Epilogue

After the cold winds, snow and rain, the warm, dry air of this world was welcoming. Yaidev closed her eyes, letting the wind softly stroke her face and run through her hair. She had stepped out of the webway into an oasis, the rock formations surrounding it, casting long shadows in these early hours of day.

At the centre was a clear spring that reflected the brilliant blue sky above, its surface rippling, distorting the image. Palm-like trees grew here, adding more shadows, their broad leaves moving gently in the breeze. There were also other plants, remarkably similar looking to giant clamps, greyish in colour, something within them shimmering, almost glowing, faintly blue. Curious; perhaps later she would study them thoroughly.

But neither flora nor fauna was reason for her presence here. She had come for something else. For someone. Well, honestly the Pathfinder didn't exactly know what she was specifically looking for, but she had to come here.

Yaidev put on her goggles and pulled up a piece of beige coloured cloth to cover her mouth and nose. Her head was already protected by a turban to prevent a potential sunstroke, which in itself could be lethal in the vast deserts of Calderis. Besides, her crimson hair would only stand out.

Nimbly she climbed the rocks, keeping to the shade until she's reached the top. The landscape around her was desolate, dominated by stone and sand as far as even her eldar eyes could see, her view impaired by grains whirled up by the west-winds. Only in the east saw she mountains rose to the sky, orange and red in the morning light. But there wasn't any sign of life. How fortunate for her.

After all, she had many miles to cover across open field.

Near the webway gate waited her Jetbike, the wraithbone this time in the colours of the Caldarian desert, her Long Rifle mounted at the side. Hopefully she would not require anything but its scope.

The engines hummed with the tune of the winds, when she started them. They raised the sands beneath her bike, as if they desired to cloak her with them. Yaidev left the oasis and let herself be swallowed by the haze of sand the west-wind created, using it as the only available cover.

She drove around dunes, most several meters high, but never climb them when it could be avoided. But aside from dust nothing stirred.

For about two hours she headed towards the mountains, the sun nearing its zenith, with only the occasional bird circling among the white clouds. Slowly the dunes shrunk and rocks began to dominate the landscape, the mountains growing as she approached them.

Soon she guided her Jetbike along slim paths and canyons, the stone surrounding her displaying fiery shades of orange in direct sunlight. A few more plants grew here, dry grasses and shrubs with tiny leaves, sticking out of cracks or clinging to the shadows.

Eventually Yaidev felt that she had travelled far enough and began to search for a place where she could hide her vehicle. As silent as it was, as well as the colours had been chosen, it remained comparatively noticeable compared to an Outcast on foot.

After some time of searching, she found an opening in the rocks, just broad enough for her bike to fit through. She pulled out a blanket made of the same material as her cloak and covered the entry with it. Adding some of the local fauna, a passer-by would only see another rock face, unless he leaned against the cloth.

She slipped out of the crevice and continued on, Long Rifle on her back, a curved knife at her belt; even if she didn't intent to fight or even kill, it would be foolish to travel unarmed.

The sun rose ever further and as Yaidev searched her way along the mountain paths, she spotted more of the indigenous fauna, from small reptiles bathing in the warm light to larger mammals feeding on the few plants growing in this desert.

Somewhere along the way the Pathfinder came across an entire herd of grey-furred bovids, with slim bodies and long straight horns growing from their heads, which had gathered in a canyon. Not only could they graze here in the cool shade, but water was running from one of the rock faces like a shimmering veil. Green moos grew here, apparently a delicacy for the hoofed animal, which plucked what patches they could reach from the wet rock. None noticed the eldar, though their long ears constantly moved, ever attentive.

Yaidev too stopped at the water-veil and pulled down the cloth that had been covering her face, sand trickling to the ground. She gathered some of the liquid in her hands, taking a few sips. It was clear and pure, with only a faint taste of stone lingering on her tongue. The humans living on this world probably depended on deep wells instead to supply themselves.

She looked around, taking in the peaceful picture before her. Given the recent history of this sector it was astonishing that any form of life had found a way to survive here. The thought lifted her heart. It was something she loved about visiting worlds, to see life thrive and continue despite all horrors. To see that places such as this still existed despite all odds.

