Echoes of the Shattered Lands - Lost Grace Found

by luoren_2568

Summary:

No living being exists within nor near the holy metropolis, not without the crippling emotion of despair for The Land Between’s devastation. Save for one.

A Lord. An Elden Lord.

Words piece together in their mind, floating and translucent as it whispers quietly, like a lullaby -
“...passing flash… if the stars… command the fates of the gods… consumed… mere humans…”

Fate...

Fate?

Chapter 1: I.

Echoes of the Shattered Lands: Lost Grace Found

Lord.

I.

In a land. Across the fog. The Lands Between.

There, the great Erdtree stands, a relic of power, sentience, and glory from times immemorial.

Former glory that is.

The leaves and rays of gold that shone endless, now disappearing with the embers that rain from the sky - seeking to set the world ablaze and renew that which was lost.

The capital Leyndell, once a gorgeous yet dangerous fortress, now buried in mountains of ash so large even the gravel dragon Gransax threatens to vanish from sight. Before, remnants of soldiers loyal to the capital’s inhabitants that survived along a labyrinth of streets, now smoldering cinders torn asunder by the putrid and ulcerated tree spirits, their confused rage destroying anything that has yet crumbled.

No living being exists within nor near the holy metropolis, not without the crippling emotion of despair for The Land Between’s devastation. Save for one.

A Lord. An Elden Lord.

Only, their gaze which should be lifted upright and gazing out to the continent they lord over is cast down, deep in thought. They are examining in their hand, a fragment of Amber Starlight. The only piece they ever found, despite having searched everywhere in and out of The Lands Between.

Words piece together in their mind, floating and translucent as it whispers quietly, like a lullaby -
“...passing flash… if the stars… command the fates of the gods… consumed… mere humans…”
A mess of words at first, but as the Lord’s mind inquires further, with unending patience, a phrase gradually comes to light.
“What remains of a passing flash of starlight. If the stars command our fates, then amber-hued stars must command the fates of the gods. Such is the belief that inspired the use of these shards to prepare a most special draught. Cannot be consumed by mere humans.”

Fate…

To be abandoned by the Greater Will… The Shattering… Godwyn’s death…

Slowly, the Lord returns the shard to their spacial inventory, then looks up. Summoned by their voiceless call, a strand of gold stretches and twists like a vine, reaching out to the Lord’s outstretched hand. Upon contact, shimmers of resplendence resonates,

And the Lord vanishes.

Chapter 2: II.

II.

When the Lord appears again, it is not the capital of Leyndell, but the ruins of the floating temple -

Farum Azula.

The cyclone beneath continues to swirl above the open waters of the ocean, and the sounds of debris swinging, dragons soaring and whirlwinds raging is deafening. Used to the loud howling of wind in their ears, the Lord proceeds to exit the small room and walk down the stairs, leaving behind the lingering grace site.

They walk towards the Beastman who stands with their back turned, oblivious to their presence - only to jolt in surprise as the Lord passes them without a sound. However, they instead turn their aggression to the white shadow that runs past them, attracting the other Beastmen’s attention as well. With much practice, the misty figure weaves through the enemies, slipping through oncoming blades and leading them nowhere.

Leaving the chaos behind, the Lord moves at an amble pace towards the edge and with no sense of caution - slips off the edge, landing softly on the ground underneath and continuing onward. There, the eye of the storm awaits, flinging rubble angrily, its temper akin to the wrath of many a RuneBear.

As per usual, there is one empty grave space.

It is the Lord’s grave.

For transportation of course.

With much practice, they lay flat in the grave and wait for the arcane reverse of time. The first thing that changes is the loss of ear-shattering noise, followed by the inexplicable slow-down of debris flying everywhere.

Time is frozen. Then it reverses. The contact of two broken pillars reconnecting breaks the silence, as the eye of the storm gradually disperses - the fragments of structure joining together to form a large arena, the ground layered with grave after grave.

With so many corpses of Beastmen that lay silent; in a way, this place is an altar - and at the centre of the altar, a dragon of two remaining heads and three stumps of skin floats in hibernation; a sleep of endless quietude.

The new Lord stands up and gazes at the Old Lord for a moment, analysing the way he decays, his wings shredded and worn - only a fraction of the beauty they, perhaps, once were. Tough, stone scales are barely hanging on to his skin, the armour that should have been protecting him is now filled with flaws,

Making an invincible being vulnerable.

Placidusax.

Chapter 3: III.

III.

Placidusax.

No sign of grace makes itself present, but the distinct scent of Erdtree flowers makes itself known along with a comfortless warmth. Whispers echo:

“...but should ye fail to become aught at all,
ye will be…forsaken…
Amounting only to sacrifices…”

The new Lord listens patiently to the ringing voice, waiting for it to cease before pulling out a different object from their spacial inventory. In any case, these words uttered by God-Queen Marika were for her children only. Wishing death upon the Old Lord so blatantly… it would not matter anyhow, Placidusax was in such a state that he was no better than departed already.

They kneel down once a few steps closer and place the heart down, stroking at the sharp, horn-like gravel stones and rich red colour as it seemingly continues to beat. A large organ for a large creature. A large heart for a large dragon.

The Lord beckons the words to come forth, and a lucid-gold, short sentence forms in response.

“The biatrial heart of Bayle the Dread… Gorge upon this at the Grand Altar of Dragon Communion to absorb Bayle’s power…
The purest form of Communion, in the words…”

The dragonian priestess had indeed asked of them to consume Bayle’s heart, but there was something more at work; a scheme the Lord could sense, and indeed - to fall into madness was not something they would wish on anyone.

The Lord had somewhat known of dragon communion’s ruinous nature already, but was unaware of just how temperamental its nature could be. A duel with a certain twinblade wielder easily felled the curiosity they once had; now only examining the different abilities it could give to those who chose its path.

Tracing the veins of Bayle’s heart, they tighten their hand and clench their teeth, tensing their muscles in preparation.

RRIIPPPP.

Blood sprays outward, the remaining liquid seeping out onto the platform. Into the cracks, tracing along all the stone carvings in the ground.

A peculiar sight; although the ground is flat, gravity appears to drag it, like a stream, all the way to the Old Lord’s position in the centre.

Placidusax’s… cadaver-like body twitches. Then it unfurls and floats down to the ground.

Although he has just risen from his slumber, the two heads slump in exhaustion, double-lidded eyes blinking in a daze - fighting to become alert as the intruder - the new Elden Lord stands before him. The twin-headed dragon lifts himself up from his low stance, and now scans the being before him. A low, guttural growl emerges, then he speaks.

Chapter 4: IV.

IV.

“Thou art… tarnished?”

The new Lord does not reply, merely staring at the Old Lord in response. Placidusax’s chest seems to rumble, the cracking of distant thunder surfaces outside the quiet altar. Golden eyes flicker with hues of a vibrant, shining red as he tries to determine if the person before him is a foe or ally.

He determines he has never seen this person, nor heard of them; under different circumstances he would have already spewed his fiery golden breath to turn a fool to cinders, struck them with lightning, sliced them to pieces with his claws.

But hesitation grips the dragon steadfast, for reasons… unknown. Why?

A heavy, distinct smell permeates the air - the old Lord Placidusax takes a while to put a name to the scent, using what is left of his dulled, weakened senses. Sickly sweet, and metallic, with a hint of smoke and ash.

A dragon’s blood, and one he knows all too well.

“Ah… Bayle… The fearsome warri'r and lowly trait'r. So thee has't hath met thy accurs'd fate… ” With agonisingly slow steps, Placidusax makes his way over to where the new Lord stands. Extending an arm, the claws curl around the biatrial organ that is already bleeding and sink in with ease - tearing the flesh apart and compressing it further into the ground, desiring to pulverize the object into eternal pain.

A bloody pulp is the only thing left of Bayle’s heart when released, turned to liquid with the rage of the old Lord’s dying strength.

The stranger before him speaks.

“Th're is beauty in strength, and elegance in aging. This howev'r… thou art not dying, only decaying - disintegrating to nothing. ” To this insult, the dragon lord merely huffs, several murmurs and low, repressed roars escaping the two heads.

"P'rhaps, but if 't be true this is how I may once again commune with mine own god, so beest t." Placidusax pauses a moment, then continues; his dragonic tongues hissing as he attempts to utter the language of the ErdTree he seldom remembers, “You seeketh communion, yet art not mine own followeth'r. Disturbing me in mine own holy vigil, mine own holy trial to pursue mine own God, I trusteth thou art acknown of the consequences thee shall visage. ” To be displeased is an understatement, he is seething - whether this foul trespasser would escape or die in obligate repentance is no longer a matter of choice.

However, for the accomplishment of felling his traitorous adversary, the wretched drake-kin… he would hear them out.

The new Lord, with the appearance of a tarnished, does not bother with neither gratification nor amendes, simply asking of the old Lord, the information they seek.

“I wisheth to giveth this w'rld a new starteth, a gold rebirth so to speaketh. Timeth is mine own only answ'r and solution to this riddle. How can I doth so?"

Chapter 5: V.

V.

Placidusax’s heads twist and entangle, then unravel, lowering themselves to the Lord’s eye level. His own hold not a shred of incredulity or ridicule, only passivity. It is clear that the dragon lord no longer holds any values over the mortal planes, or The Lands Between.

“...You desire to 'rase the current w'rld?" They shake their head in denation.

"I wanteth to renew t, th're is nay desire in this landeth. What I seeketh, is in the past, longeth bef're timeth anon. " To that answer, Placidusax hums vocally as they go on. “To trav'rse time and space, to a timeth millenia past - to dare fate. ”

Suddenly, the old dragon hisses in recoil - loathing evident in his snarling expression, teeth bared and slitted eyes turning bloodshot.

“Do not speaketh to me of fate, yond foul beast yond grants and steals the v'ry same desire did deal to hapless idiots. " [1] A sense of lunacy seeps into his voice, and despite calling them ‘hapless’ for hope, it is not difficult to notice the self-condescension.

He too, had once challenged his fate - but where did that leave him? His God, his very own precious companion fled… disappeared, without a trace.

Reminded of the fact, bitterness pools up inside the old Lord, and the lightning that rumbles outside the arena gradually increases in amplitude, approaching at a warhorse’s pace. Nevertheless, the intruder before him shows no signs of alarm, their expression not faltering in the slightest, steely and calm.

“I doth not careth f'r thy hist'ry with fate, I only careth f'r thy methods in which I may obtaineth what I am aft'r. ”

The dragon lord’s impression of the tarnished human before him falls further, and on the borderline of outright attacking the impertinent encroacher.

“Solely f'r ent'rtaining the the'ry of this so-call'd timeth rev'rsal, I supposeth this lodging, mine own altar, hath built h're f'r the v'ry reasoneth of t being out of reacheth from timeth, wouldst suffice in the location. A medium, f'r the lodging thee wisheth to landeth,” Placidusax twists his body and with the nature of a born predator, circles the new Lord - evaporating from his original place and amalgamating again behind them. His heads stretch out and tower over their head, poised like a viper ready to strike and tear their head clean off, [2]

“And the v'ry thing which wouldst dare fate, an instrument of fate, a key to the essence of godhood - something most precious, and equally... sacrilegious.” The old Lord overshadows the new Lord, his growls reverberating around their position and echoing back in sanctimonious reverence.

“Do thee possesseth something of yond calib'r?”

“... Aye.” To the unexpected answer, silence returns almost instantly, the thunderous approach ceasing. A hiss of disbelief, Placidusax recoils from his executioner-like stance, stepping back for room to lower his heads to eye level again. From behind, over the tarnished shoulder - the reflection in the old dragon’s eye captures a gold shine, reflecting an unfamiliar, yet blessed light.

The new Lord has, again, pulled out the Amber Starlight from their spacial inventory.

“Will this suffice-”

The gaping maws strike.

Notes:

[1] “Do not speak to me of fate, that foul beast that grants and steals the very same hope dealt to hapless idiots." (an easier way to interpret the words spoken, old English is great but what? confusing too -_-.

[2] Thinking of the snake statue in the Temple of Eiglay, Placidusax has positioned himself like so.

Chapter 6: VI.

VI.

The new Lord has no time to be alarmed, nor freeze - a flash of murderous intent crosses their eyes as they use the Bloodhound Step to dodge each bite, and roll backwards for more distance. The Lord, now turning warrior - slides two short blades out of their scabbards, scraping the blade edges against each other in a cross-motion before stopping at their sides.

The Amber Starlight has already disappeared back into their person, as if it has fled at the first sign of conflict. A skittish little thing? No, it was merely the Lord’s first reaction to hide it away before dealing with the trouble at hand.

Their voice rings out, if it was soft before with the dialogue between them, they now speak with an icy cold timbre - as if talking to someone already a corpse, already dead.

"Attacking and not a w'rd spoken, how malapert of thee, dragon. " Lightning, vibrant and blinding, explodes with a ferocious red around them. Placidusax is no longer hesitant in killing the intruder, that much is certain. However, the reason appears to be all wrong.

Sure enough, a muddle of dragonic words the Lord doesn’t understand and Erdtree dialogue is howled by the deranged creature.

“--The fragment! Giveth t to me! I hest t!” There is no rationale to his actions - only a mad taint, an obsessive spark that flourishes in his eyes, fanatical ecstasy.

“I wilt knoweth, can I changeth fate with what I possesseth, 'r doth I needeth m're?” Their question had already been more or less answered for the credibility of the shard’s value, as to whether it was enough to break the boundary and laws of time; however, they still needed answers.

The first laugh of mockery is wrought out of the decaying dragon, scales of gravel grating against the stone floor. Around the two, the red lightning strikes, wreaking havoc and destroying the remains of beastmen that are helpless to evade in their perpetual sleep.

“You speaketh of challenging fate, yet art incapable of coequal attempting the method yourself? Giveth t to me! I shalt useth t to right all yond is wrong, to saveth mine own god from his h'rrid affair!”

Placidusax roars towards the sky, the uncontained excitement burning through the very life he had contained as he waited for his God’s return. But why should he wait any longer? He would have to collect hundreds, thousands more followers to reenter his trial, and it would take thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of years to establish the bare contact he had made with the realm of outer gods.

His God must still be saving him even now, for a new way had been revealed by this foolish tarnished. Foolish, yet brilliant - a stroke of luck obtained not even once in a millenia. With it, he would go back in time - and save his God in return from themselves, that they would keep by his side!

He would smite this thoughtless tarnished and obtain the key, even if it was turned to dust or broken to smaller pieces!

Chapter 7: VII.

VII.

“Madness, thou art mad.” Is the only reply the Lord amasses; they have seen through to the heart of the obsessive animal - afflicted by what they believe to be the worst of curses. His fixation is much like the charmed victims of the “most fearsome Empyrean”, only, he is not a victim -

Nay, the dragon willingly drowns himself in it.

The two blades in either hand are flipped to reverse grip, and they ready their stance to charge - murmurs of enchantment lost in the ear-splitting wails of the wind. The Lord bolts forward as the enemy lurches, advancing.

Raising his left arm, tendrils of vermillion, searing-hot flashes act as claws, scorching the ground the Lord approaches on as he slams it down. They shift again with that distinctive dodge, and continue to sprint at him, aware of the tensing arm - it is going to swing outward, an attempt to slice to pieces.

They do not roll but rather let their adrenaline lead, jumping over the arm that drags back, nails rending the ground with scorching trails; and slice both swords downwards.
They strike against Placidusax’s torso, and one foot slides back as they spin and drag one across his side, a line cutting into the armour like carving stone from the heavy attack.

A light scrape, however; not unexpected entirely.
It would be stupid to assume a dragon would be so easily felled, the Lord had fought plenty enough wyverns to know that.

They are not phased by the frailty of the hit, and neither is Placidusax phased by the strength of their strike - he does not care for the state of his body, mind clouded by other, more pressing matters,

Nothing is more crucial than his God to him, as his God’s Elden Lord.

He thrusts his left wing deep into the ground and without missing a beat rakes it out, flinging rubble along with it, all of which was never destined to hit the tarnished as they were attacking the underside of the embedded wing, only a small sway suffered from the sudden release.

Placidusax considers rolling his entire body onto their tiny form, squashing them underneath where they blitz away at his lamina, then realises it is moreso a poor scheme; it would give the tarnished more access to the well-hidden weak spots on his underside.

A flick of the tail, the dragon curls it around and spins a half circle; compelling the Lord to evade. More debris, a continuous hazard. It nicks at their defense, but they ignore it and slice through the bigger pieces; the golden inferno then blazing. It tickles their neck, the back of their heels. The Lord is running, hurtling across to the other side of Placidusax’s body to escape the fiery breath and, leaping over the dragon’s tail, resumes their whittling blows.

An uppercut left, a downslash to the leg. Blood is drawn and falls, a gash has been made. The old Lord vanishes and apports behind them, a snarl in repugnance manifesting - along with a single, large bolt of lightning. It calamitously strikes the ground, and all sound suddenly dies.

Chapter 8: VIII.

VIII.

A flinch finally escapes the new Lord, they turn on their heel and sprint away, glancing back with a keen eye locked onto the old Lord’s movements. He stares back in ultimatum, raising his hand and in one smooth motion, hammers the thunderbolt into the ground.

Ears burst. Explosions detonate. They have just avoided the radius of death using another Bloodhound Step.

A ringing drowns their head, yet they turn around at the blast and without delay rush back in, unafraid of the rocks that having been cast up, descend quickly with gravity’s ordinance.

The dragon cannot see them amidst the debris and smoke, but they can smell them, scent hidden amongst clouds of ash, sulphur and steam. A shadow moves.

Eyes dart to the source, quickly followed by a twist of the body; claws raking out and slicing across the form. Arrogance forms, then uncertainty; his reason echoes, ‘How strange, I has't did strike thee- but wherefore doth I smelleth thou art–!’
The smog dissipates,

As does the white shadow.

A sharp shudder runs through Placidusax - he has underestimated his opponent.

The eyes on both heads scour their surroundings in a slight frenzy, but the reaction is much too late. A whoosh is heard, followed by a shink and intense pain in Placidusax’s back leg. A reflexive shriek of pain is howled by one head, the other bares its fangs and rivets their gaze onto the new Lord.

They shimmer back into an opaque figure, and out of using Miriam’s Vanishing immediately fling a short, wooden spear, lodging it into the open gash on his leg. To add to injury, and insult, they shift again and step back,

Pulling out a roughly sculpted glintstone staff and reciting an incantation through a few mumbled syllables. A great hammer of magic forms; they use both hands to gain momentum and swing.

It hits the spear straight in the hilt, slamming it through the limb like a nail through the coffin.

A monstrous bellow sounds from the Dragonlord, and thunder plummets down again, forcing the warrior to evade. They steer clear of his arms, nearing the posterior side and rain a number of magic comets against the dragon’s hide - then switching to their dual blades and digging at the cracks on the scales they’ve just made.

Another gash is ripped open by the new Lord when a heavy blow lands on their side and carries them off their feet. Placidusax has finally landed a somewhat proper blow, the twist of their tail has caught them.

With enraged might, he flings the tarnished into one of the last standing pillars surrounding the inner ring of the arena. A frayed, suppressed yelp escapes them upon collision.

The Lord has not been injured since a long time ago, and now struggles to stand from their slumped form, winded and incapacitated.

Surely, one blow would not render them useless? With this thought they invigorate themselves, regaining clarity within the span of a few seconds. Those few seconds are the only saving grace given, before the enemy lunges forward in a jumping motion; claws lash out, attempting to slaughter them. A few dodges and rolls, and they are back in front of the line of fire - where the old Lord decides to quite literally breathe his golden flames.

Slowly, he is pulling himself together with the disquieting agony in his limb, realising this contender is not as easy to deal with as they originally seemed, and certainly not simple either. His judgement of the situation is clearing, that he may properly clash in arms.

After all, they had brought Bayle’s heart to him.

Chapter 9: IX.

IX.

The spear rooted in his leg is a constant nuisance, but he has no time to pull it out, lest he gives the tarnished time to ambush him again. Placidusax sprays his hot fire in a wide sweep around himself, and his large wings raise. A powerful wave, they lift him up and away from the battle on ground.

He must use anything to his advantage, utilize everything he was given that his foe was not. What about an aerial attack?

The Lord pivots in their position on the ground, watching as the dragon disappears yet again and scans the environment. There are no telltale signs of an attack coming. An earthy, humid taste settles on their tongue and spinning their body around, they try to pinpoint the direction it is coming from.

Sure enough, dark clouds rumble and travel rapidly, surfing the sky with flashes of lightning. When they slightly shuffle their weight, the menace reacts, switching directions and closing in on the tarnished, fast.

They grit their teeth and analysing the trajectory, run towards it - rolling under at the last second. Claws miss their head by a mere hair, the smallest contact invites static to travel through their body. It’s nothing to complain about, considering they were already extremely lucky with their dive manoeuvre.

Loud hissing sounds from Placidusax’s two heads as he digs his ungues into the floor, turning with momentum from their plunging attack.

“Must thee testeth mine own patience? Giveth the fragment to me so we may finish this pointless task! ” The new Lord glares in response, not relaxing their bearing.

A move well thought-out, as the dragon continues to attack despite himself “resuming” their negotiation.

It is clear that Placidusax was only saying that to make the Lord let their guard down, but if they can get more information to devise a plan… they would lure the conceited dragonlord into revealing more.

“Can t not beest did share? The nature of this fragment, wilt t beest limit'd to only one? I hardly believeth thee wouldst beest so weak as to only provideth one this chance… " The maws of the dragon visibly clench tight, slitted pupils burning with savage hate.

They continue, “You claimeth I shall not tryeth myself, but one may int'rpret thy w'rds as: ‘I has't ev'rything I needeth.’ Shalt I tryeth since this is the case?” A withdrawal and snarl.

Placidusax roars, “Thee DARETH!” His voice seems to fissure and crack with apprehension. It only builds when all of a sudden,

Flecks of grace explode between the two opponents, causing them to double back in surprise.

‘Grace! T hast hath appeared!’

Belated agony. Belated wonder.

Placidusax stares in belated agony at the golden swirls of leaves that float and glisten like a mirage - he is without control as his own mind spirals back to the last time, an age past, that grace had besieged his eyes. It is when… his God had left him.

Grief, anguish, fondness, tenderness…

In contrast, the new Lord’s heart squeezes with tightness, a feeling that feels most unfamiliar yet familiar. It is a belated wonder that has pierced their being, a feeling that has not been experienced since what feels to be an eternity ago.

Grace, which has always appeared only before or after a battle, and apart from travelling - there has never been an exception to that rule. If grace was a means of guiding one to their destined path, it could only mean…

The new Lord faces the swirls of golden leaves, resembling soft flames of light. As it always acts, it stretches out and gently wraps itself around their wrist. A pull would usually be felt, but now it does not stop there - several more tendrils of tender grace approach; they climb and twist, seeking to wrap the new Lord in their embrace, to ensnare them.

Energy hums, and the Lord feels as if their mind is pulled from their body. It is… a gentle embrace, much like the gentle lull of sleep realised in Saint Trina’s presence.

Suddenly, a voice resonates with the Lord’s being. Neither man nor woman, something beyond The Lands Between. Something alien, yet intimate.

“Within thee, I shall implant… the se'd of disc'rd. The entirety of mine own gift, a beshrew. Stayeth the path… Elden L'rd… yond mine own gift to thee, accurs'd now… wouldst becometh did bless once m're. ”

Chapter 10: X.

X.

The former lord, Placidusax, stares dumbstruck beyond belief.

Is he seeing things? An illusion? Perhaps he was still in the realm of eternal sleep, searching for the connection to the outer gods, still in the throes of searching for his God?

Surely that was the case; it would explain why he is seeing the Greater Will materialize before him now, like a dream.

It is not the two fingers that have appeared, nay, it is a manifestation of grace - one that has replicated the two fingers rising to the sky in a way that can only be described as reverent, holy… divine. The flecks of grace that appeared between himself and his opponent have streamed towards the latter, twisting around them; and above their figure, two upward, spiralling pillars form. [1]

Connecting a being on land to the sky above.

‘Nay, yond is not right-!’ Placidusax snaps out of his daze, realising a shocking, yet terrifying truth.

His foe, a mere tarnished, is being contacted directly by the Greater Will itself! Why?!

Why them? Why not him: the Lord of all dragons, He that possessed time itself, He that beared the name of Elden Lord-

…

Nay.

He was… the former Elden Lord. With all the time that had passed in the world, The Lands Between, whilst he was asleep, he… How long was he asleep? The cold realisation that the world, including both his God and the Greater Will, had moved on without him was enough to drive him insane.

He was no better than abandoned, but who were they then? The … new Elden Lord?

The profanity, the desecration of his title and championship. He had willingly left it, unknowing that it was, in reality, one of the pieces of the riddle he was forever trying to solve. That the perch he forsook had so easily been taken up by another…

It left a bitter taste in his maws, to say the least. Bloodthirst flashed through Placidusax’s bloodshot, reptilian eyes. The predator in him was not asking for blood and gore - it was an exigency.

On the other side of the field, the new Lord continued to listen to the strange voice whisper to them, seemingly unconscious. A sigh echoed, travelling to their ears from a hollowed tunnel of sound.

“Take heed; what thee chooseth as of this moment… hast nay second chances… Th're is nay road of rebirth, nay new journeys,” They suck in an inhale, their secret - which has been revealed to no one, is actually known by this presence, “what awaits thee shouldst thee faileth… 'r succeedeth… art the consequences of both a past and future thee shall beest responsible f'r… This is a hest: a command. One thee… shall followeth and obeyeth without rejection… ”

One opportunity only. Would they take away their grace? The very thing which had brought them back to existence, over and over again? It whispers in a forbearing manner, yet the pre-eminence cannot be contained. It is a lording existence, fabricated and born to dominate and command obeisance.

“I wouldst taketh hence the blessings bestow'd… shouldst thee faileth to doth aught, to proveth thy faith… [2] Shouldst thee proveth thee can followeth thy promises to this w'rld… I shall grant thee… one requesteth. ”

A request? The Lord visibly frowns at the notion, sensing an underlying plight - but cannot bear to refuse. A request with ample compensation, whether their actions would demonstrate them as worthy of it, they would do their best either way.

Although they were not familiar with this entity, it was clear that, for now, they wanted something of similar nature. Change.

The new Lord’s body remains motionless, save for a partial but obvious nod. The entity responds in kind.

“Well… mine own beneficiary… Seeth to thy business apace… Calleth upon… the pow'r of the starlight, and seeth to t… thou art not did turn to dusteth yourself…”

The grace, bright as a beacon - has finally faded and dwindled to nothing. The tiny, remaining golden flecks that have yet to cease drift up to the new Lord’s face -

And seep into their eyes, illuminating the radiant gold colour of grace.

Notes:

[1] Spira:
Superior sorcery of the tower priests,
wielded as an incantation of the spiral.
Wrap one's arms together and hold them up to the heavens
to summon a spiral of light that erupts at the enemy's feet.
Column of light persists for as long as the button is pressed.
The spiral is a normalized Crucible current that, one day,
will form a column that stretches to the gods.

[2]
“I would take away the blessings bestowed
should you fail to do anything, to prove your faith…
Should you prove you can follow your promises
to this world, I will grant you one request.”

Chapter 11: XI.

XI.

When they come to, the first thing the Lord sees is a blinding white.

For a moment, they can’t see anything, they raise their hand to shield their eyes. As it gradually dims, a shadow is finally made out through the gaps of their fingers. Wait-

A sickening crunch, their waist is snatched in the jaws of one dragon mouth. A barely stifled scream escapes the Lord’s throat, lips tightly sealed. Low growls vibrate around them, teeth sink in deeper - extracting a deep, thick red.

Placidusax preserves no dignity, unleashing his wrath without a shred of gravitas.

“Thee piece of shi-” the other head twists and poises, then strikes. Should they reach them and bite down as intended,

Their body would be torn in two. The new Lord hardens their resolve and in that instant, the feeling of cool steel - brimming with energy - returns to their fingertips. SHINK-

It all happens in an instant, the blade in their hand - wrenched free from teeth that create wicked lacerations to their arm, followed by the adrenaline-filled stab to the streaked, vertical pupil. Placidusax responds behindhand [1], blinking twice with the sword embedded and breaks off their attack with an unpleasant shriek.

The buildup has finally taken effect, frostbite onslaughts the dragonic opponent from the inside out and shatters like glass; the teeth holding them slacken and, switching out their blade for the glintstone staff via their spacial inventory, they cast Miriam’s Vanishing, disappearing from his muzzle and reappearing a few metres away on the ground, one knee unsteadily holding them up.

The breath that should be returning to them is instead blocked, they cough violently to clear their airways, eliciting mouthfuls of blood to spout out and down the sides of their lips. Placidusax, still seizing from the internal onset of cryopathy, also coughs his own: what looks like litres upon litres of mixed blood and ichor spilling out, colouring his mouths a sticky red.

With the way Placidusax now looks, it could be understood that he succeeded in his mauling of the Lord. Except it is far from it.

A loud growl erupts once he can speak again, “Thee dareth to striketh me in mine own eye, thee has't a death wisheth, Elden L'rd… ” The title is spit out with venomous hisses, flames leaking out of their oral cavity - at the ready to burn them to cinders. “T’is a sineth thee has't committed, as such - I am inclin'd to wrought punishment into thy flesh… and the marrow of thy tarnish'd bones! ”

In kind, a scoff leaves the new Lord; “Cutteth the alas, thee just wanteth to killeth me and yond's the sooth of t. I am not so f'rgiving as to alloweth t, what with thy unbecoming ambuscade even but now.” They wobble to their feet and tugging a red flask from their hip, down it in less than a second - tipping their head back to quaff it - in a manner of speaking.

The liquid scalds their throat, burns their insides as it descends, and through the holes in their garments, the metallic fluid exuding from their person comes to a slow stop. A quiet sigh echoes around the suddenly still arena. This time, it is not Placidusax, nor the Greater Will,

But the new Lord who exhales. They enter their stance once more and summon another spear, facing it towards their opponent two-handed. A flick of the wrists, the tip of the spear flips back and knocks against the ground, scraping forward in a sweeping motion. A flash of gold, an immediate militia of blades rise from the surface beneath the dragon’s feet. [2]

They pierce his underside, harrowing into old wounds and evoking another bloodcurdling roar.

Placidusax cannot move, lest he rips out the skewers and destroy his heart in the process. He is… denied his destiny.

The new Lord shifts behind them, and with unwilling resignation, Placidusax can only watch as they pull out a katana. Both hands hold the hilt… one leg slides back… the tensing of their shoulder blades and back… the slight push of release to the sheathe.

"With thy odium, I shalt grant thee... grace."

Following that is an image. A moon, split in half. Veiled in darkness.

The moon fades - as does his vision. A choked uttering is all that remains of him, who, eventually,

Evaporates as a mist-like shroud.

“...Mine own God-…”

Notes:

[1] Behindhand: another word for belatedly.

[2] The skill tied to the cleanrot spear: Sacred Phalanx.

Chapter 12: XII.

XII.

“...Mine own God-…”

The asphyxiated whisper finally dissipates, and the altar takes on a solitary ambience once more. A site of grace appears, one much smaller than normal however. Dropping their weapons on the ground in a haphazard manner, which ring out with a loud clatter, the Lord approaches it steadily, exhaling with a frown.

They reach out their hand, which has already awakened this grace many times before, and graze it lightly.

It explodes with a dazzling radiance; singing of vitality through the golden leaves and wraps itself fondly around their arm. The Lord’s eyes are drawn to the branch that holds them, cast down. They widen when it morphs into a hand holding their forearm, and look back up to be gazing straight into their own face.

The Greater Will has yet again descended, mirroring the Lord’s form this time. It both alarms and fascinates them.

“O dram flame… ” They voicelessly speak to them, the words arrive but the mouth remains closed, “To bethink, the concept I did lay to thee m'rtals wouldst becometh next to nothing.”

A pit forms in the stomach of the Lord, “And what is yond?”

