I crouched behind a rocky outcrop, scanning the horizon. Even with dust and ashes engulfing the sun, I could see the massive shapes of the Imperial Titans, lumbering across distant, scorched plains. The world shook with their footsteps, blasts from their war horns bellowing challenge.
And challenged they were.
Ancient forests and creatures that dwelled within were torn apart by torrents of fire and plasma, as Imperial forces were met by their Aeldari counterparts. Magma spluttered from the ground whenever the shots went astray, Biel-Tanians and Exodites countering them with their own Engines. Elusive Phantom Titans flickered in and out of sight like monstrous harlequins, majestic Archaeosaurs proudly marched through destruction to meet their foes in melee. Metal clashed against flesh, the roar of engines and screams were accompanied by flashes of light and darkness, creating a symphony echoing across Isynelean.
I felt a surge of sorrow and anger, mixed with a strange sense of awe. I had seen many battles in my life, but none like this. The scale and intensity of this conflict was beyond anything I had ever imagined. I cried for destruction wrought upon Isynelean, for the death toll suffered by the Exodites and Biel-Tanians, and marveled at the purity of Khaine's art. I felt small and insignificant, despite the importance of our mission. Fate of countless Aeldari was dependent on our success, and yet I could not completely prevent doubt from encroaching onto my thoughts.
I glanced around, the presence of my brothers and sisters from Skeinwalkers Shrine bringing back reassurance. They were both friends and rivals, fellow warriors and explorers, sharing a bond forged through common path and purpose. Fintan, our Exarch, was calm as ever, certain we were up to the task, a sentiment shared by the Council approving our participation; who were I to doubt their judgment?
Before us lay the fortress of our enemies. A gargantuan, crude structure of ceramite and adamantium. While repulsive in itself, the structure was testimony to mon-keigh ingenuity, that they were able to fortify their position to such a degree in the span of time they were contesting Isynelean. Even now, its countless macro-cannons turrets and missile batteries were unleashing deadly ordnance on the distant battlefields, all the while protected by layers of shimmering Void Shields surrounding the bastion. Even faced with barrages of artillery fire, the shields held, flickering and crackling, but never completely collapsing.
As fortified as the bastion was, trying to outright breach inside would be suicidal.
A smile crept onto my face; the mon-keigh must have been proud of their defenses. Unfortunately for them, Asuryani rarely resolved to open assaults.
Have they thought themselves secure inside the fortress?
The layered Void Shields might have seemed impenetrable, protecting not only from regular ordnance, but also more unorthodox approaches - like teleporting inside. However, no defenses were flawless. Even if gaps were rare and fleeting, almost impossible to detect, it only took one to find them.
I took my gaze to a figure standing next to us. Supported by a staff, she stood still like a sculpture, the sole movement coming from the wind swaying her long robe of dark blue, adorned with arcane symbols. Even with her face hidden by a ghost helm, I could feel her piercing eyes focused on the array formed by the runes floating before her.
The Skeinwalkers Shrine was assisted by one of Il'sariadh's Farseers and her entourage of warlocks. Shielded by their psychic sorcery we have reached the proximity of the enemy bastion unseen. Now, the Farseer was reading the patterns of the Skeins, threads of our fate, of the defenders and of their shields. She was seeking the right moment, the moment when their defenses would be the weakest, the gaps of their shields the widest.
And it had come.
She raised her staff, and gave a single command.
"Jump."
The reality flickered out with the familiar smell of ozone as I returned once again to the realm of possibilities. The law of physics held sway only within the small bubble of reality projected by the wardings and dreamstones engraved into our armors, the will reigning supreme outside of it.
This first breath of the Skeins was always filling me with both joy and sadness. Once it was the rightful domain of the Aeldari, the source of our power and glory. Now, we stalked it like shadows, afraid of thieves whom the hubris of our ancestors allowed to steal it.
I let my senses expand, focusing on the flickering light that was Fintan's soul. Being the Exarch, his soul was brighter, formed from the numerous Asuryani who found their final purpose on our Path. His light was to be both our beacon, as he was choosing the psychic currents leading us to our destination, as well as our decoy and bait.
The jump we were performing was a dangerous one; far longer and complex than regular, one that would test limits of both our endurance and sanity. It was bound to bring attention to us, and the Exarch was the one most versed with eluding the threats dwelling within the Immaterium.
