As always, the next two chapters are up on my P-a-t-r-e-o-n, here: h*t*t*p*s :/ w*w*w . p*a*t*r*e*o*n user - ? - u = 52718582 (remove the spaces and stars)

As Iyanden emerged from the Webway and back into reality, and the stars became visible once more from the Fleetmaster's tower, Mehlendri let out a sigh of relief.

They were almost there. Terra was not far, now. Just one star system away.

It had been a long, hard journey. Dealing with Ork raiders, human pirates, and even those damned pleasure cultists who refused to stop after the cataclysm.

With the shadow of a dark god hovering over their souls, and the fragment of the Bloody-Handed one buried below them.

But they were close, now.

Their Mother, if she still lived, was almost within reach.

The memory of that whisper, of that love…Mehlendri's heart ached. She needed it, Iyanden needed it. Hope, salvation…if only.

Don't get too excited. Her pragmatic side warned her, in the voice of old teachers and lost friends. There's still a way to go.

Yes, there were many obstacles still in their path. Mehlendri had been to Terra before, but that had been thousands of years ago, before the kinstrife between the mon'keigh and their soulless iron servants, before the humans had gone utterly mad in their pursuit of ascension.

Before her people had damned the galaxy.

Whispers of the nightmare that the cradle of humanity had become had echoed across the galaxy in these dark times, of the monsters that now ruled the ruins of a once great empire.

And that wasn't even considering…whatever the golden presence upon Terra was, the one whose burning light was enough to obscure their Mother, or whatever remained of her.

If they could get through the hell that Sol had become if, they could get to Terra, if they could find Her…

If, if, if.

Turning away from the window, Mehlendri looked back to her command chambers and grimaced at the sight of them.

Her younger self would have wept at the sight of her once immaculate chambers, now neglected and poorly kept. The artefacts she had traded with other Craftworlds and from various lesser civilizations were covered in dust, the crystal walls of her chamber were dull, and the small songtree she had cultivated for centuries was almost dead and always silent, no longer producing any music.

She should clean them, but…there just never seemed to be enough time.

…perhaps later. For now, there was a council meeting to tend to.

With a thought, the left wall of her chambers split in half, exposing the room to the open air outside. Mehlendri leapt out, the wall sealing itself behind her, and as she fell through the air, she called her skiff to her.

The skiff came flying through the air, and Mehlendri landed on it gracefully, willing the vessel towards her destination.

Iyanden was…not doing well, but it at least seemed to have come alive a little more. As she flew, Mehlendri could see more people below, more people outside and actually working to repair and rebuild the damage to the Craftworld, to their lives.

The news that they were searching for Mother Isha had ignited a kind of desperate hope in the hearts of the people, restoring some spark of life to her home.

Though that was not the only reason; they had encountered and absorbed a few other, smaller ships of refugees from the Dominion over the last few years of their travel. Mostly only small, ragged ships and a single Craftworld, smaller than Iyanden, but enough to bolster their numbers, and increase their defences.

There was tension, of course. Nevertheless, Mehlendri was glad to encounter more sane survivors and connect with them on better terms than the bitter encounter with Lugganath.

No matter how annoying some of the other leaders were.

After several minutes of flying, she was finally in sight of her destination.

At the edge of Iyanden was a grey bridge, insulated from the void by glimmering forcefields, leading to a central platform; a diamond-shaped construct coloured blue and gold, but unmarked and unadorned by any sort of decoration, hastily constructed by Invaril and the other bonesingers.

On the opposite side of the platform was the one other Craftworld they had encountered, linked by a bridge of their own. And slowly but surely, vast tendrils extended through the void around the bridge, linking them all, as they merged into one. It was a process that would take several more years, perhaps decades, to complete, but it was underway and severing the links would be a difficult, bloody process.

As she flew through the bridge and arrived at the diamond, the surface of the sphere flowed open to let her through, and Mehlendri entered the hall.

Everyone else was already present. Invaril, her closest friend and advisor, greeted her with a nod and a smile. Dreamspinner, looking as dishevelled and drunken as ever, was lounging in his chair and not so much as sparing her a glance.

"Fleetmaster Silversoul, greetings!"

Mehelendri forced a smile. "Lord Cadaith. Good to see you. My apologies for my lateness."

