They stood for several seconds, contemplating the meaning of what just happened before Andron broke the silence.
"We should keep going," he rose to his feet and retrieved his lasrifle.
"We are almost at the outskirts. The Plains of Ildanesh should be not too far. The battle seems to have moved away, so we should not be in any immediate danger." She turned to leave.
"Aureleth,"
She froze for a second before turning to face him.
"Thank you," he smiled. "I would've been—"
"But you aren't, and you live," she interjected, somewhat to his surprise with its curtness. "And, after all you have done for me… " She sighed softly, "Come, we're almost there." She turned to walk through the door Andron had originally intended to pass through before the previous encounter. She didn't want to think of the possibility of him dying. As she walked, she wondered a little if she—
"Would you have actually done it?"
She turned again to face him. "Would I have done what?"
"If they'd tried to move past you, towards me, would you have killed them?" They were in love, that much was evident between them, but Andron had witnessed plenty of atrocities by his own kind to slightly numb the pain of killing one of his own. She, however, as far as he knew, did not. The Eldar were careful, and calculating. While that gave them a sinister appearance in the eyes of short-lived humans, it also made them far less blunt. Where the Eldar operated like a scalpel, the Imperium was a chainsword. Endless collateral damage and pointless deaths were bound to come out of such a way of fighting, and humanity's seeming unwillingness and lack of caring to change it had definitely removed some of the hesitation for him.
She looked him straight in the eyes, her posture not faltering in the slightest, "Absolutely. I did not want to, however, but… but for you… I meant every word of it," her voice was hard as steel, a far cry from its characteristic softness. She sighed, her head turned downwards. "If you were hurt…" She realized that she couldn't even bear thinking about it. Again, though they had only known each other for a couple of days, the connection between them had grown stronger than either had thought possible before, and especially her. At that point, he was all that she had.
"We need to move if we are to get to the Plains by night time," She turned and walked, leaving Andron to stand in silent contemplation for several moments before he caught up to her with a short jog.
They exited the home, and moved to the street, which was yet another ring in the series of concentric ones around the city's center. They decided that it would be best to stick to the main road, but to travel behind or through the other houses in order to avoid being directly seen. They entered the next one, directly across from the one that they had just left. It was the same, essentially, with the only difference being the orientation and types of furniture to be found inside, as well as the interior colors and decorations. The architecture, however, much like with any massive settlement, adhered to a standard.
The door was open, and Andron slid around the doorframe in a fluid motion, raising his rifle and scanning the interior as he entered. Some stray projectiles had torn through the inner wall from the outside, leaving tiny holes in the wall. Some of the furniture was overturned, and in the kitchen it looked as if the occupants had been cooking a meal before having to flee suddenly. He wondered if they were alive…
He decided for reference's sake that he'd explore the upper level, since the information could mean the difference between life and death at a later time. The bottom floor was clear, and he lowered his rifle as he exited the smaller rooms into the main entrance area. Aureleth had waited for him, keeping an eye out in case anyone had returned from behind them. There was nobody.
"I'm going to check upstairs. Knowing the layout could be important in the future," he made his way to the stairs.
"I'll wait for you here. If anyone comes, I'll let you know."
He climbed up the stairs, holding his lasrifle halfway to the ready, since he had not yet cleared the top floor.
The layout was similar, except instead of only three doors on a single side, there were two others to his left. He held his rifle at the ready with one hand, raised almost completely, and carefully opened up the first door. He swept the room with his rifle in a split second, confirming that it was empty before relaxing. He slackened his muscles, his rifle hanging at his side, as he surveyed the room. It was a bedroom, and there were two sleeping mats on the floor. He scanned the walls out of curiosity and found several paintings, as well as sculptures on stands and a table that hade one that was apparently unfinished. He smiled. It seemed like the Eldar no longer knew the meaning of manual labor, or endless toiling away just to survive, and that they only had time for expression of talent when not interrupted by war. He further inspected his surroundings, the bright room providing a soothing atmosphere despite its location in a warzone. He felt comfortable inside of it; as if just for a few moments he could again find an escape from the horror going on around him. He continued his circuit around the room, basking in the comforting atmosphere. His lapse in concentration caused his rifle to knock a pict from its perch on the table with the unfinished sculpture. Out of instinct, he reached for it as it fell, his fingers brushing it before it fell from his grasp. He had deflected it just enough, however, that it landed on one of his boots before settling onto the floor without much noise, and did not break the silence. He stooped and picked it up.
Two young girls; one which appeared to be in her mid to late teens, the other but a child, no more than ten, held each other, wearing bright smiles. They reminded him somewhat of Aureleth; both beautiful, which seemed to be a common trait among the Eldar, he realized. They were under a large tree, its white petals falling to the ground. The sun cast an orange glow on the sky behind them as it set. They looked happy… more so than he had ever been, he realized; at least until recently. He couldn't help but smile. He remembered little of his childhood, and most of what he did was filled with a lack of time to enjoy himself. They seemed to have all the time in the world, blessed with relatively peaceful lives and lifespans ten times longer than his own. They were obviously the ones who had inhabited the room he was standing in before they were forced to flee. A large part of him hoped they were okay, however heretical that might have been. He walked out of the room, the pict still in his hand.
He went to the door on his left next, opening it to find what appeared to be a secluded workspace. He was not sure if Eldar had any uses for offices at homes, but the walls were lined with tomes, scrolls, and several other kinds of information media that he had never seen before. A large desk dominated the room, and it had several opened tomes laying on it. They were all in a language he could not even begin to understand, so he only mused for a short time over the elegance that could be found even in their handwriting. He moved on, passing the first bedroom into a second one across the hallway.
Upon opening it, he was greeted with a similar layout, except with only one mat, and shelved walls with a myriad of scrolls and other mediums on them. The inhabitant of that room appeared to be male, and judging by the materials he saw, was most likely a young adult. When he was that age, the only thing in his future was the Guard. Wondering what a life of peace was like, he moved on.