Where the realspace was occupied by the doubtfully grandiose fortress of the mon-keigh, in the Warp there was naught, but the disturbance of the currents. The barriers of energy projected from its Void Shields extended their echoes even here, twisting the psychic currents we used to cross the Skeins.
However, such setbacks didn't deter Fintan. He led us through a turbulent and elusive stream created from fluctuations and disturbances the shield back in the realspace must have suffered. As soon as the Exarch crossed it, he broke himself away from the current and caught another, heading straight against the second echo. Even if there was no path when he began his movement, something caused the barrier to flicker out hairbreadth before it would have disintegrated him.
With thumping hearts we followed the Exarch, trusting his skill and the Farseer's vision. We slipped through layers of the barriers, exploiting the gaps and new currents that appeared along our way.
Yet, we weren't the only ones. By now, daemons sensed our prolonged presence in the Immaterium, tantalized by the scent of our souls. They were harrying after us, trying to exploit the same currents and paths.
However the shields, which true to the Farseer's predictions were momentarily failing to open us a way forward, were already resetting themselves. The psychic currents were shifting, sending our pursuers astray or making them collide against the reformed barriers. They had to wait for another gap to open, try to circumvent the defenses, and soon it was too late for them to catch us.
Fintan's soul-light dimmed, the Exarch reaching our destination and returning back to the realspace. We followed him out.
What welcomed us was a spacious room filled with machinery and cables. It was dark and noisy, a stark contrast to the bright and silent Immaterium. There was only a single occupant; a humanoid clad in red robes, more a machine than a human. Having studied the Imperium as a part of my Path of the Linguist, I immediately recognized him as a Tech-priest; a servant of their so-called Machine God, a worshiper of technology. Yes, I know it sounds bizarre, but my fellow linguists assured me that 'worshiping technology' wasn't merely some idiom used by humans.
The Tech-priest was completely baffled by our sudden appearance, its mechadendrites whirling with agitation. The being spoke in techno-religious tongue, a mix of Binary and Gothic, out of which I managed to understand a few repeating words:
"Anomaly detected: warp intrusion. Error. Impossible. Void Shields operational. Adjustment: probability negligible. Error."
Fintan slashed his powerblade across the Tech-priest's throat, silencing its speech synthesizer and severing its arteries. He watched as the blood and oil spilled from the wound, staining the floor and machines.
"So limited with your understanding you are," Fintan said as the light was fading from its half organic and half mechanical eyes. "Where you remain bound by the confines of probability and chance, we seek certainty that is forged by shaping the future. Impossible. Improbable. These are only cages that shackle one's mind."
Even before the Tech-priest's body hit the ground, we were in a flurry of motions. Some of the warriors positioned themselves to cover avenues of ingress, others were blanketing the chamber with layers of deadly monofilament wires, further securing the area.
My task was different.
I reached inside a secured compartment within my armor, retrieving a tiny, wraithbone sphere. Barely pebble-sized, smooth in touch, yet glittering with countless crystalline circuits, this artifice was a marvel of Asuryani craftsmanship. Not because of its function, but because of its creator's capacity to miniaturize it to such degree - most of the Wraithgates were bulky devices, occupying most of the Storm Serpents' innards, not something one could easily fit inside a palm.
I set it on the floor and focused my mind on the soft hum it emitted, activating it with a thought. With a flash of light a temporary opening into a nearby branch of Webway formed in its place, giving way to our reinforcements.
The first to emerge were a squad of Menshad Korii, warriors whose souls Khaine held firmly. Unlike the exarchs, instead of devoting their lives to his single Aspect, they sought fluidity in multiple, often merging them together. Clad in armor of dark greens and burnt oranges, this team was known as the Shadowlfames; assassins and demolition experts, equipped with chainswords, mandiblasters and fusion weaponry.
Short on their heels more warriors followed, and there was one amongst them who drew everyone's attention, inspiring awe greater than even the Autarch commanding this force. He was a figure of myth, one joining our cause without warning nor invitation. At first I was surprised by the feeling this being excluded to my senses of a thought-talker. The closest thing I could compare him to would be a wraith construct. Yet, as soon as I saw his armor, more antique than the ones worn even by the eldest Il'sariadhian exarchs, I understood who he was - Karandras, the Shadow Hunter. His appearance was both a blessing and warning. A signifier of the importance of our cause, an omen of struggle to come.
