Writing Something New
The Spear of Destiny
That was the title of the first book in the three-book series based on Elden Ring that I planned to write. The events in New York, including my close brush with death, had sparked a surge of creativity within me. I had thrown myself into writing, channeling my experiences into my work. In just four days after returning, I had managed to write nearly a hundred pages.
The protagonist of the series, Lyra Aramore, was a knight who served the Golden Order—a fierce and determined warrior bound by duty and honor. She is sent to the edges of the world, where the Lands Between meet the Badlands, to the ancient city of Aldris. Her mission is to root out a rumored cult that worships a dark god, a task that leads her into a web of intrigue, deceit, and ancient secrets. As she delves deeper into the mysteries of the cult, Lyra finds herself questioning everything she has ever known: her loyalty to the Golden Order, and even the very nature of the world she inhabits.
The story culminates in events that set the stage for the Shattering—a cataclysmic event in the lore of Elden Ring that transforms the world into the dark, broken landscape seen in the game. The trilogy is meant to end just before the Shattering, leaving the world on the brink of chaos.
After the books are published, John and I could develop Elden Ring as a game that would continue the story from the books. If the books are as successful as Percy Jackson, then there would be many more buyers for the game in the future.
This was going to be my semi-original work—something that, while deeply rooted in the world of Elden Ring, would have its own unique story. It might not reach the heights of Percy Jackson, but it had the potential to carve out its own place in the world of fantasy literature.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the monitor in front of me. The scene on the screen was one of the most intense I had written so far—a part where Lyra investigates a cave system beneath the city of Aldris.
"Let's see," I muttered to myself as I resumed typing.
The damp, stale air of the cave system beneath Aldris clung to Lyra's skin as she descended deeper into the labyrinthine tunnels. The narrow passageways twisted and turned in unpredictable patterns, their walls slick with moisture and coated in a thin layer of moss. The only light came from the small orb of golden light she had conjured.
"Sounds good," I thought as I read through the passage. But then I paused, trying to remember what I had planned for this section of the story. "What did I plan on being inside the caves again? Land octopus…no…basilisks…no…aha, yes, demi-humans."
I quickly continued writing.
As she rounded a corner, the passageway widened into a small chamber. The floor was littered with debris—broken bones, tattered cloth, and the remnants of what might have once been weapons. The stench of decay was thick in the air, making Lyra wrinkle her nose in disgust.
A sudden, sharp sound echoed through the chamber—the clatter of rocks being disturbed. Lyra's hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the darkness. The light from her orb flickered slightly as she extended her senses, searching for any sign of movement.
Then, from the shadows, they emerged.
Demi-humans—small, hunched creatures with brutish, simian features—skulked forward, their eyes glinting with malicious intent. Their bodies were clad in crude armor, bits of metal and leather strapped haphazardly over their fur-covered forms. They wielded makeshift weapons—rusted swords, jagged clubs, and crude wooden shields—ready to tear into any intruder.
Lyra's grip tightened on her sword as she counted at least half a dozen of the creatures advancing toward her. Their guttural growls filled the chamber, a savage chorus of aggression and hunger. She took a deep breath, focusing her mind as she whispered a prayer.
"Grant me strength, O sacred light."
Her sword began to glow with a soft, golden light, the blessing of her faith infusing the blade with holy power. The demi-humans hesitated for a moment, their beady eyes narrowing as they recognized the threat she posed. But hesitation quickly turned to rage, and with a guttural roar, they charged at her.
The first demi-human lunged at Lyra, its club raised high to strike. She moved with practiced grace, sidestepping the clumsy blow and bringing her sword down in a swift arc. The blessed blade cut through the creature's armor with ease, cleaving deep into its shoulder. The demi-human shrieked in pain, collapsing to the ground in a heap.
Before she could recover, another demi-human attacked from her left, its rusted sword aimed at her side. Lyra spun on her heel, raising her shield to deflect the blow. The impact reverberated through her arm, but she held firm, using the momentum to drive her sword into the creature's exposed flank. The golden light of her blade flared as it struck, searing through flesh and bone. The demi-human gurgled as it fell, its weapon clattering to the floor.
But there was no time to pause. The remaining demi-humans circled her, their movements quick and unpredictable. They snarled and barked, working together to flank her on all sides. Lyra's eyes darted between them, assessing their positions, calculating her next move.
"Lightning Spear!" she intoned, thrusting her free hand forward.
