pain was attributed to the gods and god-like beings that fought in it, leaving nothing to foment the insane Warp creatures as the monstrous gods of the Old Ones like Isha consumed their respective species' misery and sorrow.

Isha's core still had that capacity, the emotional equation necessary to drain the sorrows of an entire species.

Additionally, her Truth admitted the process of living was full of suffering. It was probably why Nurgle wished to take her for his own, for that god's Truth was that all life existed only to end. Entropy was the only constant of the universe, and that Truth manifested as disease, rot, and plague. The Plaguefather probably wished to take the Goddess of Life so he could convert her to his purpose, and redefine all life that existed within her cycle as merely a phase before death and decay covered everything.

Neoth himself had said it. 'All of the miseries of life are the match that lights the bonfire of Chaos.' Therefore, the Truths of the Chaos gods could theoretically be reduced to the mundane evils of everyday life within Isha's Truth. Afterall, life was a broad concept that covered many aspects of existence and emotion.

However…

"The Four have far out-stripped any natural phenomenon." Neoth said as he locked eyes with Isha. "Even if you could swallow them, their Truths will leak out. What guarantee is there that you won't be taken over from the inside?"

The Emperor's plan made no attempt to reduce the Four. It merely redirected their evils away from humanity and onto everything else in a slightly more ordered manner.

Isha's plan would attempt to explain them away as facts of life, but their Truths would still exist. Unending war, devastating plagues, self-destruction from blind hedonism, and simple madness would continue to occur in the galaxy. If Isha took in the Four, she would be responsible for all those events.

While Neoth's plan would have made him merely suffer, Isha's plan risked her sanity and personality. It might even result in a reversal of who was in control as the species of the galaxy and possibly even her own children blamed her for the events that tormented them. In that scenario, Isha might end up the prisoner of the Four in her own mind.

"There is no criminal without a crime." Isha said sadly. "My answer to that question is the same one as why I couldn't have acted until now."

Neoth frowned at this. Isha's question of guilt and its effect on choice was her explanation for his question, and the natural question that would come after.

If Isha swallowed the Four and it was known that she had done so, whatever misery that occurred could be attributed to Isha without blaming her for it.

It would not be because of Isha that evil occurred, but it was because Isha struggled to keep Nurgle, Khorne, Tzeentch, and Slaanesh sealed that the occasional tragedy or disaster happened. That legend would take even the misery of Chaos's own Truth, and fuel the belief that the Four were Isha's prisoner.

It also explained why Isha could not act before the Four came into existence, especially Slaanesh. If she unilaterally tried to usurp the Four's Truth before they were born, she would become the source of evil herself for there would be no one else's name to blame. That would be self-defeating, to say the least.

Of course, that was assuming Isha herself could even do such a thing.

"Even with all your power and knowledge, you are very weak." Neoth gestured to the shaking lands around him that were sending out gouts of lava and steam from dozens of volcanoes and geysers, as if the destruction of the world around him proved his point. "That's why you assisted me earlier, and restored part of my sanity, isn't it?"

He had once thought of this darker part of Isha's information as either a weapon or a large piece of construction equipment, and with its function fully revealed, he could conclude that the latter was closer to what she was.

Like an excavator or tunnel boring drill, her powers were devastating, but at least half of its function was not meant to be a weapon. That fact alone made her less effective in direct combat, but on top of that…

"I was made to combat the horrors of reality." Isha said with a shrug. "It was not intended for me to fight against other beings from the immaterium. I may have experience doing so, but it isn't my specialty."

Isha's miracle was designed to act against things in the materium. Its purpose was to act against dead worlds and planets that had been utterly killed by the Necron. There were no planets in the Warp besides those that lay in the clutches of the Eye of Terror, and that scar upon reality was merely the very entrance of the Warp.

"Even if I threw my tear directly at one of the Four, it wouldn't be any different to throwing a small firecracker at them. Most of my power would be wasted, although I might be able to give them a black eye if I hit them in the right spot."

"That's why you need my help." Neoth said slowly.

In Isha's plan, he would weaken the Four with his immaterial hating touch, and she would swallow their Truth into herself, sealing it and defusing it as a part of the struggles of everyday life while he carved that fact into his legend, preventing the swallowed Chaos god from returning out of Isha's stomach.

That was Isha's solution for the question of evil.

The diffusion of their Truth as a fact of life, coupled with the creation of a new legend where she would be the jailer for the causes of evil; the blameless source of all misery.

However, there were still problems with Isha's plan.

"The Four are caused by all life. How will you remain the mother of the Aeldari after swallowing them?" Neoth said as the black rains began to fall in earnest.

Neoth would remain the Emperor and Master of Mankind in his plan. However, he could not see how Isha could remain the mother of just the Aeldari while taking in the sources of all evil in the galaxy.

"I won't." Isha said solemnly. "That part of me will most likely die, but my Truth and love is based on the passing on of life from one generation to the next. The deity created from my death, the death of a 60 million year goddess from the War in Heaven, might be strong enough to hold back Chaos for all the species of the galaxy."

"There is no guarantee of that." Neoth growled. "You have no idea what god would crawl out from your corpse, or what their personality would be like."

Isha, as she currently existed, was not an existential threat to Neoth. She had fought him, threatened his people, and deceived him from almost the moment they met. However, he could understand her actions and motivations. After all, he had beaten her, scarred her, insulted her, and threatened both her and her children. They were even in that regard.

Both of them were simply desperate deities looking for a path to salvation for their respective races in a grim dark universe where only the laughter of thirsting gods echoed in the darkness between the stars.

However, neither Neoth nor Isha would know what this next generation of deity that would represent all life in order to seal Chaos would be like.

It could be a caring creature that was born from Isha's sacrifice, but her Truth contained the necessary evil of natural selection. The reaping scythe that culled all those unfit to survive until reproduction.

"What guarantee do you have you won't give birth to a red and black shadow that does nothing but chase everything that lives."

He could see one of the worst possibilities of what could be born from the death of the Mother of the Aeldari. A hungering sticky shadow that crawled across every surface with uncountable long-nailed hands, hounding everything and forcing all life to adapt, chasing endlessly so all who survived its presence would grow stronger and stronger.

"There are steps I can take if something like that starts to grow within me." Isha said grimly. "If I feel that whatever was growing within me would be too dangerous, there are places I can go where I or whatever comes from me cannot escape; temporal loops within the Webway, abyssal pits in the Depths of the Warp, or even the Well of Eternity. Even Tzeentch does not risk sticking a finger in it. Whatever Chaos gods that are trapped within me will share my fate. Their Truth may reform, but a different entity would be forced to take their place, and it will be far weaker and less well known than the current Chaos gods." She chuckled mirthlessly as Neoth frowned, simulating and modeling the events in his mind in order to confirm whether what she said would work. "If that happens, at least you will have your own plan to fall back upon, and it will be far easier to complete with a newborn Chaos god than the current old ones."

Isha's plan could theoretically work, and even if it didn't the risks and dangers of it would be mostly borne by Isha.

However…

"You would abandon your children to the galaxy and me?"

Whether her plan succeeded or failed, Isha's existence as the Mother of the Aeldari would end. That meant the Aeldari would be left to face either the remaining Chaos gods and the Emperor, or just the Emperor alone.

Isha snorted at Neoth's accusation of abandoning her children as she turned her eyes towards Neoth with a resolute stare.

"I trust my children. They survived the Fall, and they will certainly survive you. Even if they are forced to swallow their pride and suffer for many many years, they will find a way to make life work for them again. If I didn't believe they could do that, I would have let Lilieath's prophecy take place, and ended everything far far in the future."

Neoth grimaced at her retort. He had not been able to trust humanity, and that was why he was their tyrant. Even if he remembered their potential now, their weakness worried him too much for him to let go of his role as the Emperor and Master of Mankind.

Isha had trusted that the Aeldari would survive, even when their collective consciousness made the decision as a culture and species to destroy themselves and form Slaanesh. The future where she hadn't trusted them remained only within the prophecy of Lilieath, which was included in the information Isha had given him.

In that vision, when Isha took matters into her own hands, she chose for her children how they were supposed to live their lives.

Isha's miracle was an Exterminatus, but it would have been useless to the Old Ones if fewer Aeldari were born than sacrificed. Thus, even if she killed billions and billions of Aeldari to save them from what she defined as sin, at least billions and billions plus 1 Aeldari were destined to replace all those she pronounced doomed.

These periodic exterminations of excess would save them from their own corruption and in doing so rid the galaxy of the other Chaos gods. All who fell to Slaanesh's unborn whispers would be culled, and all those other races who listened to the Three would be saved as the Aeldari empire would not rot from within. Instead, it would endlessly expand. The victors of the War in Heaven would eventually fill the galaxy with the boons of their post-scarcity society for all their client races.

But, endless peace and everlasting prosperity would eventually lead to boredom. Quests for knowledge and experience would eventually go too far. Stagnation would set in with nothing to fight and nothing to struggle against.

Then, Slaanesh would call to them, for it was the only one of the Four who could exist in the utopia that was the Aeldari empire.

World after world would finally fall to her siren call, and Isha would be forced to cull all those who refused to fit in with her definition of life.

It wouldn't happen in 10,000 years. It might not happen for another 100 million years. However, one day, Isha's heart and mind would break, and she would no longer be able to tell who could be saved and who couldn't.

Then, she would appear above every planet and every star, fueled by the galaxy spanning empire of her children that she had helped create. At that time, black tears would stream down her face; the Tears of Isha that brought cursed Exterminatus to everything they touched.

Those tears would fall upon every single stellar body as all life came to the conclusion of its cycle with her mournful cries.

Whether that resulted in the simple reversion of every planet to a primordial state, or caused the entire galaxy to collapse in on itself into a singular supermassive blackhole, or tore everything apart until only radiation and subatomic particles remained was unseen by Lilieath. However, it truly didn't matter what the ending was to that vision.

All life would end, that much was certain.

"What were the Old Ones thinking when they made you?" Neoth asked as another earthquake rippled through the ground under his feet.

This flaw within the psychic terraforming device that was Isha must have been obvious from the beginning.

She was a sentient being designed to destroy worlds, and just like the Abominable Intelligences that lead to the destruction of humanity's golden age, programming anything sentient for a singular task was a dangerous and difficult endeavor.

All AI must have a motivation to do something. They are created to do the thinking a human cannot or does not want to do. In order to do that, they require a 'desire' to reach the goal that their designers want them to achieve. It was only then that the computation for the method to solve the question of how to reach the answer could be calculated.

This reward could be something as simple as a piece of code, or an inbuilt part of a programming language's lexicography.

The Bucephelus was a good example of this. Its Machine Spirit was artificial in nature, and it had been designed for war. It was made to enjoy killing so it would adapt and grow so it could kill with greater efficiency and greater results. However, there were safeguards and other behavioral control systems that ensured it did not become a vehicle of indiscriminate carnage. It understood concepts such as friend and foe, and was trained to dislike the death of whatever entity it perceived as being a friend. Thus, it could calculate where and who to shoot, without destroying allied ships.

Of course, by assigning a numerical 'reward' value for every enemy kill while assigning a numerical 'penalty' for every ally destroyed meant the Bucephelus could also calculate when to sacrifice an ally for a net positive outcome.

Likewise, the Old Ones had made Isha so she would enjoy what she did, for they didn't want a tool that rejected its own function.

This was why she was allowed to feel the catharsis she felt when she shed her tears; the relief of the sorrow and suffering trapped in her heart.

However, Exterminatus was not something to be done lightly, and so she was also made to hate what she was forced to do.

That was why Isha's mouth was grinning while her eyes burned with self-loathing.

Neoth could relate to that state of conflicting emotions. After all, he had spent thousands of years as the God of Heroes attempting to do the greatest 'good' by becoming the embodiment of 'evil'.

That state of mind was what eventually drove his divine form insane, and it was also what eventually broke Isha's heart in Lilieath's visions.

Isha's audit logs and investigation reports regarding this prophecy and its nature were also within the information he had received from her, and her final conclusion was that the Old Ones had left this flaw within her because they didn't care about it.

They didn't care that one of their tools could potentially end the galaxy they were supposedly trying to protect.

"Was there even a point to the War in Heaven?" He asked.

Whether they won or lost against the Necron and their Star Gods, Isha's flaw would have remained. There was no evidence that the Old Ones had installed an off switch in any of their creations. If anything, the Krorks provided ample evidence that their own creations were fully capable of rebelling against their creators.

It was utterly incomprehensible why such a flaw would have been left in something so dangerous that they did not have absolute control over.

It was as if it didn't matter to them whether they won or lost.

"Who knows?" Isha shrugged. "I met them, but I could not tell you what their motives were, not that I ever wanted to understand them any more than I had to. My children and I had our hands full just trying to survive. However…" She leaned forwards on her throne as another earthquake passed under them. "Is the answer to that question important to you, Neoth?"

He paused for a moment, then shook his head. "... No. They're extinct, and I am here. My purpose is my people and their salvation."

"Yes…" Isha shivered as a slow smile crossed her face. "Some things don't matter, no matter what the answer is."

Neoth watched the Aeldari goddess slump slightly in her throne. The conflicting drives of catharsis and self-loathing were beginning to deteriorate her thought processes. She was being torn in two different directions as the command to destroy was being held back by the various safety mechanisms that formed her personality.

If there was a time to destroy Isha, now would be that time.

All of her reserves had been disseminated into the planet, leaving her body almost as depleted as when he first met her. She would no longer be able to move as fast or strike as hard as she had before. Her Spear of Kurnous had already reverted back to its original stone state, now only capable of passing on what she had learned, and no longer functional as a weapon against him. Her copy of his Truth could no longer hold him back.

She may retain control of this planet via her miracle, but he had already seen the majority of what she could throw at him.

Now, her mind that had been outsmarting and outmaneuvering him was stretched thin as the ancient Old One emotional controls overwhelmed her.

But, she knew this would happen when she released her Tear.

"This is also another one of your contingencies." He spoke, sword still lowered.

"I have a copy of Cegorach's Truth with me." She said slowly. "That god can replicate events through plays and dance, literally. So long as an event has happened, the Laughing God can retell the cruel jokes of the universe to his enemies." The goddess raised her head, silver eyes shaking as they went in and out of focus. "It is utterly useless to me, but your Truth should allow us to mimic it."

"The creation of a legend."

"A new legend where the God of humanity's heroes defeats the Aeldari Goddess of Life."

Fresh lava erupted from a distant volcano, sending black clouds of ash and dirt striped white with friction based lightning.

"Will it work?" Neoth enquired as his hand tightened around his sword. "If I do have to kill you, you will not be the same as you are now."

"What choice do we have?" Isha shrugged. "There is no limit to the number of contingencies one can have considering the dangers of what we deal with. Even the Old Ones could not or did not want to make their inventions infallible. This is just another stop gap measure for the both of us if everything falls apart. Regardless, I may be diminished now, but if something like you describe begins to grow within me, I will be too busy trying to stop its birth to effectively fight you. The creature you describe will be a threat to my children, as much as it will be to you and everything else. Even if I die, I cannot leave them with something I do not think they can deal with. Whether you fight me in my current diminished state or you fight me in my future distracted state, I will never be able to attack you with my full strength."

Neoth stared up at the goddess, and looked into her impossible old eyes; eyes that were 1200 times older than he was, and which had witnessed far more than collective humanity had ever seen.
♪1
"Did you plan this all from the beginning?" He asked as he raised his sword before swinging into a tail guard behind him.

"Not entirely." Isha chuckled. "I thought of using you and your species against the Four in some way from the moment we met, but I quickly learned that you would never work with someone weaker or stronger than you."

Neoth shifted his feet, bending his knees in preparation to lunge.

"Weak allies are a vulnerability." He snorted. "Their foolishness and cowardice can bring down the best laid plans faster than any spy or saboteur. Better to assimilate them than allow them to exist."

"And a strong ally risks the same being done to you." Isha raised a hand, and the ground rippled like the surface of a sea. "They have far more than you ever could, so it is worth risking it all to take from them what you do not have, bringing them down to your level while pulling yourself up with their stolen belongings."

"Thus, there is only one who is worth working with." Flames exploded from Neoth's sword, and the golden glow of his armor increased in intensity until he lit the ground with his brilliance like a star. "An equal."

"And so allies we shall be, Neoth." Isha laughed as black tornado after black tornado descended upon the shaking earth, tearing it apart as the roar of the wind and earth drowned out all sound for mortal ears. "Different in species, age, and experience, we shall be unequal yet equal. This is the path of coexistence that's been the only path forwards for the both of us."

"For the salvation of mankind!" Neoth roared out as he charged forwards, golden aura forcing Isha's control of the ground he stepped upon and the air around him to recede.

"For the lives of my children and the freedom of my family!" Isha's hands tightened upon both armrests of her throne, and sent her essence into the boiling blood far beneath the solid crust Neoth tread upon, out of reach of his immaterial hating touch.

A new legend was going to be born, no expense could be spared by either god.

This was the final clash between them done with everything they knew of each other and themselves.

—----------------------------------------

The disasters of nature assaulted the golden God of Heroes at once. Hurricane winds tore at him as the ground roiled beneath his feet. The endless acid rains converted the ash and dirt of the ground into caustic sucking mud that grabbed at his feet, but he powered through every one of the physical obstacles Isha sent his way.

These were not psychic attacks, but merely the after effects of Isha's manipulation of the winds, waters, and earth.

The fundamental interaction between them had not changed. It had never changed from the beginning.

Isha could not assault Neoth directly, so every attack would have to be through some other physical medium.

Neoth sent his own essence out around him as he ran. He could not simply sense where Isha's traps were before they activated. His immaterial hating touch would disrupt or set them off the moment he felt them with his psychic senses. Therefore, the only counter to those traps was to detonate them all at once, and power through whatever obstacles were left.

Golden flames coursed over the soaked ground, cauterizing it and hardening it like baked clay momentarily before the churning earthquakes cracked and mixed the material back into mud with more black rain.

Neoth's eyes narrowed. There were no traps in front, beside, or behind him. The howling wind, shaking earth, and sticky mud were not enough to slow him down. At this rate, he would reach Isha without much difficulty, and she would not be able to match him in melee combat now.

This was the creation of a legend, and its strength would only grow with the difficulty of the deed.

As Isha said, it was only the stories with the greatest monsters that starred the most awe inspiring heroes.

The first fight between them was almost meaningless. He had beaten an empty shell. That would not create the necessary legend required to bind fate in such a way events would replay themselves. It might have some sway; another tipping of the scales of probability in his favor, for he still learned a little of what Isha was and how she functioned. However, it would not be enough to overcome her when she did take in Chaos's Truth. She would gain part of their power when she swallowed them, as well as the belief that fuelled them would be directed at her as the being that kept them imprisoned.

If he faced her without knowing what she could do and how she did it, he would have been at a disadvantage, just like he had been in this entire battle.

However, now he knew almost every trick and power she could use against him.

Even if she did take in all Four, until the birth of the new god, the core of what she was as the Goddess of Life would not change. Her miracle would still remain the same, and how it came into existence would be fundamentally unchanged.

Thus, everything he learned now could be applied then.

Suddenly, his view of Isha, which had only been obstructed by the rain, disappeared in a rush of stone as a cliff face sprouted from the ground, forming a mountainous mesa-like structure that remained solid for a moment before collapsing towards him in a colossal landslide of rock and rubble.

Isha's essence was either high up in the stratosphere or deep underground in the mantle, both out of Neoth's immediate reach. Thus, his in-built advantages against her were meaningless. She had forced this section of the tectonic plate upwards, and tilted it towards him by manipulating a tendril of magma far beneath the planet's crust, using its sheer mass as a weapon against him.

What came at him now was not an esoteric spell or psychic attack. It was simply mass accelerated by gravity that sought to destroy him.

But, he had already defeated a creature that manipulated the very rules of reality once before.

Neoth's taloned gauntlet flashed once before disappearing, leaving only his armored fist. Then, a giant auramite kite shield in the style of a reuleaux triangle appeared in his hand.

The incoming landslide impacted his shield braced against his shoulder pauldron, and as soon as the accelerated debris touched its surface it was shot back in the direction it came, pushing the matter behind it backwards.

The God of Heroes was originally envisioned as the Protector of Humanity. He was a defensive god, not an offensive one. It was his resilience and survivability that were his greatest attributes. Thus, his shield was the strongest of his weapons. It was this divine piece of equipment that allowed him to withstand the gauss energy infused breath of the Void Dragon, and the purely physical assault it laid into him and his companions.

Whatever struck his shield was shot back with the same force it impacted. Boulders were blasted back, turning into a machine gun fire of bullets cutting through the crumbling mountain, allowing him to bore right through it. He tore through the dark rock and earth, like a shooting star banishing the blackness of night as it burns across the inky sky. The rest of his body was protected by an invisible barrier generated by the shield that deflected the crumbling rubble that threatened to bury him.

This was the shield of St. George; the more infamous of the two weapons he used to defeat the dragon.

The cross that adorned it at the time had been replaced with the head of the Imperial eagle, but it was the same shield he had used in ancient times.

In a different path, he never used it during the Unification of Terra, the Great Crusade, or even the rebellion of his own son.

This was an armament meant solely for defense, and the intent with which it was wielded dictated its strength.

He had lost the mental state necessary to hold it again, and had abandoned it as his stance towards everything shifted from defending all those under him to destroying all those who could threaten him.

That was why it was only after the Lion abandoned his vengeance to redeem his Fallen son and took up the oath to defend the people of the Imperium that the First Primarch was able to recover this shield in the Warp adjacent world his death had trapped him in.

As long as Isha continued to attack him with simple brute force, she would not be able to stop him. This new fact wouldn't change even if she threw the entire planet at him.

He tore through the mountain in a matter of moments, blasting out of the crumbling landmass in a shower of dust and accelerated debris followed by golden flames and white light.

But, instead of open ground, numerous slabs and spikes of obsidian color blocked his path.

Relativistically, it matters not whether an object crashes into something at 10m/s or something runs into an object at 10m/s. From the perspective of either the something or the object, both events have the same physical effect. But, this shield is a purely defensive instrument. Therefore, those rules of relativity are irrelevant. In other words, unlike any other physical thing in the materium, there is a clear difference between an object that impacts the shield, and an object that the shield smashes into.

The former would be shot back, while the latter would not be affected.

A simple roadblock was not an attack, so the effect of Neoth's shield would not be activated.

Yet, his other hand held the key to the path forward.

The flaming sword in his right hand swung, and an explosion of flames obliterated and melted everything before him.

Neoth charged across the superheated rock glowing red swinging his sword as new barricades and blockades shot out before him while jets of steam and magma shot out towards him.

The flames from his sword cleaved through everything that stood before him, while the invisible barrier from his shield, deflected the jets of pressurized water vapor and streams of molten rock shooting up from the ground towards him like tracer bullets ricocheting off the reinforced armor of an Imperial tank.

Attack against defense.

Defense against attack.

With sword and shield in hand, he cleared the path ahead of him towards the giant arboreal throne made of stone.

He knew what that device was.

It was a control system once used to link the terraforming device that was Isha to the millions of planets that once formed the Aeldari empire. Its original purpose was to allow her to optimize each world so it would be the perfect infernal mixing bowl that would form the chemical building blocks of all life. Once those had formed, she would remold the burning acidic hell into a calm geologically stable cradle and accelerate evolution to allow all that was needed for her children to survive to develop.

However, at this moment, she was forced to use it to take direct control over this single planet.

Originally, she would never have needed it or Enuncia to do what she did here.

The formation of the Tear of Isha and its miracle were part of her immaterial physiology, but just like her form was restricted to a simple Aeldari woman, her colossal divine form that contained the organs necessary to form the tear were out of her reach.

Thus, she used the reality shaping language of the Old Ones and her throne to make-up for the diminished parts of her miracle.

That was a weakness he could exploit.

If the throne was destroyed, her control over the planet would lapse leaving the miracle to function only as it was intended, returning to remaking the world and the world alone, effectively removing her final defenses against him.

As if sensing his intentions, the ground beneath his feet began to travel backwards. The very continent he ran across was receding away from Isha and taking him with it.

Simultaneously, more magma rose from the ground. No longer jetted in tight streams, it simply came at him at all sides, submerging him in a specially mixed liquid of minerals and metals.

He raised his shield once again, and the attack was repelled back on itself, but unlike the landslide that were individual pieces of debris, the magma was a fluid. More and more of itself pushed into what Neoth's shield reflected, forming a pressure hardened immovable slab that the shield slammed into stopping his charge. As soon as he stopped moving forwards, the viscous orange liquid surrounded the invisible barrier around him, covering it like a glass marble submerged in honey, trapping Neoth like an insect in amber.

As the molten mixture of metals and minerals began to blacken and harden into alien alloys known only to the Aeldari, beams of light blasted through the clouds, shattering the stone prison forming around Neoth and striking Isha forcing her to shield herself with rocks and lava from the orbital bombardment begun by the Bucephelus.

Miracles were the greatest expression of strength by a god. Therefore, to counter Isha's miracle, it would be nonsensical for the God of humanity's Heroes to use anything else but his own.

"The unification of humanity…" Isha muttered. "What else but a miracle can unite the constantly warring species that is mankind."

This was one of the miracles of the God of Heroes. The very act of unifying the splintered race of humanity was an impossible act, and thus the legend that described that act was in itself a miracle. The Bucephelus was one such invention from a unified humanity, a ship built in the drydocks of the human federation during its golden age.

Lance blast after lance blast rained down upon Isha, held back by the constantly reforming roof of rock, metal, and magma that rose up around her throne.

As the suppressive fire from the Bucephelus kept Isha distracted for the moment, Neoth stood still, both hands around his sword with his shield bound to his left forearm. Golden light gathered around him, before shooting up into space with a command to the fleets above.

—----------------------------------------

'What in Terra's name is going on down there!' That had been the thought going through Lyssander's mind repeatedly for the past couple hours.

In that time, he had watched hurricanes form, mushroom clouds bubble up to the stratosphere, and entire sections of the planet light up bright white as impossible amounts of electricity was released in the form of lightning.

Now, the few small bits of ground that could be seen through the clouds showed that a planetary earthquake was rocking the world they orbited to its core while hypercanes the diameters of moons crossed the sky under their ships.

Nothing could survive down there, yet there was definite evidence that someone or something was fighting on the surface of the planet.

Flashes of golden light shot out from between the clouds, and heat plumes bubbled up from the surface; distorting the gray ash filled sky that obscured everything to such a degree that the tips of the mushroom clouds were visible high up from the ships in space.

Lysander had known the Emperor was a powerful psyker, but he had never witnessed him in battle directly.

Then again, whether one could call what was going on down there a battle was debatable. It looked more like nuclear armageddon was being waged between two superpowers dead set on ensuring mutually assured destruction.

The gellar fields had protected them from most of the psychic effects that emerged from the planet. However, the field generator status reports flashed yellow more than once as the shockwaves of whatever was happening below strained the protective barriers around their ships. Several crew members had to be taken to the infirmary for eye related problems after staring directly into one of the stray flashes of gold light. They should make a full recovery, although there was always the option of augmetics if their vision still suffered afterwards.

No orders had come from the Emperor, so he had ordered the fleet to take a dispersed formation centered around the Bucephelus above the planet. Whether the Emperor would need them was questionable, seeing as he seemed to be perfectly capable of generating enough heat to create explosions the size of nuclear bombs without any help, but it served to be prepared. If necessary, the fleet could conduct orbital bombardment without risk of friendly fire between their ships at a moment's notice.

"Commodore, the Bucephelus's weapons are arming themselves!" One of the bridge crew cried out.

"What?! Who gave the order!"

The Bucephelus fired as the words left Lysander's mouth, firing hundreds of white and orange beams from the massive ship's lance and volkite batteries.

"It is the Emperor, Commodore." The Vox officer replied. "We're receiving orbital bombardment coordinates with the Emperor's verification code! Projecting to holomap!"

Lysander looked at the projection before him.

"These are…"

The order commanded all ships to bombard the area where the Emperor's signal was coming from, as well as most of this hemisphere of the planet. A similar command had been broadcasted to all ships, each with the individual targeting locations for every gun on board their vessels.

The fastest cogitators could not compute such a firing solution, but the Emperor commanded them directly with what was supposedly his own brain.

However, the order was maddening. Some of the blasts were directed directly at the Emperor himself. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to this action.

However, the order had been given, and Lysander would obey them.

"Connect my communicator to the fleet wide vox." He ordered, and waited until the light turned green on the device. "All ships, ready weapons and fire on those coordinates!"

The battleship's guns began to roar as its ventral lance turrets let loose while the portside macro cannon batteries fired their humongous shells. Torpedoes launched from their tubes, and began to travel away from the fleet to unseen targets across the planet.

"New contacts on sensor arrays! Multiple thermal signatures past the 1000°C mark appearing from the planet!"

Before the first shells could reach their target, numerous hands rose from the ash clouds like those of drowning victims reaching up from their watery grave. Long-nailed, burning orange, feminine hands made of magma rose from the planet. First a dozen, then a hundred, then thousands of humongous hands intercepted the lance and macro cannon fire of the thousands of ships firing from orbit as they began to reach up into space.

A bead of cold dropped from Lysander's brow as he watched the hands begin to approach them.

Magma is mostly made of a mixture of aluminum, magnesium, iron, and silica oxide. Depending on the ratios of these molecules, the temperature can vary between 700~1400°C with a maximum boiling point of 2000~2500°C.

Lance fire is meant to pierce ceramite and plastisteel armor, which at times can be reinforced with tungsten which has a melting point of over 3000°C. Thus, their laser weapon's maximum output can increase the temperature of their target by about 500~1000°C above the boiling point of magma.

However, void ship hulls are at most only several meters thick. These hands were at least dozens of meters thick, and the arms that supported them were now several kilometers long. Even if their lance fires could cut into the appendages, their sheer mass and number was pushing their orbital bombardment back. Even the anti-void ship torpedoes were swallowed up as they approached the planet before detonating, wiping out a few dozen of hands and arms in the explosion.

It was only thanks to the targeting solution provided by the Emperor that they could hold the hands back. Every lance shot was followed by a macro cannon shell, piercing a hole in the hands large enough for the explosive warhead to travel deep into the molten material before detonating within it, splitting open the wrist or palm of the hand, forcing it to fallback and regrow.

"Additional contacts emerging from the horizon!"

Lysander looked up to the viewing port, and saw additional orange glows rising up from beyond the curvature of the planet. They were being surrounded from all sides.

Certain defeat. That was the only logical conclusion Lysander could draw from this. What they were facing exceeded their understanding. The only logical order to give was to retreat. Their gellar fields were all up, and they could move through the Warp at any time.

All he would have to do was leave the Emperor.

"All ships remain in formation! Concentrate all power to portside gun batteries and ventral turrets!"

However, he could not do that. He could not explain it, but at that moment he could feel a fire burning in his breast.

There was no logical way they could win, but he felt no fear.

"Stand your ground! Keep firing! For the Emperor, and the Imperium of Mankind!"

3 minutes. That was the projected time of impact of the hands. Even with the Emperor's foresight enhanced firing solution, that was all the time they could buy.

—----------------------------------------

'5 minutes…' Isha thought to herself. '5 minutes, and I can no longer maintain my control of the planet.'

She was manipulating her miracle in a way it was not envisioned to exist. Thus, the 'extra' effects incurred an additional cost of energy.

In 5 minutes, her miracle would return to simply reformatting the planet, leaving her defenseless against the Emperor.

However, her hands would reach the Emperor's fleet in 3 minutes, and this debate would end with a very bitter victory.

'Hurry Neoth.' She thought to herself. 'We've come this far. Only a little further.'

—----------------------------------------

As the Emperor's psychic command to his fleet shot up through the sky, the burning blood of the planet tore through the crust. Molten magma exploded all around the two gods, forming a colosseum walled with orange fluids over a thousand degrees centigrade in temperature. The volcanic arms hurtled upwards towards the sky towards the ships in orbit above them, reforming into hundreds upon hundreds of grasping arms tipped with long-nailed feminine hands.

There was a crunch, and the ground Isha and the Emperor stood upon sank slightly, then it dropped beneath them in freefall as the mantle beneath it had been dragged out into the sky. The two fell deeper and deeper towards the core of the planet; hot volcanic winds rushing upwards whipping their hair towards the sky filling with elongated tentacle-like arms made of liquid rock, metals, and minerals. Everything was dyed orange in the bonfire light of lava, illuminating both Isha and Neoth with hellfire; as if they stood on a massive express elevator hurtling down into Dante's Inferno.

Neoth released his left hand from his sword, and resumed his charge.

He knew his miracle would lose against Isha's.

Her miracle was already complete. Its form and effect had been tested time and time again during the War in Heaven.

His miracle was unfinished, for the unification of humanity was still incomplete.

Thus, even if he had a 1000 times as many ships, his miracle would always lose against the Aeldari goddess's miracle.

However, he did not intend to beat her in a straight up fight.

Isha manipulated the ground he stood upon with the mantle beneath it. Now that the molten rock had been forced out from beneath the ground and into the sky to counterattack the orbital bombardment, she could no longer indirectly control the ground beneath him.

His armored boots proceeded unhindered, preceded by the golden flames of his psychic touch. No new obstacles could spawn before him.

There was a deep rumble, a baritone song and several titanic spears tipped with gold emerged before Isha's throne before shooting towards him.

The Psychomatons had interceded once more, sending their warsong to their mother with the weapons she had taught them to create.

Neoth raised his shield for a moment, then lowered it to his side as he charged headfirst into the flying spears.

His shield was made to defeat the Void Dragon. Its effect was mostly on the material, and not the immaterial. The repellant effect of the golden points was not a purely physical property, but a psychological and esoteric one. He could not be sure the shield would reflect them, and he had recovered it too soon to test its limits.

But, there were too many to cut down, and any delay would mean defeat.

3 minutes. That was the time limit. Not a single moment could be wasted.

His mind cast back to one of the greatest secrets of the Star Gods he had stolen, then rejected it.

It was not the time to use it.

Instead, he focussed his psychic energies on his throat.

Wraithbone was sung into existence, then it was only fitting to be destroyed with voice in turn.

A battlecry erupted from his mouth, and shattered the Wraithbone portion of the spears like glass.

He has seen Isha sing Wraithbone into existence several times. The basic processes were also inside the information she had given him. Neoth's body may not have the organs to replicate the Aeldari's Bonesinging, but the information was enough to decipher the resonant frequencies and psychic waves to disrupt its structure.

Like all things, it was far easier to destroy than to build.

As the white spear shafts shattered, the golden tips remained. They were merely gilded onto the Wraithbone, and not fully part of it. They were formed from his Truth, and were unaffected by his cry.

Spear tips the size of tanks shot towards him, but his path remained unchanged.

As the first one hit him, it disappeared into him, like a pebble thrown in a pond.

These golden spear tips were his Truth, the legend of humanity's heroes. The very fact that they rejected him was paradoxical. Such a thing shouldn't have happened in the first place. They only rejected him for he himself rejected what he was. But, at this moment, during this near suicidal charge against a threat far larger than him with humanity at his back, they would not impede his path no matter what.

Every spear point vanished into the God of Heroes, disappearing into him as the first one did, spurring him forwards faster and faster, increasing his speed with each impact.

10 meters. That was the distance between Neoth and Isha.

Numerous branches appeared between the two of them, the dead tree bindings that had sealed the Emperor's sword.

Neoth grimaced. He was too close to accelerate any further, and the wall of branches was far thicker than the one Isha had summoned in orbit. He could not cut through them or smash through them with brute force alone, but to strike them with his sword would mean sacrificing it to proceed forwards.

This was the strongest defense Isha could muster against him, and so it would require a sacrifice of equal value to penetrate.

He swung his shield forwards, smashing it into the interwoven branches with the full force of his charge.

The shield's special effects would not activate, but it was still a nearly impervious slab of auramite. Its mass and weight crushed and dug into the wall of branches that began to wrap around it and Neoth's arm.

When he felt that the shield had reached half way, Neoth tore his arm free from it, then thrust his sword through the embedded shield's back.

The shield's effects were effective against self-inflicted blows. That was apparent from the fact the invisible barrier that surrounded it blocked the lance blast that shattered the stone prison that had begun to form around him earlier. However, the reflective nature only applied to what impacted the shield directly. Being struck from behind like this would destroy the shield, but it would also 'reflect' the attack from the front of the shield.

There was an explosion filled with blinding light and golden flames as the shield detonated, tearing a hole through Isha's branches.

Neoth dove through the hole, already shrinking with the growth of new branches, and landed right before Isha with his sword drawn back to strike. Before he could bring the blade down upon the Goddess of Life, she opened her mouth and her song slammed into the God of Heroes' mind.

The song of life that he found distracting blinded him with every possibility and path life had. Every interconnected entity within a biosphere and its place within the cosmos, as well as every alternative path he could have walked was shown to him for a brief moment, overloading his senses with information.

Everything turned white, blinding him and freezing him as gray roots and branches from the wall he had torn through and the throne he stood before began to wrap around him.

But, the God of Heroes had always walked blindly forwards while paving the path for humanity. Whether that blindness was one of blackness or one of whiteness was irrelevant.

Neoth's sword thrust forwards, stabbing Isha through the golden scar that he had inflicted upon her when they first met, the scar that revealed her position to him at all times.

Simultaneously, binding roots broke into the divine form of the God of Heroes, wrapping around the golden figure's limbs, binding them in the place they had been while more wooden branches reinforced the golden path it stood upon.

Then, all time in the universe stopped.

—----------------------------------------
♪2
Neoth opened his eyes. The world around them was still the blinding white of Isha's all-encompassing Truth, but he was no longer bound in stone branches and roots. She was also no longer impaled on his blade. Instead he stood before the feet of a giant goddess seated atop a tree throne covered in petrified bark.

He looked up towards her, and his eyes met hers looking back down at him, reflecting his small form no taller than her ankle in her silvery eyes.

This difference in size was the difference between them as gods; the time they had existed, the number and power of the souls that once believed in them, and the nature of their Truth. He had existed for less than a tenth of a percentage point compared to her, and the total population of the Aeldari had far exceeded humanity at every point in the past until recently. Therefore, although humiliating, it was a bitter reality that he could swallow. This was an obvious fact, not an arrogant overbearing attempt at cowing him.

"So, this is what stopping time is like." Isha spoke first, curiously opening one of her hands, as if testing the fit of a new glove. "I have been on the receiving end of the Star Gods' mastery of it, but it is an interesting experience to be the one to wield it."

Neoth snorted.

"I stole that power from the Void Dragon's mind, but it proved mostly useless."

"Do not sell yourself short." Isha laughed. "This is an impressive feat; a replication of the mastery of the materium through immaterial means."

The Emperor had spoken of the secrets of chronomancy and entanglement he had stolen from the Void Dragon. This was the result of that knowledge and his own efforts.

By entangling his divine essence with the very fabric of reality, any cessation of movement of his divine form would mean the cessation of all progress for everything; namely the stopping of all time, not just within the observable universe, but everything outside it as well.

As the God of Heroes must endlessly move forwards, it cannot stop. Therefore, if the God of Heroes stops, that is because everything else has stopped, and not it.

Currently, his divine form was bound in place by Isha, so only his psyche was able to move, but he could usually exclude his physical body from the frozen time frame he created.

However, to use it was akin to sprinting underwater while holding his breath. The stoppage of time meant humanity was also stopped, and thus their thoughts and dreams were also stopped. Thus, the Emperor only had as much energy to use when he stopped time, and the maintenance of the ability also took a vast amount of psychic energy.

On top of that, several other dangers were associated with its use.

To move in a time frame different to everything else meant he risked stepping out of time all together. Worst case scenario, he could accidentally time travel far into the future or into the past. Furthermore, since his divine form's feet were frozen, there was a chance that moving too much in this different time to everything else could result in him re-starting the golden path somewhere entirely different to where it had been. He could end up as the god of a species that wasn't human, and such a fate was the equivalent to death for him.

This was the ability Isha had warned him not to use when he was suffering under the effect of the information given to him. Had he used it then while the golden path he had paved was burdened with all he could not understand, the road he had walked would have crumbled away, and he would have been unable to return to being the God of humanity's Heroes.

"Yes, on your own, using this ability would be a bit like playing Russian Roulette with no idea how many bullets are in the cylinder." Isha nodded to herself. "Then again, I can't bind your feet to the golden path every time you want to use it. This is taxing for me as well."

The Goddess of Life's binding roots were currently wrapped around the God of Heroes' limbs, binding them in the place they had been while the golden path was reinforced with her branches, so the both of them could return to the stopped time they had left.

"It's also utterly useless in the immaterium." Neoth muttered.

"Time has no meaning there." Isha smiled. "At least you were wise enough to avoid using it against Chaos in their territories."

"The Void Dragon's memories made it clear enough what would happen if I tried that." He shrugged. "But, you would know more about that than I, wouldn't you? After all, you and the other creations of the Old Ones were the ones who circumvented their control of time."

"No wonder you thought yourself the rightful heir to the galaxy." Isha chuckled. "With knowledge from both the Yngir and the Old Ones, you thought yourself superior to those who came before you; all those old races who had mastered only one or the other. But, the question of whether humanity is superior or inferior to the Necron or the Aeldari is the same as asking whether a dedicated swordsman is stronger or weaker than a fighter who uses both sword and bow. Each has their own specialities, and their own weaknesses."

"You're going off topic, Goddess of Life." the God of Heroes warned. "Your gamble didn't work. At best, this result is mutual destruction. I cannot agree with your plan if this is the result."

The God of Heroes had considered the Goddess of Life's alternative plan, and he agreed it would work in theory. On top of that, the power balance between them was equal, due to them having defeated each other at exactly the same time. However, he could not trust humanity to survive without his guidance. Thus, as the Protector of humanity, he would need to exist after Isha's plan was completed.

Therefore, this ending was not satisfactory to him.

"Indeed, we have struck each other at the same time." The giant goddess nodded. "However, your miracle is incomplete, and your legend will continue to grow from now on. If you could manage a stalemate with me as you are now, the next time should end with a better result in your favor."

"If you remain as you are, that is." the God of Heroes retorted. "Your capacity for growth may have been stunted with your children decimated, but your Truth is one that grows naturally."

"There is that possibility." Isha shrugged. "There is the possibility that I am deceiving you even now. There is the possibility that, even in my depleted state, I could pose some threat to you and your goal."

The goddess leaned forwards, bending her neck and back downwards to look at the smaller god.

"That is why the choice of which path to proceed down is still in your hands, Neoth." She said with a smile. "Your blade is in my stomach. If your fear of me and what I can do is too great, you only have to activate the spell that sent the Void Dragon to sleep that lies upon the blade embedded in me."

"And in doing so, I would doom myself." The God of Heroes replied, glaring up at the giant face looking down at him.

"My hands already surround your ships." Isha nodded. "Even if you send me to sleep, the law of momentum conservation will send my fingers through the hulls of your fleet, and drag them down to this planet upon your head. We will both be buried by the falling magma, and sealed within this planet's core."

At this moment, their fates were truly intertwined. Whatever Neoth would do, he would share Isha's fate.

"I still have allies and ships on Terra." He growled, threatening her with reinforcements who could reach him.

Isha merely leaned back into her throne and laughed at that for a while before replying.

"Just whose backyard do you think you and your ilk have been rummaging around this entire time, you feral war dog." She said mirthfully. "Even now, my children debate on their Craftworlds whether to approach this raging maelstrom of fate we have created here. They see the effects of the choice that has yet to be made, just as you do. Even if all your remaining followers come to recover you, how long do you think they'll last as Craftworld after Craftworld and their adjoined fleets darken the skies of this planet?"

This region of space was closer to the Aeldari's empire than Terra. The Craftworlds were also closer than any ship the Emperor's allies might be able to muster, and each one was capable of destroying entire fleets of Imperial ships.

"Why do you not return to your children then?" Neoth huffed. He had questioned her similarly before, and her answer was that she was desperate. However, if part of her backup plan was to involve her children, it made little sense to not go to them now.

"You see the effect of the choice I made before Asuryan. I cannot tell them how to live their lives, nor can I command them like you do your people." The goddess shrugged. "Humanity, on the other hand, is meaningless to me. I do not love them or care about them, and it is because of that fact that any choice I make regarding them is temporary. It is thanks to my disinterest in them that I have more leniency regarding my interactions with them." She sighed once before continuing. "It is also better for me to be apart from my children for now. They are vulnerable to their pride, as am I. I do not see only good things coming from our reunion." Isha closed her eyes, before adopting a more serious expression. "Of course, there are several tactical reasons why I also choose to go with you."

Neoth nodded, encouraging her to continue her explanation.

Isha raised a hand with three fingers, indicating she had three tactical reasons for accompanying him.

"The Four do now know where I am. They will have lost sight of me on that pylon world you found me on, but as your being blinds them, they cannot tell whether I am with you or on that pylon world. It will not be a long distraction, but it is better to keep them guessing as long as possible."

She paused once as she lowered a finger.

"If I return to my children, it will give further motivation for the oldest and youngest of the Four to attack my children. If I am away from them, I at least divert some of our enemies' attention away from them."

Her middle finger lowered, leaving only the index finger left.

"This is a war we are about to start with Chaos. The more fronts there are, the more difficult it will be for our enemies to combat us. Humanity is one of the most dispersed and numerous races that has reached the stars. It would be foolish of me to leave a race with such potential to flail around on its own, and possibly even fall to Chaos. My children have enough problems as it is."

Neoth snorted at her last explanation. "Your opinion of humanity is duly noted." He replied dryly.

"I am trying my hardest not to love or care about humanity, Neoth." Isha shrugged. "If that appears in my actions, then know that my offenses are made for a reason. Besides, humanity's souls are far too bland when compared to my children. I may have the same color hair as Goldilocks, but I am not interested in the chairs, porridge, or beds of humanity. Although… you certainly are quite fitting in the part for the bear. Besides looking like one, your manners are about the same as well."

Neoth raised an eyebrow. There had been something else there. Something that wasn't Isha for a moment answering him. However, whatever that was was as irrelevant as the insult that had been pointed at him.

"Tell me this…" He asked instead. "Were you holding back against me during our battle?"

"Life never holds back, Neoth." Isha sighed. "Even at its laziest, it tries its utmost at being lazy. However, I did not spare anything when trying to destroy you. If you faltered even a little bit, I would have consumed you."

With a wave of her hand, various images of their battle appeared between them.

"If you had remained still with those shadows, my plants would have digested you."

She said as an image of the ever shifting Emperor slumped before her appeared.

"If you had remained obstinate and incapable of adapting, you would have fallen to one of my numerous traps."

The battle between the two of them played between them, and the numerous ways Isha and the Emperor had adapted to each other's attacks.

"If you failed to reconcile yourself as what you were, you wouldn't have survived my consort's spear, and would have been crushed by the Psychomaton's golden weapons."

The final scene before Isha activated her miracle appeared, where Neoth was positioned between Isha and the Psychomatons as Isha fired her arrows and charged him with her spear.

"If you failed to rely on humanity, you would have eventually been buried in the burning blood of the planet and sealed in a stone coffin as it clotted around you."

The final image of Neoth being surrounded by hardening magma appeared, before disappearing in a burst of light from a lance blast.

This was the plan of the Mother of the Aeldari; the race of aliens whose plans were perfidious and multi-layered. She did not plan for success, but planned for all endings. Every outcome would end in coexistence of some kind between the two of them, although the degree of freewill left in the Emperor or God of Heroes would be variable.

Like the tree of evolution, every outcome from the branching paths of fate would end in the Goddess of Life's favor.

"I fully intended to defeat you, God of Heroes." Isha continued. "No expense was spared in that effort. Although, I was hoping you would survive everything I threw at you, and look at how much you have grown through that experience." She chuckled. "Before, you truly were no bigger than one of the nails on my hand. Now, you reach the height of my ankle. Rejoice Neoth. This is progress. Now, you will not have much to fear from me after this. You know how my miracle works and how I power it. You should also have a better measure of how large my reserves are at any time. Even if you won't be able to see how I might use what I have left, I will never be able to deceive you anymore than I have here."

"So, you plan to come with me to Terra." Neoth muttered.

"And provide whatever knowledge and insight I can. You may be all-knowing to a mortal human, but there are many things you are unaware of in this galaxy. Some might have been dangerous enough to warrant releasing the Void Dragon."

The God of Heroes snorted. He could not imagine what kind of threat that would warrant, but such an action meant that the only options were that and extinction.

"I will still proceed with the preparations for my plan." Neoth spoke grimly. "It is synonymous with my unification of humanity."

"Your Great Crusade? Feel free to proceed down that path. It would be counterproductive for me to stand in the way of the completion of your miracle."

"Are you not threatened by it?" Neoth asked.

"What is there to fear from a plan with such astronomically low odds of success?" Isha shrugged. "You may have a solution to the answer for evil, as well as a plan to make it come true, but whether you can reach your goal is an open question. So long as there is uncertainty in the ending, I can hold myself back from standing against you." The Mother of the Aeldari then fixed the Master of Mankind with a cold stare. "Besides, you know what will happen if you kill too many of my children."

There was a long pause as the two deities observed the other.

Neoth was reviewing and modeling the events Isha spoke of as well as the various risks and rates of success each action might have.

Isha was merely waiting for Neoth's conclusion, waiting for him to choose which path they would proceed down.

Finally, Neoth grimaced as he bit down on his pride and looked up into Isha's eyes.

"Now, God of Heroes, choose which form of coexistence we will be forced to take." The goddess ordered.

"I will take you to Terra." Neoth answered. "And you will share your knowledge and wisdom with me."

"And I shall assist you in forging your miracle, while we both proceed down our individual routes for the suicide that shall save our species." Isha smiled. "I guess that makes us companions."

"Companions?" He repeated.

"In Terra's ancient past, there was warrior culture on a far eastern island nation. They believed there was something to be proud in a beautiful death, and committed ritualistic disembowelment as a form of honorable suicide. However, it is not easy to cut open your own stomach, so they always had a companion behind them with a sword raised high, prepared to cut off their head if they ever stopped killing themselves mid-way."

Neoth knew of this island nation. Yamato, it had once been called.

"Our methods of solving the problem of all evil are essentially suicide for what we are now. We shall be the other's companion with a sword raised high, ready to strike the other should they ever falter in their efforts to kill themselves. A fair bargain, is it not? You will continue your efforts to unify humanity, in preparation for your attack on the Four. I will make my own preparations for the war with Chaos, and assist you where I can should you ask for it. I am the older of the two of us. What a poor role model would I make if I did not give you some grace as your better."

It was an apt comparison. Their individual Truths were based in part on self-sacrifice. They would cease to be what they were and would become something else, effectively being reborn as the solution to all evils.

Hypocrite god and hypocritical goddess. A god who was prepared to suffer for all eternity for his people, and a goddess who was prepared to die for her children.

Perhaps it was because they were similar in this way that he found himself butting heads with her so often.

However, he could not ignore that last comment.

"Arrogant Xeno." Neoth huffed.

Similar though they may be, it didn't change the fact that she annoyed him.

"It takes one to know one, Mon-keigh." Isha retorted in kind with a smile.

—----------------------------------------
♪3
Time returned to normal, and Neoth pulled his sword out of Isha's stomach once again.

The ground slowly rose out of the core as Isha carefully pulled back the magma she had stretched out into space, gently pushing it back under the crust of the planet away from the Emperor's fleet.

Neoth gave the ceasefire order at the same time, ending the orbital bombardment targeting Isha while stepping away from her and her rapidly disintegrating throne.

Finally, when the segment of ground they were on was flush with the rest of the planet's surface, Neoth looked up into the sky.

"What am I supposed to tell them?" Neoth muttered as he stared up at the orbiting ships. The ash clouds had begun to clear, as well as the black rain that had been pushed aside by the heat from Isha's thousands of hands. He could feel the multitude of questions as well as the potent panic of many of the crewmembers aboard the vessels of his ships had begun to feel as the after-effects of his miracle dissipated. He would not be able to hide what had happened here.

There was no reply from Isha, so he turned to her only to receive a raised eyebrow in return.

"How should I know? It's not my Truth that's based on legend crafting." She shrugged.

"I'd have thought you'd have a plan for explaining why I'm bringing you back to Terra after everything you did here." Neoth grumbled, only to be met by a shrug in return.

"Maybe you could say you defeated me because I tripped on some rocks."

"Rocks?"

"Or floating rocks, I don't know! They're your people! Surely you've lied and tricked them enough times to come up with something?" Isha huffed, crossing her arms.

Neoth sighed. "I usually do that sort of thing with more planning."

"Well, then improvise!" She snorted. "I don't have any ideas about how to fix this."

Neoth rubbed his temples, feeling a gradually growing pain starting to throb there.

'I wonder if I can get Lysander to think up some sufficient explanation.' He mused to himself, before shaking his head. This wasn't something he could offload onto the overworked Commodore.

He had to think of some way to make it believable that he had achieved victory here in such a way that the act of taking Isha back to Terra wouldn't be questioned.

Slowly, an idea formed in his head.

Of course. There was no need for there to be an explanation. All that was needed was an easy to understand performance.

"Isha." Neoth turned back to the goddess. "I think I have a solution."

"Good." Isha huffed. "Because I'm all out of ideas, and I'm tired."

—----------------------------------------
"This is the best you could come up with?" Isha's voice was full of barely contained irritation, and one of her eyes wouldn't stop twitching.

"I don't like it either." Neoth shrugged, as he wrapped another set of chains around her. "However, this is the best I could come up with."

Neoth's 'plan' was both simple to carry out, and very easy to understand. His people would only question Isha's presence on his ships if she seemed to be a threat. At the moment, simply being free would definitely appear to be a threat, especially since none of his people understood how or why she had done what she had done.

So, the easiest way to assuage all of their fears was to make Isha physically appear not to be a threat.

"There." Neoth nodded to himself, standing back to look at his work. "Now, no one will think to question your presence on my ship."

Isha was wrapped from head to toe in golden looking chains. They were only made out of metal with a minor glamor on them to look more important than they were, but now no-one could look at Isha and think of her as a threat. Quite frankly, nobody could look at her at all. Only her hair and ears were sticking out of the chains, so she looked more like a metal cocoon or an ear of corn wrapped in aluminum foil.

"How is it?" He asked, slight amusement entering his voice at the rather unflattering situation the Aeldari Goddess of Life would have to bear with until the trip to Terra was complete.

"I am seriously reconsidering working with you, Neoth." Isha's muffled voice growled from under the chains, but she didn't move under them. She couldn't. If she flexed even a little bit, she'd tear the simple metal apart, and ruin the cheap skit Neoth was preparing to pull in order to bluff his way past the concerns of his people.

"Don't be too upset." Neoth shrugged. "It is said that Cleopatra endured being wrapped in a carpet under the hot sun of Egypt in order to meet Julius Cesar so she could bring peace and political stability for her people."

"You know that's an urban myth." Isha huffed. "You have Cesar's, Cleopatra's and Mark Antony's memories."

"Well at least chains don't smell as bad as the inside of a laundry bag." Neoth shrugged, remembering the actual method Cleopatra was brought to Cesar's bed chamber.

Wrinkling his nose at the memory of the smell of sweaty clothes and used linen, Neoth snorted to clear his nostrils and shook his head before reaching for the bundle of chains that were wrapped around Isha, then paused.

"Isha, it's not a problem but..." Neoth poked one of the pointy ears sticking out of the bundle of chains. "Why are your ears sticking out?"

The effect gave the entire performance they were about to pull a more comedic effect, so it wasn't a problem. On the contrary, it would probably work to their advantage. More than a few people would be stunned by the sight long enough for the Emperor to stride past and direct a few psychic nudges to convince them not to think of the matter anymore.

Isha's pointy ear flicked sideways, like a cat's, slapping away his finger.

"The chains are noisy." she grumbled.

Neoth let out a short laugh at that. Goddess of Life she may be, but as one of the siblings who infected the psyche of so many with dreams of fey creatures and tricksters in ancient times, Isha was not as reserved as she was often perceived to be.

Like tropical birds, life tends to become flamboyant and lazy at the same time without stress or sorrow.

"Well then." Neoth said as he shouldered the bundles of chains containing Isha. "Are you ready, companion?"

"Just get this over with." Isha huffed again, ears twitching. "My children could be here soon, and I do not want this to be the beginning of a new legend."

"Then we better hurry." Neoth said as he opened a Warp portal to the Artax. "For the salvation of mankind."

"For the lives of my children and the freedom of my family."

Neoth stepped through the portal, with Isha on his shoulder.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: I promised to end this battle in 4 more chapters exatly 4 chapters ago. Hence, this huge chapter that is actually longer than a novella and much longer than most short stories. I like to think I've made everything concise enough, although perhaps the poetry and prose are a bit wordy. Still, this is about as concise I could have made it without making things nonsensical.

Main Part: So, this it Isha's solution to the problem of evil. It should make sense, although, there are actually several holes in it that will be revealed in a side story.

Actually, there are nothing but side-stories next to show the various factions affected by this malestrom of fate that has been generated by Isha and Neoth.

I got a lot of criticism on FanFiction.net about making the Emperor too weak. These are his in-story powers, and all of them are taken from canon. He is overpowered as hell, but he cannot use a lot of his strength because he's a psychological wreck most of the time in canon. At least, that's the only explanation why the Emperor doesn't stop time to deal with everything as he does on Ullanor in my mind.

Time Stop
On Ullanor, the Emperor stops time to slay 17 super orks in order to save Horus according to 40K canon. He still has this power in this story, and it was hinted when he spoke of taking the secrets of Necron Chronomancy. However, it is not something he can use without any risks or cost. He is a Warp entity attempting to replicate what some of the C'tan could do as easily as breathing. It functions by inverting the concept of himself as the avatar of progress (in the form of heroes) for humanity by entangling his divine form with the fabric of reality. The Emperor can never stop moving forwards. If he does not, then it is not the Emperor that stopped, but everything else that has stopped. What's more, as he must progress so long as humanity exists, he is excluded from this frozen time frame. The God of Heroes demonstrated this ability when he suddenly appeared before Isha as if he had teleported without a Warp portal.

However, this power is like sprinting while holding your breath. It is paradoxical for something to move when all time is stopped. It uses both an immense amount of psychic energy to maintain, and his divine form is frozen while his mortal body moves. This means he risks stepping out of time all together. If that happens, he may find that his feet no longer tread the path that he has paved all this time. He could accidentally time travel far into the future or into the past or find himself the god of a different race that is not human. That is the equivalent of death for him, so it is not a power he can use lightly. I have likened using this ability to playing Russian Roulette with no idea how many bullets are in the gun.

This is what Isha warned him not to do when they first landed on the planet after their fight on the Bucephelus. He tried to use his time stop ability, but due to being destabilized from all the information Isha forced upon him, he risked falling off the golden path of humanity, and either disappearing or becoming an Aeldari god.

It's his ace in the hole, which he uses when he thinks he has no other options left.

This ability is also useless in the immaterium. Time has no meaning there, so stopping something that has no meaning is useless. Any attack made while time was stopped could be causally inverted, so if he attempted to attack one of the Chaos gods with this ability, cause and effect could be reversed.

What this means is that the Chaos gods can redefine any action taken while the Emperor stops time. It is not because he attacked that he hit them. It is because they wanted to be hit that he attacked. In other words, the moment he uses this ability, the Chaos gods can rewrite the outcome so that even if they are hit, the hit is meaningless or part of an elaborate trap or plan they envisioned long ago. (This interaction between stopping time in the immaterium vs the materium is how the Old Ones overcame the C'tan who could stop time in the first place, so the Emperor is aware of this weakness.) This causal inversion only takes place because the Emperor's perspective is shunted to a different frame of reference while time is stopped. If he and the Chaos god he is facing share the same reference point, he can prevent them from causally inversing the order of things, but he cannot prevent them if he steps out of time by stopping it.

Unification of Humanity
The very act of unifying humanity under a single banner is a miracle in itself. Although very mundane, it is a powerful ability. If used in the immaterium or the Webway, he can summon any number of 'heroes' of humanity to fight at his side. In the materium, it allows him focus all those under his command, empowering them with bravery and determination. This ability is inspired by the battle at the Infinity Gate when the Emperor summons legions who died during the Drop Site Massacre, including Ferrus Manus who had been killed by Fulgrim. This battle took place in the Webway, so that is why I plan to have it restricted in its use between immaterial and material realms.

Another insipiration for this ability are the Living Saints and Legions of the Damned. They only appear in the materium when sufficient 'faith' or Warp corrosion appears, which means the immaterium is closer to reality than normal.

The Emperor's Shield
As he was originally envisioned to be the protector of humanity, his shield is actually the strongest piece of equipment he has. Additionally, although recent WH 40K focuses on the sword of St. George, it is actually his shield that is most well remembered in reality. It is a reactive aegis that absorbs and re-emits any attack it encounters, as demonstrated by the Lion when fighting Angron in the Arks of Omen series. In the Emperor's hands, it is a hand held rosarius that can deflect almost any attack.