Our forces spreaded out inside the fortress, each squad ready to fulfill their own tasks in the plan devised by the Autarch. Some would focus on disabling outgoing communication, others headed for power generators and armories, or were simply preparing to unleash destruction in random places to further confuse the defenders. The moment humans became aware of our presence inside their bastion, the building shook with explosions coming from its various parts.
My Shrine followed the main force, providing them with covering fire, jumping in and out of the warp, striking at the enemy from unexpected angles. At first our foes were in disarray, dying before they could realize where the strike came. Khaine's embrace spared us from pitying them - they had to die for the sake of our people, it was a simple truth.
Soon the humans began to organize and along with the Shadowflames we were relegated to the rear guard. The combination of their fusion weaponry and our spinners was decimating the arriving reinforcements, burying them under collapsing walls, showering in explosions of melta, or cutting to pieces by monofilament wires. Given that we were yet to encounter the Black Templars, none of the foes was able to match us on their own, yet there is truth to the saying that quantity is a quality on its own. What the humans lacked in skill, they made up in numbers and determination. There was no hesitation in their eyes, only fanaticism, hate and blind devotion to their Corpse-Emperor. In a way, such clarity of purpose was admirable.
At some point a group of red robed female zealots led a successful charge through our traps. Before we managed to neutralize them, they brought their flamers and plasma grenades against us. I immediately warp jumped away, but one of my brothers was too slow. He had survived the blast, and even brought his spinner against the offending Sister of Battle, cutting her down. However, when another aimed her flamer at him his jump generator malfunctioned - probably damaged by the blast - and he was consumed by the fire. Soon, more flamer wielding zealots kept arriving, and I felt mounting anticipation from the nearby Shadowflames.
+It's becoming personal,+ one of them projected towards us. +Leave us. We'll show them what true Khaine's flames are.+
After mentally communicating with the Autarch, Fintan decided to acquiesce to their wish. He guided us to rejoin the main task force.
Our target, the Chief Apothecary, had been located, but the assortment of the Black Templars and regular humans supporting them that secured their positions inside the inner sanctum of the fortress was able to fight our forces to standstill. The combat there was vicious and evenly matched, however the Autarch believed that our insertion would break the stalemate.
We followed the order, leaving the Immaterium behind the enemy ranks.
The inner sanctum was a sight of carnage. Bodies of the mon-keigh and eldar were lying on the floor, their blood and viscera staining the walls. Fire and smoke were rising from explosions and blasts, as the still living soldiers of Imperium were using the fallen to shield themselves from Aeldari fire. Weapons and armor were scattered and broken. Dying were crying and yelling, accompanied by music of weapons that tried to silence them forever.
Between the regular humans, akin to unmovable black islands, proudly stood the Astartes, roars of the latter's boltguns rising above the quiet whizzling of the former's lasguns, as they engaged in firefights against Dire Avengers.
Both the bullets and the shurikens seemed to harmlessly pass by the combatants engaged in the melee near the middle of the sanctum. There, Karandras, assisted by two warlocks and a group of Striking Scorpions, was engaged in vicious duels against the Black Templars. Three of them were clad in the heaviest power armor I have ever seen, covering the area around themselves with a veritable hail of bullets whenever an Eldar managed to avoid their deadly power fists. Along the group fought the one whose armor was in stark contrast with the rest, white instead of black, but despite having the position of the healer within his Chapter, he fought with the zeal and skill matching that of his brothers.
Still, the Eldar were not easily deterred, their speed and agility giving them an edge over the slower and heavier mon-keigh. Karandras moved like a shadow, striking from the dark and disappearing before they could react. The warlocks used their psychic powers to both enhance our forces and weaken the foes. Their witchblade and singing spear were worthy opponents for even the heaviest armors of the mon-keigh. The Striking Scorpions, emboldened by the presence of their Exarch of the Exarchs fought with unparalleled fierceness and savagenes, becoming deadly blurs of wraithbone.
It wasn't even a heartbeat after our appearance, and I could already spot a miniscule grimace of surprise on the face of one of the handful helmetless Black Templars.
But it was too late. Our spinners were already unleashing a barrage of wires that sliced through entrenched soldiers. Moments later our positions were saturated with weapon fire, but we were already flickerjumping away. Some of my brothers were hit by the torrent of storm bolter fire the Black Templars directed at us, but most repositioned safety.
And that was the moment when the humans had lost.
