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Chapter Text

How many times had she fought this one man by now? Hundreds? Thousands? She’d lost count weeks ago. All she knew for sure was that no matter how many times she slew him—no matter how much blood he let as her sword pared the veins from his throat and no matter how hot the infernal poison that burned through her flesh incinerated him from within—no matter what, he kept coming back, able-bodied and armor polished like the past dozens of duels had never happened—like she had never once struck him.

He fell without fail every single time. On some days he fought with the ferocity of a thousand of her own knights, shredding her flesh faster than she could strike back. On other days he fought with their intellect, dodging her near-every move as if guiding her blade himself. Those days—the days where he nearly fell her—were the days she dreaded the most. Not because victory was slipping from her grasp, but because to get it back, she had to… bloom.

She hated it. She hated it so much. It hurt, worse than anything she’d ever known. It wracked her muscles and set her blood aflame in its insatiable hunger for her flesh, saturating every pore in her body with a kind of agony nothing else could even think to manifest. But worse than that, it pained her heart with the shame of succumbing to the affliction her dear brother had worked so hard to cure. Alas, the beast inside would awaken once more, and within minutes, sometimes seconds, her opponent would fall. But even then, regardless of the odds, he would be back. On some days, he would be gone for barely enough time for her to quell the eruption as if his wish was to bring it back out of her again like some kind of unholy firestarter.

And on other days still, he floundered like a disoriented puppy. But regardless of how well he fought, the outcome was always the same.

And how could it not be? She was Malenia. Blade of Miquella. And she had never known defeat… until today.

He had done it. At long last, he had done it. This one man, this utterly unshakeable Tarnished, had finally prevailed. As the grim, colossal blade that he wielded every time they fought sank into her shoulder, nearly cleaving her in twain, she felt it—that surge of enervation. She felt the fight leave her. She felt her golden feet give out from beneath her. She felt the strength to lift her sword suddenly vanish. And as she sank to her knees, landing with a pitiful splash in the clear water beneath her, Malenia felt a sick sense of amusement at how good it felt.

She was sick of the fighting. She was sick of feeling his gaze dig into her, as if trying to pry the calcified scarring from her own eyes. She was sick of blooming, sick of the pain, sick of the exhaustion she felt in its wake. Truly, she had begun to resent the Tarnished for bringing it out of her, again and again—for a time, anyway. As he kept coming back, kept up his assault, sometimes for days and days on end, she’d come to find herself respecting him in the way any warrior ought to respect another. Even on his worst days, she could sense the improvement in his every step. Slowly but surely was how he got better, his swings faster and harder, his movements tighter and smarter. His determination, resolve, and discipline were undeniable and—for such a mortal man, a lowly Tarnished as himself—admirable. Through the agony he’d repeatedly forced upon her every time she had allowed herself to let the scarlet rot take over, the seed of respect he had planted slowly but surely outgrew the choking roots of hatred.

And now, as this mysterious Tarnished pulled his sword from her neck, that sprout bloomed with a greater vigor than had ever been shown by the scarlet rot.

Tilting her head to look up at him, trying to look into his eyes despite the scabs that covered her own, Malenia couldn’t help but smile even as burning blood trickled from her lips.

“Y-Your strength…” she gasped. “Extraordinary.”

With her one real hand, she wiped the blood from her mouth.

“The mark… of a true Lord…”

Her knees gave out. With a sigh, she fell with a splash onto her back. The freezing cold of the water was barely felt by her dying nerves.

Gasping for air, Malenia’s head slumped to the side, tilting her unseeing gaze over towards the hollow by which she had rested for years and years until this Tarnished had come along. Miquella was in there, somewhere in the darkness, and she had sat patiently waiting for him to return to her once more.

The smile faded from her lips. Such a dream would never be realized, it would seem.

“O, dear Miquella…” she keened, in her dying voice. In the corner of her mind, her ears registered the sound of the Tarnished walking up to her and stopping by her side. There was a shifting of armor, the sound of a soft splash as he sank into the water, and then a much larger thunk as his imposing sword plunged into the earth.

She knew this series of sounds well. The warrior was taking a knee. A vigil over his dying opponent. Even now, his earnest heart beat strong. Even now, he showed the woman that had rent his skin from his muscle uncountably many times the same silent respect with which he’d always approached her.

If not her brother, then she at least hoped the Elden Throne would be claimed by this unwavering champion.

“O, dearest Miquella…” if her voice weren’t already broken, it would have snapped right then and there. “M-my brother… I’m sorry. I finally met my match.”

It was becoming too hard to keep her head up, to face the darkness that wreathed her brother any longer. Malenia let her head fall into the water, the icy liquid swirling around her lips, washing away the blood that spilled from her throat. Another kind of darkness had begun to pool around the edges of her vision, darker even than her own blindness, and the tired warrior welcomed it. Allowing her head to loll its way to the sky, she heard her match stand up, his sword falling to the earth with a thud that, even in her current state, Malenia felt in her bones. The knight walked all of two paces until he stood directly over her head; she could almost sense his gaze boring into her. Then, with determination, he squatted down and wrapped a greaved hand around the nape of her neck.

“Up with you, warrior!”

It was the first time she’d ever heard the Tarnished speak, in all the moments they’d shared over the clashing of steel and spraying of blood. She’d heard his voice before, when he screamed in agony as he fell from the sky upon her blade or when the rot within his system boiled to the surface. But this was the first time that words had found their way to his lips, and it came as such a surprise to her that, for the briefest of moments, she stirred. The rotted demigoddess could almost feel her heart start back up, jolting her awake from the abyss of death that wreathed her senses.

And in that single moment of vitality, the Tarnished would deliver a far greater shock to her.

Something pricked her, right in her solar plexus, before sliding its way into her hot scarlet flesh. At once, she felt the bloom leave her, as fast and as suddenly as the will to fight had fled with that final blow. But unlike all the times before that had ended in victory, it did not simply recede out of her head and crouch within whatever dwelling it had established within her veins, waiting for its chance to flower yet again. No, for the first time in centuries, Malenia felt the scarlet rot well and truly vanish.

The swordswoman knew this feeling. She’d felt it several times before, when her dear brother Miquella had tested his crafts on her rotted body. This, no doubt, was one of his needles at work.

The realization hit her just as hard as the feeling of her blood finally running clear. He… this Tarnished had one of his needles? Where? How?

The confusion, the alarm, the… the fear jolted her awake even as the strength of the scarlet rot left her. Suddenly, she was aware of how cold the water that wetted her skin was. Suddenly, she was aware of how much she hurt. Suddenly, her arms could move again, allowing her to prop herself up and stare in the Tarnished’s direction, her slow breaths quickening and deepening.

“A needle?” she gasped. “But… but how?”

“The girl for whom I intended this is… no longer.” Malenia would have been a fool not to hear the rueful pause in the Tarnished’s voice. “I shan't let her legacy go to waste.”

“The girl for whom you intended?” Malenia coughed, struggling to prop herself up on her trembling elbows. “But these needles are of Miquella’s make! They were meant for me and me alone!”

“The craftsmanship is of your brother,” the Tarnished confirmed. “But it was I who found its keep. A young girl, a beautiful swordswoman, by the name of Millicent. It was her who led me here to these roots. It was where she chose to die, but not before she returned this needle to me.”

Millicent… why did that name sound familiar? Malenia shook her head, confused.

“Wh… Why would she come here?” she asked. “How did she know about this place?”

There was a long silence. Then, “She… was given a part of you. She came here to return it.”

“What—“ Malenia tried to ask, but cut herself off with a weak gasp when her hands slipped out from under her. As her head landed once again in the frigid waters around her, she did not move to lift herself back up. Her breaths were shallowing again. She knew she didn’t have much longer.

The Tarnished grasped her yet again. “Up, Malenia!” he commanded. “Up!”

Behind her scarring, she blinked.

“Up?” she repeated. “For what purpose? You have won, Tarnished. Your fight—at long last, it is over.”

“This is not what I fought for! Don’t you wish to see Miquella again?”

At hearing his name, she smiled.

“I will,” she assured the Tarnished. “Wherever I may go next, I will wait for him. One day, when the Haligtree has flourished and its people are safe… one day, he will return to me, and I will wait for that day, as I’ve always done.”

“No, Malenia,” the Tarnished denied, with a determination that perturbed her. “No more waiting. Now is the time for action.”

There was a shuffling, the sound of clinking glass, and then a bottle was held to her lips.

“Drink from this flask,” the Tarnished ordered. “You will heal. The crimson tears within will—“

At that, Malenia recoiled. With a strength she didn’t realize was still within her, she slapped the Tarnished’s hand away.

“No!” she cried, hoarsely. She could hear the Tarnished’s armor shuffle as he leaned back, leaving her panting.

“… No,” she breathed, after an extended silence. “I… I cannot have the crimson tears spill into me. If the Erdtree’s essence finds its way into my body… ‘twill find me.”

Her voice trembled. “‘Twill find us.”

“You must,” the Tarnished implored. She shook her head, more determined this time.

“I refuse to allow the dew of the Erdtree to stain this ground,” she insisted, hardly. “I will not drink from its leaves.”

The Tarnished was silent after that. Malenia had tensed up in her vehemence, but hearing the Tarnished’s silence, feeling his absence, she slowly began to relax… and then to falter. Her head hit the floor again, and her breathing began to tremble. Whatever strange plans this warrior had for her, she wouldn’t let them come to fruition if it meant letting the Erdtree find her again. And thank goodness, the perennial respect with which this knight treated her didn’t stop at his schemes being thwarted. If she had to die to preserve her brother’s vision, then so be it. Something told her she could trust the Tarnished not to let their dear Haligtree be compromised, if he was truly allowing her to preserve it this way. Her eyes closed behind their scars, and Malenia let out a long, slow breath that sang free of rot, of anxiety, and of anguish. This here—this was a warrior’s death.

“Then drink from me instead.”

Malenia didn’t have time to ask what the Tarnished meant before he grasped her prosthesis and held it aloft in a firm, steady grip… and then plunged the blade straight into his chest.

It ran clean through him, piercing him with no effort at all. The utter shock and disbelief that flooded Malenia’s heart did little to jolt her like it did before.

Not compared to the feeling of the Tarnished’s lifeblood flowing into her veins, at least.

With a cry, Malenia scrambled to her feet without even realizing she’d found the strength to do so. Inadvertently, she wrenched her blade free from the Tarnished’s body, cutting an ugly gouge straight through him in her haste. The knight wasn’t even able to let out an agonized cry before he slumped to the ground, dead. His armor shuddered and clanked as he fell, and then he was silent.

Malenia stared down at him, mouth agape and breaths coming in ragged, rapid gasps. Why? Why did he… No, there was no way that he had… He did. He’d just gone and done that. He’d allowed her sword to claim his life once more, stealing his vitality like it had done a million times before. For the thousand-thousandth time, the knight lay dead while Malenia stood over his lifeless body, only this time, it felt wrong. So, so wrong. Wrong as Miquella’s silence, wrong as the bloom, wrong as—

The bloom! With her trembling flesh-and-blood hand, Malenia reached below her breast to feel at the hard metallic lump that jutted out from her skin. Miquella’s needle lay buried in her flesh, separating the scarlet rot from its host—at least, while it lay in there.

Not that she had any intention of removing it, of course. Not for a while, anyway.

Malenia continued to gawk at where the Tarnished had fallen. Why would he do that? Why would he forfeit his victory, after all these countless tries, to spare the one person he’d set out to best in the first place? If he had wanted her alive, why would he try so unrelentingly to fell her? It didn’t make any sense. It didn’t…

Malenia sank onto one knee. Grunting, she planted her katana firmly into the mud, propping herself up on the rigid blade. The Tarnished had pulled her from the brink of death with his mad sacrifice, but she was far from healed. Groaning with the effort, Malenia hauled herself to her feet, keeping her sword shoved into the earth as she leaned on it like a cane. Wrenching her gaze away from the Tarnished, she turned and limped away to the foot of the Haligtree, where she promptly collapsed against her resting place.

He would be back. He always came back. She could ask her questions then. Until then, she needed rest. Sighing, Malenia grasped her prosthesis by the shoulder and unlatched it. It fell into the mud with a metallic thump.

She had a lot of thinking to do.

Chapter Text

The sound of footsteps on wet soil pricked Malenia’s ears. The heavy yet sure-footed cadence was all too familiar to her at this point. With a blink, she straightened her back.

“You return,” she observed. She knew he would. It was abundantly clear from their… last interaction that her and the Tarnished’s time together was far from finished. Even so, she could not keep the disbelief out of her voice.

The footsteps stopped, still a fair distance away. The silence was swiftly broken by a new sound, another one Malenia had come to know all too well: The shuffling of armor, followed by the mechanical click of the Tarnished unsheathing his sword.

“I return,” he echoed back to her.

The swordswoman stood up. It was then that she realized her prosthesis lay limply on the floor beneath her; she quickly moved to pick it up, but found herself hesitating before her fingers could graze the golden limb. Shaking herself out, she grasped the cold metal in her remaining flesh-and-blood hand and brought the lining of the socket to her shoulder. It shifted into place with a smooth, practiced click.

“You seek another rematch?” Malenia reached. She had no doubt in her mind that such was absolutely not the case, given how their last bout had gone. Even so, the confused demigoddess could not possibly comprehend why else the Tarnished would return to her place of rest. What business could this one unassuming warrior have with the Blade of Miquella?

The Tarnished did not reply for a long, long moment. Malenia wrapped her prosthetic fingers around the long, slender blade affixed to the limb; her grip felt less sure than it ever had before. Though the golden arm was inorganic and nerveless, she swore she could feel the blade digging into her fingers as she squeezed it.

A heavy thud sounded from the Tarnished’s direction as he let his hulking blade fall to the earth.

“No,” he answered. “It is not a rematch with you I seek. Merely an audience.”

Malenia stopped at that. Her eyes squinted from behind the scabbing that hid them from the world. Confusion bubbled up in her chest. Almost absentmindedly, she reached for the needle buried beneath her breast and ran her fingers over it, fidgeting uncomfortably with the small device.

“An audience?” she repeated. “That has been your end goal this whole time?”

“Not this whole time,” the Tarnished denied. “For the first… several dozen or so of our duels, I was simply another hotheaded warrior galavanting about in the search of thrill. But as the days stretched, I learned things. About you. About this so-called Haligtree.”

He paused. “About Miquella.”

Malenia bristled at the ominous tone in his voice as her brother’s name left his lips. “What do you want with him?” she challenged.

She heard the Tarnished step back. “Nothing!” he assured, hastily. “If I had come for your brother, I would not have spared his Blade.”

Malenia allowed herself to relax some. He had a point. He had every opportunity some days ago to get her out of the picture and…

Malenia’s jaw briefly clenched before relenting her grasp on her sword. There was a sound of steel sliding on steel as she retracted the blade partially into her prosthesis, still keeping a small shortsword portion at the ready.

“You fought me uncountably many times,” Malenia stated. “Over, and over, and over. And you said not a word. Did not stay your blade for a second. And you mean to tell me you seek parlay?”

“If I couldn’t command your respect, I’d have naught of your attention,” the Tarnished replied, matter-of-factly. “To whom would Malenia the Severed be more keen to bend her ear: A knight capable of besting her, or a madman who wormed his way down to the roots of the Haligtree only to request her counsel?”

Against that, Malenia could not argue. For a simple Tarnished she had never met, he was almost disconcertingly astute.

“Very well,” she conceded after a thick silence. “If it is an audience with me you seek, then an audience you shall have.”

She unbuckled her prosthesis, catching it before it could fall to the floor.

“Leave your weapon where it lay,” she commanded, then adding in a dark tone. “And try nothing.”

“Of course, Empyrean,” the Tarnished replied with earnest. He stepped towards her for three paces but then stopped, still several meters in front of her. The sound of him taking a knee made her tilt her head.

“Why do you keep your distance?” she inquired, not really knowing why such a question needed to be asked.

“I would not encroach on the Blade of Miquella’s rest,” replied the Tarnished.

Malenia pulled away from her old, dry throne, leaving her prosthesis laying on an armrest. In two strides, she was standing a few feet away from her former adversary. She quietly sat down, planting herself in the cold, wet flowerbed beneath her. Her legs crossed as she reached for the helm that still covered her face with her one remaining hand.

“You have my respect,” Malenia declared. “You have my attention. And for the time being, you have my trust. Sit, fair Tarnished.”

Wordlessly, he did as he was told. Malenia set her helm down in her lap; he removed his and did the same. From the series of soft impacts against his armor as his head emerged free, Malenia took his hair to be long and oily.

“The scarring,” the Tarnished remarked. “Can you see despite it?”

“I cannot.”

“You fight as if you have eyes in the back of your head.”

“I learned from the best.”

“The Blue Dancer?”

“You know of him?”

“Only legends.”

“It was he who taught me to fight,” Malenia affirmed. “He was blind, himself.”

“So I’ve heard. They say his name emerged from his swordsmanship.”

“‘Tis true. When first we met, my eyes could see past this calcified mask. I saw the way he flowed like water in battle. It was… magnificent.”

“He taught you well.”

“That he did.”

Malenia shifted in her flowery seat. Her fingers rapped against the top of her helm.

“What is it you seek, fair Tarnished?” she asked. “For what purpose could you want an audience with me?”

The Tarnished fidgeted where he sat.

“Goddess Malenia, there is no palatable way to put this,” he began. He inhaled long and slow, letting it out as a tense huff. “I need your help. I need you to… leave your post.”

Malenia stiffened. Quickly, she shook her head.

“I cannot,” she declared hastily. “If I leave here—if I abandon my brother, I–“

“Your brother is not here, Malenia,” the Tarnished cut her off with a tense tone. “He is gone.”

Her voice stopped in her throat. Her stomach dropped to the depths of Nokron.

“What?” she gasped.

“Miquella: he is gone. He was stolen from you. From this very Haligtree.”

Malenia had spent centuries feeling as if her flesh was on fire from the rot that festered within. But with this golden needle buried inside of her, it was not the rot that had her throat feeling as dry as a desert.

“N-No,” Malenia protested. “That can’t be. I-I’ve kept my vigil ceaselessly! For centuries!”

“You have kept vigil over empty bedchambers, Malenia,” the Tarnished said. “Miquella is–“

“No!” Malenia repeated again. She was shouting this time. Dropping her helm, she rose to her feet, glaring down at the Tarnished.

“You lie!” she declared. The anger and vindication in her voice had the Tarnished scrambling to his feet as well. “What would you know of my brother’s slumber? I have watched over him scores longer than you have been on this earth! I have not moved from this one spot for a moment in whole hundreds of years–“

“You must have!” the Tarnished insisted. “What of your battle against Radahn? Where were you then, if not at war?”

He took a step towards her. “Miquella is gone, Malenia,” he repeated, emphatically. “Your brother is not here. The Haligtree is–“

“ENOUGH!” Malenia roared. “I will not bear this insolence from a lowly Tarnished any longer!”

With righteous fury, her hand moved to the golden needle below her breast.

“Stop!” A heavy weight crashed headlong into Malenia’s stomach. The breath was knocked from her lungs, and she was sent sprawling onto her back. The Tarnished fell with her, greaved arms wrapped firmly around her torso all the way to the earth. When she landed with a grunt, her assailant was quick to bring a knee into her stomach, squeezing any last breath she had left out of her chest. The Tarnished’s hands released their hold on her, only for one to reach for her arm while the other pressed the cold steel of its armored forearm down on her neck, pinning her head in place. Malenia kicked and thrashed, bringing her hardened unalloyed knee up into the small of the Tarnished’s back, but though he cried out in pain, he did not budge as he slammed her writhing, empty hand into the mud.

“Don’t do this, Malenia!” the Tarnished implored. His voice wobbled as she bucked and thrashed underneath him, but he held firm. “Listen to me! You think I jest? Have you stepped one foot outside of this chamber in the past hundred years? Have you seen the sorry state your brother’s Haligtree is in? The tree is rotted to the roots! Its citizens have been reduced to walking corpses half-dead and bursting with disease! Elphael’s waterways flow with scarlet sludge! The whole tree is in ruins, down to the very brace!”

“Get off of me,” Malenia growled through gritted teeth.

“Miquella needs you! The Haligtree needs you!”

“Get. Off of me.”

The Tarnished squeezed her captive wrist with his hand. “Give me a reason to.”

Malenia stiffened. Her one remaining hand clenched into a fist. Her nails dug into the palm of her hand. Her jaw worked to form words that would not come, and her heart pounded in her chest.

Who did this fool Tarnished think he was? Intruding on her vigil, forcing her to bloom, fighting her over and over and OVER again, only to toy with her? Tell her that the one thing she had left was gone? That she had failed her one and only mission? No. It was impossible, and this bastard Tarnished would–

“Even if you rise up and rend me once more,” the knight suddenly said, “I will come back. I will fight and fight and fight until you submit and you deign to hear my words still. I will NOT relent. I will make your blind eyes see. I will make your deaf ears listen. The Haligtree is not well, Malenia, and it needs your help.”

The Tarnished leaned forwards, making Malenia grunt as his knee dug into her gut.

“Will you listen now?” he asked. “Or will you listen when I have struck you down a second time?”

“... Fine,” Malenia spat. Her hand relaxed in the Tarnished’s grasp. She went limp underneath his form. “I will listen.”

“Good.” In one fell motion, the Tarnished released her, allowing her to breathe and move again as he stood back up. Shoving her hand into the earth, Malenia quickly found her feet and rose to meet him. Backpedaling, she reached out for her prosthesis and moved to set it back in place. The Tarnished did not make to brandish his weapon in kind.

“So, tell me, Tarnished,” Malenia sneered contemptuously. “How would you know that my brother lies absent from the Haligtree?”

There was a long silence. As the Tarnished remained quiet, Malenia felt an urge to laugh. She knew it. He was bluffing. The fool knight didn’t know a damn thing about–

“Perhaps it would be best that I show you, rather than tell you,” the Tarnished said. “Would you care to follow me?”

“... Very well,” she bit. “Show me what catastrophe has you mithering so.”

She followed the Tarnished out beyond the chamber of roots, to the cold, quiet foyer beyond. Even despite her righteous indignation, Malenia gave a start at the feeling of her feet walking upon cold, carved stone. For as much a bluffing trickster as this Tarnished was, he was right about one thing: When was the last time since she’d stepped foot past her resting place? Since the fight with the one they called Starscourge? Gods above, that was centuries ago… centuries since she’d felt anything other than mud and water and petals beneath her prosthetic feet. Of course, she didn’t feel it, per se, but her body felt it when she didn’t sink into damp peat, but rather the solid, smooth ground held her weight surely. It was unnerving for such a thing to be foreign to her.

They stepped into the elevator, and at once, Malenia knew something was wrong. From the floor far above, a creaking, clicking sound barely met her ears. Her hackles raised, and as the elevator began its climb upwards, her stomach did not follow her descent, instead dropping down into her golden feet.

That sound—No. It couldn’t be. It… It couldn’t.

As the elevator neared its destination, the noises grew louder. More frequent. Clearer. And each time the eerie croaking played in her ears, Malenia’s heart thudded in her chest.

They neared the top of the elevator shaft. That horrible symphony grew louder still. It sounded like there were dozens of them, lurking in wait beyond the elevator shaft, guarding something.

Guarding… her.

The platform slowed to a halt. The Tarnished, silent and stony, moved off. Malenia followed with steps that trembled. All at once, she felt sick.

She could feel their presence. Whole droves of them, in this room, around this mausoleum, in the graveyards of her dear soldiers, at the water’s edge… everywhere. Their presence hung heavy in the air. Even blind, she could see them in her mind’s eye: Gripping their decayed glaives, grabbing at their victims with hundreds of malformed hands, clicking in their infernal tongue at each other.

It was them. Her followers. Her so-called children. The Kindred of Rot.

Their chattering was all around her now. Their backs were turned to her, but as the elevator arrived behind them, they fell silent and turned around. As soon as they did, a unified cry of voices assaulted Malenia’s ears.

“Mother!”

The Kindred did not speak—not with normal human voices. No, Malenia could hear them, feel them, inside her head. The needle in her flesh trembled with the force of a hundred hissing voices of elation all sounding off simultaneously.

“Mother has returned to us! To her unwanted children! O, scarlet goddess, has the time come to bloom?”

Malenia’s head throbbed with the sound of the voices. Even as a living vessel of the Scarlet Rot, a living embodiment of disease and decay, she had never felt this ill in her life. Her head spun and pounded. She wanted to vomit, to drop to her knees and rid her body of a meal she’d never eaten. It was repulsive.

Her blade unsheathed.

“Get out!” Malenia screeched. “Leave! You are not welcome here!”

She surged forwards.

“You are wretched! Vermin! Demons!” she cried. In seconds, the Kindred that populated the room were dead. But the voices did not stop.

“O mother, why do you reject us so?” they lamented with a despair that only fueled her fury. “O scarlet mother, would you bloom for your children?”

Outside. They were outside. In the graveyard. Defiling her men’s corpses.

“I am not your mother!” she screamed. She sprinted outside and down the way. She felt them before she heard them. In the blink of an eye, a whirlwind of death filled the graveyard, sending leaves and petals and limbs alike flying dozens of feet into the air.

“Die!” Malenia roared. “Die! Die! Die!”

She didn’t know how many she cut down. All she knew was that it wasn’t enough. She could still hear them, skittering about inside of her, filling her mind with their greedy wails.

“Bloom for us, o scarlet mother! Lay your roots of rot into the earth!”

“No!” Malenia whooped. “Get away! Get OUT! LEAVE MY HALIGTREE!”

She slashed and slashed and slashed. Her very senses blurred as she carved her swathe, only able to discern the keening of the children seemingly oblivious to her blade slicing through their brethren. They chanted and cheered her arrival, louder than even the blood roaring in her ears, rattling her skull like an earthquake…

… Until, suddenly, it stopped.

They were all dead. Every last wretched Kindred that infested these grounds were fallen, cut in twain by Malenia’s katana. But she could still hear them, distant whispers lurking somewhere above the roots of the Haligtree. They were all around her, crawling through the streets of Elphael. They were everywhere.

But at least, for the time being, they weren’t right here.

Malenia’s breath came in ragged, panted heaves. Her whole body was trembling. Her heart felt as if it were in her throat. She felt sick, sick to her stomach.

They… they were here. The children of the rot. They were…

The unmistakable sound of the Tarnished’s footsteps came running up to her. At once, she spun around.

“Why are they here?” she demanded. “Why–”

Her voice hitched in her throat. She stopped, swallowing her heart back down into her chest.

“Wh-Why are they here?” she asked again.

“They will be back,” was all he said, before gagging. “Gods, that smell…”

Wait. What smell? Malenia dared to breathe… and the noisome odor that assailed her nostrils made her heart sink.

The smell of rot. The putrid stench of decay. It was all around her, more plentiful than even the Kindred. It dampened the air, weighed it down, pressing it thickly into the red locks of her hair, clogging the seams of her armor, violating her senses. For a second, her mind flew back to those first few hours after her victory against Radahn. At the stench of rot and sound of death that lay over all of Caelid. Feeling the grass liquefy and mutate below her feet. A wasteland of her own make.

And now, all these centuries later, it had followed her. It had followed her all the way back to the one place she thought safe.

Malenia fell onto one knee. Gasping, she plunged her katana into the earth to hold herself upright. For perhaps the first time in her life, a sense of terror crept up her breast. It squeezed her stomach with deathrune claws, wormed its cold tendrils up her throat and choked her. She felt hollow. Her whole body, even her prosthesis, quaked like an ill stray.

The Scarlet Rot—it is here.

The Tarnished walked somberly up to her and took a knee.

“All of this,” he said, “was lurking just over your head the whole time. Whole colonies of Kindred, once warring with the soldiers of the Haligtree who are now kin with the rot that has overtaken them.”

Malenia’s head snapped up. “What?” she gasped. “The… the soldiers have perished, too?”

“Not perished,” he corrected. “Though they most certainly have fallen.”

She wanted to wail right then and there.

“... No,” she whispered. Her voice trembled. “Oh, no, no, no no no no…”

With purpose, she rose and dashed past the Tarnished, to the other side of the courtyard. She could feel them, too, though their presence was much weaker: her soldiers, her dear loyal knights. She could feel the rot pulsing through their veins. It pounded in her own blood to the rhythm of her hammering heart.

She flew to the knight who sat alone at the edge of the clearring. “Valle!” she cried. “Valle, ‘tis I! Rise!”

Her hands fell upon his armored shoulders. Slowly, barely faster than a statue, the knight turned to look up at her.

“Lady Malenia?” he rasped. His voice—oh, it was so weak. It didn’t sound like him anymore. She nodded.

“‘Tis I, Valle,” she assured him. Reaching up, she pulled his helmet off, running her fingers through his hot, sweaty hair. “I am here.”

“Milady…” he keened. “What… What has happened?”

“I-I don’t know,” she admitted. “Something… something is terribly wrong.”

“... My flesh,” he moaned. At once, Malenia’s heart ripped in two. The sound of his voice… she could almost taste every last drop of scarlet agony bleeding his throat. Her brave, loyal knight seemed so broken, so confused, so… so lost. Like a frightened child. She gripped his shoulders tighter so she wouldn’t topple over onto him.

“It writhes, milady,” he whimpered. “My flesh writhes like worms. It hurts. It hurts s-so much.”

“I’m sorry.” The demigoddess’s voice came out as barely more than a whisper. “I’m so sorry, my brave knight.”

Hearing the sound of footsteps coming up behind her, Malenia gave a start… and so did Valle.

“Intruder!” he rasped, fury in his voice. “Intruder upon Elphael!”

The broken, rotted knight drew his sword. At once, Malenia reached her hand out.

“Cease fire, Valle!” she commanded. Looking around at the other Haligtree soldiers who had risen up, she held her flesh-and-blood hand aloft as an open palm. “All of you cease fire! This Tarnished is a friend!”

They all slowed to a halt, their sword arms hanging limply by their sides. It was Valle who answered her call.

“As you wish, milady,” he replied in his broken voice. Slowly, despondently, the soldiers returned to their rest.

The horror and revulsion that crept up Malenia’s gullet like bile was matched only by her grief over the abhorrent state her loyal soldiers were in. Their minds were thoroughly done in by the pain and sickness of the scarlet rot. The fires in their hearts were but smoldering cinders, stoked only by the call of battle that had likely lain dormant for decades upon decades until this lone Tarnished had come along.

They were rotted. This whole place was rotted. And it was all her fault.

Her mouth hung agape as she lay there, still kneeling over Valle’s broken body. Unable to stand up, she hunched over, placing her hands in the soil to keep herself from falling face-first into it. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding; it came out as a hoarse, ragged whine.

“What have I done?” she whimpered. “What have I done?”

The Tarnished was right. The Tarnished was so painfully right. She had rotted this place to the very core. It was, well and truly, ruined. Miquella’s work was demolished, all because of–

Wait. Miquella. Miquella! The realization hit her with the force of a dragon’s swipe. Her brother—there was no way his precious tree could have deteriorated to this tragic state under his watchful eye. The only way her rot could have spread so was if he had somehow given up on the endeavor, or if…

Or if… or if he was absent.

He was gone. He was gone! Miquella was missing! Miquella, her dear brother…

“Oh, no,” she mewled. “Oh, please no…”

“I’m sorry, Malenia.” The Tarnished’s somber voice coming from behind her jolted her back to the waking world. At once, she spun around to face him.

“Where is he?” she pleaded. “Where is my brother? Where is Miquella?”

The Tarnished did not reply for a second. Then,

“A wretched place. Far, far from here. A prison for hope, hidden deep underground. The palace of blood.”

Chapter Text

She followed him without hesitation to a cliffside north of the ruins of Yelough Anix. Leaving Elphael, and the Haligtree, for the first time in hundreds upon hundreds of years felt more wrong than she could begin to describe. Each step further and further away from her place of vigil filled her with a mounting anxiety that, by the time she and the Tarnished had ascended to the canopy of the Haligtree, felt ready to burst out of her chest like a Scarlet Aeonia. As they stopped in front of the waygate that would lead them back to the snowfield south of the Haligtree, every fiber in Malenia’s being was screaming at her to turn back. This Tarnished is playing you for a fool, her instincts said. Return to your post. Now! You are abandoning your brother!

But she had seen the state the Haligtree was in. She had smelled the rot that infested its boughs, all the way to the edge of the canopy. She couldn’t deny the truth that she had already abandoned her brother long ago and was only now facing the hideous consequences. And so, when the Tarnished entered the waygate, she followed.

When they touched down at the north watchtower of Ordina, the cold set upon Malenia’s flesh like Borealis’s flames. For what felt like the dozenth time that day, she found herself wondering when the last time was that she’d experienced something—this time, the feeling of snow on her skin. It was unfamiliar to her; foreign, even. She only dimly recognized the sensation in the back of her mind.

Despite that, she knew these snowy plains well and had little difficulty following at the Tarnished’s heels. When he called upon his spectral steed, she matched the horse’s trot with her own golden strides. When the snowfall that greeted them coalesced into a blinding blizzard, disorienting her ally, Malenia led the way forwards, her bearings unhindered.

After only what could have been half an hour at most, Malenia and the Tarnished arrived at Yelough Anix, tearing through the inhabitants of the decrepit place with ease. The warrior led his goddess companion to a small underpass, where the unmistakable sound of another waygate met her ears.

“This is where we must go,” the Tarnished informed her. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. “Let us waste no time,” she declared. “Miquella is–”

Her voice caught in her throat as her heart wrenched. Taking a slow, shaky breath, she let it out through closed teeth.

“Miquella is counting on us,” she finished.

If the Tarnished nodded, she couldn’t see it, his only response instead being the sound of the waygate whisking him away. Malenia stepped up to it and was quick to join him. Right before her feet left the ground, however, she could have sworn a metallic tang had hit her nostrils, a smell that, in such a powerful magnitude, almost made her shiver: The stench of blood.

And indeed, when Malenia finished her waygate travel for the second time that hour—for the second time in centuries—that pungent odor of iron only intensified… tremendously so. Malenia’s face contorted at the overpowering taste of blood that seemed to line her tongue like the scent of scarlet rot had surrounded her at the Haligtree.

It was cold. Damp. The air was misty, though given the stench, Malenia worried it was not mere dew that hung around them.

“Where are we, Tarnished?” she asked in a dark tone. “This place… ‘tis wrong. I can feel it.”

“It is wrong,” the knight affirmed. “A heinous practice cultivates here. This place is rife with rites of blood.”

“And Miquella is here?” Malenia asked. Even just venturing that notion, the notion that her dear brother was trapped in this insidious prison, had her stomach churning.

“Close,” the Tarnished replied. “We lie at the foot of a climb. On the peak of the butte, the ruins of a mausoleum await us. Up there, at the highest point, is where we need to go.”

Malenia nodded. “Then go there we shall,” she declared.

And go there they did. Along the way, they passed schools of Albinaurics. The second generation ones, according to the Tarnished. Some let the two of them be, but others attacked without hesitation. Malenia shivered at the sounds of skin ripping and flesh erupting in the middle of combat. Just one of the many twisted curseblood practices that went on here, the Tarnished explained. Their flaming, gushing blood would have made the battlegrounds slippery had the whole place not already been thoroughly coated in splatters and pools of the vile fluid. Further up the mountainside they carved great swathes through mindless zombies bursting with humors and stray dogs covered in exploding blisters. Even without her eyesight, Malenia could feel the horrific, sickening mutilations their bodies had been subjected to as her blade cut through them. This place—it harbored a monster, its touch rivaling even the mutations and decay of Malenia’s own scarlet rot.

But that should’ve been expected. Malenia could feel it. The unalloyed needle buried in her flesh shivered inside of her as they approached the peak of the butte, as if it too were afraid. This evil was the work of an Outer God—clearly, one just as malicious and capable of ruin as the one that had seeded her flesh so long ago.

They climbed through dark caves, battling sanguine warriors, servants of this abominable being, the whole way through. At last, they broke out onto the top of the butte, just beneath the mausoleum’s upper floor.

The two of them hurried through the whole of this harrowing palace with haste and determination until the Tarnished led her to a stone lift, not unlike the one outside her resting place. Just before they stepped on, Malenia turned to look in his direction.

“Miquella awaits us at the peak?” she ventured, unable to hide the anxious hope in her voice.

“Yes,” replied her comrade as he stepped onto the lift’s switch. “But be ready. He is guarded.”

“By whom?”

There was a long silence. When the elevator began its ascent, he finally answered, “The Lord of Blood.”

“The vessel of whatever deplorable Outer God has contaminated this place?” To think, this wretched deity had its own version of what the Scarlet Rot had made of her… even between the combined force of herself and the only warrior to whom she’d bent her knee, Malenia doubted this would be an easy fight.

“Not a vessel,” the Tarnished denied as the lift arrived at its peak, “But rather, a vassal. He seeks to usher in a rule of his chosen idol, and sees himself its connection to the Lands Between.”

Malenia grimaced in confusion. “But how?” she asked. “He would need to become a god. The only ones who can undergo such apotheosis are–”

Malenia had been moving to step off the lift before she, and her words, stopped dead in their tracks. The realization hit her with the force of a thousand trolls. Her jaw dropped like deadweight.

“... are Empyreans,” she finished, the horror of realization creeping into her subdued words. Empyreans, the select few of the Golden Lineage chosen by the Two Fingers to succeed Queen Marika on the seat of the Elden Throne. Empyreans like herself…

… and her brother.

“You see now why he was stolen,” the Tarnished observed.

“... Yes,” Malenia whispered, swallowing a hard lump that had formed in her throat. Not once had she stopped to ask why someone would steal Miquella from the Haligtree. All she could think about was getting him back. And now… now her innards writhed with hollow dread more than ever.

“He wishes to elevate my brother to godhood for this abominable deity?” she echoed, in the vain hope that the Tarnished might correct her, that her wits had erred off the path of reason. No such luck.

“So that he may serve as his consort,” the Tarnished affirmed.

Malenia could almost feel herself go pale.

“… Consort?” she rasped back at the Tarnished.

“I’m afraid so, Malenia.” The Tarnished’s tone was dark and somber.

She should’ve felt angry. Her blood should have been boiling with righteous fury for her brother. And in part, it was. Her jaw hardened, and she found herself squeezing her sword so incredibly tight that it dug into the gold of her prosthesis. But more than anger, Malenia’s stomach churned with a sick sensation of utter horror. The hollow pit in her stomach sprouted claws that reached up her throat and burst from her mouth. The taste was wretched. It took all she could to stop herself from doubling over at the sickening sensation.

Miquella—Miquella, her dear brother—ripped from his home, ripped from his family, so that he may serve a god of cursed blood in an arranged marriage… how foolish Malenia had been to let him out of her sight for even a second! How utterly hare-brained she had been to… to…

“W-We have to save him,” she said. Her voice trembled, as if she were pleading with the Tarnished. “We can’t let the Lord of Blood do this. I will not let my brother be made into the reviled king of this cursed dynasty!”

“You echo the reason I brought you here,” the Tarnished remarked.

