A Knight's proposal

The noble drew back the cloth. Moonlight fell upon the head of a massive tyranid, its chitin split open, mandibles frozen in death. The trophy still dripped faint trails of ichor, seeping into the soil.

Shir’s stomach sank.

The noble spoke words Shir could not hear, but their intent was clear as the Sister’s hands slowly came to rest upon his. She was smiling, smiling in a way Shir had never earned, had never been given the chance to. When she nodded—accepting—Shir’s chest hollowed out as though struck by a rail round.

The Knarloc shifted beside him, sensing his master’s despair. It bent its massive head low and nudged him, softly, a gesture of comfort.

Shir gritted his teeth. His hands tightened around the reins until his knuckles ached. He had imagined stepping forward, offering his prize, declaring his intent. Now, if he emerged, it would be as nothing more than a shadow—an interruption to joy already sealed.

He exhaled through his nose, bitter and slow.

“I was too late,” he whispered in Tau, his voice barely audible above the crickets and leaves. “Too slow… as always.”

The Knarloc gave a low, mournful croak, tilting its great head toward him.

Shir looked once more at the two in the clearing—their closeness, the way their hands lingered together—and then let the branch fall back into place.

He turned away into the darkness, heart weighted but step steady, his only companion the loyal beast who followed without question.