Fintan, the Exarch of Skeinwalkers Shrine, nodded with satisfaction.
For most, this corridor would appear empty. To him, it glittered with curtains of monofilament wires, deadly and almost invisible chains spread with utmost care by his warriors.
Their skill with spinners have grown since they began their Path. It has become adequate by now, but there was still room to improve.
There always was.
He had known it as Odhran before he became Fintan. So had known Senan and Aisling who had become Fintan before him.
The pursuit of mastery was never ending.
To his eyes, the webs were beautiful, their fractal patterns mesmerizing. The only sensation which could be compared with weaving them, was when he called wraithbone to existence as a bonesinger. Or was it Aisling's memory? It made no difference; they were all him now.
The Azure Envoy shook, taking hits from the enemy weapon batteries. The vessel's circuit responded with anger.
Fintan savored the fury of the vessel's consciousness, his pulse quickening in response to its beat. A pale imitation of the real war call, dull echo of radiance made by Khaine Incarnate. Still, it would do for now.
"You must be weary, with soaring up so high," he sang as the ship shook again. "I'm here for you, just come and rest upon my little web…"
It was definitely Aisling who used to sing, he thought, as his Shrine waited for boarders that were bound to be led into their lair.
They waited.
And waited.
But the prey never came.
Finally, the Azure Envoy's corridors began to rearrange, the webs his Shrine spun were slowly torn apart. Their work unraveled, turning into naught but a memory. There was beauty in this too.
He wasn't sad that no enemy came here to appreciate his Shrine's art.
There would be more fights. They would weave another webs, set up another traps.
Fintan had all the time in the world. For he was an Exarch. The priest of Kaela Mensha Khaine, married to fight unending.