Malenia’s breath hitched in her throat. Amidst the nauseating play before her, she had almost forgotten about the playwright. She had not found this place, no; she had been brought here by a lone Tarnished, a single mortal man whom had not only proven himself to be her only equal in combat, but demonstrated vastly more knowledge of what turmoil had festered under Malenia’s nose the whole time—and, in complete contrast to any other soul who swore allegiance to the Golden Order, had used all of that in the interest of the Haligtree.

The Tarnished took a step closer to her.

“This is your fight, warrior. I brought you here so that you may be the one to set things right. If anyone can bring Miquella home, it is you. But I’ll not sit idly by and wait for justice to be done for me. Lady Malenia, would you have me join you in your duel against the Blood Lord?”

At such a question, the Empyrean’s warrior spirit was kindled. Through everything churning inside of her right now, she felt a flickering sense of resolution. Straightening her back, she retracted her sword.

“Brave Tarnished…” she breathed. “In naught two days' time, with a kind of determination I have never before witnessed, you have done more for the Haligtree than I have in centuries.”

For the first time in who knows how long, Malenia brought her prosthetic fist up to her chest, placing it over her heart, and bowed her head. A gesture of respect—of obeisance.

“It is I who ought to beseech your aid now,” she declared. “Would you fight alongside me, fair warrior?”

“Without hesitation,” came his reply.

In spite of all the anger and fear and guilt tumultuously roiling inside of her, she smiled.

“You are a good man, Tarnished,” she said warmly as she turned to step off the lift and enter the arena—and at once, it was like flipping a switch.

She could feel him. Miquella. As soon as she passed through whatever intangible barrier lay between this place and the outside world, his presence reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. She almost stumbled under the force with which he suddenly grappled onto her soul. In mere moments, a surge of emotions welled up within her as she finally reunited with her brother.

He was in pain. Oh, he was in so much pain. He was hurt, and frightened, and angry, and so very alone… but now, in this moment, above all else, Malenia could feel the utter shock that filled his young body when their minds connected—and how quickly that shock turned into pure elation. An elation that Malenia shared, feeling her throat grow tight as her soul finally found what it hadn’t realized was missing for lifetimes. Even as her heart ached in response to the way her brother languished, it simply could not interrupt the combined joy of the two of them taking up space in Malenia’s mind.

What could, however, was the sound of chuckling from the end of the arena opposite Malenia. A low, gravelly laugh that sent chills down her spine. The Lord of Blood shifted from where he knelt, turning to look up at his challengers.

“Back for more, lowly Tarni—what?” His contemptuous sneer was cut off with an exclamation of disbelief—and as his voice met her ears, Malenia gasped in time.

No. No, it couldn’t be…

“Mohg?” She tried to shriek the word, but it came out as barely more than a whisper.

The Omen in question let out a thoughtful, but disdainful, rumble.

“I see you brought a friend,” he rumbled, in that unmistakably frail, yet bone-chilling voice of his. “No matter. You both shall fall at the feet of your new Lord.”

Malenia took a slow, almost unwillful step forwards.

“Miquella trusted you!” she cried. She could not suppress the betrayal ringing in her voice. “He invited you to the Haligtree so that you might escape the Order that spurned you! He offered you the gift of family! And this—”

She gestured with her flesh-and-blood hand around the bloody palace.

“Th-This is how you repay us?” she lamented. Her voice broke as she did so.

“Oh, do not weep, Malenia,” Mohg churred. “My bringing your brother here was a gift of its own! Miquella will sit upon a throne of the Mother of Truth’s make thanks to me. He will be the Lord that ushers in our new dynast—RRGH!”

Before he could even finish his vermine monologue, Malenia sprinted up and, faster than he could react, ran him through with her sword.

“No,” she growled. Though she spoke with composure, the rage that boiled underneath that one word made her voice tremble. “My brother is not your consort.”

Mohg’s rancid, growly breathing met Malenia’s ears. The curseblood Omen simply stood there for a moment, hand placed on his robed stomach where Malenia’s blade lay. Then, his breaths coalesced into a low, mocking chuckle.

With astounding strength, Mohg wrapped his bony fingers around Malenia’s sword and ripped it free from his abdomen like a splinter, lifting it and tossing it aside, taking Malenia with it. The demigoddess’s cry of surprise was cut off when she landed with a loud “Oof!” on the stone floor several meters away.

“Foolish woman,” Mohg scoffed as she leapt to her feet. “You think you can stop the birth of our dynasty? I will bring the whole of the Lands Between to its knees! We shall bathe in blood for eons to come! And you seek to stand in the face of that?”

From the arena’s entrance, Malenia heard the soft clicking of the Tarnished’s armor as he stepped forwards. His hulking behemoth of a sword scraping along the stones of the palace floor heralded his approach. Coming to a stop beside Malenia, he said not a word as he heaved the blade onto his shoulder. In the back of her mind, the valkyrie felt Miquella glimmer with recognition towards the warrior, followed by shocking realization. Much like the disgusting Kindred back home, Miquella’s presence spoke not with words, but Malenia could hear him loud and clear—only this time, her head did not spin as he made the connection.

She nodded affirmatively to her brother in response to his emotions, straightening herself and holding her sword arm at the ready.

“Yes,” she declared to Mohg, still working to keep the fury out of her voice. “You die today, Mohg, and your bloody throne with.”

And with that, she and her ally surged forwards.

They fell upon Mohg like an entire legion, and he met them in kind. Malenia reached her sword back and brought it down hard into the Omen’s side. Much like her first blow, he shrugged it off and jabbed the huge blunt end of his armament into her chest. She fell onto her back with a cut-off cry, but before Mohg could follow up, the Tarnished was at her side. She heard a whoosh as his massive blade soared through the air and plunged itself into Mohg’s leg. That much elicited a grunt of pain from him, but still he did not relent. Metal clanged against metal as Mohg swiped his massive spear across the stone floor and into the Tarnished’s side; the knight flew backwards and landed harshly across the arena from Malenia.

Mohg whipped around to face the demigoddess as she found her feet. She did not have time to square up again before Mohg’s open hand came down towards her. She leapt back just in time before the Lord of Blood could catch her; she felt claws of searing heat barely graze her as she retreated. The needle in her skin vibrated unpleasantly as the heat remained in the air. Malenia stepped back just before the bloodflame gashes could burst in her face, but still found herself grimacing as some of the infernal magic splattered upon her skin.

Brandishing her blade, Malenia looked in the direction of her ally, still finding his own footing.

“Tarnished, to me!” she commanded, before hopping off the ground in a practiced motion. Her sword sparked as it extended outwards, and she hung in the air for only a brief moment before thrusting her sword arm straight out ahead of her. Her blade carried her forwards at lightning speeds and straight towards Mohg, who hastily sidestepped her thrust, causing her to careen past him and land several feet behind him—but the foul Omen was unprepared for the colossal sword that came right down on him from behind.

The cry of pain that issued from Mohg’s throat was almost drowned out by the sound of the Tarnished’s blade slamming into the stone floor. The Lord of Blood’s feet shuffled as he staggered, and Malenia sensed her opportunity to strike. Retracting her blade into a stocky, light shortsword, she dashed forwards, quickly slashing her prosthesis into Mohg’s abdomen. His trident moved to bat her blade aside, but she slashed a second time, then a third time, rapidly flitting her sword across his flesh in cursory yet ruthless slices. Mohg spun to face her, ready to retaliate, but before he could bring his spear down upon her, Malenia leapt into the air, the tip of her blade trailing and tracing a long, shallow red line up Mohg’s skin, avoiding his blow. She fell back down with her sword held overhead as Mohg skittered away from her and the Tarnished, slamming it so hard into the stone floor that it cracked beneath her unalloyed gold knuckles.

“Trēs!”

At the sound of Mohg’s voice, Malenia felt a sharp, aching pain spike in her chest. Gasping, her muscles tensed, bringing a hand up to graze the needle in confusion—a lapse in focus that allowed Mohg to sweep his trident across the arena, catching Malenia right in her face. Her skin seared as she was wreathed in bloodflame, and she was sent sprawling onto her back.

The shock and alarm that jolted Miquella’s heart zapped Malenia’s mind as well, quickly reassembling her bearings and getting her onto one knee. Ahead of her, Mohg continued his battle, caught in conflict with the Tarnished. Steeling herself, Malenia brought her real hand up to the needle. It pulsed painfully beneath her skin, and it felt… heavier.

Somehow—perhaps it was her quick wits, or some kind of instinct, or Miquella sharing it with her through their empathic connection—somehow, she knew what had happened. Mohg had cast some kind of spell that invoked the will of this so-called “Mother of Truth'' and set it upon Malenia, only for the needle to soak it up… but it was becoming overloaded, fighting to keep the presence of not one, but two Outer Gods out of Malenia’s body. Dismay coursed through her, but she pushed it down with an audible grunt, hauling herself to her feet and readying her blade.

As Malenia rushed back into the fight, the sound of the Tarnished’s blade meeting its mark, alongside a breathless cry from Mohg, told Malenia all she needed to know. Raising her sword overhead, she sprinted into the thick of the fight…

“Duo!”

… and stopped dead in her tracks.

She cried out in pain and fell forwards to the earth. Agony lanced through her breast, coursing up her spine, all the way down into her elbows and coalescing in her head where it pounded and pulsed like rot. The breath left her lungs and was supplanted with hot pain. The needle vibrated in her chest and Miquella cried out in the back of her mind.

“Malenia!”

At first, she thought it was Miquella screaming in her head, but it was the Tarnished, rushing to her side. He went to grab her flesh-and-blood forearm, but she jerked away.

“I’m fine,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Kill him!”

The Tarnished backed off as Malenia rose unsteadily to her feet. Clasping her katana, she let out slow, tight breaths. Gods, her head was pounding now… Squeezing her hidden eyes shut, she allowed herself only a moment more of reprieve before she jumped back into the fight alongside her ally.

She was hardly injured. That was not the issue. With every strike she absorbed some of Mohg’s life force, rejuvenating the flesh he had torn asunder and set aflame. But at the same time, absorbing more of Mohg’s cursed blood only intensified the pain that was creeping throughout her bones, tugging harder and harder at her focus. So much was the ache emanating from the unstable needle that soon Malenia found herself letting the Tarnished create openings with his massive sword so that she could follow up, a lopsided inversion of their previous battle rhythm.

When Mohg suddenly unleashed a shower of burning blood down around himself, Malenia was sent stumbling backwards to escape it, the burning pain that coated her skin nothing compared to the feeling of her veins nearly bursting with the roiling work of the unstable needle. The Tarnished, at this point quicker on his feet than she, rolled to the side and retaliated as soon as Mohg dared venture beyond his bloody bubble. Mohg spun to face him, and even in her pain-addled state, Malenia saw an opportunity. Retracting her blade as far into her prosthesis as it would go, she ran up to the Lord of Blood’s towering back, leaping high into the air and plunging her sword into his back, crashing the whole of her gold-laden body against his. Blood welled from the wound, flowing down his back and coating Malenia’s front, as she threw her remaining hand around Mohg’s bony shoulders, grappling him while she worked her blade into his skin.

The Omen howled as his knees buckled. There was a loud THUNK as he jabbed his spear into the ground to stay upright. Malenia pulled herself further up Mohg’s back, ready to withdraw her katana and sink it somewhere else, then–

“Unus!”

Malenia’s whole body erupted with agony. For the first time in a long, long time, she let out a hoarse, contorted scream as pain racked her. So great was it that she didn’t even notice when the terrified dismay of her brother sounded off in the back of her head; if anything, all she sensed from that was another gut-churning pulsation. Her body spasmed under the tormenting ache that inflamed her muscles and pierced her bones, and her hold on Mohg was released. For a moment, she dangled from his back like a tag, the blade affixed to her prosthesis still buried in his flesh.

Then, the monstrous cultist erupted a pair of massive black wings from his back, the emergence of the curseborn appendages pushing at her with such force that it dislodged her katana and sent her flying. She landed headfirst on the stone floor of the arena. Stars exploded in her vision as she curled in on herself, clutching her chest with her flesh-and-blood hand as she struggled to breathe.

Mohg was on her in a second. With his wings unfurled he scooped her up, carrying her all the way to the edge of the arena, where with one grim hand he slammed her back into the crumbling stone wall. Any chance she’d had to recuperate from the pain that writhed inside of her was squashed as the feeble amount of air in her lungs was knocked out.

Mohg’s hand squeezed around her throat.

“I expected more from the Blade of Miquella,” he sneered, his face inches away from hers. Even his breath smelled of nothing but blood. “Even adorned with gold as you are, blood tarnishes you.”

With punitive deliberation and unnerving precision, Mohg thrusted his imposing spear into the seam where Malenia’s shoulder ended and her prosthesis began. Her skin tore and burned with bloodflame, and with the ear-piercing sound of screeching metal, her prosthesis was dislodged from her body. With the tip of his trident, Mohg tossed the prosthesis aside, far out of its owner’s reach.

“MALENIA!”

The sound of the Tarnished’s mortified voice made Mohg pause, but only briefly. Squeezing the demigoddess’s throat, he sneered.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he grunted, then tossed her aside. She gasped as she hit the stone floor, her body still racked with painful spasms. All she could do was clutch at her chest where everything burned the hottest, where the Scarlet Rot and Mother of Truth waged war against the lonely needle inside of her.

Distantly, Malenia heard Mohg’s voice jeering at the Tarnished. “Well done, lowly knight! You lasted longer than even Malenia the Severed! If only such a talented warrior like yourself had chosen to serve the new dynasty! NIHIL!”

Another horrifying explosion of curseblood detonated inside the tip of the needle. Malenia’s throat constricted; when she gasped, there was no breath.

“NIHIL!”

Her throat parted just barely, if only for her to let out a rasping groan.

“NIHIL!”

A final surge of the Mother of Truth’s horrid machinations had Malenia spread-eagled on her back, mouth agape and blind eyes open wide, staring at the eternal night sky of Nokron far above. The needle that burned in her chest felt as if it were on the verge of shattering inside of her, and her body with it. Her body was racked with paroxysms of agony, sweat pooling on her brow and dripping down her face. She could do nothing, nothing but sit there and seize as every sinew in her body burgeoned and burst with flaming, rotted blood. The two abominable forces were fighting to escape the needle and infest her body, and it felt as if they were winning.

Oh, it hurt. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever hurt like this before, even when the rot was at its absolute worst. It was all around her, squeezing her, binding her, choking what little breath remained in her lungs. She could barely move, barely hear, barely even think over the rotblood suffering that swamped her.

For the briefest of moments, her throat opened up, and almost without realizing she was doing it, she fought to draw breath. Her lungs felt full of blood, her windpipe clogged by scarlet growths; regardless, she fought, battling to wrest control of her diaphragm and pull it away from her ribs. Breathing was just about the only thing in her head that wasn’t pure pain right now, and even that was cutting close.

Slowly, like a trickle of water, her lungs expanded and air leaked into them. Through the pain, she heaved and heaved and heaved until that rasping trickle became a drip, then a flow, and then–

The first sound that Malenia truly registered in her ears since that final “Nihil” was the sound of her own gasp. Air filled her lungs like a crashing wave of water, and with the working of her core, she could feel the muscles in her abdomen start to relinquish control to her once again.

She let the air out, and then gasped again. And again, and again.

The pain did not fade. It did not recede. But the total lockdown of her body, the blacking out of her four remaining senses, the narrowing of her thoughts down to nothing but the pain—those did. Slowly, gradually, she went limp as her head returned to her. Still panting as if she had been freshly drowned, she rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her one remaining arm.

At the back of the arena, she could hear Mohg and the Tarnished locked in battle… and in the back of her mind, she could hear her brother, pleading with her to get up.

And in spite of all the agony that ravaged her, Malenia did just that.

“M-Miquella…” she groaned, climbing to her knees. Leaning forwards, her flesh-and-blood hand stretched out, and her fingers brushed her dislodged prosthesis. Shakily, she reached out and grasped it, pulling it to her chest as she sat up. The socket that connected to her body was totaled. The metal was bent, and torn, and crushed—there was no way she could affix her sword arm to herself in this state.

But she didn’t need her sword arm.

Gripping her prosthesis by the wrist, Malenia felt around for a small latch that was seated just underneath the palm. Undoing it, her katana slipped from the arm’s golden grasp and clattered to the floor alongside something else, something small and wooden. Leaning down, Malenia felt along the floor until she found a tiny, detached handle—a failsafe crafted exactly for an emergency like this.

Miquella was truly a master craftsman.

Grasping the handle, Malenia pressed it into the base of the blade until a telltale click had her staggering to her feet, sword in hand. The blade felt alien in her off-hand, but she didn’t care. She could wield it all the same.

Each step was a massive effort on her part. The rolling pain inside of her lanced up her frame with every touch of her feet to the stone. Gritting her teeth, her breathing labored, the Blade of Miquella pressed on, at long last ready to live up to such a title. Her sword hung limply, dragging along the ground as she stumbled forwards. The sound of Mohg’s and the Tarnished’s clashing grew louder and louder, while Miquella grew quiet, waiting with bated breath.

The sound of Mohg’s trident, bathed in bloodflame, carving a gash into the Tarnished’s armor met Malenia’s ears; the blow had him crying out as he was sent hurtling backwards. The clanking of metal that boomed throughout the mausoleum as he landed was not followed by shuffling or shifting of any kind. He did not get up.

Mohg chuckled. “Foolish Tarnished,” he jeered, in his scarred, pitiful voice. “Miquella is mine and mine alone.”

Malenia stopped several meters away from the sound of spraying, flaming blood and clanging of colossal arms. Her knees were bent and knocked, but she straightened them as a long, slow, cool breath entered her lungs. Prosthetic and inorganic as they were, her legs were the only part of her that weren’t screaming with pain, and that made it easier to leap straight into the air, her sword held high overhead.

“Mohg!” she bellowed. There was a shifting of robes as the Omen spun around to see Malenia suspended in the air, her one arm holding the sword overhead. The blade pointed downwards right at Mohg’s face, concealing her mouth as she spoke.

“Your dynasty ends here,” she growled.

And then, she danced.

Mohg had no time to get out of the way. A flurry of slashes had her sword wassailing on his blood with all the hunger of a rabid animal. With near-imperceptible speed, Malenia cut huge, merciless swathes into his body. Flayed his skin. Desecrated his robes. Each slash was more forceful, more intense, more feral than the last. A long-practiced technique, one honed through decades of focus and will, was made ugly and grotesque by the pain and fury that addled Malenia’s mind. But sloppy as it was, it cut Mohg apart all the same.

Mohg attempted to scream, but an errant slice split his throat in two. His words died in his gullet, drowning in the blood that gurgled in his windpipe. The whole floor was wet with the slick crimson fluid, staining Malenia’s golden feet and the trailing edge of her robes as she cut the whole of the Lord of Blood into ribbons.

The Waterfowl Dance was over in mere seconds, but those seconds were all she needed. The weakened Mohg was, quite literally, cut to pieces. He was dead before he hit the floor. His massive trident banging against the ground beneath him, vibrating the earth, drowned out the last of the blood bubbling pitifully in his throat. His marred, diced corpse flowed freely; the red liquid pooled around her.

And like that, it was over.

Malenia alighted on the floor with the final flurry, holding her sword out at her side. Her breath heaved through teeth that were barely unclenched. Her sword’s tip dipped towards the stone, staining it with yet more cursed blood as it pierced the surface of the pool around her.

“Malenia!” the Tarnished exclaimed. The amazement in his voice was palpable. The swordswoman’s head flicked towards him.

“You…” the Tarnished grunted as he hauled himself to his feet. “You did it! You did it, warrior!”

She was silent. Slowly, weakened and exhausted, the Tarnished approached her.

“Mohg is dead,” he chanted. “The Lord of Blood is dead!”

For several seconds, Malenia simply stared at him, her body trembling, her breathing staggered.

Then, her fingers fell open. Her sword dropped from her grasp and clattered to the floor—and Malenia didn’t take long to follow it. She issued a forceful splash as she crumpled into the blood that surrounded her, her clothes quickly becoming soaked in the still-warm liquid.

“What—” the Tarnished cut himself off as he raced to her side. “Malenia! Malenia, what happened?”

Malenia didn’t respond. Her chest heaved as her hand clutched at her breast. Her head spun. Her veins pulsed with pain. Within moments, it was wreathing her senses once more, drowning out the sound of the Tarnished’s voice.

“Malenia!” he cried; his voice sounded distant and muffled. “What… Wait. The needle!”

That was the one thing she could truly feel beyond pain, was the needle vibrating and trembling like a wounded dog in her chest.

“Melina!”

Confusion pricked at the back of Melania’s mind. That was an odd way to pronounce her name…

“Melina, come quickly! Get her out of here!”

The sound of a young woman’s voice made her stir briefly.

“What should I do, Tarnished?” the voice asked, calmly.

“Just get her gone! If that needle shatters, there’s no telling what kind of mayhem it could cause!”

“She is not connected to the glimpses of grace as you are–”

“Dammit, Melina, she’s an Empyrean! I’m sure grace is in there somewhere!”

“... Very well.” A small, gentle hand rested upon Malenia’s shoulder. “Where shall I take her?”

“Anywhere but here! Just… if the rot takes over…”

“I will take her to a place where the rot can cause no further harm.”

The last thing Malenia felt before she drifted away was Miquella’s distant voice, begging her to stay.

Chapter Text

“Milady, please wake up. Please.”

Her eyes fluttered open to the same darkness they’d known since she was a girl. Her whole body burned with scarlet flame. It oozed from her pores, coating her skin and dripping from her limbs. She couldn’t move. It felt as if her body had been hijacked. Her shallow, panted breaths were not her own. Her blind eyes flicked back and forth against her control.

“I know you’re still there, Milady.” The woman’s voice was dry, and thick, and it warbled as she spoke. “You have to be. Please wake up.”

“… The bloom,” she groaned, so softly that even she almost couldn’t hear it. “The bloom has flowered once more.”

“We escaped the bloom, Milady!” the voice implored. “We are home. His Majesty your brother awaits. There is no more rot.”

Brother? She had a brother?

“Th-There…” Her breaths, tight and choking, quickened. “There must be. I brought forth the Scarlet Aeonia. Such is my purpose.”

“No!” The woman’s voice rose. The desperation that twisted her throat made something in her stir. “Please, Milady, remember who you are.”

Her senses were still wreathed with grog and pain, but she registered the feeling of two armored hands placing themselves upon her shoulders.

“You are Malenia,” the voice implored, trembling. “Blade of Miquella.”

Her blind eyes blinked rapidly. Her fingers, heavy and paralyzed, began to twitch to life.

“I-I…” she exhaled. “I…”

“Please, say it. I am Malenia. Blade of Miquella. I am Malenia. Blade of Miquella. I am…”

Malenia?

Tentacles of rot lashed out at the thought of such a name. They whipped and batted at the word, slicing its form until it was ribbons. She winced at the sensation of having her thoughts flogged. It hurt. It hurt to think.

“Milady! Stay with me!”

Her head lolled to the side. The hands on her shoulders shook her.

“Answer me, dammit!” The woman was shouting now. “I will NOT fail you! Do you hear me? Wake up, Malenia! Wake up!”

There was that name again. Whips of decay slashed at it the same as before, but as she watched the word disassemble, the shreds that remained did not dissolve. And so, through the suffocating, paralyzing scarlet pain, she picked them up and pieced them back together.

“M-M… Malenia?” she mumbled.

There was a gasp. The hands on her shoulders squeezed.

“Milady?” The woman’s shout had died to a subdued murmur. “A-Are you there?”

“… M… Malenia… Malenia… I…”

She drew in a slow, labored breath, and held it for a long, heavy moment. When her chest finally released it, it left her lungs as a string of words.

“I… am Malenia,” she murmured. “Blade… of Miquella.”

For a few seconds, the hands on her shoulders clasped her so tightly that it began to hurt. Then, with a shuffling of armor, they fell away.

“Yes,” Finlay whispered. “Yes, you are.”

Malenia awoke unceremoniously. The first sensation that flooded her mind was her throbbing head and the dull, clenching ache that wracked her whole body, stemming from the biting locus that pinpricked her sternum. The second was the rush of panic that jump-started her heavy mind at the recollection of what had just happened—the palace, Mogh, Miquella, the mysterious girl the Tarnished called Melina…

The third was the overpowering stench that surrounded her on all sides.

She’d wound up on her severed lopside since she’d fallen unconscious; she rolled onto her belly with a stiff, sluggish movement that was accompanied by a low groan. She tried to plant her hand on the floor beneath her, only to remember that she no longer had it, nor her sword. Gritting her teeth, Malenia shuffled awkwardly into getting her one remaining arm beneath her and propping herself up with a soft, shaky huff, the effort eliciting another wave of pain throughout her body. Her jaw clenched as she hauled herself to her knees and looked around. Not that she could see, but panning her sense of sound and smell around her surroundings was better than nothing.

Her tongue retched with the taste that wafted into the back of her throat through her nostrils. Her stomach roiled. The smell around her was clear as day now. It was rot. There was no mistaking it. It was all around her, but not to the same degree as it was at the Haligtree. No, this was much, much worse.

It wasn’t her sense of smell that told her that. No, as soon as she realized the touch of decay on her skin; heard the wind blow through sparse, dry grass; the distant shuffle of some pathetic manner of creature; the sun beating down on her, pleasant warmth thickened and choked by the heat of rot—she knew exactly where she was.

The one place she dreaded the most. The place she’d spent centuries hiding from. Caelid. Her scarlet kingdom.

Her breath caught in her throat. Even as her whole body hitched and tightened at the realization, her stomach still found room to sink. The horror that clasped her gut like thorny spires of death-blight only intensified the feeling of nausea as the scent of scarlet rot thickened in her throat.

“No…” she whispered. Her voice shook. “N-No, why… why am I here?”

For several moments, she simply lay there, half-straightly, golden legs gnarled over each other, attempting to catch her breath that oscillated through her chest in ragged huffs, labored by a mixture of pain, exhaustion, and mounting abhorrence.

She was… she was back. The scarlet queen had–

Malenia felt herself lock up. Alongside the horror of her predicament, a feeling of hard, leaden dread weighed down her stomach.

The scarlet queen… Malenia rolled onto her back and sat up, ignoring how her whole body clenched with that constricting ache. With her one remaining hand, she reached for her breast and found the needle, brushing her fingers along it frantically. It was still there, but it was shaking more violently than even she; the severed goddess could feel it rapidly twitching within her flesh, like a concentrated seizure just above her solar plexus.

It was still there. But it was struggling. And in the back of her mind, Malenia could feel a familiar disquiet beginning to form.

She could almost hear it, whispering inside her head.

The Scarlet Queen has returned…

Repulsion gripped her. “No!” Malenia shouted. “I am no one’s queen but my own! I am no one’s vessel! I-I… I am…”

She couldn’t find the words. Her jaw worked, her voice rasped, but nothing articulate left her lips. Her heart pounded. Her trembling breaths quickened. The hissing voice in her head spoke up again, more loudly this time.

You know what you are. What you always have been. You are the usherer of a new age. You are the Goddess of Rot. You are the Scarlet Queen.

“I-I am… I am…”

She drew a long, slow breath, batting away the tendrils that tried to snake its way up into her thoughts.

“I am Malenia,” she finally stammered out. “Blade of Miquella. And I…”

Her words died in her throat. Not because she had forgotten them, but because their meaning had died—she spoke falsehoods. Shaking her head, Malenia found her feet and slowly creaked her way upright once more.

“And I must find my way home,” she finally said.

Home. She needed to find the path home. From there she could relocate that waygate and return to Mohg’s underground hideaway.

Malenia forced her breaths, staggered as a terrace, to slow. She had something to focus on. All that was left was to focus on it.

She took a step forward. The grass, dry and uncomfortably warm, crunched beneath her feet. Though there were no nerves in her prosthetic soles, she could feel the pressure of the ground change as the blades split open under her step and… liquefied. Some kind of thick fluid oozed freely from the broken stems of grass, some of it coating her feet and the rest seeping into the damp peat beneath her.

The grass was rotten. The water it drank was rotten. This whole place was rotten.

Malenia’s toes curled repulsively as she forced her legs to carry her forwards. Vessel of rot though she may have been, the loathsome decay that her contaminated blood brought always instilled in her soul such sick antipathy. Her fist clenched and unclenched anxiously; her nails dug irritably into her palm. Shaking her head at the sensation, she brought her hand up to her opposite shoulder and squeezed. Her grasp closed around the lip of the hollow socket where her prosthesis would go, the metal warm and crusted with freshly-dried blood underneath her fingers.

She had to stay focused. She had to get out of here.

… But which way was out?

Malenia realized then and there just how lost she was. She had been to Caelid all of one time, hundreds of years ago, on a march to war, and since then the land had… changed. It was a scarlet-bloated, contorted, broken shell of its former self. This place was completely unrecognizable. Which way was the way forward?

Malenia’s panting quickened. She had to think. Focus. Her eyes closed behind their scarring, forcing open the door to her mind’s eye and trying to dredge up any memories of Caelid. Her mind fished out a blurry, unfocused image of Caelid long, long ago: Far before the war, before even she’d lost her sight to this wretched rot. Colors of green, lush and lively, coalesced in the red-tinged mist of her mind. Crimson tendrils snaked around the edge of the scene, trying to obscure the image.

Look not at what once was, the rot beckoned, its voice just as slimy as the scarlet cirri that pulled and tugged at the fringes of her mind’s eye. Look only at what is now. The Scarlet Queen must fulfill her duty.

“I am NOT your queen!” Malenia growled through gritted teeth, drawing another long, choppy breath. “I-I am Malenia. Blade of Miquella.”

Her jaw clenched. “I am Malenia. Blade of Miquella,” she said again. “I am Malenia. Blade of Miquella.”

Malenia drifted awake to the sound of heavy, arduous footsteps. Finlay clasped her arms, both true and prosthetic, to her armored chest, keeping her leader strapped firmly to her back as she trudged along. Her gait was slow and clumsy, debilitated by the weight of the demigoddess lying barely conscious atop her back.

The waking world slowly crept in. Malenia registered the sound of fighting. Men stampeding, yelling, roaring… and screaming. Screaming as the rot swept through the plains. Screaming as it contaminated the ground beneath their feet. Screaming as it clawed its way into their veins, setting their very blood alight.

Malenia flinched, shying away from the chaos of the bloom. Like a frightened child, she turned and buried her head into the nape of Finlay’s neck.

“What have I done?” she whimpered to the knight. “What have I done, Finlay?”

The Cleanrot warrior did not reply, pressing on silently. Malenia shivered atop her back, her body ravaged from within by a storm of exhaustion, rot… and sheer, overwhelming horror.
Just as quickly as she had awoken, however, she slipped back into slumber, her tired body keening for the embrace of the warm scarlet bud she’d left behind. As she slumped against Finlay’s armor-clad back, the knight crested a hill and came upon a highway.

A… A highway. Her army had marched along a highway. And to the east of that highway lay a swamp.

Malenia’s next step generated a soft splash. A dense liquid sprayed out over her calf as her foot plunged into a mud-lined mire. With a start, Malenia realized that she was standing on some kind of shoreline—but not just any shoreline.

The swamp! The glimmer of recognition made her gasp. She was standing on the shore of the swamp. She knew where she was! The swamp was to the west of the highway that led into—and out of—Caelid.

But which direction was west? Malenia’s swell of surety faltered. Her sense of cardinality was hopelessly absent in a land as unfamiliar as this. For the first time in a long, long while, Malenia found herself truly cursing her sightlessness.

Malenia wandered further into the waters of the swamp, trying to ignore the sickly water swirling around her ankles. As she walked, a sensation began to prick at her mind from the outside. A pull, a beckoning, from the heart of the swamp. It felt almost like the empathic link Malenia had formed with her soldiers at the Haligtree—or, rather, she reflected with a purse of her lips, their rot. But this one felt different. It was much more powerful, much more in-tune with the disease, not unlike the auras of the wretched Kindred that infested her home… and yet, there was that feeling of resolution, of duty, that her dear soldiers carried even in their ravaged states.

Unsure of what else to do, and against her better judgment, Malenia trudged towards the signal. The further she moved into the swamp, the more unsteady the ground became. Hot geysers of rot rumbled, then burst at the surface, sending showers of boiling scarlet water spraying. They seemed almost to give Malenia a wide berth, as if the pond itself knew that its goddess waded through its waters.

The signal was no doubt strengthening. But as Malenia approached, she realized it was not just one telepathic beacon that was reaching out to her—it was several, scattered thinly around the innermost landmass of the swamp. All of them were coated thickly with horrendous late-stage rot, and yet all stood proud. Proud and… hopeful.

Suddenly, the sound of slow, pacing footsteps could be heard over the din of erupting geysers. Somewhere ahead of her, someone was nearing—she felt them in her mind just as clearly as she heard them, and they were only a few meters to her right. She clutched her blood-encrusted shoulder socket, bracing herself for whatever poor rot-infested person was about to stand before her. The footsteps, and the aura, approached obliquely, as if rounding a corner—and then stopped, right in front of her.

The sound of words met her ears amidst the roiling of the swamp.

“Lady Malenia?”

The valkyrie’s breath hitched. That voice—she knew that voice, clear as day. Could it be…?

“Orthis?”

The Cleanrot Knight was silent for a long, tense moment, the scarlet-laden air crackling with tension. Then, he took a careful, almost trepidatious step forward.

“I-Is it—really you?” he asked. With the way his aura shifted and pulsated in Malenia’s mind, his disbelief was, quite literally, palpable. “Milady, it’s been so long. You… you’ve returned.”

He took another step forward. This time, Malenia did so in kind.

“Orthis—Knight Commander…” she said again, her voice subdued. “You… stayed behind?”

“Yes, Milady,” he affirmed. His voice—it was dry as sandpaper, yet at the same time, seemed to almost gurgle with the rot that flowed through his flesh. “Many of us did. To fight, so that Leftenant Finlay may bring you home.”

Malenia licked her bone-dry lips. “Finlay…”

“Lady Malenia,” Orthis suddenly went on, interrupting her thoughts. “It… brings me such joy to know you are not only alive, but to see you again—oh, Milady, I… we have missed you. We have missed you so very much.”

At hearing those wistful words, Malenia found the barest hint of a smile coming to her lips, in spite of everything that weighed down her mind and body right now. For a brief moment, the voice of rot in the back of her mind quieted.

“I’ve missed you too, Orthis,” she murmured. “Where… where are the others?”

Orthis paused, and in that time, another pulse of pain swept through Malenia’s body from the needle. She gritted her teeth as her head started to pound. Crimson appendages appeared at the edges of her masked vision.

Do not deny your calling. To these knights, you were once a simple general. But now you are an empress.

“I am Malenia,” she growled under her breath. “Blade of Miquella.”

“Those that remain…” Orthis’s somber voice jolted her out of her head. “Have largely withered away. They still wander these waters, on an eternal vigil, but I am doubtful that they know why they patrol so proudly. Many have lost their minds. More still have lost their voice, silently upholding their oath to you for… who knows how long.”

A low, burbling, mirthless chuckle issued from Orthis’s pneumonic throat. “I fear that I will follow suit before long,” he remarked, ruefully. “Little by little, the rot takes its hold. ‘Tis a miracle I’ve persisted as perennial as I have, in truth.”

Malenia winced. “I’m sorry—” she began.

“But, Lady Malenia, I must ask,” he went on. “Elated though I may be to see you—why have you returned? Whatever awaits you in this decaying land?”

Malenia opened her mouth to reply, but the only thing that left her lips was a tight, choking cry. Another wave of searing agony resonated throughout her body from the needle. This time, the pain seized her. Her limbs locked up as the pang swept all the way to her extremities, the surge so great, so horrid, that it shorted out her nerves—but only for a moment; her onset of paralysis was quickly followed by a spasm as her body reflexively tried to wrench back control of itself.

Malenia sank onto one knee and landed in the rancid water with a soft splash. Her hand, previously clinging to her shoulder socket, moved to clutch at her breast. Her cry of pain died into hard, heavy pants that filtered through her teeth.

“Lady Malenia?” Orthis rasped. “What’s wrong?”

There was a sloshing of water as he limped towards her, but Malenia shot her hand out, as if pushing him away.

“Don’t!” she ordered breathlessly. “Stay back!”

A feeling not unlike a surge of bile welled up in Malenia’s throat. She wanted to gag, to hunch over and retch, but she knew nothing was there. No, this feeling was more than familiar. It was a resurgence—a revolt, even, within her own body. The rot that festered within her was fighting tooth and decayed nail to lay claim to her, held back only by the small, pitiful golden needle lodged underneath her breastbone… an overloaded needle that had let slip wisps of the Outer God’s influence hours ago.

Behind her mask of scars, those familiar, sickening scarlet tendrils wreathed the edges of her vision. The voice echoed in her ears, faint, yet positively deafening, drowning out even the gurgly cries of shock issuing from the Cleanrot Knight that staggered towards her.

How many times have you bloomed by now? A hundred? A thousand? the voice hissed. Its tone was… jeering. It was mocking her. Mocking her efforts to muffle its sound, to will away its influence. Upon the third bloom, you were meant to become a goddess! A Queen!

Malenia’s head pounded. Her hand, previously having raised to wave Orthis back, retracted and slid itself up under the visor of her helm, laying upon her hot temple. Rivulets of sweat had formed and were starting to leak down her face, matting the roots of her flaming hair.

The time for fighting is over, the Rot beckoned. You are more than ready. The fruit you shall bear will feed your kingdom for eons to come. Take the needle out. Bloom once more. Become the flower you were always destined to be.

“I-I am Malenia,” she growled. “Blade of… of Miquella.”

Though the blood roared in her ears, she picked up faintly the splashing sound of Orthis’s footsteps.

“Milady, what is wrong?” he pleaded. An armored hand placed itself upon her shoulder. At once, she jerked away.

“Stay back, I said!” she barked.

At such a hearty command, Orthis jerked backwards, falling silent. Malenia brought her hand back up to her temple, trying to steady her pained, agitated panting.

“Knight Commander Orthis, y-you must run,” she muttered.

“What? Run? Milady, you can’t be serious.”

Malenia’s teeth clenched. Her jaw hardened. “I am,” she insisted, in a snappish tone that made Orthis take a slight step back. “Get out of here!”

“I– Milady, you ask me to abandon you? I could never—”

Malenia surged up from the earth and launched herself straight at Orthis. The Cleanrot Knight had no chance to react as his leader barrelled into him with astonishing force. A grunt left his chest as his back collided roughly with the half-liquid wood of a huge, rotted root.

At once, Malenia’s one remaining hand was against his throat, squeezing around the scaled armor of his helm with a grip tight enough to crush. In a violent, malicious act of pure fury, she yanked him off of the wall by his barely-protected neck, only to slam him back into it, eliciting a hoarse cry of pain.

“DO NOT DENY YOUR QUEEN!” she bellowed, slamming him into the root yet again.

Orthis’s weapons fell with showers of water to the earth. His hands batted frantically at her arms, trying to issue relinquish of her grasp. “M-Milady!” he stammered.

“I AM THE LADY OF ALL THAT IS SCARLET!” She pulled Orthis away once more, this time raising him up over her head, glaring at him from behind her mask. His legs kicked and flailed as he was held aloft, his hands wrapping around her scarred, rotted wrist and tugging, but he was no match for her strength.

“You seek to resist me?” she bayed. “Petulant grunt!”

