Prologue

In all of the Star Wheels history, none had held it so completely in their palm as the eldar. Masters of fate and stars, no force could burden or threaten.

But like all things must and ought to, the age and the empire ended.

Yes, in this age and in this particular night was of a Blood Moon. A sign of strife and tragedy.

A hero… or similar, already chosen but for the children left behind, it was just carrying on.

The silver ring felt warm in his hand, like a warm glow came from it, instead of being heated from his grip. To Callin, it was a welcomed contrast to cold air. Had this been a normal cycle, the atmosphere of this place would have been set to an evening and the holographic ceiling of the dome would have had a dim blue sky. In its place the dark void of space filled. Like an endless black hole over his head threatening to swallow him if he did as much as one misstep.

He made his way over the destroyed buildings as quickly as he managed. The ground was made uneven with rubble, the urban section turned into ruins. It hadn't been more than a few cycles since Callin had walked along this exact street. Now when the window was empty it gave him a feeling of someone staring at him. There was a cold alienness to the ruins, though, in his short life, Callin could only recall this imagery in the writings from the study halls.

Climbing upward a ruined wall of a building Callin looked over the ruined city. He was short for his age and would most likely stay so for the rest of his life. The dust on his hands made them almost grey, the skin around his right eye was shades of purple contrasting his otherwise paleness.

Showing up in the Throat of Khaine had been bad enough, he didn't want to imagine how many rules he broke by being in the embers of a war zone. Smoke rose from the ground like white pillars, to his frustration they obscured his view. To most beings in the galaxy, it would have been a near-pitch-black view and although it wasn't clear to him, it wasn't too difficult for an eldar. His bruised eye didn't help but he pulled through.

It couldn't be called a city anymore, not to Callin, it was now something abandoned, something dead. He heard that this dome was the first to be boarded and the hardest hit. An involuntary shudder went through him where he stood. Callin hadn't expected to keep some sort of foot-sure composure but he still felt ill-prepared for his embarking.

A noise caught his attention. Like metal plates being torn apart in the distance, a sound far too metallic to be ordinary on a wraithbone-made architecture. As fast as the uneven ground would let him, he took himself forward.

Hidden behind the ajar door Callin had overheard his father's meeting with other seers, this might have been intruding on by others but Callin felt it was an obligation if anything. Most of their conversation left him more lost than when he found it. Father had thinned out to the point where walking seemed like it strained him, yet he refused to close his eyes.

They were redder every time Callin saw him.

Of what little that was understandable of the seer's words: one dome seemed to be left to be cleansed. The humans had refused to retreat even when they lost all hope of victory, their forces abandoned on the seized part of the craftworld slowly picked off by chosen warriors. The Howling Banshees weren't among them but nowhere else would his mother be.

Dynvana was here, her presence was hollowed out but it was here. Talking to his father or anyone about it had been like asking a sun to change brightness. They looked like they'd been stabbed when he spoke to them of Dynvanas presence. Their voices all sounded the same unsteady murmur when they told him to wait at home, except his father, managing to catch his attention was a false victory since he just left him to silence.

Something was wrong with his parents, Callin thought he just imagined it but something the last cycles had made… made them different. It was difficult to pinpoint what had changed, they were not angry at least not at him. Like his dolls, they seemed lifeless unless he pulled them back to life, except for the time his mother cried. Why was staying so hard for her? Her goodbye had been wrong, everything had been wrong, and she sounded like she was afraid. He would convince her to come back.

The metal sound got stronger but lost its frequency as he approached. Trying to calm himself by rolling the silver ring didn't work. The only finger it didn't slip off was his thumb. He remembered when she had made it. She had thought he had fallen asleep when she sat in the light of the candle mending on the ring.

Pulling his coat tighter against the cruel wind, Callin couldn't be further away from the candlelight room. His white hair flicked in the uncontrolled wind. The loud metal noise banged against his eardrums, like a scream when metal was cut apart. Halting in the middle of a step Callins felt his spine turn to ice. It was like he had forgotten to be afraid until the horrid sound reminded him.

Standing before him was once a magnificent building that now looked like it barely carried its own ceiling. The ornaments on the white walls were replaced by bullet holes leading to a great door hanging ajar from its hinge. The shaking of his hands wouldn't come under his control as he put them against the heavy door. Cold and dead to the touch was the material that other wise hummed. If he thought too long about this he would never get past this door, so he took his stance and pushed it with all his strength, eyes closed. It was completely silent as it glided inwards. Slowly at first just to swing open leaving him to nearly fall right into the dark room. Trying to breathe as quietly as he could through his nose he awaited his eyes to adjust to the dark. This was a sort of study hall, it couldn't have been long since those on the history paths spoke high here. A strange iron smell filled his nostrils causing him to sniffle in discomfort. Not far from where he stood something laid on the floor, far too sagged down to be rubble. The presence of his mother's soul was the only thing keeping Callin from running straight back. Walking deeper within the entrance room with timid steps the fuzzy contour of a body on the ground made itself clearer. A confusing mess of an eldar shape

A human.

