A/N 1: Disturbing imagery is present in this chapter, you have been warned.
A/N 2: Thanks again to Skyborne for reading through the Emperor sections.
Isha absorbed Kyrazis's memories, merely a single twinkling spark in a sea of thousands of thoughts and prayers that flowed into her breast like streams of silver stars.
Their cries filled her ears, sorrows moved her heart, but even though her eyes watered she could not allow herself to shed a tear for them.
Their cries were many, and questions multiple; but all intersected at a single point.
'Why?'
Why had they Fallen? Why were they cursed with eternal damnation? Why?
"Look at your children, mother." She heard Kyrazis whisper under his breath. "This is what has happened to the Aeldari. We ruled the stars; had nothing to want for. Now, we're chased from the sky by Mon-keigh, and not even our souls are ours anymore."
"We lived our lives the only way we knew how to." Another Aeldari said. "We lived it to the fullest. We did everything we did with what you gave us. If that was what damned us all to sin, why did you make us this way?"
"If we betrayed your vision, mother, why not take our passions, our griefs, our mercurial hearts. We wouldn't have needed them if we had never known about them."
"Have you ever felt what we've felt? Seen what we've seen? Known the pleasures and pains our palpitating hearts pulsed with?"
"How could you know what we know and not Fall?! We had no choice! We couldn't stop!"
Voice after voice of different Aeldari came to her, begging for answers, a reason for their suffering, their pain, and their perceived punishment.
"What was it all for, mother?" Kyrazis asked her. "Why did you make us this way?"
Isha knew the answer to their questions. It was in her blood and flesh, and that of all the gods. The answer to Kyrazis and his fellow refugees was both simple, and utterly useless.
They were the way they were because they had been 'designed' that way.
Reinforced skeletal structure and enhanced muscles that needed little stress or use to form able bodied soldiers.
Psychics abilities to communicate and see the future to create more elaborate battle plans. Abilities that would be later re-used to allow bonesining of Wraithbone to repair and replenish weapons and armor when supply lines were cut and the Gauss flayers were deployed.
A nervous system specialized to focus through pain, guilt, fear, hate, and all other distractions.
All of these features were 'designed' into the Aeldari for one purpose.
Victory.
Victory over the Necrons and their Star-Gods.
Victory for all life in the galaxy.
Victory for their creators.
Victory was their sole purpose, and having achieved a form of victory at the end of the War in Heaven, they were left masterless and purposeless.
'She who Thirsts comes from all Aeldari.'
Isha remembered Morai Heg's prophetic words.
The Fall was inevitable, for the Aeldari had already fulfilled their purpose.
They had served their function, and their reward was self-destruction by the very things that had allowed them to survive galactic armageddon.
That was the answer to their questions, and it was utterly meaningless.
It did nothing to explain or redirect their pain.
It did nothing to justify what they had suffered.
It was not an answer she could give to her children.
If she were mortal, she could have lied like Kyrazis had done; given them false hope, a new enemy to blame, a scapegoat for their crimes. But, she could not do that to them; return their honest prayers with false words.
Isha's mind went back to the War in Heaven.
Elevation, they called it. A rising up. To become chosen.
Various thoughts and concepts were inscribed into her essence when she brushed against the unspeakable beings reaching down to the birthplace of the Aeldari.
In reality, all they were chosen for was to be the conscripts of a galaxy spanning war. To fight, and die against the enemy. To do their duty to their creators.
Their physical enhancements alone would not have made them Fall, but it was undeniable that they laid the seeds for their destruction. The slight finger on the scale of probability. After 60 million and 30 thousand years, that small tipping of the scale had caused the entire balance to topple down, taking her children with it.
"What was it all for, Mother! What was it all for!" Kyrazis screamed, taking her silence as an answer. "What were we made to do! Was it to Fall? To teach these new creatures you're with some sort of moral lesson? To suffer eternal torment at Hir hands?! Is that why you made us?!"
Isha reached out; back through the streams of silver stars, into each and every one of their souls with the power their prayers gave her, and overrode the commandments that would drag each one to Hir.
This was all she could do for them, for she saw that nothing she could say would make anything right. Too much time had passed, and too much had been lost.
A few intertwined souls scalded her hands with the acid they were submerged in, but she ensured even those were tied back to her, so at the very least they would remain no-matter what.