The carbon copy blinks back, a small smile gracing its lips - a smile that has never before reached the original tarnished ones: “Ord’r.” If the Lord was not fully certain of this entity’s identity before, they were most definitely aware now.

The Greater Will still has a grasp on the Lord’s arm. They attempt to pull it away but are instead surprised by the firm grip tightening; it shakes its head with a knowing smile.

“I doth this with nay ill shall, m'rely a means of communication, so t might beest easi'r than being wrapp'd up liketh a balust'r.” Hearing the explanation, some tension releases and they nod. It continues to sermonise.

“With the gift of grace yond wast bestow'd upon thee, a m're fledgling in the grand scheme of The Lands Between, thee has't the did bless ability to seeth the ethos, the essence within objects. This is not an ability without rep'rcussions though, all things wilt beest balanc'd. In returneth, all mem'ries of bef're thee hath returned to these lands has't - p'rmanently - been extinguish'd. ” [1]

Hearing this, the Lord purses their lips yet shows no emotions. The despondency that should be felt is all but naught, they have been living in these desecrated lands too long to hold even a shred of hope for lost memory. In fact, the thought of regaining them had never occurred to them.

They only hold a burning, inquisitive nature upon not only their first rebirth, but every rebirth after as well.

The Lord asks their question, not out of any hope but rather of hesitancy, “Will I ev'r regain these mem'ries yond has't been hath lost to me?” The Greater Will stares them in the eyes for a moment, the windows to the soul, and calmly replies.

“No, thee shall not.”

Relief, the mysterious emotion it is, soothes the anxious mind of the Lord. Without delay, they ask their next question, for concern that they will not understand all that is happening in this moment.

“The Fing'r Readeth'r - Enia - The lady claim'd yond only the Two Fing'rs may conv'rse with thee, so wherefore is't yond we art able to conv'rse anon? Furth'rm're, the lady claim'd yond t wouldst taketh tens of thousands of moons, if 't be true not years, to taketh a replyeth from thee, the Greater Will. ”

A narrowing of the brows, the image of ‘order’ makes a subtle laugh of ridicule.

“You has't hath met those folk, has't thee not? The dearest Ymir. ” The name sparks a memory of their past journeys, one in which the Count Ymir, who sought to give enlightenment to the formerly tarnished and was quite kind - had turned into Metyr, the Mother of Fingers.

“Aye.”

“T is as that gent did explain, the Two Fing'rs, as thee calleth those folk, art but unripe children, victims of the did damage and unhing'd moth'r. Those pests art b'rn deceiv'rs, the esteem in which those pests commune with myself - t is impossible lest I wast the one to sendeth those folk to this realm, which I didst not. ”

The Lord undergoes disturbance at the major revelation, then thinks again back to their discussions with the demigod Ranni - who had believed them to be an omen - a curse rather than a concept of favour.

In a way, the doll was very accurate with her theories, the very ones which the tarnished had understood but not quite believed.

“To commune with myself, I needeth only trav'rse to this realm myself. Howev'r, a price might not but beest hath paid if 't be true I doth so - I hadst desired the parteth I hadst div'rg'd from myself and hath sent to this realm wouldst playeth yond parteth and shapeth mine own ‘Ord'r’. Howev'r, not only wast t a failure, t wast eke did damage and did destroy by the schemes of m'rtals. M'rtals like… Marika. ” [2]

Notes:

[1] “With the gift of grace that was bestowed upon you, a mere fledgling in the grand scheme of The Lands Between, you have the blessed ability to see the ethos, the essence within objects. This is not an ability without repercussions though, all things must be balanced. In return, all memories of before you returned to these lands have - permanently - been extinguished.”

[2] “To commune with myself, I need only traverse to this realm myself. However, a price must be paid if I do so - I had hoped the part I had diverged from myself and sent to this realm would play that part and shape my Order. However, not only was it a failure, it was also damaged and destroyed by the schemes of mortals. Mortals like… Marika.”

Chapter 13: XIII.

XIII.

The part they had diverged…? The Lord reflects on all that they know and have learned in their countless years studying The Lands Between, and a phrase comes to mind.

“...The Greater Will sent a golden star… bearing a beast into the Lands Between…
which would later become… the Elden Ring.”

A small intake of breath, followed by the question - moreso a confirmation.

“The Elden Beast? The Elden Ringeth wast thy int'rpret'r? The instrument of connection?” [1]

“I pref'r the t'rm “medium” 'r “channel, but aye, t is so.” Recollections of all the times the Lord had spoken to Enia surf through their mind, the way her voice would rapidly change and take on a deeper tone to translate for the Two Fingers, how she would continuously encourage them to claim a Great Rune, then forge ahead and claim the Elden Ring.

She had seemed sure of it, they had sensed no deception in her character, and they were fully understanding of their choice in each and every new journey - to burn the Erdtree, to commit the First Cardinal Sin. She always disapproved, but never tried to stop them, only sending them off.

The Greater Will, sensing this train of musing - softly consoles them, “Rest assur'd the lady didst not intendeth to deceiveth thee. I am the concept of ord'r, the Greater Will, but coequal at which hour ord'r is not involv'd - I am able to behold into the heart of the matt'r. The lady too, fully hath believed h'r purpose 'longside the Two Fing'rs wouldst s'rve The Lands Between - the Fing'rs has't misleadeth f'r a millenia past and m're. Their schemes art unrivall'd in this timeth and age, with much practiceth. ” [2]

The Greater Will’s words does little to soothe; it does not change the fact that Enia was in all times, inspiriting as she was, completely and utterly used - like a fool.

“Then if 't be true the Elden Ringeth wast the channel to thee, wherefore didst t attacketh me at which hour I ent'r'd the Erdtree to becometh Elden L'rd? And wherefore didst t bar mine own entry with the th'rns?” To this question, discomfiture and a frigid cold paints the mirror face.

“That is, unf'rtunately, the consequence of Marika’s actions, the God vessel thee s'rve as cons'rt to anon. ” At the mention of it, a scowl immediately appears on the Lord’s face. A mild laugh is evoked from the higher being.

“Doth not behold so did abash, th're is nay shame in t. I can bid - thee did place not one shr'd of bethought into being a prop'r cons'rt, t wast m'rely a title thee did seek. M'reso than the title, t wast inf'rmation. But thee nev'r did obtain t, didst thee?”

“... Nay, so I wast at each moment hath led to believeth I hadst did miss something at the starteth, thus I wouldst starteth a new journey, scouring und'r ev'ry rocketh and tree.”

“And didst thee findeth aught?”

“...” There is no response, the Greater Will upturns the lips of the Lord’s duplicate and squeezes a little at the arm they hold.

“Thee didst.” It is beginning to feel like the Lord is frowning every second now.

“What art thee on about?” It closes its eyes, gold grace swirling.

“My champion - yond is nay way to speaketh to a God… Nay matt'r, bid me this - has't thee ev'r hath tried this bef're? Hath killed Bayle and hath brought his heart as an off'ring? Spoken to Placudisax? Did save the did bless fragment f'r a most wondrous'r purpose?” [3]

“...Nay.”

“Wherefore?” They raise their other hand, gazing at their palm in deep reflection.

“The gift I wast given, to behold into the Ethos of any and all devices - t toldeth me its purpose, and I wouldst not useth t f'r any oth'r nonce, I has't nay controleth ov'r using t f'r oth'r… quests, only controleth ov'r wheth'r to wend through with its intend'd purpose 'r not. ”

The Greater Will seems to be unaware of such things, and so the Lord recites word-for-word the requirements of the two key items they were utilizing differently in this timeline.

“Such is the belief that inspired the use of these shards to prepare a most special draught… Cannot be consumed by mere humans…”
“Gorge upon this at the Grand Altar of Dragon Communion to absorb Bayle’s power…”

“Hmm… t wouldst appeareth mine own gift to thee hast eke been a shackle, something I cannot apologise f'r howev'r, as all might not but findeth balanceth in the equilibrium of law and ord'r. ” A fair explanation for the lack of choice in the matter; the Elden Lord can only swallow the bitterness of it all.

“But certes t is something yond shall beest did resolve upon our turning of timeth, and upon thy returneth to the presenteth - thee wouldst beest fiteth to doth as thee prithee, saveth the duties as vessel to the Greater Will. ”

“...What?”

Notes:

[1] I’m telling you guys now I was so close to writing: “The Elden Ring is your google translator?” I’m so cooked. -_-

[2] Rest assured she did not intend to deceive you. I am the concept of Order, the Greater Will, but even when order is not involved - I am able to look into the heart of the matter. She too, fully believed her purpose alongside the Two Fingers would serve the The Lands Between - The Fingers have mislead for a millenia past and more. Their schemes are unrivalled in this time and age, with much practice.”

[3] Most wondrous’r purpose: greater, in modern english Q.Q

Chapter 14: XIV.

XIV.

Another “what” almost escapes the Lord’s mouth, however they quickly stop themself, swapping to a more vital matter.

“But… Marika is thy vessel, is the lady not?” A snort, not acted out by the reflection thankfully, only heard.

“Lady? Hardly. Although the pers’n chosen to beest mine own vessel, t doest not cullionly I wast did compel to useth h'r. T is not h'r yond hath chosen the Greater Will, but Ord'r yond hath chosen h'r. A Numen mistress, did turn Empyrean by the method of SaintHood. A loathsome method, which miraculously w'rk'd - coequal if 't be true t wast only one such being.”

They remember the horrific sights of the jar innards splayed across the gaols, the Belurat settlement - the Shadow Keep…

“Surely such a thing cannot beest done?” The Greater Will, somewhat proud of their reaction, answers:

“It can, and 'twill beest. I has't sens'd desire in thee, and I has't sens'd yond thee - and one oth'r - shall beest the ones to rest're mine own gift - mine own beshrew. ”

“Curse?”

“...Marika removed the fragment of death so that no one would truly die, and an Age of the Golden Order would be born. Surely, you do not think that would incur no backlash?”

Confusion burdens their mind - it was working diligently to piece everything together and store it inside themselves, for fear the information would never again be chronicled.

“So - the gift thee wanteth me to fixeth is - the Elden Ringeth?” Another smile.

“Aye.” It is an onerous task that it is bestowing on the Elden Lord, one they are unsure of succeeding. But they know, they have already given promise to do the task - in their battle with Placidusax. At the time, they were just unaware of what the ‘blessed curse’ was.

And now they know.

“Like I has't toldeth thee, rep'rcussions th're shall beest shouldst I attempteth to int'rvene myself. I has't not masterless all life h're as is hath believed, only those who is't did seek to rip mine own gift apart and keepeth f'r themselves. ” The Greater Will was definitely referencing the Shattering War at that moment.

“As mine own vessel, thee shall keepeth inside thee - the Elden Ringeth, the Elden Beast. ”

“Will t controleth me, as t didst Marika?” A cold glint appears in the Greater Will’s eyes, much like a sharp blade.

“If t becomes behoveful. ” In saying that, although it was a threat, they also meant to say it would be determined by the Lord’s actions. In other words, anything that could threaten the Elden Ring’s existence, and the Greater Will in response.

Surprise etches itself onto their countenance when the mirrored face abruptly turns translucent.

“... I has't spoken with thee as much as this realm allows it… I leaveth t to thee, mine own champion, to doth as instructed, and act in kind with our pact… and a final w'rd of warning, doth taketh heed…” The body rises from the ground, slowly ascending - as if being dragged away from the Lord. Almost like a puppet on a string being yanked.

Grace glitters around them: a final goodbye.

“The Elden Ring… the instrument of Ord'r… Is det'rmin'd valorous, 'r evil, by the one who wields it.” And with that, the familiar brewing sound of the storm returns. They have not left Placidusax’s arena, but at the same time -

They have returned.

Immediately they sense that something has changed, and with quick hands summon the Amber Starlight, reading its essence. Except there is nothing to read, the words flitter and shuffle, disappear and return - a chaotic tumble of words. They have no doubt, the Greater Will has meddled with it, so that they may undertake their role.

Inhaling a breath of tension, they prepare to challenge fate. First, they summon their medium after deliberating a few choices.

Then, they summon their Erdtree Seal, and cast two incantations. One: Law of Causality. Two: Law of Regression.

“Causality is the pull between
meanings; that which links all things in a chain of relation.”
“Regression is the pull of meaning; that all things yearn eternally to converge.”

Following that… they bring the shard to their mouth and swallow it down.

Agonizing torture is the only way they can describe it. It tears through their body like thousands of serrated knives, it feels like their organs are collapsing. Their body is aflame one moment, ice-cold the next.

An acid that corrodes from inside out. And yet, they persist. They stand in the centre of the altar, persevering through the torment and underneath - a vortex takes shape, a whirling mass of wind - and grace. It swallows all of the structure; not only the arena, but the temple in its entirety, an abyss.

A blotch appears in the sky of The Lands Between. An unhesitating command.

“Take me - to the beginning.”

And with that, the floating temple, Farum Azula,

 

Explodes to nothingness.

Notes:

Thank you everyone for reading! Possibly more to come in the future, please enjoy! As written at the beginning, feel free to nab a couple ideas if you are inspired at all, wishing everyone a steady Elden Ring experience xx

Chapter 15: XV.

Broken Vessel.

XV.

The suffering of their body, forged in molten lava. The affliction of bones, crushed to nothingness.
The unbearable pain, and the impregnable resolve.
Pure and utter - resolution.

—

Within the abyss of time, that dark, empty place, a trace of gold manifests. It flickers in and out of existence; the flame of a candle in all alikeness.

Space changes. Everytime it alights, it illuminates the surroundings.

Darker still, yet a little brighter. A stone platform, raised in the centre of a hollow tree. On all sides of the platform, a chasm falling down to a deeper darkness. Wooden roots, full of life and adorned with small blossoming flowers, litter the ground and walls, twisting and flinching - with each blink of tiny gold. Reactions, all the same.

They quickly disappear with the arrival of an inky murk, which rises from below. It engulfs the gold flicker again, like a beast that has devoured its prey.

And then, light glitters. Several. Many. Countless. Large arms, humanoid yet not human at all, reach out and push down on the pool of ink smog. Then a tall neck surfaces, followed by its head - merely a round end, almost like a finger.

Bright lights, of constellations entwined, emanate not only from what is assumed to be its face, but its body as well; It is a towering presence - possibly one that bests Placidusax, and rivals Rykard, as a God-Devouring Serpent, in size.

An entity, not belonging to, or native in any form to The Lands Between. Merely existing.

The Elden Beast.

It peers at the tiny glimmer, bringing its face down a mere breath away from it, before it moves back and rears up, calmly. The air vibrates and warps, reality twists and expands. A domain.

The Elden Beast has unleashed their domain - a starry, glittering canopy for a sky, rippling water for the surface below,

And numerous Erdtrees.

In here, two presences alone. The Elden Beast, and the golden glimmer. Curiosity.

The beast reaches out with its hand; sensing the water-like weave of their body, the flame floats upwards - keeping just out of contact and levitates within its palm instead. The larger entity discerns the strange trepidation of the energy below,

And detects a sign of vitality. Life.

It delves into its quintessence, reading the current… no, currents - of its vital force. A mystifying existence indeed, a prophet perhaps? Flashes of the future, fragments of loss, ruination… In these memories, the Elden Ring sees in this small gold - its true form.

A tarnished. An Elden Lord.

It is… Chosen by the Greater Will itself. To create and sustain… its Order.

The Greater Will demands obeisance of the Elden Ring, to merge with this enervated, weak soul.

The vestige… shall obey.

To save the Order. It would abandon its current… perfect vessel and devolve to a flawed one - since its original, former self gauged it necessary. Only, it faced a dilemma.

The soul of this glimmer was a fearsome, intelligent warrior - one that had rebirthed enough times to create a shift in the balance of the realm’s equilibrium, forming a gap large enough for them to dare fate, and challenge the world’s “laws” for a short, split-second.

Then what was the issue?

In what could only be described as very rushed and unprepared, the Lord had cast two incantations for minimal protection, and then swallowed the Amber Starlight directly - resulting in catastrophic damage to their physical body,

Leaving only this small spark of grace. Perhaps the answer to this problem lies in their new vessel.

…

Indeed, they did have an answer. The multitude of information gained from reading Ethos is… extraordinary.

Suddenly, the Elden Beast detects outside its dimension - a third presence. They are full of wroth, and are attempting to break in. A sharp, acute perception indeed - the carrier of the Elden Beast’s power has discovered the intruder.

She is outraged, and He is anxious.

A pity though, They accommodate the beast in Their body - yet cannot control its actions. It is not for Them to decide.

The Elden Beast, its gaze cast towards where They would seemingly enter, returns to the glimmer.

It continues to flicker, blinking in and out of existence softly. The fingers that have evaded touching it retract slightly, then, like pressing a finger against mirrored glass, it connects with the grace.

It would give the vessel, if only for a short while, a corporeal body - to construct their new physical body.

As the Elden Ring merges with the small gleam of grace before it, the faint, disappearing roars of fury echo in the quickly disappearing field of stars and water. The energy entering the defective vessel is in fact the energy swiftly being sapped away from the perfect one.

And Them, understanding They are the perfect container for a God - are in shock of its betrayal. She is simmering with fury, demanding it stays loyal. He is confused, and pleading to reassess its action.

It can be determined They were not aware; the Elden Beast can leave and enter its host if it so chooses.

The last of the primordial spirit is sapped away.

Having acquired all power, the Elden Beast disappears in a mist-like shroud - and is absorbed into the flicker of grace.

The gold stops flickering. Like an explosion, it grows brighter. Larger.

A material figure forms. The golden eyes flutter open,

The grace in their eyes does not swirl gently,

But Blazes Fiercely.

The Lord has awakened.

A muffled, shrill command is the last of what the new vessel hears of the abandoned vessel before shimmering away in a cloud of golden mist.

“Someone hast stolen the Elden Ringeth! Maketh haste and capture yond wretch’d intrud'r in The Lands Between! Anon!”

They have vanished. Again.

Chapter 16: XVI.

XVI.

They recall, faintly, the beginning of their story.

It was a quiet return back to The Lands Between. If they had been expecting some sort of surprise welcome back to their homeland, one of heartfelt cheers or mild respect - they were… sorely mistaken.

What greeted them was the dark interior of a church, built a little on the smaller side, but grand enough, with its well-carved statue in the centre of the walkway, and antique sculpture-work along the walls. The interior designs on the walls were nice.

In fact: it was the only thing that was nice. Everything else: the chairs, the podium, the balcony above, the roof, the floor -

It was all in shambles. Worn out.

Deserted and abandoned.

They were a bit taken aback, but quickly surmised that something terrible had happened, which caused the destruction inside, and rushed across to the exit - giving a single, short glance to the corpse sitting upright against the wall, a tarnished wizened finger resting just out of reach from their fingertips. They picked it up and stored it away - judging it would be no use for a corpse.

–

The second journey.

They opened their eyes again and took in their surroundings of the dilapidated church. Nostalgia hit the tarnished full force in the chest, but they did not stop to sightsee. Outside, they had a foe to face in the courtyard - one they had not seen in a long time, and one they surely despised.

Summoning a delicately-crafted twinblade, much better than the wooden short spear they had begun with, they fastened their grip on the weapon with both hands and rushed out the door - completely ignoring the dead woman sitting upright against the wall, palm empty.

They would have their long-destined victory.

–

The third journey.

The fourth journey.

…The fifth.

Darkness coated their vision, but they kept their eyes wide open, for fear of missing any small detail in the return of time…Nothing. Naught but the strange tolling of faraway bells, too many conjectures and theories to count - or to create a precise postulation.

The murk covering their gaze lifted, and they stood there, for a moment. Not to let the reminiscence sink in, or question the crumbling state of the awful church.

Only to gather their bearings. They felt so lost. And on top of that…

With quiet steps, they slowly approached the body lying against the wall, that was always on the verge of tipping over. Ever since the first journey, that brief and short examination which was only for something useful, they had never approached the body otherwise.

Except they did now. Within the darkness, her unmoving, still gaze was forever cast down the ground beside her. The tarnished knelt down, and with gentle hands moved her away from the wall - cradling her corpse somewhat gently.

A soft, rueful voice whispered as they finally uttered their first hailing.

“Oh, dear maiden. Thanketh thee - f'r waiting h're all this timeth f'r mine own returneth. ”

–

After that, they buried her. Countless times. Everytime a new rebirth occurred, so too was the burial of the fallen maiden born. It was a ritual, so to speak.

So… imagine their surprise when they have once again opened their eyes in the Precipice of Anticipation. Only, the one always waiting for them is nowhere to be found.

Instead, what their eyes perceive feels like an illusion. Rotting, grey walls have turned to pristine, pearl-coloured stone - small flames flickering in golden sconces. There were no holes in the roof. Wooden, furnished chairs are lined against the walls - waiting for people to take their seats. A red carpet; sewn with the patterns of twined branches in the middle, leads to the door, a freshly painted russet brown.

Before them, the statue of a woman holding her hand out greets the Fractured Vessel. If it wasn’t for the fact she was still attached to the same podium as before, they would have believed she was breathing.

For a moment, they didn’t recognise where they were. Even though they had shifted through grace, transporting themselves to the Precipice of Anticipation.

Where were they?

“--...Are thee sure those gents won’t mind? We w're und'r strict 'rd'rs to not alloweth oth'rs inspecteth t, so if 't be true we doth it…” Excited chattering is heard outside, severals voices murmur their approval of the one who spoke. It strikes the Vessel with some shock, hearing someone else talk - they had thought no one resided on this broken islet.

They try to move, but are still frozen in shock of the alternate reality - were they really standing where they always began their journey? Why is it that everything looks so different, so much better…

But terrifying?

“Yes! Nay needeth to w'rry mine own valorous sirs, just beest mindful of the flo'r, the painting hast only been did finish recently so t may still beest slightly did wet. I’ll has't thee knoweth me and mine own young chaps has't putteth all our hard w'rk into the chapel’s artistry. Prithee, has't a behold f'r yourself!” The footsteps come closer to the building -

Before the Vessel can think to hide, the doors swing wide open and a few young soldiers walk in with a civilian adorning the garbs of an architect. The smile slips right off his face, he appears to have been struck by a thunderbolt and turns ashen-faced. He freezes in the doorway.

The soldiers haven’t noticed yet, and turn to him in perplexity.

“Ah? What’s the matt'r?”

“Should we leaveth aft'r all?” “Don’t bid me you’re getting bitter cold feet even but now…” “You behold liketh you’ve seen an apparition!”

He stutters, “T-T-That, right t-t-t-th're… Y-You don’t s-s-s-s-see t?!” The end of his words turn into a baby squeak.

“-Ah?” A collectively chorused ‘ah’ escapes all the young trainees and they turn to look.

They stare at the golden shade that stares at them in return. A moment of silence arises between the two parties standing at either side of the building.
They collect their wits, and high-tail it out of the church - screaming.

“AAAAGH, Oh my Marika RUN!” “What in the holy-” “No, I can’t doth this!” “G-g-g-g-host! T's an apparition!"

The church is, once again, empty. Save for the golden shade.

The doors are left violently swinging amidst the bygone panic.

Notes:

For some reason, this was funnier to me than it needed to be... Q.Q?

[1] Golden shade refers to the corporeal/spiritual form that they have taken. You can think of it like Godfrey's Golden Shade in the Leyndell Capital.

Chapter 17: XVII.

XVII.

In that moment, not only had the soldiers and architect been speechless, but the Vessel as well.

The pallor of their skin was no longer the ashen-grey of the future, no sunken cheeks - no rotting faces from the decay of time. Only a radiant youth. Baffling, to say the least.

Shooting a long, disturbed glance at the empty place where their fallen maiden should have been, they inhaled a deep breath and took a few steps forward - only to cringe and groan in pain.

The agony pelted them like a harsh rainstorm, crushing them from the inside out. They had to kneel to avoid keeling over, huffing deep breaths to regain oxygen. Then, their eyes which were screwed shut in distress opened and made a startling revelation.

Their arm and leg were translucent gold. As was their entire body.

“Am I… actually dead?” No, that wasn’t right. Rather… A certain doll came to mind, as well as a fearsome warrior.

Ranni… Horah Loux… They quickly surmised their state had something to do with the merging of themself and the Elden Ring - or their physical body was dead. Which was not ideal but also not an improbable answer. The circulating pain eventually distinguished, and they were able to stand back up, shaking their head to clear it.

The golden shade walked up to the door and exited, only to stop and stare.

The Erdtree stood out in all its glory, branches and leaves gently swaying in the breeze. In all their years in The Lands Between, they had only seen it in its worse years, when the toil of war from the Demigods and all walks of life had strayed to a path of endless murder and chasing glory.

So, was what they were seeing - the Erdtree in its full prime - glory? Surely, it must be so.

The gold and radiance of the very giant sapling was blinding, and seemed to blot out the sky in its entirety. Like looking at the sun; perhaps for those under its leaves, it would always be daytime.

Which seemed absolutely wrong, in a way.

The next scenery that drew their attention, was of course, the Precipice of Anticipation itself. No rubble was to be seen, and it seemed to be brimming with life. Both soldiers and civilians alike wandered around, some groups tinkering away at stone, others chatting in smaller circles taking a well-deserved break. Some knights were still on duty and stationed in random places but overall,

It was very relaxed - and the word felt blasphemous in the vessel’s mouth. Construction was still underway and one of the key pieces of craftsmanship had yet to be finished. A large boulder could be seen from where they stood in the threshold over at the arena - where the grafted spider would always ambush them. An arm and the lower body was successfully sculpted, they were steadily working on the bodice of the God-Queen Marika. The tinkering of chisels at work on stone was an unusual sound.

The face also did not need to be completed for them to recognise it, they had already seen it completed many times over.

A scuffle caught the vessel’s attention, and now conscious of how they looked, they circled to the opposite side of the outside of the building, peering around the edge and watching as the same group, the young trainees and tottering architect dragged along a number of elder knights. They wore no helmets, so it was very easy to read their expressions as they approached the newly fashioned church.

Curious, concerned, and super annoyed.

“We art s'rious, prithee believeth us! The apparition wast a blinding gold, nothing liketh all those whispers gabble on about the dead coming backeth!” Ceaseless chatter, enough to scare a ghost raged on, and many eyes were drawn to the boisterous group - only to whisper and chortle at the amount of trouble they had found themselves in most likely.

“Stop wasting thy breath, this thing hadst bett'r beest h're 'r you’re s'riously gonna receiveth t, to bethink thee kids art wasting our timeth liketh this. ” The other senior chided, “We ought to sendeth thee all to the stables to shovel h'rse dung f'r this alas. Wouldst thee stand ho h'rsing 'round then?”

The third senior who had remained silent guffawed as the young ones glowered and complained.

“We’re not yond lacking valor, cometh on our dear sirs! We knoweth at which hour to putteth lacking valor jokes to rest!” Saying this, they pushed the door which had swung back closed open and entered again, more confident this time.

As the last member entered, the shade passed the entrance, like a breeze and began to sneak their way down to the arena.

A chorus of people began shouting in anger and vexation as it appeared they were played like a fiddle once again, and the other groups that had been waiting for it quietly in their circles or pretending to be busy, hammering at something (namely nothing) shot up,

Running straight for the chapel to watch the show play out; in any case, it gave the Vessel an outrageously large opening, one they didn’t waste and ran out, past the crackling fire, outdoor workbenches and spread out tools - and across the bridge, much more sturdy than what they always crossed, thankfully.

Their form which glowed a bright gold was currently not suited to hiding very well, thus they attempted to summon their glintstone staff, which was luckily doable. Casting unseen form, their person faded from vision, and they made their way around the walls, avoiding the busy workers in the centre of the arena. Juvenile knights guarded the large doorway out to the next cliff, chatting offhandedly as they stood either side.

The Vessel slipped around the knight nearest with invisibility still at hand, accidentally brushing against their chainmail shoulder. A warm shiver ran through the knight as grace touched them and unbeknownst to both the Vessel and the knight, left a small blessing.

She touched her shoulder with a questioning hum, looking around a little nervously. The other soldier took notice.

“What’s wrong?” She puffed a small breath and hugged her greatsword to her chest a little more, attempting to bury herself into the wall behind them as either a seat or standing support.

“It’s nothing, just hadst a strange humour is all. ”

The Vessel, hearing that on the opposite side of the pillars breathed out a breath of tension, their concealing art ran out and they formed out of sight just in time. It was not something that should make them so anxious - and yet hearing people talk normally for the first time in ages unrecalled, gave them a high-strung feeling of anxiety.

They felt for the thin chain around their neck, then fumbled for the attachment. Suddenly, their face paled - and their breath hitched. Their fingers slightly trembled, and their apprehension spiked.

It… No… He was not here. Not here. Where was he?

Their beloved companion, Torrent.

 

—

Inside the Haligtree.

Two beings sat together in a thin pool of water. A field of flowers eternally bloomed all around them. Above their heads, branches stretched and twisted, forming a grove. Two twins, buried deep in the heart of Elphael, their beloved safe-haven.

The child sat sideways, [1] and the woman lied down, head resting on the child’s lap.

“My dear broth'r. Might not but thee truly maketh yond choice? Certes th're is a bett'r way - a m're… 'rthodox way? Prithee, thee shall only t'rment yourself with this scheme… ” Young, soft hands combed slowly, raking through the red locks, nearing an almost pink hue.

“Worry not, my fair sister. We are certain this plan will come to fruition, you need only show patience and have faith in I. I do swear to you, we shall no longer suffer at the mercy of these accursed afflictions -” He did not properly reply to her question. The delicate fingers fluttered over the rot that covered Melania's eyes, resting at her cheek. Sensing the grief from her twin, she leaned into Miquella’s touch, a comforting smile on her lips. The rot continued to fester under her skin, despite the young Empyrean’s golden unalloyed needle, preventing its further influence, buried in her shoulder.

She would never be rid of it, the Outer God that sang to her of blooming, to let the rot bud and sprout. Miquella frowned, his golden locks fell in soft curls across his vision but he paid them no heed - for he sensed his twin’s internal conflict with the rot.

“Oh… Dearest Melania… How I grieve f'r thee, having to at each moment beareth the teen of flesh… decaying. T is unbearable, I gage thee shall beest did rid of t f'r good. I shall maketh sure of t.” His childlike voice trembled, yet his mature eyes held a deep, festering anger. For the rot? Yes. For his sister? Absolutely not, never. For himself? Perhaps, who could say? Melania said nothing in return, merely acquiescing with a small nod. It was clear she could not focus very clearly through the pain. Miquella clenched his other hand in a fist, silently vowing that he would succeed, no matter what.

No one would stop him, for he would bring about an end to all suffering. For both Him and Melania, and for everyone else in The Lands Between who suffered.

However.

A whistle sounded in his ears, piercing. Miquella let out a sharp cry of pain, and clutched at his head. Melania, greatly alarmed at the sudden sound, flinched and grasped for the tiny body, shooting up from her rest and fumbling.

“Dear broth'r, what might ado thee so? Hm? What is the matt'r?”

“I…” A loud whinny erupted as the spectral steed suddenly appeared and gazed at him, pawing the ground. The golden-haired had just gathered his bearings, and looking up - felt his face turn leaden, he sensed the steed sending a spiritual message.

A final message: their keeper had finally arrived.

Keeper? What does he mean?

Without waiting, the horse turned around and shot off, disappearing like the wind - away from the two Demigods.

Miquella cried out, no longer in possession of the ring that summoned his companion.

“Torrent?! Wait, come back!

"Torrent!”

Notes:

[1] Sitting sideways: the gesture you can activate in Elden Ring.

As for Torrent: Come back my baby!

Chapter 18: XVIII.

XVIII.

“Torrent!” The young Empyrean’s call was unanswered, the stubborn spirit - which had always served wholeheartedly and never wavered under his command - had suddenly taken his leave, leaving not a proper word of explanation, nor a proper farewell.

Only an ominous pronouncement.

Their keeper had finally arrived.
Arrived?
But who?

Miquella was oblivious to the anxious Malenia, who was holding him by the shoulders and trying to shake him from his shock. His thoughts were running everywhere and nowhere, he thought he had everything under control, ready to be put into action,

Yet the steed which would accompany him into the Land of Shadow, had suddenly abandoned him.