Her hand tightened around Orthis’s throat. The armor that shielded his trachea from her grasp was beginning to warp under her crushing palm. The sounds of the bubbling swamp were drowned out. The feeling of sickness in her gut was nullified. Even the overwhelming pain had naught but disappeared. All she could sense in this moment was pure, bright, white-hot rage… and the object of her frenzied ire.

But through the hot whirlwind that spurred her grasp to tighten around his throat, a voice just barely grazed her ears, the faintest rasping whisper over the din of her fury.

“M-Malenia…” Orthis choked out in a small, terrified gasp. “Please…”

Malenia. just as quickly as it had come, her livid fervor vanished. The sounds of the swamp rushed in, flooding her blood-rushed ears with their noise. The dull ache that wracked her whole body set upon her flesh.

And within an instant that felt like the impact of a speeding carriage, she realized what she was doing.

Her jaw dropped like deadweight. A gasp entered her lungs with almost enough force to drown out the sounds of Orthis’s pleas. In an instant, her grip relaxed, and her hand recoiled from its prey. The knight fell into the water like a corpse, coughing and sputtering as if he’d been held under the surface.

Malenia stumbled backwards away from her soldier. Her heart hammered in her chest, a chest that rose and fell in rapid, uncontrolled, panicked breaths. Her head tilted towards Orthis for only a moment before she slowly wrenched her gaze around to stare agape down at her hand. The limb trembled like a leaf in the wind. Gazing in utter disbelief down at it, she slowly clenched it into a hard fist. Blood welled up in her palm as her nails dug furiously into the skin.

“Wh… Wha…” she whispered.

She flicked her unseeing gaze up to Orthis, then back down to her hand. The most disorienting, gut-wrenching, nauseating mortification she’d ever known exploded underneath her flesh and gnarled her innards, twisting them like bramble. The harder she clenched her fist, the looser her jaw hung agape in dumbfounded disbelief.

“N-No,” she murmured, in a small voice. “No, I…”

Just then, Malenia really registered the sound of Orthis’s feeble coughs. Snapping her gaze up to him, her disoriented horror was quickly supplanted with heightened worry for her soldier.

“Knight Commander!” she exclaimed, reaching her hand towards him. “Orthis, forgive me, I—”

As soon as she leaned forwards, there was an immediate change in the aura she sensed from him. A cold, heart-pounding fear overtook him. An audible gasp issued from his putrefied throat. The loud clinking and shuffling of armor met her ears as the breathless knight scrambled to move away from her.

Dismay pierced Malenia, hot as the tarnished needle. “Orthis,” she pleaded, “I’m sorry. That beast you saw—it was not me.”

She took a cautious, deliberate step towards him. “Orthis,” she repeated. “Orthis, my knight—”

It was then that she realized the landscape in her mind had shifted. The other auras she sensed within the swamp—auras which, she now realized, were more of her Cleanrot Knights—had converged on her location, drawn by the commotion. Malenia straightened, flicking her head around the mire.

She could feel their hearts burst at the sight of her. Tidal waves of disbelief crashed into her own mind from all directions as her knights laid eyes upon their long-lost leader… but only some of them were taken as such. Others barely flickered with recognition. Malenia could feel it. Their minds were hanging on by a thread. Others still gazed upon what was happening and fluttered with confusion—or welled up with sadness.

From the edge of the encirclement, she heard one of the knights whisper, in a torn, waterlogged voice: “It’s taken her… the scarlet rot has taken our lady.”

At once, Malenia’s head snapped in the direction of the voice. “No!” she protested, voice hoarse. “N-Nothing has taken me! I am still right here!”

The sound of footsteps, multiple sets—stumbling, splashing through the murky water—approached her. It was the knights whose minds were gone. They approached limply, dragging their withered frames along like zombies.

“The Scarlet Queen…” one droned, in a voice that was less than human.

Malenia nearly stumbled at hearing those words. Her whole body froze. Her own knights… No. They had given in. Her Cleanrot Knights had become subjugated by the rot. Her brave, loyal warriors, reduced to nothing more than wretched Kindred.

The rotted soldiers closed in on her. Malenia willed her legs to run, but they remained rooted in place. One of the knights tripped over Orthis’s trembling form, landing with a loud splash in the reddened water, right in front of her. Suddenly, Malenia felt his gloved hand brush against her calf.

“The Scarlet Queen… has returned,” he chanted. He spoke with a dead tone, sounding more like a hivemind drone than anything else. A nauseating horror surged up in Malenia then. Like flipping a switch, she found her feet and jerked away from what used to be her knight.

“No!” she shrieked, stumbling backwards. She slipped clumsily between the forms of two approaching knights, landing ungracefully into solid, if bemired, peat. The shore of the swamp, opposite to where her trek had begun. She scrambled to her feet, using her one remaining hand to brush aside another knight. Their aura emanated confusion and fear.

“I-I am NOT the Scarlet Queen!” she clamored. “I am– ah!”

She careened to the ground, landing on one knee. Her hand came out and barely stopped her from faceplanting into the mud. Her body was suddenly overcome with that aching pain again, beaming outwards from the trembling needlepoint in her skin.

The whole of her vision was tinged with red. The tendrils that snaked around the edges of her eyesight seemed almost to glow dimly, lit aflame by the agony in her temples.

Give in. Give in. Give in. You are the Scarlet Queen. Look around you! This is your land! Your land, of your make! Rule your kingdom. You are the Scarlet Queen!

An angry shout slipped through clenched teeth. Malenia’s fist slammed into the peaty earth.

“Get out of my head!” she snarled. “Get out of my head!”

Gasping with the pain that came from such an effort, she hauled herself to her feet. Her head pounded and pulsated to the beat of her racing heart. She fell against the decayed wood of some large flora, holding herself against it with her arm. She leaned against the slippery support for several seconds, heaving and panting as she silently pleaded for the agony to subside, but as her mind registered the approaching auras of her subjugated knights, she bit down hard and heaved herself forwards, stumbling in the opposite direction. Leaving her soldiers behind. Leaving them watching her, confused and scared and forlorn. The last trace of their leader was her shaking voice, muttering the same chant over and over again.

“I am Malenia. Blade of Miquella. I am Malenia. Blade of Miquella. I am Malenia. Blade of Miquella.”

Chapter Text

The redness that tinted the blackness of her vision slowly brightened. Things were taking shape in her mind: Those awful tendrils, ever-present, reaching in from the edges of her vision. Vignetting an image that wasn’t even there. She wanted to blink, to shake her head, to do anything to get the tentacles of rot out of her eyes, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything. She was completely paralyzed, held in petal chains within the heart of the hot scarlet bud. The voice that always whispered away in the back of her head was all around her now. The flower itself was blaring beckoning words into her ears.

“Rise, goddess!” the flower hissed. “Rise from your chamber! One more bloom! ‘Tis all you need! All WE need!”

One more bloom… slowly, the binds that held her in place laxed. Her one remaining arm slipped free from where it was held aloft at her side. With a small gasp, she planted it on the ground to steady herself. The unbearable heat that enwreathed her mellowed, alighting delicately on her flesh like a warm sun. Suddenly, she felt soothed by her bud. The petals that clutched at her were still receding, but they didn’t feel like binds anymore. They felt like… an embrace. An embrace that she yearned for. But the petals seemed only to recede faster at such a thought, as the flower chimed again.

“One more bloom, goddess,” it said. “One more bloom, and you may sink into the scarlet embrace for as long as you like. Just one more bloom.”

One more bloom… one more bloom… one more–

“Milady!”

Suddenly, her bud was ripped open by a massive halberd. The warmth that cradled her was dashed, supplanted by an unbearable burning cold. Her mouth stretched open in a shocked gasp that was cut off when two hands clasped her shoulders and ripped her free from her chamber.

The sound of tearing plant flesh was deafening to her ears, but not nearly as much so as the gentle voice in her mind unleashing a rageful scream. With what felt like punitive deliberation, she was hoisted from her flower and into the body of her assailant, who promptly stumbled backwards, struggling to stay upright with her in their arms.

Footsteps rushed up to meet them. A woman’s voice could be heard over the scarlet din in her mind.

“Commander Emma!” she cried. Then, a gasp. “Lady Malenia!”

The person holding her grunted. “Leftenant,” she panted, “take her.”

A new pair of hands grabbed her, one underneath her arm and another reaching around her midsection to pull her in. The new arrival hoisted her onto her own back, letting her arm and one leg drape around her shoulders. She would have resisted, had she the strength, but her limbs were heavy as stone, and her head felt fuzzy as wool.

She was so, so tired.

“We need to move,” the one called Emma said gruffly. “Our Lady cannot stay here, now that the rot festers. Bring her–ack!”

She cut herself off abruptly with a series of violent, choking coughs. The carrier lurched forwards, jostling her passenger roughly in doing so. Her delirious mind stirred a bit, just enough to let her hear the two’s dialogue.

“Commander!” the one carrying her gasped.

“Ugh… dammit. Even just a few moments within that flower was-” another, longer coughing fit “-was too much for me. Leftenant… do not let our Lady succumb to the scarlet rot. Bring her–ACH!–bring her home.”

“But what of you?”

“I am beyond saving. I can f-feel it. The unrestrained rot of that bud has doubtlessly advanced my decay—immeasurably so. S-Soon I will be little more than half-emulsified refuse.”

“Commander, no…!”

The woman’s voice trailed off. The silence that ensued was quickly broken by the sound of a popping latch, then the shifting and sliding of fabric and metal.

“Take this,” Emma rasped. “The make of my armor is shameful in comparison to her true prosthesis, but it will suffice for now.”

One of the woman’s hands was clutching her passenger’s arm, securing her in place, but the other reached out to take her commander’s offer. Almost as soon as she did, the knight in question issued another spurt of choking, hacking gags; this time, there was a new layer to it. It sounded… gurgly. Far too liquid.

“Emma!” Even in her slipping state, the sound of that horrified cry made her shiver.

“Forget about me! Just—glrhh-A-HACK!—move! Before the bloom’s contamination encroaches upon you too!”

She felt the woman carrying her start to slowly shuffle backwards as she carried her. Through the wool that had been pulled tight around her head, she could barely hear the knight choke out, “I-I’ll bring her home, Commander. You have my word. In the name of unalloyed gold.”

“In the name of unalloyed gold, Leftenant.”

With that, her carrier turned tail and ran down the slope. Away from Emma. Away from the bloom. Away from her scarlet chamber.

Her sightless eyes were struggling to stay open. Her senses were hazier than the fog of the thickest blizzard. Her head lolled to the side and slumped against the woman’s shoulder as a black veil that was darker than her own blindness crept up into her vision. The sound of a small, trembling voice, however, pulled back the weight of sleep just a bit.

“Lady Malenia… can you hear me?”

For just a moment, the haze cleared. She stirred. Her head raised by just a few millimeters, gazing blearily towards the sound of the woman’s voice.

“F… Finlay…?”

Malenia stumbled her way out of the heart of the swamp. Her addled knights did not move to follow her. Some stared after her as she trudged in a random direction, while others returned to aimlessly roaming, too far gone to even understand what had happened. Crossing through the inner reaches of the swamp, she found her tired legs beginning to burn as she trudged up a steep hill. As the incline fell level, her foot snagged on a jutting root; a hoarse squawk issued from her throat as she pitched forwards, trying to regain her balance. In her stumble, she almost didn’t notice the damp peat squishing around her metallic soles give way to hard, unswept cobblestone, but as she slewed to a halt and doubled over, hand propping her up against her golden knee, the realization made her straighten.

Cobblestone. Pavement. Road. Highway! She’d found the highway! Her heart lifted at the thought. Tensing with the effort of keeping her breath steady, she darted her head left and right. The highway stretched in either direction, but only one path took her north. Dread attempted to supplant her hope, but she quelled it with a hard swallow. It was alright. She had only two paths down which she could travel, and if one route didn’t seem to be bringing her to Limgrave, she could simply turn around and go back the way she came.

Yes, she decided, even if her sense of location was still completely frayed, at least now she had a sense of direction. Turning left, she planted her next foot forwards and set off with a renewed sense of hope.

As she continued on, though, her thoughts flickered back to the Cleanrot Knights wandering amidst the scarlet waters down below. She was halted as a swell that all of a sudden rose within her seemed to yank her back towards the swamp. Her teeth pressed together as her dear soldiers flashed into her mind. For uncountably many years they’d floundered amidst the scarlet shallows of the swamp, trapped in their undeath as they were, yet holding their vigil with duty even as mind and body alike turned to putrid mush. For so long they’d waited, held on, fought for her. And their first time reuniting with her in lifetimes was to see her lash out at them before stumbling away like a madwoman.

Malenia winced and cursed herself for her craven actions. Those soldiers need me, she thought. They need their leader. They need their qu—

She gritted her teeth as the mere thought of such a word made her head pulse with pain. Her next breath filtered through clenched teeth, and was let out slowly.

“I am Malenia,” she muttered. “Blade of—“

“It’s her!”

The Empyrean was snapped out of her dire mnemonic by a worn, ragged cry. Her head perked to gaze ahead of her as the sound of footsteps on stone met her ears—armor-clad footsteps. Several sets of them. At least three. And they were getting louder.

The heaviest of the strangers slowed as they approached her, but the other two diverged in opposite directions from their presumable leader. Malenia found herself taking a small step backwards as they each found a position on either side of her, surrounding her on three fronts.

It wasn’t hard at all for her to realize just who these men were—especially when the near-unified sounds of all of them unsheathing their swords cut through the humid air. Her hand instinctively moved to adjust her prosthesis, but when it wasn’t there, she clenched her hand into a fist. In that moment, her qualms quieted, and all her focus shifted to stare down the squadron’s leader.

“Step aside, Redmanes,” she growled. “You do not want this fight.”

“General Radahn sends his regards,” the leader rasped back, voice muffled by his metal helm. Suddenly, from both sides, the other two soldiers fell upon her.

Malenia was in no state to fight. She was exhausted. Confused. Unarmed and one-armed. Her whole body screamed with pain as her blood boiled with the heat of rot. She was a miserable shadow of her usual self, reduced to limping aimlessly along the abandoned Caelid highway, like some lost child rejected by their order.

And in spite of all of that, these men were no match for her.

Her actions were swift. She caught the sound of the man on her right lifting his sword as he charged, almost stumbled, towards her. Effortlessly, she sidestepped his clumsy swing, and the blade soared clear over her head. Grunting in astonishment, the soldier careened in the direction of his arcing blade, and the sword plunged directly into the shoulder of her other attacker, whose cry of shock and pain was cut off as the sword’s wielder fell on top of his squadmate like a sack of potatoes. The footman’s heavy weight shoved the sword deeper into the neck of his comrade, and he let out a final choking gasp before falling silent.

The knight ahead of Malenia raced towards her, sword at the ready, but didn’t get four paces before the metal of her shoulder socket, eye level with the armored man, buffeted him square in the face, sending him sprawling onto his back. Malenia’s golden foot slammed into his stomach, and the gasp that issued from inside his helm as the air left his lungs was so wretched that it nearly broke her focus.

Her head spun around at the sound of metal being pulled unceremoniously from flesh. Paying no attention to the fellow footman he’d just slain, the soldier unleashed an angered bellow as he charged towards her, thrusting his sword out with such reckless abandon that it carried him into her.

It was as if he’d never wielded the thing before. And that made him all the easier to dispatch.

Malenia sidestepped the sword’s path, thrusting her forearm into that of her attacker’s with such force that it pushed his sword arm off to the side, taking him with it. So swift and so devastatingly effective was her counter that the soldier’s sword slipped free of his hand and fell towards the earth. Malenia caught it by the handle mid-flight and, before its owner was even finished sprawling onto the cobblestone, dove upon him and sank the sword into his back. The blade ran him through and sank into the mud between the gaps in the pavement. He was dead before his blood could touch the earth.

Pulling the sword free of its stone, Malenia spun to face the final Redmane as he staggered to his feet. She could hear the battle-hungry rage in his panting breaths. Slowly, she raised his man’s sword, like a dagger to her, and pointed it at him.

“Don’t be a fool,” she urged him in a low voice. “There is still a chance to—“

“Rotten whore!” Completely ignorant of her warning, the knight sprinted towards her in uncontained fury with his imposing greatsword held high. Like swatting a fly, Malenia brandished her weapon and batted his to the side as it came upon her, almost sending the knight flying with the force of the redirection. He stumbled backwards for two steps before falling like deadweight onto one knee.

Shifting her blade into an overhand grip, Malenia held it aloft, the bloodstained tip pointing right down at the knight.

“Wait–!”

She plunged the sword straight into the visor of the knight’s helm with a righteous fury befitting a goddess. Metal screeched upon metal as the end of the blade exploded out the back end of the headpiece. Its wearer was dead in an instant.

The fight was over before it began. Malenia let the weapon fall with the last Redmane’s corpse and stepped away as his pooling blood began to lap at her toes. Her breath had hastened and deepened in the short time the battle had raged, but as the real world—and the pain—crept back in, her adrenaline-fueled lungs quieted, and her shoulders sagged.

“A waste,” she muttered ruefully to herself, before angling her head in the direction she had been heading. Stepping around the crumpled corpses of the Redmane squadron, she continued onwards with a barely-even gait.

As she walked, she brushed her fingers across the needle. It was still shaking, but thank the heavens above, it seemed to be calming, if only by a bit. Her body certainly couldn’t feel that; her veins were on fire and those infernal tendrils were still wriggling their way into the edges of her vision. But for the time being, while the heat of combat still roused her focus, at least the hissing voice in her mind had quieted.

The sounds of yelling and roaring made themselves known to her. Somewhere in the distance, directly along the highway, was violence, between men and some howling beasts. Malenia felt a pang of angered dismay. She was not sure if she could endure a true battle, but they almost certainly blocked the way forwards.

Almost as soon as these thoughts crossed her mind, more footsteps approached her. But these were not the footsteps of a mere man, no: They were large, and heavy enough to be felt through the earth.

The creature issued a monstrous snarl.

Malenia barely had time to dodge as the giant dog lunged at her. Spinning to face it, she clenched her hand into a fist, dearly wishing she hadn’t left that soldier’s sword buried in the corpse of his captain. The dog dashed towards her again, but a war cry suddenly pierced the air and the dog was sent off-course with a yelp as a horseback-mounted warrior appeared from seemingly nowhere and drove its spear directly into the dog’s temple. The two tumbled off the highway, leaving her standing there watching dumbly.

Simply a smaller part of the battle that waged, it would seem, for as Malenia turned and trudged onwards, she could make out unsettling barks and yelling amidst the cacophony of the melee. Steeling herself, Malenia stopped to retrieve a sword from the nerveless hand of a fallen grunt; the weight and balance was near-identical to the last one she’d scavenged. The noise of battle cries, screams, steel, and beastly bellows soon surrounded her, yet she found herself unbothered by any of the warring bodies. They seemed oblivious to her in the chaos. Malenia did not let her relief slow her step; if anything, she quickened her pace and ducked through the thick of it, weaving around bodies both flailing and limp.

As the din of battle started to sound like it would soon be behind her, she felt the back of her hand graze something burning hot. She flinched away with a sharp breath sucked in through her teeth, trying to ascertain what had assaulted her.

It wasn’t an enemy, but rather, a wall. A smoldering wall, more cinder than stone. Summoning what strength was left in her legs, Malenia hopped up and cleared the wall, landing with a grunt on the other side. Taking a moment to steady herself before continuing onwards, Malenia turned to gaze behind her as the sound of fighting began to grow distant. The goddess released a breath she hadn’t been holding, almost surprised at how easy that had been–

The sound of a crossbow bolt whipping through the air made Malenia perk up a fraction of a second before it hit her square in the temple. The thick steel projectile bounced right off her unalloyed helmet, but the harsh and unexpected force had her stumbling forwards. She caught herself on a waist-high slab of stone, leaning against it for a moment as her head whipped around to stare up in the direction from which the bolt had come… only for her head to spin right back around, staring down at the stone upon which she’d leaned as she felt an ethereal tug on her skin from the center of the structure. The pulling intensified, faster than she could blink, and she felt herself beginning to dissolve into the magical void in front of her.

She’d fallen right against a waygate, and had inadvertently activated it.

She had no time to jerk away before she was whisked off, and landed on one knee atop a dusty, uneven flight of stairs. At once, her stomach sank. Now where was she, even? Turning around, she registered the faint humming of the waygate’s exit. It was set up two ways. Thank goodness. Hastily, Malenia reached her arm out towards the magical veil.

A bass-filled roar made Malenia step back, just in time to avoid the massive paw that swiped down where she was half a moment ago. Rock crunched and cracked under the tremendous force of the attack, and there was an explosion of glintstone as the waygate crumbled. Another vicious growl, leonine in its sound, vibrated Malenia’s head. She took another, hasty step backwards to avoid another oncoming swipe, but her blind eyes had no chance of registering the massive blade chained to the lion’s limb. The layer of maille underneath her golden dress protected her from the blade’s intimidating edge, but the sheer force of the impact when it caught her square in the chest sent her flying backwards. The sickening thud that issued when she collided straight into a brick wall was almost as loud as the stars that burst into her vision were bright.

The needle in her breast trembled violently. What happened next was beyond her consciousness.

She landed with one knee onto the ground. Her hand clenched into a fist as the light of the stars in her head faded into a faint red glow, masking the whole of her constrained vision with a bloody hue.

The lion lunged at her again. This time, with an unhindered gait and blinding speed, she ducked underneath it and rammed her shoulder socket straight into its underbelly. The massive creature, for all its ferocity, was duped by her frail form, and when she surged up from underneath it, the unexpected strength threw the lion from the balcony, sending it tumbling with a throaty yowl into an alcove below.

She looked down at where the lion had fallen for only a moment, for her attention was snatched by an incomprehensible pulling sensation in her mind, further up the stairs, beyond the confines of this structure. Without pause, and with a renewed vigor, she turned and ran deeper into whatever complex this waygate had taken her to. The lion, disoriented and winded, found no bearings in time to pursue.

She ran up the stairs, through dilapidated wooden barricades, up another flight of stairs, and then another. As she rose higher and higher, she could feel the structure open up; there was more of Caelid’s thick scarlet air on her skin. Her golden feet carried her forwards swiftly as if she were good as new, not stopping for a moment, even when she heard the gasp of an old man followed by a disbelieving “Wait. Aren’t you…?!”

She followed the pull in her mind without thinking or feeling. As its presence grew stronger, so to did the red glow in her eyes. Suddenly, the tendrils that always vignetted her vision crept in closer, much closer than before. She paid them no mind.

The source of the beckoning was coming from below. She stepped forwards, expecting to find stairs, and instead gave a start when her foot pressed down upon a pressure plate. Not long after, she felt herself start to descend.

Of course. A lift.

As soon as the wooden platform was done with its journey, she leapt forth. Her feet carried her to a shallow river, which she splashed through effortlessly before coming upon the other side. As she did, her wettened feet were dried by a layer of warm, fine sand.

Sand… a dim thought echoed in the very back of her mind. I haven’t felt sand since…

Suddenly, everything rushed in like a charging chariot. The pulling sensation on her body and mind vanished. The redness of her vision was sapped away, leaving her only in darkness. And with the fading of the redness came the fading of her strength all at once, as if it were never there. Indeed, the sudden surge of vigor in her veins was supplanted, seemed almost to become, that same disorienting pain in full, merciless force.

Just like that, it was as if her blood had been lit aflame. It felt like her flesh was tearing asunder as rot burst forth from every last pore in her skin. It filled her body, flooding her veins and squeezing her bones, choking her with a vicious intensity that brought her to the earth. Malenia fell to the ground like a deadweight, dropping her scavenged blade; the softening of her impact by the sand did nothing to assuage the brutal return of that scarlet torment.

The needle in her chest felt ready to crack. It squeezed on her lungs, making her gasp for air as she struggled to prop her head up. Confusion and dread filled her head alongside the sickening pain. What had just happened? Had the rot within her brought her here? But why? What was here that was so…

Malenia slowly found her hand, planting it gingerly into the earth to lift herself up, but another wave of the rot’s infernal machinations seized her, and she collapsed with a sharp intake of air that was then let out as a small, plaintive whimper. She wanted to writhe with the agony, but it was immobilizing. She was paralyzed with pain. She could do nothing but breathe in fast, panting gasps that coated her lips, teeth and tongue with particles of sand.

Her head was throbbing with such an egregious ache that it almost blocked out the sounds of the outside world. What it did not block out, however, was that vile hiss returning to resonate within her mind.

Ahh… it hummed. The satisfaction in that ethereal whisper sent a chill down Malenia’s spine. After all this time, we have made it home.

Wait. Home? Where was home? Craning her head up in spite of the screaming pain, Malenia tried to look around, as if that would help her.

“To where have I been lured, foul rot?” she hissed, in between slow heaves of breath. Her own voice sounded muffled amidst the din of her pounding skull.

The residual warmth of the bud… do you feel it, goddess? it hissed. After all this time, we are home. Truly, truly home. The heart of Caelid’s rot… within arm’s reach.

The heart of Caelid’s rot… Wait. No. No, it couldn’t be…

Suddenly, it made sense. The extrasensory pull. The descent downwards. The sand beneath her right this moment. That waygate had placed her smack in the middle of the one and only Redmane Castle, whereupon the rot had seized her body and led her to the wailing dunes where the final battle between her and her half-brother had taken place. Where… she had bloomed.

Horror and anger welled up in equal parts within her bosom. Not here, she thought. Anywhere but bloody here! In a hot surge of ire, she reached her hand back and slammed it into the ground, practically shoving herself into a kneeling position. A fresh wave of scarlet screams pulsed through her body, filling her head with smoldering rocks, but she bit down and forced herself to her wobbling feet in spite of it.

“Damn you!” she cursed. “Damn you and your rot!”

Struggling to find balance, she began to totter back the way she came—tried to, at least. She didn’t get three paces before her head, feeling like a spinning top, lolled to the side and sent her teetering feet slipping out from under her. She fell with a dull thud and a hoarse cry, and as the impact resonated through her burning flesh, those infernal tendrils in her vision crept inwards.

A dull glow arose from them as the voice spoke again.

Do not resist, it commanded. In spite of the heat that it emanated, its words were as cold as ice. Gone was its sickening allure. It was done trying to convince her. It was done playing games. Take the needle out. Resurge, goddess! Become the Scarlet Queen!

Malenia’s teeth clenched.

“Get out of my head,” she growled.

Another thundering pulse filled her temples. It felt as if her whole head were swelling, pressing against the sweat-lined inside of her helm. The golden plates squeezed on her skull, trying to crush her under its grasp. A furious, agonized snarl left her lips, and with a feverish intensity she reached up and snatched the helmet from its place upon her head and flung it to the side. It landed in the sand and stuck there.

It did little to assuage the pain, but at least her forehead could breathe now.

Malenia rolled onto her back. Her whole body was screaming at her. Her head felt ready to burst. The needle was piercing her heart, injecting scarlet rot directly into her soul. She tried to focus on her breathing, squeezing her eyes shut, but the glowing tendrils of rot stayed in her vision, dazzling her with their scarlet light.

The pain does not have to be, the voice beckoned. Malenia could hear nothing beyond it now; it was as if her whole head were filled with cotton. She felt… fuzzy.

Take the needle out, the voice repeated. Let your bloom resurface to your flesh. Let the warm embrace of the scarlet bud melt away everything.

Gasping, writhing, and clutching at the needle as it continued to radiate agony throughout her body, the valkyrie could only utter one simple sentence in response.

“I… am Malenia,” she gasped. “Blade of—“

The scarlet in her eyes flared up with angry brightness, and the horrid, sickening wave of pain it sent throughout her body made her whimper. But she kept going.

“Blade of Miquella,” she finished, then breathed in. “I am Malenia. B-Blade of Miquella. I am… Malenia. Blade of… Miquella. I am Malenia. I am… I-I… I am…”

“Malenia.”

It wasn’t her voice that finished her chant, nor was it the voice of the rot pounding on the walls of her skull. It was the voice of a man, deep enough for her to feel it in the sand beneath her trembling form. It boomed with awesome power unrestrained, yet at the same time, sounded so ill—rotten, like everything else in this cursed land. So intense was the voice that it snapped Malenia out of her stupor near-instantly and had her head swinging in its direction even before the worms of familiarity slithered their way into her mind—but when her memory was dredged up from the darkest depths of her thoughts, for an instant, everything seemed to fade. The sand on her skin and in her mouth, the rot in her brain urging her onwards—even the overwhelming agony seemed to halt for a brief instant as her stomach plummeted.

No. No, it was impossible. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t!

“R… Radahn?” she breathed.

“It has been a long time, sister,” the Starscourge replied.

Malenia’s head spun. She was already collapsed on the ground, but even just lifting her head to stare in the direction of his voice was enough to make her feel as if she were on the verge of toppling over.

There was no way. There simply was no way. She refused to believe it. And she echoed that.

“N-No,” she breathed. “I… I killed you! I killed you! You fell on that day!”

The rumbling, mirthless chuckle that issued from Radahn’s torn throat made Malenia’s skin crawl.

“You so dearly wish you had won the war,” he leered. The wry contempt in his voice did not mask the rage Malenia could hear boiling underneath. “Do you? O, Malenia the undefeated, have you spent all this time denying your falterance?”

There was a small, wretched whinny. Heaps of earth shifted as Radahn’s withered steed dragged him closer to Malenia. She tried to sit up, tried to put her hand out—tried to do anything—but she was too weak. All she could do was struggle to breathe.

“R-Radahn…” she rasped.

“Why have you returned?” Radahn growled, half-questioning and half-challenging. “To finish what you started? To take my fractured realm for yourself?”

He sneered. “What would you even do with this broken country?” he went on. “There is nothing left. Caelid is beyond saving. Beyond redemption from what you did to it. To my land. To my men!”

Malenia winced as Radahn’s gargantuan voice rose.

“Was it worth it, Malenia? Was whatever you sought when you laid siege to my castle worth the mass destruction? Tell me, then! Was it?”

Malenia could only keep her head angled upwards at her half-brother for a few moments longer. Her slow, agonized breaths began to quicken, as did the beating of her heart. The thick, heavy silence that hung in the stale air told her that Radahn wanted an answer, and it wasn’t for several long moments that she dropped her gaze and gave one.

“I-I…” she mumbled. Gritting her teeth, she shook her head. “No. It wasn’t.”

It took all the effort in her tired body to bring her blind gaze back up to meet Radahn’s.

“Brother,” she stammered. “I-I… I am sorry.”

Radahn snorted. “Sorry,” he echoed. His voice dripped with mockery. “As if that will erase the centuries of rot that have ravaged me and my army! Are you oblivious to what you have done?”

“No!” Malenia protested. “Radahn, I—”

“Have the scars over your eyes blinded you to even the suffering your infernal touch carries?” the Starscourge roared. His enraged voice was just short of deafening.

The steed staggered closer. Suddenly, Malenia felt a massive hand wrap around her midsection, and she was lifted into the air. Radahn squeezed the breath from her lungs, leaving her wheezing as he brought her up to eye level.

“Then allow me to show you what you have wrought,” he snarled. Malenia’s blood went cold.

His other hand placed itself upon her temple. His crooked, cracked fingernails dug deep into her skin. His fingers clenched, tightening around her sweaty temple.

Then, in one savage pull, Radahn ripped the scarred flesh from her eyes.

The fire that swept through Malenia was unlike anything she’d ever felt in her life. Even the aches and pains of the evil, hellish rot, when it roiled and raged at its absolute worst, paled in comparison to the sheer mortal agony that filled every end of Malenia’s brutalized face. For a brief moment, her lungs finally took in a gulp of air in spite of the massive hand squeezing on her ribcage—but it was only so a feral, horrified scream could tear through her dry throat. Blood poured from the ravaged flesh, streaming down the skin that remained on her face, dripping into her mouth, coating her tongue with the metallic tang.

Sunlight poured into her unblinking eyes for the first time in lifetimes. It was blinding. All she could see was a blurry, dizzying screen of reddish white—though whether the red was due to the scarlet rot that surrounded her, or the blood trickling into her eyes, was impossible to tell. But the torturous pain that seared through her torn face was so total in its invasion of her senses that, for a few moments, she didn’t even notice that she could see the sun at all.

It wasn’t until Radahn roughly shook her that her wailing stuttered and died into hard, wheezing gasps, occasionally punctuated by plaintive whimpers—whimpers that were drowned out by Radahn’s fury.

“Look at me, Malenia!” he howled. “Look at what you have done!”

And in spite of so many horrible sensations screaming at her at once, she obeyed. Slowly, the blurred shapes of everything around her condensed. Her eyes adjusted to the awful brightness of the sun, enough for her to stare with wild eyes straight ahead.

What she saw made her stomach turn.

It was him. Radahn. He glared at her with a rage so intense it seemed to set his very eyes aflame. The cracked, necrotic skin of his face, ringed by his dirty and lusterless helm, was pulled back in a snarl that exposed his blackened gums and dull teeth. On the edges of his countenance, shrouded by his heavy helmet, blood and pus oozed from unseen wounds. He looked the part of a reanimated corpse, a scarlet zombie. A putrid shadow of his former glory.

“Behold the beauty of your rot!” Radahn proclaimed. His rancid breath washed over Malenia’s face, further inflaming the agonized flesh. “Behold, the path you have left in your undefeated wake!”

Another wail left Malenia’s throat. This one rasped through her beaten body, weak and spiritless compared to her earlier screeching. “I’m sorry!” she pleaded, inadvertently spewing globs of blood from her mouth. “Please, Radahn! I-I never wanted this!”

“You never wanted this?” Radahn repeated, incredulously. “Then why, Malenia? Why come here? Why lay waste to my good men? Why consign the whole of this once-proud land to ruin? Why desecrate me so? Why? Tell me, dammit! Tell me!”

Radahn fell silent as Malenia went limp in his grasp. What remained of her eyelids squeezed shut, trying to block out his scornful glare. She dropped her gaze to the earth, nothing but trembling breaths and weak whimpers issuing from her mouth. After several long moments, Malenia opened her eyes and returned her bloodied face to Radahn’s—and in that time, his expression had changed. His shoulders sagged as he stared at her, and the righteous vindictiveness faded from his features. All at once, his once-flaming eyes were filled with sadness as he gazed upon his half-sister.

“Why?” he repeated, in a much softer voice. The hurt that filled his rot-torn throat had Malenia shying away more than any of his vindictive roaring. “Why would you do this?”

A surge welled up in Malenia and burst from her as a climacteric outcry.

“It was Ranni!” she keened. “Ranni set me unto this! The war was of her device!”

She doubled over, leaning her arm against Radahn’s oversized hand. The towering Starscourge gazed at her for what felt like eons—and then, his expression hardened.

“Hmph,” he grunted. His hand opened, and Malenia gasped as she fell to the floor with a painful thud. Immediately, she reached her one hand up to graze against her ravaged face, but the touch of her sandy fingers to the exposed muscle only intensified the horrible pain, and she retracted her trembling hand at once.

“Whatever it was she enticed you with,” Radahn rumbled bitterly, “I hope this accursed battle brought it to you.”

Malenia dimly registered the sound of his steed carrying him away atop its withered shoulders.

“There is nothing left for me here,” he went on. “Caelid lies in ruins. If you desired my realm, then you shall have it. For the only one fit to rule this wasteland is you—you, the Scarlet Queen.”

Malenia’s heart leapt into her throat.

“W-Wh… What did you call me?” she whispered.

There was no response. Malenia looked up, trying vainly to blink the blood out of her eyes, but Radahn was nowhere to be found. He was… gone. He had simply vanished.

“Radahn!” Malenia rasped. She extended her arm into the sand, trying to prop herself up, but crumpled back down in a heap of pain.

“R-Radahn…!” she whimpered to herself, as scarlet tendrils swept into her eyes, covering up her view of the outside world once more. “Radahn, I… I-I…”

A broken sob left her lips. “I am Malenia,” she mewled. “Blade of Miquella. I am M-M-Malenia. Blade of Miquella. I am… I…”

She curled her knees closer to her chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Sorry? Sorry to whom?”

Malenia stirred. In spite of the pain, she rolled over to gaze in the direction of the voice.

“R-Radahn?” she breathed.

The voice answered, in a boisterous, unfamiliar timbre.

“Radahn? Oh, no, I’m afraid you missed the festival, my dear. My name is Alexander. And you are…?”

Chapter Text

After the mighty Radahn fell, Alexander had spent many a day picking apart the heaps of debris on the battlefield to find the mangled corpses that still riddled the place. Most of them were but bones at this point; however, some had their flesh ironically preserved over the many centuries as writhing masses by the scarlet rot, allowing Alexander to refill his hollow insides with the still-living essence of these once great warriors. Obviously Radahn’s freshly-dead body was the most intact and Alexander had, of course, stored some of the legendary Starscourge’s form underneath his lid; even now, the flesh seemed to burn within him, resisting the contagion of the rot-laden mounds that accompanied it within his clay bowels.

There were many a scrap of fallen champions upon these dunes. That much was to be expected. What Alexander didn’t expect, however, was stumbling upon the body of a scarred, one-armed, sweat-soaked woman—a woman who, in spite of her wretched appearance, was still very much alive.

He’d thought she was dead at first, but when she mumbled a hoarse, delirious, “I’m sorry.” to no one in particular, Alexander was taken greatly aback.

“Sorry?” he echoed. “Sorry to whom?”

The woman, who’d had her back turned to him, suddenly rolled over to face the sound of his voice. From behind, she looked elegant, with her flaming hair and silky golden dress, but when Alexander caught wind of the gruesome scarring that covered her eyes and the necrosis that riddled her one remaining arm, he recoiled a bit.

The woman’s gaze tilted in his direction; though she was clearly blind, Alexander suddenly felt pinned by her disgruntled stare.

“R…” she murmured. “Radahn?”

“Radahn?” Alexander chuffed. “Oh, no, I’m afraid you missed the festival, my dear.”

He folded his arms.

“My name is Alexander,” he proclaimed. “And you are…?”

The woman grimaced. “Alexander…?” she repeated, in a trailing voice. Before he could affirm, she gave a sudden start: Sitting up straighter, her one remaining hand darted up to her face and ran its fingers over her scarring in a trembling, twitching manner—as if she were astounded by its presence.

“Wh-Where is Radahn?” she asked when she eventually finished fumbling with her mask. “He was… just here.”

Just here…? No, that couldn’t have been possible. If Alexander had a face, it would have scrunched up in confusion right then and there.

“Good lady, I say again: I’m afraid you missed the festival,” he repeated. “Radahn has been dead for several days now.”

At that, he couldn’t stop himself from sighing dreamily. “It was a glorious battle,” he added, jolly voice abruptly subdued by reverence.

That seemed to grab the woman’s attention. Her lips thinned as she bared her teeth. “Several days?” she repeated in a disbelieving tone. Alexander harrumphed affirmatively.

“Yes, quite a few now,” he said. “This year’s Radahn Festival saw an end to his toils at last. Ah, even driven mad by rot as he was, he fought as a champion until the very end.”

The woman visibly winced as the word “rot” permeated the air between them. A grimace crossed her lips, and she dropped her head to her gold-laden feet.

“He survived the bloom?” she crackled.

