The Beauty of Craftworlds

Craftworlds Yserin rotates slowly in the starry sky, like a teardrop carved from Wraithbone and crystal.

Its surface is covered with a silver-white dome, and the dome is inlaid with countless tiny Psionic Energy crystals, which reflect a colorful halo under the light of stars.

Those haloes spread in space, like some kind of silent chant, announcing to the entire Milky Way.

There is still Eldar here, there is still civilization here, and there is still hope here.

Yserin is not the largest Craftworlds, nor is it the oldest.

But it has the most beautiful Garden of Nurgle among all Craftworlds.

The goddess of life Isha lived here for a while before being imprisoned.

She planted the first Eldar rose in Garden of Nurgle. The petals of that kind of rose are silver-white and the stamens are golden. Under the moonlight, they will emit a gentle shimmer like mother Whisper.

Those roses have now bloomed all over Craftworlds, spreading from the steps of the central temple to the residential areas on the edge. The silver-white sea of flowers undulates in the breeze, like some kind of silent breathing.

The speaker of Seer Council is named Elaradron.

He has lived for 30,000 years and witnessed the entire process of Eldar falling from the peak to the abyss.

His face was old, his skin was like cracked tree bark, and his lavender eyes were full of exhaustion, but beneath the exhaustion, there was still a light that never went out.

That's hope.

Although it is weak, it never goes out.

The swarm is coming.

It's not "coming" like jumping out of Warp, but spreading from the edge of the galaxy, like a piece of dark green mold, slow and unstoppable.

The mold devours everything in its path - stars dim before it, planets' atmospheres are stripped away before it, and traces of life are erased before it.

Elaradron stood on the dome of the central temple, looking at the approaching dark green.

His fingers gently rubbed the staff. The staff was made of Wraithbone. The head of the staff was inlaid with a fist-sized Psionic Energy crystal. The soul of a prophet was sealed in the crystal.

The crystal was glowing, not a bright light, but a dim light, like a candle in the wind.

"Speaker, the vanguard of the insect swarm has entered the gravitational range of Craftworlds."

A young prophet stood behind him, his voice urgent, "We have less than three hours."

Elaradron There is no looking back.

His eyes passed through the silver-white flower sea, through the Eldar civilians who were running in a hurry, through the Eldar soldiers who were activating the defense system, and landed on the dark green mold.

"Three hours."

His voice was calm, "That's enough."

Eldar's counterattack was methodical, just like everything their race has done for 65 million years.

The soldiers lined up in the square in front of the central temple. Their armors were made of Wraithbone, glowing softly in the sun.

They held Psionic Energy spears and shields in their hands. The tips of the spears were condensed with blue Psionic Energy flames, and the surface of the shields was covered with fine runes.

They are the guardians of Craftworlds, one of Eldar's oldest military traditions.

Wraith Constructs woke up from the hibernation capsule deep in Craftworlds.

Those huge war machines, like enlarged versions of Eldar warriors, slowly rose from the underground elevators, their eyes burning with faint blue Psionic Energy flames.

Each Wraith Constructs stores the soul of a Eldar hero who died in battle.

Those heroic spirits were warriors, heroes and guardians of Craftworlds during their lifetime.

After death, their souls were sealed in the Wraithbone structure, and they continued to fight and protect.

Eldar Titans also woke up from his deep sleep.

They are larger than Wraith Constructs and are tens of meters tall. They are composed of Wraithbone and Psionic Energy crystals, with silver-white energy lines flowing on their surfaces.

They are the most powerful weapons of Craftworlds. Each one requires the joint control of several Eldar souls in order to exert its peak combat power on the battlefield.

Their footsteps shook the entire Craftworlds, and each step left a deep mark on the Wraithbone ground.

Elaradron walked down the dome, passed through the silvery sea of flowers, and walked into the central temple.

There are no statues of gods in the temple, because most of Eldar's gods have fallen, and the remaining few no longer respond to the prayers of believers.

But the names of those gods are still engraved on the walls of the temple.

Asuryan, Kaine, Isha, Cegorach, Ynnead--each name glows slightly under the Psionic Energy crystal.

He knelt in the center of the temple, pressed his hands on the ground, and touched his forehead to the ground.

"King of Gods Asuryan, please listen to my prayer."

"Goddess of Life Isha, please give us strength."

"God of War Kaine, please ignite the anger in our hearts."

"Ynnead Ynnead, please accept our dying souls."

His voice echoed in the empty temple, and the names glowed on the walls, like a heartbeat.

The swarm has arrived.

It's not landing, it's falling.

Countless Tyranidss poured out from the dark green mold, like torrential rain, hitting the dome of Craftworlds, in the sea of silver-white flowers, and among the Eldar warriors who were lining up.

Termagant's sickle limb scratched the Eldar soldier's armor, Hormagaunt's sharp teeth bit off the Eldar soldier's neck, and Tyranid Warrior's bone spurs nailed the Eldar soldier to the ground.

The Eldar warriors did not flinch. They raised their Psionic Energy spears and started a desperate fight with the insect swarm.

Psionic Energy The beam of the spear exploded in the insect swarm, burning those dark green bodies into ashes.

The shield resisted the impact of the insect swarm, but the energy of the shield was consumed bit by bit and dimmed bit by bit under the continuous attacks of the insect swarm.

Wraith Constructs rushes into the insect swarm, Psionic Energy sharp blades extend from their arms, and each knife can cut off several Tyranids.

Their bodies are covered in swarms of insects, torn apart by sharp claws, and corroded by acid, but they don't feel pain, retreat, or die.

Because their souls have long since died, this structure is just a continuation of their will.

A Wraith Constructs was torn into pieces by Hive Tyrant. The soul of the heroic spirit sealed in the structure floated in the air, turned into a faint blue light, and dissipated.

That is real death, where even the soul ceases to exist.