"You don't want to sit there", an eldar said, blocking my way inside the Azure Envoy's mess hall.

I gestured to him, asking to elaborate.

"The young warriors are there. They are currently even less than an Exarch, completely defined by their war masks."

I gazed at the table. True enough, the foreheads of the eldar there were stained with bloody runes. Their movements, even when eating, were laced with aggression. The bloodlust they emanated was obvious. How could have I not noticed? Moreover, how could have I been drawn there?

"I was told it'll take us a few cycles before we reach our destination. Why are they already wearing the masks?"

"Their Path had just begun. The rituals to don the mask have to be precise, otherwise they'd risk dissipating it, their grasp on it still tenacious. They barely remember who they were before, and it offers them solace from what they do while wearing it. Only later would they learn to accept their thirst for violence, or other reasons that led them on the Path of the Warrior."

"Or lost themselves in it," I said, still observing the table.

"This is the first trap of that Path. The separation offered by the ritual is complete, save for the anchor which motivates the warrior to remove the mask when it is time. For some, the profoundness of experiences overcomes it. Where the guardians suppress their emotions in combat, Aspect Warriors chain them, fuelling their battle trance."

There was something mesmerizing watching the group of warriors doing something as mundane as eating. An eariness in observing something both lesser and greater than a regular Aeldari.

"You said it is the first, so there must be more of those traps."

"In some shrines it would be the only one. In our craftworld, most delve deeper. Some of our Kin would consider that approach blasphemous," his stance shifted to the one of mockery, all the while tracing with his hand a pattern similar to that of Alaitoc rune. "But if complete separation would be enough, so would be the suppression of the feelings that every Aeldari learns. Howbeit Khaine calls everyone in a different way; every warrior treads his Path for different reasons. Without remembering there can be no understanding. To truly learn from the Path, one has to achieve the balance between the spark of Khaine within himself, and with who he is beyond it."

"Only by knowing destruction one can truly appreciate creation," I cited Maer-Zyr, a famous philosopher of old.

The man's stance shifted to one of a sad agreement.

"But the reverse is true all the same - a second trap out of which an Exarch is born. When one comes to terms with them being a whole, he can't remain unchanged. Know that the embrace of a bloody-handed is a warm one, indeed. A solace from the past mistakes, a justification to push ever forward. Tip the scales too much, and you find yourself unable to find fulfillment in nothing but martial prowess. Forever haunted by Khaine's hunger, denied serenity even in death…"

"Well spoken, Almirr," another eldar joined our conversation. "Have you assumed the mantle of an Exarch already, to be giving our thought-talker this lecture?"

"Contrary to you, Illios, I'm choosing my Paths with a purpose; Autarchy is my goal. You, my friend, chase shrine after shrine restlessly, never truly sating your thirst for battle. Who's tethering closer to the Khaine's priesthood?" Almirr argued, but made a conciliatory gesture, "yet, I agree, these matters would be better explained by an Exarch. I was curious to meet you, Iriath. You are to be the communication officer for our Wing. To assign someone who has yet to take the Khaine's Path to those who drank from his chalice numerous times; there's bound to be a reason, even if it eludes me."

On the first glance, I'd never tell that Almirr and his friend were also Aspect Warriors - so far the man gave me the impression of someone who wouldn't be out of place during philosophical debate. Yet, the friendly facade was just that: a facade beneath which a deadly weapon lay in wait; not unlike the warriors seated in the corner, only far more experienced and dangerous.

Now that I knew what to look for, I noticed the hints. Graceful, fluid movements and gestures, but all the same devoid of any spontaneity and wastefulness, perfectly measured. When I reached with senses of the thought-talker, there was that barely perceptible ardently cold aura, not too dissimilar from that of an Exarch.

"I'm also constantly questioning the reasons for my presence on this vessel. Would it be presumptuous of me to say that the seers wanted to steer me towards Warrior's Path faster?"

Khaine was calling me, there was no doubt about it. If I'd have stayed on the craftworld after Carralos II, there'd be a chance I'd delayed it for a few passes. But I have chosen otherwise, and whatever happens now will probably be enough to tip the scales.

"Not at all. Seers guide us; ask them one question and you'll receive three answers. All true, and all hiding the most important of them. Might it be a reason? Yes. But the reason? I doubt it."


