บท 33: Chapter 33: The Death of Two Souls
Early morning, before even the sun's outmost rays have graced the Eastern horizon, a knight moves swiftly through the halls of Morne's keep, making a beeline for a particular room on the top floor.
If he finds anyone in his way, he'll kill them. If anyone tries to stop him, even to talk to him; they'll find a blade through their throat and their head rolling on the floor.
Such is his mindset, nothing else matters.
Irina. Irina. Irina.
That is the only word going through his mind.
Thankfully, at this hour, nobody else is awake. Only the most stressed are awake at this hour. That, or the most irresponsible.
Trey could be considered both of those; he already made the decision to never return here. But he's back, and he couldn't care less if he knocks over a candle and burn the whole place down.
Maybe he should; he should've thought of some way to sabotage the place before he left yesterday.
But in both cases; he was and will be carrying special cargo that will slow him down. He won't sabotage things; he'll make this as quiet a secreting as possible.
Such are his designs.
When he reaches the door to Irina's room, he doesn't bother knocking. The door swings open on its clean hinges, groaning ever so slightly.
Irina is asleep, though Trey's entry stirs her.
He takes a knee at her bedside, forcing the unease and anger out of his voice.
"Milady."
Irina stirs further, feeling sleep wash away from her mind.
"…Sir Trey? Is that you?"
Trey cools his stampeding heart.
"Good morning, Lady Irina. I need you to come with me."
"But… It is still early, is it not?"
How can she tell?
…
No, it doesn't matter. Convincing her will make this easier, but he will force her if he has to.
"The sun has already arisen my Lady. Please, we must make haste."
Irina rises, turning her head toward the kneeling knight. She's still in her night gown, black blindfold folded neatly on the night desk next to her, along with her seal, and a peculiar of paper.
Without the blindfold, her dainty eyes open completely exposed; they show nothing but white pearls.
Blonde hair hanging loose down to her shoulders, expression confused.
She reaches for her blindfold; Trey intercepts.
She's taking too long.
He grabs her wrist, harder than he meant to.
"Ah!"
"Now, my Lady."
She fights his grip. To no avail.
"S-Sir Trey. That hurts."
Trey needs to hurry. He needs to get out of here. They may already know he's betrayed them; he's certain the guards have already discovered his handiwork in the basement; two bloodied corpses of slain guards, laying idle in front of an empty stand, with Morne's storied sword nowhere to be seen.
They may be after him already, and he has no way to know.
He tugs on Irina; she's so frail that something pops in her arm. She lets out a cry of pain; Trey couldn't care less.
"Come, we're leaving this castle."
He turns to the doorway of her room, ready to drag her by the heels. If anyone asks...
"B-But…"
Trey halts where he stands, his initial shock giving way to a deep growl in his throat.
Cheh.
His path has been blocked.
"…Dalia." He snarls.
In the doorway, sword already drawn, is the female knight of Morne.
"Trey." She levels her sword, taking up a stance. "Explain yourself."
Trey shoves Irina aside behind him, drawing his greatsword from his hip, and unlatching his greatshield from his back.
"I have no need to explain anything to you."
"Oh? Will you also refuse to explain where our treasured sword has gone?"
Trey hisses, Dalia continues, taking a calculated step into the room.
"Why you took it into the sewers last night?"
He doesn't answer, Dalia stiffens up.
She barks at Irina, making the blind girl whose since collapsed to the floor flinch.
"My Lady, get back!"
Trey takes a threatening step forward.
"Sir Trey is no longer our ally."
Dalia preps herself; she's alone. She didn't know who she could trust with this information. Maybe the Tarnished boy, but she can't trust herself to not try anything at this hour alone with him. She wished that Warden Edgar would've revived by now, but she knew she was out of time when she spotted Trey in the hallways.
It seems he's made his choice.
She's out of time; there's so many other ways she could've handled this. But she failed; she will need to defeat Trey alone.
He takes up his stance, shield ready to halt her sword, blade ready to pierce his heart.
"You rat." She snarls.
"Loyal dog." He growls.
With a flash of gleaming metal in the torchlight, the two collide.
Irina is not sure what has happened. She has found herself on the floor, in a fetal position as loud noises of metal against metal ring out in her room.
Sir Trey and Mistress Dalia are fighting.
Why are they fighting?
Trey is a traitor?
Why would he betray everyone; why betray father?
What should she do, should she run?
But where?
Grunts and cries and sneers berate her ears, the ground is vibrating intensely with calculated footwork. Something slams into a wall, the noise of a sword crashing into a shield sounds.
Sharpened edges grind against on another, ringing out when they separate, only to collide again and again and again.
Irina can't decide, she's scared; she's terrified. Everything she loved is falling apart around her. Why has this happened? Why has the world gone cold for her once more?
Where is the warmth?
The duel that raged on in her room ends abruptly as Dalia gasps; the noise of a blade piercing thin armor and then flesh berates Irina's ears.
"…Bastard."
Dalia collapses, her sword clattering to the floor.
Trey unsteadily sheathes his bloodied sword and latches his shield back onto his back, coming to Irina not much later. He's heaving for breath, wincing from deep bruises and a cut that ruined the chainmail in his left armpit.