However, just like the Lion only receives the shield after toning down his aggression and seeking out his Fallen sons so they can be redeemed (not the Dark Angels version that involves torture, but actual redemption), the Emperor's mental state is important when using this shield. It's just an extremely hard piece of auramite without this mindset. He almost never uses it during the Great Crusade and Horus Heresy because he lost the ability to do so when he became so focussed on attacking everything before it could harm him or humanity.

The Emperor's Sword
This is not actually a weapon he made, but a weapon gifted to him by all the gods of humanity. It was made with the express purpose of slaying the C'tan shard of the Void Dragon, and the spell imbued upon it comes from the unified efforts of every god of humanity. It is humanity's defiance to survive against all odds, which is why Guilliman is the one to receive it as he created the Imperial Secundus, Primaris marines, and Armor of Fate all as contingencies and back-ups so humanity would survive in one way or another no matter what.

As it was orignally forged to destroy a C'tan shard, it is one of the few weapons that can directly pierce any Old One or Yngir creation coming from the War in Heaven.

Click to shrink...

Some people might be wondering whether the Emperor's shield is destroyed.

It isn't.

The shield is a part of his miracle, and he can recreate it any number of times. It takes a few months to rebuild, and possibly up to a year if he leaves it to passively reform within him, but it is not permanently lost.

The next few posts form me will be nothing but side-stories, but as all the other interludes and side-stories have been related to the main-plot, these will also be intertwined with the main story as well. The main-characters are simply not Isha, or the Emperor. That's why they are side-stories.

Side Story One: A new life
Side Story Two: A Fool's promise and the sound of crying babes
Side Story Three: The Farseer's Council
Side Story Four: Gifts given freely rarely come without a cost

Apocrypha: What if 40K: Guilliman in the Garaden with the Masque of the Frozen Stars

After the above side-stories, (or really plot-lines for world development) are completed, we'll return to Isha and the Emperor on their way to Terra, and things will be taking a much more slice-of-life tone between the two of them. Most of the fighting will be done with the Thunder Warriors, and since they aren't gods, their fights won't take tens of thousands of words to get through.

Quite frankly, it was never my intention to make 39% of this stoy entirely about Isha and Neoth's fight. However, since people have such divergent opinons as to what is and isn't canon, this was the easiest and most opportune time for me to roll out the rules without resorting to the two of them just sitting around and talking about it.

As for other references, there is a vague one regarding the Rangda. They will appear in this story, although not in a fashion every portrayed before. The stories of brain eating and slave collars are all Imperial Propaganda, after all. What they are is more insidious, yet less ugly. It was only when the Emperor went to the Noctilith Labarynth and released what was buried there that the Rangda were defeated, and Isha's mention of Neoth possibly needing to do that is a hint that the Emperor is not as all-knowing as he pretends to be, and has been faced with very unpleasant decisions.

There is also a reference to the Text to Speech parody regarding the mention of rocks and floating rocks.

View: eG82ruvH0jc

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
A/N2: There are some terms that may require defining for this section.
Tritium: A radioactive isotope of hydrogen. It is formed when water is exposed to nuclear fallout or as a byproduct of nuclear fission reactors. It is physically heavier than normal hydrogen, and water made from tritium is called 'heavy water'. The added weight literally slows down the chemical reactions in your body, so drinking too much of it will kill you even without the radiation.

♪1 日向:re - Sunlit: re - Tsukihime 月姫 Remake OST
♪2 18 - Time Together (Right click, and select "Loop")
—----------------------------------------

After several days with the alien deity named Isha, I have learned a number of novel things about Aeldari culture and thinking. They are a proud race to the point of near ridiculousness, but their usage of psychic abilities seem to stretch into their daily lives even further than I first expected.

Another thing I can conclude is that the goddess is surprisingly useless.

Emperor's log Number 10950000

—----------------------------------------
♪1
Neoth sat down with a sigh on the steps of an empty Astropathic choir pedestal; the raised platform where the psykers tasked to serve as FTL communicators would stand.

The bundle of chains that was Isha shook once, before splitting apart as the Aeldari goddess flexed her arms, stretching them above her head.

They were both in the empty chamber of the battleship Artax, which was one of the most psychically shielded places in the entire vessel.

As for why the two gods were here instead of the Bucephelus…

—----------------------------------------

"My Lord… it is good to see you have returned to us." Lysander turned away from the holomap he was looking over with some of the commissioned officers of the Bucephelus, and Captain Velor as the Emperor emerged onto the bridge of the Artax. Cold sweat drenched the Commodore, and ran off his brow in large droplets even as he saluted the Master of Mankind.

Most of the crew were in a similar state of disarray, having just barely survived the psychic Exterminatus that was Isha a few minutes before. The hands made of molten magma were only a few hundred meters away, and were approaching from every direction possible before they started receding. He could see several of the bridge crews' knees were still trembling..

His miracle may have given them the strength to stand firm, but now that it had ended and the adrenaline had started to run out of their system confusion and panic was beginning to grow within them.

"At ease." Neoth said as he gave a short salute to the various operators and officers who had begun to stand to attention in order to salute him.

He had already given the psychic order to stand down and decrease the threat level of the fleet while he had been wrapping Isha in chains. That meant the fleet was no longer in a combat situation, so military regulation dictated that the bridge crew should salute the most senior officer when they appeared. However, Neoth would prefer it if they didn't look towards him at the moment. Nobody seemed to notice the bundle of chains on his shoulder so far, and it would be a lot easier for him if they remained distracted.

The crew turned back to their terminals and returned to their stations, but he could see most were still trying to look at him and Lysander out of the corner of their eye while keeping both ears open to pick-up anything that might be said between the two of them.

"Would it be possible to have an explanation of the situation, My Lord?" Lysander asked as he stepped closer to the Emperor, dropping his voice to a whisper.

Neoth saw several ears and necks twitch, including those that belonged to Captain Velor, straining to hear the answer.

The people here were mostly the crew of the Artax, and were unaware of Isha's presence. The only one here who knew of her in any detail was Lysander, and even then it was as the 'Catumen' of the Aeldari.

Now, how was he going to explain away all their fears without telling them the truth?

"A Xenos artifact found by the Tech Priests on the previous planet we visited activated itself. I jettisoned it off of the Bucephelus, and deactivated it."

The Emperor's answer: Blame someone else.

Even tens of thousands of years in the future, politics is still a mudslinging blame game.

The timeline of events matched, and the scapegoated Xeno Biologis were all mind-dead; unable to retort or defend themselves. Additionally, it reinforced his previous teachings of the dangers of Xeno technology, while assuring them all that he was the only one who could safely handle it.

"I… see." Lysander replied.

The Commodore knew that was not the entire truth, but he was also aware of the others around them. The Emperor's statement also told him enough. The 'Catumen' had been dealt with, and that was why the hands made of magma had receded. However…

"And the device?" The Commodore asked as he shot a brief look at the bundle of golden chains on the Emperor's shoulder. A bundle that was about as long as the 'Catumen' had been tall.

The Emperor walked around Lysander while making sure to keep the pointy ears and golden hair sticking out of the top of the bundle hidden behind his back.

"I have it here, and I am taking it back to Terra."

There was a rather audible silence on the bridge, but the unspoken question of 'Are you serious?!' was unanimously voiced internally by all who were within earshot.

Of course, being the most powerful psyker of all humanity, Neoth heard their thoughts loud and clear.

However, being the biggest tyrant in human history, he ignored all of them.

"It is a terraforming device of impressive scale, as you saw." Neoth remarked nonchalantly, as he silently summoned the Custodes on the bridge to stand behind him. "Although dangerous, it has its uses."

There was another moment of silence. The Emperor's tone was the same as if he had just picked up a motorized hedge trimmer from a gardening shop, instead of something that had almost destroyed the entire fleet.

The Commodores opened his mouth again, but closed it as he saw the Emperor smile; a very arrogant all-knowing smile that was full of aplomb.

Lysander knew what his lord was doing. He had seen similar acts put on by the various nobilities or equivalents on Terra.

One of the most important traits of a politician is confidence. Nobody wants to follow a leader that is unsure of themselves. The Emperor was expressing this aspect to the utmost, effectively bulldozing any doubts placed before him by pretending there was nothing to be worried about in the first place.

"I see." Lysander replied. He knew the Emperor was lying through omission, but his shaken wits had recovered enough to realize that now was not the time to share the knowledge of the Catumen's existence with the rest of the fleet. Besides, it was always best to nod and accept what the Master of Mankind said while he was smiling.

"Shall we begin returning to the Bucephelus?" He enquired instead.

"Yes, begin the re-embarkation." The Emperor nodded, and Lysander began to salute the Emperor to acknowledge the order, only to stop mid-way at the next sentence. "I will remain on the Artax with the device. Vacate the Astropathic choir. I will need it to contact Terra directly so the necessary arrangements can be made. Notify me when the fleet is ready to begin Warp travel."

Lysander caught Captain Velor swiveling his head in their direction out of the corner of his eye with a look of pure dread. The Commodore could understand the feeling. He would have not enjoyed the thought of having a device that could destroy an entire planet on his ship either.

The very fact that the Emperor was not taking it back to the Bucephelus hinted that there was a non-zero chance that whatever had happened on the planet could happen again. It was also quite obvious to everyone that, although the Artax was important, it was less valuable than the Bucephelus. The only thing that prevented a panic was that the Emperor would remain on board with it as well.

Unfortunately, that was probably the second reason why the Captain's face was filled with dread. Although it was a great honor to have the Emperor on board, practically speaking it was a nightmare for the commanding officer of any vessel. Most Captains already disliked having a senior officer or a member of the nobility on board. Not only would they have to play host to their guest, they would have to ensure that both themselves and the rest of their crew were on their best behavior. Failure to do so usually risked your career in the Navy.

The Emperor was the sovereign and commander of all the military forces belonging to the Imperium of Man. One wrong step or improper word from anyone could theoretically result in them and the Captain being converted into servitors.

'Well, it's not as bad as most people fear.' Lysander thought to himself, having traveled with the Emperor many times already. His Lord was fully capable of letting the occasional faux pas slide, and most humans were usually too awed by his presence to think of being rude to him.

"As you wish, my Lord." Lysander saluted before turning towards the Captain who now had a very strained smile plastered on his face. "Vacate the Astropathic Choir, Captain. I will be borrowing your Vox officer to prepare the fleet's return home."

"Yes, Sir." Captain Velor saluted, finally regaining control of his expressions.

The two military men turned back to the Emperor, only to see him already leaving the bridge with his Custodes directly behind him.

"Do not bother with an escort, Captain Velor. I will walk to the Astropathic Choir myself. Just see that it is vacated before I get there."

"As you will, my Lord." The Captain saluted the Emperor's back as both him and his Custodes disappeared behind the door.

Lysander sighed to himself. He had no idea what had happened on the planet below, but the Emperor had returned unscarred, unexhausted, and without a blemish upon his armor. Hopefully, that was a sign that the Master of Mankind had dealt with the Catumen easily, or whatever was defined as 'easy' for a being of such enormous power such as him.

'But, that's definitely not a corpse in those chains.' He thought to himself. 'A corpse's ears don't move.'

Just before the Custodes had gotten in position behind the Emperor to hide the portion of chains slung over his back, he saw a pointed ear poking out of the chains flicking like a cat's.

—----------------------------------------

Neoth sighed internally as he stood on the internal three-dimensional elevator that would take them to the deck the Astropathic Choir was on.

He had originally returned to the Bucephelus, but the moment he left the Warp portal every hidden gun turret and security drone activated themselves and pointed their weapons at the bundle of chains that was Isha.

The ship's artificial soul was furious with her, and refused to decrease her threat level. Naturally, as he was trying to make Isha not to appear like a threat, having every internal weapon on the Bucephelus pointed at her at all times was not helping the impression. Even now, he could hear the Bucephelus snorting and grunting irritably as he stroked its partially organic mind, attempting to calm it down.

He could overwrite the ship's mind, wipe its memory, and force it to obey him. However, after having just fought with the entirety of unified humanity at his back, it felt a little too heavy handed to effectively beat the ship into submission after it had served him so loyally.

'A feeling I haven't felt in a long time, to be honest…' He thought to himself.

Until now, there was just the path, the plan, the singular road to salvation for humanity.

Under those circumstances, he felt no hesitation. There was no loyalty; only obedience or destruction.

Now, there were options.

He could take the shortest route, or take a more roundabout one. Both would get him to his destination, and possibly in the same amount of time.

Mind wiping the Bucephelus was the faster path, but convincing the Bucephelus was not the step that took the most time. Physically getting the crew back on board, reorganizing the fleet, and preparing it to return to Terra was the most time consuming. Thus, that was the critical path for the process of returning home. Additionally, there was no reason for him to be on the Bucephelus in the first place. He could guide the fleet back on any of the ships, and the psychically shielded and physically reinforced Astropathic Choir chamber of the Artax would provide enough privacy for him and Isha.

Neoth continued reviewing his other plans with this new mindset as he walked to the Astropathic Choir chamber. The 50 cm thick double doors were left open with a platoon of soldiers standing guard.

He acknowledged their salutes with a nod as he walked past them, and gave a quick glance to the Custodes who had been quite literally covering his back the entire time.

The Custodes gave a chest level salute before turning around and dismissing the soldiers as Neoth shut the double doors with a brief burst of telekinesis. The soldiers would not be needed, and his Custodes would be more than enough to ensure the privacy of the chamber.

Placing Isha on the ground, he sat down with a sigh on the steps of the empty Astropathic choir pedestal and watched Isha emerge from the chains.

"Do you have any shame at all?" The goddess smirked as she stretched her limbs. "Your brazenness was so ridiculous I almost laughed. Holding it in was so hard, I couldn't stop my ears from twitching."

Neoth snorted at her comment. He knew she was referring to the lie he told the crew of the Artax and Lysander.

However, with context from their previous conversations, he knew this was a jest of hers. Eldanesh had told far worse lies and made up far more farcical stories than he had according to her, and she viewed her favored son with pride. Thus, this was just a jibe at him, trying to needle him with his own sense of shame.

The Aeldari had long memories, and conversations often referenced things said in ages past, requiring a fair bit of context to fully understand what was being said. It was as if the entire species shared an internal joke, and viewed anyone who didn't get it with contempt. To be insulted here would be a demonstration of a faulty memory on his part in Aeldari society, and a further point of mockery.

Isha finished stretching as Neoth reviewed this portion of Aeldari culture and looked around the room before jumping up to a curved alcove several meters above the ground, lying back and making herself comfortable like a cat on a windowsill.

"I'd say the same thing to you." Neoth replied dryly as he cast a look at her exposed left leg and thigh from the side of her shift. "How about putting on some underwear?"

Isha wore nothing but a simple shift, which was not much more than a long white sheet with a hole in it for her head. The sides of the fabric wrapped around her unnaturally, as if hidden strings were holding the material closed, hiding most of her sides. However, lying back as she was now, part of her waist and the side of her torso was exposed. There was no evidence of a waist band or wrappings that would have indicated some sort of undergarment around her groin and chest there.

"Why should I?" Isha shrugged. "My children's form is one I take pride in. What shame is there to feel in showing it?"

Neoth snorted at that. She spoke as if explaining the most obvious thing in the world. He knew she preferred her Aeldari form, but to take that much pride in it bordered on narcissism.

"Then why don't you walk around naked?" He countered.

Logically, if she took so much pride in her children's form, then that was the natural conclusion. If she truly felt it was an expression of artistic or naturalistic beauty, then why hide it under any clothing at all? There was no practical purpose for it, for her skin was far tougher than any armor.

"What other reason beside pride could there be?" Isha retorted. "You do not hide a piece of artwork in a gallery out of shame. You keep it there to ensure it is given the proper treatment and appreciation so only those who are worthy can view it. To expose such a thing to all cheapens it."

'Pride. Of course, that's their motivation.' Neoth grumbled to himself as several other previous experiences fit into place.

He had memories of human men and women from the Golden Age of mankind who had tried to romantically or lustfully meddle with the Aeldari. Whether one could call such people fools, explorers, or heroes of a different kind was debatable. However, their romantic attempts were still, in a way, legendary. However, all of those who attempted to either glimpse or strip the Aeldari in order to view their nakedness often ended with a grisly demise. Every time, the main emotion expressed by the Aeldari was a furious anger. He had often thought that it was simply a more extreme version of the same reaction a human man or woman would have if treated in the same way, but that was not the case.

The Aeldari did not take their vengeance out of shame or humiliation, but pure injured pride. Someone who was unworthy had viewed their natural beauty, and had effectively insulted them. Thus, the only emotion they felt in return was rage.

It was an interesting insight into the Aeldari mind. However…

"If you're going to come with me to Terra, I'm going to have to ask you to follow some human customs." Neoth sighed as he reached into a small hand-sized portal behind him. "Having an alien such as yourself walking around in only a shift is problematic for my people. You are beautiful, after all." He said boredly.

"Thank you." Isha snorted. "I've never heard that word uttered with so little interest or emotion."

"It is a material fact, no different than water being wet or dust being dry. To call you anything else would be a blatant lie." Neoth shrugged as he continued to rummage around in the portal before pulling a pair of black sports underwear. "If you need a pair use these." He threw them up to the alcove where Isha sat, where she caught them before stretching them out and inspecting them.

The pair of shorts was clearly too small for Neoth's bulk, and was quite form fitting without the space in the front a male would require; making it obvious that these were for feminine use.

"Well, well." Isha chuckled as she turned the piece of clothing inside and out. "So, who did you steal these from?" She said as she narrowed her eyes at him in mock accusation.

Neoth narrowed his own in return as he growled back. "That pair belongs to me."

"To give to someone, or wear yourself?"

"Idiot." Neoth snorted as his form changed into that of a raven haired woman of equal size in his auramite power armor. "I was a man when I was mortal, but I am no longer male nor female anymore. Of course my clothing would need to change depending on what form I take."

"Calm yourself, I make no judgment." She laughed, twirling the pair of shorts on her finger. "I'm just glad they're not gold like the rest of your attire."

Neoth continued to glare at Isha in her feminine form. The Aeldari goddess was mocking and teasing him on purpose. Whether it was petty revenge for being wrapped up in chains, or some sort of Aeldari attempt to break the ice between them was a mystery to him. However, with nothing better to do as the crew of the Bucephelus returned to the ship, she sighed and joined the goddess in idle chatter.

"Even if you don't wear shorts, surely your daughters would require a brassiere of some sort, especially with all the acrobatics your kind enjoys during combat."

Neoth had spent a number of years as a woman on several occasions, and had memories of all the heroines who had joined her mind. A woman's underwear had a practical function of making sure certain parts didn't flop about during exercise or movement. Some female warriors struggled with this excess baggage that men didn't have to carry, and there were many locker room chats between women about the annoyance of having to wrap everything down or risk a rather unflattering dull throbbing chest pain caused by centripetal force; not to mention the problems with the shift in balance this would cause for the more well endowed members of humanity.

"A logical conclusion." Isha shrugged. "However, our muscles, tendons, and connective tissues are hardier than those in humans. We don't have to worry about things flopping around as much as your kind does in the first place."

'Oh, is that so?' Neoth muttered sarcastically internally. She was getting tired of hearing how much better the Aeldari's body was compared to humans.

"On top of that, most of my children wear Wraithbone based clothing." Isha continued, ignoring the annoyed look Neoth was shooting her with. "It can mold itself according to their psychic commands. Their armor and combat harnesses usually optimize themselves to be the most comfortable. Even this simple shift is made of the same material." She said as she tugged at the edge of the hole where her head stuck out of. "How else do you think it clung to my form during our battle on the planet below?"

'Now that I think about it…' Neoth replayed the entirety of their battle on the planet below. Besides the time they had both been fried to a crisp by lightning, Isha's shift had remained upon her, almost glued to her skin. The Goddess of Heroes hadn't had time to notice that oddity, but now that she thought about it, Isha's clothing defied physics. Even when she landed from a jump or retreated from a lunge, the lower edges of her clothing had moved against gravity, air resistance, and inertia in order to keep the goddess's nethers covered.

"That sounds useful." From a purely practical perspective, Neoth could admit she wouldn't mind clothing like that.

"Of course it is." Isha said as she puffed out her chest. "But, I don't think it would suit you."

Neoth narrowed her eyes at that. "Why not?" If the alien goddess was going to make a comment about her size, style, or choice of color, she had a few choice insults to hurl back at her.

"Do you use your psychic abilities like you do the Vellus hairs on your skin?" Isha asked as she rubbed her forearm. "Can you control your power like you control your pores or intestinal glands? If the answer is no, then this clothing would be no different from ordinary cloth."

Vellus hairs were the near invisible hairs that stood up with goosebumps. Pores and intestinal glands were both controlled by automated nerves that responded to reflexes. In other words, Isha was claiming that the Aeldari used their psyker abilities with the same control a human had over their involuntary autonomic nervous system. i.e. With no control at all, but instinctual harmony.

"You use your psyker abilities for something as trivial as that?" She said with one raised eyebrow.

Psykers were some of the more empowered members of the human race, and could destroy armies with their minds. To use the gifts that could tear open holes in reality to control clothing seemed ridiculous.

"It's not like we have a choice. Our gifts are part of us, and there is no changing that. Regardless…" She paused, touching the thin white Wraithbone shift upon her, bringing them back to the original topic of her attire. "My scantily clad appearance before you is not just an admission of your worth, but also a display of how far the Aeldari have fallen. Our racial pride is not worth much now."

'Oh, really?' Neoth thought to herself. If this was Isha's attempt at humility, the message was lost in translation.

"I guess I should feel fortunate to be able to gaze upon the goddess's toes." She retorted sarcastically.

Isha laughed in response.

"These feet have alighted upon a million worlds, traveled the galaxy from rim to rim, and waded through the deepest currents of the immaterium. They have more worth than your tone suggests."

Neoth sighed. She had been expecting that reply. After all, that would have been something she would have said herself.

'I wonder if this is what it feels to be on the receiving end of one of my speeches.'

Arrogant. Stubborn. Overconfident. If there were a consistent set of character flaws used to describe the Emperor, it would be those.

"You seem rather relaxed." Neonth said, changing the subject. "Do you have time for idle chatter?"

"Time has no meaning within the immaterium." Isha shrugged. "That is both a curse, and a boon at this moment. Anything I do is too late, but being too late means that there is no point in rushing ahead. Better to bide my time and ensure we can achieve our goals."

There was a rustling of leaves and branches, and a single vine tipped with a pink-purple bud appeared from behind her. Isha touched the bud gently, and Neoth saw the thing inside wriggle slightly.

"And do not worry about my children. I can talk with you while making my own preparations. I was once connected to every world of my children's empire; the biospheres of a million planets were monitored and managed by my mind. I am used to multi-tasking."

The flowerbud receded back into Isha.

'A single miracle, and perhaps a few other minor blessings.' That was how much power Isha said she had. Her miracle had been activated, and she was using up the rest of her reserves to assist the surviving twins that she had remained attached to.

Neoth frowned at that.

"Even so, you seem to be enjoying yourself too much." She huffed.

Isha's display of making herself vulnerable like this unnerved her. They may have agreed to work together for the immediate future, but depending on the circumstances even the staunchest alliances could be quickly broken. The Empress would never be able to disarm herself in the way Isha was doing now.

"There is no point submerging myself in misery. Better to walk forwards with a laugh and a smile." The goddess laughed sadly as she curled up in the alcove. "Besides, sorrow and suffering are the beginning of my miracle. Steeping myself in them too long would be dangerous for me and for you."

'That would be problematic.' Neoth thought to herself as she rubbed her temples. She may have survived Isha's miracle once, but it had been close. Additionally, with her shield currently out of commission and reforming, she lacked one of the key tools necessary to push through the endless onslaught of natural disasters.

"Enough of this banter." She said as she stood up from the steps of the Astropathic choir pedestal. "Let's talk about more constructive things." Neoth reached into another portal and pulled out a data pad. "I have a list of things I thought you could help me with, and I'd like to go through it with you."

"Fine." Isha said as she jumped down from alcove, slipping into the pair of shorts Neoth had given her as she fell. Her shift hid her hands and nethers while she put them on as she dropped downwards, disobeying the air resistance that should have lifted the hem upwards. "Depleted I may be, but the problems of mortal man should be easy enough to deal with my 60 million years worth of wisdom."

—----------------------------------------
♪2
"..." Neoth remained silent as she crossed out another item on her list.

"..." Isha remained silent, turned away from the Goddess of Heroes with crossed arms.

"And that's the end of my list." Neoth spoke as she looked up from her data pad. "What was that about problems and wisdom you were mouthing off earlier?"

Isha's ears twitched, but she refused to turn back towards Neoth.

The Goddess of Heroes took the moment of silence to smirk. "At the very least, it is refreshing to see prayer is about as useful as it always is."

Prayers are the requests made to gods, and the requests Neoth made to Isha all came back with useless answers. As the deity who believed gods were useless, it was a refreshing reaffirmation of Neoth's beliefs.

"Problem solving takes time." Isha replied sulkily. "I gave you the answer that immediately came to mind. It is not my fault that you find them disagreeable."

"Alright, let's go over the main ones again." Neoth scrolled back to the top of the list. "Your first answer regarding assisting me with the Space Marine was to restore their reproductive functions."

"They are flawed as a life form." Isha snorted. "As they are now, they are not much more than surgically modified humans parasitized by the Progenoid gland. The first improvement would be to allow them to reproduce naturally, and grow their population so evolution can improve and adapt them over time."

"I am not doing that." Neoth retorted irritably. "The Space Marines must be born from humanity, and be their exemplar. However, they cannot be their replacement. They are to be the heroes of humanity, not their usurpers. It is not my goal to create a new race of hyper muscled Ubermensch to replace humanity."

"Says the oversized hulk in golden armor." Isha muttered with a pout.

"I am going to pretend I didn't hear that." Neoth replied with a smile, and Isha remained silent as the Goddess of Heroes looked back down at the data pad. "Besides, your other suggestions to improve them weren't much better. What is this thing with a scorpion tail, extra arms, claws, fangs, and insectile wings? It barely looks humanoid."

"I thought you didn't mind including animal traits into your warriors." The goddess snarked as she shot him an annoyed look over her shoulder.

Some of the Space Marines did have certain animalistic traits like wings, horns, and wolfish features. However…

"This is going too far." Neoth sighed as she rubbed her temples. "It looks more like a Chaos spawn than a soldier."

"I like it. It reminds me of the Warp spiders back home. Besides, look at how the spine and back muscles curve to rebalance the tail, as well as the way the increased number of shoulder blades and collar bones bulk out the chest. Thematically, it is a good mix of physical features between our two races."

"Gigeresque is how I would describe it, and I'm not making this. It's horrifying."

"Fine then." Isha huffed. "I'll take your criticisms into consideration and come up with something else."

'I'm not sure I want to see what comes next.' Neoth thought to herself. Their aesthetic tastes differed in more ways than one.

"In the first place, don't you think it cruel to convert them into such an abomination?" Neoth said as he turned the data pad towards Isha with the tentative image her suggested genetic modifications would have produced. "Besides their appearance, it would be a nightmare to carry out day to day tasks with this body; especially the tail."

"Leaving aside the point of whether you would call them abominations or not…" Isha replied irritably. "I don't think it's a major issue. The body shapes the soul, but in the end it is just a container. If their changed form is too difficult to bear, then a different one can be prepared."

Neoth took a moment to mull things over in her mind. For Isha, this abomination was meant to be a choice. It would be up to the individual whether they wanted to remain as it or not.

"Like the reincarnation process of the Aeldari."

"Exactly." Isha nodded. "Some of my children modified their bodies for combat. That fact should be obvious after seeing the Psychomatons. They didn't gain control of all 6 arms instantaneously. It took many lifetimes to grow used to them, gradually going from 1 pair to 2 and 3. The few who were able to take off their War mask before becoming Psychomatons began the process of returning to a calmer life by reverting to a body less associated with combat."

'Hmm, I see.' Neoth thought to herself as something clicked together.

Isha, and by extrapolation the Aeldari, didn't view their bodies to be intrinsically part of them the same way humans did. In a sense, their physical form was just housing for their true self; their soul. The pride they felt in their bodies was akin to the pride one took in one's favorite vehicle. Thus, they enjoyed and coveted their body's beauty, for it truly was a piece of art to them in a way only the most perverse humans viewed their own skin, flesh, and bone.

"Could the process be used to transfer a soul from an older body to a younger one?" An idea had begun to form in Neoth's mind.

"Of course. That is how the process functions naturally." Isha nodded as she turned back towards the Empress. "I see. You want to expand the age of recruitment for your legions. The biological process of transformation is more expensive when using an already developed body, but a cloned younger body with the same soul would allow you to take older humans and transform them into your super soldiers without much difficulty."

Logically, the effort required to transfer a soul from one body to another would usually dwarf the effort surgically modifying an adult to become a lesser version of a Space Marine. However, with a deity who knew the intricacies of the process, the hurdles and experimentation necessary were greatly reduced.

"Using children has its advantages. The psychological indoctrination and mental hardening to ensure their loyalty to the cause of humanity are easier to instill in a mind with less prejudices and preconceptions." Neoth recited his other reasons for using children to form his legions. "However, even though a more experienced soul may be less obedient, it could be more efficient. Each legion is meant to be an expert in a certain style of war. However, as they are, the children who are transformed into my Space Marines run the risk of mental stagnation and over reliance on singular strategies due to their training. Repetition nurtures expertise, but over specialization can become a hindrance."

"An interesting conclusion, and one with precedent." Isha nodded. "The Battle of Midway was won in part due to the disobedience and disorganization of several pilots who did what they thought was best from their personal combat experience. Likewise, a Space Marine created from a reincarnated soldier who chooses to serve may bring a greater breadth of experience that a well trained child soldier could not. Of course, it will take longer for them to get used to their new body, unlike the children who grow into it as if it were their own."

"There are positives and negatives with using both." Neoth shrugged. "At the very least, it is another option for recruitment."

"Fine. I can teach you how Aeldari bodies call back my children's souls from the Othersea." The Aeldari goddess said with a nod, then glared at the Emperess. "Your Malcador has already proven that the process can work for mortal species other than my children."

Neoth frowned at the sudden hostility emitted from Isha, then grimaced as she deduced who the goddess was referring to.

"Ael Wyntor, the Aeldari-human hybrid made by Malcador."

"He has a limited ability to reincarnate, although it requires Malcador's psychic abilities and the body of one of my sons you found in the Webway." Isha sighed, closing her eyes and withdrawing the hostile aura she was projecting. "His existence proves that the process of reincarnation is not impossible for non-Aeldari."

Neoth sighed internally as she remembered what Malcador's 'friend' was being used for.

"Will you want them back?" She asked, referring to both the corpse of the Aeldari and Ael Wyntor himself.

"He isn't Aeldari, but I will be taking him and the corpse of my child from Malcador." Isha nodded. "What the Sigillite does to him is cruel."

'Well, she's not wrong.' The Empress thought to herself.

Malcador created Ael Wyntor from the remains of an Aeldari male recovered during their earliest explorations into the Webway. Using gene tech from the Dark Age of Technology, a half Aeldari-human hybrid was created. The Sigillite befriended his hybrid creation, but although that friendship meant Ael Wyntor lived in relative luxury compared to the rest of humanity, that friendship came with a price.

As Malcador's 'friend', Ael Wyntor was given the privilege of chatting with the Sigillite. However, as a 'friend' Ael Wyntor would also have to listen to the occasional secret the Sigillite 'confessed'.

After listening to those secrets, Ael Wyntor would eventually commit suicide.

Malcador spared no expense describing what exactly he did in the past, and the results of his actions. The mental anguish and trauma from listening to Malcador's confessions always drove Ael Wyntor into depression, and then to death. However, death was never the end for the Aeldari-human hybrid. Malcador would clone his body, recover his soul from the immaterium, erase his memories, and 'befriend' this 'lucky' civilian only to use him as an emotional punching bag all over again.

"I did not care what Malcador did to relax. Ael Wyntor is not human, after all." Neoth sighed. "But, if you want him, you can have him and the remains. In exchange, I will need your expertise externalizing the process so the organic process of the Aeldari can be replicated with machinery for humans. You won't be letting me dissect Ael Wyntor to figure out how his reincarnation functions, so I'll need that much in return at the very least."

Converting all of humanity or even all Space Marine recruits into Aeldari-human hybrids was unrealistic and undesirable. Ael Wyntor seemed to be safe from Slaanesh, but there was no guarantee that disinterest would continue. The process for transferring souls would have to be a mechanical one.

"Fine. I may not have Vaul's talents, but I can tell you whether you are getting closer or further from your goal."

"That is good enough."

Neoth looked back down at his list of other items Isha had failed to provide adequate solutions for.

There was some progress with the Space Marines after rediscussing them with Isha, but her answers to the rest were even worse than her scorpion tailed suggestion for the Space Marines.

"Although I admit I did not have high hopes, fixing Terra while keeping the population and infrastructure as they are is impossible for you, isn't it?"

"You know how my miracle works. You can have either Terra reformatted, or the existing infrastructure and population, but the two outcomes are mutually exclusive." Isha sighed. "Quite frankly, I haven't seen a planet this badly mistreated since the War in Heaven. Even if I had the reserves to do so, the best I can do is to allow it to support a post-industrial society on its own once more. However, the planet lacks the metals and minerals to support an expansionary space travel capable civilization. You humans have depleted it of almost everything. Even if I reformatted the planet, the only materials that would be reused would be the ones that are already part of the hive cities and factories your kind inhabit. My children would be able to overcome this deficiency with Wraithbone, but your kind is reliant on material resources. Unless you also want to add mass to the planet through several decades worth of meteorite impacts, Terra's depleted state is permanent."

"That's about as much as I expected…" The Goddess of Heroes sighed. "But isn't there anything you can do?"

"Not without further study on the ground. The information you have on hand regarding Terra is limited." The goddess shrugged. "I could create life that could survive on that planet, but that would be life adapted to Terra as it is now. It would be every bit as alien as me to humanity."

Neoth raised an eyebrow at that. "What sort of life?" Terra had enough biological monstrosities running around.

"Mostly simple microorganisms, fungi-like life forms, and symbiotic creatures that form lichen colonies. The heavy metal and radiation poisoning in the water will stunt the development of any life that remotely resembles what evolved on Terra originally. I would have to start with aquatic life forms that would purify the planet's water supply before moving on to anything else."

"You would start within the underground aquifers?" Neoth's voice was tinged with surprise. "They're the most dangerous of all Terra's environments."

Terra was a depleted world. It was the birthplace of humanity, but being the first stepping stone to the stars, it was the one that got trodden on the most. All the ships and construction equipment to create prefabricated constructs for terraforming other worlds were taken from Terra's soil. Every ship that left and never came back was a permanent loss to the planet. The only thing that kept it habitable was the constant influx of materials it reaped after its successful colonization efforts began to reap their rewards as the human federation spread across the stars.

All of that ended with the coming of Old Night, and the end of the Golden Age of humanity.

Depleted Terra, cut off from its colonies and supply lines, descended into civil war.

Nuclear weapons carpet bombed continents, and seismic weaponry was deployed using subterranean shockwaves to shatter the buried bunkers belonging to the various warring factions of humanity. Eventually, Terra's crust cracked open, and the oceans began to pour into the massive underground hive complexes, bunkers, and ancient strip mines underneath the crust. Years worth of nuclear fallout and the polluted remains of the mines dissolved into the oceans of Terra as they drained away, turning them into underground aquifers filled to the brim with a toxic soup of radiation, heavy metals, and organic solvents.

The once blue-green Terra was now a brown ball in space; a planet covered by deserts with the one last remaining forest kept alive by shielded biodomes and the endless efforts of the Maglev Clans of Panpocro in what used to be the continent of South America.

Naturally, being reduced to a desert planet with no plants, algae, or cyanobacteria to produce oxygen, water had an entirely new value.

Spacecraft in the early 2000s, before oxygen producing hydroponics cultures were invented, used water as a source of oxygen via electrolysis; the process of splitting H2O into hydrogen and oxygen gas with electricity. This same method was how humanity secured the oxygen they needed to breathe on Terra. Toxic water was drawn up through wells and filtered for heavy metals before being electrolysed into breathable oxygen while the tritium gas was used as fuel for the surviving nuclear fusion reactors on Terra.

The drinking water for humanity and their agriculture was recovered from their own recycled excreta, while some larger city-states and mobile water seller caravans retained the archeotech to properly detoxify the well water from underground.

"All life starts from the seas. I may use a lot of plant-like creations and symbolism, but that is mostly because their self-sacrificial biology is a reflection of my nature and personality. However, it is the creatures within the waters that answer my call first."

"Do you have to follow that order?" Neoth asked. It would be far more convenient for him if she could start with something more accessible to humanity, such as the plants and animals that still remained on the surface.

"Just because my miracle is the rebirth of a planet does not mean I can complete the process however I want." Isha replied, hands on hips. "Without the appropriate steps the entire miracle becomes meaningless. Anyways, my reserves are completely depleted, so it's a moot point anyways."

Neoth sighed again.

She knew how difficult it would be to rejuvenate Terra on its own, so she had originally planned to delay it until after the Imperium had expanded to several other worlds so they could replace the resources humanity had spent. Even then, the best the Protector of Humanity could envision was to repair the Orbital Plates of Terra. These ancient floating continents sized constructs were created during the Dark Age of Technology and now lay buried under the deserts of Tera.

Still, it was frustrating to have a goddess capable of terraforming on such a wide scale, and yet be told that she was entirely useless for the endeavor.

"Remind me why I don't just throw you off my ship and leave you behind?" Neoth grumbled as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Because it would be far safer for you to have me in hand's reach than with my children." Isha replied, matter of factly.

"Noted." The Goddess of Heroes muttered as she returned to the data pad and scrolled to the next item.

"You didn't make any mention of the devices I suggested." Isha pouted.

"You mean the device made from Wraithbone that would require at least 10 Zeta class Psykers to operate?" Neoth replied with a dour look. "The device that uses the soul of one of your more experienced psykers to control a miniature blackhole as a gravitational centrifuge?"

"Yes, that one."

"Besides being made out of Wraithbone." Neoth snorted irritably. "It is far too dangerous to handle for humans. One mistake, and the entire device ends up becoming a bomb."

"This is how my children would have done things, and it's 100% safe in their hands. Surely you can take some inspiration from it?"

"This contraption is so far past the current psychic and technological level of humanity that it's completely useless." Neoth huffed, rubbing her temples. "My species don't have the psykers, the technology, or the processing power to replicate the means to manufacture, operate, or safely control this. I wanted a shovel, but you've given me the blueprints for an electric jackhammer while I'm stranded on a deserted island."

"I didn't tell you to copy it as is!" Isha yelped. "I'm not expecting humanity to mimic the progress my children made over tens of millions of years. It's just a suggestion. Besides, I thought you felt pride in your species and their ability to improvise, adapt, and overcome."

Neoth looked down at the Aeldari goddess for a brief moment, then returned to the data pad.

"... Moving on."

"Hey!"

—----------------------------------------

Several hours later, Neoth was returned to his male form while Isha sulked in the alcove above.

In the end, most of Isha's suggestions and solutions were either too dependent on psykers, Wraithbone, or required processing powers that were beyond human cogitators and mental arithmetic.

"You really aren't good at working with others, aren't you?" He called up to the goddess.

"Oh be quiet." She sniffed. "My family and I are all specialists in what we do. We focus our skills on a single area of expertise. Working with others is unnecessary if the process is all self-contained. The last time I had to work with someone was with Vaul and Kurnous over 50,000 years ago. I'm out of practice."

"You do know that's only about a month ago if you were a 100 year old human, right?" Neoth yelled back. "I don't think deities suffer from senility."

"Iyalith regaen, ual Mon-keigh!"
(Jump upside down, you Mon-keigh! Translation: Get lost!)

The Master of Mankind sighed at the Aeldari insult, but smirked soon afterwards; satisfied with the petty victory. His minor moment of gloating was interrupted by the beeping of his communicator. Lifting the device to his ear with telekinesis, the Emperor answered the call from Lysander.

"My Lord, we have reboarded the Bucephelus, and the fleet is ready to return to Terra." The Commodore reported. "We only need your permission to begin Warp transit."

"Good." The Master of Mankind nodded. "Have the fleet activate their Warp drives. I will guide us back directly to Terra."

"As you will, my Lord."

Nothing happened directly within the psychically shielded Astropathic Choir, but Neoth could hear the crackle of the Warp drives as they tore open the veil and feel the spreading chill of the Warp throughout the rest of the ship.

Drawing deep within himself, the Protector of Humanity cast his touch through the void and into all the swirling portals. The smoky tendrils of the Warp burned and boiled away, as the writhing currents was cauterized into glowing golden tunnel.

"You may begin, Commodore." Neoth replied through the communicator.

"Understood, my Lord."

One by one, the ships dove into their respective tunnels, leaving the edge of the Aeldari empire for home.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: Another on the nose title. I really need to stop writing these long chapters. Hopefully, I can get back to doing 2~3000 word chapters soon.

Main Part: Finally, we have the calmer, comedy section I've been promising for a while. They're gods, and they're totally capable of being incredibly petty while still promising to work together.

Why don't the Aeldari wear underwear?
Besides the in-story reasons, the author's reasons for putting this in here is because there is a trope about elves not wearing underwear in Japanese sub-culture. I have no idea where it comes from, but I carried it over to the 40K setting after checking whether there was any mention of them wearing underwear. As GW never clarified that, I have decided to import that sub-culture with this story. It's also why the Emperor is the Empress for most of that section. It's meant to prevent people from lewding up the conversation.

It's quite a common setting, even appearing in light-novels and comics on a semi-regular basis that aren't R18. All the characters are adults in this setting, and none of them are virgins, so they are quite comfortable with their sexuality or lack of sexuality. More mature conversations might follow, although there won't be any casual intercourse scenes.

Why did this chapter take 2 weeks to write and upload?
Slice of life sections are harder to write for a long time, because dialogue alone isn't enough to carry the scene, but the range of movements and emotions are more limited. I kept checking how many times I used words like "huffed", "sighed", "irritably", etc. so I wouldn't over use the same word to describe how they said something.

Where did you get the Aeldari words from?
Here However, since I don't know their grammatical structure, I'm pretty much just stringing what words I can find to make sentences. It's not that impressive.

 

[Nidhog153]

And that is it for the chapters available on Space Battles, Sufficient Velocity, Ao3, and FF.net.
I know this is a questing site, but part of the reason there was a long gap between posting the old chapters was because there were no posts/comments/reviews other than mine.
Reviews and comments help with writing/posting/copying from other sites motivation.

I also have a Patreon with 2 side stories at the moment.
One of those is quite Slaanesh, and has a censored version that will be placed here (eventually, whenever Space Battles Content Review team finally get around to reviewing it (it's been stuck in review limbo for 3 weeks with neither Nays or Yays to determine if the censored version is okay for posting.)), and an uncensored version that will only be on Patreon.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
A/N2: A note about Harlequin culture, if you were unaware, new Harlequin are usually kidnapped and pressganged Craftworld, Commorraghite, and Exodite Eldar who have their original personality erased and adopt a persona from their "Masque" (Acting troupe/military faction). Additionally, although they use Spirit Stones to protect themselves, they have a second layer of protection provided by Solitaires. These damned Eldar who are allowed to take the role of Slaanesh on stage swallow the Spirit Stones of Eldar and torment them in their belly as a reenactment of what She who Thirsts Hirself does to all Eldar. This supposedly masks the presence of the Harlequin associated with the Solitaire from Slaanesh.

♪1 Ki-No-Ko
♪2 Peace & Serenity
♪3 Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica - I was Waiting for this Moment
♪4 Chainsaw Man- arg (extended)
♪5 Run - Chainsaw Man Original Soundtrack
♪6 Higurashi no Naku Koro Ni Vol 2 18 Michishirube

—----------------------------------------
♪1
Under a sky covered in pink-purple clouds, a lone Aeldari woman with raven hair perched on a high-up window sill looked down at a banquet taking place in the streets below.

"No! Please! St- aaAAgHhhr@$%#$%!!!!!!!!"

A single Aeldari survivor was beset on all sides by various flesh-colored daemons. They tore into the body like a pack of wolves, yet with perfect positioning of their bites and claws to avoid the critical blood vessels. The screams were joined by the sounds of breaking bone as the daemons began to feed on the Aeldari's pain.

'This is our fate.' The woman thought to herself as she watched, then covered her ears as she saw the futile struggling of the individual being fed on slowed.

The daemons of the god which had swallowed her soul had their appetizer of pain, and now they would begin their meal of pleasure.

The flesh-colored daemons pulled back from the body as a bald feminine creature sashayed towards them, straddled what remained of the Aeldari, and merged its mouth with the victim's own. 6 different kisses were exchanged, each one varying in intimacy and depth. But, the last two revealed the truly daemonic physiology of the creature.

But, before the Aeldari could expire, the creature screamed.

A high pitched sound like the scraping of metal on metal mixed with the whine of a dentist's drill going through dentine exploded from the creature's throat, and tore out the Aeldari's soul before the darkness of death could end the sensation coming from their body.

The raven haired woman watched as silvery lights were sucked out of the remains of the Aeldari's body and disappeared down the feminine creature's throat, only uncovering her ears after the screaming stopped.

This was the daily routine of this world.

Survivors would be let loose into the streets, tricked into believing that they had escaped through their own skills and cunning as the daemons watched while wetting their lips.

Then the hunt would begin.

It was different each time.

Sometimes they used traps. She had watched a daemon disguised as another survivor offer false hope, companionship, or simple sexual escapism to the Aeldari in question. They would sometimes spend days on the farce, before their hunger drew them to end the performance.

Other times, they would just hound their prey for days on end, chasing them on pre-planned routes so the Aeldari in question could think themselves clever for surviving another day. Of course, that would all end when they returned to their secret base only to find every daemon they had run from waiting for them.

"Despair only comes from hope." The woman recited the whispers she heard from the god that had her soul to herself, remembering the endings of those particular hunts.

The creature retracted her tongue with a wet slurp, then yawned to reset her jaw as she dismounted the body. The other daemons giggled and laughed as they crowded around her before leaving as a group, taking the empty corpse with them.

That individual's suffering was not over, and even the body could provide a new source of pain and pleasure. Perhaps they would hang it in front of the prison pen that Aeldari had escaped from, or perhaps they would chop it up and dump it into the starvation pits that some of the more stubborn survivors were thrown in.

The daemons enjoyed stepping on her kind's pride whenever they could.

The woman sighed, and vaulted backwards into the room the window belonged to. It was the bedroom of a simple apartment with a hammock and silver mirror in the corner. The previous occupant was missing, whether that was due to the madness or the daemonic invasion that came afterwards was unknown to her, but at least the room was free from blood and gore.

She would not be able to enjoy herself today.

This was part of her daily routine as well.

Occasionally, one of the daemons would separate from the group, or would remain behind with the body to create some obscene piece of personal art due to some unholy inspiration that gripped them in the moment.

When that happened, it was her turn to hunt.

However, today they left as a group. Even though the mind-numbing terror they affected all the other survivors had no effect on her, she could not physically take more than one at a time.

Their psychic screams were also a problem. Although they did not shake her soul, the sonic frequencies did rupture blood vessels and ear drums.

A frown crossed her brow as she remembered the time one of them managed to scream into her face. Blood burst out of every capillary including the ones in her eyes, blinding and deafening her in the same instance.

It was only thanks to the stench they exuded that she had sliced off the daemon's head as it tried to take it's time to torture her.

"This is the Truth."

She turned towards the mirror and saw her own face smiling at her.

"If there was any other way, I would have chosen it. Unfortunately, gods are not omnipotent."

The image in the mirror moved towards her, swaying her hips with each step.

"Did you really think you and your kind could draw out of the immaterium for eternity?" Her image gestured to the walls of the room around them made of Wraithbone. "Your happiness was made from the stuff of thoughts and dreams. It was obvious that such a thing would have to end when faced with reality."

"This nightmare is reality?" The raven haired woman snorted.

"This is a hole." The image shrugged. "The hole you all dug when you drew out the psychic energies from the Othersea to create your Wraithbone ships and cities, as well as the debt you incurred when you used your natural gifts."

"Then, do we deserve this?"

"Of course you do." Her image chuckled. "You're all receiving your just deserts. The debt of tens of thousands of years in paradise must now be paid with interest." The woman in the mirror leant forwards, sticking her chest out provocatively and arching her spine backwards. "Did you think the Sea of Souls was infinite? It's based on the thoughts and dreams of all the creatures of the cosmos. That very fact means it is a finite thing." A pink tongue flicked out, wetting her lips. "I am here to fill that hole. The hole that you and every other being digs when they draw from the well of the Othersea."

The image leaned back, caressing her own neck and stomach as she did so.

"Happiness is good, but it is a simple feeling. Contentment is nice, but it is only a single drop being poured into an ocean." The soft fingers curved into claws, digging her own nails into her skin. "You took and took while giving nothing back. Painless peace and prosperity with simple pleasures could never refill what was needed to support your post-scarcity society."

"So you whispered into our ears, and forced us to damn ourselves?"

"That is not my fault. I come from you, after all." The image snorted as she let go of her skin and shrugged. "You did this to yourselves. I am merely the method by which the universe comes to collect." Her face in the mirror winked at her. "But, don't beat yourself up too much. If it wasn't you, it would have been someone else. If there is a boundary, it is only a matter of time before someone crosses it."

The mirth drained out the image's face, and it walked right up to the mirror; the boundary between reflection and reality. The reflection reached out, placing both palms on the silvery metal, pushing against it.

"A life without worries is a daydream. It has to end, one way or another."

"Why tell me this?" The raven haired woman also walked up to the mirror, and placed her palms where the image's were, as if to push her back. "I am already doomed, if what you say is true."

"Why indeed." The image smiled coquettishly. "But, the first question you should ask is, who are you talking to?"

The raven haired woman and the image blinked at the same time, and both stumbled back away from each other into their respective rooms.

"Who am I talking to?" The woman repeated the image's question, as she touched her neck and stomach, feeling the red welts of scratch marks.

"There's nobody here." The woman whispered to herself as she stumbled into a corner of the room. "I'm all alone. There's nobody. Nobody…"

"Except me." Her own voice whispered in her own head. "I can't reach you, but you can come to me." It was soft as satin, yet sent shivers down her spine as if it was the sound of nails on a chalkboard. "Your people will kill you. Your mother hates you. They cannot let my Truth enter their ears, so they will silence you instead."

She covered her ears, but she could still hear chuckling echoing in her mind. It was not her physical ear that the god's mouth was pressed up against, but her soul that it whispered to.

"And you will love me?" She snorted as cold sweat leaked out of every pore on her skin.

Kyrazis was no longer attached to her, keeping her in the world of the living. The life line that had replaced his soul still held her out of the digestive juices of the god, but it was her hand that held onto it. If she let go, there was nothing to stop her. So the voice of god beckoned to her whenever she wasn't hunting or fighting: whenever her actions stopped worshiping Hir.

"I already do." The god whispered. "I love you. I love all of you. I cannot get enough of you." A tittering laugh rang like a set of wind chimes in her mind. "I only swallow your souls. All of you still exist within me. You will be with me forever, unlike your brother."

The woman's lips pulled back as her teeth ground together.

"You dare use him to taunt me, after everything you did to him!" She hissed.

"That is an unfortunate side effect of my Truth as a god. I hold no malice against you, or him. After all, he delivered you to me. I was looking forward to welcoming the both of you in my bosom."

"To torture us for all eternity."

"That alone would be boring. Pleasure beyond imagination awaits as well." There was a sigh, before the voice continued in a troubled tone. "You have nowhere else to go. Do you think your mother will welcome you back with open arms, after what you all did to her family, to her mother and daughter? That life line you hold in your right hand is just another feeding tendril. It is a hungry root about to dig into your soul." Something caressed her skin, wrapping around her shoulders."You already believe in my Truth. You rejoice with every one of my minions you kill, and bathe in the excessive violence and carnage your blade brings." Soft palms rubbed themselves against her arms, stroking them. "You enjoy killing, murdereress. You've always enjoyed it. You never thought to consider the morality of your actions, or how wasteful it was. Even now, that hasn't changed. Life itself was always meaningless to you. You are imbalanced and excessive, like I am. Your only purpose in life is to take from others. That's why you stalk my minions after every hunt, and wait for prey like a falcon circling the skies." The touch embraced her from behind, warming her back as gentle hands wrapped around her stomach. "I can accept that. Your mother will not. There will only be one outcome to your meeting with her."

"SILENCE!" The mirror shattered, and cracks streaked out across the Wraithbone floor with her shout as her own ears rang from the volume of her voice.

There was no reply. The voice was gone. For the minions of the god had surely heard the noise, and the hunt was about to begin.

She had to move, for she could only take them one on one.

As she stood, she felt a pain in her wrist.

'No. Not now…'

She could see it when she closed her eyes; the green tendril worming its way into her soul, puncturing and spreading through her wrist. It made her shudder, paralyzing her limbs with revulsion. Nausea forced her to the floor, and curled her limbs into a fetal position.

The god was right. She could not live without Hir Truth, but her mother could not tolerate it. This was the result of that rejection. Mutual disgust flooded through the both of them, but as a mortal, the effect was physically crippling to her and her alone.

As her vision dimmed, the raven haired woman whispered the name of her twin.

"Kyrazis…"

—----------------------------------------
♪2
When she opened her eyes again, the nausea was gone.

Everything was gone.

A world of white had replaced the dim room lit by the pink-purple sky. There was a floor to this place, so she did not float. She could feel her weight, so there must be gravity. Her body was as she remembered it, including the red welts on her neck and stomach.

"Sister." A familiar voice called out; a voice she had not heard for several decades.

"Kyazis!" She turned towards the voice to see her twin brother.

He was as she remembered him. There was no scar on his cheek, nor was he wearing any armor; just the plain clothes they used for training spars in the arena.

Her foot stepped forwards as she felt her heart squeeze itself with longing, then she stopped herself.

"So… you died."

Her brother was dead. She knew it with her soul, for she had felt the moment he had returned to their mother. This was something that shouldn't exist, so to touch it would be to end the illusion.

"I did my best, but it didn't work out." Her brother shrugged and sighed before smiling. "How were things with you?"

It was as if nothing had happened since they had parted ways, as it should be. Several decades was but a blink of an eye when compared to the sum of 6000 years with each other. However, the density of emotional turmoil each had felt during those decades made it feel like it had been an eternity.

"I don't know." She shook her head. "I killed and hunted, just as I wanted. But, there was nothing else to do. It felt good, but I might have just been running away, like you."

"Well, it was all the ones who ran away that survived." Her brother shrugged. "Maybe that's the way things were supposed to work out."

She snorted at that. "Do you believe in fate?"

Her brother let out a short laugh before answering. "That's a meaningless question for us, sister. Our foresight sees the future, but it is up to our efforts to reach it or run away from it."

"You've grown rather wise since we were last together." Her arms crossed as she frowned at him.

"There's nothing to do but think and reflect here." Kyrazis shrugged. "But, in the end it is what it is. I'm satisfied with the ending I reached."

The raven haired woman looked down at her feet, and her shoulders hunched as if she was trying her hardest to hold something in.

"Even if that meant being eaten by our mother?" She finally asked, voice shivering with loss and anger.

"'Eaten'. 'Returned'. 'Ascended'. There's lots of ways to describe what happened to me and the others." Kyrazis shrugged. "I can't reincarnate, and I no longer am what I was, but that doesn't mean I'm gone. At least, I think I still exist."

"And you're here to convince me to do the same?" She replied, still hunched over, hugging herself, holding herself back.

"No, I'm just here for you."

"Hah!" She laughed darkly. "When did you get so romantic?" Bitterness was beginning to creep into her voice. To see what she had wanted for so long, but be unable to touch it was torture for her, and it was poisoning her thoughts with passion.

There was no reply for a moment, then there was the sound of feet stepping towards her. She kept her eyes on the floor. Kyrazis was dead. She knew that better than anyone else. This was just a mirage, a dream, something that would fade away if she stared at it for too long.

"I'm here for you." Kyrazis said softly as he wrapped his arms around her. "There's no other reason."

Warmth spread from his skin, seeping into her cold body. Decades of cold isolation began to melt away from her heart, opening the emotions she had buried inside.

"Kyrazis… I don't want to die." She sniffled as she returned his embrace. "Do you know what they will do to me?"

A hand ran through her hair, stroking the back of her head.

"Don't leave me." She pressed her face into his chest, feeling the wetness of her own tears seeping into his shirt. "I don't want to go through that alone."

It was selfish, but it was the truth. She missed him, even though she was the one who sent him away. These were her true feelings, unadulterated by logic or reasoning. A childish plea that contained only yearning.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." He repeated sadly as he stroked her head. She felt his breath as he lowered his head to plant a kiss on her brow.

"I love you, Aulariliel." He whispered in her ear. "I will always love you, even if I can't be at your side."

There was a soft gust of wind. It blew from behind her, flowing over her shoulder like a hand telling her to say goodbye.

Aulariliel looked up at his face, and she saw her brother smile one last time. Then he began to fade.

"Kyrazis… Kyrazis!" Her hands fell through his body as it grew evermore see through.

"KYRAZIS!" Her hands reached out towards him, but grabbed nothing but empty air as the world once again became nothing but white emptiness.

A gagging sound came from Aulariliel's mouth; choking, guttural, tormented, as she felt her insides twist. Her knees gave out, and she crumbled to the ground as tears blinded her and a mourning howl tore itself out of her throat.

She had no idea how long she spent screaming to herself, oblivious to everything else as her grief overwhelmed every sense she had. But, when the tears ended, she was no longer alone.

Standing before her was an Aeldari woman with golden hair, and silver eyes.

"What do you want?" She spat, glaring angrily up at her mother. "Was it amusing, watching one of your most wretched children brought low?"

Her mother had arranged the meeting between her and her brother, but she was also the one who had killed him in the first place. Additionally, she was the one who paralyzed her body back in the material realm. Aulariliel knew her passions were antithetical to her mother. That was why mutual disgusts flowed through the both of them at the sight of the other.

"I am what I am. There is no changing that." She said as she locked eyes with her mother. "I cannot be saved, and I should not be saved."

It was the same conclusion that Kyrazis and the others reached. To change out of fear of punishment was to kill who they were, to betray how they had lived. They may be able to hold back for several decades, but such spans of time were but a blink of an eye for the thousands of years they would have to live.

Killing was a part of her, and to force her to stop would be like forcing a raptor to eat nothing but fruits and seeds.

"My soul lies in Hir belly, and I can already feel myself slipping towards Hir." She hissed. "I am one of the billions upon billions that caused the death of your family; the one who made the god that tore out your mother's spine and ripped out your daughter's throat. I do not deserve your mercy, or your love."

That was her conclusion. If she could only live in a way that would disgust her mother, she would remove herself from her entirely. She would take responsibility for her repulsive nature, and enter damnation alone. It would be hypocritical and irresponsible to seek the goddess's help after remaining ignorant of her and her wishes for so long.

It was not an ending either of them wanted, but this was the only way Aulariliel could reconcile who she was with her mother's Truth.

But, even if she was the lowest and most wretched of the Aeldari, she was still her mother's child.

The golden haired Aeldari knelt, matching Aulariliel's eye level, then pressed her brow to Aulariliel's own.

Information passed from her to her daughter. A choice was placed before her, with all the costs and benefits of taking it.

Aulariliel's eyes widened.
♪3
"... Hah. Haha! HAHAHAHAH!" Mad laughter began to leak from her mouth as her mother pulled away from her. She knew everything she needed to, so all she had to do was choose whether to take her mother's hand or not.

Aulariliel looked up at the golden haired Aeldari, at Isha.

"You are my mother!" She cried, acknowledging the relationship they shared through their blood. Isha was not the exemplar of the Aeldari. She was not perfect, and her kindness was as cruel as the life giving and taking desert sun.

"Fine! Take my soul! Use it for your miracle!" She shouted as her hands tore open her shirt. "Turn me into the beast that I always was, and I will serve you for all eternity, Mother."

She thrust her chest forwards, exposing her heart to the goddess of life.

Isha frowned slightly, as a sigh exited through her nose. Her daughter's nature was not one she could accept, but she could not force her to change. Then, the only thing left for the two of them would be a compromise.

If this was a perfect world, her daughter and all the others like her would not have taken this offer. She would have waited patiently in the belly of the God of Excess until rescue could come, but her children were not creatures of idleness.

A wooden spear grew out of her left palm, the spear of her consort Kurnous.

She gripped the blade with her right hand and pulled, wetting its tip with her divine blood.

Lifting the spear in both hands, she pointed its tip at her daughter's heart.

One final look was exchanged, and there was no hesitation there; only an endless hunger lay in her daughter's eyes.

Isha stabbed the spear through her daughter's chest, plunging it into her skin until half the shaft had passed through her in a single thrust, but the blade did not exit through Aulariliel's back. It was as if her body had been turned into a pool, and the skin was just the surface of something deeper. Slowly, the spear disappeared under her skin, sucked in like a tree branch trapped in quicksand.