Our journey was uneventful.

Even intermittent jumps through the Immaterium, a dreadful perspective at the beginning of the journey, quickly became just another part of the cycle. Never lasting longer than a few minutes, they were always heralded by vessel-wide warnings and assisted by increased activity of tiny warp spiders that normally only rarely came to the sights of the mariners.

Still, I must admit, despite the relative normalcy, I was getting increasingly restless. Maybe it was the presence of multiple warriors on the ship, or the exposure to the Warp, but I found myself taken by barely controllable fits of anger and vivid remembrances of prior encounters with xenos, usually those that ended in bloodshed.

I quickly found myself in a rhythm, spending my free time wandering between hydroponic farms and meditation chambers. There was only one activity it was expected of me to attend: strategy meetings. Apparently, it was the Farseer's request to have me there if I decided to join the expedition.

They took a huge part of each cycle, most of them spent analyzing holo-displays of the vessels of similar class as the one our seers predicted us to be engaging in Triwath or - as was its current designation by the humans - Sollides system.

Ark Mechanicus, as humans called this kind of voidships, were universally ugly. From the largest monstrosities easily dwarfing the Azure Envoy a dozen of times, unholy marriages between space-hulks and hive cities, to much smaller, but still massive battleships, they all sported excessive and crude ornamentations and aesthetics that only those xenos could ever consider pleasant.

Even if the seers agreed that the vessel we'd encounter would be more akin to an oversized Imperial battleship, the Autarch was prudent, insisting on reviewing data of all encounters Il'sariadh archives acquired.

On the fourth cycle Thuyelsa's focus shifted towards countering Necrontyr voidcraft; the star destroying technology was of their origin, all signs suggesting that foolish humans refurbished one of their own flagships to house it. What other devices they incorporated was yet to be seen.

"Stroke of genius, a mad dream given true form," as one of the seers described the feat.

And so I was forced to spectate for countless hours the echoes of encounters long gone; sometimes against Aeldari, more often fights between various xenos themselves, all the while Autarch, Seers and Exarchs decided on the best counters to maneuvers performed.

I'd lie if I said that there was no part of me that found the meetings interesting, thrilling even. And yet, all the while another could feel only disgust and resentment.

Why were we even required to step in, stop the folly of young races, so that it won't destroy us all?

Why are our seers constantly forced to guide us to our dooms? Trade our precious lives so that our race could barely continue to survive, while xenos are given the opportunity to thrive, but choose to squander it?

Why, even in pursuing their own destruction, they can't even try better than emulate our ancestors, condemning not only themselves, but the whole galaxy?


The ninth cycle of the journey brought a palpable change. Even without any other confirmation, the atmosphere of the Azure Envoy made it clear that when we leave the webway the next time, we'd reach our destination.

The vessel's circuit pulsed with aggression; just a faint echo of what was felt throughout the Craftworld whenever the Avatar was roused, but still something unmistakeable.

An ignorant would say that those were the spirits of the dead housed within the vessel that were stirring for another fight. It wasn't true. The psychoplastic material of the voidcraft was housing no dead - for it was no Ghostship - it only reverberated echoes of emotions and personalities of Aeldari who operated it, gaining a semblance of sentience from them. Gone was the curiosity and wonderment of sailors exploring the universe, forgotten the loving caress of bonesingers forming the vessel. Now on the forefront were memories of skirmishes, aggression and anger of the gunners, echoes of Aspect Warriors as they scoured the ship, repelling the boarders, thrill felt by pilots as they got ready to leave the bays in their attackcrafts.

The combat was nigh, and the Azure Envoy was eager for it.

Every Asuryani moved with purpose; Eldion's thought-voice was already directing everyone to their appointed positions. I quickly boarded one of the grav-chariots. Flying to the command bridge, I had a moment to appreciate the starship's internal wraithbone structure as it began rearranging. Bulkheads closed, dividing spacious alleys, internal weapon batteries arose, changing them into deadly labyrinths. The corridors would further shift in response to boarding actions, separating and confounding the invaders, herding them towards designated kill-zones. I flew above one of such newly emerging areas, where a squad of Warp Spiders was spreading a web of monofilament wires that would entangle and slice apart any xeno unfortunate enough to enter it.