Cadaith was of average height for an Aeldari, but he made up for it with the archaic blue and bronze armour he wore.

From the gleaming bronze mask in the shape of a face known on every world of the Dominion, to the flowing cape that looked as though it had been cut from the fabric of the void, glittering stars and all, and the long, gleaming spear clutched in his hand, Cadaith was every inch Ulthanesh come to life again.

"It is of no consequence, Fleetmaster! The burdens of leadership are wearying, even for souls of noble birth such as ourselves!"

He was utterly ridiculous.

"Of course," Mehlendri said, trying not to grit her teeth. "Shall we begin?"

Mehlendri had never paid much attention to those of the Dominion who revived the outdated traditions of aristocracy and bloodlines, styling themselves as nobility as a way to stave off the ennui that had settled over the Eldar civilization.

It was all rather ridiculous in her opinion, truth be told.

The House of Ulthanesh was especially silly because, at this point, it would be difficult to find a single Eldar who did not have the blood of both the Twin Kings in their veins. Eldanesh and Ulthanesh had been born shortly after the War in Heaven, after all, and had reincarnated many times across the ages until the former's soul had been shattered by Khaine, and the latter's decision to leave life behind forever.

The idea of some special family descended from Ulthanesh, his heirs by blood, was utterly nonsensical.

But Cadaith and his House were leaders of the other Craftworld of Aeldari survivors, having managed to turn themselves into true rulers in the aftermath of the Fall, and so Mehlendri had to put up with him.

As she settled into her seat at the round table, the meeting began.

"So, Fleetmaster, how long until we can rescue our Mother from the mon'keigh hellworld?" Cadaith asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Mehlendri suppressed her instinctive sarcastic response, and the leader of one of the other vessels leaned forward.

"Do not be so eager to jump into peril, Cadaith," Sernalla said gruffly, leaning back in her chair. Sernalla had been Iyanden's primary military commander over the last few thousand years as their psychomaton troops were steadily whittled away and they had been forced to begin sending Eldar into combat. A scarred and pragmatic warrior, Mehlendri appreciated her presence far more than that of the self-proclaimed Heir of Ulthanesh. "The human homeworld is a place of terror and horror, and it will be difficult to get through it."

Cadaith puffed up indignantly. "I have no fear of these primitives! I will not cower while our Mother needs us."

"We do not even know where our Mother is," Dreamspinner observed sardonically. "Never mind what dangers lie in our path. But if you want to get yourself killed like a fool, you're free to do so, Cadaith. Just leave the rest of us out of it."

Cadaith huffed angrily, and Mehlendri intervened before a fight could begin. "We are close," She said quickly before he could reply. "Once we are at the edge of the Sol System, I will send in scouts before we send any large force in. Invaril has prepared a few of the remaining psychomatons for the mission."

"Can we afford to risk our few remaining psychomatons like that?" Sernalla asked, her features creasing in a frown, making the scar across her face inflicted by an Ork claw even more prominent. "If we are attacked again…"

"We do not have much choice," Mehlendri said, shrugging helplessly. "Either we send in the psychomatons or we risk the lives of actual Eldar. We will have to do so in any case, but we should at least minimize the casualties."

Sernalla gave a tired nod.

"In any case, I have chosen the most expendable units we have," Invaril spoke up. "I have also done my best to ensure they will come back to us intact…"

As the discussion continued, Mehlendri noticed a growing pressure in the room. One heavy and dark, almost choking.

The shadows were suddenly darker and deeper, she realized, and…moving.

Mehlendri wanted to say something, but the pressure was too heavy, leaving her struggling to breathe as the shadows flickered and shifted.

Everyone else was in the same condition, she realized. Silence had abruptly fallen over the entire room. None of them was saying anything, or moving, just sitting where they were, breathing heavily.

The shadows pooled in the centre of the room, and then, something began to rise from them. A figure of living darkness formed, towering above all, its aura pressing down on them.

All of Mehlendri's senses screamed at her to move, but she couldn't. She couldn't do anything. In her long life, she had fought Orks, clashed with mon'keigh super soldiers and even been involved in a few skirmishes of the kinstrife between humans and their soulless iron creations.

But the only time she had ever been more afraid than she was in this moment was when a hell-god had burst out of the Dominion, springing from her people's civilization and shattering it like an egg.