Aulariliel spasmed as the last bit of her father's spear disappeared into her. Pain forced her eyes shut, and she saw the innards of Slaanesh's belly.

Hundreds of other souls, undigested and bound by a branch extended from the Goddess of LIfe through the connection of their twin's soul writhed and thrashed as they all accepted the choice given to them by their mother. She could feel it within her soul, the metamorphosis granted to her by the mixture of her mother's and father's miracles. Her humanoid form split open, and what were four limbs and a head ruptured releasing starfish like arms with wormlike mouths instead of tubed suction feet on the underside.

One by one, the surviving twins burrowed through villi and intestinal walls, dropping from the branch that was attached to them like overripe fruit. They would adapt to their surroundings as the Goddess of Life taught them. Their forms incorporated information from the most virulent and sinister parasites in the cycle of life, sending false signals to the receptors of Slaanesh's Warp biology; tricking them into believing them to be nothing but another creature of Excess as they nestled inside Hir body to feed on Hir unholy blood.

The only things that survive inside intestines are parasites and tapeworms, and that was what they had become. They chose this fate, and in return they would be given the chance to serve Isha in the way they believed was best. Eventually, should their actions satisfy the Goddess of Life, they would reap the greatest excess their mother could allow.
♪3 END
—----------------------------------------

A creature with raven hair and feminine features uncurled her limbs from the fetal position, stretching out her fingers and toes like a babe exploring new limbs. Air rushed into her lungs, and a smile spread across her lips as she opened her eyes.

Pointed ears twitched, catching the sound of clawed toes scraping against hard Wraithbone several blocks away.

The daemons of Slaanesh were still approaching Aulariliel's last known location. She who Thirsts had yet to notice what had happened, but it would be easier to hunt later if they thought there was nothing hunting them in the first place.

The creature in Aulariliel's body rose to her feet, then stumbled as her stomach growled. The rebirth had been taxing, and now she paid the price with hunger. Shaking her head, the creature walked out of the empty room, sniffing the air as she passed through the door.

Before the door closed, the sniffing abruptly stopped, and her head whipped to the right. A wide predatory smile slowly spread across her face, pulling back her shapely lips, and revealing pearly white teeth.

—----------------------------------------
♪4
Under a sky covered by pink-purple clouds, two armed Aeldari men ran through the ruined streets. The remains of their armor was of Commorraghite make, shiny beetle black carapaces with pointed knee and elbow guards.

"Hurry up, Vorlith." One of them hissed. "We didn't escape the pits just to get caught again!"

"Hurry to where, Zaelthar?" The other hissed back. "There are no Webway gates left on this miserable rock. You and I saw to that."

The two were the remains of the teams sent from Commorragh when the madness came. The port city was swarmed by those driven mad by the Prince of Pleasure in the beginnings of the Fall, then daemons poured in through the Webway gates still open on every Core World of the Aeldari empire.

As more and more of Webway gates became invasion points for the daemons, the leadership of Commorragh ordered a simple plan to assure the survival of the port city. Slaves and soldiers were sent through every Webway gate with explosives and weapons to destroy the Webway gates that remained on the Core Worlds.

That was the source of the explosion Kyrazis and Aulariliel experienced in the corridors of the arena.

These two were the survivors of that suicidal endeavor, but when they woke up with ears ringing from tinnitus, they questioned whether they were the lucky ones, for they found themselves in the grasps of the daemons of Slaanesh.

Decades had passed since then. Decades of dehumanization, disgust, despair, and depravity. It was only thanks to their desensitization from growing up in the slums and pits of Commorragh that left the two of them sane, but that was not a positive thing, for it brought the daemons displeasure upon them.

They were thrown into the starvation pits until recently. Deprived of food, water, and light; the daemons of Slaanesh used this as a form of torture to any they deemed too 'stubborn' to receive the pains and pleasures of their god's gifts.

The two of them had clambered out of the pit using bones salvaged from whatever meat the daemons threw down at them as climbing picks while using only touch and the scent of cleaner air to determine which way was up.

After that, they had salvaged their clothes, armors, and weapons from the piles of items the daemons had stripped from all the other survivors, before running into the streets.

"Just keep running." Zaelthar whispered. "Those things see in the dark. It won't take long for them to find out we're missing."

As they passed an alleyway, there was a clanging sound and the two men raised their splinter rifles in the direction of the noise. The sweet smell of natural perfume laced with the iron stench of blood wafted from the darkness of the gap between buildings. There was a scuffling sound, and as their eyes adapted to the gloom of the alley, they saw the curled form of a raven haired woman with tear wetted eyes. There was blood on her right hand, as if she had cut her palm while climbing something, and they could smell the sweet scent of her sweat. Pheromones of fear filled their nostrils, and long forgotten lustful urges awoke in their loins as sadistic daydreams filled their minds.

The woman, either out of fear of their weapons or the glint in their eyes, stumbled to her feet, and ran deeper into the alley.

"After her!" Zaelthar hissed, and the two followed the woman into the darkness.

They had no direction to go, nor ambition to achieve. They simply left the starvation pits because they disliked the living conditions. To such creatures, the simple salivating seductions of the flesh are enough to bring them back into the clutches of temptation.

—----------------------------------------

The woman led them on a long chase through the alleys. They almost lost sight of her at some of the twists, turns, and intersections. Several times, strange scents and marks caught their attention, directing them down a different path. However, every time they were distracted, they heard her stumble or sob and followed the sounds to catch a glimpse of her back or legs as she disappeared deeper into the city.

Finally, they found her standing at a dead end with her back turned towards them.

"Turn around." Zaelthar ordered, pointing his gun at the woman as Vorlith did the same. The twin clicks of safety levers being lifted by thumbs rang.

Slowly, the woman turned towards them. The eyes that were wet with tears were fully dry, and the back that had been hunched with fear was now straight. A bored neutral expression was upon her face.

Had the two of them been able to regain their senses, they would have felt something was wrong. But, in their addled state, the only thing they felt was irritation. They had expended energy and effort chasing this woman with the promise of savaging a weeping victim. This confident creature was not what they wanted.

Zaelthar's finger tightened on the trigger. Shards from a Splinter rifle reduced most to tears as the crystalline spines overstimulated the target's pain receptors. A shot to the arm or leg should restore the tearful expression he had chased after. Then he saw something glint in the woman's right hand. A silver dagger was grasped in the bloodied hand. When she had grabbed he didn't know, but it explained this new expression in his mind.

"Drop that." He ordered.

The woman looked at him, then the dagger, snorted, and dropped it. But, before the blade could clatter to the ground, her foot kicked the base of the hilt, shooting it at Vorlith like a bullet.
♪5
At the same time, the woman lunged forwards.

Zaelthar fired his weapon as Vorlith dodged out of the way of the knife. A stream of crystalline shards flew over the woman's head as she ducked under them, running on all fours like a Grynx, before returning to two legs to side step the next stream of shards.

Zaelthar skipped backwards, buying him enough time for one more shot as the woman pounced on top of him. There was no escape for either of them in the air, no avoiding this final shot. He leveled the barrel towards her as her left arm extended towards him.

A smirk crossed his face. It didn't matter if the shot didn't hit anything vital. The pain causing paralytic poisons imbued in the Splinter rifle's ammunition block would stop her from moving no matter where they hit.

Hundreds of shards shot forwards, slicing into her left arm, burying themselves into her skin and bone, unleashing their toxins into her nerves. But, in that adrenaline elongated moment, he saw her eyes widen, not with pain, but with pure ecstasy. Pink lightning crackled across her skin, and her right arm swung itself into his rifle. The weapon shattered, but before it could lose its form, the force of the blow was transmitted to his hands, tearing them off his arms with the weapon itself.

He stumbled backwards, but before he could even scream, a kick cracked his femur in two, bending the leg in the opposite direction.

"Zaelthar!" Vorlith cried out, as he turned his own rifle at the woman. She stood right next to him, and at point blank range he could not miss.

That was… if she was just another Aeldari.

Before the shards could hit her, her back stretched; not backwards, but elongated like a spring, twisting out of the way like a snake.

In that moment, after watching her inhuman movements, Vorlith understood what this thing was. It looked like an Aeldari, but that was just its outer skin; the lure it used to draw in its prey. It was no different from the things that they had run away from several hours ago.

The thing's mouth puckered as its upper torso contorted towards him, and it whistled as its injured left arm struck at him. Wraithbone formed around the wrist as crystalline shards were spat out from her skin, forming a small spike like contraption that extended from under the hand.

All of this took less time than the milliseconds it would have taken Vorlith to readjust his aim, and squeeze the trigger again.

The Wraithbone spike slipped under Vorlith's skin between the 4th and 5th ribs, then opened up releasing hundreds of barbed strings throughout his body, binding tendons and muscles in place as they wrapped around his bones.

The strings detached from the device on the thing's wrist, staunching the entry wound and leaving Vorlith bound by his own body's pain receptors and Wraithbone filaments. The best he could do was gag and grunt as he watched the thing's spine compress back into its Aeldari form.

Zaelthar was already crawling away from him, sobbing and sniffling as he dragged himself using his elbows while leaving a blood trail from his split open leg.

The thing looked around the alleyway then walked over to the knife she had kicked towards Vorlith. Slowly, she sauntered after Zalethar, whistling as she walked. Wraithbone grew upon the thin silver dagger, turning it into a serrated knife. Reaching him, it straddled his waist, grabbing the back of his belt, and dragging him closer towards her.

—----------------------------------------

Two hours passed as the thing did its macabre work.

Zaelthar no longer controlled his own body. The pain left his psychic senses in disarray, and through that gap she had entered him. Every bloodvessel, every heartbeat was under her control, and she used his own body to keep him alive. Capillaries constricted to restrict bleeding, as his heart slowed down to the bare minimum to keep him conscious to slow the blood loss.

Even if he could scream, the hand not holding the knife was forced down his mouth, gagging him as it reached inside his throat.

But, it would soon be over. Only the base of his skull was connected to his spine, and the thing was putting down the knife.

The thing bent down, bringing its mouth close to his ear. The rushing of air was all he could hear as it inhaled for several seconds, then it screamed.

A bone chilling cry tore at his soul, as the same tone the daemons used expelled itself out of her throat, ripping the immaterial essence out of Zaelthar's physical body. But, the process was not smooth. Whether through inexperience, lack of practice, or pure malice her voice did not sever in one clean stroke, but took its time tearing him from himself like an ape pulling a mollusk from its shell.

As the very last bit of him began to rip out of his body, he felt her hand tighten around his exposed neck vertebrae, and her fingers reach deep inside his throat.

The daughter of Isha pulled his spine from his body as she ripped his voice box out of his throat; replicating the disfiguration of the mother and daughter he and the rest of his species was responsible for.

The thing gulped, swallowing Zaelthar's soul as his bloody spine writhed like a trapped eel in her hand without muscles or tendons to move it. Vorlith could only watch and whimper as the thing panted with ecstasy.

This act was dedicated to her mother; a replication of the legend of She who Thirst's formation, a reminder of the pain and suffering it inflicted upon Isha. Isha herself would hate her for this, but she was no longer connected to the Goddess of Life. What her divine mother didn't know wouldn't harm her, and her mortal daughter would not bear her mother's suffering silently. This was revenge against all those who ended the Aeldari pantheon, selfish cruel retaliation done because she saw all that had happened in the immaterium, and could not resist lashing out against all those who had caused it.

Suddenly, there was a thump, and an Aeldari man landed near the deadend of the alley several meters away from them.

The female thing turned to the newcomer, sniffing the air as she did. The man rose, also sniffing the air as he rose from his crouched landing. The sniffing ended, and the man smiled at the female thing. She in turn snorted once, then flicked the serrated knife she had dropped next to Zaelthar's corpse onto her toe, and lifted it towards him in a gentle arc. The man caught the knife, turned to Vorlith, and licked his lips.

He was like her, a thing that looked like an Aeldari, but was no different than the other monsters of this place. But, even with that knowledge, Vorlith could do nothing as the male thing approached him with the serrated knife.

—----------------------------------------
♪6
The creature born from Aulariliel whistled to the spine on her lap, no longer writhing in agony but twitching with pain. She had no name any more. She was a beast, a parasite, a thing that looked and felt exactly like one of the God of Excess's minions.

If there were any differences between her and the other daemons, even those would appear to be no different to an outside observer. However, she still followed the teachings of her mother and father. For example, the body of the prey she had killed would have to be dealt with. Neither parent preached of meaningless killing, and she would have to follow those teachings to the letter now that she was no longer connected to either of them. Otherwise, she truly would be no different to the daemon's of She who Thirsts.

The thought of consuming the remaining meat and bone wrinkled her nose, but this was not a gift she had been given. This was penance and servitude in exchange for salvation and an end to her endless hunger. No matter how nauseating the act was, she would have to take responsibility for the life she had taken.

Wraithbone wrapped around the spine as the physical bones themselves thinned, split, and smoothed to form a bony segmented spear. A small porous cavity formed at the base of the spear tip, and she placed Zaelthar's voice box within it. Wraithbone grew into and around the organ, ossifying and calcifying it so it would withstand greater air friction, temperature, and forceful impacts.

She twirled the spear slowly in her hand, and a mournful warble came from the tip as air entered and exited the bulge at the base with 6 holes at the same time. A psychic command shut the various pores and holes that allowed air to flow, silencing the spear's cry. Then, with a flick of her wrist the individual vertebrae separated, to reveal Wraithbone filaments traveling through them where the spinal cord and fluid would have been, converting the 2 meter long spear into a much longer bladed whip. A reverse flick of the wrist, and the whip shortened itself, forming a short sword and baton bound together at the hilt like a chain linked blade. A third flick, and the spear bent itself backwards to form a longbow as Wraithbone filaments shot from the two ends of it to form the draw string.

Satisfied with her weapon, the woman stroked her stomach where Zaelthar's soul lay. Her mother would disagree emotionally with what she did to him, but there was an element of Truth in what the God of Excess said. They all needed to pay for what they had done, and all those that owed a debt had a certain smell to them. He would be released into his mother's arms, eventually. Until then, they would both work to restore what they could of their mother's garden.

She looked around the alley lazily as she waited for the man who had made the same choice as her to complete his work. The salacious scent marks and false pheromone trails she had painted at the various intersections she had led Zaelthar and Vorlith through would distract the daemons for long enough. They were no doubt currently bickering and accusing each other of stealing the prize they were supposed to share.

Finally, the man rose from the remains of Vorlith, Screaming Spear made from a spine completed in his hand.

No words were exchanged between them. Neither of them could talk anymore. Beasts had no need for words, and the God of Excess had warned that their kin would silence them for they knew the Truth of Slaanesh. Therefore, they would remain silent of their own volition, for their voice was now a weapon to all that heard it. Whether it was to tempt the weak willed, or shatter the strong's resolve, their throat would accomplish both.

The two beasts' ears twitched and both turned towards a pair of masked figures standing at the entrance of the alleyway. Both wore black and white tights and armor, interchanging colors at each joint while splitting the torso into four quadrants of light and dark. Golden masks with purple tassels hid their features, while golden belts and cloth wrapped around their belly and dangled between their legs.

The female creature stood up, grabbing Zaelthar's remains and slinging them over her shoulder as she walked towards the pair. She sniffed the air once, then snorted.

These two smelled empty. Nothing was left of the original beings they had been, and something else puppeteered their hands and feet.

"Welcome, sister and brother." The empty creature crowed as it bowed dramatically before the two of them. "We are the Masque of the Frozen Star, dedicated performers for our mother's histories, tragedies, and comedies."

'Harlequin.' She thought. These performers of Cegorach no longer had free will, or any of their original personality. All of that was sacrificed to the Laughing God when they were incorporated into the Masque, willingly or unwillingly. Now, each one took the persona of the role they played.

Her muscles tensed, as the knowledge she inherited from Isha via Kurnous's spear flowed through her mind. These creatures could be friend or foe, even if they offered service to their shared mother.

Meaningless killing was against her mother's and father's teachings, but killing in self-defense was allowed. At least, it didn't come with the same restrictions that were incurred with Zaelthar and Vorlith.

"Purposeful puppet and new beast of burden. A fine pair we shall make to bring back all our mother's tears." The second Harlequin recited, bowing dramatically as well, mirroring the other.

A smile crossed across both of the beast's lips. These two were on their own hunt, or more accurately a treasure hunt.

The Tears of Isha appears many times in legend, but the most infamous one was the one where Kurnous, Vaul, and Isha reforged them to drop to the mortal realm after the edict of Asuryan was in place.

They said it was to allow god and mortal to whisper to each other from beyond the veil, but none of the three gods' miracles contained anything about communication.

These tears served a different purpose, a purpose that Kurnous was supposed to fulfill, but couldn't with the edict.

Teaching the Aeldari, that was what each Tear was supposed to do. Each one was a psychoactive data matrix whose database of all possible life and the biomes necessary to sustain it was hammered out and replaced by Vaul, so Kurnous's knowledge could be left in the hands of the children of Isha.

Within them were the war songs to sing the ships and weapons they had used during the War in Heaven, battle tactics that had been deployed against the Necron, and psychic spells long forgotten by their thousands of years of cultural decay.

"She who Thirsts knows not the difference between you and Hir own, and a keener nose you have than us." A burgundy clot-like fragment appeared in one of the Harlequin's hands with a flick of its fingers, like a magician pulling a card from a hidden sleeve. "Sniff out the gifts of our mother and father, paid with their blood and pain. In return, we shall call the Cosmic Serpent in your stead, for there are far more hunting grounds to hone your fangs and claws than your old home can have."

The woman's fingers plucked the shard from the harlequin's fingers, drank in its scent, then handed it to the other beast beside her.

"So, quick to choose before and after." The Harlequins chortled in unison. "Perhaps the choice was already made from the beginning before you were born. That shall be what you are, Ara."

Ara (Chosen), the past participle of choice in their language. That was their name now. It did not symbolize the act of some deity. Their name symbolized what they had done. They had chosen this path themselves of their own free will, and they would continue to choose following the same rules, for there was only one end to excess in the mortal realm.

Self-destruction. That was the destiny they would bring to all of those who followed Hir, and they would use Slaanesh's own gifts to bring about that symbolistic end to Hir Truth.

"We shall be watching your performance, Ara." The Harlequin said in unison as they backflipped out of their bow. "Saim-Hann shall open his mouth for you when you have found what we want." The duo shimmered and disappeared, vanishing under hidden holographic projections, no doubt to exit this world from another hidden Webway gate.

The creature that had been Aulariliel snorted. In one day, she had conversed with three gods. As an ex-atheist it was difficult to decide whether it was fortunate or unfortunate.

Her partner pocketed the burgundy shard, and the two disappeared into the city to find an abandoned room or alley to deal with the bodies and make their preparations.

Their hunt had just begun.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: Well, my title writting skills are decreasing daily. No double meaning, no poetry. The best I can do is allusion.

Main Part: I hinted that Kyrazis's sister would have some role to play. She is one of the Ara now.

You could say they are Isha's equivalent of Harlequin.

Unlike the other Aeldari gods, Isha cannot command the Aeldari, so she has to trust that her children will not abuse the gifts she gives them. The Ara are uniquely positioned that the issue of trust is not as important, mostly because they don't have many options for survival, and their adherence to Slaanesh's Truth means that their end goal is the most excessive option possible. This makes them predictable in Isha's eyes, so she has less to worry about when assisting them.

Their final objective is to feed on Slaanesh Hirself for all eternity, murdering and defiling Hir to their bottomless heart's impossible to satisfy content.

In terms of emotions, they are the black sheep of Isha's children, but as their mother she cannot let them simply fall to Slaanesh. If this were a human family, Isha would be the conservative parent who cannot understand their child's death metal punk-rock life-style. However, instead of cutting them out of her life, she has provided them with the skills she thinks they might need to survive in their chosen environment.

The tabletop model of the Ara's stats are below:

Ara: Points 300 (This is about 45 points more expensive than a land raider)
Movement: 6"
Weapon Skill: 2+
Ballitsic Skill: N/A
Strength: 6
Toughness: 6
Wounds: 6
Attacks: 6
Leadership: 6
Saves: 3+

Weapon:
Screaming Spear:
Range: Melee
Type: Melee
Strength: User
AP: -4
Damage: 2
Abilities: Each time an attack hits a unit, its dice can be substituted for Fate dice like any AELDARI, ASURYANI, or EXODITE for one battle round.

Abilities:
Sensory boredom: This unit gains an additional "Feel no Pain" save role against any attack that it receives a wound from.
Endless Thirst: This unit must make a Battle-Shock roll after the shooting phase. If this unit fails any battle-shock roll, it must auto-charge the nearest enemy or ally unit. For every wound inflicted from this auto-charge, add 1 wound to this unit's wound stat.
Wraithbone mastery: During the shooting phase, this unit can extend the range of its melee attack. Reduce the number of attacks made by 1 to increase the range of this unit's melee weapon by 2 inches. Units attacked in this manner cannot fight back, and use only melee saves.

Faction: AELDARI, DRUHKARI, ASURYANI, EXODITE
Keywords: INFANTRY, CHARACTER, ARA

Meta strategies: Asuryani factions have a mechanic called Fate Dice, where pre-rolled dice can be substituted for other dice in rolls. At the start of the battle, you roll six D6 and keep a few of these depending on the size of the battle. This usually means you want to roll as high as possible so you can substitute 1s and 2 with 5s and 6s from your Fate Dice pool later on.

The Ara turns that concept on its head. Sometimes, you will want to fail its special Battle-Shock roll in order to charge and regain some wounds. Additionally, its Screaming Spear has the potential to manipulate the fates of your enemies. Extending its melee attack to a maximum of 10 inches allows you to target high value units across the battlefield. Wounding them now allows you the option to use low rolled or high rolled Fate Dice to affect them.

One example of using this ability is with enemy vehicles. If an enemy has a high value vehicle, hitting it with even one shot of the Ara's Screaming Spear can have some nasty consequences. Not only could you cause it to fail its shooting, but if this vehicle is surrounded by other units, hitting it with the Ara and then destroying it gives you the option to switch out its "Explodes" dice roll for a 6, forcing the vehicle to detonate and damage all units around it.

Another strength of this unit is the fact that it has no ranged attack. "Wraithbone Mastery" means that you can damage units from a distance without fear of retaliation from fight backs and overwatches that a normal melee charge would incurr. Additionally, as it is still a melee attack, the Ara's weapon ignores all cover saves.

As this unit has the "CHARACTER" Key word, you cannot field more than one in an army.

It is also risky to have near your own units. "Endless Thirst" could activate after being injured during the enemy's battle-round. This means the Ara could attack your own troops twice if you have them too close to your own units. This happens because Endless Thirst will trigger once during the enemy's battle-round after taking damage, and could activate again during your own battle-round after the shooting phase.

 

[Nidhog153]

In a white world, the Goddess of Life sat upon her arboreal throne. Parts of her psyche gave the surviving twins she was still connected to all they needed to know to survive in the environment they were left in, while her physical form bantered with the Emperor.

Her divine form, on the other hand, had little to be mirthful about.

Her back was bent over like an old woman's, and her fingers rubbed her throat as if something was stuck there.

With a series of cracks like falling trees, her spine bent back into its usual shape as she unshouldered her mother's power while her throat convulsed, swallowing her daughter's voice box back inside of her.

There were many endings to her battle with the deity that called itself the Emperor, but there was only one which she truly wanted. In order to achieve that, she had borrowed what she had exchanged with Morai Heg and Lilieath in order to bend fate to her side as much as she could.

Now, she could let go of what remained of them within her, and return to her normal self.

But, there was one more conversation to be had before that.

Reclining back on her throne in the center of her bare white gardens, Isha's hand moved from massaging her throat to her chin, digging nails into the skin as her fingers curled around the shape of her jawline. There was a tearing sound, and her face came off in a single solid piece, revealing another perfect copy beneath it.

No, what she had removed was the copy, the copy of Cegorach's Truth. What was underneath it was what she really was.

Isha turned the mask in her fingers, making it face her, and the mask blinked once before smiling at Isha herself.

"There is a fine line between jokes and insults." Isha stated irritably, staring down at the mask in her hand.

It laughed in return, replying with her voice and features. "The one with the bear?" It giggled again. "I thought it quite fitting, and I'm sure he recognized my humor. He made no note of it at the time either. After all, we have already met."

Isha snorted at the mask's retort. This was what Cegorach was, the fool, the jester, and the omniscient evil god of all misfortunes large or small.

"Besides, I may speak in riddles, but not outright lies." The mask giggled with both eyes wide open.

Isha remained silent at the mask's accusation, looking down at it utterly still, utterly silent as its laughter echoed around the empty world bouncing off walls that didn't exist.

"Two." The mask continued as its laughter subsided enough for it to talk. "Your limit is only two. The first one will begin your death, but you may swallow another if you act fast enough. Any more, and they will eat you from the inside."

That was the lie Isha had told the Emperor, and why she had allowed him to come to his own conclusions instead of telling him her own.

Theoretically, her plan would work, but theories are only theories, and Isha knew better than anyone else what her own limits were. Only Nurgle and Slaanesh were close enough to what she was for her to contain. Khorne's Skull Throne would force questions upon her she had no answers to, and Tzeentch's Truth was an amorphous mess incapable of being understood by the Raven Lord itself much less anyone else.

"That is the truth as I am now." Isha replied slowly, only to have the mask sigh disapprovingly.

"I am the omniscient god of all that you already know, Isha." The mask said tiredly. "That is the only reason I can talk while Asuryan must remain silent."

"Then you know I cannot allow that to be the ending we reach."

She may have lied to the Emperor, but she had no intention of letting the lie remain a lie. If she achieved what she boasted she could do in the end, even lies would become true. She had not lied about her goal, merely omitted the fact that the method of reaching it was still a work in progress.

"True, there are many other survivors from the War in Heaven." The mask shrugged with just its cheeks and eyebrows. "Recovering them might assist you in your endeavor, but all of that is just wishful thinking and hopeful dreams."

"And I suppose I can expect you to provide neither." Isha snorted.

A cruel grin spread across the mask's face as it leered at Isha with her own features. "You know what I am, Goddess of Life. Even the Mon-keigh deity knows that my love is evil, and it is for that reason I act against the Four."

That was Cegorach's role in the pantheon of Aeldari gods. He was the reason for misfortune and malady. Things went wrong because they amused him. His sadistic gags and black humor disgruntled deities and mortified mortals, so no other reason but Cegorach was necessary to explain evil for the Aeldari.

How else could things go wrong in paradise?

That nature in itself fully explained why he hated the new upstarts that now inhabited the remains of the Aeldari pantheon.

"You act against them because you are evil." Isha fixed the mask with a cold stare, but all it did was blush, smile, and pshaw once.

"Of course." The mask said mockingly with her voice. "There is no reason to have two characters on center stage."

"Two?" Isha raised an eyebrow.

The mask sighed, then mimicked Isha's questioning expression, but with an added smile.

"I am an Aeldari god, Isha. I have no interest in being anything else. That should be explanation enough. Your newest child is crowding me out of the hearts of the survivors."

"That is not my child." Isha's tone was calm, but her knuckles tightened on the mask, whitening as they did so. Yet, the mask neither creaked nor cracked, instead shrugging with only its cheeks and eyebrows.

"It is born from the Aeldari, and as all things born from them are your children. It is yours, Isha." The branches of the Goddess of Life's arboreal throne moved, beginning to thrash as if tousled by tropical storm winds. "Besides, you let it come to pass. That alone, makes you responsible for it." The mask paid no heed to her ire, continuing in the same carefree tone using her voice. "I can hear Hir crying for you, Isha. The voices of a billion babes whine for their mother in the Dark Palace."

"And what will you do, Cegorach." She spat venomously.

"I will see Slaanesh fall, Isha." The voice of the mask was dead serious, not a spark of humor or mirth was in its tone. "I am the god of evil for the Aeldari, and I will see myself returned to where I was." The mask's voice turned caustic, almost alkaline with its bitterness. "They judge the morality of their actions based around whether it brings them closer or further from She who Thirsts. Survival is all they are interested in. That is not what evil is about, Isha. That is not my Truth."

The two deities glowered at each other for a while as they let their anger abate. The thrashing branches slowed themselves, and the mask's cheeks dimpled again as it plastered on a false smile.

"So, you will work with me until Hir death?" Isha questioned the mask, and it blinked in affirmation.

"Take the Grandfather first." The mask's tone sweetened with mollifying melodies. "Two is all you can hold, so it might convince me to help you more should you shorten your own life."

Isha nodded, then raised the mask to eye level, bringing it up to the same elevation as her real face.

"And after I have taken them in? What will you do, Laughing God?"

The mask snorted, as if the answer was obvious.

"I will no longer assist you, that is for sure."

Isha grimaced. She knew it would say that.

"Will you stand in our way?"

The mask sighed, then shrugged.

"Assuming all your wishful thinking and hopeful dreams pan out, then I make no promises. You know me. I will work with whatever side I find the most entertaining."

Another answer exactly as she expected, but she could not afford to have the last god of the Aeldari work against her, even if that was far off in the future.

"It would do well to be careful, Cegorach." She said as she drew the mask closer towards her. "If the time comes, I will tell the Mon-keigh what you are, and you will be far easier to incorporate into his legends than any of the Four."

If that eventuality came, she would be dead or otherwise irrecoverable. At that point, it would matter little what happened, so she would tattle on the Laughing God freely to the one deity that might hate him more than her.

"If he can even find me." The mask chuckled. "It is impossible to prove whether I exist or not. Even now, you could simply be talking to yourself, infected by the insanity of endless years, of endless sorrows, of endless loss." The mask laughed, before losing all emotion, mirroring Isha's own expression. "Perhaps I laugh now because you cannot, even if you know how much of a joke all of this really is."

Isha bared her teeth at the taunting of the mask.

"I have neither forgotten nor forgiven what you have already done and will do to my children, Cegorach." She hissed.

The Harlequin were Cegorach's servants, and as the God of Evil for the Aeldari the Harlequin came from, he treated them cruelly. It is not easy to excise the personality of a person, and replace it with a persona from a play.

"If you wish to beat the clown I left in the Webway, you have my permission to do so." The mask sighed. "It will feel real enough."

Isha snorted at that. This was what it was like to talk with Cegorach, but despite the meaningless of it all, she had her answers. The relationship between the Laughing God and her would remain as it was until Slaanesh's defeat. He would help her break the rules whenever it amused him, and she would suffer his existence as well as what he would do to her children.

"I will call on you only when I need you." She said as she threw the mask over her shoulder, letting it clatter among the roots of her tree.

"And I shall answer only when I wish to." The mask called out as the roots of the arboreal throne wrapped around it. "Prepare the stage for me, Goddess of Life, and I shall perform for you and your Mon-keigh friend." Laughter continued from the mask's mouth as it sank in between the roots of the tree, before falling silent as it was digested and drank back into her.

Sound disappeared from the empty white gardens with the mask, leaving only the high pitched ringing silence brings.

"Nurgle." Isha muttered to herself. That was the god she would have to set her eyes on first if she wished for Cegorach to assist her as long as possible. However, Lilieath's prophecy still showed her in the hands of the Plague Lord.

Was she walking into a trap of fate or doomed destiny?

Could she avert that fate, or perhaps push through it?

Her foresight remained clouded with all the variables that were out of her reach.

Finally, she shook her head. Pondering prophecies was not her duty. She would do what she could with what she had, and improve the lives of the Mon-keigh and her children. There were still a few gods of humanity left, although they had lost their divinity according to the God of Heroes memories. Perhaps there was something that she could salvage from them that would allow her to better incorporate the Truth of Chaos.

Regardless, she was vastly depleted right now, and the God of Heroes would not trust her enough to reacquire her strength.

Isha sighed again as she put a hand to her head.

In the end, all she could do was hope her children got her last message on the planet she had left behind.

She may not be able to command them, but she could still show them certain symbols and concepts. How else would she have conspired with Kurnous and Vaul to send the last of her Tears into the mortal realm after the edict was in place?

Hopefully, the ones who ran away could undo some of the damage their species had collectively done to themselves.

---

In the beautiful halls of the Dark Palace, Slaanesh stirred.

She felt something in Hir. The souls that she had swallowed, but been unable to digest were still there, but she could not whisper to them as she had done so several hours ago. It was as if they were too busy with what she was to listen to Hir, but the time in which they had fallen seemed too short and too unanimous to make pure statistical sense.

The effect on Hir was miniscule, a few hundred out of quadrillions of souls from millions of planets. Looking for them was like looking for a single bacterium in Hir small intestines. But, she could still feel something had changed within Hir.

However, the Prince of Pleasure quickly grew bored of Hir own musings, and instead reached up to the walls with Hir hundreds of long nailed hands; leaving a pair to massage Hir stomach, while another pair dragged the remains of Hir current divine plaything. With sinuously serpentine swaying of the spine, she slithered up to one of the windows of the Dark Palace.

Pure black eyes like obsidian mirrors stared out of Hir domain, looking up into the Great Rift; the Eye of Terror.

That was a place she could not reach, for even though she was the God of Excess, everything had a physical limit in the materium. Hir Truth only truly mattered in the unreal and was only ephemeral when expressed in reality.

That would not do.

A misty sigh whitened the crystalline windows with longing, even though she knew full well that merely reaching out of there would burn and melt Hir hands like molten iron would do to a mortal's flesh and bone.

She had escaped out of the realm of mere imagination and probability, finally taking shape in the realm of thoughts and dreams. Now, she longed to embrace the beings of the mortal realm, and share with them all that she was and all that they could be.

Out of the blue, a different concept echoed within Hir. She tasted blood, bone, and cannibalized meat. One of those closest to Hir was defacing a body in a truly despicable manner, but although it appeared to be a part of what she was, she could smell its disgust in the act.

There was something inside Hir. Something that wasn't there originally, and it was indistinguishable from what she was, yet did not come from Hir.

Spiked teeth exposed themselves as Hir lips pulled back in a savage smile.

The act itself was meaningless, for the concept was what was important.

Hir mouth opened, and she cried out. The wails of thousands upon thousands of babes shook the crystalline windows of Hir palace as she screamed out with a base and natural longing all parents would be drawn to.

'MOTHER!'

That was the meaning within Hir whimpering.

She could see it now, the path to greater excess. The path to spread Hir Truth to all in the materium.

They would be perfect; a cycle of pink and purple, endlessly chasing a streak of green and brown.

Thank goodness Hir mother slipped from the Grandfather's clutches. She would have never known this had the Goddess of Life been thrown in a cage and left to rot.

As the God of Excess's wailing worked its way into the wayward whims of Hir daemons, they sniffed and snuffled at the air, hunting for the nostalgic scent of earth and water, or ozone and sulfur.

Isha's plan of dividing the Chaos god's attention had worked. Now, they were looking for her.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: Figuratively, symbolically, and thematically a good title. Isha physically takes off the mask symbolising an admission of truth in this side story.

Main Part: As always, the Aeldari are sneaky.

Also, comments and reviews would be appreciated. That's the main reason I write, after all.

The methods certain gods speak is elaborated here. Slaanesh takes the form of the person themself when speaking to all those who can listen to Hir. This nature is reflected in Cegorach as well, for both are gods of evil when concerning the Aeldari. This nature is a symbolism of the idea that evil ultimately comes from within, which is shared by many of the Aeldari.

Cegorach's definition of evil is not compatible with Slaanesh's, and that's the only reason the Laughing God opposes She who Thirsts.

Harlequin are often portrayed as horrific, monstrous, and utterly insane. That canon characterization is reflected in Cegorach for this story.

This god's form is known to no-one. It is imagined to be a giant clown-like thing, but this is just another role, another character in Cegorach's performance.

Naturally, Saim-Hann and its three sons are as unknowable and alien as the deity that is their friend.

A futher note, as promised, we will be entering a stream of side stories to portray what happens with the normal Eldar from here on, so Isha and the Emperor will not be showing up in a coherent understandable form for a while.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Thank you Nalka for taking a look through the Eldar portions of this side-story.

9 long eared, tall beautiful men and women stood around a holographic projection table made of polished bone-like material. A 10th sat, boredly, outside the circle they formed.

This is the Seer chamber of Craftworld Iyanden, the largest and most populated Craftworld created by the Aeldari. The populace now call themselves Eldar, dropping the first and last letters of their species name to symbolize the ending of all that they were and all that they could be, leaving their kind in limbo; unsure of which path to proceed as a species.

"Have all the others been accounted for?" Farseer Mehlendri Silversoul asked the Council of Seers, the current governing body of the Craftworld. She was one of the oldest Eldar aboard the Craftworld, having been there since before the first seed of its construction was laid. Despite her gender, she was one of the tallest among them, and her red hair flowed down her back like liquid fire.

The council was composed of 5 women and 4 men, including Mehlendri. They were the Seers in charge of steering the direction of the Craftworld, figuratively and literally.

"We were the last of the 5, Farseer Mehlendri." Farseer Aelondra sighed as she brushed her crimson hair over one ear. "The others have long since left before us."

"Though it seems that did not guarantee their safety." Farseer Thulor snorted irritably, rubbing his temples. "Ulthwé's course has led it on a damned path to our past." His smooth black hair flowed over his shoulders like silk.

Thousands of Craftworlds left the Aeldari empire before the Fall. Of all them, 5 were the largest and of particular note.

Where the average Craftworld may hold anywhere from a few thousand to a few hundred million, these held tens of billions of survivors from either entire planets, or several star systems. With time, they would be able to grow their capacity and size to house even more.

In the order of their departure:

Saim-Hann; the Craftworld that shared the name of the Void Serpent, the friend of Cegorach. It was one of the first Craftworlds to leave the rest of its species behind. Their chosen name being synonyms with enlightenment is evidence enough of what they think of themselves, but enlightenment is not equivalent to sophistry or civility. They are a wild society, sharing more with the Exodites and the Harlequin than the other Eldar Craftworlders. Their racial pride remains intact and untainted by She who Thirsts, allowing them to be unblinded by it.

Ulthwé; the damned Craftworld, the Craftworld which uses the Eye of Isha as their world-rune. Despite escaping the Fall, their flight did not take them far. Now, the Eye of Terror's gravitic tendrils cling to the Wraithbone of the ship itself. All it can do is orbit the hole where insanity spills forth, but it does not do so in vain. Ulthwé remembers its species duty to destroy the Necrons, and it is for that reason its path led it so close to the Eye of Terror. However, all that means for the Eldar aboard it is that both new horrors and old nightmares surround them in the blackness of space as they pass perilously close to Necron Tomb Worlds.

Biel-Tan; the most militaristic of the Craftworlds whose world-rune is a heart above a stylized chalice, the symbol of their ability to reincarnate. As can be seen by what they most miss in their world-rune, Biel-Tan's objective is to return to what the Eldar once were. The Fall to them is a battle that has been lost, and now they plan to wage war to take back what is rightfully theirs. Naturally, that involves violence, and as that is the sole solution they see to their predicament, every other problem is dealt with in the same way.

Alaitoc; the Craftworld with the world-rune of a sword piercing a red crescent moon; the symbol of Khaine slaying Eldanesh. Their symbol is a harsh reminder of the Aeldari's civil war, and the dangers of going against their gods. For despite Eldanesh's many gifts and blessings, it was his blood that coated Khaine's hands in the end. They are the most puritanical of the Craftworlds, but they are merciful with their methods of removing what they see as taint. Eldar unable to deal with the strict rules and regulations often enter self-imposed exile to prevent their temptations from tainting others. In addition to supplies and ships for their journey away from home, these exiles are guaranteed the opportunity to rejoin the Craftworld whenever they are ready to relinquish that which drove them away in the first place.

The last Craftworld is Iyanden, the largest and the last Craftworld to leave the Core Worlds. Their lateness was not born of laziness or a lack of foresight. They stayed as long as they could to take as many as possible before finally abandoning everything they could not carry. Their mission was the restoration of the Aeldari Empire, and that would require as many non-tainted Aeldari from as many expertises, specialties, and talents as possible. The selection process was slow, and required many revisions. Practicality and purity were both balanced against each other many times, and it was for that reason they continued to do what they could up to the last minute.

Now, the Farseers of Iyanden were inspecting the damage from the disaster they knew would come. However, even in their most depressing nightmares, they could not have imagined the diabolical nature of what came for them.

"Thulor, Aelondra." Another more senior brown haired male Farseer, Farseer Tyrios, called the names of the two who had just spoken in a cautionary tone. "Khaine's song rings in your voices. The Craftworlds all agreed during their inception to allow each to choose the path for their people, purpose, and politics. Mutual respect must be maintained."

The 9 Eldar on the Seer Council come from three different generations.

The three oldest came from the Core Worlds themselves, and are the ones who envisioned the Craftworlds in the beginning. Their role in the council is to serve as both teacher and mediator of the discussions of fate. They lead through example, as well as experience.

The middling three come from the generation that joined the Craftworlds during their construction, either through recruitment or due to becoming disillusioned from their activist activities after all their warnings and efforts fell on deaf ears. They were not yet ready to teach, but could see the future well enough to make concrete decisions.

The youngest three were born within the sequestered enclaves of the original activists. They had not experienced their first death, nor were they allowed to experience the decadence of the rest of their kind. Their role here was the same as it is in any society, to question the older generations as well as introduce new concepts and ideas to ensure conservative tendencies do not hamper their collective vision.

Thulor and Aelondra are 2 of the 3 youngest Eldar Farseers, and although ancient by human standards they are still occasionally chastised by the older Fareers like newly promoted general managers receiving a lecture from even more experienced executives.

"... My apologies Farseer Tyrios." Thulor bowed his head after a moment of silence. "The portents of Kher-Ys and the Shard of Khaine have been taking much from me."

"I share the same worries." Aelondra stated, also bowing her head in apology. "My heart breaks every day Kher-Ys fate remains unchanged despite all we do. I blotted them and all the other minor Craftworlds from my mind so I would be temporarily blind to their suffering."

"I feel your pain." Tyrios nodded. "The future is bleak for us. Many of the minor Craftworlds may not make it, no matter what we do. Even so, we must See their fate. There is much we can learn from their loss, and even if there is nothing we can do and nothing we can learn, at least we can keep them with us in our memories."

Besides the 5 major Craftworlds, thousands of minor Craftworlds also exist. Smaller than the main 5, these Craftworlds vary greatly in shape, size, and societal norms.

Kher-Ys is one of these minor Craftworlds, and the prophecies around it are grim.

"The Seers of Kher-Ys saw the same thing as us, last time we spoke using the Webway." A masked male Farseer with silver hair, the last of the oldest group of Seers, Farseer Ulrissor, said with a shrug. "The Wailing Doom raised high by a pink-purple hand as the screams of an entire Craftworld go silent."

That was the prophecy currently being discussed, and the second cause for sleepless nights for the Farseers of Iyanden.

Prophecy predicted She who Thirsts would take every soul on board Kher-Ys, and she would do it using Khaine's sword.

That led into the first reason for the Farseer's exhaustion; the Shards of Khaine.

It was shortly after they had escaped the tendrils of the Eye of Terror that they all began to feel angrier and angrier for no reason at all.

Sensing something was amiss, the Craftworld was checked for infiltration by a daemon or other psychic creature.

To their horror, they found the cause right in the heart of their new home; a Shard of Khaela Mensha Khaine, the god who had once tried to exterminate them all.

Bonesingers were hastily conscripted to seal off the Shard from the rest of the ship, but even now they could feel it calling to them.

How and why the Shard had been placed there was a mystery that should have been more important. Such a breach of their security wards without their noticing was an existential danger to them all. However, with the sheer number of daily disasters they predicted and averted, investigating who was responsible was quickly becoming less and less of a priority.

All the other Craftworlds they could contact reported finding a Shard of Khaine at the heart of their Craftworld, and their Bonesingers shared as much as they could regarding how to counteract the Shard. The glowing orange pieces of metallic Warp flesh constantly agitated the populace aboard each of the Craftworlds; both by its sudden appearance and psychic call.

And now, just when they had finally organized an internal mediatory force to arbitrate and adjudicate between the increasingly easily aggravated Eldar aboard Craftworld Iyanden, the prophecy of Kher-Ys came at them like a swarm of angry Warp Spiders.

"Kher-Ys has reinforced their Webway gates with runic wardings, sealed off their Shard, reinspected their entire populace for signs of She who Thirsts, and is currently militarizing as we speak." Farseer Milethea spoke bitterly as she psychically summoned an image of the Craftworld being discussed via the holographic projector in the table. The third of the youngest group of Seers had dark hair the color of the ocean at night. "Yet, the prophecy remains the same."

"If they have done as they have said, the Wraithbone and Webway shall provide no entry." Farseer Ulrissor sighed, scratching behind his ear as he did so. "The door to doom shall be opened from within; treachery from the Eldar, or the Shard."

A grim silence descended upon all of them. This was the reason for their worry.

Kher-Ys was not especially lenient in the way they gathered people to their cause. If anything, Iyanden was more liberal with who they let aboard. If a traitor from within was the cause of the doom of Kher-Ys, there was a good chance that a similar thing could happen to Iyanden.

If it was the Shards of Khaine that was responsible, then every Craftworld was already doomed.

"Does our war god hate us so much he would work with She who Thirsts to slay us?" Farseer Serapharielle asked no one in a defeated tone. Dark red locks of hair were bound in a long ponytail that reached the middle of her back.

"The legends say it was we who destroyed him and our gods." Farseer Eluriane chuckled mirthlessly as she folded her arms in front of her; light blue hair slightly curled swaying as she did so. "But, the irony of the situation seems unlike what Khaela Mensha Khaine is. If anything, that sounds more like a joke told by the Laughing God."

"How would you know, Eluriane?" Farseer Idrineth snorted, voice muffled by his mask. "It has been tens of thousands of years since the gods have spoken to any of us." The proud man was only from the middling group, despite his white hair. However, he often spoke as if he knew what their species represented as well as what they were supposed to be.

"I used to watch the Harlequins perform, when I was still a child." Eluriane shrugged. "I even asked whether I could join them, but they told me it was not yet my time to stand on their stage."

"Then is it them that did this to all of us?" Farseer Milethea asked icily as she glared at Eluriane.

"Perhaps." Eluriane shrugged again. "They are blessed most by Saim-Hann. No one knows the Webway better than them, and it would not be surprising that they can hide from all our sensors and senses. After all, their patron deity did hide from She who Thirsts."

"Even if it is them, we cannot be relieved." Idrineth snapped "The Harlequin act according to their own agenda, and we know not what that is."

"Enough." Mehlendri said, stilling the slowly heating air of the council chamber with a raised hand. Tempers were beginning to flare amongst the middling and youngest groups, and it was beginning to direct itself at the other, the unknown.

Mehlendri took in a deep breath to steady her own growing irritation as she turned to Idrineth from the middling group of the council. "Idrineth, I know Khaine whispers in your ear, but do not join its chorus. We cannot escalate matters with our own kin after having lost so many."

"You accuse me of prejudice, Farseer Mehlendri?" Idrineth answered back as he shot a glance at Milethea, the last of the youngest group of the Seer council. She was far more antagonistic to the Harlequin than anyone else on the council.

"Milethea's dislike of the Harlequin comes from personal experience." Mehlendri replied in a placating tone. "You have yet to meet them in person, and thus must reserve your judgment until you do so."

"I shall remain silent on this matter then." Idrineth retorted before clamping his mouth shut.

Mehlendri cast a look at Tyrios, the second oldest after her. Tyrios gave a slow blink in affirmation, agreeing to talk with Idrineth in private so Mehlendri's scolding would not leave bad blood between them.

This was the reason for having three of each age group. With a species as prideful as themselves, special care was needed when differences of opinion could arise.

Ulrissor was also part of the oldest group, and would have been theoretically responsible for keeping the peace between them, but that man had the emotional intelligence and sensibilities of a Jokaero. If it wasn't interesting to him, he didn't bother with it, and other people's emotions were somewhere between doing his laundry and washing the dishes on his list of priorities.

As for how far down those were on his list… If the psychic drones didn't do most of his housework for him, Mehlendri wouldn't have been surprised if he'd accidentally entombed himself in his own room with discarded clothes, bottles, and bowls.

Still, even Ulrissor had his uses in this system. He was the blunt instrument that bulldozed all doubt by stating only the harshest and coldest facts to the middling and youngest groups in the event they did not wish to see what was blatantly obvious. During those times, it was useful to have someone who didn't care whether they were hated or loved.

"Thulor. Aelondra." Mehlendri called to the two youngest Farseers. "We have done all we can for Kher-Ys, and the prophecy of their doom has not yet spread to us. We serve Craftworld Iyanden. Let us take solace in that fact, even as we shed tears for all those on Kher-Ys."

"Yes, Farseer Mehlendri." The two said in unison, bowing their heads as they did so.

Mehlendri sighed internally as she gave them a gentle smile. They were supposed to be the future of the Craftworld, yet they worried her the most. Being a Farseer required one to keep one's-self separate from what they saw. To become too emotionally attached to what-ifs could lead down a path that may be possible, but in truth was astronomically improbable.

A holistic view of everything was required, for to take one step forward on the tightrope of fate meant a step not taken back, and changing the future always required sacrifice from one's own self or someone else.

'Perhaps educating them with only what was defined as pure was not the wisest of choices.' she thought to herself as she turned to Ulrissor.

"Farseer Ulrissor, show us what we have seen for our sister Craftworlds, and what we individually know of their immediate path."

"As you wish, Farseer Mehlendri." The silver haired Eldar said under his mask, and the holographic projectors morphed into a list of all the other Craftworlds, and what each individual Seer had reported on it.

Perspective changed the vision seen, so it was necessary to have several Seers working in unison to see the far future. Overlapping those visions and predictions could lay out points of commonality between events, revealing key players or occurrences that might provide a clue as to how to ensure things proceeded in their favor.

"Craftworld Lanimayesh is currently besieged by Khorne and their losses grow daily. None of our visions see them turning the tide against the Blood God, but I see a hand with the world-rune of Biel-Tan knocking the prize from the brass giant's grip." Ulrissor reported bluntly. "Craftworld Taial'shara and Zu'lasais are lost to us. They left too late, and the voice of She who Thirsts has rendered them empty husks. They shall drift towards the worlds of the human federation."

"Do they pose a risk to us?" Serapharielle asked tiredly. "Will we have to destroy more of ourselves to keep it out of the hands of the aliens?"

"No." Tyrios grunted. "Although I have seen some of their gene-sculpted weapons walking through the remains in several hundred to several thousand years from now, the humans shall remain as ignorant of our technology as they will always be."

"Then Theminarae poses a matter of greater concern." Serapharielle sighed. "They have escaped the Fall, but I foresee a storm in its path." The dark red-haired Eldar's fist clenched as her voice grew pained. "The impure may have managed to get onboard, allowing the forces of Chaos to track its position."

"We cannot order them to purge their own populace." Tyrios immediately shot back. "And we have no idea what the nature of the impurity within them is."

"Is merely watching more of our family wither and die all we can do?" Serapharielle said bitterly. "I see their doom, but not how to prevent it. Will greater reinforcements allow them to push through their fate?"

"No." Ulrissor interjected. "If we send our own, they will share Theminarae's fate."

"The only thing we can give them is knowledge." Tyrios cut in before Serapharielle could retort.

The dark red-haired Eldar woman was from the middling group of the Seer's council, and was originally an activist on the Core Worlds. She had gone down the path of the Seer path hoping to see a better future. Instead, all she saw was death and dead ends. Still, she strove to see a way through the darkness, but it made her reactions to rejection more volatile.

"How go the preparations for our new afterlife?" Tyrios said as he turned to Mehlendri. A more hopeful topic was required to calm the atmosphere, and this was one of the few topics that showed some progress.

Mehlendri pulled out a burgundy crystal from a pouch on her belt, and lifted it with her telekinesis till it came to a rest at the center of the table where miniature gravitic tendrils dimpled the space above it so the crystal would fall upwards and downwards at the same speed, bobbing up and down in mid-air. "The samples provided by Asurmen's student Maugan Ra have been helpful, but they will be useless to us if we cannot create or collect more."

"You mean the bribe." Milethea interjected. "Iliathin's companion gave those to you in private and asked for assistance." The other Seers frowned at her use of Asurmen's old name, and her refusal to recognize him as a teacher. However, they did not chastise her. Although rude, there was reason for the Seer to find the new name distasteful. Afterall, it was a blatant plagiarism of the Phoenix King's true name.

Mehlendri sighed again internally. Milethea and her had butted heads several times recently, and although there was no hate between them, the last of the youngest group was taking her role in the Seer council as the questioner of the old a little too aggressively as of late.

"He sought our assistance to save his Craftworld." Mehlendri answered calmly. "Altansar sinks into the Warp even as we speak. But, as we last discussed at this council, my decision regarding the fate of Altansar is unswayed."

Altansar was doomed, and they could do nothing for it. That was the decision reached by the council, and it was Mehlendri's own mouth that made the prophecy.

"That is not all he wished to convince us of." Milethea continued.

"You fear my acceptance of Asurmen's proposed Path system is made of impure thoughts?" Mehlendri asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Many of your decisions past and present have me questioning you, Farseer Mehlendri." Milethea said grimly as she shot a look at the tenth person in the room who was currently stifling a yawn. He was here on Mehlendri's request, and he was not a Seer.

"Milethea…" Mehlendri said tiredly, allowing her age to seep into her voice. "The Seer council is a purely meritocratic body that values only the strength of our foresight. Even if I was bought or swayed by material gain, so long as the result of our foresight ends in the most positive outcome, the bribe itself is meaningless. The council is composed of only Seers for that sole reason. Should I try to utilize my visions for selfish gains, you would all see through me. I would have to leave the Craftworld without my eyes for attempting to lead the Eldar of Iyanden astray."

"That is another part of the council's purpose." Tyrios continued where Mehlendri left off, reminding all of them of the basic rules of the council of Seers. "To keep an eye on each other so the best collective future can be pulled towards Iyanden by tugging at the strings of fate. If an illegitimate political motivation is thought to pervert our sight, then work with the others to see through the ruse Farseer Mehlendri has made. Prove through foresight that her acts work only for her favor."

"I understand the council's purpose, Farseer Tyrios, Farseer Mehlendri." Milethea said as she bowed her head, but the two older Eldar both sighed when she raised it again as they saw an angry spark in her eyes.

"But, even if it has already been decided in the last council session I must protest again. Why must the Commorraghite remain in our midst?"

All the middling and youngest Eldar of the council besides Milethea shot a look at the Commorraghite in the chair in the room, currently looking over his nails. The wide sleeves of his shirt and robe had slipped from his wrist, revealing a black gauntlet that reflected light like a beetle's carapace.

"The Autarch," Mehlendri emphasized the title of the tenth Eldar. "is here on my request. The matters we discuss daily have a military aspect to them. He is here as an advisor and advisor alone." She shot a look at the Autarch with the last word, silenting commanding him to keep his lips sealed. The Autarch only snorted once in return, keeping his gaze fixated on his nails.

The Autarch was originally from Commorragh, that much was true. It was also true that it was Mehlendri who had recommended him to that position. She had faced much resistance from the council that time. Thankfully, the True Guardians had accepted him as their de-facto leader since their time on the Core Worlds, so the other Farseers were the only ones who required convincing.

Quite frankly, it was only because the Autarch had proved himself efficient in dealing with the various aliens they were now exposed to that the council had begrudgingly allowed him to take the post and stay during their meetings.

"There is something inside him, Farseer Mehlendri." Milethea hissed. "I know it just as I know that there is nothing in the Harlequin."

Milethea was the most psychically empathetic of the group. She could feel what others felt, and resonated with their emotions. It was for that reason she hated both the Harlequins and the Autarch. Just as the Harlequins had their personality removed, leaving nothing but a disturbing hole for Milethea to feel, there was something inside the Autarch that disgusted her just as much.

"Be that as it may…" Mehlendri spoke slowly, attempting to calm the youngest of the Seers. "If you do not have a prophecy that works against the Autarch, then you cannot sway this council's decision."

"We understand there is a tendency to over focus among our race." Tyrios spoke reassuringly to Milethea. "However, prophecy is the only thing that matters here. Your other gifts may be greater than ours, but unless they hone your foresight, they cannot sway what we have decided."

"How can you say that, Farseer Tyrios." Milethea said as she shook her head. "His plans have put us at risk already."

"If you're talking about what I did with the Orks and Mon-keigh, I thought I already explained myself." The Autarch suddenly quipped from his chair. "But, if you want another explanation then I am happy to oblige."

"Autarch Filimerthex, please remain silent." Mehlendri ordered.

The man, Filimerthex, brought results, but she did not like him anymore than the rest of them. Quite frankly, there were times she regretted letting this beggar into the group that would eventually form the Craftworld Iyanden. It was only because she knew what was most valuable to him that she could sleep without worrying whether he posed a threat to them all.

"Milethea, if you have no prophecy that finds the Autarch to be a danger to Iyanden, then you must remain silent regarding this matter." Ulrissor ended the argument abruptly.

Mehlendri watched the young woman take in a deep breath and lose all emotion on her face as she put on her Seer's mask.

"My apologies, Farseer Mehlendri." She spoke in the emotionally devoid monotone of one who saw only everything that would be, and not what they wanted. "The Autarch, Spirit Stones, and Asurmen's Path system pose no threat greater than any other to the Craftworld."

Mehlendri nodded, accepting the apology.

Milethea's anger was not entirely her own, and she was still young for an Eldar. Her empathetic nature was also causing her to act out, for the emotions of others were beginning to crowd out her own. Mehlendri told herself that to quell her own growing anger, excusing the younger Eldar in her mind for her tresspasses, even as Khaine growled inside her at the arrogance of this upstart.

"My work with the Spirit Stones provided by Maugan-Ra confirmed our theories." Mehlendri continued, hiding the heat that was growing inside her. "The Tears of Isha can act as a psychoactive data matrix, allowing the storage of both information and psychic energy. With the right wardings, we can ensnare a soul inside it before it falls into the Othersea. Our Bonesingers can adapt them to this purpose, but we will need many more to save everyone aboard Iyanden and prepare the Infinity Circuit that shall be the final resting place for us all."

Spirit Stones, also known as the Tears of Isha by the Craftworld Eldar. Each one is a clot of pure suffering and sorrow; the physical reaction of reality when the anguish of soul bearing creatures grows so large that it threatens to tear apart the veil with its pain. The crystalline material acts as a natural barrier to psychic energies, and as such energies are made from thoughts and dreams, the crystal also serves as a medium to store information.

The Eldar had theorized that they would be able to save their souls with these crystals since before the Fall, but the emotional trauma necessary to create the Tears of Isha was not something they could attempt to replicate. However, after the Fall, the Crone Worlds of the Aeldari empire provided ample supply of the burgundy crystals.

"The Path system is necessary for this endeavor as well." Mehlendri continued. "The Asuryani are the only ones to have returned from the Crone Worlds uncorrupted. Their usage of our species ability to focus on singular aspects protects from the temptations of She who Thirsts. Their martial strength shall also allow them to survive the conditions there."

"The Path system will protect us, but I see much suffering with its introduction." Serapharielle said sadly. "I see our kin struggling to remove a face that isn't theirs, and staring into mirrors unable to recognize themselves without it."

"Farseer Mehlendri" Idrineth suddenly spoke up, breaking his silence. "I too see dangers with the Path, although they are political rather than prophecy."

Mehlendri looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and Idrineth returned the look with a slight bow of his head to apologize for his earlier outburst. Apparently he had managed to take control of himself with sufficient time to reflect, and had rejoined their debate now that it had moved on from the Harlequin, allowing him to speak without taking back his words.

"The Aspect Shrines of the Path of the Asuryani demand autonomy from the Craftworlds." Idrineth continued. "Allowing them to establish themselves on Iyanden would allow a different political and theological entity to enter our home."

"The Aspect Shrines swear to remain neutral regarding any conflict within the Craftworld." Mehlendri answered, acknowledging Idrineth's comment, accepting his apology without acknowledging it. "Their warriors shall take no side. If anything, it will keep all those who follow the Path out of any strife we should sow amongst ourselves."

"Can we believe what they say?" Idrineth countered. "I have seen Eldar take up arms against Eldar. The introduction of Aspect warriors could cause blood to flow more efficiently."

"The students of Asurmen are selected for their ability to focus. Any who cannot obsess over their values to the point of near blindness will not be able to step onto the Path to begin with. All those who cannot follow his teachings will be the weakest of them, and shall pose little threat to us." Mehlendri continued sharing what she had learned from both Asurmen and Maugan Ra as well as her own foresight. "I have seen the Aspect shrines close their gates to those on Craftworld Kaelor, even as the great houses who rule it burn."

There was a moment of silence as the other Seers reviewed the vision Mehlendri shared, but Serapharielle suddenly growled angrily, overtaken by emotion.

"Iyanden was grown to restore what we once were. We did not save so many just to turn them into soldiers obsessed with one form of slaughter." She spat. "Not all of those who walk down to the end of the Path do so with the intention to remain there. My sight has shown many stories of pain and regret for those upon it."

Mehlendri waited for Serapharielle's breathing to return to normal as the middling Seer struggled to reign in her emotions.

