Craftworld Iyanden appeared from the deep blue of the Webway, emerging from the void of space like a golden sewing needle punching through the black fabric of reality. Several other bright yellow and blue vessels appeared around it, traveling in the wake of the much larger Craftworld like schools of dolphins and anchovies following a blue whale.
"Temporary Webway portal transit successful." One of the navigators reported from their terminal. All the bridge crew were helmed and armored, ready for combat as the Craftworld traveled over the debris field of Eclipse-class cruisers orbiting an orange and black planet.
"All ships maintain dispersed formation around the Craftworld." Autarch Filimerthex commanded, face hidden by a twin-plumed full face helmet. "As a reminder, Saim-Hann shall not open his mouth again so easily. You will need to buy time for us to enter the Webway again should we come under attack. I want periodic sensor pulses as well as all escorts and fighter squadrons in reconnaissance formation. Our scouting parties and the Farseers saw no sign of the Mon-keigh, but remember that the thoughts and actions of the irrational, insane, and immature are the bane of prophecy and planning. Be on your guard for anything."
Battleship class Void Stalkers and battlecruiser class Phoenix ships deployed their fighter squadrons as the frigates and destroyers drifted further away from the group in scouting formations. Meanwhile, Iyanden herself drew closer to the debris field.
"Barbarians…" muttered one of the navigators as she looked through the sensors of the ship with her psychic touch. The remains of Mon-keigh vessels were still impaled in some of the Aeldari ships, and she could see signs of friendly fire on their primitive vessels. The Mon-keigh had driven into the Aeldari fleet here in a suicidal charge, almost dead set in killing ten or more of themselves in order to take the life of a single Aeldari.
Filimerthex grimaced under the helm, hearing and feeling the hate in the Eldar on the bridge. It was a good thing that he had received permission from the Seer Council to keep the images and sensor readings from the Craftworld away from the central psychic lattices. The blood of their species had been spilled in a suicidal manner by these Mon-keigh. The brutal tactics showed that the Mon-keigh's desire to kill them outweighed their own basic survival instincts. That was enough evidence to understand just how much the Mon-keigh hated them, so it was only natural to hate them equally back in kind.
However, neither he nor Iyanden had time for vengeance.
Sensor readings and psychic notes from the other Eldar entered Filimerthex's mind as he connected deeper with the ship itself, providing him with a complete report of all that was around them.
Most of the Aeldari military ships had been destroyed by Mon-keigh weaponry, but several of the civilian ships showed signs of internal sabotage. The Wraithbone had torn apart the ship's own engines, a feat that was only possible with Aeldari abilities.
"Prepare boarding parties for all of the civilian ships." Filimerthex ordered. "Send some of our light-cruisers to investigate. There are no lifesigns aboard, so it shall be easy enough for them."
Many of the Eldar found these sabotaged ships odd ever since the first reports from the scouting party had returned. The creation of Wraithbone was a trait only their species had, but no sane Aeldari or Eldar would think to use it to sabotage an entire ship. It would be far easier to use a plasma grenade or their psyker powers to disable the ships than to force Wraithbone to grow into the engines. It would have taken several dozen Bonesingers hours to do that, and that was with the rather unrealistic assumption that the crew of the ship did nothing to impede the would-be saboteurs.
Part of Iyanden's flotilla separated in order to investigate the sabotaged ships. Filimerthex eyes followed the ships grimly. The boarding parties would no doubt return with more questions than answers, but there were other things to investigate in parallel.
The planet they currently orbited was recorded in the void-charts of Iyanden, but the writhing crust and plumes of lava could not have been further from what was supposed to be there.
"Divert some of our escorts to the planet. I want sensor readings for what happened here." Filimerthex ordered. "Have we established an all-clear perimeter?"
"Reconnaissance units and all associated fighter squadrons and escorts report no contact." One of the other navigators answered. "We are alone, Autarch."
"Good." Filimerthex nodded. "Prepare our salvage ships, but maintain vigilance. We shall not waste what we do not have to. However, all shipmasters are to return to the Craftworld at the first sign of anything at all."
Psi-drones and other craft detached from the hull of the Craftworld, utilizing telekinesis and Bonesinging to cut apart and collect the remains of the Aeldari cruisers. Wraithbone could be replaced, psychically charged crystals could be regrown, but specific structures such as Pulsars, Starcannons, solar sails, and gravitic drives required time and extravagant materials in order to construct. Although not necessary, it was an undeniable waste to leave the remains of their empire's ships behind, no matter how small.