"Children of Isha," The shadowy figure spoke, in a voice that echoed from everywhere and nowhere. Mehlendri did not know the language it spoke, but she did not have to. The words resonated in her mind and down to the deepest depths of her soul. "Why are you here?"

"I, we-" Mehlendri choked the words out with difficulty, but at the same time, they were somehow pulled from her. Against her will, she continued to speak, the truth spilling from her lips. "We are looking for our Mother, and our search has led us here."

"How did you find her?"

"The Flame of Asuryan," Dreamspinner gritted out, clearly under the same invisible force as Mehlendri. Beads of sweat decorated his face, and it was obvious he was trying to resist, but he was still unable to help himself from revealing even their most sacred secrets. "An ember of it survived. Just…just enough for us to use it to find her."

"I see."

Mehlendri felt the flames before she saw them. Her blood boiled, her bones cracked and her soul shrieked as the pressure in the air was joined by the oppressive heat.

The veil of shadows fell away to reveal its true self.

A golden-black inferno burned at the centre of the room, a crackling pillar of fire that could burn everything.

I am the Emperor of Mankind. The inferno proclaimed, coalescing into a burning titan, robed in golden fire, wearing a crown of stars. Its face was blank, utterly featureless except for the eyes.

The eyes were twin black voids amidst the golden flames, merciless and all-consuming, promising oblivion to all those who would dare to defy it.

It was no longer speaking, but searing its very intent into their souls, like a brand. I am the Lord of Terra and the Guardian of Sol. And you, Children of Isha, may not enter my home. If you dare to defy me, then my vengeance shall be such that you will beg me to release you into the grasp of the abomination your people birthed.

Mehlendri wanted to protest, to say that she and her Craftworld were not responsible for the actions of the pleasure cults, but she could not. She was as helpless as a child, paralyzed by the presence.

The inferno's words were echoing across the Craftworld, forcing every man, woman and child to their knees as they buckled and screamed under the pressure of the inferno's presence.

This vessel shall burn, and the whole galaxy will hear your screams as you die. You will be erased forever, forgotten utterly and absolutely, except as a testament to my wrath.

And as the words sank in, she could feel the despair clawing at her soul. If they could not find their Mother, what was to become of them?

But the titan was not finished.

However, since you have not yet breached my realm, I will show mercy. And…there is someone here to meet you.

The pressure and the heat receded at last as the inferno disappeared from the room. It was not gone, Mehlendri could still feel it, but it was now hovering far above the craftworld, like a golden star, like a meteor about to fall, like an executioner's blade waiting to strike.

Mehlendri gulped in deep breaths of air as her mind whirled, trying to process what had just happened. But she did not have long to do so as a woman appeared at the centre of the room, where the inferno had been.

Mehlendri knew who she was the moment she laid eyes on her. Every Aeldari in the room did, and in that one moment, the golden inferno was almost forgotten.

"Mother," Mehlendri whispered, her heart beating with desperate hope and tears coming to her eyes.

"Hello, my children," Mother Isha said, her sweet, melodious voice gentler and kinder than the inferno, yet still strong. Her presence was radiant and kind, loving and soothing, and for a single moment, it overshadowed all other things. The shadow of the Devourer over their souls, the presence of the golden titan, the whispers of the crimson shard.

For one beautiful moment, everything was perfect.

"It is good to see you again."

As Isha's children crowded around her, weeping, clutching at her, Isha allowed her aura to remain unbound for the first time in years, blanketing the entire Craftworld with all the love and warmth she could muster.

She was still angry, yes. Her family had been murdered, her children had destroyed themselves through their own folly…but those of her children here were scared and frightened, needing comfort and mercy first and foremost.

There would be time for anger and discipline later…and in any case, the Emperor had done enough of that.

Isha was not pleased with how he had introduced himself to Iyanden, but…it was a better outcome than she could have hoped for, all things considered. Despite his fury at her defiance of his orders, he had not struck at her. Despite his disdain for her children, he had not struck at them either, even if he had scared them to death.

And he had brought her here swiftly, burning a path through the Immaterium so they could reach the Craftworld but mere hours after the vision.

This wasn't over, Isha knew. There would be a reckoning for this, later. She would have to make more concessions and devise some sort of apology.

But for now, Isha allowed herself to hold her children close as they wept.