"Land on the planet." She commanded. "Your souls are free from Hir grasp, and a new life awaits you there."
The streams of silver stars ebbed out as the rejection of her children shut their hearts to her.
They could not live like the Exodites, not after several decades of sadism and thousands of years of hedonism.
They could not live like the Craftworlders, with their lack of faith and hope.
They could not fully embrace Commorragh, for they still had love for their fellow Aeldari.
She watched Kyrazis fall back into the command throne, heart and mind once again shut. "Oh mother." He said. "You'll never understand." He shook his head slowly. "No…" He whispered. "You've never understood."
The black helm turned its eye slits back at Isha.
"This is what we are. This is how we've lived."
He straightened up again, assuming a regal posture with steepled fingers.
"We have no gods." He spat. "And you are not my mother."
Even with the foreknowledge of what was to be said, the next words were a cruel blade in her heart.
"Kill them all."
—-
"Kill them all." Kyrazis ordered, and the bridge crew followed. Weapons began to power up, and launch bay doors opened with pilots already manning the fighters and bombers that remained in the hangar. The goddess's face disappeared as the communication line was cut.
"Immaterium portal detected!" The navigator suddenly called out. "5… 70… multiple voidships incoming!"
Several hundred portals opened on either side of the Aeldari fleet. Mon-keigh ship after Mon-keigh ship roared through the portals, and then the Aeldari crafts shook from a sudden psychic shockwave.
"Portal drives unresponsive!" One of the bridge crew shouted out. "We cannot leave through the immaterium!"
"Stay calm!" Kyrazis barked. "Concentrate all fire on the first Mon-keigh vessel. Launch all strike craft against it. Our escape lies in its destruction! Attack! ATTACK!"
Cruiser after cruiser shimmered and split into several false images; holofields hiding them from view, as they jinked and jolted erratically underneath the mirage in preparation to avoid enemy fire.
"Move the slave carriers to the starboard flank!" One of the mariners called out from the bridge. "Use their own to shield us from at least half their weapons."
Starcannons fired bolts of burning psychically guided plasma, followed by beams of light from Pulsar artillery. Strike craft followed alongside firing corridors of the cruisers they came from, hurtling towards the Mon-keigh ship like a swarm of locusts.
The rebellion of mortals against their god, the child against their parent had begun.
—-
Isha remained still on the bridge of the Bucephelus, desperately holding back the water in her eyes. She had no right to cry for the children that were about to be slain. There would be a time and a place for her to shed a tear for their sake and their future.
Her mind went over the possible paths that could have come before her, and crossed out the one she had most wanted. Several other endings remained, but after feeling the souls of her children, and the hospitality of the Master of Mankind, only two were likely.
She heard the Emperor walking towards her and Isha steeled herself for another bruising comment or insult.
"This is the fate of all gods."
The voice was neither cruel nor kind.
Isha looked at the Emperor, and there was a vacant look on its face, as if it was seeing something else besides the incoming plasma fire and beams of light breaking against the shields of the Bucephelus.
"No matter how much you give, or care, or teach; it will never be enough."
Its voice and gaze were not directed at her, or anyone else on the ship; only its own reflection in the viewing screens seemed to stare back at it.
"It doesn't matter what the species is, or what they embody. The ending is always the same."
"And what is that ending?" Isha found herself asking, unconsciously.
"Usurpation, oblivion, or…" The Emperor paused, before grimacing to itself. "Madness."
It was a rare moment of vulnerability she witnessed. The tiniest almost unnoticeable fragment Emperor's own essence bled out from the golden glow that enshrouded it, and Isha tapped the smallest edge of a psychic finger into it.
A story played in her mind.
—-
It was a tale that began a long time ago, with a group of shadows huddled in a cave. One by one dark claws, tentacles, and insectile legs took them, dragging them off into the misty darkness.
In their fear, the shadows got together and lost their form; coalescing into a single bright light. Other shadows gathered, and reached out to this light. Hands grasped at it, and the light took them, pulling them out of the darkness. But for every hand taken, two more reached out. More and more hands surrounded the light, climbing over all the others saved and unsaved to throw themselves at it.
Hundreds of hands grabbed onto the light, and buried it underneath themselves, plunging everything into darkness.
Misty darkness returned, and once again shadows were dragged off, writhing with silent screams.