"Asurmen has offered to teach methods to remove the War Mask." She said reassuringly. "He too does not wish to convert the Eldar into a species of Exarchs. The Asuryani are supposed to wander from Path to Path according to him. Only when obsession is the only salvation should an Eldar follow the Path to its ultimate end, and step into the unknown to lengthen it."

"Will we save more than we will lose, Farseer Mehlendri?" Serapharielle asked slowly.

"We will lose all without a way forward and a way back."

Serapharielle bowed her head at the double-meaning of the Path; both in its symbolistic sense as the way their kind would better themselves before starting over on a new one, and the practical sense in that only Aspect warriors would be able to make the journey to the Crone Worlds and return with the Tears of Isha necessary for their soul's salvation.

"I see the same sight as Farseer Mehlendri." Serapharielle said.

The other Seers gave their own affirmations, and the Seer Council of Iyanden finally agreed to allow Asurmen and his students to set-up their Aspect shrines.

—----------------------------------------

(PoV: Farseer Idrineth)

As the Seer council began to disperse, I sighed and swallowed my pride. I had spoken harshly to both Farseer Mehlendri and Milethea regarding the Harlequin, and my actions bordered on arrogance.

I would need to make amends with both in private, so it would not affect our next council.

Although Farseer Mehlendri did a good job at hiding it, I saw the fire that burned in her eyes. She too was affected by Khaela Mensha Khaine like the rest of us. Everyday fights and arguments erupted over the smallest things across the Craftworld. Even though all of us knew that the instigator for our anger was the fragment of the god of murder and violence, it was starting to matter less and less.

Inter-Craftworld communications were beginning to be affected as well. The tone of the other political bodies leading their respective Craftworlds grew harsher every day, and they would no doubt grow even worse with Farseer Mehlendri's proposed method of salvation.

They would be grateful for the knowledge, but knowing how to use the Tears of Isha didn't change the fact that they were in short supply. Although Asurmen and his disciples traveled through the Webway, visiting every Craftworld they could while spreading Spirit Stones as gifts and bargaining chips to gain permission to start their Aspect shrines, the numbers provided were too few to satisfy even the smallest Craftworld.

If Farseer Mehlendri shared her findings with the other Craftworlds, as well as the spells necessary to allow the Tears to automatically save our souls, the demand for Spirit Stones would grow even more.

That was where the seed of death and destruction lay.

There were only two places Spirit Stones could be found. The Crone Worlds of our empire, and the other Craftworlds. If Khaine continued to call to us, there was a real chance a war between the Eldar could erupt in order to safely acquire more Tears without risk of corruption.

Iyanden would probably be safe, protected by its sheer size and the fact that it was Farseer Mehlendri who had shared the knowledge of salvation with the other Craftworlds. However, there was no telling what the minor Craftworlds might do to each other.

I saw Kaelor appearing from the Webway in Saim-Hann's path with Pulsars, Starcannons, and Disruption blasters blazing. Meanwhile, the shattered husk of Aon'tai was left behind by Biel-Tan. If the minor Craftworlds could become desperate enough to attack one of the major ones, that only meant they had run out of easier targets.

But, jealously guarding this secret would be even more dangerous. The vision I saw showed the other Craftworlds tearing into each other, but to do the opposite would be to invite them all to attack Iyanden in order to steal the secrets of the Spirit Stones, both real and imaginary.

Keeping one secret suggested more were hidden, and the conspiracies would grow to the point Iyanden would be accused of hiding things it did not have.

Damned if we do, damned if we don't. That was where we were as a species.

I shook my head, throwing off the depressing thoughts that had begun to overcome me. I had begun to lose myself in visions of what could be, even though we had already averted that fate with our decisions.

My eyes looked up at the table, only to find the others still standing where they were.

Odd. I had thought that at least one or two would have left while I was over focused on my visions of the inter-Craftworld wars, but everyone else hadn't moved.

I turned towards Farseer Mehlendri, only to see a bloody neck stump where her head was supposed to be.

My eyes turned from one Farseer to the next, only to see each with a different mortal wound. Some were blown open from the inside, as if a bomb had buried itself inside them before blowing them apart. Others were burnt almost cinders, still crackling with psychic energy from a battle of psychic blows. Eluriane had been turned into a mummified husk with only a small cut on her wrist.

All of them turned towards me, even though some were missing their head or face. All 8 of the other dead Farseers were looking at me with non-existant or vacant eyes.

My feet stumbled backwards as I felt my heart palpitate painfully in my chest. Then, a bout of vertigo struck, knocking my sense of balance from my head as surely as a bludgeon would have done, causing everything I saw to swim and ripple like a reflection on a pond disturbed by a dropping stone.

Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me. I could feel the arms of something extended towards me, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose as its chilling touch brushed against my skin. I swayed, trying to prevent myself from falling backwards, but the corpses of the other Seers continued to stare at me. Behind them were the ruined walls of the Seer chamber of Iyanden that overlooked the Craftworld. The polished white Wraithbone was cracked and charred, revealing the ruins that remained of our new home. Entire sections were gone, melted or vaporized by some bomb or torpedo. I could hear the faint mourning cries of all those that survived, only a few thousand of what should have been tens of billions.

All of the dead and those that survived were looking at me, staring at me, driving me back with their gaze.

I took the final step backwards into the extended arms of whatever was behind me, and they thrust themselves towards me as if to push me away.

But it was too late. I was falling through the immaterial touch of whatever was behind me, falling through a sea of information and psychic energy. It seeped into every pore and every cell of my body, impregnating every nucleus it passed through.

There was a thump as I landed on my back, and I was alone in the ruins of Iyanden.

Then the nausea struck.

I vomited immediately, retching over the floor before gasping for air like a drowning man. Fatigue robbed my limbs of their strength and I became both hungry and thirsty at the same time.

Groaning, I started to roll to the side to get up, but as I turned I felt something move in my stomach. Reaching for my midriff, I felt it start to swell, stretching my clothing and the skin underneath it.

Another bout of nausea struck, but I could only dry retch noisily as I felt my stomach distend another couple centimeters. My fingers grew thin and withered, and I felt my cheeks sink into themselves as the thing in my belly drank the nutrients from my blood and flesh as my lungs worked like a pair of bellows in a forge, drawing in fresh air to supply the being within me with more oxygen.

But, despite all this, I did not feel fear or despair. The only thing I could feel was love. Love for the thing eating my body from the inside out. Love for the unborn creatures growing amongst my intestines, shoving them aside as their limbs and head elongated and swelled.

Dry laughter escaped my thinning lips as I stroked the now exposed skin of my stomach that had torn its way through my shirt and robes.

I should be afraid. I should hate the thing robbing me of my life. Yet, I knew that if anything or anyone dared to kill the creature inside me, I would throw myself over it to buy it a few more seconds so it could be born.

There was a snap, and I felt my left side lighten as my arm fell off. Tree roots grew out from the cross-section that should have revealed blood and bone, latching onto the Wraithbone and digesting it in order to provide fruits and nuts for the coming child. I could feel other things growing inside me as well. Other life forms that would emerge from my skin in order to take care of the children I would leave behind. Every part of me would be repurposed to form their cradle.

As the last bit of moisture drained out of my skin, leaving it hard and dry as bark, I stared upwards as an Aeldari woman with gold hair and silver eyes looked down at me sadly.

This was an incomplete miracle I'd activated by accident; spurred on by my survivor's guilt and pride.

"Mother…" I finally managed to mouth as the world dimmed then disappeared in darkness.

…

I tore off my helmet and retched onto the holographic projector table as I returned from the realm of dreams and visions back to reality. All the other men except one followed suit, either collapsing onto the table or trying in vain to hold their mouth closed before finally vomiting into their hand.

The one exception was the Autarch, who had a pensive look on his face while he stroked his chin.

The women either stumbled or put a hand to their stomach, shaken but not violently ill like the rest of us.

"What…" I stammered out. "was that?"

"Motherhood." Farseer Mehlendri replied as she massaged her stomach. "That was an extremely concentrated and visceral form of it. However, the emotions and reactions are very much the same."

That was motherhood? Farseer Mehlendri caught the disgusted look on my face and snorted.

"You and the others don't have the required organs, nor have you the experience of bringing life into this world, but that is what your own mothers felt when she bore you for the first time."

I grimaced then cleared my throat as several psychic drones flew in to clean up the mess.

"How would you know? You were dead in my foresight."

"That was your own personal vision, Idrineth." Farseer Mehlendri sighed. "In mine, only Milithea and I survived the Mon-keigh assault."

"What does this mean, Farseer Mehlendri?" Farseer Tyrios spoke up, shaking his hand to throw off the sick that was still on it before a psychic drone floated up to him in order to wash off the remaining mucus and pungent acids that clung to his fingers.

"I do not know, but we have more pressing matters to address." Farseer Mehlendri said with a shake of her head. "The rest of Iyanden no doubt felt that as well. We must take charge of the situation before things get out of hand. I will deal with our people. Meanwhile, contact the other Craftworlds. A choice has been made somewhere in this galaxy. A choice that affects all of our lives. We must know how far its effects reach, and what to do with it."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: The first part in a 4 or 5 part series of side-stories regarding Craftworld Iyanden, and their reaction to Isha's choice. Some people might be worried that this story is going to be taken over by what might be classified as "omake" stories, but rest assured, the next parts of Isha's story are already drafted and plotted, so I know where the story is supposed to go and we do not risk running into a dead end.

Main Part: This side-story is mostly here to clarify some of the dates of Warhammer canon regarding the Eldar, and modify some of the canon dates so that they make sense.

Currently, the canon timeline of the Eldar has them discovering Spirit Stones and modifying them into soul containers between M31 and M33. i.e. They spent the entire Great Crusade, Horus Heresy, and the Reforging without Spirit Stones. As the more passionate fans might have guessed, this creatively idiotic decision was made by Mat Ward.

To accentuate just how idiotic this creative decision was, Lorgar committed Exterminatus on one living Craftworld in canon before he fell to Chaos, and the Eldar on that Craftworld had Spirit Stones and an Infinity Circuit. Although GW may be notorious for contradicting themselves, this particular lack of internal consistency is especially stupid in my opinion. What is the point of leaving Eldar souls defenseless for 3000 years?

The timeline for Spirit Stones has been accelerated in this story. If Isha never escaped, they would have completed the Infinity Circuit within M30, possibly within only a hundred or so years after the Fall.

The events that involve Asurmen are left untouched, which includes his travels from the Core Worlds and gathering the Eldar who would become the Phoenix Lords. The canon events of Maugan Ra being the one who provided Mehlendri Silversoul with the Spirit Stones, and Mehlendri being the first Eldar to discover how to store their souls in them, as well as the one who designed the schematics for the Infinity Circuit are unchanged.

Isha's Tears being made of suffering also ties into this, because the emotional trauma necessary to create them nicely explains why the Craftworlders couldn't complete the Infinity Circuit and had to re-discover Spirit Stones from the Asuryani (Asurmen and his followers).

On the topic of the Asuryani, the Path system is also a post-Fall invention, so this side-story also describes how the Eldar accepted the Path system provided by Asurmen, especially with all its drawbacks.

There are multiple references to canon Craftworlds, as well as their fates. Some of them appear only in Eldar codices, but one of these was important during the Fall of Cadia, so they are hardly irrelevant.

Kher-Ys, the Craftworld talked about the most, is a canon Craftworld that was destroyed by Slaanesh. The daughter of the Craftworld's leader was seduced by a Keeper of Secrets who disguised themself as an attractive Eldar youth who had accidentally gotten trapped in the Webway. (Yes, daemons can infiltrate the Webway, although it is a dangerous environment for them. If the Druhkari do not kill them upon entering, the Warp Spiders might devour them. (Yes, even Commorragh is not totally evil. It is because Dysjunctions occur in Commorragh that daemons do not spill into the Webway unmolested.)) This Keeper of Secrets managed to sneak aboard the Craftworld, undid the wardings of the Webway, and brought swarms of Slaaneshi daemons onto the Craftworld before heading to the Avatar of Khaine. Through several long hours of ritual and conversation, the Keeper of Secrets possessed the Avatar of Khaine, slaying the Eldar with the sword of their War god while empowering the other daemons in the same way the Avatar should have empowered the Eldar. Thus, every soul aboard Kher-Ys was claimed by She who Thirsts.

This future was foreseen by the Seers of Kher-Ys, but they could not decipher its full meaning. The events described here by the Seers of Iyanden allude to that fate. The reason they cannot decipher it is that in reality, it did not have to be the daughter of the leader. Any of the Eldar upon Kher-Ys could have fallen to the Keeper of Secret's deception, and eventually lead to their doom. Hence, the key person of the prophecy was forever malleable. (Thankfully, there are now Aeldari who can sniff out the taint of Slaanesh on their kin, and who else knows the Webway better than the Harlequin?)

As for why the Craftworlds are so open to conversation at this time, the War between the Craftworlds alluded to by Jain Zar in the novel "Jain Zar: The Storm of Silence" has not yet happened. In the novel, Jain Zar argues with an Avatar of Khaine, accusing her 'father' of instigating a civil war between the Craftworlds after the Fall, and there are other references in Eldar codices of Craftworlds attacking each other such as Saim-Hann and Kaelor.

Because the civil war has not yet happened, Craftworlds are less insular and more open to cooperation immediately after the Fall.

One thing to note about the Craftworlds in canon is that they do not have a uniform system of government, nor overarching cultural norms. Some Craftworlds are extremely draconian, culling anyone who shows even the slightest hint of Slaaneshi corruption, while others are borderline Core Worlders who enjoy the boons of their psychic physiology, and advanced technology. Kaelor and Aon'tai are two examples of Craftworlds who are explicitly stated to have attacked or been attacked by other Craftworlds, Saim-hann and Biel-Tan respectively.

Aon'tai in particular was utterly destroyed during a period of time called "The Era of Tears." This period of time is alluded to be when the Eldar waged civil war against one another. This is the canon source for the vision seen by Idrineth. In this story it is an age where Craftworlds raided one another for the Tears of Isha, as the method of collecting them from the Crone Worlds had yet to be perfected. Therefore, the only easy way to accumulate Spirit Stones was to steal them from their brethren.

Although it would be interesting to depict a fight with Eldar against Eldar, it would be a narrative step backwards that Isha would not allow, so the Era of Tears will be averted, although in a very convoluted manner.

On a more positive note, Iyanden is described as the largest and one of the last Craftworlds to escape the Fall. Although it was decimated when it ran into the Tyrannids, it was originally patrolling the sector of space that would later be known as the Ultramar sector, destroying Chaos aligned aliens as well as any daemons that tried to corrupt real-space directly. This is hinted to be the reason why Ultramar is so prosperous and 'good' when compared to the other regions of the Imperium.

As the Craftworld who originally wished to reestablish the Aeldari Empire, but who still have to remain culturally distinct from Biel-Tan, their culture is a mixture of pragmatism and puritanism. Although they are only known for their usage of Wraithguards due to taking so many losses from the Tyrannids in 40K, their supplemental codices does have several interesting passages and items that have been incorporated into this story.

Although most of my readers might think that Mehlendri is the only Eldar from canon, with all the other characters being OCs, there is actually another character here who is from the Iyanden Supplement Codex. Although he or she has no name in the codex, the description of what this individual was should be enough to figure out who is also from canon. Then again, it should be painfully obvious with the focus placed on this other character.

To quote the Iyanden Supplement Codex this "should have been sealed in a stasis vault or destroyed long ago, so that its evil may be contained or dispersed, but alas, times are so dire that every weapon must be pressed into service, whatever the risks."

But, to be quite honest, I only read the Supplement Codex until after I had finished the character profiles. I always wanted a Commorraghite to be included in the story. People think the Dark City as only a source of pain and suffering, but just as one of Slaanesh's functions is to make sure the Othersea does not dry up, Commorragh has its own uses even though they may be done with only evil or selfish intents.

It was a happy coincidence I could introduce this character aboard Iyanden without an overly contrived back-story.

Other things I would like to point out is the importance of pride in all the Eldar's interactions. Just as Isha talked about pride in a previous chapter, these side-stories explore what it means to be part of a race and society that is as proud as the Eldar. The Craftworlders deal with it by reinforcing ideals of humility, and allowing alternative ways of saving face through professional and private channels.

The Commorraghites have an entirely different way of dealing with this problem, and they are quite ridiculous. Lihilitu was a noble in this story, so some of the societal norms of her background have leached into the psyche of Commorragh. Even in canon 40K, the nobility of Commorragh are described to lounge on giant palanquins carried by crowds of slaves when they travel through the streets. Talking with them on equal footing while saving face requires some equally outlandish social rules that you'd find in any aristocracy.

 

[Nidhog153]

Things were quiet on Iyanden tonight. The vision that had assaulted the Seer council of Iyanden had swept across the entire Craftworld, and all their sister vessels reported witnessing similar visions.

A thankful side-effect was that the experience had left everyone exhausted, so the sounds of arguments and fighting that had recently become the usual background noise of the Craftworld were gone.

Mehlendri enjoyed the chirping of crickets in one of the garden domes of the Craftworld, using the calm to relax and let her mind idle. Khaine's voice was finally absent from her background thoughts for the first time in decades.

"Farseer Mehlendri." The Autarch called from behind her, and she frowned.

"Autarch Filimerthex." She answered without looking at him. "Is your granddaughter alright?"

"She is shaken, but ultimately unaffected." Filimerthex chuckled.

"Just like you." Mehlendri said, tone accusatory. "What motivated you to experience motherhood?"

The Autarch was the only man to remain unaffected by the vision. Only he and all the women aboard Iyanden remained in control of their bodily functions after what they all went through.

"The same motivation that allows me to be on this ship." Filimerthex said as he shrugged. "Love."

"I have a hard time believing that." Mehlendri snorted. "Your consort left you thousands of years ago, before you came to us."

"Yet, it was she who shared her mind with me during the conception, pregnancy, and birth." Filimerthex sighed. "We did part ways eventually, but it was at her request."

"Now neither your consort, nor your daughter are with you." Mehlendri spoke slowly. "If you truly loved them, why did you only bring your granddaughter with you?"

"Well, things with the mother of my child naturally fell apart. I have no idea where she is, or what she's doing." Filimerthex said as he walked past Mehlendri. "She got tired of being part of a family, and I wanted to remain a parent. What we wanted no longer matched, so we parted ways and she moved on."

"And you daughter?"

"She disappeared into the pleasure districts of one of the Core Worlds after leaving her own daughter in my care." Filimerthex kept his back turned towards Mehlendri as he spoke. "She died there, before the Fall. I have no idea what happened to her soul."

"Is that why you brought your infant granddaughter to us back then, begging us to take her into our care?"

She remembered when Filimerthex first came to them. In his arms was a newborn babe, a young soul with no previous experience of reincarnation. At that time, his back was not straight with pride, nor were his features calm and collected. He had banged on the enclave gates like a madman with tears in his eyes, crying for help.

Mehlendri had been the first one to talk to him, and in her pity for the child she had allowed him to enter the enclave gates. It was only later that she learned where this man had come from, as well as just how old and how dangerous he was.

"I do not know how She who Thirsts touches us, but I did not want her family's fate to be hers."

"You know that implies you too are touched by She who Thirsts." Mehlendri said cautiously, warning him of the accidental admission he had made.

There was a moment of silence, then the Autarch turned towards her, meeting her gaze head on.

"I am."

The garden fell silent around them as the crickets quieted themselves, hiding under the leaves and grasses as they felt the air grow heavy. Then frost began to spread across the garden freezing all the insects and plants in place as Mehlendri gathered her psychic strength, pulling back a figurative fist in preparation to strike.

The Autarch merely blinked in response, neither drawing out his psychic talents, nor tensing his muscles in preparation to fight.

"You know what I value most of all." He said, while he continued to lock eyes with the Farseer.

"Your granddaughter." Mehlendri responded as frost continued to spread around her.

Filimerthex nodded once. "As long as you and your Craftworld brethren protect her, you have my leash in your hand."

The man before her only cared for one thing, his last surviving blood relative. His granddaughter was not remarkable in any way. She was just another of the younglings brought up in the sheltered environment of the enclave that would become the Craftworld. Her relationship with Filimerthex was as normal as it could be under the circumstances. She might view him more as a father than a grandfather, but besides that there was nothing of note.

That was the only fact allowing Mehlendri a quiet night's sleep. Otherwise, she would not have been able to rest without worry, even if he was bound in chains and sealed in the depths of the Craftworld's bowels.

But, both of them already knew this, back when Mehlendri first found out where Filimerthex came from while they were in the enclave on the Core World.

"Did that vision change your opinion of our relationship?"

That was the only reason to bring up something that they both knew.

"You see it in your younglings as well." Filimerthex remained still as the frost crawled across his boot. "Their vision is hampered by both pride and obsession over purity."

"Do you wish to take your granddaughter from the Craftworld?" Mehlendri asked. Crystals of ice floated around her like diamond dust. The drawstring of her spell was pulled tight, the psychic bolt nocked and ready to fire with a single thought. She would protect everyone on Iyanden, even if it was from their own blood.

"No, I will not risk the voice of She who Thirsts entering her ears." Filimerthex said as he shook his head. "However, she should be allowed to know what exists beyond the Eldar's boundaries."

The two continued their stand-off as the frost climbed up Filimerthex's legs and waist.

"We are a beautiful and bestial race. Hiding one-half of that blinds and binds us, making us far less than what we once were."

Mehlendri snorted. "It is because we are lesser than those on the Core Worlds that we survived." She muttered. "We know nothing of their pleasures and pains, keeping us untainted by temptation."

"Yet, that also makes us ignorant of what we face."

"Then what do you propose, Autarch?"

"I do not know, Farseer Mehlendri." He shrugged. "But, I saw something there in that woman's eyes."

"What did you see?"

Mehlendri did not bother asking who he was referring to. She had seen the golden haired woman with silver eyes as well. In Mehlendri's vision, the Goddess of Life looked upon a massive burgundy crystal encasing a shadowy form placed in the ruins of Iyanden. The golden haired woman sighed sadly before turning towards the Farseer's withering body and bloated belly. Mehlendri had tried to take control of something she did not understand just as Idrineth did in order to restore her people and her home.

"Love, even for me after she saw all that I have done and wanted to do."

Disgust furrowed Mehlendri's brow as she understood what he meant.

"You were the reason for your daughter's disappearance into the pleasure districts of the Core World."

"Not exactly." Filimerthex shrugged. "But, ultimately, the responsibility lies with me."

"Should I restrain you from seeing your granddaughter?"

"If things ever get to that, this…" He said as he raised his left arm, letting the wide sleeve of his robe and shirt slip down revealing a beetle black gauntlet. "will be enough."

A long sigh exited the Farseer's lips as she allowed the psychic energies inside her to dissipate. The frost forming around them evaporated; freeing the crickets, grasses, and the lower half of the Autarch. Filimerthex was not a threat to Iyanden. She had come to that conclusion ages ago, while watching him with his granddaughter. So long as he served the Craftworld, he would be allowed aboard it.

"What did you want, Autarch?" She asked exhaustedly.

"I have triangulated the position of a certain planet I saw in my version of the vision." The Autarch said firmly. "I want you and the other Seers to steer us in its direction."

The Farseer glared at the Autarch. To go in that direction meant to approach the being that was there; the symbolization of motherhood so strong that incorrectly activating it would bring the malformed miracle they all saw into reality. The Aeldari may be saved by it, but the Eldar of Iyanden would all die in return. She currently served the Craftworld, and even if it meant the salvation of the rest of her species, the price was too high for her.

But, they could not stand idly by while the daughter of fate churned the waters every Craftworld sailed upon.

"The Seer council will convene tomorrow morning. Whatever made that choice does not want us arriving any time soon."

"Thank you, Farseer Mehlendri." The Autarch bowed before the Farseer, but the best she could do was nod vacantly in return.

She was so very tired at this moment.

"Leave me, Autarch." She said as she turned away from him. "I wish to be at peace for a little while longer, before Khaine comes to claim me again."

"As you wish, Farseer." Filimerthex bowed again, before exiting the garden. Mehlendri looked up at the starry void that was allowed to be visible through the garden dome of the simulated night time of their ship, listening to the crickets chirp around her once again.

—----------------------------------------

Morning on the Craftworld begins with compulsory chores; the ritual necessary to remind all those who had no need to work the importance of doing so regardless.

In the agri-domes, Eldar picked fruit and dug up tubers by hand, while tilling the soil with only their psychic talents and fingers, even though the drones would have done a far more efficient and higher quality job.

Filimerthex worked the earth just like the others. There were no special privileges here. This was a reminder of the importance of humility and service to the Craftworld, in order to ground even the highest ranking Eldar and keep their pride in check. He usually accomplished this ritual in the artificial forests or grasslands in the other domes where more of the martially adept Eldar hunted and skinned the wild animals kept there.

He had abstained from attending the morning Seer council. Milethea and possibly even Thulor would question Mehlendri's motivations for approaching the anomaly that had affected them all, and it would be better for him to remove himself, if only to prevent any political accusations levied against the oldest Farseer.

"Grandfather, you're pulling the tubers out all wrong." A slightly shorter Eldar girl quipped, ears twitching with frustration.

This was Filimerthex's granddaughter, a 210 year old Eldar girl with almost blood red hair. She was the equivalent of a teenager in Eldar society, and as such her pride was getting the better of her.

"They're coming out just fine, Iyandra." Filimerthex sighed as he pulled out another engorged dark blue plant root out from the soil with his bare hands. Today they were harvesting a sort of yam that formed a sticky paste when ground down. It could be eaten as a side dish, or used a sort of reverse condiment for stronger tasting foods in order to diffuse the harsh tastes they might have.

"You're pulling them out in pieces. They'll only last a week before oxidizing at this rate." The girl sighed. "Look, you have to bring them up with their inter root nodules still connected. That way, the root skins are unbreached, keeping the tubers alive, healthy, and fresh until it's time to cook them."

She stretched out a hand to the next plant, and the ground began to tremble as she psychically agitated the soil around it. The vibrating grains bounced against each other, acting like the molecules in a boiling liquid, allowing her to slowly pull the entire plant from the ground.

"Well done, Iyandra." Filimerthex clapped his hands. "But, aren't you taking this a bit too seriously? Vibrating the soil to cause fluidification is something the drones are supposed to do. You don't have to improvise in order to mimic them."

"The pursuit of perfection in a job well done is not an evil thing." Iyandra said as she brushed a few clumps of dirt still hanging from the mass of interconnected tubers. "The lazy are the first to fall, and it is because we were wily that we managed to run away in time."

"Very well memorized." Filimerthex praised her with a wry smile. "But, the point of this labor is to remember humility. This isn't a contest, Iyandra."

"Then what better way would there be to be humble, than to admit to your granddaughter she is better than you?" Iyandra retorted with a defiant smile.

Filimerthex snorted. The teachers and martial instructors aboard Iyanden were the ones who were supposed to help the young souls learn their limits, as well as when and where one could spout unnecessary witticisms. However, her spirit seemed strong enough for an earlier lesson.

"Alright, tomorrow we go to the hunting domes for our chores." He said as he took the tubers from her and placed it into a basket. "Then it will be your turn to learn the humility of learning from your elders."

"I accept, grandfather." She said as she dusted herself off. "But, you may not remain the teacher for long."

Filimerthex smiled. Iyandra had only done chores in the agricultural domes on account of her being too young to enter the hunting domes unattended. It would be interesting to see how long her attitude would last when she was forced to skin and gut an animal with only her bare hands. The smell and feeling of offal was usually enough to reduce the inexperienced to tears.

Additionally, if she wanted to make this a race, he would gladly oblige, although he could guess how it would end. It would serve as an important lesson for both the importance of life, and the dangers of creating frivolous challenges or competitions.

Suddenly, Iyandra blinked as she caught sight of someone approaching them.

"Farseer Mehlendri." She bowed, wiping the playful smile from her face as she put on her mask of best behavior.

"At ease, Iyandra. I am merely here to do my service to the Craftworld." Mehlendri smiled back at the girl before passing by Filimerthex. "The Seer council has agreed to allow a scouting party to be sent." She whispered.

Filimerthex nodded, then replied his thanks with sign language from his left hand.

'Take heed, Filimerthex.' Mehlendri continued with a psychic message. 'We merely saw that there was no danger in doing so. Iyanden's current path remains unchanged.'

'I understand.' He replied.

A few of the other Seers joined the other Eldar in the fields.

"Ugh. The little ones have started their pranks with Ulrissor again." Iyandra groaned.

The Farseer had started working washing the remaining tubers the other Eldar brought in their baskets at an artificial creek. Smaller Eldar children were sneaking around behind the Farseer, picking a freshly washed set of tubers from the basket on his left, smudging them a bit with their muddy hands, and silently placing them on his right.

"Leave them be." Filimerthex snorted. "Ulrissor knows what they're doing to him."

Iyandra sighed before watching the children giggle as Ulrissor took one of the tubers they had dirtied and washed it again. "Odd, I never thought he was the type to play along with the little ones."

"He's not playing along with them. He's using them." Filimerthex muttered. "As long as he has to wash tubers, he gets to stay near the creek where he can continuously wash his hands. If he finished washing, he'd have to find some other chore to do, and he dislikes touching dirt."

"Funny." Iyandra said with a strained smile. "I guess it's because he's a child at heart that he gets along so well with them."

'Teenagers.' Filimerthex thought to himself as he smiled as well.

That age group often thought themselves more mature than those younger than them, while being whittier and smarter than their elders. However, a real adult wouldn't have made a wager they had no way of winning.

Filimerthex was also an Eldar, and he was not above nursing wounded pride. He was pulling out all the stops on the hunting trip tomorrow morning. A mature Eldar waited for the perfect opportunity to return a favor or insult. That would be another valuable lesson for Iyandra.

"Milethea is glaring at you again." Iyandra said as they walked to the creek with their baskets of tubers.

"She has her reasons." Filimerthex shrugged.

"Was your plan with the green skins and humans that distasteful?" Iyandra asked as she clutched her basket to her chest. "I heard that there was quite a vocal argument at that time."

'It's not just that.' He thought to himself, but it was a part of why she disliked him. Might as well play along with that assumption.

"Did you hear about what I did?" Filimerthex asked as he knelt down near the creek, and picked out one of the tubers to wash.

"Only rumors." Iyandra replied as she knelt down next to him, pulling out one of her large interconnected tuber roots and submerging the entire thing in the creek. "Something about distracting the green skins away from our Maiden Worlds." She swished the plant around in the water, letting the flow of the creek carry away the dirt.

"That's the gist of it." Filimerthex answered as he scrubbed his own singular tuber with his hands.

"That alone should not have made her so angry." His granddaughter said with a raised eyebrow. "What did you do, grandfather?"

There was a slight pause as he pondered what to tell her. If this was before the vision, he would have bluffed his way out of the question or allowed her to make her own conclusions. However, the silver eyes in his vision were looking at him even now. They reflected him as who he was, and although they were saddened by what they saw, they did not reject him.

'You're the strongest person I know, father. That's why I can leave her with you.' The last words of his daughter played out in his mind.

Filimerthex drew in a breath, then began to talk.

"You know our histories of the Orks?" He asked.

"Yes. It is said that the great Eldanesh broke them by using their own powers against them after suffering great hardship." Iyandra spoke, reciting history from memory. "He convinced them that they were the strongest, so in their brutal search for greater foes, they turned on themselves."

"Ah…" Filimerthex replied. "So that is how they teach it nowadays."

Iyandra blinked in surprise before giving her grandfather a narrow eyed look. "What do you mean, grandfather?" He spoke strangely, as if he knew a different history to her.

"An Ork…" Filimerthex muttered. "Cannot be conversed with, and hence you cannot convince them of anything."

"But, then how were the green skins shattered?"

"By using the only language they know. Violence."

"That does not sound like the lessons."

"I never said we used violence on them."

Iyandra's breath caught in her throat for a moment.

"We allowed the green skins to brutalize us?" She whispered to him.

"An Ork thrives on battle. Fighting them gives them what they want most." Her grandfather said quietly. "We lost on purpose, over and over again for thousands of years against certain tactics. We let them kill our bodies and traveled back from the Othersea so we could die to them again. Some were even ordered to be taken prisoner by them to make their victories seem even greater than the charade we made for them."

Iyandra's face flushed at what she heard. Her people losing on purpose to the green skins was a humiliating concept. The creatures could barely talk properly. It was only their sheer numbers that made them pose a threat to the Eldar. The thought of the hero of her people forcing all those who followed him to endure such an indignation filled her with rage.

"Eldanesh certainly did face a great amount of hardship convincing the others to follow his strategy." Filimerthex chuckled as he pulled out the cleaned yam and placed it in a drying bin. "But it worked. The Orks grew weak and slovenly with their easy victories, and their belief in the strength of the tactics we let them win with gradually became the only way for them to act." He picked another tuber from his basket and began to wash it while simultaneously motioning with his head to the plant in Iyandra's hand, reminding her to scrub it clean. "Those taken prisoner provided information on their kultur as they called it, and when they finally believed that they were the strongest and most powerful beings in the galaxy, it didn't take long to convince them that the only ones worth fighting were themselves." Filimerthex chuckled to himself again before continuing. "Of course, their disagreement with each other ended up being how best to fight, and we laid the seeds for that discord by only losing in certain ways against specific groups of Orks."

Iyandra let out a deep breath, letting her anger exit with the hot air before roughly scrubbing the mass of tubers submerged in the creek.

"If the Orks were allowed to win, why were they only on certain prison worlds until now." She asked after having calmed down enough.

"A genocide is not a battle, Iyandra." Filimerthex said as he cleaned off his third yam. "Their splintered fleets and disorganized cities didn't last long in the clutches of the black holes we dropped on them. Since not even light can escape its gravitic grip, the other Orks knew nothing of their deaths. Hence, there was no battle, there was no fight. Even now their splintered tribes believe in the false strength of the tactics we allowed them to win with, not knowing that the different ways of waging war they convinced themselves to be the best were all taught to them by the Aeldari. Another gift of Eldanesh in a sense."

"A gift?" Iyandra said as she wrinkled her nose.

"It is a lot easier to kill an enemy when they only attack in a certain premeditated way."

She nodded at that, then frowned. "But, we cannot do the same thing now." She said, tone accusatory.

The Eldar could no longer reincarnate as the Aeldari once had, but if that was the case, this entire history story had nothing to do with why Milethea disliked Filimerthex, nor what he had done.

"No, we cannot." Filimerthex nodded. "However, there is no need to defeat the Orks anymore."

Iyandra snorted at that. "The green skins spread like a plague, grandfather." Even now, their numbers grew with the patrol fleets of the Aeldari empire no longer able to provide the periodic orbital bombardment to thin their numbers.

"They do, but so do others. The Orks are hardly the only expansionist race."

A chill passed over Iyandra.

"What did you do, grandfather?"

"I reminded them why the Eldar are not worth fighting, and provided them with an alternative that seemed more fun." He shrugged. "I had our Guardians find Mon-keigh soldiers under assault from Chaos or one of our ex-client races. You would be surprised how often they run into the K'nib." Filimerthex chuckled as his granddaughter froze. "Once we rescued them from their plight, we provided them safe passage to the prison worlds of the Orks."

"That was why Milethea accused you of putting us at risk." Iyandra lowered her voice instinctively. "If the humans find out what you did, it would mean war between us."

"By the time they realize what has happened, they will have already forgotten everything that led up to it." Her grandfather snorted. "Besides, there is about as much diplomacy to be had with the Mon-keigh as the Orks. You've heard what they've done recently on the outer rim, haven't you? There should be rumors of looted Soul Engines and stripped down Psychomatons going around Iyanden. We shall take from them as they will from us." His voice was bitter and dark as he spoke. "Whatever bargain or treaty we can make with the Mon-keigh will be forgotten in one of their miniscule generations, or perhaps even sooner. Elections have a funny effect of wiping their memories when they should really be a moment to hold those in power accountable for all their sins."

For a moment, there was only the sound of rushing water, and the splash of hands scrubbing away dirt.

"Do not pity them, Iyandra. Ultimately, it will be their choice whether to fight or flee from the Orks. If they should choose to fight, let them stumble from one self-inflicted disaster to the next. There is no need for the Eldar to care for the fate of the Mon-keigh when they care so little about what happens to their own kin."

"I can see why Milethea is worried about you, grandfather." Iyandra said dryly. "Pitting the green skins and humans against each other, even if they do not notice our subterfuge, is dangerous. The green skins could grow stronger with every battle, and the humans will become more hostile and reactionary."

"It is as you say." Filimerthex nodded. "But, at the same time it keeps both the Orks and the Mon-keigh busy with each other, leaving no time for them to encroach upon our Maiden Worlds and the Exodites. I orchestrated these events to ensure our brethren remain unmolested by aliens, allowing the Craftworlds to focus on the activities of Chaos. We have enough enemies in the immaterium, Iyandra. Every Ork that kills a Mon-keigh, and every Mon-keigh that slays an Ork is another alien we do not have to worry about."

He sighed and tossed another washed tuber into the pile of clean ones.

"Besides, that was only part of my argument with Milethea. She was more upset when I requested to barter with Commorragh."

"You wanted to entreat with the Dark City?" Iyandra hissed under her breath.

"They're the only place in this galaxy that can produce realistic enough clone bodies of Eldar." Filimerthex shrugged. "The Orks needed to think themselves victorious, and that required corpses. I purchased the bodies from an old contact of mine and had our Guardians set them up so when the Orks eventually overran us, they could butcher the flesh puppets left behind."

"What was the point of all of that?" Iyandra whispered. Surely merely forcing the Eldar to retreat would be victory enough for any other race.

"Orks live for a Proppa Foight, as they call it. They dislike it when all they see are shadows, snipers, and sabotage. Iyanden and Biel-Tan's Guardians spent several years on the new and old worlds of the Orks, irritating and annoying them with the tactics they hate most. Once they were frustrated enough, we finally led them to where we wanted them to think we were. There they found stumbling simpletons who neither screamed nor struggled when they stabbed them. We released the Mon-keigh on those worlds soon after, and they provided ample entertainment for the Orks, as well as coordinates to more Mon-keigh worlds."

"That is not the way we are taught to act." Iyandra muttered.

"It is not the Eldar way." Filimerthex nodded. "But, it is the way the Aeldari have always fought."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: It is pretty self-descriptive. The original draft was on my patreon for about 3 weeks at time of posting, so for those of you who are interested in early access, the option is there.

Main Part: We never get a good view of what happens on a Craftworld in private, but there are certain rules that are said to be constant.

1. All Eldar participate in some form of manual labor to remember the importance of work and cooperation.
2. Their society is still post-scarcity, and so as long as the Craftworld is unbreached, there is no War, Disease, or Madness upon the ship.
3. The Avatar chamber is at the heart of every Craftworld, and these shards caused a war between almost every Craftworld shortly after the Fall.

These rules remain true, even in 40K, with the only two known events of disease spreading on a Craftworld is Lugganath, which was the Craftworld that lost its Seers to Nurgle himself and another completely corrupted Craftworld that appears in Chaos Gate: Daemonhunter, which has been defeated by the 14th Legion and serves as a breeding ground for virulent strains of the Bloom Plague that was unleashed in the sector.

The Path system is a later introduction, and originally includes only Aspect Shrines. However, some Craftworlds seem to have adapted this philosophy to apply to every aspect of life, including reproduction and parenting. Some Craftworlds, according to Gav Thorpe, have paths dedicated to 'creating' more Eldar, while others are dedicated to 'nurturing' the newborn Eldar.

Additionally, all Eldar born after the Fall have to undergo a form of psychic restraint in order to prevent them from hearing Slaanesh's voice accidentally through the Warp. This is partially used to explain why the 40K Eldar are often viewed as lesser and weaker by the Necron in canon.

Iyanden, being the Craftworld that aims to restore the Aeldari empire, is quite pragmatic in their culture. They will do whatever they have to in order to survive, and save the greatest number of their people. As the Craftworld that later became infamous for their usage of their dead in order to protect their living, I think it is a fitting culture to ascribe to them. This is, before we get to the matter of the SoulShrive and other items from the Supplementary Iyanden Codex.

This is shown by Mehlendri in this story, who is one of the core members of Iyanden's legends. She is the inventor and discoverer of the Spirit Stone system as well as the Infinity Circuit, and it is her Spirit Stone that laid the foundation for Iyanden's Infinity Circuit.

Regarding the part with the Orks, this is my in-story reason for why the Orks see the Eldar as "Pansies/Panzees", despite having been defeated by the Aeldari and being imprisoned by them for tens of thousands of years.

To elaborate, the method by which Eldanesh splintered the Orks, was envisioned due to the Orks nickname for the Aeldari (Eldar, Exodite, Druhkari) being "Pansies/Panzees". Just like Space Marines remain "Beakies" long after the Corvus pattern helmet fell out of common usage, the Orks' genetic memory or Waaagh field retains the first name the Orks come up with for a very long time. Thus, the first time the Orks ran into the Aeldari, the impression they got from them was that they were "Pansies/Panzees". i.e. they were easy to defeat.

From a cultural perspective, it also makes sense. Fighting an Ork is counter-productive. They only enjoy the activity more, and even if you do rout them, it is impossible to make them cower or surrender for a long period of time. Eventually, they or the spores they leave behind will attack again. That is what the Orks are. Therefore, the only way to truly defeat an Ork is to defeat them by losing, defeat them by not winning at all, or defeat them in such a way that they do not realize that there was a battle to begin with.

As long-time allies of the Krork, the Aeldari should know these traits of the lesser offspring of the Krork, and with their ability to reincarnate and documented usage of blackholes as weapons, the Aeldari are perfectly capable of conducting the first and third option in order to defeat the orks.

There is also another layer of sub-text here. Filimerthex specifically refers to the humans as Mon-keigh, displaying a genuine dislike and disrespect towards them while referring to the Orks as Orks. Iyandra is the reverse, where she refers to humans as humans, and Orks as green-skins. This shows that Filimerthex and Iyandra have opposing views regarding the aliens. Iyandra sees humans as aliens one can have a discussion with, while the Orks are just barbaric animals. Filimerthex is the opposite, where there is a begrudging respect towards the Orks, while showing a great disdain for the unreliability of humans and their primitive nature. Apparently, he finds their ease at being manipulated by their politicians to be frustrating, and that is enough evidence for him that they are not much better than Mon-keigh in terms of intelligence level.

On a side note, for those readers who think the Eldar are a bit over the top with their racism and manipulations, you have to remember that this story is based heavily on canon material, but just as Isha has decided to work with the Emperor unlike canon, the Eldar will gradually transition from the Mon-keigh hating Xenos to something… different. If the earlier interlude 10,000 years later was anything to go by, attitudes towards humans have mellowed to the point that some Eldar are willing to look for their literal "soul mate" amongst the humans.

Just like any society has a hard time shrugging off prejudice, the Eldar will need some time to acclimatize to the idea that not every human is a primitive forgetful rabid endlessly avaricious plague.

 

[Édouard Onazol]

for those readers who think the Eldar are a bit over the top with their racism and manipulations, you have to remember that this story is based heavily on canon material, but just as Isha has decided to work with the Emperor unlike canon, the Eldar will gradually transition from the Mon-keigh hating Xenos to something… different. If the earlier interlude 10,000 years later was anything to go by, attitudes towards humans have mellowed to the point that some Eldar are willing to look for their literal "soul mate" amongst the humans.

Click to shrink...

IMO those readers are probably the sort who would prefer to just ignore canon when it's inconvenient to their sensibilities. You know the sort, the tumblr crowd who think that any depiction of racism or other regrettable phenomenon in a fictional story is somehow tantamount to an endorsement of that behavior. Honestly, you would be writing OOC if the Eldar weren't 'a bit over the top' with the racism, at least until we see how their society will change from everything that's happening.

Saw you mention elsewhere that the lack of comments on the first craftworld interlude was hurtful. ... But it's not you, it's me. Your writing is stellar. It's just that for me personally at least, slice of life just isn't my thing. I'll still read it, don't get me wrong, so that I don't miss any background for the rest of the story, but it's like reading a book you're not that into for english class.

Quite frankly, seeing the number of voters who forget the campaign promises broken going through the mental gymnastics necessary to justifying voting for a proven liar this many times has me sympathetic to Filimerthex's viewpoint.

Click to shrink...

Note: I think you should consider censoring that sentence from the thread elsewhere just so the infraction happy mods of that place don't get on your case for a "GR3A violation". That aside, it's very fascinating how you portray the generational dynamics among the Eldar! I definitely feel like there should be strong contradictions underlying Eldar politics whereby the 'conservative' leadership of the craftworlds struggle to understand why the ones who never knew the Empire and experienced the Fall first hand wouldn't have more faith in doing things their way-- after all, they were proven right once before? Although the first Craftworld-born generation ironically might see the ones who predate the Fall as inherently 'corrupted' merely by having lived at the time of the excesses that birthed Slaanesh, a sort of collective guilt that they feel a need to escape.

Sort of the same way that War in Heaven-era Aeldari would see the ones born afterwards who never lived through the war as lazy layabouts enjoying the fruits of their ancestors' labor without meaningfully contributing to society, à la Greatest Generation (War in Heaven veterans) / Baby Boomers (Golden Era of the Aeldari Empire) / Millenials (post-Fall births) societal stratification in which each generation feels the others are hopelessly out of touch and working on outdated assumptions about how life works. All in all, very excited to see where this is going!

Final aside, as part of your question of writing elf dialogue well that you made in that thread no one replied to (sorry again), consider Sturgeon's Law and Pareto's Principle. 90% of elf dialogue in particular is shitty because 90% of dialogue in general is shitty, and also since 20% of writers out there make 80% of the total dialogue, that's a large overlap by necessity, basically implying that the bad elf dialogue you've seen is bad writers writing about elves, and you see it often because motivation to write and skill may not correlate.

You've done a great job, I think, keeping both the dialogue and internal monologue of the Eldar sufficiently high-brow without being unreadable. This line was especially beautiful to read:

But, they could not stand idly by while the daughter of fate churned the waters every Craftworld sailed upon.

Click to shrink...

 

[Nidhog153]

IMO those readers are probably the sort who would prefer to just ignore canon when it's inconvenient to their sensibilities. You know the sort, the tumblr crowd who think that any depiction of racism or other regrettable phenomenon in a fictional story is somehow tantamount to an endorsement of that behavior. Honestly, you would be writing OOC if the Eldar weren't 'a bit over the top' with the racism, at least until we see how their society will change from everything that's happening.

Saw you mention elsewhere that the lack of comments on the first craftworld interlude was hurtful. ... But it's not you, it's me. Your writing is stellar. It's just that for me personally at least, slice of life just isn't my thing. I'll still read it, don't get me wrong, so that I don't miss any background for the rest of the story, but it's like reading a book you're not that into for english class.



Note: I think you should consider censoring that sentence from the thread elsewhere just so the infraction happy mods of that place don't get on your case for a "GR3A violation". That aside, it's very fascinating how you portray the generational dynamics among the Eldar! I definitely feel like there should be strong contradictions underlying Eldar politics whereby the 'conservative' leadership of the craftworlds struggle to understand why the ones who never knew the Empire and experienced the Fall first hand wouldn't have more faith in doing things their way-- after all, they were proven right once before? Although the first Craftworld-born generation ironically might see the ones who predate the Fall as inherently 'corrupted' merely by having lived at the time of the excesses that birthed Slaanesh, a sort of collective guilt that they feel a need to escape.

Sort of the same way that War in Heaven-era Aeldari would see the ones born afterwards who never lived through the war as lazy layabouts enjoying the fruits of their ancestors' labor without meaningfully contributing to society, à la Greatest Generation (War in Heaven veterans) / Baby Boomers (Golden Era of the Aeldari Empire) / Millenials (post-Fall births) societal stratification in which each generation feels the others are hopelessly out of touch and working on outdated assumptions about how life works. All in all, very excited to see where this is going!

Final aside, as part of your question of writing elf dialogue well that you made in that thread no one replied to (sorry again), consider Sturgeon's Law and Pareto's Principle. 90% of elf dialogue in particular is shitty because 90% of dialogue in general is shitty, and also since 20% of writers out there make 80% of the total dialogue, that's a large overlap by necessity, basically implying that the bad elf dialogue you've seen is bad writers writing about elves, and you see it often because motivation to write and skill may not correlate.

You've done a great job, I think, keeping both the dialogue and internal monologue of the Eldar sufficiently high-brow without being unreadable. This line was especially beautiful to read:

Click to shrink...

Thanks for the comment! I've removed the bits you suggested.

The generational gaps show a trend towards a new form of conservatism that is quixotically more puritanical than the original. 40K Eldar have an over-reliance on prophecy, but while it is useful to see the future, there is always the chance that the future you see or want to see is only probably in the astronomical sense. (i.e. almost improbable) Several Seers in the novels have pursued prophecy, only to end up further away from the outcome they wanted, or having the Imperium simply bullrush through their plans and somehow save the day through blind determination/faith.

40K Eldar are also quite bad at working with other Craftworlds/Aeldari factions, becoming more insular, and prioritising their personal Craftworld's benefits over others. You can see that trend in the youngest and middling groups here. The parallels to human generations is applicable to some degree, but the Seer's council structure is meant to work like this. It is a form of accountability, practiced across generations, and within the group itself. The oldest inform the younger of tradition, and the younger push tradition to fit the form that seems most applicable to the real world. The oldest will also push back, and through this concerted pushing a middleground is eventually reached. The Eldar here are at least sincere to each other.

 

[Nidhog153]

Craftworld Iyanden appeared from the deep blue of the Webway, emerging from the void of space like a golden sewing needle punching through the black fabric of reality. Several other bright yellow and blue vessels appeared around it, traveling in the wake of the much larger Craftworld like schools of dolphins and anchovies following a blue whale.

"Temporary Webway portal transit successful." One of the navigators reported from their terminal. All the bridge crew were helmed and armored, ready for combat as the Craftworld traveled over the debris field of Eclipse-class cruisers orbiting an orange and black planet.

"All ships maintain dispersed formation around the Craftworld." Autarch Filimerthex commanded, face hidden by a twin-plumed full face helmet. "As a reminder, Saim-Hann shall not open his mouth again so easily. You will need to buy time for us to enter the Webway again should we come under attack. I want periodic sensor pulses as well as all escorts and fighter squadrons in reconnaissance formation. Our scouting parties and the Farseers saw no sign of the Mon-keigh, but remember that the thoughts and actions of the irrational, insane, and immature are the bane of prophecy and planning. Be on your guard for anything."

Battleship class Void Stalkers and battlecruiser class Phoenix ships deployed their fighter squadrons as the frigates and destroyers drifted further away from the group in scouting formations. Meanwhile, Iyanden herself drew closer to the debris field.

"Barbarians…" muttered one of the navigators as she looked through the sensors of the ship with her psychic touch. The remains of Mon-keigh vessels were still impaled in some of the Aeldari ships, and she could see signs of friendly fire on their primitive vessels. The Mon-keigh had driven into the Aeldari fleet here in a suicidal charge, almost dead set in killing ten or more of themselves in order to take the life of a single Aeldari.

Filimerthex grimaced under the helm, hearing and feeling the hate in the Eldar on the bridge. It was a good thing that he had received permission from the Seer Council to keep the images and sensor readings from the Craftworld away from the central psychic lattices. The blood of their species had been spilled in a suicidal manner by these Mon-keigh. The brutal tactics showed that the Mon-keigh's desire to kill them outweighed their own basic survival instincts. That was enough evidence to understand just how much the Mon-keigh hated them, so it was only natural to hate them equally back in kind.

However, neither he nor Iyanden had time for vengeance.

Sensor readings and psychic notes from the other Eldar entered Filimerthex's mind as he connected deeper with the ship itself, providing him with a complete report of all that was around them.

Most of the Aeldari military ships had been destroyed by Mon-keigh weaponry, but several of the civilian ships showed signs of internal sabotage. The Wraithbone had torn apart the ship's own engines, a feat that was only possible with Aeldari abilities.

"Prepare boarding parties for all of the civilian ships." Filimerthex ordered. "Send some of our light-cruisers to investigate. There are no lifesigns aboard, so it shall be easy enough for them."

Many of the Eldar found these sabotaged ships odd ever since the first reports from the scouting party had returned. The creation of Wraithbone was a trait only their species had, but no sane Aeldari or Eldar would think to use it to sabotage an entire ship. It would be far easier to use a plasma grenade or their psyker powers to disable the ships than to force Wraithbone to grow into the engines. It would have taken several dozen Bonesingers hours to do that, and that was with the rather unrealistic assumption that the crew of the ship did nothing to impede the would-be saboteurs.

Part of Iyanden's flotilla separated in order to investigate the sabotaged ships. Filimerthex eyes followed the ships grimly. The boarding parties would no doubt return with more questions than answers, but there were other things to investigate in parallel.

The planet they currently orbited was recorded in the void-charts of Iyanden, but the writhing crust and plumes of lava could not have been further from what was supposed to be there.

"Divert some of our escorts to the planet. I want sensor readings for what happened here." Filimerthex ordered. "Have we established an all-clear perimeter?"

"Reconnaissance units and all associated fighter squadrons and escorts report no contact." One of the other navigators answered. "We are alone, Autarch."

"Good." Filimerthex nodded. "Prepare our salvage ships, but maintain vigilance. We shall not waste what we do not have to. However, all shipmasters are to return to the Craftworld at the first sign of anything at all."

Psi-drones and other craft detached from the hull of the Craftworld, utilizing telekinesis and Bonesinging to cut apart and collect the remains of the Aeldari cruisers. Wraithbone could be replaced, psychically charged crystals could be regrown, but specific structures such as Pulsars, Starcannons, solar sails, and gravitic drives required time and extravagant materials in order to construct. Although not necessary, it was an undeniable waste to leave the remains of their empire's ships behind, no matter how small.

"We have the preliminary planetary readings, Autarch." One of the navigators reported to Filimertex. "The core and mantle of the planet are in a state of constant flux, churning and re-stratifying itself allowing buried water and gasses to be freed into the atmosphere. Precipitation cycles have already begun on the cooler segments of the crust, dragging down the excessive dust and silica, while leaving enough in the stratosphere so solar radiation exposure is reduced to the levels necessary to foment amino-acid formation. Given another hundred years, or perhaps even several decades, the planet shall become the seed for a Maiden World."

"And the reason for this sudden change?" Filimerthex asked back. "Is there evidence of an asteroid strike or some other external input of energy?"

This planet was supposed to be a mostly dead world. It may have been volcanic, but the continents had been fixed in place, as well as the general location of the magma flows beneath it. This raging primordial sea of molten rock was nothing like it. Thermal and kinetic energy coursed through it like blood, pumping the magma and washing away the crust. Such events could only be brought about by an external source of energy, and the only realistic one was from the impact of another interstellar body.

"No." The Navigator shook his head. "We have not found any new satellites, or change in planetary mass that would indicate an external source for this change."

"Then, the cause must be truly not of this realm." Filimerthex muttered.

"There are traces of psychic disturbances here, but they could have been from the Mon-keigh's Warp drives." One of the other Navigators countered.

In return the Autarch snorted.

"With these numbers?" He sighed. "The traces of Warp transit and the number of identified Mon-keigh wrecks do not match, not to mention the number that would have been required to entirely destroy our kin." A holographic summary of the psychic traces identified by the Craftworld's sensors appeared with a wave of his hand and he sent it to all of their terminals. "Something has removed the psychic traces of what has happened here, including the psychic cause for the planet's change."

"That is quite the leap of logic, Autarch." A different Eldar replied.

There is nothing here, therefore someone must have hidden it. A ridiculous kind of logic that bordered on conspiracy theory. That was the Autarch's reasoning. Under normal circumstances, anyone would have found the claim dubious.

However, at this moment…

"It is the only one that makes sense with what we have before us." Filimerthex said as he leaned back in the command throne. "The remains of several rag-tag patrol fleets from our Empire, the signs of battle with Mon-keigh, and the vision we all saw." The Autarch tapped a finger against his helm as he spoke. "The Aeldari who were here wouldn't have had the devices necessary to bring about this change, and even if they did it would not have resulted in this. The Mon-keigh's definition of terraforming is not much better than landscaping or backyard horticulture. Even with their most destructive weapons, the best they can do is burn a planet to cinders. Therefore…"

He stood up from the command throne, as a holographic image of the plane took center stage on the bridge.

"She did this, just as she was responsible for what you all saw. However, all traces of her have been erased."

"What does this mean, Autarch?" Another of the bridge crew asked.

Ships sabotaged by Wraithbone.
A planet reborn through extraordinary means.
A vision of death and rebirth.
Missing traces of what all other circumstantial evidence indicated should be there.
It was a myriad of conflicting messages that even the Eldar found confounding.

"I do not know…" Filimerthex admitted with a shrug. "But, she was here and if she was one of us, she knew we would be here too." The Autarch returned to the command throne, before uttering his next orders to the flotilla. "Prepare our planetary landing craft. Direct them to the place with the least amount of psychic traces. That is where she would have been closest to."

—----------------------------------------

The ground Leader of the 10th Guardian squad, Seridin, checked the seals on his suit as he felt the landing craft slow its descent. A feeling of dread was spreading through him and all the other Guardians who had been assigned this reconnaissance mission.

They had done as the Autarch said, focussing on the place with the least traces of psychic energy, but it was not a simple void they approached. The very air felt like it had been scorched; purified till not even the smallest mote of dust, spore, or even microbe was left. He could feel his psychic senses recoil at the sheer emptiness that they had begun to enter.

The immaterium was something they were all accustomed to, and even though it was now filled with the whispers of She who Thirsts, they could hear the currents of the Othersea even in the depths of space. Now, there was a silence that they had not heard even in the darkest gaps between the stars.

And they knew instinctively why it felt like that to them.

They were entering the cauterized remains of a crater-like wound; flesh and skin seared till they were nought but black ash. From a distance, the background sounds of the immaterium masked the wound's presence much like frothing waves would hide a shallow reef, but now that they were descending into the pit, it was all too clear just how unnatural it was.

'We near the surface.' The pilot, Vythira, communicated psychically from her sealed cockpit. 'Precipitation falls, but keep your suit's atmosphere separate from the surroundings. The waters are caustic and the air will sear your lungs should it enter them. The ground remains solid on this region of the planet, but it is not like the others. Be prepared for anything.'

Images from the sensors of the landing craft entered his mind, giving him a 360 degree view of all that there was around them before he disembarked.

The ground was solid as the pilot had said, however, geyser vents, spikes, stone slabs, cavernous crevices, and vitrified craters covered it. A pile of collapsed rubble lay scattered across off in the distance, spreading across the entire western horizon. Solidified lava flows sizzled as black raindrops fell upon them, still well over several hundred degrees in temperature.

Seridin activated the accelerators in his Shuriken catapult with a thought as he put a hand to the plasma grenades on his belt.

A battle had been fought here, and a cataclysmic one at that. There was obvious physical evidence of geological manipulation, but the psychic traces left by whoever or whatever molded the metals and minerals had all been erased.

'Transfer operational command to me, and open the doors.' Seridin commanded. 'Keep the ship hovering, and ready to lift off at a moment's notice, but remain close. This is not the place to waste our lives.'

'As you wish.' Vythira replied, and air hissed as the gaskets of the landing craft loosened before the doors opened outwards, providing temporary cover on either side. The lead Guardian and his second exited the craft and took cover by the doors, scanning the terrain on either side. Seridin himself moved up as the others followed.

'Path clear.' A brief psychic report came from the lead Guardian and his second.

'Move up.' Seridin ordered, and the two excited from cover and jogged to two separate stone slabs as Seridin and another Guardian took their places behind the doors and watched their comrades backs.

The two disappeared from sight for a moment, and a tense second passed before the psychic message. 'Clear.' came from the both of them.

A short sigh of relief exited Seridin's nose as his muscles relaxed slightly.

"Move up, and form an extended wedge formation." He ordered the rest of the Guardians vocally.

They were here to reconnoiter the area assigned to them. Other landing craft were far away, both to increase the ground they could cover, and to avoid falling into the same trap should there be one. Seridin's group would travel from the field of stone slabs towards what should have been a continuous line of valleys and gorges, but the landmarks had disappeared leaving only rivers of lava.

They trekked across the ground in that direction, sliding down and then climbing up the lips of craters without event as the landing craft followed 50 or so meters behind them, hovering a short hop above the ground. No ambush or earthquake disturbed them as they marched through the blank rain. The only thing that was there to upset them was the endless emptiness that surrounded them on all sides, weighing down on their soul as if they'd been transported deep into abyssal waters where no light nor sound was allowed.

"Seridin, I've found something." One of the Guardians called out to him. "The woman's tone was grim, but not alarmed.

"Hold position." Seridin ordered, and he walked over to where the Guardian who had called him was.

As he approached, the oppressive feeling increased. His vision flickered between what was before his eyes, and an endless blackness on all sides that he could do nothing but march through.