He grabs Irina, having already lost all reasoning with the girl.
He knows not why Dalia came alone, but he's not about to stick around and find out.
Irina winces from the knight's grip, shedding tears from her milky white eyes. It's all come apart. This is the end.
"So, Sir Trey." She mutters, sounding choked up. "You have gone cold as well?"
He doesn't know what she's talking about; he doesn't care. He strikes Irina on the side of the head, knocking her out with one blow.
He slings the unconscious girl over his shoulder, and promptly leaves Dalia's corpse behind, limping away into the quiet halls of the keep.
…
…
…
Dalia's hand twitches, slowly closing into a clenched fist.
Shabriri waits, and waits and waits. The knight is taking a long time, such an unprofessional creature.
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Oh dear, Shabriri's thoughts won't help at all. Too much going on in there. He can't think too hard about it, or... he'll... His sockets burn, scalding his face yet again in welcoming fiery bliss. "Aaaaah." "Gaaaaah." He utters, clenching his face with both hands. He wants to twist about, contort his head and scream toward the heavens. He is at the edge, the edge he tells you. Oh please, let them consume him. Let the madness consume him, oh how glorious it would feel! The chaos, oh the chaos! Let it consume him, Let it consume all! He wants it too, he needs it to. He must, oh he must. They desire it, they will it. They will have it. Oh, they will have their lord yet.
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The soldiers give Shabriri a wide berth, watching him with wanton eyes and startled expressions. eafwoirwnjwakrsssv they ruhwefubisvb will rihgihwr welcome efuhwbiuw these qdfuiviuwijb soldiers euiwuifbsba yet rquviurgviefwibnwiiwfwhi
Oops!
He must restrain himself, he got a little lost in kreuoydefbhjbviuqwefoiquefaebvsdf for a moment there, he almost went over the edge, again. Oh, but he must be patient, he cannot lose this vessel yet, it would take him time to find a new one. He cannot let the chaos consume him, oh but how he wishes he could. He feels the weight of his knife in the depths of his cloak, its weight pressing against him, hungering for a soul. Worry not, they will have the soul they desire, Shabriri will provide, without fail. He will have the girl's soul, so that she may qoiuhsvbjfuiohqdijqbsibjaouihfwajaaaaaaaajaaajaaaajaaaaaaaaa ahahahahahahahaaaaa! Ahhh, may chaos take the world. May chaos take the world!
I'm home.
Pasty white walls and plain shaggy carpet. Ordinary furniture and minimal rectangular windows.
The clean atmosphere, the simplistic and peaceful air; you can practically smell the pine scented candles on the kitchen table.
It's all familiar, all so normal to me.
So, seeing an eight-foot-tall man dressed in heavy armor lounging around amongst this scene is really jarring.
"Well." He says, speaking as if we were in the real world. "Isn't this place colorful. Really pleases the eyes, you know?"
He's taken a seat on one of our pale blue couches in the living room, giving the cushioned furniture a hard time with it. It only gets worse when he props his metal boots on the table between us, making the couch creak and groan.
Melina and I sit on the other couch, watching Roard like how one might watch a long lost uncle if he suddenly turned up at your front door, and promptly crashed at your place without warning.
Truthfully, I'm nothing but bewildered.
The last time I saw this man, he was burning to death with a straight sword embedded in in his skull. Completely contrary to the sour memory I'm thinking about, the Roard in front of me is the same as when I first met him, wasting away in a makeshift cell.
He has his helmet on the table next to his legs, partisan and greatshield lying on the ground in front of the tv. His handsome face indifferent and slightly amused, brought up with brilliant green eyes and curly black hair.
He looks at my house like it's nothing new; I can't stop staring.
So, how long has this been a thing?
Melina looks at me almost apologetically.
When Ranni locked me out, I found him here.
Roard looks right at her.
"And alone mind you." He props his arms up on the backrest of the couch, crossing his legs over one another. "Honestly, at first I thought I was caught in purgatory."
He looks at me, giving me a complicated expression.
"Though, I don't know if this is any better. Hey frog, long time no see."
He cocks his head, completely relaxed with a sly grin on his face.
"How's things?"
Uh. Good. Nice to see you too, I guess.
"Don't sound too happy to see me again. Am I that unlikable?"
He grabs his chin, never losing his smug expression.
"Heh, like that'd ever happen."
Just confused. That's all.
"Same here. I would like to know why I'm stuck in here."
He gestures to Melina with the smallest movement possible; barely a single finger.
"Half-eye over there tried her best. But you know, didn't make a lick of sense."
You died.
"Sure did."
Melina leans in, like she wants to defend her actions.
I presume the link between your mind and soul has been severed. Lance intercepted your runes from returning to the Erdtree, and you now reside here, in his mind.
Roard gives a sickened expression.
"You know, you have a weird way of explaining things. Why not just talk normally? You talk like royalty, and honestly it sounds excessive."
He breaks from his slouched posture, leaning forward, much to the couch's agony.
"Just be straight with me, and stop beating around the bush so much."