Then there was a spark, and the light turned into a fire. Those that held onto it the hardest were incinerated, turned into fuel for the burning pyre, feeding it, growing it, making it stronger and hotter with every one of them it burned.
Hands of gold reached out, and gently took the hands of thousands of shadows, saving far more than the light ever could, but with every hand its golden fingers could take, another replaced it. With every shadow sacrificed four more reached out to it.
As the shadows threatened to smother the fire once more, it took human form. Golden bricks materialized beneath its feet, and the shadows that it could not hold rose above the blackness upon them.
The form turned away from the masses of shadow that now looked upwards towards it, and stepped forward. More bricks formed beneath its footsteps forming a thin road barely wide enough to hold the weight of a single line of shadows, but with each step and every shadow it consumed with its fire, its path widened.
Huddled hundred become crowds of thousands, and the procession of shadows following this burning figure grew endlessly as they marched out of the dark. Even as millions were thrown into its pyre, billions flocked to it for salvation. The ashes of those consumed in the figures fire mixed with its tears to form hardening cement and mortar, binding the bricks together with greater determination.
As the procession continued bodies began to line either side, and blood covered every footstep it took, but the now golden man or woman at the forefront of the dark forms of humanity proceeded forwards, even as it sacrificed those that cried out for salvation.
Shadowy hands still grasp at its neck, shoulders, and arms, but it will never stop. Even as it hears the prayers and suffering cries of every one of its people, it will step forward cutting a way through the dark for others to follow.
This is the Golden Path of Mankind. A road built for them out of the bodies of all the unsaved by the feet of their would be savior.
—-
Isha pulled back as the Emperor put a hand to its head.
Just like she saw part of its origin, an infinitely small portion of her would flow into it. From its reaction, it hadn't noticed the small intrusion on her part, and didn't realize what the small uneasiness it probably felt in its mind was.
However, the Emperor's essence retreated instinctively, once again shielded by the golden glow it used to burn away the Warp's touch.
It would not affect her greatly if it realized what she had done, or understood the information from her that now existed in its essence. But, it would be inconvenient.
"What do you know of god-hood?" Isha asked, distracting the Emperor from its introspection. "You who had no realm in the Sea of Soul, and who teaches no Truth."
"I am no god, but I have seen enough to know what happens to all of them." The Emperor retorted, once again returning to the grimacing visage it always used for her.
"And you call the Aeldari arrogant." She scoffed with feigned arrogance. "I have existed from before the time your race began."
"There is no need to see everything to notice a pattern." The Emperor growled.
Isha gave an internal sigh of relief. It had returned to its original state, the brief contact with her now mostly dissipating into its subconscious.
There was much for the Emperor to learn when it came to dealing with other gods. The Four hardly counted; merely being self-defeating cancerous balls of raw power and insanity.
Isha went back to the possible paths available to her, and re-added a third to the ones plausible; listed in the order of her preferred outcome.
Coexistence.
Separation.
Mutual destruction.
—-
The Emperor glared at Isha, only turning back to its own reflection after she remained silent. There was no stress induced shape shifting from her this time; no growing of fangs or claws. It had half expected her to twist into a more feral form again due to the rejection from her followers, but the Aeldari Goddess remained in her default feminine figure.
'Perhaps it thinks itself empowered by the souls of these few thousand.' The Emperor thought.
It saw how her touch had taken back the souls from Slaanesh; assigned them to return to her instead of Hir. Their prayers and souls would restore some modicum of the goddess's power, but that would still be no match for the billions the Emperor carried. Even if each Aeldari soul lived fifty or even a hundred times the length of every human, the goddess would never rival the Master of Mankind.
It was either that, or the grief she felt had not reached the same stress level as when it first attacked her or threatened her followers, making the shapeshifting unnecessary. Those reactions were akin to the twitch of the eye or shivering of the hand in mortal humans; only appearing when surprised or suppressing said emotions.
The Emperor paused at that.
Why had it had that sudden revelation, this sudden understanding of some of Isha's actions?
The thought lingered only for a moment before the machine spirit of the Bucephelus alerted it of the approaching strike craft. They had just entered missile battery range, and the Emperor's steed was asking for permission to fire.
'Wait.' The Emperor commanded.
The missiles would be almost out of fuel at that range and Aeldari pilots, especially those that followed Vileth, were more than capable of avoiding the first pass. There would be a better time to attack.
