Chapter 17: Past Mistakes and Future Prospects

Morning of my fifteenth day in this world, in the world of Elden Ring.

It feels like it's been an eternity since I arrived.

The first day, I was slashed, kicked, and captured after being led astray. The second and third day, I was stuck in a glorified hole in the ground, where I was slowly rotting away.

It was the night of the second day that I first killed someone; bit off their nose and gutted them with their own sword.

...

I didn't know it at the time, but Melina was with me during those nearly 36 hours of confinement. She set fire to a carriage to create a distraction, to divert everyone's attention away from the shouts and screams coming from that soldier as I killed him. When I was in shock, trembling at what I've done, she called out to me for the first time, and guided me away from that place.

I nearly died in my escape, nearly mauled by the white wolf.

But in Melina's fashion, she saved me again, dragging me into the breach near the gate.

That night, pushing into the third morning, I met Melina; that young lady with scarred hands and one opened eye, with a melancholy voice and an act of simple gestures. She gave me a glimpse of my past, of how I came to this world, and what this world was.

By the time the third day's sun had risen, I knew what this world was. To be frank, I was scared, afraid to even step foot outside of the entrance where I first saw the Erdtree. Maybe I was waiting for something; a timer or indicator, that would let me go home. Maybe I was hoping I would wake up from this bad dream, and maybe I was just waiting to die.

Looking back; I was just having a form of a tantrum.

I spent only three or so hours in that stupor; I might've gotten over it after enough time elapsed. I don't know what I would have done, but I seriously was not planning on staying in one room for the rest of my life. Whatever the case, Melina brought me out of it, and got me on my feet.

It was the first time I realized that I might have a friend in this world; I wasn't alone, at least in conversation's sense.

I silently wished Melina could wield a sword too, that way I had someone to lean on. But instead of a comrade, she began to feel like a teacher, my mentor.

If I wanted to be nerdy, I'd say she was the tutorial.

From the morning of the third day onwards, until the evening of the tenth day, I trained. Spelunking in the cave system beneath the Stranded Graveyard, I learned a great many things. Melina was a strange teacher, but she coached me in simple terms, using herself like a pointer to draw out movements I should take, and attacks I should make.

I started to feel better, fighting essentially zombies with swords as I honed how to swing, how to dodge, and how to dance. Dance with a blade, swimming through the air like a cross between an acrobat and a breakdancer. Spinning that blade about, deflecting and slashing and stabbing. I was good at it; Melina said I had talent for it. I felt good, I felt like I could do it.

Maybe I can do this.

That changed on the evening of the tenth day, as I was given a dose of reality in the middle of a storm.

I saw, I beheld, an entity that was beyond me. A giant, a titan, behemoth, whatever I called it. I saw what this world provided, and all my training went out the window. I ran, ran in an unsightly manner as I hoped in vain to hold onto my miniscule life.

That Sentinel, dividing trees and crushing boulders like they were made of cardboard, transforming the forest itself as he pursued me unrelentingly; he was something I can't comprehend.

I was saved by a fluke, not even Melina was able to save me. A dragon, an actual dragon saved me. Not some dragon that talks or has any form of sentience. Not a nice dragon, or a kind dragon. A mythical beast, with flames that can melt metal and vaporize stone. Claws as long as spears, teeth as sharp as swords. Beady black eyes, obsidian black scales. A roar that's deafening, and a presence that's overwhelming.

Agheel.

Rising from the lake, entire swathes of water spilling off his massive body; he was something I can't comprehend.

The dawn of the eleventh day; I was at a loss for words.

I was still alive.

It was obvious by how Melina acted; she was at a loss for words two.

She didn't console or scold me, didn't say something like "We can learn from this" or "We must press on". She was silent; she felt guilty.

But I felt guilt too; it was welling up inside me.

I was relying on Melina too much; I realized that.

For someone that can't fight, can't assist or intervene, I depended on her. She could only speak, only float about and follow me around, yet I hoped she would figure everything out for me. I put all the responsibility of this partnership, all that weight, on her shoulders, and I even tossed the weight of my life on top of that. She never asked me to help her, never asked me to take some of the burden. She took it all and put it upon herself to see it through.