The ubiquitous promise of violence made my heartbeat quicken in anticipation. Khaine's gaze was upon us, but I wasn't meant to respond to his call. Not completely. I won't be joining lines of warriors in this battle. I closed my eyes, submerged my psyche in well-known patterns of meme-chants to suppress the desire, and be ready for the task that awaited me.

I was at peace when I disembarked the grav-chariot and seated myself between other thought-talkers on the bridge.

The presence of other Asuryani; Autarch, seers and pilots, became mere afterthought as I laid hands on the crystalline nodes of the chair, letting my awareness slip into the ship. The vessel's circuit was throbbing with activity and emotions, countless eldar communing with the multitude of the Azure Envoys's subsystems.

I shut down most of the noise, enhancing the connections I was assigned to maintain. Of the Autarch and the personnel on the bridge with Almirr's wing of twelve pilots. As far as I was aware, it was the only one formed solely from Menshad Korii, the most experienced warriors who weren't exarchs. Nonetheless, it was a very small detachment, almost insultingly so, provided the other thought-talkers were responsible for communication with multiple squadrons.

Had I not meditated before, I'd feel anger of wounded pride. As I was now, I reminded myself it was the task assigned to me by the Head-Farseer himself. A necessary role to achieve the favorable outcome foreseen by him.

I focused on the pilots. Each of them acknowledged my mental presence, announcing their Darkstar Fighters to be fully operational. Something only to be expected. It would be an affront to pilots to force them to leave bays in vessels not in the peak condition.

I touched the wraithbone sensors of each attackcraft. Equipped with holofield generators, armed with shipgrade starcannons and brightlances they were small and agile vessels. In experienced hands each of them capable of obliterating entire xeno squadrons on their own. Something that Almirr's crew surely wasn't lacking.

+Prepare for entering realspace,+ Wayseer Aviel announced, causing me to retract my attention towards the bridge. +Autarch Thuyelsa, we await your orders.+

+Proceed.+

A familiar tug told me that we left the webway. Through the vessel's sensors I could perceive an unfamiliar sun and four planets circling it. Three were devoid of life, one thriving with it; a home to exodites, Triwath.

+Shroud maintained, we remain cloaked,+ one of the officers announced. +Long range scanners detect a lone vessel, quarter-cycle to contact under stealth-speed.+

+No other signals? Perform a detailed scan of the system. Also, give me more information about the detected ship.+

+Begin with the asteroid field near Triwath IV,+ a spiritseer suggested.

+I pick numerous energy readings there, similar radiation patterns, all matching Imperial reactors. It is probably their escort. However, the field produces too many artifacts for something more substantial.+

+This would be consistent with your divinations, seers. Mon-keigh must be deeming it a safe distance for their remaining fleet after destroying the star. Or maybe try to conduct mining operations to sate their greed when idle. Anyways, record the data for later analysis. Now, render available details of the first ship on the holo-display.+

+Preliminary scan ready.+

+Primary target confirmed,+ the Autarch announced as soon as the vessel was displayed.

The rendered image left no doubts. While the rear two-thirds of the vessel were distinctly of a human origin, its front was of a more curious construction. A crude Imperial artifice covered with smooth layers of something that, according to our sensors, could only be necrodermis. The next scan revealed it to reach far to the front of the ship, forming seven lengthy protrusions on its bow, all glittering with some kind of crystalline lenses.

+Ark Mechanicus of Fabricator Dominus class, thrice the size of the Azure Envoy. Its main nova cannon, amongst other front mounted weapons, has been replaced with Yngir technology. That part resembles the D'roth pattern, if our scarce historical records of the War in Heavens are to be believed. Even if its main weapon battery should be far more deadly, this modification gives us an advantage now. At the height of the conflict, D'roth's were said to destroy whole systems, in the matter of hours turning the star's energy against itself. However, mon-keigh would lack the technology required to kick-start such a devastating reaction quickly. Our success will make sure they'd never have time to improve on their adaptation of the design.+

The Autarch thoughtstream stopped for a few heartbeats, with him engaging in a conversation I wasn't privy of, before he continued.

+Correct the course; 15 degrees towards Triwath IV. Perform Karras' Approach maneuver; I want us interposed between the enemy fleet.+

Pilots obliged, and the ship sailed gently, its course steady. I was barely aware of the passage of time, preliminary orders of the Autarch changed in accordance to runes cast by the seers.