The Bucephelus expressed irritation at this; the snort of an over-excited horse, tired of simply waiting under its shields as it drew in the enemy's fire.
The Emperor reached down into its partially organic mind, and stroked it with a psychic hand; calming the machine spirit's hunger for battle, and assuring the artificial soul placed there that all proceeded as its master had planned.
Like the Bucephelus's machine spirit, an intelligence created for war to enjoy killing its assigned enemies, these Aeldari were the remains of a weapons system that had long since served its purpose.
Now, like ancient ammunition that had expired eons ago; primers eroded and volatile, they had detonated spontaneously, destroying themselves and everything around them.
The Emperor took a moment to reminisce as the human ships surrounding the Aeldari synced targeting cogitators and switched to Lock-On stance. The tertiary battlegroup that Lysander had omitted from his explanation to Isha was also moving into position; below the plane of engagement at the ventral flank with engines Running Silent, like a school of fish underneath the black surface of the ocean at night.
So many of the Old Ones' weapons had been left to rot in the void. The good ones simply died, unable to function without their masters. The others mutated or fell into the service of the things that had destroyed their creators; betraying them and their purpose.
This Fall of the Aeldari was merely the last sputter of a psycho-organic machine that had plodded along for millenia without purpose or direction.
The Aeldari themselves may view this event as the extinction of their race, but the Emperor would not define it as such; that was a fate reserved for creatures who had actually evolved to reach their place.
The designed Aeldari would be decommissioned and destroyed. Their remnants would be left alone, for now; either out of reach in Commorragh or in the new form of social homeostasis on their Craftworlds not worth the expenditure of life and resources to disrupt.
There were other Old One weapons-caches that required decommissioning as well. The Emperor was painfully aware of the various ticking timebombs that each expired Xenos race had become.
To be clear, not all Xenos were spawned by the Old Ones, nor were all of them inherently dangerous. However, the effort spent investigating which was which was only worth it up to the point of determining whether the species would be subservient or disobedient to humanity.
"My Lord." Lysander's voice came in through the Vox-channel on the bridge. "Our ships are in position, but it seems the Aeldari are using their slave carriers as shields against the 5th and 8th Terran battlegroups positioned on our port-side flank. Do we continue with the original plan?"
"Yes. The Bucephelus's shields hold firm. Go with pattern 4 of the plan. Order both battlegroups to begin their rotation to the dorsal flank and bait the slave carriers with them. Have them prepare their boarding craft once the enemy strike craft are fully engaged by the Bucephelus's defenses."
"As you wish m- "Send me." ..."
The Emperor turned back to Isha who had interrupted Lysander mid-reply.
"You want those ships disabled, with minimal loss of your people's lives."She gestured to the battle before them. Only the ships to their starboard were firing beams of light; triple linked lance turrets and lance batteries fired their weapons in succession, one energy projector after the next, maintaining a continuous stream of fire in an attempt to hem in the Aeldari ships through the holofield mirages, and failing with every shot.
"A single flank cannot overwhelm the holofields of my children's ships, but your mariners will want to save everyone they can, making half your ships useless." Isha pointed to the slave carriers in the distance.
Some of the men and women onboard the Bucephelus and the other ships had been rescued or recruited from this sector. There was a chance their friends and families remained aboard the slave carriers. Shooting through them was a last resort, and one with a heavy consequence to morale.
"I can see what you're trying to do, including everything you haven't told me." Isha narrowed her eyes as the Emperor frowned back at her. "I have witnessed void combat of larger scale and complexity than this." She took a few steps forward till she was standing beside the Emperor.
"To overwhelm my children's ships, you will need a minimum of two flanks, but putting your ships opposite each other exposes them to each other's fire, not to mention the risk of being out maneuvered and attacked from above or below the plane of engagement. Therefore, you will need to attack from a minimum of three directions simultaneously." Her hand motioned in the general direction the hidden tertiary battlegroup was located.
"You intend to draw away the ships with your people away from the conflict, and board them to disable them with minimum loss of life. However, to do that safely you need to draw away their strike craft to allow your boarding vessels free passage, which is exactly what you have done."
