990.M29
Northern Galactic Rim
Kronite System
Once, this world had been claimed by one of the most powerful of the younger empires.
Once, those rising stars might even have stood rival to the Aeldari at their waxing of strength.
No longer.
Wreckage clogs this system now. In orbit of the regressed world, the smashed ruin of a mighty orbital-defense grid sits, what few remaining auto-weapons that still function futilely attempting to fire on debris and passing vessels, cycling endlessly on magazines that have stood empty for centuries, calling to computational-systems that no longer exist for repairs or power that will never come. Lone targeting arrays reach out with sputtering, feeble sweeps, feeding firing solutions so degraded to weapons smashed to ruin long ago.
Yet this is merely a sideshow, this ancient and broken redoubt. For just on the edge of the life-zone is the shattered ruin of a Great Power's declaration, a structure of size immense.
Its orbit is decaying—clearly it was shattered by some mighty hammer-blow, and now sections of the ruin drift in long ecliptics that will see them consumed by the star in perhaps another three or four centuries. Others drift away from the system into the Deep Black, perhaps to never return to the light of a star.
The Coronet of Kronite is broken, and the megastructure's ruin is strewn across the system, decaying testament to the power and might of empire once commanded by humanity.
Yet to these alien hands, it may yet be a treasure-trove. Sleek and nimble, ships and shuttles of the Aeldari sift through the strewn debris. Parties of scouts board the largest, most intact pieces. For the Aeldari, the technology is unfamiliar—it has been many lifetimes of their people since the technologies of other races were considered even worthy of study at all, let alone replication; yet now diminished, they seek that which was seen by others to illuminate their own path forward.
Yet for all that the computer-systems, life-support matrices and power-generators of Humanity's height are unfamiliar, there are only so many ways such things can be made, and there are on occasion remarkable similarities in the overall design of a system.
The ring, however, still tells a story: here, a long-discarded personal device of some kind. There, signs of hastily removed equipment. All told, such makes it clear that the coronet was evacuated. Whatever caused the ring to be destroyed, it was empty of
human life, by the time of that catastrophe, though the ruin of great hab-domes cracked open to the void or withered for lack of care shows not all life in general.
It is certainly far more than could be reasonably explored in depth by anything short of a modest army given well over a century to work, perhaps even several, so your forces prioritize the largest, most at risk portions, cutting through the slag of many close solar passes to reach deeper sections, shielded by the megastructure's bulk; even as your fleets work to tow smaller portions into more stable orbits for later exploration.
There are other, darker, stories here as well. Some sections show extensive internal damage, the characteristic patterns of plasma, gravetic and projectile weapons mixed with unfamiliar scars of scorch and slag, leading up to shattered strongpoints. Seemingly intact portions given closer examination show signs of heavy bombardment, pockmarked with lance-scars and blast-craters. One team breaches a section only to retreat in the face of radiation-levels lethal even to Aeldari in mere minutes, the compartment on the other side scoured by an atom-weapon of particular viciousness.
This is a battleground, long cooled, fought with ferocity even an Ork might balk at.
And while the mathematical angularity of its design is nothing like the smooth organic curves and elegant pyramids of the Aeldari, those who tread the ancient hulk feel nonetheless a shiver of premonition.
This echoing, empty silence, this ruin of empire;
This is what awaits them…
…should they fail.
Stand By…