I've been taking advantage of her.

As a matter of course, she's not omnipotent. And, when I went and stumbled into a situation where there was no chance to save myself, of course she wouldn't know what to do. She blamed herself, I can only guess she was thinking that it's her fault we ran into the Sentinel. If I were selfish; I could've easily blamed her too. But while I stared off into that breach on the morning of the eleventh day, I was being wracked.

I was tormenting myself.

I became careless. With Melina taking the burden of this world, I started to think it was like a field trip, like nothing more than careless fun. Day in, day out, doing what I've always dreamed of doing. Fighting with a sword, in a world where guns don't exist. A world where the skill of your blade gauges your worth. Fear left me, and with it went my sense of the predicament I was in. I began to pretend like this was a game. If I was ever in trouble, I mentally leaned back, not realizing the danger I kept throwing myself in. I only thought 'It's okay, Melina will save me.' time and time again.

What was I thinking?

She can't stop a blade, can't catch my hand if I begin to fall, or push me out of the way of approaching danger. She can talk to me; that's it.

It took me a week, only one week, before I was carelessly gallivanting around this hostile world, my head stuffed with foolish dreams and engorged expectations. I'm glad that Sentinel found me; I probably would have died if he hadn't. Not that night, but eventually. One day, there might of been one day in the unforeseen future, where I was wounded heavily from a Wanderer's attack. I would guarantee it would be because of me, not Melina, that I was hit. But as I bled out, down in those caves, I would probably scream at Melina, scream at her to save me.

She can't stop a blade, can't catch my hand if I begin to fall, or push me out of the way of approaching danger. And she certainly can't carry me to safety.

I might curse at her, might blame her for 'betraying' me. She would only watch, stricken with guilt, as she watched her last light of hope die wailing in front of her. It wouldn't be her fault; it would be mine.

I nearly lost myself. And it was all my fault. How could I blame her for not knowing what to do in that moment? If I did, if I didn't want to face my own mistakes, I fear Archangel Michael himself would be the one to greet me at the gates. A sinful and selfish boy like me doesn't belong in heaven.

So, what did I do?

On the dawn of the eleventh day, I swore to take the burden.

I faced my mistakes, and I took it off her shoulders.

I didn't want to take advantage of her, I wanted her to rely on me. I was thinking I was doing the right thing. I was atoning.

It might've been a foolish decision.

Those next three days, until the night of the fourteenth day, I had Melina teach me what I wanted to know, instead of accepting her teachings blindly. I was selfish because I was planning to put us both in danger over a hunch. Maybe I was overreacting; deciding to attack that camp that once imprisoned me, that I was pretty sure sent the Tree Sentinel after me.

I probably was, but Melina went along with it.

As to why, I'm not entirely sure. Looking back, I seemed to forget a key problem in me taking all the burden. I don't know this world. As long as my memories stay locked up from some difficult spell, I shouldn't be the one solely calling the shots. If I were Melina, I would scold myself. Say I was being foolish. But she didn't. She probably saw that I was finally starting to grow, and she didn't want to damper that, I see that now. She wanted me to grow, and she was ready to follow me into the jaw of the enemy to let that happen; her trust in me is frightening.

I guess I'm not a complete fool, I didn't rush into the camp immediately, without a plan to speak of. I gave Melina and I three days.

Three days, three days to learn about sneak attacks, dealing with armored opponents, and partly how to deal with Roard in particular. Three days, and three nights where I scouted out the town, watching the soldiers. I was planning something huge, and I was ready to do it alone.

I overextended myself, I went too far.

I stopped depending on Melina; I had her follow my lead instead.

I could have gone into hiding so Roard couldn't find me; I decided to take him out instead. Trying to counterbalance my eleven days of uselessness, I set my mind on pushing my limits. She followed me as I nearly threw myself over the edge.

I nearly died.

The soldiers were troublesome alone, but Roard himself was another thing entirely. Because of his own ignorance, he faced me one-on-one. Turns out it wasn't ignorance; he didn't need help. The fight was one sided; I was covered in cuts, bruised, and concussed.