But she had to move on.

Yaidev continued her journey, until the sun had passed its zenith, closing in on the human settlements. The signs of past conflicts were engraved into the very landscape here. Craters created by artillery and explosions, scorched or even melted rocks, bullet holes and armour pieces of all factions, buried partially in the sand.

This earth had been soaked in blood.

Eventually, Yaidev had made it to a hidden cliff, a rock reaching over her like a closing maw. She lay down on a bed of yellow grass and took the scope from her Long Rifle.

Below her was the centre of Calderian civilisation, streets leading from small villages to a city at a hillside, its buildings in natural colours, either that of stone and sand, or painted in white, reflecting the bright sunlight. Argus, capital of Calderis, and a place that had been marked by war perhaps more than any other on this world.

The walls surrounding the settlement had been repaired and people were passing through the broad gates, a few with vehicles, even more with pack animals, carrying goods. For the capital of an entire planet it could be considered small, compared to cities on other Imperial worlds she'd seen, but it seemed a busy place nonetheless.

The scars of the recent wars however were plain. Not only were many buildings completely new, but a few areas were still being rebuild.

The core of the city had already been mended, dominated by structures with great domes and sleek towers, likely having some cultural or religious significance to the humans. The southern and eastern districts were also inhabitable once more and the efforts of reconstruction now seemed to be focused on the western part of the capital.

To her delight it was there that she found the first Astartes. So there were at least some on this world; that was what she'd been hoping for. If Morai-Heg smiled upon her, and she had not misjudged the runes, the one she was interested in would be among them as well.


Noon was passing, as the sun stood high and burned down on the city, the white surfaces of the recently constructed buildings reflecting its light, adding to the brightness. Each cloud was a small blessing and anyone who could, spent those hot hours in the shadows of their homes, workshops or stores. It was actually quite common on most of Calderis that people took off a few hours in the middle of the day to escape the heat and rather worked in the cool evenings or even nights.

The Astartes however were not bothered by such conditions. By orders of their new Chapter Master, most brothers who were not engaged in combat missions, which these days usually meant appeasing the spires of the Hive World Meridian, were now partaking in the rebuilding of the devastated sector. Over a decade of war had left towns and cities in ruins, some completely deserted and the trust in the Emperor's sons was shaken.

It would take years, perhaps generations before those scars were mended.

Still, it was fortunate that it had also been the Blood Ravens, who had come to defend their worlds and so some faith remained. The offered assistance was being accepted with a certain amount of astonishment, but also gratefulness. Even after over two weeks, many people were still in awe whenever they met one of the Astartes, or found themselves working alongside them.

It was a little different with the children. While undoubtedly intimidated, their curiosity often seemed to get the better of them. They had adopted a habit of choosing one Astartes, whom they would follow around for a considerable amount of time, sometimes much to the annoyance of their searching parents. While most brothers ignored the children, a few interacted with them, though never exchanging more than a few words. At least when they didn't ran off again.

At the moment however the various construction sites were nearly abandoned, the labourers and families away for a midday meal, some Blood Raven using the time for prayer or training. Not all however.

Cyrus had finished his daily prayer and returned to his work. He lowered a wooded pillar into one of prepared holes, before adjusting the angle in accordance with the others already in place. Only then could he embed it in the hard, dry ground. These pillars were the basic framework of the building and a mistake could render the finished construction unstable. Clay and wood were perhaps rather primitive materials, but they had proven themselves in the climate and weather of Calderis, withstanding the desert conditions better than many of the more advanced means of construction. Additionally, the people could comparatively easily maintain their own homes.

All around him new houses rose from what used to be a field of rubble, here in a western district of Argus. Some had already been finished, gleaming white, though the majority was in different stages of construction. Wooden pillars stood everywhere like a forest of leafless trees, some connected by timber, creating frameworks in the desired shapes for the buildings.