The next room was larger than the others, and had a mat that could fit two. On the wall was a large, beautiful painting of the entire family, framed by shelves with tomes, other smaller picts, and various trinkets, works of art, and other decorations. On the painting there were a man and a woman standing behind their three children. The eldest man looked to be biologically of similar age to a human at forty, and had jet black hair slightly past his shoulders. He smiled, but there seemed a stiffness to his demeanor. His wife, if Eldar practiced such things, stood next to him, her right arm intertwined under his left at his side, her straight, blood red hair flowing over her shoulders, a single lock in front making its way down and disappearing behind her daughter. The younger woman in a long, ornate gown of blue and green, her hair flowing in soft waves, as opposed to perfectly straight like her mother's. She was a copy of her mother's beauty made younger. Next to her stood a boy of similar age, appearing to be in his late teens, wearing a small grin on his face. He resembled the man who stood behind him, from his facial features to his hair. In between him and his sister was a little girl, smiling happily. She looked no older than a human at ten years old. Her face was bright, her eyes sparkling with innocent youth. Her hair was long, straight, and red like her mother's. They stood happily in front of a backdrop of bright green rolling hills that stretched off into the distance. He wondered if those hills were not yet marred with craters and strewn with bodies and wreckage. He felt envious of them, he realized. Could it be that a portion of humanity's hate for the Eldar also came from those who had seen the lives of relative leisure that they lived? It was strange. He was standing in someone else's home, searching through their possessions, gaining insight into their private lives. He hoped he could one day live under similar circumstances, however impossible that might have seemed at the time.
"We must not waste too much time here," Aureleth called from the lower level, snapping him out of his trance.
"I'll be down shortly," he called. Everything seemed darker. He turned to leave the bedroom. There was an open room across from where he stood, with no door. It seemed to be another room for congregation from what he could see from his angle. He walked towards it, slightly more of the room coming into view past the edge of the wall that made the open doorway. He saw the corner of a massive rug. It was composed of a myriad of different bright colors, with intricate designs and patterns that transitioned into a brilliant field of red, its edges rounded and irregular. There was a foot. A foot attached to someone who was laying down protruded into his vision past the wall that was obstructing most of the room from him. His blood froze, and his grip tightened on his rifle so much so that it creaked imperceptibly. He did not want to, every fiber of his being told him not to, but he kept walking until he had a full view of the room.
—Yul'Te, Invasion +4 hours—
The ceiling was all that was present in her vision. Every day began like that. Anhariel would lay for several minutes, her body and mind returning to their full activity before she sat up. She stood, walking to the closet at the end of her room in the soft light permeating through the translucent windows, sunbeams lancing across the space. She removed her night gown, and replaced it with a casual robe, its yellow and blue colors intermingling with each other in intricate patterns and spirals up and down its length. As she combed her hair into a single, perfectly straight flowing cascade down to the middle of her back, she glanced over her shoulder at her sister, still asleep peacefully. She smiled. The smell of the first meal of her day wafted through their home, the aroma sweet. She descended to the lower level to find her mother preparing the meal.
"I see you are hard at work already. Would you like any help?" She smiled.
"That would be wonderful. Here, help with this," she was handed a knife and several brightly colored fruits to cut. She stood next to her mother and set to work, delicately cutting and paring them into small wedges.
"Is your sister still asleep?"
"When is she not, mother?" They both chuckled. "What is in store for us, today?"
"We will be preparing for the Dance of Lights, of course. My sister will be there." Her daughter's face lit up at the mention of her.
"Oh, I haven't seen her in several cycles. I cannot wait!"
Her mother smiled.
Pounding footsteps resonated from the floor above, to which the two women looked with curiosity. The steps pounded down the stairs heralding a near panic-stricken man who was putting most of his effort into remaining composed, yet whose eyes betrayed his true feelings. Next to him stood his son.
Ilvanesh froze, immediately feeling the urgency radiating off of him, though her daughter continued cooking.
"What is—"
"Humans!" His daughter reeled around, hair tracing a wide arc behind her head as she did so, eyes wide, knife still in hand. "Humans have attacked the space port, and they've broken through! I've just received word from my friend Korvashnel that we've been ordered to evacuate to the nearest staging area. We have to move within the hour, as Guardians are already on their way in response to Imperial forces that are also traveling towards us."
"Bacaroth, are you—" His spouse was about to raise an inquiry before he cut her off, panic beginning to seep into his voice.
"We have to leave, now!" He ran from the kitchen back up the stairs to retrieve an antique shuriken pistol.
Footsteps were heard again, and the two women were too intently focused on them to hear the quiet padding of bare feet moving towards them. They looked down to see the youngest daughter standing in the doorway rubbing her eyes.
"What's going o—" she was cut off from a deafening roar as Imperial Valkyries screamed overhead, their powerful engines rattling the knife on the counter until it fell from its perch, embedding itself in the floor inches from the older Daughter's foot.
Bacaroth returned to the kitchen, pistol in hand, shouting for them to go upstairs, and that leaving their home at that time would mean death as the Imperials had already arrived via dropships and were about to clash with Eldar Guardian forces advancing the other way. Together, they bounded up the steps and sought shelter in the parents' bedroom before blocking any external view into the room from the windows. Bacaroth sat against the wall, his pistol in hand.
"There is nothing we can do. We simply have to pray that any death avoids us. Moving now would be near suicide."
Outside, the sound of roaring engines built in intensity until it was almost deafening once again. The Valkyries were landing in the streets not far from their home. Immediately, the sound of shuriken launchers broke out, followed quickly by the loud cracks of superheated air expanding created by the guardsmen's lasrifles. Ilvanesh sat next to her older daughter, Anhariel, in the innermost corner of the room. Outside, the sounds of battle grew louder.
"Naneth, I'm afraid," the youngest girl snuggled against her mother.
"Do not worry, Eruwen. We are safe as long as we stay here."