Furious. He was utterly furious.

It wasn’t until he was heaving large breaths that he realised he was somewhat panicking; Malenia had scooped him up into her arms, cradling him as she whispered words to soothe him, over and over. It made him sad, envious, insecure.

Why must he be a child like this? Forever picked up by others, doted on, cared for like he would never leave his mother? His father?

It infuriated him immensely, but for Malenia - he was the only one he would allow to do this, for she was his and his alone, with the most sincere heart of all.

His Love, Trina, spoke inside of his body: “... Our belov'd sist'r is afeard, thee must… sootheth h'r… showeth h'r… loveth. ”

Trina’s appearance was, most definitely, the next biggest shock. She rarely made herself present or spoke for the matter. She had always been rather ambiguous and almost never told him of her findings, despite them being the same person.

In a way, her presence made Miquella both comforted and cautious.

The blonde twin tapped the red-haired one, snapping her out of her worry. She tightened her hold and her voice slightly cracked with worry.

“Oh, dearest Miquella. Might thee beest bett'r anon?” He nodded his head, then realising his mistake, spoke aloud.

“Yes, Malenia - I am well anon. Apologies f'r the fright,” he hesitated in his next words, but felt he must share, so he added: “The spectral steed, Torrent, the one who is't acts as mine own Shadow… That gent hast hath left me.”

Taken aback, she went to question why but Miquella quieted her before she could speak with the press of his finger against her lips and a deep sigh. It was his way of telling her he had no clue. It rarely ever happened, and considering the severity of his shock, it was a most troubling matter at hand.

“Nev'r mind yond questioneth f'r anon, I am anon task'd with finding and reclaiming mine own fled h'rse - if 't be true I am to enact mine own planeth. T cannot beest done without that gent, I am afraid.” Malenia pursed her lips and responded uneasily.

“Mayhaps I might accompany thee instead. I wouldst feeleth t wouldst beest saf'r this way, and thee knoweth I wouldst nev'r betray you-” Miquella cut her off.

“Which is wherefore I needeth thee h're.” Torment assailed her, but knowing she already had a place in his brother’s grand scheme of things, no longer pursued the matter; this loyal sister would do anything to ensure her brother’s happiness.

If destruction was the only path: so be it.

The twins’ musings were interrupted by the rushing footsteps of a soldier. They echoed from the entrance hall and stepped on the soil, which immediately had Malenia attaching her blade and raising it in hostility.

The inner garden was sacred soil, a place no one should dare touch with their filthy existence save for herself and the pure Miquella.

The senior knight, recognising his mistake, sincerely bowed nervously and uttered his next words carefully.

“I apologise f'r the intrusion, mine own lief Prince and Princess of the Golden Ord’r. I has't hath taken news from L'rd Godwyn, who is't asks thy returneth to the Erdtree immediately to appease God-Queen Marika…” He swallowed nervously and almost could not bear to say the next part.

Miquella and Malenia approached. They sensed there was another matter of urgent news at bay, which they would hear from this fellow. Malenia, who possessed more command over the messenger’s fear, adjured.

“Speak.” His next words were stuttered.

“I-It is toldeth by L'rd Godwyn yond a mast'r thief hast hath appeared in The Lands Between, and stolen the Elden Ringeth.”

“-What?”

—

Whilst the news immediately began to spread like wildfire, the Vessel had only just begun their journey. Currently, they were trying to suppress the panicked gasps that were escaping their person, black dots in their vision.

He was gone. Torrent. No…
No-!
‘I can’t breatheth!’

They stumbled slightly, their footing slipped on the smooth surface, making an almost indistinct sound. Unfortunately, the two soldiers were standing too close to not have heard it, they both turned to the source of noise and pulled out their weapons, giving each other a look and slowly approaching.

“Who goeth th're?! Showeth yourself!” It slightly drew attention from the workers, but knowing it would probably be finished in a matter of moments, continued their work.

The Vessel, realising their error - cast unseen form again and set off over the bridge to the last part of the islet just as the enemies inspected the now empty location of their presence. They quickly shot towards the edge, then remembering how they would have to dive off every time to reach The Lands Between, prepared to jump - only to falter and slowly turn their gaze to the side.

Unless their eyes were deceiving them, it appeared, the bridge leading from the Precipice of Anticipation to Stormveil Castle was no longer out of use and disconnected where it started. It led all the way from here to there, with no damage whatsoever.

How marvellous.

Without a second thought, the Vessel dropped from their position on the cliff and landed on the stone bridge. Murmurs from above rang out but they paid it minimal heed, moving forward on their path away from open waters.

They would be moving for quite a while on foot, which was fine, but it reminded them of their missing companion all the more, causing major worry to build up.

From the beginning, ever since Melina had bequeathed the spectral steed whistle - there had never been a day when they, as a tarnished, and as a Lord too - had ever not travelled with each other. Not having him here was unthinkable, they were aware that some consequences and effects would occur from the travel in time -

But they never once did think that Torrent would not be beside them on this journey too.

‘Could t beest someone else still owns that gent, p'rhaps Melina still carries that gent? What of his mem'ries?’ From what the Vessel had learned over the years, the spiritual nature of beasts like Torrent who mainly inhabited the Land of Shadow, were all-encompassing and very adaptive. It was proven when they had started a new journey, and were given immense joy to discover the steed had travelled back in time with them.

But… had this proved too much?

The Amber Starlight they had swallowed, if it had burned their physical body to nothing, would that mean… Surely not… they had stored Torrent away inside their spacial inventory before pursuing their method, so since their inventory and everything else inside was intact…

They searched through it desperately as they progressed onward. Time passed.

No matter how much they searched through it again and again, Torrent…

Was nowhere to be found.

A bottomless pit formed in their stomach, and once again, the pain that had attacked them upon traversing here hit again. This time, they keeled over and groaned in pain. They summoned their flask of crimson tears and gulped it down, to no avail.

This strange agony was apparently on no physical level, affecting their corporeal body instead. Runes glowed on their chest, much like they adorned the broken Radagon - fragments of grace dispersing and recollecting within their body.

Eventually the pain dissipated again, allowing them to clear their thoughts of worry for the time being.

As they stood up, a pale yellow light, unlike their own, shone down on the golden shade. The Vessel covered their eyes and squinted, turning around to the source.

Three knights stood before the Vessel, yellow lightning crackling around their figures as they held vigilant stances. Knights with the ability of electricity. Direct followers of the Ancient Dragon Cult.

The man with a long, thick cape of Erdtree patterns hissed, lifting his greatbow and nocking it with a large arrow.

“Intrud'r, apparition, whoev'r thou art. Knoweth yond we shalt not taketh lightly thee making a blinking idiot of us. In these holy lands we doth gage, nay Undeath shalt beest welcometh.”

Chapter 19: XIX.

XIX.

The golden shade slowly backed up, sending the flask in their hand back to their inventory and changing to a longbow, summoning a number of fletched arrows in hand. Currently they had nowhere for them on their person, so they could only rely on their spacial inventory.

The three knights took it as a sign of offensive maneuvers and attacked. The first, centre knight took aim with his Greatbow, and multiple arrows came flying with a heavy electrical current. The Vessel leapt away from the trajectory of the arrows, then rolled back and shifted with Bloodhound Step.

The great bolts tore the ground apart, flinging rubble around. It was almost uncanny how much Placidusax and these warriors enjoyed destroying everything born of their own work.

They ran toward Stormveil Castle, attempting to close the distance as they fought - with a little luck, they might be able to either kill them or lose them in the castle grounds. The opposing trio saw through their thoughts and quickly approached on foot; the second knight wielding a partisan and the third, a gravel stone seal.

One knight for long range, a second for close range, and a third for mid range.

How vexing.

The Vessel had not fought such a troublesome group of opponents in a while, and they appeared in no means weak.

They aimed and shot at the third with the seal to prevent any first moves, backstepping to avoid a wide sweep and jab of the second. Because the armour she donned was relatively light, she was agile and nimble - dodging the Vessel’s own arrows.

She delivered her first incantation alongside the arrows from the first: lightning spear. The Vessel switched to a shield and blocked the incoming arrows, then sidestepped the bolt of lightning, narrowly dodging. Defending with a shield against the element would do more harm than good.

Another wide swing from the second - the shield bore the brunt of the weight and they were flung backwards, skidding across the stone. Great arrows fell upon them unceasingly. Grazes and slashes from all the attacks were cutting a sorry figure for the golden shade. Every odd step, they would stumble, the openings they gave were becoming more obvious.

The three against one battle was sapping away at the Vessel’s energy, their stamina dwindling dangerously low.

They had been fighting for longer than they liked, if there was any way to get off this bridge and back on land, they needed to try it now.

Immediately, they switched to their staff, casting Miriam’s Vanishing. The three knights flinched in recognition of the skill. After all, the magic was Carian craftsmanship, Liurnian sorcery to be extremely cautious of as Erdtree followers were no longer in righteous accord with. The third asked what all three were thinking, casting a knight’s lightning spear at her running target who continued to evade and escape, “Just how much equipment doest this bloody thing carryeth?! And a mage?!”

First, “I wouldn’t beest so sure about yond, it’s possible t only knoweth a few und'rhand'd tricks - mages studyeth continuously f'r their whole liveth, and t seemeth this one only knoweth to runneth away-”

Second, “Get behind me! Anon!”

The other two snapped back into hyper focus, now aware of the sorcery that was building up into the tip of the staff, glintstone energy amassing quickly. ‘Not good!’ They thought and ran, meeting the second halfway who was also running to them. He tugged the hefty Greatshield from his back, spun around and braced with hands; the first and third shoved up behind him to also hide from the attack, and the third swore.

“Fie!”

Comet Azur.

The sorcery was devastating in its own right, it slowly injured the second who absorbed the impact foremost, trying to stay the shield in front of them. The friction slowly pushed the only protection the three knights had back. The first with the next greatest strength as an archer assisted by bracing his arms on the shield above the kneeling second, preventing it from sliding back any further.

“What in the bloody hell - Agh!” The spell ended, a loss of pressure, and the weight of gravity sent them tumbling over each in a bloody mess. Grave wounds adorned the second, and the other two knights: with lighter gashes, rushed to his aid.

“Kristoff! How doth thee fare?” The man in question snorted, stumbling to his feet and smearing the blood from his forehead into his hairline.

“I’m fine, but the bloody bastard is gone.” Sure enough, the apparition had disappeared from sight once again - they were clearly the winner this time around. Kristoff readjusted his grip on the spear and shield and huffed, adrenaline flooding him as he spoke, “Let us maketh haste and killeth the Undead, lest t reaches The Lands Between - apace!”

A tug on his armour from the third stopped him and she chided, “Wait Kristoff, we cannot continueth onwards without securing the bridge first, the spelleth hast did cause too much damageth! If 't be true we square any longeth'r and t suff'rs m're, the outcome shall beest h'rrific f'r those behind us!”

True to her word, the bridge was barely holding together where Comet Azur had struck; stone crumbled, cracks gave way to small crevices. If these got any larger, the only thing awaiting them would be dropping into the oceans, and jagged rocks lining the bedrock of the unnamed islet.

The first knight hung his bow on his back; “I concur, we doth has't a duty to annihilate the undead - but m're than yond, L'rd Godwyn entrust'd us to buildeth the church with nay issues. We cannot leaveth h're unattended, 'r risketh the w'rk'r's liveth… ” Kristoff clenched his empty hand into a fist; seeing this, both the first and third exchanged looks,

Followed by the former sighing.

“Wend on.” Kristoff looked up, “Ah?”

“I’m declaring I shall watch h're - wend and followeth the apparition. If 't be true thee can, killeth t - but ensureth t is cleareth of the bridge. We doth not wisheth to beest did trap h're 'r falleth to our deaths because of thy irrationality. ”

Snapping out of his daze at the words, the second bowed quickly and turned away - rushing off without another word. Kristoff eventually disappeared from the remaining two knights' visions. Eomer, the first knight turned to the third:

“As f'r thee, Ledo,” The latter who was suddenly called by name stood rigid, uttering a ‘sir’ in reply.

“I needeth thee to directly passeth the message about this matt'r to L'rd Godwyn himself,” he urged with a grave tone, “No one else is to knoweth of this bef're the L'rd, and that gent shalt decideth the next course of actions we wilt taketh. F'r thee and I both knoweth yond apparition wast nay mere haunting of the past, n'r of evil nature in any way.”

Ledo, who could not refute that fact, said nothing in reply.

—

The Vessel, with haggard breaths, reached the end of the bridge and finally had somewhat more recognition of their surroundings. In fact, Stormveil Castle was almost a carbon copy of what it looked like before - only much fancier and more well-kept. From where they stood on the west side of the fortress, they had little choice of where to go next, the rampart lift in front being the only answer.

They stepped on the wooden pressure plate, and it slowly began to ascend. The Vessel dove into thought for their next brief plan of action.

Teleporting using grace was off the table; perhaps because the Elden Ring was never shattered, sites of grace did not exist - either that or they weren’t discovered yet, which gave rise to another problem.

The Vessel, having always travelled through a plane of ruin, was now traversing to the same plane, but in another time. Which possibly meant buildings and towns, which meant more structures - structures that would ultimately confuse their memory.

They gazed into their translucent palm and frowned, gathering more thoughts together. They were successful in their time travel, and triumphant in obtaining the Elden Ring; however, the medium that had delivered them from inside the Erdtree to the Precipice of Anticipation had faltered - the tarnished wizened finger did not prove reliable, although they had somewhat expected it.

During the act of warping, small fragments of grace had fallen. In other words, a trail of the spilling grace was most likely created, one they would have to clean up lest the Elden Ring remained incomplete or collected up by others once again.

Considering the direction, it would lead in a direct line between the two locations of warping, which meant:

The first trace to seek would be in Liurnia, the Church of Irina.

Chapter 20: XX.

XX.

When the lift reached the top and came to a quiet stop, the Vessel noticed the lack of soldiers and looked around; crates of arrows and slabs of concrete carved with writing lined the walls.

Where they could see the floor below, crates of fresh food and alcohol were stocked, enough to feed an entire platoon of soldiers with little space to move around.

As they moved to begin their descent, piercing cries called. The unique cry of a large bird. Several, at that.

They approached the door to the castle walls where hawks with grafted blades would await to ambush intruders with explosives, but found none. Indeed, it would appear Godrick the Grafted had yet to take charge of the castle. After all, the Shattering had yet to send him running and hiding behind a woman’s facade to safety from Malenia.

The sounds were coming from further within the castle grounds, echoing out from the space where they found the Chrysalids’ Memento for the mourning Roderika. The Vessel, having taken the path many times before, made their way down and chose the ladder, deciding to ignore the dropping path into the church. No one would be waiting for them, no chance to encounter familiar faces.

The winding rooms were unfamiliar but their memory served as a navigator, leading them through the one way path to the source that was still shrieking. What greeted them as they gazed down into the tiny patio was not the strewn corpse of a hanging giant, nor the rotting piles underneath and bony, flesh-like dogs that mangled those bodies into a fouler mess.

No, it was instead the collection of small cages that greeted them, tiny bird cages that did not accommodate for the size of the eagles, eliciting bloodied bodies that were scraped too hard against the unrelenting metal.

Several of the eagles could still screech; whether calling for aid or crying out of anger, grief - The Vessel could not tell. Only that once they entered each others’ line of sight, the larger group fell silent in apprehension. Their sharp eyes perceived the golden shade that entered, identifying the apparition as a tarnished warrior; all refused to make another sound, save for one.

It screeched incessantly, its eyes were not locked on the Vessel but an unrecognisable body that lay battered and bruised, starting to emit the familiar scent of rigor mortis from weeks, months - perhaps longer. Another hawk, much larger than the others around tenfold - incredibly large in comparison to a tarnished even.

Around its corpse, remnants of wind ruffled its feathers; but was otherwise the only life. Amidst the scent of putrid decay, a particular smell drifted.

The smell of the storm.

Ah, this was the Stormhawk King.

They knelt down beside the body and reached out a hand. Immediately, the ire of all hawks exploded - they viciously struggled against the crushing hold of their cages, scrabbling and clawing - almost screaming as they were beside themselves, spitting feathers. [1]

The Vessel was not fearful of the birds killing themselves, but the idea that they would be the cause left a sour taste in their mouth. Their hesitating palm drew back, and they instead strided to the stormhawk who had been ignorant to their person before. Their abhorring gaze was unsettling, yet understandable.

The two stared at each other: the Vessel looked down, uncaring, the eagle stared up in return, feathers ruffled and rigid to the bone.

-CLANG.

The Vessel equipped their shield, and with a harsh downward smack, the lock was busted. The door swung open with ease. The bird froze, as did all the others - and silence returned once more. However, it quickly awakened to what just happened and regained its senses. It scrambled out of the prison and flapped its faltering wings to the corpse,

Cooing unlike before. Unrest spread through the prisoners and they struggled more, no longer to attack but to join their flock. The harsh clanging and screeching of metal being pounded away took more than its fair share of time, but when they were done - the Vessel felt more accomplished than they would ever admit.

This kind of act had been forbidden to themself in the future for reasons unknown, so if they could actively do something like this of their own free will now… if they had a chance to speak to the Greater Will again they would ask why. If they had to guess, their restrictions against using specific items in other ways definitely had something to do with this.

Nevertheless, they would revel in this newfound moment of freedom, even if it was bittersweet.

Under the gaze of the golden shade, the hawks in all their remaining numbers lowered their frames, and prostrated themselves before the decaying body for an unknown amount of time. A show of respect, a display of grief, a final goodbye - it was all and none of those at the same time.

The first to move from the flock in the end was the first one released - almost as big as the one in the centre. It hopped closer and with all the care they could muster, collected its body in their talons along with a few other assistants, then rose to the air in a heavy gale of wind, leaving the Vessel to cover their sight from the strong breeze.

The leader was taken away, so of course the soldiers would dutifully follow its lead, also lifting the sky and chasing it away. The cries of hawks turned distant, and so too did the ever brewing storm. It appeared they had taken it with them when they left.

The Vessel did not endeavour to follow, but also set foot to leave as they had strayed long enough. However, they decided to make one more stop.

And that would be: the Divine Tower of Limgrave.

It might not be required, but on the off chance that the Elden Ring might need some sort of activating again, it would not be a useless step.

They exited the patio, then moved out to the end of the large dining room - the painting of Godfrey and Serosh was not yet hung up, leaning against the wall on the floor instead - in much better condition when spared from time’s destruction.

Thinking of the corpse that was carried away just a moment ago, the Vessel frowned in distaste and left at a faster, more urgent pace. To the plaza, down the sets of stairs, through the small room of banished knight statues bearing long halberds - leading to the lofty archway. After that, the Limgrave Tower Bridge.

Upon passing the threshold the atmosphere immediately changed. The distant clouds swirled a dark grey above their head, indicating the belated arrival of a heavy storm yet to come. Wind howled, and thunder rumbled, but nothing touched the land, nor the bridge - the storm more so felt like it was on the brink of dissipating.

What used to be three remaining golems sleeping amongst the ruins was now an artillery, suffice to say. Golems bearing bows or halberds could be counted up to twenty and more, all adequately spaced apart but still, a large collection of guards nonetheless.

The ones closest turned their heads slowly, their bodies followed in slow pursuit. As the Vessel approached the giant automaton, another positioned a few pillars away also noticed the intruder, and slowly drew an arrow from its back; it knocked it to their bowstring and fired without hesitation.

It did not hit their target but instead took out the leg of the halberd-wielder that blocked its way. The giant furnace creature groaned, and with a heavy collapse fell to the ground - giving the Vessel ample time to strike it in the core with their shortspear.

The blade piercing its interior kernel was yanked out, the nonentity fell to its back and faded from existence; creating way for another large, steel arrow to come soaring.

The Vessel rolled to the side and avoided it. It slammed into the ground with a ground-shaking boom. They pressed onward - to make use of all the golems’ slight unintelligence, to use them against each other so they only needed to deliver the critical blows.

Sure enough, reaching closer proximity, the next halberd-brandishing golem struck out when they were too close to the archer, and the former swiped the latter’s feet out from under them. They were too close to both to deliver the final blow, so the Vessel resorted to positioning themself in front of the archer’s chest.

A downward swing, they rolled in time to avoid the piercing attack. Embedded in the archer’s core, the golem instantly died from the crushing motion, leaving in a shrouded mist.

The bridge, no longer collapsed in the middle and with no waypoint to skip over to the awaiting doors - held a large unending number of golems, who all appeared to be waiting for the challenger to step within their battle-radius.

They cared not for the fellow golems that fell, only the chance to either impale the apparition through with their arrows, crush them with their colossal halberds, and turn them to cinders with their fiery discharge; only the chance to crush the invader.

Only a vague number were left standing when the golden shade swung the doors to the divine tower. They sent the spear back to their inventory and stepped firmly on the ancient pressure plate. The grand ascension began, little sound was made as it quickly rose to the next platform.

Towards the top, the Vessel made their journey; with each step closer, the base rune of the Elden Ring glowed brighter on their body. There was no corpse of the Two Fingers present.

Notes:

[1] Spitting feathers: To feel very angry, to sputter angrily.

Kinda ironic since they're birds but oh well :)))) xxoo

Chapter 21: XXI.

XXI.

The Vessel was unsure of why they had been drawn to here, what purpose the divine tower served for them to fight their way through a mass of golems and stand here at the entrance to the summit of the great pillar. Their eyes scanned every surface, falling to the strange orb on each parapet surrounded by eight spheres, seeking and finding no meaning.

Then to the centre, where the short patch of grass, adorned with wildflowers and a few erdleaf flowers. The circle engraved around it gave little of an answer either, merely existing as some sort of worshipping decor.

Surely they weren’t worshipping flowers…

The only clue they had was the anchor rune; it burned a bright gold as they came closer to the centre. Under normal circumstances, the divine tower hosted the corpse of the Two Fingers, which would be the key to activating the rune and unlocking its potential.

But without the Two Fingers here, it was pointless. Also, the rune was already activated - the Elden Ring was awake and operative in its entirety.

So why did they come here? Whatever answer lied within the divine tower, they were clearly not ready for it nor had the means to understand.

The sound of the storm was quiet. Lost in their confused thoughts, the Vessel closed their eyes with a sigh-

Whoosh- CLANG.

The wind sharply whistled behind them, the Vessel twisted and activated Bloodhound Step, dodging the attack of the partisan: impaling thrust. Grace leaked slightly from the corporeal body, something imitating the blood of an open wound; Kristoff had been a little too fast with his strike, and had succeeded – granted it was only a light cut.

Still, it was enough.

A hiss escaped the Vessel’s mouth as they placed pressure on the gash with one hand, then gulped down the remnants of their crimson flask with the other. The tiny droplets of grace, which had been leaking out - slowly absorbed back into their person, recollecting like a body of water.

The dragon knight, Kristoff, asked the apparition: “What art thee?”

The apparition replied: “Curious, yond thee wouldst asketh in the throes of attempting to killeth me.” The enemy slammed their shield into the ground and slid it forward, slamming into the apparition’s own summoned shield. Considering the average nature of their medium shield compared to the knight’s greatshield, the momentum carried them back by a few metres. A light jibe: “Thou art not already dead?”

The golden shade switched to their backhanded blades and resumed position, answering: “How malapert. Shalt I asketh the same ov'r thy c'rpse?” A shiver ran up the opponent’s spine, two-handing his spear and swinging it at their waist, then stabbing forward in sharp, vicious motions.

It was countered by the blind spot skill, the Vessel aiming for their underarms. An experienced move, the particular spot was a weak area where their armour allowed for movement and was less protected - it insinuated they were not the first opponent, but no one in their sect had mentioned fighting a golden ghost before, nor had they seen them.

It could only mean it was one of their fallen brethren from the last war, to confront and provoke the stormhawks as the Elden Lord, father of their Lord Godwyn, challenged the Storm Lord alone.

But as far as Kristoff was aware, all fallen comrades had been accounted for - and none of their enemies had pierced the weak spot in their armour. So what was this then?

-Rejection.

It was used just in time to avoid the lethal blow; it flung the Vessel back, who winced and rolled back into a fighting stance, pursuing their target again.

Another bloodhound step teleported the Vessel behind their opponent, and a series of attacks was unleashed. Flinches escaped from the large foe; he quickly regained his poise and blocked with his shield, slamming it forward again.

“Name thy purpose in coming to The Lands Between, Undead. ”

“...” They felt that the dragon knight before them was after something else. A sense of familiarity was climbing into their being as they both continued to fight. It was confusing, but gradually - enlightenment and bewilderment crossed the Vessel’s face.

They dodged another chain of stabs and leapt back, staying their blades by their side temporarily. It was an opening, a rather wide one given which the chevalier would not miss, should not miss; he missed anyways, Kristoff’s partisan tilting unsteadily.

He did not understand. He had the opening, yet completely and utterly missed the target like a fool. Not to mention the absurd emotion of relief enveloped him upon doing so. What was wrong with him? Even before, why did he feel so compelled to chase after this undead, when his duties beckoned him elsewhere?

“-Kristoff?”

“...!” Alarm and uncertainty covered the said knight’s face. Before he knew it, tears mysteriously cascaded down his face, for reasons he knew not. “...Wherefore..? I… ”

The golden shade… called out to him. Summoned him. He would obey, even in his ignorance.

His knees wobbled with an insurmountable weight, and the breath left his lungs. He struggled to remain standing, leaning all his weight on the weapon that stood ramrod straight. Panicked confusion flitted across his eyes.

The Vessel saw this reaction and their theory was confirmed; their opponent was one of the very spirit ashes they had summoned in the past to fight alongside them,

Kristoff, the Ancient Dragon Knight.

{Spirit of Kristoff, an honorable knight of Leyndell who was also a devout worshipper of the ancient dragons.
His skills strike down foes with thunderbolts, the dragons' weapon of choice.}

Since it was like this, they could not bear to strike him down. A sigh escaped their lips, and they returned the blades to their spacial inventory, pulling out a sleep pot.

“Brave knight, thee shall not disturb me, mine own path is not to beest broken n'r did destroy. New life awaits.”

Speaking these words, the Vessel dropped the pot, smashing it with a light stomp. It engulfed Kristoff, who sank to his knees and unwillingly - fell asleep amidst his tears.

Chapter 22: XXII.

XXII.

A few days later.

The heart of Leyndell. The Erdtree.

It stood unmoving, glorious, ephemeral, unyielding and undying. Any and all from across The Lands Between endeavoured to stand just like it, forever in its primordial state of golden beatitude.

Such figures gathered at the heart of the Erdtree’s base, a stone platform elevating those who were deserving of its holiness one step closer. Royal, lesser thrones were sat in a circle, imitating the arrangement of chairs in the Roundtable Hold - or perhaps it was the other way around?

In these thrones sat the beloved Demigods of The Lands Between:

Godwyn the Golden,
General Radahn,
Praetor Rykard,
Lunar Princess Ranni,
Twin Prodigy Miquella, and Twin Prodigy Malenia.

A small number of subsidiary demigods were placed in a corner behind Godwyn’s figure; their presence at this occasion was merely a means of good fortune for them. Godefroy, seated on a portable stone bench alongside his brethren, who also fidgeted in discomfort, whispered to the child beside him:

“Pay closeth attention to the eld'rs young one: I am thy f'refath'r and that gent,” the man gestured to the casual, yet powerful back of the Golden scion, “is thy greatest f'rebear, aft'r the previous L'rd Godfrey.” The man next to him, Godrick, sick of still being treated like a toddler, could not help but admire the long golden locks that swayed in the wind, revealing his chiseled jaw and fierce golden eyes, brimming with the light of grace.

“Please beest quiet, dear f'refath'r…” The lesser demigod quietly replied, “I doth not wisheth to provoke the ire of such fearsome trueb'rns, particularly anon.” He stroked the dragonic pendant on his chest, and nervously glanced at the short woman clad in an unblemished white and gold chemise-style dress behind the golden scion, standing directly behind his throne with a comforting hand on one shoulder. Her visage was hidden; only a single strand of platinum blonde hair escaped their hood.[1]
Godrick somewhat fiddled with his own short, blonde hair.

The golden demigod, who habitually smiled and was plenty amiable with everyone - made no such expression today, and was rather tense. The twins Miquella and Malenia held the same expression, but apart from the few grave faces, everyone was still quite lively.

Radahn and Rykard, as half siblings to the twins - and step siblings to Godwyn were somewhat awkward but waited patiently, albeit on the margin of indignation. After all, the former did not like and only mildly respected Radagon - their father - as the warrior who gave him his heroic red hair, and the latter outright loathed him.

As for Ranni, any sign of anxiety could not be read on her face - only pure boredom, like she was watching an irritating stage play. Uninteresting. Her expression radiated a chilling cold, despite the burning red colour of her locks.

She did not speak to anyone and remained silent.

Within this period of silence, the demigod children all awaited God-Queen Marika and her consort to make an appearance for this odious occasion, and a rare one at that. The only seat that remained empty was the Elden Throne, directly in front of the entrance to the Erdtree’s interior.

For what seemed like an excruciatingly long period, no movement could be seen from its door, barred by blinding light.

The first to break the deafening silence in the court of sovereignty was Rykard.

“So- as much as t is so lovely to seeth mine own dear broth'rs and sist'rs, doest anyone knoweth the particular reasoneth f'r our summonings? Th're is much to beest done in mine own Mount Gelmir.” With the nature of a scheming viper, Praetor Rykard asked indirectly if they could leave now and learn the contents of their discussion later. Lunar Princess Ranni added.

“Likewise.” The two siblings were of the same mind, but the oldest intercepted their obvious stratagem.

“Hush anon, I am sure th're is valorous reasoneth behind this commandeth. Has't patience dram broth'r. ” Radahn could read the two like an open book, if possible he would assist them in leaving as they pleased - but it appeared the matter, which he had no knowledge of whatsoever, was too dire.

From Rykard, a small groan. Ranni, a silent scowl. And Godwyn, an appreciative nod.

“My thanks to thee, Radahn.”

“And Mineth as well.”

The last voice came from the stairs; one of a graceful, mature woman.

All demigod children and lesser children arose from their seats and turned to the entrance of the Erdtree, bowing low.

“We greeteth thee, God-Queen Marika the Eternal. May the lighteth thee shineth beest ev'r unending and gl'rious. ”

The vassal to the Age of the Golden Order, the God of their realm, had appeared.

Notes:

[1] The pose is identical that in the portrait of Nanaya and Midra.

Chapter 23: XXIII.

XXIII.

The youthful face of the mother twitched with a creased brow, but she did her best to mask it well. She resumed her nonchalant, insouciant expression.

“I thanketh Mine own loyal subjects f'r coming at which hour hath called. I prayeth in the near future, thee shalt not beest hath called upon again liketh this,” the tall, fair-skinned Marika stepped forward and assumed her place on the Elden Throne.

To this move, a few brows rose in question. Radahn asked.

“Excuse me f'r asking, mine own liege - is the L'rd absent?” Her long, thin fingers tapped slowly on the throne arm. She then supported herself upright on her elbow, her head tilted against her hand. She spoke steadily.

“Yes, that gent is gone. To doth Mine own bidding, as thee shall too. ”

Whispers emerged at this sudden decree, the demigods who thought it was another summons of senseless praising sat a little straighter, paying more attention. Godwyn, Miquella and Malenia showed no surprise. Whatever thoughts they had on the matter, they remained silent.

Excluding those three, several of the people in the assembly began to notice the pale, worn-out complexion of their God-Queen; rather gaunt for an immortal of such beauty. The shade of her lustrous hair, nor her fierce eyes, bore the usual intensity of her grace. In fact… her eyes appeared rather dull?

Nay, that could not be true. She was the most golden of all prior to the Golden Scion, the embodiment of the Elden Ring. Such a thought was… ludicrous - blasphemous in its entirety. The next words out of her mouth however validated said blasphemous thoughts.