Roard was unscathed.

I was losing, and there was no chance of victory.

But Melina didn't give up, she didn't harbor disdain for my selfishness. She shot right past me, taking the burden back.

But she didn't take it all.

Melina contributed to the battle in her own way. She can't fight, but information is also power.

She acted as my eyes; I acted as her sword.

With her help, the battle became evenly matched, neither side getting the advantage. But I was still foolish.

No armor.

No real plan to deal with Roard, just fight him.

I only gave myself three days, that's not nearly enough time.

I was bleeding out, losing a battle of endurance. I fell to my knees, realizing it was useless. Roard was tired, but unscathed. My blade never reached his skin; his spearhead met mine plenty of times.

The dawn of the fifteenth day; I was ready to die.

My own foolishness would be my downfall. And since I realized that... I didn't blame Melina.

I thanked her, for everything. She helped me, guided me, and tolerated me. She was more than a friend; I don't think there's a word in the English dictionary that would suit her. She was great, and in the end, she was by my side. I was content with that; I was ready to give up there.

Yet, Melina still didn't give up.

I'm not sure what she did, but she did what I never considered.

She can't stop a blade, can't catch my hand if I begin to fall, or push me out of the way of approaching danger. She can't carry me to safety, can't keep me out of harm's way. And she certainly won't ever give up on me.

That golden tree rising from the floor, healing me. It wasn't a fluke; it was her doing. It clicked with me then, finally did with her final words before the battle finally changed in my favor.

Took me long enough.

Melina isn't my mentor, not my silly little light that floats around me. Not a teacher, savior, or guardian angel.

She's my comrade, my ally, and my best friend. She would be there for me, through thick and thin. In the darkness, in the light. Amongst trial and tribulation, she wouldn't give up on me. She would stand there by my side. She only asked one thing of me, on this path we've decided to take in becoming Elden Lord.

She asked that I don't give up on her.

Our team of two, our fledgling fighting duo.

I didn't stand alone, we stood side-by-side.

We overwhelmed Roard, slaying three that interfered with us mid-battle. We exploited his weakness, rendered him unstable, and gave him a taste of hell.

We defeated Roard.

Soon after, as the morning of my fifteenth day came into full swing, we walked alone on the main road of town, surrounded by nobody, and pursued by nothing.

We walked in silence; I was left alone to my own thoughts.

I thought about the last fifteen days, what we've been through and what we should do now. Despite our predicament not twenty minutes ago; we're still alive. The soldiers and wolves that surrounded our battle with Roard didn't magically disappear; I was afraid we would have to fight them all. That would be impossible, we would surely lose. The soldiers knew it too.

But they didn't attack, they retreated.

They left for the gate soon after Roard ceased to move, and after the wolves broke off, following the white wolf away to God knows where.

They didn't run away, they simply marched, casting me murderous glances. No blades were drawn, though everyone's hand was on a handle. It's as if they wanted me to attack, to give them an excuse to cut me down. But they didn't do anything more than that, Melina and I are not sure why. Whether they're following an unseen protocol, deciding to regroup, or they simply lost the will to fight; it's anyone's guess.

Whatever it was, we were left in a now abandoned town, where the stench of blood and death still hangs in the air.

Besides the four now behind us, none of the fourteen other corpses can be seen on the main street. They're dead in tents and destroyed buildings, they're dead in alleyways and on the outskirts. They're dead, and I can only suffer in knowing that there will be no funerals for them.

The carrion birds that have started to congregate in the sky give an approximate location to where those bodies lay; the birds are all around us. Not many died, nothing much more changed besides the deaths of others, but I get the feeling this is what the aftermath of war feels like.

A steep, early dawn, casting long shadows over destroyed and carbon scarred buildings, the smell of blood and burnt flesh in the air. The shrieking caws of crows and ravens, and no other noise besides them. The personal fatigue in the body. One that's not physical, but mental.

I'm limping on my good foot, disliking the feeling of so many spots of my body being left open to the elements. I would bandage myself up, but I have nothing clean to use. I should make a stop at the breach; we probably should've left by now. But we stay, neither of us particularly knows why. We just started walking away from the scene of Roard's corpse, silently traversing through the dilapidated town.

