Irilgen stumbled, his run coming to an abrupt stop.

"What's happening?" Gudras' voice calmly asked from inside his backpack.

The Eldar child looked around, a hand rising to his temple. He wore a perplexed look.

"For a moment, i thought i heard…"

He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head.

"Never mind. It was probably nothing."

The strange duo, trio if Slimy was considered, wa making its way through a more isolated section of the Craftworld. Great, sleek buildings of wraithbone rose everywhere to great heights, leaving only a fissure of the artificial sky to be seen between them. Filaments of the pearly substance sigzaged into the sky and from every angle, forming delicate formations as fine as cobwebs and enormous structure as large as bridges.

Looking at those from where he was, Irilgen had to admit to feel a bit small.

He watched the alley before him. It was a tight passage between two buildings, a dense undergrowth of wraithbone crisscrossing all its extension. It had a very clean vibe to it, almost sterile in its being completely devoid of shadows. The luminescence of the substance projected strange lights over the walls.

Irilgen could see something flowing inside of that ghostly canopy and he had all the impression of hearing whispers caressing his mind.

He swallowed. He couldn't hear the sound of the city anymore.

"Are you sure that this is the right way?" He asked.

"Not only the right way, but the swiftest way." Was Gudras' calm answer. "Are you scared?"

Irilgen felt his pride bristle at that insinuation.

"Of course not! I am an Eldar warrior! I don't fear anything!" He declared proudly.

"Very admirable."

Irilgen turned to glare at his backpack.

"Was that sarcastic?"

A croak was all the answer that he got.

Irilgen huffed and stomped forward.

The deserted section of the Craftworld welcomed him with a silence that seemed as thick as a solid barrier. After a while, even the whispers stopped.

Irilgen wanted to be brave, really. He really really wanted. But the sensation of being watched by one thousand different eyes, the realization of being very alone and very unarmed, well, they gnawed at him, making him feel like jelly put out and waiting to be picked up by a bird.

He passed a hand over his forehead, feeling it very sweaty.

But he pressed on nonetheless, his wavering pride and desire of seeing her sister still strong enough to push his feet forward.

Obviously, he never noticed the Dark Eldars assassins phasing out of invibility and falling over him with sheated blades. Nor, again, the giant rotting roots that eruptedout of his backpack and swatted both of the would-be assailants out of the air like two annoying pests. It helped that all the action happened in perfect silence, paradoxically, even when the two Dark Eldars were smashed against the walls, but it helped too that he was completely focused on the road ahead.

"Gudras?" The child called after a while. He wouldn't ever admit it, but he really wanted to feel a voice. That silence made his skin crawl.

"Yes?" Was the patient answer. The roots disappeared inside the backpack as fast and silently as they had arrived.

"Do your father send you often on errands?"

"No, this is actually the first time."

"Wow, you must be emotionated."

"A bit."

"A bit? But, if your father send you alone, it means that he has faith in you!"

"Oh, that's true. I didn't think about it."

"Right? I envy you though."

"Why?"

"I still never get to do anything alone. I have always Modrel following me. Modrel is my caretaker by the way. He never lets me do anything. I don't ever know what there is out of the Craftworld!"

"Is that so? You think that he's wrong?"

"Of course! I can take care of myself! In fact, i am doing this alone, whether he likes it or not!"

"Mh-mh. Ah, so this is your first time going alone outside too."

"Yes!"

"And you like it?"

"Yes!"

"You're very brave."

Irilgen giggled. Talking with Gudras was making him forget about the empty road and how alone they were. Instead, enthusiasm of adventure was taking the reins.

Of course, he never noticed the loose string of Dark Eldars assassins striking out of thin air. Nor the rotten roots that swiftly sent them all tumbling around.

"Talk me of your caretaker, is he a relative?"

"Mh? Oh, yes… i think. Something like uncle something-something to my father. He's terrible sometimes, but he tells good stories!"

"Oh? Do tell. Ah, by the way, we have to turn now."

"Wha…? I thought that you said that this was the right way."

"I changed my mind. You sister kept moving around."

"Well, she's so very busy after all."