"We have the preliminary planetary readings, Autarch." One of the navigators reported to Filimertex. "The core and mantle of the planet are in a state of constant flux, churning and re-stratifying itself allowing buried water and gasses to be freed into the atmosphere. Precipitation cycles have already begun on the cooler segments of the crust, dragging down the excessive dust and silica, while leaving enough in the stratosphere so solar radiation exposure is reduced to the levels necessary to foment amino-acid formation. Given another hundred years, or perhaps even several decades, the planet shall become the seed for a Maiden World."
"And the reason for this sudden change?" Filimerthex asked back. "Is there evidence of an asteroid strike or some other external input of energy?"
This planet was supposed to be a mostly dead world. It may have been volcanic, but the continents had been fixed in place, as well as the general location of the magma flows beneath it. This raging primordial sea of molten rock was nothing like it. Thermal and kinetic energy coursed through it like blood, pumping the magma and washing away the crust. Such events could only be brought about by an external source of energy, and the only realistic one was from the impact of another interstellar body.
"No." The Navigator shook his head. "We have not found any new satellites, or change in planetary mass that would indicate an external source for this change."
"Then, the cause must be truly not of this realm." Filimerthex muttered.
"There are traces of psychic disturbances here, but they could have been from the Mon-keigh's Warp drives." One of the other Navigators countered.
In return the Autarch snorted.
"With these numbers?" He sighed. "The traces of Warp transit and the number of identified Mon-keigh wrecks do not match, not to mention the number that would have been required to entirely destroy our kin." A holographic summary of the psychic traces identified by the Craftworld's sensors appeared with a wave of his hand and he sent it to all of their terminals. "Something has removed the psychic traces of what has happened here, including the psychic cause for the planet's change."
"That is quite the leap of logic, Autarch." A different Eldar replied.
There is nothing here, therefore someone must have hidden it. A ridiculous kind of logic that bordered on conspiracy theory. That was the Autarch's reasoning. Under normal circumstances, anyone would have found the claim dubious.
However, at this moment…
"It is the only one that makes sense with what we have before us." Filimerthex said as he leaned back in the command throne. "The remains of several rag-tag patrol fleets from our Empire, the signs of battle with Mon-keigh, and the vision we all saw." The Autarch tapped a finger against his helm as he spoke. "The Aeldari who were here wouldn't have had the devices necessary to bring about this change, and even if they did it would not have resulted in this. The Mon-keigh's definition of terraforming is not much better than landscaping or backyard horticulture. Even with their most destructive weapons, the best they can do is burn a planet to cinders. Therefore…"
He stood up from the command throne, as a holographic image of the plane took center stage on the bridge.
"She did this, just as she was responsible for what you all saw. However, all traces of her have been erased."
"What does this mean, Autarch?" Another of the bridge crew asked.
Ships sabotaged by Wraithbone.
A planet reborn through extraordinary means.
A vision of death and rebirth.
Missing traces of what all other circumstantial evidence indicated should be there.
It was a myriad of conflicting messages that even the Eldar found confounding.
"I do not know…" Filimerthex admitted with a shrug. "But, she was here and if she was one of us, she knew we would be here too." The Autarch returned to the command throne, before uttering his next orders to the flotilla. "Prepare our planetary landing craft. Direct them to the place with the least amount of psychic traces. That is where she would have been closest to."
—-
The ground Leader of the 10th Guardian squad, Seridin, checked the seals on his suit as he felt the landing craft slow its descent. A feeling of dread was spreading through him and all the other Guardians who had been assigned this reconnaissance mission.
They had done as the Autarch said, focussing on the place with the least traces of psychic energy, but it was not a simple void they approached. The very air felt like it had been scorched; purified till not even the smallest mote of dust, spore, or even microbe was left. He could feel his psychic senses recoil at the sheer emptiness that they had begun to enter.
The immaterium was something they were all accustomed to, and even though it was now filled with the whispers of She who Thirsts, they could hear the currents of the Othersea even in the depths of space. Now, there was a silence that they had not heard even in the darkest gaps between the stars.
And they knew instinctively why it felt like that to them.
They were entering the cauterized remains of a crater-like wound; flesh and skin seared till they were nought but black ash. From a distance, the background sounds of the immaterium masked the wound's presence much like frothing waves would hide a shallow reef, but now that they were descending into the pit, it was all too clear just how unnatural it was.
