Even though he has saved this woman, and even though he knew that she was not hostile to him, at least not now, Andron feels icy fear course through his blood. He stares at her, eyes wide. His jaw moves but words do not come out. The Imperial part of him, ever present still, was once again rearing its head. She laughs again, this time with much more mirth.

"Despite what you might think, I am not going to rip your throat out with my teeth."

Andron chuckles, slightly less frightened, but the unease still lingers.

"I have no idea what to do…"

"You made a moral decision. You broke away from the rigid and utterly nonnegotiable terms and laws of your faith. You thought for yourself. The only thing you can do with that, Andron, is live with it. I am in your debt, and I want you to know that I will be forever grateful that you chose to not kill me where I stood."

"What have you done?"

The question catches her off guard. "What do you mean?"

"That you regret… what have you done?" He shuts his eyes, but he can still hear them die…

She gives a small, melancholy laugh.

"It was not long a—"

The sound of a door being kicked down interrupts her mid-sentence. Andron jumps up, and helps her stand.

Three voices call out, sounding far away as they travel up the stairway and into the upper floor.

"Room clear!"

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

A pit of ceramite forms in Andron's stomach. "Oh, gak,"

He turns to her, but she already knows what is happening.

"You have to leave, now," he hisses.

She clasps his hands. "It's been an honor, Andron, however this was not meant to be. We are both warriors in the end, destined to fight, and destined to die. You are beginning your journey down this dark path, and I am being called upon once again to tread it in defence of my home. I wish it did not end this way, but we can do nothing to change our fates."

They share another silent moment together, Andron utterly enchanted by her, and she feeling a small attachment beginning to bud in her heart, though interrupted by this sudden turn of events.

She makes her way toward a window. Andron holds onto her hand as long as he can, before it slides out of his own. She looks back at him, a sad smile on her face before turning away and leaping toward the next hab, pulling herself into its blown out second floor before continuing out of sight. As she disappears, he feels a large part of his soul leave with her. He continues to stare at the elegantly curved hab, his subconscious comparing it with the blocky, industrial, and ugly Imperial habs. Boots pound up the staircase behind him before three shafts of light lance across the room onto his back.

"Name! Now!"

"Andron Jarek, 34th Kallidian,"

"Where's the rest of your unit?"

"You walked over them out there," He nods toward the street.

He grunts his understanding, "You're a long way from the fight. Come on." They turn to leave.

Andron stoops down and picks up his lasrifle and supplies. Next to his rifle is the piece of fabric he had cut from her robes. On the bed lies a tiny figurine of an eldar woman crying. It is crafted from a dark crystalline material. He does not know who it is. He picks them up and places them in his breast pocket.

"So what the gak happened?"

"What do you mean?"

The Guardsman, Korlin, was baffled. "'What do you mean?' How did you end up there you dumbass?"

"Oh." He quickly creates an amended story to tell the Guardsman. "I was with my squad clearing a hab when they were attacked. I moved to support them, but a missile hit a wall a few feet from me, and I woke up a few hours later. They were dead, so I moved to where you found me."

"Huh."

The chimera bucked slightly as it passed over a crater. Andron rocked with it and the other Guardsmen sitting inside, their faces lit by the dim red glow cast from the glow globe in the armored wall.

"Where are we headed now?"

"Back to the fight, boy," A large man, his face bearing several scars and covered mostly by a large beard, sits across from him. "We're gonna kill these bastards."

A chorus of barks and whoops follow his declaration. Andron can't help but feel somewhat at home again despite his recent experience. Aureleth was right. They are both warriors, destined to fight and die. Why try to control something he knows he cannot? He is just one man among trillions. He is among fellow humans, and despite his new outlook on his situation, he is a soldier at heart, sworn to protect his brothers under any circumstances. Whether that is not a conflicted feeling, however, is another matter entirely.

Her side flares in pain once again as she leaps another gap onto a hab. She rolls out of her jump, dissipating all of her energy before she continued onto the next. The Eldar lines are coreward, and she can feel their presence growing stronger. Soon, she will be among her own people, fighting for her home against one of the greatest threats they could possibly face. The humans might be short-lived and primitive (for the most part, as she recently found out), but they are by no means harmless. This fight will be bloody and vicious. It may very well end in the destruction of their craftworld. Aureleth will do everything in her power to ensure that that does not happen, however they were being pushed back. Slowly; inevitably; Yul'Te was being lost.

Aureleth reaches the Eldar lines in the Dome of Falling Skies. A huge plain expands across the dome, lined on either side by phalanxes of trees. Both factions have made their battlements within the edges of the treelines. Aureleth had managed to avoid any Imperial forces and, despite her injury, make her way to her people on foot. She approaches an Eldar Swooping Hawk as he waits with his Aspect Shrine members. Her clothing is torn and dirtied in addition to the swathe already missing from it. He freezes in the middle of assessing his gear and addresses her with the blood red eye gems in his helmet.