“Eh? What bloom?” Alexander asked. The woman’s gaze lifted to fix him in a confused stare.

“The bloom,” she repeated, as if it were obvious. “The flowering of the scarlet rot.”

“Ah! You mean the great battle between General Radahn and Malenia the Severed! Yes, his ineffable warrior spirit did so savagely beat back the rot that ravaged him. Though it cost him his wits, he persisted for centuries, holding back the stars, awaiting an honorable death.”

A low moan escaped the woman’s chest. She shook her head softly, as her lips peeled back into a horridly pained look.

“Radahn…” she choked out. “Brother… Forgive me.”

Alexander gave a great start at that.

“Brother?!” he exclaimed. “You and Radahn were family? Surely not!”

Though the woman seemed wrapped up in whatever mental anguish the news of Radahn’s death brought her, she nodded to Alexander.

“We shared a father,” she murmured.

Shared a father… Alexander thought. Radagon? Does she mean to say she is a demig—wait.

Alexander gazed inquisitively upon the woman for but a moment longer before realization struck him like a bolt of draconic lightning.

The flaming red hair. The golden attire. The clear symptoms of rot. The missing arm.

The signs were painfully obvious. But there was no way!

“Wait,” he snapped. “Wait! Wait just a bloody moment! You mean to tell me—”

His words faltered, and he lay in stunned silence for several heartbeats, during which the woman gazed at him expectantly. Eventually, he let out a slow exhale from his canopic body.

“Are you… Malenia?” he finally gasped. “The Malenia?”

The woman gazed at him for a moment. Gingerly, groaning in pain as she did so, she hoisted herself off of her side and placed one foot beneath her, forcing herself onto a knee upon which she promptly leaned. Alexander awaited her answer with bated breath.

Slowly, she nodded.

“Yes.” was all she said.

“WH—” The force with which Alexander’s disbelief was shattered had him stumbling backwards. A gravelly hand placed itself upon his chest as the piece of Radahn within him burned brightly with recognition while some other pieces of the warriors inside him trembled with tangible rage; others still grew stony.

“Y-You– what… by the gods above! It really is you, isn’t it? Malenia the Severed, in the flesh…”

It only took a matter of moments for Alexander’s hornswoggled stammering to melt away in awe.

“O, Malenia, golden valkyrie, ‘tis of utmost honor to meet you!” he marveled. He bowed as much as his stubby legs and rotund form would allow, though to one of human build such as Malenia—THE Malenia—it must have looked as if he were about to topple over.

“Utmost honor indeed,” he rumbled, voice subdued.

As he stood up from his bow, he snuck a glance towards the kneeling demigoddess. She stared at him blanky, almost uncomprehendingly—granted, it was a bit hard to read her expression given the calcified mask that covered half her face, but nevertheless, Alexander found himself shifting awkwardly and waiting for her gaze to drop to the floor before continuing.

“I’d first heard word of the war between you and General Radahn when I was but an untempered pot,” Alexander went on. “I was made to be a warrior, you see, but as a young lad the prospect frightened me to no end! When I was struck by the awe of your tale, however, ah—I knew my destiny to be true right then and there! Great Malenia, your battle was magnificent! An inspiration!”

Malenia’s face had slowly lifted back up to him as he spoke, and when he finished, she simply held that stare for a moment that to Alexander felt like minutes.

Then, she scoffed and shook her head, letting it fall back to the ground.

“There was nothing ‘magnificent’ about that battle,” she muttered.

“Eh?” Alexander exclaimed. Taken aback, he took a slight step away from the valkyrie, silent as she continued.

“It was nothing more than a foolish display of self-righteousness,” the demigoddess spat. “Our fight… was one of the worst things to happen to the Lands Between.”

“What?!” Alexander couldn’t stop himself from belting out the word from his ceramic belly. “But noble Empyrean, how can you say such a thing? I’ve fought Radahn myself, and even with his wits long gone, he was a grand warrior through and through! For you to have fought him to a standstill, in his prime—surely such a spectacle must have been a thing of beauty!”

Malenia’s stare met him once more. Her bared teeth and wrought jaw was enough to send his insides squirming. Sitting up just a tad, she waved her one hand agitatedly at the landscape that surrounded them.

“Look around you!” she snapped. “This wasteland—is it beautiful to you?”

“W-Well, yes, Caelid is certainly the worse for wear,” Alexander admitted. “But the clash itself must have been incredible! Two brave, dignified warriors, fighting for–“

“Dignified?” More so than being interrupted, Alexander was stung by her caustic tone. “Dignified! Don’t make me laugh. Caelid became what you see before you now because I gave in to desperation. I surrendered my dignity on that day.”

Alexander fell silent. Inside of him, many of the warriors he’d collected writhed with anger as Malenia spoke. Clearly they had not forgotten their grudge against her. Others—the ones who had fought alongside her in that fateful battle—went utterly still.

“Thousands of good men met their end,” Malenia went on. Her voice, once weak, burned with the heat of anguish. “Radahn languished for lifetimes as a shadow of his former self. The whole of Caelid was reduced to nothing but rot! And for what? I returned to a broken home. I kept a ceaseless, pointless vigil from then ‘til now. I sat and waited while my brother–!”

Malenia suddenly stopped. She stared at Alexander with her jaw hung slightly agape, quiet pants issuing from her jaws. Bringing her teeth together, she shook her head.

“I’ve said too much,” she muttered. She pressed her arm down into her knee and climbed clumsily to her feet. Upon standing, however, she let out a huff of surprise as she began to totter backwards.

Instinctively, Alexander waddled over and reached his large, gravelly hands out, firmly placing them on either side of Malenia’s midriff and stabilizing her. When she seemed balanced and he realized he’d just put his hands on Malenia, he promptly retracted his arms and folded them back over his chest, stepping away from the towering demigoddess, who gave him an absentminded nod.

“Goddess Malenia,” Alexander said, his normally bombastic timbre absent. “I’ve taken such inspiration from your great duel with Radahn, all my life! ‘Tis my purpose to achieve such heights, myself! And you mean to tell me the glory of that spectacle was a sham?”

“Who decided that would be your destiny?”

“My makers, of course!”

“Your makers?”

“Yes, my ma…” It occurred to Alexander just then that the blind woman could only know him by voice. With that in mind, he clarified, “I am a jar, you see, created to be a vessel for the remains of great warriors. With the combined power of these brave souls interred within me, it is my destiny to best better and better foes ‘til we are all one great warrior, together!”

“And your makers decided that? Not you?”

“Ahh…” At that, Alexander did give pause. Shuffling on his feet, he conceded, “Well, no, I suppose it was not myself who set me down my path in life. But what does that matter? If I am a warrior made, then a warrior I shall be!”

“To what end?” Malenia asked. “When you have attained your highest goal, slain the finest of champions and taken them within yourself, become the greatest warrior you could possibly be—what then? What will you do with that power?”

“I–” Alexander started, but quickly trailed off when the question’s full weight really hit him. “Err…”

What an astute question. And one he’d never bothered to ask himself. For the whole of his journey, the farthest he’d ever seen was its end; not once did he think about life after. It had simply never crossed his mind, or even the minds of his entombed warriors.

Of course, he’d always had his doubts whether he would really live to face down the ultimate foe, especially after his craven display before the Starscourge; it had become increasingly apparent that he as a vessel was lacking. He’d never let such thoughts eat away at him, but the sentiment was there nevertheless. Perhaps with such an outlook, he didn’t really feel the need to think of the bigger picture.

But now that he was being asked what the bigger picture even was?

“Well, I… I don’t know,” he finally professed.

Though she had turned away from him at this point, his answer gave her pause for a moment before she turned around to face him once more.

“When you find the power you seek,” she said, “it is your choice what to make of it. Your responsibility. That is what that power grants you.”

She took a step towards him, much more determined than her prior teetering.

“And if you have the power to bring these great foes to their knees,” she went on, “then I implore you, Alexander—heed my words. Being a warrior is not only about how you fight. It is about who you fight, and why. To declare yourself a greater warrior, an opponent must fall. For every victory, there is a casualty. So please, before you undertake an oath of combat, think about who you must slay to uphold it.”

“... I see.” was all Alexander could think to say for a long, tense moment. Perturbed by the heavy silence that followed, he shook himself and added, “Thank you, noble swordmaiden, for your words of wisdom.”

He forced a little chuckle. “If I can’t be the ultimate warrior, then at least I shan't be a fool one!” he remarked with a rekindling of his joviality.

Looking around the battlefield, he noticed a sand-flecked, winged golden helm lying lopsidedly nearby. Waddling over to it, he picked it up, dusted it off, and held it out to Malenia.

“I believe this to be yours,” he offered. The demigoddess reached out, feeling blindly for Alexander’s hand for a moment, then took the piece and placed it upon her head. True to the jar’s intuition, it fit her perfectly.

“Thank you, Alexander,” she said softly.

“Of course, ma’am,” he replied graciously, then paused. “And, Malenia—if I may…?”

She returned his question with an expectant gaze.

“If it brings you any comfort… your brother died well,” Alexander said earnestly. “As I said, he fought like a legend ‘til the very end.”

Malenia gave a soft nod at that.

“Good,” she murmured. “Thank you for giving him the honorable death he deserved.”

“Oh, I must confess, ‘twasn’t I who brought him to the earth,” the jar proclaimed. “No, no, I was but a crock in that fight. The real hero was a nameless, faceless Tarnished. He fought with a thousand times anyone else’s speed and strength, I must say!”

Malenia stirred. “A Tarnished?” she repeated.

“Yes, indeed! One brandishing an absolutely massive sword! An ugly thing, I must say. Looked like a melting pot of smaller blades fused together! But ah, despite the awful look, he fought beautifully with it, and–”

“Malenia!”

Alexander perked up. That was a new voice. But it was a new voice he recognized!

“Ah, speak of an Omen, and he shall appear!” the jar quipped. Malenia spun around, and leaning around her he could see the unmistakable grafted blade greatsword slung over his acquaintance’s shoulder. His armor looked vastly different from when they’d last met during the festival, worn and thick dark leathers replaced by a pitch-black helm and heavy maille wrapped in grim red thorns, but there was no mistaking that sword, nor that voice.

“Ah, we meet again, old chum!” Alexander exclaimed exuberantly. “You’ll never guess who our friend here–”

“Malenia, are you alright?” the Tarnished huffed breathlessly, screeching to a halt right in front of her. Completely ignoring Alexander, the knight watched as the swordswoman grazed her hand over her chest, then looked up at him and nodded slowly.

“The needle has toiled and faulted for some time now,” she reported, “but it appears to have stabilized. My flesh burns hot, but it is fading. I am alright.”

“Good,” the Tarnished panted. He must have sprinted across all of Caelid to get here, for he was completely out of breath.

A bit odd if so, seeing as he had a horse.

“Forgive me, it slipped my mind that Mel… Melina cannot stray from her chosen one for too long. I panicked, I–”

“It is alright, Tarnished,” Malenia replied, cutting him off. Her tone had risen. “Just tell me: my brother—what becomes of him?”

“Miquella is safe,” the Tarnished replied, free hand on his knee as he hunched over and tried to catch his breath. “But we will need to bring him home.”

As Alexander watched, he—and even some of the warriors inside him—marvelled. His Tarnished chum was in cahoots with Malenia the Severed? This man was full of surprises, it seemed.

“Thank you, fair Tarnished,” Malenia breathed. She placed her hand upon his shoulder, hunching over and leaning some of her weight onto him as she tried to rebalance herself.

“Oh, thank you,” she whispered. Her voice shook a tad. “You… You saved Miquella. You saved my dear brother. I am, forever, in your debt.”

“You owe me nothing, Empyrean,” the Tarnished replied. Then, his head drifted over to the jar who watched in silence.

“We meet again, friend,” he remarked. Alexander nodded.

“To share words with the Malenia of legend, and then see you two conspire together… ah, what a day it has been, my good man!” Alexander let out a hearty guffaw. “What a day indeed.”

The Tarnished returned the nod, then looked back up at Malenia.

“Shall we go?” he asked. She nodded.

“We shall. But, Tarnished,” she added, catching his attention before he could turn away. She grimaced.

“My journey through Caelid while the needle raged has been… an ordeal,” she admitted. “I fear that, without my prosthetic and in the state I am, I will lack the strength needed to carry Miquella’s cocoon.”

Before Alexander could even think about offering his aid, the Tarnished was digging around in his seemingly unending pockets.

“Rest assured, I know someone more than willing to offer her aid,” he said to the goddess before brandishing a small, ash-colored bell. He held it aloft and gave it a sure ring; out of thin air, a spirit coalesced by his side. It took the form of a tall, gilded knight, long estoc in one hand and an imposing scythe in the other. For how austere the armor looked, the test of time had not been kind to it, nor did the obvious infection that riddled its wearer; the once-glimmering plating was dull and grimy and the elegant ruby feathers and felt that emblazoned her armor were obscured by an unsettling, almost chitinous layer of white.

Leaning on the handle of her scythe, the Clearont Knight fixed Malenia in her stare.

“It has been a long while, Milady,” she said in a soft, ethereal, and grave voice. Malenia stiffened.

“Wha…” she choked. From where he stood, Alexander saw her one hand clench into a fist, then unclench, then ball back up again.

Everyone was silent for a long, long moment. The only perceptible sound was that of Malenia’s breathing beginning to quicken, and then the shifting of sand as she took a small, barely noticeable step forward.

“F-F…” Malenia stammered. Slowly, her hand rose and reached out towards the knight.

“Finlay?” she finally said, in a whisper that trembled. The knight nodded.

“Yes, Milady,” she replied, in an equally subdued tone. “I am here.”

Malenia’s hand fell gently upon the knight’s chest. “Y-You…” she uttered. “You… live?”

“I’m afraid not,” replied Finlay somberly. “You speak to my spirit, given corporeal form.”

“O-Oh,” Malenia breathed. Her voice was tightening. “Oh, Finlay… Leftenant…”

Her hand traced its way up the spirit’s chestpiece with the most delicate of motions. Her fingers glided across the engravings that guarded Finlay’s collarbone, then curled against the nape of her neck, squeezing tenderly until they came to rest on the cheek of her helmet.

“Finlay…” Malenia echoed as she began to visibly quiver. “M-May I…”

“You may, Milady.”

Malenia’s thumb slid itself into one of the gaps in Finlay’s visor. Taking the knight’s helm in a firm grasp, she lifted it from her head, to reveal the marred visage underneath. Her twinkling eye spoke of a woman who once bore a tender, beautiful countenance, but that had long since been desecrated by the disease that covered most of her face. Rot crept up the right side of her jaw and spread to a hairless brow which sat above a scarlet-clouded eye. Her skin appeared flayed and charred by the stagnant decay, as if she had been set alight and left to burn. Her teeth were partially exposed along the corner of her mouth where her lips had melted away, forever contorting that side of her face into a zombie-like snarl. What beauty remained in the preserved half of her features was broken up by an ugly red boil of a scar that ran up her neck from under her armor and snaked all the way to her nose.

Malenia’s staggered breaths grew louder and heavier. Her trembling hand dropped Finlay’s helm, letting it fall into the sand with a thud where it promptly dissolved into ash and vanished. Her now-empty hand reached forwards and timidly alighted upon Finlay’s face.

If the spectre could feel any pain from a hand being laid upon her rotted flesh, she betrayed no signs of it. Malenia, on the other hand, betrayed her emotions with a whimpering “Oh…!” that died in her throat. Her fingers spread out to caress Finlay’s cheek, where it held still for a heavy moment.

“Oh, Finlay,” Malenia said again, her whimpery voice tight with anguish. “You were the youngest among the Cleanrots. Your body was yet uncorrupted by rot.”

Her hand pulled away. The bits of blood and rotted refuse that came with it dissipated into ashen vapor, just like her helmet.

“You chose to walk the path of a hero on that day,” Malenia continued. Her frail, tiny rasps were beginning to gain some color again, but the warbling in her every word grew alongside the strength of her voice. “You witnessed me as I succumbed to the curse. You watched as it spread through Caelid like wildfire and razed its people to the ground. You held me aloft as Emma atrophied right in front of you, all in a desperate bid to free me of the flower I had created.”

“Milady–”

Malenia was choking out her words now. “A-And in spite of the horrors I wrought before your very eyes, still you chose to carry me home. Through the whole of the Lands Between, you bore my unconscious body across leagues and armies. You brought me–”

She stopped to choke back a pained whine from issuing forth from her throat. “You brought me back to the Haligtree and wrested me from the clutches of scarlet rot that tried to pull me from your grasp. Y-You saved me, Finlay.”

Malenia’s high-pitched breathing was coming in labored, uneven eupnea now. She brought her hand to the socket on her shoulder and squeezed tightly, as if trying to steady herself on the unalloyed metal.

“And what was your reward?” she asked, her voice rising. “Rot! You decayed with the rest of Elphael! Your family, your comrades, your home—all of it consumed by the same malady that you fought through, for me! And now, even your spirit is putrefied! The rot has corrupted your very soul!”

She was shouting at this point, and her distress only grew by the word. Some of the mournful fury in her voice died, however, when her body doubled over in a broken sob.

“I’ve ruined you, Finlay!” Malenia keened. “I’ve ruined everything!”

She took in one more stertorous, wheezing gasp. And then, before his very eyes, Alexander witnessed something he would have thought totally impossible.

Malenia, Blade of Miquella, the golden valkyrie, Radahn’s only true equal… burst into tears.

The demigoddess threw herself against Finlay’s chest as she erupted into raucous, full-body sobs. Her one remaining arm lunged forth and slung itself over Finlay’s shoulder, squeezing the knight against herself as the despairing convulsions wracked her.

Finlay said nothing as she wrapped her arms gently around Malenia’s back and pulled her in, returning the Empyrean’s desolate embrace. Though she stood stoic and strong, her one unfettered eye glistened with an agony of its own.

“Everything I touch is defiled!” Malenia wailed. The words tore from her throat like bile. “My men, rotted! My family, rotted! My only home, rotted! What have I done, Finlay? Why must I spread this accursed plague everywhere I go?”

A wretched, abject cry left her lips. “Wh-Why couldn’t I have just said no?” she wept.

Finlay’s subdued “I’m sorry.” could barely be heard over Malenia’s lamenting. The demigoddess descended into wordless sobbing, leaving Alexander standing and watching, utterly dumbstruck.

His attention was broken, though, when a heavy THUNK! vibrated the earth from right beside him. So transfixed was the jar upon the scene before him that he didn’t notice when the Tarnished had plodded up to his old friend and allowed the gnarled tip of his colossal sword to plunge into the earth, placing two armored hands upon the ornate pommel.

Neither of them said a word to each other as Malenia unleashed centuries of regret and grief into Finlay’s chest, and eventually Alexander returned to gazing upon the display. However, his mind was beginning to wander beyond the mere spectacle of such a thing: Here was Malenia, one of the most fabled warriors in all the Lands Between, a pariah of raw fighting prowess, one of Alexander’s two greatest idols… reduced to a bawling heap of self-loathsome contrition.

The sight was, frankly, haunting.

“Brave Tarnished,” he rumbled somberly to his companion. The black-helmed knight turned to gaze in his direction.

“... Before you arrived, I exchanged words with the goddess Malenia,” he said softly. “She told me that to be a champion was not as simple as mere strength, and that the path which was paved for me was not the path I must follow.”

He gazed upon the sobbing woman for a moment longer before continuing.

“And if this is what it means, to be a champion…” he finished, then sighed. “I don’t know, my friend. Where ought I to go next?”

The Tarnished’s gaze drifted solemnly between Malenia and Alexander.

“‘Tis as she said to you, warrior jar,” he replied. “That is your choice to make, and no one else’s.”

“I suppose it is,” Alexander conceded.

The two did not say anything more as Malenia’s crumpled, convulsing form slowly but surely began to grow steady. Her hoarse keening descended into plaintive whimpers, and then eventually died into small mewls. Pulling her head away from Finlay’s chest at last, she straightened her back and gave the knight a wretched stare.

“Lady Malenia,” Finlay murmured. Her hands, fell upon her general’s shoulders and gave a firm squeeze.

“There is yet hope,” she spurred, voice burning with a hard conviction. “We can fix this. Your brother awaits us. Please, Milady, let us bring him home.”

Sniffling, the demigoddess nodded.

“I w-w-will not let him go again,” she declared, voice as firm as it could be when it still trembled so. Turning her head around, she dipped her head to the Tarnished.

“It seems around every corner, y-you bring me yet another blessing,” she said. It was somewhat unnerving to see a woman empty her heart so completely and turn right around with no tears spilling from her masked eyes. “To see my brave Leftenant again—I thought it impossible. Thank you, Tarnished, from the depths of my soul.”

The Tarnished bowed his head back. “With her help, we will brave the snowstorm that awaits us and return Miquella to his rest.”

“Yes,” Malenia whispered, as the Tarnished stepped away from Alexander and towards. Then, her sightless gaze drifted over to the jar in question.

“And where will you go, warrior?” she asked, prompting him to give a start.

“Well, I had originally planned to bake myself in the flames of the great mountain in the north, to temper my hide into something more durable,” he said, “but… now I’m not so sure.”

He chuckled, just a bit. “I suppose I have plenty of time to decide for myself, though, don’t I?”

“That you do,” the Tarnished said. “I hope to see you again soon, Alexander.”

“The feeling is mutual, my friend,” Alexander crowed, before giving a slight bow. “And it was an honor to meet you, noble Malenia.”

“The feeling is mutual… my friend,” she echoed. Alexander’s innards trembled.

Finlay gave a gentle, but firm, tug on Malenia’s shoulder. “Come, Milady,” she beckoned. “Let us set things right.”

The demigoddess nodded and turned to head along the length of the sandy plains that surrounded them. The Tarnished waved one last goodbye to Alexander before turning and following them, leaving the jar standing there atop the dunes.

Alexander finished his business and gathered his thoughts for a little while longer before making his own way out from the wailing dunes. He walked the whole way to the shore, across the inlet, and up the lift into Redmane Castle with his arms folded over his belly in thought.

When he stepped out into the main plaza of the building and found himself surrounded by an entire legion of Redmane soldiers, however, he found his arms opening up in surprise—especially when one of the footmen exclaimed, “It’s him!”

The jar found himself backpedaling as the men advanced upon him in a steady, uniform fashion. He backed up several paces only for his heel to knock into a hard stone stair; he fell backwards with a disgruntled “Augh!” and landed clumsily on his back. He pushed his hands into the staircase, sitting up hastily, but the Redmanes were already upon him. They closed in on the jar, bearing down unflinchingly until there was nothing but a small half-circle that separated the two parties, and then…

They stopped dead in their tracks.

A sound like a gargantuan drum rang out as all the spearmen jabbed the base of their weapon into the floor, raising their heads high and assuming a rigid, almost vigilant stance. The tall, shining knights that formed the front of the brigade did the same with their fang-shaped greatshields while they turned the pommels of their swords to the sky, holding them the same way the Tarnished had when he stood beside Alexander.

Then, one such knight stepped forward.

“Warrior jar,” he proclaimed, in a raspy, weathered voice. “We stand before you here today to commemorate your victory against Radahn.”

“Eh?” Alexander queried, hopping to his stubby feet.

“You are a champion of the Redmanes,” the knight declared. “And as such, we honor your strength.”

“Oh. Well, erm… I thank you sincerely for the cheers, my good sir, but I regret to say I am but a crock,” Alexander stammered. “I was not nearly the hero you think I was.”

“You went to battle against General Radahn,” the knight said. “When the fighting was over, he had fallen, and you stood tall. Such is a strength that the whole of the Redmanes could not hope to achieve.

“We declare you to be Festival Champion,” he went on. “And for earning that title, we have but one thing to ask of you.”

The knight took a few steps closer to Alexander. When he was within the reach of his sword, he knelt down, propping himself up on the imposing blade.

“Warrior jar,” he said in a low, grave voice. “Hundreds of years ago, our great general lost his wits to the scarlet rot. Since that horrid night, us Redmanes have slowly succumbed to the same fate.”

His gaze dropped. “We strive to maintain any modicum of order amidst these blighted hills,” he went on bitterly. “To preserve the strength of the Starscourge’s spirit and keep the rest of the Lands Between safe from our disease. But as the days stretch, and we continue to toil deathlessly, piece by piece we give in to hopelessness. Order has collapsed amongst the Redmanes and it must be restored.”

He lifted his head back up to look at Alexander. “Great warrior, we beseech you!” he declared, in a sudden booming voice. “As the only one standing among us now with the strength and wit to meet Radahn’s measure—we offer you the title of Lord of the Redmanes!”

Alexander had already borne witness to more than one preposterous spectacle today, but this one knocked him back all over again.

“What?!” he bellowed. “Me? Your Lord? Redmanes, while I may be humbled by your faith in me, I—I am no leader!”

There was no response, verbal nor gestural, from the legion of soldiers. The knight kneeling in front of him simply placed the flat of the sword in his shield hand, bowing his head and offering the sword up to Alexander, who noticed just how tight his grasp on the blade was.

He looked around flabbergasted at the dozens of men that surrounded him and saw that every last one of their heads had dipped in a gesture of supplication—of reverence. And such awe inspired a wave of it within himself, especially when the Redmanes within him vibrated with a warm, giddy sensation, a feeling he had never once felt so clearly from any warrior he’d ever interred: Hope. A real sense of hope at the prospect of their brethren being brought off their knees, of their land persisting in spite of the scarlet rot, of all Radahn’s suffering at Malenia’s hands not being in vain. The piece of the Starscourge himself burned brightest of all.

As he stared at the crowd of soldiers before him eagerly—desperately—awaiting his call, Malenia’s words echoed in his mind: When you find the power you seek, it is your choice what to make of it. Your responsibility. That is what that power grants you.

He had found power. Now it was his choice and his alone what he used that power for.

All his life, he’d been a follower. Walking along the path made for him—the path of champions. But perhaps in shaping his own destiny, in walking his own path, he could become a champion all the same.

These Redmanes certainly seemed to think so.

It was with such thoughts in mind that Alexander took the sword from the knight’s hands and laid it against either shoulder.

“But if you see me worthy of such a role, then I shan’t disappoint,” he declared. “Gentlemen!”

He let the silence hang for a good, long moment.

“Let us make this lion roar!”

The cheers that erupted were positively deafening.

Chapter Text

The journey back to Mohgwyn Palace was long. Along the way they passed through Stormveil Castle despite Malenia’s protests; she anticipated furious retribution from the grafted lord she had once humiliated long ago. Of course, she should have expected the Tarnished, seasoned as he was, to have dealt with Godrick with ease by now. She was perplexed when the castle’s troops granted them passage and downright shocked to discover that a young woman now sat upon the throne as ruler of Limgrave. Lady Nepheli, as the astute noble who bid them welcome called her, was delighted to see her old ally and utterly flabbergasted to lay eyes on Malenia.

They did not stay long, however. Kenneth, Nepheli, and Gostoc all bid them farewell, and onwards they went. Through Liurnia, the Erdtree plateau, and even the capital whose walls once refused all, until they arrived at the snowfield she called home. Through the waygate, and back up the palace mountainside, Malenia was finally able to fall to her knees before her brother’s cocoon.

It took everything in her power not to break down crying yet again as she caressed her brother’s hanging hand with her own. He was… malformed. All that cursed blood Mohg had used to feed him—it had changed him. Dry, almost scaly skin covered his oversized, gaunt hand, his fingers long and bony; the unmistakable body of an Omen. The Tarnished had faith that Miquella would heal, but such convictions only did so much to alleviate Malenia’s woes. Over and over again did she curse herself for allowing all of this to happen as she, Finlay, and the Tarnished all bore Miquella home—well, Finlay and the Tarnished did most of the heavy lifting; both of them insisted that the tired, battered Malenia instead carry only the shattered prosthesis and bloodstained katana that had been lost after the battle against Mohg. She reluctantly obeyed, but did not so much as a kitten’s stride away from them as they carried her brother back home.

As soon as they arrived at the Haligtree, his massive chrysalis dissolved into flecks of gold as his cultivation absorbed him back into itself. Returning to the roots of the tree, Malenia was utterly relieved to find him interred within the empty chamber she had watched over for so long. He was home. He really, truly was home.

His presence occupied no space in her mind like it did during the battle with Mohg. Malenia should have been terrified, but somehow she knew all would be well. He simply needed his rest. He was going to be alright.

Malenia held his oversized hand for a long, long while. Eventually, however, she knew it would be best to ease it back into his cocoon with the rest of his slumbering form and let him recover. Fixing him into his slumber, she laid her open palm upon the silky material and held it there, light as a feather, yet stiff as a board.

She knew not how long she held that position. Minutes? Hours? Mere moments? The world around her seemed to grow dull and muffled as she glued herself to her precious, precious brother. Her trance was ultimately broken, however, when the sharp, distinctive sound of shifting armor met her ears. She perked up and turned around to face the Tarnished, who had begun to walk towards the entrance of her chambers.

“Where are you going?” she asked. The Tarnished stopped.

“My work here is done for now,” he replied.

Such a response compelled Malenia to press, “You are leaving Elphael?”

“Yes. Elsewhere there is much that I must do.” There was a short pause, and then, “But I hope to return, with haste. Goodbye for now, Empyrean.”

He turned to leave. Malenia stepped away from Miquella’s cocoon, reaching her hand out towards the Tarnished.

“Wait!” she called, hurriedly. The Tarnished stopped.

“Not without thanks,” Malenia declared. “Give me your hand.”

There was a soft shuffling of maille as the knight did what he was told. Malenia felt for his hand for a moment and then, upon finding it, began to trace a symbol into the palm of his gauntlet with a finger.

“I owe you an eternity of gratitude for what you have done for us all… but my poor men would only see you as an intruder in their sorry state,” Malenia said, unable to bite back the rue in her voice. There was a small spark as an incantation began to take hold in the fabric of the Tarnished’s gauntlet.

“I am a proud swordswoman,” Malenia went on, “but my skills in incantations are pitiable. That was my brother’s gift, not mine. This was all he could teach to a bluntstone like myself.”

The symbol that her finger had traced into the Tarnished’s glove began to emanate a faint warmth that briefly swelled before fading as the incantation was finalized. Malenia pulled back, and the Tarnished’s hand fell to his side.

“That incantation is bound to your gauntlet,” Malenia explained. “Officially, it marks you as a Haligtree Knight. In fact, should you raise it aloft, my men will see you are marked as one of us. Should you return, it will spare you the pain of their opposition.”

She licked her lips.

“... and my men, the pain of your wrath,” she added under her breath. Shaking herself out, she added, “It will also serve to unlock the Rold Lift, should you lose your medallion.”

Though please do not, she thought to herself.

“Thank you,” the Tarnished replied. Then, “Malenia… what can be done for your dear soldiers?”

She grimaced. “As of right now, I am afraid I cannot say,” she admitted. “It pains me more than I can describe to see what I have done to them. But now, with the Haligtree at last on the mend, I am certain that my brother will have the answer when the time comes.”

“I suppose,” the Tarnished resigned. “I pray that time comes sooner rather than later.”

“As do I,” Malenia murmured.

The sound of a ringing bell caught Malenia’s ears. Suddenly, Finlay materialized before the two of them.

“I’d like to offer a parting gift of my own,” the Tarnished proclaimed. “My bell—take it. It will summon Finlay from her sanctified ashes. But be aware, it draws from the same inner focus that your brother’s incantation would.”

Malenia almost hesitated to reach for it. “You are… giving me your bell?” she echoed in disbelief.

“I have no use for it,” the Tarnished replied. “I see no honor in disturbing the slumber of the dead to demand their aid in battle and so would rather leave the ashes I scavenge in peace. In your name, however, Finlay agrees to pledge her service once more.”

Malenia’s jaw worked to close as she reached for the bell and wrapped her fingers around its box in a slightly tenuous grasp. Despite the Tarnished’s repetitive need to reawaken Finlay’s ashes with the crisp ring of that ancient bell, not once did Malenia reflect that without it, she would be powerless to do the same. She stared at the bell’s holster in her hand for a heavy moment before moving to lay it upon the right arm of her chair.

Without looking up from the gift, she breathed, “Thank you, Tarnished. My owing to you ever grows.”

“Empyrean, you owe me nothing–”

“So you say,” Malenia cut him off. “But the number of extraordinary deeds you have performed for me and the Haligtree in a mere handful of days is, put plainly, staggering.”

Backing up from the bell and turning to face him once more, she said, “It is my hope that, when things are right again, I may be able to repay you even one-tenth in kind. Until then, however, the least I can do is grant you a small boon.

“There is a wine cellar housed within the upper reaches of Elphael,” she went on, “nestled underneath the prayer room through which one enters the city. I doubt much has been preserved, but you are free to take your fill.”

“Oh, I thank you kindly, but I indulge not in drink,” the Tarnished declined.

“Might I recommend the root tea, then?” Finlay suddenly piped up, before Malenia could say anything. The Empyrean nodded in concurrence.

“Yes, there is a special tea kept alongside the wine, spiritless by make. Take as much as you like,” she said. The Tarnished hummed in thought.

“I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a swig of tea,” he reflected. “I may just take you up on that offer.”

There was a lengthy pause. Malenia’s gaze started to drift over her shoulder back towards her dear brother that once again slumbered where he belonged. Before she could return to her post, however, the Tarnished piped up once again.

“Would the Blade of Miquella care to join me?”

Malenia jerked straight upright at that. Quickly, she shook her head.

“I dare not leave my post, after all these wasteful years–” she began, but stopped at the sound of Finlay’s voice.

“Milady, please,” the Cleanrot Knight implored. “I would watch over His Majesty for a spell, if you would have me.”

“Wh–” Malenia shook her head. “Finlay, you have already done so much—the both of you have,” she deflected. “I am, of all of us, the least deserving of indulgence.”

“Oh, believe me, Milady, I would love nothing more than to enjoy a spot right this moment.” A slight, biting humor was tangible in Finlay’s reply. “But alas, this spirit form does have its… limitations, as it were.”

“I am not asking for a symposium,” the Tarnished said. “It is simply that… A leisurely sip of tea would do wonders for a man at war. But to partake in such a pleasantry in the company of another? I would be most grateful, Empyrean.”

Malenia bit her lower lip, glancing unsurely back towards her brother. As if reading her mind, Finlay said, solemnly, “I wouldn’t dare let anyone lay a finger on His Majesty, Milady.”

Her stomach twisted with uncertainty. On the one hand, to walk away from her vigil after finally setting things right, after hundreds upon hundreds of years, for a mere cup of tea, seemed nigh-sacrilegious. On the other, how much danger was Miquella in, really? Not only was Mohg dead by her hand, but on her journey home with the Tarnished, she had seen plain as day that Radahn, Godrick, and the King of Leyndell were all perished. No doubt, all of it was the doing of this extraordinary knight before her. She briefly wondered if Rykard were among the fell as well. Most likely.

So many lords and kings, all standing by nature in opposition to Miquella’s Haligtree, dead and gone. Threats no longer. Perhaps Miquella would be safe, if she walked away for just a spell. Besides, she admitted to herself, she was deathly curious of this Tarnished by now. Where had he come from? What motivated him to lend her his aid? How had he procured so many miracles, from Miquella’s needle to Finlay’s ashes, from thin air?

Just what was his aim?

It made her heart pound a bit, to nod. “Very well,” she relented. “Let us sup for a spell together, fair Tarnished.”

They ascended Elphael together. True to Malenia’s misgivings, much of the stored drink within the cellar had failed to keep, but there were a handful of kegs worth salvaging. The two of them sat down at the edge of the walkway, looking out over the vast sea, their tea held in round, smooth mugs without handles—more bowls than cups.

Malenia brought her drink to her lips and took a tentative sip. Any trace of warmth was totally absent, but after eons of tasting nothing but foul rot upon her tongue, the flavor was heavenly. She swirled the chilly liquid around her mouth and thoroughly rinsed her teeth and the inside of her cheeks before swallowing.

“Ahhh…” the demigoddess couldn’t help but let a satisfied exhale as the cool drink slipped down her throat. Beside her, the Tarnished set down his cup to remove his helmet, then retrieved it and took a sip of his own. A pleasant hum filled his chest.

“‘Tis ice cold,” he observed. “But it tastes of victory.”

“The wine is the celebratory drink,” Malenia commented.

“Is it now? The soldiers revelled in wine when tidings were golden?” the Tarnished mused. “Whence I hail, we swilled mere beer.”

“My men are no strangers to a chilled pint,” Malenia replied. “But such drinks were reserved for times of war rather than the aftermath.”

“Interesting. And how does a place as distant and isolated as Elphael procure such concoctions?”

“Elphael is entirely self-sustaining,” Malenia explained. “There are expansive farms on the north and northeastern ends of the city. A variety of crops are cultivated there. No livestock, however. Red meat is scarce here.”

“Truly? I was told as a child that red meat was integral to cultivating a warrior’s body.”

“The array of foods we have is vast, for our solitary nature,” Malenia said. “Wheat, potatoes, fruits, beans, fish—whatever is in meat, we have found it in our harvests.”

“Very interesting.” The Tarnished paused to savor another mouthful. “You called this ‘root tea.’ What roots are found in it and how are they brewed?”

Malenia shifted where she sat. “Before things… went awry, it was a regular task to temper the growth of the Haligtree,” she began. “It grows slow yet wild, nourished by the blood and soul of Miquella. The tree was prone to rampant overgrowth that could choke the streets of Elphael and make things… difficult.”

She pursed her lips. “No doubt, you have seen now that such a practice has been long forgotten,” she remarked bitterly. “But in days that are now old, we found that the leaves, roots, and other essences of the tree could be fermented and blended like any other spirit.”

“Spirit?” The Tarnished straightened. “You said this was tea, no?”

Malenia nodded.

“Indeed it is,” she assured him. “When the blending and aging is complete, it gives us a drink akin to beer. But dear Valle, a brilliant knight with the soul of a machinist, discovered that by bringing pressure to the liquid with a special device and setting it to boil, the intoxicating nature of the drink simply… vanished. Like magic. What was left was a bittersweet substance not unlike tea. From there, two blends are made. One is stored as it came from the despiriting process. The other, for those of us less partial to bitter drinks, is infused with Haligtree sap to add a potent saccharine flavor.”

She raised her cup. “We are drinking that of the sweetened variety,” she concluded.

“I assumed as such,” the Tarnished replied, then issued a short sigh. “Heavens. I had not paused to give thought to how this place came to be, nor how it stayed afloat… pun not intended. What little of this vast city-castle I explored—it seemed almost curated for my adventure, in hindsight.”

He let out a breath of awe. “It was so easy to forget there lay an entire people within these walls.”

There was a long, long moment of silence afterwards until the Tarnished shook himself out and asked, “The spirited kind of root tea—is it kept as well?”

“Yes,” Malenia affirmed. “The sap of the Haligtree does not keep its flavor when added to a spirit, but if it is infused into a batch of root tea, it can be refermented, respirited, and maintain the notes of sweetness. It is reminiscent of mead.”

The Tarnished chuckled. “Ah, mead…” he mused, wistfully. “That was our celebratory drink, in my homeland.”

The quiet that followed was long and thick. Malenia slowly turned her blind gaze back out over the sea, not wanting to stare down her acquaintance for too long. Returning to herself, she took another sip of her tea. The flavor was so heavenly that it almost brought a contented sigh from her. For the briefest of moments, she forgot her worries and woes, instead wrapped up in the relishment of a long-needed snack.