'We near the surface.' The pilot, Vythira, communicated psychically from her sealed cockpit. 'Precipitation falls, but keep your suit's atmosphere separate from the surroundings. The waters are caustic and the air will sear your lungs should it enter them. The ground remains solid on this region of the planet, but it is not like the others. Be prepared for anything.'
Images from the sensors of the landing craft entered his mind, giving him a 360 degree view of all that there was around them before he disembarked.
The ground was solid as the pilot had said, however, geyser vents, spikes, stone slabs, cavernous crevices, and vitrified craters covered it. A pile of collapsed rubble lay scattered across off in the distance, spreading across the entire western horizon. Solidified lava flows sizzled as black raindrops fell upon them, still well over several hundred degrees in temperature.
Seridin activated the accelerators in his Shuriken catapult with a thought as he put a hand to the plasma grenades on his belt.
A battle had been fought here, and a cataclysmic one at that. There was obvious physical evidence of geological manipulation, but the psychic traces left by whoever or whatever molded the metals and minerals had all been erased.
'Transfer operational command to me, and open the doors.' Seridin commanded. 'Keep the ship hovering, and ready to lift off at a moment's notice, but remain close. This is not the place to waste our lives.'
'As you wish.' Vythira replied, and air hissed as the gaskets of the landing craft loosened before the doors opened outwards, providing temporary cover on either side. The lead Guardian and his second exited the craft and took cover by the doors, scanning the terrain on either side. Seridin himself moved up as the others followed.
'Path clear.' A brief psychic report came from the lead Guardian and his second.
'Move up.' Seridin ordered, and the two excited from cover and jogged to two separate stone slabs as Seridin and another Guardian took their places behind the doors and watched their comrades backs.
The two disappeared from sight for a moment, and a tense second passed before the psychic message. 'Clear.' came from the both of them.
A short sigh of relief exited Seridin's nose as his muscles relaxed slightly.
"Move up, and form an extended wedge formation." He ordered the rest of the Guardians vocally.
They were here to reconnoiter the area assigned to them. Other landing craft were far away, both to increase the ground they could cover, and to avoid falling into the same trap should there be one. Seridin's group would travel from the field of stone slabs towards what should have been a continuous line of valleys and gorges, but the landmarks had disappeared leaving only rivers of lava.
They trekked across the ground in that direction, sliding down and then climbing up the lips of craters without event as the landing craft followed 50 or so meters behind them, hovering a short hop above the ground. No ambush or earthquake disturbed them as they marched through the blank rain. The only thing that was there to upset them was the endless emptiness that surrounded them on all sides, weighing down on their soul as if they'd been transported deep into abyssal waters where no light nor sound was allowed.
"Seridin, I've found something." One of the Guardians called out to him. "The woman's tone was grim, but not alarmed.
"Hold position." Seridin ordered, and he walked over to where the Guardian who had called him was.
As he approached, the oppressive feeling increased. His vision flickered between what was before his eyes, and an endless blackness on all sides that he could do nothing but march through.
Seridin whispered a short prayer to Asuryan, the Aeldari's creator, and reinforced his mental wards. Counter-intuitively, the source of the emptiness was of the immaterium itself. Thoughts and concepts bled off from it, infecting his mind with information he could not understand.
Finally, the Guardian who called him came into sight. She was looking at something buried in the ground, and although her face was hidden behind her helmet, Seridin could tell from her body posture that she was confused.
"What have you found?" Seridin asked the Guardian as he entered arms reach.
"A weapon, a message, or a mistake I do not know." The woman answered.
She was staring at what looked like the fletching of an arrow buried in the ground. It was bone-white and almost crystalline looking; the tell-tale sign of Wraithbone. But, they could also feel that the source of the visions that whispered to them was buried at the other end of it.
"Do we dare touch it?" The Guardian asked warily. This was obviously a battlefield, and although the arrow appeared archaic, it was a psychic artifact of unknown power. There was no telling what it would do when unearthed.
Seridin paused for a moment to consider his options, then decided to take a gamble.
"We know not how long we have left before we have to leave. I shall speak to the Wraithbone directly. If it is of our blood, then it should speak to us at the very least."
He motioned for the other Guardian to step back, then stretched his palm out to the fletchings of the arrow to commune with it directly.
"Seridin." A ghostly whisper tickled his ear. The tone was familiar for some reason, although he couldn't remember where he had heard it.
A smile crossed his face as the first bit of his gamble paid off by not immediately blowing up in his face, then he felt an invisible force grab his hand and wrap it around the buried shaft of the arrow.