With the enemy weapon fire focused mostly on us, the warlocks were freed to use their powers offensively. A singing spear was hurled forward, piercing a marine straight through one of his hearts, followed by bolts of lighting released from the warlock's finger-tips, rending the second with psychic energy. Karandras viciously lounged at one of the terminators, his mandiblasters making a mockery out of his heavy armor. The Striking Scorpions pushed through the defenders, opening the Apothecary for strike.
It happened the moment I was crossing the Immaterium during one of the flickerjumps. The currents suddenly shifted, as the second of warlocks imposed his will onto them. He reached deep into the Skeins, binding their energy with his runes, directing them towards the opponent.
I witnessed the echoes of his assault, felt him reaching towards the Apothecary's mind, measuring his own will against the Astarte. The Skeins exploded with colors as memories and emotions of the being once known as Brother Koch were exposed, twisted and torn. I felt his agony and horror, saw glimpses of his life, not as he remembered it, but as the warlock wanted him to perceive it. One by one, all of his thoughts, all of his personality was taken apart and shattered, scattered through the Skeins like something that never was.
And this fleeting tapestry was a thing of beauty.
I was denied the continuation of the spectacle when my flickerjump ended. Moments later, the Apothecary's broken corpse fell to the ground.
Our mission has been accomplished.
A Black Templar stepped into the inner sanctum of the fortress, his power armor stained with the blood of the xenos. He had arrived straight from the frontlines, as soon as he had learned about the attack on the fortress. However, he had been too slow. There was no damned Eldar here anymore, only the carnage they had wrought.
Where he stood now, in the innermost chambers of the fortress, the full scope of the xenos' perfidy became obvious to him.
Scattered throughout the room were bodies of his brothers, the Sword Brethren, who fell fulfilling their vows. They were all accomplished warriors, veterans of countless campaigns, many of which served the Chapter for the better part of the century. He knew them all, fought with them side by side.
While their bodies were still relatively intact, Brother Koch had been mutilated beyond recognition. The Chief Apothecary's corpse was torn apart from waist up, only identifiable by his armor. The Astarte breathed in with a grimace; even now the corpse reeked of the foul odor of xenos' sorcery.
Worse still was the sight of the High Marshal. Elfric Hoffensauer, or what was left of him, was still in the rear chamber, strapped to the operating table, the proud warrior turned into a bizarre, lifelike sculpture of crystal, depicting him contorted in agony.
The Black Templar had seen it all, and he felt nothing but rage.
He walked towards the sculpture, his eyes burning with hatred. He clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword, restraining his urge to shatter the mockery xenos' must have left for them to find. He froze still before it, knowing full well that the woman he heard following him was just about to enter the chamber.
"Marshal Constantine, I am glad you are alive."
It was Beatrice, the Canoness Superior of the Order of Adepta Sororitas fighting by their side. She too had been in the thickest of combat not long ago, her white and red power armor marred with grease and gore, in stark contrast with pristine purity seals and holy symbols adorning it. Her gaze was a mixture of respect and pity.
"Canoness Beatrice, I wish I could say the same," Constantine said, his voice cold and harsh. He did not turn to face her, keeping his gaze on the sculpture. "I see no reason to rejoice, not when we have lost so much. I should have ordered my men to remain here until the fortifications were finished, not lead the counteroffensive. We should have protected the High Marshal."
"I understand, Marshal, I truly do," Beatrice said, walking towards him. She stopped a few steps away, keeping a respectful distance. "But we can't lose hope. Even now, the Emperor is with us, his light guiding us to victory. Countless worlds were cleansed and conquered in His name. The Benedictine Sector belongs to the humanity now."
"You call it victory? This War continues for decades, and what have we really gained? A few barely habitable planets. And what have we lost? Countless lives, countless resources. And do you know, Canoness? The Eldar won't stop fighting, not only there, but also on the worlds you have already written as ours. Unless we slay the last of them, there would be no victory."
Beatrice sighed. Constantine was right, in a way. This War of Faith had been a costly and bloody affair, and the Imperium was paying a high price for continuing it. The High Lords of Terra had grown impatient and weary of it - at first, their conquests were plentiful, but recently the gains became abysmal. Despite their pressure, the Ecclesiarch refused to call for its end, insisting on completely reclaiming the Benedictine Sector. With support of the Black Templars Crusade Fleets, he could have leveraged his position. However, with the Chapter suffering another devastating blow in a quick succession, his hand may be forced.