+Energy surge from the primary target,+ one of the officers reported after a few hours.

+We've yet to reach the optimal position for ambush, but if we delay too long and let them fully arm the weapon we'd be risking irreversible damage to the system star. Plot the course directly on the Ark. Glitch the shroud-field, let them think their sensors picked us.+

+We detect a tight-beam transmission from the asteroid field to the Ark,+ an Aeldari operating xeno vox-comm devices reported. +The variation of cant used is unlike anything we'd encountered before. I'll keep recording intercepted communications; they won't be of use for this encounter, but might be in the future…+

+Their fleet leaves the asteroid field. Twelve vessels, plus smaller escorts. They are spreading out to encircle us. No reaction from the primary target.+

+It's not enough," Autarch Thuyelsa said. +Initiate Wraithbone Shift.+

The Azure Envoy's rudimentary consciousness beamed with pleasure as its sails were rearranged, allowing the vessel a brief surge of speed.

+The fleet is plotting a direct course against us in response, their maneuvers abandoned.+

+Good, we want them to commit to a reckless charge. Even for mon-keigh admirals it should be obvious it's impossible for their fleet to intercept us before we reach the Ark.+

+The Ark is redirecting power from the Yngir weapon array to its engines, they are aligning themselves against us.+

Moments later long-range sensors flared with multiple warning runes as dozens of new, fast moving targets appeared from the main fleet.

+Torpedoes inbound!+

+Foolish humans! At this range and with our holofield it's naught but a waste of their ammunition. Still, Exarch Fyre-Ciel wanted to warm up her newest warriors. Let the Wing of Starlit Horizon take off, may they compete against point-defense turrets in catching torpedoes.+

The order was immediately passed, and the Azure Envoy stretched like a gyrinx preparing to pounce, its gunners casting down first of the incoming salvos. Soon, the sound of discharged weapons reverberated throughout the vessel, and the warning runes disappeared one after another.

+The Ark entered range of Pulsar Lance.+

+Fire. May Khaine guide our aim.+

If Triwath's exodites glanced at the firmament in that moment, they could have witnessed the birth of new stars when clouds of energy squeezed into single, impossibly bright points as the greatest, dorsal-mounted cannons of the Azure Envoy released bursts of high-intensity laser bolts. Later, they would understand that it was only a mere overture to the spectacle that had just begun inside their solar system.

Devastating beams of energy crossed the void of space within seconds, ripping through unfortunate enemy fighters that found themselves on their way, before unerringly connecting with the enemy battleship.

+Target's void shields unbroken.+

+Fire at will. We'll maintain pressure. Fighter and bomber wings, prepare for takeoff. Enemy fleet status?+

+Still chasing us, their escorts are overtaking the fleet's main body,+ a minute consternation. +I'm detecting multiple new contacts engaging the enemy.+

+Ulthwé finally deigned to spring the trap we set up. Let them take care of the fleet while we focus on the primary target.+

Triwath was within the swathe of space Ulthwé claimed its territory, yet, with the bulk of their forces engaged elsewhere, the vessels they could mobilize in time to protect the exodites lacked firepower to deal with the threat on their own, at least not without suffering unacceptable loses. It was the reason why Il'sariadh's Seer Council decided to lend them aid.

Having finally received orders for the wing I was responsible for, I toned down most of the thought-chatter not directly relevant to my task.

+We're hunting again, sons of Kurnous!+ Illios projected through me to his wingmates, as they were cleared for takeoff.

Utilizing the sensors of their craft I watched dozens of other squadrons leaving the Azure Envoy, far more than any Void Stalker usually carried. Having walked the Path of Composer, I couldn't stop myself from taking a moment to appreciate the skill of the pilots as they took their intended positions, synchrony of the well-trained actors in the spectacle conducted by the Autarch. A handful of fighters remained within the Azure Envoy proximity, gently orbiting around it. Other squadrons moved against forerunning escort vessels, which broke through Ulthwé attack, still intent on pursuing us. All Aeldari vessels had their holofields operational, each shimmering with glittering afterimages, constantly presenting enemies with false targets.