"Seridin. Seridin? Seridin!" A cacophony of voices called out his name cooing in motherly tones while proud victorious laughter echoed in his eardrums as soft cooling hands stroked his cheeks.
"SERIDIN! WAKE UP!" He opened his eyes to see the Guardian shaking him by the shoulder with one hand while her Shuriken catapult pointed at his hand, the hand still gripping the arrow.
"I'm fine." He answered wearily. "I'm… fine. How long was I gone?"
"Only a second, but I saw you open your psychic senses fully." The other Guardian muttered. "You know how dangerous that is." Her hand had released Seridin's shoulder, but the Shuriken catapult was now slowly pointing towards the Lead Guardian.
"My soul is still pure." Seridin answered angrily at the underlying accusation. "And I still serve the Craftworld."
A tense moment passed, then the Guardians finger left the Shuriken catapult's trigger.
"Then, for all our sakes, let us hope the voice you heard was not Hirs." The woman sighed before adopting a more amenable tone. "What did we find, Seridin?"
The Lead Guardian looked down at his own hand, still buried in the ground with the arrow, then slowly pulled both free. A Wraithbone arrow with a golden point emerged from the dirt. Grains of soil fell away from it like droplets of water, leaving it entirely unblemished.
"A lesson." Seridin spoke slowly, as he looked at the perfect harmony between immaterial matter and the paradoxical paranormal phenomenon that it was tipped with. "A lesson that will take a long time to learn, but we can learn regardless."
Suddenly a psychic message struck all of them. 'Seismic activity increasing! All Guardians, return to landing craft! What we stand upon is not what it seems!'
No sooner had they received the message, the ground crackled and rumbled as a ripple traveled through it like a tidal wave.
'All Guardians fall back to the landing craft!' Seridin mentally shouted as he stumbled back to the swiftly approaching ship that had been hovering behind them. His hand remained wrapped around the arrow, holding it to his chest even though he could feel its glowing point sting and singe his psychic senses.
The pitch of the rumbling earth changed, and with a final crack, stone pillars burst from the ground around them. Each was tens of meters tall, and as they emerged to their full height, seams split open revealing a hidden lid which slid back down into the ground, revealing each stone pillar to be a coffin containing the ruined remains of one of their greatest weapons.
"Psychomatons?!" Seridin shouted out in amazement, stopping his feet to stare up at the machines embedded in the rock coffins.
"Seridin! Return to the ship! We need to leave!" The other Guardians called out as they passed him, but he remained where he was.
"Hold!" He ordered. "The ground's shaking stills. Our ancestors watch over us, and no harm shall come to pass under their gaze."
Even before the words left his mouth, the shaking slowed then stopped leaving only the pitter patter and hiss of acid rain falling around them.
The other Guardians slowly returned to Seridin.
"Lead Guardian, we cannot afford to be loose with our lives. Death is not the end for us." The woman who had originally found the arrow hissed.
"But our death is not yet here." Seridin shot back as he stepped towards the nearest Psychomaton.
"What happened to them?" Another of the Guardians asked. "They barely hold their shape."
Each one had all its limbs stored with them, but it was obvious that they were far from fighting form. Melted edges and blown apart joints showed that each and every one of them had lost all of their limbs, before someone picked them up and buried them together.
"Yes." Seridin acknowledged the status of his ancient ancestors. "But their souls still remain."
All other Psychomatons had been left as empty shells when She who Thirst's scream broke into the materium; Wraithbone and blackstone bodies left behind like the shed carapace of an insect.
"How is that possible?" Another Guardian asked as they stepped closer, following Seridin towards the Psychomatons. "They are avatars of war and excessive violence from our dark past. All the others went to She who Thirsts on the day of the Fall."
"I do not know…" Seridin admitted as he reached the base of the nearest coffin, and stared up at the Psychomaton's serrated head. "But these ones are hers."
He could hear the same whispers from the Wraithbone arrow coming from them. Smells and sights of fresh grass and warm sunlight filtered through a green canopy of trees emanated from the cores of each Wraithbone construct.
"Their hands glow gold." Another commented.
Where there should have only been bone white and obsidian black, a third color tipped the blade-like fingers of each one.
"They were Aeldari once. They can learn all that we can, and the one who left this lesson tutored them in person." Seridin said as he looked back down at the gold-tipped arrow. "Call for our Bonesingers or larger transport craft." He ordered. "We cannot leave these survivors of the Fall behind. We are Iyanden. Our empire is what we wish to reclaim. They were part of it, and thus walk upon the same strand of fate as us."