Outside, war was waged, with men and eldar fighting and dying. As the Valkyries pulled out, their door gunners raking fire across the Eldar lines and buildings where the Guardians took cover, a missile lanced from a rooftop, screaming on a column of smoke and fire towards the fleet of dropships. It impacted the left wing of one of the transports, destroying its engine and throwing it off balance. Its uneven thrust caused it to lurch to the side as it began to spin onto its back, impacting a home, crushing through the front of the building and landing with a scream of twisted metal and shrapnel hissing through the air as the turbine dismantled itself. Smoke billowed from the crash site, but there was a great opportunity for the Imperials to push forward that was created, seeing as the debris created a screen, shielding a squad of soldiers from view for a short time. They seized the opportunity, their comrades providing suppressive fire, and sprinted to the downed dropship, its hull half embedded into the house. The leaped over the debris and made their way through the back, continuing down the alleyway until they were behind the Eldar defensive line. Not enough forces had built up for the battle to be especially huge, as most of the fighting was still directly outside of the spaceport, however these Imperial excursions of smaller task forces could potentially derail the Eldar defense of the craftworld if not dealt with promptly.
Attacking from behind, the guardsmen created disarray in the defensive line, gunning down several warriors and forcing their guns to be turned on them, taking pressure away from the advancing Imperial Guard forces, now with support from airlifted Chimeras. Though they inflicted considerable damage, the small Eldar Guardian force sent to deal with the Imperial splinter battalion was ultimately wiped out.
As the sound of shuriken fire died down, giving way to a crescendo of lasfire followed by an eerie silence, the family waited for what fate had in store for them next. The Imperials began to move through, presumably to another front that they would then engage on. The sound of the Chimeras' engines roaring as they carried their troop payloads grew and then began to fade as the faster elements of the battalion moved on ahead. Then, all that was heard was the marching of boots for several minutes that felt like an eternity. The sounds of the marching soldiers largely faded away, until only the footsteps of seven or eight men could be heard. They grew louder, and when the five Eldar expected them to grow quieter, they did not. Instead, they heard a door kicked in, and the sounds of broken glass, possessions being rifled through, and the guttural Low Gothic that the invaders spoke. The house next to them was being looted, and they could be next. Bacaroth grabbed his daughters and led them to their room, opening a closet.
"I need you two to stay in here, no matter what happens. Stay absolutely quiet. Anhariel, take care of your sister. I will be back shortly," He offered a tiny smile that indicated that he obviously thought otherwise of his fate. He shut the door, leaving the two girls alone before going back to the rest of his family. If they all hid, they would be found. If his daughters and their mother hid, and he and his son fought, they would stand a chance. Both outcomes would have deadly consequences, but the one he had chosen, he felt, was the best. They would wait upstairs, and catch the looting soldiers by surprise if they went up there. His spouse hid in her room, leaving the two men to stand and fight. The sounds of the house next to them being ransacked died down, but they were followed by the sound of their own door being kicked in. The only defense that Bacaroth had was an antique shuriken pistol. They stood no chance of escape, so all they could do was hide and then fight. He looked at his son. "Korvanil, I know that this is the last thing any of us could have wanted, but it has come to this. We must fight these savages for our very lives."
They stood waiting. After a single minute that dragged on for an eternity, the soldiers ascended the stairs. In order to keep them from moving directly to the bedrooms and potentially finding his family, Bacaroth nudged an elbow into the wall, the faintest sound whispering through the home. The footsteps ceased immediately, and the sound of rifles against metal buckles and combat tunics echoed down the hallway. The steps resumed, painstakingly slow, but thankfully without stopping as they passed Anhariel and Eruwen, and then Ilvanesh. A couple more feet and they would enter into the room. In reality, Bacaroth had never fired a weapon in anger, nor was he experienced at all in fighting. His entire life had been spent in peace, pursuing the arts and spiritual enlightenment over centuries. He had no idea what he was doing.
It was dark, and being under a pile of robes in the corner was beginning to grow stifling, but Eruwen knew that it was her only chance to stay hidden if the looters opened up the closet. Her sister, though… Anhariel had piled all of the cover onto her younger sibling, and said that she would be okay. Eruwen was afraid. For reasons she could not understand, her home was being invaded by people who wanted to kill them. She sat, holding her sister's hand, tears beginning to pool at the edges of her eyes. From outside, they heard boots ascending to their floor. They were drawing closer. Any logical being would check the nearest room first… theirs. Anhariel squeezed her younger sister's hand, squinting tears out of her eyes. To think that her life could end in such a way, at the hands of barbaric, ignorant mon'kiegh, with so much of her life still ahead of her. Only nineteen cycles in age, she still had hundreds yet to be lived. She prayed to Isha that she would survive. "It will be okay, Eruwen. Just… just stay hidden, whatever you do," her voice was choked and fluttering as she tried to keep her composure for her sibling. If she broke down, there would be no hope of Eruwen not doing so as well. A thump traveled through their home, just barely audible. The boots stopped, and then continued past their room. Several agonizing seconds later, they heard an impact followed by a grunt of pain. Heavy footfalls echoed throughout their home, and they heard voices yelling. They could hear their brother and father as they tried to defend them. Bacaroth's voice roared above them all for several seconds amid yet more shouts and the sound of a shuriken pistol until they heard it skitter across the floor, and he fell silent.
Eruwen sniffled, her sister held her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. "We will be fine. Don't worry. Just don't worry. J—" She let out a cracked and choked sob, thankfully muffled by her hand. The mon'keigh were speaking in their guttural tongue.
"Look for any others! We'll make this bastard suffer." An angry voice seeped in through the door to their ears. More footfalls, some going to a farther away room, some coming towards them, resonated throughout the house. Shouts, a woman screaming… their mother screaming. A short struggle was followed by a sickening silence. Anhariel's mind was utterly consumed by fear. Aliens, barbaric monsters had invaded her home, destroyed her life, and were probably going to kill her if they found her, which was seeming more horrifically inevitable by the second. She leaned to her sister.
"Eruwen," her voice came in a choked, cracking whisper.