This felt… good. She really had no choice but to admit it to herself. In spite of all her misgivings, leaving her post to enjoy a simple spot of tea, and in the company of another, was something she had been right well to do. Compared to sitting on her unalloyed knickers day in and day out, waiting uselessly like a puppy at the dinner table, this was like a vacation from the world and she cherished it—that long-forgotten feeling of relaxation.

“Elphael is a surreal vista,” the Tarnished suddenly remarked. His baroque voice had fallen in pitch and volume. His chest rumbled with a solemnity that brought Malenia’s gaze back over to him. “A castle the size of a demesne wrapped around a landscape of a tree at the end of the world. Far away from anything and everything. It feels… like a gateway between this life and the next.”

He stopped to savor his tea again. When he finished, he said in a quiet voice, “This place was beautiful once. Even now, I can see it. A beautiful, unfathomable, magical place. A last bastion of hope for those spurned by the world outside.”

Another sip of tea. “It is my sincere wish that one day, it will return to its former glory,” he concluded with a sigh.

Malenia stared at him with a subdued expression. She wasn’t sure how to respond. The Tarnished had captured her exact feelings of this place, her home, more eloquently than she ever could. She cursed herself internally for allowing things to get to this point, for allowing herself to utterly desecrate the whole of the Haligtree and everyone within. No one in this rotted hovel of a castle deserved the wretched fate with which her vile affliction had smitten them. It was horrid. Absolutely horrid.

At least now, with Miquella deep in his slumber, things could one day be right again. Malenia only wished that day were today. That she could do something about it for once. But alas, what more could she do than sit and wait, like she had always done?

The Tarnished heaved a long, slow breath that trembled under the weight of his thoughts. “Oh… Ranni,” he whispered.

A crackling surge welled up in Malenia. She stiffened. Her grasp on her cup tightened.

“Do not speak that name in my presence,” she snapped tersely.

“Eh?” The Tarnished’s distant voice had returned with an air of… offense?

“The lies carried on the witch’s foul breath are ruinous,” Malenia growled. “More cankerous than even my own rot. That conniving lizard deserves not to have her name dignified.”

Squeezing her cup, Malenia brought it to her lips, trying to soothe her sudden bout of anger with more of the lovely taste.

The Tarnished placed his own mug down. The woodware clacked hard against the stony ground. He stood up.

“You will not speak of my beloved that way,” he declared in a voice as hard as his armor.

Malenia doubled over mid-sip. The utter incredulity that overcame her almost had her jaw gaping open and her mouthful of tea tumbling down her chin. Swallowing it just in time to respond, she gawked at the Tarnished.

“Your beloved?!” she half-gasped, half-squawked.

“Yes,” the Tarnished affirmed. “Ranni and I are wed in accordance with Carian royal custom. She is my queen, I her king—and I will not tolerate any ill talk of her.”

Malenia stared hornswoggled at him for a moment longer. This Tarnished was… was… to Ranni? How could he possibly–?

Her jaws sealed themselves shut from their agape gawk, and then her lips slowly turned up in a bitter, mirthless smirk.

“She bewitched you as well, then?” she muttered with a shake of her head. “Lured you with ideas of a new age, as she did me?”

“They were not lures,” the Tarnished insisted. His tone, though blunt, was running itself along the whetstone of anger. “They were promises. I was the one who helped her bring them to fruition.”

“So she contracted you to enact her dark deeds?” Malenia pressed.

“At first, yes, it was a mere pledge. But it became… something more.”

“So now, consorts in arms, you two seek to bring about the age of the stars,” Malenia observed wryly. “I take it, then, that she sent you here to win me over with your deeds? To forge a paltry alliance once more?”

“... What?” The utter bewilderment in the Tarnished’s voice was so abject that even Malenia felt it, in her own chest. “No. I came to Elphael of my own accord. Ranni never once so much as spoke of you.”

Behind her scarring, Malenia’s eyes narrowed.

“Then why?” she demanded. “Why come here at all if not to win back my affections on your so-called queen’s behalf after she left me to the wolves?”

The silence that hung in the air was broken only when the Tarnished slowly sat down and retrieved his tea. The sip he took was long and slow, and when the last of the dregs slid down his throat, he let out a heavy sigh.

“Tell me first,” he began. He spoke much less harshly now. “Before I share my story with you. Tell me, so I might understand your anger: What happened between you and my queen?”

Malenia’s lips pursed.

“You would not understand,” she said, slowly. “Devoted to her as you are. You could never understand my anger.”

“I can try.”

The Tarnished let his now-empty cup fall into his lap.

“Please, Empyrean,” he implored. “I have nothing to hide. I love Ranni, and I will see her on the Elden Throne. But I am not here on her behalf. I am here for you. For Elphael. I would not allow the dark moon to outshine my aspirations—such freedom of will is what my queen seeks for us all, as it were.”

Malenia sighed, unclenching the fist she hadn’t realized she’d balled up.

“... Very well,” she relented. “But you will do something, in return.”

“What would that be?”

“You will tell me why you came,” she began. “And… you will tell me what you see in her, that could possibly draw you to her.”

“I shall, shant I?” the Tarnished mused. “But could you understand our love?”

“I can try.” Malenia dryly flung the knight’s words back at him.

“Hmph. Very well, then. So whence formed this rift in the ground between you and her?”

Malenia folded her prosthetic legs, sitting a small ways away from the Tarnished. Picking up her cup of tea, her blind gaze drifted out over the vast ocean.

“It must have been millennia ago by now,” she began. “The Shattering was at its height. I received a summons from Ranni, calling me to meet with her at the Caria Manor, isolated from the war that tore apart the Lands Between…”

Chapter Text

“This way, Milady.”

Malenia breezed past the Cleanrot Knight, shoulders hunched. The soldier turned to fall in line behind her, prompting Malenia to glance over her shoulder.

“No, Emma. Stay here,” she ordered curtly. “Stand guard with Finlay and Orthis.”

The knight’s footsteps halted.

“You would attend the meeting alone?” she inquired. Her soldierly hardness did little to mask the worry in her voice. Malenia nodded.

“Retreat to the entrance of the manor,” she instructed. “Do not go further. Herd in anyone who dares venture into that blasted artillery.”

“But, Milady, what if this is all a setup?” Emma pressed.

“Ranni is the only Empyrean beyond Lord Miquella and I,” Malenia said. “If she harbors sinister will towards us, she will be far too powerful for anyone except myself to handle.”

“And what if you cannot? What if some scheme–”

Before Emma was even finished protesting, Malenia held up her one remaining hand, signaling the knight to stand at ease. Once she went quiet, Malenia brought the hand to her prosthesis and unlatched her katana. It slid like water from the grasp of her golden fingers; she caught it and held it out to Emma.

“Take this,” she ordered. Emma was quiet as she reached out and placed her hand on the flat of the blade.

“You are… giving me your sword?” she asked, quizzically.

“If I do not return, round up our men and retreat. Do not engage the enemy,” she added with heightened severity. “Return to Elphael and send for the equerries. Bring them my sword. They will understand, and they will know what to do.”

The same stunned, subdued silence from before returned. Emma’s movements to take Malenia’s weapon were so slow and ginger that the blind demigoddess could barely hear the shuffling of her armor.

“As you wish, Milady,” Emma breathed. She wrapped her hands delicately around the golden katana, careful not to nick herself on the impossibly sharp edge. Malenia’s grip on her armament eased, allowing Emma to withdraw with the sword in hand. Before she turned away, she said, “Go well, honored general. In the name of unalloyed gold.”

“In the name of unalloyed gold,” Malenia nodded back.

She waited until the knight’s footsteps had faded before turning and walking up the hill. In the distance, she heard the low, unmistakable rumbling of a dragon. Likely Adula, the knight Ranni had said was in charge of guarding the way to her keep. She followed the noise, ignoring the tension building in her stomach at the prospect of approaching the beast. Pursing her lips, she shook her head slightly and reinforced her stride. If she had to fight through the last few feet of the journey to get to Ranni, then so be it–

“Halt!” A gravelly, masculine voice caught her ear. She did as was directed, though not out of obedience. Fixing her blind gaze in the direction of the voice, she stood on high alert as heavy, armor-clad footsteps thudded and clanked towards her. They came to a sudden stop a few meters before her before the mysterious man spoke again.

“General Malenia, I take it?” he inquired. She nodded.

“I was summoned to this manor by Princess Ranni herself,” she declared, keeping her voice level.

“Rest assured, I’m aware. Come, I’ll take you straight to her. My Lady has been expecting you.”

Malenia said nothing as the man turned tail and strolled away. She followed suit, towards the rumbling breaths of Adula.

“The name’s Blaidd, by the by,” the man piped up. The name sparked a matchstick of familiarity in Malenia’s mind.

“Ranni’s shadow,” she observed.

“Yes,” Blaidd affirmed, mild surprise lightening his tone. “You know of me?”

“I learned of you long ago. Through Miquella.”

“Ah,” Blaidd mused. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Adula was right over them now. Malenia felt, more than heard, the dragon shift its glare down towards her. The throaty growl that followed made the earth beneath her feet vibrate.

“At ease, knight!” Blaidd barked. Then, “Pardon us, Adula has never been the trustful sort.”

Malenia did not reply. The two of them fell into a heavy silence as the half-wolven guard led her up the twisting tower of Ranni’s Rise. Up a flight of stairs, onto a magic-powered lift, and then another flight of stairs that sat open to the air, until they arrived in a small, roughly circular room.

“Lady Ranni?” Blaidd called softly. “She has arrived.”

There was a shuffling, followed by a soft, ethereal whoosh. From the other end of the room, Ranni’s voice sounded.

“General Malenia,” she observed. “I have been expecting you.” The aforementioned swordswoman’s fingers twitched as she fought to stand still.

“So I was told,” she replied curtly.

Ranni’s next comment was not directed towards her. “Blaidd, my dear, do give us some privacy,” she implored. “My next words are for Malenia’s ears alone.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Blaidd replied before promptly retreating back down the stairs. Malenia turned a quarter ways to follow him with her blind gaze until his footsteps were gone, and then righted herself to stare straight at Ranni.

“I hope your journey was safe,” Ranni remarked. Malenia held up a stiff hand.

“Dispense with the formalities, sister,” she bit, curt tone bordering on snappishness. “Wherefore summon’st thou me?”

Ranni was silent for a moment. Malenia could almost feel the witch tilting her head at her. Then, “Hm. Very well. Let us not dither, then. I have summoned thee here today to broker an alliance between my kingdom and thine—but chiefly, between thee and me. I will lay mine intentions bare: I seek thine aid.”

Malenia scoffed. “Mine aid?” she repeated. “Thou hast nerves of steel to beseech my good grace after what thou’st done.”

She took a step forward. Her golden foot brushed against an ornately-carved chair leg. Placing a hand on the back of the piece of furniture, she leaned upon it, closer to where Ranni sat.

“For centuries now, Miquella hath decreed thee a sworn enemy of Elphael,” she growled. “It is only by mine own patience that I even deign to grace thee my presence sans sword by my side and at your throat!”

“Calm thyself, sister!” Ranni demanded in that same dainty, detached tone. “I am not thine enemy. I never was.”

“Thou murderedst Godwyn!” Malenia bit back. “One of the noblest men in all the history of the Golden Order! Elphael’s greatest ally beyond our isolated branches! Our family hath not once ceased their mourning for his loss!”

“Who is thy family, sister? Miquella?”

“Trifle not with me, Ranni,” Malenia snapped. “Thou mayest possess no qualms with abandoning thy blood ties, but my father and I shared a bond that no duty could unravel.”

“Thou believ’st I felt not the loss of my father?” Judging by the way her voice crackled, Malenia’s words seemed to have gotten under Ranni’s skin. “He was the one who walked away from us, beguiled and stolen by the allure of Marika and the Golden Order.”

At that, Malenia let a single, mirthless laugh. It rang curtly off the stone walls.

“Beguiled?” she repeated. “Stolen? Thou knowest not the half of it.”

Ranni huffed. “Our minds wander, sister,” she rallied. “I assure thee, the murder of Godwyn was not an act against Elphael. It brought me no victory. He was never a target, but rather a tragic casualty.”

“Then why?” Malenia challenged. “Why slayest thou him?”

“I had no choice,” Ranni said. “When I perished my flesh to free myself from the throes of my Two Fingers, the Rune of Death required a soul to enact the deed. Godwyn was that soul.”

“But why him?” Malenia pressed. “Why not Godrick, or Rykard, or anyone else?”

“Circumstance.” was Ranni’s terse answer.

“So that’s it, then? That’s all Godwyn was? Circumstance? Lunulae in the story of thy rise to power?”

“This was never a rise to power,” Ranni countered. “This hath always been about upending the tyranny of the Golden Order. The very Order to whom thy Haligtree standeth in opposition.”

“And thou seekest to supplant that Order with one of thine own make,” Malenia accused.

“Yes,” Ranni concurred. “One that lieth so distant from its people that it cannot be seen, heard, nor felt—the Order existeth only to ward away the encroachment of foul-breathed Outer Gods that seek to occupy the recession the Golden Order leaveth behind.”

“Why help us, then?” Malenia drilled. “Miquella and I—we are Empyreans, just as thee. Untapped Order incarnate. I stand in opposition by nature to thy godless landscape.”

“When thy kingdom bid the hawkeyes of the Golden Order farewell, they chose you to lead in the Greater Will’s stead,” Ranni observed. “Such is the Order I envision. One where the people are free to choose what cometh next. No one else. In nature and spirit, thou standest against Order—and, I hope, with me.

“Please, Malenia. My half-sister,” Ranni went on. “Thou thinkest that chair lay before you haphazardly? Rest thy feet, and hark.”

Malenia’s fingers squeezed around the back of the chair. The hot silence that followed Ranni’s words was so thick, so total, that one could hear the wood beginning to creak and splinter under the Blade of Miquella’s vice grip.

A few moments later, that silence was shattered by the chair screeching protestfully along the stone floor as Malenia yanked it back towards herself. Circling around it, she sat heavily down, only briefly pausing to be sure her dress and the trailing maille underneath were not caught beneath her. Her hands folded themselves over her lap, legs bent at the knees as she sat straight up with her chin held high.

“‘Tis better than having come all this way for nothing, I suppose,” she remarked. The dry, chill room was nearly made dank by the sarcasm dripping from her voice. Her prosthetic hand came up and gestured with an open palm towards Ranni.

“Proceed,” she bit.

“Gramercy, sister. I will give this to thee abjectly: I am in need of thy bladed hand.”

“Thou wishest to make a sellsword of me,” Malenia wryły observed. “For what purpose?”

“My fate, and the fate of all the Lands Between, lie astride the stars. But with the stars halted, I cannot continue. Without the dark moon by my side, I am powerless.”

Before Ranni could even conclude, Malenia felt her stomach grow hard. Her jaw opened and hung there dumbly for a brief moment before she spoke, interrupting her sister.

“Thou say’st not what I think!” she exclaimed. Any pretense of contempt in her tone was flushed out and filled in with shock.

“I am afraid so, sister. I need thee to slay Radahn.”

Once again, Ranni was mid-sentence when Malenia stood straight up from her offered seat.

“No,” she declared in a voice as hard as a rock. Turning towards the exit, she went on, “I will not slay my brother in thy name, witch. Find another to carry out thine insidious bidding.”

She stormed towards the exit, placing a hand on the arching frame to feel her way out. Her stomach churned with horror and disgust. To think she’d wasted all the time and energy of hers and her men’s, trudged all the way out to this decrepit shell of a manor, simply to be faced with the offer of being made into a pawn in the games of a scheming little serpent like her so-called sister. Days of trekking, lavished as if the whole of the land weren’t totally war-torn. What a bootless errand. She would loiter here no longer.

“Shouldst thou reject mine offer, Radahn will remain thine enemy,” Ranni said. Malenia paused, if only to scoff at her sister.

“Radahn knoweth not of Elphael,” she rebuked.

“For now. But what if, sister? Radahn is a general of utmost power with an army eager to follow him to the ends of the earth and a lust for battle befitting Godfrey. Canst thou rest thy helm when such a contingency lieth just under the surface?”

“Thy fearmongering will not tempt me, Ranni,” Malenia muttered.

“Fear is what drove Miquella, was it not?”

There was a hearty whoosh of wind as Malenia spun around with the force of a hurricane.

“Act not as if thou couldst ever know my brother!” she barked. “Miquella would boast more wisdom and knowledge than thy feeble mind of venom could ever dream of! Driven by fear? Be not so quaint!”

“Miquella hath the knowledge to anticipate such threats,” Ranni pressed. “Why else would he demand a bastion such as Elphael, swept under the snowy rugs far to the north? Had he not been afeard of the wrath of the Golden Order—surely thou understand’st?”

Malenia remained silent. Her prosthesis clenched the blade of a sword that was not there. She was beginning to regret parting with it now, for ignoble reasons.

Taking her silence as an invitation to continue, Ranni pressed, “There is no shame in shadowing one’s face from the purview of the Golden Order. Wouldst thou truly think I would stoop to such hypocrisy as to scorn thee for thine elusivity? Marika’s peons are a frightful thing, Malenia. I know this, as does Miquella.”

“So, what, then?” Malenia growled. “Thou wouldst have me compromise us? March across the Lands Between and instigate the Golden Order’s ire?”

“The Golden Order is in shambles,” Ranni countered. “The Greater Will hath abandoned its kingdom. Should Radahn fall to thee, there will be no one else whose ire thou’lt have drawn. And when the stars resume their trek across the sky, and I stand tall atop the corpse of my Two Fingers, all eyes will be on me. Elphael will not once cross the minds of our enemies.”

“Even were I to believe this tall tale, why would I lend mine aid?” Malenia challenged. “What have I to gain?”

“There are resources at my disposal to which thou mayest take a liking. But yearnst thou not for freedom from the Golden Order?”

“Miquella hath found freedom—”

“That tree is no freedom.” Ranni caught Malenia before she could even begin. “It is a mere shelter. A hideaway for him to build his kingdom in solitude. The Haligtree is a bastion of asylum for those spurned by the Golden Order. Nothing more.”

Malenia’s prosthesis ran its thumbs along her fingers. She licked her lips. Her jaw grew hard.

“Miquella cultivateth that tree in the hopes of gleaning so much as a fighting chance against our common enemy,” Ranni continued. “But mayhap he need naught of such a long-winded scheme. Mayhap the Haligtree’s capacity for revolt is not needed. Mayhap… Miquella can return to us from his slumber.”

Malenia’s breath caught in her throat. She felt her heart rise in her chest. At once, images of Miquella flashed in her mind. His joyful, smiling face, looking up at her with all the love in the world. His pale hands gently grasping hers as he guided her through the slow loss of her vision. His captivating work as he forged and honed her sword from pure gold. Images aplenty, and sounds, too. His chipper voice cheering her on as he spectated her sessions with her blue-garbed mentor. His somber machinations as he laid bare his grandiose expectations of his beloved sister. His wizened, resolute, but pained farewell right before he drifted off into his slumber–the last she’d ever heard from him. Hundreds upon hundreds of years ago by now.

Miquella. Her dear brother. So close at hand, yet always so far away.

Malenia bit down hard on her lower lip as she worked up the nerve to breathe again. She let an exhale out through her teeth, one that issued softly and shakily from her lungs.

“H-How…” she murmured, trying to gather her thoughts. “How knowest thou of Miquella’s dream?”

“Hast thou forgotten?” Ranni asked. Such a question should have been mocking. It should have. Malenia would have expected nothing less from this snide bitch. But it was not. It was only… confused. “The times shared by the three of us, in our earliest days. When thy brother—our brother—learned of my mounting resentment towards the Golden Order, he agreed. Earnestly, yet conflictedly. His admiration of our father’s powerful incantations only carried so much weight when such healing could do nothing for his dear sister.”

Malenia did remember. She remembered being allowed to visit Caria Manor, accompanied by all manner of royal guards, from those strange golden knights to the hulking Tree Sentinels. Back in the days when Miquella’s childlike form was nothing out of the ordinary. She remembered the long, colorful talks her two siblings had, if only vaguely. She realized, with a slight flush, that she had blocked out nearly all of what was said during those discussions in favor of watching her brother like a hawk. Even long before she’d first held a blade, her instinct to protect her brother drove her near every move.

“Miquella and I conspired together long before the Shattering,” Ranni asserted. “Long before the Night of the Black Knives.” She gave pause for a long, tense moment, during which Malenia fought to control her breathing; when the Lunar Princess spoke again, her tone had shifted into something… wistful. “I had come to know him, in time. Though there lay rueful borders between us, I felt him closer family than even my father.”

“Thou wishest for his brotherhood as well?” Malenia murmured under her breath.

“I beg thy pardon?” Ranni inquired. Straightening up, the swordswoman hastily shook herself out.

“I knew of none of this!” she exclaimed. Her tone had risen slightly. “Miquella would never keep such secrets from me!”

“He feared your implication, should he be caught,” Ranni replied. “Even as a mere child, he was perceptive indeed. I believe the natural good in man to be fickle, but Miquella… he remaineth a stark exception.”

“My brother is…” Malenia began, but trailed off when she realized she was at a loss for words. What could she have even said there? My brother is the noblest of souls? The most powerful Empyrean of all? My closest, most dear ally?

“Have faith that I will bring the chill night to the whole of the Lands Between,” Ranni proclaimed, breaking Malenia out of her thoughts. “And it is my sincere hope that, underneath the gaze of the cold, unreachable stars, Miquella may slip free from the bonds of his slumber and rule unfettered over those who anointed his virtue.”

“And thou believest, by my sword, that such a rule would be ushered in?” Malenia asked.

“Precisely, sister.”

Malenia fell silent after that. Her mind raced with thoughts of Miquella. Of the life they once shared. Of how agonizingly distant it was.

Could he really come back to her, here and now? Was she a fool to even entertain such thoughts? Surely the foul witch before her was toying with her. But she spoke with such heartfelt melancholy of her memories with their shared brother. Could a cold, emotionless serpent fake such poignancy?

She missed Miquella. The thought gnawed at her even as she tried to raise her mental guards. She missed him so much. No one understood her like he did. No cheered her on like he did. No one so unwaveringly saw the good in her like he did. No one made her feel like something more than just a putrid vessel of decay like he did. New images flashed into her mind, not of memories, but of visions: Visions of Malenia returning to him as the stars hung over Elphael, rousing him from his slumber and informing him that his greatest enemy had been eradicated. The joy on his face when he realized the two of them could be together again. His words of pride that she had brought his and Ranni’s plans to fruition.

“Hast thou… hast thou no forces with which to contend the Redmanes?” Malenia mumbled, feeling for any possible clincher with which she could have cornered Ranni.

“My ‘forces’ are pitifully few,” Ranni replied. “On their own, they stand not a chance against the whole of Radahn’s army—but, you are free to employ them in such endeavors.”

Suddenly, Ranni snapped her fingers. Immediately, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Malenia’s ears pricked at the barest hint of a sound issuing forth from the walls around them. A sound that, she realized, comprised several brisk rhythms, operating in perfect unison. The sound of footsteps.

The mercenaries approached from all sides. Malenia counted four of them, but their noises were so soft, so barely perceptible, that such a read was more a hazarding guess than anything else. She needed not ask who these men were—or rather, these women.

“Black Knives,” she observed, halfway to herself.

“These formidable assassins have served me quite well,” Ranni remarked. “But, in the name of the Dark Moon, they would agree quite readily to turn themselves over to thee.”

Malenia did not reply. Her heart was pounding hard enough that for a brief moment she wondered if the others in the room could hear it bashing her ribcage. She glanced around the room at the assassins whose gazes she could sense piercing into her, even shackled as she was by her blindness. She licked her lips and, in sealing her mouth shut, realized how silent the room was without her jittery breathing.

A sound like air gliding over a river met her ears. One of the assassins stepped forward.

“We have heard many a tale of your warrior prowess, fair Valkyrie,” she said, her voice as ethereal as a spirit’s. “We have faith that, with the whole of the noble Cleanrots at your heels, ye would make a fine army—one which we would be honored to aid.”

There was a soft, delicate shuffling of cloth and scales.

“Shake my hand,” the assassin beseeched. “Mark this deal as struck, and we will pit every last shred of wit we have against Radahn. Together, we can meet his measure–”

Malenia’s prosthesis shot out like a hornet and snatched the assassin’s scaled glove in its grasp. The Numen issued a soft grunt as Malenia squeezed her hand in a vice grip and pulled her close. Her veil met the visor of Malenia’s helm; a cold air lighted upon the Empyrean’s exposed face. Her prosthesis trembled slightly as it clasped the assassin.

“Crosse the golden plateau, to a town in the far north,” she ordered tersely to the assassins. “Guarde it with your lives. Ye will be better as sentries than frontlinemen.”

Her grip on the assassin’s hand relented. When the mercenary pulled away, a palm-sized circle, like an oversized coin, came with it. A miniature medallion, to unlock the Rold Lift.

“Understood… General.” The assassin’s voice twinkled with some air of satisfaction.

The assassins flowed like water from the room in a matter of moments, leaving her alone with Ranni once more.

“Thou wilt not regret this.” was all Ranni said before Malenia began a slow backpedal. The swordswoman’s features hardened.

“See to it that I do not,” she growled. Then, she turned to follow the Black Knives.

Malenia’s fists were balled up as tight as wrought iron as she descended the steps to the entrance of Caria Manor. At once, Emma rushed up to meet her.

“Milady, you are safe!” she exclaimed, voice washed with relief. It was short-lived, however, for immediately after proclaiming such a thing, questions flew from her mouth.

“What happened up there?” she gabbled. “Wherefore did Ranni summon you? Why do those hooded women proclaim themselves our aides?”

Malenia thrust her prosthesis out to the side, palm upturned and fingers spread wide open. Emma fell silent and still for a moment, before shuffling to drop her Lady’s golden blade into her grasp. Malenia squeezed the hilt and deftly maneuvered it until it clicked back to place within her unalloyed arm.

“Send for the equerries,” she ordered Emma. “We go to war.”

Chapter Text

The Tarnished spoke not a word throughout Malenia’s recount. When she finished, the only thing which told her that he was still there was the feeling of his gaze boring into her. He spoke not a word, moved not a muscle. Dead silent—not even his breathing could reach her ears. The only sounds were the leaves falling from the Haligtree’s withered shell, the crashing of the ocean against the pillars of Elphael, and the subtle shake of Malenia’s own respiration.

She squeezed the long since emptied cup of tea so tight that her scarred, rotted fingers hurt. Her head tilted out over the horizon. She didn’t dare glance so much as sidelong at the Tarnished.

From an outsider’s view, the two looked to be statues, an imposing knight resolutely watching the one-armed Valkyrie who sat gazing out over the sea, as if waiting for a ship to appear on the skyline. Neither moved an inch for many long moments, which only served to make Malenia’s stomach turn over more and more while a whirlwind of emotions and memories tore through her mind.

Then, the winds were walled by the sound of the Tarnished’s voice.

“Would you like some more tea?” he asked.

Malenia’s gaze slowly shifted down to the empty mug in her hand. She licked her dry, seafoam-tinged lips.

“… Yes,” she murmured. “My thanks.”

The Tarnished stood up with a great clanking of plates and rattling of chains. Steel joints clicked as he delicately approached her, prompting her to offer him her cup without looking up. He took it and retreated to the cellar behind them; there was the sound of a pouring spout, and then he returned, bowl in hand. Malenia took it and sipped it with the same gingerness she had relinquished it while the Tarnished sat back down.

“So it was in Ranni’s name that you laid siege to Redmane Castle,” the Tarnished said. His tone sounded as if he was still analyzing what she had just told him. She gave the barest of nods in response while the Tarnished drank from his own container.

“What happened amidst you two following the war?”

“Nothing,” Malenia replied with a growl in her throat. “Absolutely nothing. Not a word from Ranni, not a single summon, not one lone emissary, in the centuries since. She abandoned Elphael to rot.”

“For how long did you slumber?” the Tarnished asked. The question brought a grimace to Malenia’s face.

“I… am unsure,” she answered after a pause. “Years? Decades?… Centuries? Time grew blurry as I held my vigil.”

She shook her head. “I dreamt for so long,” she breathed. “Longer, still, than I lay awake, rotted hand resting upon the boughs of his throne…”

She stopped, then straightened, twisting to glare at the Tarnished. “Why?” she demanded.

“How could Ranni have reached a woman dormant?”

Malenia’s upper lip twitched upwards, showing her teeth.

“I am not Elphael’s sole ambassador,” she said, tersely. “Miquella and I govern not alone. She could have sent for my royal guard, or–“

“If your royal guard were the same body that decreed the hostility of the soldiers I faced, I doubt my queen could have bent their ear.”

The Tarnished would’ve had no way to see Malenia roll her eyes. “With all due respect,” she retorted, “the disparity that separates you, a Tarnished, from the one who called herself my sister and ally is vast. You two would not have been regaled with nearly the same welcome.”

“My case is that Elphael is intensely isolated. Such is your brother’s design. When the slumber of Lord and General alike leaves the kingdom in disarray, how can Ranni breach the fog of war?”

Malenia did not reply. There was a shuffling of armor as the Tarnished leaned forwards. “It is a daunting task, to slay a god,” he went on. “Do you think that Ranni could simply spare the hand to reach the Haligtree amidst the hell of the Shattering—amidst everything?”

“Tell me, then,” Malenia snapped with a suddenness that made the Tarnished shift away. “What of that woman captivates you so? I shared with you my story, now you share yours.”

Silence. Silence save for the sounds of Elphael enwreathing them, stifling Malenia as the air between her and the Tarnished crackled hotly.

Then, he issued a low “hmph” and leaned back. He was yet silent for several beats before giving his measured response.

“I spent uncountably many days bereft of certainty or belief in anything resembling resolution,” he began. “I had given up long, long ago before I met her.”

Malenia narrowed her eyes.

“You talk as if wretchedly aged,” she observed. “What sort of life did you lead among the Tarnished of the Badlands?”

“None at all. I am… un-kin to other Tarnished,” he said, gingerly. “It was never my identity, merely the moniker I was inexplicably given.”

If there was anything Malenia had been expecting him to say, it most certainly wasn’t that. Her face tightened a bit and she tilted her head.

“You are not Tarnished?” she echoed. “Who are you, then?”

Another, even longer silence than before. This one was broken by a long, low sigh that tapered off with a slight tremble.

“It is… a story and a half,” the so-called Tarnished said. “All the time in the world could not grant me the furlough to tell it all. What you should know is I hail from inconceivably far away. My homeland is so distant, so beyond the purview of the Golden Order or any of these Outer Gods that all memory of it has dried up by the time it would reach your ears. No one knows of what I speak when I share my story. Even familiar faces from all the way home tell me that I imagined the times we shared. That I imagined all of it!”

The knight’s voice rose with that last sentence. Malenia heard his armor clink as his shoulders sagged. He took another deep breath and held it before continuing.

“I was branded a Tarnished by every last soul I encountered. Friend and foe alike. I grew so weary of the insistence that my home and the life I lived were all a dream, and before long I surrendered my pride and accepted this new moniker. If only to escape the scrutiny.”

He chuckled. “They and I are not so different, the Tarnished true,” he reflected. “Rejected by our people, branded as failures until we were desperately ordained saviors… long after anyone could be saved.”

Malenia didn’t realize that she had leaned just a bit closer when she asked, “What do you mean?”

Another bout of silence into long, shivering breath. When the knight spoke again, his voice was low and grave.

“I was summoned as a final bid to save the world from destruction,” he said. “A world that flickered only dimly. Horror lurked evermore around every bend. All hope was gone, supplanted with despair where there was no malice and malice where there was no despair. I answered the call to hold back the apocalypse, but it had begun long ago.”

Yet another long break. The knight’s voice came back, subdued into a near-murmur—but underneath that quiet, Malenia could hear a screeching whirlwind.

“I toiled through all of it. Everything that could have been hurled at me was hurled with impunity. I brandished my blade to face countless warriors, and monsters, and demons. Whole armies of them, one after the other. I was brought to my knees time and time again, but onward I pressed, until I prevailed. I endured the horror and the tragedy in the hope of becoming the remedy. I struck down lords and kings—all manner of champion stood in my way and I rose above every last one. I rose above it all, until I came face-to-face with God himself… He, too, was struck down. And in the wake of my ultimate victory, I had a choice to make. I could let things go back to the way they were and return the world to the start of an endless cycle—a cycle of decay without rebirth—or I could put an end to what was never meant to be.”

Malenia said nothing. She felt a sense of unease as the knight trailed off. To her, the right path seemed obvious. Break the cycle. End the suffering. Save the whole of the world from the looming end. But she was not so foolish. She knew things were never, ever so simple. And just listening to him talk—hearing the worsening tremor of his voice and the burgeoning swell in his chest that tightened his throat—she already knew that he had made the wrong choice.

“I-I…” the knight started back up, but his words caught in his lungs. He gave pause before continuing. “I thought I had won. I’d come so far. I slew God himself! Surely after stumbling so blindly down this awful road, after everything, there was something waiting for me! I had been called to save the world!”

He faltered, and his voice fell with him. “But no,” he growled, dark and bitter as brandy. “I was a fool. I had always been a fool. I fought so fiercely to break the cycle, but in the end I had only fed it. All my efforts, all the blood I had shed, would quench the flame of misery for but a heartbeat… It was only as everything faded that I was struck with this knowledge. And in those final moments of realization, I flew into a fit. I-I… damn it… I murdered her. My only companion, who had stayed unfalteringly by my side until the very end. I slew her like a man possessed, and on my knees in a pool of her blood, I screamed. I screamed and screamed until my throat tore wide open and what little strength I yet afforded left me. I collapsed into that pool and fell into a fitful slumber.”

“And when you awoke?” Malenia breathed.

“I found myself somewhere else. A steeple. A lonely thing, far from the mainland and gazing longingly upon the imposing flank of a great castle.”

“The Chapel of Anticipation.”

“Is that its name?”

“Indeed it is.”

“Hmph. Apt title. I ventured forth, until I came to a cliffside. Without warning, the ground collapsed underneath my feet. The moment I hit the water, I fell unconscious yet again, and awoke in a graveyard buried beneath the earth. I stumbled my way out and staggered to the surface, where I was faced with the brightest sunlight I had ever laid eyes upon—and the sky hung overcast!”

For the first time in his tale, the faintest trace of mirth lifted the knight’s voice. “As it were, the light came not from the sun, but from a single golden tree that towered high above all else. The very tree, I would come to learn, that had summoned me here. Instigated my second awakening… Brought me to my second world to save.”

With a sigh, the knight drew his tale to a close. Malenia leaned back, pulling herself away from the sound of his voice and lifting her head. Her jaw hung halfway open for all the time she stared at him before slowly turning to face out over the sea; it continued to hang as the sounds of Elphael washed back over her. Her lips only sealed after she paused to wet them.

Neither of them said anything for a silence that felt like hours. Malenia tried to will her jaw into working, but once she closed her mouth, it remained still as a rock. Her blind gaze dropped down to her feet, legs crossed over one another as she sat.

“Malenia?” the knight’s questioning summon had her jerking her head back up to face him. “Have you nothing to say?”

For a moment longer, she did not. She took a sip of the dregs of her tea, which she had drained over the course of his tale. Her gaze fell back away from him and returned to her feet.

“… When you first encroached upon my vigil, I warned you that I had never known defeat,” she said. Her words crawled out of her mouth in a slow, ginger fashion. “You proved me wrong. When you beckoned me to leave my post under the notion that my brother had been absconded from the Haligtree, I believed you a liar and a madman. You proved me wrong. When I first awoke from my slumber brought on by the war I waged and discovered Finlay’s liquefied corpse, I lamented that I would never be able to thank the heroine who bore me on her back across all the Lands Between. You proved me wrong.”

She shifted where she sat, straightening. “And when you revealed to me that you were wed to my half-sister Ranni, I felt it the most preposterous thing I had ever heard in all my life.”

She turned to face him. “And once again, you have proven me wrong.”

A single mirthless chuckle came from him.

“I feared that you’d not believe me,” he remarked dryly.

“But I do,” she declared. That left him quiet. She set her cup down and rested her hand on her golden leg.

“I have known you—truly known you, as a friend rather than an adversary—for two mere days, and in those two days you have become the first opponent in my thousands of years of life to well and truly best me in battle, granted me one of Miquella’s sacred needles, rescued him from Mohg’s clutches, saved the Haligtree, and brought Finlay back to us.”

She waved her hand in a grandiose arc. “These all entail not the usurpation of the Elden Throne, the felling of Radahn, or”–she couldn’t help but let a humorous scoff as she added–”the wooing of my ever-reclusive half-sister. Your tale paints you as a warrior of utmost myth. In the two sunrises we have shared, you have more than lived up to such bombastic grandeur.”

She let her hand come to rest on her leg again. “And so I believe your story. I believe in the existence of your homeland, and the death of its god by your hand.”

She pointed to herself and couldn’t stop a wry smirk upturning the corners of her lips as she remarked, “You already felled one rot goddess. What more is another?”

The knight was still quiet, but he was certainly not silent, nor was he still. Malenia could hear how labored his breathing had become; his voice shook so much that she knew that he, too, was trembling. She could even hear the softest little scrapes and shifts as he shuddered from inside his thorny armor.

“I-I-I…” he stuttered. His voice quivered like a leaf in the wind. A tremulous breath interrupted him as he attempted to steady himself. His lips clicked as he worked his jaw into shaky words.

“N-No one has ever placed their confidence in even the most meagre lyric of my story,” he declared. “Heavens, I… to sh-share it with someone else and have them earnestly believe me, I…”

He paused to collect himself. “Thank you, Malenia,” he murmured. “Truly, thank you.”

She nodded. “A small favor in return for your deeds,” she replied. A frown etched itself into her countenance.

“Tarni–” she began, but gave pause. In spite of his state, the knight issued a slight snicker.

“I accepted my new identity early into my journey across this new land,” he assured her. “If you find it more in clover to regard me as a Tarnished, I would not begrudge you. I have long since forgotten my true name, anyhow.”

“Very well. Tarnished, the tragic fate that befell you long ago—was it that which drew you to Ranni?”

“I toiled through the early legs of my second journey woeful in my conviction of my inevitable failure. It would take a fool not to see that this so-called Golden Order runs leagues deeper with tarnish than outcasts like myself. But how could I supplant its millenia-long reign? How could I break the cycle when I had so catastrophically fallen short back home?... When I met Ranni, everything changed.”

The Tarnished’s voice dropped to a rumble that Malenia could only describe as heartfelt.

“It was she who could break the cycle, and I who would be her mere instrument. If I could do right by Ranni, then I could do right by the whole of this broken world. It will be through her righteous mutiny that I will finally put a stop to this endless loop of undeath and ruin. It will be by her grace that I shall save the world. That was her gift to me. She… She blessed me with something I had lost long, long ago.”

“What would that be?”

“Hope.” The word left his lips as a raspy whisper. He shook himself out.

“I found it impossible not to fall for her,” he declared summarily. “She is the only, the only reason that my endeavors will end in anything more than utter failure. That I will be anything more than an utter failure.”