"It is alright, Mehlendri," Isha soothed, speaking in Eltharin for the first time in what felt like forever, as she held the Fleetmaster of the Craftworld close, stroking her long silver hair as the woman cried into her shoulder.

And through Mehlendri, she spoke to the entire Craftworld. As the leader of Iyanden, as their figurehead and the symbol that represented them all, Isha's words flowed from her through to all of them.

"I love you," Isha whispered, her words echoing on both sides of reality. "I am here. Things will get better, I swear it."

Slowly, the council composed themselves, pulling back as they straightened and wiped away their tears, but still watching her with desperate, worshipful expressions.

"We were so afraid, Mother," One of the other council leaders said, who was a priest of Asuryan. His face was streaked with tears, his breath heavy with the smell of alcohol. "We…we thought we had been forgotten, abandoned by the gods."

Isha squashed the prickle of anger at his words. Now was not the time.

"I am here, Dreamspinner," She said instead, looking at his soul. "It is only me, I fear, for the other gods died at the hands of She Who Thirsts, but I am here."

The man gave a jerky nod, clearly still struggling to process. His faith had been broken…and yet it had also been rewarded at last.

Mehlendri, meanwhile, had recovered and drew back from Isha, straightening herself and looking awkward.

She was a proud woman, and somewhat embarrassed at her breakdown, even if everyone else in the Craftworld was doing the same.

"Mother," Mehlendri licked her lips nervously. "About the other gods-"

"I know," Isha interrupted firmly. "I know. I can sense their presence. And their influence on you."

"Oh," Mehlendri said, shifting awkwardly, clearly unsure of what to say.

"I will visit the Flame of Asuryan later," Isha said quietly. "But for now…bring me to the Bloody-Handed One's shard."

"Of course," Mehlendri said quickly, looking at one of her advisors. "Invaril, would you?"

"Yes, of course," The man said, stepping forward, his face reverent as he looked at Isha. One of Vaul's disciples…or at least, those who followed in her brother's path. "Mother, I would be honoured. If you would follow me, please?"

Isha nodded. "I will be back soon, my children, do not worry."

Isha followed the disciple of Vaul, quietly working an enchantment to hasten their journey. It was tempting to walk around the Craftworld, to speak to all of her children present personally, but the shard had to be dealt with immediately.

Moments later, they arrived at a tunnel, sealed behind a thick gate of silver, marked with shimmering golden runes of Asuryan. Their power was diminished with the Phoenix King's death, but they were not useless, containing the shard's influence as best as they could.

Invaril looked awkward, his reverence tainted by fear of the shard. "Ah, Mother, I-"

"Worry not," Isha told him. "I will go see to it alone."

He bowed his head, clearly ashamed, and Isha wrapped him in a cloak of affection to soothe him even as she opened the gate and stepped through into Iyanden's depths.

The aura of malice and rage was palpable as Isha made her way down. It was somewhat cloaked, not just by the runes of Asuryan and Invaril's work, but by the Craftworld itself, the living vessel trying to contain the predator inside of it.

Nevertheless, the aura grew stronger with each passing moment, trying to affect her, to ignite her rage and bloodlust, trying to pull her war-aspect to the surface.

Isha ignored it. The cold fury in her heart was enough, far above and beyond the power conjured by a mere shard.

Finally, she stood in front of the wraithbone prison her children had made. It was well-constructed for what it was, but made under duress and with speed. It had been patched in several places, and even despite that, the soft blue crystal of the wraithbone was shot through with a bloody crimson, growing and spreading.

Isha willed the gates open with a thought, and walked inside, laying eyes on the bloody-handed shard at last. Millions of years of bitter spite and rage surged to the surface and she spat her greeting.

"Hello, Father."

Author's Note: Isha being the daughter of Khaine is an extrapolation based on the Rise of the Ynnari: Wild Rider, stating that Lileath is the daughter of Isha and granddaughter of Morai-heg.

Morai-heg's only known consort is Khaine, and thus, I decided to have Isha be the daughter of Khaine.

The Dominion's 'nobility' just being bored Aeldari cosplaying is from Part 3 of the Eldar Q&A on Gav Thorpe's blog.

Craftworlds absorbing other Craftworlds over time to become larger is from Asurmen: The Darker Road and Rise of the Ynnari: Ghost Warrior.

Thank you to my betas for helping me write and refine this chapter.