"Yes?" Eruwen still gripped her hand
The other footfalls drew closer.
"Whatever happens, do not come out until you are absolutely sure everyone is gone, okay?" She uncovered her for a moment, and drew her into a tight embrace, knowing that it would be the last time she would ever do so. Eruwen wrapped her arms around her sister's neck, holding her as tight as she could, the realization beginning to dawn on her as well, though her mind refused to believe it. Tears poured freely down her face, and she quietly sobbed, shaking. "We'll see each other again. I promise. I love you, titta selli." She knew that they would never see each other again in their current world, however. In fact, she hoped her sister would never have to.
All Eruwen could do was cry into her sister's shoulder, trying to make their last moment together last forever. "Please stay," she pleaded into Anhariel's shoulder, her tears becoming absorbed into her clothing.
It was the most difficult thing she would ever do, letting go of Eruwen, breaking the last embrace they would ever have together. The only solace she found was in the fact that Eruwen might live. She smiled sadly before gently kissing her sister's forehead and covering her up again. The boots were in their room. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, her hand still holding Eruwen's through the pile of clothes that would hopefully keep her concealed. The footfalls were coming to the door. She had seconds left. Tears streaming freely down her face, what life she had lived flashed before her eyes. It had been carefree, peaceful and enjoyable when compared to the rest of the universe. It still did little to distract her from whose mercy she would be at in mere seconds. She could only hope that she would not suffer too much, the thought that she would likely die still barely registering in her mind. A final thought flashed through her mind. With her free hand, she reached to her neck and hastily removed the necklace she had been wearing before thrusting it into Eruwen's hand through the pile of clothing. Eruwen had given it to her a cycle before to celebrate the anniversary of her birth. Before the doors opened, flooding the space with light, the last image in front of her eyes was of that day she had been given the gift. She sat with her family, surrounded by nothing save for smiling faces and a bright, peaceful day as they celebrated, the smell of freshly cooked food wafting through the air carried by a cool breeze as they sat under the same tree that she and Eruwen had stood in front of for the pict that rested on the table in her room. She would cling to that memory for the rest of her life.
He stood, a look of numb shock on his face, lasrifle hanging from his hand at his side. He was going to vomit. His rifle fell from his grip, clattering on the floor, followed by the pict he had been holding, whose frame shattered as it impacted next to his feet. He wretched, though nothing came forth as he hadn't eaten in some time. He suddenly lost his balance, his knees became weak. He had seen many terrible things in his lifetime, but what he saw before him disgusted and horrified him on a level he had never before experienced. He toppled backwards, landing hard against the wall next to the doorway and sliding down into a sitting position. Footsteps rang in his ears. She was coming. She couldn't see. He tried to call out, to tell her to stop but all that escaped his lips was a choked groan. He saw her as she ran down the hallway, hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword, covering the distance in a couple of seconds. In the interim, he held out his hand in her direction, trying to indicate for her to stay where she was. It was too late, however, and she arrived at his side.
"I'm here! What ha—" She froze. A soft cracked whimper escaped from her helmet. She felt stifled, suffocated. She reached up and removed her helmet, before her arms slackened again, and it slipped form her fingertips, falling to the floor. Her eyes were wide, tears streaming down her cheeks. She sunk to her knees, weeping, staring in horror at what lay before her.
The rug was infused with blood; the man from the painting lay on his stomach, a weapon clutched in his hands. His long jet black hair was caked with coagulated and dried blood, the skin on his face slightly puckered from having soaked in it for so long. Blood leaked from his mouth, though it had since frozen in place, leaving a dark red trail from the corner of his lips to the blood-stained rug. The back of his robe, once a deep blue but now stained purple and red, had scorch marks in it from the lasbolts piercing through his unarmored body. Behind him lay his son. He too, was in a pool of blood, shot dead in front of his family with numerous black holes in his robe. In his hand was a knife. There were signs of struggle all around the area; tipped furniture, broken crystal, and blood stains on the walls. Not all of it had been from the man and his son, however. They had been mercifully killed probably within the first few minutes of their last, horrific experience. He at least hoped they were, so that they did not have to witness what he saw had happened afterward.
He clenched his jaw, holding back his gorge as best he could, though it was seeming to be a losing battle. The eldest woman lay on her back, her once pristine face bruised with numerous cuts on it from fists pounding her. The gown she had been wearing was torn open, and her undergarments had been ripped from her now beaten and exposed body and lay discarded next to her, some of the light fabric still looped around her ankle and hanging from her elbow. There was a black hole from a lasbolt in her throat. Radiating from it were flecks of red that had been ejected from her neck as she had struggled for breath, choking to death on her own blood. Her waist-length hair, naturally a deep red, lay tangled, knotted and torn around her head, stuck in the pool of blood that had formed under her after she had been shot once she no longer served a purpose to the vile beings that had so brutally violated her. Her arm was extended, and as he followed it he saw that she had been reaching out to her daughter, who lay inches from her fingertips.
She too had been violated, stripped of her clothes, chastity, dignity, innocence, and soul. Like her mother, through the smears of blood on her face were white trails of un-bloodied skin left by her tears. She had been beaten even worse as she was raped, massive bruises and lacerations covering her lithe body. She appeared to be the last to die; alone, her murdered and desecrated family around her in pools of blood, surrounded by brutal aliens that wanted nothing more than for her to suffer. He realized that what horrified him almost as much as the scene before him was that humans perpetrated the heinous acts. Somehow, he would have felt slightly less sick and revolted if it had been minions of Chaos, or Daemons that had done it. The evil his kind were capable of… was he as well? He rolled to his side and emptied his stomach of whatever was left, yet more of his soul leaving with it.