Melina looks almost offended.
It is how I talk.
Roard immediately points a finger.
"See? Right there."
He readjusts himself, pointing next at his mouth.
"Say: It's. 'It's how I talk'."
...
"See? Sounds so much better, right?"
Melina just stares quietly; she looks like a cross between bored and pissed; I take over before this goes on any longer.
Look, Roard, I'm sorry I killed you. Even if it felt like I had no other choice, it was still wrong.
I sit up.
I'm not sure if we can return you to your body; I have a power I can't turn off.
Roard cocks an eyebrow at that.
You see, I apparently have a Rune of Death in me, and I've been taking runes of the people I kill, and sometimes taking others' that I merely considered an enemy. I'm not sure how I do it, why it works the way it does, and why you're in my mind. There's still many things neither Melina nor I know; we're just as lost as you are on this.
In the silence that follows, Roard gives Melina an amused look.
"Yeah, Just say something like that next time."
I have no need to change my words, especially not for a fool.
"Hah!" Roard grins spectacularly. "I think we'll get along just fine pipsqueak."
Melina.
"Sure, sure. I'll be certain to remember a name like that, seeing how you cooked me raw in front of my men."
He leans back again.
"Still… the Rune of Death, eh? Isn't that just a blast from the past?"
Really?
He waves me off.
"Don't worry about it, just some memories I'm reminiscing about."
He changes gears.
"Well, this has been a riveting conversation, but I don't even know everyone's names yet."
I'm certain we at least talked about them, but Roard doesn't seem to care.
"I am Roard, Knight of Stormhill. Best spearmen south of Liurnia, charmer of the ladies, smartest mind of Limgrave, and a gentle man at heart."
...
...
"Well? Come on now."
Lance.
Melina.
"What, no titles?"
...
I think of something really stupid.
Slayer of Roard, best spearman south of Liurnia.
Melina cracks a genuine smile, Roard gives me a violently disillusioned expression.
"You know, you should add Inept Jester to your titles too."
We talked for nearly an hour after that, about a bunch of different things.
Relating to how Roard talks, I can see how he'd fit in perfectly with the soldiers; he'd be right at home if he were sitting beside me at that feast earlier today. He's quick to bounce off others, and he's very sociable by nature.
Given that, the time he's spent in my mind has certainly been torture for him. Time only slows down in here when I'm "asleep", or in here too, so it's not like it's been forever for him. But even so; Roard has spent weeks alone in absolute darkness.
If he still had his mind, he probably would've gone insane by now.
Yet as Melina explains to both he and I, the soul is incorruptible; runes by nature cannot simply be changed…
Unlike the body.
Roard could spend thousands of years in absolute darkness, and he would be exactly the same as always. He can still change his mind on things, and still learn more about stuff; it's not like he's frozen in time.
But he's something of a construct of his former mind, an echo of himself that has sentience. To this extent, he's a spirit.
The Roard I know is dead, only his soul remains.
As to why his soul has remained intact in my mind, while others have not…
Roard actually had an answer he came to himself.
"I think I'm still me because I still have a purpose. I got things I still need to do."
That's how he put it; Melina reluctantly agreed with him.
For me, it actually sounds a lot like how people always described ghosts back on Earth. A vengeful spirit, that still clings to our world because they have been wronged, or there is a score to settle.
In the case here, as Melina explains, spirits form when the soul becomes lost, after the body is completely destroyed for whatever reason before the mind overwhelms the soul and becomes one of Those Who Live In Death.
Complete destruction of the soul results in Those Who Live In Death, and complete destruction of the body/mind results in a spirit or rune. That's the short answer at least.
The body can be completely destroyed through a few methods, such as burning. Another is to bury the body at the exposed roots of the Erdtree, where the roots will turn the body into part of the Erdtree as well, in a sort of strange transmutation process.
The process has a trick to it, and only a few know how to perform the rite, something like a Pastor consecrating a coffin at a funeral on Earth. Godrick was one such being, though he's since twisted the process for his own devices. He uses it to graft corpses to himself now, transmuting limbs and torsos and heads into his body in a similar transmutation process.
Other methods exist as well, but burned by fire and Erdtree burial are the common practices.
For whatever reason, however it happens, if the body is completely destroyed and the soul has nowhere to come back to, three different outcomes can happen, as described by Melina with me simplifying them for Roard:
1. The soul will be absorbed back into the Erdtree, assimilating with the countless other runes that reside in there. This is the most probable outcome, especially when the body is buried with the roots, and it's the only version of true death one can experience in the Lands Between with the Rune of Death bound. You basically graft their runes into the Erdtree by force, seeing as how the usual path is blocked.
Translating Melina's words, about 97% go this route when the body is completely destroyed.
2. The soul is rejected by the Erdtree, and it wanders. Such a soul typically loses its sense of self over time, and becomes a rune, a glowing light like what Melina is. They create something of a flimsy body for themselves, more of a brittle shell to hold their runes together. The shell can easily be broken, and it would cause the runes to scatter. Since they lost their sense of self and cannot govern their movement, they are basically dead already, something like a marble or another inanimate object. Souls with that fate are eventually absorbed into the soil of the land, feeding a specific family of plants known as Glovewort, pale white plants with glowing petals that can bloom even in absolute darkness. Souls from bodies that were burned or completely wasted away from decay can sometimes become a rune, and it can be considered the worst outcome.