"We've become overextended, losing too many troops for too little gain. There are already voices amongst the High Lords of Terra to end this war. You said it yourself, Marshal. We ought to consolidate our gains, lest we lose them. We might be called to retreat and recuperate."
"Retreat?" Constantine said, turning to face her for the first time. His eyes were full of fire and scorn. Only Beatrice's faith allowed her to remain steady in front of the towering warrior. "Retreat? Is that what you suggest, Canoness? Is that what you want? To run away from the xenos, to abandon our fight, to forsake our faith? To choose the way of the coward, heretic, traitor?"
"No, Marshal. This is not what I want, nor something I'd suggest. But this is something the Ecclesiarch might decide, and we must obey his decision. He is the Voice of the Emperor, and we are all his servants."
Constantine snorted, "the Ecclesiarch is only a man, only a mortal. What does he know of the Emperor, of His vision, of His plan? Nothing. But we know it, Canoness. Rogal Dorn was the Emperor's son, and our father. The Emperor wants us to fight. And the Black Templars will, with you, or without you."
On a barren planet in the Scarus Sector, far from the vigilant eyes of the Imperium, Victor Illiad smiled.
He was a scion of a minor Rogue Trader House, vassalized to House Haarlock. There was not a day when he hadn't both blessed and cursed his ancestors for throwing in their lot with Solomon Haarlock, a madman who first charted Calyx Expanse, and then ventured to even wider regions of space, the dreaded Koronus Zone. As House Haarlock's vassals, they had received a portion of his charts, gaining an advantage over other Rogue Traders vying for profits in the area. For the Calyx Expanse was nothing, if not a bountiful fruit, ripe for taking. Scattered human colonies, some even predating and untouched during the Great Crusade, ruins of long dead civilizations, countless mineral resources. And terrifying fleets of warp-ridden Yu'vath, their armies of tormented slaves, perilous storms that kept decimating his crew with each expedition.
Victor shuddered at the thought. He would be content to never return there. And with his newest agreement, that possibility wasn't so far fetched.
Why endanger himself, if he could profit from others taking risks? Now that he had means of safety and cheaply importing goods from the Expanse back to the Imperium, he could employ his contacts and focus solely on the trade.
Maybe he would start a trading company? 'V-Illiad Consortium'; yes, that name had a nice ring to it; enough to appeal to his House, but to also show them whose business it would truly be.
"This is the last one," his crewman called, having finished checking the crate before loading it to the shuttle.
Victor nodded and turned towards his trading partners.
He addressed the one he dealt with before, presumably the leader of this group; a tall and graceful woman, wearing a long cloak covering her elegant armor. She was the only one not wearing the helm amongst the other group; Victor assumed that showing her face was a gesture of trust. Being an experienced Rogue Trader, dealing with xenos wasn't a novelty to him. Still, he preferred them to actually look more alien, instead of falling into a sort of an uncanny valley as the Eldar did.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Searlieth," Victor bowed slightly, as a sign of respect. "You have been most helpful and generous. Please accept this along with my gratitude."
The Eldar accepted the pouch he had given her and nodded, without even checking its contents.
"You are welcome, Victor," she responded. Contrary to her unnerving appearance, the xeno had a melodious and pleasant voice; the Rogue Trader was sure that countless nobles would have paid well for an opportunity to listen to her sing - not that there was any chance of arranging something like this. "Hopefully, our agreement will continue."
"Of course."
Victor would have to be crazy to try going back on their deal. With the dangers associated with crossing the Warp routes leading to the Calyx and Koronus, the Eldar were Emperorsend to him. He marveled at the fact that they were willing to ferry commodities from his associates, as well as resupply them utilizing their so-called Webway. He was even more astonished that they were willing to provide their services in exchange for some strange baubles, which he had acquired from various places during his journeys. Within the Imperium, the gems Eldar wanted weren't that valuable on their own and were regarded more as strange curios that attracted collectors. Even if his stock of them runs dry, he still had a few contacts that could provide him with more. However Victor was aware that his ability to find the gems might become a bottleneck at some point in the future.
"Still, speaking about our agreement; would you accept any other form of payment? We have many things to offer you. Surely, there must be something else that would interest you."
Even before he finished speaking, Searlieth shook her head like someone unused to expressing such a gesture.