"Blood of Khaine, what happened to you?"

"It is of no importance. I am here to fight." She straightens her posture, assuming as imposing a figure as possible in her tired state. He gives her a once-over, and huffs his amusement at her request.

"You wouldn't last a moment out there in your state. These Imperials are giving us an extremely—" The shriek of an Eldar artillery piece cuts him off mid-sentence as it fires a white hot ball of plasma that arcs into the sky before falling out of sight. "An extremely tough fight," he finishes.

"I was a Howling Banshee once. I think I can handle myself." He stiffens slightly at her mention of previous military experience, feeling slightly embarrassed at eating his words.

"Very well, then. Our command is housed over there," He indicates an elegantly crafted temporary building toward the rear of the lines. "Good luck. It appears my time has come," He follows his Shrine mates as they depart for battle.

"The Eldar are giving us fragging hell in the cities. They fight at their best in close quarters, and they also have the advantage of knowing the city layout better than we do." Commissar Joakarn (pronounced yo-ah-karn) Broden stood in the middle of the Chimera, holding the rail that ran across the ceiling for balance. He gestured with his bolt pistol for emphasis, the men's eyes following it in a nearly entranced state. How many of them would die at the barrel of it before the day is over? Andron heard from the others that Joakarn was not the worst of Commissars in terms of "discipline", but he was certainly not the best. Andron was told to just follow their lead and he would be fine. Once again, he was but an atom in a tiny cog of an immense war machine.

The convoy thunders through yet another large city in the seemingly endless craftworld, making its way to further reinforce Imperial presence in the area, and push the Eldar further coreward. Andron sits with his lasrifle between his legs, hands gripping the barrel. He rests his head against the bulkhead, his mind wandering. It was one of the most fleeting, yet the most influential and important moment of his life. His entire perception of the universe shattered; his faith brought into question as he realizes was rightfully so. Threats far greater than the Eldar face humanity, and all sentient life in the galaxy. The foul powers of Chaos; the dreaded Tyranids, or the barbaric Orks were far more of a universal and severe threat than the Eldar. Despite these facts, he sits in a Chimera headed toward back into an Eldar city, being called to battle once again. He surely would see it differently this time. What if it is… her?

The sun shines a bright blue through the immense windows on the dome above, casting vivid shadows and beams of light through the smoke columns now corrupting the air. Aureleth rubs her side, still feeling painful soreness despite the medical attention she had received. Her mesh armor glints in the sunlight, and she carries a shuriken pistol and chainsword, as per the loadout of an ex-Howling Banshee turned Storm Guardian. She is to be sent to Elanthranil, one of the more Imperial controlled cities on the craftworld. She has not fought for several years, and her skills have surely dulled. She only hopes that she can fight with fury close to what she used to.

She boards a Wave Serpent with other members of her squad, and waits to deploy. The distant booming or Imperial artillery can be heard.

"How long has it been since you last fought?" Another eldar warrior addresses her. She is probably around Aureleth's age at a young 190 years or so.

"Long enough for my skills to dull. I hope I can remember quickly," She inspects her chainsword absentmindedly. "I last fought in the Second Battle of Auraxis."

The other soldier grunted. "Only within the past few cycles have I not seen combat as well. I guess we can both see how our skills withstand the test of time."

"Indeed we shall,"

An eldar wearing more ornate armor followed by enough warriors to fill the back of the Wave Serpent enter the troop bay.

"It is time," He takes his place toward the front of the bay. The others follow suit, and as the door closes, the last of the natural sunlight being extinguished, Aureleth wonders if she will see Andron.

Okay, I know these things are short and whatnot, but that just seemed like a good place to end the chapter. I'll start on the next one now. Also, I've been doing some reading on which tenses are more effective to use, and I am torn still, between whether or not I should use past or present tense. I might try writing the next chapter, or some others in past tense if you guys don't like the flow of it currently. PLEASE DO TELL ME HOW YOU FEEL ON THIS ISSUE. It will make the story a lot better for all of us if we all like the way it flows, and what I like is influenced by what you like, so please I'd like your input.

The next chapter I just realized is forming in the past tense, so I'll finish it in the past and see how it is. If you don't like it, I'll go back to present. Also, certain critics have made mention of some canonical issues regarding my guardsman being too inexperienced, and the command hierarchy that I have portrayed being incorrect. Any opinions on that? I'll keep it as canon as possible, but I'm not going to be a Nazi about it.

Also, I feel responsibilities regarding this story mounting. It seems like I'm getting a good deal of followers, here... Well, challenge accepted :P