Summary:
As the great fight approaches, our protagonists rest and take their time to prepare for the upcoming challenge. Thalindra unfortunately cant pear at the treads to see what waits for them which further complicates things. But all stay focused and with their faith in Marcus to lead them to victory.
Ellyn starts the first steps towards the rescue of Thalindra, going to the Dark City itself to speak with an informant who can track the Farseer's whereabouts.
Shadows of the Dark City 14
"Ok, that sounds stupid," Arella said through her hood, her mouth forming a thin line as she pondered the story Ellyn had just finished sharing about Thalindra's capture.
"Are you sure that whoever asked you to retrieve the Witch is trustworthy? Because a lot of things in this story are highly unlikely."
Ellyn had to restrain herself from showing annoyance at the information broker's questioning. She had spent the last ten minutes providing a detailed explanation, only for Arella to pick it apart.
"Yes, the information is solid. Everything I just told you is as it is," Ellyn replied, keeping her tone steady.
The Drukhari scratched her chin, her expression betraying clear doubt about the whole ordeal.
"Look, I don't know how well you understand the inner workings of the Dark City, but here, we have a rigorous policy about anyone touched by the Ether inside our walls. A Kabal capturing and bringing a Witch of all people... it's not just extremely unlikely—it's suicidal."
Ellyn nodded. She was familiar with many of the unspoken rules that governed life within Commorragh. The rule about keeping those with the "gift" away from the city was one of the most well-known, even to outsiders.
"Our society is not exactly known for adhering to rules," Arella continued, "but there's one that every Drukhari who values their life follows: Don't bring Witches or practitioners into our borders. That decree came from the Supreme Overlord himself."
This title was infamous, even beyond the Dark City. Anyone who traded with the Dark Kin for long enough came to know the name behind it—a name most Eldar dreaded uttering aloud.
"And let me tell you, he meant it when he forbade it. Plenty of fools have done the same dumb shit as this Kaltharis guy you just mentioned. Most, if not all, were dispatched swiftly and quietly—a clear message from the Dark Lord himself. He weeds out anyone who might cause catastrophe and risk another Dysjunction."
"I see..." was all the Corsair Queen could manage to say. Arella's explanation made it easy to understand her doubts about the situation. But the facts remained., as whether unlikely or not, these events had occurred. Ellyn had been tasked with saving the daughter of an old and dear friend, and she would see it through.
"Even though I understand your explanation and the strange nature of all the events that brought me here," Ellyn said, her voice resolute, "it happened. Kaltharis Vex of the Kabal of the Obsidian Fang has her. And if there's anyone here in Commorragh who can find her whereabouts, it's you."
Arella sighed loudly, her voice cracking with annoyance. She was still doubtful that the story was true, but even if it is true the chances of this particular Archon getting flak from it and the Witch by proxy was almost certain, unless this particular Drukhari had some favor with the higher chair.
"Look, your whole story is weird, but still I'll look into it. However, the chances of your target being alive are almost zero. There is only one particular scenario where the Witch is still alive, and if it is that, let's hope I'm wrong. Otherwise, your rescue operation just got considerably harder."
The last bit got Ellyn confused, what scenario was this? Why did it make things harder?
"What scenario?"
Arella paused, looking around the crowd before asking for Ellyn to get closer to her so she could whisper.
"That Kaltharis has a friend in a high place, especially with someone few dare to mess with. The one who has ears and blades throughout Commorrogah, the face of all Drukhari, The Archon of Archons himself."
"You don't mean-"
"Asdrubael Vect. Only he could turn a blind eye to such a fact, not likely but still, this is the best possibility if your Witch is still alive."
Things just got more complicated if Arella was right, Ellyn sighed loudly as she thought somberly. I know is pretty selfish of me to think like this, but I hope the Archon and Thalindra are dead, cause otherwise we just got ourselves into the middle of a storm of epic proportions.
Marcus waited until everyone had fallen asleep before indulging in his guilty pleasure: reading his favorite book. He opened to one of the many acts, quickly finding one of his most cherished passages.
"But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she..."
His deep and steady voice softened as he read the lines in perfect Gothic. His purple eyes, usually sharp and commanding amidst the chaos of battle, now appeared distant, absorbed by the beauty of the words. Each syllable flowed from his lips with a tenderness that seemed foreign to a man who had led troops through the hell of war.
How he envied the protagonists of the story. Despite their tragic fates, Romeo and Juliet had chosen to abandon their duties, forsaking all else to pursue their love. Marcus could not imagine himself doing the same.
Perhaps it was his mother's teachings, which had instilled in him the importance of self-denial in service to the Emperor. Or maybe it was the years he had spent with the Astra Militarum, where he had learned that his purpose was to act as a shield against the horrors threatening not just his home but his entire species. Whatever the reason, Marcus could not picture himself abandoning his responsibilities as an Imperial Captain for his own selfish desires.
Love, in a universe as cruel and unrelenting as this one, was a luxury. Finding it was akin to unearthing a precious gem, but the reality was rarely accommodating to such fragile and beautiful connections.