The Astartes primarily helped with the heavy labour, as heavy machinery and vehicles were rare after over a decade of warfare. Not to mention that most Calderians could not effort these things and had relied on beasts as well as simple technology for millennia. This was feudal world after all, harsh and unforgiving, travelled by nomads on animal backs across deserts with dunes as high as small mountains and mountains with paths just broad enough for a single person. The more fertile areas were dominated by wide fields with far apart farms, making cities such as Argus a true rarity.

The seasoned battle brothers assigned here had varying opinions on their new mission. The majority saw it as a form of penance for their sins, the sins of their chapter, and thus accepted their duty, performing it diligently. A few even, usually among the younger generations, seemed even somewhat pleased by this opportunity, as Calderis had been the main recruiting world for the chapter ever since Aurelia had been swallowed by the warp and later Cyrene's destruction; despite having left behind their former lives many years ago, a connection to this world remained for those native.

Others however thought less positive, viewing their work on Calderis as beneath them, wishing to join their brothers in battle on Meridian instead. It was perhaps them, who most needed to be here.

Cyrus himself considered himself to most likely to fit into the former category. He remembered battles in this very district, before ork tanks had levelled most of the area beneath their tracks and crude weapons. The response from the Blood Ravens had done the rest, his own explosive charges having razed abandoned homes one by one. Actions unquestionably necessary, still it only seemed just that he now serving here.

The Scout Sergeant smiled to himself. His old friend Nadim would probably be amused to see him here like this. It had been a long time since Deathwatch and if he was still alive, the Salamander had probably returned to his homeworld of Nocturne by now. He had already considered his return, when Cyrus' tour with the alien hunters had ended.

The Salamanders were known for their close ties to the people of Nocturne, some even living among them between campaigns, interacting with their former families or even serving as clan leaders. Nadim himself had spoken of his clan as if they were as close to him as his own battle brothers. While the Salamander was saddened to outlive them, it also gladdened him to see his relatives grow and develop. In a way, Cyrus could relate to that, even if it applied to his brothers more than citizens, who were strangers to him.

Still, he was well aware that some of his Blood Raven brothers frowned upon the people of the Imperium; they embraced their role as warriors, weapons of the Emperor and deemed the lives of normal humans dispensable, looking at them with contempt, the unending war consuming their every thought and consideration.

Cyrus couldn't deny that he had become cynical over his centuries of service, but he didn't deem himself entirely indifferent. The simple truth was that they had been tasked with protecting the Imperium. They fought not only for the Emperor, but his realm as well. And the Imperium was more than buildings, machines or ancient texts. It was also its people, and while a single life counted little or even nothing, mankind itself mattered. What good was a building if no one lived or worked there? Anything from shrine to cathedral if no one worshipped there? What was the purpose of machines if there was none to use or maintain them? What was the meaning of writings if there was none to preserve and value them?

His thoughts were interrupted by hushed voices. He looked over his shoulder, quickly spotting a group of children half hidden behind one of the nearly finished buildings, close enough to be seen, but far enough for their whispers to be too quiet for even him to understand. It would seem that it was his turn to be shadowed.

It appeared to be two boys and a girl, none of them quite a decade old yet, quietly speaking to one another. As soon as they saw that they had been noticed, the three quickly stepped further behind the drying clay wall, so that only their shadows could be seen.

This wasn't the first time that children follow him and so far he had simply ignored them and continued his work. He had never gone so far as to scare them away as a few of his brothers had done, who had grown annoyed by the unwanted audience. Cyrus, like most, didn't mind them. Children were curious by nature, and what they learned and experienced in these early years would shape them for their entire lives.

A positive encounter now could instil trust and loyalty in future generations.

Some of them would perhaps even join their ranks one day, become his students. He smiled a little at that thought. To teach again, see them grow up and become true battle brothers, instead of only listening to the countless eulogies in their honour. They all had listened to too many these past years.

But even those who would not be chosen to join the chapter played a part. Only a fool would believe that Space Marine chapters didn't rely on the people of the Imperium and for more than just recruits. However essential suitable young warriors were no army, even one consisting of Astartes, could sustain itself on its own, whether it was fare, fuel, ammunition or the raw material used to create their armours, weapons or vehicles. In the end it all was resting on the shoulders of countless ordinary men and women.

