Chapter 12: The Storm

Down here, amongst the dim light of the forest floor, the howling winds cannot reach. That storm draws closer, and the weather has begun to churn because of it. The skies grow dark with gray clouds, and it will only darken from here on out.

From what Melina can guess, it will be twilight soon.

After that, Lance will return to his camp near the hill, where he will sleep until morn comes. Melina is unable to sleep, so she will watch over Lance instead, and keep an eye out for danger. If danger comes, she'll drag him into the breach, and they can make a clean getaway. It is what the two of them have done for these past seven days, and it may need to continue for months more. They can only do so much a day's travel from a breach, but it's too soon to venture far, let alone bring Lance to any other breach. He is not ready, is all she can think sometimes; she is glad Lance can only hear the thoughts she wants him to hear.

He is at a critical point, where he has just begun to get over his fears. He still dreads to kill, still hesitates to deliver the final blow. He does not seem to notice it, but his blade has faltered every time. Wanderers are perfect for him; they will not exploit his indecisiveness. If he were to face soldiers, knights, or the rabid beasts of these lands, he will die. His bravery is frail, and while he has natural skill with the blade, his mind holds him back.

The last thing he needs is to hear Melina doubt him, she need only let him think she fully believes in him. But her efforts can only bring Lance so far, before it will be up to him to defend himself. That worries Melina. She has taught him, coached him in the ways of combat that she has witnessed herself. He is a quick learner, has previous knowledge with maneuvering himself, and he has finally begun to trust her.

But it is frail, as frail as his resolve. If any real opposition were to face Lance now, and she were to fail him, it will all shatter.

She tries not to dwell on it.

Lance trudges through the labyrinth of trees, bushes, and boulders; staying silent as he forages for food. Melina follows close behind, her footsteps leave no print in the mud. She can fly, walk, crawl, or sit down. She can move anywhere within the bubble Lance's internal light creates. Though his light is weak, it has grown since she met him and grows still. But it is a dim flame, just recently lit. Because of that, she cannot show her form to others, even Lance himself cannot see her true form.

She can see herself, can make out her fingers and feet; but her reflections in puddles and armor plating show her as nothing more than a speck of light. It is an erratic thing. It exists where she focuses her attention, she can make it zip about if she looks around. It will exist where her hand is as she touches something, exist where her head is when she peeks around something.

It is a fleeting aura, a fledgling rune that matches Lance's fledgling flame. He talks to the speck when he talks to her, which is understandable. Though, Melina found good fun with the concept. She can make the speck whirl about Lance, and he will try to follow its movements. She can make it rest on his nose and make him go cross-eyed. Make it look like he is talking to a wall, have him act flustered when the speck collides against him. It is humorous, in a cute sort of way. It has made her crack a smile more than once, and it lifts her spirits; if only a little.

The speck flitters about as she looks around, taking in the scenery. She cannot express the joy it gives her to walk on her own two feet like this. For years, she was stuck, only able to see the world near the breaches. She had become sick of golden light, as it was all she ever saw for months at a time when she was searching the Erdree's roots. This view around her, no matter how drab, is a fresh change.

Lance partly keeps an eye on Melina's speck, partly looks about for anything edible. He left his armor near the breach on the hill; that is a first. He did not want to enter this forest only a few days ago; he only entered once he became famished. Even then, he was wary. His sword was drawn, armor on and everything. Today, he looks to be indifferent, casually walking down this forest trail with nothing but his sword. He holds it by the blade, without a glove to protect his fingers. He strokes the cross guard with his thumb in a fidgeting manner, picking at grime that has stuck onto the brass. It is not a wise way to hold his sword, but until he can find a scabbard that fits, it will have to do. If he didn't have to constantly switch to a new sword, she would of told him to at least wrap the base of the blade with something.

"So," Lance says haphazardly. "You see anything?"

He talks in the direction of Melina's speck; she quickens her pace to stand beside him. As her attention focuses on Lance, the speck returns from up in the treetops, hovering around about where her head is.

"Nothing. We have already picked this place clean in the days prior."

She says, but her voice cannot be heard. No animal or soldier knows what she says, any outsider would think Lance is talking to himself. But her words resonate in his head, and he gives a small pout.

Well, that sucks. He thinks to himself.

Melina nods, her speck follows in a similar fashion.