Rejection from the Erdtree is rare, but it can still happen, especially if the soul was already on it's way out. It happens about 2% of the time.
3. The soul becomes a spirit, holding a will that overpowers its call to return to the Erdtree. It resists the call, retaining its sense of self like something of a vengeful spirit. If their bodies were burned, they reside in the ashes. If their bodies were buried with the Erdtree, they'll linger by its roots. Common people and animals rarely become spirits, only powerful warriors with strong wills are capable of it.
Only 1% can resist the Erdtree's call, and cling to this world even after complete death of the mind.
There is a branch of them known as Ancestor Spirits, which have been a spirit for so long that they begin to have a real body again. They never regain their mind, but they become a corporeal soul, a half of a whole that holds its own. They are exceedingly rare, with some generating followings because of their supposed power.
You can count the number of ancestral spirits that exist with both hands.
The lines can blur between these three outcomes; it's not all black and white. Neither is it set in stone what a soul will become. It's a mystery why some souls are rejected, and what constitutes a will strong enough to withstand the call.
As Melina explained this, I kept looking at her.
So, which one is she?
What type does she fall under?
She has a body like a rune, and she has no memories; she lost her sense of self a long time ago. Yet she has sentience, and she is becoming something of an Ancestor Spirit, creating her own body that can be self-sustaining. But she always wants to return to the Erdtree; it's her goal. Her desire.
It's like she's something of all three. She is the greatest example of how blurred these lines can be, and she seems to know it too.
As for Roard…
"Well, if I'll be honest, I already know why I'm still here."
Oh? Why might that be?
Roard stares me down.
He's lost his bravado, looking as serious as I've ever seen him before.
"In Leyndell, I have a family. A wife and an unborn child."
Melina loses her disdain for a moment at such a comment, cutting off her attitude. Roard looks down at his metal hands, closing the two into fists.
"I never did get to see them after I got exiled; it's been my dream ever since to return. I want nothing more than to see her again… and my child… whether it be a boy or girl, I know I'd love them. I just need to see them again."
He trails off, slowly shaking his head.
"Hey. Tell you what." He perks up, giving me a meaningful look. "You're trying to get to Leyndell, right?"
What gave it away?
"Oh come on, every Tarnished is gunning for the throne, why else did Queen Marika drag you all back here?"
He readjusts his posture again, tapping the table with a metallic finger.
"Sounds like it's your plan then… I'm in."
…Come again?
"Seems I drew the short straw by picking a fight with you." He shrugs. "Can't exactly go back now, so I won't hate you for that. What I'll do instead, is see if we can work together."
So, you will play the role of a spirit?
"Yeah, sure, I can do that. I'll do it all."
I still don't know what a spirit's purpose is, and why Spirit Summoners are a thing. But Roard lays it out simply, and the puzzle completes in my head.
"Here's the deal: You get me to Leyndell, and I'll let you call on me whenever you get in a jam." He jabs a thumb at his chest. "Just call on me if you need a good spearman, and I'll fight a dragon for you. Count on it."
He jabs a finger my way.
"I'm only asking a few things from you. Give me the chance to see my family again. And if you end up becoming Elden Lord, you'd better take good care of them."
The hand opens up.
"Deal?"
…
Like I'd ever want to do someone unintentional harm. I take his hand, and we shake on it.
Deal.
Roard leans back, satisfied.
"All's well then… so why are you two here anyway?"
Oh…
7 hours later…
I'm sitting awkwardly on a stool, an arm's reach away from a melancholic man sitting up awkwardly in his bed.
After making a deal with Roard, the three of us went through my memories, looking for one that applies to Strength. If I ever want to wield the greatsword given to me to deal with misbegotten, I need to be physically stronger.
Though, unlike when Melina and I searched for memories about Vigor and Dexterity, it didn't take us long to find one for Strength. It was a memory of when I was helping my mother cook in our kitchen, of a time when I failed at bringing our crockpot down from the top cabinet above the sink.
I don't know why I let the thing drop; it was a couple months before the Scion killed me, so I was already 19.
I may be weak, but I'm not that weak.
I think I just underestimated its weight, but for whatever reason, I let the crockpot hit me in the face, before it fell down, crushing my left foot.
My mother found the whole event frightening; Roard found it hilarious.
It was a silly memory to use, but it was the only one I could think of off the top of my head. I rarely lifted heavy things and failed at it; I stayed in my comfort zone when lifting weights, and I was a runner; not many opportunities to strain my muscles per se.
So we stuck with this one, and used the desire I got form the memory to increase my Strength.
Not much else happened by the time I awoke.
Although, there was something that gave me a weird feeling, and it made the darkness around the three of us glitch for a moment.
My mother looks uncannily similar to Melina.
Not saying they're doppelgangers, there's definite differences between them. But if someone said Melina would look like mother if she looked 46, I would believe them. It was strange, so I thought I'd mention it, but it didn't make anything insane happen, so it was uneventful.
