Kayvaan folded his arms. “That expins why this pce has a strange, lingering Eldar influence. So, these ists—are they the desdants of the inal 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 entered wasn’t a living person. It was a soul.” She tinued, “The Craftworlds aren’t simple ships. They’re alive, in a seheir 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 inal ists 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 pce. The empty houses, the eerie silence, and the absence of people—it all made sense now. This underground city wasn’t just a; it was a ghost town iruest sense. “So, that’s how it is,” Kayvaan muttered to himself, nodding. “Iing.” His dark eyes shifted toward Rosina and Sydria, who stood not far away, tense and uain. “And them? What’s their e in all this?”

  The red-haired witch smirked, her gaze flig to Sydria. “Sydria is a ranger. She abandoned her path and wandered alohrough the gaxy. 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?” Sydria’s eyes widened in shock. She turo the witch, her voice trembling. “How could that be possible?”

  The witch ignored her protest, speaking as if Sydria’s words were nothing more than he daemon has been hiding in Sydria’s heart all this time, pletely 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 Sydria’s heart. For most Eldar, that kind of exorcism would be nearly impossible, but for me? It’s child’s py.”

  Kayvaan tilted his head, his voice calm but probing. “So, you used this as leverage to trol Rosina? Sydria was your hostage.”

  “My master,” the witch said with modignation, pg a hand over her heart theatrically, “how could you phrase it so cruelly? I wasn’t threatening ahis was a mutually beneficial arra. 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 witeered. “To be ho, I never expected an Eldar like Rosina to e to me. Whether she was looking to make a deal or fe an allia’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 ges, but ohey do…” She paused, her smile widening. “It’s far too te. Rosina’s soul already belongs to the Dark Prince.”

  At the mention of Sanesh, Sydria flinched, her breathing shallow. For the Eldar, there was no greater fear than being cimed by the God of Excess. To fall into Sanesh’s grasp after death meant ay of unimagiorment. “Rosina,” Sydria said, her voice barely a whisper. “Is this true?”

  The red-haired witch ughed softly, but Rosina cut her off with an unnervingly light chuckle of her own. “How could you be so na?ve, Sydria?” she said, her tone mog. “You’d actually believe a daemon’s words? Do you think I’d go to such lengths for someone like you? Don’t ftter yourself.”

  But Sydria wasn’t deterred. Her gaze locked onto Rosina’s, searg for something deeper beh the mask. “I’m asking you directly. Is what the witch said true? Just answer me. No defles, 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.”

  Sydria’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, ohat didn’t reach her eyes. “The life of a ranger isn’t simple, Sydria. 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 wao save you. I had no other choice.”

  “But you’ve killed so many of our people!” Sydria 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 Sanesh’s hands!”

  Rosina’s expression hardened, her voice steady and resolute. “None of that matters. The Aitoc, our people, my reputation—it’s all meanio me. I only cared about proteg you. Even if it means the gaxy burns, even if I’m o eternal darkness, I don’t regret it.”

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

  Rosi her gaze, her voice soft but unyielding. “Yes. I’d do it all again.”

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

  For the Eldar, the "Path" is more than a guide for martial discipli is a lifeline, a rigid framework desigo safeguard their fragile existehis discipline, born from the catastrophic hubris of their aors, is a desperate attempt to stave off extin. Across all Craftworlds, the ws are clear and unpromising: every life must serve the survival of their people. Love that does not tribute to the future of the Eldar is a luxury they ot afford—a weakhey ot abide.

  The Eldar birthrate is perilously low, and each loss in battle deepens the shadow of annihition that looms over their kind. For a species stantly teetering on the brink, every act is weighed against its impa survival. On Craftworld Aitoc, a bastion of unwavering disciplihis truth is enforced with a harshhat leaves no room for promise. Here, where deviation from the Path is met with s and isotion, love between women is seen as a betrayal of duty, a sin against their people’s fragile future.