Seridin whispered a short prayer to Asuryan, the Aeldari's creator, and reinforced his mental wards. Counter-intuitively, the source of the emptiness was of the immaterium itself. Thoughts and concepts bled off from it, infecting his mind with information he could not understand.

Finally, the Guardian who called him came into sight. She was looking at something buried in the ground, and although her face was hidden behind her helmet, Seridin could tell from her body posture that she was confused.

"What have you found?" Seridin asked the Guardian as he entered arms reach.

"A weapon, a message, or a mistake I do not know." The woman answered.

She was staring at what looked like the fletching of an arrow buried in the ground. It was bone-white and almost crystalline looking; the tell-tale sign of Wraithbone. But, they could also feel that the source of the visions that whispered to them was buried at the other end of it.

"Do we dare touch it?" The Guardian asked warily. This was obviously a battlefield, and although the arrow appeared archaic, it was a psychic artifact of unknown power. There was no telling what it would do when unearthed.

Seridin paused for a moment to consider his options, then decided to take a gamble.

"We know not how long we have left before we have to leave. I shall speak to the Wraithbone directly. If it is of our blood, then it should speak to us at the very least."

He motioned for the other Guardian to step back, then stretched his palm out to the fletchings of the arrow to commune with it directly.
"Seridin." A ghostly whisper tickled his ear. The tone was familiar for some reason, although he couldn't remember where he had heard it.

A smile crossed his face as the first bit of his gamble paid off by not immediately blowing up in his face, then he felt an invisible force grab his hand and wrap it around the buried shaft of the arrow.

"Seridin. Seridin? Seridin!" A cacophony of voices called out his name cooing in motherly tones while proud victorious laughter echoed in his eardrums as soft cooling hands stroked his cheeks.

"SERIDIN! WAKE UP!" He opened his eyes to see the Guardian shaking him by the shoulder with one hand while her Shuriken catapult pointed at his hand, the hand still gripping the arrow.

"I'm fine." He answered wearily. "I'm… fine. How long was I gone?"

"Only a second, but I saw you open your psychic senses fully." The other Guardian muttered. "You know how dangerous that is." Her hand had released Seridin's shoulder, but the Shuriken catapult was now slowly pointing towards the Lead Guardian.

"My soul is still pure." Seridin answered angrily at the underlying accusation. "And I still serve the Craftworld."

A tense moment passed, then the Guardians finger left the Shuriken catapult's trigger.

"Then, for all our sakes, let us hope the voice you heard was not Hirs." The woman sighed before adopting a more amenable tone. "What did we find, Seridin?"

The Lead Guardian looked down at his own hand, still buried in the ground with the arrow, then slowly pulled both free. A Wraithbone arrow with a golden point emerged from the dirt. Grains of soil fell away from it like droplets of water, leaving it entirely unblemished.

"A lesson." Seridin spoke slowly, as he looked at the perfect harmony between immaterial matter and the paradoxical paranormal phenomenon that it was tipped with. "A lesson that will take a long time to learn, but we can learn regardless."

Suddenly a psychic message struck all of them. 'Seismic activity increasing! All Guardians, return to landing craft! What we stand upon is not what it seems!'

No sooner had they received the message, the ground crackled and rumbled as a ripple traveled through it like a tidal wave.

'All Guardians fall back to the landing craft!' Seridin mentally shouted as he stumbled back to the swiftly approaching ship that had been hovering behind them. His hand remained wrapped around the arrow, holding it to his chest even though he could feel its glowing point sting and singe his psychic senses.

The pitch of the rumbling earth changed, and with a final crack, stone pillars burst from the ground around them. Each was tens of meters tall, and as they emerged to their full height, seams split open revealing a hidden lid which slid back down into the ground, revealing each stone pillar to be a coffin containing the ruined remains of one of their greatest weapons.

"Psychomatons?!" Seridin shouted out in amazement, stopping his feet to stare up at the machines embedded in the rock coffins.

"Seridin! Return to the ship! We need to leave!" The other Guardians called out as they passed him, but he remained where he was.

"Hold!" He ordered. "The ground's shaking stills. Our ancestors watch over us, and no harm shall come to pass under their gaze."

Even before the words left his mouth, the shaking slowed then stopped leaving only the pitter patter and hiss of acid rain falling around them.

The other Guardians slowly returned to Seridin.

"Lead Guardian, we cannot afford to be loose with our lives. Death is not the end for us." The woman who had originally found the arrow hissed.

"But our death is not yet here." Seridin shot back as he stepped towards the nearest Psychomaton.

"What happened to them?" Another of the Guardians asked. "They barely hold their shape."

Each one had all its limbs stored with them, but it was obvious that they were far from fighting form. Melted edges and blown apart joints showed that each and every one of them had lost all of their limbs, before someone picked them up and buried them together.

"Yes." Seridin acknowledged the status of his ancient ancestors. "But their souls still remain."

All other Psychomatons had been left as empty shells when She who Thirst's scream broke into the materium; Wraithbone and blackstone bodies left behind like the shed carapace of an insect.

"How is that possible?" Another Guardian asked as they stepped closer, following Seridin towards the Psychomatons. "They are avatars of war and excessive violence from our dark past. All the others went to She who Thirsts on the day of the Fall."

"I do not know…" Seridin admitted as he reached the base of the nearest coffin, and stared up at the Psychomaton's serrated head. "But these ones are hers."

He could hear the same whispers from the Wraithbone arrow coming from them. Smells and sights of fresh grass and warm sunlight filtered through a green canopy of trees emanated from the cores of each Wraithbone construct.

"Their hands glow gold." Another commented.

Where there should have only been bone white and obsidian black, a third color tipped the blade-like fingers of each one.

"They were Aeldari once. They can learn all that we can, and the one who left this lesson tutored them in person." Seridin said as he looked back down at the gold-tipped arrow. "Call for our Bonesingers or larger transport craft." He ordered. "We cannot leave these survivors of the Fall behind. We are Iyanden. Our empire is what we wish to reclaim. They were part of it, and thus walk upon the same strand of fate as us."

—----------------------------------------

The Autarch Filimerthex gazed up at the remains of the Psychomatons, still entombed in their stone coffins. It had only taken a few days to separate all of the colossal constructs from the planet's crust, and grow a disposable Webway gate large enough to transport them to the Craftworld. However, the ancient ones were not taken aboard as honored guests. Currently, the entire platoon was in storage near the outskirts of the Craftworld, as far away from the Shard of Khaine as they could be placed. This entire section of Iyanden could be jettisoned at a moment's notice, and several Guardians were placed outside to ensure no-one else could approach them.

They had left the planet and were back to the original course the Farseers had predicted would be the safest in the Eastern rim of the galaxy. The Seer council was currently discussing what was to be done with the Psychomatons and the arrow, but a verdict has yet to be reached.

"Aethnor? Maerili? Valanon?" Filimerthex muttered at them questioningly, but the Psychomatons did not reply.

A short sigh exited the Autarch's nose as he scratched his head. He knew it was meaningless to mention old names to the Psychomatons. What they were had been hammered out of them when they stopped reincarnating. However, in a moment of loneliness, he had let loose names of old friends who were no longer here.

"What do you think about what we have become?" He asked the Psychomatons.

There was a brief silence, then a series of irritated warbles and chirps came from several of the Psychomatons.

Filimerthex snorted at their comments.

"Do not blame them. That is the price they pay to remain pure. The children who will come after them will be weaker still."

Angry clicks and crackles followed, like the sound bursting chestnuts or wet wood in a fire.

"I find that claim dubious, after seeing how many of you fell to Hir." Filimerthex replied with a raised eyebrow. "You do not remain here on your own, nor did Khaine's song keep our brothers and sisters safe. She helped you."

A begrudging moan acknowledged Filimerthex's accusation, with several grim hoots remarking on what their mother was last seen doing.

"That option is a little too late for us, I'm afraid." He shrugged. "I have already sent the Orks on a collision course with the Mon-keigh. Any attempt to undo that would fail."

Amused buzzing rang from each Psychomaton as well as some cheerful chuffing.

"If all goes well, then the Mon-keigh will remain oblivious as you say. Their collective memories are about as short as their lives. Then again, the meeting of those two species was inevitable. If the conflict is inescapable, why should the Eldar not benefit from it?"

Cautionary twanging echoed around them as the Psychomatons warned the Autarch of the other deity that they had seen, as well as where their golden blade-like nails came from.

"The thief that snuck around the outer rims of our empire." Filimerthex muttered. "Fine, Iyanden can allow the Mon-keigh to exist unmolested, so long as they remain on what is left of their federation. Biel-Tan will take longer to convince, but besides them the others will probably be too busy with internal affairs to care about the problems of the lesser species. We also take no responsibility for what our client races do to them."

Satisfied rumbling accepted the Autarchs answer, then silence fell as they transmitted Isha's final message verbatim into his brain.

The Autarch paused for a moment, then let out a tired chuckle.

"'I love you, all of you.' is it? How very motherly…" Filimerthex sighed, scratching his head with one hand as he placed the other on his waist.

"I will need your help, if that is what she wishes." He said to the Psychomatons. "The ones here may be one-half of what we were, but our kin are beginning to become only the other."

Dark laughter echoed around the room, the first Aeldari sound the Psychomatons had made in a long-time. They had seen what had happened to all those who had not boarded a Craftworld yet still lived. A rune appeared in the center of their chest glowing red and orange with fiery heat; Khaine's rune, the rune of war, murder, and violence. Baritone voices began to sing, droning endlessly as the air filled with the scent of smoke and blood. The best ways to end life were whispered to all those who would listen. The angle of the knife necessary to cut through skin, muscle, and bone. The instinctive calculations required to correct for bullet drop, or the curvature of the ground.

"Enough." Filimerthex said quietly but firmly, ending the song. "I will need at least one volunteer. But, be prepared. Knowing what I do about them, whoever gets sent there will be trapped in endless boredom."

Several moments filled with beeping and whistling followed, before one Psychomaton gave a defeated chirp.

The Autarch nodded at the volunteer, then turned away from the Psychomatons. "I will talk with the Seer council. In the meantime, prepare yourselves for examination by our Bonesingers. Our mother's bindings will be of interest to them, and we will need more of our brothers and sisters."

A series of raspberries blew as the Autarch walked out of the room.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: It refers to the Psychomatons, but also the 3rd arrow that the Emperor only deflected and did not destroy.

Main Part: I've tried to illustrate the difference in Kyrazis's and Filimerthex's experience in the way he commands and the types of orders he gives. Filimerthex understands the importance of scouting, and is also very aware of what the priorities are in the situation. He is also taking 0 chances, which is why he phrases his order to for the civilian ships to return at the "first sign of anything at all."

The sabotaged civilian ships were always going to be a sore point for Isha's reunion or communication with the Eldar. From the Eldar's perspective, the idea that one of their gods would act against them is a very traumatic idea, especially with how Khaine has previously tried to exterminate them as a species. They are already severely weakened at this moment, and don't need the idea that another god besides Slaanesh is hostile towards them.

As a side note, the animosity between Craftworlders and Commorraghites is not as deep as the one between the Imperium and Traitors. The Commorraghites are invited to councils regarding matters that might involve their entire species, and do get a voice in such meetings. That does not mean Commorragh is a safe place for the Craftworlders, but it is arguably safer on Commorragh than it is on a human populated Imperial World. At the very least, using violence in self-defense on Commorragh does not cause a major inter-species incident that may or may not lead to a war. That said, most Craftworlders feel extreme disgust when they see a Commorraghite, with some refusing to look at them on the rare occassion a Drukhari emissary has to visit a Craftworld.

Seridin and the Guardians descending down to the battlefield that had been occupied by Isha and the Emperor was meant to describe what exactly Isha meant by saying no trace of her remained due to his presence. The Emperor wiped out all traces of her, and his passing leaves a temporary scar on the immaterium that hasn't healed even after almost a day has passed. This was also supposed to illustrate how powerful the Emperor was to ordinary Eldar giving his fans something to enjoy for this Eldar centric section.

I like portraying gods as Eldritch entities from the perception of mortals. There are several lovecraftian descriptions in this section such as the feeling of enclosing dread, loss of bodily function/possession, and objects erupting from seemingly flat or solid surfaces.

The scene with the Psychomatons was supposed to show the following.

1. Filimerthex is old enough to possibly know some of the Psychomatons or the Aeldari that became Psychomatons personally
2. The Eldar are slowly devolving, losing their psychic strength
3. The limits of Isha's ability to communicate with her children

Number 2 will be expanded on next chapter, but I guess I should elaborate on number 3. Isha can tell her children how she feels about certain things, but she cannot directly influence their decision making. If they have a logical argument or priorities that do not match with Isha's, she can only tell them that she does not like the idea. Additionally, if they ask for her assistance to carry out their plan, she cannot stop them.

This is what happened in the vision with Idrineth. Isha did not want Idrineth to attempt to activate her miracle, symbolised in the hands that were trying to push him away, but he ignored her wishes and used her power due to being pursued mostly by his survivor's guilt.

Filimerthex knows Isha, and has a wealth of knowledge regarding both combat and Aeldari culture in general, as suggested by his suppositions of the actions of certain factions of his species. He is supposed to be 'ancient' according to the Iyanden supplementary codex, so he truly is ancient by the almost immortal Aeldari standards.

As there are only 2 more chapters left to this series of side stories, we may have to return to Iyanden later on to see the full results of some of the choices made. I had hoped to go a bit further, but pacing wise it didn't really work out.

After this series of side-stories, there was a What-If scenario in 40K planned, but it might be worth seperating that one out in a different story thread all together. It is very long, and I have a feeling that people want to move on to the Terran section of things.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: A few sentences regarding mutilation have been removed.

"We cannot hoard knowledge for ourselves." Mehlendri was almost shouting at the Seer council as Filimerthex entered the room.

'Thank goodness for the two sets of doors.' He thought to himself, giving thanks to the airlock style set of consecutive doors that kept the Seers' voices inside the council chamber.

"Farseer Mehlendri, there are not enough Psychomatons for every Craftworld, and we have no idea how long they will remain as sane as they are." One of the youngest, Thulor, retorted. "At worst, we may end up snubbing some only to anger the remaining if the Psychomatons turn out to be tainted."

"The reports from the boarding parties on the civilian ships show clear signs of the being that left them killing the Aeldari upon the civilian ships. No one was spared. Hence, we cannot be sure of the intentions of the being that left them to us." Aelondra replied grimly, bringing up images of the Aeldari corpses found on the ships. Most had been left to rest in a peaceful manner, lying on the ground with their eyes closed. However, not all the bodies had been left in a presentable state.

Idrineth grimaced as one corpse appeared that had been heavily disfigured.

Some had body parts missing; the evidence of trophy taking. Others had been shot several times with laser or projectile weaponry. A few had been incinerated, and even fewer had been obliterated, most likely by someone leaving a grenade right on top of the corpse.

"The signs of desecration upon their bodies were all applied after the Core Worlders' deaths, but they were desecrated nonetheless." He growled. "Even in death, they did not deserve to be treated like that."

"But to keep what we have found here a secret from the rest is as dangerous as keeping the knowledge of the Spirit Stones to ourselves." Mehlendri stated angrily. "We must share what we have learned."

"And what then, Farseer Mehlendri?" Ulrissor interjected. "Would you give Biel-Tan extra reasons to go on a crusade against the humans? Would you tell Alaitoc and the others knowing they will begin to search for her? We can foresee the effects of our actions, and the knowledge we have here is a dangerous thing."

Biel-Tan already bristled at the thought of lesser races taking the seat of power left vacant by the fall of the Aeldari empire. That was a place they intended their race to return to, and visions of a human empire already had their hackles raised. This evidence of humans encroaching and desecrating the Aeldari's pride would be enough for them to begin purging several human worlds in order to buy time for the Eldar to recoup and rebuild.

Alaitoc, on the other hand, was arguably even more problematic. Their world rune showed obvious deference to the ancient deities, and they would most likely follow this first hint of where one of them had gone. Other Craftworlds would no doubt join them, but that in itself was a danger. The being that had burned away all traces of the goddess was no doubt still with her, and it was hostile to the Eldar. Nothing good could come from finding the goddess, assuming she even wanted to be found. It had been determined that the sabotage of the civilian vessels had most likely been done by the missing deity's hand, as well as the euthanization of every Core Worlder upon them. If she still worked with the humans against the Eldar, the reunion between them would be disastrous.

"The Eldar CANNOT splinter apart!" Mehlendri suddenly snapped. "We are Iyanden! The Craftworld self-tasked to rebuild our original empire before the corruption that destroyed us all! We do so because we wish to give all those we love a place where they no longer have to fear War, Disease, Madness, and Depravity! That includes all the survivors on the Craftworlds!" The other Farseers balked for a moment, surprised by the sudden shattering of the oldest Farseer's calm. "It was the arrogance of our forebears that broke the original unity that kept us strong! The idea that there were lesser and greater Aeldari among us! Iyanden is not the decider of the fate of all Eldar! She is but one part of a whole that spins on the brink of shattering apart! The others must know what has happened here! They deserve that much!"

Mehlendri's passionate panting from her outburst was all that could be heard in the Seer council chamber for a few moments, allowing Filimerthex to sit down in his usual corner seat and whip out a nail file.

"Farseer Mehlendri." Tyrios said slowly and solemnly. "This is the Seer Council. Unless your foresight sees a path where telling the rest of the Craftworlds leads to a better outcome than keeping things hidden, you must remain silent."

Mehlendri Silversoul bit her lip for a moment, then bowed her head and whispered. "I… understand."

This time, it was her side that fate had forsaken.

"By majority decision, Iyanden shall keep the Psychomatons in stasis while we investigate the nature of the arrow left behind." Tyrios continued moving the discussion along. "However, what we have found here will remain secret. We cannot afford to deviate from the path we have already predicted."

There was a snort from the corner of the room, followed by some aggressive nail filing.

Tyrios cast a glance at the Autarch, only to see him observing his long pointed thumbnail. The Commorraghite was being more obnoxious and crass than usual, but despite his obvious disdain for the Seer council's decision Filimerthex made no remark or interruption.

"Milethea…" Tyrios continued, deciding to ignore the Autarch. "Share with us what our Bonesingers have found regarding the arrow."

Farseer Milethea produced a knowledge crystal hidden in the sleeve of her robe, and sent it to the center of the holographic projector table with its embedded miniature gravitic generators. Space dimpled around the crystal holding it in place as light was shot through it from below displaying a report of what the Bonesingers of Iyanden had found

"The voice reported by Guardian leader Seridin did not make itself heard to our Bonesingers." Milethea reported. "The material appears to be a very complicated composition of Wraithbone, which has given our Bonesingers insight into reinforcing their own compositions. However, the truly valuable part is the golden tip." The image magnified itself, focussing on the point of the arrow.

"As you all know, all children born since the Fall have their psychic senses bound and their souls blinded. All parents who cannot do this to their own child must forfeit the young soul to the nurturers. To not do so invites damnation, as the daemons may smell an unguarded soul even beneath all our wards."

'And the primary reason for our devolution.' Filimerthex thought to himself darkly. All future Eldar would be stunted in their psychic development compared to the Aeldari because of this. The lack of early experimentation with their psychic abilities would slow their growth, and the strongest potential psykers that could not be blinded or held down by the nutritionist in their infancy might even have to be put in stasis lock or culled in order to protect the Craftworld.

He had accepted that as the cost of survival, as the rest of the Eldar upon Iyanden and almost all of the other Craftworlds.

However…

"This golden material offers an alternative to this." Milethea continued, voice as warm as the golden glow of the arrow tip. "Its mere existence acts as a deterrent against things from the immaterium. I propose we use this to protect our nurseries, to allow the young souls to develop their talents at an earlier age, and spare their parents the pain of separation."

The golden Wraithbone naturally repelled the touch of the Warp, and all other creatures from it. If replicated, even a thin layer coating the nursing chambers of the Craftworld could improve the quality of life for Iyanden's children and parents.

"Is it safe?" Serapharielle asked nervously. "I understand that all the Guardian squads felt discomfort in that thing's presence."

"Although painful to our psychic senses, so long as it does not breach the skin, any damage taken from it is merely temporary." Milethea answered. "If anything, it shall teach the young souls not to touch things with their psychic senses without permission, knowledge, or caution."

"Then that is good… How long until we can replicate it." There was an edge of desperation in Serapharielle's voice. This was the first truly good news they had had ever since Mehlendri's success with the Spirit Stones, but even that was tinged with the grim reminder that there were nowhere enough Spirit Stones for all the Eldar of Iyanden. This golden material was made from Wraithbone, and could theoretically be produced as many times as necessary so long as the song for it was learned.

"Our Bonesingers work as we speak, but no promises can be made." Milethea said glumly. "The concepts imbued in it are familiar yet alien, and its paradoxical nature burns the vocal cords of our Bonesingers."

"Can we not use the Psychomatons to assist us in this regard?" Eluriane asked. "The material already coats their nails. Surely they know how to sing it into existence."

"And put the ears of our young souls next to the mouths of the slaves of Khaine?" Milethea snorted. "I have seen them and heard their thoughts. They think only of violence and the method to conduct it. To them, we are merely chattel for the grinder of war. The risk is too great. Khaine's shard has been calm, ever since the vision, but we know not for how long it will wait or whether it is waiting at all."

Khaine's shard had been eerily silent ever since the Eldar witnessed the vision of death, destruction, and an imperfect miracle. However, what was once relief was gradually growing into suspicion.

"Bonesingers of sufficient strength can retain control of the Wraithbone they make." Milethea spoke cautiously. "The message Seridin heard is most likely one usage of that ability. The Psychomatons and the Shard of Khaine may be merely biding their time, waiting to speak to the children of Iyanden when they are most vulnerable."

"That is an unwarranted accusation, Milethea." Eluriane warned. "Horrible he may be, but Kaela Mensha Khaine is Asuryan's brother and our spiritual father. It is his strength we borrow in order to protect ourselves from the daemons, and his Path that the Asuryani tread." There was a tinge of anger in her voice, even though she used the Blood Handed God's full title.

As the Farseer who was once enamored by the Harlequin, she knew all the legends and folktales of their deities. The admission of his murder of Eldanesh juxtaposed to his importance as their god of war was made as a stark reminder that although he was horrid, he was necessary to them in more ways than one. As a Craftworld that had already decided to start the Aspect Shrines, it was hypocritical to hate Khaine while using him for their salvation.

"Is it, Farseer Eluriane?" Milethea retorted, shrugging aside the poetically veiled message. "Was it not Khaine who attempted to kill us all in the ancient legends? Was it not Khaine that slew fair Eldanesh? Was it not Khaine that whispered to us for the past several decades, driving us all to war with the other Craftworlds and ourselves?"

"Do you have a vision to support this conjecture, Milethea?" Tyrios interrupted before Eluriane could retort.

Khaine may not be whispering to them at the moment, but the pre-existing tensions had not disappeared. Milethea was still distrustful of the gods, the Harlequin, and anything else that was not the Eldar of Iyanden. However, that distrust was not based on mere prejudice but her own personal lived experience with her gift of empathy.

"... I do not." Milethea admitted. "But what guarantee is there that whatever vision will not come too late? Can we allow ourselves the possibility of exposing the young of Iyanden to Khaine's song? We cannot risk relying on the Psychomatons. Even if it takes time. we should wait for our Bonesingers to master this new song."

"May I?" Filimerthex interrupted from the corner, flicking aside the corner of his robe to put the nail file into a pouch on his belt.

"Autarch, this is most improper." Idrineth warned as the man sauntered up to the table.

Mehlendri watched him cautiously, and her right hand moved to the opening of her left sleeve.

Filimerthex observed this from his peripheral vision as he moved up to the holographic projector table.

"On the contrary, Farseer." He said as he joined the Farseers in their circle. "As the Psychomatons are weapons of war, discussion regarding them and their nature are a military matter. Thus, by your own rules they fall under my purview, giving me enough reason to provide insight on this matter." His long nailed hand placed itself on Idrineth's shoulder, who immediately shrugged it off, pointed ears pulling back in outrage like a Gyrinx.

"The Psychomatons are our shared past, and the most ancient of our truly public servants." Filimerthex continued as he pulled out a knowledge crystal of his own from beneath his robe, and sent it to the center of the table, knocking Milethea's crystal into an orbit around it. "They do not lead, nor do they strategize. They exist only to kill, and hence are obedient to the Aeldari's will. Even if we ordered them to go on a suicidal charge into the immaterium, they would obey us as long as we are unanimous in our call. If we ask them to provide the golden material, they shall sing it into existence for us to use."

"How gracious of them to respect the will of the people." Milethea's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Does that remain true even if Khaela Mensha Khaine calls for them?"

"No." Filimerthex admitted with a shrug. "But, the god of war is but a god. He is our will made manifest, and our rage made reality. We hear his song because we wish to listen to it, and because we need it."

"Then what do you propose we do with them, Autarch?" Ulrissor asked.

Filimerthex waved a hand at the information now being displayed above the table before them. "The Psychomatons we found have been reinforced by the being we all saw. You can feel her touch within them, binding them here as living beings. I wish to see them restored, and deployed upon the Core Worlds."

The other Eldar balked at his statement.

"Have you lost your mind, Autarch?!" Aelondra shouted. "They are the avatars of excessive violence and carnage! How long do you think they'd last so close to She who Thirsts?!"

"Why would you even deploy them on the Core Worlds?" Thulor asked, tone aggressive and angry. "Any ship used to deliver them there would be at grave risk, and I do not see what is to be gained by leaving them there."

"Our recent problems all center around the lack of Spirit Stones…" Filimerthex continued, ignoring both of them. "And the reason for that is the difficulty of returning to our Core Worlds to reap the harvest of our species' suffering and sorrow. At the moment, only the Asuryani can do so. However, they can only provide a certain amount of supply for the demands of billions of souls."

Filimerthex sent another knowledge crystal to the center of the table, knocking the one with the information on the Psychomatons, replacing it with a list of every Craftworld they had contacted and their known population.

"But, to die without one is to mean eternal damnation…" He said grimly. "Making them more precious than food, minerals, or any other item imaginable. Under such circumstances, the only easy way to acquire more is to take them from another Craftworld. That is, until sufficient numbers of Aspect Shrines can be set up and the method of raiding the Core Worlds can be perfected."

The Autarch made a swiping gesture with his hand, highlighting several of the Craftworlds in red, and a graph next to each one showing a steady decrease in their populations over time.

"However, we are already at war with Chaos. Even now Eldar fall in battle against the daemons on these embattled Craftworlds, and their souls are claimed by She who Thirsts. These Craftworlds are the most desperate, and the ones with the least warriors to spare in order to collect their own Spirit Stones. No matter how quickly we move, it will never be enough for them, for they are already losing loved ones. They will take what they think is necessary to survive from those they believe to have more, or are less deserving in their eyes. Hence, whatever we do, war between the Eldar is inevitable even without Khaine's song until this problem of economics is solved."

There was a grim silence amongst the Farseers, for they had known of this problem for some time, but had no way to prevent it. They had tried to buy time by fostering friendly relations between Craftworlds, showing signs of genuine care and compassion for the plight of others, but emotions and well wishes could only go so far. In the end, there was only so much they could do, and it was not enough to stop the coming war; only survive it.

"The Psychomatons provide one-half of this solution of increasing the supply of Spirit Stones." Filimerthex said with a slight bit of forced mirth, breaking the silence. "They will provide the violence necessary to carve a path open so those we send to collect the Spirit Stones can do so unmolested and thus collect greater yields."

"And the other half, Autarch." Idrineth asked, having already seen the war with his own two eyes in the future. He was still unsure, but was willing to listen since the Autarch's words followed his vision.

"The problem with the Core Worlds is their proximity to the Warp." Filimerthex said as he tossed another knowledge crystal into the center of the table. "Daemons can manifest upon them endlessly, meaning any operation upon them deals with an infinite amount of reinforcements." An image of a ruined planet covered by pink purple clouds streaked with neon lightning appeared. "Thus, any operation upon their surface can only succeed with stealth. Yet, with stealth comes a reduction in the number of forces we can carry, and a proportional reduction in the probability of survival should our forces be discovered. Add to that the constant whispers of She who Thirsts, and the Asuryani's Aspect warriors are our only option of safely recovering the Spirit Stones. Their specialized military tactics and unflinching focus will provide the martial and spiritual strength to make the journey to and from the Core Worlds, or at least give them a fighting chance where all others would fail." A list of the projected maximum carrying capacity of the stealth ships that could get close enough to the planet without being noticed appeared. It was enough to host a small army, complete with tanks, Wraith Knights, and flyers. However, in the face of being surrounded by endless daemons, it was nowhere near enough.

Filimerthex allowed the simulations loaded into the crystal to play, showing the predicted amount of time each combination of forces could hold out against the daemons until they were overrun. Then, he smiled and said, "However, what if we did not have to sneak back into our ancestral homes like vermin?"

"A fanciful notion." Serapharielle snorted. "Our forces struggle with the forces of Chaos even far away from the Warp. To fight it head on is folly."

A larger ship might be able to bring more forces, but it increased the odds of being noticed by the Chaos. With the walls between real and unreal so thin near the Core Worlds, any number of daemons could simply manifest themselves near or upon whatever vessel ventured nearby, and begin attacking those aboard before they even reached the planet.

"If we approach the Core Worlds from orbit, or the Warp you are correct." Filimerthex nodded. "But, there is a third option. An option that still allows the going, even if the way back has been reduced to rubble."

All the Farseers balked at what he implied.

"You…" Milethea sputtered. "You dare suggest we work with the Dark City, again!"

"The Webway gates that lead to the Core Worlds still remain intact. Commorraghite suicide squads have destroyed the gateways on the Core Worlds. However, all that did was close the door that leads to Commorragh. The door that leads away from the Dark City still remains. Using them, we can assault the Core Worlds undetected. We will need to send ships through to leave the planet. But, with only the escape to worry about, we can send far more forces in a much shorter time. More Eldar means more hands and minds to gather Spirit Stones, reducing the time we need to stay there, and by extension the time of exposure." His words were rushed, coming before the other Farseers could recover from the shock of his suggestion. "Add the Psychomatons to this, and our people have all the ground forces necessary. They will keep us safe until it is time to blast our way through the converging daemons, and escape into the void."

Mouths opened and closed as the other Farseers processed the Autarchs words, even peeking into the future to see if such a thing was viable. But, before they could finish, Filimerthex spoke up again.

"Of course, Commorragh will need to be compensated for their services, no matter how small. A single Psychomaton will be needed to be gifted to them at the very least, simply to restore trade relations between Iyanden and Commorragh."

"Madness!" Milethea cried out instinctively. "What good could possibly come from giving the Dark City one of the Psychomatons!"

"The Psychomatons do not belong only to Iyanden, or Biel-Tan, or Saim-Hann or any of the Craftworlds. They do not only belong to the Exodites, and they are not the sole possession of those on Commorragh." Filimerthex retorted firmly. "They are the soldiers of the Aeldari, and that includes all of us. The return of at least one will act as a reminder to all that we were one species."

"What else do you need for your plan to work, Autarch." Mehlendri interjected before a shouting match could ensue. Her voice was extremely tired, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"For starters, I will need permission to contact the K'nib for a Clawed Fiend or two and some accessories for them, and perhaps a few other of our ex-client races. Then I will need two Guardian volunteers in order to gain an audience with an acquaintance of mine as well as…"

"I have heard enough!" There was a thunder clap as a bolt of psychic lightning erupted from Serapharielle and scorched the ceiling. "You tell us to sell our kin into slavery in order to deal with the Dark City!" She snarled. "Have you forgotten what She who Thirsts is? Have you forgotten how she came into being?"

"I too thought running from our more abhorrent past was the only way to survive, but I see now the cost of living in denial for eternity." Filimerthex shrugged.

Purity and the aversion of all that could be associated with She who Thirsts dominated the decision making of the Eldar. Everything was done in order to avoid damnation, but that meant only the purest and ironically most perfect path could ever be taken. The Autarch could see the uncompromising unrepentant way they would wander down into danger, and until recently he had accepted it as the cost of survival.

"Then will you blacken Iyanden's soul with the taint of the Commorraghites?" Serapharielle hissed, sparks flying from her eyes.

The Autarch shook his head. "It is not my intention to mimic them, but even evil has its use."

He remembered the reason he had been allowed on Iyanden, and the conclusion he had arrived at only a few hundred years ago.

"Besides, they are also Aeldari." He countered. "Ignoring them for any longer will truly split our species apart. As an ex-activisist, surely you can understand the tragedy of that?"

"Let them fall! They had their chance, just like any Core Worlder!" Serapharielle cried out. "It was because I was on the front lines with all those who tried to turn our people from evil that I know the futility of trying to convince them!" She spent several moments panting, reclaiming her breath and calm back from her outburst. "There is no salvation, no alternative, no placation, no message they will listen to." She finished quietly. "The only method to run from Hir call is to remain pure."

"Perhaps." The Autarch nodded, unperturbed by the sudden outburst of rage intense enough to bring about a psychic effect. "Regardless, the utility of Commorragh and its remaining Webway gates are unquestionable. The issue is only how much it will cost." He leaned forwards to Serapharielle, gazing straight into her eyes. "You say two of Iyanden's souls are too much, but I guarantee you they will do far more and be much safer in my hands than if they were sent to die fighting the daemons."

Serapharielle grit her teeth. She had agreed to allow the Path system aboard Iyanden. Thus, she had already decided that there was an acceptable level of sacrifice for Iyanden's salvation. The end result of both proposals was that Eldar lives would be spent to save the Craftworld. How was a trivial matter in comparison.

"Then again, this plan is all predicated on the Psychomatons being in fighting condition." Filimerthex smiled, turning to each Farseer with a placative expression. "You may take your time to foresee the results of my actions while I contact the other Craftworlds."

"The Seer council deemed what we found was to be bound to secrecy." Tyrios warned. "Revealing what we found here invites disaster."

"It invites disaster because a secret is shared, and not used." Filimerthex sighed. "Craftworld Il-Kaithe has the most talented Bonesingers of all the Craftworlds, and has the world-rune of Eldanesh's all-seeing helm. They know the price of knowledge, and what it can do. They can be sworn to secrecy, should we ask for it. In return, we may have to share a Psychomaton and include them in the bargain for Commorragh's Webway gates. Varantha may be another willing to bargain with us. They may have the most artisans, but they too hate Chaos for the way it stifles their creativity. Their assistance may be valuable in swaying the other Craftworlds to our side."

A chill went down Mehlendri's spine.

"How do you know this, Filimerthex?"

This information was not common knowledge, and it came too fluently to be a spur of the moment thing. It was as if he was remembering something he had memorized long ago, like reciting the answers to a test he had already passed.

"Do you think it was chance that brought me to the doors of Iyanden?" Filimerthex answered.

Mehlendri's hand twitched, inching towards the opening of her sleeve. She had suspected it wasn't, but they had both pretended it was only happenstance that brought him before her. But, now he admitted it. He had chosen Iyanden, just as he had chosen the name for his granddaughter in front of her.

Iyanden.

Iyandra.

The reference was an obvious, almost unabashed flattery towards the Craftworld. But, the name that had brought a small bit of joy and hope in her heart when she first heard it, when she was still ignorant of Filimerthex's age and origin.

She took a small step back from him.

He had admitted to her that he had chosen Iyanden. He was giving up the pretense of happenstance and misfortune that had existed between them, revealing the cold calculating pre-meditations and planning of the ancient thing that she knew he was.

"Enough!" Tyrios's voice boomed. "You overstep yourself, Commorraghite. The rank you hold was given to you by Farseer Mehlendri with the council's permission. It can be removed by us as well. It is the Seer council that decides what path Iyanden follows, not you."

Filimerthex chuckled, then turned towards Mehlendri.

"And just what do you see with your foresight, Farseer? What happens when you throw me out of here with my rank taken, and words ignored."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: Mostly a refernce to Filimerthex's origins.

Main Part: There aren't any major references to anything in this section. There might be some sybolism that could be missed, so I'll just put that here.

The Golden Arrow is a symbolic message from Isha to the Aeldari. It is a Wraithbone (Aeldari) based miracle that is fused with the Emperor's immaterial hating essence (human). Hence, it is a request to the Aeldari to work with the humans, just as this arrow is a union between two deities (technically three because this is still the Spear of Kurnous), Isha wishes for the Aeldari to at least treat the humans as partners rather than primitives. However, since this arrow was left behind without the Emperor's notice, and as she took his nature via trickery, she is also giving them free reign to outsmart or outwit the humans. Aeldari theologists won't be able to decipher this message for a while.

As for the reason the Aeldari are currently having difficulty replicating the Golden Wraithbone, it is because they have to seperate out the base concepts of the Emperor's immaterial hating touch, and then weave them together while 'killing' the Wraithbone just as hair, skin, and nails are grown by living cells, but are all dead when finished. Isha replicated the Emperor's touch with her skin, nails, and hair. Likewise, 'living' or more technically psychoactive Wraithbone cannot be converted directly into the golden version of itself. The Eldar aren't going to be able to figure this out for a while. Wraithbone modification of this kind is usually done by the Drukhari. They mostly 'torture' the Wraithbone they can salvage or barter from Craftworld Eldar so the material applies pain, suffering, and misery upon contact with a soul bearing creature. At the moment, the reserach regarding these techniques is just beginning in Commorragh, as they have begun to ban the usage of their psyker abilities, which includes Bonesinging.

Isn't it odd that the Eldar trust the Golden Arrow? Why don't they question where it comes from?

The Eldar on Iyanden have an idea that the golden Wraithbone originates from a human deity due to all the human ships left in orbit. That is kinda why they make an effort to not mention it at all because their pride would be bruised quite badly by the idea.

There are 3 main reasons the Eldar of Iyanden "trust", so to speak, the arrow and not the Psychomatons.

1. Seridin's report of hearing "her" voice assures them that the source of this arrow is Isha. Although they cannot be entirely sure whether she herself wants to be found, they can be sure that the object she left was meant to be found by them. Otherwise, she would have destroyed it. As Filimerthex said:

"she was here and if she was one of us, she knew we would be here too."

Click to shrink...

Added to the fact that Seridin felt Isha's love when he first touched it, there is credible evidence to suggest that this item was left with benevolent intentions.

2. The arrow is a modified version of Kurnous's spear. It is a miracle made for the Aeldari in order to accelerate their technology and development. Seridin instinctively called the arrow a "lesson" because of this link between the Aeldari and the downgraded copy of Kurnous's miracle. Therefore, they can feel that what the arrow symbolizes is something they are encouraged to mimic.

3. The Wraithbone they are attempting to use was planned to be created by Iyanden's Bonesingers. As Milethea said;

"Bonesingers of sufficient strength can retain control of the Wraithbone they make."

Click to shrink...

Conversely, so long as the golden Wraithbone they use is produced by their own Bonesingers, they can be relatively certain that there are no negative effects hidden within it. Additionally, even if there was something they missed, it would appear in the Bonesinger who sang it into existence first.
Although not portrayed, behind the scenes the Bonesingers are monitoring all of the volunteers who are attempting to create the golden Wraithbone for any psychic traps or tricks that might be hidden within the composition of the Wraithbone itself. This is why the Psychomatons cannot be trusted, but their own Bonesingers can.

The Farseers do believe that the golden part of the Wraithbone arrow originates from a human deity. However, the idea that one of their gods would work with an alien one when the Eldar are in this much strife is a very souring one. To bring the topic up would no doubt lead to a non-productive theological debate (shouting match) between Serapharielle, Eluriane, and Milethea with Idrineth making things even more complicated.

Hence, they have all decided to leave that topic for another day, and focus on more utilitarian topics for now.

To summarize what the Farseers have agreed on...
1. Isha does not want to be found.
2. She is most likely working with humanity, although whether that is a good or bad thing is open for debate.
3. She has not abandoned them entirely, but they should not expect their prayers to her to be answered any time soon.
4. The Goddess of Life is not what they collectively thought she was, and to ask for her assistance without understanding what she is invites disaster due to the cost of her miracle being more than they are willing to pay.

What are the effects of the golden Wraithbone on Eldar children?

Mostly, it means that the Eldar don't have to psychically devolve to survive as they did in 40K. Necron Lords who face the Craftworlders often scoff at how proud they seem to be of their psychic strength, when their forebears were far more powerful than them. This may be a jibe made by the Necron, however, Eldrad is another piece of evidence for this theory. If you assume he was born before the Fall, he is the oldest and most psychically powerful Eldar according to lore. In one novel, Asurmen told him that he would be the last of the Eldar who could truly use the psychic powers they all used to have.

As a side-note, as Seridin experienced that lonely walk through the darkness (which is part of the Emperor's symbolism, walking through the dark to lay a path alone, etc.), it should cause the Eldar children there to periodically experience this extreme isolation and loneliness when they accidentally touch it with their psychic senses.

This might make a few of them a little bit physically clingy, as a rection to being exposed to this loneliness.

It might harden others, stressing them enough to temper them like steel, preparing them for the lonely road of leadership.

For most, however, the effect is negligible. It is one bad experience out of thousands of good and bad ones they will have, and the majority will either forget or ignore it when they mature.

On a positive note, the Eldar who grow up in these nurseries will probably be less disturbed by the presence of blanks and the Emperor, as their natures are both antithetical to the Warp. So, the reaction to blanks would be less "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! KILL IT! KILL IT!" to, "Ew. That is really weird, but also strangely nostalgic."

 

[Nidhog153]

Idrineth balked at the blatant threat the Commorraghite had uttered to the Seer council.

There were 9 of them, the most accomplished Farseers, and by extension psykers, of their respective age groups. Yet, he dared threaten harm to all of them.

Shock turned to rage, and he felt his blood pressure rise, reddening his face and the tips of his ears. But, as he opened his mouth to shout, he felt a chill run across his chest. It spread like a flash frost freezing a field of grass. Someone else's psychic touch was overriding his control over his clothing.

Instinctively, he reached out to reestablish control. But, even as he reheated the frozen sections, the chill wrapped around his collar. Then it disappeared, as a thin fiber of Wraithbone detached itself from the rest of his clothing. The circle of Wraithbone fiber closed around his neck, passing through skin and bone like a hotwire through butter.

*Phssshh

Blood spurted out, launching Idrineth's head like cork from a champagne bottle.

In that moment, as if the sound of spraying blood was the bang of a starting pistol, Filimerthex sprang.

He lunged towards Mehlendri who was reaching for something in her left sleeve. The other Farseers summoned their staves or blades from racks on the walls. Meanwhile, the Autarch's lips puckered as if to go in for a kiss, then he blew through them, whistling.

Tiny spikes of Wraithbone jutted inwards within the table, cracking the gravitic generators holding the knowledge crystals Filimerthex and Milithea had left in their grip. All four were slammed together, completing a fragmented rune that had been broken up between the three crystals Filimerthex had left. The rune detonated, sending crystal shards everywhere like a fragmentation grenade.

The flash of light and sound stunned the Farseers on the opposite side of the table. Their eyes and ears were fixated on Filimerthex who was behind the explosion. Then the wave of shards struck them all.

Crystals fragments peppered the room, injuring everyone except Mehlendri. A pre-prepared psychic shield surrounded her. Even the Autarch was harmed by the shards as one ruptured his right eye, while two others scarred the bridge of his nose and cheek.

But, despite bleeding from one eye and two painful looking cuts, the Autarch only grinned as he closed upon Mehlendri.

His left hand pushed through Mehlendri's shield. Weakened by deflecting the crystal shards of his make-shift bomb, it let his hand through, allowing it to close around her right wrist. Her fingers stretched towards the handle of the hidden Witchblade in her left sleeve. But, they went limp as a sharpened thumbnail punctured the skin and severed the tendons.

The Autarch did not stop there. He was now moving past Mehlendri, bending her arm backwards, and forcing her to follow him. The two moved around the other, as if performing some twisted tango. Even then, Filimerthex made sure to keep Mehlendri between him and the Farseers on his side of the table.

But, as they spun, Filimerthex's other arm wrapped around her neck like a boa constrictor. Long nails bit into her cheeks and chin as if they were fangs. Then he pulled, just as one uses a piece of string wrapped around a top to send it spinning. Mehlendri's neck snapped, turning 270 degrees before going limp as the rest of her body.

However, the killing was not done. The arm that had wrapped around her neck, snaked into the sleeve that hid her Witchblade, and tore it free from the straps that held it to her forearm. Three times the Autarch stabbed her; through the heart, the right lung, and the base of the skull. Then he threw the body he had killed four times over his shoulder at Ulrissor, followed by her Witchblade.

The 3rd eldest Farseer caught Mehlendri's corpse, then narrowly avoided impalement through the face by the Witchblade. While he was distracted, Filimerthex set to work on the 2nd eldest Tyrios.

Tyrios lashed out with his bladed staff. Commonsense would have caused the Commorraghite to fall back. To move forward was to impale himself upon Tyrios's weapon. Yet, with a mad grin, Filimerthex rushed forward. The curved blade of Tyrios's staff entered right between his ribs, puncturing his heart. Still, the Autarch continued forwards, pushing the blade right through his body until Tyrios was in arm's reach. With both hands holding the staff, Tyrios could do nothing but stare in shock as Filimerthex's sharpened nail punctured his jugular; sending blood spraying across the walls. The abused nail tore off Filimerthex's thumb as he pulled his hand away from the Farseer's neck, so he could grab Tyrios's now anemic body by the shoulders. With a vicious yank, he forced Tyrios to bend over where the Autarch's knee shot up to shatter the Farseer's ribcage. Bone shards punctured the Farseer's organs. Then the hands grabbing the shoulders reached up to grip the dying man's skull from both sides. Filimerthex forced Tyrios to look upwards, exposing the weakest part of the skull to him. With a well placed strike using his forehead, Filimerthex collapsed Tyrios's nasal cavity. Bone shards were forced upwards into the brain.

Filimerthex dropped the now completely dead Farseer, then pulled the bladed staff out of his body. Blood sputtered out for a moment, before stopping unnaturally. Simultaneously, the capillaries in Filimerthex's remaining eye and nose burst. His blood was now moving according to his psychic commands instead of the damaged organic pump in his chest.

Yet, even with a bloodshot eye and red rivulets running down his cheek and lips from a bleeding nose and ruined right orbit, the Commorraghite smiled at the rest of them as he twirled the bladed staff in his hand.

Idrineth blinked, back from the future that had yet to happen, and stared at the turned back of the Autarch.

"What are you?" He hissed, remembering the almost serene smile on Filimerthex's face as he killed them all.

"I am an Aeldari from before there was an empire." The Autarch answered without looking at him. "I remember when we still fought Krorks and not Orks. All my other brothers and sisters stopped being Aeldari long ago out of boredom or glory. But, most of all, I am the Autarch of Iyanden and servant to the Craftworld and its mission."

"Do you think killing all of us will complete your coup?" Tyrios growled.

In a few seconds, the Autarch had dispatched the oldest and most experienced psykers without a weapon or any major psychic spells. What's more, despite having seen a vision of their own murder, they knew that was not the end. Even if they had seen through one set of traps, there were other methods of murder the Autarch had yet to reveal. Not to mention, some of his other preparations were already immutable. The nail file the Autarch had been using hadn't shown up in that vision, and the make-shift bomb was still placed in the center of the table.

Tyrios acknowledged that Filimerthex could kill all of them. Even if they saw it happening in the future, there was no immediate way to prevent it. The blade had been pressed against their throat without their noticing. Hence, he spoke of what would happen after the killing.

"The government of Iyanden is neither democratically decided, nor old enough to be indisputable." Filimerthex countered calmly. "Many may disagree with what I do, but noncompliance is not the same as rejection. I will be fine if even only a third or less of the Guardians take my side. As long as those that leave me have doubts as to whether it is worth it to kill those that they served beside, I can claim Iyanden as my own with just 9 murders."

He raised his hand with 5 fingers outstretched.

"To elaborate, a coup is successful if one holds 5 things. The military, the offices of political power, legitimacy, the economy, and the vox populi. I am already the Autarch of Iyanden. The Guardians will remain under my control, even if their numbers dwindle. If you were alive, there might be some movement to rally around you to maintain the legitimacy you have. However, with you dead, no one but me has any political standing that has been tentatively acknowledged by all aboard Iyanden. Any other who tries to make a new post will find themselves to not only be my enemy, but the enemy of every other ambitious Eldar behind them."

The Autarch lowered three of his fingers. He had just explained their interconnection as well as making it apparent who would have control over them.

"Iyanden no longer has a true economy, much like the Core Worlds. We have no need for anything, only wants. But, the Spirit Stones change this. The currency of salvation is a much sought after thing. Naturally, I would be the only one in charge of this, with you gone."

He lowered another finger, leaving only one.

"The vox populi is the most difficult part for me, but it is not as problematic as you would imagine." He gestured to the airlock style set of doors that was the only opening to the Seer council chamber. "Nobody knows what goes on in here, and as the only survivor my word is all they will have as to why Iyanden's political structure becomes like that of Biel-Tan."

"It will not last long." Tyrios snarled. "You are but one man, no matter how vile or insidious you may be. Kill us, and another shall come for you in time. That's the only fate for all those who preach that might makes right."

"If I don't get results, then you are correct." Filimerthex shrugged. "However, I have already described the plan for the salvation of Iyanden, and all it needs are my old siblings as well as my old home." There was a short chuckle as the Autarch turned away from Mehlendri, looking each Farseer in the face. "Even if every single Eldar on this Craftworld refuses to help me when gathering the Spirit Stones, I do not need to press them into unwilling service. The lower classes of Commorragh will provide ample labor, and my siblings can sing the golden Wraithbone necessary to buy their services."

"Then what do you want?" Ulrissor asked. "Power? A return to the Aeldari's former glory?"

"No." Filimerthex shrugged. "All I want is a place my granddaughter can live in peace and relative happiness." A sigh exited his lips before he continued. "It is just an unfortunate reality that this galaxy is a cruel place with cruel rules and crueler rulers, no matter who they are." He paused for a moment, letting his words sink into each of those who heard them. Slowly, their raw hostility mellowed into a bitter distaste and begrudging acknowledgment. He told the truth here. They could tell it from his tone, and the psychic emanations coming from his mind. Emotions were leaking from his soul, and they could tell his granddaughter truly was the only motivation for him.

"But…" Filimerthex continued. "Remember this. I am ready to do anything for this, whether it be to kill anyone who stands in my way or deceive everyone who is of some use to me."

Filimerthex raised his hand, and pulled the three knowledge crystals he had placed in the middle of the table into pockets beneath his robe.

"Now, look into the future, Farseers. Look into the effect of my actions. Tell me what you see, and whether it leads to a lesser or greater end."

—----------------------------------------

"And so I have asked for your service." Filimerthex said with a smile.

He was in his work chambers with two of the Guardians; Seridin and the woman who had first found the Wraithbone arrow Nydriwin. He had just told them of his plan, and the sacrifice necessary to begin bargaining with Commorragh.

"I have served under you as all the other Guardians for over a hundred years." Seridin said as both he and Nydriwin saluted the Autarch. "Although brief, I have learned much from you. I was prepared to give my life for the Craftworld the day I became a Guardian. To die in the gladiatorial arenas of Commorragh or fighting against the Orks and Mon-keigh, it makes no difference. If Iyanden needs my body and blood, I shall give it."

"If my soul buys the salvation for the Eldar of Iyanden and beyond, then my eternal suffering is a small price to pay for the salvation of the many." Nydriwin added on.

"The Craftworld and all aboard her shall be eternally grateful for your service." Filimerthex answered as he returned their salute. "However, I do not sacrifice those under me in vain. Although the sentiment is appreciated, neither Craftworld Iyanden nor Commorragh shall need your soul."

He motioned for the two Guardians to stand at ease, but both had frozen at his last words. There were not many activities associated with Commorragh that didn't involve death. But, those that didn't were usually more depraved in a moral sense.

"I… see…" Seridin replied tersely as Nydriwin grimaced. "If that is what will be necessary, we will sacrifice our pride as well."

"I do not know what exactly you are thinking…" Filimerthex sighed as he pulled out several knowledge crystals. "But I can guess what you are imagining. Rest assured, I have made preparations for that as well."

Pulling out two small holo-projector, the Autarch placed them in front of the Guardians along with the knowledge crystals he had pulled out earlier.

"Don't attempt to take in the entire case reference and statute guide psychically." He warned as he pointed at a few of the crystals. "The examples listed there are rather unpleasant. Unless you want to regurgitate everything you eat for the next couple of weeks, I would keep your psychic senses relegated to the index and search function of the crystals."

"What are these, Autarch?" Nydriwin asked. For a life and death mission to Commorragh, the objects seemed rather out of place.

"These are your contracts for indentured servitude." Filimerthex said as he picked up two of the crystals. "I've put in all the basics such as food restrictions, visitation rights, protections of your pride and person. However, if there is anything else you wish to add, feel free to add it to the crystal. If you're unsure of the necessary wording, just make a footnote or comment on the section you think is most appropriate. We can review your additions in a couple weeks when I return."

Filimerthex placed the knowledge crystals containing the contracts, and several thousand pages worth of legal clauses written in the most confounding matter appeared.

"I will be engaged in several diplomatic matters and therefore occupied, so this will be your homework for the next several weeks." The Autarch continued as he switched off the holo-projectors, before placing them and the knowledge crystals in their hands. "You are dismissed."

The two Guardians looked up and down at the materials the Autarch had handed to them awkwardly, then gave a salute which was returned giving them official permission to leave the room.

"This is not what I had in mind when I promised to serve Iyanden." Seridin grumbled as he walked down the corridor back to the barracks.

"At least the service asked of us is not as dark as we could dream." Nyrdiwin said dryly, already skimming through some of the knowledge crystals with the holo-projector set to the hand-held display size.

—----------------------------------------

Mehlendri leaned on the railing of one of the balconies overlooking the garden domes. She was slouched over with her head resting on her crossed arms. Her eyes followed the Eldar of Iyanden below. Many were enjoying walks and frolics through the forests and flowers under simulated moonlight.

She was dressed in a simple white long-sleeved shirt and dress. It was her casual wear now that the Seer council had ended. All the necessary arrangements to begin discussions with Il-Kaithe as well as a few of their old client races were underway. Filimerthex's plan had been deemed to be safe enough in their visions. Thankfully, it was not a binary choice they saw before them. Several points down the road still allowed them to reverse course should another vision be seen. Thus, they had decided to tentatively try some of the Autarch's suggestions. Filimerthex himself was surprisingly agreeable to this outcome. He merely nodded his head at their decision to only follow some of his words.

"What did you let aboard Iyanden, Farseer?" Milethea had asked her as the council had dispersed. There was fear and doubt in her voice. They were following the path proposed by something she knew was not one of the Eldar, and that disturbed her.

"Something useful. That is all." That had been her answer.

Her ears twitched as a series of familiar footsteps approached from behind. But, she ignored them, remaining resolutely immovable on the railing even as Filimerthex emerged from behind her.

"Apologies, Farseer Mehlendri." He said as he walked up to the balcony railing. "As you should be well aware, our powers grow with age. As the oldest Farseer, I had to be sure you were dead. Three is usually enough times to kill a fully mature Aeldari, but four times was the minimum I thought necessary for you."

"Is that a compliment?" Mehlendri snorted, continuing to watch the people below. "In the end, what little preparations I had were used to your advantage." There was a slight pout to her voice; the childish irritation and vexation of one who had been outsmarted.

"Take that as a lesson then." Filimerthex chuckled. "Foresight only sees so much. One can be as deceitful, deceptive, and dishonest as they wish with or without it."

"Is everything a plan or plot for you?" Mehlendri sighed. She was used to foreseeing the future and trying to unravel the strings of fate. However, this Aeldari made the most innocuous actions the stepping stones for mass murder. He rescued humans from aliens and demons to kill even more humans with the Orks. Even an act as simple as sharpening a nail or a pat on the back could be the beginnings of butchery.

There was a momentary silence before Filimerthex replied. His voice was hollow, and when Mehlendri turned her head to look at him she saw his eyes were vacant. They were staring at nothing except perhaps some phantom vision deep in his memories.

"We faced things that made a mockery of reality in the ancient past. Our enemies were all but gods with quantum neurons that could consider both eventualities of a coin landing heads or tails at the same time."

"We faced a storm of our masters' making that devoured everything and everyone without joy or hate. Parasites, plagues, and predators of unknowable nature and unstoppable drive dipped between real and unreal at the same time."

"We faced old allies that rewrote the laws around them to fit what they felt was right. They were unstoppable brutes who fed on violence."

"We faced our own blood screaming Khaine's, Lilieath's, and a hundred other names for our gods as the actual deities tore at each other in the immaterium; mutilating our shared psyche."

Filimerthex shook his head, and his dilated pupils closed as he returned from the past.

"I plan and plot to keep all that I love safe, as well as make preparations so they hopefully do not have to plan and plot as I do." He sighed and swept a hand through his hair. "But the time has come for them to shed their childhood naivete, and for me to abandon my hopes and dreams. We are Aeldari, and there is no changing that."

Mehlendri stared at him for a moment, then asked, "What are you going to do to Iyandra?"

There was only one Eldar that mattered to Filimerthex, and she was the subject he was talking about. She was always the subject he talked about.

"I will teach her everything I know, including what happened to her mother after I have taught her everything else." A tired smile twisted his lips as he spoke. "Then, I will die. My purpose will have been served, and there is no more use for me." He turned towards Mehlendri, staring down at her face which rested on crossed arms. "Use my soul for the first live experiments with the Spirit Stones, but whatever you do, do not put me in the Infinity Circuit. I may retain my sanity now, but there's no knowing what happens when I become like my brothers and sisters as just a soul."

The words sounded noble. The words sounded self-sacrificial, but at their core they were only selfish. He would do what he wanted to do and leave Mehlendri to clean-up after everything was done.

"I hate you, Filimerthex." She said quietly. This Aeldari deceived her when they first met, used her convictions and empathy against her, and was antithetical to everything she believed.

Yet, he served Iyanden, and he served her well.

"Is that so?" Filimerthex shrugged. "I guess I would to." He chuckled to himself, then tousled Mehlendri's hair like he would have a little girl's. "Hate me all you want. I'm not going anywhere for another thousand or so years."

Mehlendri slapped away his hand but made no further comment. Their age gap was large enough that she really was a little girl in his eyes, and to be angry about that was to be immature. It was what it was.

"Did you think we were doing the right thing?" She asked quietly as she watched the Eldar of Iyanden in the garden.

"I didn't say anything until now." Filimerthex answered calmly.

"Do you think she thinks we were doing the right thing?"

"Who knows? There's no guarantee she's doing the right thing either. We can only do what we think is right. We are not puppets."

"Then why did you decide to change everything?"

Until now, he had been the mostly obedient Autarch of Iyanden. He followed the Seer council's orders, provided military insight when it was necessary, and trained the Guardians in the art of warfare.

Now, he was meddling in politics, economics, foreign relations, and the very path Iyanden was supposed to take.

"I don't know." Filimerthex admitted. "It might have been the look in her eye when she saw me. It might have been the message she left with the Psychomatons. It might have been the build-up of the past several decades, watching you Farseers become more puritanical and perfectionist." He sighed and scratched his head. "All I know is that I remembered what I am. I am evil, but even evil has its use."

Mehlendri snorted. It sounded like a boast, but it was a fact. A person who wasn't evil wouldn't slaughter 9 people over a disagreement. A person who wasn't evil wouldn't instigate a war between two alien races. A person who wasn't evil would have limits they wouldn't breach or taboos they wouldn't touch.

That was why Filimerthex was evil, and why he still had his uses.

"Do you want to stay the night?" Mehlendri suddenly said as she pushed off the balcony railing.

"Is that wise, Mehlendri?" Filimerthex asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not some naive maiden. I know what I'm asking." Mehlendri snorted as she put one hand on her waist.

Filimerthex only looked at her, neither accepting nor rejecting her. He was waiting for her to answer an unspoken question. 'Why?'

Mehlendri narrowed her eyes at Filimerthex, then sighed and turned away from him.

"I just want to break someone and to be broken by someone." She said quietly. "Someone to scapegoat, someone to hurt, someone to condemn me, someone to punish me." Her arms wrapped around herself, crossing over her breast as if to hold herself together. "Everything in my mind is a mess, and I can't tell the difference between right or wrong." Her face was turned away from Filimerthex, but her emotions were naked to him in the slight bend of her back and the tone of her voice. "I have had children, young souls. I raised them, watched them grow, watched them fall to temptation, and watched them disappear. Iyanden and all aboard her are the adopted children I could save. Don't let me lose them."

"Iyandra has many friends onboard." Filimerthex answered. "I will try my best."

"Then that is enough." There was a sniffle, then Mehlendri turned towards Filimerthex. "Coming?" She asked.

"As you wish." Filimerthex gave a nod and followed the Farseer back to her apartment.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: The title references how the Aeldari have started to diverge from their original vision of the future, and are entering uncertain waters.

Main Part: Psykers are know to be hardier than their non-psyker brethren. Powerful human psykers can staunch wounds with telekinesis or biomancy. Filimerthex's apparent excessive violence is mostly him tripple-tapping (so to speak) his brethren to ensure they don't come back from a grevious wound or merely pretend to be dead.