"No, Victor, we will only accept the Stones. They are more valuable to us than anything else you could provide us with."
The Rogue Trader made a mental note to find out more about those Stones; the Eldar refused to explain their importance to him. He knew they incorporated similar gemstones into their armors and weapons, but nothing more. Some sort of cultural significance? Or maybe they had properties unknown to most of the people within the Imperium? Victor had to order his Astropath to have someone check the archives of his House - someone must have researched more about those xenos - but he kept forgetting.
And speaking about the Astropaths…
"Then what about the goods you transport for us? Nothing my associates found in the Calyx or Koronus caught your attention? Many of them are rare and exotic, fetching high prices in the Imperium."
"If we'd liked something from there, we'd have recovered it ourselves. But if you are so keen on seeking an alternative method of payment, we might consider asking for a favor. In a month, in a year, maybe never. If it comes to it, we shall discuss the details."
Victor smiled; it was a progress. They weren't opposed to making a different deal, he just had to find something that'd interested them; he could work with that.
Still, his prior question also had a second purpose; but the answering Eldar kept her face blank, forcing him to ask straightforwardly.
"A few weeks ago I received an angry astropathic message from one of my associates, Raphael Haarlock. You've met him back in the Koronus, but refused to transport most of his goods. Why is that?"
Searlieth's expression darkened. She pierced Victor with a stern gaze.
"You should know better than to ask such a question. We warned you that we won't ferry anything we deem too harmful or forbidden. There are things that one should not meddle with, as you should know. Even your Imperium is aware of the dangers such artifacts pose, you even have your own laws - surprisingly sane for a change - concerning the so-called Cold Trade. You'd better warn your associates to stay away from them."
The Rogue Trader felt a chill run down his spine. Memories of buried horrors they had once accidentally uncovered on a long forgotten planet came unbidden to his mind. However, he also knew how profitable the Cold Trade was, despite its risks. Truly dangerous, corrupted items weren't that common to outweigh the gains brought from recovering valuable relics.
"I will pass your words to them. But tell me, have your people been able to reach Raphael afterwards? I have not been able to contact him for some time."
"We have not seen them nor heard from them since. Maybe they found one of the many dangers of the Expanse. Or they were consumed by the things they sought. After all, one who plays with fire, might get burned."
Victor observed the Eldar, wondering if the xeno spoke the truth. In his last message Raphael told him that he would bring his goods back to the Imperium 'the proper way'. It wasn't out of question that he suffered a setback along his journey.
Still, even if the Eldar had been connected with his disappearance, was it his concern? Even if Verra Haarlock, the current matriarch of the house believed the Eldar guilty of her scion disappearance, she was the one who greenlighted the deal in the first place.
Ultimately, the Rogue Trader nodded, choosing to not press further, as there was nothing to gain by doing so. He thanked Searlieth again, wishing the Eldar a safe journey. He watched as the xenos walked away, their cloaks meshing with the surroundings.
He sighed and climbed the shuttle. His trade empire won't start itself on its own, after all.
As soon as the Webway Gate shut behind them, Searlieth released her breath with relief.
She was in high spirits after concluding the trade. Contrary to some of her earlier dealings with other humans everything went without a hitch. Victor Illiad and his crew turned out to be nothing, but honorable once again.
Still, Searlieth knew that there was always a risk of treachery when dealing with humans. It was only when they reached their own domain she could finally truly relax.
"Humans. So crude and noisy," Danath Eldren said. He was an experienced merchant, and the one assigned to oversee her actions. "And so ignorant. 'Koronus' Zone; they bastardize the terms we use, not even considering their true meanings."
In Aeldari myths, this swathe of space was known as Kurnous' hunting grounds. This denomination became known to the first human explorers, but over the course of following millennia its meaning became twisted by them.
"They just don't know better," she argued. "Can we blame them for the ignorance of their ancestors? It would be hypocritical, coming from us."
"You are still young, Searlieth," Danath made an elaborate gesture which meaning amounted to a tired sigh. "You've handled the trade with skill and grace. You convinced the humans to continue with our arrangement, giving us the opportunity to continue retrieving the Spirit Stones of the fallen."
"Thank you, mentor," she bowed her head. "You have taught me how to deal with these strange and unpredictable creatures."
"But you still have much to learn, and I'm afraid that sometimes curiosity clouds your judgment. Humans are not like us. They are not our friends or allies. They are only our partners, for as long as it suits them."