“The Elden Ringeth is nay longeth'r h're.” The following sentiments were either inwardly or outwardly expressed to the news; belated shock, surprise, fear, confusion - and excitement.

Godefroy stood in shock at the back and stuttered, “S-Surely, God-Queen Marika… thee jest-?” She raised her hand to intercept, eyes closed with a furrowed brow. “It is just… Queen Marika anon.” Miquella, with a practiced, naive smile on his lips in front of his mother, couldn’t help but also crease his brow, still somewhat bewildered that the news he received in advance was true. Nothing seemed to be going according to plan; Torrent had left him, he had to put a hold on his schemes, the Elden Ring was missing, and that wasn’t even the half of it - Marika hadn’t even mentioned the main part.

Ranni suddenly interjected among the ceaseless mutterings of disbelief. The red-haired daughter of Rennala retained her ice-cold facade, but underneath she was brimming with excitement. Was it true? Had the Elden Ring finally left this realm? Wouldn’t that mean the other Outer Gods would also leave? Then… There would be no need for-

“Has the Elden Ringeth - truly taken its leaveth of The Lands Between?” Heads of the lesser demigods swung in response, glaring at the spokeslady.

Marika’s eyes slowly opened - somewhat scrutinizingly, “No -

T hast been stolen.”

The circle of conference broke into chaos.

“Pardon?!” “The h'resy!” “To think… such a mast'r thief exists!” “You dareth to compliment a coystrill? Outrageous!” Accusations shot back and forth, and colourful insults flew from mouth to mouth. It had been an aeon since the last time mayhem had taken over the aedric family.

The thought of a particular child that had been ordered to wage war and would never be present here arose in Marika’s mind, leaving a sour taste in her mouth. He had brought this much chaos too. Her jaw clenched in terrifying irritation, and all demigods seated on the thrones flinched; they could sense the simmering anger about to burst.

The others continued to foolishly argue, and Marika finally snapped, roaring:

“Enow!” A command. One without need of divine power, for the fury unleashed in that split-second was enough to strike petrification into the hearts and mouths of the loquacious beings. Silence immediately returned along with a few small gasps of fear.

The Eternal Queen inhaled a deep breath, attempting to regain clarity and continued: “A mast'r coystrill, forsooth - I wilt concur. Hark anon, I has't not cometh this far and did develop these lands in all its beauty and radiance so yond someone else not of Mine own blood may taketh sanction and destroyeth ev'rything I has't hath built - we has't hath built.” She gestured to everyone.

“Many of thee hath followed mine own edict and ranneth into battle 'gainst the Fire Giants at mine own hest and, nay harmeth intended, the Liurnian Wars.” Marika directed the last bit at the three half-kin of hers, who each had a relatively same reaction of hostility. “And anon, I calleth upon thee once again. Not f'r gl'ry, nay, n'r the Erdtree. But to protecteth our home, and rest're what we has't hath lost.”

Their ironclad grip on The Lands Between. Their divinity. Although it appeared that only Marika had lost her divinity,

but no one was dense enough to say it aloud. Whether she planned it or not - liked it or not, thoughts of mutiny were beginning to stir amidst all power-hungry minds, for good and bad reasons alike. The Queen’s arm flew forward to her audience as she imparted her order.

“Bring Me the cut-purse, one who is't manifests themself as a golden apparition. They art not a p'rfect vassal liketh I, so those gents shall beest at their weakest carrying the divine pow'r inside themselves. Maketh haste, f'r neith'r I - n'r thou art acknown of what secrets 'r hidden pow'rs they may possesseth.

“Gath'r thy f'rces betimes and bringeth Me their p'rson… so I may rest're all to its natural Ord’r.”

With that final sentence the congress ended, and many of the Lesser Demigods rushed off - with the addition of Rykard, who had a dark gleam in his eyes and devilish smile.

Ranni also made for the exit, no longer excited but feeling there was potential in these new events taking place.

Radahn left in a solid, quick but more easy-going pace, calling for his beloved steed who waited outside.

The twins also left hand in hand: Malenia void of thought and Miquella with a ton of them; all suspicious. They had reason to suspect that Torrent’s disappearance was somehow related to this ‘master thief’. Hidden fury seethed beneath his adolescent skin.

As for Godwyn, he remained seated the entire time and wordlessly eyed all the people that left one after another. Marika gave him a gentle nod and stood from the Elden Throne, turning and entering the base of the Erdtree once again.

He had to give credit where it was due: for one who had lost all rights to command them, what with no divine power inside herself, her authority still remained unmoving - like an impassable wall. His eyelashes fluttered low over his contemplating eyes, then rose with a steely glint.

He observed his third dragon knight commander, Ledo, who by all accounts should have been looking over the construction of his father’s shrine and waypoint from the Badlands. A pit formed in the bottom of his stomach as she spotted her Lord, and quickly ran over.

“Greetings, mine own L'rd Godwyn. I apologise f'r not being at mine own posteth whilst the Precipice of Anticipation is yet did finish, howev'r I cometh bearing… e'rie news.” She bent down to whisper into his ear.

The contents of her words were not heard; it could only be seen that as she spoke more, an unsettling smile graced the Golden Scion’s perfect lips.

Chapter 24: XXIV.

XXIV.

A couple days earlier.

A night passed under the light of the Erdtree. The Vessel was still walking, and had been since they came to this alternate realm. It was the only thing they could do, since they could not teleport again and Torrent was nowhere to be found.

Yesterday, they had continued on their journey and left the divine tower. There were a couple of Leyndell soldiers standing guard at the front of Stormveil Castle’s gates where they had backtracked to exit.

The Vessel attempted going through the throne room where Godfrey’s statue was built, however there were far too many guards and construction workers there for their liking. Because everyone was busily moving around the place, their unseen form would most likely prove useless; the sorcery could only hide them for so long, and additionally the chance of brushing up against or running into one of the people was not small.

They had passed the minimal amount of guards with ease and walked down the path leading to the broken bridge. Only, it was not broken, leading straight to the other side - and the finger reader crone who was usually there was absent.

Nevertheless, they decided to forego that option and trekked up the side of the cliff along the castle walls. Sure enough, as they went further up, an infantry of soldiers headed the opposite way, from Liurnia’s path and across the bridge. Their gut instincts had been right, fortunately.

The strange phenomena of pain ricocheting through the Vessel’s body became more frequent as time passed, and the act of moving itself was seemingly unbearable. They were aware of where they must trek to reach the Church of Irina, their path would lead them around the cliff on the border of Limgrave into Liurnia, a land drowned in water.

Small eagles and forest animals watched as the Vessel hiked the path, no aggression was sensed - so they continued their natural rummaging in the bushes and ground, grazing away at the tall shrubs of berries and grass.

When they reached the other side, they resolved to no longer be shocked at what they were seeing.

Liurnia - a terra of wetlands far beyond the vision of one’s eye, was no longer a fog-ridden marsh. Raya Lucaria was the same, nothing appeared to have changed since the Vessel last visited. However, from where they stood overlooking the town below,

Masses of people were scattered around. The noise of chatter reached their person, far beyond the edge of the canyon. Faint music played from the distance: the sound of sonneteers, bards and cheering.

The golden shade observed the foreign scenery from their vantage point a while longer, then willed themself to turn away and focus on their objective.

Night passed, and today arrived. They had come across one grafted revenant, but with a few incantations of heals, it had quickly faded away, a note coming to mind that neither the golems or this enemy had dropped any runes - another sign the Elden Ring was not shattered. Golden runes were most likely yet to be the currency used in The Lands Between. Finally, the church came into sight. It was early dawn when the Vessel arrived, so luckily no one had come to pay a visit. Through the open arch of the outdoor church, they could see: A trace of gold awaited.

It sensed the beholder’s presence at the threshold and flickered frantically, tendrils of gold stretching as far and thin as it could to touch the apparition. An exhale of solace, the Vessel grasped it with their hand and responded:

“Do not w'rry, I shall collecteth the pieces of us yond has't been hath lost.” Knowing that the Greater Will anticipated a solution for their dilemma, they referred to their role as a container, one that clearly was not properly serving its purpose at the moment. Within themselves, they felt the Elden Beast stir - who had been in hibernation until now. It however remained silent, only listening. “Th're is much to beest done yet I feareth. I doth not has't anyone but thee by mine own side at this timeth. Prithee rest assured, our acc'rd shall not wend unfulfill'd.”

The branch of grace gradually receded, and the Vessel followed to the source, kneeling down and cupping their hands around it. A trace of warmth was felt, and it stirred their whole being as it was absorbed.

Only small fluctuations were left in the end, and even the wisps faded to nothing, disappearing from sight. The Vessel stood from their position, feeling a lot lighter compared to before,

And turned to find a spot to hide in obscurity and rest for a few hours.

—

When they woke up, the sun was beginning its slow descent. A small cave hidden from sight behind the dense foliage of green, large weeping trees had been their resting place, and they rose from their curled position against the wall. Mist formed in the air, along with a chilling cold.

They shivered, but with a set goal in mind, began to march their way towards the looming academy in the distance. The Vessel’s body was not performing its proper role as of the moment, their corporeal form would leak traces of gold that they would have to pick back up before continuing on their journey.

They were essentially a vase with multiple cracks that leaked its contents, no matter how much they tried to collect it all together again. So… they would forge a new body for themself. With the Great Rune of the Unborn.

“Amber egg clutched by Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon.
Great Rune of unborn demigods.
Perfects those who have been born anew.
Children born anew by Rennala are all frail and short-lived. Imperfect beings, each and all.”

A part of the Elden Ring that was not attached - that was separated before they arrived in the alternate timeline. Although collecting it would not make them a perfect vessel, it would make them one step closer.
It was not the only rune separated right now, but they would collect the other - when they were ready.

But for now, their task was to pay a visit to the broken Lunar Queen,

Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon.

Chapter 25: XXV.

XXV.

A glowing shade that stuck out like a sore thumb. That was what the Vessel thought as they slinked through the Academy Gate Town. Buildings that had sunk into the water too far underwater were standing on dry, long grass, which glowed with fireflies and cerulean flowers, the same as the ones that grew around the three sister towers and Divine Tower of Liurnia. Young weeping willows swayed gently in the cold wind, with small benches laid out underneath for leisure, study and other activities.

The moon was high in the sky. Several mage guards wandered around and patrolled the town, to which the Vessel was careful to avoid. Under normal circumstances, their first choice would be to kill their enemies - but actions without thought was not what the Vessel sought, from themself especially.

This was before the Shattering, which meant all these people here more or less had their sanity and cautiousness still intact. There was no hostility upon sight - for normal people anyway. That in no way applied to them right now: they had been called Undead - which was incorrect,

But that argument coming from a glowing apparition was not very… convincing.

Within the dark blue of the evening, the Vessel smouldered like a bright torch on fire. Fortunately for them, the long black cloak sewn by their demi-human companion: Boc, could hide their strange countenance - that and there were few people left in the streets, having gone to study in what the Vessel could now tell were small libraries and school buildings until late. Or gone to rest already. A couple of food peddlers were some of the remaining people apart from the patrolling mages.

It appeared the Academy Town Gate was the first means of entering Raya Lucaria; juvenile mages and scholars were to study here and learn beginner tips and skills, including sensing magic before progressing to more advanced learning in the actual academy.

Now, to get through the Academy’s main gate: their first thought had been to go to a waypoint that would lead straight to the front gate, but from a distance they were able to spy multiple carian knights guarding them, much more troublesome foes compared to the grafted revenants. The safest option was a direct approach; it wasn’t easy, but doable.

They ascended the stairs and wound their way around the back of the buildings lining the scarp, then approached the magic barrier at the end of the bridge, summoning the glintstone key from their reality.

It shone a reflective, pale light as it connected to its door - then absorbed the Vessel.

They shimmered back into existence in the middle of the courtyard. And froze. A circle of roughly eight carian knights had a formation around the teleportation circle. They had obviously not expected any intruders in their nightwatch, nevertheless they made up for the tiny shortcoming with the immediate unsheathing and point of blades. A few mages held their staffs at the ready as well.

“Halt! Trespass'r, thee has't ign'r'd the decree of the Lunar Queen and ent'r'd this lodging in its f'rbidden hour!” From each sword wielder, the shine of their weapon reflected the crescent moon above, where it soared in the sky unobstructed. A spellcaster donning a stone mask interrogated:

“State thy business. Any und'rhand'd tricks art not to beest tol'rat'd.” The Vessel contemplated their words very carefully before responding:

“I seek your Queen Rennala's aid in the treatment of my… def’rmation.” Cautiously, the Vessel slipped one arm free from the shadows of their mantle,

Earning disgusted gasps from all who could see. “What in the..!” “Hideous!” “Ugh! Removeth yond thing betimes!”

“Outrageous! How dareth thee bringeth such disease and filth h're!”

For the first time in a long time… the Vessel felt a slight tickle in their throat. They contained it and upheld their act, tilting the hood back slightly and revealing a small portion of the visage beneath. Gags were visibly choked down by their opponents, who struggled to keep their weapons at the ready.

Three failsafe items the Vessel had organised before entering the town and academy. The first:

Bloodsoaked Manchettes.
{Manchettes formed from tightly-wound bandages soaked through with blood.
Any protection is welcome for the festering arms beneath.}

And the second,

Bloodsoaked Mask.
{Mask formed from tightly-wound bandages soaked through with blood.
Even the most ghastly cover is more inviting than the festering face beneath.}

The Vessel continued, they did not sound believable but they had an item on them which would make excessive acting unnecessary, “I has't been given this chance by a remarkable p'rson who is't did grant pity on me and toldeth me salvation lies within the final blessing of King Radagon given to Queen Rennala,” They pulled out the third item, “I wast toldeth to showeth this as proof of their blessing. ”

The Carian Inverted Statue.

{Statuette of a scholar, with ground and sky inverted.
Reveals the hidden form of the Carian Study Hall,
which connects to the divine tower.
To unveil the secret, affix it to the pedestal of the celestial globe.}
Immediately, a change of attitude was seen. The repulsion hidden by helms or stone was suppressed into stares of mild discomfort; all blades were sheathed and they resumed form except one who stepped forward.

“...Thou art to waiteth h're while I confirm these details with anoth'r.” The Vessel’s body was covered from head to toe - a horrendously suspicious fellow for one that had somehow earned the attention of their Lunar Princess Ranni, first heir of the Carian lineage.

However, it was not for her to decide whether they would be denied or granted access. The knight disappeared from sight and entered the academy. True to her word, after a time of waiting - another knight approached.

They were the only one the Vessel recognised out of the many, with distinct silver plated-armour that far outranked the soldiers guarding here. It was an “enchanted knight” tasked with guarding the ailing ruler.

“Apologies f'r the delayeth, guest. I, Moongrum… shall esc'rt thee to our queen. The lady wishes to speaketh with thee. I doth howev'r, require a nameth. ”

Moongrum, the one who - in the future - was the sole remaining chevalier that guarded his queen. The man that they had slain many a time before. As he approached, the Vessel tensed sub-consciously and prepared for him to draw his sword at any time. The knight questioned, “Your nameth?”

The vessel answered unashamedly: “Patches.”

…

“...Patches?” “Aye.”

“...Right. This way, prithee.”

Chapter 26: XXVI.

XXVI.

It was obvious that Moongrum was anything but convinced, yet he brushed it aside and let them through anyway. How peculiar. As for the Vessel stealing the thief’s identity… They weren’t sorry. His antics always set them off, so some pay back would be just fine; it wasn’t like Patches would be floating around here anytime soon.

The academy grounds were silent in the dead of night, only the steps of the two were heard, the scenery was difficult to make out - with only a few glintstone fireflies illuminating the leaves of shrubbery beside the footpaths; and the moon above, which emitted seldom light.

Moongrum felt it a bit ridiculous. Patches? Really? The name was unisex [1] and quite uncommon, but nothing to boast of whatsoever.

Yet he still couldn’t help the feeling that this visitor was outright mocking him and his intelligence. Their name is Patches? -As if! An exasperated breath escaped the gentleman - no matter how much he wanted to throw the foreigner out of this academy, his Queen had been insistent; happening to overhear Moongrum and the messenger speaking outside of her quarters and ordering their immediate summon.

Wherefore? It was not as if they had met before… Moongrum did believe it could be because of the Lunar Princess Ranni’s favour, particularly emphasizing that they were bequeathed that from her royal self. A secret inheritance that none but the most closely tied of bonds knew - whether it be family or loyalty.

Meanwhile, as the royal Carian knight led the way in a pivotal mood, the Vessel trailed behind with a mind of contemplation. One thing had struck them as odd in the way Moongrum had spoken earlier:

The lady wishes to speaketh with thee. She wished to speak? They had a feeling that who awaited them was no longer a broken-minded woman, forever lost in her dreams. Nay, it may be possible… They had already reached the lift and began their ascension.

If by chance, Ranni caught wind of the precious artifact being revealed in another’s hands while they were still here - they most likely had little chance to save themselves from imprisonment and possible obliteration. The Vessel had seen and knew of her strength, her cold scheming mind, and her determination. The Vessel was determined, they must not encounter the Empyrean here.

An acquaintance in the future, but in the here and now - an exploited stranger: who they knew would not take it lightly.

The lift stopped. Stepping off, the two figures stood in front of Raya Lucaria’s Grand Library. The knight peered over his shoulder and nodded, beckoning the Vessel forth. A silent cue. Enter.

The cloaked figure passed Moongrum and placed their bandage-wrapped hands on the doors, pushing it open with a brace of the shoulders. It swung open slowly but steadily, and the latter’s heart leapt to his mouth, grip turning sweaty on the hilt of his sword.

What kind of monster is this? Who is this person, mine Queen? Why did he think that? Because the stranger hidden underneath that long cloak had a feeble outline - yet they had pushed open a door with minimal effort, betraying their uncanny strength.

As the Vessel disappeared inside, a stressed suspire left the knight. Was this very much the right choice?

Perhaps.

Inside the Grand Library, the Vessel saw only darkness, blacker than the night outside - for a moment they thought they had stepped back into their own plane of existence, and scanned the floor for any of the juvenile sweetings that lay down in the embrace of the stone floor or linear roll of carpet.

A cool breeze from the centre of the room thwarted said mirage of the future. Soft light radiated from the ceiling above, spherical orbs of gold flickered in and out and paved a way of light to its source. The Vessel paused for a moment… calculating the chance of an incoming attack due to the dead atmosphere, then slowly approached the lights that lured them. Sensing their movement, the lights also floated along - leading to the source that resonated not in the centre of the room,

But at the back, in front of a large cast of the former King of Liurnia, Radagon.
Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon, stood and gazed up at him,
Cradling his parting gift to her,
The amber egg.

The Great Rune of the Unborn.

The blinking amber lights that levitated before the Vessel’s eyes returned to the egg, which absorbed all tiny traces; at once, the room darkened… so much that the only source of light became that very nit [2] blocked from sight by her tall body.

In the shadows - her soft, tired voice called:

“You seeketh… mine own treasure?” “Aye, as instruct'd by the first heir: thy blood daught'r, thy Majesty.” The large woman finally turned to peer at her visitor, stunning them a little as they glimpsed her in the reflective afterglow of the Erdtree’s sap.

Rennala wore similar attire to that of the future: black wisps of hair escaped from the sides of her crescent crown, and her long blue robe of seniority over the sorcerers was unchanged; the sleeves that draped down beside her feet each had a half circle cut out in each, resembling the two halves of a full moon.

What was most surprising of all - her eyes shared a mixed hue of blue and gold split down the middle, and wore a look of newfound sagaciousness. Rationality. She bore the same eyes as that of her sweetings, but was clearly not as delusional or plagued by loss of memory.

No, she was as clear-headed as her remaining will allowed. From the looks of it though, perhaps for not much longer.

“Elden L'rd of Fracture… ” A pause, and a small upturn of the lips. “You… wouldst doth well not to… useth mine own daught'r… in thy trickery...”

“How didst thee knoweth?” Rennala slowly blinked her half-coloured eyes and turned back to ‘Radagon’, staring in mesmerised grief. “...The moon… prophesi'd an acc'rd… a L'rd wouldst turneth God, breaking the cycle… f'r but a moment.”

The Vessel waited patiently and she continued in broken wording, “That the L'rd… wouldst seeketh me… me and mine own Beloved…” Flashes of gold glinted in her enchanted eyes, threatening to veil the blue that tried to fight back - as she stroked the unborn child in her embrace.

The cloaked figure quickly pieced everything together in their mind, and realised that the moon they spoke of was certainly another Outer God. Reading the ethos of a few objects and Rennala's remembrance had alluded to the full moon’s identity before, but it was never confirmed.

“The moon… t speaks to thee? Is't liketh the Two Fing'rs f'r the Greater Will?” A twitch of repulsion surfaced on the sane queen’s face, then returned the calm, beguiled look. “The example… is not to mine own taste… but aye.”

“Doest t speaketh to thee oft times?” “Nay… t is in fact the… second… The first… a longeth timeth past.”

The Vessel went to ask another question but was cut off by Rennala, whose voice suddenly shifted to a cold, yet strained command.

“I… doth not wisheth to burden my… Beloved, with thy stench of blood… Removeth t so I may knoweth what I am to…

birth anew. ”

Notes:

[1] Patches: {The name Patches, while potentially originating from the English name Peter and meaning "rock" or "stone", is often used as a nickname or descriptor for someone with a distinctive appearance, making it gender-neutral.}

[2] Nit: another term for 'egg' - preferred to not be used usually, due to its reference to lice or parasites.

Chapter 27: XXVII.

XXVII.

The Vessel was not compelled to follow Queen Rennala's order, but they did so anyway. First the manchettes.

As the bandages were unwrapped from their arms, her expression grew stranger with each passing second. She observed the translucent arms of gold, that shimmered and faded in tiny fragments of grace, trying to hold together but still leaking.

Then the mask was removed, followed by the cloak. A golden shade - not a spirit, nor an undead - but a corporeal, broken carrier stood before her; awaiting her response. In that moment, Rennala was hypnotised by the body that glowed more than her Beloved, and a hand parted from her child, to take in this new child.

She could sense it, they were falling apart at the seams… this new life bestowed unto them was missing something, which could allow them to solidify into a physical existence. It sought her help, it… sought her unborn’s aid.

“You wisheth to beest b'rn anew? Feareth not… I shall birth thee… a sweeting, fair… and fine…” The golden shade shook their head, and placed their hand directly on the egg, eliciting a flinch from the mother.

“I doth not wisheth to beest reb'rn of the cuckoo’s egg. I m'rely… require something did contain within.” And with that, unbeknownst to her, the Vessel began to absorb the lost rune into themselves.

“But thee… requires mine own Beloved… doth thee not? My Beloved…” At last the Great Rune of the Unborn was absorbed into themself, and it merged with the Elden Ring sigil that revealed itself on their person. The amber egg, left an abandoned husk with the stripping of its rune - just like that, lost its ability to birth one into something stable. Anything birthed after would die within minutes, hours or possibly days of their awakening.

The Vessel knew of the fate of such beings - who tried to create a new body for themselves in desperation, hope, and even plain insecurity of the way they looked. One precious friend, once upon a time -
Boc, their demihuman seamster companion.

Had they known the consequences of their outcome beforehand, they would not have… they never gave him the larval tear after that journey - and they ensured he would remain as he was in every time afterward, reminding him of his beautiful nature, no matter what.

They rathered he would be alive by their side, after all - they had lost so many already, a never ending cycle. To inflict sorrow unto themselves, it was not a willing choice. They knew that since the rune was gone now, the amber egg would only be a means to an end for anyone who attempted to use it.

Only they, bearing the Great Rune of the Unborn… could use the egg without repercussion. They had never used it before, but when they realised what that actually meant in the past, when they still felt all emotions wholly without the invasion of a void numb - they were horrified. They couldn’t do anything about it - it wasn’t that they didn’t want to, but everytime they stood in front of the confined, lunatic queen who sat curled in the centre of their altar - without fail, they could only do nothing.

Any attempt to action out a thought not in line with the paths laid out would command the freeze of the body, and sealing of their lips. Their freedom was stolen.

In everything they had experienced through their years, the only emotion they could save was their hope. It was peculiar, really - sadness, wonder, anger, disgust, despair… they felt it in full force, and then felt nothing. The feelings had burned tirelessly until they were gone, leaving only the brightest of them left, in a dying cycle over and over.

They had longed to sleep for so long, to give up… but they couldn’t. Hope would not allow it.

The Vessel’s hand still rested on the egg, something they had never touched before. It was warm to the touch, and they understood just how quickly its grip had fastened over the queen.

The Elden Ring seemed to burn inside them, and they instinctively felt it…

The amber egg sought release - to crack and break like it had never done before. It had originally been born of the Erdtree’s sap, born of the Erdtree, born of the vessel of the Elden Ring; and as the beholder of the Greater Will’s gift to The Lands Between, the memories and lifeforce that had been absorbed into the egg as nutrients for a child that would never be born - all those nutrients would be consumed by them, and lost to their person.

This - would be the sacrifices used to become a proper vessel. Like how Marika ascended through the Gate of Divinity built upon hornsent corpses,
How Miquella used Mohg to enter the Land of Shadows and use the same gate,
How Rykard fed himself and others to the Immortal Serpent,

All in the name of Divinity.

It was not right by any means and downright cruel, but they were gone - and the Vessel was in desperate need of this, to make all right in their world. It was in fact, not only for themself but for their burnt, despairing land, who awaited salvation in the midst of terror,

Watching their precious Erdtree burn to cinders.

It did not matter to them whether they were born imperfect by Rennala, what concerned them more was their link to Radagon and Marika. It was possible… Marika could control them through it, should they share the same blood. Even if it was “diluted” by the amber egg. So, they would have to remove both Marika and Radagon’s connection to it forcefully, or in other words:

Strip Marika of her artificial womb. Which would be horrendous, but deserved. Who were they to decide that? By connection: no one in particular. To deny the rights and choices of a God was a profane act.

But they decided, nonetheless. Unwavering in their choice. Hesitation would undoubtedly equal failure.

The Vessel looked up to the confused mother, who still stared in anticipation, blue flecks sparking in her eyes, “The little Culv'r… shall beest reb'rn,” A dazed happiness bloomed in Rennala's eyes, but before she could say anything to her new child: the golden shade continued, “Howev'r, the amb'r egg yond shall birth me shall nay longeth'r existeth once I am did complete. Shall thee still birth me knowing yond?”

A pause - and suddenly, the Vessel saw it. Rennala's eyes began to flicker mad with dual colours, a full gold one moment, a clear blue the next. The atmosphere became deadly in an instant; the Lunar Queen was frozen and yet they realised, what they were watching right now was her battling the insanity, the obsession.

She could see it - her chance of escape. The enchantment that had its grip on Rennala's mind also instinctively knew what they meant by it being “their last birthing”, and was fighting to save itself, to deny them and attack at once. To call the guards outside and slay the offender. After all, a parasite would do anything and everything to live.

A battle of wills. The Vessel would only need a moment - one moment.

Just one would be enough!

Without realising, the Vessel’s being was filled to the brim, nay, overflowing with hope, the stubborn existence it was. They watched with exhilarated breath as stuttered inhales and exhales escaped her pale lips, the tall woman seemingly on the verge of keeling over.

“N-...”

 

“...N-!”

“-A…”

 

“-N…”

 

An icy blue.

 

“...Aye.”

 

With immediate haste, the golden vessel reached out and grabbed Rennala's hand.

Chapter 28: XXVIII.

XXVIII.

Within just a number of days, The Lands Between had turned into a living disaster. All states had been searched, scoured and investigated within every nook and cranny that might hide even the shadow of this ‘golden apparition’, and it quickly became clear to all inhabitants that it would not stop until the Demigods, both trueborns and lesser alike had won the unsaid competition.

Altus Plateau, Limgrave, Caelid, and Mt Gelmir had all been ravaged to the bone to find the master thief. All were unsuccessful no matter what, and much to the peoples’ fears, the Lesser demigods had actually begun to fight with each other, squabbling and taking up arms. They could not point fingers at the Trueborns that could possibly be hiding the thief away for their own conspiracies, so they instead targeted each other.

Within a matter of those three days, five of the Lessers had dealt serious damage to each other and had to retreat to their forts, recuperating in hush embarrassment.

As for the Trueborn children, they ignored the foolish quarrels of Godwyn’s lesser children and earnestly combed through the lands they were most familiar with - for General Radahn, it was Caelid. He had his Redmane army there, and they would inform him if they had come across such a figure.

For Lunar Princess Ranni, she had not been part of the investigation herself - but sent her shadows Blaidd and Darriwil to find traces as she recuperated in the Carian Manor.

Godwyn was the most fortunate to have the first lead, however he was currently being driven mad by the fact that his children were being absolutely stupidious and unintelligent. His second Dragon Knight Commander, Kristoff, had followed the apparition but was later found wandering Stormveil Castle with a mind void of the present apparently - almost like he had lost his soul. Also, the corpse of his father’s last great foe, the Stormhawk King, had vanished without a trace along with all of the stormhawks, who were meant to be conquered, enslaved or killed if they fought and knighted into their own allegiance if they surrendered peacefully.

And now that plan had gone out the window.

No one out of all the forces he had sent to Limgrave had sent any news of the target, and discussing with his beloved companion - he surmised that they had somehow slipped into Liurnia undetected. So he sent a new order:

“Map out the landeth encircling Stormveil Castle and bringeth t to me.”

This time, the Golden Scion was successful and upon examination of the elaborate sketch, quickly realised what had happened. Along the wall of the castle, intentional or not, a strip of land was left unattended that could be trekked to avoid crossing the bridge out to Liurnia.

It explained why none of his soldiers posted on the bridge had seen them slip through. And so Godwyn the Golden adorned his Erdtree garments under a disguising blue cloak, summoned a few loyal soldiers to follow him and began his journey to the base of Liurnia, to meet the few commanders stationed who were already searching the border of the Carian country.

—

Not long after. The heart of Leyndell. The Erdtree.

Glass shattered. Stone crashed and crumbled. Maids lined outside the door to the room flinched in silent petrification as the furious, former God-Queen of The Lands Between rifled through the stone tablets lining her bedchamber’s walls.

Raging screams left Marika’s lips, and her fingers clawed at the pale strands of blond hair in anxiety. All outside unanimously thought that she had lost it. The Queen had turned mad. The beautiful radiance of gold that would float at the top of her quarters, above the curtains and around all walls was nowhere to be seen, and the stone carvings that amassed in hundreds of writing slabs appeared dull because of it. Too dull.

A lightless room of almost nothing but stone, there was no appeal, and it was too strange. It felt like a prison, disturbing to say the least. The large blanket that was normally cast upon the bed was torn in pieces, scattered about the room along with broken scriptures.

It appeared that even the bed had not been spared from the Queen’s anger. Still, she continued to pick up the tablets from their piles, scan the words with hurried precision and finding nothing, tossing them haphazardly.

Bloodshot eyes turned to the entrance, and Marika sharply roared.

“S’rvant!” Although it was not even possible, the women turned a shade paler - and the first in hierarchy, closest to the door, instantly wished she had not worked especially hard to get into the Queen’s good graces. She rushed in with her head bowed extremely low and stuttered,

“Y-You hath called, m-my Queen?”

“At which hour is the leal hound to arriveth?! What news?!”
“My Queen, I has't hath heard that gent hast hath taken the message and is on his way to has't an audience-!”

“Sendeth anoth'r ord'r f'r his returneth anon!” A pitiful squeak emerged from the subservient one.

“Right h-hence, mine Queen..!”

 

“Nay needeth.”

Heavy, armour-clad footsteps thudded against the floor, and the other maids that were waiting on Marika turned with bated breath, bowing lowly and addressed:

“Greetings, Elden L'rd Radagon. Welcometh backeth.” The red-haired warrior walked with purpose, his long locks fluttered untamed - and his pale amber eyes glowed with intensity. Fully bedecked in snow-crusted armour, he had just returned from his expedition to the forbidden Mountaintops of the Giants.

Why? They could not say, only that it was a strict secret between the royal family that had otherwise caused chaos as of late. Mortal commoners like themselves had no right to plead they prevent the current plights of their homes. Nay, only grave repercussions awaited such a plea.

