Kaylith stayed still, keeping her presence under a tight grip, feigning the same confused worry that she could feel from her kin around her. She ran her gaze across them, instantly identifying the three out of the twenty-four Aeldari who were likely older than her. Two held themselves with the bearing of an Aspect Warrior, and one with that of a Warlock. To nobody’s surprise, the fool who had been antagonising their supposed rescuer was the Aspect Warrior from Biel-Tan.
Well, he at least still had his arms and armour so that probably gave him some undue confidence. Alas, his perception and survival instincts seemed to be lacking, which was something of a given considering what he was and where he came from.
In comparison, Kaylith was a Pathfinder of Craftworld Alaitoc. Pathfinders were those scant few Eldar who got lost on the Path of the Outcast, and somehow survived for centuries despite that, just walking the galaxy on their lonesome while bereft of the psychic protections of an Asuryani Path. Considering Alaitoc was the Craftworld to adhere to Asuryan’s teachings most zealously, they had the most numerous Ranger corps of any Craftworld, created from those Outcasts who managed to withstand their naturally heightened Aeldari emotions and senses through sheer willpower.
Where most Outcasts became snacks to daemons, fell in with the Drukhari raiders or the Corsairs, Rangers were those who remained steadfast, who wanted to serve their people still, even if they refused to bind themselves to a proper Path.
Kaylith had been a master Ranger, one of the best, and more than that, she was a survivor with finely honed instincts she’d forged over her centuries of life.
Considering all of those instincts were still screaming at her that she was going to die if she so much as blinked, she was rather understandably still quite perturbed even seconds after their strange rescuer had left.
Her eyes took in everything, but her focus was primarily on the — as ridiculous as it was to think it — recently resurrected Eldar. It was a miracle, the kind that she would have thought impossible to bring about with the state the Aeldari Pantheon was in. Perhaps … perhaps that woman professing herself the Chosen of Ynnead could have done something similar. But this woman was not Aeldari, much less connected to the slumbering God of the Dead.
Kaylith watched, making herself seem small, frightened and innocuous in case the resurrected man turned out to be a trap of some sort. A monster wearing a dead man’s skin, maybe a daemon born from devouring the spiritstone. Her instincts and senses told her otherwise, but that might just be because the man was an exceptionally good fake. If he snapped, or the trap was sprung, she would prefer it be sprung by someone else so she could sink something sharp into the creature’s back while it was distracted with killing someone seemingly more dangerous than her.
Her eyes flickered to the Warlock, sensing the woman trying to reach out and expertly tap into the Great Sea. Something stilled inside Kaylith as she watched the Warlock fail, and then the woman’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Centuries old and never tasted such a failure, that one. Though Kaylith probably couldn’t judge, it was a rare few Eldar who wandered outside the safety of their Craftworlds of their own volition. Not everyone could be as mad as her and choose the Path of the Outcast rather than live the dreadfully boring, yet much safer life provided by a proper Asuryani Path.
Despite herself, Kaylith also attempted a very careful tapping of the Empyrean. She had also been a Warlock once — a title and rank given to a Craftworld Aeldari Seer or psyker who previously walked the Path of the Warrior as an Aspect Warrior of the Asuryani craftworlds and now uses their potent psychic powers to help lead Asuryani warhosts — long before she decided she couldn’t live inside the suffocating society of Alaitoc. She knew how to do it, but lacking the protection of runes and the psychic defences provided by the Path of the Seer or the Warrior, she could rely only on the minuscule protection provided to her by her own will. There was nothing else to shield her from the depredations of Daemons, and even the most minute overreach on her part would result in her soul being yanked free of its mortal coils, sent into the waiting maw of She Who Thirsts.
With centuries of practice, she attempted to draw in a minuscule amount of energy but was halted in her tracks. The Great Ocean felt distant and almost silent, as if muffled by the impossible distance now present between her and it. She’d felt this before, and knew with some certainty that she had found herself in a Null Zone of significant power, though it was far from absolute. If she didn’t have to fear the daemons and their accursed Prince, she could overpower it with some effort … alas, it was a meaningless thought. None were free of their depredations since the Fall.
“W-what?” The recently resurrected man finally broke the suspenseful silence, staring down at his palms with clear bemusement. “I- how!? Who are you?”
He took a step forward, only for the Aspect Warrior, the one presently not stuck in an Eldar-shaped hole in the wall, to step forward, a shuriken pistol levelled at the man's chest. At least this one was calm and collected, as expected from the colours he wore.
The resurrected man stilled, though Kaylith saw him calm down fast, his eyes taking in everything around him with the experienced focus of someone who’s lived for centuries. She noticed him stepping back, subconsciously shifting his feet and arms slowly in preparation for combat. She recognised the faintest hints of a combat stance taught to Rangers on Alaitoc.
“Peace,” he said, his eyes returning to the armoured warrior in front of him. “I am Tandor, I am- I was serving as a Ranger from Alaitoc before I … I died. I remember dying quite clearly, so I would very much appreciate an explanation on how it is possible that I am here instead of getting that pistol waved in my face.”
Kaylith didn’t know that name; then again, there were far too many Alaitoc Rangers for her to remember all their names, especially since this specific one might have died long before she was even born. Who knew where and when that damnable metal abomination got the spirit stone storing his soul from? It could have been thousands of years ago, and she wasn’t that old.
Besides, she was a Pathfinder. She didn’t make a habit of working as part of a larger group unless it was necessary or requested by a Farseer. Even then, she served only as a guide for them and refused to be properly reintegrated into the command structure. If she wanted to be a warrior, obeying orders and training in groups all day, she never would have left behind the Path of the Warrior.