"Yes, I am afraid we need to travel deeper."

"Fair enough." He says. Crap. I don't want to. He thinks.

Melina shares a small smile to herself. It is a strange prospect, to be able to hear what someone says and thinks, sometimes in unison, though the two can sometimes disagree. Lance himself seems to follow a similar strain as Melina. He does not want Melina to worry about him, even though he knows she can hear his thoughts. But his dreams, his locked memories, that spell… It feels to Melina that Lance's spell is self-inflicted, that he cast it on himself.

It is nothing more than a hunch.

She does not know how, or why, or even if the feeling is true or not. But Lance has more to him than Melina can pick up, the world he comes from and dreams he has often preached to that fact. He knows this world, he might of known of Melina; or at least a version of herself before. Yet it is locked away, and Lance feigns ignorance.

Convenient.

Suspicious.

Melina goes right, Lance notices the shine of her speck leave.

"This way." Melina says, not wanting to dwell on this further. The less time they spend in enemy territory, the better. "I may have seen something."

Rain begins to fall.

The leaves of the trees bar the first onslaught, and it can only be heard high above. But soon, droplets begin to reach the area underneath the canopy, a few pass right through Melina. Each stings a little, but it's nothing abrasive, just uncomfortable. Lance looks just as perturbed; he quickens his steps a little. Lightning strikes somewhere far away, rolling thunder is all that reaches the pair. The light down at the forest floor becomes a dim one, it becomes harder to make out objects from open space. Melina uses her speck as a light source for Lance, flicking it about inches above the soaking ground. It illuminates plants and obstacles alike, guiding her partner through the undergrowth.

Melina herself phases through anything in her way, gritting her teeth a little with each pass. It's not painful; she can manage it. But she cannot follow Lance's path, her speck would fly over once her attention falls on his back.

The two speed up more, until Lance has broken into a jog. He has longer legs, and Melina needs to break into a run, before she gives up and floats above him instead. She begins to collide with even more things, every branch feels like a pinch on the skin as she phases through it. Part of the clouds above flash white, thunder booms a few seconds later. The tops of the trees shake about in the wind, their leaves slick and soaked. The constant rustle joins the cacophony that is a raging thunderstorm, complimented with howling wind, the pitter-patter of raindrops, and the rolling of thunder.

This thunderstorm sounds like a particularly violent one.

What they look for are Rowa Berries, a common fruit in Limgrave. It has been Lance's main form of nutrition for this past week; multiple handfuls of it barely meets his needs. If he had a bow, he could hunt. If he were brave, he could sneak in and steal from the outpost from the nearby breach. But this is the only source of food available to him, and he has needed to make do. Aside from his genuine thoughts, his mind has constantly echoed about thoughts of food, a hunger that has yet to be sated. If they turn back now, he will go to sleep hungry, and it will certainly take a chip out his resolve.

They cannot turn back; they must press on.

Lightning flashes directly above, its thunder comes almost in tandem. The area around Lance lights up significantly; he stops in his tracks. Melina overshoots him; she nearly leaves his realm of light. She halts herself, and flies down to land in front of him. She did not tell him to stop, he did it all on his own. She might of planned to inquire him, might of lectured him, but she falls silent at the look on his face.

He's on edge, his eyes wide but his brow furled. It is an intense glare, one that is concentrated and strained. He slowly looks about his surroundings, ignoring Melina's fleck that floats near his chest level.

"What?" Melina asks. "What is it?"

Lance grabs his sword by the handle, holding it close to his chest.

"Lance?"

He hunkers down; Melina has never seen such a look on his face. She matches his crouched posture.

"I-..." He trails off, dark blue eyes flicking every which way. "We-… I-… Don't you hear that?"

Something's coming… His mind finishes.

Melina looks about, straining her ears. What has Lance on edge? Nothing sounds out of normal. The pitter-patter of rain, all around them. The howling of wind and rustle of leaves, high above them. Thunder, coming from the sky, echoing from the plateau, in the forest…

Boom.

Thunder echoes through the forest, only it is not thunder.

Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom.

The noise shakes the ground, comes in a consistent pattern. Hair stands on Lance's neck; he spins about. Melina can sense the danger too, something big is in this forest with them.

Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom.

They should run, they should flee. No, it is too late. They left the trail, lost their way when the storm came in force. The thunder sounds like it comes from every direction.

Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom.

The noise picks up, before falling silent. Melina looks all about; she would be sweating if she had a body. There is a sense that has fallen on Melina and Lance alike. It is the feeling of being watched. Lance turns to Melina, his eyes frantic.

He has realized it: They cannot flee now.

Lightning flashes above, lighting up the forest floor.

Melina's eye widens.

There is something behind Lance, something towering above him. Heavenly light reflects off golden armor, the silhouette of a halberd and shield cast long shadows. A giant horse, a giant man. Melina recognizes it immediately, as the thunder comes.

A Tree Sentinel.

I tense up, my sword already in hand. Lightning from directly above flashes, making me blink. Melina's aura floating in front of me; she flashes brightly. Brighter than even the lightning, bright enough to make a purple spot linger in my vision. With it, her voice comes in full force, shouting to the point it's almost a shriek.

LOOK OUT!

Adrenaline floods my system. My first thought is to turn and look, see what she can see. But I sense an ominous presence, I've felt it before. Back in my room, before I even noticed the Grafted Scion, my mind subconsciously noticed it. It was a tense feeling, a form of unease so powerful that it stopped everything I was doing. That same tense feeling comes now, it makes a shiver run down my spine.

I don't turn, I don't dare.

Instead, I engage my core, whipping my head downwards at a speed that strains my neck.

Something is coming, something large is being swung. I can hear its eerie howl, hear splitting timber and pulverized stone being left in its wake. I duck, as a large arc of gold careens by overhead. It nicks my shirt, severs the trees around me. The noise is deafening, and it's followed by cracks and groans as five large oaks come crashing down.

With the duck, I roll away, trying to make distance. The ground practically shakes, like I was caught in an earthquake. The noise of the storm grows louder, as the winds crash into the new gap in the forest. I feel disoriented, my shirt has a new hole in it. My ears are ringing, body shaking; it feels like my blood's gone cold. Rain comes down in force, soaking me to the bone; the new wind makes my hair and clothes whip about, stealing my body heat away. I steady myself; I nearly lost my sword.

What the hell was that?

We need to run. Melina says, but her voice is wavering.

Now.

"Tarnished."

A voice, one that sounds like a falling mountain, stills my movements, makes that tense feeling grip my heart. With it, the noise of rain pelting large swathes of metal sound behind me, like water dripping all over a semi-truck. That's when I look for my assailant, and when I realize that what severed these trees and pulverized these boulders was no natural disaster.

I thought it was a landslide, an earthquake, possibly both. I don't want to consider the alternative.

But natural disasters don't speak.

My fears come flooding back into me. My eyes land on him, and I feel that I lose my soul.

A knight, a giant knight covered in thick armor, rests atop an elephant sized steed, which watches me through golden mesh. The knight is covered head to toe in gold, carries a shield as large as the scion. His halberd is held at his side, its axe-like head extended out on the pole as far as a car's length. The head drips of fresh sap, the edge isn't even chipped. This giant eyes me behind an ornamental visor; I need to crane my neck to look up at him. He's in the gap he created in the forest, light and rain bathing his entirety. His horse lets out a bone chilling brey, his colliding armor plates sound like metal ships crashing together.

He is a menace, an unstoppable force.

He's leagues above the wanderers, the soldiers, even Roard the knight.

He's the one I saw in the game, the one I worried about.

A Sentinel

The giant horse slams a hoof into the dirt, snapping one of the fallen oaks in half with a noise like a head on car crash. The giant speaks again, I can feel the vibrations.

"Raise your sword."

I take a step back, my eyes as wide as full moons.

Lance. Melina speaks fast, her aura inches from my ear. Lance, we need to run, now.

I-

Now Lance!

I can't speak, I can't think coherent thoughts.

"Die with honor."

The horse snorts, I feel its breath. It scrapes at the dirt, thunder sounds when its hooves strike the ground. The Tree Sentinel gives his halberd a spin, readjusting his grip on his round shield. The horse turns in place, impatient for the kill. I- I-

…

I'm going to die.

Run Lance! Run!

I run. I turn and run, run for my life.

Legs pumping, the forest becoming a blur as I flee from a monster. I hyperventilate, mouth wide with shock. Sweat stings my eyes, rain drenches my hair. I nearly stumble, nearly fall when I collide with a tree.