Almirr's wing took the point of the spear, leading a bulk of Darkstar Fighters and Eagle Bombers along the designated vector of approach against the Ark. Beneath them both battleships were exchanging fire at the extreme range, their lance weapons slowly charging and briefly illuminating the void, incapable of scoring direct hits. Far behind us the void was already marred with short-lived explosions, long-range sensors confirming first take-downs by Ulthwé.

+Loose formation, dodging maneuvers,+ I passed the newest order.

The vast distances of space, even with incredible speeds of voidcraft, required time to cross. At extreme ranges chances of hitting an intended target with projectile weapons were slim to none. As the opposed forces got closer to each other, the enemy vessel began releasing salvos from its macrocannon batteries.

Swarms of warheads and railguns met the Aeldari aces. What an imperial admiral imagined to be a coordinated pattern of shots, bound to unleash a maelstrom of destruction, was for the pilots naught more than an obstacle course, each salvo not a wall, but a net through which holes they slipped, or made new with their own weaponry when it was required.

+Enemy fighters, are we to engage?+ Almirr projected when the wing's sensors picked multiple new enemy signatures.

+Stay the course, pick only targets of opportunity. Shrines of Searing Eagle and Skein Talon will follow your wake,+ the Autarch's response was immediate; Almirr's wing was to focus on escorting squadrons of the Eagle Bombers against the Ark.

Other thought-talkers must have received differing orders, several wings dispersing from the formation, inviting their human counterparts into dogfights. Interceptors greeted them with hail of lascannons and salvos of missiles. Some of the pilots chose to overcharge their holofields, momentarily disappearing within explosions of light, their vessels no longer recognizable in any form, swatches of void around them filled with confusing, fractal patterns.

White-red bolts flew against bluish plasma of starcannons. And death followed.

Dozens of fighters perished within first seconds, casualties sustained by mon-keigh outnumbering the Aeldari many times.

When other thought-talkers shuddered, experiencing death-screams of fallen warriors from their wings, the Azure Envoy responded with anger that quickly spread to anyone connected with its matrix. The ship's consciousness was brimming with a contempt for humanity, viewing it as naught more but a plague upon the galaxy. Due to the experience of those Aeldari it interacted with, it was aware that some of the mon-keigh could be capable of feats of greatness, of rising above the mediocrity and irrelevance marring their species. But as a whole? They bred like rabbits and spread like locusts, their leaders never batting an eye to sacrificing the lives of thousands of their brethren in endless assaults.

I braced myself, letting the anger pass through me. Warriors could channel rage and contempt in fight, but for me it was a distraction.

Focus on the task, I reminded myself. The time to mourn will come later, now I will partake in revenge, even if it won't be delivered by my own hands.

+Primary target in range. Commencing strafing run; Kurnous' pattern,+ Almirr announced.

I already knew the Ark Mechanicus was an enormous ship, but it was one thing to see it as a holo-projection, and completely different through the eyes of Darkstar Pilots approaching it.

The monstrosity's hull, which in the minds of its creators must have been a pinnacle of engineering, but could only be described as crudely melded slabs of metal alloys, had every available space on its broadsides filled to the brim with weapon batteries. Incorporated within them were religious depictions of gargantuan skulls partially covered with machinery. On the ship's stern, just in front of its primitive combustion based propulsion systems, an even more ornamental, massive octagonal protrusion was housed, its weapon batteries facing all directions.

The front of the vessel was an entirely different sight. Smooth, sickly green shimmering metal formed seven mirroring, hundred meter long protrusions attached to the ship's bow. Necrodermis spread from the ship's front, losing its seemingly molten quality on the way, slowly gaining texture and details of the Mechanicus' vessel it covered, before giving way to the regular alloys used in Imperial ships at about one-third length. As if it was slowly consuming the vessel, reshaping it into something else… which it probably did.

The Ark's void shields created shimmering barriers over the vessel. They erupted with kaleidoscopic colors whenever lance weaponry from the Azure Envoy hit them. Whenever one field bent and collapsed, there was always another layer beneath, keeping the vessel intact, giving its generators time to bleed off excess energy and restart the collapsed layer again.

Almirr's wing led the attack, approaching the enemy from the dead-angles of its macrocannon batteries. As the furious hail of fire from the point-defense system welcomed Asuryani craft, an unaware observer might have described pilots' maneuvers as erratic, yet the formation moved in pre-arranged patterns, designed to fully utilize fighters' speed and holofields to keep them ahead of the enemy targeting matrices.