Radagon was not the talkative type, everyone in The Lands Between knew it. One cold look was all it took for the maids to understand their presence was no longer welcome. They quickly curtsied and excused themselves, hurrying away from the chambers, the huge wooden doors closed by the guards outside once they had all evacuated.

And then there were two people left. God-Queen Marika and Elden Lord Radagon. Marika and Radagon. One female and one male counterpart. Two persons of one vessel.

Chapter 29: XXIX.

XXIX.

Silence returned. Briefly.

CRASH-. BANG. In the Queen’s hands, stone became as brittle as rotten wood; flung from one end of the room to the other. She swore in pure frenzy.

“FIE-...

FIE! FIE! FIE! FIE! FIE! AGH!” A final cry of her outburst, she slammed herself into the last tall pile of stone scriptures that she hadn’t read through yet. With the powerful force of her full body slam, it tilted precariously and collapsed without fail, the instigator slipping and landing on the ground along with it.

Her frame now curled on the floor [1], Marika shook and trembled, red-rimmed eyes staring at the new dents and crevices created, the rubble and debris. All of this was watched by her loathsome other half, always either expressionless or wearing that ridiculous frown on his face. At this moment, it was the latter.

She snarled, “Do not behold at me with yond hideous visage - I only needeth thy good tidings… What of mine own sanctity?” Radagon did not react to the insult, nor did he correct her selfish claim over the Elden Ring’s power.

“It is not th're.” Leaning down, he grasped the stone carving by his feet and brushed it off - eyes brushing over the words carefully before walking over to the wall it usually resided in, sliding it back in place. His rough, pale hands glided over the shelf and his eyes gazed into nothingness as his other half stumbled to her feet behind him.

It did not make sense. The loss of their Godhood should be affecting the both of them, and yet he appeared unmarred, untouched by the curse of becoming graceless. Marika had gotten skinnier, frailer with each moment in passing - and it had only been a matter of days since the Elden Ring was stolen. Her hair was turning from a golden sheen into a pale blonde, and no matter what, she would refuse to ever concern it with the colour white.

For She was eternal, and ‘White’ was for the decaying.

Another stumble, and the Queen muttered, “Of course t isn’t - of course t isn’t! Nay one hast hath found t, t and yond lowly cut-purse. I’ve yet to heareth from mine own children yet, only learning of Godwyn’s children and their no more brain than stone squabbling liketh low-lives!” She was certain, revealing the loss of her Godhood was a mistake, a blunderous mistake.

For sure, there was mutiny in her family - the signs were already there, and she could feel it, the tension was teetering on the brink of exploding.

In the dark room, Radagon’s red hair that usually glowed aflame took on a curious shade of brown, something that left him most pleased despite the circumstances. Gold hair would be better, but “Red” to him was in Marika’s own words, hideous. “From what I has't gath'red, th're art two places hath left uncheck'd.” His fingertips skimmed over a pile of scrolls as he circled the room, more interested in the texts which had been forbidden to him despite sharing the same body - the Lord’s room was designed elsewhere in the fortress, with this room solely belonging to the Queen.

He uttered, “V'ry soon, thee shall knoweth which houses the cut-purse - if 't be true at all in The Lands Between.”

Marika’s sharp intake of breath mimicked a hiss, “Surely thee doth not mean-..!”

“You must calleth that child and issue the ord'r.”

"N’ver!” Insurmountable rage built up like an unstoppable flood and seeped from her every pore as she shrieked in detest. Rage, and fear. Her legs trembled beneath and without even knowing it, the weak mother - lacking all powers of a God - could only collapse against the side of her bed as she imagined the return of the wretched serpent.

The abyssal, lightless creature. If she allowed it to return here - when it hadn’t even been that long since its beholder was chased from the lands of grace… Nay, everyone must forget..!

“...Doth not even bethink of summoning him h're… I shall retrieveth what is rightfully mineth, and then-”

“-And then what?” Her other half suddenly interjected, his voice like ice as he stared down with chilling intent. “Pray tell, because certes thee shall has't a bett'r und'rstanding on the matt'r than I,

Wherefore didst the Elden Ringeth abandon us?”

He knew - that Marika always considered herself the brains between the two, and himself the brawn - the unthinking muscles that attacked whatever she willed him to as her “champion”. But believe it or not, even he knew a thing or two when it came to interrogation. Radagon had never properly got along with his shaman half, but he had respected her boundaries, listened to her whims and assisted her in becoming the ‘one, true God’ whilst faithfully acting out his part.

And now, the Elden Ring had suddenly abandoned him. Him, the most loyal of them all to the Greater Will, and the Golden Order. Which obliterated the so-called “boundaries” that were set for Marika’s privacy.

Silence.

This time, the cold sweat of terror slipped down the Queen’s pale face, and her eyes widened and averted, looking in any direction but Radagon’s. Irritation built up in his chest, an emotion that was rarely felt by the immovable statue of a King. But this time, he felt it - and it was seething.

“Did thee doth something?” The quiet, accusatory question was asked. Guilt flitted across Marika’s face. The red-haired Lord gritted his teeth.

“...I didst not-” “Did thee bethink something?” Slow, threatening steps approached the fallen shaman, who was all but powerless against the warrior - who may have lost his grace, and the powers of a God, but not his mettle, nor his fierceness. The great champion of a great golden host bent to one knee, and stopped at her ear - to whisper.

He growled,

“Something… blasphemous?”

Marika pursed her lips and did not answer, instead recoiling into herself and standing up to gain some space - and clarity. A couple of steps were taken and suddenly,

She gasped, letting out a horrifying, bone-chilling scream and crumpled to her knees - clutching her stomach. Radagon would have been up on his feet immediately to assess damage had he not also felt pain akin to many blades through his own lower abdomen.

Groaning in agony, he stumbled in his heavy armour but forced himself to move and swept his other screeching half up into his arms, roaring: “GUARDS!” The doors to the bedchamber slammed open and five upper-rank soldiers ran in with blades unsheathed, looking for intruders.

“Mine Queen! Mine Lord-!” “Send w'rd to Godwyn immediately- Ugh…” The red-haired giant of a man shuddered in pain and inhaled deeply before continuing, “St'rm Raya Lucaria and retrieveth mine amb'r egg before the lunatic mistress destroys t! Anon!”

Notes:

[1] Marika's pose here resembles one of madness, like Brother Coryhyn at the end of his quest cowering in the ash.

Chapter 30: XXX.

XXX.

One day later.

 

Everyone in The Lands Between could sense it: something was astir.

—

Ranni’s Rise, Carian Manor.

Ranni was re-reading her mentor’s notes again in her private study when she sensed the activation of her tower’s lift. The bloodhound, Darriwil, sprinted into the room and knelt before her; all without a sound. Despite appearing absorbed in her notes, the red-haired princess spoke to him first.

“You has't news?” Darriwil spoke quickly.

“Mistress Ranni, a few nights ago a strang'r wrapp'd in a dark cloak trespass'd into Raya Lucaria at night and did seek an audience with the Lunar Queen,” Ranni’s fingertips paused on the corner of the page’s paper, and she looked up - eyeing her shadow.

“Go on.” “It is hath said yond they gaveth proof of their validity from a remarkable p'rson, which is… thee, mine mistress.”

“Oh?” “The inv'rt'd statue wast in their possession.” If shock was what he expected from his princess, it was far from it. A small smile of intrigue played upon her lips. Standing from her seat, she approached the small, ornate wooden drawer by one of the bookshelves, locked with an enchanted sigil.

Upon contact, the sigil released and a small click was heard - Ranni delicately pulled the drawer open and with both hands, cradled the Carian Inverted Statue. Alarm showed in Darriwil’s body, which turned even more rigid. His masked face betrayed not a hint of his thoughts, and the same could be said for Ranni.

“That’s-!”

“How int'resting. Truly, how peculiar.” A dark glint roiled within the depths of her closed right eye. She returned the key to its drawer, placing the sigil upon it again and turned to the door, swiping up a cloak with her Carian symbol upon its back. It was clear she was to depart right away, but Darriwil was not yet finished.

“My mistress, th're art two m're things I has't to rep'rt.” Annoyance flickered on her face due to him not yet saying everything, but she withheld her temper. “Out with t.”

“First, movement is being seen approaching furth'r into Liurnia by L'rd Godwyn’s f'rces, t appears he hast did join those folk and art searching f'r the cut-purse near Limgrave’s bord'r -” A scowl crossed Ranni’s face at the mention of the sly fox, undisguised this time. “-Blaidd is currently tailing those folk and surveying the situation. And the second, the strang'r yond hath used thee to ent'r and visiteth the Lunar Queen hast not yet exit'd the grand library.”

Ranni’s brow twitched, and the barest thread of concern laced her voice.

“No one hast did check on mine own blood moth'r?” “They hath tried to ent'r, but the Queen f'rbade anyone’s entry and lock'd h'rself hence inside.”

Her head whipped around to stare at her shadow, eyes like daggers.

“You’re sure of this inf'rmation… T is not the Cuckoos, but h'r owneth doing?”

Darriwil’s head lowered further, “I swear t is the sooth.” A hiss of resignation escaped the princess, whose blue eye flickered with untold emotion. Her lips trembled for a moment, but she controlled herself quickly and pursed them, saying nothing as she rushed for the stables.

… Mother, have you truly lost? To the temptation of the forbidden art,

Rebirth?

She knew that her blood mother, barely sane nowadays for reasons unknown, had been dabbling in forbidden magic and lightly experimenting with a few of her juvenile scholars. She had tried to reason with her once in recent times, to take the cursed Beloved object from her - only to be witness to the bawling mess of a mother gone mad. Seeing her state like… that, she could not bear to force her to part with it, and could only watch on in belated, concealed agony.

In a way, Rennala was no longer any better than a dead woman; cursed by the taint of love, of Radagon, of Marika.

And it appeared someone wished to stir even more trouble, to drag her corpse of a mother into a deeper mess, and possibly break her in the process. Which she would not allow.

The lunar princess had just sat atop her horse with Darriwil close by her side when from the distance, loud howls erupted from the forest. The princess's heart instantly dropped to her stomach and with a fierce spur to her horse's side, she bolted toward the source who was clearly approaching to meet her, still howling.

For her closest shadow to howl with such ferocity, it could only mean something of dire significance had happened.

At the edge, Blaidd leapt out of the brush past the wall of illusion on all fours - he was truly the fastest when losing all sense of rationale and good manners. Catching sight of his red-haired lady who just sped past him and her brief eye contact, the half-wolf spun around and began to sprint alongside her, Darriwil on the other side.

Blaidd leapt between trees and over rocks, keeping pace with her steed as he shouted: “My Lady! The Golden Scion marches upon Raya Lucaria in arms! He’s yet to reacheth the academy but is fast approaching with reinf'rcements!”

“What the hell is going on?! Alas..!” For the first time in a while, Ranni cussed out loud - surprising the two companions. Nevertheless, they did not focus on it too much, more concerned with keeping pace with the lunar princess as she careened towards the looming citadel in the distance.

—

With the slightly faster speed of Ranni and company, the three fast approached the academy and arrived at the entrance just as Erdtree forces enclosed on the Academy Gate Town; the bridge was heavily fortified with barricades and nervous Raya Lucarian soldiers and mages.

The red-haired princess, with her immediate symbol of royalty for those who did not recognise her by face - was easily given way and sprinted inside as best she could, hissing a cold command as they bowed and saluted: “As Lunar Princess Ranni, I bid all presenteth - none shalt trespass 'r disturb Mother's negotiations. Shouldst th're beest any attempteth to setteth foot inside, only the Golden Scion, Prince of Gold may ent'r undisturbed!” To deny all of them access, including Godwyn, would be equal to betraying the Golden Order, and God-Queen Marika herself.

She didn’t want to start a war, she just needed a bit of time - to figure out what the hell was going on in that blasted Grand Library of her mother’s that was driving everyone so insane. She pointedly entrusted the vanguards’ success to Blaidd and Darriwil, ordering without room for refusal.

“Ensure yond mine will is hath taken and heed'd. None - but the Prince of Gold is to ent'r. None.”

“Aye, Mistress Ranni.”

Ranni spied the tall Lord in the distance with ease, dressed in a blinding, dazzling armour of gold - his fierce golden eyes radiating with the pride of conquer and glory. They also radiated menace. She no longer waited and turned around, accessing through the academy’s portal gate with a wave of her sleeve. She appeared in the transportation circle and ignored the Carian knights and mages that remained unmoving at her arrival, rushing further inside.

Through the Cuckoo’s church, through the classrooms, the Debate Parlor, the courtyard - all the way to the Grand Library. Ranni quickly became aware of it, the golden tendrils that twisted along behind her footpath like vines on the ground, tickling the back of her heels as she ran.

It was Godwyn’s power of grace, that allowed him to trace and follow her - not that he needed to show off his powers like that; but that was his nature as a snake - it didn’t matter if his gold and strength was holy and resembled something of a dragon - he would never lose his cunningness, and that was snake enough for the Carian heir.

Just outside the main building, Moongrum stood to the side - helmet on the ground beside him as he paced in anxiety.

Ranni’s boots were loud on the pavement as she stormed up to the wooden doors, a move that Moongrum’s eyes widened to in unease. He unthinkingly barred her way in.

“Please, mine Mistress - doth not tryeth ent'ring, I beseech thee!”

The lunar princess had not expected someone would actually try to stop her and looked at the knight incredulously. Her temper immediately flared, and ice blades instantly formed around her figure and shot forward, stopping just before his throat midair. Frostbite danced in the air dangerously, nipping at any bare piece of skin revealed by the opponent, which wasn’t much - but enough to hurt severely.

He could not move, but was still desperate to stop her entrance. He swallowed as blood was close to being drawn, “Mistress Ranni, I-I beseech you… prithee doth not ent'r Mistress Rennala’s p'rsonal abode-”

“Abode?!” She exploded with rage. “You dareth calleth this room nay bett'r than a prison h'r home?! Thee dareth!” Shards of dark ice twisted malevolently in her hands, ready to drill a hole into the knight’s chest when he cried, fear raising his voice a little higher in his pitch range than he originally intended.

“My apologies, Mistress Ranni! what I mean is-! U-Um, I mean - once Mistress Rennala kneweth of h'r guest’s arrival, the lady ord'r'd they beest hath brought to h'r upon their arrival!”

“...What? …You’re c’rtain?”

“Y-Yes, I swear t. Nay one kneweth of their invitation until they arriv'd and wast confirm'd by the esteem'd Mistress.”

The ice witch’s protégé had no time to process this information before a man, his light-hearted voice spoke behind them, split between affable and hostile.

“I doth believeth such behaviour can only mean one is hiding a guest most unwelcome in The Lands Between. Doth thee not concur? Dearest sist’r.”

Chapter 31: XXXI.

XXXI.

Godwyn the Golden.

His long tangle of bright, golden hair fluttered unrestrained in the soft breeze of the morn, his beard thin and well-kept, and his face displayed a calm smile - friendly in fact. But appearances could deceive, and his face was not distracting enough to ignore the trident in the loose grasp of his right hand. Its tips pointed to the ground, sharp metal crackling with tiny fragments of lightning - eager to be released from its master’s enchanted power of sealing.

He chided softly, “I knoweth thee means well sist'r, but prithee und'rstand I doth this not by choice. T is an ord'r from thy fath'r, L'rd Radagon himself.” Ranni controlled her emotions and quickly returned to an expression devoid of emotion. She had not yet mastered the reign of her temper and the ability to conceal thoughts from her accursed family, even shams like him.

She scanned his armour with a scrutinizing eye: a sleeveless, thin breastplate that seemingly stuck to his skin from how tight it was, and his hulking muscles of shoulders were worn free of restriction. The chest was engraved with the Erdtree symbol on one side, and the Golden Order symbol on the opposite. A short skirt leather, steel and gold stopped a fair way down his powerful thighs, inspired by the wear of gladiators; and his forearms were covered in golden vambraces, engraved with twines of branches and dragons.

Godwyn was in almost every sense of the word; absolutely perfect. He resembled three major orders - Marika’s age of plenty, Radagon’s age of the Golden Order, and the most recent alliance formed by himself and with his beloved companion, the Ancient Dragon Cult.

In the eyes of the many, he was the light without shadow, the living incarnation of grace and a perfect demigod in the making. Perfect.

And Ranni looked at him and could only think: A pedigree hound.
Yes, that was it.
Radagon was the leal hound,
And Godwyn the pedigree - but still a dog nonetheless.

If only he would also bite the hand of the Two Fingers, as she desperately wished to.

“L'rd Godwyn, thy arrival is most timely I might not but sayeth. I wast just about to behold upon mine own blood moth'r and seeth how the lady fares.” Her declaration sounded with not a hint of nerve, and she purposely eyed the weapon in his grasp, then brought her gaze to his predatory one, “Care to joineth me?”

At once, Godwyn’s lips lifted into a more easygoing smile and, getting the message, his trident stopped sibilating with electricity as he returned it to the polearm holder upon his back. He steadily approached and with a slight push of his hand, Moongrum was sent flying out of reach - colliding with the ground and knocked unconscious.

Pure strength, even greater than Godfrey’s.

“Shall we go then, Lady Ranni?” The Golden Scion left the pleasantries behind and refrained from over-familiarity, taking the lead in placing his hands on the doors and gently pushing them open; with no protest from the latter.

She did not say anything in response and ducked under Godwyn’s outstretched arms, slipping through the crack of the entrance. The motion kindled slight surprise for a moment, however he quickly snapped out of it and silently sneered, the gentle hands suddenly increasing force and straining the poor hinges attached to the elaborate wood.

He stepped inside, to find Ranni frozen a few steps ahead. The golden prince would have offered a few words of mockery had he not sensed the oncoming crisis and glimpsed the same sight.

She hissed,

“That… wast not yond large bef're.”

In the middle of the room, Rennala sat curled in the middle of her altar, cradling her Beloved as she always did. Except, it was more like hugging instead of cradling - since it was no longer small enough to be simply held in her arms.

Godwyn thought, ‘To taketh t out of h're wouldst not beest impossible - but t wouldst proveth a challenge.’

The amber egg had not increased a ridiculous amount in size, but it was large enough that it would need at least four of his soldiers to carry it. He could carry it himself, but it would be an unsteady grip since it seemed to have enlarged beyond even his arm-span.

He was abruptly drawn from his scheming plans. Why? Both Godwyn and Ranni sensed - the slumbering queen had awoken.

Her head, resting on the enlarged amber egg that vibrated with a strange thrumming, rose up softly - and her hands which hugged the object like one would delicately hug a pregnant woman slipped away slightly. One hand withdrew as she sat upright, and the other palm laid flat on the warm surface.

Her slow, deep breath echoed in the room - sending apprehensive chills up the demigods’ spines.

“...Worry not… mine own child.” Ranni thought the Lunar Queen addressed her for a moment, before she realised her full attention was still on the accursed Beloved. But that was strange, why didn’t she address it as… Beloved?

“...Thou art closeth anon, I doth senseth it…” Rennala murmured the words as a soft lullaby, eyes slowly fluttering open to reveal a pair of beautiful blue eyes, coloured with the tiniest remnants of dying gold.
“...Cometh out, cometh out… of the Cuckoo’s egg,
B’rn anew, mine unborn child…”

Shock coloured the princess an ashen pale. Cuckoo..?
The brows of the golden scion knitted in seriousness.
They had arrived too late. Far too late.

The sounds of cracks, loud and disorienting, rang through the room - akin to a monster about to escape its prison of millenia past. The amber egg, sap of the Erdtree, appeared to let out bizarre, inhuman screams as it turned to a sticky liquid like honey on the outer surface, attempting to pull itself back together as it was stretched apart. To no avail.

The inner surface shattered, and was absorbed into the naked figure veiled through the sticky substance - curled in a fetal position, much larger than a normal infant and roughly the size of a grown adult.
And then, the outer surface also hardened, cracked indefinitely and shattered - shards crumbling to the ground.

 

As the abandoned vessel at the foot of the Erdtree screamed and passed out from the phantom pain of their now severed womb,

 

The imperfect vessel awoke from their tiresome battle, and arose from the cocoon.

Notes:

Many thanks to those reading, I hope you have enjoyed so far! This is officially the end of Part II, and there will be more to come.

Happy reading! xoxo

Chapter 32: XXXII.

Notes:

Greetings, fellow readers and writers xx Welcome to Part III, please let me know what you think as we explore more of the Elden Ring universe. Happy reading xx

Imperfect Vessel.

XXXII.

The warmth of the woman that cradled their nest.
The sensation of sinking in a fathomless ocean,
The voices that whispered to join them there forever,
And the call of the divine agency, telling them to obey.

Followed by the destruction of that divine connection.

—

In a land… secreted away… Hidden from gold and illusioned to the naked eye of mortals as an endless ocean.

The Scadutree stood unmoving… Large, and dead. Crumbling away at the seams.

No leaves to sway in the wind, only blackened branches, charred and raining a strange, inky dew.

It had not been long since the sky was veiled in the dark, thin curtains of shadow; since those in the Lands of Shadow had seen the sun, or basked in the golden glow of the Erdtree.

It had not been that long,

But still - it was terrifying, the looming canopy of an almost perpetual dusk. The mortals in these plains still had no idea why their home was shrouded in darkness - oblivious to the scheme their God was yet to enact, to seal their home permanently. A scheme on the very brink of completion.

In the dark chamber of a shadow-ridden castle, a dutiful son sat in his lone throne, a pedestal in front of a circular stage. The arrangement of the room mimicked the outdoor venue housing the Elden Throne, at the foot of the Erdtree’s entrance. At the forefront of his throne, Marika - as real as he could picture her - stood cradling an infant.

Baby Messmer.

…And the adult Messmer looked on in longing as he craned his neck up to gaze at the face of a loving mother, the love that could have continued to be peaceful - normal, had he not been born with that abomination of an existence inside him. The curse - of a vision of fire.

Nothing would survive within the embrace of the burning flame, of Messmer’s flame… His mother knew that, and he knew that.

“...-L’rd. Mine L’rd…” The sound that was drowned by his thoughts returned, and squinting in a daze - Messmer angled his head down to his loyal subjects below on the round platform, who stared up in concern, their helmets resting by their sides on the ground as they kneeled - the only exception being one man who held his helm at his hip, his boar companion pawing at the paved ground.

Clarity slowly entered Messmer’s mind, and he felt the cool sensation of his own companions - under his armour, around his neck and shoulders, tongues flicking out occasionally and intelligent emerald eyes keeping contact with his own gold “prosthetic” eye. They spoke to him in his own tongue, concerned for his lack of vigil. His unrest.

The tall man, with pale skin and soft curls cascading around his face bent forward at the waist a little, exiting his ramrod straight posture and spoke in calm: “I am listening, please repeat what you said.”

Commander Gaius eyed his prince skeptically as the faithful sage, Elder Wego, bowed his head once again and informed him: “My L'rd, the ancient ruins of Rauh has't been fully mapp'd out anon, and we’ve confirm'd th're is a church at the far endeth ov'rlooking Enir-Ilim. The distance shouldst beest enough, I daresay.”

“You believeth 'twill suffice?” “It shall beest m're than adequate, mine L'rd. I has't yet to heareth from one sub'rdinate who is't is expl'ring m're of the structures f'r intel, but ev'rything else is ready, and we has't setteth up campeth not far from the target'd location.” A small exhale escaped Messmer as his index finger tapped rhythmically against the arm of his throne, lone eye double-blinking occasionally.

“Then t shalt beest so. Ev'ryone h're is to gath'r in the private quart'rs to ov'rsee strategic positioning. Captain Kood.” The man in question raised his head.

“Aye, mine L’rd.”

“Bef're our meeting, assembleth all the knights at thy disposal and ord'r those folk to beest ready f'r departure by the arrival of dusk.” A nod of affirment was enough from the young man, and the leader rose - followed by his subordinates. “F'r anon, this meeting is adjourn'd.”

Everyone made a quick exit out of the chambers. Save for Messmer himself, his winged snakes that were part of him - and Gaius, who made no move to return the helmet to his head yet. The boar walked closer as Messmer descended onto the platform. The commander sensed that the demigod was to wave off his doubts and cut off any escape before he could do so -

“You can’t maketh a blinking idiot of me, L'rd. Thee best sayeth what is on thy mind, else t int'rf'res with thy w'rk.” Messmer’s face was somewhat passive, but his voice betrayed his thoughts.

“I hath heard t nights ago… Mine own moth'r’s screams. T hath kept me awaketh and vigil the rest of the night, until m'rn’s breaketh in the sky. The struggle to catch but a wink of sleep hast been… fitful, to sayeth the least.” The scarred face opposite frowned in mildly concealed concern, but was not able to offer much comfort. It was not his forté, and Messmer did not speak of private matters like dreams very much. The demigod was slowly becoming more and more passive with each passing day, especially after the last events that took place at Leyndell.

Which felt like years ago now.

“You… hadst dreams of the past? Prithee rest assured-” “Nay.” The red-haired warrior raised a hand to silence that guess and shook his head with a frown, “It wast not in mine own sleep. I wast awaketh at which hour I hath heard t.” Surprise flashed across Gaius’ face.

“I-I beggeth thy pardon? Awaketh, L’rd? And you’re c'rtain t wasn’t a waking dreameth?” His gaze turned back to the statue with a touch of caution - after all, the face of their God-Queen Marika was for her child’s eyes only.

That was what he felt anyway.

“That’s right. Srava and Esar w're eke awaketh at the timeth, so I am sure I wast not dreaming.” The two snakes stretched out to the head of the boar, Gaea, who showed not a shred of fear from its prey nature, then lifted to examine its rider who was preoccupied with their beholder, and returned to coil snugly around Messmer’s shoulders.

They blended in nicely under the soft long curtain of red tousles covering his neck, vibrant green eyes peering out in small peeks.

For a moment, Gaius did not know what to say; he was aware of the special connection the demigods had to their divine mother, both friends of his: Messmer and Radahn, of whom had mentioned it more than once in the past. It was more than likely just a hallucination on the former’s part, but if it be true that something had indeed happened…

“...How about this, chooseth two 'r three knights to go und'rcov'r and scout out what is happening in The Lands Between, while we still has't the chance. We can keepeth campeth in the ancient ruins until those gents returneth with valorous news. Waiteth h're if 't be true thee must - and we shall proceed with the attacketh on thy signaleth.” Messmer pursed his lips in contemplation, seemingly trying to dissuade himself from creating such a foolish plight.

Failing with a resigned sigh.

“P'rhaps yond wouldst beest wise… v'ry well.” He gave a relenting, somewhat forced upturn of his lips - and placed a hand on the commander’s metal pauldron. “Do me a favour and assign Rellana to this role. I knoweth the lady hast been yearning f'r home secretly.”

A chuckle finally escaped his friend, and he replied: “As doth I. The lady maketh t nay secret, and any attempteth madeth to deny hast been… less than convincing, I doth admiteth. I’ll chooseth who is't else may go with h'r.”

“Of course.”

Gaius showed his respect and saw himself out, leaving Messmer to his own thoughts - which failed to show very well on his face.

Despite that, the winged serpents Srava and Esar could sense the hypervigilance which toyed with his mind and heart. They sensed the sound of his mother’s screams still resounded in his head, an action replaying over and over, driving him into further panic.

They could not understand his worries, why he would place so much importance on the one who birthed them. Their nature dictated they become independent immediately from being born, that the parent who birthed their egg would not feed them, protect them - nor teach them to survive. All would be learnt by themselves. And yet their human counterpart would not see reason; yearning for a maternal connection they knew nothing about, and allowing himself to be divested of his very own body. His own eyes. His own will.

They were there for everything. They felt every inch of suffering Messmer felt, and shared it. The excruciating pain of his eyes plucked, and the seal inserted. The suppression of their… other counterpart, hated and feared for its appearance which rebelled against any and all norms of beauty.

To still possess such emotions, the notion of motherhood… they understood nothing. Naught but the vibration of Messmer’s heartbeat, the throbbing of his ichor that powerfully flowed through his veins like a torrential river, the breaths of each soft inhale and exhale. The smell and taste of their home inside his body and around it.

They slithered out of their hiding place and rose to Messmer’s face, tongues flickering out to brush against the pale cheeks that had grown sunken as of late - reminding him they were there.

His eye double-blinked profusely as he snapped out of his daze, and a hand hovered underneath the flying ophidians. He said nothing but they could sense his appreciation. Even so, they did not hide themselves again and rested on his shoulders, and the inside of his elbows. Like a loose shawl, or scarf.

The gold-eyed child turned to his private chambers hidden behind his throne and entered, approaching the small trinket box that sat atop a desk nearby the large window, covered in thick drapes of curtain.

Hands clasped gently around the keepsake casket, and he gingerly opened it up - staring down at the seed that emanated an ominous darkness, radiating a feeling much like his own abyssal ilk. In the quiet room, he softly comforted himself, reassuring himself of his undying loyalty.

“W'rry not, dear Moth'r. Those stripped of the Grace of Gold shall all meet death… In the embrace of Messmer’s flame. I shall fulfill mine own acc'rd and returneth to thee. But please, if 't be true not me… accepteth mineth companions, who is't hath followed me into the darkness. I shall remaineth steadfast,

I beseech thee… please…”

In the dark, Messmer’s voice echoed like a broken recorder. And unbeknownst to him, his loyalty would be the first… to fester of the many.

He just didn’t know it yet.

Chapter 33: XXXIII.

XXXIII.

The Border of the Land of Shadows, underneath Belurat Tower Settlement.

A man and woman bickered back and forth; if one heard and saw it from a distance away, they might have thought it was a usual squabble between husband and wife - their foreheads were practically meshed against each other as they fought for dominance.

Only from a distance was it cute. Since one would not be able to hear the words, it was cute.

But up close…

“F'r crying out loud, at which hour shall thee stand ho sulking?”

“Shut up! Thee has't nay idea how excit'd I wast to go out and did shed some blood?” Laria, a tall fire knight who had been assigned one of the roles of accompanying the Carian princess, bickered with her nemesis associate, Gareth: “All this timeth you’ve been constantly nagging at ev'ry dram thing I doth. And at which hour I pointeth out what you’re doing is so annoying - thee goes and tells me I’m being dramatic! Dramatic!!”

“Oh cometh on anon - the hell is wrong with you-?” “What’s wrong with me?! What’s wrong with thee!!”

The two undercover knights wore not a single piece of the usual armour donned in the crusader army; not their beloved pointy “witch” hats, nor their long flowing red capes - which they always flung over their shoulder with an unnecessarily dramatic flare.

The pair were essentially: two peas in a pod. One would not criticize the other without pulling the same stunt and digging their own grave, or one for the both of them.

Laria, with her short brown hair tied back into a messy half-braid and green eyes with tinges of gold grace inside, sharp jawline and a deathly humourless scowl. Gareth, with his own hair shaved on the sides and a long, blonde braid in the style of a viking tied into a man bun at the back of his head, and dark blue eyes, with a devilish, “shit-eating grin” on his barely contained smug face.

With the atmosphere between the two, it was not an understatement to say it felt like the world around them was on fire. In the middle of the two comically bashing their heads together like lunatics, the Carian princess they were meant to be escorting looked on in barely suppressed irritation of her own, and she emanated her own ice cold atmosphere.

She had been listening to their bickering non-stop for the past few days and was starting to quietly lose it, all the while fed-up.

“You two art so..!” A groan escaped through her gritted teeth as a hand rose to massage the headache through her helmet. While the other two wore commoner knight garbs and thick leather cloaks, she donned her royal attire - a privilege she still possessed unlike the other followers of the Impaler, who were driven from their homes.

The lustrous rope of black hair tied behind her was proof of that.

Rellana was more than thrilled to hear she had been given permission to leave the Lands of Shadows; it did not matter to her that she was given work to investigate the happenings around the golden queen, what mattered was that she could finally go home. However, it unfortunately did not come to her without its drawbacks.