Searlieth frowned, "but some of them hold so much potential and promise. They are willing to learn, to cooperate. Like this Rogue Trader and his crew; despite their flaws, they are open-minded and tolerant. They've dealt with us fairly."
"You do not see the people of Imperium for what they truly are. You seek the best in them. It's not open-mindedness and tolerance, but opportunism and greed."
Searlieth wanted to argue but Danath motioned for her to let him continue.
"Worse still, they do have the qualities you saw in them. They may be curious, they may be brave. Which, coupled with their ignorance, makes them even more dangerous."
"That's why we should teach and guide them!"
"Had Raphael Haarlock heeded our warnings?" Danath cocked his head in askance, not expecting her answer.
They had warned the Rogue Trader about the dangers of the artifacts he had unearthed, relics of the dead civilization corrupted by forces of Chaos. After the man had dismissed them, they had alerted the Seers of House Eldren. It had decided that his findings would have to be destroyed.
"There must be trust if we want them to profit from the knowledge we share. For them to not turn it against us. And what they are being taught on the Imperial worlds? 'Suffer not xeno to live.' Since the moment they are born. It's not easy to break through this lifelong indoctrination."
Searlieth deflated, "Out of all my teachers, you sound the most like the one more suited for House Karesh than Eldren."
"Idealists need a hefty dose of pessimism to become realists," Danath smiled. "But don't lose your spirit, Searlieth. The Imperium isn't the be-all and end-all. There are other worlds and other cultures. And your Path only begins."
Out of many horrors they had seen in their lives, none had prepared them for the sight of the Hive City. It was a colossal monstrosity of metal and concrete, rising from the polluted ground like a cancerous growth. The air was thick with smog and ash, and the stench was unbearable. The city was teeming with millions of people, crammed into overcrowded slums and shanty towns, living in filth and misery. The noise was deafening, a cacophony of engines, sirens, gunfire, and screams.
They felt a surge of revulsion and pity for the inhabitants of this hellish place. How could anyone endure such a life? How could anyone worship the God-Emperor who allowed such suffering? They wondered if the people here even knew what happiness was, or if they had resigned themselves to their fate.
Ultimately, it didn't matter to them. If all went according to their plan, today they would leave this planet and never think about it again. If it didn't - they'd kill themselves, knowing that death would be preferable to the locals' mercies. All for the hope of a better future for their own world.
They made their way through the crowded streets, trying to blend in with the masses of pilgrims, workers and beggars. They wore simple robes and carried backpacks, pretending to be faithful travelers seeking the Emperor's grace. They had been taught enough of the local dialect to pass as outsiders, but still they had to be careful not to arouse suspicion.
Their destination was nearby - a massive complex of hangars, docks and towers. Dozens of shuttles, from bulky freighters to sleek personal crafts, were busy carrying their cargo high above the clouds of smoke. Here, they have hoped to find a captain willing to take them to another planet.
As they approached one of the clerks, something made them stop in their tracks. It was a servitor; a human that had been lobotomized and augmented with cybernetics, turned into a mindless drone. He was attached to a console, his eyes replaced by wires, his mouth sealed shut, his limbs replaced by tools. He was performing some menial task, oblivious to his surroundings. It wasn't the only one they had seen on this planet, but the first one they could observe from this close.
They exchanged a glance, and one of them whispered to the other:
"Is this what they do to their own people? How can they be so barbaric?"
The other nodded, and replied:
"I don't know. Maybe they have lost their humanity long ago. Remember what we've been told; the Imperium is a dying civilization, corrupted by ignorance and fear. We used to think they were just scary stories for the children, but it seems the reality is even worse than the legends."
They shuddered, and resumed their walk, hoping to avoid any more unpleasant sights. They reached the clerk, a thin man with a bored expression and a cybernetic eye. He looked at them with a hint of disdain.
"Another pilgrims?"
Despite the cold greeting, they responded with a forced smile, asking for the vessels that would have brought them closer to the Terra.
"Where are you from, pilgrims? You have a strange accent."
They quickly answered with a prepared cover story, speaking about a distant, prosperous world, where the Emperor's light shone brightly. They said that they've been chosen out of many hopefuls from their world to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Terra, to pay homage to the God-Emperor himself. They explained that they had been traveling for months, seeking merchant vessels that would take them closer to their destination.