Marcus was not blind to love. He had witnessed it often among his peers. Since his youth, he had seen fellow Guardsmen and Guardswomen forming bonds of romance. Many argued that in a profession where death was certain, finding love among comrades offered a fleeting glimpse of normalcy, a taste of a life they would never otherwise know. For some, it was the only way to experience what love was.
Yet the universe's cold hand always intervened. He had seen so many of these relationships end in tragedy, with one partner cradling the other as they succumbed to mortal wounds. The trenches of war were already harrowing, but the added weight of losing a loved one in such a brutal fashion seemed unbearable. The "sun" described in his beloved book was extinguished, leaving only the suffocating darkness of despair.
This was what Marcus feared most. Despite countless opportunities throughout his career to pursue romantic connections, he had never allowed himself to reciprocate. The horror of enduring such pain—a pain he had witnessed far too often—kept him from entertaining the thought. He had seen enough suffering, carried enough scars on his body from countless battles, and bore the emotional wounds of losing everyone he had ever cared for.
He couldn't face the prospect of adding more pain to the ledger. For Marcus, it was better to leave some things untouched, and love, he believed, was one of them.
"Interesting literature you have there. I did not take you as a person who enjoyed fiction, especially romance," came Thalindra's smooth and graceful voice.
Despite being the tallest of their party, she had somehow soundlessly ended her meditation and now stood beside Marcus, leaning against the wall and reading the text on the pages before him.
Marcus gave a startled yelp, caught red-handed indulging in what he considered a shameful book. He had especially not wanted the Seer to discover it. The Imperial already had enough challenges trying to keep his thoughts disciplined to avoid embarrassing situations.
"By the holy almighty Throne, you scared the shit out of me!" he hissed, pressing a hand to his chest in an effort to calm his racing heart. He kept his voice low, careful not to wake the others sleeping nearby.
Thalindra couldn't suppress a smile. His startled reaction was far more amusing than she had expected.
"Look, how in the Emperor's good name did you manage to sneak up on me, considering you're bigger than an Astartes?"
Her smile of amusement shifted to one of teasing. "Well, if you were not so enthralled by your book, you probably would have noticed me."
Marcus flushed, though he would sooner die than admit it. Under normal circumstances, someone like him would have instinctively sensed something approaching, but he had grown so accustomed to the Xenos's presence that his mind had begun to lower its guard around her.
The realization unnerved him. His vigilance was a skill painstakingly developed through years of training, first by his mother, who had instilled in him a constant readiness, and later honed by the relentless dangers of his reality. It had been a crucial factor in his survival through countless nightmares.
With a sigh, Marcus closed the book and tucked it into the pocket of his trench coat. "Look, don't mention this to anyone. Got it? I've got enough on my plate without dealing with my men laughing at me."
Thalindra gave a small nod, her expression returning to its usual calm, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Now, why are you here and not with your warrior over there?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you needed to meditate to regenerate your mind, as you put it."
"Yes, I need to meditate," she replied evenly. "It is part of what the Path demands. But your essence disturbed me out of it."
Marcus perked up at her words. Thalindra's language and ways remained mysterious to him. Terms like essence, soul, aura, and mind were ones she had used before, but he still struggled to grasp their meaning.
He was no uncultured backwater agri-farmer, but his background had not prepared him for delving into spiritual matters. His duty lay in firing upon enemies, not deciphering the state of their souls. Such tasks were typically the domain of the Ecclesiarchy, who roamed battlefields to safeguard the spiritual purity of the Imperium's defenders.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
Marcus felt it was important to understand what she meant when she brought up these cryptic notions. It might have been beyond his role within the team, but if Thalindra persisted in remarking on it, it was his duty as a leader to heed its potential significance.
"Your essence—the fire of your soul—was flaring dully again," she explained, her tone measured. "I could not help myself but try to understand the source of it. I know you dislike anyone prying into your private matters, so I ask for your pardon for my curiosity."
"It's fine," Marcus replied, though he furrowed his brow. "Although what you just said is a little hard to understand."
Thalindra nodded, her movements fluid as she slid gracefully down the wall to sit beside him. Settling into a lotus position, she kept her gaze fixed on him.
"Don't worry. I don't expect you to understand it—at least, not yet. However, I wish to talk about that book you were reading..."
Marcus let out a loud sigh. Here it comes, he thought, closing his eyes in frustration and shame. He didn't know if the Eldar shared a similar sense of humor with humans, but if they did, she was sure to make some clever remarks at his expense.
"Ask away," he said resignedly.
"This book," Thalindra began, her tone still calm and analytical, "employs a far more refined version of your language. While it may still be far from matching the elegance of mine, it is surprisingly beautiful and complex. Furthermore, compared to many of your species' texts I have studied, this one is structured in an entirely different way than the average Imperial materials found on your front lines. So, what exactly is this particular work you are reading?"
