At Ynnead's birthplace, the poisoned world of Eambar life continued as it always had. The fact that an Eldar god had been born and lived on their planet made no difference to them. The fact that she was now murdering her way across the galaxy towards her sister the chaos god Slaanesh meant nothing. Here life, such as it was, continue as always. For the ware they sold was flesh and flesh was always in demand.

Here there was no talk of hope, no dream of redemption. A young girl, just old enough to be sold, was dragged through the filthy streets. Her story was a common one, of lies told, of promises broken, of dreams shattered. This particular one had stolen a bit of medicine to save the life of her unborn child. Now, she had been caught and had to be made an example of. The men that sold her stripped of her breathing mask and while laughing at her pleads, shoved her out of an airlock into the planets toxic atmosphere.

The girl started to die, toxins seeping into her body as the others laughed at the faces she made when life left her, safe behind a glass door. Life was cheap and death was nothing but entertainment.

Nothing had changed.

Until this day, when the toxic clouds that enshroud the planet would part and reveal a new star in the sky. Today everything would change. Had the poor girl been thrown out the airlock just ten minutes later she would have witnessed a miracle that would have saved her life. Ten minutes. As if was, she died horribly as the acidic atmosphere of Eambar consumed her body.

There was a knock at the door. Inquisitor Amaron frowned and pushed down his frustration at the constant interruptions. The man at the door was just doing his job. A deep breath.

"Come in."

The door opened and a servitor stepped into the room. The man was so much machine that Amaron had to wonder how much human there was left in him. What remaining flesh the man had looked like it was in a state of full decay, hardly even alive any more.

"The fleet is ready, my lord." The servitor spoke in a raspy voice.

"Fully armed?"

"1780 multistage cyclonic torpedoes, enough to turn a dozen worlds of your choice to glass marbles." There was an undertone of excitement in the servitor's voice. Amaron had seen it before many times, this fascination with technological terrors, a morbid love for deploying the worst humanity could muster. For Amaron this whole mess was nothing but a failure on all levels. Diplomatic, tactical, not to mention the staggering loss of life and material. He did what he did because he had to, not because he liked it. As far as he was concerned deploying the exterminatus was always the last resort, and in the end, a sign that he had not been doing his job as well as he could have.

"Very well, be..."

At this moment every alarm in the base started blearing. Not hesitating for a second, Amaron grabbed his trusty bolter and rushed pash the servitor and out of his private office. The corridor outside was bustling with people running all over the place, but they all parted for Amaron as he strode towards the command centre. Barking order left and right Amaron tried to find what was going on, but no one would give him a straight answer. Finally, he spotted a familiar face framed in slate grey armour in the crowd. Did the grey knight captain ever leave his terminator armour? Likely not, Amaron mused. When needed the man was always ready, and that was all that mattered.

"What's going on?"

"I think it is best you see for yourself."

The grey knight led Amaron to one of the observation decks on the side of the fortress. Lines and lines of people stood outside, looking stupefied up at the sky, shielding their eyes with their hands. High up in the sky there was a new star, shining brighter than anything Amaron had ever seen even in the middle of the day. It pulsed with power, flooding the platform with light. One particularly strong wave caused the whole crowd to gasp and avert their eyes. Recovering from the blast, the inquisitor did a couple of quick computations and swore under his breath.

"Damn. Isn't that..."

"Yes, that's the direction of the Eye of Terror." The terminator captain replied grimly. Amaron's eyes scanned the men assembled at the platform and his eyes came to rest on the servitor that had been in his office. He squinted as if he could not believe his eyes, then he closed his fist and gritted his teeth.

"Everyone get back inside! Prepare for fleet deployment!" He barked. His voice seemed to snap the crowd out of their trance and back into actions. People jumped to actions and marched back inside in an orderly fashion. Amaron studied the servitor intently as he passed by. The flesh on one side of the man's face, the side that had faced the star when it pulsed the strongest was no longer grey and decayed. Instead, it was smooth and pink, like that of a newborn child.

The inquisitor looked up at the star one last time before the door shut behind him. This was the endgame, he could feel it in his bones. And for the sake of humanity, it was a game he could not afford to lose.

"One more Imisha, you can do it!"

Davar's hands were slick with blood. Too much blood. He tried to push the thought aside but part of him knew it was too late. He had known since the Stablemaster's Pet had picked up Imisha of that barren world. The light had simply gone out of her eyes.

All around him people were tripping over each other in a scramble to keep his wife and their still unborn children alive. The machinery next to him were all bleeping angrily, alarms blaring together in a cacophonic concert. A hundred wires were connected to Imisha. The Eldar were the most technologically advanced species in the galaxy and yet saving even a single life was beyond their grasp.

Four critical signals, four lives fading away. Blood pressure too low. Warp barriers wavering. Heart rates fading. Imisha convulsed and screamed in agony as another contraction raced through her like a lightning bolt. Her curves and those of her children dropped another inch.

"Don't you dare give up now. You hear me! Don't you dare leave me alone! You fight, you hear me? Never stop fighting! Never!"

A final contraction raced through Imisha and her body collapsed, like a rag that had been pressed and twisted and until all liquid had left it. Davar wanted to scream. No man, beast or demon had ever bested him. Every challenge he had ever faced had been met and conquered. And even so, here at the end, he was poised to lose it all. Trembling he crouched be Imisha's side, desperately clutching her clammy and ashen face.

"What's the use?" She whispered. "Perhaps it is better if they die here, with me, rather than being forced to be born into this cursed world. This world devoid of hope."

All the monitors went blank. Imisha's fragile eldar body, unable to take any more abuse, finally lay still. Davar's world crumbled to pieces in front of him.

Then the light flooded the room. The crew desperately tried to shield their eyes as it shone through metal and plastic, through wraithbone and flesh alike. Davar tried to avert his face but it was in vain, the light was so strong that it forced him to the ground. There he laid, crawled up like a baby, gasping for air as the world seemed to disappear around him. The intensity was such that time seemed to stand still, nothing seemed to exists apart from it. It was all Davar could do to hang on to his own existence.

After what seemed like an eternity a sound pierced through the wall of white energy. A single very small sound. Then another one, and finally a third. He looked up. There was a shadow standing in the endless sea of light. A shadow bending down over him, smiling at him. And he knew that smile.

Bedazzled, he took the shadow's hand as it reached down to pick him off the floor. In sheer wonder, he accepted the small bundles it offered him into his arms. Jaws hanging open, tears streaming down his cheeks he could see the shadow as a silhouette against the light, one hand reaching forward towards the source out there somewhere among the stars.

"It's time. We have to go."

Meanwhile, across the galaxy, a captain of an Eldar guardian squad sprinted across the corridors of Imisha's old craftworld, his face sweaty and strained under his mask. Finally, he reached his destination, the inner core of the command section.

"Warlock! Warlock! There-"

"Calm down captain, I see it."

Standing tall on the craftworld command dome, the eyes of every Eldar in the hall on her, Ikaria tilted her head and gazed at the shining star off at a distance. She pondered the situation for almost a full second, an eternity for a mind of her calibre. Then she gave the order.

What's this? The disgusting little mouse is back?

How tedious. Hmmm. She thinks she's grown tired of toying with it.

Yes. Time for her to put an end to this pathetic farce.