The cold light spilling in through the gate gave him a clear vision of the dead human's uniform and how its mud green had been turned red by its foul-smelling blood. Across what could only be called a ribcage a deep wound sprung. Hands flew over his mouth as his tongue curled itself over the glimpse of human insides. To feel an urge to vomit was as indescribable as it was foreign to Callin. Bodily disease was rare among the eldar. The sensation faded but his discomfort saw no reason to leave.

Was it short grown? It must be, for an adult at least. Far taller than himself but there was some sort of stoutness to its body, robbing it of the grace eldars had. Mon-keigh, this was. The ugly armour even as ragged as it was still covered the human, except for the wound. Fallen to the ground like it was slayed mid-sprint its head was turned away from him. Paralysed Callin stared at the still-warm corpse. He couldn't recall death so close to him before. The former being in front of him, the dead thing, there was no peace in how it lay. Why had it left home just to be killed in the dark?

Not seeing its face felt like it was for the better. Regardless he was happy he didn't have to see it alive either.

The metal banging came again closer, stronger than ever before, a rageful scream from his mother accompanying it. Muffled through walls her voice was contorted between hate and desperation.

Like a rubber band being snapped Callin frantically sprinted further into the building where more human corpses were thoughtlessly scattered in the halls. For probably more than the second time in this war someone called out in desperation for another, this time it was Callin.

Running down the hall went by in a flash as Callin found himself in the round base of a large tower. Along the walls, the staircase spiralled up and around and around. In the middle of the richly patterned floor, a body of metal clumps cluttered. Like a statue of kneeling eldar, it looked stuck in motion trying to rise up. It would have dwarfed the other human as if it was a child. But just like the other one it had a killing wound where blood still leaked out of it. The hair of Callin's neck stood upright as he rather undignified jumped back.

It was dead… it must be dead.

The armour was bulky and thick, the cut looked nothing less than impossible. Whatever colour it had was coated beneath dust and dirt. The crude sword it held low had a bloodied edge, involuntary images of it cutting into him sprang to mind.

His panic turned from a dagger piercing him to a rope, light around his neck but still a pressure. It was his mother's sword which was still rammed into its chest. Callin had never seen it before and didn't need to, he felt a part of her belonged to it and how it wanted back to her.

If it only had anticipated him. Callin may be young and far from well-versed but one didn't need to be either to see the danger it would mean for Dynvana to have it back. Thrown away she'd have one more reason to leave.

Preparing himself he took a breath deep enough to make his shoulders roll and took a hold of the handle with both hands. He flinched when he touched it, its long history was draped in the life blood and joy of spilling it. Forcing his hands back on it Callin grimaced at how the half-dried blood stuck to his palms.

Shooting a glance at the giant's helmet as if checking it wouldn't start to look back at him he pulled at the hilt. When it didn't budge under his admittedly weak efforts Callin leaned closer to the crevice. At his full height, the young eldar still wouldn't have reached the metal giant's shoulders. The sword had been struck in the middle of the broad chest plate, piercing the human-thing right through.

This side of Dynvana had she so carefully hidden from him. Looking closer he saw a golden sign on the breastplate. The skull of its species was surrounded by the wings of a great hunter bird. Without helping it Callin tilted his head and looked fully perplexed at the strange glorification. So much effort had been put into it… to be strength, to stand for something… but it was still so ugly.

His attention was ripped from the mon-keigh like gravity took hold of him, his mother was here. Turning around he saw her stand in the door opening. The bloodied armour was a far cry from the bone white he'd seen before. Her soulstone the same red of a fresh wound. From behind her red-maned helmet, she looked down at him, holding her pistol along her hip in a grip hard enough to surely make her knuckles go white, the other arm hung behind her, the broken gauntlet mis-coloured by her own blood. Her breaths were heavy but even, she treated the wound like it was a scratch. Something else was off about her, something far graver.

He felt it to his bone marrow, her soul, it was like the stench of a cut-down corpse reanimated, a promise of violence and death. Even if she couldn't feel it she was in pain, everyone else had just left her to it but not him. Her armour belonged to a murderer but he still just wanted to run up and hug her.

"Mother! Your arm mor… what happened?"

"Your hand is unworthy of a banshees blade" Her words were seething enough to burn Callin's tranz of seeing her again. She walked calmly towards him with silent steps, hilting her smoothly designed pistol in its holster.

"You should… you must go to a healer!" he said. He wanted to keep his voice steady to seem sure in himself but it cracked quickly in fear of her life.

"There are still mon-keigh defiling our home" Her tone still seething but easily controlled "You are too weak for the battle child, leave before you block our path" Like if he was a mundane panting with nothing to offer she looked back to her sword.

"Then let's leave now, come I know a short way!" He gestured frantically towards the door.

"Have you daft hearing child? I said the mon-keigh infection lingers"

"But… but" Stupidity would have been expecting his mother to happily come along with him but he couldn't have prepared for this "The other Howling Banshees returned long ago, you can come home now" The maidens of Isha could patch her up in no time and they could just go home.

