A Light Not Extinguished

Chapter 25: Strings of Destiny

"Aenarion."

The Champion looked at his most trusted companion. Caledor Dragontamer had dismounted from Indraugnir, shard of the Dragon, and now stood, leaning on his staff. The two of them were standing on top of Caendynn, the last Sunship of the Aeldari Empire, the only one of its kind preserved from the Genesis War. The vacuum and cosmic winds posed no harm to the two of them, mighty lords of the Empyrean that they were.

"The waystones are ready. The mages have finished their final preparations.." The greatest sorcerer of the Aeldari Empire reported. "The seers are still blinded, as they have been for the last hundred passes. We will not be gleaning anything from the skeins." He grimaced. "All that remains is for you to give the order."

Aenarion didn't say anything, simply staring out into space. One of his hands shook. "Why are we fighting, old friend? Why cannot fate simply leave us alone?" A single bitter tear trailed down his face. "I had family. My people had families. They took them away, those thrice-damned spawns of war."

"Because long ago you made a promise." Caledor said. The greatest sorcerer of the Aeldari race sighed. "If not for that, then for the oaths you swore, and for vengeance against the dying of the light. "

Aenarion's face turned pensive. "Yes. Yes you're right." Slowly, he unsheathed the cursed blade that even now was chained to his destiny. It had many names: Doom of Worlds, Spear of Vengeance, Heavenblight. But it only ever had one true name; The Sword of Khaine. As always, fresh crimson blood dripped from the blade. "Even when nothing is left, there is always rage."

Aenarion the Defender, Phoenix King, Champion of the Aeldari, First to Rise and Last to Fall, stared out into the void. The singularity at the center of the universe howled, the stars shot through with the colors of hell as the Four continued to break through.

"The Vortex must be completed. Make haste and begin the ritual as soon as the waystones are in place." The Champion instructed. Widowmaker caught fire, scarlet flames reflecting in his eyes. "I will keep the Four at bay as long as it takes. Cast them back to whence they came from, Caledor Dragontamer."

He took grasp of the eternal flame within his heart, stoking it with his undying hatred until it burnt like a sun. Golden light blazed in his eyes as he gathered the power of his birthright, the energies of the Anathema blaring a challenge to those that lurked in the Warp.

"I will hold the line."
-An eternity ago, in another Age.

One hundred passes.

One hundred Sha'eil-damned passes.

They had scoured the Webway far and wide, from the highest palaces to the seediest depths of the flesh-markets. The various covens of the Crone Goddess had gone to ground, shrouding themselves with such potent sorceries that not even the greatest diviners could find them. Except, of course if you had a device that told you exactly where to go.

Crow's Heart, it was called. Of course, the device no longer existed, the various Covens having destroyed them before going into hiding. But there were always rumours, and in the cities of the Webway where allegiances were cheap and virtue an nonexistence, there were always rumours of fragments and pieces, stowed away in the collections of jealous Archons. And so did Eldrad Ulthuan and Khiraen Goldhelm roam the Webway in their hunt. Eventually they collected the three fragments, and took them to be reforged by a faceless, hunched smith that only took the rarest of scented meats as payment.

And so the Crow's Heart had led them here, to a maze of alleys in the city of Commorragh.

Eldrad Ulthran stalked down an alleyway. The Aeldari was now in the later stages of youth; his face was now lean with an rough edge to it, mouth more often than not set in a scowl. His gait was now steady, moving with purpose and discipline; Khiraen had passed on more of his lessons during their quest, and the boy had grown considerably.