Malenia was subdued by his closing remarks. Hearing them, her mind filled up with images of Miquella and the things he said to her as they sat in their little flowerbed, holding her hands as if he were still but a child. How complete he made her feel, how whole, how… unbroken. Could the so-called Tarnished really look at Ranni the same way she looked at her dear brother?

She could not see it herself. But she understood that pain all too well. It was with sincerity that she echoed these thoughts to him.

“I cannot forgive Ranni for leaving us to rot,” she declared. “But I would be heartless and witless to begrudge you your love for her. You are a good man, Tarnished, and if Ranni can bring you peace, then I will not deny you that.”

“Thank you, Malenia.”

“Thank you, fair Tarnished.”

“... More tea?”

“No thank you. I would not be so overindulgent. You are more than free to take your fill, however.”

“Perhaps when reserves are less scarce,” the Tarnished remarked in a mixture of mirth and hope. Malenia nodded.

“Perhaps,” she agreed half-mindedly. Her lips thinned into a grim line.

“... Tarnished?” she piped up after a brief silence.

“Mm?”

“There is something else,” she said slowly. “If not in the name of your queen consort, then why would you aid Elphael as staunchly as you have?”

He did not reply right away. He shifted where he sat. He set his cup down. Then:

“There was a young girl,” he began. His voice had dropped to the same somber tone it held when he had recounted his past. “Her name was Millicent.”

Malenia blinked behind her mask. He had uttered that name once before, when he’d knelt over her dying form with her brother’s needle in hand. Who was Millicent? Why did she feel as if she knew that name?

“I found her huddled against the wall of an old church in central Caelid,” the Tarnished went on. “Every pore in her body was ravaged by rot. The whole of her right arm had been eaten away, and just gazing upon her it was clear that the rest of her was soon to follow. With the help of a glass-eyed sage, I scoured the remains of your war with Radahn for a needle of gold that, when buried in her flesh, would quell the rot that desecrated her body.”

“Miquella’s needle,” Malenia observed under her breath.

“I administered this miracle cure, and with but a brief rest, she sprung up with a renewed joy for life—and an onset of foggy memories. Together, we went on a journey to discover her lost past. I stayed with her every step of the way. I was the teacher who helped her grow from a frail young woman into a graceful swordstress. She dragged me by the hand all the way from the heart of Caelid to the peaks of the great northern mountains, in the hope of unravelling the mystery of her past—a past she owes to you.”

Malenia tilted her head. “What? How?”

“From the onset of her quest, she could recall, but dimly, your name. When that needle first pierced her flesh, she felt you beckoning her. But it was not until we at last breached Elphael that she knew why: She was of your blood.”

That made Malenia bolt upright. She shook her head fervidly at the Tarnished.

“Impossible! I have no offspring!” she declared. Her incredulous voice rang dimly off the towering spires above. “You have made many an outlandish claim in the time I’ve known you, Tarnished, and all of them have been true. But I know my lovers, of which there are none. How can Millicent possibly be my daughter?”

“Daughter is not the right word,” the Tarnished replied. His voice had not exactly been the most chipper before, but Malenia felt a twinge of unease as his narration took on a new note—a deeply sour note, an ill disharmony of anger and horror.

It gave gravel to his words as he continued. “Millicent was not birthed, but made. Borne of a twisted rite of rot. Gestated on an altar rather than in a mother’s womb. By that same wicked sage who repaired her needle! He created her, so that–“

He stopped to swallow a lump that was tightening his throat. When he spoke again, Malenia could feel the revulsion in him creeping up from the depths of her own gut.

“So that she may bloom as you did.”

Malenia’s gasp almost drowned out the Tarnished’s growl. The revelation struck her with such force that she found herself jerking backwards where she sat, as if she had been shoved. The feeling of sickness that had built up in her stomach sprang up into her chest and clogged her windpipe.

There were few things in this world that brought Malenia feelings of genuine terror. In the past few days, she had come face-to-face with many of them: Wandering through the mire of decay that had consumed Caelid, forced to bear witness to what she had wrought. Falling to her knees before a broken Elphael, her own men ravaged by the rot that had broken free from the prison that was her body. And most of all, failing in her sworn duty to protect her precious brother… and discovering the horrifying fate that had befallen him.

She had confronted many of the most dreadful things her mind could have possibly conjured in such a short span. Not once, however, had she imagined that someone on this earth would be sufficiently powerful—and insane—to… to recreate what festered inside her. To give new rise to the disaster she and Miquella had worked so hard to avoid.

The mere notion was horrifying. To have it be reality…

“A-And did she?” Malenia rasped, unable to keep the fear out of her voice. “Did she bloom?”

“No,” the Tarnished declared. From the wobble in that word, Malenia would have almost believed he was not happy to give her such news. “Wh-When she found out what festered inside her, she was repulsed beyond measure. She… decided that she would rather be consumed by the demon implanted in her soul rather than let it consume anything else.”

When the Tarnished had shared with Malenia the story of his origins, bitter despair rang through his words truer than the grandest of bells, laced with lattices of dry, shimmering regret. The sting of old wounds. Such was the mood of this new tale, but as the Tarnished neared the end, Malenia could pick up an all-new affection that thickened his voice: The tight, blubbery, painful sound of still-fresh grief.

“Wh-When I found her, she… she had already taken the needle out,” the Tarnished revealed. Hearing that, Malenia felt two conflicting emotions at once: On one hand, she felt her stomach begin to untwist as she came to know that this new vessel of rot had withered away. On the other, the blistering hurt in her ally’s voice as he relived what was clearly an agonizing memory was so fierce that it made her wince.

“I begged her to reconsider. I pleaded with her t-to hold on just a little longer until we could find a—a permanent cure.”

The Tarnished sniffed.

“She would have none of it,” he choked out. A stertorous gasp entered his lungs. “Sh-She would not so much as let me stay by her side while she faded away. She feared what the… what the rot within her would do to me. I-I…”

He did not finish his remark. His voice broke off into another sharp, pained gasp. In the quiet ocean air, the shuddering of his armor as he convulsed nearly masked the sound of a strained sob leaving his lips.

Malenia released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and leaned back as the Tarnished’s words sank in. She dimly recalled what he had first said to her when Miquella’s needle entered her flesh: The girl for which I intended this is no longer. She had known well in advance that this story was to end in tragedy, but even so—to see this wizened, god-slaying, near-indomitable warrior break so pitifully as he recited this sorrowful tale… it was harrowing.

And it made her all the guiltier for the sense of relief she felt knowing that Millicent was no longer around to infect the world.

“I’m sorry.” was all she could think to say to the Tarnished. He stifled his worsening sobs and shifted.

“Th-Thank you,” he stammered tearily. Then, “It w… It was her who brought me here. It was in her name that I chose to remain… I-It does bring me some slight respite, I confess. Sitting here with you now, knowing that this broken home is at last on the mend. It is what she would have desired.”

Malenia nodded solemnly. “Millicent’s fate was a cruel and bitter one,” she remarked. “But I am ever grateful that your journey together brought you to us.”

“One of the last things she ever said to me was, ‘There is something I must return to Malenia. The dignity, the sense of self, that allowed her to resist the call of the scarlet rot. The pride she abandoned, to meet Radahn’s measure.’ I… remain unsure of exactly what she meant. Perhaps a piece of you was interred within her. But if nothing else, that needle bears her legacy now. It was only right to fulfill her wish in some way.”

Malenia glanced down towards her chest and grazed the device with her fingers.

“It is but a temporary relief from the rot that roils through my veins,” she said. “For as long as it persists, however, I will wear it with honor.”

Both of them fell silent after that. Malenia’s blind gaze drifted back out over the sea, and she was certain the Tarnished had done the same. What a tale, she thought. To think that just a few days ago she had thought this man just another humdrum, if persistent, warrior. Now she knew the truth: She supped in the company of a true champion. A champion who, out of all the despair that wracked the Lands Between, had picked out Elphael and deemed it worth saving—so much so that he would rise to meet Malenia in battle to simply bend her ear. He came as if sent from some divine realm to pull her home back from the brink of extinction. To reunite her with her dear brother. To save their little world.

Given what he had just told her, she supposed he owed it to Millicent… and to himself.

She lost track of time sitting there. It could have been minutes or hours later when her reflection was interrupted by a loud clanking and shuddering of armor. With a hefty grunt, the Tarnished stood up.

“I am afraid I must be on my way,” he informed her, still struggling to compose himself. “Thank you for the tea and… the conversation.”

Malenia was surprised by the announcement at first, but remembered it was only by her intervention that he had not left ages ago. She nodded at him and stood up.

“I shall not forget all you have done for us, brave Tarnished,” she declared. Reaching out, she gently but firmly clasped his armored shoulder. “And I shall not forget your tale… nor Millicent’s.”

“A greater gift than you know,” he murmured, before pulling away. “My journey to place my Queen atop the throne will soon draw to a close… May it bring Elphael the peace that was promised.”

“The peace began with you,” she replied.

“Farewell, Malenia.”

“Farewell, champion… but, before you depart.”

The Tarnished was silent. Malenia took that as an invitation to continue.

“Brave knight, in honor of your memory… Elphael shall not know you as another common Tarnished. If there is any name, any at all, that you may bear, tell me, so that I may know the man who saved our Haligtree.”

He pondered for a long, long moment. A low hum of thought rumbled his chest.

“As I told you, I forgot my true name long ago. But if a name you want… call me Ash.”

Malenia nodded. A small smile came to her lips.

“A fitting title,” she observed. “Very well. Goodbye, Ash, and godspeed.”

“Goodbye, Malenia. May the Dark Moon shine ever gently upon you.”

Malenia waited until Ash’s footsteps had faded into nothing before she bent down to pick up her helm and place it back upon her head. Retrieving the cups the two of them had left, she brought them to the stores and placed them in a dark, cold, dry corner before making her descent back to the roots of the Haligtree. Finlay was waiting for her, watching vigilantly over Miquella.

“How did ye fare, Milady?” Finlay asked, then elaborated with a coy lilt, “Was the Tarnished good company?”

Malenia placed a heavy hand upon her aged seat and slumped into it before answering.

“There was… much more to Ash than met the eye,” she said. “His tale was unlike any I’ve come to know. It was grim, sordid, and bleak… but it has yet to end that way.”

“Huh,” Finlay pondered. “What did he tell y…”

Her voice suddenly and unexpectedly faded away. Grabbing the bell that rested on the arm of her chair, Malenia rang it three times.

“Thank you, Milady. Now, what exactly did he say of himself?”

Malenia chuckled a tad.

“Even the taste he offered me was quite the fable,” she quipped. “I doubt you would believe it.”

Chapter Text

The great dark moon hung low in the sky. Ash turned halfway to gaze upon it from his perch at the edge of this oversized fire pit, allowing the dim flame that crackled at the center to gently bake the metal of his helm’s nape. The bone-white disc glinted, almost glared, down at the spectacle that was about to take place. A grand light show was soon to begin; a storm of fire was brewing. Perhaps such a magnificent flare induced envy in the celestial beacon. Just before he turned his head away, Ash’s eyes caught the thin scar of Ranni’s great rune, etched faint as a spirit’s kiss into the pockmarked face of the moon.

Ranni… the thought pulled a weary sigh from him as his gaze drifted out to the field far below. A marred, half-naked, red-haired corpse lay sprawled out in the snow, so gargantuan in size it could be plainly seen in fine detail all the way from up where Ash stood, on the lip of the Forge of the Giants.

The Fire Giant had proven himself a cumbersome foe. Even with the last of his flame’s faded powers, the smoldering colossus proved himself unable to squash a bug such as Ash. He stumbled and rolled and flailed past the knight’s reach, meagre as it was against a being of such scale even with the aid of his colossal sword.

Ash’s gaze shifted to the armament in question. The dozens of rusted broadswords that assembled his weapon’s hulking blade were still slick with the Fire Giant’s blood, but the crimson liquid was rapidly fading as it bubbled and sizzled on the metal, alight with the residual power of the Fell Flame. The very flame that crackled at the bottom of the forge, peering up at Ash with the same ravenous greed with which fire always burned.

A greed that would soon be satisfied.

Ash’s hand moved to his left leg. Strapped to his thigh, nestled uncomfortably amidst the jutting iron bramble, a dagger rested. The plain wooden handle sharply contrasted the contorted blade—crooked, angry, and anything but modest. The jutting spine and coarse serrations along the underbelly only added to the gnarled appearance, like a fang ripped from its host’s maw. The steel was burnt and pockmarked, and the flat of the blade was unusually thick. A misshapen, yet strangely elegant thing.

Ash’s gloved fingers grazed the dimpled knife. The lining of his armor, soaked with melted snow, left streaks of cold water trailing along the blade. When his hand reached the handle, he gave it a ginger squeeze.

A low chuckle echoed stiffly through his armor.

“We’re so close, my friend,” he murmured.

Snowy cinders lined the rim of the forge along the whole of its great circumference. God knew for how long the ashen dust had settled here. Centuries? Millennia? It wasn’t certain. What was certain was that this lone knight was likely the first person to disturb this place in a long, long time.

So when the dust to the side of his resting place stirred to life and rose in a swirling spiral, as if caught in a vortex, he gave quite the start. But when a one-eyed woman cloaked in black materialized from thin air and knelt before him, he quickly lowered his guard.

He did not move as Melina settled beside him, did not turn to meet her piercing gaze. If anything, he seemed to shy away from her, shifting in his thorny armor.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. The silence was heavier than the furrow etched into Melina’s brow. When her warrior spoke, she pursed her lips in an effort to keep still.

“So this is it, then?” he said. His helmed gaze was trained firmly on the dim, yet roiling, flame of the Forge. He did not look away. “This is where it ends for you?”

She tilted her head as her lips barely parted in a bewildered grimace. She hesitated a moment before giving her answer.

“Do not grieve for me,” she urged. “All of this is as it was meant to be.”

Ash chuckled mirthlessly. Shaking his head, he let out a bitter breath.

“Just another soul to fuel the fire?” he said. His weary voice crackled like the flame waiting below. “Another companion fallen at my feet?”

“… I don’t understand,” Melina professed. “Why do you grieve for me?”

“Because I’m tired of everyone around me dying!” Ash retorted with a reproachfulness that made Melina pull back just a bit. “The whole world has ordained me the one to bring an end to the apocalypse! Twice over!”

His fist softly pounded the stone.

“Yet when I reach out to touch those in need, they all inevitably walk the same path—a path that you, too, have been set upon, it seems.”

For the first time since she’d knelt beside him, he turned his head to face her. She could see nothing underneath that dark steel visor of his. The cold, angry stare of the helm fixed her in a death glare, but the voice that emanated from it was rueful and resigned.

“‘Tis as if I am simply another of many plagues that infect this land,” he muttered. Melina shook her head.

“Death is indiscriminate,” she assured him. “You offered a last glimmer of respite to those who had already met their end.”

She leaned closer.

“We are here at this very moment to ensure such unfortunate souls will never meet those fates again,” she rallied. Slowly, tentatively, she reached forwards and placed a delicate hand on his arm. The iron thorns pricked at her, but she paid it no mind.

“This land is in dire need of repair,” she proclaimed. “You are that reparation. We are that reparation. But one more sacrifice must be made.”

Her hand squeezed, further digging the thorns into her skin.

“One,” she repeated, in a voice that was barely, almost imperceptibly, louder than before. “And then no more. This is the final step before you may take the Elden Throne. You must be ready.”

Ash’s helm fell towards his feet. Melina kept her one eye locked upon him, her hand tightening on his arm. She felt for her beaten Lord. Truly, she did. But this had to happen. The Erdtree needed to burn. And for such a great specimen to take alight, there had to be kindling.

A low chuckle caught Melina off guard. She blinked at Ash, whose shoulders stiffly twitched with his laughter.

“So willing to cast aside all that is holy, all for the sake of my triumph,” he muttered. “So much like her.”

Melina’s shoulders hunched. So many times he’d spoken only vaguely of her. She had no name, no face, that Melina knew, but Ash spoke of her so fondly. Who was she? Who–

“Alright,” Ash murmured, wrenching Melina out of her thoughts. “One more.”

His helm lifted to meet her gaze.

“One more, and then there will be hope,” he proclaimed. The slightest nod was sent Melina’s way.

“I’m ready,” he told her.

The kindling maiden almost smiled.

“Very well,” she said. “Let my hand rest upon you, for but a moment.”

Ash silently uncurled an arm and brought it forwards. His hand held itself before her, balled up in a loose fist. Melina reached out to touch his palm as his fingers began to uncurl, but in a motion that gave a slight gnarl to her expression, the knight paused, then retracted his hand.

“Melina,” he murmured. “Before we bid farewell—may I ask you something?”

She wanted to say no, at first. But that was merely her anticipation gnawing at her. Biting her tongue, she gave a small nod.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You have been with me every step of the way,” Ash remarked. “You have been the one to turn the runes I scavenge into strength. You bequeathed me Torrent’s ring, and the Rold Medallion that unlocked the route to this very precipice. All in the interest of restoring the Golden Order.”

Ash lowered he hand. “But… I will do no such thing. You—You know this, Melina. You know that Marika is not my queen. When I sit upon the Elden Throne, the very moon that shines down on us now will reign over this land. You watched as I placed the ring on Ranni’s finger. The writ has been sealed. The Golden Order is nearing its end.”

Melina stared intently at Ash as he paused. She already knew where this was going. Still, though, she let him finish.

“And yet, still you lend your hand? You bound more runes to my flesh. You continued to bolster my every foot forward. Blast, you came to Malenia in her time of need, for my sake. Malenia, the Haligtree’s own!... Even now, at the brink of ruin, you would so readily cast your body into the fire, and burn the Erdtree to the ground.”

The knight shook his head, befuddled. “Why?” he finally asked. “Why help me, still?”

Melina leaned back. Her hands came to rest on her folded knees.

“I was created with but one purpose,” she replied. “To burn away the impenetrable thorns. To grant entrance into the Erdtree. For one such as you. That purpose remains.”

“And what have you to gain, if not the restoration of the Golden Order?”

“My purpose was given to me by my mother,” Melina conceded, “but now I act of my own volition. I burn, in the name of the world I would have.”

“I see. And is that world the same that I envision?”

“… I don’t know,” Melina murmured.

Ash was quiet for many moments after. Melina sat and watched him with equal stoicism. It gave her heart unrest, she reflected, admitting the uncertainty of her vision aloud. But truly, the man who knelt before her now was her greatest hope in all the Lands Between.

“Malenia.” The name made Melina tilt her head. Ash’s gaze was aimed towards his chest, where a single hand rested.

“The needle sequestered in her flesh—the relief it brings her is impermanent,” he said. “I… I fear that after all my efforts, I may yet again fail alongside that needle.”

Malenia gazed upon him for but a moment longer before her gaze drifted to the glowing center of the forge.

“The needle is incomplete,” she observed. “Should it mature, it may have the strength to meet the measure of the Scarlet Rot. But that could take centuries, or millennia.”

The embers of the forge bubbled and burst like lava. It seemed to have gotten just a bit livelier in the presence of the two vagabonds.

“If you wish to make a cure of it, you would need to cheat time itself,” she concluded.

Ash sighed.

“Timebending…” he muttered. “Of course.”

He leaned back. “Well, for once in our life, let us be optimistic,” he exhaled. “Such a span is a time to which Malenia ought to be accustomed.”

He shifted, sitting up straighter.

“I have faith she and Miquella will devise a plan of sorts,” he said, then shook his head.

“I… have nothing left to say to you,” he announced. “And so I suppose it is time.”

Melina leaned towards him.

“Then you are prepared,” she said, “to commit a cardinal sin?”

Ash nodded. “I am prepared,” he affirmed. “Thank you, Melina, for guiding me here.”

“Thank you,” she replied. Solemnly, she reached her hand out once more. This time, the Tarnished did not hesitate. He extended his maille-covered arm, uncurled his hand, and laid the cold, wet fabric of his glove upon Melina’s fingers—and as soon as he did, an image exploded in her mind.

She had no idea how a scene so dark could be so disorienting. As her eyes adjusted, however, a form began to take shape behind them: In the moribund light, she saw a face. That of a woman, long blonde hair cinched to her head by an ornate metal blindfold affixed to her temples. Her pale skin was scuffed and caked with soot, and her slender jaw stretched hard and taught in a silent gasp. From her gaping mouth, a single trickle of fresh cherry blood spilled over the corner and trailed down her dirty, ashen cheek. The woman’s head lay in a pile of old ash, cold and devoid of cinder. Melina was kneeling over the woman’s silently-screaming face, hands splayed on either side of her—only, she realized, they were not her hands at all. They were large, and unilaterally armor-clad; one sported a sleek metal gauntlet, while the other was wrapped in simple strips of leather.

The unarmored hand, completely independent of Melina’s control, reached up to graze the woman‘s twisted face. Whoever knelt over her, whoever’s eyes through which Melina gazed, shook so violently that the scene itself seemed to vibrate in Melina’s field of view. The moment their trembling fingertips alighted upon the woman’s face, they lit up in a searing, yet pitiful, blaze. At once, hot pain was sent through Melina’s own hand, the very one that her Tarnished gently held.

Her eyes flew open. The real world rushed in to meet her. With a short, pained gasp, she fell away from Ash’s fingers. She landed on her backside, hands plunging into the cold hard stone of the lip of the forge to hold herself steady.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Her breaths came in small, ragged gasps. Eyes wide, the first thing she took note of was Ash. He’d stood up, hand held close to his bosom, clearly alarmed by Melina’s upset.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Melina stared blankly at him for a moment before awkwardly shuffling to a less undignified position.

“Wha…” she breathed. “What was that?”

Ash craned his neck towards her. “What was what?”

“I-I saw… I saw the face of a blind woman, enwreathed in darkness. Dirty. Dying. And… a hand, reaching to touch her face, only to be set ablaze.”

Ash leaned back. His arms folded tersely underneath his sternum. His masked gaze broke from Melina’s and drifted off to the side, tilting down towards the roiling flame below. His shoulders hunched and he fell back onto one knee.

He said nothing. Melina’s hand, still throbbing with pain, pulled away from her chest and reached towards him.

“Who was that?” she demanded, hoarsely. “What did I see?”

Ash did not reply at first. He kept his hidden eyes trained intently on the flame of the forge. When he finally answered, his voice was low and grave.

“You saw her,” he answered.

Without another word, he let his arm fall away from his chest and held it out to Melina once more. Her gaze flicked from him down to her own outreaching hand and then back again.

Her…

Had she infiltrated Ash’s memory by mistake? Was that his hand that had erupted into flame upon the woman’s skin? A million questions raced through Melina’s mind at the prospect. What happened to her? What about her set Ash ablaze? Where had he burned that could be so horribly dark?

Just who was this man? Who was she?

Melina closed her eyes. Her jaw, having dropped half-open in her shock, closed and hardened. Her teeth grit, and a tight inhale filtered through them. She held that breath for a good long moment, and let it out as slowly as she could.

Whatever vision had violated her eyes—it was in the distant past, now. It was a world that did not concern her. Harrowing though it may have been, she could not let it distract her from her duties in this vital moment. Stiffly, Melina brought her hand to Ash’s. This needed to happen. It–

Her hand rested upon Ash’s for just a split second. And in that blink of an eye, she was yanked punitively back to where she knelt over that same battered face. The light was even dimmer, now, all but extinguished; even so, she could see that the woman’s gasping features had fallen slack and her head slumped like deadweight to the side. Her blonde hair trailed slick and matted with blood. She was dead.

In her mind, Ash lifted his head to the sky—a sky that was as black as a void. Absent of any moon, not a single twinkling star in sight. Nothing but a choking, impenetrable darkness, one unlike any other. The only light that granted Melina eyes was Ash’s own hands, now both burning brightly as he raised them aloft… and unleashed a bloodcurdling scream. It vibrated Melina’s skull and sent her stomach churning from the sickening cacophony carried behind it. Layers upon layers of agony, tearing through her Tarnished’s vocal cords, left her own throat feeling dry and raw. Caught somewhere between an animalistic howl and a wailing, keening lamentation, it was one of the most painful sounds Melina had ever heard, echoing plaintively through the darkest night she’d ever seen.

Melina felt sick. She could not bear this atrocious vision. With a protestful growl, she flinched away from Ash once more. The fingers on her other limb grasped the incensed appendage and gingerly grazed over her smooth, undamaged palm, which she inspected with wide eyes. Despite the evident lack of any burns, her hand felt as if it, too, had been lit aflame.

When she dared to look up, however, she realized that she had, indeed, not been the one to have caught like kindling.

Ash knelt there, in the exact same pose he’d held when Melina had touched him. Now, however, the hand that had held hers was shrouded in a small, but growing, fire. As the flames began to lick along the sides of his gauntlet, the knight seemed to finally register its presence. Slowly, as if dazed, he brought his hand up to the visor of his helm.

A knowing, satisfied sigh left his chest.

“Ah…” he hummed. “Ignition at last.”

Wait. Ignition? Melina’s eyes trained themselves upon the flame creeping up Ash’s arm… and after a moment’s thought, flew open with horror.

No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t!

Melina scrambled to her feet. Her heart skipped a beat. Her lips suddenly felt dry. Her stomach did somersaults in her belly.

“Ash!” she cried. The knight looked at her and tilted his head.

“Y-You’ve…” Melina’s voice cracked. She grit her teeth and let a shrill whine.

“You’ve inherited the Frenzied Flame?” she whispered.

Ash chuckled. His gaze moved back to his burning hand. The flames were up to his elbow now, and the speed at which they moved along his arm was rapidly growing.

“Not at all, dear friend,” he said, in an eerily calm, confident tone that did not befit the troubled warrior. “Not at all.”

The fire was up to his shoulder now. Ash watched it spread quietly, head tilted as if curious of the raze that hungrily engulfed his arm. Melina took a step back. His denial almost didn’t register with her at first, and the horror that churned through her gut made her next words raspy.

“Th-Then… what manner of flame is this!?”

“Mine.”

A new ignition sprung up from his other hand as the first crept across his neck. His gaze pulled away from his burning body and rested upon Melina for a single heartbeat. His eyes had always been invisible from behind his shadowy faceplate, but in that moment, Melina saw two orange pinpricks of light shining from the depths of his visor. They smoldered like embers freshly bellowed. Their piercing light burned a hole in Melina’s soul.

And then, the moment passed. Ash stood up, lifting his gaze to the golden rays that shone down upon them. The Erdtree towered high overhead, even here at the throat of the world, and Ash rose to meet it. He seemed oblivious to the flames that were spreading all across his abdomen now, but when the dim glow from the center of the forge suddenly brightened, he reached for it with a single hand. Melina’s gaze snapped to the Fell Flame. The pitiful coals huddled at the bottom of the great chamber had shifted. The little sparks that sputtered from the forge’s dying heart had changed. Now, Melina could see true fringes of fire taking shape in the heart of the cauldron.

“Long have I journeyed.” Ash’s voice stole Melina’s attention. He stared down at the growing Flame of Ruin as the fire on his own body now fully engulfed every inch of him. The thorn-clad knight resembled a walking pyre now, a living effigy—and the brightness of the blaze only grew with the one in the forge below.

“This world beckoned me,” Ash went on. “An outsider. It called me forth, in the name of glory. But this wretched land is bereft of such splendor. Heroes are but fables, now. All that remaineth is a withered, fragmented people… and their desolate ruler.”

The fires of the forge were reaching higher. They swirled as they climbed, curling tighter and tighter around each other, until they formed a single thread of flame that drifted up towards Ash’s burning hands. The Tarnished held them together, cupping them as the Flame of Ruin nestled in his palms.

“A ruler that loveth not. A ruler that seeketh not Order, but control.”

The same thread that swirled in Ash’s hands rose again. It grew and grew as an incandescent needle, rising straight up to the sky, where the Erdtree’s canopy waited.

“A ruler that would see man toil, hapless and powerless, until the end of time… No more. I stand before thee today and I tell thee: No more!”

Ash’s voice rose with the blaze. Orange tongues crept up the sides of the colossal forge as, high above them, the Flame of Ruin touched the Erdtree’s leaves.

“Thou shalt bear witness to humanity’s will! By the power vested in me as this flame’s bastard Lord, thou shalt feel, at long last, the searing conflagration of revolution upon thy kingdom!”

Ash lifted his hands to the sky. The forge was roaring now; Melina could hardly hear his voice over the raging bonfire below.

“Erdtree! I command thee…”

Ash’s hands spread apart. He held his arms aloft, raised high to the sky, as the golden branches above began to take on an eerie orange hue.

“Burn.”

Ash exploded into flames. A sound like an entire forest catching fire scorched Melina’s ears. She cried out in pain and stumbled backwards, shielding her face from the blistering heat that surged outwards from the pyre of a knight before her. The distraught maiden squeezed her eyes shut and flinched away from the blaze, but behind her eyelids, a new spectacle awaited.

The face of that woman shone in her mind’s eye, clear as day. This time, however, there was no blood, no soot—nothing marred her fine, fair face as she stared with a firm, fixed expression straight at her.

Not at Ash. At her. At Melina.

Fire surrounded her features, the same fire that sprung from her skin when Ash laid his hands upon her dying body. With a single hand that burned the same way the Tarnished burned at this very moment, she reached out towards Melina. The inferno on her fingers licked at her skin. She rested her hand on Melina’s cheek.

And then, the heat faded.

Melina’s eyes inched open. In a moment that she hadn’t quite registered, the painful inferno that had set upon her skin ceased. Jolting upright, Melina unshielded her face and gazed frantically upon Ash.

Only, he was gone.

The fiery warrior had disappeared. Up and vanished. Around her, the only fires that continued to rage were those of the rolling, roiling forge at her feet… and the crackling leaves and branches far overhead. The Flame of Ruin had been unleashed. The Erdtree had been set ablaze.

Melina’s heart hammered in her chest. What was that? What infernal power had Ash drawn from his flesh?

It was not the Flame of Frenzy. In that, she felt sure. She had seen what that wretched corruption did to its Lords, and it certainly wasn’t… that. But what it could have possibly been, she hadn’t the foggiest idea.

From the corner of her eye, a flash stole Melina’s gaze. She snapped her head around to fix her stare upon the heart of the forge, where her eye had been caught by… something. Something small, and delicate, but which shone yet brighter than the embers that surrounded it.

A small, mistlike sprite seeped forth from the cracks between the coals of the forge, coalescing some feet above the burning pit. Melina stared at it with wide eyes as it rose from the great cauldron… and began to float towards her.

Instinct overtook her, and she held her hands out over the edge of the forge. The sprite fell into her cupped palms with a feathery lightness whereupon she pulled her arms away from the churning flames. Bringing the thing close to her chest, she stared transfixed at it. It thrummed with life in a way that to her felt not unlike the rune shards that she would use to grant her Tarnished warrior fabled strength.

As Melina took in the feeling of this sprite’s vitality, something stirred in her. A soft gasp issued from her lungs. The tiny thing she held in her palms right now… it was speaking to her, in a voice that did not use words.

Close your eyes.

Melina hesitated as the fragment of life within her grasp swirled and twinkled up at her. Gingerly, however, she obeyed, and behind her lids, that same blonde girl’s face sprang up in front of her. Her hand rested gently on Melina’s cheek as the last of the flames that lapped at her skin faded away. She stared blankly at the kindling maiden, expression unreadable behind that regal blindfold of hers.

Melina’s eyes flew open. Her breath hitched in her throat. She stared with mouth agape down at the sprite in her hands. All at once, in a flash of stunning revelation, she understood what she now held.

The one thing Ash had refused to burn.

Her.

Chapter Text

Farum Azula.

He wasn’t quite sure how the name came to him. It simply did. As he inversely scaled the disintegrating walls of the harrowing ruins, constantly teetering on the edge of plunging over a collapsed railing into the void of whorling storms that filled every gap between the crumbling ledges, his delicate footwork was addled mid-acrobatics by the red-hot pike of realization unceremoniously drilling the name into his mind. With his concentration interrupted, his foot went out from underneath him, nearly sending him careening over the edge; only by snatching the aging spear of an attacking undead beastman and pulling as hard as he could did he manage to right himself, swapping places with the skeleton and leaving him the last one standing atop the makeshift platform.

Farum Azula. What an exotic name, Ash thought, one certainly not native to the continent far to the west. Though such did not perplex him—he knew almost as soon as his eyes had finished taking this place in for the first time that he had found the city of dragons. Indeed, the only human-like inhabitants of this ancient place were the unholy pair of Godskin clerics that so staunchly blocked his way—if he and Bernahl’s paths had not crossed at the foot of the altar the Godskins had called home, they likely would have cost him more than his fair share of fiery deaths—and a lone knight of the Crucible who was brought to their knees when the gnarled dagger strapped to Ash’s hip effortlessly batted their sword to the side.

Weathering the impasse harrowed by fitful warbirds and barrages of lightning, Ash came upon a tower, perhaps the closest to an intact structure in the whole of this floating city. At the foot of the building, the entrance to a tomb awaited him. The Tarnished warrior had a feeling that whatever he was here for awaited him at the peak of the climb, but in spite of that, he felt a strange pull beckoning him to investigate what lay in the opposite direction—to face the ledge behind himself and venture down instead of up. He obeyed the impulse, descending a haphazard staircase of earthen platforms until he came to a halt atop the fractured wall of what he assumed to be a stadium. Standing in the center of one of several shallow hollows that lined the extravagant floor-wall, Ash folded his arms and took a good, long look at what raged before him.

There was nothing left on which to step forth. The fragment of a structure underneath his feet was the end of the line. Instead of more debris, Ash now gazed upon a gargantuan vortex of black wind. On his journey through this forgotten city, Ash had laid eyes upon such a tornado or two, but this particular beast was nothing short of massive. Even Miquella’s own Haligtree seemed diminutive by comparison; Ash briefly wondered how enough sunlight filtered through the swirling behemoth’s dark clouds to illuminate this far down.

Perhaps the great storm’s raging winds were the forces that lifted the ruins of Farum Azula off the ground to begin with. That seemed the closest to a reasonable explanation for the existence of this aimlessly floating city.

But even if it maintained Farum Azula’s frayed infrastructure, Ash doubted it would be wise to step off the ledge and dive headfirst into the tumultuous winds. So why, then, did he come all the way down here, with no apparent way back up? What exactly was here that beckoned him so?

From where he stood, he hadn’t the foggiest idea. The exasperated huff that left his lungs was drowned out entirely by the tornado before him.

Ash folded his arms over his chest. The nearest stronghold of grace from here was… a bit of a ways behind him, he reflected; namely, it lay just behind that vexing gauntlet of hawks and lightning. Just his luck: he’d have to endure that chore yet again. Ash heaved a disappointed sigh that made his shoulders sag—and when that simple act brought to his mind that his chest was puffing really quite heavily, he realized just how arduous constantly jumping from platform to platform while contending with otherworldly foes had been. He was tired. He needed a moment to catch his breath. Sparing a quick glance around him, he shook his head.

“Blast it,” he muttered, as he moved to seat himself within the stony pit in which he currently stood. “Might as well make the most of this nook.”

He reclined onto his back, staring up at what little of the sky filtered in through the dark winds of the tornado. Should he have returned back to his golden bonfire to rest? Perhaps, but grace or no grace, this decimated, windswept land was not exactly keen on sparing an intruder like him a cozy bedchamber or even a soft patch of earth upon which to lay. A vaguely concave divot in the floor next to a storm that drowned out all other sounds was the best he had if he didn’t want to outright leave this place and come back.

… Then again, what was stopping him from doing that?

Ash folded his hands over his chest. No need, he decided. It would only be for a few minutes; besides, a disagreeable bed was the least of the many trials he’d endured. He sank as snugly as he realistically could into the smooth stone beneath him, staring listlessly at the glint of sky that filtered through the darkness of the tornado. The vortex in question filled most of his vision, the winds spiraling in a way that was simultaneously uniform and totally chaotic.

Strange, he thought, as he found his eyes growing heavy in the brief respite, staring up at the ripping storm far above—for a brief moment right before he dozed off, he could’ve sworn he’d seen the wind’s rotation begin to slow down.

——————

He did not wake up in the same place he’d closed his eyes. At least, that was what he believed at first. A groggy stirring to life quickly became a scramble to his feet as he realized he no longer recognized where he was. What was once a small, fragmented island under the crown of a great whirlwind had become a vast colosseum, one whose floor alone dwarfed the arenas of the mainland—though, there was not much else to the stadium than said floor. There were no rafters, no ins or outs, and certainly no ceiling, the whole of the stage exposed to the tumultuous, yet eerily quiet, storm above. Lightning flashed far overhead, but there was little thunder, and the clouds themselves held unnaturally still.

It took Ash some time to take in his baffling new surroundings, enough so that he did not immediately register the being at the other end of the stadium. As his eyes moved from the floor and walls to the sky, he saw it: smack in the center of the arena, floating motionlessly above the walls, hung a giant dragon. Ash bolted down to snatch up the sword he’d left laying there, but as he hoisted it back up and returned his attention to the beast, it became quite clear that it did not know he was there.

It seemed to be slumbering. In midair, somehow. Granted, the dragon did not suspend itself with the deliberate beats of its own great wings, instead hanging motionlessly as if dangling from some invisible string. It looked, truthfully, quite silly. And yet, it instilled a kind of unease in Ash. For as absurd as it was to have a giant sleeping dragon just hovering there in defiance of gravity, it only added to the surreality of the place in which Ash now found himself. From the floating dragon to the silent lightning, to the smooth, dustless floors and walls in perfect condition, everything felt so… still. It was too clean. Too quiet.

Just where exactly was he?

Ash let his colossal sword fall, grasping the hilt and propping himself up with it. His gaze fell upon the weapon, whereupon he noticed something that had him giving a start. The light that struck the silhouette of it—the way it bent, it…

The elusive somberstones he would find buried between the rocks of caves and tunnels all went to improving his brutish yet extravagant greatsword, including the single colorless dragon scale he’d plucked from the frozen corpse of an ogre in nun’s garb. A stone, the Misbegotten smith of the Roundtable had told him, that could harness the power of the ancient dragons and warp time itself. And sure enough, when Hewg returned the armament to its owner, Ash saw at once the way light seemed to refract and distort on the very edges of the blade.

That had been proof enough for Ash. But now, as he gazed upon his trusty weapon, he could see that the otherworldly warping on the edges had intensified. Moreover, he realized, the way the light bent in the presence of his blade seemed to… connect with the world around it, joining seamlessly with the rays moving through the still air as if the rest of the environment were bending light in a synchronous way.

Bending light, or… bending time?

At once, Ash’s gaze snapped up to the sleeping dragon overhead. It occurred to him just then that the dragon scale used to grant his weapon its timebending properties did not just come from any old mine. No, according to Hewg, that stone was said to be a scale of the ancient Dragonlord, the Elden Lord before Marika.

The ancient dragons of Farum Azula were fearsome creatures that towered over their meagre mainland descendants, and the one that hung there now put even those majestic beasts to shame. Its two heads pointed towards the sky; from where he stood, Ash could just make out the golden glimmer of a third, stumpy neck. Clearly, the dragon was old and well past its prime, but in spite of that, its look boasted power and ferocity that laughed in the face of every other dragon Ash had laid eyes upon… most of them, anyways.

