She wasn't hard to find. Not that Imisha had thought so. She had just pictured their reunion as something more...epic. Something grand, something worthy as an end of her long journey. But yet somehow this felt right. Her master was one that kept defying expectations. Smiling to herself and adjusting her sleeping daughter that was strapped to her chest in a scarf Imisha walked up to the naked young woman. She was sitting on the ground, drawing figures in the dirt with a stick.

"Hi, Ynnead. I've been looking for you."

The young woman looked up. Her eyes were heterochromatic in the extreme, with one almost completely black and the other one bright yellow.

"Only my mother and my brother ever call me by that name."

"What did the other's call you then?"

"I don't know. Death. Hope. 'God.'"

Imisha sat down next to her god, careful not to wake her daughter. Ynnead had lowered her gaze again, still poking at the ground with her stick.

"I like Ynnead. How are you?" Imisha asked carefully.

"I don't know," Ynnead shrugged. Her head bobbed aimlessly from side to side, a nervous edge to her motions. She looked up, smiling weakly and gesturing towards her chest. "I got these now. Always wanted a pair, you know. So I guess I've got that going for me."

"I see that," Imisha acknowledged. "You've grown up."

"I don't know about that. I don't feel grown up."

"You never do." Imisha's daughter grunted and the farseer rocked back and forth to calm the baby. But the little girl would not be satisfied so sighing Imisha gave her the breast. As the girl ate greedily Ynnead's eyes darted back and forth between the baby and the ground, sneaking as many peaks as she could while still managing to not truly look up.

"You've also changed."

"Yepp," Imisha acknowledged. "Got a couple of these," she smiled and nodded towards her daughter who was fastly falling back asleep. "Always wanted them."

"Good for you," Ynnead muttered. Her toes were digging into the dirt, hand fidgeting around the stick she was using to poke the ground.

Imisha took a deep breath and steadied her smile.

"I've got you to thank for that, you know. My three beautiful little Eldar children-"

"Don't call them Eldar," Ynnead grumbled, still looking down.

For the first time, Imisha's smile slipped a little, annoyance creeping onto her face and voice. Why did the goddess always have to be so infuriating?

"What are you saying? Why wouldn't I?"

Straightened her back a little, Ynnead looked up and locked eyes with the farseer. Her swirling eyes bored into Imisha.

"Because they're not. Besides, the Eldar are doomed."

Imisha opened her mouth to argue but found that she couldn't. Instead, her mouth kept hanging ajar. For the first time, she regarded in the goddess figure. When the goddess had sat hunched up it hadn't been as visible but now Imisha could see the difference. Ynnead hadn't just grown up. While the goddess still had the pointed ears and graceful form of an Eldar, she was not an Eldar. All across her stomach and legs ran elaborate patterns of silver scales, like tiny snakes on her skins. Her shoulders and arms were covered with tiny feathers so small that they looked like fur. Imisha looked down at her sleeping daughter, then up at the goddess again.

"Don't say that! You will save us, you will-"

Ynnead shook her head. "I can't. And even if I could, I wouldn't."

"But why? You were supposed to be our last hope!"

"There is no hope for the Eldar. There never was. Your story has to end. It has gone on for too long as it is, hindering other stories from starting. You have to end. That's why I'm here, that's my purpose, to end you."

"I didn't chase you halfway across the galaxy for you to tell me that there is no hope," Imisha spat at her god, tears forcing their way through from her eyes. "Is there really no hope for my children?"

"That's not what I said."

"But-"

"I said that she's no Eldar. Do you understand what that means?"

Imisha just sat there, dazed and confused.

"I told you I will end you. That little bundle of joy is how I chose to do it."

"She's going to kill us?"

Ynnead rolled her eyes, throwing away her stick. For a moment her old fire was back.

"Is that all you can think of? Killing? Or did she suck your brain out through your tits?"

Imisha gaped back, looking between her helpless little daughter and her god. "But I don't understand. What does it mean?"

"It means she's just different enough to not be bound by your sins or tied to your doom. She's part of the new story, the lucky little sneak. Or to be correct an old story that never came to pass. She's what you were originally meant to be."

Ynnead swirled her hand and as if out of thin air a little vial of golden liquid appeared. A trick she without a doubt had learned from her brother.

"Remember this?"

Imisha nodded. It was the mixture Ynnead has slipped in her drink to cure her infertility.

"This is you, 70 million years ago. You before your beauty and grace were weaponized and turned into an instrument of destruction. Before your very soul was mutilated to be fit for bloodshed. Your raw essence, the original blueprint if you will. I know because when they made me there wasn't enough of the refined variant left. So they cut some corners and used some of the old stuff, hoping it would get the job done, thinking it ok if their little safeguard killswitch was a bit rough around the edges. I had but one purpose after all."

Ynnead smirked and with another flick of the wrist and the vial was gone.

"And they were right. I will fulfil my role, I will make the race they named Eldar extinct. Breed you right out of existence. Revert your children back to what they were supposed to be, one mother at a time. You were only my first test subject. Aboard that craftworld up above, there are now thousands."

"But why?"

"Because the Eldar can't be saved. You conveniently blame my sister for everything but the truth is you were doomed from the start. You're a weapon Imisha, do you realize that? Made by extinct masters to fight in an ancient forgotten war. Your whole race was made with murder in mind. That's why no one will ever be able to save you. Eventually, no matter what I or anyone else do, you will destroy yourself. You were never meant to survive."

Tentatively, as if she was afraid of the child, Ynnead reached out and softly stroked Imisha's daughter over the cheek with the tip of her finger.

"But you, little one, you're made to live. You, I can save."