"Where is this home you speak of then? The whole craftworld has suffered. There is no place to hide and no place shall our foes be given rest". The voice was hers but the words were not, like a stranger possessed her and carried her soul like some garish accessory.

"What are you talking about? Our home of course! You're just tired mor, if you just rest you'll be back to normal I swear on my soulstone!". His hands flew up to his soul stone on the right side of his chest, as if to demonstrate.

"We won't tell you again, leave, return if you grow starved for vengeance" She hissed in a tone darker than the void.

This wasn't her, it couldn't be. A few cycles ago she tuned on a simple silver ring and told him of all the things she would make, that was her.

Instinctively he took her hand again but instead of holding on to it, he pushed the silver ring into her palm.

"You said you would change your path, you wanted to be Dynvana the smith." His throat felt sore and unsteady when he spoke. Upon hearing her old name the banshee staggered. It was as pure starlight to Callin that something in her remembered. "Remember the sketches you planned on making in silver?"

Opening her hand she looked at the simple little ring. The young child looked at his mother intensely. Hidden behind the helmet and soul made hostile to him he could only guess what she felt. Perplexed, aghast, infuriated or nostalgic?

The dull grey glimmered weakly in her hand, it fell down as if she waved away dirt. With a clear 'cling' the silver hit the floor. It rolled between them until it stopped at his shoes.

The cling seemed to last forever in his ears. His hands went numb as he plucked the ring up, now his fingers trembled out of control. "No it's yours," he said weakly, like he'd just been scolded. For a second the sound of screaming metal filled the room as the banshee pulled out her sword in a single motion. Without difficulty, she turned to walk away. Callin clutched the warrior's wounded hand the same way he had done since before he could walk. In turn, the warrior gave no sign of having felt it.

"No please wait, I can't go back without you, Lanmar is gone and father won't speak to me, he doesn't want to speak to anyone. It's lonely at home and-and I don't know what to do".

She ripped her hand out of his, it was worse than being slapped.

"Do you think this is the worst within the galaxy, even the worst within their bloated Imperium?" With a swing, the tip of her sword nearly made contact with the mon-keighs helmet.

"Pray to all of our dead gods that you may never cross with the mon-keigh species again, remain out of sight of the Drukhari and stay free from the maw of She-who-thirsts. They are below reason and will come for you first". She spoke without anger, only disgust. From the corridor, Callin could hear fast uneven footsteps.

It came upon him that he didn't truly know why the mon-keigh had come here. He had heard it was just in their nature but there must have been something that could be done. Callin didn't want to believe this could happen again.

"Lanmar said it was my grandsires who's the cause of this…" Callin recalled his uncle's mumbles.

"It's in the shadow of the within the vilest grow," His mother said simply

He didn't understand what she meant but he still grew more scared.

The sound from the corridor got closer until a guardian emerged from the doorway. He carried none of the invulnerableness the banshee had. Hand on his left side he covered a gaping wound making it seem more like he had dragged himself to move.

"Exarch, more of the mon-keigh have been spotted" he sounded out of breath and like he would fall at any moment. "Callin? In all of Isha's mercy, how are you here?" The guardian whoever it was recognized him but it was the least of his worries now.

"Come home" Callin didn't manage more than to whisper.

The banshee looked at him. His mother usually cooed her head in a specific way, the banshee did as well. Natural as the sword unsheated she turned away and left. He wanted to scream after her but it died in his throat, there was no air in him anymore.

Get up! Just get up, he could do something. But his legs wouldn't listen as he slumped to the ground.

The guardian said something to his mother that to the young eldar just sounded like a mumbled mess, maybe he heard his own name. She gave the guardian a dispassionate nod or so he thought, it became hard to keep the focus on her as his vision blurred. He had never felt more pathetic when he didn't manage more than a hoarse whisper. What he actually said he didn't know, words tried to form but in the end, they just fell out of his mouth.

By his shoulders, two hands gently pulled him up from his kneeling. Had he not been allowed to lean against the guardian's cold armour he would have fallen back down. A soft voice spoke to him, unmuffled by a helmet he recognised easily.

"Just breathe Callin" Lanmar calmed.

Now he noticed he lost control over his lungs too. Wanting nothing more than to push his uncle aside and run after her, he couldn't do much else than what he did.

"M-mm-make her come back!" Callin pleaded between sobs.

"There's no- I.. I'm.. sorry…" Lanmar mourned.

"But something.. Anything! Just tell her..!"

"It-it.. Please… " His shaking voice wasn't under his control "You should be at home Callin".

It took Callin some time to gather himself together to respond. "I don't wanna… I don't want to see father"

"I see… what happened to your eye?" Lanmar asked wearily.

Not looking Lanmar in the eyes Callin remained silent. He wasn't sure how long time had passed when Lanmar spoke to him again.

"We can stay as long as you need but we have to return home"