...

Melina is the first to break the silence.

How are you?

It sounds like a greeting, but I know what she means.

Fifteen days… Gutting a soldier, meeting a Sentinel and a Dragon. Killing one soldier after another, Roard's unhinged screams as he burns to death.

I surprise myself when I think back at how I moved toward the second half of the fight with Roard; it's like watching the scenes of an action hero movie. Movements much too fast for me to track, all flashy and adrenaline charged. All I need is some epic music playing in the background, and I could make a film about myself.

It was honestly too fast for me. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Melina improved me somehow.

Knowing an attack is coming a second before it even happens is one thing, but dealing with that is another. I'm still a novice, no way in hell should I be able to deflect spear jabs from a master like it were a simple affair. I had my dexterity increased, sure.

But it's like suddenly being given the ability to fly. I wouldn't just be able to zip around willy nilly, I'd suck at it at first. I'd crash into things, turn off the power when I shouldn't, or go too fast and injure something when I whip out a maneuver my body can't handle. Suddenly getting faster hands should have thrown me off, because I never put much time into getting used to the change.

Where did the skill come from, what's the source?

If I'm 100% honest… "I'm not sure."

I answer Melina, naturally finding my eyes glancing over to the light floating at my side near my shoulder height.

"I'm feeling a lot of things right now. Not sure how to organize them."

I would have to agree. I am at a loss as to what our next move may be.

If only she could get more of my memory unlocked, I'm still stuck, trying in vain to defeat the Tree Sentinel, as Daniel laughs away next to me. I would like to know what I should be expecting, if there's anything I'm missing. I have yet to find the flasks, and Varré should still be on the hilltop, standing around like an npc.

The Varré here is long gone, after he screwed me over. Sentinel is accounted for; I already ran into the dragon Daniel was talking about, that lives near the lake. Still don't know about enemies colored red, but they apparently aren't that big of an issue, at least by the words of Daniel's fun-spoiling explanation.

I feel like I'm missing something, something important. Maybe multiple somethings. What's next? Where should I go?

My guess would be the castle up on that plateau behind us.

But I don't have a drive for that.

I'm sure I'll die by the hands of whoever lives there… I'm getting sidetracked again.

My mind is a jumbled mess, Melina similarly doesn't know what to do. My new sword is stronger than the brass ones the Wanderers use, but I still lack armor.

That's it, I need armor. I need to stop overreaching, using whatever I can scavenge as I go. I need to train more too, need to work through the new heights I've been able to reach. Simple strategy for games like these: build up my base, my basics, so the base can support whatever comes next.

"Well for starters, I'd like to get some real armor; I'd rather not almost bleed out again. On top of that, supplies would be good too."

I start listing off things, only vaguely keeping into account that I need to carry this stuff around manually.

Bandages, medicine or potions, armaments, and more. I've never used a bow or throwing knives, and I really only know how to use a sword. But I'd like to diversify, so I have more cards to play when fighting. The more cards I have, the better chance of victory.

That's my mindset for now. Melina agrees.

This town is the headquarters of Roard's garrison, there should be enough here to supply that garrison. I am sure we can find what you need here.

I nod, tracking the light as it swirls about above and over next to me.

"Yeah, but I don't think any armor around here's going to fit me."

Everyone in this world is much too tall. I could try and scrounge up a mail coif or maybe even some boots. But the skullcaps of soldiers would spin about on my head; these gloves I wear are loose too. I hope they come in smaller sizes...

On a whim I stop, Melina's aura slows. I'm staring out at the western side, somewhat near the center of town.

I know this place.

The ground ahead is without walls or rubble, a simple dirt path. At the end of the path, the ground gives way for a descending staircase, which bends and ends with a thick metal door.

When I was last here, the door was left open as I escaped, but it all looks familiar.

I stand a step away from the first step, staring down into that damp darkness. The sun at my back, My shadow casting over the steps and that door. Carrion birds caw high above, a small breeze howls through the town. I take a deep breath.

Are you sure?

I take the first step, slowly dropping out of view from the surface.

