HANDS GROPED HIM.
Exarch Rausdriel stood stiffly as he was divested of his armour, and nearly recoiled at the awful sensation of being touched, but he dutifully submitted as his bodysuit was removed next, leaving him completely bare. Vulnerable.
Finally, the hands left him, but he felt them. Eyes staring. His skin tightened. Itched. Other than his face, centuries had passed since any had seen him without his armour. Rausdriel refused to cringe but stood with quiet confidence, and fury as a familiar figure stepped before him.
Exarch Kruitz regarded him coolly. Reproachfully.
Righteous rage flooded Rausdriel. With the call for blood singing in his ears, he fought the temptation to gut the one he’d once called teacher.
They weren’t alone. Six other exarchs encircled him, each representing their respective aspect shrines, each played their part in a vital ritual that would assure the safety of their craftworld that was currently under attack, unaware that they participated in a farce.
He sensed their confusion. Rausdriel was being shown the highest honour an exarch could ever hope to attain. He should have been proud, exalted even, at being the chosen one. Any one of the warriors in the chamber with him would have readily taken his place. At his animosity, unease rippled through the small gathering, but it was far too late to cease proceedings.
He sensed it, the collection of psychic aggression and hatred amassed by hundreds of thousands of his kin, from those of the living and the dead. All being channeled towards one goal. To awaken a remnant of old.
The seven exarchs, including Kruitz, continued chanting, using the ancient dialect of their ancestors. Rausdriel barely heard a word. Instead, another voice penetrated the deep well of his anger. A memory of a conversation he’d had but an hour previously.
‘I know not what Farseer Lovellya sees in you, Exarch.’
Exarch Rausdriel didn’t react, having long grown accustomed to being viewed through the eyes of contempt. He waited in silence, perceiving that the powerful aeldari did not seek a response. He was not kept in suspense.
‘You must be wondering why I have summoned you. You have been appointed as the next Young King.’
Rausdriel frowned. ‘By who’s authority?’
‘You surprise me, Exarch. I thought for certain you would be pleased.’
Rausdriel waited, silent and expectant.
The regal figure sighed, before speaking condescendingly. ‘Who other than mine own.’ Then with an elegant flick of the wrist, Rausdriel was dismissed, the gesture beyond disrespectful.
Provoked, Exarch Rausdriel refused to budge. ‘The decision is not yours to make.’
A muscle in the other asuryani’s cheek twitched. ‘You dare defy me?’
Rausdriel refused to be intimidated. ‘The decision falls to the warriors of Khaine.’
‘You will fall in line with my wishes. Exarch Kruitz is already seeing to the necessary arrangements.’ At Kruitz’s name, Rausdriel stiffened. Sensing his reaction, the other asuryani smirked. ‘Surprised, are you? How naïve. I am Ysaulde, Head of House Vhirenduil. My word is law. You would do well to follow Kruitz’s example of obedience.’
‘I doubt the Seer Council would take kindly to such…disloyalty.’
‘A threat? How amusing. And foolish,’ Ysaulde condescended. ‘They need not concern themselves with such a trivial matter.’
‘We shall see.’
Exarch Rausdriel turned to leave, but froze as a single word fell from Ysaulde’s lips. A name. ‘Dravarra.’
Turning back, he stared, feeling numb, as Ysaulde drew out a red gem. A way stone, pulsating with life. ‘How—?!’
‘There is no loss quite like losing one’s own child,’ Ysaulde said softly, surprising Rausdriel yet again. ‘Something you are incapable of comprehending, having no offspring of your own. However, I believe the loss of your sister would suffice.’
Only then Rausdriel did understand. The heir apparent for House Vhirenduil had once belonged to Rausdriel’s shrine, where he’d taught the younger Vhirenduil, guiding him on the Warrior’s Path, and teaching him the ways of the proud Dire Avengers. Years ago, the young warrior had fallen in battle, and it was now evident that the father blamed Rausdriel for his son’s death.
‘A life for a life,’ Ysaulde hissed, anger flashing in his ice blue eyes. ‘Yours or hers.’
Exarch Rausdriel was brought back to the present when he felt the cold edge of a blade split his flesh, followed by a bead of warm blood. As an exarch of the Dire Avengers, the honour of first cut belonged to Rausdriel’s aspect. As a fellow Dire Avenger, Kruitz’s blade dug deeper than necessary as he carved the rune of their aspect into Rausdriel’s flesh.
He bore the petty torture unflinching, his eyes promising retribution.
Then Kruitz was gone, stepping aside to allow Exarch Endrieh to take his place. The Swooping Hawk Exarch then cut his aspect’s rune into Rausdriel’s belly. Next came Exarch Ashdynn of the Howling Banshees. And on and on until he bore the runes of seven Aspect Warriors upon his body. His blood ran freely, anointing the ground of the sacred shrine of Kaela Mensha Khaine.
By the final cut, their combined chanting had reached a shrieking crescendo, before falling to a hushed murmur as Rausdriel was handed the Suin Daellae, the gigantic sword wielded by the Avatar of Khaine. Then, wearing a cloak smeared in his own blood and a wreath of flowers as his crown, the new Young King turned to meet his fate. Before him, double doors opened where a bright light emanated, obscuring the inner sanctum. None knew what awaited on the other side as all who’d gone before Rausdriel had never returned.
With every step forward, the Young King carried his burden, his muscles straining under the weight of the Suin Daellae—and vengeance. Though he knew not how, as he walked towards certain death, Kruitz would answer for his betrayals. Not only for choosing a political alliance over his duty to their aspect, but for allowing an innocent—Rausdriel’s sister—to be threatened with a fate worse than death.
A life for a life.
The Musing of R. L. Frymire 
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