A bolt of crackling energy shot from her fingertips, arcing through the air toward one of the demi-humans. The creature barely had time to raise its shield before the spear struck, splintering the wood and sending the demi-human sprawling backward with a charred wound in its chest.
I paused for a moment, trying to remember the incantation that would knock out nearby enemies. "Aha, Wrath of Gold," I realized, and continued writing.
Lyra raised her sword, ready to strike, but as the creature closed in, she whispered another incantation.
"Wrath of Gold."
A pulse of golden energy erupted from her, radiating outward in a blinding flash. The demi-human was caught in the blast, its club falling from its grasp as it was thrown back against the wall. The creature slumped to the ground, its body smoking from the divine power that had scorched it.
"Well, that's enough for the day," I thought as I pushed myself away from the table. My head was aching a bit from the long writing session.
I glanced at the clock and realized it was almost evening. "Damn, I haven't even had lunch," I muttered as I got up, feeling a mix of hunger and exhaustion. I lay on my bed for a moment, stretching out the stiffness from sitting at my desk for too long.
My thoughts drifted to yesterday when Christopher Nolan and I had discussed the script for the first Batman movie. It had become one of the most exciting aspects of my life lately.
Nolan's idea for the script was very similar to Batman Begins. It seemed he had this idea in his head for a long time, considering Batman Begins had come out in the late 2000s in his previous life. I liked Batman Begins and saw it as a good start to the DCU. Of course, there would have to be changes.
The only major change I asked him to make was to imply that Ra's al Ghul was immortal, not just a terrorist with a grand vision, as Nolan had originally written. Nolan wasn't particularly keen on the idea at first, but I managed to convince him by suggesting that the immortality angle could be hinted at subtly—nothing overt, just enough to plant seeds of doubt and curiosity in the audience's mind. It would also serve as a small nod to the larger, more mystical elements that would eventually play a role in our expanding universe.
We agreed that the film would contain subtle hints of a world beyond Gotham, carefully placed details that would suggest a wider universe without distracting from the story at hand.
For now, that was enough.
The order of the movies had been another topic of discussion. We had decided on a tentative lineup: Batman would come first, followed by Wonder Woman, then Batman 2, and Superman after that. The rest were still up in the air, but I had a vision in my mind. Green Lantern, Flash, and Aquaman were all on the table, with the ultimate goal being to culminate in a Justice League movie.
However, there was some debate about whether Green Lantern should come before or after Justice League. It was currently a hot topic at the studio, along with the even more contentious issue of who would head DC Studios—Victor Steele or Dave.
My stomach growled again, pulling me out of my thoughts.
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I headed downstairs, my stomach leading the way as I opened the refrigerator. Inside, I found two sandwiches, neatly wrapped and clearly prepared by Mom. I grabbed one and took a bite just as she walked into the kitchen.
"So, you finally decided to leave your room," she said, crossing her arms with a slight smile.
"I was in the zone, you know… writing," I replied, chewing the sandwich.
"Do you know how many times I called you to eat lunch? I even came over and knocked, but you didn't open the door," she said, a touch of exasperation in her voice.
"Sorry," I mumbled, feeling a bit guilty. I could get lost in my work sometimes.
"Where's Alice?" I asked, changing the subject as I took another bite.
"She's sleeping," Mom said, softening a bit.
"Mmm," I nodded, swallowing the bite of the sandwich. "You know, I'm really going to miss seeing her every day when I move."
"You're not moving," Mom said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
"Yes, I am," I replied, just as resolutely.
"No, you're not," she repeated, turning to leave the kitchen.
I followed after her, determined to have this conversation. "Mom, I need to move. We've got plenty of space here, sure, but it'll be easier for me to get to the studio and the offices if I live closer. The drive from here is just too long."
Mom stopped and turned to face me. "You don't need to move; you're too young."
"I'm nineteen. I know you can be a bit overprotective…" I started to say.
Mom interrupted before I could finish. "I'm scared, Daniel. Especially after what happened to you in New York."
"You almost got murdered. How am I supposed to let you move out on your own after that?"
I sighed, trying to keep my tone calm. "I can't stay here forever, Mom. I've made up my mind. I'm going to look for a nice… and safe place in the city."
She stared at me for a long moment, her resolve wavering. "Fine," she finally said, her voice low.
"Great," I said, relieved that she was at least willing to compromise. "You can come with me tomorrow for house hunting."
Mom nodded, but the worry in her eyes hadn't disappeared. I knew this wasn't easy for her, but it was something I needed to do.