Marcus had been preparing himself for jest or teasing, so Thalindra's genuine question caught him off guard. The Captain found it strangely refreshing to speak openly about his secret, forbidden pleasure.
"It's an old and classic book written in our remote past, in an age lost to time and records," he began, his tone cautious yet earnest. "A relic of a bygone era. At least, that's what I heard when I took this book from a fellow Anglerre officer I met on Havalon Prime. Well, the equivalent at least, knights command the Guardsmen over there. Also lucky to be one of the very few post-founding copies written in ancient High-Gothic."
"I presume then that it is quite a valuable piece of literature for your kind," Thalindra observed, her tone neutral but tinged with curiosity.
The Imperial shrugged, pulling the book from his pocket and glancing at the hard leather cover.
"In a different time, maybe," he admitted. "Nowadays, it's either completely ignored for being a 'fantasy' book or considered a problematic read because it supposedly promotes 'tolerance' and love with enemies. The older stories they keep either are about fighting or noble ideals. Anglois love that stuff."
Thalindra's eyes glinted with an emotion Marcus couldn't quite place, but her demeanor made it clear his words had stirred something within her.
"It's a shame," she said, her voice carrying a solemn weight. "Even though I'm not familiar with the work itself, it appears to have merit, even by my standards. But after dealing with your kind for a while, it's hard not to notice the destruction your Imperium has wrought upon the legacy of mankind itself. How many libraries, paintings, and entire repositories of knowledge and creativity have been burned to ensure this distorted vision of 'purity'? How much has been lost in the name of protecting humanity by erasing its own legacy, identity, and history? To safeguard your kind by destroying what makes you human in the first place—where is the sense in that?"
If he had heard such words five years ago, Marcus would have shot the one who dared to speak them without a second thought. But now, after everything he had experienced, he was far more inclined to sigh heavily than argue. He knew, deep down, that she was right.
He had sacrificed many bright men and women in the line of duty to uphold those very ideals. He had watched promising lives snuffed out in the chaos of battle and had obeyed orders to commit unspeakable acts—purging a sister regiment deemed heretical by some faceless higher-up. The weight of it all bore down on him, a grim testament to the truths Thalindra had voiced.
After all he had endured, the Captain had come to understand the grim inner workings of the Imperium far better than most. This awareness made him more critical and deeply reflective on the concept of humanity itself. Even the bodies of fallen soldiers, denied the dignity of a dutiful rest, were repurposed—sometimes as spare parts for the wounded, or, in grimmer cases, processed into the infamous slop known as corpse starch.
Thalindra's questions had been precise, cutting through to truths he already knew all too well. Yet, despite her sharp observations, Marcus had a response for the Seer.
"The Imperium has a lot of problems," he began, his tone measured. "Some far worse than others. So, I get it. I understand where you're coming from. But let's be honest here. Humanity has been facing countless threats alone from all sides of the galaxy for eons. If the Emperor himself hadn't extended his hand to save us, we'd have been gone long ago. I know my people have a lot of flaws, but they exist for a reason—reality being one of them."
Thalindra kept her gaze steady on him, her body language now shifting from frustrated to curious, as though she were studying every nuance of his explanation.
"This galaxy breeds these problems," Marcus continued. "There's no peace amongst the stars, only the eternal fires of raging war and desperation. Can we blame a predator for hunting prey if the only thing it eats is meat? That's the reality, and if the Imperium weren't as flawed as it is, we wouldn't endure. If sacrificing everything you mentioned—our humanity—is the price we have to pay just to survive another day, then we'd make that choice ten times over. And we hope that one day, we won't need to pay such a dire price for the luxury of existing. Because the alternative? It's death."
Her eyes widened slightly at his words, her lips parting as though caught off guard. Thalindra's gaze shimmered with an emotion Marcus couldn't quite identify, but its intensity left him unsettled.
"I don't know about your kind," Marcus pressed on, "but my people don't go down without a fight. We'll do whatever it takes to win this. I know we're frail compared to many of the species out there, and the dangers we face are beyond measure. But we'll fight for our existence, even if it's the last thing we do. That's what people—humans—are like."
The Farseer stood silent, her eyes locked on his with an indescribable intensity. Marcus felt a strange tingling sensation ripple through him, as though his very core were reacting to her gaze. Goosebumps spread across his skin unbidden, and he wondered why he felt so unnerved.
What was she thinking? What was it about his words that made her eyes radiate such unspoken energy? Then, her voice broke the silence. It was calm and serious, each word spoken with the clarity of realization, as though she had just solved a puzzle or unraveled some cosmic truth.
"You're different," Thalindra said, her tone carrying a weight that lingered in the air.
This simple statement puzzled him, as was often the case with her.
"I hope that whatever you meant by that is a compliment..."
She gave a brief smile at his remark.
"It is. What I meant is that, among all the humans I have interacted with, you are one of the few who does not shy away from reality. And one who did not react violently to my words, as many of your kind would."
Marcus let her words sink in, keeping his gaze fixed on her. He appreciated what she had said, though he felt inclined to explain himself.