With the pillar placed and embedded Cyrus went to get the next one. Several dozen had been brought on trailers to an intersection close by, as the streets were too narrow for any larger vehicle. It also was just beyond where the children were hiding. They had probably seen the trailers and decided to take a look around.

And they didn't fail to notice his approach. After a head had carefully peeked around the wall, the Scout Sergeant heard more whispers, followed by the sound of hasty steps, first on sandy ground, then stone stairs, a case of which led to a lower level of the district. Due to being located along a hillside, the city was essentially divided in terraces of sorts, connected by numerous staircases, which made travelling by anything other than foot troublesome at times, depending on where one wished to go.

"Ah!" A bright voice suddenly cried out.

Cyrus, walked around the corner, finding himself at the top of the broad flight of steps. As he looked down he saw the three children near the foot, all dressed in ankle-length thwabs, the formerly white robes stained by the dust and dried clay. To protect themselves from the sun and sand, all wore white keffiyeh with a distinctive checkered pattern, made from black cotton. To keep them on their heads, the square scarfs were secured with agals, black cords worn doubled.

The girl was sitting on a step, clutching her foot, the two boys by her side. One of them looked up and got startled when he spotted the Astartes. Quickly he grabbed the other boy by the shoulder, causing him to flinch as well.

The Scout Sergeant sighed and, after briefly making up his mind, descended down the stairs. He could spare a few minutes. Only when the boys took a few steps back seemed the girl to notice Cyrus, looking over her shoulder, a pair of watery eyes widening. She was scared just like them. As if to make herself a smaller target, she pulled her shoulders up, her head seeking cover between them.

Respect was one thing, but this outright fear was troublesome. It displeased him to be seen in such a light by the people he'd helped to protect and he was now trying to make amends to. He didn't care for honours or credit, but neither did he want this.

With deliberate slowness, Cyrus kneeled down next to the girl, who seemed frozen, eyes locked on him with awe and fear. "I will not hurt you." He told her, trying to do so softly. She swallowed audibly, but nodded, nibbling at her lower lip. "What is your name, child?" As gently as possible he palpated her small foot and ankle. The girl, like the other two children he observed, only wore a light pair of sandals, which hardly offered any support, leaving almost the entire foot bare; it was little more than a leather sole with two straps. It was no wonder she had slipped.

Another gulp. "Atossa, my Lord." She finally replied, voice merely a whispered. Then she flinched and a tear finally made it from the corner of her eye.

Cyrus frowned briefly, having felt something at the toes. "Broken." He had seen enough injuries, even if a child's bones were incredibly small and far more brittle compared to a battle brother's. Still, he decided not to rectify it himself, not wishing to do more harm than good.

"Will she be alright, sir?" It seemed at least one of the boys had found the courage to speak. Cyrus looked up to him and saw that he was just keeping himself from backing off further, his body tense.

"The bones will heal, though they should be treated." In any case, she should not walk until then. "Your parents?"

"Working at some of the new houses." The young boy replied and pointed east, down the street that went past the staircase. "It's not far from here."

Well, it was probably closer than the next medicae somewhere in the city. To the surprise of the children, Cyrus picked up the girl, letting her sit on his right arm, supporting her with his other hand to make sure she would fall off. "Bring me to them."

The boy still seemed puzzled, but the other, about the same age, quickly nodded and replied for him. "Of…of course." The two in fact looked very similar to each other, be it facial features, the tanned skin so common on this desert dominated area of the planet and dark eyes. It was of course entirely possible that all three were related to one another, perhaps even siblings.

Hesitant at first, the girl on his arm eventually took hold of his clothing, the fabric of the same red as is armour. Like most of his brothers, he declined to wear his usual combat gear in an effort to appear less threatening. Whether it truly helped was a matter up to debate.

The two boys went down the street east, lined with already finished homes, jogging in order to better match Cyrus' pace, each stride naturally greater than those of normal men and especially children. He could feel that the girl was tense, her gaze lowered, avoiding his at any cost. Truthfully he wasn't entirely comfortable with this situation either. This was not his area of expertise, but if nothing else it served the purpose of their mission.