The Ark Mechanicus' void shields flared constantly as Darkstars' brightlances tested their integrity relentlessly. Following in their wake, Eagle Bombers released their payload. Sonic charges were dropped in dozens. Only the minority of the bombs were stopped by the shields; most slipped right through them, scoring first hits against the Ark's armor.

The spectacle repeated itself throughout the vessel, multiple wings conducting their strikes with pinpoint accuracy, aiming to disable some of the ship's subsystems.

It was the moment when the Autarch ordered the Azure Envoy's secondary weapons to fire along the main Pulsar Lances, deeming the time for probing strikes was over. A sudden burst of focused lance fire took the enemy by surprise, layers of void shields flaring with colors and flickering. The barrage of highly focused energy beams scorched through the Ark's portboard, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Numerous broadside batteries had been vaporized by the hits, huge swatches of metal drifted into the void along with charred remains of the unfortunate crew which occupied the suddenly depressurised areas of the vessel.

Yet the Ark sailed defiantly, its void shields, properly powered now, held firmly against the following barrage. Moreover, as if in unspoken agreement to begin the fight in earnest, the Yngir protrusions started flaring with baleful energies one after another. Billowing auroras rippled through them, climbing to their tips, where hazy clouds of energy were forming from nothingness, before being released as tight, scintillating white beams. From the rear of the vessel, more Interceptors left bays, the Imperium continuing its ages-old tactic of drowning the enemy in numbers.

Suddenly, my attention was physically brought back to the Azure Envoy, an incorporeal sensation of pain spreading through my ribcage. The vessel shook, its consciousness writhing in anger after receiving a hit from Yngir weaponry. It wasn't the first time it was successfully hit, but none of the previous strikes brought such a severe reaction from the ship. A moment later soft hum spread throughout the vessel's circuit; bonesingers were already responding, gently nudging the wraithbone hull so that it would mend the wound quicker.

The Autarch reacted immediately; a short series of orders and the Azure Envoy's sails were trimmed, the vessel gracefully performing aileron half-roll, presenting its undamaged side against the enemy. Its course was adjusted; while the bow still remained aligned against the Ark, letting the lances to fire continuously, instead of moving ahead, it sailed abeam now, maneuvering to position itself outside of the firing-angle of Yngir batteries.

Back in the Ark's proximity heavily outnumbered Almirr's wing was engaged in vicious dogfighting, providing Eagle Bombers with an opportunity for further bombardment runs. Witnessing the battle through the Darkstars' sensors, I was momentarily overcome with a premonition.

Illios' vessel was within the thick of the fight, taking down one Imperial pilot after another, but in his eagerness to hunt down mon-keigh, he separated from the rest of the wing, and was now cut-off and swarmed by the enemy. His maneuvers became more erratic, the human pilots saturating swatches of void with weapons fire in an attempt to counter the Darkstar's holofield. Almirr led his warriors, trying to cut through the swarm and provide him an avenue of escape, but I knew they wouldn't make it in time.

Illios rolled and vaulted, scissoring between enemy pilots with abandon, before suddenly dropping his craft's nose low during the turn and going into a spiral dive. It was then, when his fighter passed right before an enemy Interceptor, a distance so close that even the mon-keigh couldn't have missed him, holofield or not, when I expected him to get hit.

However no attack came.

The Interceptor just flew past him, plunging down and crashing against the Ark's void shield with a short lived explosion. With a sense of eeriness I stared at dozens of enemy attackcrafts stopping their maneuvers, just flying straight forward, to crash or slip into the void. Like puppets with their strings suddenly cut, their numbers growing with each heartbeat.

I was overcome with awe, dread and revulsion, the feelings slipping into me, encroaching from the minds of each and every wingman simultaneously.

Its source cut through the void, a vessel both ominous and solemn. Its sleek hull looked almost fragile, flickering, as if not completely being here. Even in the emptiness of space an anguished howl followed its trail, the only sign of one of its weapons firing. There was no flare up, no blast and no damage, only a scream marking even more spirits forcefully separated from their bodies.