"Once you live long enough on the front lines to see what I've seen, to lose so much in the line of duty, and to witness how things work on a larger scale than the trenches, it becomes hard not to realize that some things are indeed wrong with the Imperium. It also helps that my unit hasn't been assigned a Commissar for at least two campaigns, giving me and some of my men leeway to think about things. But still, as I said, even with all the bullshit, what holds humanity together right now is the Imperium and the Emperor, who keeps shining his guiding light for us to follow..."
A heavy pause followed as the Imperial let out a long sigh.
"That being said, I'm above all a realist, this is what has made me sane for so long, and also allowed my unit to survive. Reality doesn't care about our fantasies, goals, or desires. Reality simply is. Denying it makes you either a lunatic or a liar, and I'm neither."
For a moment, Marcus stopped to reflect on why he was divulging so much to a Xenos like her. In the trenches, he would have gone straight to the point, delivering a swift lesson on his many musings before ordering his men back to their duties. The Captain was not a talkative man. Yet, ever since this Eldar had appeared, he found it increasingly difficult to resist the urge to open up, even just a little.
Years of keeping himself closed off might have played a part in this, but deep down, he suspected it was far more related to the natural, caring nature of Thalindra. Little by little, she was pushing him out of his shell, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. On one hand, it was liberating—he finally felt inclined to form genuine personal connections again. On the other hand, the fear of enduring the same pain of losing close friends in this cruel galaxy was as real and as sharp as ever.
"And about 'reacting violently' to your words, as you so well put it—if you had known me a good five years ago, you wouldn't think that. That, I guarantee you..."
This made her laugh. It was quiet and simple, but his serious words had somehow brought a smile to her face. He didn't know how to react—whether to feel proud for making her laugh, even accidentally, or frustrated that she would break into laughter during such a serious moment.
"Well, then I'm glad I've come to know you now and not five years ago," she jested, her eyes shining with a fleeting happiness sparked by his words.
For once, they were having a more personal conversation, one that Marcus didn't shut down or walk away from. This time, he felt compelled to talk, even though she was a Xenos. For a brief moment, he wondered if she had bewitched him somehow with those aquamarine eyes of hers. To be honest, if she had, he doubted he could do anything to counter it.
"So, why exactly does this book make your essence react negatively?"
Her question brought his thoughts to an abrupt halt. The Captain froze, thrown off by the casually delivered question. She spoke as if she were asking about the weather, and he struggled to make sense of her kind. From the very beginning, Thalindra had acted as though the concept of privacy didn't exist, particularly when it came to personal matters like feelings.
His thoughts had always been an open book to her, though since their last heated discussion, the Seer had refrained from openly commenting on them—until now. This time, however, she wasn't as aggressive as usual. Instead, she seemed to be treating it as a normal conversation.
"Well... I..."
He attempted to form a coherent sentence or a proper answer, torn between shutting her down, as he'd done many times before, or responding to her inquiry. In the end, he managed neither, stammering a string of barely cohesive words. With such a simple question, Thalindra had managed to unnerve him completely.
The Captain was good at many things, but expressing his feelings was not one of them. He still felt uneasy sharing private aspects of his life with anyone, let alone a Xenos. While he trusted Thalindra to a degree, she was not human. If navigating relationships with his own kind was already complicated, he could only imagine how much more challenging it would be to do so with her.
"As I trod my path," she began, her voice calm and reflective, "I also had to denounce many things—romance being one of them. Being a Farseer is often incompatible with building a family and meaningful, lasting relationships. Some Seers manage to balance both and achieve a modicum of normalcy when not navigating the currents of fate. But not me."
It was clear she had read his mind once again, but this time was different. Unlike before, when she had addressed his thoughts and feelings head-on, Thalindra was sharing an aspect of her own life with him. He didn't know why she chose to do so now, but he would be lying if he claimed he wasn't curious to learn more about the Eldar who had saved his life.
"Since I began to understand my place in the grand tapestry, I have strived to be a tool for my people's survival. I didn't care what I needed to sacrifice to ensure just another day for my kin. At first, I walked the path of the mighty Howling Banshee, killing many in the name of Khaine and for the safety of my home..."
The Captain stood silently, allowing her to speak. He could grasp some of her reasoning, though much of what she said still eluded him.
"My mind was set on spilling as much blood as was needed. Those times were simpler, funnily enough. I still had my Warmask, so most of the things I did in the field were completely obscured from my mind..."
"Warmask?" Marcus's voice broke the moment, his confusion evident.
"A Warmask is... well, think of it as a part of us that we set aside until it is needed. You humans often speak of 'duty' and 'sacrifice' in battle, but for us, it is a deeply internal process—a shift within our minds."
Thalindra made a small pause before continuing.
"When we don the Warmask, we become warriors in the purest sense. It allows us to strip away everything that could distract us—fear, doubt, even the parts of ourselves that are vulnerable to pain or hesitation. All that remains is focus, purpose, and clarity of intent. It's as if the part of us that lives, loves, and dreams step back, leaving only the part that fights."