"I am sure that she is."

Yrithiel dodged a serrated blade, before retaliating with a burst of psychic power. The Dark Eldar wore an ecstatic expression even while the lightning enveloped him. The assassin writhed and spasmed uncontrollably, before being cut down by Yrithiel's spear.

As the battered corpse fell down, the Farseer clanked her weapon down. Her eyes blazing with power, she swiped the battlefield with her gaze.

Caerabar had already cut down his assailants, while Eler was still locked in combat with what she presumed was the chief of the Dark Eldar. Their blades moved so fast that even with her psychically enhanced senses, Yrithiel could barely follow them.

Suddenly, Eler's blade pierced her enemy's defences. There wasn't error from the Dark Eldar. It was only that the Exarch was too good for him to defeat. There was barely a whisper in the air, and the head of the Dark one flew into the air, his body following short.

Yrithiel just nodded once, then turned to survey the scene around her.

The battle had been vicious, but short, and it hadn't spilled in the sorroundings. The Biel-tan, first than citizen, were warriors, and all the by-standers stood by a side, or already started to run for their assigned places in case of an emergency. Those armed, instead, had taken potshots. Between them, the blade of the Exarch and the combined powers of the warlock and the Farseer, the ambushers had been dealt with swiftly and brutally.

Yrithiel couldn't stop herself from laying a contemptous glance at the nine corpses now strewn over the road. Twisted, blackened forms, showing off even more twisted souls.

She diverted her attention rapidly. The Fallen didn't deserve even to be watched upon.

"Let's move." She said as her two bodyguards reached her.

There wasn't need for words nor room for panic or doubt. They were burdens and they were treated as such. Only focused determination and discipline found room in the trio's minds.

As they marched towards the closest guard post, Yrithiel was already focusing her mind to contact her fellow Farseers, Caerabar's psychically helping her.

The exchange was rapid and to the point.

A whole fleet of Mon'keigh had appeared out of the Warp and was already converging against the Craftworld. There were thousands of ships, assault barges and traports alike, comprising a Space Marine Battle-Barge and its complements. At a rough estimation, the numbers of the attackers could be counted into the order of millions.

The Court of the Young King had elected an Autarch in the person of Argvar of the Unerring Blade and given the order of full mobilization of all the forces presently available. The fleet, already in defensive formation around the Craftworld to protect against such cases, was already in course of intercept. More ships were being manned and sent to join it, but it was more than foreseeable than an assault over the Craftworld would happen. As such, all the citizen had to take weapons and prepare for an invasion. The most likely points that the Mon-keigh would use for landing had been already identified and heavily fortified. All the Farseers had to immediately return to the Infinity Circuit and put themselves to disposition. With no exception. All the orders had the agreement and validation of the Council of Farseers.

Yrithiel gritted her teeth. She loathed the idea of hiding into the rear while the despicable Mon'keigh tried to raze her home.

Repressing those thought, she sent her own message regarding the Dark Eldars presence.

The answer had the coldness of finality. Other three Farseers had been targeted and, even if all three had escaped assassination, that was the main reason for the order of going to a more protected location. Reinforcements were already en route to escort the Farseer back to the Court.

For a moment, Yrithiel fought with herself, her insinct to fight battling her disciplinated side. Eventually, this latter proved victorious though and she grimly resigned herself to obey. She noticed the softening of Caerebar's expression, but didn't say anything in regard to it.

Meanwhile, outside the Craftworld, the battle began in earnest.

Graceful Eldar ships, grouped into fluid formations, slided forward into space, their sleek shapes and delicate colours making them seem like ethereal creatures of the Empyrean.

On contrast, the Imperium fleet was composed of bulky, massive vessels that left nothing to appearance and all to armor and firepower. Their biggest ships were flying basilicas, spiers, arches and pinnacles jutting out of their enormous frame.

As the two fleets closed upon each other, cannons and spears, torpedo and bombs were launched forward. Space was illuminated by silent explosions of plasma and fire.