Still, that glitching… it happened once before, when Melina and I first entered my mind.
I can only hope it doesn't mean anything important.
The process went smoothly after that, and Melina increased my strength as much as my accumulated runes would allow.
Sitting here now, I can see a definite change in my body. I'm not a pencil anymore.
I'm not jacked, or swole, or whatever; not by a longshot. But my arms have tone, chest filled in and thighs thickened. I also have what looks like a six pack, though it's very faint.
Even so… I look good.
I even took a moment to try flexing… and it actually worked. I look like the beginning of a proper athlete.
I can't go throwing people around with just my hands, but when I lifted my greatsword, I found it to weigh similarly to what my straight sword was like.
It was amazing, I was feeling amazing. I might just be amazing.
But someone came knocking at my door not much later, and I got a good dose of reality.
The Warden has revived.
I'm here now, sitting beside his bedside, yet to say a thing. Edgar similarly has been as silent as stone; he didn't even bother to look up when I walked in. At this point, the beginning rays of the sun have climbed above the watery horizon, giving this room an orange glow. It's still early, but with a single touch, the Site of Grace washed my fatigue away; I'm wide awake.
"Edgar… I…"
I haven't been able to meet his eyes, not that he's looking at me. He only stares at his own sheets, thinking about things nobody except him will ever know.
"I…"
"Save it." Edgar says, his voice cold and stuffed full of reason. "It won't make a difference."
I feel a sting.
...
More silence follows.
I expected Dalia to be here as soon as he revived, but she's a no-show. Instead, it's just the two of us.
"…Callum told me." He says, shifting ever so slightly. "Of Dalia's order." He spits. "Her insubordination."
I knew Dalia was lying, even so…
"Then-"
"I gave you an order, Lance." He turns to look at me, I still can't look up. "I know you're not one of my soldiers; I have no right to hold authority over you."
He places a closed fist on his chest; metal clicks against metal.
"But I put my trust in you. I believed that you, if nobody else, would be capable of fulfilling this old man's last wish."
When I never look his way, his cold eyes wander elsewhere.
"It seems, in the end, that my belief was unfounded."
Another sting, but he doesn't relent.
"I would say that I'm disappointed, Lance, but that word doesn't even begin to cover it. I feel betrayed. Do you understand that?"
I nod.
It stings so much.
I barely know this man, but I respect him, I revered him, I felt solace in his presence. I was weak, I couldn't even stand up to one person. I've helped in some ways here, but I've screwed up more than anything else.
Edgar's disappointment isn't misdirected.
I was hoping, somewhere deep down, that I could just barge in here and point my finger at Dalia, and everything would work out. The blame would go her way, everything would be cleared, and Edgar would like me again.
But, it seems, even after knowing one of his own knights disobeyed him, he still finds the blame on my shoulders.
He's not a child; he won't just change his mind so readily.
To him, just like two kids getting into a fight, he finds us both accountable. It doesn't matter that Dalia started it; the fact stands that I went along with it. I can say I was scared and listened out of fear, but getting Irina out of the city was my responsibility, and to that extent, I failed.
"Even so…"
Edgar picks back up, I find myself bracing for it.
"I'm glad to see you're still alive."
My eyes widen a little, I finally find myself looking his way. He stares out his window.
"And it seems my castle still stands. All is not lost yet."
"You're… not mad…?"
He looks my way, his eyes reading exactly what his words say.
"Of course I'm mad. I'm furious."
I flinch, he raises his voice.
"But what's done is done; I wouldn't dream of causing contention when we stand at such dire straits." He sighs. "As long as my daughter is safe, and my comrades still fight, there is still hope in this cursed world."
He looks elsewhere.
"For a bunch of miscreants, we fought well. But our enemy is large, and I fear victory will not be possible this time. More than half our force has scattered through the city, and we have no way of guaranteeing their prolonged survival. Our gate has collapsed, and half our heavy weaponry has been destroyed. With how things stand, Castle Morne will not hold for much longer."
Hurts to hear him say it; I feel all the more childish for still having some hope. He claps his hands together.
"…Maybe… It is hopeless after all."
…
This is my chance. I can convince him to leave now. Everything can work out."
…
"But we won this last battle, didn't we?"
What am I saying?
"Yes, it seems we did, and I thank you for your part in that." Edgar looks me dead in the eyes again. "But it seems my own men have decided to betray me. If my own forces have begun to turn coats, then defeat is inevitable."
...
…Who?
"You mean Dalia?"
He shakes his head.
"No, never. That loyal dog of a knight only ever acts in interest of Morne's welfare. I don't know why she's gone against my orders, but I only assume it was for good intentions."
Then...
I'm already suspecting a name, but I press.
"Then who?"
A solemn anger begins to burn in the depths of his eyes.
"When I awoke, Callum informed me I passed of my wounds…"
He wipes at the corner of his mouth, as if that strange foam was still there.
"But he is mistaken. I was poisoned."
Hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Having a blade getting buried in your back, an explosion set off in your room as you sleep… poisoned food and drink at your nightstand. Dying from an opponent facing you down is terrifying, but dying from the hands of those you trust, when you never expect it coming, it seems much worse.