The Captain nodded, his expression thoughtful. He understood some aspects of what she described, but others were harder to grasp.
"So, it's like shutting down your mind to make room for another, one made especially for war?"
Thalindra smiled softly at his words. The Seer was pleased that the human had managed to follow her explanation, though she knew he still struggled to fully comprehend many facets of it.
"You are indeed correct," she affirmed.
"You guys are weird, but I'm not going to lie, I would love to have that ability. It would help me a lot with, well, you know, my head and stuff..."
This made her let out a short giggle, her hand going in front of her mouth to muffle the sound so as not to wake the humans beside them.
"Yes, the main idea behind it is exactly that, so it is indeed quite useful. However..."
The Eldar paused, searching for the right words. "...there is danger in it. The Warmask is a powerful thing, but it can be seductive. If one lingers within it too long, it becomes difficult to return to oneself. I've seen warriors who forgot how to take it off, losing themselves to their bloodlust. We call them Exarchs, and they are revered yet mourned, for they can never walk any path but war again. The same path my father took ages before I was born."
"Wow..." Marcus's response was short but filled with wonder. The Eldar were truly alien to him. Even though they looked so similar to humans, this facet of their kin was completely foreign to his understanding.
After another brief pause, the Imperial coughed into his hand, preparing to ask something that had caught his attention during their conversation.
"You said 'when I had my Warmask.' What do you mean by that?"
Thalindra hesitated. She struggled to find a simple way to explain, one that a human might understand. The matter was far too complex to condense into a few words. She took a deep breath before responding.
"You see, the role of a Farseer requires us to be connected to the infinite threads of fate, constantly aware of the countless futures unfolding before us. To don a Warmask would mean shutting out that awareness, focusing only on the immediate moment. And yet, it is precisely that awareness that defines our purpose. We cannot afford the simplicity of such a mask, for we must act not just in the present, but with full knowledge of how each decision ripples through time."
"So, in other words, you're just like me—aware of all the horrors happening around us. By the Emperor, for you, it must be even worse since you can see many things that we can't."
For the first time in their conversation, the Eldar appeared visibly frustrated by his reply.
"Suffering is something that cannot be measured. Each has its own weight. So don't compare yours to mine; it is not fair to me, and it is not fair to you."
An awkward silence settled between the two, the Seer's frustration making Marcus feel uncomfortable. Both now staring ahead and then to the sides to make sure their conversation hadn't stirred the others awake.
"What I meant to tell you is that I know the feeling. I too was a prisoner of my own duties, of the role I needed to perform for the future of my kin..."
Thalindra sighed loudly as she reached the steps of her spire. Her clothes were torn in the extremities, her blade that was still in the sheath reeked of blood even though it was dried, and her sensitive nose caught the putrid scent of the decaying liquid all the way back to her home.
The situation was not worse due to her letting her staff back at the dome of the Seers, so in the next cycle, she could make the proper repairs and adjustments. Using it as a spear to impale Space Marines was not the best approach to use the weapon, but at that moment she had to do whatever it took to survive even using her blade to pierce their tough yet primitive armor.
Using her mind to open the front door, it opened effortlessly without a sound as the Seer stepped up inside the spacious abode she called home.
The living room was a serene, softly lit space dominated by flowing, organic lines. The walls, adorned with delicate patterns resembling interwoven vines, subtly glowed in hues of lavender and silver. The flooring was a smooth, polished material that reflected light faintly, like moonlit water.
A central seating area featured low, curving furniture upholstered in pale lilac fabric, soft and inviting. Cushions embroidered with intricate star motifs scattered across the seating, adding a touch of comfort. A translucent table of wraithbone stood in the center, its surface etched with runes that softly pulse with psychic energy.
Throughout the room, an impressive collection of plants thrives in elegant planters shaped like spiraling, organic sculptures. Each plant was unique, ranging from delicate, bioluminescent flowers that shimmered in the dim light to cascading vines that drape gracefully from hanging fixtures. Small, crystal-clear orbs suspended in the air provided gentle illumination, casting a soft glow over the greenery.
At one corner of the room, a wraithbone shelf displayed carefully arranged artifacts, including rune stones, a polished spare-bladed staff that her mother had made in case her other was lost, and small, iridescent crystals. A larger planter beside it hosted a vibrant, flowering tree with pale blue blossoms, its branches reaching upward like hands in prayer.
The air is filled with a faint, calming scent of blossoms and a hint of incense, enhancing the room's tranquil atmosphere. This space was not only her retreat, but a reflection of her aspirations.
While many might have considered her aloof, distant, or even cold, Thalindra, deep down, was someone who truly enjoyed being surrounded by objects that evoked nature and pleasant aromas. It was no accident that her favorite place in Ulthwe was the Gardens of the Old Tree.
Yet, despite all these efforts to soothe her exhausted and worried mind, nothing could dispel the smell that clung to her blade. As she dragged herself toward her room, she paused in front of her most cherished companion within these walls—a small shrub with plain green leaves, its size modest and unassuming compared to the far more beautiful plants in her collection.