As she had ascended to the floor above her, the aura she had been receiving went from comfort, love, and happiness to what she felt as she looked on at the murdered, violated and tortured people in front of her. She was almost able to see it, as if it were taking physical form as a black wispy aura that originated from the room where Andron sat. As she went further into it, it had become more and more stifling and choking, smothering her soul in blackness and pain. She could feel the suffering. It permeated through her body and soaked her heart and soul. She smelled it, tasted it, and heard it. Loneliness, despair, fear, agony, anger, sadness, all overwhelmed her, flowing into her mind from the surrounding air. She also felt disgust, contempt, hatred, and near mind-shattering rage. Whether those were emotions left behind being received by her spiritual nature, or her own emotions, she was not sure. There lay her people, tortured, murdered… raped… She inhaled a quivering breath through gritted teeth, her eyes cast downwards to her knees, tears quietly splashing on the floor. Her hair fell down around her face, casting a curtain around her vision, hiding the rest of the world from view so that all she saw was the floor and the liquid manifestation of her, pain.
She wept, the pain and suffering she saw too much to bear. She had seen many things in her time as a warrior that were hard to bear; her time fighting Chaos, seeing suffering, both of humans and eldar, had had an impact on her though she was able to largely steel herself against them, and focus on what was at hand, largely forgetting them by the time she had a chance to dwell on them. Those atrocities, however, were at the hands of Chaos. What she saw in front of her was at the hands of humans. Pure evil given physical form did not disgust and repulse her nearly as much as what lay before her. The fact that it wasn't daemons, or minions of Chaos that were capable of this, and that it was humans... Normal, short-lived humans, of which she had slain many… Puny, filthy mon'keigh. She felt bitter hatred, rage, and pain well up inside of her yet more as she took in the scene straight out of hell that lay in front of her. She panted in quivering breaths through clenched teeth, her hands balling into fists and relaxing over and over again unconsciously. The sound of Andron vomiting snapped her out of the white hot inferno of fury that had been consuming her mind. Her head shot up, tears being catapulted into the air before landing around her, and she was staring straight ahead again. She quickly regretted doing so, and so turned her gaze to Andron. Her emotions turned to confusion. They had done such horrible things to her people, to her craftworld, yet she could feel his suffering. It was obvious that he was just as horrified as she was... or was it worse for him? To see what his own people had done, to have to face her afterwards, was probably killing him. She felt suddenly overtaken by guilt, and sadness. For an instant she had felt compelled to eviscerate him with her chainsword. Looking at him, though… she saw pain equal to her own in addition to regret, and guilt. She damned herself for forgetting. Regardless of what the rest of his race did, he was who she saw next to him. She had known, from the instant their fingers touched in that dark room, that he was not the enemy.
He did not want time to move on. He dreaded beyond measure the moment he would have to look her in the eyes. His people did this… absolute unwarranted slaughter and torture inside of yet more of it that was consuming the craftworld. He rested his forehead on his crossed arms resting on his knees, and drew a long, forlorn sigh. He didn't want to be human anymore. He couldn't bear being part of all of the destruction, death, and pain he had seen. Inside he had always held resentment for what he was being forced to do. This even, however, brought it to surface. He had just walked through the home of a family just like… no; better than his own that he had grown up in. It had been peaceful, comforting, and the closest thing he could think of to a perfect place to live. Then it was utterly destroyed… by humans. And the dead family in front of him wasn't the only one. His mind was torn between obligation to his own kind, revulsion, and sympathy for those that died and the plight they faced at the hands of the Imperium. He would make right on it, whatever the cost, whatever that meant, he would redeem himself for the crime of being human. He took the first and most difficult step to doing so.
"I'm so sorry," a choked voice, muffled from his face buried in his arms, broke the murderous silence left by the dead, silently screaming even after their lives were extinguished. A hand, gentle and comforting, rested on his shoulder. He lifted his head, and turned to meet her eyes, the effort straining his resolve. What he saw shocked him. The corners of her lips curved upwards ever so slightly, forming a sad smile on a face obviously wracked with emotional agony, tears clinging to her cheeks and the edges of her jaw despite her attempts to hide it.
"What have you done, Andron?" The question came out in as soft and delicate a voice as he had ever heard, the weight of what she asked conveyed as much through the forgiveness in her eyes as by her voice itself.
"This is all our fault. All of it," he half moaned half said. "We came, based on information that could have easily been shown to be false, and now we kill. It doesn't matter where we go… where I go. That's all we've ever done. Wherever we go, we destroy, murder…" he gestured to the desecrated corpses on the floor. "I never wanted any of this. If this is what we do to survive, then… what good is there in living?"
"You said 'we'."
He looked up at her, sadness forming his features into a mask of despair.
"You said 'we', as if you were like them, as if you would do this. I…" she looked down, searching for the proper words, before restoring eye contact. "I don't understand humanity. Despite having ruled the stars before your planet even evolved into insects, we understand little about your people. I don't know why they would do such things, or what and how they feel, but I understand you, Andron." Her hand traveled up his shoulder onto his cheek in a loving, comforting gesture; anything to keep them in their tiny bubble of peace together. "You are nothing like that. And the good that comes from humanity's survival…" her eyes fell downward before meeting his again "is that I have you."
He was a horrible guardsman by normal Imperial standards. Having a conscience, somewhat strong emotions, and constantly pondering and dwelling on the injustices he had seen throughout his time in the Guard made him what some would call weak. Where others would move on without a thought, he could do nothing but think. He never wanted to fight, and of course wished there was no need to. He was a just person. He would never do those things that transpired in the room in which he sat. He could never do those things. The fact that he was a human being had nothing to do with anything, he supposed. It obviously hadn't stopped them from falling in love, enough so that she could see clearly through such a barrier even when faced with an event as horrific as the one they had just stumbled upon. He probably would have been unable to do so. He took her hand in his.
"I was nearing the end of what I could take. All that I'd seen, and done... It was becoming too much. You saved me," he looked up from their intertwined hands into her eyes. "You gave me something to live for again. You are all I have. I will never see my home again, have lost most if not all of my friends, and my life had been descending further and further into hell. You gave me something to hold on to. You are what I hold on to," he half chuckled, half huffed. "I have nothing waiting for me back there except death and pain. There is no turning back for me. I passed that point the instant I lowered my rifle, but it was beyond worth it. They'll kill me if they see me, for being with you…. That doesn't matter to me, though. As I said before, I'd give my life for you. I owe it to you… thank you."