I'd like to see the place again; it only needs to be a peek.

I feel a sickening feeling in my stomach. I'm not claustrophobic, but it feels like these narrow walls are squeezing me. It's a surreal feeling, one I don't like. But I press on.

I get to the door, and I heave it up at the bottom.

That door slides right into the ceiling with a bang, like it weighed nothing.

An immediate and particular stench attacks my nose.

I wince at the smell, but I take a step in.

It's dark, darker than I remember. The candles that were once lit in the corners have melted down to wax stubs, the torches have burned to ashes and glowing embers on the edges of the uneven floor. Only the sun lights the room; it's so dim that I can hardly see anything.

But I can see where I killed the soldier; that memory is burned into my mind.

The body is gone, but dried blood still cakes the cobblestone, and it seems the smell of a ruptured bowl never left the place. Signs of the scuffle I had with the soldier still decorate the place, and I think I see what's left of his nose.

Bugs are chewing on it.

But there's something else in the cell, and he sits in a slouched posture at the back wall. My shadow conceals half his face; his breaths are partly muffled from blood-stained cloth that covers his face beneath the eyes. His hair is a mess of long, silver locks that look ratty. His clothes are red, with what used to be white accents that make him look like tarnished royalty. His skin ashen grey, eyes that fiery yellow like Melina's. He's been beaten recently, maybe only an hour or two ago.

He stares at my silhouette, weakly raising his head to meet my eyes.

"Heh." He weakly scoffs. "The bastards, they didn't even bother to lock the door."

A peculiar man.

He eyes Melina's light that floats around, looking back at me.

"You're a Tarnished."

I lock up, preparing to draw my sword. I should, the only people I've ever talked to besides Melina either tricked me or tried to kill me.

But I hesitate.

I know this peculiar man.

This man cocks his head slightly; he's yet to move his arms from where they rest on his lap.

"I can see it."

I open my mouth.

I'm not clueless like with Varré, I'm not provocative like with Roard.

I'm cautious.

"Who are you."

The man makes no attempt to move.

"Don't worry, I'm not after your throat. And unless I'm mistaken, you're not after mine."

"Do I have a reason to?"

"Unless you're of Godrick's lot, or a highwayman, I think that you and I aren't enemies."

Now that I think about it, he's locked up here. Looks like he was beaten regularly too. Normally, being a prisoner means he's a bad person, but considering who locked him up, he could be the nicest person alive.

What do you think?

I won't make decisions on the fly, not alone.

From his clothes, I would think he is a merchant. I do not know why he would be here.

A merchant, huh? Can we trust him?

If he is an enemy, his number of runes are small. You should be able to defeat him if he ever attacks.

...Alright.

I straighten my posture. I'd rather not make enemies everywhere I go.

"I am a Tarnished. I'm Lance."

I eye Melina.

The merchant keeps taking a glance at her.

I hesitate.

"And this is my spirit."

That's what Roard called her. I don't know what that means, but from how Roard called her that, he seemed to think that was the answer. The answer why I was able to heal. Maybe spirits are an advantageous thing.

The merchant eyes Melina again, who quietly floats to disappear behind me. His eyes read wonder, some distrust, and surprise. But he doesn't say anything that he feels, just like how a certain white masked man did.

The merchant raises his arms up and out, like he was shrugging.

"Kalé. Emboldened wanderer and purveyor of fine goods." He scoffs again. "Though I'd say I'm a little short on goods."

Kalé, another familiar name. The Wandering Merchant at the chapel, they have the same name. He's missing that Santa hat he usually wears.

I nearly let out a sigh of relief.

He's not evil. He's a merchant, and he sells you stuff.

Kalé nods at an odd angle.

"That commotion outside your doing?" He gestures to me. "I can only guess what happened by the fact that the Tarnished named Lance was able to greet little old me with a blade at his hip."

He leans forward.

"You killed Roard, didn't you?"

I merely nod. It hurts to admit it.

"Yeah."

Can't get an expression from his face being covered in a cloth, but amongst the bruises and scuff marks, his eyes are out for all to see.

It's a mixed bag.