The elusive danger of it, the uncertainty, the unknown.
Like vaguely knowing a monster hunts you unseen from the shadows, a killer stalks your halls in the dead of night.
A Scion watches you from the fountain outside your house.
The Sentinel appears behind you amidst a stormy darkness.
A soldier approaches your failing body in the damp cool of a cellar.
That's it. It's that feeling, that thought. The thought that nowhere is safe; I almost look behind the two of us, expecting someone to be there, ready to kill us both.
"Poisoned?" I breathe.
"I presume he has already fled, with whatever he hoped to achieve already completed. But even so… I…"
He trials off, eyes widening.
With a sudden burst of energy, he grabs my shoulder, startling me.
"My daughter. My baby girl. Is she safe?"
His eyes full of panic, breaths heightening. He realized something…
What...
I feel something sink in my gut.
Did I miss something?
Is Irina in danger?
I'm lost, I only continue my derailed train of thought.
"Was it Tre-"
"Answer me!"
The heavy mirage on my head lingers…
I…
"Yes!" I spit out. "She's-"
It's fate's cruel fashion. In this reality I have called hell.
Something slams onto our door, more like a body hitting it than a knock.
I'm startled, Edgar struggles to rise fully.
He knows something's wrong before I even reach the door; I see blood trickle into the room from the joints between the bricks of the floor.
I draw my greatsword, preparing for the worst, but when I open the door, Dalia's body slumps in, landing limply in front of me.
...
I freeze. Edgar growls.
Dalia breathes in shortened breaths, her gauntlet covered hand clutching a bleeding wound in her lower chest. Her labored puffs are full of pain; she seethes beneath her helmet. But she chokes out words amongst her turmoil.
"Trey… hah* Irina…"
My heart goes in knots, body locking up, and up, and up.
I've never felt so cold in so hot of a climate.
She looks dead at me, standing over her; my face stricken with plain shock.
"H-He… … hah* … cap…tu..r..e…"
No.
No.
I take off running, running faster than I thought I could. I leave Edgar behind, who stares a dying Dalia down with sheer hate in his eyes. I follow the crimson trial Dalia left behind like a bloodhound, moving so quickly that I deflect off the wall as I fail to turn, nearly falling over.
But I'm not thinking about it.
My mind only echoes one thought, as Melina barrels after me as fast as she can.
No. No. No.
He-
She-
I-
I burst into Irina's room; blade ready.
No signs of life, a sign of a scuffle.
Irina is gone, her black blindfold and seal left on her nightstand.
I march over, snatching up her blindfold, her seal.
She would never go anywhere without these.
Then…
There is a paper here too, Irina's writing scribbled all over it. It's not a ransom note, not a goodbye letter or ultimatum. I read it over hastily…
It's…
No.
It's a note for me.
"No!"
I turn and run, still clutching her blindfold and seal in my hand.
That paper… poem; it drifts silently to the floor, left behind; its sender already gone.
Dear Sir Tarnished, It reads.
I'm leaving the castle, bolting out the front gate. The soldiers shout at me, concern plaguing their words. I don't care. I roar at the accumulated crowd of Bellard residents outside the gate to move; I don't stop even if I run into one. I run into three.
I thank you for your efforts on my father's behalf; on all our behalf. You are a kind person. I can see why father likes you so.
I'm yelling at Melina to track Irina, to hunt down Trey. I feel frantic, head swimming and thoughts jumbled. I've failed, time and time again. I should have checked on her this morning, I should have taken her with me to see Edgar. I have failed again.
I write this note as an apology, in the hope that you can forgive me. I have angered you.
I run through Bellard's desecrated streets, my own breaths echoing back in my ears. Building after desecrated building whirring by, the hot wind of roaring fires scorching my face. I vault over debris, dodging and weaving through alleyways and streets like a panther in the jungle. My drawn blade flashing and whistling through the air, my chainmail feels weightless on my body. I need to make it. I will make it.
I see now that I was wrong; father wanted me to leave the city, to live. He must know Castle Morne will not be able last much longer, so he wanted me to go, out of an act of love. I know not why Dalia had stated otherwise, but I know now that I should have listened to you. You only ever wanted the best for me, and it hurts me so to know I am the cause of your fury. If I cannot find it in myself to face you, then I hope this letter finds you well.
Melina caught onto something, traces of runes ahead. She says she can see misbegotten; I take off in that direction. My blurring vision going up and down; over rubble, under fallen pillars. Left and right; around fires and careening by suffering citizens.
Because you caught interest in my poetry today, I have copied it down here for you. I apologize for my bashfulness, I thought it not yet ready. Forgive Lord Neil too, he only wanted to keep it a secret until it was complete. It is not yet complete as of now, but I shall write what I have up to this point here. I hope you find it pleasing. I never have been good with poetry, but I promise it is worth your time.
I turn a corner, and I'm in a familiar place. I passed through here before with Dalia and the other soldiers; it's that small park where we dispatched three misbegotten. In the center of the park, I first spot Trey, with a conscious Irina in his grasp. She's crying, shouting at Trey. She struggles against him, to no avail. Trey doesn't even look down at her.