—-
The Autarch Filimerthex gazed up at the remains of the Psychomatons, still entombed in their stone coffins. It had only taken a few days to separate all of the colossal constructs from the planet's crust, and grow a disposable Webway gate large enough to transport them to the Craftworld. However, the ancient ones were not taken aboard as honored guests. Currently, the entire platoon was in storage near the outskirts of the Craftworld, as far away from the Shard of Khaine as they could be placed. This entire section of Iyanden could be jettisoned at a moment's notice, and several Guardians were placed outside to ensure no-one else could approach them.
They had left the planet and were back to the original course the Farseers had predicted would be the safest in the Eastern rim of the galaxy. The Seer council was currently discussing what was to be done with the Psychomatons and the arrow, but a verdict has yet to be reached.
"Aethnor? Maerili? Valanon?" Filimerthex muttered at them questioningly, but the Psychomatons did not reply.
A short sigh exited the Autarch's nose as he scratched his head. He knew it was meaningless to mention old names to the Psychomatons. What they were had been hammered out of them when they stopped reincarnating. However, in a moment of loneliness, he had let loose names of old friends who were no longer here.
"What do you think about what we have become?" He asked the Psychomatons.
There was a brief silence, then a series of irritated warbles and chirps came from several of the Psychomatons.
Filimerthex snorted at their comments.
"Do not blame them. That is the price they pay to remain pure. The children who will come after them will be weaker still."
Angry clicks and crackles followed, like the sound bursting chestnuts or wet wood in a fire.
"I find that claim dubious, after seeing how many of you fell to Hir." Filimerthex replied with a raised eyebrow. "You do not remain here on your own, nor did Khaine's song keep our brothers and sisters safe. She helped you."
A begrudging moan acknowledged Filimerthex's accusation, with several grim hoots remarking on what their mother was last seen doing.
"That option is a little too late for us, I'm afraid." He shrugged. "I have already sent the Orks on a collision course with the Mon-keigh. Any attempt to undo that would fail."
Amused buzzing rang from each Psychomaton as well as some cheerful chuffing.
"If all goes well, then the Mon-keigh will remain oblivious as you say. Their collective memories are about as short as their lives. Then again, the meeting of those two species was inevitable. If the conflict is inescapable, why should the Eldar not benefit from it?"
Cautionary twanging echoed around them as the Psychomatons warned the Autarch of the other deity that they had seen, as well as where their golden blade-like nails came from.
"The thief that snuck around the outer rims of our empire." Filimerthex muttered. "Fine, Iyanden can allow the Mon-keigh to exist unmolested, so long as they remain on what is left of their federation. Biel-Tan will take longer to convince, but besides them the others will probably be too busy with internal affairs to care about the problems of the lesser species. We also take no responsibility for what our client races do to them."
Satisfied rumbling accepted the Autarchs answer, then silence fell as they transmitted Isha's final message verbatim into his brain.
The Autarch paused for a moment, then let out a tired chuckle.
"'I love you, all of you.' is it? How very motherly…" Filimerthex sighed, scratching his head with one hand as he placed the other on his waist.
"I will need your help, if that is what she wishes." He said to the Psychomatons. "The ones here may be one-half of what we were, but our kin are beginning to become only the other."
Dark laughter echoed around the room, the first Aeldari sound the Psychomatons had made in a long-time. They had seen what had happened to all those who had not boarded a Craftworld yet still lived. A rune appeared in the center of their chest glowing red and orange with fiery heat; Khaine's rune, the rune of war, murder, and violence. Baritone voices began to sing, droning endlessly as the air filled with the scent of smoke and blood. The best ways to end life were whispered to all those who would listen. The angle of the knife necessary to cut through skin, muscle, and bone. The instinctive calculations required to correct for bullet drop, or the curvature of the ground.
"Enough." Filimerthex said quietly but firmly, ending the song. "I will need at least one volunteer. But, be prepared. Knowing what I do about them, whoever gets sent there will be trapped in endless boredom."
Several moments filled with beeping and whistling followed, before one Psychomaton gave a defeated chirp.
The Autarch nodded at the volunteer, then turned away from the Psychomatons. "I will talk with the Seer council. In the meantime, prepare yourselves for examination by our Bonesingers. Our mother's bindings will be of interest to them, and we will need more of our brothers and sisters."
A series of raspberries blew as the Autarch walked out of the room.