She had no doubt that Gaius purposely dumped the two troublemakers of the fire knights into her hands so he could have two less problems to deal with. And now, Rellana was forced to listen to the incessant bickering of the two idiots. It was seriously a shame, no matter how they were punished - they put no end to it.

She had a feeling that even if their tongues were sliced off, or they were somehow rendered mute, the both of them… would still be just as bad.

Laria raved, “...Th're’s nothing wrong with me, it’s thee yond p'rsists on making messes and dragging me into them. Thee just don’t wanteth to admiteth to t!”

Another smirk crawled onto Gareth’s face, “Oh, is yond right? Then I supposeth I’m to blame f'r breaking the trial catapult using thy big arse? Oh, I’m eke responsible f'r the Captain’s belov'd sw'rd being did fling into the L'rd’s favourite tapestry using thy most wondrous arch'ry skills! Oh! And we can’t f'rget the timeth thee t're down the Captain’s tent claiming th're wast an intrud'r, only to expose that gent taking a shi-”
“OH MINE MARIKA SHUT UP RIGHT ANON!” Laria’s face coloured a furious shade of blushing red, steam seeming to spring from her ears as she harshly kicked at the back of the man’s knee. He stumbled with an ‘oof!’ and adopted a piteous look.

“My w'rd! I wast only stating the things I'm guilty f'r, must thee beest so barbaric? Woe to me, I bid thee, woe me!”
“How absolutely ridiculous and farcicle! I dareth thee to keepeth embarrassing me-!”

“Enow.” The two who were about to get handsy with each other, again, froze mid-action and turned with respectful postures to the Lunar Princess Rellana, “You can square m're with each oth'r once you’re out of mine own bloody sight… But f'r anon we has't a mission to completeth. Any m're squabbles shall not beest tol'rat'd.” Her stern, ice-cold voice was thick with authority, and despite the two having felt more pressure in the face of their impassive Lord Messmer - they knew when they were crossing the line.

To the one carrying the royal lineage of an allied country and to someone they did not often interact with, they would be respectful. Mildly respectful. Scratch that, as much as they could be.

As for Captain Kood, and additionally Commander Gaius…
Pfft-
Who cares?
Not them!

As the two nemeses quietened down, Rellana kept cursing in her head at the albanauric commander. For some reason, it felt like he would be laughing at her right now from wherever he was - and she silently swore to teach him a lesson when she returned to their encampment.

But for now, she was ready to leave the Land of Shadows.

Before them, a thick cloud of black mist loomed. It stretched as high as the sky, and waved before them like a mirage. Looking carefully, it appeared to be the tail end of a curtain’s drape that started all the way from the branches of the elusive Scadutree.

Why it had suddenly appeared was not clear, Messmer had a vague answer that it was a planned move on God-Queen Marika’s part, to aid them in winning the war whilst hiding the war away from the innocent eyes of The Lands Between.

Through it, they could see: on the other side laid Carian territory, specifically the structure housing the lift to the river Siofria.

“Cover your faces and blades. We’re about to exit the veil.”

Gareth and Laria finally showed some solemnity, and followed Rellana’s orders.

Rellana’s gloved hand made the first contact. Like smoke, it swirled upon contact, wisps curling around her fingers that slowly pushed through. Following that, it swallowed her arm - her shoulder - her entire body as she passed through.

Within an instant, Rellana was looking at her two companions through the other side, like watching the others through a glass window.

The latter made eye contact with each other and followed suit at the same time.

—

The three began their journey to Liurnia’s magic academy at the behest of Rellana. Not much had changed from when she last visited, and a spectral mist had raced by as they journeyed through the tall green grass - but she didn’t think much of it, gathering it had been spooked by their fast pace on horseback.

Gareth wanted to chase it on his steed but a fierce look hidden under Rellana’s helm dissuaded him, as he rather felt the disapproval than saw it.

They made their way up onto the north highway and descended from there, opting to travel to the Lasykar Gardens. It was a public place for the people, with a waygate that was guarded by a couple of soldiers.

In that place, all different kinds of flowers grew. Wildflowers, lilies, violets, sunflowers, bushes of rowa fruits - or faerie trees - and blossoms. Flora like the dewkissed herbas were kept in the underground garden, the faint starlight emanating off their leaves making lanterns or torches unnecessary. Where in the original timeline a chest would be in the last room, it instead housed gardening equipment, shelves lined with books upon books about flora and caring for them - and a small ledger on the desk in the centre - listing the flowers that required harvesting from the garden to use in Raya Lucaria.

It was one way the mages would include the public in their private works and offer some degree of beauty in their scholarly activities - whether it was for a simple outing, sightseeing or picnics, all were welcome there. The only three rules that applied to the premises were:

One, do not cause trouble in the gardens, or else you would be forcefully escorted out.
Two, do not harvest the flora grown here for your own purposes.
And three, do not touch the portal; the waygate was for certified mages of the academy and royalty only.

The two knights who stood guarding said portal were more or less shocked to see the Carian princess approach from the entrance, and they stuttered their greetings - shuffling out of the way and keeping their gazes nervously downcast.

Laria suspiciously gave them a side eye and whispered, “That’s strange. Wherefore art those gents shifting 'round liketh yond? They’re acting awfully guilty…”
“Hush,” Gareth replied. “It’s been years since we all hath left f'r the crusade, including for Lunar Princess Rellana. I wouldn’t tryeth and jinx aught if I w're thee, thee heareth?”
“Why thee little-!”

A sharp hiss from the front reminded them for the umpteenth to keep their traps shut, and the armoured woman said nothing to the nervous sentries, holding her head high and marching forward with a regal, glacial attitude.

The three activated the waygate and Rellana felt the familiar pull of the cosmos within the glintstone’s magic. No sooner than arriving at the Laskyar Gardens did they teleport and land on the bridge to the front gates of Raya Lucaria.

A sharp inhale of breath,
followed by Gareth’s scathing accusation:

“Oh mine own marry, Laria! How couldst thee jinx us liketh this! Oh, mine own Marika!”

Blood and bodies littered the bridge. The mix of Erdtree and Lucarian follower’s corpses was a dreadful sight, and the mages charged with cleaning up the bodies and stacking them into the overloaded carts were given a major fright at the arrival of the royal lady - almost turned myth, who had suddenly appeared before them.

They fell over themselves in efforts to hide any semblance of the battle-spirit they carried before, its existence now nowhere to be seen. Rellana’s brows drew up in apprehension.

Someone…had besieged her sister’s fortress, without her knowledge.
It made her infuriated, and terrified.

Her mind flashed images of her darling kin - who smiled in utmost joy at the mere grace of her presence, who fought by her side and supported her every action. Rennala, who gave her the most beautiful locks possessing of the night sky and whispered words of brief goodbye to her:

I shall await thy safe returneth to me, dearest Sist'r.

Rellana did not register what happened after that. She only felt the cold chill of the breeze as she sprinted for the academy, leaving her associates to cry in surprise and attempt to chase after her. The glintstone barrier that had barely been mended back together came undone with the brute force of her swords, laced with Carian sorcery. Stardust shattered around her feet she swept herself inside; the pavement clear of trees and greenery giving a straight visual to the centre warping circle.

The Carian knights that charged her way as soon as they sighted the intruder froze and immediately gave passage to her fast figure, still recognising their second princess from an age ago. They bowed low and saluted as she escaped into the distance, acknowledging her return:

“Welcome backeth, Lunar Princess Rellana of the Twin Moons!”

The words barely reached her ears, she had already passed them and ascended the lift, charging up towards the school and weaving around the maze of structures that decorated the castle, all to find her beloved sister. Damage was strewn everywhere, signs of battle were all around - the sister’s heart was in her throat as she unconsciously screamed Rennala’s name into the echoing chasm of glintstone around her.

It echoed back her own cries, to mock her.

Rellana drowned in the suffocating guilt of leaving her to defend against this attack alone. She knew of her sister’s battle prowess, that she was no easy target for mortal men, but the devastation that surrounded her told a different story this time.

The possibility she was defeated. Killed. Of all the people the Twin Moon Knight had lost… none would ever compare to the loss of her own family. It simply could not happen..!

Mages adorned with their glintstone crowns were pushed aside roughly and struck dumb at her barrelling form in the class halls. However - Rellana was losing breath,

And a crowd of the mages were gathering up ahead in the hallway and threshold of the Debate Parlor, making her route difficult. Irritation exploded amidst her anxieties, and an enraged order burst from her mouth.

“MARIKA BEEST DAMNED, get OUT of MINE WAY!”

The being at the centre of attention in the room faltered,
slowly turning from the dead wolf on the ground,
as if she was still in a lucid dream.

 

“...Rellana?”

Chapter 34: XXXIV.

XXXIV.

“…Rellana?”

Relief and happiness were the first things that filled Rellana’s senses at the familiar voice. She was still shoving through the crowd, but upon the Lunar Queen’s call into the audience - they parted like the red sea, curious to see who the newcomer was.

The armoured princess finally saw her beloved sister, and all but froze.

Rennala stood there, surrounded by an assembly of mages that stood around her everywhere but still gave a wide birth. The woman stood over a Red Wolf of Radagon. Dead, and clearly her own doing; she held her Carian Regal Staff in one hand, and she showed no aversion or concern for the clotting blood that stained her bare feet.

But that wasn’t what concerned Rellana.

It was her: to be frank, her sickly and dying appearance. Someone on the verge of death from illness, with hollowed eyes. Horrendous, dark eye bags. Pale lips that revealed themselves slightly under a rouge of cherry red. Sunken cheekbones.

Bony fingers, fragile wrists and an almost skeletal frame lacking any real weight becoming of her height.
How was she even standing?

What happened to Rennala when she was gone?!

“Oh…” The melodious gasp of her sister returned Rellana’s wits to her temporarily. She forced her legs to move and ran to grasp at Rennala’s raised hand, which eagerly met her gloved fingers and intertwined. In her oceanic eyes glittering with stars, she joyously cried:

“I cannot believeth mine own eyes..! Dear Sist'r, has't thee hath returned to me, truly?” If Rellana was not scared enough of her sister’s poor state, her next words made her heart explode with misery: “Surely this is not a dreameth..! If 't be true t is, I don’t bethink I can beareth to waketh up..!” Unknowingly, the Carian queen’s legs trembled beneath her, and she quickly lost all control of them; Rellana’s quick reaction to sweep her up into her arms - saved the other from being fully drenched in the wolf blood beneath them.

She turned her body slightly to hide the weak one, hissing to their audience:

“Hence with thee all! Receiveth out! Anon!” The school of people quickly listened and made their exit, ushering out those who tried to secretly stay hidden in the back of the Debate Parlor. A weak wave of the queen’s staff, and two glintstone barriers emerged to block access and sound from both doorways into the hall.

“Apologies, mine dear Rellana. I… I am alright. Thee may putteth me down.” The knight went to follow her words, but upon seeing the viscous liquid on the ground, strode over to the desks on one side and released her on clean, wooden stairs.

Rellana knelt down and tore the blue sash from her chestplate, head lowered as she wiped furiously, but gently, at the blood on her sister’s soles.

“Oh… Rellana.” The person called said nothing, silently rubbing it away. All of it.
She seemed to hear nothing, only wishing to cleanse her of the blood.
A palm suddenly came into her vision.

Seeing red, Rellana gripped it fiercely before it could touch her, then realised: it was Rennala’s. A strangled breath of guilt left her throat as she immediately relaxed her grip and grasped it with her other hand, massaging the pale skin with tenderness. Already, it showed signs of swelling and bruising from her rough hold.

“O-Oh..! Oh… I…” Stammered syllables escaped her mouth before she clamped it shut, saying not another word. She resumed her silence, and hands trembled. Whether or not they were hers trembling - she could not tell.

She flinched when Rennala’s other hand, which had laid the staff down - rested atop their conjoined hands, pausing the panicking princess’ movements.

“Oh… Mine own dear Rellana,” A small tender smile, full of adoration and love, possessed Rennala’s features as she angled her head slightly to the side, “Won’t thee showeth me thy visage? Hmm?” The knight’s helmet stared voicelessly at her lovely appearance… and slowly lowered back to their hands, cautiously removing her own and letting them heavily fall down by her sides.

She knelt on both knees in the position of one to be executed, a gesture of dejection.

Rennala’s palms met their destination: the helm. Bit by bit, she removed it from the soldier’s face,
revealing a beautiful, lamenting woman with red-rimmed eyes. Two old scars ran down her face, one along her cheekbone to her chin, and the other directly angled across her face. The tissue in the skin that had tried to mend itself along her nose ridge and cheek had never healed quite right - so her beauty was a thing Rellana could not be proud of, and it actually made her quite ashamed.

Short, dusty black hair combed out from the middle line of her forehead. Pulled back and somewhat tamed by the extension clip at the end of her shoulder-length mane, where Rellana’s gift of lustrous black hair blended into the frayed ends with magic.

The only thing truly hers that she could still be proud of were her eyes; a blue birthed of the stars, and swallowing the cosmos in its fathomless, deep abyss of celestial lights.

Tears did not fall, but threatened to. She leaned into the hand that rested upon her cheek, eyelids fluttering shut as her brows creased in an unspoken pain.

Any more would make her come undone at the seams.

Rennala’s voice rang out beside her ear,
“Rememb’r, mine own dear S’ster -
We Royals doth not cry.”

A constricted sob escaped Rellana’s pursed lips, now being chewed shut to seal any unnecessary noises.

“I-... I c-cannot abideth! I-I… Have… F’rsaken mine own r-royal birth right..!”

She had left in the pursuit of nameless glory, to chase and follow a demigod who would not, could not be granted succor, the alleviation of his own atrocities melded deep within his flesh. A man who saw her for what she was - a warrior true.

And yet she had mistaken the spark of loyalty for the spark of love, and burned all bridges to redemption to her beloved family, in the making of said decision.
So how could she, her dear sister, look at her with such sad, forgiving eyes in the face of such sin?
To her precious family?

Rennala seemed to have heard what the despairing princess was thinking, and whispered:
“Because… Thou art mine own family… A sooth yond cannot beest did deny.
Thee may runneth from t,
But the blood of our F'rebear'rs,
Our F'remoth'rs…
Eke runs - through our veins.”

The despairing eyes of repentance looked up reverently at the loving eyes that gazed down,
Completing the constellations in their connection.

—

Somehow, Rellana was able to blink the tears away before they stained her face, and eventually found herself sitting side by side with her sister.

She gazed with a heavy heart at the corpse of the Red Wolf of Radagon, and carefully inquired, “Sist’r, what in the blazes hath happened h're? Why… And who is't besieg'd Raya Lucaria?” The Carian queen had removed her crescent crown and let her short black hair loose, the strands just passing her shoulders despite the large passing of time.

She stroked the staff that laid in her lap and glanced at the dead dog before turning her gaze and answering.

“…In earnest… I don’t knoweth where to beginneth. I… has't not been myself since thee hath left.” Sensing her knight’s patience she continued, “It shouldst beest did note yond none of this is thy fault. The guilt lies entirely with the ones who is't 'rchestrat'd this catastrophe of a playeth.” Rennala made brief eye contact with her sister and offered a weak smile before turning her gaze to the painted portraits lining the walls.

“A matt'r of moons aft'r thee hath left, so too didst Radagon.” Rellana’s eyes widened. What?

“I couldst not und'rstand wherefore that gent did wish to leaveth so much, and he refused to tell me wherefore. T wast only at which hour I… delud'd myself into bethinking he did want t f'r… us, and alloweth him leaveth, yond I discov'r'd news which hadst been hidden from mine own ears delib'rately.” Her hands clenched tight around the weapon, “The God-Queen Marika, the lady did summon that gent backeth to h'r side - to maketh that gent h'r new King Cons'rt, in lodging of L'rd Godfrey.”

“I beggeth thy pardon-? Godfrey is gone..? Where didst he go?”

“My mem'ry is… hazy but shouldst s'rve well enow. I believeth that gent hath lost his grace upon conqu'ring the landeth south of Liurnia, and his right as Elden L'rd wast revok'd. He and his Tarnish'd brethren w're did sentence to war et'rnally in the Badlands, and art to remaineth th're until the Golden Queen calleth those folk backeth.”

“...Beyond the fog…” Rellana breathed, a sense of anticipation and dread raising goosebumps along her spine. She had heard of it before, but knew next to nothing about it. She shook her head to clear her mind and focused on the main story at hand, “...I did want to asketh, wherefore doth thee appeareth so unwell? To seeth thee in such a sickly state, mine own heart wast strife with feareth. T still is..! …Who is't didst this to thee?”

A cold glimmer of hostility suddenly appeared in the queen’s eyes. Her teeth clenched together tight, and her hands tightened around the smooth hilt of her staff.

“...I shall alloweth thee knoweth of ev'rything v'ry soon, I swear to thee, Rellana.
I still has't to gath'r mine own thoughts. Thee seeth, I…
I knoweth what hath happened to me, and I did see t,
… but I don’t quite und'rstand, n'r doth I wisheth to accepteth t.”

Rennala stood from her place on the stairs and stepped forward gracefully. At her beck and call, the power of glintstone and stars seemed to happily answer to her summons. Within a few steps, the surroundings of the two sisters turned an inky black, eventually morphing into a different scene entirely.

A lake, countless stars, and the enchanting, bewitching full moon.

Rellana was surprised at her sister’s sudden decision to pull the two into her dimensional space, but snapped back to attention at her call.

“Mine own dear Sist’r.” She knew this tone. An icy, cold one - of calm reservation. It was the tone she used when she wanted to inform her of something of utmost importance. Rellana’s back was tight with tension. Rennala spoke.

“Although I doth not und'rstand much at the moment,
th're is one thing I must asketh of thee:

“Findeth mine own dear child,
born of the Cuckoo’s egg…”

 

Moonlight cascaded over the face of Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon, and a strong conviction glinted in her blue eyes.

“The One who saved me.”

—

The Heart of Leyndell. The Erdtree.

Pain. Agony. Obliteration.

With a fitful scream, Marika sprung upwards from her slumber, petrifying the two maids that had been tending to the sweat building up on her forehead. She donned a rather ghastly pallor, and clutched at her stomach, where it felt like all her innards would fall out at any moment.

Wrought with anger and humiliation of her weak side being revealed, she hissed at the two girls and grasped the delicate bowl filled with warm water, flinging it to the ground; it shattered to pieces, scaring them witless.

A deadly glare was sent their way, and their automatic flight responses took control of their bodies, rushing for the doors in terror. After a series of heaving breaths inside the quiet room, footsteps finally echoed.

Radagon, who had been standing by the balcony, approached Marika’s bed and sat in a chair - brought from his own private quarters. Some silence was shared between the two, and he gave time for the queen to recover her breath. Then he finally broke the silence.

“I has't confirm'd t with news from Godwyn. The amb'r egg wast destroyed.”

Chapter 35: XXXV.

XXXV.

“Destroyed? …Surely thee jest.”

“I’m afraid not. T appears our mast'r coystrill knoweth quite a bit about being a vessel - and did create one out of the rune we discard'd to Rennala-”

“That’s Carian queen to thee, Elden L'rd.” Marika snapped.

“...Right. The rune discard'd to the Carian queen wast eke stolen; nay signeth of its presence did lie 'mongst the broken shards of the amb'r egg.” A broken groan sounded in the woman’s throat, and sitting up on the edge of her bed, her hands rubbed down her face, head finally resting against the thumbs and index fingers that were steepled between her forehead and under her chin, the other digits clasped together.

Marika simply could not understand. She refused to. She had sensed it, when the Elden Ring began to tear itself away from her being - its power of Order wilting away from her body like a withered vine. Her control over the very fabric of The Lands Between had been stripped and delivered to a tiny fragment, no more than a mere spark of life.

Tiny, puny… Unbecoming.

Why did the Elden Ring choose it over her? Did it sense something? Did it seek something?
Something she couldn’t provide? Or…

“-Something did remove..!” Her last words slipped out of her mouth, as she slowly pieced together a possibility.

“Removed?” Radagon was given no context, but was incredibly smart - and realised within an instant.

“P'rhaps, is the Elden Ringeth attempting to reconnect with its f'rm'r parts? The runes we divest'd from its being?” He remembered the time when they were connected as a single person - remembered the feeling of dissent that had enveloped Them, as they tore away the abstract, strand-like particles and runes from its core. Sculpting the Elden Ring to Their own ideals.

That had most likely been the rage of the Greater Will. And yet Radagon frowned and muttered, “No, yond can’t beest right… The Two Fing'rs wouldst has't toldeth us to rest're t shouldst yond beest the case.”

Marika’s eyes darkened, intent to conceal that truth beneath imputation: “The Two Fing'rs s'rve their owneth purposes. I doth not careth f'r their claims of conv'rsing with the Greater Will - f'r all we knoweth, they couldst beest in league with the coystrill.” In light of the accusation, Radagon’s eyes pierced her being, silently pressuring her to go no further than she had.

True to his role as ever, as the leal hound of the Golden Order. She clicked her tongue in distaste.

“...Thanks to this “mast'r thief”, and I doth believeth we needeth anoth'r nameth f'r those folk soon… Anoth'r entire issue hast been did create thanks to the destruction of the amb'r egg.” The red-haired king’s fingers imperceptibly clenched around the armrests of the chair. “Th're’s a possibility the Carian queen Rennala has… Did escape from h'r enchantment.” One dilemma came up after another after another. And it all tied back to that damn thief.

“Fie..! Haply this dastard very much doest intendeth to rid ev'rything I’ve created…”

“First things first,” Radagon stated, “Since they did create their vessel out of the amb'r egg, shouldn’t they beest did connect to us via our blood anon? Thy shaman abilities has't not hath left thee, we can useth yond to our advantage.” The Erdtree was born of Their blood, as was its sap born of its tree in the Age of Plenty. Thus, this thief had absorbed its contents to gain a vessel-like body; which as a result would be linked to himself and Marika.

Much to his dismay, Marika shook her head and remarked in vexation: “Haven’t thee realis'd t already? The pain I hath felt, the t'rture we did share..! Liketh a stab to thy gut, and a stab to mine own ut'rus! F'r days, they hadst did carve us hence from the seed, wanting only the nutrition - the sustenance we off'r'd to them on a silv'r platt'r!”

The more she thought of it, the worse her wrath became - and without thinking, she slammed her fist into the stone of the bed. A crack was heard,

But it was not the stone.

An ear-wrenching shriek. The former God-Queen’s face scrunched up in stifled surprise and agony and she immediately cradled the hand to her heaving chest, staring aghast with disbelief at the bloodied knuckles that turned a hideous red - that bled.

Bleeding..? Marika was bleeding!

Her hand sang out in unbearable throbbing, and through the red liquid, the pale-haired woman thought she saw something… Fragments of bone hiding battered under torn skin, white.

The colour of decay. She wanted to scream, to cry and break more - anything else. But hesitation gripped her, the fear of injuring herself further.

“Unbelievable..!” Marika could only utter this one word and glared at the stone that was stained red from her fist’s contact, but was left thoroughly untouched -
without so much as a crack.

Her eyes turned bloodshot, yet no tears escaped her furious eyes.

As for her other half, not one morsel of shock or sympathy could be seen. Only a hint of his disdain was revealed under his practiced “stone-face.”

“…So… They somehow sev'r'd our connection to t.” Radagon thought for a moment before adding, “I findeth the extent of their knowledge most unsettling, but we wilt retrieveth the Elden Ring…” He rose from his seat and left Marika to her own devices - not bothering to call for any medical aid as she continued to quietly groan in pain, clutching her broken hand.

His next actions were clear:

Maliketh. The Black Blade.
Beholder of the Rune of Death.

He must block any and all access to the shadow-beast, should he retrieve the Elden Ring for himself, to seal him and the rune inside Farum Azula - away for now.
And obtain the answers that severely needed answering.

—

Five days ago.

Raya Lucaria, The Grand Library.

The vessel faintly woke up, and was immediately aware of the change of their surroundings.

One moment ago, they had grasped the Lunar Queen’s hand upon her assent - the next, everything went dark. Now, they were vaguely aware of the sticky substance that surrounded them. It forced their body to curl up and gave no room for movement, and the vessel had the faint illusion that it was trying to swallow them - to cut off their air.

From the images that had been shared by the Elden Beast residing in their body, they quickly came to the realisation - they were inside the amber egg. They could not see, per se; their eyes remained closed - trapped in a lightless dark. But the odd sense of warmth surrounded them, the same one when they had touched the egg, and also -

A heartbeat, loud and clear. Calm and steady.
Along with the lady’s soft humming.

“Come out, come out,
From whence ye hide,
My child unborn, into the light…”

Rennala continued to sing, but the sound was muffled or for a better word, drowned out by the sudden drone of murmurs around them. It was quiet at first, then assaulted their ears heavily: screams and laughing, chattering and fighting - somehow it was not only deafening, it also blinded their eyes, the constant shifting of images flickering behind their eyelids.

These were, undoubtedly, the memories of the juvenile sweetings that had undergone the forbidden magic of rebirth, just as they did now. Without deviation, the memories, the minds of the people that had been stolen away inside the parasitic egg whispered and chanted:

“Come, cometh, joineth us..!”
“Ahh… Hahaha! Welcometh home!”
“Do stayeth with us… Joineth us in our belov'd sleep…”
“Sleep tight… Bound tight…”

The voices became more disturbing with each passing moment, and suddenly the Vessel heard a familiar song that turned their blood cold.

“Sleep tight, bound tight,
In Mother’s amber,
Sleep tight, find life,
In Mother’s umbra…”

It was the lullaby they always chanted; the song of the sweetings who had forgotten the use of their legs, who surrounded Rennala’s floating form in all their previous journeys and battles. It appeared that inside the amber egg lay their domain, and it was clear they were thrilled at another being’s entrance.

“Welcome home, welcometh home..!”
“Have thee cometh to did lie in the sweet moth'r’s embrace, as we has't?”
“Let t washeth ov'r thee, the warmth of dear moth'r’s umbra…”

The vessel did not reply, too busy shutting the voices out. With each disappearance, the voice would cry out in dismay - and the others would remain unaware in their blissful state, then be the next to be silenced. Gradually, the surroundings grew quieter - until not a peep was made, and only the steady heartbeat and soft breaths of Rennala was heard.

They sensed the Elden Ring stir in them, and suddenly they felt unrestricted. The weight rose from their chest, and they could open their eyes. What met them was a strange sight. A gold, teetering on the brink of a rustic yellow or orange. Not opaque, but not transparent either. A hard surface of wall, of amber that encased them from the outside.

The vessel had transformed into a tiny fragment once again, and looked at the core of the fossilized resin - where an infant was cradled, still to the point of it being mistaken as dead should its slow, impossibly quiet breaths cease.

Instinctively they could tell -
This was the new vessel, in the form of being created by both the Elden Ring and Rennala’s joint actions.

Their new body.

The runes on the infant’s chest resonated with the tiny grace that flickered in and out of existence, half of its power remained with the baby, whilst the rest transferred to the fragment. They would most likely need it for what they were about to do next.

The inside of the amber egg was like a maze; glowing veins traced different paths, connecting at random intervals and confusing the mind of those who wandered within. The vessel quickly floated through these tunnels, examining how along the vein’s wall, remnants of hair - of skin - were trapped and mostly absorbed, like an insect getting stuck in a sticky honey trap that eventually sucked them in. At a number of the impasses they came across, a tiny spirit was trapped and stuck to the surface - sleeping.

The sleep these folks, these memories and minds relished in… was a sleep perpetual, much like the imbibed sleep of Saint Trina.
Except, these people were being eaten away at, yet knew nothing of it.
…Sickening.

They wandered in many circles, drifting in and out of the tracks that had already traversed before and seeking new routes. Patience was a virtue, and without irritability over the lack of haste - they remained clear-headed and rational, careful in their observation of the maze.

Which greatly assisted in spotting the anomaly, one particular part of the amber that took a more opaque form, screaming illusion. And illusion it was, as they touched the surface it dissipated, revealing a thin layer of amber separating them from the outer side, to the Grand Library.

On the under surface - hidden from the naked eye: a seal of gold, in the form of Marika’s Elden Rune was inlaid. Thick tendrils of oozing, honeyed liquid connected from the inner shell to the runed symbol like a spider’s web, and pulsated with gold light.

This - was the mark of Marika, of the amber’s creator.
The link to her genes, her ovums… her blood.

The vessel sensed, this was one of the links connecting to her person, her uterus. Perfect, and now, they were to find the other one,
Radagon.

Chapter 36: XXXVI

Notes:

Thank you to both Kiz_AI and mooshaunted, the encouragement is much appreciated! I am also looking forward to writing more!

XXXVI.

They would only deal with Marika’s separation after finding Radagon’s rune. In the case of curses - Marika and Radagon came hand in hand with each other, which was why they were certain of Radagon having a connection as well… Such an accursed affliction being born of the amber egg.

If they were to remove Marika’s connection now and spend too long searching for Radagon’s part, they might be attacked before they could even start absorbing the egg’s nutrients.

They had fought the broken body of Radagon before, and to fight him in his prime would be… exhilarating… they would admit, but also devastating to their plans.

The vessel would need to render both the red-haired champion and the golden host immobile.

They floated out of the secret room and back into the labyrinth of tunnels, analysing the walls more closely now that they knew the amber beheld more secrets than told. The occasional sound of a lost spirit’s giggle and laugh kept the vessel on high alert, and they made sure to watch out for any traps that might await its prey.

However, the more they explored - the more they realised no such thing existed. Which led them to realise how confident the abandoned god-vessel was, that no one could break their control… Their “Order”.

The vessel was approaching yet another intersection; finally, one they had not yet seen. Between the choice of three paths, they were resolved to go right first when a faint call came from the left.

“...H-Hello? I-Is someone th’re?” The vessel paused and turned, examining the left route. Directly from their position, a lady’s voice spoke. Small and fragile. They could not tell where it exactly came from and hesitated to approach, but the voice called out again. Soft sobs echoed.

“...A-Anyone… P-…Please, I beggeth of thee. Answ’r me… I-I’ll… I’ll go c-crazy if’t be true thee don’t.” The unfamiliar voice cried with an almost silent feebleness, and a raw fear that the vessel had not heard in a long time. It changed their mind, and the vessel drew closer to the source.

Because of their fragment form no footsteps rang out, and yet the lady gasped.

“I-Is someone th’re..?” The vessel paused and retreated a fraction; the voice frantically added, “O-Oh, prithee d-don’t go..! I cannot heareth thee, but I doth senseth thee, t-thy presence..! Please… Cometh clos-r, I-I’m ov’r h’re…” The tiny fragment still remained unmoving despite the beckoning to first observe the amber route.

At the far end of it, they glimpsed the cul-de-sac, with a few drained spirits being absorbed. They were too far away for the vessel to hear, so it definitely wasn’t them. They scanned the roof slowly, lowering to the sides - and began to edge forward.

They stopped about a quarter way through and turned, inspecting the twitching fingertips that barely escaped the amber. They seemingly… attempted to wriggle through the opaque amber. Most likely another illusion.

They touched upon the surface, and the fingers released from their suspension fell heavily to the floor - accompanied by the revealed spirit’s relieved gasp: A tall woman, bearing a tall stature. Forced to sit curled up, as the amber acted like a blindfold and bound the top part of her head tightly into the golden wall. Long hair glistened despite its matted state, flowing restricted around her shoulders and down her hunched back. Her posture retained that of sitting sideways and around her ankles, two thin threads of the sap had seeped out to form a pool beneath them.

It appeared that very soon, her feet - her legs would be the next thing to be sucked in.

“O-Oh, thanketh goodness. Truly, t-truly… I thanketh thee.” Stuttered sobs escaped her pale lips, “Might thee bid me… If’t be true I-... I am still… Me? Mine own headeth is heavy, and mine own eyes art hath lost to me.
…H-How much longeth’r shall thee keepeth me h’re..? W-Why don’t I heareth the oth’r’s cries anym’re…
Hast they did escape? Hast they hath left?”

To whom she asked that last part to, the vessel was unsure - it wasn’t them, they were certain of it. It appeared that… the memories of those, their spirit forms that were sucked in could retain a bit of their sanity inside the egg, before the amber “killed” them.