She smiled, her eyes sparkling as tears began to brim on the edges. It was odd, very odd, feeling such emotions in a place such as where they were, but it couldn't be helped. She leaned towards him, and they embraced, as much a comforting gesture as one of affection.
He looked ahead, surveying the room and just sighed; a long, forlorn sound that whispered through the air, carrying some of his pain from his soul. He leaned over and picked up the pict of the two girls he had dropped. To think how easily a life was extinguished. "We can't just leave them like this. What do you usually do for… the dead?" He gestured to the corpses.
"When we die, our souls are transferred into here," she tapped her soulstone, the gem glowing in the light. "We are then put into the Infinity Circuit. It is a network of souls that inhabits the craftworld. All that have died that we can recover are put there."
"What happens if that gets destroyed?"
Her mood darkened, and she cast her eyes to the floor. "Eternal suffering beyond comprehension. I can explain that later. Now we must honor the dead."
They stood, and arranged the bodies next to each other, arms folded across their chests. As Andron picked up the older daughter, he felt her cold, dead skin on his hands. It pained him to see anyone, let alone one barely out of being a child, suffer in such a way. He had closed her eyes before he had picked her up, and though it was only a small physical difference, the look of pain on her face seemed to have disappeared. She looked… at peace. He laid her next to her mother, trying to make her broken body as presentable as possible, though to whom it would be presented he did not know. The four of them lay next to each other, eyes closed, arms crossed, together in death. Hopefully, he thought, they could find some peace together. They covered the bodies with a large curtain.
Andron sighed, looking at the corpses. "Did you find their necklaces?"
"No." Her voice was forlorn, deeply saddened. Being consumed by She who Thirsts was the worst possible fate for an Eldar, and the poor souls in front of her would have to endure such a fate.
He stooped, retrieving his lasrifle from the floor. "We should go." It was almost as much a request as a suggestion. He knew they should, but did not want to push her in a time of grief. He turned to look at her, to see that she had her eyes closed, and was muttering something under her breath in her own tongue. He turned back to look at the bodies. A family lay dead in front of him. They had lives, friends, family… they were a family. Loved ones would grieve for them, their lost futures, lost opportunities, loss of innocence. He had seen it plenty of times, but what lay before him was different. It was different in that it was the same. They were just like him… maybe even better. Death of those who did not deserve it was just that. What they were made no difference. No longer were they evil. They were the victims. They were people, too, and people. He closed his eyes, bowing his head slightly, and offered a small prayer for the deceased.
"Thank you."
He looked to her, and offered a sad smile. "Come. We should go, now." He lifted up his boot, making to take a step. An instant before his foot came into contact with the floor, he heard a dull thud. He froze in place, hand darting to his slung rifle, and listened. "Did you hear that?"
"We made sure it we were alone, though, didn't we?" Her hands were upon her weapons.
"The only people in here were us and them," he gestured towards the mounds under the curtain.
"Oh, Emperor's blood," he moaned as he sprinted to search the other rooms, oblivious to Aureleth's calls for answer. He burst into the largest bedroom, throwing open the first door he found within that room. It was a bathroom as far as he could tell. It was also empty. He ran into the son's room and threw open all of the doors there, finding nothing again except for a closet with several robes and leggings. The study had no place to hide, so he ignored it. He ran into the girls' room, and stood in the doorway. It was the same, nothing had changed. Towards the back of the room was a door leading to what he guessed to be a closet. He slowly walked across the room towards it, hand on the grip of his lasrifle. There was a chance, but he had no idea what he would be facing, so he took every precaution. All was silent. The only sounds were his breathing, his heart pounding in his head, and the soft impact followed by a near imperceptible squeak as he rolled his feet from heel to toe in order to minimize noise as he stepped. He arrived at the door, rifle at the ready with his right hand, and reached out with his left. Grabbing hold of the edge, he slid it on its track until it was fully open. "Throne of Terra…"
She stared at him, her eyes a cross between wide with terror and squinting as tears flowed from them. She was huddled in the corner of the small closet, a small girl wearing a red and purple dress robe, her hair somewhat disheveled, some strands hanging off of her long, pointed ears that protruded through, a few locks falling over her face. He stood there, at an absolute loss as to what he should do, his mind a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts, his lack of action only helping to build her mounting horror. He did not dare imagine what she must have experienced in the past hours, or days. A human child's mind is delicate, and he could only assume the same for the Eldar. For anyone let alone a child to have to witness or hear something as heinous as… It still hadn't occurred to him that he was a human and therefore striking terror into the little girl's heart.
She began to cry, a sound he hadn't heard in a long, long time… at least not from a child, pressing herself into the corner as if she could fuse with the wall and escape. He quickly slung his rifle onto his back and kneeled down, reaching out to her. "Come here," he said in as calm a voice as possible.
She screamed, and with surprising speed only helped by his clumsiness in such a situation, dove through the space between his side and the opening, making to run. She was, however, only a child even if she was an Eldar, and he was a trained soldier. He spun around on his heel and caught hold of her, the strength in his arms easily overpowering someone of such a light frame, wrapping entirely around her. She screamed further, shouting in her own tongue, squirming in his arms, using her own to try to pry his away, but to no avail. He had never in his life seen such panic or terror in anybody. She acted as if he was Khorne himself. He knelt holding her, remaining physically impassive as he tried to figure out how to handle the situation, which he needed to do quickly as the girl's struggles were growing more frantic.
Her mind was a maelstrom of panic and fear, the only thought occupying its entirety being to get away from the mon'keigh that had grabbed her. They had come to her home, killed her people, and killed her family. Now one of them had caught her, and she did not dare imagine what it would mean if she was unable to get away. She would do everything in her power in order to escape.