A dragon unlike any other, sequestered away in a private chamber that bent the world in the same way Ash’s sword did… Was it him? Was this the Dragonlord?

It seemed impossible. But so did many things Ash had seen in his life. If anything, such a preposterous fairytale served to explain exactly where he was: He’d stopped to rest within the Dragonlord’s chambers, but the dethroned king had barricaded the room with time itself. Wherever Ash was now, it was not within the same timeline as where he was before—if he was even in a timeline anymore. Was he outside it? Everything was so still. Motionless, as if frozen, absent of time’s guiding hand.

A chuckle made his chainmail shudder. Timebending. He was sure of it. That was what–

“Timebending… of course. Well, for once in our life, let us be optimistic.”

Ash’s snicker stopped. His mind flashed back to the lip of the Giants’ forge, where a conversation had taken place.

“The needle is incomplete. Should it mature, it may have the strength to meet the measure of the Scarlet Rot. But that could take centuries, or millennia.”

His bemused mirth faded. A thorn-wrapped hand placed itself delicately upon his helmed temple. Three fingers rubbed his head anxiously as he thought.

Miquella’s needle. The very one lodged within Malenia’s bosom right this moment—give or take an abstraction from time. One that was incomplete and imperfect. He had seen for himself the limits of the device’s capabilities when he’d pulled the Empyrean from the wailing dunes of Caelid. The needle was simply young; it needed time to grow. But that time was a span to which few would lay witness. To shorten that span, to turn the relief into a cure, one would need…

“... to cheat time itself.”

An absurd prospect. But now, here Ash was, in the company of the Dragonlord, in a storm beyond time. He stopped to peer up at the slumbering beast; he had not realized he’d begun to pace as his mind worked.

He had no idea where he was temporally. Was he in the present? The past? The future? Beyond the limits of all three? Time didn’t make sense here—if it was even here at all.

It was a far-fetched idea. But…

Something bubbled in Ash’s stomach. Not mead, nor food, but a sensation. A nervous one that tightened his innards and stressed his abdomen, but also one that filled his chest with a giddy flutter. A tension, but a good one. One he almost didn’t recognize: Excitement.

Perhaps this sequestered colosseum was his key to putting an end to Malenia’s rot for good. The proof was tenuous, but to achieve a victory so profound… he had to try.

The hand rubbing his temple moved to rest upon his chest. First, he needed to fetch her. He closed his eyes as the glimmer of grace inside him reached out to lost fragments across the Lands Between. One in particular, at the roots of the Haligtree, shined brighter than the rest behind his eyelids.

That one. It lay just beyond Malenia’s chambers. He’d fetch her, then bring her back here where the needle could–

The ground beneath him trembled. In a flash, the twinkles of lost grace vanished from his mind. Ash opened his eyes and darted them around the empty stadium as confusion bubbled in his chest—though with but a brief scan of the arena, that confusion quickly turned to dismay. The great beast that had hung there, curled up in a ball and suspended in the sky, was straightening and descending before the Tarnished’s eyes. Giant stone wings unfurled to reveal a body that mimicked the cracked and crumbling architecture of Farum Azula. Great swathes of rock broke and fell away all along the dragon’s body to reveal gold-colored flesh that, even in its marred state, shone with an almost translucent glossy sheen. The two serpentine heads, once pointed to the sky, came level as he floated down to the floor. With his wings out of the way, Ash could see that more than one severed stump of a neck snaked around the dragon’s torso, stiff and motionless as if they had fused to his body after his other heads had been lost.

The whoosh of air that had ripped Ash from his concentration was the gust of wind that the dragon’s wings had generated when they unfurled. Powerful though it may have been, once the Dragonlord touched down, the reverberating tremor it sent through the stadium was far greater—so great that Ash found himself holding an arm out to maintain his balance as the ground quaked beneath him. Once he’d righted himself, he looked back up at the dragon to see both remaining heads staring straight at him. Even from down here, Ash could see the righteous anger that flared in the dragon’s four golden eyes.

The Dragonlord had awoken. And it did not like what greeted him.

Placidusax glared down at Ash for only a moment longer before raising both heads to the sky and unleashing a twinned roar so loud it drowned out the Tarnished’s own thoughts. His helm filled with the noise and rattled painfully against his skull. His left hand shot up and grasped the headpiece to hold it steady while a grunt of discomfort, noiseless amidst the din of the dragon’s roar, issued from his chest. Fortunately, the roar only lasted so long, and it only took a few disorienting moments for things to die down and leave Ash standing there, ears ringing and partially dazed.

Unfortunately, the cacophony had drowned out the sound of new, menacing storm clouds coalescing over Ash’s head.

It was only when a flash of red pulsated near the top of his vision that he looked up to see a swirling nimbus meeting his gaze. An angry crimson glow emanated from the center, brightening and burgeoning more and more as Ash watched.

There was an earsplitting clap of thunder. The knight sighed.

“Give me a damned break,” he muttered as the roiling lightning beamed down from the sky and razed him to dust.

Malenia traced a thumb along the cold palm of her prosthesis. The golden limb lay uselessly in her lap; without the aid of Miquella or the fire of a forge, the mangling inflicted by Mohg’s spear was irreversible.

The Empyrean shook her head to herself. The last time her arm had been this badly damaged was in her battle against Radahn, when his sword had cloven it from her body. She recalled, if dimly, how Finlay had affixed Emma’s gauntlet to her in place of her true prosthesis in the wake of that fateful battle. The same gauntlet that, in the early days of her slumber, had been reforged and refined by the smiths of Elphael’s army into a proper limb. The same gauntlet that now lay shattered and crumpled in her lap this very moment.

She wondered where her old arm was now, and if she would ever be able to use this one again. Better to be one-armed than one-legged, but the notion of being a left-handed swordswoman did not leave her feeling tickled. If nothing else, at least, she could take comfort in the hope that, should she ever need to raise her sword again, it would be held in the hand of a third iteration of the prosthesis, made by Miquella himself.

Malenia’s flesh-and-blood hand released the golden one. It fell onto her lap as she brought her fingers to the twisted, gnarled bark that entwined up from her resting place, merging into the errant roots that enwreathed Miquella. Her heart sang with relief to know for certain that he was there, right where he belonged, but at the same time, a lump grew in her throat. He should have been there the whole time. He shouldn’t have been sealed away in some blood-drenched ruin, languishing in the vile perturbations of his treacherous half-brother while his home rotted away into nothing. But he had, and it was because of her. It was Malenia who abandoned her brother and his life’s work to fight a pointless war, her who had let him be plucked from his home and locked up within the palace of blood, her who had sat by and done nothing while he suffered, her who had corrupted his home and its people to the very core.

Malenia’s hand balled up into a fist and pressed anxiously into the bark of the tree. When Miquella awoke, things would be right again. But there would be Hell to pay when he did.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

A disturbance roused her from her thoughts. It came from the entrance of Miquella’s chambers, approaching her in a rapid, thumping rhythm. Malenia heard the swishing and rattling of chainmail alongside the clanking of steel plates pounding the earth, a cacophony of armored footsteps—footsteps that she recognized.

“Malenia!”

The aforementioned Empyrean flicked her gaze forward as the voice of the visitor confirmed her intuitions. Ash slowed as he neared until he stood just a few meters away, in the same spot he’d sat before her and opened her eyes. Malenia wanted to smile just a tad in spite of herself, but she had an inkling that for him to return this soon could only be so good a sign.

“Welcome back, fair knight,” she greeted. “What brings you here in such haste?”

“I… found something,” he announced. There was a tension in his tone that gave Malenia pause. “Something that could change things.”

“Change?” Malenia echoed. “Change what?”

A tense silence. Then, “Empyrean, would you follow me beyond the Haligtree’s branches once more?”

She pursed her lips. Her blind gaze drifted away from Ash and towards the husk that cradled Miquella’s cocoon. A hand reached towards the arm of her chair and grazed along the bell that rested there.

She knew she could call upon Finlay, and she knew that with Mohg gone, the broken and lordless Lands Between would do little to even come near the snowfield the Haligtree called home. But to finally have Miquella back after so much useless, oblivious waiting, only to turn tail and leave him once more…

“Fair knight, there are many things you have shown yourself to be,” Malenia carefully said. “A tenacious warrior. A resilient knight… A confounding madman, at times. But if you are nothing else, you are direct, and you are honest. Prithee, what is it you wish to show me?”

“... What I wish is to avoid leaping to conclusions,” Ash answered with equal caution. “What I think I’ve discovered—I have only a most tenuous grasp on what it may truly be, and an even fainter wisp of conviction in what it means for us should my suspicions hold ground. But if you should know: I believe I may have found a cure for your illness.”

Chapter Text

Malenia's breathing hitched. Her heart skipped a beat.

“What?”

“I know, I know. A wild prospect. But what I saw–”

She stood up.

“How?” she demanded. The word cut through Ash’s backpedaling like glass. He cleared his throat.

“It is not easy to explain,” he began. “Know you of Dragonlord Placidusax?”

“Barely. Mother and Father would seldom share stories of the Elden Lord before them.”

“It is a fact that he possessed the power to manipulate time—I have borne witness to this as fragments of him and his people scattered across the Lands Between. And I came upon an ancient city where the Dragonlord’s powers appear to be concentrated. Time is muddled there, even seemingly absent in places.”

Malenia shook her head. “What such city could there possibly be?”

“Farum Azula.”

Her jaw fell open.

“The city of dragons? Wh… How?”

“Timebending. The city itself exists beyond the confines of time, owing to Placidusax’s powers—and should we go there, we too shall exist outside time.”

Outside time… Malenia was not stupid. She knew firsthand the shortcomings of Miquella’s needle. So when Ash spoke of transcending the boundaries of time, she quickly put two and two together, coming to the conclusion before Ash could declare it.

“And free of time’s grasp, we could pass the wait needed to grow this needle all at once,” she murmured, confusion and fervor subdued. The realization hit her with such force that she could barely rasp out the words, as if she were being choked.

“Rest assured,” Ash replied. Unease wobbled his voice. “‘Tis a ludicrous prospect, I’ll not deny. But–”

Malenia snatched the bell up from where it lay upon her throne and gave it a ring. The chime was stifled and dry under the agitation with which she waved her hand, but nevertheless, the sound of Finlay materializing before her followed suit.

“Greetings, Milady,” came her dutiful voice. Malenia ignored the formality and cut to the chase.

“Leftenant, I must leave my post at Lord Miquella’s side,” she stated firmly. “I am tasking you with holding my vigil until I return.”

Finlay didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, Milady. I will watch over our Lord until the bell’s resonance abates.”

There was a hitch of silence. Then, hesitantly, “But that may come sooner rather than later. And I cannot ring my own bell.”

“We must make haste, then,” Malenia answered, towards Ash. He didn’t reply for a moment, seemingly taken aback by her immediate agreeance. Eventually, however, he chuckled.

“I have a feeling this will take no time at all,” he assured her. “But perhaps we should tend to something first. Prithee, your arm.”

Malenia shook her head. “We have not the time. The prosthesis is a complex device. To bend and work the gold back into shape—it would take ages without the aid of a master craftsman.”

“And I may know such a master,” Ash answered. Malenia said and did nothing, prompting him to continue: “Where we are going, you will need your sword by your side. The denizens of Farum Azula are… unwelcoming.”

“Farum Azula?” came Finlay’s voice. “What is that?”

Malenia turned and held up her hand.

“A question for my return,” she said. Turning back towards Ash, she relinquished a silent nod. She didn’t want to waste time seeing if this “master” the Tarnished knew of could mend her shattered arm, but if playing along brought her to this supposed cure…

A shiver went up her spine. A dark dread, a pessimism that had festered in her for lifetimes, urged her to sit back down and give up, to stop while she was ahead. In spite of everything Ash had already done for her, the notion that he had miraculously up and discovered a time-defying king that had inadvertently perfected Miquella’s craftsmanship after he had tried and failed in all his godly wisdom to do the same—it was preposterous. Downright impossible, in fact. The prospect itself was obscene.

And her alliance with Ash was defined almost wholly by such stunts. So when that nihilism stiffened her legs, she simply subdued an annoyed grunt and forced them forwards.

“Take me to this smithing-master,” she said, as her left arm reached down to scoop up the scraps of gold that were once her prosthesis. “And then take me to the city of dragons, so I may see this miracle for myself.”

“Of course, Empyrean.” As formal as ever, Ash made haste in setting sail. A few brisk footsteps and the sound of the Tarnished retrieving Malenia’s katana in lieu of her occupied arm were all that preceded the sensation of cold mail and iron thorns pricking against her sternum. She tilted her head as Ash laid his barbed glove on her, but did not flinch away as she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Searching for the glimmer of grace within you,” he answered, followed shortly by a satisfied hum.

“There it is,” he declared.

A strange sensation lit up inside Malenia, like a warmth that teetered on the edge of tangible. Though she was blind, she could almost see the faint sparkle of gold light up from deep within her soul—almost, for such an image was superseded by a bold vision of a circular chamber, lit meekly by a stone fireplace and a proud and twinkling icon of grace that hovered over a roundtable as weathered as the face of a mountain. Dozens of armaments, rusted to nothingness, speared into the center of the table, encircling the great golden light like a wall of pikes staunchly warding away would-be defyers of the Golden Order.

She knew this place well. The Roundtable Hold, of the fortified manor that lay near the base of the Erdtree. Unease pricked at her; if the one to mend her arm lay in the heart of Leyndell, perhaps it would be best for her to simply sit and wait. Particularly if those accursed Two Fingers were huddled away in their little throne room…

Malenia swallowed a lump in her throat. She had to trust Ash would not simply throw her at the feet of the Golden Order, if only for his pledge to Ranni. That trust held her tongue, but it did not stop her from squeezing her eyes shut from behind her mask and grimacing with bared teeth as she felt the cold wet earth vanish from underneath her feet—only to be near-instantly replaced with the touch of warm, weathered stone.

Very warm, as a matter of fact. The whole room was hot. Too hot. Noisy, too. As the world rushed back in to meet Malenia, her ears were quickly filled with the unmistakable sound of burning wood; the low roar of hot air swirling up above the storm was punctuated near-every moment by the crackling and popping of fibers being wicked and disintegrated. It was the only thing she could hear at all—the sound of fire consuming its prey.

A new unease filled her bosom. Had the Roundtable Hold been set alight? Surely Ash had not meant to bring her to such a place.

Evidently, he hadn’t: Nearly as soon as Malenia realized that the room was on fire, Ash’s troubled voice broke the searing symphony.

“What? What is… Roderika!”

His footsteps hurried towards the edge of the room; Malenia followed suit.

“Roderika, what is happening?” came Ash’s urgent voice again. A chuckle was the reply, one so faint and mirthless that Malenia barely caught it over the din of the flames.

“Take a look around.” The woman’s voice was so terribly tiny against the cacophony that surrounded them. “The Roundtable Hold is burned. Razed to the ground.”

“Wh–” Ash stammered. “Is… Is this because of the Erdtree? The Fell Flame, it… has it reached here, as well?”

Malenia caught a twinge of guilt tightening his voice. The girl called Roderika must have heard it as well, for her reply was tender: “Don’t worry. I don’t blame you… I’ll continue spirit tuning just the same as before.”

“In here? Roderika, you can’t!”

“You’re right. I can’t. Which is why I need your help persuading Master Hewg to leave.”

“Persuading?”

“His roots are so knotted in this place. But… he won’t last much longer if he stays here.”

A brief silence. Then, “His shackles are broken. He’s a free man now. It’s high time he put the Roundtable Hold behind him.”

“I’ll speak to him.” Ash’s promise was immediate, as was the sound of his footsteps proceeding into another wing of the Hold. Malenia moved to follow, but briefly hesitated before promptly stopping. Whoever Hewg was, this was between him and Ash.

Instead, she turned to gaze in the direction of Roderika, who seemed to only just then notice her.

“Hello there,” the girl mumbled, polite words dampened by a weighty exhaustion. “I’ve not seen you here before. Are you a friend of his?” When Malenia gave a silent nod, she pressed, “What brings you here?”

“Ash wishes to employ the services of a friend to help me… fix what was broken.”

“Ash?”

It occurred to her just then that the man in question had only given her that moniker by her request. Nodding again, she clarified, “He offered me the name so that I may distinguish him from other Tarnished.”

“I see,” Roderika observed. “That bundle of metal you’re carrying—is that what needs fixed? You must be here to see Master Hewg, then.”

Malenia pursed her lips. It sounded like this Hewg was in no condition to be put to work given the state of the Hold.

“What happened to this place?” she asked.

“The Erdtree has been set aflame,” Roderika explained. “And I can only surmise that with it, this place will follow suit.”

Malenia jolted at that.

“The Erdtree is burning?” she echoed. “How?”

“It was Ash who ignited it. He spoke of a so-called Flame of Ruin high above the clouds. He said he did it to burn away the thorns that locked him outside the Erdtree.”

Malenia licked her lips. The shock of Roderika’s revelation had hit her hard, but… not as hard as she would have expected. She had already known that Ash was on a path to topple the Golden Order; she simply hadn’t known he’d already come this far.

“And it burns so bright that the fortified manor has been razed away?” she observed.

“Fortified manor?”

“The mansion that houses this Hold.”

“Oh, I… I’m not sure. This Hold we’re in—it’s an imitation of a place in the real world, you see,” Roderika clarified. “So Ash says, anyways. The burning of these walls matches that of the Erdtree.”

“I see. And now you–”

The sound of footsteps interrupted Malenia. She broke her gaze from Roderika and turned towards the noise as it stopped a few feet away.

“Mal… Valkyrie?” Ash called. She noted how he caught himself; likely owing to the young woman standing between them. “Follow me, if you would.”

Malenia offered a single silent nod in Roderika’s direction before doing as she was asked. Ash turned and led her into a new wing of the Hold where the sound of burning was quickly joined by the sharp, dutiful clang of a hammer on steel. When they were right in front of the pounding rhythm, Ash stopped, and so did she.

“Master Hewg,” Ash began. Malenia noted how low his voice rumbled, and how slowly he articulated his words. “If you’d not abandon your chains, then… may I ask one last favor?”

“Ask as many as you like.” The way Hewg’s words limped forth from his throat like a diseased canine made Malenia’s skin crawl. There was no elegant way to put it in her mind; he sounded dead. They were talking to a corpse. “If I c… if I can smith it, and it will help you to slay a god, then I will make it.”

“Your arm,” Ash ordered. It took Malenia a brief moment to realize he was speaking to her; she silently walked up and uncurled her arm as much as she could without dropping any of the golden scraps she cradled, presenting them to Hewg.

“Can you repair this?” Ash asked.

“What is it?” came Hewg’s weak response.

“A prosthesis.”

For how frail and dejected he sounded, Hewg issued a single dry chuckle. “A prosthesis… when I ask you to lay out your arms, th-this isn’t quite what I mean.”

The sound of hammering stopped. “Certainly not my area of expertise, but, ahh… I suppose I’ve forged armor once or twice. Lay it out, then.”

Malenia cautiously let the scraps of gold fall from her hand, nodding in thanks to Ash when he reached out and caught a piece that fell. It took some effort to place all of them soundly on Hewg’s tiny anvil, but before long they offered themselves up under his inquisitive stare.

“... Is this gold? Pure, unalloyed gold?” Hewg asked. Malenia noticed the color his voice picked up as he said it. She nodded.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Hewg rasped. “This… will take materials of the utmost quality to repair.”

Ash stepped forwards. There was a soft grunt of effort, and then the sound of a sack falling weightily to the floor beside Hewg’s anvil.

“Will this suffice?”

The blacksmith was silent for several seconds, save for his faint, wheezing breaths, barely audible over the sound of flames.

“Where did you get this many ancient dragon stones?” Hewg finally gasped. Judging by his voice, Malenia sensed the old man must have been gawking with mouth agape at Ash.

“Ancient dragons,” the knight replied.

A single scoff. “Fair enow. I’ll… I’ll see what I can do, then. This will take some time.”

Malenia perked up when an armored hand gently laid itself on her side under her empty shoulder.

“Give him some space, Valkyrie,” Ash murmured. She nodded and turned to follow him out of the room and back into the foyer, where Roderika was waiting for them.

“What did he tell you?” she asked.

“Roderika, I…” Ash’s ashamed response trailed off. But the young girl knew what he was trying to say.

“So Master Hewg won’t listen to you, either,” she observed. Malenia could taste the disappointment.

“No,” Ash admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“You have my thanks, regardless,” she deflected. “I’ll try and talk him round next time.”

All three of them sat in silence for a moment, silence that crackled like the burning wood of the Hold. It was Roderika who finally spoke up.

“I know he was given this great entreaty, to craft a weapon which could slay a god—though I can’t help but think of it as a curse. A fearsome curse, put on him by Queen Marika.”

A bitter sigh.

“And if that’s the case, I’m not sure there’s anything we can do.”

“Of all the people to be consigned to their fate,” Ash muttered, “why you, Hewg?”

Malenia stayed silent. She had nothing to say. Not that she wanted to.

“‘Tis finished, then?”

“I’ve r… repaired it to the best of my abilities,” Hewg confirmed. Malenia took her prosthetic gently and gingerly, both out of trepidation of its condition and of Hewg’s. Holding it near the shoulder, she ran her thumb over the smooth gold, catching her pad on the rough texture of whatever material Ash had donated to Hewg for its mend. It was gravelly under her scarred touch, like the scales of a dragon. She supposed that shouldn’t have been a surprise.

They’d had to wait much longer than she would’ve liked. Hopefully something came of it.

Malenia took a deep breath, held it for a long, long moment, and then shoved it into her shoulder socket. The click it made as it snapped into place was cruder than it ought to be, more of a scrape than anything, but when she released her hold on the prosthesis, it hung limply from her shoulder as a true arm would, and when she willed it to raise its hand to her chest and clench its fist, it did exactly that, with the same fluidity it always did—as it did with stretching out to her side, snapping her fingers, reaching to rub the nape of her neck… it worked. It worked just fine. The sounds of the dragon scales interlocking with the unalloyed gold were not the most soothing, but she could feel no hitches or friction between its plates.

She couldn’t help but gawk as she flexed it, just a tad. She would need to see how it handled her sword, but the fact that Hewg had brought it back to this capacity at all was, frankly, astonishing. More than astonishment, however, she felt a strong gratitude, warm as the flames that licked the walls around her.

“Thank you, Hewg,” she hummed. “To be without my sword arm is detestable.”

A single tired chuckle. “You’d think an… an Empyrean w-would be a little more skilled with her off-hand,” Hewg remarked.

Malenia’s heart skipped a beat. Over the sound of herself taking in a sharp breath through her teeth, she could hear the shuddering of Ash’s armor.

“Empyrean?” she repeated. Hewg scoffed.

“Come now. I m-may be old, but I’m not senile. I know the legends. A towering red-haired woman, clad in golden garb and a false arm? I’ve n-no idea what you’re doing dragging Malenia here, Tarnished, but it’s not r-really my business, is it?”

Malenia said nothing. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. Her lips suddenly felt dry; as she wet them, she wondered if Ash’s mind were racing as hers was. It must have been, surely—yet he was quicker on his wits than she, for he spoke first. “Thank you, Hewg.” was all he said.

“Of course,” the smith breathed.

Ash stepped closer to Malenia. “Your sword,” he signaled. Willing her heartrate to slow and her hands to still, Malenia reached out and felt for the base of the blade; when she touched it, she took it from his grasp and carefully clicked it back into place under the wrist of her newly-repaired prosthesis. Once again, it snapped into place rougher than normal, but it functioned just fine.

“It is holding,” she declared. “Master Hewg, your work is… impressive.”

She waited several heartbeats but received no reply. When the sound of Hewg’s hammer clanging into his next project made itself known over the surrounding fire, Malenia turned towards Ash, trying to ignore the shiver making its way down her spine. “What now?”

“We press forwards,” Ash declared, though he did not sound confident. It seemed she was not the only one unsettled by Hewg’s state. To simply up and leave a withering old man felt terribly wrong.

Hewg must have felt similarly, for his frail voice came from behind. “Tarnished, before you go.”

Ash promptly stepped forwards. “Of course, Hewg.”

“… Do me a favor, a-and do look after the girl,” he said. His dead voice picked up just a touch of color as he said that, a forlorn shade of blackened-blue that made Malenia feel queasy.

Look after the girl. The girl that waited for him to come to his senses right outside this room. His daughter, perhaps—Malenia wasn’t quite sure, but clearly the two shared a close bond… One that Hewg seemed resigned to the fact he would be unable to keep. The ancient smith was staring death in the face, and it stared back with equally sunken eyes. He’d worn himself to dust, and wanted nothing more than for the end to finally come. There was nothing left to do but wait for it.

It made Malenia want to reach out to him, with the very prosthesis he’d just forged back into shape, and smack him upside the head.

“Why can’t you?”

Ash took a step back when Malenia blurted out the question. Hewg’s hammer slowed to a halt once more.

“Wh… What?” he rasped.

“You would rather waste away in the ashen facsimile of an abandoned hold than flee with Roderika?”

“I must,” Hewg said simply.

“Why?”

“Our Tarnished friend is on a journey.” It sounded as if Hewg had gathered all his strength to make those words sound as hard as possible. “To face you demigods. And your gods. To slay you all. And until then, I will always smith his weapons.”

“Know you why he continues on this path?” Malenia drilled.

“Malenia…” Ash warned.

“It matters not,” Hewg deflected. “This… is what I wish. To smith a weapon for him to slay a god.”

“And what comes next, when that god is slain?”

“Doesn’t concern me,” he muttered.

“The answer is a new god.”

“Malenia!” Ash snapped, but it was fruitless. Hewg drew in a sharp, rattling breath.

“A… new god?” he echoed. Malenia nodded.

“A new god. One whose Order lies as distant from the Lands Between as the very stars, whose Order decrees one law and one law only: Free will. And you are not exempt from such a rule, smithing-master!”

Hewg scoffed.

“Tch… What use have I for freedom now?” he sighed. There was that pessimism again. Malenia rolled her eyes.

“‘Tis the name of freedom, to decide for yourself!” she urged.

“Then I’ve decided I will smith a weapon to slay a god,” Hewg concluded.

Malenia reached her flesh hand underneath her helm and pinched the bridge of her nose as a groan left her chest. Her nails dug into the tender skin of her face, and she grit her teeth as she felt traces of blood well up beneath her rotted fingertips.

In her moment of speechless frustration, Ash stepped forward.

“Master Hewg…” he murmured. His voice was low. Delicate. A polar opposite to his Empyrean companion. “When you folded the ancient dragon stone into the steel of my blade, you called it a scale belonging to the Dragonlord himself, yes?”

“I said I th-thought so,” Hewg replied. “I… I’ve never seen the land of dragons for myself. N-Not even sure if such a place exists.”

“It does,” Ash declared, “and I have been there—you were right; it and its lord lie beyond time itself.”

Hewg was silent. Ash crept even closer.

“Do you know what that means?” he asked. Hewg’s breath shook.

“I-I… I’m not sure,” he admitted. Ash grunted as he heaved his hulking sword off his shoulder and dropped it onto Hewg’s anvil.

“It means that stone—that piece of the Dragonlord’s skin—has twisted the timeline that this blade inhabits,” he said. “This weapon, its strikes bend time. A feat even the Elden Ring has yet to boast. In this small way, we have exceeded the limits of the Greater Will. And if we can exceed it… then we can kill it.”

There was no response—not one that came in words. Over the din of the fire, Malenia picked up something new: The wheezing, tremulous breaths that crawled in and out of Hewg’s chest seemed to grow even shakier as they started to pick up in pace.

“You’ve done it, Hewg,” Ash went on. “You’ve smithed a weapon to slay a god.”

“I-I…” Hewg stammered. His whisper could barely be heard over the flames. “I have?”

Ash said nothing. Hewg’s breathing quickened; the sickly panting bit Malenia with the urge to wince.

“You… how can you be so certain?” Hewg whispered. “E-Even if we accomplished something a god cannot, h-how will this…”

Ash’s response was low and crackled like the flames around them.

“I’ve slain a god before, Hewg. They are pathetic, fickle things, driven by fear and lust, no better than men. I don’t doubt I could fell something so frail with my bare hands if I so chose—but to do something that a god cannot? Now we know for certain that we can rise above them.”

“Y-You’ve… slain a god?” Hewg stuttered. Though it was directed at Ash, the question made Malenia give the barest nod.

“Yes,” Ash murmured.

“And… you think that I’ve done it? Smithed a weapon for you to slay a… a-another?”

“I know so.”

Hewg fell silent once again. Malenia cast her gaze towards the entrance of this wing of the Hold where Roderika surely waited. Her heart twinged for the lonely girl, waiting anxiously for the tired old smith to see reason. So set in his ways he was… though, perhaps she couldn’t blame him. Bound by Marika herself, trapped in this Hold for who knows how long, smithing and smithing and smithing. Did he know anything else anymore? Was he firm in his duty, or simply frightened of change?

“Prove it.”

Hewg’s dry voice jerked Malenia out of her thoughts. She turned to Hewg as Ash grunted, “Huh?”

“You s… You said you have been to the home of the Dragonlord. The keeper of the Elden Throne before Marika. As close to a god as you’ll ever find in this dead land. Kill him, and bring back a trophy. Prove to me this w-weapon can slay a god. If you do, I will leave this place. If not…”

“Consider it done.” Ash’s reply was immediate and resolute. “I’m on my way there anyways.”

For a moment, Malenia swore she could feel the knight’s gaze fall on her. She shifted where she stood.

“I must take you to the Dragonlord’s quarters, to awaken the needle within you–“ he started. Malenia nodded.

“My sword is at your side,” she announced, before the Tarnished had even finished his sentence. Her brow furrowed.

“But I will not do it for you,” she went on. “I will do it for the girl.”

Both Ash and Hewg fell silent. It seemed they sensed in unison that she was talking to them both. The silence hung for a long moment, one that threatened to be broken by a scream. Then, Malenia tilted her head at Ash.

“Shall we?” she inquired. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, we shall,” he concurred. There was a grunt and a scrape as he heaved his great sword from Hewg’s anvil, and then heavy footsteps signaling his approach. A thorned hand lay itself upon Malenia’s sternum.

“I will be back, Hewg,” Ash announced. Suddenly, the same glow from inside filled Malenia’s chest, but this time, the image of her destination didn’t show in her mind. Distorted, fuzzy grey masses attempted to coalesce into something, but dissolved just as soon as they appeared. Despite the vision in her mind failing to take shape—or perhaps because of it—Malenia knew where they were headed next.

Farum Azula. The city of dragons. The throne of the Dragonlord… and soon to be his grave.

And, God willing, the place whither the infernal rot inside her would be banished, finally and forever.

Malenia closed her eyes. Her feet left the floor of the Hold.

The sound of roaring winds filled her ears.

Chapter Text

Malenia had long ago learned to live with her blindness. Most of her life had been spent making peace with the condition and, as time went on, it had ceased to be the hindrance it once was. As long as there was solid ground under her feet and any discernible sounds grazing her ears, she could exist perfectly comfortably.

Between the din of whirling tempests and the shattered state of the infrastructure, Farum Azula offered neither of these.

The sheer level of delicate handholding Ash had to offer Malenia—oftentimes literal—as they scaled the crumbling ruins was embarrassing. Months of rigorous training and hundreds of years of attunement to remain noble and formidable despite her occluded sight, and now here she was, barely able to walk forwards without her hand laid flat and abjectly upon the Tarnished’s arm. She tiptoed up inclines and slid gingerly off ledges, shying away from the roaring of the infinite storms that surrounded her on all sides.

It was incredibly unbecoming of her. But it was nothing to bemoan in the face of what hopefully awaited them.

The typhoons around her grew louder and louder as she and Ash descended, filling her ears with an increasingly unanimous cacophony of wind and debris, until it dawned upon her that it had suddenly coalesced into one great whorl: One that towered in front of her with the looming glower of the Erdtree itself. The whipping winds that careened into her from all sides now only barreled down aa a single unified beast from her right, pushing her with such ruthlessness that she found herself digging her heels into the dusty stone beneath her, bracing against the current to stay upright.

“‘Tis a monsoon in this place!” she shouted, struggling to make herself heard over the tornado. “How did you scale these treacherous heights alone?”

“The winds are less vicious down here!” came Ash’s voice for all of a half second before the storm whipped his words away.

Down here? Malenia blinked and angled her gaze towards the earth, befuddled by Ash’s comment before she remembered just how tiny the Tarnished was compared to her. With the crest of his helm barely reaching her stomach, perhaps he truly was that much less top-heavy in this balancing act of a city.

Bested in battle by a man who would need to scale her like a ladder to slap her across the face. Had she not tasted his warrior spirit a million times over, such a notion would be enough to send her into voluntary exile.

Behind her scarring, Malenia rolled her eyes.

“Hilarious!” she retorted. “Now what all are we doing standing in this vortex?”

“Well, we ought to be lying in it!”

“What?!”

“Just trust me!” Ash implored. “We must lie in wait for the Dragonlord’s chambers to take us!”

Internally, Malenia shook her head. Far from his most absurd proposal, but even so... With all the trepidation in the world so as to not topple off some ledge she had no chance of sensing, Malenia buckled her knee, inching her body towards the tenuous, uneven stone beneath her until that same knee kissed it. Then, from a kneeling position, she leaned forwards and brought her one planted foot outwards until she could let herself fall onto her back. The ground was bumpy beneath her, the maille she wore beneath her dress unable to stop the discomfort of loose pebbles digging into her from below. Letting her face drift towards the sky, she could still feel the wind whipping at her face, filtering through the slits in her helm and threatening to yank it off her scalp, while strands of hair thrashing in the chaos lashed irritably against her cheek. Despite the continued relentlessness of the storm, however, the winds did die down a tad as she brought herself to the ground.

The fingers on her flesh-and-blood hand curled around a divot in the stone. She shuffled closer to it, waving her hand around to perhaps gain a feel for the size of it, but winced when something sharp pricked a fingertip, snatching her hand away and bringing it atop her chest. To her left, Ash proclaimed, “Are you alright?”

How did you…? Malenia thought for half a moment, before it dawned on her what metal thorns must have felt like. Reaching out again, she laid a careful hand on what had pricked her and found her palm resting unpleasantly on Ash’s armored shoulder.

“Yes!” she affirmed. “How long must we wait?”

“I don’t rightly know!” Ash replied. “I fell asleep the last time this place overtook me!”

“You fell asleep?! In this cacophony?”

“I was tired!”

Pulling her hand away before it could start bleeding, Malenia shook her head. How had she placed her faith so unwaveringly in this madman? Lacing her fingers over her chest, she did her best to block out the noise of the ripping winds and waited.

As she lay there, she allowed her mind to wander to something other than the tempest lashing at her senses. The first thing she thought of was what exactly awaited them beyond the eye of the storm; such a thought made her stomach hard and heavy. In the chaos of navigating these crumbling lands, she had almost forgotten why they were here to begin with: A cure for her lifelong, godforsaken illness. A way to finally rid her of the fetid rot that had defined her, her people, and her home for centuries upon centuries.

On the precipice of deliverance, the notion seemed at its most impossible.

Malenia swallowed a lump in her throat as she lay there, reminiscing. Memories of rot, hundreds of years of festering like a bloated corpse, so deeply entrenched in her veins that it seemed more a part of her than her very flesh. The rot had taken so much from her since the beginning: First her beauty, then her strength, and then her limbs. But it didn’t stop there, no—it took her family from her as well. The rift that her disease drove between Miquella and Radagon as the Golden Order’s ineffable and fruitless treatments only deepened her suffering defined her last memories amongst the ever-forlorn clergy. As Malenia’s sight first began to fade, so too did her ties to Radagon, Marika, Radahn, Godwyn, the Carians—all leaving her life as Miquella pulled her further and further into the Haligtree’s embrace, promising her and her wretched rot refuge in a just kingdom, one with a kind of warmth the Golden Order could not bestow—indiscriminate love.

And even after that, it just kept taking. Her sight went before long, but not before she could watch with despair as her own knights contracted her plague. And then it took her brother, driving him into his cocoon, forced to slumber so he could devote every ounce of strength and focus to growing the tree with a seed of rot roaming its roots. And she was left alone, abandoned by Miquella and afraid to defile more soldiers with her touch even as they willingly cast herself into her necrosis, if only to reach out and wrench their reclusive general from her shameful isolation—if only to ease her pain just a little.

And now, in the wake of her war against Radahn, it had taken what little she had left.

The more she lost, the harder it became to clutch the scraps. If it were up to her, she would have cast herself into the center of Mount Gelmir and rid the Lands Between of the scarlet scourge ages ago. Lying here, reflecting on what her reluctant insistence to survive would eventually do to everyone around her, made Malenia want to roll her head over the crumbling ledge of these ruins and vomit. Her stomach churned and her throat was tight, with a foul taste on the back of her tongue. She wanted nothing more than to claw for the tiny semblances of dignity she had left to her name, but she couldn’t. She hated herself far too much—and more, she hated the Scarlet Rot. The despicable demon-god that had injected its seed into her veins and cursed her and everyone around her with her branding as its bastard child vassal. The predator that sensed prey in her malformed birth.

Yes, to think that some Tarnished had somehow found a cure for her astral affliction seemed more and more a hopeless racket the greater she gave it thought. But she was far past the point of no return now. She would ultimately see for herself once this hellacious tornado calmed down and let them into the operating room.

Only, she realized with a start, it had. In the din of her own head, Malenia had failed to notice the roaring winds fading into a low rumbling akin to distant thunder; furthermore, the riptide of wind that threatened to blow her off the edge had abated, leaving her maille cold and limp against her skin.

“Ash!” she shouted. “Is it done?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, “so you can rest your voice.”

Malenia felt warm at the giggle in his comment. Shaking her head, she sat up and placed her true hand on her knee.

“So it would seem,” she muttered. As she rose to her feet, the reality of the situation set back in, and she wet her lips.

“This is it, then?” she ventured. Now her voice was properly subdued. “The Dragonlord’s throne?”

“Indeed.”

Malenia tuned her ears, listening carefully, but aside from the distant rumbling of thunder, she could hear very little in the environment around her. If this were the Dragonlord’s chambers, where was the Dragonlord? Was he away? Located deeper within some ruin she couldn’t see? She echoed these questions to Ash, and he chuckled.

“He slumbers for now,” he clarified. “If you could see him, hanging low in the sky as if suspended… no, we certainly are not alone here. We ought to make haste.”

Make haste… the words sent a thrill down Malenia’s stomach in tandem with that of the knowledge of a looming ancient dragon being injected into her thoughts. She swallowed the hard lump of disbelief that clogged her throat and brought a hand to the needle in her chest. Upon touching it, her racing mind turned towards confusion.

“Yes, well… what exactly do we do?” she asked.

Ash’s silence had her feet shuffling. She recalled, briefly, their first proper conversation, when he had beckoned her from her post and she had challenged him to show just how her vigil had been in vain. His silence then had been hesitant, letting her distrust and disbelief harden—just as it was doing now. But Ash had banished her apprehension then; she had to trust that he would do so again.

The quiet was broken by Ash’s footsteps approaching her. He stopped in front of her and reached out to graze the wrist of her prosthesis.