The Sentinel's voice booms through the forest; it sounds like it comes from everywhere.

"So be it."

The thunder: it picks up. But it's not thunder, it's galloping. It sounds like explosives, sounds like a bass speaker turned up all the way. It's loud, it's imposing, and it's drawing closer.

Melina's aura keeps pace, she flies just above me. She still sounds hurried, sounds worried.

Weave through the trees. You are smaller, so use that to your advantage.

I don't answer, don't try to retort, or give a witty comment. I weave, ducking under fallen timber and leaping over bushes and brambles. I hear trees snap in half behind me, feel every step of the Sentinel's horse. Critters and creatures of the forest scurry in every direction, some shriek as they are trampled, silenced in a disheartening crunch. It feels like the forest is falling apart, everything's shaking.

Melina guides me, zipping around and over obstacles like a glowing hummingbird. I keep my eyes on her, following to the best of my ability. I dare not look back.

The thunder breaks away to my left, as the Sentinel circumnavigates two large oaks I slipped through. I can't help but look, and the view is a terrifying one. The Sentinel keeps pace with me, far enough away that he looks the size of a regular man. But as he gallops by trees and boulders, they are dwarfed by comparison. Black bars of oak trunks pass between us, giving the Sentinel a shutter effect. His helmet stares right at me, as his horse expertly weaves through the dense forest.

I nearly trip on a root, and the Sentinel swoops in.

He grows in size, readies his attack, until he swings his halberd, nearly taking my head as he careens by behind me. Three trees severed; three go down. Branches threaten to knock me down as one of the trunks nearly squashes me flat, snapping wood and twisting roots drowns out my own ragged breaths. My rampaging heart sounds like drums in my ears, the thunder of the horse a deep bass. The cracking trees are symbols, the pulverized stone percussion instruments. They mix, they follow the galloping beat. The Sentinel plays a song, a song of my demise.

He swerves to my right, drawing further away before he closes in again.

He thrusts, he bashes, he swings. I dodge, I roll, I leap.

My view of the world swirling and sweeping as I narrowly evade obstacles and attacks alike. My head smacks into a low hanging branch, I dislocate my left arm in the tumble. My ears whine, my vision blurry when I scramble to my feet.

I don't need my ears to hear Melina.

Duck! She barks.

I duck and roll; pain fires up my dislodged shoulder with the movement. Something splits the ends of the hair on my cranium, something slams into a thick oak next to me at a steep angle. It goes partly through, before becoming stuck in the ground near the tree's inner rings.

I'm up and running by the time the Sentinel rips his halberd free; he eyes my fleeing form with contempt. He knows why I run; knows not how I know when to evade even though I can't see him as I run. But for him, he has travelled all this way, and he is fighting a scurrying mouse, nothing more. A nimble one at that, but a rodent nevertheless. He growls, his horse snorts with similar disdain. How far must I run, he wonders, before I accept my fate?

He lets out a battle cry, one that rivals a volcanic eruption. His horse rears with a harrowing brey, obliterating everything in its path when it hits the ground running. The Sentinel will humor me no longer, he aims to go for the kill.

Oh no.

What? What is it?

I clutch my dislocated arm, which holds my sword with a slack grip. The thunder of hooves grows in intensity, one tree after another becomes severed in quick succession. Melina doesn't answer me.

I steal a glance back; I wish I didn't.

The Sentinel plows through the forest, his halberd twirling about him like the arms of a violent hurricane. He's letting out a guttural roar, as he demolishes every obstacle in his way. Mud and sparks splash off the horse's hooves, falling trees and branches are struck aside by that massive shield. He charges me, almost creating clouds of mist with the speed in which he swings. Woodchips, pebbles, and leaves distort his image, but I can make out his helmet amongst the chaos; that cavernous visor looks only at me.

I nearly let out an audible scream.

I nearly bite straight through my tongue instead.

He closes the distance between us in seconds, stampeding as a flashing golden wrecking ball. It's terrible, but it's only half the problem. Melina shouts in my ear, her aura flashes bright.

Stop!

My mind is a mess, my sense of composure was lost when the Sentinel began his charge. I don't recognize Melina's command, it's a word that doesn't fit the situation at all. Why would I stop? Does she want me to let myself die? I would of ignored it, would of kept running. I plan to do so, even when it doesn't make sense.

Everything makes sense when the ground disappears below me.