"Hey, just calm d— GAK!" He shouted in pain as she sunk her teeth into her hand, enlightening him to the fact that Eldar had slightly elongated, and sharp, canines. A tiny part of his mind set itself to wondering how he didn't notice that given his previous experience. He sat on his haunches shaking his hand, the little girl seizing the opportunity to stumble for the doorway. He quickly lunged forward, scooping her up into his arms, this time with her facing him. The look of fear on her face, tears pouring from her eyes, rivulets being launched in all directions as she thrashed in his arms was painful for him to see. He tried to remember something, anything from his early childhood that could be of use to him, all the while holding a panic-stricken child that had shown she would go to any lengths to escape. A fleeting memory passed through his mind. It was more a set of sensations and a tiny snippet of a vision. He had felt comfortable, and safe. There had been a hand on the back of his head, and hands holding him as he buried his faces into someone's chest. It wouldn't work. There was no reason in the Warp that it would work. He tried it anyway.
He put his hand on the back of her head and, as gently as he could while still restraining her as she struggled, drew her in. He pressed her face, again as gently as was possible, into his chest, hoping that the girl's struggles would eventually cease.
She couldn't see, her face buried into the mon'keigh's tunic. It smelled of smoke, dirt, grime, and war. She pressed her forehead hard against him, trying to leverage her head free from his grasp, though it was to no avail. She continued, now blindly, to struggle against him, swinging her balled hands at wherever she hoped his face would be, though she could feel them missing or hitting his shoulders or chest. She was beginning to feel fatigued. After being in the closet for so long without food or water, her sudden surge of energy could only last for so long. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to die, at least, through a long and painful manner. She had nobody. She had witnessed something that her mind was still trying to, despite her protests, comprehend.
"We'll see each other again. I promise. I love you, titta selli."
Hopefully it would be swift. She was growing too tired to struggle. It would all be over soon. As the last of her energy was expended in fruitless thrashing, she resigned to her fate as best she could. She was thankful that she was still having difficulty wrapping her mind around what was going on, the ignorance truly being bliss. Her life neared its end as she panted, sucking air into her lungs, drawing her final breaths before she would rejoin her family. Her muscles slackened, and she fell limp in the mon'keigh's arms, resting her head against him, waiting, defeated. She felt herself descending before her feet met the ground, sliding towards her back, away from the man, her legs laying on the floor as he sat down holding her. She remained slack, no longer having any will to fight, merely wanting to be with her sister again. Sweat stuck her hair to her face, her perspiration a result of the stifling hiding spot followed by her frantic physical efforts. He still held her, and a tiny sliver of her mind noticed that he used no more force than he had when he was restraining her. In fact, was he using… less? She suddenly felt herself being rocked back away from him. Her pupils took several seconds to adjust to the light flooding into her eyes after they had dilated so much, and in that time she saw a bright haze with a darkened center. It grew clearer, and from it materialized his face. She was staring right into the face of a mon'keigh. She had never even seen one in person until that day, but found herself face to face with it. He had short hairs all over his face, and was covered in grime and cuts with tiny smears of dried blood dotting it. He was so… barbaric looking, completely lacking in the elegance she saw in her own kin. The fear gripped her small heart again, his further inaction winding her nerves, making them ready to snap. She was already thinking of resuming her struggle to escape. He reached up with his left hand, and began to move it toward her.
She had finally calmed down, and though she looked nervous, seemed to be out of her panic stricken state. She had green eyes just like Aureleth, he noticed. Her eyes were set in a somewhat pale face, among facial features that were quite soft, given her race. As they looked at each other, her face was a mask of resignation marred with fear, the fear slowly beginning to become dominant once more. Her hands were clasped together at her chest, fingers intertwined. She had struggled a lot, enough so that she was even sweating, a nearly invisible sheen on her forehead, causing her hair to cling to her face. One lock was falling over her forehead and ran down the middle of her left eye. For some reason, she presented such a pitiful sight, her youth in combination with knowledge of what she had been through touching Andron in a different, yet almost equally powerful way that Aureleth had. His job, they said, when he joined the Imperial Guard, was to protect those who couldn't protect themselves; the people whose hardships would be given to him, so that he may soak up their anguish and pain, allowing them to live in peace. What he was about to do was no different. He couldn't stop those horrible things from happening to her, but he could help her overcome them, protecting her from as much of the true horror in the world as he could. He realized that he had just committed himself without thought to protecting yet another "damnable" soul. He'd die before simply leaving the child in her current state, so he had no other choice. He reached out to brush the lock of hair from her eye. He moved slowly so as to not startle her into a fit of terror again, but as his hand moved closer to her, she shrunk away, squinting her eyes shut and gritting her teeth, trembling in apparent dread of their contact.
The mon'keigh was moving so deliberately. It was torturous, the suspense, having to wait through each second as if it were an eternity. She had no idea what he was going to do, but had absolutely no reason at all to suspect that it would not end in her death. Her entire family had been murdered by them. They were destroying her home. Why would this one be different? Even with her eyes closed, she felt the presence of his hand mere inches from her face. Despite almost looking forward to the end, a large part of her still feared it. She saw her sister again.
"Andron," The voice floated through the room, gently entering their ears. He looked to the doorway to see Aureleth standing there, her gauntleted hand over her mouth, her face a vulgar display of sympathy, pity, and horrible realization of what the girl's presence implied.
She had been frozen, frozen with fear, thought, anticipation, grief, and resignation. That voice, that single word, had shattered her trance. Someone of her own kind was with her. Maybe she didn't have to die.
The child's eyes snapped open, and she rolled back on her legs away from Andron, escaping his gentle grip with ease before scrambling backwards a few feet, panting heavily and then running to Aureleth, clinging to her leg.
He had nothing to say. What was there to say about such an issue? He knew what had happened to her, Aureleth knew what had happened to her, and they knew what had to be done without even giving it thought. Aureleth knelt down and allowed the girl to cling to her, her armor ironically providing much less inviting a surface than Andron's battle dress, though what was behind it was not alien and horrifying. She quickly descended into her previous state of terror, crying and repeating a phrase in her tongue over and over again between sobs. It pained him to see a child so traumatized as to go into a chaotic series of emotional eruptions.