The Emperor remained silent, looking down at the goddess. Her assertions were mostly accurate. It had intended to draw away the strike craft of the enemy vessels by using the Bucephelus as bait. However, the safety of the people on the slave carriers was merely an optional objective. It was not just the 5th and 8th Terran battlegroups' boarding craft it wished to protect from the Aeldari fighters and bombers.
"The ship we are on is powerful," Isha said, turning away from the Emperor's gaze. "but even its defenses have limits. The faster you free up your ships, the safer your path becomes. Send me to those ships, and I can stop them."
The Emperor weighed its options and recalculated the exposure times the Bucephelus's shields could survive under enemy fire. Finally, it stared back out at the Aeldari fleet, counting the number of souls available before them.
"They will not listen to you." It remarked grimly. "Even you should know that."
"They are my children. If I consign them to death, then the least I can do for them is to deliver it with my hand." Isha said sadly. "You know where I will always be, and the prayers of your people should inform you if I raise a finger against or for them."
The Emperor frowned at her words, but nodded slowly. A purple portal appeared behind it, leading to the inside of the nearest slave carriers.
"You have 5 minutes for each ship. I will open the portal when your time is up."
"That will be enough."
Isha disappeared through the portal onto one of the several slave carriers in space. There were only a dozen or so of these larger craft, meaning a little over an hour would be spent for Isha to disable them all. However, that would be several times faster than waiting for the enemy strike craft to be far away enough to safely board the slave carriers, and then destroy their engines.
The Bucephelus's shields and armor would hold regardless of Isha's offer, but the less repairs required the better.
"Lysander, order the 5th and 8th battlegroups to wait for my command, then begin their rotation to the dorsal flank and have them stop 60 degrees above the plane of engagement. Once all three flanks are prepared, have them wait until all strike craft have engaged the Bucephelus. Prioritize defense turret cover over the hangar doors and those of the Emperor-class battleships besides us."
"As you wish my Lord."
The Vox cut out, and the Emperor watched the approaching plasma fire as Pulsar beams once again struck the Bucephelus's shields.
The first slave carrier's solar sails shattered 30 seconds before the time limit, as if the Wraithbone itself had twisted, breaking apart the membranes used to power the gravity drives deep within the ship.
As it opened the portal at Isha's location to the next ship, the Emperor once again found itself mulling over the Aeldari's rejection of their god.
'This is the path all gods tread. When their miracles fail, all that is left is for divine disaster to strike.'
—-
Isha stepped out of the portal, onto one of the retrofitted pleasure cruisers turned slave carriers. She put a hand to the Wraithbone and began to sing to it. Her voice, both physical and psychic, traveled through it; warping structures and shutting doors. She locked all of the Aeldari she could in the rooms they were in, then formed new walls to keep them away from the slave pens.
Their desperation and despair may drive them to either use the humans here as hostages, or slaughter them in revenge. There was no point in increasing the number of deaths this day.
Isha then sensed a life being snuffed out nearby, and knew what had happened.
There were still four minutes left. It was meaningless sentimentality, but her feet carried her towards one of the rooms she had sealed shut. Her fingers found the small gap between door and door frame, and tore aside the fused Wraithbone with one hand.
Inside, an Aeldari woman held a Shuriken catapult in a shaky grip; behind her were the remains of a human, and an Aeldari child. The woman's skin was pale, her arms and neck almost shriveled looking. The child, bloody knife in one hand, was the opposite and looked healthy and vibrant.
Isha closed her eyes as she felt the woman's pain and panic wash over her.
She may have saved the souls of her children, but she had not been able to restore what had been lost.
This woman, Zepholde, had been trying to escape. She was one of the many non-useful Aeldari, relegated to the last of the line with her offspring. A painter by craft, she had not been able to find another calling, or use her talents for something else. Now, she was trapped on a ship that was being used as a shield against alien warships, and had hoped to escape with her consort and child in the commotion.
Isha took a step forward, and the woman's panic turned to rage. The Shuriken catapult pointed towards her, and thousands of tiny discs flew at her. The very air before the goddess hardened, catching each disk before Isha dissolved both them and the weapon in Zepholde's hands with a single note from her lips.
Zepholde pulled a knife from her belt. She would defend her child, Xeress. She'd stolen from the slave pits to rejuvenate his soul, knowing what awaited her should she be caught. All of the risks taken and effort spent to ensure that he would have the strength to run on his own if something were to happen to both her and her consort.