The street they followed remained empty, though soon the sounds of manual tools could be heard, such as hammers upon wood and metal. Voices joined them as they came closer to another major construction side, scaffoldings appearing here and there.

Every now and then the boys would look at Cyrus, still showing puzzlement at his actions, as well as curiosity, which seemed to replace their fear more and more. Yet they kept a respectful distance, often looking to the girl with a hint of worry, as if they feared she wasn't safe.

She in the meantime relaxed a little, even if she didn't quite dare to move, but he could see that the girl regarded him as well now, if only from the corner of her eye. For a moment and old memory came to mind. He had found himself assisting citizens before, even though those were rare occasions, both adults and children. In this particular case he thought of an orphan girl he'd picked up during the evacuation of Victoria Primus. The Inquisitor he'd served under at the time had taken her in, chosen to make her an acolyte. If she was still alive, she would now be serving Lord Nicomedo in his missions.

He hadn't thought much of the Inquisitor in recent times, not since the tyranids had been dealt with, but then the eldar had mentioned him. Now what were the odds of them working alongside the same Inquisitor and meeting one another twice in this vast galaxy? No, something about this felt artificial, as if it was by design. But who's?

The Pathfinder had mentioned having been sent both times. Had it been by the same person in both cases? If so, a Farseer seemed the most likely employer of her services. Still, what goal would this accomplish? Or had she simply been sent out again because their previous encounter had ended rather leniently? Cyrus couldn't deny that their initial meeting had influenced his decisions on Nemus.

No, he was running around in circles, always asking himself the same questions without a solution in sight. All he could do was remain perceptive. If a larger game was at play, it would eventually reveal itself.

Until then; patience and vigilance.

His thoughts were interrupted, when the boys started to run, one of them waving. Ahead was a single person, a woman similarly dressed to the children, though with a hand-broad leather belt around her midsection. She must have heard the footsteps as she turned around, revealing her youthful face, dotted with a few specks of white paint, with which she was currently covering the outer walls of a one-story, domed house. Cyrus had learned that this coating protected the clay, making it even more resilient to the climate and weather of the planet.

"Mother." The boy that had been waving called out.

"Teispes, Otanes; where have you been?" Only now did her attention travel further. "Atossa!" It appeared that only in moment she had said this, she fully realized that the one carrying the girl was an Astartes. She immediately, dropped the large brush, bowed lowly, dropping to her knees, the curly, black hair that had been showing beneath her headwear falling in front of her face. "My Lord." There was a hint of a tremor in her gentle voice, though it also betrayed a great deal of awe.

The boys stopped next to her, hands placed on her back and arms in a comforting gesture. This time the other one of the two spoke. "She slipped on the stairs and broke something." He told his mother, referring to his supposed sister, causing the young woman to look up, meeting Cyrus gaze directly for the first time.

She only slightly flinched, but she was clearly worried and her words were spoken in haste. "My Lord, I pray my children have not bothered you. If they have distracted or…"

Cyrus lifted a hand and the woman stopped immediately, her hands clutching the boys' shoulders, slightly pushing them back as if she wanted to shield them. "You must not be concerned: their presence did disrupt neither my work nor duties. I merely found your daughter injured not far from here. I assure you it is no inconvenience." Truthfully they were a distraction, at least now, but it had been his decision to help the girl in the end. Besides, the woman was frightened as it was and there was no sense in increasing her apprehension; best to appease her and be done with it.

"Thank you, my Lord." Thankfully her body language visibly relaxed. "I'm relieved to hear this. My daughter?"

He handed the girl over to her mother, the former wrapping her arms around the woman's neck. "A simple broken toe; bothersome, but not threatening. Have a medicae looked after her and it will soon be mended."

There was a shy smile. "I owe you a great debt of gratitude, Astartes. If there is anything?"

Cyrus shook his head. "I require neither reward, nor a service in turn." He assured her calmly, desiring to end this conversation. "I will merely return to attend my duties and leave you to tend to yours."