Aureleth whispered into the child's ear, the words flowing off of her tongue like water as she spoke. The child calmed down marginally, and turned her head, still pressed into Aureleth's breastplate, to look at Andron. They spoke in their language, presumably because the little girl could not speak Low Gothic, so Andron had no idea what was being said, though he was confident that it pertained to what she would do, and her options.
"What is your name, child?" Aureleth's voice kept as soothing and calm as she could, which was nearly beyond comprehension.
"E… Eruwen." the girl spoke in a cracked, emotionally pained voice.
"Eruwen," she smiled. "A beautiful name," she managed to coax the tiniest of an upward turn in her lips out of her.
"Where are you going?" She looked up with teary eyes.
"We are going wherever we think is safe. Right now, that seems to be in the plains of Ildanesh. I know that this is incredibly hard for you, and nobody should ever have to experience what you are right now, but if you stay here, you will not survive for long. We can keep you safe." The girl looked up at her as she said "we".
"But that's… they…" she began to sob again, though not with as much force as she had earlier. The mon'keigh Aureleth said she would have to be with was just that.
"We cannot simply leave you here."
She knew. She knew that staying there would mean death. She knew that her only chance of survival was to travel with them. It would be hard, though, leaving all she'd ever known behind. She had no choice, though, and that much was apparent to her. She'd have to go with them, even if one of them was a mon'keigh. She looked up at the woman trying to offer her some kind of solace in such a grim, dark position and saw nothing but compassion, caring, and sympathy. Tears still trickling down her face, she offered a small, pitiful smile and nodded. It was her only choice, and she knew it.
"Do not worry. We will keep you safe. Now come, we cannot stay here much longer," she turned to Andron, who was gazing out a window from his position on the floor. "Andron."
He turned to her, acknowledging that he had heard her.
"We should go now. This changes everything, though."
He looked at the floor. "Yeah. I know…" He stood and retrieved his lasrifle, helmet, and backpack.
The girl turned to Aureleth "Can I… say goodbye?"
Aureleth was unsure whether or not she should allow the girl near what used to be her family. She had already been scarred and traumatized enough, and actually seeing the aftermath might be too much for her, even if the bodies were covered. She couldn't deny the girl the ability to do so, however.
"Yes, but… just leave everything where it is, okay?" She would not be able to take seeing them in their current state.
"Andron, I am taking her to say her farewells. We will be done shortly," she turned and escorted the girl to where her family lay.
Andron stood, and looked about the room to ensure that he did not forget anything. In doing so, he saw a blue glimmer on the floor near the closet's entrance. He stooped over and picked it up. It was a necklace. He placed it in his breast pocket with his accumulated mementos, a tiny sculpture, a piece of clothing, a small pict of two children, and a necklace. Not a single one of them had ever been touched by a human until he did so. He decided he would take just one more, for the sake of the child. Thankfully, he could fold it so that it would take up a negligible amount of space. He exited her room and made his way to the parents' room, looking to his left and seeing Aureleth standing behind the child. She knelt down beside the corpses, head cast down, the only sound in the house the sound of her tears impacting the floor. She shuffled forward on her knees and bent down, touching her forehead to each of her kin's. She did not move the curtain that covered them, keeping it over their faces. Andron stood and watched, yet another testament to the price of war playing out in front of him.
"I'll miss you," she whispered quietly, her head resting on her mother's. She wrapped her arms around her neck, careful to leave the blanket covering her face, and held her, running her fingers through her hair for the last time. She moved to her father, brother, and lastly, her sister. She appeared to be on the verge of breaking down again, and it was obvious that she had been extremely close with her sister. She did the same to her as she did her mother, her tears being swallowed into her sister's hair as she wept, leaving a piece of her to be with Anhariel forever. "We will be together again. One day…"
Andron bit back tears before turning his attention to the painting on the wall in front of him. He unsheathed his knife and carefully traced the inner edge of the frame, the painting falling free almost perfectly. It was of decent size, however it was made of a material that could be folded easily, and he made it small enough to fit on his person, carefully placing it in an empty ration tin before sealing it away and putting it in his pack. Memories fade. He knew that firsthand, barely remembering what his own mother looked like, knowing that he would never see her again. Protecting the child from the same fate as he was one way he could help her, as was his duty. He looked back to the scene unfolding in the great room to see her remove a bracelet from her wrist, and place it in the middle of the four corpses… her mother, father, sister, and brother. He had dealt with heavy loss before, but nothing that could compare to what he felt she must be going through.
In a quivering voice, she bade her final farewell. "I'll always be with you."
She stood, her hands balled into fists, head cast down, hair curtaining her face from view. Aureleth gently placed her hand on the girl's shoulder, before they began to walk towards the stairway. Andron followed, mindful of his distance to the child.
As he walked, he looked one last time at the four bodies. They lay in a neat row, covered in an intricately patterned curtain, a memento from their left behind daughter resting between them. She was more alone than he was, he realized. His family was likely still alive; he would just simply never see them again. For her, though… she had nothing save for two strangers, one of whom was the very thing that made her life take such a horrific turn in the first place. He sent them a silent promise. He would protect their child, even with his life. He would ensure that they could rest in peace, not having to worry about the fate of their youngest. He couldn't atone for the sins of his people, he knew that, however he would do what was right. It was the least he owed them. Andron turned and walked toward the staircase, descending to the floor below.
They exited the house, and continued once again towards the plains of Ildanesh.
On the outskirts of a war-torn city, in an unmarked home in the midst of a world consumed in the fiery hell of war, lay a monument to the greatest of sins and the greatest of benevolences, silently screaming into the darkness surrounding that there was yet hope. In a sea of blackness, death, war, pain, and suffering, there were a precious few souls that would act for, and believed in a better world not only for themselves, but for all. From the ashes of lives sundered, fertilized with the bodies of the innocent, there grew light.