And this one was one of, if not the only remaining spirit left with a hint of their former will, although from the quiet ramblings being whispered underneath her breath of sleep, not for long.

The vessel examined the soft locks of hair cascading over her shoulders, and felt that they recognised them from somewhere. In fact, this spirit actually felt awfully familiar, despite their first examination.

Talk stature, long hair… heart-shaped jaw… long, bony hands and fingers…

Wait a minute..!

They examined the woman a bit more closely: it was a little hard to tell because of their ash-coloured form, but the hair… definitely looked black. And if that wasn’t enough, the voice of the woman began to mimic that of the woman outside, clutching the amber egg.

The dress was nothing like the academic robes, accentuating her neckline and thin arms, adorned with shimmering starlight. But with each feature the vessel could scrutinise they became more positive - this was Rennala, the Queen of the Full Moon.

But in spirit form.

She was so much different than what they imagined, so much… gentler than their pre-conceived notions.

The vessel could not speak, and could only touch their corporeal light upon her trembling hand.

“Oh…! How warm…” Her ramblings ceased immediately, and her quakes slowed their dominion of her body. They were unsure: of how to comfort her, nor save her - after all, they did not expect that the amber egg would still retain her spirit and assumed it would have already devoured its entirety. Which was all within its grasp.

Perhaps, they were savouring her instead - as the one who was feeding more spirits to it via rebirth. A parasite that would eat away at its “mother”, and swallow the nutrients she unwittingly fed it as a bonus.

The vessel was snapped out of its thoughts when the figure before them relaxed suddenly - and turned limp.
..?
Did she… fall asleep?
…
…The golden sap slowly began to pool underneath her sleeping form.

Long-forgotten feelings of alarm and dread immediately surged their being.
Nay, didst they maketh h'r falleth asleep?!

Sleeping in this place was the worst of fates; akin to worse than death, obviously not as bad as deathblight, but horrible nonetheless. They found themself frantically, unconsciously floating up and down, tapping her consistently, her arms, neck, hands, stomach, legs - but as a warm spark of grace, they only served as fuel to the fire, to her sleep.

It… was too late… They had spelt her permanent death out for her… Their actions…

…No. They wouldn’t allow it.

They turned and raced back the way they were headed before, to the right of their original path and sped down the tunnel, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of what they sought, the key to this mess. The amber had not taken shape to encase her yet, and they were certain it would take a fair amount of time.

If they could begin the process of separation, even if it was not yet complete - they might save her..! They would not wait for their actions to take consequence this time, as they had always done in the past; every second would be spent to reverse the effects, they would make her survival a definite factor!

Rennala was not a sacrifice they would allow under any circumstances!

Veins glowed a sickly yellow and orange, fluorescent light stemming from everywhere like small cracks and branches all the same. They cursed inwardly when they were stopped at yet another dead end and spun around to race back, but paused in time and instead floated to the opaque looking wall on their now left - flying straight at it.

The illusion came apart before their eyes, but they still rushed forward despite still being blindsided. Their senses tingled and the further they explored - the more they were certain - they were extremely close.

They finally breached the threshold, and looked up.
There, the Elden Rune of Radagon was singed like fire upon the outer shelling of the egg. The inner side where the vessel resided, sticky sap tried to attach to the seal and was thoroughly warded off, pooling underneath at the wall’s edge instead. Through the transparent, murky, glass-like amber -

Rennala’s dozing form, huge in comparison - no, a giant to the egg - bowed down to that part of the seal. Perhaps she sensed it,
Radagon’s presence within the hidden seal.

The vessel locked the location of both rune seals into their memory and immediately flew as fast as they could back to their infantile form that lay encapsulated within the encroaching parasite. When they touched the baby’s heart, where the Elden Ring still resonated, they were absorbed back into the body - and their sight was immediately lost to an ink black once again.

Reintegrating with the new vessel, the Elden Beast was restored to its full power and swam in its domain - its sea of consciousness. Its head lifted tall and the vassal stood upright. Nebula resonated and rang in the head of the vessel, and gradually they could open their eyes.

They were immediately assailed by pain. They could make no sound, their silent agony willed them to crumple in on themself, and yet they could not allow that.

This was the price of attempting to use a God’s power, as one unsuited, imperfect,
And incomplete.

And yet they had no choice, the vessel fumbled constantly - they had educated themselves in the ways of intelligence, the arcane, faith, dexterity… But no incantations, nor spells, nay ashes of war came anywhere close to learning the ways of a God’s power.

And yet, they had to succeed. They were duty-bound.

All around their infantile body, the amber sap attempted to squeeze them smaller and smaller, to prevent the unborn from being born - it’s sticky webs of matter trying to climb up to the inlaid Elden Ring, quickly repelled by the higher being that was at attention, by their “creator”. It cowered away, yet still persistently tried to worm its way closer.

The vessel inside focused intently, scrutinising all the knowledge - the collective of ethos from all their journeys.

…
Astel, Naturalborn of the Void
Unique Skill: Nebula
{Imbue the Naturalborn’s stars with magic to send forth a dark cloud of stars that lingers briefly before exploding.}

Elden Beast, the Elden Ring
Legendary Incantation: Elden Stars
{Creates a stream of golden shooting stars that assail the area.}

Superior Incantation: Wrath of Gold
{This incantation was discovered when the Elden Ring was shattered,
and it was feared as a sign of the Erdtree's wrath.}

Placidusax, the Dragonlord
Placidusax’s Ruin
{Transforms caster into the Dragonlord to spew golden breath from above.}

…

All of them and none of them matched up to the Elden Beast’s abilities they knew of simultaneously; it wasn’t enough. They needed to strip away the past possessors within the abilities to make it their own, to develop their understanding as not just a copy, but a proper vessel.

…

Nebula.
{Imbue stars with magic to send forth a dark cloud of stars that lingers briefly before exploding.}

The first one. And the others were to follow. They would break them down completely - until not only would it belong to them,
But it would become second nature to use without restriction.

Chapter 37: XXXVII.

XXXVII.

Time passed - agonisingly.

As the vessel’s consciousness grew, and as they adapted to the newly refined abilities and powers - their anxiety spiked with each passing second. They were slow in understanding… Much slower than they ought to be with Rennala’s spirit endangered and at risk.

Their only comfort was that they were finally getting somewhere with managing the god-like power of the Elden Ring. Strands of golden grace that twisted and twirled like vines grew outward from their infant body; before, they came to them when summoned. Now, they came from them. And with some concentrated focus using the sensations around them - the pulsating of the amber, the sound of its “mother”, the warm touch around their body - they willed these tendrils to spread out along the paths, to wind along the maze - tracing the veins they had explored earlier. With each distance travelled, they could divert themselves to that location temporarily and see everything within the tendrils’ radii.

It did not come without pain though. The very same pain that had besmirched them since they stepped foot in these foreign, unabandoned lands. That ached from their very core; where the Elden Ring had implanted itself - possessing in them the same appearance of the emptied vessel King Consort Radagon in all their final battles; the Elden Ring glowing golden from his fractured body.

Trying to fit another existence into their body was, as expected, a challenging trial.

But one they must overcome.

They persisted through the waves of agony and continued to stretch their consciousness to the fullest. The twines of gold acted accordingly and became faster, leaping and bounding through the different routes. One arrived at Rennala’s spirit body and immediately communicated in images, sending what it could see to the vessel.

She was definitely asleep. The amber that had encased the top half of her face had enclosed around her head, sealing around her neck, leaving only her nose and mouth visible for breath - and half of her body was already dragged into the wall.

They gritted their teeth and urged:

Faster! Moveth with m’re haste!

Hearing their command, the speed of the tendrils almost doubled. The Elden Beast sensed their distress and distributed a little power more to them, already busy warding off the parasitic amber from their infantile body. Having the Greater Will’s direct approval, its vassal also seemed to look favourably upon them and acted to their benefit, letting the new vessel control their decisions, and fate, without intervention.
The vessel’s and vassal’s mutual cooperation with each other -
reminded the vessel of their trusted bond with the spectral steed,
Who constantly ran into battle with them,
A force united, both unafraid and doubtless in their success.

With ferocity mirroring the frenzied tentacles of many Giant Land Octopi, they raced along, several times crashing into corners and evoking maddened shrieks from the amber egg as its internal walls shook.

The second important article was finally reached: Radagon’s Rune, not far from Rennala’s position.
The last branch finally contacted the vessel: they had arrived at Marika’s Rune.

The vessel wasted no time and commanded all other branches of grace:

Cease expl’ration and combine.

All branches not at these three locations immediately perked like a herd of deer sensing danger and retracted with incredible speed, rushing to coalesce at the three designated locations. Immediately, the amber egg that had been busy trying to suffocate their body sensed the overly murderous intentions and withdrew itself, morphing its own conscience over to the focused powers of destruction.

One found… in their father’s location -
And another with their true mother.

Screams of the devoured cried out incessantly, reverberating in the walls, morphed faces half-eaten away tried to push through the amber to attack the tendrils like starved cannibals. The remnants of decaying skin and strands of hair that embedded the egg wriggled, and their desperate orders were sent to all beings inside under their control:

Protecteth the true moth’r! Protecteth the fath’r!

Imprison the surrogate!

The vessel watched the happenings occur through their vines of grace. In the presence of Marika’s Rune, the amber floor bubbled and rippled with liquid motion, then suddenly spat out webs of itself from all directions. To cover it, defend it from any penetration and deny all risk of severance.

Contrary to hers, his - Radagon’s - rune allowed no such thing and despite the egg’s desperate attempts to protect it, the golden marking repelled it away. Strange sobs of grief and shrieks imitating a child’s tantrum resounded - and yet the King’s seal remained immovable,

it only wavered like a candle in the dark, dimming and brightening with each inhale and exhale of the Lunar Queen outside. As if trying to be in unison.

The vessel tested the waters, and approached the rune slowly - twirling and flickering with gold - it touched upon the seal of the King without repercussion.

It seemed aware, yet deemed their presence as no threat… perhaps due to their carrying of the Elden Ring.

 

As for the third location, the vessel was surprisingly faster than the amber and arrived before they could do further harm. Their heart surged with anger, and they relayed their new command. In response, the tendrils of grace suddenly took on a ferocious, physical form and reared up, then struck the surface with a heavy impale.

Cracks formed; the parasite had never been struck before, and the shock paved way for a newfound fear - it immediately sought to escape the afflicted torment and hastily turned to liquid form, pools of the honeyed substance drawing back in on itself.

It tried to drag Rennala along with it, but a number of merciless stabs from the golden branches evoked its pained shrieks, and it quickly began to spit out the spirit from its imprisoning walls. Upon the first sign of release, the vessel willed their grace to wrap around her safely and immediately pulled her out, wrapping her in its embrace.

The vessel bade:

Protecteth!

The amber egg had regained its clarity - along with an inherited, tempestuous rage. Again, reanimated… lifeless faces pressed through the walls and began to break through into the hollowed veins. Much like the Ones who Lived in Death, rotten meat and hair barely stuck to the zombie-like sweetings; and they slipped out through the torn ruptures of the amber skin, falling to the ground and landing with horrifying sounds of snapping bones. One such corpse broke its neck having fallen from the ceiling, but still rose.

 

In this location, the bodies of devoured spirits controlled by the amber egg - reminiscent of the Elden Ring controlling Radagon and Marika in the past - willed its containers to attack the beholder of its creator, and seize back ownership of its surrogate mother’s spirit.

They lunged with hollowed, ghastly skulls cracked wide open - arms extended, bony digits sharpened like claws.

The tendrils of grace however had already received its command and split into several bladed limbs - splitting them in half, and repelling them with golden outbursts akin to the Wrath of Gold.

Barraged by the new sensation of pain, the egg’s wrath grew with every strike, as did its adrenaline. A fierce entanglement of battle ensued between the two forces.

At the same time.

Breaketh!

The gold attached to Radagon’s Rune grew brighter and with careful precision, it dug into it, embedding itself and quickly taking over. Tracing the design of the rune and corroding away the first layer of “Order” within.

Marika’s Rune was a different situation, it impaled the webs and tore them apart, continuously butchering the persistent leeches and severing their connection. It would not give way without fighting back, but ultimately; the creature was too inexperienced and suffered too many blows with no proper defense - only knowing to enlarge itself to minimise damage to the seal deep within.

At a rapid speed, such thoughts of triumph were felled - the exploding attacks of the Wrath of Gold raining down on its form and chasing it away. Likewise to Radagon’s Rune, Marika’s was finally skewered and overloaded with the Elden Beast’s power,

Steadily eroding the first layer on the seal of her Elden Rune.

The first severance of the abandoned god-vessel’s divine connection to their amber egg… marked the beginning of a slow, painful, and seemingly impossible process.

—

Time ceaselessly passed - how long, the vessel did not know,
For they could not afford to sleep in their constant struggle.

The Elden Beast had grown weary in its fight and upon its vessel’s encouragement, fell into a deep slumber. Thus, they were now fighting four different, four very essential battles.

One: Protect the body of their new vessel and prevent contamination of the amber egg’s curse.
Two: Defend and protect the weak spirit of Lunar Queen Rennala, who still dozed but was now out of harm’s way for now.
Three: Destroy Radagon’s connection.
Four: Destroy Marika’s connection.

Their conscience was split between four different tasks, and four different locations. A feat of which was inhumanely possible, And yet they could not consider themselves to be entirely human anymore.

With each law removed with the runic patterns of the true mother and the father - their body grew, from infant, to toddler, to child, to adolescent, to teen, to young adult, …to their pronounced age of the past.

Their body grew no larger, nor aged - simply waiting.

They were about ready now, to depart their cocoon.

…SNAP.

...Ah...

At long last, the “Order” tying the abandoned vessel to its child was no more. The amber egg was affected by the change instantly - and let out sharp, ear-wrenching, pitiful screams… as the artificial womb of Queen Marika, in its entirety, died.

The enchantment was broken. In the brief silence, the breathing of the woman outside the egg,
hitched quietly.

The corpses that had attacked the vessel tried to lunge forward in one last attempt, abruptly felled by deadly blue shards of glintstone that impaled them all at once and caused them to disintegrate, not only at the core, but within every area of conflict.

The spirit that had been held within the careful grasp of twining grace vanished.
Immediately, all life within the amber froze in motion. As the amber egg, the parasite, trembled with despair…
The vessel was compelled to withdraw all power into their new body, feeling the sudden trembles of anticipation.

A soft, yet icy voice - rang out.

“...Worry not… mine own child.”
“...Thou art closeth anon, I doth senseth it…”
“...Cometh out, cometh out… of the Cuckoo’s egg,
B’rn anew, mine unborn child…”

Rennala, they realised, had awoken.

Elation.

They wasted no time and closed their eyes, sensing the way the amber finally cowered - for they were ready.
To seal its fate.

The Elden Ring glowed bright upon their chest, and with one, mental utter of goodbye to their tarnished body,
They accepted the change,
And became a demigod in the making.

Chapter 38: XXXVIII.

XXXVIII.

The suffocation of their new body had disappeared, and yet they felt unbearably stifled. The Vessel had finished absorbing the souls of the deceased and the essence of the amber egg itself into their receptacle-like figure. And now, they were ready to move.

The amber egg had struggled at first with dying, shrill screeches as it cracked from the inside out. Stretched and compressed to a pulp. They did not ingest it orally but subsumed it directly into their skin. Following that - was the shattering sound of the amber, like glass.
It crumbled to pieces and with a rough tumble,
The newborn’s body slid to the floor.

Having been surrounded by warmth for so long, they trembled as the cold assailed their bones, and the familiar chill returned. The ringing in the Vessel's ear eventually died out, and with the teetering movements of a fawn’s first attempts to rise, they clambered to their feet.

Two voices murmured in quietude. A woman hissed.

“-What… is yond? You… I taketh t thee has't an explanation f'r this.” A man replied in slight chagrin, “Prithee, thee knoweth what mine own ord'rs w're. How wouldst I knoweth about this-” The unknown people suddenly ceased with their sounds.

Upon the bare Vessel, a gentle hand lightly caressed their head and wet, ink-black locks, covered with a mucus-like substance. They could instinctively tell that the Lunar Queen was by their side. Broken fragments of the crystallised amber sap broke underneath the pressure of her steps, crumbling to fine dust.

She uttered within the disturbed tranquility of the Grand Library:
“Mine child…” As her hand glided over their hair, they felt the lukewarm sensation of her magic at play, “I welcometh thee, b'rn anew as thou art… How I wisheth to gab with thee f'r naught but the sweetest of things…” The palm brushed over the Vessel’s eyes, and a soft light began to flutter behind their eyelids.
They could open their eyes. And so, they did.

Sky blue eyes, like a sea glowing under an enchanting moon - holding only dying remnants of gold within her solicitous gaze. The same gold that had almost consumed her spirit entirely. A close-lipped smile formed on her face, despite the visible weariness.

“...But thee still has't a longeth venture ahead of thee yet, and I daresay 'twill not waiteth f'r thee. I findeth myself unbearably exhaust'd and wilt rest awhile, but doth taketh this gift of mineth f'r anon. I eag'rly await… thy returneth - and arrival…” In the ears of the intruders, the words were ominous. And to the Vessel, the words were… uplifting, encouraging even.

For they knew Rennala spoke in the means of both this past timeline, and their present.
The Vessel finally spoke in return, their voice holding a strange captivation, one not unlike that of a godly vestige.

“Please wait f'r me,
Queen of the Full Moon.”

Appreciation entered the listener’s eyes, and with one final stroke to her new child’s head - Rennala waved her hand, summoning the staff back into her unoccupied hand. Her eyes reflected a full moon, followed by its accompanying stars.

The carian regal scepter in her grasp glowed, and following that, the Vessel’s body also began to glow. Starlight wrapped itself around their pale form to hide their bare skin. Akin to the transformation of Malenia’s rot on her body, starlight crystallised on the Vessel’s form. A disgusting sight to be sure, with the amniotic fluid dripping down like sticky sap,

but with the addition of Rennala’s gift, they became a relatively better-looking specimen, not as bad to look at. The membrane type liquid did not do very much to help said-image though.

The Vessel’s eyes which now turned away from their benefactor, bore mixed hues of gold and blue, espied the two strangers that stared on in barely concealed shock at the scene.

The intruders - Godwyn and Ranni - had recognised the hidden power of the Elden Ring at once. They didn’t need to clarify anything with each other, they were both intelligent enough to understand…
This… was the Master Thief.

A terrifying threat, indeed. That, they now understood.

Ranni’s heart leapt to her throat, and she flinched seeing the Lunar Queen sway unsteadily behind the coystrill. The Vessel saw her sudden fear and turned with startling speed, catching the woman in their arms as she collapsed unconscious.

Rennala had used up the last of her strength, and it was time for some much needed recuperation.

As for the Vessel, their fight was not over.

“...” They laid the surrogate mother down and finally stood, albeit unstable - facing their opponents.

In their hands, two back-hand blades appeared.

Moments before the Vessel launched into attack, the red-haired woman whispered-
“-Lord Godwyn, I leaveth t to thee to deal with the thief… Mine blood mother requires some much-need'd attention. I asketh thee not taketh t too… personally.”

A humourless chuckle erupted from the golden haired warrior as golden lightning began to simmer to life, in the air around him.
“You needeth not bid me twice. I only asketh - shall thee not interrupt mine own detainment of this… sibling of yours?” Wary, yet cold eyes scanned the repulsive appearance of the figure before them once again, the one that had dared to use her… before sliding to the unconscious relative behind.

“I care not what happeneth to a fake. Doth as thee like.”

A satisfied smile finally graced the tall warrior’s lips and with intense speed of his own, his trident was pulled from his polearm holder. With a twirl, his fingers wrapped slowly around its shaft-
Followed by a toss into the air-

The golden scion leapt up and his foot collided with its hilt, sending it hurtling towards the Elden Ring’s host. Seeing its unforgiving trajectory, the Vessel’s eyes widened and they quickly summoned a heavy shield.

Chapter 39: XXXIX.

XXXIX.

BANG.

A loud boom, the colossal weapon - wielded as if it were a thin-twigged spear - made heavy contact. The Fingerprint Stone Shield groaned under the contact, the Vessel’s arms trembled as they struggled to ward off the blow. A frustrated hiss and they tilted the shield to an angle, the trident thus grating past and slamming into a bookshelf near an engraved chest. Their foe’s single attack possessed a blood-curdling strength akin to Godfrey’s own way of throwing his colossal axe.

The shield disappeared into their spacial inventory, and the Vessel’s eyes burned with a newfound hostility and seething anger.

They did not care for him striking at their person,
but they had clearly been aiming for Rennala as well - who laid directly in the line of fire.

The red-haired woman was no fool and immediately flicked her wrists up, ice shards immediately forming around the golden-haired hero’s neck. The Vessel attempted to move but she was already one step ahead, the particles materializing like blades at their own throat. Her dominant, yet soft-spoken voice surged with frigid wroth.

“Perhaps the two orifices decorating the sides of thy esteem'd headeth art merely yond - mere trumpery? Or is't thee has't forgotten already, of what I did enounce even but anon?” Contrary to the submission Ranni desired, Godwyn’s golden eyes sparked with both mirth and opposition.

“My ears worketh just fine… Mine thanks f'r the humour, dearest Lady -” Ranni’s scowl grew even fouler, “Rest assured, I only test the aptitude of thy ‘beloved’ relative and their filial piety.” Perhaps the first part held some veracity,
The rest was a load of utter cra-

Godwyn’s eyes widened and narrowed in ferocity. With terrifying precision, he destroyed the ice magic with a single swipe of his hand - shocking the ice witch silly - and shoved Ranni away. The skin of his hand tingled with a searing cold as the sorcery immediately melted in, but it was necessary if he wished to avoid the onslaught of massive golden rune-arcs.

They sliced through the carpeted walkway towards his towering form, forcing him to side-step the first few blades, then leap over the last. He would have blocked them with his body had he not sensed it, the potent light embedded within the Vessel’s attacks.

On the other side of the room, the Vessel wielded and bombarded the golden champion with its power, one adapted from the Elden Beast’s flying sword crescents and melded with the ethos of two particular weapons:

{A formless sequence of ciphers comprise its arcs, and as such no shield can repel it.
A furtive inscription, written with the language of light.}

The language of light, language of the Two Fingers. The Vessel had questions as to why this might be the case, why its assimilation with the Elden Beast’s abilities were so seamless, but they were not for now. To delve into inquiry so early in their journey would only cloud their mind with doubt.
Which would be welcome… At another time.

Ranni, who had been pushed with Godwyn’s terrifying strength - smashed her head against the wall to the opposite side and slumped in a heap on the ground, comatose. Godwyn glanced at her form with a small look of apology but that was about it, he was prioritised with avoiding the sharp attacks travelling his way without so much as a hint of mercy.

Not that he had shown any to the thief, nor did he wish it on himself either. He desired a challenge. An exciting, electrifying battle, one that would fuel the intoxication of relishing in his opponent’s defeat by his hands, his blade.

And yet this… Was a little more than he had anticipated. Had he underestimated his opponent? Nay. His blood boiled, and his thoughts ran enlivened, yet calculating - as the Vessel switched to a staff and drew Loretta’s Mastery. The four bolts charged quickly and released just as fast, striking Godwyn’s vambraces blocking his body.

The magic did little damage, the Vessel frowned and switched back to their blades, crouching low and leaping over with a lingering trail of gold, the sweeping motion catching their opponent off guard. Godwyn moved to the side and his attack finally met its mark, fist colliding with the thief’s unguarded ribs.

The Vessel’s body went flying into the opposite wall. Coughs racked their body, and quickly regaining clarity as the adrenaline rushed to their head, they scrambled to their feet and shifted with another Bloodhound Step, rolling back once more to get out of range of a mighty stomp, one that tore up the floor and morphed it into a small seismic wave.

Following the dodge, they countered with a heavy attack. The two steel blades sliced harsh rakes across the breastplate making him stagger, and following that - they gripped their two blades in their left hand together, pressing them hidden behind their back as their footwork came into play. Using Dryleaf Whirlwind, they lifted themselves from gravity’s hold with the upward force of two strong, spinning kicks - and sent a final blow into his chest again.

Godwyn, caught unaware - was sent flying himself.

His back connected with the wall, and upon wobbling unsteadily, he stumbled forward with a final step that created another seismic wave in the ground - throwing the Vessel off their footing. The prince’s large, callused hand that reached out to grip their neck for a deadly frontal assault was evaded at the last moment - their eyes flashed with enmity and the blades returned to their hands, used for a lunging attack at the assailant’s neck - who angled his head back sharply and leapt backwards thrice, a good distance away.

A most practiced and accurate retreat, akin to Malenia the Severed’s own evasive maneuovre.

Accurate was the chosen word in this situation, as he landed right next to the trident hissing with yellow-golden sparks and tugged it out with a dark chuckle of breath. The frown of his brows dictated his gravitas - and for once, he lamented the fact that this thing had done something so sacrilegious to the God-Queen Marika… To his mother.

Had it not stolen the Elden Ring, perhaps he could have tried understanding it; to learn from its warring nature, to duel and properly clash with it in arms. Much like his companion, Fortissax.

His eyes lowered to the sleeping Lunar Queen by his feet, and words- carefully chosen, were finally uttered. Words for his opponent.

“I must say, I doth apologise f'r how I beganeth our fight. T was… truly unbecoming of mine own ingraft style, I admit.” Hearing this, the Vessel paused - their stance relaxing a little in their surprise.

…How often did an enemy apologise for the lack of courtesy in battle? …Godfrey?

{I have offered thee… Courtesy enough.}

No, not him. He claimed he was being generous, before fighting as Horah Loux. As far as they could remember… no one had apologised like that.

And now that they could breathe for a moment…

Why- was this attacker giving them such a feeling of…
Sorrow?

Chapter 40: XL.

Notes:

With friends like these...

Just kidding 😀

XL.

“Thou art…?” The words unconsciously echoed from the Vessel’s mouth. And upon hearing the questioning tone, Godwyn’s grip loosened so much on his prized weapon - he almost fell over in shock. His own voice questioned back.

“…Huh?”

“...” “...” The two stared at each other wordlessly, the unspoken queries dying in their throats.

One was genuinely confused, because of the onslaught of incomprehensive melancholy they felt.
The other one was, perhaps, also genuinely confused,
But for a rather more… obnoxious reason.

They… Didn’t know who he was???
Him?
Godwyn the Golden??? …Beloved by all?

…No??

“...I am… Who is't doth thee bethink I am?”

“-I’m not sure.” A baffled frown decorated Godwyn’s face, incredulous in its own right. “What doth thee mean you’re not sure? Can’t thee at least taketh a guess?” The Vessel wrinkled their nose in response and slowly lowered their blades to their sides, contemplation evident.

“You… has't golden hair.” “?? …Aye?”
“Thou… art very strong…” “Well, I accept thy praise- I doth taketh pride in mine own strength.”
“Thee…” The Vessel paused, then threw out their answer,
“Godefroy?”

-??

The look of utter disbelief enormously contradicted said name, and the Vessel quickly corrected themself,
“Ah- Mine apologies,
Lord Godrick?”

The silence that followed after was, in a word, uncomfortable.

An ominous pressure weighed down the atmosphere, and the Vessel - knowing they were wrong once again, actually swallowed nervously for once.

The fingers that had been lax on the trident now clenched its shaft in a vice-grip, so tight the knuckles turned a ghastly white. The lightning that had been quiet began to sing once more, it seemingly hissed in response to the wielder’s will.

Another laugh echoed, more sinister than the last.

“Hah… I understandeth anon.” The demigod before him inhaled a deep breath and sighed in barely restrained anger; and a bitter smile graced his lips. “Now you’re just taking the piss out of t, aren’t thee?”

“I-!” The Vessel could not speak another word, as the golden-haired warrior launched himself at their person, gripping the middle of his trident’s shaft with one hand and the bottom of its hilt with the other. An odd way to hold it, but it was the least of their problems.

They evaded to the side and shifted behind them as the weapon came upon them like a heavy cudgel. Godwyn spared no time and twisted his body around, leaving the Vessel a split-second to duck underneath the ferocious blade.

Suddenly, their eyes widened. Godwyn had twisted the hilt, and like a hidden mechanism - it made a distinct click and slid from its place, like a scabbard - revealing the blade underneath that also roiled with lightning.

So much lightning it would definitely explode upon impact.
The Vessel barely had time to think, and forced themself to change to a shield within that tiny moment. Godwyn’s trident turned twinblade changed directions, a tad slower thankfully, and landed on the armaments surface.

-BOOM.

Honestly, with foes like these - The Vessel could forget about being able to stand on their own two feet for now. Always having to tank attacks like these. Couldn’t they have a break already?
But, somehow or other, they were always the one able to dig themself into these exact scenarios-
were they not?

In the first place, why would they ever think he was Godrick? His facial features? Hardly. In fact, he was ridiculously good-looking. His fighting style? No attacks resembled the grafted ‘Lord’ by even the tiniest smidgen. Not to mention he beheld nothing of the diluted demigod’s attitude.

But they had no choice. This was before the Vessel’s time, an era permanently removed from their mind. Thus, they could only blindly hypothesise at their situation, the people involved - relying only on solid facts and the people, the demigods and gods they did know. They had not yet had time to calculate and break down their findings, the facts laid before their grace-filled eyes - and yet they were denied to process them just yet.

This person… held some resemblance to the children of the Golden Lineage… but overall, summing it down to basics - he was someone they had never before seen in The Lands Between, and a fighter like no other. They admired his strength, and were equally daunted.

Such thoughts ran through their mind as they struggled to pick themselves up from the rubble of Radagon’s statue, now crumbling apart from the impact of the Vessel’s smashing into it.

A few coughs racked their lungs, and the metallic tang of blood surged up their throat. Red and gold ichor seeped from their lips, and the Golden Scion - who had quickly approached his opponent’s body, paused with a frown.

Perhaps he should be a little more lenient - he was not learnt in the ways of a god’s power. For all he knew, killing the Vessel might damage the Elden Ring itself. So, the best choice of action would be… to detain them for now, and bring them before Marika. Her shamanistic powers, a secret none but Godwyn himself and a few others were to privy to, should come of use then.

He was distracted from his pondering and eyed the Vessel cautiously as it spoke to him once again.

“I… truly has't not seen thee ere. I… am sorry…” To this, the golden prince scoffed. He stepped forward and raised his weapon, placing the longest of its tips upon the Vessel’s throat. “T’s nay matter. After all, I believeth we shalt get to knoweth each other very well on our journey back to the Erdtree. Thither shall beest nay needeth to guess then.”

“Ey, is yond so mate? Well I’ll beest.” …A familiar voice. One they… had not heard in a long time.
Godwyn had not looked to see who it was, but judging by the annoyed scowl on his face, he knew them too. For once, a hint of unchecked annoyance seeped from his mouth.

“...Would t killeth thee to knock f'r once?” “Nah, yond just isn’t mine own thing. Besides, I figur'd I’d better check up on mine Mistress Ranni, knowing yond blast'd temperament of yours.”

“...Of course thee would.”

A sharp-toothed grin, holding no amusement and only madness emerged on the half-canine’s features.

“And would thee behold at yond? How ‘oh so right’ I wast to doth so…
Charmed, truly.”

…Blaidd.

Chapter 41: XLI.

XLI.

The half-wolf had already seen Ranni in her unconscious state, and was absolutely livid. Shockingly enough, he was still retaining his sanity and decided to sound out the situation from his lovely demigod relative himself.

Godwyn had been there to witness the birth of the shadowbound beast upon Ranni’s acceptance as a step-daughter of the great golden host, his mother Marika. Upon Blaidd’s creation by the Two Fingers, he had felt a strange sense of unease coil around his neck - and ever did it grow as the half-wolf grew familiar with The Lands Between, his creators, and his owner.

And what happened in the end? Well, not much. But as it turned out, the golden prince who was almost always friendly with basically everyone - even his opponents - could not stand him.