The Eldar vessels, faster and more sophisticated, moved as living beings, the thoughts of their pilots giving them as much adaptability and nimbleness as an Exarch on the field of battle. They swirled and dashed, sending the crude weapons of the Mon'keigh to miss their mark and explode harmlessly into the void. Their halo-fields disturted their positions and frames, making them even harder to attack.

Instead, the ships of the Imperium were hit by blow after blow, each cannon barrage and torpedo finding its mark over kilometres thick plating and massive void shields. Ships were wounded and torn apart, their machine spirits crying their pain into their binary language moments before their circuits exploded into bits. And still, the forces of the Imperium had the power of faith beyond them and they kept their attack with a frenzied pace. Guns and cannons flared, more torpedo were launched and massive ships dashed forward to engage the Eldar in deathly duels.

Against such a furious barrage, not even all the maneveurability of the Eldar could grant untouchability, and the Xenos earned their first losses, their ships sputtering, losing control or exploding under the avalanche of ordnance of the human fury.

Still, the battle had barely began, and none of the two sides was ready to quit.

Modrel, old caretaker of the Lanhith family, felt a mix of irritation and grumpiness as he picked up his personal Shuriken catapult. It was an old, old weapon, dust falling from it as he raised it from the bundle in which he had kept it.

Modrel's worn face was twisted into a deep frown as he observed the weapon. He had really hoped of being able to die without having to use it anymore, but…! Mon'keigh attacking the Craftworld directly? Ah! Surely they had a death wish! Pah. He would have made sure of granting as much as they wanted of them.

The old flame burning in his breast, that once had him almost lost to the Way of the Exarch, was a smoldering ember now, but still hot enough to burn flesh.

Still, he remembered to himself, he had a charge to take care of. Irilgen, that little scoundrel. The thought of the lively child brought a smile to his wooden features. Ah, protecting the young. That was a most worthy way to pursue. That little brat would have made a fine soldier one day, he was sure of it.

His pleased train of thought was interrupted by a speck of doubt.

He raised an eyebrow. He couldn't clearly understand where it came from. How strange. He had always good to decipher what his instict told to him.

He shrugged. Bah. They were under attack after all.

Now, enough losing time.

Barely a couple of heartbeats had passed in real life as he shook himself from the contemplation of the weapon and his thoughts. A residue of his passed life as soldier, but not an unwanted one. Being able to slip into a battle meditation at will was always useful.

He glanced at the second bundle into the chest, but didn't lean to pick it up. The rifle was enough for him.

Throwing the weapon over his shoulder, the caretaker exited from the storage room. As he marched through the various rooms of the house, his eyes glanced around, his mind rapidly making sure that everything was in order. When the Mon'keigh will be defeated, he wanted to make sure of being able to see if something had gone amiss.

Lastly, he went to the room of the child.

He had left him alone for a bit, leaving him to stew over what he had done. He hadn't felt that was right to scold him more. After all, he could understand Irilgen's frustration at being unable to talk with her sister. Poor kid. If only he could make him understand what taking the path of the Farseer actually implied for Yrithiel…

That doubt was still there, itching.

Modrel pushed it back with a mental huff.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Kid, we must go to…"

He stopped.

The room was empty.

Modrel didn't panic, only surprise and agitation rushed through him, before being squashed by cold calm. As he registered Irilgen's absence, his old soldier insticts kicked in.

He looked around, searching for clues for what or where he had gone.

No backpack into the closet nor signs of burglary. The first conclusion was that he had gone outside of his own.

Modrel's temper flared. He had had actually the guts of trying to get close to his sister so soon? Little, impertinent…

He pushed back his anger in favour of more cool-headed thoughts. He had to find him. Fast.

Dashing out of the room, he marched back and returned to the storage. He didn't even stopped to unfold the bundle he had first left behind. Instead, he grabbed hold of the weapon inside and unsheated it out with a swift motion.

Then, he was out. He knew only where Irilgen could have gone: to her sister. She had to find her. Even if he wasn't with her, she could find him fast with her psysic powers. That that would mean to admit of having failed in his duties as caretaker meant nothing.

Feeling a shiver running through his back, Irilgen stumbled, almost ending on his face.