"Caraid…"
Thalindra muttered softly as she touched its leaves, smooth and cool beneath her fingers. Though simpler than the others in her living room, this plant held a special significance. Its very existence was a miracle. She had found the shrub amidst the debris on one of the many Imperial worlds she had visited, though the name of the planet now eluded her memory.
The scene surrounding it had been nothing short of a nightmare: bodies, blood, and viscera strewn everywhere. Spent artillery shells and primitive weaponry littered the ground between piles of deceased humans. Yet amidst the sea of red, brown, and gray, there it stood—a small, delicate shrub, its vibrant green leaves shining through the grim color palette of the battlefield.
When her eyes had fallen upon it, the Farseer hadn't hesitated. She had gently unearthed the fragile plant, determined to bring it back to her home—a sanctuary where it could thrive, far from the terrors of war raging around it.
Since then, the shrub, which she had named Caraid—a word in her language meaning "Friend" or "the one who understands/cherishes me"—had become her confidant. Over the millennia, as she walked the perilous path of a Farseer, it had borne silent witness to her many frustrations and traumas.
But tonight, she was too weary to confide in even her closest companion. After a final, lingering touch to its leaves, Thalindra dragged herself to her room, eager for a long and much-needed rest following her arduous mission.
As the delicate door opened, it revealed her personal quarters. The room was modest in size but brimming with personality. The walls were adorned with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, each neatly packed with an eclectic assortment of artifacts, trinkets, and mementos from countless campaigns. Glistening crystal shards, fragments of ancient runes, weathered Imperial relics, and even an Ork's crude, polished glyph sat side by side. Despite the abundance of items, everything was arranged with care, suggesting a deeper meaning or memory tied to each piece.
A sleek, wraithbone bed occupied one corner, its design minimalist but elegant. The bed was covered in soft, silken sheets of deep violet, with a single pillow embroidered with Ulthwé's sigil. Beside it, a small bedside table supported a softly glowing orb of wraithbone that cast a gentle, ambient light across the room. Stacked nearby were a few leather-bound journals and a delicate tea set—a rare Eldar luxury she treasured.
The floor was mostly clear, save for a soft rug patterned with abstract shapes and runes. However, tucked into corners and along the edges of the room were more collected items: a meticulously cleaned Tau Fire Warrior helmet, a beautifully preserved Lictor claw, a crumbling leather-bound book written in High Gothic, and a small potted plant she had saved from an Exodite world.
At the far end of the room, a low desk sat beneath a window that provided a sweeping view of the Craftworld's interior. The desk was immaculate, with carefully arranged tools for rune casting and star charts spread across its surface. A faint psychic hum emanated from a collection of glowing rune stones resting in an ornate holder. This was no surprise, considering it was made of Wraithbone. Above the desk hung a single piece of art—an abstract painting of swirling black and gold patterns, reminiscent of the Eye of the goddess Isha.
Despite the overwhelming array of objects, the room felt harmonious, a reflection of her ability to weave order into chaos. Each item told a story, a piece of her journey, mementos from past adventures—a habit she had picked up from her mentor, who had struggled with hoarding objects. However, she was far more careful in arranging them in an orderly fashion.
Coming right to the footing of her bed, Thalindra simply unbuckled her belt, letting her weapon fall to the ground with a soft clunk. Afterward, she promptly threw herself face-first into the perfumed sheets.
The seer couldn't recall when sleep had taken her to the realm of dreams, but she certainly remembered the sound of her room's door opening.
"Morning, my Chernesh! I hope you had a good rest. Your mother had to hold me down from running here as soon as I heard the news that you arrived," came her father's voice as he stepped into her room.
Althorin stood at the foot of her bed, his eyes filled with pride and relief.
"Morning, Father..."
The Seer rubbed her eyes in an attempt to shake off the remnants of sleep clouding her awakening mind. As soon as she managed to regain her bearings, she rose to properly greet the Exarch. They exchanged a gentle and brief hug.
"So, how did it go, this last mission against the Mon-keigh?"
With that simple question, it all came rushing back to her—the ordeal they had endured, the countless close calls to death she and her Warhost had faced. She remembered how they had narrowly avoided the tendrils of fate closing in around them. They had been incredibly fortunate to escape with their lives, and the blood on her blade, still reeking of decay even after a cycle's worth of rest, stood as grim evidence of their struggle.
Her father, always the perceptive one, noticed her distress the moment her eyes drifted to the sheathed blade at the foot of the bed. Althorin quickly caught the faint, acrid scent of the blood clinging to it and swiftly discerned the source of her unease.
"Never mind. You don't need to answer that," he said softly, his tone reassuring.
"I appreciate it..." she responded, her voice just as quiet as she averted her gaze from the weapon. She took a few moments to regain her composure before meeting his eyes again.
"So, are you to eat with us? Your siblings are eager to see you. Even Aelyndor has taken a day off just to meet you."
