Asira's sword had snapped during the Craftworld's descent—grim news for any warrior.
The silver lining, however, was that he didn't have to look far to find a functional replacement among the remains of his fallen kin. He heaved aside a massive piece of debris and dragged out a Farseer who was still clinging to life.
"Farseer, are you alright?"
"Still breathing, at least."
As an elder of the Seer Council, he had achieved a profound mastery of his path. Though his psychic abilities were being suppressed by the Tyranid Shadow in the Warp, he had managed to shield himself through the cataclysmic crash.
"How many survivors are there?"
"I don't know. I've found twenty, but that is only a fraction of our number."
Asira looked out across the horizon. The wreckage of the Craftworld stretched further than the eye could see. The crash of a vessel larger than most cities, far surpassing any conventional battleship, was a disaster in its own right.
"The Craftworld is gone. The Infinity Circuit is severed. How will we protect their souls?"
"Farseer, the surviving High Farseers have used their collective strength to construct a temporary circuit. They have called for us. We can gather the Spirit Stones we find and regroup with them."
"And the enemy?"
"You mean..."
Before the words could leave his mouth, the enemy appeared. The basic infantry of the Tyranid swarm—Hormagaunts and Termagants—scuttled over the burning metal. Asira drew a salvaged blade; as a warrior currently walking his Path, such fodder could not harm him.
But the battle ended before it truly began. A colossal shadow swallowed the area. A structure as tall as a skyscraper began to topple. Just as it seemed it would crush Asira and the Farseer, the object performed an agile mid-air twist, narrowly avoiding the debris.
Asira shouted with sudden hope, "A Revenant Scout Titan! We're saved!"
The Farseer, however, saw the situation differently. "Warrior, think for a moment. What kind of force was capable of knocking it down just now?"
It was then that Asira noticed a portion of the Revenant Titan's chassis had been melted away by corrosive bile. In the distance, its adversary finally emerged from the smoke.
A massive Hierophant Bio-Titan loomed on the horizon. Its gargantuan chitinous limbs carried its bloated frame forward, and its bio-acid cannons were already pulsing with energy.
"Damn it, run!"
Asira and the Farseer bolted. The bio-acid fell like rain. The Revenant Titan deployed its holofield projection, but the ground around them—including the spot where they had just been standing—was instantly dissolved by the potent biological secretions. Aeldari corpses that hadn't yet had their Spirit Stones harvested vanished into hissing sludge, and even the reinforced spirit-bone wreckage melted away.
"What do we do, Farseer?"
"We find the surviving Seer Council. If there are any remaining Webway Gates, there is still hope."
As they spoke, they looked up to see something even more terrifying. The psychic tentacles that had dragged the Craftworld out of orbit were now suspended high in the sky. Though the Farseer could not tap into his own powers, he could sense that these things were using psychic pulses to scan for living organisms in the vicinity.
"Asira, run!"
A tentacle slammed down toward them. Asira and the Farseer sprinted as the earth shattered behind them. At the last possible second, a Windrider Jetbike skimmed past the surface of the tentacle. The pilot grabbed Asira, who in turn caught the Farseer.
Rip!
The Farseer's body was torn in two. Small filaments from the tentacle had snagged him. In his final moments, the Farseer gasped, "Take my Spirit Stone, Asira. Do not let my soul suffer."
...
Asira didn't dare sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, the horrors of the past few days replayed behind his eyelids.
The Aeldari survivor camp was a makeshift shelter where several thousand survivors of the crash huddled together, using salvaged equipment and materials. The reorganized Seer Council was here as well. It was said these Seers had previously held deep grudges against one another, but upon arriving here, they had cast aside their differences to work in harmony.
More survivors were trickling in, but something was wrong. The Tyranids hadn't attacked the camp. Instead, they seemed content to intercept those trying to reach the sanctuary. Asira could see the massive, undulating tentacles and capillary towers in the distance. What were they waiting for?
"Asira, your turn."
It was time for sentry duty. The warriors had to guard the perimeter against potential swarms, but everyone, Asira included, knew that if the Tyranids truly attacked, their meager forces wouldn't even be able to draw blood.
"If only the Craftworld were still whole..."
How had those monsters brought the ship down in the first place? No one knew. Asira stood at the edge of the camp. The lush vegetation had receded, revealing the grey, stony ground beneath.
"I suspect those plants were part of the Tyranids as well."
Asira came to his own conclusion. It didn't matter now. Could they even escape? Webway Gates were precious; finding one that functioned within the Shadow in the Warp after such a crash was—
Wait.
A grotesque thought manifested in Asira's mind. It was a terrifying theory, yet it perfectly explained why the swarm hadn't wiped out the survivors yet.
They were looking for a way into the Webway.
And right now, these cornered Aeldari, searching for a chance to escape, were likely under the direct observation of the Hive Mind. The moment they found a path to another Craftworld, the infinite tide of Tyranids would pour in after them.
Asira had to warn the others. He relayed his concerns to his companions, and the warriors, sensing the gravity of the situation, immediately sent him to report to the Seer Council.
He rushed into the center of the camp, only to find his kin cheering.
"We can finally leave!"
"Are there any elderly or children left? Let them take the Spirit Stones and go first!"
Asira felt a cold dread. He could sense a restless energy in the air. He burst into the temporary headquarters of the Seer Council—a grave breach of protocol.
"Everyone, we cannot use the Webway—"
His words cut short. Inside the small tent, alongside the surviving Seers and a massive, active Webway Gate, stood a group of Aeldari clad in strangely ornate, vibrant garments, holding lethal weapons.
They were their kin, yet they followed Cegorach, one of the four surviving gods of the Aeldari. They were mysterious figures whose motives were unknown and whose origins were hidden. They were masters of combat who dared to speak the name of She Who Thirsts aloud.
A Harlequin Troupe.
Their arrival didn't necessarily mean good news, but at this point, any change was a welcome one.