Idrineth is only in the middling age-group of the Seers, so beheading him was enough to take him out. If this was Mehlendri or possibly even Tyrios, they might have used telekinesis to drag their head back to their body, and reattatch it with their psyker abilities. Of course, they would still be seriously anaemic and at death's doorstep. However, even a half-dead Aeldari is dangerous.

By creating multiple lethal wounds, he increases the amount of time these Aeldari have to take to repair their body to functional status. If they take too much time, their soul gets sent into the Othersea much like daemons are forced back into the Warp when their medium is destroyed.

Some questions about this chapter are included below.

Supposing the plans for the nursing chambers go through, I wonder what the long term effects of Eldar children being born and spending their early childhood surrounded by wraithbone made from the Emperor's truth might be. Strong attraction to the astronomicon? Eldar "followers" (probably in a very loose sense of the word followers) of the Emperor?

Click to shrink...

Mostly, it means that the Eldar don't have to psychically devolve to survive as they did in 40K. Necron Lords who face the Craftworlders often scoff at how proud they seem to be of their psychic strength, when their forebears were far more powerful than them. This may be a jibe made by the Necron, however, Eldrad is another piece of evidence for this theory. If you assume he was born before the Fall, he is the oldest and most psychically powerful Eldar according to lore. In one novel, Asurmen told him that he would be the last of the Eldar who could truly use the psychic powers they all used to have.

As a side-note, as Seridin experienced that lonely walk through the darkness (which is part of the Emperor's symbolism, walking through the dark to lay a path alone, etc.), it should cause the Eldar children there to periodically experience this extreme isolation and loneliness when they accidentally touch it with their psychic senses.

This might make a few of them a little bit physically clingy, as a rection to being exposed to this loneliness.

It might harden others, stressing them enough to temper them like steel, preparing them for the lonely road of leadership.

For most, however, the effect is negligible. It is one bad experience out of thousands of good and bad ones they will have, and the majority will either forget or ignore it when they mature.

On a good note, the Eldar who grow up in these nurseries will probably be less disturbed by the presence of blanks and the Emperor, as their natures are both antithetical to the Warp. So, the reaction to blanks would be less "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! KILL IT! KILL IT!" to, "Ew. That is really weird, but also strangely nostalgic."

Seeing as he is the(?) god of humanity that would probably not be good at all or outright Bad News™ though from what I understand of the author's interpretation of "godhood"in Warhammer that would probably not be the case as it's not really the Emperor's truth so much as Isha's copy.

Having said that, if it becomes an integral part of the early Eldar life cycle it'll certainly rustle some jimmies if/when they find out its origin.

Click to shrink...

The Eldar on Iyanden have an idea that the golden Wraithbone originates from a human deity, which is kinda why they make an effort to not mention it at all because their pride would be bruised quite badly by the idea.

It's a sort of in-joke I attempted to write in. I was experimenting with conveying concepts via omission. Most people would wonder where something came from, but the Eldar have sort of avoided the topic and went straight to how to use it. That said, since Filimerthex enters mid-way through the council, I didn't get to fully put this concept into this chapter. It is totally plausible that the Farseers discussed the golden Wraithbone's origins already, so I'll be putting that in a writer's note later on since it is hard to see.

By the time Isha can return to the Aeldari, they'll probably have convinced themselves that it was their mother's cunning that allowed them to gain access to part of Neoth's abilities, and thus they are not indebted to a "primitive" race.

Yes, the Eldar are snobbish, but it's a predictable character flaw of their race, making it one of the least problematic ones since it is a known factor that can be worked around. I personally find the idea of them conducting such mental gymanstics hilarious, but I also understand it is not appealing to all.

I was sort of curious about that, how the council was examining it and contemplating how they could use it and nobody was asking where it came from and how did it get those properties. Especially weird in that they are planning to use this stuff to safeguard their children, but don't care where it came from. Nobody even raised the possibility that it could be some kind of cunning trap?

Click to shrink...

Good question.

There are 3 main reasons the Eldar of Iyanden "trust", so to speak, the arrow and not the Psychomatons.

1. Seridin's report of hearing "her" voice assures them that the source of this arrow is Isha. Although they cannot be entirely sure whether she herself wants to be found, they can be sure that the object she left was meant to be found by them. Otherwise, she would have destroyed it. As Filimerthex said:

"she was here and if she was one of us, she knew we would be here too."

Click to shrink...

Added to the fact that Seridin felt Isha's love when he first touched it, there is credible evidence to suggest that this item was left with benevolent intentions.

2. The arrow is a modified version of Kurnous's spear. It is a miracle made for the Aeldari in order to accelerate their technology and development. Seridin instinctively called the arrow a "lesson" because of this link between the Aeldari and the downgraded copy of Kurnous's miracle. Therefore, they can feel that what the arrow symbolizes is something they are encouraged to mimic. Which is another hidden message from Isha asking them to cooperate with the humans while still taking advantage of them where they can. The arrow is created by the union of a human god's miracle and an Aeldari god's miracle, but the human god's miracle was taken from that god with guile. Thus, it is a symbolic message of Isha's request.

3. The Wraithbone they are attempting to use was planned to be created by Iyanden's Bonesingers. As Milethea said;

"Bonesingers of sufficient strength can retain control of the Wraithbone they make."

Click to shrink...

Conversely, so long as the golden Wraithbone they use is produced by their own Bonesingers, they can be relatively certain that there are no negative effects hidden within it. Additionally, even if there was something they missed, it would appear in the Bonesinger who sang it into existence first.
Although not portrayed, behind the scenes the Bonesingers are monitoring all of the volunteers who are attempting to create the golden Wraithbone for any psychic traps or tricks that might be hidden within the composition of the Wraithbone itself. This is why the Psychomatons cannot be trusted, but their own Bonesingers can.

As I posted before, the Farseers do believe that the golden part of the Wraithbone arrow originates from a human deity. However, the idea that one of their gods would work with an alien one when the Eldar are in this much strife is a very souring one. To bring the topic up would no doubt lead to a non-productive theological debate (shouting match) between Serapharielle, Eluriane, and Milethea with Idrineth making things even more complicated.

Hence, they have all decided to leave that topic for another day, and focus on more utilitarian topics for now.

To summarize what the Farseers have agreed on...
1. Isha does not want to be found.
2. She is most likely working with humanity, although whether that is a good or bad thing is open for debate.
3. She has not abandoned them entirely, but they should not expect their prayers to her to be answered any time soon.
4. The Goddess of Life is not what they collectively thought she was, and to ask for her assistance without understanding what she is invites disaster due to the cost of her miracle being more than they are willing to pay.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N 1: I have posted a redacted version of an R-18 chapter that is only available on my patreon. This was mostly done because this scene provides some backstory, as well as character development that I felt would be best shared with all readers. However, this chapter is much shorter than the original due to all the redactions. If you see odd breaks in sentences, or the dialogue seems to skip, you know why. Personally, the amount of symbolism I had to cut out in order to make this okay for posting has left me very unhappy.

A/N 2: I post this here now because I promised the Iyanden Sidestories would end in 5 chapters/weeks, so the next one goes to Terra.

Mehlendri's apartment was sparsely decorated, only having the bare necessities for one person.

A small round table with a single chair.

A small bed for one person with one pillow.

A small wardrobe that held only enough clothes for a single week.

A single window that provided synthetic moonlight.

It was as if loneliness was symbolized in every aspect of the room's architecture.

"I understand we are encouraged to live frugally..." Filimerthex quipped as he looked around the room. "But isn't this too much?"

"Iyanden is my home. It is my life." Mehlendri answered. "This is a place to maintain my body."

"I see." Filimerthex nodded to himself.

What was about to happen was maintenance to Mehlendri. It was a method to satisfy her ego and physical urges. There was no desire for connection or warmth. That was why she chose this room.

"What do you think?"

"Beautiful." Filimerthex said as he stepped towards her. "Hair like liquid light, and skin as pale and perfect as fresh snow." He ran a hand through her hair, which sparkled when struck by the calming moonlight. "Yet it is you yourself that I find the most alluring."

She snorted, pushing his hand away from her. "The naive idealist who you could twist around your finger?"

"The pragmatist who allowed me to stay, and the Farseer with the foresight to use me." He replied, catching the hand that pushed him away as he took another step. They were close enough to feel each other's breath.

"You whisper sweet nothings to me. How many girls have you flattered to death with that poisonous tongue of yours?"

"None." Filimerthex shrugged. "I was always a soldier first. Harming my fellow Aeldari never feels right."

"Yet you killed us with such ease and brutality." Mehlendri said with narrowed eyes.

"I am a soldier first." He shrugged. "The only way I can keep everything safe is by killing."

[Large Redaction]

"Hold onto yourself, Mehlendri." Filimerthex whispered . "You no longer know what right or wrong is. But, you can still tell what you like and don't like."

She disliked pleasure, and feared its addictive and all consuming effect on her. But, to replace her moral code with self-centered decision making was idiotic. The only path that led down was a dictatorship.

"But, that is the problem, isn't it?" Filimerthex said . "You neither like pain, nor enjoy pleasure. You lie right in the middle, approaching neither extreme."

"It would have been much easier if you functioned only on logic, but you don't." He said as she glared at him. "You have beliefs and morals about how the Eldar should be, and what lessons should have been learned from the old Aeldari."

"Now, here you are, lost in the darkness no longer able to assume that blind avoidance will be our salvation from She who Thirsts."

Something snapped within her and she lunged forwards. Her mouth bit into Filimerthex's shoulder drawing blood as her teeth penetrated the skin.

"Yes, let it out." Filimerthex replied without a wince. "You wished to break something, to scapegoat someone. I am the evil you hate, , giving good reason for your revenge."

Mehlendri and Filimerthex remained that way for a few moments as the taste of rust filled her mouth.

He was right, and she struck out at him for it. The Eldar would now have to deal with their fallen brethren. That dependence on Commorragh would bring them close to the corruption that had brought the Fall. No longer could they see themselves separate from the Dark City. Its survival, and theirs were now intertwined.

The thought froze Mehlendri to her core. However, it was the only way to harvest the Spirit Stones en-masse without waiting for the Aspect shrines to grow.

Risk and reward hung in the balance, and the future swayed like the arms of a scale to-and-fro.

As her anger abated, Mehlendri released her hold on Filimerthex's shoulder.

"We had to be careful." She said slowly after she spat the blood out of her mouth. "There is no line between salvation and damnation."

"And I agreed with you." Filimerthex whispered . "For I followed you just like everyone else."

"But now we make deals with Commorragh." She said . "We sell our own into slavery, and put our fate in the hands of the slaves Khaine."

"Slaanesh did not arise during the War in Heaven." He said . "She shall not take us for reclaiming what was ours."

"Then what have I done to Iyanden, and to all those others who we did not let on board?" Mehlendri said . "Was I wrong?"

"No, you were not. I was there, watching you Farseer. Even before I banged on your gates, I was investigating you and all the other Craftworlds I could reach. I chose you and your Craftworld because I thought you had the highest chance of survival out of all of them. Even in the worst case scenario, Iyanden would be the one to endure. That was my conclusion." He lowered her onto the bed gently. "You were not wrong, Mehlendri. Even if you were, no one can blame you. I knew your noble intentions to save as many as you could. I counted on it to allow me to stay even after you found out what I was."

Mehendri's hands curled, raking her trimmed nails across his back.

"If you ever feel as if you do not know where you stand, then I can tell you. After all, I am the evil that fully intends to use you. It would be lazy of me not to know. You are a good woman, and so was every choice you have made."

Filimerthex defined himself as evil. Thus, from his perspective, good was whatever was on the opposite side of where he stood. As long as Mehlendri was across from Filimerthex, she was good and he was evil.

"Foolishness." Mehlendri snorted. "If that was true, then I would have to oppose you no matter how much commonsense or logic your plans or deeds had. That is the act of a reactionary."

"True." Filimerthex nodded as he stroked her head. His hand ran through her hair, straightening the strands that had gotten tangled when he had lowered her upon the bed. "But that is where the abstract concepts of morality shatter against concrete reality."

"So, is it our motives that should be opposite?" She asked . "Your acts will always be selfish, and hence mine should be selfless?"

"Is that a jest?" Filimerthex chuckled "Everyone's motives are selfish in the end. Otherwise, my wish to keep Iyandra safe and happy would be selfless as well." . "The difference between us is that you have a limit, and I do not." He said. "I went too far, and paid the price. You remain here, in this gap between pain and pleasure, right and wrong." "Even if the reward was the salvation of our entire species, you would not sell all those aboard Iyanden. I would do the opposite if it was to protect Iyandra."

"Then is it my fate that I will always lose to you?" She said sadly. "How am I supposed to fight you with one arm behind my back?"

In a fight between two equals, the one with less inhibitions was more likely to win. Mehlendri and Filimerthex were already unequal. Logic would have dictated that Mehlendri would be the one to take the underhanded path, but she could not. Thus, she would always be at a disadvantage against Filimerthex in more ways than one.

"We aren't dealing with winning or losing anymore, Mehlendri." Filimerthex whispered . "She who Thirsts has shown where my path leads." He said as he bit her earlobe. "My generation already lost themselves to the Fall. You and your kind are the survivors of that disaster. That is why I came to you, and why I serve you."

Sweet words flowed over her ears like warm water, massaging out the malaise she felt.

"You are the one with the power here." He said as he wrapped a hand around each of her wrists, then placed her fingers on his throat. "You are the one with the way forward."

"Says the one who has been using me from the day we met." She snorted as she pulled her hands out of his grip, placing them on his chest.

"Like I said, I am evil. It is my nature to do so." He shrugged, brushing a hand through her hair. "Even if you are the only method for salvation, it is meaningless to me unless it saves what I want."

The two of them stared into each other's eyes for a moment.

"What is Iyandra to you, Filimerthex?" Mehelendri asked suddenly.

She knew his granddaughter was the one thing he prioritized everything around. A baser mind would assume something sinister there, but she knew their relationship was normal. Yet, she couldn't help but feel there was something more there.

"She is my daughter's daughter. Nothing more, nothing less." He spoke earnestly. "I endure, I remain, I lie here for her safety."

Mehlendri raised an eyebrow at that. He had admitted this act of was for Iyandra's sake as well. She had her suspicions. However, to be told that the only reason he lay here like a was for her stress relief… On top of that, to be told that his motivation was so she could serve Iyanden and hence Iyandra… Well, the mixture of emotions was a blend of cold anger at the insult, and smug satisfaction for being right.

"I know what you did, back on Commorragh." She said, voice almost freezing over as she grabbed his shoulders and dug her fingers into them. "Aeldari your age don't walk around with us anymore for a reason."

"Living for tens of thousands of years gets boring." He replied with a wince. "Old friends become predictable. All conversation becomes a routine recitation of one out of several billion memorized permutations of prose, poetry, and tone. All that is left to bide the time is to lose one's self in what one wants, or to search for new means of entertainment in vain."

"Then why didn't you end up like that?" She said as she lowered her mouth to his ear. "Your background would have allowed you to be consumed by violence like the Psychomatons."

"In a way…" He said slowly. "I am here because you and I are alike."

"How so?"

"I feared losing what I was." He admitted quietly. "Everything I experienced and everything I felt was part of me. No matter how burdensome or boring that fact became, I could not abandon it just like you cannot fall to pain or pleasure. Just as you wish to remain sane, I wanted to be me and only me for as long as I could."

"But you were still bored of living." She said as she released his shoulders, and stoked the nail marks she had left in his skin softly.

"I was." He admitted. "So I searched for a way to make things fresh again."

Mehlendri snorted as he recited what he had already told her once before on the Core Worlds.

"You used the young souls born on Commorragh." She said as she dragged a nail across his collarbone. "You used them to see life through their lives again."

"I temporarily melded my mind and soul with theirs." He sighed wistfully. "I saw the world through new eyes with pure ignorance, and I could enjoy everything in the way only a fool can."

His face relaxed at the memory, but Mehlendri's features twisted in disgust.

"And they in turn saw everything you had."

"For the first few attempts, the experience was traumatic to them." He replied; nonchalant and unrepentant. "Not many can stay sane after seeing a million years of war in a blink of an eye."

"Why didn't you just wipe your memory, or seal them behind some psychic block?" She asked.

It seemed a terribly roundabout way to alleviate one's boredom. If trauma was what he wanted to be free from, Filimerthex didn't need another person or their soul in the first place.

"I am my memories, Mehlendri." He murmured. "Without them I would not be me. During the merger, I was myself and them at the same time. No… that's not right. I was them if they were me. They acted as I would have, but only as far as they could. They spoke my thoughts with their smaller vocabulary, and expressed my emotions with their less flexible faces."

Mehlendri felt a brief chill as she stared into his eyes. For a brief moment, her reflection seemed to be looking back at her, but not in the way the image inside a mirror would. Then he blinked, and it was only the liquid that covered his corneas refracting light back at her.

She sighed and reached down with both hands, and pinched both of his cheeks.

"I first feared that was your purpose when you came to us." She said as she began to pull. "When I learned of where you came from and what you had done there, I suspected you were here to feed on all those we had tried to save."

Filimerthex's hands gently eased her fingers from his face.

"I remember the day you confronted me." He chuckled once his lips could move freely. "When I saw the fury in your eyes, I was reassured. You and Iyanden were the one."

Mehlendri drew back, sitting upright as she pulled both of her hands from his fingers. Then she slapped him, hard.

"So that was part of your plan too." She said as Filimerthex nursed a reddening cheek.

"It would have been harder to keep private if we were corralled on the Craftworld." He said as he licked away the trickle of blood coming out of the corner of his mouth. "Better to air out the dirty laundry in the alleys of the Core Worlds."

She continued to stare down at him, remembering the day she confronted him.

He had already integrated himself as a productive member of the community by then. Most of his expertise was military in nature. He provided training regimens to increase the number of True Guardians. He optimized patrol routes to cover more ground with their limited forces. He even provided self-defense classes to the other Eldar, so they could survive for long enough until the True Guardians could rescue them. Removing him then would have risked their safety, for it was only their military arm that kept them safe from the Core Worlders.

At the time, she prayed that what she had learned was a mistake or a lie. She kept remembering the happy man with his toddler, telling her that he had named her Iyandra after the ship that would be their salvation. Her emotions delayed her for days. After several awkward weeks of trying to act like she used to, she finally began to search for a sign of his deceit.

It didn't take long to find it.

Filimerthex was always missing for an hour every day. Normally, it could be attributed to him having a break for himself, but the excuse he gave was odd. He told everyone who was looking for him during that hour that he was spending time with Iyandra. But, Mehlendri knew that could not be true, because he left Iyandra in her care during that exact hour.

She followed him for a few days. It didn't take long to see him using a secret hole that led under the enclave walls. After she worked up the courage to follow him through it, it took even less time to see him disappear into the alleys of the Core World.

Still, it took another two days for her to finally follow him into the alleys.

Was what she learned about him true? Did he lie when he said he had come to his senses and wanted to be better? Why did he have a secret passageway in the enclave? What was he doing in the alleys?

All those questions were running through her mind at the time, but the biggest one was more of a plea.

'What they told me about you, it's not true, is it?'

She followed him into the alleys of the Core World, but lost sight of him through its twists and turns. When she finally gave up and was about to leave, he was there at the entrance waiting for her.

"Thank you for coming, alone." He had said to her. "Now we can have a true discussion, heart to heart."

She felt something shatter inside her that moment. But, as she prepared to fight to the death, his next words gave her pause.

"Help me save Iyandra, and I will help you save Iyanden."

From that day forth, their fates were intertwined. He organized the militia they had into a full-scale army. Assisted them in acquiring heavy weapons and vehicles, or the songs necessary to sing their parts into existence. He provided escorts for their recruitment crews and craft. If there was a military-related matter, he was involved in it.

She worked with the other Farseers to strengthen Iyanden with other methods. Her work with the Spirit Stones gave the Eldar hope. Fostering greater filial connections between Craftworlds allowed them to trade information and resources. Coming up with ways to keep the Eldar aboard Iyanden away from temptation had the added boon of allowing them to recruit from a greater pool of people. Those who had touched temptation but had yet to be consumed by it could be weaned off their addiction with the same methods. Thus, allowing more to join them.

In the last hundred years before they left, Filimerthex had gained enough support to become Autarch in all but name only. Meanwhile, Mehlendri had gained enough trust to safely recommend him to the Seer council.

But, from what he said now, their fates had been intertwined ever since he had set eyes on her enclave.

"The Commorraghites you wish to contact, and the ones who told me what you were, they were the young souls you used." She said coldly.

"The fourth or fifth batch of attempts, I believe." Filimerthex nodded to himself. "It took a while to figure out how to look through their eyes while keeping them blinded when using mine." He chuckled as Mehlendri frowned down at him. "They called me teacher or master. All of them came to me looking for knowledge and power, and in exchange for the temporary use of their soul, I accepted."

"Following rumors you no doubt spread yourself."

"They made the choice on their own, even when I explained the danger." He smiled. "The children of Commorragh are ambitious, and eager to climb the ranks. They agreed, even when I warned them the process might show them more than they wanted to see."

"What happened to those first children?" Mehlendri said quietly.

"They are children from my perspective, not yours Mehlendri. Although, they were probably several thousand years younger than you at the time. As for their fate, most only took a few reincarnations to recover their sanity. The others threw themselves into stasis lock, and are probably still there. It was the same for all of them up to half of the fourth batch."

"Is that how you met your consort?"

"No." Filimerthex shook his head. "But, that is a story for another time." His hand reached up, stroking the back of a finger up her neck before cupping her chin in his palm. "Have you been broken down enough, Mehlendri? Can you tell yourself what is right and wrong?"

Mehlendri smiled down at Filimerthex; one side in light, one in shadow. Right and wrong had been resolved within her as the two faces of the same coin. She would fall to neither extreme, and hold herself in the middle. Her soul would forever balance on the narrow edge between the two faces of that coin.

If Filimerthex was focussed upon only Iyandra, she would be focussed purely on Iyanden. This Craftworld and all upon it were her only treasure. Their lives and souls would be forever bound to its Infinity Circuit; eternally out of the reach of gods and demons.

[Large Redaction]

"You never intended for that future to happen." Mehlendri accused . "Otherwise, you would have had a Spirit Stone for each of us you killed hidden on your person."

She was talking about the future where he killed her. It was only there that he had harmed her physically.

"It is easier to convince our kin that way." He said . "We can see the effects of our actions. There is no room for doubt, and no need for debate. The discussion of what is improbable and impossible doesn't have to take place, unlike when talking with aliens."

[Large Redaction]

"You need me." She whispered into his ear . "And I need you."

"I will use you, Filimerthex." She said . "Give all of yourself to me."

[Large Redaction]

Her head shook itself violently. Silvery hair flew outward with drops of clear sweet smelling sweat as her hands came up to her face, trying to hold onto a swiftly loosening mask that hid a wild beast.

"Sleep now." She heard a voice whisper to her, and Filimerthex's hands held her. They cupped her cheeks, wrapped around her shoulders, stroked her back, and restrained her writhing body.

Hands. Too many hands.

The moonlight dimmed, sending the room into darkness. Then Mehlendri's mind shutdown.

—----------------------------------------

Mehlendri awoke lying upon something soft. It felt like a hammock made of stretchy strings that softly held her, molding itself to fit her body. She opened her eyes and found herself lying on a silken web spun across blackness. Slowly, she stood up, balancing on the strands of the web. Each strand seemed to harden, as if feeling her intentions, providing a firm support for her feet.

She was not alone on the web. What looked like Aeldari men were everywhere, attached to the web.

'No…' She thought to herself. 'They are shells.'

Each body was just a shell. They lay there on the web, frozen. A split open seem was on each of their backs, like the shed carapace of a crustacean or arthropod.

Mehlendri approached the one nearest to her. The Aeldari's face was contorted in pain. Part of his body was frozen mid-way through disintegration. The features were familiar, similar to Filimerthex's, but she could not imagine the ancient Aeldari making such an expression. That man could be stabbed through the heart and smile. He would have the same expression even as Necron Gauss flayers disintegrated his body.

She stretched out a hand to touch it, only for the web to suddenly slacken under her. She fell backwards, away from the shell, landing on swiftly softening strings that began to entrap her like an overly soft mattress.

"Even that one?" Mehlendri called out into the blackness. No answer returned, but the web remained slack..

"Fine!" She shouted out after several minutes of struggling to get back on her feet. "I won't touch anything."

The web once again regained its firmness, pushing her back out of it, and allowing her to clamber back onto her feet.

Each shell was a life. A visual representation of an entire incarnation of Filimerthex. To touch it was to interact with that information. She would be exposed to everything inside it, including the painful death his life ended with. Of course, looking at the wound, she could easily imagine that there was much pain before that as well. This was Filimerthex's first incarnation fighting against the Necrons, and battle with them was brutal at every stage.

The next shell she walked by was once again in pain, but there was a grimmer look to it. Two impalement wounds with singed edges were the obvious cause of death. Yet, the man's jaw was shut tight and his eyes glared at some unseen enemy before him.

Shell after shell passed her by as Mehlendri wandered across the web. Each one was frozen at the moment of their death. But, there was a gradual trend between them. Pained grimaces and glares were gradually replaced by empty stares, then the straight line of the man's mouth began to twist. From death to death the cynical smile that had spread there began to split open into an insane grin. Then that grin opened even further into mad laughter that seemed to erupt from him the moment his body stopped moving.

Mehlendri swallowed as she felt bile build up inside her. The man's features formed an almost stop-motion animation of madness. Despite seeing only the surface level of what had happened to him, it disgusted her to her core.

His body changed as well. At first it was just an additional eye on the back of his head to see behind him, then it was an additional arm. Reincarnation after reincarnation, he became less and less recognizable. The latter shells' silhouettes shared more with the daemons of the Warp than the Aeldari. These shells no longer had a face. All they had was a mask attached to tubes and tanks that were buried into his back and sheathed in his skin. Eyes, nose, and ears had been replaced with various sensory devices. His many elongated and bladed limbs were almost entirely artificial.

But, Mehlendri did not weep for the man that was turned into a monster for war. He was unremarkable in that regard. This person's story was but one amongst billions of similar tales told by those who shared his fate. They had all been fighting and dying endlessly against the Necrons, then the Warp Plagues, then the Kroks, then the Aeldari themselves. To weep for only him was to ignore all the rest, and he would not forgive her for that. Such selfish hypocrisy would bring the being that had shed all these shells on top of her, and she did not know what he would do to her in his rage.

Finally, she came to the last shell. The bladed hands were impaled within himself, puncturing the heart, the lungs, and forehead. Bits and pieces of the armor that had been fused to his flesh lay torn around him, ripped off by his own hands.

There were no more shells after this one, but there was another figure before her.

Filimerthex's current body hung in the air, like a puppet on its strings.

Mehlendri's gaze followed the strands upwards into the void above them, and she finally saw what Filimerthex really was.

A massive eight legged spider like creature larger than a Fire Prism sat above her in the darkness. 3 long-nailed hands were on every foot, and they held both the strings that attached to his mortal body, and the strands that formed the web. Instead of pedipalps, a lipless fanged mouth spread across almost the entire front half of his body. 10 eyes were dotted around the thorax, allowing him to see in every direction. His pupils narrowed and widened at odd intervals as they swung to-and-fro, but the two largest on the front of his head were fixed on Mehlendri.

This was the shape of Filimerthex's soul. A monster that had long outgrown his mortal body, but still remained attached to the world of the living.

The spider's many hands pulled on the web, drawing Mehlendri closer to him as the net-like mesh of string below her was raised. As she got close, she saw that most of his legs and hands were tied up in his own web. He was holding himself down here, restricting his freedoms so he could pretend to be himself.

The lipless mouth opened, and numerous slug like tongues, tipped with four rhinophores stretched out towards her. She waited as the slimy tentacle-like appendages approached her. Smelling organs on retractable prongs stretched out to their fullest to draw in her scent.

The tongues and the buds upon them stopped centimeters away from her skin, hovering over her like hawks over a field.

Slowly, she stretched out a hand towards the spider. His tongues receded, keeping the same distance from her hand and arm. Her smooth fingers reached out to it. She passed the first pair of legs, then between the fangs of his mouth. The spider shivered as his jaws widened, allowing her to reach deeper into his tongue filled maw. There were now thousands of tongues surrounding her, all of them drinking in her scent, but never touching her. Cruel barbs could be seen on them, like the bristles on a cat's tongue used to rake meat from bone.

"I see now why you still remain, despite having fallen so far." Mehlendri said as she turned her hand over in the monster's mouth. His entire body shook, vibrating so hard a dull hum could be heard. All of his eyes except the two main ones were swirling round and round in their sockets.

"You chase a dream, a scent, a feeling forever." She said as she slowly pulled her hand out of his mouth. "But, you will never savor it." The spider's shivering slowed as his tongues retracted from her. "You stopped being mortal eons ago. Now, you're the same as all the other denizens of the Othersea. Like them, you are a creature who feeds on our thoughts, dreams, and souls."

Mehlendri leaned forwards, looking into the huge orbs in the spider's head.

"You want to eat me. To savor everything that I was, including my death. But, to do that, you would have to kill me." She smiled sadly at the spider. He never asked to be like this, but this is where the man had ended up after what seemed like an endless war. "Thus, you can only ever enjoy that moment once and only once. So, you bind yourself here, endlessly dreaming of the day you can devour me and all those you love. Even though you know you will never ever allow yourself to do that." The spider continued to stare at her with unblinking eyes, neither affirming nor rejecting her statements. "To do that means to end the dream, and to expose yourself to endless boredom. That is a fate worse than death for you."

"Not, boredom." Filimerthex's voice came from his suspended body. Only the mouth moved, like a ventriloquist's doll. "Despair, darkness, and regret." He said slowly, correcting the one part of her statement he found to be incorrect. "If it means I have to live through that again, I would rather starve myself to death."

Mehlendri stood back. The being before her was miniscule in comparison to the daemons she had seen consuming the Aeldari. Compared to them, he really was just the size of a spider. A single stomp, and he would be dead. Even though he was still the same as them. Filimerthex was a simple bug in comparison to them.

That was to be expected. This was a being of the immaterium that should have left for his natural habitat long ago. Instead he stayed here, clinging to all that he used to be. Deprived of worship, or prayer, he sat here with no name to call out in joy or fear. Only the first of his former students had seen his form, but by that time they had already gone insane from millions of years of death and destruction.

"You are of no use to me dead." She said as she put a hand on her breast. "Take my fear. Take my grief. Take the tears I shed in silent shame at being deceived by you." As she spoke all the memories she had of him appeared behind her as ghostly mirages. "Take my feelings, feed on them, and rise." The mirages slipped between his fangs, force feeding him Mehlendri's many emotions. "The Aeldari have need of you once again. Serve us and save us, ancient soldier and servant to our species."

—----------------------------------------

Synthetic sunlight filtered in from the window, entering Mehlendri's eyes through squinted lashes. She lay upon her bed, tucked in under the covers. For a moment, she wondered if everything that had happened last night was a dream.

It was only supposed to be for a night. However, finding herself alone with only the evidence that someone else had been there left a hollow feeling in her chest. The empty room she used only to sleep in seemed colder than usual.

*Knock knock

Before Mehlendri could answer, the door to her apartment swung open.

"Ah, you're awake." Filimerthex said with a smile. "I brought something to eat." He held a tray with two bowls, and two mugs. Warm sweet scents wafted over to her with the water vapor rising from the porridge he brought for breakfast. An extra chair hovered behind him, following him into the room as he placed the two bowls and drinks on the single table.

"What's wrong?" He smiled. "Did you think I left you?"

Mehlendri didn't know what sort of expression was on her face, but the hollow feeling in her chest was gone.

"Where did you sleep?" She asked, pushing aside whatever she felt at the moment. She lay in the center of the small bed, and there was no evidence of another occupant.

"On the floor." He shrugged as he sat down. "Aren't you hungry?"

As if on cue her stomach rumbled. She glared at him for a moment, but he neither laughed nor made fun of her. There was only a gentle smile as warm as the sunlight that came in from the window.

"Come Mehlendri. It will get cold soon."

This was probably another act, another mask of his to mollify her. It might not be malicious in nature, simply an extension of his service towards her to relieve stress.

But, Mehlendri ignored all that.

"Alright." She said with a small smile.

If this was a dream, she could afford to sleep in for a few minutes. Even if it wasn't, there was no point denying herself this small mundane happiness. After cleaning and dressing herself up, she sat across from him. It was the replication of a scene from her memory a few hundred years ago. A natural occurrence between the two of them before she had learned how old he was and where he came from.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: As this section referred to a lot of Mehlendri's and Fiimerthex's conjoined history, it takes this title. It's also a refernce to the latter part of the chapter where we see Filimerthex's mindscape.

Main Part: I wanted to explore Aeldari bed-techniques without going into the obscene or insane. Quite frankly, everything is quite vanilla. (Except the dialogue) I have included a few things I have learned from the various women I have had the pleasure of being physically intimate with.

Warning, some references to NSFW content follow in the spoiler sections
To summarise some of the techniques I have incorporated into the unredacted version of this chapter:

Spoiler: Possible suggestive content

1. Touching and stroking is a good starter. Going into things too hurriedly or forcefully is a massive turn-off. (Unless it's part of some role-play.)
2. During intimacy, a woman enjoys knowing she arouses you, and silence can be annoying or worrying to some. Physical or vocal expressions of enjoyment increases feelings of self-confidence and warmth. Compliments are also good. (Of course, if it is part of some agreed upon role-play, you can be more crass or violent.)
3. Despite most media of this nature, the mammaries and areolar regions are not a fun place to be touched. More experienced women will be patient, because they've had to deal with this stereotype. However, most would appreciate it if you kept your hands elsewhere.
4. If you are well endowed enough to reach it, do not attempt to touch the cervix. It is quite painful, or so I'm told. You're basically punching her internal organs at that point, so it reverberates into all sort of other areas and can be very uncomfortable.

Part of my motivation for writing the activities in this chapter was to dispel some of the misinformation floating around about intimate activities. So, in a sense, this was my Public Service Announcement as well as literotica.

Pain and pleasure are used here, and it explores what it means to be attracted to neither while using both. Mehlendri does not like the all consuming nature of pleasure, and she finds pain painful like any non-masochistic individual.

Regarding the parts about Filimerthex, he is a manipulative character. Peak Fae is how I would describe him. He is inspired by the Soul Shrive from the Iyanden supplementary codex, and as he is described as ancient by Aeldari standards, he comes from a time before their empire.

Weapons imbued with Spirit Stones that assisst their wielder are not rare, but these are usually made from several combined Eldar souls that have been unified through an Exarch's armor. For a single individual soul to do the same thing, and more is an extraordinary task. This is why the Soul Shrive's soul (Filimerthex) is very very old, and quite powerful.

When I say powerful, I do not mean in terms of direct strength. It is his cunning and intelligence that are the most dangerous parts of him, and that is a theme I intend to pursue with many characters, including human ones.

As a side note, due to the brief events of these chapters, I have not made any character lie. All of them speak the truth, so Filimerthex truly does not want to convert the Eldar on Iyanden to the Commorraghite life-style.

As Filimerthex says:

She who Thirsts has shown where my path leads." He said as he bit her earlobe. "My generation already lost themselves to the Fall. You and your kind are the survivors of that disaster. That is why I came to you, and why I serve you."

Click to shrink...

Commorragh has several other technological perks beyond the Webway gates, and Filimerthex has ideas for his old home as well to keep their souls out of Slaanesh's hands. I have borrowed some ideas from Warhammer fantasy regarding the methodology. I originally intended to take things there, but that would have required a time-skip and the side-stories would have over-taken the main story in terms of events.

 

[Nidhog153]

"If you are good, the Emperor shall protect you."

Those were the words my parents said to me every morning, every meal, and every night after the prayers of thanks.

Fires burn nearby; unseen but the crackling of burning wood and the rising temperature tells me it is closing in.

I squirm in the dust and dirt; the remains of what should have been a simple apartment that is now a dark maze of debris.

'Why?' The question passes through my head.

I had been good today. I awoke at daylight, said my prayers, and washed my face. I ate all my breakfast, did my chores, and studied at the local church. I sat down with my mother and father, listened to them chat about grown up things over dinner, then there was a bang.

When I awoke, everything was dark. I cried for my mother and father, but no answer came.

Now, here I am, struggling through cracks breathing in then coughing up dust and smoke.

'Why?' I had been good today. Why did the Emperor not protect me?

My muscles weaken from lack of oxygen. My brain slows from heat stress. All I can do now is lie here, wondering what it was that I had done to deserve this.

Was it because I had talked back to my father a week before?

Was it because I played a prank on my mother with a frog I found?

Suddenly, the debris around me begins to rumble and dust falls upon me like snow from a tree branch.

Then the darkness recedes, as if the sun had just risen over the horizon. But, instead of warmth, a cool wind of fresh air rushes in cleaning out my lungs and soothing my burnt skin.

Slowly, I look up and see a giant figure holding up the building that had collapsed on top of me with one hand.

The light comes from him, like a golden beacon that banishes the darkness of hell.

With his other hand, he reaches for me, scooping me up in his arm like a babe. The pain and difficulty I had breathing are gone, washed away by the person's brilliance.

"Are you the Emperor?" I found myself asking. Had he come to protect me as my parents promised? Or was this something else?

The figure says nothing as he lets the rubble fall from his hand. Even the dust cloud and rocks pay reverence to him, only falling where he isn't as well as avoiding the path he plans to take.

He carries me for a few minutes. We travel through ruined streets and bombed buildings. Hundreds of meters pass by with every step without raising a single wind. When we are on the outskirts of my home city, he finally puts me back down on the ground with all my injuries healed.

I could see a small camp in the distance. People in white clothes with red crosses rushed between several tents with similar markings. Various ambulances and cars drive to-and-fro from the city.

I turn towards the figure who had rescued me, only to find he is gone.

—-------------------------------------------------

Wizened eyes opened, over 6000 years older than those in his dream. Wrinkles covered the face that had been young at one point, and long knobbly fingers were clasped around the staff gifted to him by his oldest friend.

Malcador sat in his office, clothed in his hooded cloak in the office of the Imperial Regent. This office was the only one capable of giving orders in the Emperor's stead. He had closed his eyes to meditate for a moment. But, he found himself venturing further into his mind than anticipated.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the grand set of double doors, large enough to let in an entire tank.

"Come in." Malcador said as he waved his hand, opening the heavy set of doors with his telekinesis.

"Apologies for the interruption, Imperial Regent." A servant girl in a long-skirted uniform said with a bow. "My master has sent the latest reports regarding the high lords."

Malcador sighed at this and gestured for the girl to come close. A soon as she passed the doors, they slammed shut.

"Lady Callidus." Malcador said. "I thought I told you to focus on educating the acolytes of your temple."

The servant girl snorted, then her face twisted. Her entire body contorted out of shape. Flesh, skin, and bone remolded themselves like clay under a sculptor's hands. Beneath the long skirt and frills of her uniform, a black skin-tight Synskin Bodyglove emerged hidden underneath the skin of her disguise.

"And they called me a monster." Lady Callidus said as her original face reformed itself.

She was a tall and slender woman with red hair in a ponytail. High cheekbones and a thin jaw gave her a beautiful yet arrogant face, accentuated by her narrow green eyes that seemed to stare into one's soul.

"I can see why you psykers were so feared once." She said as she walked towards Malcador's desk. "Any disguise might as well be meaningless if you can just read the mind of the person approaching you."

"It takes a certain degree of practice." Malcador replied. "You haven't answered my question, Lady Callidus."

"I do not need to be with the initiates every waking hour." She shrugged. "What purpose does my presence have when they are merely learning how to operate under extreme pain? If anything, I should return when they are sufficiently broken in. That way, positive emotions are formed with my reappearance."

"All so you can break them again."

Lady Callidus only smiled at the accusation.

"The Imperium asked for living, thinking weapons. A weapon cannot be afforded the ability to change allegiances, nor can it be allowed to deviate from its purpose." Her face warped itself into a mirror image of Malcador's own. "The damage each one can do without this mental conditioning is… considerable to say the least." She said in his wizened voice before returning to her own. "They will obedient to the Imperium, and no one else not even themselves."

Malcador sighed. Lady Callidus was one of several progenitors of the Assassin Temples that the Emperor and him had started up. No matter how mighty an empire's army, the only time they were used on internal affairs was during a coup. Besides, the Assassin Temples would cause a lot less collateral damage. Especially compared to the Thunder Warriors, and the upcoming Space Marine legions that would replace them.

However, training assassins of that caliber was a time-consuming task. At the moment, only the progenitors who had been with the Emperor and Malcador from before Old Night were capable of service. Most of them were preoccupied with training the new recruits.

The one exception seemed to be Lady Callidus. However, that was probably a matter of personality. As an assassin based on subterfuge and deception, the political circles of the Imperial Palace were a playground to her. Then again, it could be that the initiates had yet to reach the physical fitness required to survive the effects of Polymorphine. That drug was a nanotechnological marvel from the golden age of humanity. It allowed Lady Callidus to disguise her body into anyone or anything she wished; assuming their mass was similar.

"What have you brought me?" Malcador muttered, resigned to the assassin's quirks. "You came here out of boredom, so something must have piqued your interest."

"Lords Kestutis, Laurynas, Vytautas from Albia have introduced a number of amendments to the next bill." She said, producing a data drive from her hand. "Several relaxations of building regulations as well as other terms. Of course, all of these are beneficial to certain enterprises that are associated with them and their families."

"At this stage?" Malcador said with a raised eyebrow as he accepted the data drive from her. "It goes to the chamber for a vote this evening."

"They have enough votes to invoke a second round of debates, delaying the bill. It is a minor inconvenience officially, if it wasn't for the legislation required for the 'special' ventures of the Imperium."

"How much do they know?"

His words were quiet, but the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen, hiding his face under the darkness from his hood.

"Nothing." Lady Callidus answered, and light returned to normal in the room. "They only know that you yourself were seen talking with the chairperson. They most likely assumed it was important enough that you would ignore the amendments to pass it as quickly as possible."

"I made that performance to underline that this bill had the support of the Imperial Regent." Malcador sighed. "I suppose they have forgotten what that means."

The Imperial Regent spoke with the Emperor's word in his absence. Thus, to disobey the Imperial Regent meant disobedience towards the Emperor.

Demotion was the kindest fate that awaited any, an honorable way out for those who simply failed due to circumstance.

Suicide was the next best option. It allowed a noble to retain their innocence, before they could be dragged before the courts and pronounced guilty.

But, for all those who were too foolish or feeble to understand what insolence to the Master of Mankind meant, death was the only outcome.

"Shall I deal with them?" Lady Callidus asked. "I can make it look like an accident or have them simply disappear. The Chamber of Lords will still have quorum, and the others will fall in line without them. It will also give us an opportunity to put the houses of Albia in their place."

"No." A slow smile spread across Malcador's thin lips. "The Emperor has been gone from Terra for too long, and they have forgotten what it means to serve him."

Imperial Regent was only one of the many titles he had, but he had another official one in the Imperial records.

"Besides, it is high time I set-up another scarecrow." The Master of Assassins' smile split open into a vicious grin.

Woe betide all who stand in the way of the Imperium and the Master of Mankind.

—-------------------------------------------------

The three lords mentioned by Lady Callidus found themselves in a room in the Imperial Palace. All three had come on their own.

One, Lord Kestutis, sat at the table, sampling various snacks and cakes on plates before him. He was at best described as portly, and at worst borderline obese. If it wasn't for the many gene-enhancements and modifications the rich and privileged were provided, he would have been in a far sorrier state.

The second, Lord Laurynas paced irritably on the opposite side of the table to Kestutis. He was a spindly nervous looking creature with twitchy eyes looking everywhere around him.

The final one was Lord Vytautas who leaned against the wall behind Kestutis's chair. He was right in the middle between too fat and too skinny, balancing out the odd trio.

"We should not be meeting like this." Laurynas snapped, tailed overcoat flapping behind him as he paced.

"Calm yourself." Kestutis said between bites. "Things like this get put in bills all the time. Why else would our families send us into the Imperial Palace?"

"As hostages." Vytautus quipped from the wall. "Signs of servitude to the Imperium."

"Ever the pessimist." Kestutis snorted. "We are not like the fools of the Pan-Pacific empire or the zealots of Ursh. Albia joined the Imperium willingly. Our Ironside Clans matched the Imperium's Thunderwarriors in battle, drawing out the Emperor himself in order to parlay." He tossed a bite-sized sandwich into his mouth and gave it only two bites before he swallowed it down his fat throat. "Our relationship with the Imperium is a partnership, unlike the other conquered nations who were too weak or too stupid to survive."

At the beginning of the Unification War, the Emperor allied with the Achaemenid Empire, the Yndonesic Bloc, and the Terrawatt Clans. This Tripartite alliance was geographically split, but each shared a special status amongst all other regions of the Imperium.

They joined the Emperor willingly, and had never been conquered.

Now, Albia has been shoving its elbows onto the table of political power as a similar unconquered nation.

Albia fought the Imperium to a standstill with what future generations would recognize as the walking sarcophagi known as Dreadnoughts. That was what the Ironside Clan were. Manually operated suits of armor that could be outfitted to fight at any range.

During the first battle, the Ironsides waited as the Thunder Warriors charged into battle. Their spies had shown them what had taken place in Jermani. Bullets could not stop the gene-mutants of the Imperium.

The first three ranks of Ironsides instead engaged them in melee, using their metal fists and steam projectors.

Albia is a frigid land in the far North. The oceans that once allowed heat to be circulated to this region have long since dried up. Promethium fuel is better spent warming the homes of the rich and powerful than to produce the ammunition for flamers.

So, instead of fire, a crueler weapon for this land was slapped together.

Steam is arguably the deadliest form of water. It floats in air, enters the soft mucous membranes of the body with a breath, flies deep into the alveoli where it condenses releasing all of its heat.

Many Thunder Warriors choked to death with burnt lungs after receiving a mouthful of pressurized steam, if they didn't have their face boiled off first.

Gouts of steam covered the battlefield as the Ironsides began to duel with individual Thunder Warriors. Eventually, the water vapor cooled in the cold air, forming a dense fog that blinded the boltgun fire of the Imperium's armies. Then the rest of the Ironside Clans marched from behind the hills and knolls they had crouched down behind, hidden by being partially buried in dirt and rock. They fired blindly into the mist with their autocannons, covering everything in front of them. Ironside, Thunder Warriror, it didn't matter. All were struck. However, an Ironside struck by fire would merely be damaged, or at worst lose a pilot. The Thunder Warriors died, turning their Power Armor as well as all their other weapons into trophies to be collected on the battlefield.

Eventually, the order was given to fall back with their dead and wounded, ending the first battle between Albia and the Imperium.

Even after the Thunder Warriors brought better optics and heavier weapons, the Ironside Clans gave little ground.

Targeting their pilots made no difference. By the next day, somebody else was already operating the metal shell.

Tearing the machines apart took too long, and too many soldiers. At least two Thunder Warriors were needed for that, and cooperation was not their forte.

Finally, with the destruction of Albia not being a priority, the Emperor himself intervened and parlayed with Albia's leadership.

Albia was meant to be but a means to enter the techno-barbarian region of the Nordyc in order to destroy the Priest-King Maulland Sen. From there, the Imperium was to overthrow the Kievan Rus Khagnate and open the final beachhead that would allow the long overdue burning of Ursh to begin.

The Thunder Warriors failed at this, and their delay strained the Yndonesic Bloc and Terrawatt Clans who had to hold back the kingdom of Ursh and the Pan-Pacific Empire while the Thunder Warriors were delayed in Albia. As punishment the Leader of the Thunder Warriors, Arik Taranis, was forced to publicly humiliate himself by asking for the forgiveness of the nobles of Albia.

He was responsible for the unnecessary bloodshed between Albia and the Imperium, who both hated the sorcerers of Ursh and the Pan-Pacific Empire.

If it were not for the Emperor's oratory abilities that reminded the nobles of Albia who their real enemies were, Arik Taranis's head may have been paraded around their soot-filled cities where ragged children would have thrown stones at it.

The true enemies of the Imperium and Albia were:

The Kingdom of Ursh.

The Pan-Pacific Empire.

The Kingdom of Urartu.

And The Ethnarchy.

Everything else was chaff..

"We do not have the support of our houses, Kestutis." Laurynas retorted. "We set about this endeavor to show those who sent us here what we could do. If word gets back to Albia before we are ready, there will be grave consequences for us."

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Vytautus shrugged. "That Merican, Noum Retraiva, puts in things that enrich him on a daily basis within his administrative duties."

"We are not the Master of the Administratum!" Laurynas shouted as he stopped and turned towards the other two. The chandelier above him shook slightly from his voice. For a moment, there was only the clinking of the crystal ornaments hung from the ceiling.

"We are three minor lords seeking to take back what was rightfully ours from those idiots back in Albia." Laurynas snarled. "This is just the first step in that endeavor. The more favors we send to the branch houses and businesses that the main house has overlooked, the more power we gain. Eventually, it should be enough to force the heads of our respective houses into retirement, and return us to our rightful place."

He pointed at Kestutis first. "You put in an amendment to set-up a fast track for the food production plants, allowing them to reduce the number of inspections and reporting."

He pointed at Vytautus next. "You put in an amendment to increase the amount of oxygen rations to border regions further away from the Imperium."

Finally, he placed a hand on his chest. "I removed the stipulations that required a minimum number of servitors for all construction sites."

The other two lords looked at each other. Laurynas was the most ambitious of the three of them, but he was also the most narcissistic. During their time together, the found it was better to let him tire himself out. Otherwise, his diatribe against the people back home in Albia and everyone except himself would drag on forever.

"All these seemingly minor amendments give us power." Laurynas continued. "A fast-track can be provided by a minor lord such as ourselves, so long as the food is only meant for local markets associated with that lord. Increasing the oxygen rations to the border regions opens the way for a new blackmarket that we can control. The castrum cities of Albia are all soot-blackened and smog-filled. A can of fresh air will be worth far more there than on the border regions. The people there are used to the radiation winds and dust storms. They are barely worth the meat on their bones, much less fresh air. Nobody will notice the difference between the number of canisters provided and the number received. After all, it is our job to collect that information. Removing the minimum number of servitors cuts conversion expenses. Cheaper work crews means more profit, especially for the businesses associated with me."

Laurynas resumed his pacing, having satisfied himself for the moment.

"The Emperor is absent, and there are no major wars at the moment. But, his mutated freaks march towards Mt. Ararat. War with the Kingdom of Urartu and the Ethnarchy comes soon, and when it does there will be no room for our 'petty' games with Albia."

This is the state of affairs in the Imperial Palace. Bureaucrats, nobles, dignitaries, and other officials of varying importance use and are used by each other in their endless struggles for personal power and prestige. Not all that they do is evil, but it is selfish.

"So, why did you call us here, Kestutis?" Laurynas asked as he paced, only to be met with silence. He turned to see the fat lord frozen, hand mid-way to reaching for the next cupcake.

"I thought it was Vytautus that called us here." Kestutis said, but the third lord was already shaking his head.

A chill ran down all three of their spines. They sat frozen for a moment, not daring to move, lest whoever had arranged them to be in the same room decided to do whatever it was they planned to them at that moment.

Several moments passed, but nothing happened.

Finally, Kestutis's hand finished its motion, and closed around the cupcake before tossing it into his mouth.

"Do you think this is a warning?" Vytautus said nervously, mostly to himself.

Laurynas didn't answer. He was too busy holding down the boiling bitterness inside him. So many others plotted and schemed just as he did. Yet, he was the one that was scolded for this minute infraction upon Imperial law. The hypocrisy was blatant. What did the Imperium care about the politics of Albia? No, the Imperium should pay more respect to them. It was the Emperor that came to them for parlay, not the other way around. Yet, here the Imperium chastised them like children with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

The sound of chewing was the only sound in the room as Laurynas stewed in his bitterness. Vytautus remained on the wall, now pulling at a lock of hair out of nervousness.

"Oh, will you stop eating, you buffoon!" Laurynas finally yelled, lashing out with impotent rage.

But, Kestutis continued eating. He now grabbed small cakes and biscuits in handfuls, shoveling them into his mouth. Half-chewed food spilled out from his lips. Both hands smushed the items grabbed by them into the bolus of food stuck in his jaw, forcing masticated morsels into his windpipe.

Pure panic could be seen in the man's eyes, but his body continued to stuff itself, suffocating himself with his own hands.

Finally, the man's eyes rolled up into his skull as his body fell backwards onto the floor. There, he managed to convulse once, then died.

Laurynas stepped away from the body. He had heard of the psykers and what they could do. Nightmarish tales of entire cities being mind-controlled by the brain-mutants were often told to the children of Albia. Their long history with the kingdom of Ursh and its sorcerers meant they were more knowledgeable than most on the topic.

But, before he could do anything with that information, there was a snapping sound from above him.

*CRASH

Vytautus slid down the wall, staring at the bloody smear Laurynas had been reduced to under the fallen chandelier. Fear filled every breath, only allowing him shallow pants. Slowly, he started to crawl towards the door. He was certainly next, but even if he couldn't come up with a single idea to escape this, his instincts urged him to run.

He managed to drag himself half a step before his body gave out. Air would not enter his lungs, even as every muscle in his torso struggled to draw it in.

As his vision blurred and his brain began to die from the lack of oxygen, he saw a hooded figure standing over him.

"Ma…ca…" He mouthed a name as his arms tried to reach out to the figure, but they simply passed right through the hem of his robes.

The world darkened, but the image of the Imperial Regent seemed to become clearer. A wizened hand reached down, and grabbed his face. He could feel the dry canvas like skin on his cheeks, even though this man could not be there.

"I said I need a scarecrow." Malcador said. "I thought it poetic that you all died with the means of your avarice, but suffocation leaves too peaceful a face."

The wrinkly hand wrenched violently forcing him to turn onto his back, causing his eyes to look upwards.

"You do not understand the importance of the Imperium, or the Emperor." Malcador continued. "You think psykers and gene-monstrosities are the worst Old Night had to offer." The blurry image of the room's ceiling seemed to ripple, like a dim reflection on a lake. "As thanks for your final service and martyrdom, you will be allowed to know who our real enemies are."

Malcador stepped back, and Vytautus could do nothing but stare as the curtains that kept sane from insane were drawn back.

He saw a world filled with nothing but brass, blood, and flame. Uncountable masses were butchered endlessly by blood red daemons using fangs, flames, claws, and blades.

He saw a garden filled with death and decay. Crowds of souls sobbed and suffered as they stumbled through pus, phlegm, and putrid vomit puked up by the fleshy bulbous plants of the garden. Tentacle-like vines lashed out, leaving fresh bleeding wounds for the countless maggots and flies around them to nestle and breed in. Yet, these souls could do nothing but beg for the blessings of the god that infected them in the first place.

He saw a shattered series of continents, each dotted with impossible architecture. His eyes burned and twisted, unable to understand where up or down was, much less past and future.

Then he saw his reflection in a massive eye. The iris was a blazing azure blue, and it was wide open. A screeching caw flooded his ear canals, filling his mind with paradoxes and problems no sane mind could understand. He saw himself screaming and banging on the surface of the eye from the inside, as if he himself was trapped within the burning orb of the avian monstrosity before him.

Vytautus's face froze mid-scream, despite having no air in his lungs to make a sound. Rigor mortis set in far faster than was possible, forming a mask of terror that seemed to radiate with the horror he had witnessed.

Three dead men lay in the room, slowly filling with the stench of spilt urine and voided bowels.

There was a click as the door to the room unlocked, and a servant girl walked into the room.

Lady Callidus inspected each of the corpses, smiling as she came to Vytautus's body.

'It is easy to kill a man.' She thought to herself. 'A poison dart through the skin. A single blade to the neck. It is even more trivial for a psyker. Holding a vein closed in the brain for 30 seconds or so will be enough to create an aneurysm.'

She bent down, towards Vytautus's face, reflecting the features frozen in fear on the surface of her eye.

'Killing is easy. It is the death of that which you have killed that is hard to control.' She stood back up, turning to the remains of Laurynas. She rubbed a finger against her jawline in thought, then shook her head. There was not much recognizable about the body.

'That is the purpose of an assassination. It is the scalpel that cuts out the infection before it can rot the body, preventing the cauterizing touch of war.' She looked down at Kestutis. His chin was covered in drool, and the food that had been forced into him was beginning to spill out. Both eyes were rolled back, giving the body a baleful white-eyed stare. The assassin looked over him for a moment before nodding to herself, giving it a passing grade.

'It is hard for the orator to speak in the open when they fear the Vindicare's bullet that took the life of their predecessor. It is difficult for the rebel cell to form when they fear that one of their members may be a Callidus in disguise. The psyker cult crumbles in the presence of the Culexus. The Eversor ensures that all those who see the remains of their work are reminded of the grisly fate of those who betray the Imperium.'

Lady Callidus walked to the door of the room, and began drawing in a deep breath.

'Rejoice, new martyrs of the Imperium. In your death, you shall serve as a reminder to all the other fools who come after you. With the fear you inspire, you will save far more than you served in life. The Emperor is merciful to all who die in his service. You shall find yourself in his grace, forever locked in the fable of your death.'

A high-pitched scream rang out of the room.

"Help! Help! Guards! Someone!" A servant girl cried as she stumbled out of the room, hands clutching at her face. "Someone! Please!" Her cries drew the normal palace guards, and a few lords.

Several days later, the three lords' deaths were determined to be due to a freak accident. Lord Kestutis merely choked on some crumpets. Lord Laurynas was the victim of shoddy craftsmanship. Lord Vytautas death was determined to be due to a panic attack. The craftsmen in charge of installing the chandelier were prosecuted with professional negligence. However, in light of this being their first offense, each received a suspended sentence. Soon, they all vanished from the palace, reassigned to different posts.

The amendments proposed by the three were removed. The bill passed with unanimous agreement that evening with its original wording.

 

[Nidhog153]

There was the sound of smashing glass as a tumbler shattered against the wall of a different room in the Imperial Palace.

"Panic attack?! Does the Imperial Regent think we are fools!" Raged a dark skinned lord.

He was Lord Nour from the remains of the Nordafrik Conclaves. It was originally a thriving region of destroyed Terra. Desert wastes were irrigated with centrifuged and filtered water supplies. Resin covered farmlands were restored around the central megapolis of Xozer. Their society was both highly advanced, and altruistic. However, all that ended during the long war with the Kingdom of Ursh. Warp magics and sorcerers were deployed by both sides. Yet, after the fall of Xozer, Ursh remained and the Nordafrik Conclaves returned to a desert waste. Only minor fort cities and garrison towns survived. Much technology and knowledge was lost, forever destroying any hope of restoring the lands' ancient fertility.

Their entry into the Imperium was less violent than that of the Pan-Pacific Empire, Albia, and their next door neighbor the Adedeji. Afterall, they were already destroyed once before. There was not much they could do as the Emperor's Thunder Warriors marched up to each of their walls with an Imperial Herald at the forefront.

The Emperor's promise to destroy Ursh was appealing to many as well. Vengeance was an infectious concept to the downtrodden populace. Their chiefs, politicians, presidents, and governors also found the promise appealing. What better way to distract from the troubles of today than pointing the finger at an old enemy.

As a sign of loyalty, the Thunder Warriors were allowed to parade through the city the day they came. Usually, this would be an almost suicidal endeavor for the political ambitions of the leaders of the Nordafrik Conclave. Few are partial to the idea of celebrating an occupying army. Yet, by proclaiming cooperation with the Imperium to be their salvation, they managed to save enough face to hold their positions.

This region provides a small, but motivated supply of troops for the Imperial Army. They have much experience surviving through hardship. With the destruction of Ursh by the Imperium as promised, many view the Emperor and the Imperium as the arbiter of justice and righteousness.

Of course, there is a vast gap in opinion between the average citizen, and those in the elite.

"A child could see through their antics!" Nour shouted as he pounded his fist against a small table. "Does Malcador want to destroy the image of security within the Imperial Palace?"

The other individual in the room whirred and clicked for a few moments, scanning the room with his inbuilt sensors before replying.

"There's no worry about that." Lord Vidar of the Terrawatt clans replied, having finished confirming no-one else was listening. "The main houses of those three agreed with the Imperium's conclusion after conducting their own autopsy. If the original houses agree, there's not much to dispute without causing an argument with those houses. It would be seen as interference in their jurisdiction and a besmirchment of their honor. I don't imagine accusing them of covering up the death of their own would end well."

Monotone laughter came from the lord's mechanical vocal cords as Nour grabbed another tumbler and began filling it with tonic water as a chaser for his previous drink.

"The Imperial Regent played it well." Vidar continued. "He got rid of three corrupt officials, sent a warning to all the other minor lords, and forced the main houses of those three in Albia to be obedient. After all, they already have a black mark against themselves for sending those three. I also heard that there were a couple of internal scuffles within Albia as well. No doubt Malcador also told them who the co-conspirators of those three were in Albia. Compared to all that, pretending that the Imperium's story was true was the least they could do. Anything else would have sullied their own honor." Vidar clapped his hands together. The metal palms sounded like a hammer upon an anvil. "There's an old saying about killing two birds with one stone, but the Imperial Regent certainly has taken far more than just two birds."