He looks relieved and satisfied. But there is a hint, just a hint of jealousy. Of what, I can only guess. Whatever the case, he sighs.

"Then, I guess you're my savior, huh?" He reaches out to me with one of those thin arms of his. "A little help?"

When we exit that cellar, Kalé is barely able to walk on two feet.

The soldiers did a number on him.

I'm helping him walk, but he quickly begins to support himself. He still limps.

"Sorry for the trouble, seems I got a little full of myself."

Kalé almost immediately begins to talk when we sit down for a moment. He removes the cloth from his mouth, as if he couldn't get enough air. His face looks relatively normal, close to how I look fi I covered my face with soot.

But there is a wicked scar across his mouth.

It's old and has partly faded away with time. But from how I can describe it, it looks like someone had sewn his mouth shut with a knife and razor wire, and the wire began to cut into his face overtime.

He doesn't notice me looking, and soon that cloth comes back up.

I don't know what's going on, what he's doing. We didn't get very far from the cellar, maybe only a hundred feet or so. From here, I can see Roard's corpse; the birds are already getting to it. I avert my gaze, though Kalé is giving the scene a long look.

"Did a number on them, eh mate?"

I switch the subject.

"So, why were you locked up?"

Melina's light rests on my shoulder like a parrot, I swear I can feel something there. She's staying relatively silent, like she's studying something. At least, that's the impression she's giving off.

Kalé gives a small shake of his head, he's quite expressive. He reminds me of Roard, though only slightly. In the end, I only have two people to base this merchant off of; there's not much variety so far. Maybe everyone that isn't a grunting soldier is like this.

"Not an intriguing story in the slightest, I will say that."

I don't know what I'm doing.

I accomplished my goal, I killed Roard and scattered his forces. Hundreds of soldiers still reside in this land, but the head of the serpent has been cut, as they say.

-I nod along to Kalé's story. As he said, it's nothing exceptional. But I'm not particularly listening-

I feel accomplished, but now I feel lost. I don't know what move to make next. Training is always an option, but how would I know when to stop? What will I do afterwards? I don't know.

-Kalé set up shop in the chapel near the hill, but soldiers found him-

No answer comes to mind.

-He was imprisoned on false charges, and now that he's out, he plans to return to what he considers safer lands-

I don't want to stagnate. I have momentum, I have progress. I'm afraid my feet might stick to the floor if I slow down. I want to train, assess myself, and plan. But that might not be the best case for me. If I go slow, I might never accomplish the task of becoming Elden Lord. I need to keep moving.

-Kalé wants to hire me-

I'll need to talk to Melina about it…

Wait what?

I blink a couple times, being thrown out of my thoughts.

"Come again?"

I swear I just heard…

"I can't exactly go off on my lonesome. I would be robbed and murdered before I even pass Agheel's lake."

Kalé gestures to himself.

"My kin and I are as audacious as they come, a highwayman could spot us from a horizon away. I may not look it, but I'd like to think of myself as a pacifist; never have I ever held a blade in my life."

I hesitate.

"What of your previous guard?"

Kalé nods.

"Aye, I had one. A fine warrior he was, would make short work of even the likes of Roard. But I haven't a clue as to where he scampered off to. My guess be that he's running on an errand for his mistress again; the mutt might be on the other side of the world by now."

I hesitate further.

"Why me?"

Kalé scoffs like it's obvious.

"Well, look around us. Cleared out a garrison by your lonesome, killed a knight and you're still walking? Simple brigands wouldn't be a match."

I stay silent, Kalé continues.

"I won't forget you already saved my skin, and I intend to make good on that favor. What's more, I'll pay for your trouble."

…

Melina?

I rather that we continue toward the castle, Godrick is our first real target. But I fear we are not yet ready.

Not a real answer, but I get her intention.

This is a goal: escort Kalé back home in the south. It sounds like a long trip, might take weeks, or even months. I'm not sure how large this land is, but it's larger than what the game suggested. It takes nearly a day to get from the hill by the Stranded Graveyard to this town on foot, that same distance might only be a thirty second walk in game.

If that's any form of measurement, the Weeping Peninsula where he's from is far.