I hope you enjoy it: The flowers of the south bloom in late summer, when the sun shines high and the stars glitter.
With the two, a large number of Godrick soldiers and misbegotten populate the space; some of them have already spotted me. A single man that looks like he's made of blemished silver stands in front of Irina… I can't read his eyes. From the gaps between the fingers of the hands on his face, I see a yellow glow. But there's no emotion in them, only frenzied chaos.
They spring forth colorful petals, in rows upon river banks where the speeding current settles. In the morning dew, they shine like fresh gold. In the approaching dusk, their true beauty unfolds.
The man looks my way, a disgusting smile splits his lips. He looks like a walking corpse, a body reanimated by adverse magic. He shouts something at me, I can't hear him. More soldiers and misbegotten turn, Trey turns, Irina turns. She cannot see me, but she tries to run to me, as if she can feel something resonating from me.
Flowers of the night, glowing in the moonlight. Beauty too supreme for this world, an existence too pleasing to the eye.
Melina yells something at me. Irina calls my name. Trey arrests her in place, drawing his sword at me. I never stopped running, hand clenching Irina's blindfold and seal hard enough that sweat has begun to accumulate. I shout Irina's name with a shrill voice. I must make it. That silver man says something, reaching inside the darkness of his cloak, grabbing onto a twisted handle.
And, as fall arrives, the petals will wilt and die. Wither away underneath the autumn sky.
He smiles at me, says one more phrase. Irina strains to reach toward me...
My name, my real name, is the last word she ever says.
"Lance!"
Lance stop!
"No! Don't!"
A wicked blade with a yellow hue bursts out of Irina's chest.
...
I freeze up.
...
Time slows, the world stops.
...
I scream.
Sorry, that is all I have for now. I am still working on it.
Irina falters, Trey lets go. Yellow and orange and red and red and red and yellow and yellow and orange and yellow fire and yellow and red and orange and yellow fire burns her, scorches her, devours her screams.
Her blind eyes go wide and burn and glow yellow and burn and burn and burn and burn and burn andburandburnandburnanburn and glow yellow.
If you find this note under your door, then I have made my decision. I see now that you cannot take me from this place; I have been nothing but a hinderance to you. If you find this, then I have already left. I have decided I will not be a hindrance any longer. You may think I am being hasty; you may call me foolish if you wish. But do not worry about me, I will find a way.
Her outstretched hand catches fire and fire and burns and burns and burns to black, burning and burning to ash. Her body burns to ash to ash to complete ash, crumbling and falling away from that blade.
Tell my father I love him, and tell Dalia and Trey and Neil that I love them too.
The ash piles at the silver man's feet, not a shard of a bone left of Irina.
And, if we shall ever cross paths on the road, I hope you can forgive me. Maybe we can even be friends again.
I feel something break, something snap in two in me.
With regards, and with wishes for your wellbeing in all your travels, Irina.
Irina is no more.
Melina only stares.
They were too late.
Lance has frozen in place, his eyes wide, but face dead of emotion. His runes have flatlined, all his intents and desires halting in a bone chilling moment of silence.
The world is as if it darkens around him, the sun blotting out from a ever-growing void.
Melina seethes, staring at that man of silver skin and disheveled hair. She knows not who he is, his intentions, or why he is here. But she knows those erratic flames that plague his eye sockets, that maddening fire that devoured both Irina's mind and soul in a matter of seconds.
In her travels, even with her limited knowledge, she knows of it.
The scourge of the Golden Order, the plague of the two fingers.
The frenzied flame.
She feels an anger build up somewhere in her, rising and rising, threatening to consume her entirety…
No, it is not her anger.
Lance's runes…
They have begun to burn.
"Apologies for that distasteful sight," The man with silver skin calls out, taking pleasure in his words. "But we cannot return the young maiden, not even for you, our lord."
Trey stares Lance down, the soldiers and misbegotten already have their blades drawn. Lance falls to his knees, his legs trembling.
"Ah… ah… aaaaah."
He's mumbling, muttering, gasping. He has seen death before in this land, many times before. But, this may be the first death he cared for, worried about, and wanted to prevent.
This may be the first death that will affect him at his core.
That anger grows; Lance's light boiling over into a blood red searing heat. It comes from his heart, burning somewhere within his soul. Fire Melina has never seen before, crimson black and gold flames mixing and screaming and roaring. It's heat is otherworldly, as if one would disintegrate simply by touching it. Latent power brought to the surface, flames capable of slaying mind and soul festering.
The Rune of Death.
Melina winces, backing away. But no matter how far she goes, the heat persists.
Like his light has become a fire itself; any who draw close will be burned. The silver man looks upon Lance with a tender smile, breathing out a satisfied sigh.
"I apologize, my lord, but we cannot meet yet. You are still far too weak."
Trey gives the man a glance, his runes indicating he would like to slay the man here and now. But he holds himself restraint; the silver man turns to walk away.
"But we shall see one another once more, when you are ready. Until then, I bid thee adieu."