Thalindra smiled at the invitation. She loved her family dearly. While her mind was always set on her duties as a Farseer, her heart longed to be with them. Yet, a question lingered in her mind.
The last time she had been home, she and her mother had ended up in an argument. Aralith had made her desires clear—she wanted Thalindra to choose a mate and leave behind offspring. Her mother's greatest fear was that Thalindra would leave no legacy beyond her feats in the name of Ulthwé.
Aralith, though compassionate, was a persistent woman. She did not take kindly to a refusal, especially when she believed her cause to be just.
It was almost certain that Aralith would broach the subject again. Right now, Thalindra wasn't sure she was ready to argue about her future, not after such an exhausting and dangerous mission.
With a soft sigh, she voiced her doubts.
"Is Mother still hung up on the whole finding a mate thing?"
Her question made Althorin pause. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, his hesitation plain.
"Would you believe me if I said no?"
Another sigh escaped her, this one louder. Her father was terrible at lying. She didn't need to read minds to know exactly what he was thinking.
"Then I politely refuse. I'm in no mood to argue about it with her."
"Look, Thalindra..." Althorin's tone turned serious as he sat on her bed, pulling her down beside him. His eyes locked onto hers, earnest and unwavering.
"Your mother is just worried about you. It's been many years since you dedicated yourself fully to the path of vision. Since then, you've grown even more distant from us. I know you push yourself harder than anyone I've ever known, and that you strive to be the tool Ulthwé needs to ensure our survival."
"But Chernesh, you are also our daughter. We want to see you happy, to have a fulfilling existence—one where you don't lose yourself staring endlessly at the tapestry of fate. All those who were your age when you began this path are either dead or parents of many children. We don't want you to belong to the first group, at least not while we're still here."
She listened in silence as her father poured out his concerns. Thalindra understood their rationale. It was natural for parents to fear for their children.
But even so, her kin and Ulthwé were more important than her personal happiness. Besides, she felt she was too old and had too little patience for the intricacies of courting, let alone the bearing of children. It was a process that could take many cycles to begin, and then, once conception happened, it would take Isha-knew-how-long to bring a child into the world.
Such a path would only interfere with her duty as a protector of their floating home. Many others like her had paid the price to help their kind live in peace within the Craftworld. Someone had to bear the burden to ensure their survival amidst the nightmares that lurked just outside their doors.
She would be that person—it was her purpose, her duty. As long as there was a threat to her people, she would remain the "Shadow of Ulthwé." From the moment she had understood the perils surrounding them, Thalindra had resolved to be a defender of those who could not defend themselves, to ensure her kin would survive and thrive.
"Father, as I said before, I understand, but you have to bear in mind that—"
The Exarch raised his hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. His eyes were filled with hesitation and sorrow.
"While you were away, Lirandil finally chose a mate. His wife is already expecting."
The words stopped her completely. This news brought all her previous thoughts to a halt.
"...Wha—What?"
She stammered, confusion and sadness evident as her final word trembled.
"I didn't wish to be the one to share this news, but he officially gave up on courting you a year ago, before you went on this last incursion. That's why your mother was so insistent back then. She knew his patience was running thin, as well as his time. His hair is already starting to gray, my Chernesh. He does not age as we do."
"I... I..."
Thalindra struggled to find words to describe her feelings. Since they were children, she and Lirandil had been close—far closer than any other friendship she had formed, even after she began walking the path of Khaine. Both were two thousand and five hundred years old, but their paths had diverged sharply. He had become an artisan, while she had dedicated herself to being a warrior. Yet, despite their differences, they had remained in constant contact throughout their lives.
When Lirandil had come to her family to announce his courtship of her, it had taken everyone by surprise—even Thalindra herself. He had always been well aware of her ambitions and her duty. After his declaration, they spent time together attending concerts and walking through their favorite spots.
But even with all that, she had been unable to return his feelings. She had already devoted herself too completely to her path. Being a Farseer was the only thing she could imagine herself doing. If she had known of his intentions earlier, perhaps she might have considered leaving her path to be with him. Even then, she doubted it. Her duty to her people was simply too consuming, too vital to set aside, even for love.
It was a bittersweet feeling. On the one hand, she was happy for him. She genuinely cared for his well-being, and knowing now that her oldest friend had finally secured a family and a legacy brought her joy. On the other hand, she felt a deep, consuming void—a void fitting for those who had lost themselves to their paths, as she had. It was the feeling of being trapped in a single ambition, unable to excel in anything beyond it.
Some, like her father, managed to build a life outside their path, but she knew that for her, she was first and foremost a Farseer, and only then Thalindra. That realization was a bitter truth. With this revelation, the weight of being left behind by her dearest friend settled heavily in her mind. The stark reality of her future—either death or solitude—haunted her as she stared at her collection.
Her room was filled with mementos: tokens of her survival and reminders of her feats. But now, they all felt empty and meaningless.
"Father, I will join you all. But please, give me a moment. I need to meditate..."