“I’m afraid I cannot allow myself to trust a single word out of your mouth as things stand, Ranger,” the Aspect Warrior said, showing no intention of lowering his weapon. “We saw a strange Mon'k -human psyker clutch a spirit stone and then build you from some white material. Whatever she did to create you, trusting it would be the utmost folly. I’m sure you understand if you are who you claim you are.”
The old Ranger blinked slowly, a minute frown forming on his face. “ … I see.”
He seemed genuine, and everything he showed fit with what she would have expected from a recently resurrected Ranger finding himself in this confusing situation.
Could it be true?
The question echoed in her mind, refusing to go away, latching onto a faint ember of hope the thought gave birth to. What if it was? What if that psyker could truly give new life to the dead souls kept inside spirit stones?
Kaylith’s mind circled back around to the conversation she’d just heard, mentally dissecting every word that human-looking being had spoken while the others devolved into a loud, spirited debate. She wanted to know the Webway paths in the region of space they’d found themselves in. Kaylith could give her that; as a Pathfinder, there were few who knew the local paths and Gate locations better than her.
Old Farseers could perhaps rival her knowledge of them, but certainly not her experience in navigating the Webway on foot. She could be a guide. She’d done it before for Ranger parties, leading them to their targets through labyrinthine paths. She could do it for this human psyker too, if she could truly resurrect some of her dead kin. While the others argued, Kaylith had already come to a decision of her own: if it was true, she would give the woman everything she wanted.
Outcast she might have been, but she wouldn’t give up on this opportunity. There were so few of them among the stars; every single soul saved from the clutches of death would be a priceless miracle. If it was all true, that is. She had to make absolutely sure this was not a trick, a trap or some other form of deception.
Gratitude couldn’t play a part in her thought process, even though she felt a substantial amount of it. That Necron had left her in quite the horrid state, and it would be a lie to say that lying in that cage, naked, robbed of her weapons, armour and even spirit stone, was not the lowest point in her life. She’d been close to expiring; perhaps a few more days and she would have faded, and without a spirit stone the Great Enemy would have devoured her soul.
Despite herself, despite having been through more traumatic experiences than most sentient beings could bear without breaking, that thought still drove a spike of shiver-inducing dread down her spine.
Her decision would be unbiased and coldly logical, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hope, that she couldn’t wish for it all to be true.
*****
“Hello!” I exclaimed as I reappeared in the middle of the room, making sure to do so the same way I’d left. No sound, no warning; I was just there one moment where in the preceding moment I was not. The Eldar in the room fell silent, turning to regard me warily, but even the spear-wielding idiot kept himself in check despite having been pried out of the wall. “Now that everyone has had some time to think and calm down, it’s time to continue our discussion.”
I had, of course, been watching them as they argued and debated back and forth, going in circles. It also turned out that I’d missed two very interesting Eldar on the first look. One of the barely-clothed ones I’d written off as a regular non-combat focused Craftworlder or Exodite was in fact a Warlock. But there was also a curious other Eldar that looked for all intents and purposes like one of the fearful ‘civilians’ — as much as any Eldar could be a civilian — but her mind was something else entirely. Steely determination, calculation, cunning and a cold intelligence all meshed with a fierce individuality. She felt like a ferocious lone tiger willing to claw anyone who threatened her independence.
“We request that you allow our Warlock to properly scry the newly resurrected Ranger for any form of deception, mutation or something along those lines,” said the Aspect Warrior from Iyanden as he stepped forward, having been chosen as the one to represent the group so they seemed fully unified. “If he is truly, fully resurrected and in good health, then we can continue this discussion. Otherwise, you might as well kill us all now. We didn’t break under the torture inflicted on us by that Necron; you will have no more luck than that abomination.”
I narrowed my eyes and hummed under my breath, letting the silence hang and grow tense just for the sake of it. I wanted to make them sweat a little, to make sure they knew I only agreed on a whim, and because I didn’t see them as a threat. Better if they knew where both of our sides stood so that I wouldn’t have to get mean with these ‘negotiations’.
I waved a hand after a few seconds and made sure to be rough as I removed the Pylons from around the room, sending deep vibrations through the wall that set their teeth on edge.
“Do so,” I said mildly, looking at the Warlock in question with a small, expectant smile. I had sparred against Val extensively, but I was kinda curious whether a Warlock from another Craftworld would have any new tricks to show me. If she attacked me, that would serve me just as well as if she did not.
Her breath caught in her chest the moment I felt her extrasensory perception brush against the boundaries of my aura, which I had tightly wrapped around my body. She could only feel my Avatar and the psychic might held within, not my Soul or Realm, but it was enough to make the Eldar woman go several shades paler.
To her credit, her facial expression remained in that same severe frown all Eldar seemed to gravitate towards by default. She stepped forward and laid a hand on the resurrected Eldar’s forehead, who I felt reluctantly open himself up to be scried and scanned in depth.
She stepped away after five whole minutes of suspenseful silence, leaving the subject of her rather invasive and thorough examination wobble with a deep grimace on his face.
“I couldn’t find anything that would disprove her words; his body is strange, not perfectly in tune with his soul yet … but that will fade in time,” the Warlock said. “Nothing seems to be amiss, and he should be able to function as if he had never died in a few weeks.”
“With that out of the way,” I said, making sure my voice sounded dry as a desert. “Back to topic. I want to know every Webway Gate, path and such in the sector.”