"What's the matter?" Gudras asked, mildly alarmed.

"No, it's just…" Irilgen looked down the street he was running through. "For a moment, i thought…" His attention was picked by a distant sound. Corious, he perked up his long ears. It was… steps?

"Somebody is following us."

As he said it, Irilgen felt horror struck him. If they took him now, he wouldn't see his sister! And… and Modrel would scold him!

"Aye." Gudras agreed. "It's a bit now."

"Wha…? You mean that you knew it?"

"I noticed only a minute ago. I didn't think they were following us."

A lie, obviously. But Irilgen didn't know that.

"W-what do we do?"

"This way."

Irilgen obeyed out of instict. Swirling to the left, he dashed through a branching path. Tendrils of Wraithbone crowded it and Irilgen had to duck and weave to pass between them.

"Where are we going?" He yelled as he tried his best to not smack against it while keeping up his speed.

"An alternate path."

"You sure?"

"Sure enough."

"What do you mean with… uwaaah!"

Irilgen's words were cut off by the ground suddenly disappearing under his feet.

With a yelp, the child plunged down into a mass of wraithbone tendrils. They gave way under his weight and for some, terrifying moments he fell down like a stone. Then, the tendrils began to become thicker and thicker, slowing his descent before giving out. The precipice became a steep descent and he found himself sliding down.

Eventually, he came to mercifully slow stop as the slide stopped into an open space. During the rapid descent, he had pressed close his eyes with both hands and even now he didn't take them away.

"D-did we die?" He stuttered, feeling like he could bowl over and heave everything he had eaten since the moment he was born.

"Let me control… no, we're alive."

Trembling, Irilgen slowly lowered his hands. Holy shit. They were actually alive! He collapsed over the mound of broken wraithbone with a giant sigh of relief.

There was a faint rustle, before Gudras appeared into his vision. The strange creature looked remarkably untouched by all the journey. He held a very dazed-looking Slimy under his arm.

"Scared?" He asked.

Irilgen was so shaken up that he didn't even manage to get his usual freckles up.

Instead, he snickered.

"A bit." He hesitated. "It's wrong?"

Gudras shook his head, the shadow of a smile over his broad face. "Not at all."

Turning around, he glanced before him.

Feeling a little better, Irilgen got up and did the same.

They had ended in little room, high walls of wraithbone making up the walls while all the tendrils he had broken during his descent made up the floor. Before them, the wall opened up into a little entrance.

"Where are we?" Irilgen asked, raising his head. He saw light coming from above, but he couldn't make out the point from which he had fallen from. He felt shivers. He had fallen from so far!

"In the hiding hole of a scoundrel." Gudras replied.

Putting down Slimy, he began to move around, his gaze scanning every centimeter of the room.

"What do you…"

Irilgen's question was cut short by Slimy jumping in his arms. Frog and Eldar watched each other for a second.

"Eeeeeew!" Irilgen tried to put the frog as much away from his face as possible. Slimy croaked, totally unimpressed.

"W-what do you mean?" The child asked. By Asuryan, that thing stank!

"I mean…" Gudras raised a hand, a sly expression over his face. "This!" With a swift motion, he sank his hand into the wraithbone of the floor.

There was a rustle, and Irilgen had all the impression of hearing a muffled sound, before Gudras yanked something out of the wraithbone.

And that something was a little creature.

Irilgen blinked.

The strangest creature he had ever seen.

Even smaller than Gudras himself, it had a lithe, graceful humanoid form. Its skin had the same color of gold and seemed made of that liquid substance. Tendrils of silver protuded from its head , forming a sort of long mane of hair. Two pools of silver also made up its eyes, now cloudy like a stormy sky as Gudras held the little creature by its scruff.

"Let me go!" The little creature protested with a thin voice. It writhed like a caught butterfly in its attempt of getting away.

"W-what is that?" Those words came out of Irilgen's mouth before he could get a hold of them.

"A scoundrel and a copycat." Gudras said. There was a deep sort of satisfaction while he held that little creature like an unrepentant child. "Isn't that right, Slaanesh?"