Opening her eyes, Imisha's daughter looked up straight as Ynnead. Slowly a tiny hand reached up from within the bundle and wrapped itself around the goddess' finger. The two stared at each other so intently that Imisha also felt left out. Finally, her daughter let out a bubbling giggle. Ynnead's face, previously still, started to twitch. It was as if she had forgotten how to smile and it was now slowly coming back to her. She almost looked shocked as her face split into a grin and a burst of ringing laughter erupted from her mouth. Ynnead made a silly face and the baby giggled furiously. When she looked at Imisha, it was like she was a different person. No, not different. The same person Imisha had met in her husband's tent. It seemed so long ago.

"She's worth dying for, wouldn't you say?"

Imisha nodded mutely. Ynnead let out a deep sigh and stood up. With a single shake of her head, her long bushy hair fell out almost to her waist. The dirt and filth just seemed to fall off her. For the first time since they met, Imisha was awestruck by just how beautiful the goddess had become. The scrawny little princess had become a queen.

"I'm glad you came Imisha. The truth is, I was feeling a little sorry for myself. And I'm still more than a little envious of her. And of you. I would so have liked to live a little longer, to experience all that life has to offer. Perhaps even have children of my own. But I sulked for far too long. My fate is what it is. A lot of people have suffered and died for me to have this chance to set things right. I will not dishonour their sacrifice."

All around them, light and shadow rose up from the ground like morning mists. Two suns ignited in the goddess' eyes.

"No matter I wish it was so, I can't be your daughter's god. I have to be yours or she'll never get a chance at life. And so like you, my story has to come to an end."

As she spoke, Ynnead stretched herself to her full height, raising her hand towards the sky. She had indeed grown. She shook her head and smacked herself on the cheeks.

"For so long I've found excuses to drag it out. And then I got lost. It's was hard, you know. When you have run out of excuses to live. Even now, in the end, I find I'm afraid to die. A death goddess who's afraid to die, how lame is that? But my sister has shown me the way, she has opened the door I thought closed. I need but to follow in her footsteps."

Ynnead glanced down at Imisha and smiled. "It feels really good to know that I will be leaving something behind. Something so beautiful. Wouldn't you say?"

Imisha rose and took Ynnead by the hand, her fingers intertwining with those of her god.

"You said there's no hope for us. But you're wrong. You have shown me that there is hope. Even it means the death of us all. For the sake of my children, I will gladly follow you beyond the veil."

"You promise?"

Imisha nodded. Ynnead returned the gesture, taking a deep breath while nervously biting her lip.

"Then let's start atoning for our sins."

Ynnead turned her head back towards the heavens and reached up with her free hand. Then, ever so slowly, as if plucking an invisible apple, she closed her outstretched hand and with great effort started to pull downwards.

Amaron was just about to step onto the assault shuttle when a servitor ran up to him, so out of breath, he could hardly speak. He was visibly annoyed at the interruption. His power armour was on, his weapon loaded, he had resigned himself to his fate.

"Inquisitor!"

"What is it, servitor?"

"Sir, my lord. I think you need to see this." The servitor stammered. Not again, Amaron thought to himself. What was it now?

On the observation deck, he realized why the servitor had called him.

Two enormous tentacles, one of light and one of shadow, were streaming up from the planet's surface, racing out into the night, wrapping around each other like curling snakes. Cursing softly, Amaron followed them off into space with his eyes. They were ignoring his fleet, heading for somewhere outside the solar system. Was he too late? At the end of those beams, was another human world dying? Was this the girl's last-ditch revenge? Snatching up a datapad, he quickly ordered the ship's computer to zoom in, calculating potential targets. After a few seconds, the one possible answer popped up. Amaron squinted, as if not believing his eyes. He punched in a few commands and when the confirmations came back there was no longer any doubt. He sat down. After a few seconds of utter astonishment, he dropped the datapad.

"Call off the assault."

"But Inquisitor..."

"I said: Call off the assault!" Amaron barked, rising to his feet again.

"This is Amaron to attack fleet. All ships, break off and form a defensive perimeter around the planet. Ground troops, dig in around the source of those beams. But do not, I repeat do not, under any circumstances, engage the Eldar."

The inquisitor swung around, face full of determination, frantically firing orders into the comm system like an assault cannon.

"Call in every available reinforcement in the sector. Space Marines, Imperial Guard, local forces, I want them all. Every man that can walk. Every ship that can fly. Inform Terra at once. And get me the commander of that craftworld. Now!" As Amaron stormed off his heart sang. Beneath his stern exterior, he felt almost giddy with relief. He had believed that there was nothing that would make him forgo his vengeance for all the people that girl had murdered. There would eventually have to be a reckoning, of course. But by the emperor, that would have to wait. The opportunity at hand was too great to pass on. And now, unlike the politically motivated slaughter that had seemed to have been his final destiny, the battle that was sure to come would without a doubt be one Amaron could be proud to call his last.

When the inquisitor had left the room, the servitor, glancing around to make sure no one saw him, picked up the datapad. At first, he did not understand what he was seeing. The target of the beams, what looked like a giant purple and pink vortex, swirled on the screen. Next to it was a percentage that kept going down. 99,9999978%. 99,9999976%. With a swipe of his hand, he zoomed in on the area where the two beams had struck. Near the vortex's edge, the two columns of black and white were rapidly weaving back and forth across the border like sewing needles, latching on to the edge of the maelstrom. 99,9999941%. 99,9999657%. 99,9998119%. Wait, did the vortex border just jump back a little?

99,9998101%. Finally, the servitor understood what he was looking at.

That swirling vortex was the Eye of Terror. A bleeding wound in the galaxy where the warp and real space overlapped, the rip in reality that had heralded the birth of Slaanesh, the great enemy of the Eldar. The very gates of hell. But now, so slowly that it was invisible to the naked eye, those gates were closing.