What's more, we wouldn't be traveling constantly. Camping out the nights, stopping for breaks, stopping for trouble, circumventing obstacles...

Is it possible to take Kalé through the breaches?

I do not think just anyone can travel through the breaches; I was not sure even when I first brought you into them.

I also do not intend to show that ability to everyone we meet, it would be troublesome if word got out.

What should I do?

I hesitate further.

I'm chewing on the inside of my cheek. This is my answer, this would be a next step. It feels like it diverts from our main goal; it's like a side quest or something.

Should I rush to the castle?

Should I go with Kalé?

Should I stay here?

I let out a sigh.

"I accept."

"You took a while to answer; do I look that untrustworthy to you?"

I shake my head.

"As far as I'm concerned, no."

Kalé stands, which looks more like an old man trying to get out of bed.

"Well, if it's the same to you, I'd like to leave this place. Not quite fond of this area."

I stand, Melina's light follows.

"Before we do, I need to look for some things."

Kalé casts me a sideways glance.

"Spoils of war, eh?"

It looks like he grins; his eyes give off mischievous intent.

"Mind if I join ya? I'm looking to be reimbursed for the hospitality."

He gestures to his chest, his side, and his head, in succession.

"My stuff, my steed. And my hat."

Two months later…

A soldier of Leyndell rushes up a steep staircase, moving in earnest to enter the gateway to the throne room.

Not quite a throne room, as there's no walls or ceiling. But it is a large platform, enough to house a sleeping ancient dragon comfortably.

At the back of the 'room', the colossal presence of the Erdtree spans up and ahead, like a wall of golden bark that extends towards the heavens high above.

The soldier doesn't stop to look, he comes bearing news; he's afraid to relay the contents. A letter came from Castle Stormveil; it was brought here with utmost urgency and speed.

The soldier, in Leyndell's surcoat and armor, looks like he's made of gold, but he pales in comparison to the gold and white marble that make up the throne room.

Roots of the Erdtree cling and clamber over everything like thousands of serpents moving at a glacier's speed, the golden light here is enough to make one think they were staring at the sun. The throne room is vast, and imposing, but populated by only one chair.

And sitting on that chair, with knotted staff in hand, is an imposing king of twisted horns and threatening aura.

He silently broods to himself, staring quietly at the floor.

The soldier feels a twinge of fear as he slows; he always does when he comes here. No matter how many times he comes, he's afraid.

He's afraid of King Morgott.

The soldier quickly drops to a form of a bow, where he's up on one knee, with a closed fist held over his chest. He stays in that pose in silence

"...Hrmm.'

Morgott realizes the soldier's presence, and he knows what it entails. His voice is gnarled and gravelly, posture crooked from his cursed form. With movements deceptively slow, he rises from his throne, bathed in the Erdtree's overwhelming light.

"What is your business here?"

It's a threatening tone, and it makes the soldier shiver on reflex.

"I beg your forgiveness, my King." The soldier spits out in a single breath. "I come bearing news."

Morgott scoffs, it sounds like the start of wicked laughter.

"News, is it? What news would I not already be aware of?"

The soldier straightens his bow, remembering what it is he must report.

"My King, it is of the nature of Godrick. The Tarnished with the golden light has somehow defeated the Tree Sentinel, and he has defeated the garrison of Limgrave's captain, Roard."

Morgott cares not for the names, he's forgotten he sent a Sentinel to Limgrave.

If he recalls, he sent the Sentinel near the end of the summer months; it's fall now. On a Graceborn, one could make the trip in less than a week, those monstrous steeds move at speeds that are unmatched.

The fact the Sentinel never returned, and Morgott is receiving this news now, could only mean that it is true.

But Morgott does not care.

He fulfilled the task he was given.

A single Tarnished is nothing more than a foolish nuisance, emboldened by the Flame of Ambition. They are pests, scavengers in the shadows of true monsters that lurk in the shadows.

"Then?"

Morgott surmises.

"It is that traitor Godrick's problem, let him deal with it."

The soldier becomes finicky.

"But, in the letter. Godrick insisted."