"Emperor bless you, my Lord."

This time he gave no reply, merely nodding in response and the woman bowed anew, her daughter in arms. The girl looked over her shoulder, for the first time daring to meet his gaze. She seemed relieved to be with her mother and the fear in her eyes had turned to wonder. He looked at the small family, the children in particular. The future of this world, his chapter. The slightest of smiles graced his face for a moment before he turned around and left.

He had only made it a few houses down the road, when a familiar voice addressed him. "Such is a rare sight, brother." Sergeant Arsaces, who had also fought on Nemus, appeared from an intersecting alley; he seemed curious.

What he earned was a frown. "Then you ought to be grateful for the near perfect recollections of a Blood Raven, for I doubt you shall ever see something like this again."

"Perhaps." Arsaces replied with a shrug. "But once I was one of your initiates, I trained under your tutelage for years and I don't reckon that you truly only care little for the Emperor's people."

"If you believe so." He started walking again, uninterested in this line of conversation.

For a moment is brother watched, before he called out another question. "So I am correct in my assumptions?"

Cyrus stopped briefly, turning his head just enough to look over his shoulder. "If you've truly been one of my students, you should know that I do not always simply give you the answer." The Scout Sergeant moved on without waiting for a reply.

His brother briefly raised a brow but then his expression relaxed and he gave a brief chuckle, before he too turned away to return to his own duties. He knew Cyrus well enough to know that when their 'Master of Recruits' did not desire conversation, an attempt in engaging him was usually futile. Well, perhaps it was deeds that spoke loudest after all.


He was alive.

Behind the sand covered cloth Yaidev smiled with satisfaction. It would have been a shame had he died after her departure back on Nemus. But here he was, along with a considerable number of his brothers. She'd never seen Astartes do something like this before, helping the population in this manner; that alone was worth coming for.

Yaidev had watched their activities for some time now, seen them interact and work, sometimes on their own, sometimes alongside normal Cresistauead. It was interesting to see the humans so timid and in awe among those meant to protect the Imperium. In a way they were worlds apart and yet depended on each other. A curious relationship.

She had found 'her' Raven, as Melinoe had referred to him, after some time of searching, alone at the construction site he appeared to have been assigned to. His wounds were healed, at least his movements betrayed no impairments. The clothes he wore were as crimson as the armour of his chapter, though the colour was a little dulled by sand and dust.

Her thoughts turned back to Nemus.

Something about the encounter had bothered her. The likelihood of her meeting this particular Losseainn had been, despite their long lifespans, slim and seeing as she had been chosen by Methran'el both times, she had wondered just how deliberate the Farseer's choice had been.

But if so, for what purpose?

She had confronted her old teacher, yet his responses had been predictably vague about the subject. That much Yaidev had expected. He himself likely didn't quite know what the results would be. Even the wise could not see all ends, too entangled were the myriads of threads from which the tapestry of fate was woven. And even if he knew, the sharing of future events could lead to change, undoing what had been certainty.

Perhaps further investigation would do more harm than good, but her curiosity was as so often before getting the better of her. If she could not determine the reasons for their encounter, she at least wanted to know a little more about the Lossainn, whose path she'd been made to cross. Things had a habit of revealing themselves, given time.

Until then; patience and vigilance.

Yaidev continued to watch, the wooden skeleton of the house growing piece by piece. Nothing curious happened until a few children found him. She'd seen them walk the streets, when one of them spotted the Lossainn. It would seem that eldar and human children shared a sheer boundless curiosity, as she'd long ago learned on the isolated world of Xylon. She had been the first alien any of them had encountered and the children and followed her around whenever she had set foot in the village, until a few had mustered the courage to speak to her.

Here she saw them watch and then flee as soon as the Astartes walked towards them. The little girl slipped on one of the steps, apparently injuring herself.

What happened then surprised her somewhat.

It wasn't exactly the murder of young crows she'd expected to accompany her Raven, but she smiled with amusement, when he carried the girl to whom she assumed was the mother. The two boys remained by his side, showing the way. So Melinoe had been mistaken; a little did he care for the common Cresistauead after all and the Pathfinder felt a bit of satisfaction.