Lance breaks.
No.
No.
No no no no no no nononononononononono.
Why?
Why!?
Why has this-!?
Why!?
I can't think straight, two thoughts or feelings won't connect.
I'm shaking.
I'm shivering.
Irina is gone.
I was too late.
Why?
Why was she targeted?
Why did she have to die!?
She was innocent!
She never raised a blade in her life!
Why!
Her worries… Her desires… Her hope in me, in us all…
Gone.
Just like that.
The loved daughter of Edgar, the princess of Bellard.
Gone.
The girl who was blind since birth, the girl who loved to write poetry, the girl who was kind, the girl who dreamed of a peaceful life; of peace, of love, of life.
Gone.
Dead.
Just like her. Just like him. Just like-
!
Flaring pain devours the left side of my face.
I contort.
Something's happening, I feel something burning and breaking in my head.
It rises to the surface; it bleeds from my eye.
My iris corroding from it's natural blue, discoloring and shifting to an amber gold.
Blood trickles down the left side of my face, it burns my skin down to the bone.
Erk. Gnnnh.
"GAAAAAH! AAAAARRGH!" I shriek, I scream, I roar.
The pain is unbearable, the sensation of burning alive enveloping my body.
The feeling is death, the sensation of my head splitting open enveloping my soul.
Melina's aura flashes again and again, but she isn't saying anything. She's in pain; she burns too.
I hear Trey's voice amongst my agony, I hear that bastard speak out amongst my ire.
"Kill him."
Trey…
Trey.
I snap my eyes open, amongst the sensations of burning down to ash.
That knight stares at me for a moment… before he walks away, following that silver man.
…Get back here.
I rise to my feet, flinching and contorting. Bloodied tears drip from my face, melting the stone away at my unsteady feet.
Stay here.
Misbegotten and soldiers in my way, they're in the way.
They kick Irina's ash about, stampeding on it, desecrating it.
The misbegotten, full of the self-gratifying desire to devour me. The soldiers, full of the self-gratifying desire to destroy me.
Selfish eyes, closing in from all sides.
I don't care.
I'll take them all on.
Lance!
Melina shouts, struggling past her own pain.
Do not do this!
Her words won't register; her outstretched hand falls short of mine. I can't see her, I can't see anything.
Because all I see is red.
I don't care, I'm doing this.
The misbegotten swarm, they snarl and bellow and snap. Their cleavers skidding across the cobbled stone, their claws scaping onto the stone.
The soldiers charge, they shout and grunt and growl. Their swords shining in the shadows, reflecting the first misguided rays of the morning sun.
I am but a torch amongst encroaching darkness, a light amongst snapping shadows and glittering blades.
I am in danger; I will die.
The enemy a countless number; I am but one kid…
I don't care.
Lance!
Something burning in my left eye, my vision glitching and contorting, as it sees a hundred heathens descending upon me.
I raise my blade, ready to take on an army.
I-
Snap.
Something breaks.
Something in my mind, in that black void, it peels apart. The spell over my memories flexes and wanes, like there's something within that cage of black serpents, trying to break free.
A crack forms, a splinter in the roaring fire. Words come to me, Irina's seal in my hand glows. I feel possessed, overcome by another force.
My body doesn't feel my own, my movements as autonomous as a heart beating. Going through the motions, following an executed code. Melina gasps; I've taken something form her.
Stole her power.
Used her spirit.
Like a weapon.
I bring Irina's seal up to my bleeding eye, coating it in burning blood.
"Tears of a Maiden." I chant, my voice void of emotion. "Blood of an Empyrean."
I whisk the soaked seal away; the tears ignite in the cool morning air. Fire, golden fire, blazes to life around my clenched fist, burning Irina's blindfold away. Melina's fire, bathing the scene in flaxen heat.
"It all burns the same."
I drag that burning seal across my blade.
Flames spread; flames roar. It distorts the air in a swirling mirage, drips down the blade's triangular tip, stains the silver metal in the colors of heavenly hellfire.
"Kindling, accept this meager flame."
Melina watches dumbstruck, the soldiers falter in their steps. I wield a greatsword enwrapped in golden flames, my illuminated face contorted into a dark hue of rage. The misbegotten don't care, and the first one leaps into the air, looking to kick me to the ground.
Looking to rend my flesh, cut me apart, devour me whole.
It will never get the chance.
I spin my sword about face, clenching its handle with both hands.
Irina's seal dangles down on my left wrist, the last of the blood smoldering away from its glossy surface.
I'm sorry Irina, I was too late to rescue you.
I have been foolish, scatterbrained, and childish.
I've been messing around ever since I came here, and I couldn't rescue you as a result.
If I'd been more careful, if I'd been more kind...
If I made sure you came with me when we went to see Edgar… no… even before that.
If I…
…
It doesn't matter anymore.
You are gone, they took you.
I don't know the reasons why, but I will find those reasons.
For you, and for me too.
I will avenge you, and everyone you cared about.
My burning blade meets flesh, and I part the first misbegotten in two, igniting its body and sending its burning halves falling by my left and right, coating me in bubbling crimson.
I will avenge you all.
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