The barrier lets those deemed an enemy to never pass through; it would take power on a level unheld in the Lands Between to break through otherwise. But objects can pass through, making messages on paper the only form of communication Leyndell has with the outside.

The letter that arrived a week ago is the only reason why most of Leyndell knew of a Tarnished with a light following him around. It intrigued the citizens of the capital, word got out quickly. But the Sentinel was already sent more than two months ago, so Morgott will have no more to give that doesn't exceed his desire to learn of this Tarnished.

To be blunt, he has lost interest.

He already fulfilled his task.

So, hearing Godrick insists, Morgott growls.

"That sniveling worm asks for assistance? After only a few decades since he tried to siege this holy land, he thinks I have not yet forgotten!?"

Morgott slams his staff against the ground, the noise makes the soldier tremble.

"Ranni has begun to move, Mohg has left my side, and Rykard threatens my borders."

Morgott's voice grows with each remark, with a seething undertone that makes it sound like he's boiling over.

"I hear of an attempt to revive Godwyn, an attempt to revive the Black Knives, and news that Malenia's scarlet rot has begun to overthrow Caelid!"

Morgott slams his staff again, the wicked metal underneath rings within the wood.

"This land is beginning to fall apart! Does that foolish relative with diluted blood really think I have time to deal with one, measly, TARNISHED!?"

His voice booms across the throne room, echoing off the Erdtree like yelling into a canyon. That last word comes back once, even twice, growing quieter until it is no more.

The soldier wants to run; he dreaded giving this news. But King Morgott must hear, he must hear it all. That is the soldier's job, even if he must be killed; he must deliver his message.

So, despite his crippling fear, he opens his mouth.

"But it is about the light! The light is what Godrick fears!"

Morgott eyes the soldier with a dangerous expression, those scornful eyes under twisted horns; it's a terrifying sight.

"Then… What. Is. It?"

The soldier takes a deep breath.

"The soldiers, they heard the Tarnished call it a name."

Morgott waits.

"He called the light… Melina."

...

Morgott freezes.

...

His eyes drawn wide; nose flared. The soldier thinks he can hear teeth grinding.

Morgott becomes a statue, that's how one would describe him. His perturbed attitude grinds to a halt, the wind and distant horns that constantly blare from Leyndell's ramparts follow in suite.

It becomes dead silent, as if Morgott and the soldier existed in the vacuum of space.

Morgott slowly turns his head, looking back at the Erdtree. He stares wide eyed at the entrance, barred with thorns, acting as if he listened to something.

A voice, one so quiet the soldier can't hear.

But Morgott hears it; he gets the sudden urge to decapitate the soldier here and now.

This voice told him of the Tarnished's existence, months before the first letter arrived. It told him to deal with it; he obliged. A King obliged. Morgott sent the Tree Sentinel with haste, thinking it would be enough. With this second letter, the voice's doubts have been answered.

It was not enough.

"I will go."

The soldier shudders, raising his head.

"My King?"

Morgott is already walking past the soldier, towering over him as he passes by.

Morgott doesn't stop.

"Prepare the throne for my absence, I will see to this personally."

The soldier is left dumbfounded.

If anyone runs into Morgott now, he might just kill them on the spot. Wrath grows in his cursed heart, boiling his blood and quickening his movements. He will leave his Great Rune here; he will never give Godrick a chance to take it. The Great Rune increases Morgott's life force exponentially; he's weaker without it.

But he won't need it; his wrath will suffice.

Just in case, he snatches a small golden pouch from his personal chamber as he passes through, which has a twig of the Erdtree stuffed inside; it's golden light long gone.

It's a backup, in case Morgott himself is slain.

He would never think a Tarnished would be able to.

But that light…

The voice...

Melina…

Morgott slams his fist into the nearby wall on reflex, pulverizing the marble. He doesn't even take notice.

With a single bound, he sails high into the sky, the Erdtree glowing on his cloaked back. He lands outside Leyndell's walls with an earth shuddering crash, kicking up dust and dirt. Staff in hand, and pouch tied at his side, he leaves Leyndell, Altus Plateau, the barrier in general, for the first time in decades.

His destination?

Castle Stormveil.