The clerk listened to their story, and nodded, seemingly convinced. He said:
"Well, you are in luck, pilgrims. There is indeed a Chartist Captain who has a vessel that is leaving soon. He is always looking for passengers, as long as they can pay. If you can board the shuttle within two hours, I can register you for the journey onboard the Tenebrae," after agreeing on the payment, and taking a hefty provision for himself, the clerk smiled cordially. "You can take the shuttle from bay 17. The one bound for the Tenebrae; under Captain Otto Gerberg."
The pilgrims took their backpacks and headed to bay 17. They didn't notice the clerk's smile turning more predatory. In recent years, the numbers of pilgrims have been growing steadily, and helping them on their quest could be profitable, if one knew the right people. Industrious clerks could find numerous captains willing to donate them handsomely for directing the travelers to their vessels. And whether they were later press-ganged into the crew, or left stranded to toil on some Agri World, it was not his problem.
He reclined in his chair, calculating his profits in a joyful mood. If the business continues for another year, he might finally afford rejuvenation treatment.
His reverie was broken moments later. The familiar noise of the spaceport was suddenly cut, replaced with muttered prayers of gratitude and protection, mixed with a squeaks of fear. He raised his head and froze in awe and dread at the sight of five towering figures.
Each of them was clad in black armor, adorned with symbols of death. Helmets hid their faces, but their visors glowed with menacing light that seemed to judge him. Each of the Emperor's Warriors had his right pauldron adorned with different symbols and colors, however the rest of their armors were consistent in iconography, proudly displaying the feared symbol of Inquisition both on their helmets and left knee-guard.
The clerk's cybernetic eye fixed itself on one of the warriors for a moment longer; this one had chosen to adorn his armor with strange runes and cover it with furs of dreadful beasts. He also held a strange container, but its existence had been forgotten by the clerk as soon as his eye left the marine.
The Astartes went through the parting crowd ignoring them all, making their way to the clerk's desk.
"We need a warp-capable vessel that can take us to a nearby system. Now."
Deep and authoritative voice of the Marine made the clerk shiver, his fingers struggling to operate the familiar data-slate.
"The Tenebrae, a Vagabond Class Merchant Trader. It'd be ready to disembark within an hour."
"Chartist? Does it have a navigator onboard?"
"Yes, they have. Captain Gerberg has an ongoing agreement with one of the Navigator Houses."
"It must suffice. Vox me with him immediately."
Soon, a grizzled and scarred face appeared on the data-slate, greeting the Astartes with a mix of curiosity and wariness.
"Captain Otto Gerberg. How can I help you, my lords?"
"We need you to take us to the Haltmoat system. Immediately. We have an urgent matter to attend to."
The captain frowned, and shook his head.
"I'm sorry, my lords, but that's impossible. I have a contract to deliver some goods and passengers to the Comania system. I can't just change my course and abandon my obligations."
The clerk gulped at the gall of the merchant. The Space Marine leaned closer to the screen, his voice promising violence.
"You seem to misunderstand, captain. This is a matter of life and death. For the Imperium, and for you. We have to embark to the Haltmoat immediately, and your ship will provide the means. We have our duty, and you will help us fulfill it. Or else…"
"But my lords! If I fail to comply with the terms of my Charter, it would be revoked!"
"Worry not about the consequences. We will make sure that no one would bother you for this, captain. The Deathwatch cares for the faithful servants of the Imperium. Fulfill your duty, and you shall be rewarded. With a Letter of Marque covering this Sector, you won't need to bother with the Charter anymore."
Otto's eyes glinted with barely concealed desire. He turned towards one of his cogitators and fervently wrote something.
"My navigator claims that he'd be able to reach your destination within two months, taking three jumps. Is it acceptable for you?"
"It would suffice. Prepare the shuttle to receive us."
"Of course, my lords. What about my other cargo and passengers, would you like me to unload them?"
"It won't be required. Give us secluded quarters, so that we'd remain out of sight of most of your passengers and crew. As far as they shall be concerned, you are just taking a necessary detour."
"I will do as you say. The Tenebrae is at your service."
A/N: I decided to provide a short list of some notable events/things/named characters/etc that I built upon in this chapter, that are also mentioned in the lore and can be read about on the wh40k wiki: High Marshal Constantine, Benedictine War, (Rogue Trader) House Haarlock, xenos - Yu'vath, Eldar Wraithgates