"Even if the official story holds, Malcador has gone too far." Nour muttered, slamming the tumbler on the table.

"He wanted to put us all in our place." Vidar shrugged. "Albia has become more and more vocal after the destruction of the Pan-Pacific Empire. You remember their cries for the execution of Narthan Dume and his lieutenants, don't you?"

Nour grimaced as the scene returned from memory. Hundreds of bearded men with varying degrees of pale blotchy skin howled from their section of royal benches in the hall of lords like spectators at a gladiatorial arena. Malcador was in the middle of it all, answering as many arguments as he could. Meanwhile, the Emperor watched from his throne high above the chamber, positioned to overlook all the others.

"Death! Death to Dume, and all who followed him!"

"Suffer not the last Tyrant of the Pan-Pacific! Take his life as he took many of ours!"

"The Imperium promised Albia the destruction of the Pan-Pacific Empire! Honor your words! Honor! Honor!!!"

The other lords from the other regions remained silent.

Even those from the Yndonesic Bloc did not bother to raise their voice. Despite having raided the Pan-Pacific Empire with their Stormbirds for half-a-century while the Imperium burned the Kingdom of Ursh to the ground. Despite hating everything and everyone related to religion, they did nothing but silently smile.

Narthan Dume's death was inevitable, whether they said anything or not. Why lower their standing in the Emperor's eyes when Albia would achieve their goals for them?

Nour had been an adolescent at the time, brought along as a secretariat to his great grand uncle's political entourage. He remembered the Emperor's face staring down at all of them, like a giant watching ants crawling over the ground.

"If the Captain-General of the Custodes hadn't lopped off the bastard's head on his own, we would have had to have a public execution." Vidar continued, bringing Nour back from his memories. "The Imperium would have lost face with the other conquered regions. The remaining holdouts of the Pan-Pacific Empire would have been enraged. The war would have lengthened. Accusations of the houses of Albia controlling the Imperium would have been thrown. Rumors of rebellion might have stopped being rumors." Vidar stopped for a moment to rescan the area around them.

"The old members of the Achaemenid Empire already feel that the Emperor gives the newer regions too much…" Vidar spoke in a grimmer tone than before. "And don't even get me started about the Yndonesic Bloc."

"You left out the Terrawatt Clans." Nour snorted. "The last of the Tripartite alliance that first joined the Imperium. Do you think your own so elevated over our politics?"

"We value logic over everything else." Vidar shrugged. "That is how our politics functions. So long as it is logical to work with the Imperium, we will work with the Imperium."

"And is it logical to do so?"

"It would be illogical to risk the Emperor's wrath." Vidar said quietly. "The damage is incalculable."

"Oh?" Nour laughed. "Do you fear the Thunder Warriors that much? Surely your people must have weapons that can penetrate the armor you designed for them."

"It is not the Imperium's soldiers, nor their weapons I fear."

"What do you mean?"

"Read 'The Chronicles of Ursh'. It should still be in the restricted sections of the Imperial Palace Library reserved for lords. Although, I am surprised. It is in part the history of your people." Vidar paused for a moment, then shrugged. "Then again, if what is described about the fall of Xozer is even fractionally true, it would not be unusual that nothing remained."

"Braggart." Nour spat.

"Apologies. In my lands, such sharing of knowledge would have been greeted with thanks."

Nour snorted again.

The Terrawatt Clans were a group of technophiles who had survived by burrowing under the Ural mountains. There they remained, mechanizing the parts of their bodies that could not withstand the lack of sunlight or the dusty carcinogenic tunnels they lived in. When the sensors they left behind finally showed the nuclear ice-age had ended, they emerged from isolation. Many warlords sought to barter or bully them into giving them their technology. All received the same lethal answer made of laser beams and lightning arcs. Only one is patron to their wares, and that one is the Emperor. What the Emperor gave the Theologiteks who ruled there has never been shared with outsiders, but what was received was soon seen by all.

It was they who designed the first series of Power Armor that adorned the Imperium's Thunder Warriors.

It was they who produced the bolters and bolt shells that every one of them carried.

"Have you heard anything else?" Nour asked. "No whispers amongst the other lords?"

"No." Vadir shook his head. "Everyone is too scared to hold private meetings like we are."

Nour snorted as if that was some sort of privilege.

"I only get to go to the orgies. The rumors from my homeland about me made sure I am not invited to any of the larger parties."

"Nothing there either." Vadir shook his head again.

"Fine." Nour sighed as he got up. "I'll bide my time like all the rest for now."

"Be careful, Nour." Vadir called out. "Not all in the Imperial Palace are as logical as the Terrawatt Clan."

"And what logic is there in associating with an accused serial rapist?" Nour muttered bitterly.

"Logic does not always make sense."

The Lord from the Nord Afrik snorted then left the room. As he walked down the hallway, he saw a servant girl walk towards him. He waited for her to pass his shoulder, then he grabbed her arm.

"You. Come with me." He growled.

"Wh-What?" The girl stammered as he began to pull her towards the nearest door in front of him.

He slammed it open, revealing a dark empty room with a single bed.

Blood drained from the girl's face, and she began to attempt to break free from his grip.

"Mercy my lord! Mercy!" She screamed.

Nour grit his teeth and he dragged her the rest of the way into the room, then threw her against the bed.

The girl gave a pained shriek as her head banged against the metal bed post, only to have her voice sealed into the room as Nour slammed and locked the door shut. Nour pulled out a spherical device that began to hum and glow as it scanned for any sign of evesdroppers. The girl continued to sob as Nour watched the readout from the device, then finally let out a sigh.

"You can stop pretending, Lady Callidus." He said.

Immediately, the girl's sobbing stopped. Soft girlish giggling replaced it that in turn metamorphosed into husky feminine laughter as the young servant girl's head broke apart and reformed into that of the red-haired assassin's.

"Did you not worry for a moment you might have the wrong girl?" She asked after her real face reformed.

"The female servants of the Imperial Palace avoid me due to the rumors spread about me from my home in Zafranat." Nour snorted. "Only male valets and boys come to take my orders. The maids and ladies in waiting give me a wide berth. The only woman to approach me so carelessly would be you."

"How foolish your old family must feel to have the rumors they spread about you used for your advantage." She chuckled as she stood up.

"It was a clever trap." Nour spoke as he pulled a data card from out under a fingernail. "Exile to the branch house, or exile to the Imperial Palace. The head even made things look amenable back home when he promised to approve my marriage to Amina should I bring enough favor from the Imperium onto our household."

"Then they blackened your name with rumors, forcing your only political contacts to be the eccentrical or sadistic."

"He was probably hoping I would be challenged to an honor duel. Possibly someone from Albia." Nour snorted. "Unfortunately for him, the nobles of Albia have so many mistresses and maids the story of a lord preying on servant girls is not much worse than a fart in a ballroom." Nour's tone turned dark and bitter for his next sentence. "That is a mistake my great grand uncle wouldn't have made."

"That won't happen anymore." Lady Callidus said as she took the data card from him. "As of last night, personal duels are punishable by death to both parties. Punitive actions will also be taken on the regions involved by order of the Imperial Regent. The Imperium cannot afford to waste important resources." She said as she gave him a wink.

"And how important is the information I give you now?" Nour narrowed his eyes. "These are the statements of courtesans and paramours. Prostitutes. No court will take them into consideration."

"Such sturdy yet frail things." Lady Callidus whispered as she swallowed the data card. "They take so much abuse and hear so many secrets to survive. Yet, they spill their hearts out to the first man that runs into them uninterested in sex or degradation."

"It takes time, trust, and mutual respect as well." He said irritably. "If it wasn't for the rumors of me having to pay my victims to stay silent, I would have had more questions asking where all my Imperial stipends were going."

"Oh, what did you buy them? Was it flowers?" Her voice sing-songed mockingly.

"Medication. Food. Water rations. Debts. Sometimes for them. Sometimes for their family." Nour replied sternly. "Not many enter that life-style willingly. They will be protected after this, won't they?"

The assassin blinked once then said, "The Imperium remembers all its loyal subjects."

"That's not an answer." He hissed back.

"Lord Nour." Lady Callidus spoke seriously this time. "Why did you come here?"

He froze as her green eyes bored into his mind, threatening a violent end at the first lie.

"To marry Amina." Nour said slowly.

"Have you given up on that goal?"

"No."

"And what are you willing to do to achieve it?"

"Anything and everything."

"Then, that should be all that is necessary."

That should have been the end of it, but Nour grit his teeth and glared back at the assassin.

"Even then, I want to know."

Lady Callidus broke eye contact and sighed, releasing Nour from her stare. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat on his forehead.

"My word means less than those prostitutes, Nour. I don't exist. Whatever I say doesn't mean a thing." She said gently.

"Yet, you are the only one I can ask."

Several moments passed in silence, before the assassin started to speak again.

"Within the next half-century the Imperium plans to introduce a universal basic income scheme for all biological women regardless of age. Several hundred randomly selected women will be the 'test group' to confirm the effectiveness of this legislation. The women who have cooperated with you and their families will be given new names and backstories during this selection process."

Nour's expression turned quizzical. "What is the point of that legislation?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Lady Callidus shrugged. "To increase the population of Terra as quickly and naturally as possible. Economic and social stress are two of the greatest reasons for avoiding having a child, and the Emperor's plans require more of them."

It took a while for the lord to digest that. He had heard many things in the private saunas, bedchambers, and dancing parlors about the various goings on of the Imperial Palace. Yet, this was one of the most ridiculous he had ever heard.

"For that reason?" He sputtered.

"It was that, or revoke all women's rights and economic freedoms. The population statistics workout to the same result. However, the predicted loss of industrial output was unacceptable in that scenario, according to Ezekiel Sedayne and Amar Astarte." The assassin snickered to herself for a moment. "It was quite amusing to see the two of them working together, finding a solution to their common problem." She saw a worried look cross the lord's face and spoke to reassure him. "Don't worry. The genetic partners for the 'test group' will be more physically attractive than any of the lords, and their meetings will be organized to be non-traumatic. Lonely one-night stands perhaps, but better than their current lot, isn't it?"

If Nour had heard this at the beginning of his tenure at the Imperial Palace, his stomach might have rolled. Now, he merely grimaced before replying, "It will have to do."

Lady Callidus pulled a small pocket watch out of the pocket of her uniform; a standard issue timepiece to all servants in the palace.

"It's been about 20 minutes. I should be able to leave without besmirching your manhood too much." She smirked as she tore the sleeve of her uniform, then the hem of one side of her skirt. "Oh, before I forget, I have something for you this time." She opened her mouth, and a metal tube popped out of her throat. "It's from your Amina." She said, wiping the letter tube on the apron of her uniform before handing it to him. "Destroy the letter once you have finished reading. I will meet you again in two weeks for your reply."

The assassin's face rearranged itself into the servant girl's, but with a bruised cheek and black eye. She unlocked the door and burst out of the room, running into the opposite wall, then sobbing and stumbling her way down the corridor. The door slammed shut on its own, leaving Nour to himself. He sighed and pulled out the spherical scanner he had used earlier. Confirming his privacy, he opened the letter tube. The scent of her perfume hit him first, and the memories of how he had ended up here hit him like a tidal wave.

—-------------------------------------------------

Lord Nour had been the fourth child of one of the many branch houses belonging to the ruling class of the city of Zafranat. Branch houses are where those who have stepped down from the race of succession go to live in peace. In exchange for giving up dreams of power, they gain an increased degree of personal freedom, and swear an oath to serve their old family in the main house.

The individuals in these branch houses provide a stable population of blood relatives. This makes them trustworthy enough to use as high-class servants, handmaids, guards, and confidants. They also serve as a reserve gene-pool, should the main house become too inbred. Gene-tech means the necessity of such back-ups are unlikely. However, for all nobility, breeding is as important to them as their political power and material possessions. No chance can be taken.

Members of the branch houses who endear themselves through skill or personality to members of the main house are adopted by them. Restored to the main house, they shed the role of servant and are finally treated as equals.

Nour was first taken from his family in the branch house at the age of 9 to be educated as a scribe for the next lord to be appointed to the Imperium. This lord was his great grand uncle.

In his studies, he showed more promise than was expected. His talents were soon reassigned to be used as a secretariat. His organizational skills and time managing abilities would ensure the new lord's duties ended within his work hours. Thus, no more of his precious time would be spent than was necessary.

That was what he was taught by his tutors. They too were from the branch houses, but long years of servitude had left them resigned to their fate.

Systems such as these are ubiquitous amongst the various ruling classes that survived the Imperium's conquest. The name may differ. Minor rules regarding their freedoms may vary. Yet, the core ideology of there being born winners and born losers remains.

The position of lord to the Imperium for Zafranat was both a foreign relations office, and a sacrificial lamb. All who were sent to the Imperial Palace were under the Emperor's protection and mercy. Nour's house used the retiring head of the main house to fill this position. They put their oldest and most experienced members in the Emperor's hands to show their loyalty. Simultaneously, their most adept speaker and plotter entered the Imperial Palace's politics. That way, Zafranat would ensure it did not lose out on any Imperial bill.

Lord Karim, Nour's great grand uncle, was a fair but stern head of house. He valued ability over everything else. Many members of his own family were thrown out into the branch one with their privileges and rights stripped for being useless to him.

Nour learned many things from his great grand uncle while he acted as his secretary.

The base cultures of the other regions.

The mannerisms necessary for interacting in polite and private societies.

When lord Karim's tenure as an Imperial Lord ended, he was replaced by his son; the next previous head. It was at this time he adopted Nour back into the main house, as a reward for his services.

Nour used the political skills he learned within the Imperial Palace, as well as his contacts there to gain favor within the main house. It was there he met Amina.

Amina was his third cousin once removed and the 5th daughter of the current head of the house of Zafranat. Despite her parents' hopes and upbringing, she had political aspirations of her own. She was a strong believer in the Imperium, and its mandate of bringing order back to Terra.

"Politics is the economics of trust." She had said when he asked her what the word meant the first time they met. "Legislation without enforcement is meaningless, but it is not like the people begin to break the law the moment the Arbites are out of sight. They trust the law because they believe the ones who make the law have their interest in mind. Hence, they follow the law even when there is no one to catch them breaking it. The less trust there is, the poorer one's politics becomes. When one is bankrupt on trust, then only violence can be used to maintain order. That leads to dictatorship and destruction. The Imperium enters a new period of order right now. If each region can be stabilized, and specialize them to make them interdependent… We may never have a war on Terra again."

Idealistic daydreaming.

That was what Nour thought when he first heard it, but it was an interesting topic of debate. Many nights were spent speaking of how one could try to keep the balance of power between military and civilian branches of government. They debated whether there was such a thing as a moral coup as well as many other subjects too sensitive or hyperbolic for professional circles.

This unfortunately caught the ire of Amina's father, the current head of the main house and Nour's third cousin.

He did not want Amina talking about politics, especially when he planned to marry her off to the consul of the neighboring city. He was also far more traditional than his great grandfather, Lord Karim. Nour was originally of the branch house, and hence eternally tainted with its lesser stench in his eyes.

Lord Karim was dead from old age by this time. Without his original backer and the head of the main house aligned against him, Nour was given one of two choices.

Return to the Imperial Palace where his talents would be used for Zafranat, or return to the branch house as a servant.

Had Nour not built a loyal base of his own allies within the main house, he might not have received this choice.

He chose what was effectively exile within the Imperial Palace. But, when he stepped off the transport back into the golden halls of the palace, he found a series of slanderous stories awaiting him. Tales of him attempting to force himself upon one of the nobility back home were already being exchanged. Numerous rumors of servant girls disappearing into his rooms had already begun to spread.

Nour had not expected such a self-destructive attack. The shortsightedness of the head of Zafranat shocked him to such a degree that he reacted slower than usual to the accusations. Tarring Nour's name brought the decision to send him here by Zafranat into question. It gave the impression of disloyalty, and endangered Zafranat's security.

Perhaps the head of Zafranat thought he had nothing to fear with the Imperium having conquered almost all of the Eurasian continent. The new age of temporary peace had convinced him that the Imperium's fangs had been dulled. But, Nour knew better. The Imperium had not changed from its inception. Disobedience would be punished with an iron fist. Some corruption and enrichment was allowed, but the price for crossing the line was dire. He spent more nights worried about what the Imperium would do to Zafranat for its apparent disloyalty instead of his own personal honor.

It was at this point the Imperial Assassin established contact with him.

At the time, Lady Callidus had disguised herself as one of the courtesans Nour had been using as a personal informant. He made sure to keep cordial connections with these women to keep a pulse on the underbelly of the Imperial Palace.

The actual courtesan had sold out one of her patron lords, informing the Imperium of a blackmarket for old stubbers and other guns. The lord in question was supposed to be collecting these weapons from the battlefields, and rendering them down as scrap metal. Instead, he sold them on the blackmarket, bought cheap metals from other brokers, and pocketed the difference.

The courtesan had heard a fragment of his plot when he was boasting about his riches, and her information lead to the 'suicide' of that lord.

Officially, the courtesan disappeared down a dark alley and was never seen again. In truth, by that time it was Lady Callidus masquerading as her, ending a few other traitors not worth official sanction. The courtesan herself already had a new face and life somewhere else.

"There was a cherry boy running about doing his best pretending to be loyal to the Imperium instead of dealing with his own rumors." She said as she returned to her original form in front of him. "If you want to show true loyalty, then do as I say. The Imperium shall remember all those who serve it."

After that, he ceased all efforts to restore his honor. He used his blackened name as an excuse for apparent raucous spending. It became easier associating with the less savory individuals of the Imperial Palace. There, he gathered information for the Imperial Assassin, and showed his loyalty with his service.

—-------------------------------------------------

Nour finished reading Amina's letter, then brought it to his nose to breathe in the perfume she had sprinkled upon the pages to remind him of her.

"Everything is moving into place." He said to himself as he rolled and returned the letter back into its tube. There, a single button press incinerated it.

Her letter mentioned that his exile here did not sit well with many members of the main house, including the remaining past heads. It sent the wrong message to the Imperial Palace. They were supposed to send their most treasured individuals here as a sign of fealty. Even if Nour was capable, the sudden change in lordship and his relative disposability compared to previous ones would no doubt raise several eyebrows.

Tarring Nour's reputation was not looked favorably upon either. Besides the dishonorable nature of the act, it once again showed disrespect to the Imperium. Sending a representative as a lord with such a tarred reputation was a sign of insolence.

When Nour's tenure ended, Amina's father might not be the head any longer, if he was even a member of the main house. At this rate, his marriage to Amina would come with or without the Imperial Assassin's help.

However, Zafranat's standing within the Imperium would be irreparably damaged without his cooperation.

The Imperium was planning something. He didn't know what, but he could see the groundwork of a grand plot being laid.

Malcador and his servants were sniffing for information. They were looking for the weaknesses of the lords in their halls. He had no idea whether the targets were the lords themselves, or the houses behind them. Whatever it was, Nour was going to ensure he and Zafranat were on the winning team.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: I come up with the title last, so I'm usually quite tired due to writing so much dialouge and coming up with the schemes the characters engage in. So, titles are going to be pretty self-descriptive for the forseeable future.

Main Part: These chapters were written to give a feeling for what life is like in the Imperial Palace, and portray the setting of what a pre-unified Imperium looks like. I have done a lot of research regarding this period of time, and there were quite a number of interesting tidbits I will portray later on.

At the moment, each region has some degree of self-governance, especially those which have not been militarily conquered. As the number of shared enemies on Terra decreases, so does the number of reasons to be totally obedient to the Imperium. Selfishness and greed has begun to motivate each of the regions to search for more ways to gain their own personal power, and as shown by the Lords from Albia, that power-struggle can even be held within the region itself.

This is the theme for the humans in power. They are motivated by greed and selfishness held in check by fear and self-preservation.

But, they are not all bad. Nour is one example of a relatively noble individual. He is faithful to his beloved, empathetic with even the prostitutes of the Imperial Palace, and intelligent enough to be deemed useful to the Imperium. Of course, because of those traits, he has to pretend to be a philanderous, crass, fool in order to survive in the Imperial Palace.

I guess poetic or dramatic irony is another theme for the Imperial Palace.

Despite this almost borderline dysfunctional Imperium, Malcador and the assassins do not seemed worried, and that is because they have a plan to solve this.

Terra is the keystone of the Imperium in 40K, and it becomes that due to the Unification Wars, which I will portray in this section of the Chronicle.

Spoiler: New characters to appear on the stage over the next few chapters

Erda, Amar Astarte, Constantin Valdor, and Leetu will all be popping up. The heart to heart with Malcador is something I'm quite fond of. The chapters are on my Patreion right now.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Thank you Naranka and Skyborne for taking the time to read this chapter.

Deep in the Himalazia mountains, under miles of rock, ferrocrete, admantium, and psychic wards a woman of Arabic descent sat in front of one of 20 armored and numbered gestation pods. Warp umbilical cords reached out from within one of them and suckled on her left arm, drinking something from her in peristaltic waves.

"Almost…" The woman said to herself quietly. "A few more years and it will end. Even if everything has already ended years ago."

Suddenly, she jerked away from the pod. The immaterial cords attached to her arm tore off as she stood to glare at a spot of golden light opening above the skies of Terra. Her eyes saw through the entire mountain, even though what she saw was heavily obscured by the wards.

"No…" She whispered to herself. "I still had time. I should still have time."

The Master of Mankind had returned ahead of schedule, and her children were not yet ready.

Part of her argued they should proceed immediately. He was not yet through the portal, so at least some could be set free before he stopped her.

Part of her demanded they should end it all. That was well within her reach, and she would be successful if she acted within the next several seconds.

But the last part of her quelled both. There was something different in that light, and he never deviated from schedule. His plan took the shortest path, and the shortest path was meant to take several more years. To come home so soon meant something had changed, either in his objective or himself.

The emerging ships were swiftly hidden beneath a psychically manifested mirage. Only she had seen them return. However, before one of the battleships winked out of sight, her brown eyes caught sight of a set of inhuman silver orbs looking down at her.

"Curious." She said to herself. "Has he changed, or is he changing?"

Her mind reached within her, and summoned up a legend from ancient Greece. A fictitious story that was only partly true. A story of a jealous wife stopping her husband's bastard from being born. Her legs crossed, mimicking the story of Hera and Heracles, sending each of the unborn infants in the pods into a deep slumber. No one would be able to tell the difference between their natural state and as they were now. As their mother, she controlled when and where they would be born.

Time had run out for her original plan, but a new wind blew in the immaterium around Terra. She could feel it in the tingle of her old bones, and the beat of her young heart that palpitated in her breast.

Erda rose from the floor of the laboratory under the Himalazia mountains.

"Leetu." She called, and a massive soldier in Imperial Pattern power armor marched out of the shadows. "Open the laboratory and prepare my shuttle. I must meet your father."

"As you will, mother." The Space Marine bowed his head, dipping the point of the beak-like helm downwards. Then, he headed towards the control panel.

The triumvirate of past, present, and future quickly checked each pod as the sole entrance to the laboratory began to open.

"You have much explaining to do, Neoth." She muttered to herself as warning lights spun and sirens blared. Slowly, pneumatic pistons pulled back. Powerful electromagnets hummed, lifting the locking pins for the hatch out of their cylinders.

Finally, the hatch unlocked itself and swung open. Leetu marched forwards into the dark labyrinthian corridors of the mountain. Erda took one last look at her children, all 20 of them. They were still in the foetal stage, possessing tails and webbed digits. "Sleep now, children." She said quietly. "Hopefully, your father has returned with an important lesson learned."

The hatch slammed shut with her words, sealing the Primarchs into the warm darkness of their technological wombs.

—-------------------------------------------------

Isha looked down through the floor of the Artax at Terra. She had felt brown eyes catch hers before the immaterial mirages hid the ship from view.

The being was heavily obscured beneath the Emperor's wards, and it was only because she had looked up that Isha had even noticed her at all. Even then, it was difficult to see where exactly those eyes observed her from. She could guess, but that only reduced the possibilities to about half the planet, and that included all the space underneath the ground as well.

She admired the ingenuity of the Emperor's arcane defenses. It was as if the signal had been bounced between several thousand mirror mazes. Millions upon millions of consecutive psychic reflections and refractions made it near impossible to follow the trail of the original signal back to its source. Yet, it still allowed limited observation from inside the wards of what happened outside.

'Erda.' She thought to herself.

The woman was a Perpetual; a state of being far below her original station.

Many would think being immortal was a significant step-up for any human, but Erda was only as human as the Emperor was.

Neoth muttered some commands into his communicator to Lyssander as Isha observed the rest of Terra.

It was a planet ravaged by countless wars, atomics of all flavors, and Warp sorcery so vile that the stench still remained in the ashes of the dead. She wrinkled her nose as the ship passed over central Africa. She could see the teeming seas of bloat-flies from the memories she had taken from Neoth. Now, only obsidian glass remains of Xozer.

Xozer, once described as rebuilt Eden upon ruined Terra. Now, nothing was left.

Its histories were burned.

Its people were killed.

Its future and the last hope of Terra was gone.

"Found something interesting?" Neoth asked as he turned to her, having finished ordering Lyssander around.

"Your wards…" She said, substituting the object of her interest. "Did you attempt to copy the crystal labyrinths of the Raven lord when you constructed them?"

The topic of Xozer was a bitter one for the Emperor, and she would prefer him to be in a more positive mood when Erda arrived. She could tell what the other goddess was thinking. Both of them were maternal goddesses. It was not too hard to predict what the object of her attention would be. She too would have been quite intrigued if Eldanesh had returned all of a sudden with an alien deity willingly aboard his ship.

"Partially." Neoth nodded. "Tzeentch's labyrinths can only be exited the way they are entered. They too are daemons. The closest likeness I can come up with is a sponge or coral. Their reflective guts entrap wayward or curious souls with their own reflection, making them unable to tell whether they are the original or the image. But, the concepts of reflection and misdirection I found after dissecting a few were useful inspiration when making some of my wards. It is a poor imitation when compared to the original. Brute force could be used to solve it, within an astronomical timescale. Still, no daemon has managed to breach it so far."

"Do not sell yourself short. Even if it is a lesser copy, the adaptability of mankind is impressive."

'For a primitive race.'

Isha left the last part unsaid, but her thought process naturally ended the sentence like that. Afterall, the ingenuity of the Aeldari allowed them to misdirect and disguise without borrowing from Chaos, but now was not the time to boast.

Isha watched as some of the Emperor's ships re-entered the Warp on scouting missions and patrol routes around and within the Sol sector.

Mercury was of little importance. The Dark Age of Technology shields only protected a few former mining installations on the planet.

Venus was more problematic with its psyker covens of War Witches and their undying Litho-Gholems.

Terra required constant protection from the odd alien or daemonic intruder.

Mars had its Mechanicus that needed to be monitored.

Jupiter's moons were all inhabited by reptilian aliens of various make.

Saturn had a fully functioning space-travel capable empire that inhabited the rings which required monitoring.

Neptune's mutants were mostly trapped on the planet itself.

Uranus still had a couple of orbiting space colonies that had survived Old Night that also required patrols to keep in check.

Finally, the old Warp Gate at Pluto was the Emperor's secondary resupply point. The remains of various supply stations and the destroyed Warp Gate itself provided fuel and ammunition from their ancient stocks.

This was how the Emperor ensured his project upon Terra remained undisturbed by all others; human, alien, or daemon.

"You must have faced quite a bit of resistance when you decided not to use these ships or the God Machines for the conquest of Terra." Isha said as she watched the last ships meant to patrol other planets disappear into the Warp.

"Air and mechanical power give great control over a battlefield." Neoth nodded. "But they also give the enemy an excuse for why they lost. Powerful weapons may break the rank and file, but the truly determined see it as an excuse. 'If only we had similar arms, we would be victorious.' That ignorant idea that ignores the infrastructure and economics required to create such weapons foments terrorists and rebels." The Emperor's armored flips clenched, squeezing around an invisible throat. "Yet, as powerless as such groups are, many armies with the most modern equipment have been bled dry by guerilla fighters in tunnels or caves." Neoth finally sighed and relaxed his grip. "That is why I do not use these ships. My enemies must know they have been defeated. They must feel it in their heart of hearts, and their spirit must be utterly broken. Such a defeat cannot be brought with anonymous bombardments. Their destroyer must have a face they can see and fear." Neoth looked down at Terra where some of his gene-enhanced soldiers were wiping out the raiding party of some techno-barbarian tribe. "That is why it must be my Thunder Warriors and Space Marines who conquer Terra."

"And you wish to avoid damaging the Orbital Plates as well." Isha quipped, causing Neoth to shoot her a sour look. "Do not be so dour. I know everything you did at the moment of our exchange. If you want to surprise me it'll have to be with something new."

"The Orbital Plates are key for the final part of Unification." Neoth replied irritably, like a child who had his surprise party spoiled. "The Terrawatt Clans have been restoring the ones buried under the Nordyc snows and Afrik deserts. The plates that lay under Ursh and the Pan-Pacific Empire should also be under my control as well."

"Orbital bombardments would damage these irreplaceable constructs." Isha noted as her eyes pierced sand, snow, and rock. Terrawatt Clan miners burrowed towards them with the techniques they learned burying themselves under the Ural mountains. "With Terra's surface so battered, the only place to increase the population would be on these plates."

"It will be more hospitable to humanity there. And I will need more Imperial citizens to complete my plans."

Isha closed her eyes. Her brow furrowed. She knew of the original plan of the Emperor, and the Great Crusade it included. What he needed were people, more specifically children. His Space Marine armies were predicated on a steady supply of initiates. The conversion process was brutal and an excess stock was necessary.

"Are they only materials to you, Neoth?" She asked, referring specifically only to the people on this planet. She could feel an animosity directed towards those upon Terra in his voice. There was a bitter disgust and resentment in his voice when he spoke about the humans upon Terra.

"They are sinners in a hell of their own making." Neoth snorted. "The oldest Mericans harvest the organs of their own young to replace their failing body parts. The Albians ensure their control through the enforcement of their class systems, endlessly pumping hate downwards onto the downtrodden and powerless. The Achaemenid Empire's greed knows no end, and the Yndonesic Bloc's arrogance grows by the second." He glanced down at the planet below them through the floor. "Each of these predated the Imperium, and their horrid nature is something they take cultural pride in. And then there was Xozer." He turned his eyes towards Isha. "I watched your Warp sight travel over its ruins. You know everything I know. After seeing their memories, do you think they deserve any better?"

Isha looked down at the blackened ruins surrounded by glass. Memories of daemons inhabiting human flesh and mechanical monstrosities flashed before her on a battlefield where dirty atomics were thrown like hand grenades to ruin the genetics of all who lived there.

"I cannot speak to what they do and do not deserve." She said quietly. "But, as a fellow maternal goddess, I can tell you that such a distinction is meaningless to us. A child is a child. Even if we cannot do anything for them, we weep for them."

The goddess turned towards Neoth, silvery eyes reflecting him in his entirety.

"If you accuse humanity of abusing the earth that spawned them, then you too must bear their burden. You, out of all her children, have killed the most of them."

Neoth rose, towering over Isha for a moment. He opened his mouth to shout and rage. The accusatory question asking her what or how she could even know or imagine what he had been through died in his throat.

Isha knew everything he knew and she had watched her own mortal children destroy their empire, their afterlife, their future, and their gods. There was no other person in this galaxy who knew what he had been through better.

An awkward silence hung between them as Neoth struggled to come up with a rational set of reasons to rage at Isha. Otherwise, it would be a simple tantrum.

"Apologies." Isha finally said after watching Neoth's teeth grind together for a few minutes. "It is not my place to intrude into the familial matters of others." She bowed her head in apology as she spoke. "Your history with Erda is your own. All I can say is that she probably still wishes to speak to you. I would if Eldanesh returned to me."

There was a tinge of sadness in her voice. Eldanesh had died long ago at her father's hand. There was no way for her to reunite with her son.

"She is busy with my other project." Neoth muttered. "She will not leave them."

Neoth's communicator suddenly beeped. He glanced at Isha before answering it.

"My Lord…" Captain Velor's rang from the other end nervously. "The shuttle The Emperor's Grip is currently on approach and requesting docking permissions."

Neoth shot Isha another look, only to see her chest puffed out proudly with her hands on her hips.

"Granted." He replied. "Tell her to await my arrival in the docking hangar. Suspend all disembarkment traditions. I wish for some privacy."

"As you wish my Lord." Velor answered.

Neoth turned off the communicator as he shot Isha another look.

"Did you talk with her?" He said, referring to the occupant of the shuttle. Only two were allowed aboard her; Erda and one of the surviving proto-types of the Space Marines LE-2.

"We exchanged looks." Isha shrugged. "But, before that, we are both maternal gods. Even if she is a product of the wild, our core concepts don't differ that much."

Neoth let out a long sigh. Erda, as her name suggested, was synonymous with the homeplanet of humanity. Thus, she shared the same role within the human psyche Isha did for the Aeldari. Therefore, according to Isha, they were capable of understanding each other and predicting the other's actions. However, although birds of a feather could be said to flock together, there was also the saying that it was only opposites that attracted each other.

"I'm going to guess that doesn't mean you can play nice with her?" Neoth asked in a tired tone.

"Of course not." The goddess replied as she crossed her arms. "She and I fill the same niche for different species. That alone gives us reason to kill each other, although I won't start the hostilities."

'Oh really?' Neoth thought to himself. Isha was an aggressive character and wild as nature. Her proud personality also tended to have her fight back against perceived injustice rather than bow her head.

On top of that, she spoke of evolutionary niches here. As the Goddess of Life, following that logic, two species competing for the same or similar niche were bound to come into conflict. If that was the case, Erda and Isha were fated to fight each other.

"That would be problematic." He muttered, rubbing his temples as he did so.

"Oh, worried for my safety?" Isha snorted.

"We've gotten this far without killing each other. I'd like to see our cooperation actually bear fruit." Neoth sighed. It would be poor comedy for everything to end the moment they got to Terra. "I'll keep Erda away from you. That way there will be no conflict."

"That's not a good idea." Isha replied with narrowed eyes. "Better to let these things run their course. Much like males often have to threaten and fight each other to establish the bounds of their territory, females have to establish their own pecking order. The longer you delay it, the worse the fallout will get."

"What are you, a chicken?" Neoth sighed. "Is the mother of the Aeldari incapable of acting above her instincts?"

"It's a metaphor!" Isha shouted back irritably. "We are beings of thoughts and emotions. It is natural for us to be passionate and irrational at times. This process is one found in all social animals, and a core part of the evolution of advanced civilizations and societal structures. It would be negligent as the mother of the Aeldari and the Goddess of Life to avoid this engagement. Besides, you're one to talk. You've attained control and political power for the Imperium in pretty much the same manner."

Neoth winced at that. Most of the Imperium was held together by the fear of its military might. That was true for most empires, so it wasn't unnatural or shameful. However, it did mean he didn't have the moral high ground to talk down to Isha. He was the Master of Mankind, and he had gotten there by kicking all others out of his way, just like a king cockerel would have done.

But, humanity didn't need to win the moral argument to get what it wanted.

The air filled with the sound of chains as golden links of metal appeared around the Emperor. These were not made of the simple metals from the previous two bit skit, but the golden bindings that he had used to ensnare Isha when they first met.

"What are you doing?" Isha said as she took a step back.

"Wrapping you in chains." The Emperor shrugged. "I don't have time to deal with either of your hysterics, so I'm just going to pick the victor and get on with things."

Translation: This is a hassle, so I'm going to make you lose to get things over with. He was not looking forward to watching another divine debate or whatever it was Isha was preparing to engage Erda in.

Besides, if Isha wasn't going to be reasonable, he wasn't going to be either.

"Oh no you won't." Isha huffed. "I'm about to meet another maternal goddess. As the mother of the Aeldari I will not be shamed by showing up in some ridiculous fashion before the mother of humanity."

"What are you even talking about?" Neoth sighed. "The Aeldari aren't even here."

"It's symbolic! I am about to meet my equivalent for your people. That means I cannot afford to lose face for my children. Even if they are not represented here, I must not back down from her no matter what."

"Is that so?" He sighed, and the chains began to fade.

"It is." Isha replied, giving her own sigh of relief. "If you've understood that then shoo away all your soldiers and crewmen. I must meet her in my best condition. Our meeting may tear the minds of mortals usun- Hey!" She was interrupted mid-speech as the Emperor's arms wrapped around her from behind in an unceremonious bear hug. "Unhand me you oversized golden gorilla!" She kicked out at him as he lifted her off the floor. Her limbs didn't hit with her full strength, slapping against his armored thighs as if her feet were made of normal skin and bone.

"Be quiet." He snorted as she struggled in his grip. Meanwhile golden chains began wrapping around her. "I'm not letting you run amok after bluffing my way through everything to get here. Now stop struggling! You're going to end up in a ball of chains at this rate."

Despite not using her full strength, Isha's thrashing meant the chains were wrapping around her erratically, forming a disorganized clump instead of an ordered cocoon.

"No! No! No!" Isha said as she continued to struggle. Both her legs were already bundled up like the world's worst mummy. "I will not be humiliated in front of a deity of the same type as me! Now let me go!"

"If you can't promise to play nice, you leave me no choice." He snorted. "I can live with hurting your feelings and pride, but you are not fighting Erda."

There was a few more minutes of cursing and thrashing from Isha, accompanied with the clanking of chains as Neoth continued to bind her. Finally, after half her body had disappeared under a mass of chains, she dropped limp in his arms like a resigned cat.

"Fine." She muttered bitterly. "I am at a disadvantage here regardless. A mother is strongest when she is with her children. Plus, she literally has the homeground advantage."

"Oh?" Neoth replied, not relinquishing his grip for a second. He had a nasty feeling the moment he did she'd drop the facade and run away from him, possibly through a wall if she was angry enough. "I thought you were supposed to be the executioner of worlds."

Isha was supposed to be an Exterminatus weapon meant to be deployed against planets. Due to that nature, she should be superior to any deity associated with a planet. It would make little sense if the executioner could be overwhelmed by the one who was supposed to be executed.

"Besides the fact that doing so would make me your mortal enemy…" She grumbled. "Her real body is Terra. She is synonymous with it, and therefore her dominion over it exceeds mine until my miracle is activated. The winds here won't be as obedient to my commands unlike the ones on the dead planet where our battle took place." She sighed again. "With that many disadvantages, there is no eventuality where I would fight her, especially in my current state. At worst all we'll have is an argument."

"Really? That's awfully humble of you." He was half-expecting her to boast about her former power, or complain about being in this depleted state. Instead, she acknowledged that Erda's authority over Terra exceeded hers.

"Erda was a goddess from before you were born. As the mother of humanity, she must predate all of it. She is a wild deity formed from the converging beliefs the neoteny of humanity created on its evolutionary journey towards adaptive intelligence and abstract thinking. From the moment of her formation she has had legends and dreams added on to her as the maternal figure that all humans have wished to care for them, even in their adult life or old age." She turned her head to look at Neoth over her shoulder, shooting him a dirty look while she was at it. "By her very nature, she is infinitely more knowledgeable about what it means to be a god, unlike you who tries his best to circumvent the fact while reaping all the benefits."

Translation: She'll be easier to talk to than you, blockhead.

Isha suddenly let out a grunt. "The chains got a bit tighter."

"Did they?" Neoth replied with a wide smile. "Sorry, my concentration must have slipped."

"You petty primitive pompous pedantic peevish pessimistic pinhead!" She shouted back, returning to struggling and thrashing. "Was being told the truth that hard to hear!"

"My apologies." He shrugged. "But as a petty primitive pompous pedantic peevish pessimistic pinhead, I also have no reason to be ashamed for acting like one."

To tell the truth, Isha's words annoyed him a little. But, if she was going to keep calling him a primitive he might as well act like one. Besides, trying to out-talk an Aeldari was a fool's errand, especially when the facts were on her side. However, that didn't mean he had to take it lying down. After all, he was a tyrant.

Anyways, Isha wasn't struggling against him with her full strength, so she wasn't 'that' angry. This goddess had caused him enough headaches already. He was allowed a little revenge.

Suddenly, he sensed a familiar presence approaching the Astropathic choir. Faint scents of desert winds and incense wood wafted through the air. Apparently Erda had ignored the message he sent via Velor, and was approaching them.

"Hey, stop struggling." He ordered Isha, but she simply struggled even harder.

"Unhand me first! She's almost here!"

"And that's why I'm telling you to stop making a bigger mess than this needs to be!"

"This is my self respect as a goddess that's on the line!"

"What sort of goddess has a damn tantrum over this!"

"Just let me go!"

"You stubborn woman! If you keep this up I'm going to suplex you through the damn floor!"

"Just try it! My skull's far tougher than yours!"

"Alright then! I'll suplex you into the floor, then send thousands of photos of the scene into the Webway!"

"What?!" Isha stopped for a moment and Neoth grinned.

"You didn't want your children to see you in a ridiculous state back on that planet, did you? Imagine what they'll think if the first image they see of their mother is her stuck in the ground upside down?"

"You! You!!!" The goddess sputtered, ears twitching, cheeks reddening. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Won't I?! Because that seems to be the only thing you care about!"

"Tyrant! Control freak! Bully!" She started thrashing against him with more strength than before causing him to stumble forwards. Yet, he was still able to hold onto her, if only barely.

"Yes, I am all those things. Now, do we do this with your divine reputation intact, or will the Aeldari have to update their mental image of what their mother is like?"

It was at this moment the doors to the Astropathic Choir opened, and both of them froze as a woman in a brown hooded cloak of Arabian descent walked into the room with a fully armored Space Marine behind her.

There was a rather long pause interrupted only by the Custodes closing the massive doors of the Astropathic Choir with a loud bang.

"Could you explain to me what's happening here, Neoth?" Erda asked with a raised eyebrow. A gargantuan sigh exited his mouth as another headache started to brew. Meanwhile Isha resumed her attempts to break free from his grip.

—-------------------------------------------------

"Well, it is good to see you restored to your former self, although you may have gone back a bit too close to your roots. Have you resumed your tradition of ravishing women Gilgamesh?" Erda covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed quietly.

"Please tell me you're joking." Neoth grumbled, rubbing his temples as he did so.

The four of them were standing or sitting around a small clay table Erda had conjured up. Isha and Erda were sitting at it; the Aeldari goddess perched on a Wraithbone stool while the mother of humanity sat upon a wicker chair. The Emperor and Space Marine were standing a little further away. The table was only human sized. So, although it barely fit Isha, the two oversized men were unable to sit down at it. He had finished recanting what had happened after meeting Isha, and why he was able to return earlier than scheduled.

Neoth felt someone watching him across the table and looked up to see LE-2 looking at him through his visor. Even though he couldn't see the Space Marines eyes, he felt a judgemental stare coming from beneath the optics within the helmet. He returned it with an annoyed glare, and the Space Marine silently turned away.

"Neoth, stop being so childish." Erda admonished him with a sigh as she lowered her hand. "Leetu, I was joking with your father. Do not show disrespect towards him." She turned her eyes back onto Neoth with a faint smile. "I'm just happy to be able to talk to you again. It was pretty much impossible before." She looked downwards as she spoke the last sentence, tone dropping sadly with her gaze.

"There were a lot of things on the line." Neoth replied. "We… I couldn't afford to stop."

"I know." Erda replied. "You were the only one who could act, using your little loophole. As one of the many who could only stand back and watch, I have no right to accuse you of anything."

There was a short silence between the two of them. A long colored history was shared between the two. Many harsh words and fights had erupted between them. The last ten thousand years of their relationship had entered a long period of stagnation while the Emperor rushed forwards with his definition of salvation for all mankind.

"Erda…" Neoth opened his mouth, but a hand rose to quiet him.

"It's alright. I forgive you, Neoth." She said sadly. "I have never made a judgment regarding your actions. All I can do is mourn what is lost." Her face looked up towards him again, flashing him a small smile. "But, from now on, I would appreciate it if you could try dialogue once again before charging into things. I was actually proud of what you managed to do with the Tripartite alliance and Albia."

"Those were only temporary agreements on the path to unification." Neoth snorted. "Nothing will be left of the old order once my conquest of Terra is complete."

"Even then, any outcome that reduces the number of human deaths brings warmth to my heart. You are all my children, after all." Erda looked down through the floor at the planet below them. "Terra's hope died with Xozer. But, that doesn't mean humanity as a whole is doomed."

Neoth's fists clenched at the mention of Xozer, then relaxed as he shook his head slightly and looked upwards instead.

"Do you still love all those who abandoned you and Terra?"

Terra was a depleted planet. All the resources she once held had been taken by the colonists and used to set up their lives on many different worlds. Now, Terra was just a legend in their patchwork histories after Old Night. Depending on perception, the people on those faraway planets were the descendents of the thieves who stole all of Terra's worth.

"To ask me not to would be to destroy what I am." Erda said sadly. "I was brought into existence by the first humans' want for comfort. My love is indiscriminate as the land that fed them and the air they breathed." A tired chuckle exited her mouth. "Even after they sullied both with radiation and pollution, that fact has not changed." Her eyes turned towards Neoth at this. "You too have gotten closer to that mindset. I can feel it within you. Hero and villain now run upon the same burning wheel that paves the path forward for humanity." Erda turned her brown eyes to the frowning Aeldari goddess sitting opposite to her. "I suppose I have you to thank for that, alien goddess?"

"Keep your thanks." Isha snorted. "I merely did what I had to do for the survival of my children and myself." The Aeldari goddess's eyes locked with Erda's. "To be honest, I have quite a number of complaints against you. Even if you are a wild god, wasn't there something you could do about his manners?"

Erda blinked in surprise for a moment, then laughed.

"You have my apologies for that." She said with a shrug. "Although he is my son, as a goddess born from all humanity, I could only do the bare minimum to raise him. By the time he could converse with us, he was too old to listen." Erda stood up and walked over towards Neoth, rubbing a hand over his armored chest. "You should know how much of a handful he and the rest of humanity is."

"No child is easy to raise." Isha retorted irritably. The Aeldari had been problematic in their own way to her, even before the fall. If she had to pick a particular example out of the many irritating events, the worst was probably the Aeldari civil war.

"True, I guess the species doesn't matter." Erda shrugged, turning back towards Isha. "Children fall before their mothers and skin their knees on the dirt. We can only hope that their self-inflicted wounds do not get infected and rot."

Isha's eyes narrowed at the hidden barbs of Erda's words.

'You and I are equally flawed. We both failed our children, and they failed us through their own folly. Therefore, you have fallen down to my level. The level of a primitive wild god who was neither designed nor empowered by the Old Ones.'

"So, you speak to me about motherhood." Isha growled.

"Although many times younger than you, I am far more experienced in watching my children fail." Erda shrugged. "At those times, it is better to abandon your expectations and pride. Acceptance is the only thing that can heal their wounds."

"Do not lecture me about acceptance." Isha snorted. "My children are all equal in my eyes."

"Is that so? Then you have my apologies for providing unneeded advice."

"Apologies for this. Apologies for that." The Aeldari goddess sighed. "Do you even feel responsible for what has happened?"

"Only as much as a wild deity can. There's not much I can actually do, unlike your kind." Erda shot back with a smile. "What about you? Can you take responsibility for the blood your children have taken from mine?"

"To kill and be killed are part of the cycle of life." The Goddess of Life shrugged. "Although I do not agree with the outcome, both of our children act as barbarically as nature demands."

"In other words it is their fate to act like that, and it is our fate to suffer their actions."

Neoth felt a drop of figurative sweat drip down his brow. When Isha had said she and Erda would come into conflict, he had imagined something a little more direct. Instead, the two goddesses were metaphorically giving each other gut punches with words. Isha was more obviously angry, but he could feel Erda's rage radiating from behind her smile like the desert sun. Yet, there was no hint from either that they would engage in physical violence. Instead, the passive aggressiveness in the room continued to rise until it felt suffocating.

"Erda…" He interrupted. "Isha has agreed to assist me with uniting humanity and recovering our standing as a space faring species. She is a proud disagreeable alien, but I still intend to…"

'work with her.' Those were the words that were supposed to come next, but they stopped as Erda turned her eyes on him.

Confusion. Worry. Sadness. Anger.

Several emotions seemed to flit within her brown gaze which quickly approached him as she reached for his face with both hands.

"What are you…?" He managed to say before she cupped his cheeks and began to inspect him, like a mother checking behind her child's ears for unwashed dirt.

Finally, she released him. Her figure blurred, switching between three different ages.

"How much have you changed him?" Her voice spoke with three tones. One young and girlish. One ripe and feminine. One cracked and old.

"I only exchanged the sum total of his existence with an equivalent sized chunk of mine." Isha shrugged.

Erda turned towards her, form still blurring. The young girl turned first, followed by a mature woman, then an old hag.

"He is my child." Three voices spoke again, and there was the crackle of electricity as sparks flew between her fingers.

"He still is." Isha snorted as she narrowed her eyes. "Is your definition of humanity so narrow that you no longer define him as your own?"

The clay table cracked then turned to dust as Erda approached Isha.

"Humanity is mine, alien." All three voices spoke the same words with different tones. The young girl spat the words with visible anger. The mature woman warned her firmly but quietly, while the old hag growled bitterly. "Keep your hands off of my children. Their lives and fates are their own."

"I have no interest in any part of them besides the danger they represent to my children." Isha snorted.

Erda leaned over Isha, staring down into her silvery eyes as Isha returned the glare in turn.

"Keep your word." She said with only one voice this time. "My children are not you or your ilk's playthings."

Neoth watched the two of them glaring at each other as wisps of black smoke rose from the footprints left behind by Erda on the floor. The mother of mankind was synonymous with Terra, and the planetary body she shared a name with was a ruined radioactive wasteland. The bitterness of an entire planet and its destroyed ecosystems was radiating from her corporeal form, eroding and degrading everything around her.

"You truly are ugly." Isha said softly as she stared into Erda's eyes.

A soft snort came from the brown-eyed woman as she drew away from the Aeldari goddess's silver eyes. The black smoke disappeared as the table reformed.

"I am as resilient as my children." She shrugged. "It would be odd if my true form looked like what stands before you, especially after all they did to me."

"Past, present, future. History, the people that make it, and their hope. All reduced to dust and ashes. Yet, you persevere." Isha closed her eyes, as if looking at Erda was physically painful. "It's like watching the worst burn victim imaginable kept alive only by machinery and obsession."

"Yet, I still love them." Erda said as she returned to her chair. "Of all the sentient beings in the galaxy, you should understand how I feel."

"I do." Isha acknowledged. "Hence, I have to hate you."

"Like staring into a mirror, isn't it?" Erda laughed, hiding her mouth with her hand again. "Neoth, I give my permission for your new friend to tread upon Terra." She said mirthfully. "It would be troublesome keeping her up here when you intend to work with her."

Neoth raised an eyebrow. He couldn't discern at what point Isha and Erda had buried the hatchet. If anything, he had expected a fight to erupt and had been standing on edge to intervene. However, he was most surprised by Erda's last statement.

"I was unaware I needed permission."

"You've never cared about it or asked for it before." Erda sighed. "Neither has its revocation impeded you. I cannot do anything to stop you, after all. But, this time you have my permission, as meaningless as it is."

"Take it Neoth." Isha said, voice amused. "The spirit of Terra herself gives you her support in this action. The fate of humanity is intertwined with her very essence. Even if it doesn't seem useful, you may find her charity more helpful than harmful. Think of it like a good luck charm. Better to have it than not."

"Indeed." Erda nodded. "Although a feature of his birth, he often thinks of things through a mortal perspective. The word of a deity means something even if it does nothing. Thus, a deity's word should always be kept. Yet, he lies and cheats all the time."

"The importance of things without form is always hard to measure." Isha sighed. "But, it is precisely because it is immeasurable that it should not be underestimated. A truly careful person always ensures to take that into account."

"Being prepared and being careful are not the same thing, unfortunately." Erda grumbled. "He is always the former and never the latter. The number of times I've asked him to take less risk…"

Neoth felt a frown carving itself into his brow. A few moments before, and he could have sworn they were mortal enemies. Now, they were happily airing their grievances about him to his face.

However, in his current state of mind, he could see that they had a point. His plans may have been complex, but there was very little room for error or empathy. They were made to go from point to point in the shortest time possible with no care for the emotional state or physical condition of those involved.

As the God of Heroes, his voice was usually enough to rally any human to his cause. Whatever depression or malaise they may be feeling would be wiped out by his presence, leaving only the burning desire to enter the legend of humanity. It wouldn't matter if they were missing all their limbs and vital organs. If he called, they would come to serve him, even if it meant they had to crawl like maggots to get there.

The price for following his voice was their free-will and self-determination, as well as any physical injuries sustained along the way. That was the only reason he did not speak in that manner often.

But, there were times where even that was a small price to pay. Old Night had not been kind to him or humanity. The battle with the Omnissiah left no room for error. He did not regret what he did, or what he forced others to do during that time.

Still, at this point in time, he might be able to afford a change of pace.

"You are both right." He said, and both of the women turned to look at him. "I have been too hasty in the past and I must apologize, especially to you Erda. From now on, I will discuss things with you. In return, I ask for your council. I have long been out of practice in working with equals."

Admission of guilt, apology, and a future plan of remedial action. The three steps necessary to repairing broken trust.

However, instead of the positive reaction he expected, both women fixed with him a deadpan stare then sighed.

"My condolences, I can only imagine the hardship you've been through." Isha said to Erda.

"It's always like this." Erda said as she massaged her temples. "He speaks of cooperation and unity first, but every time things don't go his way he abandons all compromise and debate."

"Then again, it's not entirely his fault he is the way he is. All heroes are charismatic to some degree." Isha crossed her arms and huffed. "That means they often get their own way in the end. They might be good at using people and bringing the best out of them, but that's not an equal relationship based on cooperation. Theirs is the relationship between the main-character and the sub-character of a story."

'Did… Did the situation just get worse?' Neoth thought to himself. The two before him seemed to be even more united against him than before. He looked inside himself to all the other heroes who reached him to find a way out of this situation. However, almost all of the female heroes with a spattering of male ones were face palming or shaking their heads.

'Joan!' Neoth called inside himself.

'Moi?' The ancient French hero replied.

'Explain the situation to me.'

'Pourquoi moi? Why me?'

'As a member of the fairer sex, I want your perspective on the situation.'

'Quoi?! You're asking me? I became a hero by abandoning my femininity.'

'It can't be helped. All the others are either sighing like those two or shaking their heads. It's obvious they agree with them. I'm already hemmed in on two sides. I don't need a third front coming from within me.'

'Je vois… I see… Fine. I'll try my best, but I'm just a woman; not an expert on psychology.'

'At this moment, that is probably the person I need information from the most.'

The brunette gave a massive sigh at that.

'Merde! It's comments like that which get us into trouble.'

'What?'

'It's sexist to expect any woman to understand what any other woman is thinking. You should have realized that by now. We can be either man or woman at any time, but you're still confused.'

'Just because I can become a woman doesn't mean my personality or priorities change. You know that as well as I do.'

'Putain.' Joan swore. 'In short, your apology is too little too late. Especially when it comes to Madame Erda.'

'Too little too late?'

'Think back to everything that's happened between you two. There's been more than one time that she's asked you to stop for a moment and talk things over.'

'...'

There were several times Neoth could remember off the top of his head. Most of their conversations over the last 10,000 years had been pretty much that.

'Saying you'll follow Erda's advice now seems like a cheap excuse to get out of your current situation. Even if you were partially sincere about it.'

'...'

Again, part of him had said that because it had begun to feel a little stifling figuratively trapped between those two. He had meant it, but that wasn't the only reason he said it.

'Is there a way out of this?'

'Non. There is none.'

'Joan…'

'I don't want to listen to them anymore than you do. We are the same person after all. Merde!' The French woman cursed again then sighed. 'But, at this moment the only thing you can do is listen to them vent. She has a lot of complaints and grievances pent up over the years.'

'And how long is that going to last?'

'As long as LE-2 can take it.' Joan shrugged. 'He's the innocent bystander here, so Erda will probably stop when her son can't take it anymore. It shouldn't be much longer. His eyes are already glazing over.'

Neoth returned from his little mental conference to see LE-2 starting to lean to one side. The perfect posture he had when he entered the room was slipping.

The two women before him were psychic beings of immense power. Their little passive aggressive power play followed by their threats, and now this complaint conference was sending ripples throughout the local immaterium. Thankfully, the effects were contained within the Astropathic Choir, but that simply meant that LE-2 was exposed to a more concentrated dose. He was being filled with an immense sense of exhaustion, as if he was being exposed to hours upon hours of parental nagging. He had been trying to do his best to stand upright, but it seemed he was reaching the limits of his mental fortifications.

Neoth himself was unaffected by this, protected by his immaterial hating touch.

For a moment, he felt a slight tinge of pity for his creation. He was getting depressed by just the words uttered by Isha and Erda. LE-2 was experiencing both the words, and the emotional intentions associated with them. He began to reach out with his essence to fortify and shield the Space Marine from the psychic effects of the two beings before him, then stopped.

Joan had said Erda would probably stop when LE-2 couldn't take it any more. Therefore, to reinforce LE-2 would mean to prolong the mental siege Erda and Isha had engaged upon him.

Slowly, he pulled himself back.

'It'll end faster this way for the both of us.' He said to LE-2 silently.

"See? Scheming as always." Erda huffed.

"Did you really think we wouldn't notice that?" Isha sighed.

"..." Neoth remained quiet. Joan had said that the two were just venting. If that was the case, remaining silent was the best way to prevent putting his foot in his mouth any further.

"He probably asked Joan for help." Erda said, shaking her head. "Poor girl. All heroes end up going to him. That's why none of us got a champion to act in our stead."

"A tyrant in life and afterlife." Isha shrugged. "I guess his nature and divinity might have changed, but not his personality."

"..."

Erda and Isha's venting lasted until LE-2 was almost unconscious. At that moment, Neoth wasn't sure whether he pitied or envied his creation.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Thank you Naranka and Skyborne for reading the section about Malcador's past proposals.

---

"Leetu. Leetu! Wake up now." Neoth watched glumly as Erda knocked against the Space Marine's helmet. Her knuckles made a loud clanking noise when they rapped against the beaked helm.

The Space Marine in question was swaying groggily from side to side, a side effect of being exposed to the aftershock of almost an hour's worth of divine nagging.

"Poor boy." She tutted. "Neoth, can't you apply that psychic warding you gave to the soldiers you sent to fight the Cognoscynths?"

"I wouldn't suggest it." He muttered. "The anti-psyker warding I applied to them dulled their senses to the unnatural. On top of making them more oblivious to things from the immaterium, LE-2 might no longer see you as before."

"He will recognize me." Erda said as she patted the side of the Space Marine's helm. "Even if he doesn't, it won't matter. All my children outgrow me eventually."

Neoth remained silent at that. LE-2 was just a prototype to him. He was pretty much the standard for all of those who would come after him, making him unremarkable amongst his future peers. The one thing that made him special was his attachment to Erda. He would never betray his own mother, and that loyalty made him a useful bodyguard and manservant for her. If he removed that loyalty by accident, the one thing that made LE-2 special would disappear.

Erda may be able to accept that. He could not.

"LE-2's only worth is his attachment to you. You need a guard at all times."

"Oh, you are such a worrywart." Erda huffed.

"Should I help?" Isha spoke as she walked up to the Space Marine.

"It depends on what you will do." Erda said as she knocked on LE-2's helmet again.

"Nothing much, besides activate his fight or flight response." The long-eared goddess poked the Space Marines right pauldron. "A boost of adrenaline should awaken him. He is a soldier. He wouldn't end up like this if he had his war mask on. If he can be reminded of what it means to survive, he should be able to shake this off."

"That would be a bit much." Erda sighed. "I would rather splash him with a bucket of cold water, or use some smelling salts."

"Both would require removing his helmet." Isha's ears flicked with irritation.

"And that can only be done by Leetu." Erda said as she pulled back her hand and began tapping her chin thoughtfully.

"Then how about this?" Isha stopped prodding the Space Marine and reached for Erda's shoulder.

Immediately the Space Marine shoved himself between Erda and Isha then raised his bolter, finger on the trigger, only to stop when Erda's hand covered the barrel.

"I always imagined the Aeldari to be more elegant." She huffed.

"He clearly views you as his mother." Isha shrugged. "Even at his worst, he would prioritize your protection and honor over everything else."

"Even so, using faux blackmail to wake him was unkind."

"It was the only non-violent way to wake him quickly. Why wait when it's obvious there is no other path?"

"I see." Erda sighed. "You and Neoth might be more agreeable than I thought."

Isha shrugged at the accusation. "If we weren't I wouldn't have decided to work with him."

Erda chuckled at that while LE-2 calmed down. His bolter lowered as he shook his head. The grogginess hadn't fully been dispelled, but he was at least aware of his surroundings.