Even if the mere thought of raising the blade towards her mother's breast sent tears streaming down her face, she would not let anything happen to her child.
Isha took another step forwards, and Zepholde drew her hand back to swing at her wildly with an animalistic cry.
Before the blade could be brought down, Isha's hand wrapped around Zepholde's wrist and twisted, dropping the knife to the floor.
"I do not have the right to apologize to you." Isha said, as she wrapped the struggling woman in both arms, hugging her.
"I cannot ask for your forgiveness. Know that I am responsible for all your pain and all your sorrow." Zepholde sagged in her mother's arms, now sobbing uncontrollably as emotions of shame, rebellion, and hopelessness sapped the strength from her body.
"Hate me from the bottom of your heart for giving and taking everything from you." Isha's hand patted the back of Zepholde's head twice.
"Good bye, my child."
There was a crunch as Isha's fingers broke through the back of Zepholde's skull, destroying the brainstem in an instant. The body in her arms spasmed as ions and neurotransmitters spilled out of destroyed nerve cells, activating various reflexes and muscles at random. However, Zepholde's brain was disconnected from all of this and felt nothing; slowly shutting down as the various liquids that provided it oxygen and nutrients poured out the back of her head, falling into a deep slumber before shutting off completely.
Once the body stopped moving, Isha laid it down on the ground, and closed the wide open eyes with her clean hand. The other one was still coated in blood and bits of brain matter, but these disappeared into her skin, like water on desert sands.
New sobbing came from behind her. Xeress was on his knees, holding his head.
He was a truly young soul, and could not understand what was going on before him.
He had just watched his mother kill his mother, but his mother was still here and she was standing before him.
He had done as his mother told him, but his mother also hadn't wanted him to do that.
He could feel his mother's love, but why was she so sad at the same time?
Isha kneeled down and took the huddled boy in her lap. He could no longer differentiate between Zepholde and her, and the contradiction between what he saw with his eyes, what he felt with his soul, and what he knew from memory was tearing his brain apart. She could see the blood vessels beginning to burst and synapses frying from overexertion.
Slowly, she rocked him, and sang an old lullaby she had sung to the first Aeldari on the day they were chosen by the Old Ones.
Hush my child, close your eyes.
The time has come for you to rise.
Bone and body made unbreakable.
Heart and mind made indestructible.
Hush my child, close your eyes.
Forever shall I be at your side.
Rest and slumber, dream and doubt.
I shall love you, where they shall not.
Hush my child, close your eyes.
For when you wake, you shall fight.
This war is yours, this strife your right.
And when you cry, I will see your spite.
Hate me. Hate me, with all your heart.
My tear will fill with all your might.
Hush my child, close your eyes.
Your story ends, but not your life.
The small boy stopped moving as his mother's voice lulled him to sleep, pausing the damage his own body was doing to itself. Isha brushed away the hair on his forehead, and kissed him there, further assuring him everything was alright and he could let go of his consciousness.
As the child's breath became heavy and deep from sleep, Isha caressed his head one last time, and placed her fingers against his forehead.
—-
Isha laid the body of the child next to his mother. It was a meaningless gesture, for them and for her. However, she could not let their bodies simply lie there.
This was not the first time she had watched her children die, nor was it the first time they died by her hand. She was the mother of a race made to fight and die in a war that was not started by them; every life created was another death she sent them to.
Still, the pain of losing her children burned in her heart. These two were fortunate for it to be painless, but all the others aboard this ship and the many other warships would die alone either through exposure to the vacuum or in the flames of human weapons.
Hurried footsteps came from the corridor, and Isha stepped back into the shadows behind the torn door of the room.
Zepholde's consort ran into the room, panting. He took one look, and collapsed to his knees in front of their bodies yelling both of their names.
Isha stepped out of the shadows, and silently wrapped an arm around his neck before destroying his brainstem as she had done with Zepholde.
There was no more time for words or sentimentality. She turned away from the corpses and sang another note, sending spikes of Wraithbone into the gravity and portal drives of the ship, before warping the solar sails into useless messes of bent Wraithbone and torn membranes.
A purple portal opened behind her once again, and Isha stepped through it.
She had saved her children's souls, but that was all she could do. Now, she would have to use what they had returned to her to increase the odds of the others' survival.
Isha was the mother of the Aeldari, but in the wild, the mother not only gives but takes.