Althorin nodded, his eyes still filled with sorrow. He understood what she was going through. He had felt that pain himself, though unlike his daughter, he had managed to build something for himself beyond the madness of war.
With a final supportive look, her father left the room, leaving her alone. Moments passed as her gaze remained fixed on her collection. Her throat vibrated with the contained urge to scream as loud as she could. For the first time in her path, she felt truly caged by it. The prospect of being the "Shadow of Ulthwé" now felt far more like a curse than a dream.
For the first time since she had become a student of Eldrad, Thalindra wept silently. Her lips trembled as the suffering of all the missed possibilities of happiness overwhelmed her—happiness she had sacrificed in pursuit of her duty. It was the fate of a Farseer like her.
It was inevitable that the moment she uttered those words, this particular memory would resurface to haunt her. It had been nearly five hundred years ago, but the weight of the moment when she fully understood the gravity of her role was impossible to forget. It was then that she realized she was irrevocably tied to her duty—a role from which she could no longer run.
In some ways, she understood the Imperial Captain well. His cage, unlike hers, had been forged the moment he was born. Such was the fate of many humans raised within the despicable Imperium. While she had chosen her duty to protect her home, Marcus had likely been thrust into his path the moment he was capable of holding a weapon.
It was a shame, really. From the moment she first saw him, she noticed the difference. He wasn't like the other humans she had encountered—humans who would eagerly seize any opportunity to kill her. Instead, this Imperial had remained loyal to his team. When it became evident that they had better chances of survival by fighting together, he hadn't hesitated to join forces with a Xenos.
He had even put himself in harm's way for her well-being. No human she had ever known came close to this. The most positive experience she'd had with his kind was during a diplomatic encounter with a delegation of Rogue Traders who required someone to translate Eldari for them. Eldrad had assigned her to the task, but even that interaction was cloaked in a polite facade born of fear—fear of being killed or worse, handed over to the dark city.
Marcus was different. He truly respected her, treating her with the same care and consideration he extended to his own men.
It was ironic how seamlessly he fit the role of leader and protector. If the spirit hadn't told her of his potential, she might not have believed he could be so capable. He had earned her full trust—something that, not so long ago, she would have found impossible to imagine.
"You're not alone, Marcus. I understand that feeling, and you don't need to feel any shame for it."
She spoke with the warmest smile she could muster, her eyes fixed on his as he visibly perked up at her words. For the first time, he allowed her to peer into his emotions and thoughts without resistance, and for the first time, they reached a genuine, silent understanding.
Vyle gazed at the tube of floating green liquid before him, where one of the prized items from his collection drifted limply. His crooked smile widened, sharp yellow teeth glinting as he stared at the specimen with a mixture of pride and anticipation.
"Well, let's see if Elyria enjoys you as part of her attraction," he mused aloud, his tone dripping with mockery. "If that bitch wanted a suitable challenger for an Astartes and that little group of hers, you are more than a fitting choice... isn't that right?"
He paused dramatically, relishing the moment before uttering the name of the abomination within the tube.
"Jezza the Defiler..."
As the fog within the tube cleared, the nightmarish figure of a hulking man became visible. White locks framed his pale, grotesquely scarred body, torn and mutilated in countless places. At the sound of his name, the creature's eyes snapped open, green irises burning amidst blood-red sclera as they fixed on the Haemonculus with an intense, predatory glare.
So guys thanks for you all to be here with me on this journey, I want to wish you all a late happy new year. Wish God can bless us in this year to come and may us survive another year.
DISCLAIMER: Im leaving for vacations tomorrow, I wont be able to upload for at least two weeks, but don't treat dear readers I'll keep cooking while I'm gone, so when I'm back all of you will be given a proper show as Elyria would say!
As always I want to thank my boys, my brothers BillyFish1409 and Boyo99. These guys are responsible for us reaching here, to begin with, the advice of both is fundamental to keep the quality of each chapter. Also as you may have noticed Billy is editing this story, and that has improved my writing of it considerably as well as helped me a lot to improve my English so shout out to that brother.
Now to the replies to the reviewers left on my previous chapter (I'll reply to everyone here cause I think this will be best, however, don't be shy if you want to send me a DM I'm all ears):
Ferrus - He can't be Alpharius...cause everyone knows I'm Alpharius ;).
merendinoemiliano - Oohohoh nice seeing you here, I'm happy to see you are also enjoying this work of mine! And don't worry read when you can and only if you feel like it. But knowing you enjoyed it so far already made me pretty happy so hope to see you more ;)
expert93 - Indeed brother, many things will happen in this next fight. I dare say it will be one of, if not the most challenging of all until now. But don't worry Culsan is just half the problem hehehehe. Until the next one!
ZoyeZest - Oh nice! Appreciate the offer, and happy you are enjoying the story so far, hope to see you more here! However when it comes to commissions, at the moment I already have a friend of mine making one for me. Soon also this will be the cover art for the story, so for the moment I'm good. But thx for making the offer!
