Biel-Tan Craftworld----
The colossal vessel sailed through the void. It was larger than a planet, yet every part of it displayed a soft, graceful aesthetic.
Its dreamlike form stood as a testament to the achievements of the once-mighty Aeldari Empire.
These immense "homeworlds" were creations of the fallen Aeldari Empire. Long before Slaanesh was born, a number of farsighted Aeldari had built these colossal vessels and departed the empire's core regions, which would soon become the Eye of Terror.
These Aeldari were known as the "Craftworld Aeldari." They steadfastly followed various "Paths," such as the Path of the Warrior, the Path of the Seer, or the Path of the Artisan.
Even someone who liked eating fried chicken could establish a Path of Fried Chicken and become one of the foremost fried chicken sages among the Craftworld Aeldari.
They relied on these Paths to lead ascetic lives, forcing themselves to focus on a single pursuit and thus avoid the influence of Slaanesh's indulgence.
The Path of the Seer, or Witch Path, was the most perilous of them all. Those who embarked upon it were invariably among the Aeldari with the strongest wills and greatest psyker power.
Without hesitation, they defied the principle upheld by the other Paths of avoiding psyker power wherever possible, using their own power to search the ever-shifting warp for the Aeldari's future.
Eldarion, the Aeldari Farseer of Biel-Tan Craftworld, was one such individual.
Otheryan sat upright on his wraithbone dais, brilliant light blazing from his eyes as he studied the Aeldari's elusive, unpredictable future.
He saw the awakening of Ynnead, the Aeldari god of death, and the story of Yvraine becoming the god's chosen.
The divided Aeldari would unite under the Chosen of the Death. Beneath the banner of the "Ilan Reaper Host," they would finally stand together again after the "Fall of the Eldar" ten thousand years ago.
The Aeldari would rise again.
Otheryan was very pleased.
Wait, what the hell was that pile of Astartes doing in the vision?
To his astonishment, Otheryan saw more and more blue Astartes appearing beside the Ilan Reaper Host. Beside its glorious banner, the Imperium's eagle standard and a "U" banner rose as well.
And Yvraine, in the vision, actually...
She was actually leaning against that oversized monkey's shoulder with a blissful smile, while he gently wrapped an arm around her.
Otheryan felt as though his eyes were about to go blind.
Even this Farseer, who had fought Warp Daemons and escaped the clutches of a Keeper of Secrets, felt his spiritual resolve beginning to crack.
No, that-how? Why?
Why did he recognize every single element in the vision, yet have no idea how those things had ended up together? How could they possibly form a prophetic vision?
What the fuck had happened?
Why had the Reaper Host fallen in with those monkeys?
He remembered that Yvraine wasn't supposed to be into interspecies romance!
Otheryan steadied himself. He was determined to keep investigating and find out where things had gone wrong.
He traced the timeline backward.
He saw that Thousand Faces had rescued Yvraine and was on the way back.
And before that, there was Pirate Haven.
Suddenly, the previously intact vision warped, filling with blood and fire in an instant.
He saw Craftworlds shattering, endless waves of the Imperial Navy surging in like a tide and swallowing the Aeldari fleets that fought to the death.
Drop Pods rained down from the sky, and silver-white Astartes charged out of them.
Aeldari warriors tried to stop these Astartes from slaughtering their kin, but there were far too many of them. They outnumbered even the Aeldari civilians. The Imperium was throwing Astartes into battle like ordinary riflemen!
An immense Phantom Titan slowly toppled. In the distance, God-Machine Titans advanced like a solid wall. Those ugly human creations kicked apart beautiful cities and trampled their gardens.
And above them, in the despair-filled Empyrean, Khaine, the god of war, fell for good. The furious Blood God tore him to pieces, while Ynnead, the god of death, barely clung to existence as Slaanesh hunted him.
At last, Otheryan saw the last children of the Aeldari locked in cages, put on display like animals for passing humans and reduced to servants of those Mon-keigh.
His eyes nearly split with anguish as he finally saw the source of it all.
He saw only a figure in white robes from behind. As that person glanced back, Eldarion lost control.
He spat out a great mouthful of blood and collapsed weakly to the floor. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was his terrified kin.
With the last of his strength, Otheryan used the blood he had spat out to circle a region on the star chart before he passed out.
That region was the Eastern Fringe.
"What is it?"
Horus looked at Bona in confusion, unsure why he had suddenly stopped.
Bona glanced around. He had the persistent feeling that something had been watching him just now.
Was it his imagination?
"Nothing. How are the landing forces doing?"
"The planet's orbital defense platforms have been destroyed. We're preparing to land."
Bona walked onto the bridge and looked at the world below.
Taranct III, a populated world and the heart of the Tarankd Sector.
It was a remote world, so remote that the Administratum ships coming from Terra to collect taxes were using records four hundred years out of date.
And four hundred years ago, this place had still been a barren wasteland.
The extremely low Imperial Tithe rate had therefore allowed it to develop rapidly, turning it into an exceptionally prosperous sector in the remote reaches of the Eastern Fringe.
Yet Taranct III had never imagined that, prosperous though it was, it would come under attack by such a massive Chaos Fleet.
The fleet Huron had provided was lavishly equipped. It included not only Styx-class battlecruisers and Hellbringer-class cruisers, but even some Imperial warships.
This complicated mixed formation had caused Bona problems with command for a time. The Chaos lunatics in particular barely followed orders.
But after Horus went over to discuss life with them and hung a few captains and disobedient troublemakers over the Plasma Engines' exhaust nozzles, they all suddenly became good little children.
Under Admiral Spire's masterful command, the fleet had just roasted the few orbital defense platforms here with its Lances and was now preparing for a landing operation.
"Those Chaos bastards are not to go down there. Only the various Chapters we recruited earlier are permitted to fight on the surface," Bona ordered.
"Our landing operation will be swift. The defenders below seem to consist of only one or two Astra Militarum regiments. Also..."
Bona turned to Spire, looking at him with some confusion.
"Please go ahead, Admiral."
"I still hope we can avoid too much conflict. They are warriors loyal to the Emperor as well."
"I'll do everything I can, Admiral. I'll be going down there personally shortly."
"That would be ideal."
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