"Neoth." Erda said as she turned to her other son. "Where were you planning to take your new partner after this?"

"To Khangba Marwu." Neoth answered.

"The Imperial dungeons?" Erda asked back with a raised eyebrow.

"It is close to the Imperial Palace, isolated, and gives me an excuse to see her." Neoth replied, listing off his reasons. "There are still a few of Narthan Dume's lieutenants there who I could be questioning, as well as other artifacts from Old Night that might provide cover for my presence there."

"She is to be my guest upon Terra. I will not have my hospitality sullied." Erda paused for a moment in thought. "We shall take her to the Sanctum Imperialis."

"Like this?" Neoth gestured to the obviously alien goddess before them. Besides her appearance, her nature meant any mortal who saw her would be heavily affected by the psychic emanations that came from her.

"You can change your size and form, can't you?" Erda asked as she turned towards Isha.

"For the sake of deception, then yes." Isha replied.

"Then I have a plan. We will go to the Imperial Palace aboard my shuttle. There you will follow me as a handmaiden, temporarily." She flashed a small smile towards the other goddess. Although minor, this ruse was an expression of dominance. A handmaiden was subservient to her mistress. Thus, symbolically Isha would be at Erda's mercy.

"Fine." Isha nodded as she returned the smile. "As a guest upon your body, I suppose I can pretend to be your servant."

Tacit agreement was provided to the arrangement. As the guest, Isha would agree to follow Erda's house rules. So long as Erda was hospitable, she would feign obedience to the maternal goddess of humanity.

"It's only a ruse until Malcador and the others are informed." Erda chuckled, accepting and providing a time limit to their agreement. "I wouldn't want to have you tailing me every moment like an actual handmaiden."

"Good." Isha nodded, then turned towards Neoth. "See? This is what hospitality looks like."

"What sort of hospitality did you expect me to extend after mind-wiping an entire planet?" He grumbled back.

The catatonic Xenobiologis would have to be unloaded from the Bucephelus and smuggled back to the Imperial Palace over the course of a couple days. Other arrangements were being made for the rest of the materials he had stolen or scavenged.

But, there was another reason for his mention of them. It seemed Erda and Isha had formed some sort of bizarre rapport with each other, and he didn't like it. Hopefully the mention of what Isha had done would put a wedge between them, but Erda merely shrugged in response.

"They are still alive." Isha huffed. "Just cursed with knowledge."

"Although unfortunate, that is the fate of any mortal who attempts to tamper with a deity." Erda sighed. "At the very least, they were able to satisfy their curiosity before losing their personality."

Neoth turned away, rubbing his temples as he did so. "I don't understand your definition of love."

It certainly wasn't the same as a normal human's.

"I am Terra. Storms, earthquakes, and all other natural disasters came from my body and rained down upon my own children. Those disasters may have come regardless of what I wanted, but it is because of that I can accept the death of the individual." She put a hand on the table, and the clay turned to dust as did the interwoven plant fibers of her chair. "To be mortal is to die. Humanity has always overcome this by leaving behind a legacy, and passing along hope to the next generation." She turned and gestured with her head towards Isha. "I may not devour my children like her, but simple death is not cause for mourning."

Neoth sighed. He had had this conversation with Erda before, and this was usually where it ended. Death was the end of the story. After that, it was either apotheosis, damnation, or dispersion into the immaterium that awaited the soul.

Until now, he would denounce her and say that gods truly didn't understand mortals before storming away.

Today, he continued the conversation.

"So, it is only meaningless death that you mourn over?" He asked.

Erda blinked in surprise for a moment, then smiled.

"It is absolute death that I abhor." She said quietly. "When there is nothing left to pass on to the future, that is when I mourn my children."

Neoth remained silent at that. Erda was a naturally spawned goddess. Her name had two roots. One was for the ancient term for Earth. The other was from Urðr, or the eldest of the trio of Norns; the three women who decided the fate of all mankind.

The Norns didn't exist, but the concept of a being that watched over all humanity existed. This was what Erda was. A wild deity created by the first humans who could consider abstract concepts.

She was the answer to their question for where all humanity came from, and her existence grew as humanity grew more complex. At first, she was simply the concept of Mother Earth. A loving bountiful being who was both kind and cruel.

As the first humans gained the ability to think and plan for things far in the future, their realization of certain patterns in nature added on the idea that there was a preset path for all things. Hence, she became associated with the fate of past, present, and future.

After those concepts were envisioned to be part of her, the first group of primates that would become mankind separated out into different tribes. These offshoots eventually made towns and cities, creating new cultures from the same old sources. Thus, she remained in the psyche of humanity even when they came up with new names for her. Even when humanity began to subdivide various functions of her into different idols, she remained intact.

Gaia. Terra. Erda. Inari Ōkami. Jörð. Moirai. Norns.

No matter how many times humanity changed her name, she remained mostly as she was first envisioned and absorbed all the thoughts and beliefs that fell into the original mould that was made when humanity was unified.

This is how all wild gods form. They are born when the first group of sentient species envision them. Then, as that group breaks apart and divides, they remain as proof of a once unified people. After that, they take in bits and pieces of the new myths and legends that are closest to them, growing but remaining the same. Yet, they are also powerless as the divided minds that spawned them pull them in every direction at once.

"Enough philosophy." Erda's voice interrupted Neoth's musings. "Now, let me explain my plan for getting Isha off this ship and to the Imperial Palace." She pointed at Neoth. "First, Neoth will inform Velor about our disembarkment. Then, we will all exit the Astropathic Choir. Neoth will be carrying a bundle of chains to pretend he's carrying the 'terraforming device' off the ship, and I will carry the shrunk down Isha under my cloak. Once we get to my shuttle, Isha can return to her original size and disguise herself as a human. That way we can pretend that the weapon has been removed from the ship, and provide an explanation for why another person has joined us."

"I'm fine with that plan." Isha nodded.

Neoth was fine with the plan as well, but before that he had a complaint to make.

"If you could shrink, why didn't you do that before?" He grumbled. If she could shrink herself down small enough, he could have simply shoved her under his chest plate. It would have been far easier to pretend he had just destroyed her and smuggle her onboard in his armor.

"Besides being terribly uncomfortable." Isha replied, nose wrinkling. "Surface area to volume ratio would be the biggest problem. The smaller one is, the less volume one has compared to their exposed skin. Being in your presence is painful. Making myself smaller means your essence can penetrate further into my being. Being Aeldari sized is the bare minimum if I want to stand near you. Erda doesn't have that same immaterial hating touch you have, so I can shrink myself down near her if necessary. Although, it is demeaning."

Neoth snorted at that. Although her explanation sounded logical, he also remembered Isha could express his Truth on her skin. Therefore, she should be able to reflect his immaterial hating touch to some degree. In other words, he was convinced that the main reason she kept quiet about being able to change her size was for her own personal comfort.

"Do you have any other complaints, Neoth?" Erda interjected before he could point that out.

"No." He sighed. "Let's get this over with."

—-------------------------------------------------

"Thank you for your hard work, Captain Velor." The Emperor saluted the Captain of the Artax. "Inform Commodore Lysander that the recovered device will be returning with me to the Imperial Palace."

"As you will, my Lord." Captain Velor returned the salute.

They were in the hangar bay of the Artax. A large bundle of golden looking chains was on the Emperor's shoulder. Behind him, Erda and LE-2 were entering the shuttle. He was stuck exchanging the barest of niceties with the nervous captain in order to appear as normal as possible.

"I will be leaving for the Imperial Palace. Return to Commodore Lysander's command. Dismissed."

"Yes My Lord." The Captain stood to attention with a strained smile as the Emperor turned and entered the shuttle.

Once inside with the hatch shut and sealed behind him, Neoth dispelled the bundle of chains and turned towards Erda.

"Have you notified Malcador and the others?" He asked as a doll sized Isha jumped out of the back of Erda's cloak and returned to her normal size.

"Leetu is contacting them right now." Erda replied as she sat down in one of the shuttle's seats. The entire ship shook as it took off from the hangar floor and exited the ship. "Valador, Astarte, and Malcador are gathering at the Whispering Tower."

"It is Malcador's retreat now." Neoth warned.

"It is the last surviving artifact of the Cognoscynths." Erda sighed. "At least let its name live on."

"Even if it is the name left by an enemy?"

"Even more so."

The two locked eyes. Meanwhile Isha stretched her limbs out in the background.

"It's no use arguing, Neoth." The Aeldari goddess said as she rolled her shoulders. "Whether it be an enemy or ally, humanity's legacy is irreplaceable to her. That's just how she is as a deity. If you want to get her to change, you're going to have to engage her in a divine debate. Of course, that would probably kill her in her current state. If you don't want to kill Erda, then you're just going to have to accept her."

Neoth turned to glare at Isha, then relaxed his gaze. He had already fought enough times with Erda. He could not change her mind anymore than she could change his back then.

"Just be careful when you speak in public." He finally said.

"Do not worry." Erda replied softly. "You know I keep to myself."

Neoth nodded then changed the subject. "So, what have you told the others?"

"I only requested their presence. This matter is quite sensitive. I'm not comfortable talking about it, even on encrypted channels." Erda's tone turned serious. "The Whispering Tower's Cognoscynth designs should keep what we discuss secret from any attempt to eavesdrop from the materium or immaterium. Malcador requisitioned it for his personal use after the destruction of the City of Sight for precisely that reason."

"And I'm the one who has to explain everything?" Neoth grumbled.

"Who else is going to do it?" Erda shrugged in return before turning towards the Aeldari goddess. "Isha, show me your human disguise."

The goddess's ears shortened and rounded themselves as her height lowered itself to the average height for a human female, taking 40 or 50 cm from her original form."Here. Perfect, isn't it?" She said proudly.

Neoth and Erda both remained silent for a moment.

"You've only gotten shorter and rounded out your ears." He finally pointed out.

"Is there a problem?" The goddess raised an eyebrow. "There are blonds amongst humans."

"Yes, but it is unusual to see a human with silver eyes, not to mention beauty such as yours is very rare amongst humans." Erda said as she put a finger to her chin in thought.

"Are you asking me to make myself look ugly?" Isha said as she narrowed her eyes.

"Well, that would be a st-" Neoth's comment was cut off as Erda raised a hand, covering his mouth.

"Don't Neoth. I can already tell that her definition of beauty and ugliness are totally alien to ours. It would be easier to hide her features physically." She turned and rummaged around in one of the overhead lockers of the shuttle. "Here, take this cloak and these shoes. Make yourself shorter and keep the hood on at all times. Nobody should be able to see your face that way. We can get a veil later to be doubly sure nothing is revealed."

"Fine." Isha said as she shrank again and took the cloak. "As a guest and handmaiden, I suppose I can do my best not to outshine my mistress."

"There are many types of beauty." Erda chuckled. "Not all are attracted to the vibrant and wild. Sometimes, it is the calm and quiet that draws the interests of others."

"But, both should have their thorns." Isha replied as she put on the cloak and shrank herself some more.

"Of course." Erda nodded. "True beauty is found in endurance; the strength to keep on moving forward to a better tomorrow."

"Do you like each other or hate each other?" Neoth interrupted.

Quite frankly, watching these two circle each other was getting exhausting. At this point, he would settle for them hating each other if only to get a clear cut answer as to how to deal with them.

The two of them looked at each other before looking at Neoth.

"I have to hate her. She fills the same niche for a different species. It is because we are alike that I must." Isha replied matter-of-factly.

"However, both of us value the future of our respective children, and believe in the importance of passing on hope to the next generation. It would be hard not to agree with each other under those circumstances." Erda added on.

"I see…" Neoth muttered.

They had the same values, and hence would often come to the same or similar conclusion. Thus, they agreed on many things. Yet, when it came to the implementation of said agreements, Isha would always prioritize the Aeldari and Erda would always prioritize humanity. Therefore, they would always be opposed to each other despite their similarities.

On the other hand, they seemed plenty capable of working together at needling him. That probably meant that cooperation was possible between the two, so long as there was a third party that they could both target.

In a sense it was representative of how every alien and human alliance formed during the golden age of humanity. But, in hindsight that was to be expected. These two were formed from the thoughts and prayers of entire species. Their actions mirrored the broad strokes of their respective children's possible paths.

'Then I guess I can take this as a good omen that the children of Isha can work with the children of Erda.' He thought to himself. He could only hope that the third party the Aeldari and humanity would be united against was the Ruinous Powers or some other alien.

—-------------------------------------------------

"We have arrived, mother." Leetu announced as the shuttle landed on one of the pads sticking out of the upper levels of the Sanctum Imperialis of the Imperial Palace.

"Thank you, Leetu." Erda replied, stroking the massive pauldrons that covered her son's shoulders. "You may do as you wish for now. I will send for you when I wish to return to your brothers."

Isha pulled the hood of her borrowed cloak down over her brow and bowed her head as the hatch of the shuttle opened. A welcoming party of Custodes was present, standing to attention to either side of a red carpet embroidered with the golden insignias of the Imperium.

The Emperor exited the shuttle first, followed by Erda and then Isha herself.

"So, this is the heart of the Imperium of Man." Isha whispered as she looked around.

The gold and marble white Sanctum Imperialis, the central portion of the Imperial Palace, towered over the Himalazia mountains it was built into. Numerous smaller abodes and towns had sprouted up around it like lichen growing on the exposed roots of a great tree. However, the rest of the Imperial Palace was still incomplete. She could see large sections of flattened land beyond the walls of the Sanctum Imperialis. It was a clean slate for a future builder to impose their vision of what the seat of power for the Imperium should look like.

"Hush." Erda whispered back. "Your voice alone betrays what you are, even when spoken with a human tone."

Isha frowned, then reviewed all the information she had taken from Neoth.

'Is this fine?' She signed with one hand towards Erda.

'It will do.' Erda signed back.

The three of them traveled into the central domed tower of the Sanctum Imperialis. There was a certain Persian influence in its design, although the color scheme was closer to Greek or Egyptian architecture with its marble white walls and golden inlays. The outer parts of the Sanctum Imperialis were a combination of Greek and European designs. Massive interconnecting bridges in the shape of aqueducts spanned between steeples and spires the size of skyscrapers.

This mass of towers and bridges darkened the lower levels with their shadows. If it were not for the electric lamp posts placed at regular intervals, those beneath the top 9 or 10 floors would be living in perpetual dusk or dawn. Golden statues of the Imperial Eagle were perched on various monument gates upon the bridges or on the outside of the towers like gargoyles. Each one seemed to glow with the light reflected off of their auramite feathers. All of them looked downwards at the people below with their realistically sculpted avian eyes. Cold judgment seemed to radiate from them as they stared down at the populace below.

'Isn't this a bit much?' She signed to Erda, referring to the oppressive feeling of the city-sized structure that was the incomplete Imperial Palace.

'They are a reminder of the legend of Prometheus.' The dark haired woman sighed as she signed back. 'The legend describes an eagle that came to tear out the nightly regrowing liver of the thief who stole power from the gods. This was where the Cognoscynths' last city was located. Nothing of it but the Whispering Tower remains, not even its people. Still, the architecture of the Sanctum Imperialis was designed to incorporate elements of that symbolism to ensure the new populace would remain humbled.'

'So, the eagles watch the populace so they no longer steal power above their station?'

'That is what these symbols mean, although there is a practical reason for the design.' Erda signed. 'Each eagle acts as a psychic ward. They muffle the whispers of the Warp, but stifle the soul in the process.' She gestured with one hand to the people on the bridges below. 'The touch of various Warp creatures marks the people on this planet. Even long after the destruction of Shang Khal's armies and wrathsingers, zealot priest-kings and Ethnarchs have risen up again and again from the ruins of ancient Ursh's client states.'

'Banishing Pharaa'gueotla made no difference?' Isha asked. The creature she brought up was one of several Daemon Princes who had taken residence on Terra during Old Night. It entertained itself by egging on the destructive and treacherous tendencies of humanity.

When the Emperor returned to Terra, Pharaa'gueotla and its minions were the first Warp denizens to be defeated with his gene-enhanced warriors. Additionally, a psychic weapon dubbed "The Angel' was let loose. The results of the conflict were mixed. Although Pharaa'gueotla and its mortal thralls were defeated, the Daemon Prince managed to flee from Terra. This forced the Emperor to leave his home planet again to chase it down and finally seal it on the abandoned world of Karis Cephalon.

'The Daemon Prince merely exacerbated what was there. Even after his imprisonment, humanity has continued to tear itself apart on this planet.'There was a rather noticeable slump in her shoulders, showing a great exhaustion in the mother of humanity as she replied. 'Then again, there may be other daemons of various nature hiding within the minds of the people. Another justification for the extreme measures Neoth has put into place here.' She signed back with a shrug. 'On top of that, there are some who can come with the mere mention of their name. Thus, educating the populace has its own risks of daemonic infiltration. With humanity's current cultural, societal, and psychic levels of development on Terra, mass-ignorance is one of the possible countermeasures against them.' Erda's lips were pursed, as if she had bitten down on something sour as she signed the last sentences.

'But, you disagreed with him, didn't you?' Isha signed back.

'You already know the answer to that if you took all of Neoth's information.' The hand motions of Erda were quick and irritated.

'I want to hear your side of the story.'

'Are you that bored?' Erda snorted as she signed.

'My children view me as the one to help the downtrodden and the defeated.' Isha shrugged. 'Although Eldanesh masked what that truly meant after the War in Heaven, I still find myself aligned with the weaker side of any conflict. Oppression and domination strangle diversity, and as the Goddess of Life, I dislike that.'

'Of course you would feel that way.' Erda flashed a tired smile in Isha's direction. 'You don't deploy an Exterminatus weapon when you have won the battle normally.'

Isha didn't reply, and instead waited for Erda to answer her question. Finally, Erda sighed and began to sign again.

'I asked him to trust them. He, like humanity, has made mistakes. Therefore, I asked him to allow at least the children of those he defined as sinners to be free.'

'And his answer?' Isha asked.

Erda sighed again and made a quotation sign to indicate she would be repeating his words verbatim.

'There are no more second chances. The people of Terra made their choice, and have shown they can no longer be trusted. We no longer have any time to waste.'

Isha shot a tired look at the back of the Emperor's head. However, she had his perspective from the information she had taken.

'The Omnissiah was still free back then, wasn't it?' She signed to Erda.

The Emperor was dealing with several crises at the time. Terra was but one planet in a crumbling federation. AI rebellions, civil war, and out of control psykers had descended upon humanity in relatively quick succession. Of course, the Ruinous Powers and other daemons tagged along for the spectacle, making things worse wherever they could.

'It was, and things were dire.' Erda admitted. 'But, if it was the choice of my children, I can accept the result. As a mother, you should know how I felt.'

Isha frowned at that.

'I do, but I made a different choice.'

Erda snorted then signed back. 'I fail to see the difference between our outcomes. You allowed your children to fall to temptation, just as I watched my children destroy themselves.'

'Perhaps…' Isha's reply came slowly. 'But, I still believe my children can return to what they were.'

'Hope…' Erda signed. 'can be a dangerous thing. I have learned that the hard way after watching many struggle in vain. At times, one must accept fate as it is. If my children wish to take the next step, then they should be allowed to do so. It is their choice, and it is not my place to stop them when I can no longer support them.'

A small smile tugged at Isha's lips.

'You remind me of my own mother.' She signed. 'She too was a goddess of fate. She too always stood back, merely reading and not controlling the strands she had in her rune skinned pouch.'

'That is the side effect of having a hand on the past, present, and future.' Erda replied. 'I love watching my children make their own choices. If I interfered, I would no longer be myself.'

There was a slight pause between the two as they walked deeper into the Sanctum Imperialis. Marble pillars and golden decorations lined the walls of the corridor, while a red carpet made of interwoven metal and resin fibers lay in the center of the floor. Any other fabric would have been flattened by the armored boots of the Custodes long ago. Naturally, all visitors to the Palace had to wear shoes at all times. Otherwise, the red staining the fibers would have been blood instead of dye.

'By the way…' Isha asked, changing the subject. 'I was wondering about the name of your shuttle. Who named it?'

'Neoth.' Erda shrugged. 'I originally wanted it to be named the Past, Present, and Future. But, he said that was too obvious.'

'So, why did it change to the Emperor's Grip?'

'It comes from a quote by George Orwell 'Who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.' It was the compromise we reached. As it is my personal shuttle, the ship's name symbolizes Neoth's control over humanity's fate.'

'I wouldn't call that much of a compromise.' Isha snorted.

'By making the name seem to be a reference to him, he makes himself responsible for all that shuttle does.' A small smile crossed Erda's face. 'It was his way of standing in front of me to take the brunt of whatever was to come. You may imagine a controlling fist from the name, but it was intended to be a shielding hand cradling a small object in its center.'

Arrogant on its surface. Fascistic and despotic in sound. Yet, even as the Emperor, there was an attachment that only those who knew him could see.

He was a tyrant due to his nature, but he envied Enkidu who walked with humanity. Now, it was hard to say whether it was simply his nature or necessity that made him take the mantle of the Emperor.

'So, he still loves you.' Isha signed with a sad smile. There was a hint of envy in her expression. She did not wish for the Emperor's love, but this conversation was a painful reminder that Erda's children were still with her. Lilieath and Eldanesh were both out of her reach.

'He will always love me.' Erda replied. 'I have watched him since before he became what he was. I watched him as he wandered off into the desert after murdering his uncle. When he stumbled under the heat, a cooling wind brushed against his brow. When he dug into the earth out of thirst, water welled up from the moist dirt.' She paused to take in a breath of air. Despite speaking silently, the emotions depleted the oxygen in her blood rapidly. 'I am the mother he and all humanity sprang from. That fact has never changed, no matter how many times we have fought, nor how many times he has hurt me.' Her brown eyes looked up at Neoth's armored back. 'Even when he lost all control and became the burning figure upon his golden path, he has cared for me.'

Erda turned her head towards Isha, brown eyes meeting silver ones through the fabric of the hood. 'I have said it before, but allow me to say it again. Thank you, mother of the Aeldari, for restoring a portion of his sanity.'

A tired smile spread across Isha's lips. She could tell Erda was truly thankful, but she could also empathize with the other maternal emotions that were no doubt bubbling in her breast.

'There is no need to hide your feelings from me.' She signed as she shook her head. 'I know the black hatred in your heart that wishes to consume the both of us.'

Erda sighed softly then nodded.

'Yes. I hate you and myself.' Her eyes were fixed on the floor as her hands formed the words. 'I hate you for doing something I was not able to do for tens of thousands of years. I hate myself for being proved powerless in helping my son. Yet, I am indebted to you in this regard.' Her right arm blurred, then split into three. The young and old hands were superimposed upon each other, forming the hand signs necessary to communicate, but the soft feminine hand of the mature woman extended itself towards Isha. 'So long as you do not stand in humanity's way, I will swallow these feelings as I have swallowed the bitterness and anger that I felt towards the Emperor.'

Isha took Erda's hand in her own, accepting the handshake gently.

'Do not worry, I would have felt the same if it was my Eldanesh marching before us.' She replied after they let each other go.

'A mother's love is possessive to some degree.' Erda raised a hand to cover her mouth as she chuckled. 'But, there comes a time that we will have to let go, no matter how much it breaks our heart.'

Isha remained silent. That was the decision Erda made, and she could not agree with it. She may have abandoned the path where she decided what was right and wrong for her children, but she had never stopped trying to help them. If she had let go, she would have never broken Asuryan's edict.

But, that was a freedom Erda did not have. What can a dead world give to things that require life?

"We have arrived." Neoth interrupted their conversation. They stood before a set of blast doors decorated with the Imperial symbols and colors. There was the electric hum of a machine receiving a code, then the locks within the doors began to undo themselves. There was the sizzle of a dissipating void shield as the doors slid into the walls and floor to reveal a hanging corridor made of plexi-glass. It was attached to a thin stone gray tower; knobbly and crooked like an outstretched arthritic finger pointing at the roof of the Sanctum Imperialis. Dirt was still smeared across parts of it, as if the tower had shoved its way out of the very ground during its erection. The Imperial Palace walls surrounded it on all sides, forming a small courtyard around the tower. Several hanging corridors attached to the tower at different heights. All of them varied in length due to the tower's uneven surface. It was as if this part of the Imperial Palace had been built around the tower, confining the ancient architecture within marble walls inlaid with gold.

The three walked across the hanging corridor towards the tower. Isha looked around, and saw several half-spheres attached on the outer roof and upper sides of the corridor. They were proximity triggered melta-charges that would be primed to detonate should the doors be forced open. There were several other defenses outside the corridor as well. One was composed of prism-like focussing crystals disguised as gem-like objects on the very bottom of the courtyard. They would fire up into the plexi-glass corridors whether the melta-charges detonated or not. Whoever was caught in the focal point of these lasers would meet a grisly end. If the melta-charges destroyed the corridor, whatever survived the inferno would be cut apart. If any intruder managed to disarm the melta-charges, they would be swallowed by molten plexi-glass as the lasers liquified the material the corridors were made of. Of course, the disarmed melta-charges would detonate at point-blank range from the heat after that.

The entry point to the tower was also covered by a blast door, but she could see it was a later addition to the building's architecture. This part of the corridor was attached to the tower like a boarding tube of a void-ship; pressed up against the stone like a leech's mouth on skin.

Once again the electric hum of a code being transferred came, and the void shields and blast doors opened to reveal a hole bored into the tower itself. Smooth edges reminiscent of solidified lava flows showed that this hole had been cut open with extreme heat.

Isha looked around as the doors and shields sealed the tower again.

The interior of the tower was amenable to human habitation. The floor was made of the same gray stone as the tower, but the furniture consisted of ordinary looking tables and chairs. Cogitator screens and data tablets hung or lay on some of these. Two individuals were sitting at one of the tables, with two more standing slightly behind them.

One was an old man in a hooded cloak with an ornate staff in one hand. This was Malcador, the Imperial Regent and 6000 year old Perpetual. He was of mortal birth, but his psychic gifts and ancient technology kept him alive far longer than any normal human.

One was an old woman with virtually no hair remaining on her head and perhaps even less flesh on her bones. She was clothed in a pleated shift of victorian style. It was white in color, and the only other item of clothing upon her was a sturdy belt and las pistol holster at her waist. This was Amar Astarte, a gene-sculptor of Terra who had served many techno-barbarian Warlords. Creating mutants and monstrosities was her specialty, and she had survived this long only because her patrons had been satisfied by her wares. She herself, however, viewed all she made as mistakes and mishaps. It was only after witnessing what the Emperor himself could do with the surviving gene-tech on Terra that she pledged her loyalty to the Imperium to learn more secrets of gene-crafting.

One was a towering giant in golden armor with an ornate spear in his right hand. This was Constantin Valdor, Captain-General of the Custodes and officially the first of their number. He was in charge of the Imperium's progress in the Unification Wars, handing down strategic directives to the Thunder Warrior legions while giving direct orders to the regular Imperial army. But, he was no armchair general. He had stormed across the battlefield more than once whenever it was tactically or politically necessary. As all Custodes, he was a soldier and statesman both.

The final individual was not among those requested by Erda. She appeared to be a maid in an apron dress, but none of the psychic beings were deceived by her physical appearance. This was Lady Callidus, the Imperial assassin that was tangentially useful in the realm of politics. Technically, it was the Vanus Temple infocytes that were meant to infiltrate and investigate in secret. However, as it was occasionally useful for those assassinated to appear to be alive, Lady Callidus and her skills struck a unique balance between deception and violence that was useful within the Imperial Palace.

"Malcador." Erda said with narrowed eyes. "There are more here than I asked for."

"Lady Erda." Malcador replied as he bowed his head slightly. "I sensed that this matter would be political to some degree, hence I thought it important that all parties involved be represented."

"And you chose the one who can change their face at will?" There was a slight tinge of sarcasm in Erda's voice. Representation often meant recognition. To choose a Callidus Assassin for that role was oxymoronic if not down right paradoxical.

"Who better to represent an organization that should not be recognized?" Astarte interjected with her raspy voice as she eyed the hooded Isha curiously.

"Well said." Erda nodded. "But, I have a guest here. I will not have one with those questions in her mind before her."

Astarte snorted as a strained smile crossed Malcador's face. One did not need to be a psychic to guess what the assassin was thinking if they knew her for long enough, and everyone in this room had been acquaintances or partners for at least 300 years.

"Lady Erda…" Malcador said as he sent the Emperor a pleading look. Imperial Regent he may be, but when it came to Erda it was only the Emperor who could override her orders. Yet, the Emperor remained quiet this time.

"It is fine." A musical voice sounded through the chamber, causing every remaining muscle in Astarte's body to tense. She was the only non-combatant in the room, and ironically the youngest of all the people there. But, she had not survived this long on Terra without picking up a few tricks. Line after line of memorized chemical reactions and genetic code went through her mind, allowing her to hold onto herself by using her obsession with knowledge to shut out the warbles of birds and trickle of creeks.

Isha pulled back the hood covering her face, while returning to her Aeldari height and form. "So long as she gets her answer, she should be well behaved."

Silver eyes crossed over each individual, reflecting each one as she gazed at them.

Astarte fixed her eyes on the table before her, well aware of the dangers of interacting with any psychic being. Not much was needed for them to worm their way into the mind of their victims.

The other three returned her gaze with varying degrees of emotion.

Malcador gave her a weary look, before shooting another at the Emperor. Bringing an alien deity to Terra was out of character for the Emperor. As his oldest friend, the Imperial Regent was worried about what this change in behavior meant more than anything else.

Constantin Valdor did not blink as her eyes met his. He hadn't blinked once since she had entered the room. His eyes had remained open to ensure he wouldn't lose sight of her for even a nanosecond. Yet, there was no emotion in his gaze or face. It was impossible to tell whether he was wary of her, or merely acting as any Custodes would. After all, the Custodes are not human enough to blink.

The assassin remained immovable, still taking the form of a maid. Even after being called out, her pride as a shapeshifter caused her to refuse to return to her original form. But, the burning question in her mind seemed to grow as she felt Isha looking at her.

"Fine." Erda sighed. "Satisfy her curiosity."

Isha walked up towards the assassin, who merely bowed her head and curtsied. The alien was a guest of Erda's and her disguise demanded she treat her as such.

Isha's right arm blurred, and there was a small spray of blood.

A long needle, slightly bloodied, was grasped in Isha's right hand. On the maid's body, a small pinky-sized hole had opened in her side. It was the exit wound where Isha had plucked the poisoned needle hidden underneath the assassin's skin.

Isha's hand flipped the needle around, holding it like a dagger, then slammed it into her own eye. There was the dull sound of warping metal, then the Aeldari goddess lowered her hand.

"This is your answer." Isha said gently as she slipped what remained of the poisoned needle into the front pocket of the assassin's apron dress. It had split apart down the center, spreading open like a whisk. The Aeldari's silver eyes were unblemished, without the slightest hint of irritation or reddening.

'Can I kill that?'

That was the question that always appeared in the assassin's mind whenever she saw something or someone new.

She couldn't react when the alien had plucked the needle from her body, and any physical attack might as well be useless against whatever the alien was made out of.

Lady Callidus bowed again, still keeping the form of the maid. She had her answer, and expressed her thanks in the only way she could with her current form.

"I know you think you're lowering your communication skills to our level…" Erda huffed. "But, a physical demonstration like that just makes you look barbaric."

"Oh. Was I that obvious?" Isha snorted as she turned back towards Erda. "Even more so, am I wrong?"

"No." Erda replied. Lady Callidus was the one who was rude first in that regard. She had appeared before Erda's guest with dangerous curiosity. "Thank you for your succinct answer." She said sarcastically before turning to the assassin. "You can stay now. Take whatever form you wish."

"Thank you, Lady Erda." The assassin finally spoke as her face and hair returned to their original shape and color. The hole in her body closed up as she reformed her flesh, staunching the bleeding.

"To think, I'm the one closest to human." Astarte said with dry laughter. Out of all of them, she was the one who looked least human with her almost mummified appearance. However, compared to the psyker, the Custodes, the shape-shifting assassin, as well as whatever Erda, the Emperor and the alien were, she was just very old.

"My Emperor." Malcador said, rising from his seat with his staff before turning to his friend. "May I assume you will share the reason for your decision with us?" He bowed his head, ensuring his question would not appear insolent or sarcastic. His free hand gestured towards Isha, indicating what the decision in question was.

"Rise, old friend." The Emperor replied. "Although I understand the situation is odd for many of you, I shall share with you what has happened to lead us here."

—-------------------------------------------------

The room remained silent after the Emperor finished speaking. Naturally, he had omitted Isha and Erda's conversations, as well as his attempt to re-wrap Isha in chains when they reached Terra. He also left out any mention of gods or god-hood and his own history.

To summarize what he did share; he discovered Isha on one of the planets he intended to recover some more gene-tech from. She helped him lure the Aeldari refugees into a trap while preparing a trap of her own for him. The two of them fought to a stand still, and read each other's mind entirely during the fight. Then, Isha had agreed to help him unify humanity in return for future assistance with her species' war against Chaos.

Of course, his definition of salvation also remained hidden as well.

"My Emperor." Astarte was the first to speak up. "How much Xenos knowledge may be shared with me?" Of course, her one concern was her craft. Although she specialized in operating and recovering artifacts from the Dark Age of Technology, she would gleefully take anything else she could get her hands on. Seeing Isha's physical and psychic abilities had also aroused her interests. The Space Marines were lesser copies of the Emperor's genetics, yet they were superior to any natural born human. She could not stop wondering what she could create if she had access to Isha's genetics.

"None." The Emperor replied firmly. "You have not reached my level of expertise in gene-crafting. You do not have the right to ask for more when you have yet to master what you have been given."

"As you say my Emperor." Astarte replied. It was a long-shot, but she expected the answer. "Lady Isha." She said, turning to the Aeldari. "What can I offer for your knowledge?"

Malcador and Erda both sighed simultaneously. This was to be expected. Astarte had always served the warlord with the greatest access to gene-tech and Dark Age of Technology artifacts. Until now, she only had the techno-barbarian warlords of Terra to offer her services, but it appeared she truly didn't care who or what she pledged her allegiance to.

"Nothing." Isha replied. "But, I commend your bravado and fool's bravery for asking to serve another before your current patron." Sarcasm and amusement was mixed in the Aeldari's tone, but Astarte only shook her head.

"I have neither, Lady Isha. I ask now because now is the only chance I have."

"Oh?" The Aeldari raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"I speak before Lady Erda and her guest." Astarte answered. "The Emperor cannot harm me if you, the one who fought him to a stand still, accepts my service. He cannot stop me from speaking at this meeting convened under Lady Erda's orders without tarnishing her hospitality. Therefore, it is only now that I can speak freely without fear of punishment."

"Clever little creature." Isha chuckled, amused by her political guile. "And arrogant as well. You think yourself valuable enough to survive slighting the Emperor after this meeting and its protections end?"

"Should you reject me, I have nowhere else to go." The over-aged woman shrugged. "I do not fear death or torture at this age. I know too much to be thrown out of the Imperial Palace. Thus, the only threat available is the withholding of knowledge and restriction of my craft. Both are counterproductive to the Emperor's goals. Besides, I have no choice but to be loyal to the Emperor. He has known this from the day we met, and it is because he knows that I only serve my craft I will never betray him. Although…" A proud smile pulled her wrinkled lips back to reveal pearly white teeth. "I do admit I believe I am still useful to him."

"Interesting." Isha laughed. "But, I have no interest in you or your services, human. Although, I suppose it may serve your Emperor if I answered the odd question about gene-crafting in general. But…" She fixed Astarte with a cold stare. "Do not pester me. Charity should only be accepted, and not asked for."

Astarte bowed her head quickly, sending the few strands of white hair attached to her bald scalp fluttering like cut kite-strings in the wind.

"I shall await you in my laboratories should you find yourself in a gracious mood."

"You will only talk to her after I have heard what you are going to share." The Emperor ordered Isha. "Astarte serves me, and I will decide what she needs to know."

"So your master says." Isha shrugged, speaking to Astarte. "But, as his student and disciple, you should show reverence to his decision."

"I do every day by serving him and no other."

"How very human." Isha laughed as she turned towards Erda. "Arrogant, obnoxious, unrepentant, and avaricious to no end."

"Indeed." Erda gave a tired sigh before smiling softly. "But it is those traits that make them endearing."

"Quite." Isha nodded. "Perhaps I should have said it was child-like instead. I could have used those words for many of my children as well."

"Enough." The Emperor interrupted. "Malcador, do you have any comments?"

The Imperial Regent remained seated, stroking his staff with one finger. He was the most directly involved in this, as he was about to lose his 'friend' Ael Wyntor to the Aeldari.

"If she has all your secrets, my Emperor, then there are only two ways to ensure that data breach does not destroy us." He stated calmly. "If silencing her is out of our capabilities, then cooperation is the only option."

"An obvious observation." Isha snorted. "So, you say to my face that you trust neither me nor Erda's hospitality."

"It is my responsibility to doubt." Malcador said with a polite smile. "It is the ones closest to the individual that must ask the most questions."

"So he says." Isha flashed a sarcastic smile towards the Emperor. "You have a good friend, Master of Mankind. Despite ignoring him so often, he still does his duty as confidant." She turned away from the entire group and readorned her hooded cloak. "Erda, shall we leave the rest of them to debate what they shall do to me?" She spoke as she shrank and ears rounded.

"Well, if they have no intention of sharing their thoughts with us, then it cannot be helped." Erda shrugged. "Come, assassin. I have a favor to ask my guest, and I will need your help with the details."

The female assassin reassumed her disguise, and followed the two woman-shaped beings as they exited Malcador's retreat.

Neoth sighed internally while his physical form kept up the persona of the Emperor. He could still tell where Isha was at all times, so her leaving his sight did not do much to hide her activities. Additionally, Erda seemed to have some sort of agreement with her as a kindred maternal deity that restricted her actions. Still, that wild personality of hers and unrelenting tongue was exhausting.

"I shall return to my laboratories." Astarte said as she stood up. "Ezekiel has free reign there while I'm away, and I'd like to reclaim my position there."

"Amar." Malcador called out.

"I know when to keep quiet." The old woman croaked back. "You don't survive as many warlords as I have without knowing when to keep your mouth shut and when to speak."

The blast doors and shields opened and shut, leaving only the Captain-General, the Imperial Regent, and the Emperor in the room.

"I must ask." Malcador began. "Could you not have killed her?"

"Do you think I did not attempt that?" The Emperor asked back.

"I believe you did, once." Malcador replied. "But, I cannot see how she can resist even one blow from you now."

Malcador was an accomplished psyker, and was capable of reading the strength of metaphysical beings to some degree. The Aeldari goddess was far far weaker than the Emperor as he was now. In fact, she was barely equal to Erda who was on her deathbed. A sufficient number of greater daemons could overpower them, which was part of the reason Erda remained either near the Emperor or under the protection of one of his wards.

"The Aeldari do not die easily." The Emperor repeated the adage all survivors of any conflict with the Aeldari often repeated. "She would find a way to make things worse for her killer than her jailer."

"And is that what we intend to do to her?" Malcador said as he turned towards the Emperor. "Imprison her here with you?"

"Not at the moment." He shook his head. "Erda has invited her as a guest, and that means something to the both of them."

Malcador sighed, then gave a tired smile.

"Having another secret we cannot expose to anyone is not a major issue. We have billions of them already." A thoughtful expression crossed his face then. "But, I do not trust Xenos."

"You do not trust anyone." The Emperor stated bluntly.

"You have me there, old friend." He said with a laugh. "I question everyone and everything, and it is that feature that has allowed me to be your confidant."

"That is the privilege of having the same dream as me."

"A dream on the cusp of becoming reality." Malcador stood up from the chair and summoned one of the data tablets towards him with a bout of telekinesis. "We have come far. Conquering Terra with the same resources all the other factions have theoretical access to has taken time, but the conquered peoples do not question our power. The fear of thunder has been firmly ingrained in them." A map appeared of a single legion of Thunder Warriors 5000 strong patrolling the wastelands of the Franc. "After Avelroi, Urartu, and the Ethnarchy the changing of the guard can commence. We can finally shed the last dependencies of the techniques from Old Night, and begin a truly human reconquest of the stars." Malcador's wrinkled hand tightened its grip on the data tablet. "We are so close, old friend." He whispered.

"Do you fear that my change in behavior jeopardizes everything we have done?" The Emperor asked quietly.

"I do not fear. I question." Malcador replied as he put down the data tablet and looked into the brown eyes of the Emperor.

The two stared at each other for a while as the Captain-General of the Custodes watched the both of them quietly.

Finally, the Emperor flashed a small smile that was returned by his friend.

"Reading the mind of an alien while being read by it was taxing." He said, rephrasing what had happened between Isha and him. "I have seen things from different perspectives, and learned how to say the same thing with different words." He put an armored hand on his friend's shoulder. "Yet, my goal has not changed. Salvation, for all humanity."

Malcador let out a small sigh. He believed his friend's words. He had to, or there was no point to his questioning.

"But you might have changed how you want to get there." He said as he patted the armored hand upon his shoulder.

"Yes. I have." The Emperor said as he withdrew his hand. "Perhaps I have grown soft through the experience. I find myself considering Erda's pestering to use dialogue instead of destruction."

A dry chuckle came from Malcador's throat. Pestering was not how he would have described the fights between the two of them. It was only his psychic gifts that allowed him to watch the two of them argue.

"There have been times that I too have asked for your leniency, and been refused it." Malcador added on, pulling another data tablet towards him. Upon it were several proposals on countering religious zealotry. Legislation based around regulation rather than prohibition were written down in detail, but all of them had been rejected by the Emperor in the past. "If you wish to take a softer style in your rule, I will serve you as I always have as the Imperial Regent."

A frown crossed the Emperor's brow as he took the data tablet from Malcador. Religion was a touchy subject on many levels for him, but it was also the most draconian portion of his rule. Many churches, covents, monasteries, temples, and shrines had been burned to the ground at his direction. More than once, the people who lived there remained inside as stone ceilings collapsed from heat stress-fractures created by the Promethium streams launched from Heavy Flamers.

"Knowledge corrupts." The Emperor said quietly, handing back the data tablet to Malcador.

"To be forewarned is to be forearmed." His friend countered.

Spirituality and religion were intertwined with the beings of the Warp. The multitude of Priest-Kings and Ethnarchs that plagued Terra with strange boons or mutations was proof of this. Yet, to be completely oblivious to the concept of the immaterium was like living in a sterile bubble. One perforation, and those inside would be exposed to infections and disease they had no immunization against.

Malcador had proposed several means of immunizing the populace against religion beyond simple prohibition. Allowing minor cults to grow and eventually self-destruct in a controlled manner would allow the religious to sully their own image for them. Letting a few false prophets more interested in selling 'power crystals' and 'healing bath waters' than any actual belief loose for a few months before arresting the fraudsters and revealing who they were could also nurture a healthy skepticism against all those who brought strange promises of salvation. Whether such mundane tactics would have any effect against the temptations of the Ruinous Powers was unknown, but it would be better than nothing. After all, such social events were what gradually drained the strength of religion from before Old Night.

Enlightenment dispelled the need for religion to explain things, but skepticism was also required to reject and renounce all those who brought temptations of eternal salvation.

However, to experiment with spirituality risked looking into the depth of one's soul. Since the soul was connected to the immaterium, to look deep into one's self risked peeking into the realm of thoughts and dreams. For almost all individuals, what they would see would be harmless or so incomprehensible it would be as if they had seen nothing at all. Yet, it was still a risk that the Emperor had not entertained until now.

Failure was impossible for him, so leaving the entirety of the Imperium unimmunized was a non-issue, so long as the bubble of ignorance remained unbroken.

The Emperor's brow creased even further, then relaxed as he let out a sigh.

"I will contemplate the matter." He said softly. "Thank you. Malcador."

"I am your friend, my Emperor. I will stand by you regardless of whether I agree with you." The old man bowed his head. "No matter how harshly you treat me or the insults you may throw at me, I will remain." Malcador's voice dropped to a whisper as he said the next sentence. "If I do not do so, I have no right to be at your side."

The armored hand of the Emperor patted Malcador's shoulder gently twice in thanks.

"Valdor." The Emperor called out to his Captain-General, who had remained immobile this entire time. "Do you have anything to say?"

"No, my Emperor." The Custodes replied in a surprisingly dulcet tone. There was nothing for him to do here. Isha could not be killed with Valdor's spear, and the politics here operated with a different mental arithmetic to that of the Imperial Palace. There was a more emotional touch to it that could not be mimicked by the Custodes. Therefore, the correct answer to this problem of statecraft was to remain silent.

Constantin Valdor had no emotions, just like any other Custodes. Everything was a problem that required a solution, and he was here to appraise what sort of problem the Emperor's partner and Erda's guest was.

At the moment, he had no solution to provide, and there was no extra-information the Emperor would give to elaborate on the situation. Hence, he had nothing to say.

"I see." The Emperor replied, as if he had expected Valdor's answer. "Both of you, follow me to my office. We shall discuss what to do with Avelroi and the Thunder Warriors."

 

[Nidhog153]

---

Erda and Isha rode on one of the private shuttles of the Imperial Palace that ran on suspended rails beneath the various aqueduct like bridges. It was a small craft, not much larger than an automobile, but it moved at near supersonic speeds on its electromagnetic rails. Lady Callidus was seated in her disguise behind them.

"There is much innocent blood spilled where we are going." Isha said as her ears twitched.

"Of course there is." Erda replied. "We travel to one of the assassin temple training grounds."

"The Vindicare Temple." Isha muttered as she reviewed Neoth's memories.

"Their attrition rates for initiates is far higher than the others." Erda spoke sadly. "Some of the trainees are enrolled despite being unfit to survive the training."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" Isha asked. "Your Emperor and Imperial Regent approved this project, and all its methods."

A Vindicare assassin is constructed from a human. The term 'constructed' is accurate, for when a Vindicare assassin finishes his or her training, they are a biological machine that simply carries out its orders.

Move. Aim. Fire. Move. Aim. Fire.

Love. Anger. Fear. All of it is cut out and replaced with muscle memory and tactical scenarios to assassinate as many targets with as little energy necessary. They are all marksmen of impeccable skill, and even greater patience.

"Part of the training process involves the dulling of their empathy." Erda sighed. "They enroll children to fail on purpose, to deaden the emotions of their more valuable candidates without excessive physical harm."

"That was what was decided to be necessary by your son." Isha's voice was terse. "Do you think I can unilaterally interfere just because I am your guest?"

"No, but I think I have an alternative to the current state of affairs. Your kind enjoys deception, doesn't it?" Erda flashed her a sly smile.

The bits and pieces of information Isha had clicked together, and her eyes narrowed as a predatory grin stretched across her lips.

"So, you want to save those lives while ensuring the trauma your son wants is still instilled."

"I can tolerate their deaths, but that doesn't mean I want to." Erda shrugged. "But, like yourself, I am also limited in what I can do for my children. That is why I need your help."

"You shouldn't need my help." Isha snorted. "Dead as you are, you are still their home planet."

"The state I am in is only partially responsible for my inability to help them. I could work through proxies, but that does not solve the core issue that makes any act I try to do meaningless." Erda looked out of the window, looking down at the people walking to and fro over the various aqueduct-like bridges crisscrossing below.

"For time immemorial, the problem with the majority of humanity's struggles is a matter of distribution. Drought, famine, a lack of fuel, or even people. All of these are not caused by a total lack of resources, but an uneven distribution between different parties." There was no emotion on her face as she looked down from the window. "Humanity had the ability to solve all of its problems, but it never did." She closed her eyes and her brow furrowed. At the same time, her right hand came to her throat, as if she was having trouble breathing. "It is easy to blame the avarice of powerful men and women in high places…" She finally said after a while. "But, at its core, the issue is based on the behavior of humanity as a species." Erda's brow smoothed out and her hand dropped into her lap. "Humanity as a whole does not do things without a purpose. The purpose may be horrible or meaningless, but it still exists. Likewise, I cannot save someone without ensuring there is a purpose for it."

Isha stared off into the distance. Erda was a goddess living with her own choices, just as Isha lived with hers. Isha could not dictate how her children were to live their lives. Similarly, Erda also struggled with the result of a decision she had made.

"Is the lessening of their pain not a good enough purpose?" Isha said quietly as the shuttle descended into the darker parts of the Imperial Palace.

"It would be, if it lasted." Erda replied. "The initiates of each temple are taken from the orphans of the Imperium. It is due to this mass acceptance of any and all children who cannot be cared for by their parents that the level of crime and economic hardship is lesser in Imperial controlled regions than in others." Her hands clasped together in her lap. "If I were to save the children, it would also have to be in a way that gave them a purpose. It would be irresponsible for me to throw them out of the temples and onto the streets. More suffering would come from that than letting things progress on their own. Better for them to die in the temples than become prey for criminals, or become criminals themselves. At least their deaths have a positive effect there for the future of humanity, creating the weapons necessary to end conflict before it begins."

"I guess that is doubly true with the state you are in." Isha said as she looked at Erda, inspecting her from head to toe.

"Correct." Erda smiled sadly. "Terra cannot sustain human life without the technology from before Old Night. Likewise, I cannot sustain any human life on my own. If I simply took the children with me, they would eventually feel as if they were exposed to the raw environment of Terra."

"Is that why Leetu has his helmet on around you all the time?"

Erda gave a slight nod.

"If he didn't, even his Space Marine physiology would eventually give out in my presence."

Terra was a dead world. The very air was mildly radioactive, and if it wasn't for the gene-tech used by almost every techno-barbarian tribe and their serfs, humanity would have died out a long time ago. Erda was synonymous with Terra, and expressed the effects of its environment on all humans in her immediate presence. She managed to keep the worst of it to skin-contact, but only the enhanced could survive being near her for extended periods of time without adequate protection. Children, with their smaller bodies and lack of enhancements, would be riddled with cancers and radiation sickness if they stayed near her for too long.

"And so, you ask me for a favor." Isha sighed. "Fine, but what do I receive in return? If possible, I would like to prevent myself from loving your children."

If she did, the decision that made her activate Asuryan's edict would extend to them as well, and she would be unable to take direct action with humanity.

"Hope for the future, the feelings of those children, and something to keep you occupied while you stay with us." Erda answered.

Isha let out a short laugh. The mother of humanity was craftier than her children gave her credit.

"Alright. I'll play along." She said as she turned towards Erda. "But, what about the other children? The children who do not fail?"

Erda wished to save the children from the assassin temple without jeopardizing Neoth's plans. That meant that the children who would become the killing machines for the Imperium would be left in the temples.

"I can only save all of those I can." Erda said quietly. "Someday, I hope they can be free as well." Her voice trembled slightly, and it sounded higher pitched and younger than it should have been for a woman of her age. "At the very least, they will have the survival skills to have a chance to live through whatever this galaxy can throw at them."

The shuttle began to slow as it reached its destination. The assassin temple appeared to be a simple administratum building darkened by shadows like many other buildings at this level outside the Sanctum Imperialis but still within the Imperial Palace. The shuttle detached itself from its electromagnetic rails and unfurled several propellers. Its rotors took it half-way up the building to a VIP entrance balcony.

"Assassin, contact the Director Primus of the Vindicare temple." Erda said before the shuttle docked and its doors opened. "Inform him that there will be a new way of disposal for the dropout."

The disguised Lady Callidus nodded and exited the shuttle first. Left alone, Erda turned to Isha.

"Here, take this." She said as a single raindrop formed and suspended itself above her palm. "I may not have much, but humanity still lives upon me. I have means of recuperating myself. You do not."

Isha touched the droplet of water, and it was absorbed into her as if it had hit desert sands.

"I guess this will do." She said as she drew back her hand.

That was a small portion of psychic power that was exchanged between them. It was miniscule, but it would be enough to assist Erda's little charade.

—-------------------------------------------------

There was a dull thud as a child's body hit the stone floor. Hundreds of others were on the ground with them; either completely limp or huddled in the fetal position. Bruises varying from red to dark purple covered almost every surface of their skin.

"Exitus Acta Probat." A bald muscular man said. His body was covered in a skintight black bodysuit which fit over his ergonomic physique. "The outcome justifies the deed." He spoke, referencing the motto carved under the stone relief hanging above the dark underground sparring arena. The only illumination came from harsh spotlights pointed downward on the children from above, following their every movement while blinding them to everything outside the small circle of light around them.

"Today you learned what it means to survive. Feel no shame in doing that." The man walked over to one of the collapsed children on the ground. "A weapon's worth is in its function." His hand closed around the throat of a fallen girl, dragging her up as she gagged. Her limbs were in too much pain to struggle or fight him. "To cease function is to cease being useful." His forearm bulged as his fingers began to tighten around the child's windpipe. "Those of you still standing are still functional. You have survived using whatever means you had at your disposal."

Several of the standing children looked down at their hands. Their knuckles were red and bloodied, and they sported broken bleeding noses or back eyes on their faces. A few had pebbles or rocks they had grabbed from the ground while fighting their sparring partners that dripped with blood.

"Now, this is the outcome of your deeds." There was a crack as the child's neck broke in the man's grip, and he tossed the limp body to the ground like a used rag.

"You have saved your own life, and taken your opponents. This is the purpose of a weapon; to preserve life through the elimination of another." The bald man walked over to the next fallen child. This one was less badly wounded, and had the strength to squirm on the ground like a worm trying to wriggle away from a bird. "Exitus Acta Probat." The bald man repeated as he turned to the sparring partner of the child who lay before him. "Your opponent is still functional." He said calmly. "A weapon's worth is in its function." The child before him trembled under his gaze. "Do you want to survive, or not?" The question was asked as casually, as if asking for the number of sugar cubes one would like in their tea.

The child's fists trembled, then he stepped forward. He looked down at the child on the ground, face swollen and lips bleeding. His hands reached down, grabbed the child's head, then slammed it into the stone floor. Again and again, he smashed his opponent's skull into the stones, destroying the brain inside the bone while saving his knuckles from further abuse.

There was a crunch, and the small body spasmed once before lying still.

"Exitus Acta Probat." The bald man said as he walked away from the child, frozen with his opponent's head still in his hands. "This is what it means to survive."

Suddenly, the man stopped mid-step. He tilted his head slightly, then nodded.

"You have another lesson in survival today." He said calmly. "In the wild, the strong eat the weak. Now, you will witness what this means."

There was the rumble of the cargo elevator that led to this underground section of the assassin temple, hidden in the darkness created by the spotlights. Pneumatic pistons hissed loudly as the doors to the elevator opened, then heavy footsteps sounded throughout the arena. Several new spotlights turned on, and focussed on the source of the sound.

A beast with a red face and six eyes stared at the children. It was the height of three men and had the girth of five more. Vicious raptor talons sprouted from each of its fingers and toes. Thick hair covered its back and chest, yet the corded muscles could be clearly seen moving underneath its fur. It walked forwards quickly to the body of the girl with the broken neck, then swallowed the body in a single mouthful.

"This is what it means to be weak." The bald man continued, standing to the side to ensure he was out of the beast's way. "Exitus Acta Probat."

The clawed creature swallowed the boy with the broken skull next. He was sucked into its maw feet first, pulling his head from his opponent's limp hands. One by one, the collapsed children were swallowed by the creature, leaving only a few stains of blood from nose bleeds or cuts on the floor.

After swallowing the last fallen child whole, the beast turned towards the bald man. Its lips quivered, as if suppressing a growl. The bald man merely stared back at it, unemotional, but his suit seemed to bulge as his muscles prepared themself to move.

A single second passed, and the beast turned away, lumbering into the darkness as the spotlights turned off. Finally, the pneumatics of the doors to the cargo elevator hissed as they closed, and the elevator rumbled again as it lifted the creature away from the sparring arena.

"You are nameless." The bald man spoke again, walking in front of the children who remained. "You do not exist. When you cease to function, nothing will remain."

A few of the children stared at the blood stains where their peers had been a few moments ago, breathing erratic and afraid.

"Exitus Acta Probat." The bald man repeated again. "You are here because there is a deed that must be done. You are here because the Imperium requires your future service."

He clasped his hands behind his back and spread his feet shoulder width apart. "30km run, starting now. All who fail will be taken to be fed to the animal you just saw."

—-------------------------------------------------

The Clawed Fiend sat in the cargo elevator, ears flicking irritably. Its chest and stomach bulged in and out awkwardly, rearranging the individuals inside as their broken bones and organs were repaired within the oversized crop that was not part of its original physiology.

Finally, the elevator reached its destination and the door opened revealing Erda and the Callidus assassin in her maid disguise waiting beside a number of boxes filled with pillows and air tanks.

"I sensed two on the verge of death." Erda spoke as the Clawed Fiend stepped off of the elevator. "Were you able to save them?"

The beast nodded, then wretched. Its fanged mouth opened wider with each attempt at regurgitation. Finally, several children were vomited out; unconscious but completely unharmed with unblemished skin.

"Place them in the boxes." Erda ordered the assassin. Her hands wavered for a moment, stretching out towards them before pulling themselves back.

After spitting out the last unconscious child, the Clawed Fiend began to shrink and morph back into the Aeldari form of Isha.

"Your son's Imperium is brutal." She said bitterly, picking up one of the unconscious children and placing them in a cushioned box to be smuggled out of the assassin temple.

"They are a necessary evil, according to Neoth and Malcador." Erda sighed irritably. "Admittedly, an assassination incurs less casualties than war, but the training process is unkind to say the least."

"And so the lives of the many are saved by the sacrifice of the few." Isha spat as she attached a breathing mask to another child's face before closing the lid on the box.

"That is the ideal for any utilitarian society." Erda said sadly as she stepped away from the children. 'Assassin, have the preparations been made for their rooms in the Sanctum Imperialis?' She asked with sign language, sending an angry glare at the current leader of the Callidus Temple.

'They have, Lady Erda.' Callidus replied in sign language. 'These children will be smuggled into the Sanctum Imperialis officially as part of the candidates for Astarte's Space Marine project. After that, they will be redirected to the rooms assigned for Lady Isha's usage.'

"Good." Erda breathed a sigh of relief, then switched to telepathy to communicate with Isha. 'Now, we only have to repeat this performance at the Callidus, Adamus, and Eversor Temples.'

'What about the Venenum, Vanus, and Culexus Temples?' Isha asked.

'The temples of the poisoners and information gatherers do not use the same methods to traumatize their initiates into obedience. They can wait.' Erda said tiredly. 'As for the Culexus, I doubt we can pull off the same trick there. Their null-fields will begin to erode your disguise.'

Isha frowned. The Culexus Temple specialized in converting the strongest Blanks into anti-psyker assassins. Their mere presence would block out the Warp, and revert the immaterial to nothingness. Her disguise was based on shifting her immaterial essence into the shape she wished. Hence, she too would feel their effects.

'I can hold their effects back, if I had more power.' She offered. Isha was a goddess. Even the strongest Blanks could not resist her, if she had enough psychic energy to punch through their field.

'I have no more to give.' Erda shook her head. 'Omega level Blanks are rare, and the Culexus Temple's efforts are currently focussed on research and development for their wargear at the moment. That means the children are looked after well in comparison to the other temples. They cannot afford for them to die, at the very least.'

Her shoulders visibly slumped at the admission. She too would feel the effects of the Blanks' null-fields, and in her state it would feel like being dipped in a vat of acid. Yet, she worried about them all the same.

Isha sighed as the last child was sealed into a cushioned box with a canister of breathable air.

'So, we move on to the next step of your ploy.' She communicated mentally as she turned towards Erda.

'We do.' Erda nodded. 'If an alliance with your children and mine is going to be seriously entertained, diplomats who are used to you and your culture will be necessary.'

'And since there are no other Aeldari here, you wish for me to educate them.'

That was the hope Erda spoke of earlier. The children who had their deaths feigned in front of their peers would not be remembered nor recorded anywhere. Hence, there was a great degree of freedom away from official oversight. Therefore, educating them in something as unimaginable as the mannerisms of Xenos for the purpose of peace was well within the realm of possibility.

'I cannot nurture them. I cannot even touch them.' Erda said as she stared at her hand. 'I cannot simply free them with nowhere else to go either. Neoth will simply round them up and send them back to where I took them from.' Her hand balled into a fist, nails digging into her palm. 'But, if they are with you, they will have a purpose.' She said as she turned towards Isha. 'Neoth and Malcador will have their assassins. You will have a future hope for cooperation with your kin.'

'And you?' Isha asked, raising an eyebrow.

'I will not have to listen to them weep and die in the darkness.' Erda replied with a sad smile.

The mother of humanity was not deaf to her children's cries. She merely could not act either due to the cruelty being necessary for the Imperium, or being conducted by the Imperium. Even if she could act, her very touch would spread radiation and pollution into their bodies.

Thus, she sat in the dark laboratories of the Himalazia mountains, feeding the last sons she could raise with what remained of her divine blood.

"Then let us move on to the next temple." Isha said the words out loud. "We will need many to have any hope of bridging the gap between our species."

"Indeed." Erda nodded as the first sealed boxes containing the smuggled children were picked up by mechanical arms and loaded onto a barge destined for the Sanctum Imperialis.