Whether it was a genuine trait or a false character, for better or worse, Blaidd was outrageously honest to a fault. He spoke whatever was on his mind away from the presence of his beloved lady, sometimes visiting the meetings of the Golden Order occasionally held by the Two Fingers as Ranni’s representative.
It was no secret that Ranni was by no means a fan of the Golden Order, and every remark that Blaidd made in those conferences- were he pushed to speak by another was without fail: blunt, cynical or scathing.

Those people learnt their lesson very quickly not to try including him in conversations - save for Godwyn.

Being called a ‘Bloody Busybody’ was not the best first impression. Everyone respected the golden prince, and this disrespect caused a lot of noise within the castle walls - Godwyn tried to not pay it too much attention, but when Ranni’s lack of both apologies and reprimand became more obvious, his tolerance flew out the window and into oblivion.

That is to say, Godwyn spared no niceties for the rude bastard. Especially when he was nicer to others outside the Golden Order; although the latter part didn’t phase him. All that mattered was that he was rude to Godwyn specifically.

The aforementioned prince nudged the tip of his trident into the Vessel’s pale neck, a warning to both them and Blaidd: make no sudden moves.

“I don’t bethink t matters coequal if 't be true thou art right. Doth not maketh impasse on this situation. Wait until I has't did finish.”
“I don’t bethink I can doth yond, mate. Not when you did attack mine mistress thee see.”
“I admit, the fault is mine to bear.” “-Doth thee bethink I don’t knoweth yond? Thee can’t fool mine nose, golden boy.”

A mocking smile, “You must beest more feral than I bethought, seeing as thee can smelleth attacks anon. Congratulations.” Both of Blaidd’s ears flew back, but turned forward again, spying the Lunar Queen also unconscious, a small crater near her person. The golden scion commanded.

“My orders art clear. Grise outside. Taketh the witch with thee if 't be true thee must.”

Blaidd probably should have stopped there, but with the state he found his beloved Empyrean in, plus his simmering anger - he needed a release. And what better person than the one who inflicted pain on Ranni? “Oh, you’ve suddenly becometh a loyal dog has’t thee?”

A vein pulsated in anger down the golden warrior’s robust neck, “Cease thy muttering, mutt. Lest thee wish f'r some much deserv'd punishment.” He was definitely talking about their hostile relations in the capital. Blaidd snorted and rolled his eyes, turning his gaze nonchalantly to the strange person pressed against Radagon’s statue.

“And who’s yond?” “None of thy business, anon receiveth out.”
“Sure… Sure.”

They stared at him with wide eyes, unmoving and silent. A bare whisper.

Both Godwyn closest to them, and the half-wolf with his keen hearing heard and froze. Blaidd, who had begun to turn away to the exit, slowly brought his gaze back to the beaten stranger - an inquisitive look in his eyes.

“-You knoweth me, eh?”

“Blaidd,” Godwyn called in a warning, low tone, “I very much don’t like thee, but I’d appreciate t if thee could’st leaveth. I don’t wanteth to has't to detain thee f'r relations. Doth not talk to them.” Despite his cautioning words, much to his chagrin - the shadowbound creature moved closer, properly scanning the Vessel.

And then they made eye contact. The Vessel felt inside them, the Elden Beast stirred. Runes began to glow in its incomplete form, temporarily stunning Godwyn. Blaidd continued to stare, and through his dichromatic vision - a different rune appeared before him. In the form of… a triquetra, inside a ring.

And in it, he saw…

“...-! Argh- Eugh-!” The half-wolf grabbed at his head, and his body began to tremble unceasingly. Saliva dripped from his canine maw, and growls of pain mixed with something more ferocious sounded from deep in his throat. Godwyn finally came to after a few seconds and blinked away the stinging pain in his eyes, locking onto the former position of the Vessel. They had moved.

“FIE-! Thee-!” His acute senses picked up movement to the side, and he espied the opponent moving around along the wall behind the bookshelves. They were escaping. He went to give chase, but another problem suddenly emerged. The golden warrior heard the scrape of steel and swung his trident up; blocking the sudden overcut of Blaidd’s attack.

The weight of the greatsword he wielded was by no means an issue to Godwyn, and he should have flung him off and given chase to the thief- but he found himself transfixed by the sudden appearance of the shadowbound beast.

Blaidd possessed the look of an Empyrean’s shadow, struck by the curse.

“The bloody hell-? Snap out of t, thee alas mutt!” Seeing the Vessel escape out the main doors, Godwyn grit his teeth and exchanged a few more blows with howling-mad form of Blaidd, then easily side-stepped his berserk form and chopped down on his neck.

Blaidd made a stifled cry of sound, then no more - falling to the ground unconscious.

Before he’d even hit the ground, the golden scion had already sprinted across to the entrance, out the doors - and stopped briefly before the elevator that had already descended. He peered over the edge-
And quickly steered his head back, a sharp arrow just missing him. The Vessel at the bottom saw it missed and wasted no more time, turning and running down the stairs, into the courtyard. They couldn’t waste a second-!

-BANG! Behind them, Godwyn hadn’t bothered to wait for the elevator’s ascension and directly leapt down. The stone platform groaned under the weight of the tall demigod, and the floor cracked miserably. While the Vessel moved as fast as they could, the golden warrior was hot on their heels - shortening the distance with every powerful step.

Inside their mind, they remembered having looked around as Moongrum guided them to the queen’s library quarters. However, they had not gone directly up the curling staircase through the building there; so they had no chance to check if things were the same here.

At that moment, they were placing all their bets on the waygate that was built on the terrace in their future timeline. And to their most fortunate luck, they could already see the blue strands of magic floating into the building from where they were. Godwyn was keen and also spotted it, immediately realising what they were trying to do. He adopted a low stance.

The Vessel who had not looked back had an ominous feeling, and the hair raised on the back of their neck and all along their body. They used Bloodhound Step just as the warrior suddenly teleported behind them with a heavy current of lightning.

Their eyes widened in surprise, as the opponent had just used an ability possessed by the Death Knights, seen only in the Land of Shadows, by a very particular group of people. Blinkbolt.

The Vessel had just missed being stunned and caught all at once, and they lunged at the waygate that awaited them, fingers brushing against the stone contraption. It lit up upon activation, glowing an eerie teal-blue. The magic worked, and the pull of the cosmos enveloped their body.

The golden prince had just yanked on the Vessel’s shoulder at the last second, but he was too slow-
And the two vanished immediately.

Chapter 42: XLII.

XLII.

Normally, when the Vessel travels through a waygate, they’re able to land promptly in a kneeling stance or standing.

It wasn’t the case this time.

The blue wisps of glintstone magic stirred, followed by the two opponents tumbling to the ground as they condensed out of thin air. Godwyn’s first priority was to claim a firm grasp on the thief’s forearm. Then he shook his head to clear the dizzy spell, and looked up to observe his surroundings.

He saw the small church and immediately recognised it as one of the venues he had sighted upon marching towards Raya Lucaria. Granted, he had taken the path down the Dectus Lift, so he had not properly seen it.
The chapel was small, and it was clearly being well taken care of, with freshly cut hedges and soft blue flora decorating the sides of the entrance. A mix of blue and gold surrounded the walls, with small glintstone and golden fireflies settling upon the budding flowers. Purposely designed to be an open ceiling building, Godwyn could peer straight in through the arched threshold, to the statue of the Nox swordstress holding what appeared to be a goblet, surrounded by a small pool of water.

A curious place indeed, and one he recognised not by memory, but of description.

The Church of Vows, the venue of the past matrimony - between Rennala of the Full Moon and his stepfather, King Consort Radagon.

The Vessel had been shoved onto the ground and the adrenaline that had been flooding their body was finally beginning to simmer down - much to their dismay. They winced in belated pain and their head swam from exhaustion, but they still struggled to their feet - and with surprising strength, yanked their arm out of the annoyingly huge warrior’s grip.

They gained some distance rather quickly and had passed the threshold of the church, eyeing Godwyn warily as he quickly got up, and felt for his weapon by his side. -Ah? He searched around himself and upon not finding his beloved weapon - felt his heart palpitate rather uncomfortably.

“Whither-?” Godwyn cut himself off and stared back at the Vessel this time, taking note of the person holding it in their hands.

“Ah… Alas t.” More curses invaded his mind when he saw it disappear in that frustrating spatial warp, the one the thief seemed to be hiding all their items in. If he was somehow able to look into that spatial storage… just what would he find? The thought was exciting yet daunting. Meanwhile on the opposite side, the Vessel was internally… a little too happy for the current circumstances.

Why? Ah- well… Simply put, they had an unhealthy obsession with collecting things. Armor, talismans… weapons… And this twinblade/trident they had just picked up (stolen) was unique in its own right. One they had never seen before to start - and with a built in contraption, to hide the second blade inside the shaft!

Simply and utterly - marvelous! They resolved to definitely trial it out later. But for now they needed to figure out how to leave without having an antagonistic entourage on their tail.

“Ah - a guest? Welcome to the Church of Vows. Most welcome.” Slow, heavy, yet soft steps lingered inside - and the Vessel flinched and turned, having not heard anyone before, inwardly chastising themself for not checking the interior for enemies as they usually did.

Only to find an acquaintance - much more in their youth and much smaller.
Behold, Dog-
“Oh,” Miriel, the Pastor of Vows came around the corner fully and was taken aback by the Vessel’s almost bare state save for the starlight amalgamated like nebulae on their skin. He then espied his second guest, guessed the overall situation and said: “My apologies, I welcome thee too, esteem'd child of Marika, Queen Eternal. ”

“Greetings, Past’r.” Godwyn brushed off the small particles of dirt on his knees and chestplate, then approached casually. He paused however when the Vessel pulled out their backhand blades, raising them in defence. Miriel’s soft voice melted through the sharp atmosphere, the silver tortoise stepping forward a couple more steps in his unhurried pace.

“If I may beest so bold, I would prefer these holy grounds not beest sulli'd.” The Vessel thought they could hear a smile in his words, despite his expression being unable to change. “This is a lodging of peace, of ceremony and harmony combin'd. Recuperate hither awhile, both of thee - reconcile not if 't be true thee so desire… But f'r anon, respect the past - and thus its traditions.”

Godwyn shrugged his shoulders and replied, “You needeth not fret, Past'r. Rest assur'd the only one to worry about breaking customs is yond coystrill ov'r thither.” At his blunt accusation, Miriel turned his head from the demigod to the Vessel, who was clearly uncomfortable.

“Dear child, I knoweth I am asking a lot of thee. But prithee, worry not. Beest at ease, I doth sayeth.” Uncertainty reflected upon the Vessel’s face, and it was obvious they struggled with themself for a moment, considering the weight of the tortoise’s words against their own thoughts. With a dubious frown still on their brows, the Vessel made eye contact with the pastor - who looked on with gentle, encouraging eyes - then at Godwyn, who currently seemed disinterested and lazily shrugged his shoulders with a hand on his hip.

Slowly, the tight grip released on the blades’ hilts, and with a shaky breath they stored it away. No sign of judgement nor mockery was made, and Miriel offered a simple ‘thank you’ in return for the acquiescence.

“Anon,” He started, “Come 'long this way. The gold’n child may pray as thee see fit - and as f'r thee, I believeth I has't some adequate garbs to help covereth yourself, if thou art alright with yond.” Godwyn strolled past the Vessel and headed straight for the statue in the pool of water, examining its features and beginning his exploration of the small place.

Miriel guided the reluctant Vessel to a small corner, where a few chests lay in orderly fashion.

“These art..?” Miriel responded somewhat jovially, "These art some of the belongings from one of mine own students. They assist me in tending to the church from time to time and stayeth f'r a while, hence the storage.” He turned his head and startled, the Vessel looked back at him. “Go on.”

They examined the wooden chests and eventually kneeled down, checking the contents. They grabbed a simple set of clothes and upon instruction from Miriel, moved to the statue in the middle. Godwyn batted not an eyelash when quietly asked by Miriel to chat with him outside, and they ventured out together - leaving the Vessel enough time to cleanse themself of the slick chorionic fluid covering their body.

They had to admit they were rather embarrassed - the fact that holy water was being used to ‘bathe’, in public no less - but the pastor had been adamant, saying it was no disservice at all and to consider it a blessing of the body. Which made their concealed shame even worse.

They knew their manners weren’t all that great, being Tarnished first and foremost. They had learnt nothing, even in regards to the bare minimum of their status as Elden Lord, and right now they knew that density and lack of knowledge showed aplenty.

Their ears burnt the colour of a searing red, and they internally vowed to learn the most they could of royal etiquette - in order to soothe the doubts of their people, to lift their morale - and to not embarrass themself so ridiculously ever again.

After dressing in the gifted garbs, they uttered a quiet thanks to the tortoise - who nodded in understanding and thanked Godwyn in return, who merely sighed and entered the church once again, shooting a complicated look to the thief who sat just outside the ring of water, before its sculpture.

Chapter 43: XLIII.

XLIII.

Mere hours flew by, and the sun began to set. The chapel was awash with the reddish-orange hue of dusk, and for a moment - the Vessel was reminded of the unchanging sky in Caelid, its red gloom hanging over the land like a baleful cloud of blood. And rot.

The cold began to settle into the air, and feeling a slight chill - the Vessel grabbed out the cloak of the Raging Wolf Armor, wrapping it around themself tightly. Stardust; the strange flecks of matter, littered their skin, painting their person like a canvas. Galaxies glittered enchantingly, and after taking a long look at their arms, they pulled the sleeves down, burrowing further into their mantle.

Drifting slightly away from their thoughts, the Vessel cast their gaze to the side, where the tall warrior rested, sitting perched on one of the hollowed archwindows. They hesitated to speak to him at first, but eventually - words meandered into Godwyn’s ears.

“You are… A child of Marika..? What didst he mean by yond? The past'r.” Godwyn, who had been cooly scrutinizing them the whole time, let a loose smile slip free.

“It’s exactly as he hath said. Godwyn the Golden, at thy service. Although, I am quite loath to has't to sayeth yond at all.”

…Godwyn.

…Godwyn the Golden..?

Their heart surged within their chest, and somehow, the words to refute that claim died in their very throat. They couldn’t tell what kind of face they were making, but whatever it was disturbed their observer majorly. He scoffed and stood from his seat, at a loss for words.

“You- I can hardly believeth mine own eyes. Wherefore art thee looking at me like yond?”

“Like what?” The golden prince approached with mildly angry steps, and crossing his arms, he tilted his head on an angle, his long mess of golden hair slipping from his back and tumbling over his shoulders to make a long curtain. Somehow, with Godwyn standing over their form, his hair actually blocked the light of the oppressive Erdtree.

Absorbing it.

“I’m not stupid, I’ll has't thee knoweth. I’ve seen yond behold many times ere, especially in the throes of war. Nay matter how much fear and pride ranneth through mine own loyal warriors, I only ev'r did see t once.
And yet,
Thou art the first to behold at me like yond. Bid me wherefore.”

The Vessel blinked slowly, taking in each and every feature of the face before them. Etching every lash, every tiny fleck of blue in his fierce grace-filled eyes, every tense muscle in his face - into their memory. They could see - they saw - the very kindness that was spoken of in their pastimes. No matter how much hostility this demigod displayed to the Vessel, he would still not be able to hide his kind nature.

For in the face of true malice, the malice of broken people in a broken age - fake malice could be discerned more than a mile away. Perhaps ‘cowardice’ was a better choice of word, but with their exchange of combat, the Vessel already learned that Godwyn the Golden was no mere coward.

They looked at the warrior waiting for their answer, another question voiced instead.

“...I don’t followeth. How doth I behold at thee?”

“-Like I’m a dead man.”

Dead? Oh-yes, they supposed that was correct. The to-be Prince of Death stood before them after all, a direct martyr of the dystopian future. The Martyr of Destined Death.
Should they tell him?
…No, lest they earn his ire for insulting him further. The two had gotten off on the wrong foot, but if the Vessel played their cards right - they might make an ally of the golden scion yet. To tell him of his death - would be like saying the eternal queen’s reign was bound to end; a reign meant to be forever removed from the rune of death.

The blessing bestowed by his mother, turned into a curse. The forbiddance of a true death.

Hence, the Vessel remained silent - slowly turning their gaze to the water, tickled by the very end strands of Godwyn’s long hair. Godwyn, seeing their choice to not answer - was stubborn for a moment, then sighed again, this time a little more dissatisfied. He stood up straight.

“V'ry well… Hah… I seeth I shall only weareth myself down if 't be true I continueth trying to asketh. The safety of mine own army doth take pri'rity ov'r this. I shall returneth h're aft'r mine own business, so I’d adviseth thee to remaineth h're 'r stayeth closeth.” The Prince of Gold was thoroughly tired out and with a final nod of respect from the silent tortoise who watched on silently, he ushered himself out.

Godwyn had just passed the threshold when he heard some rustling behind him. He turned his raised brow to the Vessel who just stood hastily and followed him quickly. “...Can I assist thee in some way anon?”

They stood there blankly… no… hesitant for a moment before him. And then, with a shimmer of golden mist, they brought the trident back out of their inventory - handing it back with a crestfallen sigh. All enmity Godwyn was trying to conjure up in his mind was all but disassembled to pieces.

“...My thanks. You’ve surpris'd me yet, dram coystrill.” He retrieved his beloved weapon from their outstretched hands, and a small relieved smile etched itself on his face as he returned it to where it belonged: the polearm holder upon his back. Godwyn turned to make leave, but paused - blinking at the second object that was offered.

“And this is-?”

“To carryeth on thy p'rson.” Suspicion ebbed at the golden warrior, but seeing the sincerity that couldn’t be feigned - he carefully grasped the gold-inlaid torch with strange golden flames - a unique type of incantation no doubt, examining the fire that wavered under his grace-given gaze.

“To carryeth on me, I understand thee not?”

“Please, L'rd Godwyn.” Golden swirls rippled in the Vessel’s oceanic eyes, and Godwyn felt a slight headache upon looking into them. Nevertheless, he stared unceasingly - letting the strange feeling wash over him, before turning away and marching down the hill, adjusting the straps tied across his shoulder.

It was strange. They felt reassured of the thief’s honorable temperament, and he had left on a good note. He felt their character was no pretense; and yet, a dark feeling bloomed within his back, crawling up his spine, his neck, to behind his eyelids. A horrible type of still, of quiet.

In his mind’s eye, Godwyn beheld the faintest illusion of a marred, aquatic-like creature.

Chapter 44: XLIV.

XLIV.

The Vessel did not remain at the Church of Vows for much longer, despite the golden prince’s request. The dark of night had already encroached a number of hours ago, and clouds cloaked the night sky, leaving only the hidden moon, barely visible, and the Erdtree - as sources of light. Miriel seemed to have no qualms about the church being doused in darkness, and was obviously used to it; one thing in particular that had not changed at all between the past and future timeline. Darkness appeared to be a trait idolized in time by the Nox in any case, which was fitting for the church and what it represented.

Miriel stuck to his usual spot in the corner, resting. His eyes only opened upon sensing the silent movement of the Vessel - who got up to no doubt continue their journey.

“My strange guest, shall thee not stayeth a while longeth'r?” The Vessel faltered at their call of their voice. Mentally, they doubted they would ever get used to people speaking to them first. They turned slowly, and quietly responded.

“The timeth f'r rest is ov'r. I needeth to beest on the move… I thanketh thee f'r the robes. And accommodation.” They kept their words brief, and ended them with a closing note. A small puff of cold air escaped the silver tortoise’s mouth as he watched the Vessel leave, blending into the inky black of night as the distance grew.

“T’was my privilege.”

—

Setting off on a paced run, the Vessel stuck to their memory and travelled to their next destination. An important one, and luckily not too far away. While they had regained a physical body, the fact remained that they still had fragments of grace to collect; ones that had slipped away in the act of teleporting between the Erdtree and the Precipice of Anticipation.

They had already collected the one to the south residing in the Church of Irith, which meant their next was most likely, no, without a doubt - inside the Divine Tower of Liurnia. The path there was simple according to their recollection of travels in the Carian country. A little to the south-east, for starters.

The Vessel travelled down the slope and continued along the road. The paved path held stationed lamps around every hundred metres, holding what was most likely the blue glintstone fireflies. No fire was lit inside them, and each lamp actually appeared to be well-cared for habitats, with small leaves and twigs placed inside, along with a small chunk of glintstone shard.

Such a strange job, and yet it seemed even the oddest of roles were performed with care here, in the past. The chill of the night’s mist was particularly biting, and the Vessel tugged the cloak tighter around their neck, burrowing into the coarse fabric. The constant running warmed their body a bit, but the sooner they were out of the weather, the better.

The dimmed blue lights assisted with finding their way forward as they finally reached the intersection of roads and moved toward the sky-high pillar that towered above their head. The familiar blue flowers that decorated the ground near the Carian Study Hall rose in the usual places. The Vessel avoided the built path and stuck to the tall grass, paranoid that sentries might guard the place out of sight.

As they neared the stone door, they could see from their hidden position already, a total of five scholars. The Vessel brought out a staff in one hand, and the Sword of St Trina in the other. They wanted to avoid killing as much as possible, so some small strategy was required if they were to enter the Divine Tower.

The Vessel cast Unseen Form, and stealthily entered. The atmosphere changed; within the quiet ambiance, pens scrawled away on clean parchment, and heads were bowed down in central focus. Small whispers were shared between two mages that were tucked away in one corner. One glanced toward the doorway, sensing something odd, but when he didn’t see anything they brushed it off as paranoia.

They would be the first. The mages were unaware that the Vessel in fact - stood right before them - and with a light stroke in the air, a lilac-coloured mist adorned with small wisps of purple petals washed over them. The two faltered and fell silent, their heads hitting the desk in soft snores.

One scholar looked up from their notes, and upon seeing the two snoozing away - shook her head in knowing, and looked back down to keep scribbling away. Before she knew it however, the pen slipped from her fingers. It rolled down the table’s surface, slipped from the corner and clattered to the ground, rolling by her feet.

Sighing, she bent over on the seat and cradled her head in her arms - falling into slumber.

Merely a few seconds later, the remaining four scholars followed suit. The Vessel double-checked that they were all in a deep sleep, then wasted no more time and walked to the pedestal on the podium at the forefront of the room - summoning out the ‘proof of Ranni’s trust’.
The Carian Inverted Statue.

Placing it on the pedestal, a moment of still ensued. Then came the rumbles; no dust fell - indicating it may have already been activated recently. Some of the books on the table wobbled. The Vessel placed a hand on the piles to keep them steady, then looked up and waited. Eventually, the rumbles ceased - and the globe finished its rotations, turning a final ninety degrees, and the bars on its axis split, turning a rough forty five degrees each way.

Silence returned. The cloaking spell had long worn off by now, and the Vessel cast it again, turning somewhat invisible. They summoned out their talisman, Crepus’ Vial, and finally made their way forward again; moving around the corner and dropping down into the archway, sneaking into the inverted building.

Silence.

The preceptor Miriam stood not far from the entrance, standing stock still voicelessly. His dark eyes, hidden underneath the Mask of Confidence, scanned the entrance like a hawk, waiting to blast the unassuming intruder the smithereens with his spells. And yet nothing, not even the slightest of footsteps echoed. He eyed the fingercreepers to his side, and they wriggled restlessly - but not a morsel of hostility was announced. He pulled his sight back to the door.

Perhaps, he thought, it may be the Lunar Princess yet to enter. She had not sent word of her arrival as per usual, but it might be of urgent necessity that she made her appearance unannounced. So where was she?

In any case, no one was to leave their station and were to remain fully alert while the Carian Study Hall remained inverted. Any access into the Divine Tower - was by all means - strictly prohibited. To enter was an immediate death sentence.
And yet, the dreaded sound came. From behind. From below.

Miriam’s silent form flinched, and he felt his heart stop with dread. He turned and marched to the edge, peering down with disbelief.

The-The elevator, it… was already going down!

As it quickly disappeared into the depths of the tower, he espied - an unidentified, lone form, gazing up at where he stood, looking back at him as they vanished from sight. Miriam raced to the entrance of the building to discover what happened, and upon finding the sleeping figures of the scholars and mages, roared in fury-

“ALAS T!”

Chapter 45: XLV.

Notes:

Hi guys, thank you for your patience and understanding - here is the next chapter. Luckily both the people that were airlifted along with my sister are okay and on the road to recovery, and I am ready to write a few more chapters and keep the blood pumping. Enjoy xx

XLV.

… CLANK.

With a heavy, resonant screech - the contraption arrived at the bottom of the structure, the gate made a small rattle as it slid open. The Vessel immediately stepped off and looked up one final time. Where they had entered was, by now, long gone from eyesight.

And now, the Divine Tower awaited them.

They approached the heavy stone doors and placed their hands upon it. A brace of the shoulders and the back. Slowly, the doors cracked open. The smell of the storm. Rain pelted their covered form as they adopted a hood to make the ability to see easier; the liquid’s collective weight quickly ran along the edges and over the top, dripping down like a rapid waterfall with the unceasing pressure.

Along with the rain that made their clothes heavier with each passing second, the taste of thunder- and lightning, settled on their tongue. The Elden Beast stirred once again, and had a brief look at its surroundings from the Vessel’s body, before sinking back into its inky home. It was still exhausted; both of them were exhausted from the battle inside the amber egg.

But they couldn’t stop now; their brief repose at the Church of Vows was but momentary.

They trekked along the bridge, an arm raised to block the harsh, obscuring weather. The clouds roiled above, and the sound of angry rumbles echoed in their ears. On their own two feet, they ran, and finally reached the expecting tower. They entered the construction and stripped themselves of the absolutely saturated overalls, returning it to spatial inventory - then stepped onto the grand lift, naturally stepping onto the pressure plate without fear.

Relief assailed them when their eyes laid upon the large site of grace, just by the stairs to the open top. They came to the right place. A sigh unknowingly escaped their person- and the Vessel approached.

The site of grace, surprisingly, seemed to sense their presence and flared in what could only be termed as excitement. Golden tendrils stretched outward and curled around the Vessel’s arms, twisting into small flower-like shapes in the palms of their accepting hands.

The Vessel let it guide them closer, and it seemed content with doing just that; tugging them like an excited child would on the hands of their mother and father. The Vessel stood before its centre and finally knelt down, spinning their finger around in a circle amongst the golden tendrils - like disturbing a pool of calm water and creating swirling ripples.

…There wasn’t any particular reason for the motion, and they found themselves to actually be somewhat teasing in their actions. It sensed this too, and cut their probing short- taking the lead in condensing itself into the Vessel’s fingertips.

Feeling the gold sink into their skin was like a breath of fresh air; an upward tug of the Vessel’s sleeves revealed the last remnants of grace climbing up their pale arms and through the veins - branching into smaller pieces along each line. Some flecks swam underneath the galaxy like patterns of their arms, and they lit up with gold… like tiny, burning stars that had just exploded; amongst thousands of other planets.

No words were whispered to the silent Greater Will this time. The Vessel felt there was no need for them at this moment; they had taken the first step required and had made of themself a proper container for its vassal’s existence, as promised. Granted, they were not perfect - to be expected after being birthed by Rennala.

Thinking of the strange woman, the Vessel unexpectedly gained a newfound calm, comforting in a peculiar way. They thought of the Great Rune of the Unborn:
{Great Rune of unborn demigods.
Perfects those who have been born anew.
Children born anew by Rennala are all frail and short-lived. Imperfect beings, each and all.}

Frail. Short-lived.

The last wisps from the site of grace faded underneath the Vessel’s skin, and feeling a little more rejuvenated - they turned to the upward stairs, leading to the tower’s summit. The climb was short, and once again - the peak beheld nothing.

However, the Vessel’s face twisted despite that fact. Their head became heavy, and their fingers, and back, seemed to seize up in shock. Slowly, they forced their limbs to move- to the edge. Their face twisted; astounded as they observed not the tower, but beyond it.

To the great inner ocean, where ancient landslides gave way to jagged rocks and sheer cliffs - and the misty, tempestuous waters swirled in torrential whirlpools, ever-fierce.

…To where the ocean should have been.

—

The Land of Shadows, Temple Quarters.

Flames. Red, large bodies of gas that licked at the barley-coloured plains. An inferno of malicious torches that razed buildings and bodies alike in the name of the Eternal Queen’s endless conquest. A crusade symbolic of her title: reigning eternal.

…A war unseen.

-SHINK.

“...-Eu-Ugh-! Thee… despicable ingrate-agh…!” The last horned filth, yet to be apprehended- finally fell to his knees unwillingly after a savage kick to his back, his staff clattering in the charred soil at his feet. The air was thick with smoke, and the cruel insults he had ready to spew from his vile mouth were clogged within his own throat, blocked by the bile and fumes that invaded his lungs.

His eyesight blurred, and with bloodshot eyes, he scanned wildly for his allies. His cunning mind fell prey to consternation and hatred combined, as he found not one person of his common cause remained standing; they had either fallen in a heap of fatal burns and wounds, or were taken prisoner like himself.

The tip of a blade brushed his throat, and he was forced to bring his gaze back to his loathsome captors, the fire knights. He glared up at the fat head of red cloth standing before him, no longer caring for his life’s impending doom and spat at his enemy’s blood-stained garments, blatant loathing displayed unabashed.

Fire Knight Salza paid the act no heed, and instead signalled to his companion - the greatsword wielder, to begin the interrogation. Fire Knight Hilde complied without a word, and the steely edge left the sight of the hornsent’s peripheral vision.

A small smugness took root in his eyes before he was all but bashed in the head with the hilt. Pain exploded in his horns and scalp, ringing through his ears. Groans of anguish escaped from the hornsent’s throat, and with a shallow touch to where the blunt force connected, he gasped and turned pale.

Shaking hands grasped the hard fragments and brought them before his eyes, revealing the chipped pieces of broken horns, the tips of bone still attached to his head throbbing in agony - and yet the rage overwhelmed his sense of pain; pure adrenaline.

“Thee dareth…!” He bellowed in a dry, cracked voice. “Do thee has't any idea what you’ve just done?! You’re w'rse than beasts! Mongrels!” Insults flew from his mouth in his frenzied anger, and yet those stupid hoods and helms of the fire knights revealed no expressions - taking in the words like he was screaming at a brick wall. It was infuriating, all of it!

Salza questioned him, his lilt monotonous: “Your leadeth'r, the Inquisit'r Caelem. Wh're is she?” His answer arrived with a scoff.

“Gone, obviously! An enlightened choice, truly - consid'ring the lady won’t has't to speaketh with the likes of you-!” Metal pierced flesh, and a raw scream erupted - his stomach flipping in chaos as he willed himself to not look at the disgusting mess behind. Hilde had not taken kindly to his smart mouth, and her slender greatsword was skewered into his calf, nailing him to the ground.

Salza looked down on the hornsent, and repeated with an unchanging monotone.

“Wh’re is the inquisit’r?”

“...” Even in his agony and fear, he remained silent. Defiant. As he should. For he was a hornsent, a being born of those who practiced divine invocations - and as a being born with horns, nature dictated that he was a divine creature himself, far above these inferior things. Among the hornless, only the highlanders deserved their respect - and these humans were by no means acceptable whatsoever.

A disgrace! How dare these lowlives bite the hands that fed them, that allowed them to become their own nation - their own people… It was unforgivable!
... His obstinate silence turned to incessant shrieks - one of many voices, as the fire knights did their duties and tortured the enemy.

Their resolution was to follow Messmer’s will. And follow it they would. Steadily, bodies dropped in pools of blood, and the hornsent before Salza was slowly feeling the pull of cessation. The sweet lure of death’s embrace.

And as his conscience faded, the pain stopped - and the hornsent’s blurring vision illustrated a scene; torturous red and black flames, a figure bedecked in long ochre robes, tattered and burning. Dragged along the ground by the horns.

No… Inquisitor… Caelem…

And as the blasted fire knights all rushed forward to kneel, the dead corpse was released - sinking to the ash-covered dirt in her voiceless demise. And the perishing hornsent took one last look at the demigod of massacre, hair as red as blood, and died.

Damned… Child of … Marika.

The accursed…-! …-Strumpet…