Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

Kayvaan folded his arms. "That explains why this place has a strange, lingering Eldar influence. So, these colonists—are they the descendants of the original settlers?"

The witch shook her head. "No. There are no indigenous people here anymore."

"What?" Kayvaan narrowed his eyes. "But I met someone—an Eldar woman."

"My master," the witch said cautiously, "what you encountered wasn't a living person. It was a soul." She continued, "The Craftworlds aren't simple ships. They're alive, in a sense. Their keels are made of spirit bones, which act as vessels for Eldar souls. When an Eldar dies, their soul is absorbed into the world.

"The original colonists here didn't truly die. They merely transitioned into a new form of existence, bound to the Craftworld itself. What you saw was likely one of these spirits."

As realization dawned on Kayvaan, the fragmented pieces of the puzzle began falling into place. The empty houses, the eerie silence, and the absence of people—it all made sense now. This underground city wasn't just ancient; it was a ghost town in the truest sense. "So, that's how it is," Kayvaan muttered to himself, nodding. "Interesting." His dark eyes shifted toward Rosina and Syladria, who stood not far away, tense and uncertain. "And them? What's their connection in all this?"

The red-haired witch smirked, her gaze flicking to Syladria. "Syladria is a ranger. She abandoned her path and wandered alone through the galaxy. But her strength didn't match her ambition. She caught the attention of a daemon, and that daemon successfully infiltrated her mind, lurking deep within her heart."

"What?" Syladria's eyes widened in shock. She turned to the witch, her voice trembling. "How could that be possible?"

The witch ignored her protest, speaking as if Syladria's words were nothing more than noise. "The daemon has been hiding in Syladria's heart all this time, completely unnoticed by her. But Rosina, her dear friend and lover, isn't just any Eldar. She saw through it and came to me for help, hoping I could purge the daemon from Syladria's heart. For most Eldar, that kind of exorcism would be nearly impossible, but for me? It's child's play."

Kayvaan tilted his head, his voice calm but probing. "So, you used this as leverage to control Rosina? Syladria was your hostage."

"My master," the witch said with mock indignation, placing a hand over her heart theatrically, "how could you phrase it so cruelly? I wasn't threatening anyone. This was a mutually beneficial arrangement. I'm a daemon, after all. I don't help strangers out of the goodness of my heart. Rosina became my friend, and friends help each other. Isn't that how it works?"

Kayvaan chuckled. "True enough. Good friends should help each other."

The witch sneered. "To be honest, I never expected an Eldar like Rosina to come to me. Whether she was looking to make a deal or forge an alliance, it's a dangerous path for her kind. But that's how it begins—depravity is never immediate. It's a slow, insidious process. At first, the individual doesn't even notice the changes, but once they do…" She paused, her smile widening. "It's far too late. Rosina's soul already belongs to the Dark Prince."

At the mention of Slaanesh, Syladria flinched, her breathing shallow. For the Eldar, there was no greater fear than being claimed by the God of Excess. To fall into Slaanesh's grasp after death meant an eternity of unimaginable torment. "Rosina," Syladria said, her voice barely a whisper. "Is this true?"

The red-haired witch laughed softly, but Rosina cut her off with an unnervingly light chuckle of her own. "How could you be so naïve, Syladria?" she said, her tone mocking. "You'd actually believe a daemon's words? Do you think I'd go to such lengths for someone like you? Don't flatter yourself."

But Syladria wasn't deterred. Her gaze locked onto Rosina's, searching for something deeper beneath the mask. "I'm asking you directly. Is what the witch said true? Just answer me. No deflections, no games."

Rosina opened her mouth but hesitated. Words failed her. After a long silence, her shoulders slumped, and she let out a heavy sigh. "Why do you care so much?" Rosina muttered. "Just hate me like before. Keep trying to kill me."

Syladria's voice rose, trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "So it's true? You did this… for me?"

Rosina's lips quirked into a faint smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. "The life of a ranger isn't simple, Syladria. It's far harder than walking the path in the Craftworld. Once you step off the path, you're exposed to dangers you've never imagined. daemons lurk in the void, waiting to devour your soul." She paused, her voice dropping. "Out of vanity, I never warned you. Because of me, you strayed from the path. That's my fault, and I only wanted to save you. I had no other choice."

"But you've killed so many of our people!" Syladria cried, her voice breaking. "Fellow Eldar who respected you, who saw you as a role model! You made a deal with a daemon, knowing the danger. Don't you realize what you've done? You've damned yourself! Your soul will fall into Slaanesh's hands!"

Rosina's expression hardened, her voice steady and resolute. "None of that matters. The Alaitoc, our people, my reputation—it's all meaningless to me. I only cared about protecting you. Even if it means the galaxy burns, even if I'm condemned to eternal darkness, I don't regret it."

Syladria stared at her, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and sorrow. "You sacrificed everything," Syladria whispered. "Everything, for me?"

Rosina met her gaze, her voice soft but unyielding. "Yes. I'd do it all again."

On a quiet, lonely morning, two souls met by chance in the woods. Like a pebble dropped into still water, their meeting sent ripples through their hearts. Those ripples spread outward, and both realized simultaneously that the other was someone irreplaceable in their lives. Yet, the strict and unyielding path of the Eldar would not allow such feelings to bloom.

For the Eldar, the "Path" is more than a guide for martial discipline—it is a lifeline, a rigid framework designed to safeguard their fragile existence. This discipline, born from the catastrophic hubris of their ancestors, is a desperate attempt to stave off extinction. Across all Craftworlds, the laws are clear and uncompromising: every life must serve the survival of their people. Love that does not contribute to the future of the Eldar is a luxury they cannot afford—a weakness they cannot abide.

The Eldar birthrate is perilously low, and each loss in battle deepens the shadow of annihilation that looms over their kind. For a species constantly teetering on the brink, every act is weighed against its impact on survival. On Craftworld Alaitoc, a bastion of unwavering discipline, this truth is enforced with a harshness that leaves no room for compromise. Here, where deviation from the Path is met with scorn and isolation, love between women is seen as a betrayal of duty, a sin against their people's fragile future.