A Light Not Extinguished

Chapter 7: A Kingdom of Ash

"Fuck me, she's missing half of her bloody brain- if you had been a millisecond slower with that stasis gun we wouldn't be having this conversation. Get me a Neurothetic  now!"
-Solar Operator Corporal Gasper Kinelli, during the Battle of Ullanor at the height of the Second Galactic War, M22. 918.

***

M24, 200

Webway City of Ulthwe

Ulthwe was burning. One of the last remaining bastions of civilization and morality within the decadent Empire of Ten Million Suns, for generations the city had been a place for still-sane Aeldari from every corner of the Empire to seek refuge, where the ancient traditions were still upheld and the inhabitants not driven to commit acts of madness in the name of pleasure.

Amidst the opaque, crystalline ruins of a castle, a young Eldar groaned, his consciousness slowly coming back as he felt someone shaking his shoulders. "Boy!" The sound was muffled, like an underwater echo. "Get up boy! We have to go now!"

Blearily, the Aeldari opened his eyes, greeted with the sight of an Eldar in a full suit of rune-patterned silver armor. "Khiraen? Wha... what happened? What's going on?"

The other Eldar helped him to his feet, face obscured by a mirrorlike visor. "There was an attack. The gates have been breached, and most of the city has fallen already." He made a wide gesture with his arms; the ruins of once-beautiful buildings now dotted the landscape, skittering figures darted in and out from the shadows, while ghostly laughter echoed everywhere. "We have to leave now- we are running out of time, Eldrad."

Eldrad Ulthran, scion of the Ulthran family glanced wildly around, eyes filled with confusion and panic. "My family... what happened to my family? Where are they, Khiraen? WHERE ARE THEY?" The young being half-pleaded, half-shouted, his distress manifesting as psychic hoarfrost forming around his feet.

Khiraen Goldhelm, bodyguard to the Ulthran line grabbed Eldrad's shoulders. "Control yourself, boy! Remember your training and fix your wounds first." The Eldar glared rebelliously for a few seconds before he looked away, the hoarfrost evaporating while he channeled psychic power through his body, healing cuts and bruises, while a particularly nasty gash on the thigh began to close visibly.

"Our manor was hit in the first wave, but by Isha's mercy they weren't using Eradicator warheads." The old soldier tossed a Discordion Pistol to Eldrad, the teenager fumbling with the weapon. "I have your parents' souls here." He tapped his belt, where two silver pods were attached, encasing the delicate soulstones within. "The survivors are fleeing to the Craftworld at Port Xaka, just like the evacuation contingencies intended. If we want any hope of survival, then we need to get there."

"But-" Eldrad started, looking around the shattered remains of his home. He was raised here, had grown up here- some of his fondest memories had taken place within this house. Then the sound of a faraway explosion snapped him out of his reverie. "At least let me-"

Stop. Khiraen's voice echoed in his head. Stay close to me, boy. We are not alone. The warrior had unsheathed his sword, the Composite Blade crackling with psychic power, while the gauntlet on his left hand began to hum.

Standing back to back, the two Eldar stood in place, watching the flickering shadows around them. Four heartbeats passed, before a pack of snarling figures leaped out, claws extending. An appalling combination of wraithbone and flesh, these were psychomaton hybrids, machines combined with the bodies of still-living slaves in agonizing ways.

Khiraen flicked his wrist, the interlocking shards of the Composite Blade in his hand transforming into a razor sharp whip that cut down two of the maddened beasts. Another lunged at Eldrad, the boy squeezing off three shots, the last of which slammed face first into the monster's face, entropic energy dissolving the head into separate molecules, only for yet another one to vault over the headless corpse and swipe at the Aeldari's head.