+Follow.+

The mind-voice of the fighter's pilot was cold and distant; regal and bearing no disagreement. It was impossible for me to divine whether it was of a spiritseer piloting it, or one of the Aeldai spirits roused from the Infinity Circuit to join the fight, to share the burden and stain of the soul piloting a Hemlock Wraithfigter incurred.

The wing quickly fell in the formation, the ghoulish vessel taking point. While its right-wing mounted heavy D-scythe left no visible trace, the same could not be told about its left-wing twin. Void rippled with its discharge, and where the beam terminated, unnatural lights appeared. Collapsing in on themselves, they greedily tore through the emptiness of space, revealing what was beneath it. Short-lived windows into the hell-dimension of Othersea, momentarily flaring with violent warplight, ripping and sucking pieces of realspace caught within the blast, banishing it forever.

Cutting through the Ark's void shield, the Wraithfighter led the charge, Aeldari pilots focusing their fire on Yngir weaponry, bringing down two of the Ark's seven protrusions before enemy fighters caught up to them.

One more followed amongst resulting dogfighting, the void shields remaining depleted due to continuous fire from the Azure Envoy. Sonic charges from Eagle Bombers protected by Almirr's wing were close to overcoming regenerative capabilities of the necrodermis covering the fourth, when the Wraithfighter pilot gave another order.

+Disengage immediately.+

A command echoed by the Autarch barely a heartbeat later.

+We need one more pass to finish it down, to not let it regenerate. Just a moment,+ projected Almirr, as he committed to another strafing run against the protrusion.

He wasn't alone in the sentiment, and despite the repeated order several other Darkstars and Eagles continued the attack. The protrusion collapsed.

+Another one down,+ the pilot projected as he began ascending.

+And now the price is due,+ the Wraithfigter spoke coldly.

Moments later the Ark flared with malevolent energy, lightning bolts dancing in growing swatches of void around it, reaching for fighters who weren't quick enough to escape their range. Whenever they touched the attackcraft; Asuryani and Imperial alike, they crawled their surface, questing for weak points. Imperial vessels ruptured as their Promethium tanks burst, flames immediately doused in the oxygenless void. Ships of the Aeldari seemed to fare better, devoid of crude, combustible materials, but even our superior technology couldn't stop the discharge from directly affecting pilots' bodies. Lucky ones died quickly, unable to control their craft, crashing against the Ark Mechanicus. Almirr wasn't one of them; his pained death-scream echoed in my mind seemingly for ages; wisps of energy frying his body, turning it into a blackened husk, until finally his spirit broke free from his mortal vessel, finding its way to his waystone.

+Starpulse wave,+ the Autarch projected. +Them incorporating the technology was unexpected. Yet, now their reactors must be overloaded, it's time for decisive strike, press the attack.+

+No, spread further,+ Lahith interjected. +We'll deliver the blow.+

Back on the Void Stalker, under her guidance, the circle formed from the seers who remained aboard focused their minds towards the single purpose. The runes that so far served to scry the threads of fate, guide and protect the Asuryani were rearranged, forming patterns of boundless malevolence. Even a dilettante of the craft such as myself could feel sudden twists within the currents of the Skein, the seers masterfully inflicting miniscule amount of power to cause an unproportionally large reaction. The currents crashed against themselves, agitated, waves bleeding into realspace.

On top of the Ark Mechanicus, a small vortex of psychic power came into existence. Tiny at first, it quickly grew, a maelstrom of energy encompassing the enemy vessel. Metal bent and cracked in the fury of the storm, the ship's engines blazing defiantly, trying to steer it to safety. With every second the vessel spent within, new explosions marred its hull, parts ripped apart.

And then, as suddenly as the storm started, it finished. On the Azure Envoy, the seers staggered from exhaustion, one of them dropping on the floor unconscious.

The Ark was barely recognisable, bleeding its atmospheric gasses from numerous ruptures in its hull, most of the weapon batteries destroyed. The ship was dying, launching countless escape pods and voidcrafts, blanketing them with protective fire from its still operational armaments.

Most of the squadrons were given orders to ignore the escapees and finish off the ship.

+Destroy the vessels in mymerris–quadrant.+

The order for Almirr - or rather Illios' wing now - was different. When the pilots disengaged before the seers' attack, Illios' forces found themselves in a perfect position to intercept vessels trying to head towards the remaining fleet of the Imperium.