Yaidev continued to observe the exchange between mother and Astartes, when she suddenly noticed that she was no longer alone. Someone approached her. She waited for a moment and then spoke calmly and quietly. "You have walked far to meet me. You could have waited in my ship; it still recognizes you." Yaidev sat up, leaning her back against the cool rock behind her to keep herself in the shadows. Next to her crouched another eldar, dressed in colourful clothing, partially with a diamond-pattern design, her hair styled to a Mohawk in shades of blue. Instead of a face, Yaidev looked at a familiar white mask with a turquoise gem on the forehead, lines of the same colour along the eyes. "I did not expect to see you here, Nimue. What brings you to this dry world?" She wouldn't bother asking how she had found her. The servants of the Laughing God always seemed to know where they needed to go.

Despite her lowered stance, the Harlequin managed a rather elegant bow. "This day I come to you as a messenger and urgent are the tidings I bring." She spoke with a musical voice, lowered to almost a whisper. "The Black Council has called for you, Drasann; your presence is requested."

The Black Council. It was said that it consisted of the wisest Farseers of their people, governing the Black Library of Chaos deep within the webway. While other Farseers, Autarch and politicians tended to only look after their own craftworld, this Council concerned itself with the fate of all eldar. Their summons was surprising, but it would be foolish to ignore it. "What would they ask of an Outcast?"

"Not just of you, for many have been summoned to the Library." The Nimue explained. "These are turbulent times and if the eldar do not wish to drown in the coming storm, one must think of the entire fleet."

"The Black Council rarely involves itself into the matter of craftworlds." That was unless they deemed it absolutely necessary; this was an ill omen and it troubled her greatly. "Dire times. Something is coming, or am I mistaken?"

"Who can tell?" Yaidev could sense the telling smile behind the mask; the Harlequin likely knew very well. "Darkness approaches from all sides, a tempest that will drown the light of stars and moons alike. I fear I can tell no more, for you have a part in the coming play even I do not know, as we shall not share the scenes to come. Your role has been decided by the Seers of old. If thou accept it."

How could she refuse? "My kin has need of me." The Pathfinder replied. "I will come with you, old friend and listen to the words of the wise. Whatever their intentions may be, I do not dare to ignore their summons." Besides, it was a great honour to be chosen in the first place and the idea of going on a mission given by the Black Council exited her, despite her worries.

Nimue nodded. "Then let us leave at once. Long is the way to the hidden sanctuary; time is of the essence, and it is more fleeting than we can afford."

An unexpected turn of events and the Pathfinder felt slightly disappointed to end her inquiries so soon. But whatever the Council required, it was doubtlessly more important. There would be another time; if she survived.

The Harlequin left her side, knowing the Outcast would follow, but Yaidev looked back one last time. "Elith Anastari." She whispered softly, her words getting carried away by the warm desert wind. "Until our next meeting."

THE END

For Now…


And thus we end this short, little story. I hope you've enjoyed the journey and for those interested in further readings, all my stories are part of the same 'canon', with Cyrus and Yaidev often serving as protagonists, though it was only here and in a brief part in "From Oblivion" that I had them together in a story. Yet.

A little trivia; the names of the children are from ancient Persia, which just seemed to fit Calderis and the Blood Raven chapter. Also I wanted to get away from Latin/Latin-sounding names. As a matter of fact, Atossa is the name of the daughter of Cyrus II of Persia/Cyrus the Great.

Now Yaidev's backstory is still being told in "Pathfinder", which I will try my hardest to update regularly now and she will be in the upcoming story "Signum", which will concern the task the Black Council gives her and the efforts of an Inquisitor she helps, who combats the tyranid-threat.

Cyrus meanwhile, will have two more stories set in his two centuries in the Deathwatch. A one-shot in which he first learns about the fate of Cyrene and a second, longer story, in which he's on a mission as a Kill-Marine, travelling with a Rogue Trader and her crew, before he too shows up in the second part of "Signum"

Until next time.