They were a rag-tag gathering, even for the mon-keigh. Not a hint of uniformity, the ships of various classes and sizes, bombers, fighters, troop transports. Easy pickings.

As always, I was going to immediately relay the order to the pilots, but in the infinitely small gap between 'willing' and 'doing', another mind-voice spoke to me.

+Hold,+ the speaker's thought felt ancient, and his single mental phrase was heavily laden with meanings.

Two outcomes held in an equilibrium.

First. The fleeing vessels destroyed, the red-robed harbinger of doom within them. A victory, but the one mon-keigh were oblivious of. Their slowly moving war-machine finally stirred, searching system after system for the renegade perpetrator, and never finding him, threatening countless Aeldari lives.

Second. The vessels survived, the harbinger licking his wounds in his hidden fortress, his forces slowly rebuilt. Its location fed to a Rogue Trader, the mon-keigh fleet having a clear goal now, a kill they can confirm.

A difference between passing the Autarch's order, or delaying it for a few heartbeats longer.

Time itself stopped, as pieces of puzzle fell into their places. A favorable outcome.

Had there been anyone else in my position, a thought-talker who walked a Path of the Warrior before, he would have followed the Autarch's orders, instead of mulling over a warning from the seer of another craftworld.

Painfully aware of each infinitely stretching heartbeat, I delayed. Finally I gave in, doing something only a civilian could have considered - threw the thought back to the Autarch, asking him for confirmation.

+Destroy the targets!+ annoyance, anger, an expected reaction. +And tell Eldrad to stop spreading dissent amongst our ranks. He made his point earlier, the plan deemed too risky to follow.+

I forwarded the orders now, for a moment sensing the seer's… smugness, an assurance that the delay would be enough.

Illios' wing began their chase, and I struggled to understand how the minuscule advantage the mon-keigh craft had could have influenced the outcome. Their vessels were so painfully slow compared to ours, those that lagged behind the group already taken down by the Darkstars.

It wasn't long before only the three bulkiest and - strangely - fastest vessels remained.

+Firing solution, now… Cegorach's bitch!+ Illios exclaimed, performing a sudden snap turn.

From the opposite side of the mon-keigh crafts, Ulthwé's pilots cut through the void at breakneck speeds, ignoring the humans and picking a collision course against Il'sariadh fighters, forcing them to evade. A strange dogfight ensued, with Ulthwé's forces positioning themselves to physically prevent Illios' wing from reaching their targets, obstructing them and breaking line of sight.

The Autarch was brimming with barely controlled fury, not even sated by complete obliteration of the Ark Mechanicus, but even in his anger he never considered crossing the line and ordering the pilots to shoot at the allied craftworld's forces. Still, the Azure Envoy's bridge was filled with profanities, both mental and verbal alike, with the Autarch comparing Eldrad to a variety of xeno genitals.

His mood brightened slightly when four of Illios's pilots menaged to outmaneuver their Ulthwé counterparts, and even brought down one of the remaining vessels. It seemed certain that the other two would join it before reaching their own fleet.

But as it turned out, the mon-keigh weren't trying to reach their fleet. Suddenly, their engines flared with a burst of power, in a feat impossible for most of the mon-keigh ships of similar size. As I learned later, the fleeing vessels were of Tarnhelm-class, and they engaged their warp drives.

The string of profanities filled the bridge once more.

As for myself, I closed my eyes, severing my connection with the communication matrix shortly afterwards.

The battle was won, Ulthwé either mopping the last remaining vessels or letting them escape. The fighter pilots were heading back to the Azure Envoy, while the White Ships of Mourning were already spreading throughout the system. A tenebrous song of the spiritseers piloting them was felt in the soul of every eldar, soon joined by the voices of exodites, the psychically potent members of their clans delivering eulogies for their saviors.

How many survivors will be found? How many spirit stones recovered, Aeldari souls caught before She-Who-Thrists reaches for them in her endless hunger?

The tragedy envisioned by seers was averted. Postponed. A victory.

Mon-keigh - for right now I could not find the will within myself to call this foolish species with any other name - were saved from themselves once more.

For a meager price paid in Aeldari lives.

It was a victory, but any feeling of elation, of accomplishment was drowned by anger, pain and loss.