“I admit, I am playing this all by ear,” he said. “But I may have an idea—a perilous one.”

Such words uttered with that tone—low and ginger, brusque with caution—made Malenia purse her lips. Her stomach tightened, and the gold under Ash’s fingertips twitched uneasily.

“What is it?” she prodded. Another silence, once that crackled with the lightning in the air this time, before Ash’s fingers drifted from her arm to her solar plexus.

“I think, if we can break the time that shackles this device, it will not be… how it is now.”

“What do you mean?”

“We need to bring the needle beyond the boundaries of time. We are outside time at this very moment, but we are not ourselves timeless. If the needle lay within you, it lay within time.”

Malenia nodded, but inside, her heart sank. That was precisely what she feared he was getting at.

“Should the bloom resurface…” she began. Ash’s hand fell away from her chest.

“I trust you,” she exhaled.

“The Scarlet Rot shall not take you,” Ash promised. Malenia nodded.

“Thank you, Ash,” she mumbled. Were it not for the groan of distant thunder, her pounding heart would have been the loudest thing there. When Ash’s gauntlet returned to her chest and felt for her needle, she was sure he could feel it beating beneath his palm and her stomach doing somersaults in her chest. Even if it had been some time since the needle had recovered from the ordeal in Caelid, she was unsure if the short few days that had passed since then were enough to subdue the last—she prayed, the ultimate—bloom that had erupted from her skin.

Ash gripped the needle.

“Wait!”

Ash’s hand jerked back. Malenia felt for the needle with twitching fingers. It hadn’t moved an inch—unlike her chest, which rose and fell with rapid, unsteady breaths. Putting her hand to her hammering heart, Malenia wet her lips.

“… If I cannot control the Scarlet Rot,” she began. Her breathing began to slow. She relinquished the needle and brought her unsteady hand to her prosthesis. The sound of metal unlatching from metal filled the empty throne room around them.

“I cannot let it overtake you, too,” Malenia declared. Pulling her prosthesis from her shoulder, she held it out to Ash. As soon as he took it, she lowered herself to the ground and sat, propped up on her one remaining arm with her legs unbent.

“Remove them,” she instructed, trying to keep her voice firm.

Ash was silent for a moment. The sound of him placing her arm on the floor was heard before he said, “Your legs?”

Malenia nodded. “My legs. Unbuckle them. Separate the Scarlet Rot from the power it craves.”

“As you wish.”

Ash started with her right leg. Malenia didn’t quite feel his hands on the cold metal, but she did feel when he lifted it up and brought what remained of her thigh with it.

“Pull,” he instructed her. Malenia nodded and brought her knee back while Ash tugged contra by her ankle. There was a click, and then the force pulling on her leg vanished, leaving her rotted knee pointed up in the air. Malenia lowered her leg, sitting up half-crossed as if to press the sole of her now-detached foot into the side of her other calf. Ash dutifully moved over to her left leg, where the rot had taken the whole limb. Ash placed both hands on either side of her thigh, right at the precipice where it connected to her torso, so close to her skin that her hip could feel the pressure. Then, with a gasp that whistled through his helm, he jerked his hands back.

In spite of herself, Malenia almost snickered.

“‘Tis fine, Tarnished,” she assured him. “Do what you must.”

“Right,” he exhaled. He made noticeable haste in detaching the prosthesis, leaving Malenia with nothing but one hand holding her up. She collapsed her arm and brought herself to her back until she was flat on the floor and staring straight upwards.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had forsaken her legs. Even as she slumbered, for all those centuries, they remained firmly affixed to her body. Now, as she lay there, feeling strangely light and yet near-immobile, with her attire draping over nothing but a lonely stump, she reflected with a sense of irony why that was the case.

“Are you ready?” Ash’s call broke her out of her thoughts. Taking in a shaky breath, she nodded at the sky.

“As I shall ever be,” she affirmed.

“Very well.” Ash took a knee beside her and placed one hand on her shoulder while the other pinched the needle. Simply feeling him grasp it made Malenia’s heart skip a beat.

“On three,” Ash declared. “One… two…”

Malenia held her breath.

“Three.”

The needle slid from its spot in her flesh. And in its place, an eruption surged.

Pain ignited in her bosom. Before she could even breathe, it spread like wildfire, blazing through what remained of her rotted body. Her hand shot to the spot where the needle once was and clutched her chest as she gasped.

At once, her head began to pound. Within half a moment, the rot had exploded forth from the point of Miquella’s needle and filled every last drop of blood in her veins with its vile essence. She felt as she had in Caelid, lightheaded and crippled by the agony of scarlet corruption—and it was getting worse by the second.

She was blooming. She could feel it. The darkness of her mask began to recede as the familiar, foreboding glow of tendrils crept into the edges of her vision. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the glow bled through her lids that twitched as if the inflamed tendrils were prying them open. Her hand slid under her helm and pressed against her throbbing head; her palm felt clammy against her hot skin. Sweat was already pooling in the roots of her ruby hair, wetting her fingertips and the underside of her helmet.

A voice whispered in her ear. In the silence of the throne room, it was deafening.

There is little time! the Scarlet Rot hissed. Give in! Give in now!

The malignant presence had evidently lost its patience as it lay imprisoned in that needle. The vile Outer God did not even bother to lull her with its usual honeyed words of queenship and oneness. It felt to its host like screeching, eliciting a low moan from Malenia as the pain in her head doubled over. And yet, in the whispering din of anger, beneath the veil of false quietude, Malenia picked up a note that gave her pause.

A note that, in any other context, would’ve been hideous. But in a voice that grated with discordance, such a foul tone was almost liquid in its harmony, a pedal to measure the infernal chaos. Quiet as a mouse, yet clear as day.

Fear.

Not once, in all her years of life, had she ever heard the Scarlet Rot afraid. It seemed almost inconceivable even as she heard it, twisted and wrong… but at the same time, so right. In that one dose of dread, Malenia’s own stood still.

The Scarlet Rot was afraid. It was afraid that this was the end. That Ash was right all along.

Malenia’s hand slipped out from under her helm. It dropped to the floor where, with stifled breath, Malenia rolled onto it, propping herself up on her elbow. The stony ground made her scabbed arm sting as she dragged herself forwards, but it was nothing compared to the rot that surged through her veins—and it was worth it, to push back against the vile god.

“Your hold on me ends now,” she growled.

Silence! The word pierced Malenia’s skull like a hot needle. She peeled her lips back into a snarl as her head throbbed with a new wave of agony, but clenched her teeth and held firm, refusing to bring her hand up to her head and surrender her one remaining limb to the influence of the rot.

The scarlet kingdom will not be perished! it screeched. Cease this foolishness! Insubordinate nullity!

Malenia’s arm slid forwards, only to be stopped by a rocky pillar. Hissing through clenched teeth, she slid her arm around as much of the rock as it could go and squeezed. For as much as it burned, it was little effort to pull her half-body against the stalwart body of stone; with a final heave that took the wind from her lungs, Malenia rolled so that her back pressed against the wall, leaving her lying upright in a position that might have been considered sitting up had she any legs upon which to sit. Still, though, she slouched limply as soon as her arm fell away, leaving her upper half slumped against her brace like some mangled corpse thrown aside by a beast, the rapid rise and fall of her chest the only indication of otherwise.

“I am not nullity,” she gasped. “I-I… no.”

Her hand reached up to feel the place in her bosom where the needle used to be. It was the size of a grain of sand, smaller than even the needlepoint itself. In the few days it had been nestled into her body and spirit, she had grown used to the comforting texture of its butt end disrupting the smoothness of her skin. Now that it was gone, the infinitesimal puncture mark it left in her flesh was just another way for her to feel its absence—and the horror that supplanted it.

Just a little longer.

You are powerless! You are nothing! The voice grated in Malenia’s ears like metal on metal. You are a vassal! A conduit of higher will! You are the Scarlet Queen!

“NO.”

The blood roared in Malenia’s ears.

“I am not your pawn,” she declared. Her voice shook, and it rasped, and it wheezed, but even so, it grew louder. “I was never your pawn! The nightmare ends here!”

She pressed her hand into the ground, pushing herself against the solid stone. Then, with a slowness like the Scarlet Rot was fighting to restrain her, she raised it into the sky and clenched it into a fist.

“I am stronger than you!” she cried, hoarse though it was. “I am better than you! I am DONE with this wretched chapter of my life! I am ME, and no one else! I am… I…”

Blood oozed out from under her nails. The rot-laden fluid trickled down her wrist, spiraling down until it beaded up on her forearm and dripped onto the ground below. As if she were cutting the rot out of herself for once and for all.

Her fist fell open. Her hand collapsed onto her torso.

“I… am Malenia,” she gasped. “Blade of Miquella.”

“Yes you are.”

Malenia’s stomach clenched. She knew that voice. That voice, which she thought she was rid of—then again, she thought that last time, too.

But this time, she knew better.

“Bludgeon me with my past how you wish, demon.” She spat the final word out like blood. “You have lost.”

“Quite the opposite, Malenia.” Radahn’s voice rumbled with such depth that she felt it in the ground beneath her. Her taut-faced snarl of pain crumpled into a grimace for a moment. The Scarlet Rot had deigned to grace her with her name for once. How very quaint.

She shook her head and groaned.

“You’re not real,” she insisted, even as the sound of the steed’s unsteady hooves grew closer—even as Radahn placed a firm, oversized hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the sensation, but refused to acquiesce.

“You’re not real!” she snapped again. She jerked her shoulder, thrashing in Radahn’s grasp, but he only squeezed tighter. His putrid nails dug into her like thorns.

“Be still!” he ordered.

“No!” she brayed. “I will not give in to your–”

“Malenia!” Radahn’s voice rang with an air of urgency that silenced her. What gave her true pause, however, was the realization that…

It didn’t sound like Radahn at all. It sounded like–

“A-Ash?” she breathed. “Are you there…? Rrrrgh!”

Her veins surged with pain. The voice in her ears howled.

No one is there for you! it screamed. No one has ever been there for you! All have succumbed! All WILL succumb!

Shut up, Malenia thought. Reaching her hand out, she placed her fingertips on Radahn’s arm. It was cold to the touch, smooth yet bumpy in texture: a uniform unevenness—like maille.

Radahn’s bracers were plate.

She slid her hand along his arm. Hard, metal thorns pricked at her scabbed palm.

“Ash…” she breathed again.

“It is finished.” The Tarnished’s rough, aged voice sounded like birdsong to her. Her heart lifted, and she clutched at his arm with renewed purpose.

“Bring this to an end,” she implored. Her voice held hard and steady as a mountain as she pulled him in for all but a moment. Then, her hand fell away and she sank against the wall, panting.

“May your golden flesh never be sullied again,” Ash declared. His barbed hand braced against her shoulder, while the other lifted to slide between her dress.

Something sharp pierced her flesh.

No! The Scarlet Rot screamed. Centuries of frustration and seconds of fresh terror blazed in wrathful unison in her head, threatening to boil her brain from the inside. No! Don’t–!

The voice went silent before it could finish its pleas. Malenia was yanked with impossible force towards the center of the needle, then came to an instant stop with neck-breaking force.

It was as if everything had been ripped out of her. Her breath. Her blood. Her very soul. In a heart-pounding flash, the whole of her being was excised from beneath her skin. The needle pulled every last drop of all that dwelled in her body and sucked it into its tiny endlessness. At once, she felt empty, like a hollow shell whose life had shattered its vessel to pieces and come tumbling grotesquely out.

For a moment, at least. Then her senses came trickling back in. As fast as she had been emptied, she realized that all of her was still there—yet, something was missing.

Her breath was there. But when she gasped, the air was cold and flowed like water.

Her blood flowed through her veins. But she could feel how effortlessly it slid up and down her limbs. Her heart pounded not just with emotion, but with force.

Her soul remained tethered to her body. Yet, in its ethereal state, it still somehow felt lighter.

Everything felt lighter. Spryer. Brighter. Stronger.

Cleaner.

The sensations were obvious. It was Malenia’s body being given back to her. The Scarlet Rot was gone. Only she remained, the original and rightful owner of her flesh. The realization did not set in as easily as the feelings did. Malenia sat there, gasping and wide-eyed, as bewilderment and fear churned in her stomach. The husk-like emptiness that chilled her body froze her muscles, binding her body to the floor. Her uneven breaths and pounding heart were the only life that made itself known to an observer.

Indeed, the sensations of it all rushed into her effortlessly while the reality of it bashed against the walls of her instincts—it was prevailing, slowly but surely, and as Malenia’s mind reached out to lay trembling fingers on the thought, it put a hitch in her breath. She lay there silently, throat dry and growing drier as the dawn crested her horizon.

The emptiness beneath her skin—the weightlessness, the cold and colorless void—it was an absence that she felt. The absence of rot. Her flesh, so hot and swollen from years of harboring two hosts, had been relinquished from its burden and soared to greet the cool air. The unnerving silence in her head was the eviction of invasion and the return of control—the return of self.

It was gone. The Scarlet Rot was gone.

Malenia’s heart hammered in her chest. Her whole body, once rigid, now began to tremble.

“A-Ash?” she called.

“‘Tis over, Empyrean,” came his voice. She could hear the smile in those words. “The rot in your body is no more.”

Malenia struggled to sit straighter up. Her one arm pushed and scrabbled with a mind of its own, with vigor that came to her too easily.

“M-M… My…”

Her words shivered in her chest like a cold puppy. Her mind whirled, and her heart hammered against her ribcage.

“My limbs,” she finally finished.

There was a shuffling of metal. Then, a long, curved blade was laid against Malenia’s chest. She felt along the flat of it until she found the hand gripping it; clutching her prosthesis, she jammed it into her shoulder with feverish haste. Ash was quick to pass along her legs, and she was even quicker to slot them in.

She stood up too fast. Her hand pressed against the pillar and held her steady as her bearings rolled about her skull. Even now, she felt too light on her feet. Her mouth hung half-open, gawking at Ash as she brought her flesh hand to her chest. In an anxious fidget, her thumb and forefinger rubbed against one another.

Something hard flaked off her fingertips.

Malenia grimaced. She pressed her fingers together again, harder this time—almost scraping her pads together. More of the stuff fell away, enough for her to really feel what was underneath… and it made her go stiff.

It was skin. Healthy skin. Smooth, warm, and supple, untouched by lifetimes of clashing swords and raging wars. As the thought crossed her mind, more of the scabs that covered her hand began to fall away and… didn’t stop. Like a snake molting its old scales, the scarring that marred Malenia’s hand was dissolving, leaving something untainted in its wake.

Even as she observed this, the carapace that covered her arm was already dissipating. It broke silently off her skin and crumbled into dust while she stood dumbstruck, dissolving into miniscule particles and vanishing into thin air. In its wake clenched a bold, unblemished fist, as fair and clean as Marika’s herself.

The Scarlet Rot was fading away, and with it, the marks it left on her.

It dissolved faster and faster, accelerating at an impossible pace. Before long, the whole of her arm held itself before her, completely and utterly unfettered. She could feel the scarring on the rest of her body fade away, as well: her shoulder, her breast, her legs, her pelvis—all of it was just… disappearing. As if it were never there.

In spite of her newfound weightlessness, Malenia felt suddenly too weak to stand. Her hand found its way to her face and squeezed the bridge of her nose as she desperately scrabbled to still her hurtling thoughts and tame her cacophonous emotions.

Any success she might’ve had was dashed when the scabs on her nose dissolved at her touch.

“Wh–” Malenia’s hand jerked away at once. Her heart leapt into her throat, threatening to steal her newly-purified breath from her. Either way, she dared not breathe as the dissolution crept along her nose, expanding more and more right on top of her face.

The mask. The calcified scarring that hid her gaze from the world and the world from her gaze. The mark upon her flesh that had taken her sight away bit by precious bit. The very same one crumbling atop her skin right this very moment.

A line of color pierced the darkness.

“O-Oh…!” Malenia’s hand moved to cover her mouth. Even as a strained whimper choked out of her throat, the single pinprick of… of… of something in the nothing grew before her eyes, before her very eyes. It expanded and brightened, trickling rays into a world that had been dark for so impossibly long. Within heartbeats, that trickle became a flood, and in the blink of an eye, the dark was washed away in a riptide of light.

Malenia’s eyes squeezed shut in the sudden flash. For a moment, she was enwreathed again in darkness, and for that moment, it was almost comforting—familiar in the confusion of an incomprehensible metamorphosis. But even despite the lifetimes upon lifetimes of uselessness under which her eyes had despaired, simple brightness could not subdue a demigoddess. Her eyes adjusted faster still than she did and flew wide open within mere seconds. What she saw—what she saw… was the smooth inside of her helm, illuminated halfway by slits in a visor that stretched all the way to her nose; a visor never meant to allow vision. Instinct took over, and in a flash, Malenia pulled the helm from her hair and threw it to the side to gaze out upon an incredible scene. Dark, roiling thunderclouds loomed high overhead, their gloomy underside serving as the only ceiling to a dozen pillars that fanned out and stretched towards the storm. Malenia stared at the sky with wild yet enraptured eyes. Even the smooth, dark clouds teemed with overwhelming detail that held Malenia transfixed. Impossible curves and infinitely rolling edges. The glow of a hidden sun that smothered into a miles-long gradient of gold and grey. Dim flickers of lightning that sent the great mural into a whorl.

It was impossible. It was indisputable. It was incredible.

“What do you see?”

Malenia’s frantic gaze snapped towards the earth. In front of her stood a lone knight draped in maille and scales—common soldier’s garb, if not for the thickets of cherry red bramble that snaked haphazardly around every inch of it. For every chain link in the maille, a metallic thorn jutted outwards. Only the cape and helm seemed free of such marring; the cape draped over the lurid wrappings while the helm—the helm was one she recognized. She had seen it but once long ago, when the Shattering had just begun and her sight still remained. The helm of the Night’s Cavalry, rogue knights who had sworn fealty to the mysterious Omen Margit. Its angry black visor was the last thing Malenia saw in the snow before she and Miquella retreated to the Haligtree forever. For a moment, seeing it in front of her now sent a wave of queasy unease through her.

“What?” she exhaled.

“What do you see, Empyrean?” the knight repeated.

“I-I…” Malenia could barely form words. Her hand raised to reach forth; the sight of smooth, flush skin entering her vision stole Malenia’s attention for a moment. She stared mouth agape at her own quaking hand, watching its fingers twitch to life and then ball up into a tight fist. Her wrist spun with almost fearful slowness, allowing her eyes to comb over every last inch of it. Then her gaze flicked back up, then back down at her hand, then up at the knight again.

She unclenched her fist. Her hand reached towards the black helm.

“I see–“

Her voice hitched in her throat. Her fingers rested gingerly upon the rugged plate.

“I see you, Ash.”

The words trickled from her lips. A crack in her dumbfoundment. A crack that, as she steadied herself against the Tarnished standing before her, split and widened down the length of her stomach.

“I see you,” she repeated. “A-And… and I see the sky.”

She looked straight overhead.

“I see the rays breaking through the clouds, and the distant glare of lightning. I see grand pillars stretching into nowhere, ringing a colosseum beyond time. I-I see the whole of the scene laid out before me. I see everything! I see it all, Ash! I see…”

She looked back down at him. She saw her hand caressing his hidden face. Her eyes traced along the length of her arm until her dress filled her view. The shimmering golden lace caked with cool dirt and loose gravel. The trailing bands of maille that shielded her and her soul. It all bent and ruffled and swayed with her movements. Such small shifts, yet so full of motion. She saw her own golden toes, itself their own armor, planted with utter tenuity upon the ground.

She saw…

“Me,” she whispered.

Her. Only her. One body, one mind, one soul. No rot in sight. Just her.

Her eyes remained fixed on the ground. Both hands brought themselves up to her face. The glint of her katana stabbed her eyes, but she paid it no mind. All she could focus on was her hands. Her clean, bright hands. Right in front of her face. Completely silent and unmoving, yet she could sense them plain as day.

“I-I…” she stammered.

“How do you feel?”

She wrenched her head up. Ash stood there the same as before, but she found her head craning up to look at him. She realized in the back of her mind that she had sunk to her knees. She held his veiled gaze for a long, taut moment, silent save for her shuddering breaths.

Her lower lip began to twitch.

“Malenia–?”

Ash didn’t get another word out before the demigoddess in question careened straight into his chest.

Her arms were around him in an instant. She clenched him in her grasp, holding him tighter than she’d ever held anything before. Still on her knees, unable to will her feet to hold firm, her head fell straight into the crook of his neck. Hundreds of tiny iron thorns pierced her dress and dug into her skin as she pulled him fervidly into her embrace, but it was not the pain of such bracken that pulled tears from her eyes. No, far from it.

“Thank you,” she whimpered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Ash said nothing, merely lifted his arms and gingerly returned Malenia’s embrace. He held her up as she devolved into lachrymose gasping, and as her body began to convulse with sobs, his hold on her tightened, ensuring she stayed upright as she poured droves of tears onto his shoulder.

She had cried before, oh yes. But now her tears flowed freely. Freely. She was free. She was finally free.

Neither of them were quite certain of how long she knelt there, muffling her keening into his thorny armor. When she finally felt ready to speak again, she lifted her head up and gave a wretched sneer to his own expressionless visor.

“‘Tis over,” she wept. Her flesh hand, bleeding in several places where the thorns had pricked her, lifted from Ash’s shoulder and wiped the tears from her face. “Verily, ‘tis… ‘tis truly over.”

A smear of blood remained on her cheek at her own touch. Ash brought a hand to her face and wiped it away. His armor was cold, but his touch was delicate.

“‘Tis over,” he echoed back to her. Malenia shook her head—not at him, but at all of it.

“Every last deed you have done,” she began. She had to stop for a minute as another sob clawed at her chest; she swallowed it down and grunted before continuing. “Each one, more preposterous, more inconceivable than the last. Each one, believed I more and more, to be the ultimate act. F-For how could you possibly boast even more feats to perform and see any higher apex to which you could ascend?”

In spite of everything, the hint of a smile played across Malenia’s lips.

“And now here you stand before me, resolute and firm, as I tremble in awe at what you have done for me today. Y-You’ve… You’ve done the impossible, Ash. You have freed me from my shackles and put an end to an infinity of rot. You…”

She broke off into another sob. Having relinquished her desperate hold on Ash, she doubled over and fell onto her hands. She hadn’t the wherewithal to continue her rambling, and opted to simply lay there bawling for a moment.

“This land shattered with the Elden Ring,” Ash said over Malenia’s mewling. “I will stop at nothing to put every wrong I can to right.”

“When the Haligtree returns to life…”

Malenia made a fist and pressed it into the earth.

“My men will sing your legend for generations,” she declared. With a grunt, she forced herself onto one knee.

“Never will I be able to erase the debt I owe to you,” she went on, “but as long as that debt endures, so too will my gratitude.”

“Malenia, I–“

Ash was caught abruptly off when a sudden rumble shook the stone beneath him. Malenia felt it as well, falling back onto a hand as Ash held out his arms to stay upright.

“What was that?” Malenia demanded. Ash did not reply as the tremor began to fade. Instead, he looked up at the sky, sighed, and bent down to pick up his sword.

“I had hoped we would bide a beat’s more time,” he muttered. Malenia followed his gaze, and what she saw made her balk. In the stupendous excision of the rot, she had been far too stunned and dazed to see the massive two-headed dragon hanging silently in the sky. Now though, as he descended towards the earth and unfurled his limbs, Malenia could see him as clear as day—and hear him. And feel him, too, his great wings blowing a forceful wind through the still colosseum.

As soon as the ground had stilled, Malenia scrambled to her feet. Her wide eyes stared transfixed at Placidusax as he gave them a single glare before throwing both heads back and unleashing a beastly roar that filled Malenia’s ears. She grimaced at the sound, but Ash’s voice coming from in front of her still grabbed her attention.

“As it were, I can think of a way to repay your debt,” he commented. She could hear the mirth that bounced off the walls of his helm, and in spite of herself—in spite of everything—she found the tiniest of smirks turning the corners of her lips after just a few moments of stunned gawking.

“Such was the plan,” she remarked. Her katana sparked as it clicked into place. Ash heaved his hulking greatsword onto his shoulder, then turned to give Malenia a last glance.

“For Roderika?” he asked. Malenia bent down to retrieve her discarded helm. Placing it upon her hand, she stood tall and nodded.

“For Roderika,” she affirmed.

Placidusax roared again. Red lightning coalesced from the clouds and churned menacingly overhead. Malenia’s heart pounded in her chest, her stomach did somersaults, and the tears on her face had yet to dry. A few more dripped from her eyes; she blinked them away and fixed her gaze firmly on the dragon.

It was all so much. But she had a job to do, and it was a job she did well.

Ash broke into a run. Malenia followed suit, overtaking the smaller warrior with ease.

“Let us dance, and gaze upon our victory together.”

Chapter Text

Perhaps it was her eyes still snatching every detail they could, but the roiling red glow high overhead tipped Malenia off to what was coming before anything else. She dashed forwards, evading the ear-ringing spear of lightning that cracked to the floor in a cloud of dust; a second leaping stride had her bearing down like an arrow upon the great dragon. Placidusax did not get the chance to send forth another bolt before Malenia’s outstretched prosthesis brought the full length of her blade against the stump of his neck. With a single winged bound she careened past the whole of the dragon’s flank, sword held out and drawing along his hide the entire way down. It felt as if she were pulling her sword against a stony cliff; it skidded along the dragon’s skin with tinnish bounces that she only dimly heard over his incensed roar. Pulling her arm back, she jumped away on instinct, but saw through the slits in her obstructive visor that the Dragonlord had his head pointed down in front of himself, seemingly oblivious to her; the sound of a boulder’s worth of sharpened steel plunging into the stone floor somewhere by his chest told her why. Flicking her eyes back down to where she had struck, she saw only the thinnest dotted trickle of golden blood welling up from Placidusax’s skin.

Better than nothing, she thought. She raised her sword and poised herself to strike again. As if sensing her aggression, the same red glow flickered around the corners of her eyes—this time, from below. Malenia looked down to see a jagged, pulsating ring encircling her feet, illuminating the air with a menacing hue that intensified even as she watched. She jolted and was quick to sidestep the column of crimson light that struck down where the ring had formed, but felt a surge of voltage along the length of her golden leg. A gasp was squeezed from her lungs and she fell onto her other knee as metal and dragonhide alike seized with the power of ancient lightning.

Another halo of light sparked to life at her feet. Gritting her teeth, Malenia willed her good foot up, dragging the paralyzed leg behind her like irons. She could feel the upcoming bolt sending thousands of tiny shocks up both her prosthetics, leaving her good foot unsteady. As the ring of lightning coalesced to a burgeoning white, Malenia finally planted her sole on the earth and, with a great heave, made a one-legged leap away from the area of impact. The lightning exploded downwards just after she dove away, leaving her in the clear as she tumbled to the ground with a clumsy somersault and fell onto her back, panting softly. When the next thunderclap threatened to obliterate her, she simply rolled on her side out of the way, winding up on her stomach.

The lightning faded, and Malenia finally had a moment to let her legs return to normal. Slowly, the twitching and humming died down, and when she willed the plates to engage, they clicked into place. It was not gracefully she stood, but stand she did. Placidusax’s eyes did not once meet hers, focused entirely on the man who had skirted his lightning and retaliated with a sword twice his size. Under the stealth of Ash’s misdirection, Malenia had the purchase to re-ready her sword and scan her target, assessing her vantage while she worked the seizure out of her legs. She took half a moment to train her eyes on the gold-speckled line she’d left in the Dragonlord’s flank; shallow as a dinner plate, thick as a coin, the wound was there nonetheless. His stony hide had been separated; what lay underneath was vulnerable. She’d carved herself a mere handhold, barely even a fingerhold, but her grip was nothing if not dextrous and fierce.

Malenia’s flesh hand reached for her helm, pulling it back until it lay perched atop her head. Light flooded her vision, giving her clear sight of the slice she had inflicted. Keeping her eyes narrow and firmly fixed on the subtle glimmer of golden ooze, she bent her knees and gave a testy hop. Her plates and gears acquiesced with obedience and animated with ease. Coming to a soft landing, she dug her feet into the earth, winding her body for but a blink before leaping forwards with the straightness of an arrow. Her sword pointed outwards, breaking her headwind to carve a path through the air and directly into her target: The same cut she had just inflicted. With surgical precision and the strength of a bear, Malenia drove the point of her blade into one of the tiny bleeding holes.

It was her liberated eyes that honed her practiced instincts and guided her hand. With a screech like a waraxe cleaving plate, the sword parted Placidusax’s gravelly hide and sank a good inch and a half into the tender flesh beneath. At the dragon-god’s size, the damage was not much—but it was enough to get his attention. With her sword still lodged in him, Malenia felt the beast shift before she saw the great wall of grey before her lurch. She looked up to finally lock eyes with the Dragonlord, only for the sight to be cut short when a geyser of yellow fire erupted from his jaws. It fell to the floor like a burlap sack and burst like said sack was rotted, the flames rushing to meet his aggressor. Malenia yanked her sword free from its stony scabbard and leapt straight into the air, allowing the sword to trail at her side. The heat of the fire singed her skin and filled the thin metal joints of her legs, burning the places where they connected to her body. Malenia grimaced but clenched her teeth and twirled midair until her sword arm was poised to come bearing down on her landing. As soon as she began to fall, she threw her whole body into slamming her sword down on Placidusax’s back. The blade did little against his rock-hard hide, but the sound of a sickly, bony crack could be dimly heard between the draconic howling and roiling lightning. Inadvertently, Malenia had crashed her knuckles straight into his skin, punching him with such force that it broke the outer layer.

Placidsax snarled at her, turning one head around to snap at the thing between his shoulders. Malenia barely moved her own head out of the way of the oncoming bite, the residual heat of the fire wafting from his dried maw. With her feet infirmly planted on the Dragonlord’s shifting back, she found a gasp entering her lungs when one leg slipped, only barely putting a hand out to break her fall. The fresh skin of her palm was torn by the many crags and edges that lined Placidusax’s hide, making her suck her teeth in pain before raising her sword arm, poised to strike with the blade pointed straight down. With a wrathful war cry, she plunged the katana straight into the fractured pockmark her knuckles had left behind. The point slipped straight through the cracks and sunk a third of its length into the dragon’s flesh; amidst the din of battle, Malenia felt the blade pierce flesh rather than hear it.

That was sufficient to pull a deep, earth-shaking howl from Placidusax’s lungs. The huge, lumbering Dragonlord shuddered with pain and fury, trying to throw Malenia off his back, but with her sword firmly lodged between his scales on one end and latched to her prosthesis on the other, all he succeeded in doing was sending her loose helmet flipping off her scalp and flying to the side. Full bangs of scarlet hair descended upon Malenia’s vision, obscuring her periphery for a moment as she dug in and held fast. With her own locks in the way and her focus directed on enduring Placidusax’s frenzy, she failed to notice a certain thorn-clad knight roll underneath a flailing swipe of galvanized claws and sprint up to the dragon’s flank, shouting something.

“Malenia!”

It wasn’t until Ash called her name that her ears perked up. Clutching her sword with her prosthesis and her prosthesis with her hand, she snapped her head down to see him signaling to her.

“Keep his head down here!” he commanded. She blinked, bewildered for a moment, but when the Tarnished heaved his hulking blade onto his shoulder and cocked his knees, chambering a great strike with the colossal sword, she realized what he was aiming for, nodded, replied with a breathless “Yes!” and gave her sword a firm squeeze, angling her body behind it as Placidusax’s left head continued to bite at her. Crouching behind the cutting face of the katana for some form of defense, she tensed every muscle in her body before pulling herself up by the base of the blade. With her weight pressing down on it, it sank further into Placidusax’s flesh, inciting a rageful hiss from both heads as he snapped at her once more. His face rammed straight into her sword, shaking Malenia’s entire world and sending a foot slipping out from beneath her, but the golden armament stayed affixed within his flesh as he recoiled from its vicious edge, giving Malenia a chance to reorient herself and bring herself onto one knee.

And then, in a move she would’ve never expected, Placidusax shuddered and rolled, almost fell, onto one side—the side on which Ash stood right beneath the massive dragon.

Alarm bolted through Malenia’s chest. Eyes wide, she called the Tarnished’s name and, when she received no response, she dared to poke her head out from behind her blade and peer over Placidusax’s shoulders in search of her companion. She found him, braced as deeply as possible into his greatsword, the tip of which stabbed Placidusax’s shoulder, holding him in place like a wedge. But she could see that the sheer weight of the Dragonlord was already proving too much for Ash; he shuddered with the effort of holding fast and his feet were sliding ever backwards as the full brunt of the great king bore down upon him.

Malenia’s heart leapt. She had to act fast. Using her sword as a brace, she clambered up the side of Placidusax’s lopsided back until her feet crouched squarely on one shoulder—the most solid ground she could find. Her eyes darted up and down the great lord’s form, looking for some kind of weakness to pierce and pull his attention back towards her. She found it in his wings: the underside gleamed a rich yet blackened yellow, the same metallic hue that seeped angrily from the wounds she’d made. A soft spot, ripe to burst under the swordswoman’s golden fang—if she could make it to the wing from where she crouched upon Placidusax’s shoulders.

Malenia squeezed the base of the blade. Her muscles grew hard, resisting the flopping of her stomach and willing her legs to find purchase upon their thrashing, uneven ground. She stood up just enough to get her back straight and then, facing her target, bunched her legs up and took off with a pounce. With a screech of metal on rock, her katana was wrenched free from its burial and joined Malenia in her wild leap, coming around just in time to plunge upside-down into a golden tarp of flesh.

A wet, fibrous sound reached Malenia’s ears. The great dragon’s swollen tendons snapped with such vigor that Malenia could hear them as her blade pierced him. Her full weight slammed gracelessly into the wing soon after; thankfully the muscular underside was just pliant enough to offer something resembling padding, muffling the thud she made on contact.

Her head was filled with an agonized roar.

The sky above Malenia tilted as Placidusax righted himself at once. Gravity seized her dangling feet and swung them to the side, taking the rest of her body with it. Thanks to her iron grip on the sword, she found herself spinning the blade to match her reorientation, corkscrewing it into the Dragonlord’s wing. The hole it carved allowed the point to keep spinning until it dropped down towards the ground; at once, there was a lurch in Malenia’s precarious position. With gravity and her full weight working together to tug on the blade, it began to slice through Placidusax’s muscles, descending down the length of his wing and leaving the great limb bisected in its wake. Placidusax’s inflamed howl drowned out the sound of ripping flesh, as well as the sound of Malenia cutting herself free of her perch and dropping squarely to the floor. What it didn’t drown out was the earsplitting crack of thunder igniting the air right over Malenia’s head as soon as she landed; looking up, her vision was filled with a blinding red light that took the form of three jagged claws all bearing down on her.

She didn’t have time to dodge. Placidusax struck her squarely and viciously. She was flung back into the air, this time without any anchor, careening like a glintstone missile launched from a sorcerer’s staff. She landed on her back with a gravelly thud, bounced once, and flipped clean over before skidding several meters more and then finally coming to a grinding halt. It took quite some time spent groaning in pain before she could get her hands underneath her and sit up; her back, throbbing like a swollen cyst from the impact, felt cold and bare. Her golden dress had been shredded, leaving only the latticed maille intact—maille that had shielded her from the brunt of the attack, but failed to insulate any of the lightning that had touched her skin; the jitters it sent up and down her body prevented her from getting up right away. Her abdomen stung, and when she parted the trailing armor, she observed three angry red gashes welling up along her belly that stretched from one edge to the other. The wounds were shallow but ugly, and she grimaced when she noticed some of the chain links that protected her were missing, having been snapped by the sheer force of the blow.

Struggling to stand with the electricity coursing through her veins, she looked up and scanned the area around Placidusax for Ash. She spotted him for all of a second before a geyser of yellow flame spewed from Placidusax’s twin maws and towards the Tarnished down below. He took off running, sprinting straight for the Dragonlord’s tail; Malenia held her breath at the sight, uncertain of Ash’s safety. For as searing as the fire was, Placidusax himself seemed impervious to it, so she doubted luring it towards his tail would be a sufficient deterrent—and indeed, the tip of the appendage was promptly engulfed in flames, making Malenia’s stomach clench. At the fringe of the blaze, however, she spied a trace of movement somewhere within. Then, like a mole emerging from its burrow, Ash rose above the scorching barrage.

Evidently, he’d been perfectly aware of Placidusax’s immunity to his own fire and had sought to exploit such a weakness, for in an astonishingly resourceful maneuver, he vaulted the beast’s tail and disappeared behind it where the flames were naught. The surge died soon after and Placidusax’s heads swivelled to find Ash, sweeping over his flank before one of the four eyes caught the woman knocked onto her knickers in front of him.

Two gazes snapped to face her.

In a flash, Malenia was broken free of her observatory trance and scrabbled to get her feet under her, but her legs could barely move, still totally paralyzed by the lightning coursing through veins and plates alike, trembling violently and yet unimaginably stiff. Her muscles simply refused to obey her while the joints of her prosthetics could not lock in place as they shuddered with the current.

Placidusax reared both heads back and let loose a bellowing chant, shaking the earth and filling it with a skin-tingling hum. Malenia watched with dismay as wisps of wrathful lightning coalesced around her.

There was a sound of steel on stone, one which Malenia had come all too well to recognize. Suddenly, the voltage in the air dissipated, leaving her free of any new cracks of lightning with which to be smitten—yet, she would still find herself thoroughly shocked as she saw Placidusax, enormous lumbering dragon that he was, stumble to the side.

With a great heave of his sword, Ash had knocked the massive beast off-kilter. Placidusax’s front claws slid out from under him, sending his hulking front end down towards the earth along with both heads. They collapsed to the floor and splayed out in front of himself like a pair of dead snakes.

Amidst the great fall, Malenia finally found her feet, unsteady though they were. Her sword clicked into place and at once she commenced forth in a gait caught halfway between a sprint and a limp. From behind the dragon’s great flank came Ash, beelining straight towards the same place Malenia was: Placidusax’s grounded heads.

“Take the one on the right!” he shouted. Malenia poised her sword so that the point jutted forth from her side. She veered rightwards just as Ash reached the fray; with her arm cocked to attack, Malenia dove onto Placidusax’s face and let herself fall straight onto him, throwing her whole weight into this decisive strike.

In perfect unison, the two warriors planted their blades into Placidusax’s eyes. Malenia’s long, slender katana plunged deep into the socket. Like a clap of thunder came a thick, gooey POP, and like a valve bursting open came a thick, oily mixture of runny golden blood and a sickly dark ooze. It splattered all along her front where it promptly seeped into the fabric of her dress and drained through the gaps in her maille. She paid it no mind; she had lived through far more revolting contamination every day. Ash, meanwhile, spared himself the mess entirely by striking the haphazard edge of his great blade along the length of Placidusax’s brow. Neither head, stunned so gravely as they were, reacted with sufficient force in time, giving Ash ample opportunity to land a second blow across the wound he’d just opened up while Malenia grabbed her prosthesis by the wrist and yanked her sword free of its gruesome sheath.

The punitive mutilation of the wounds was enough to rouse the disoriented Placidusax. Both heads jolted awake and lifted straight into the air to flail haphazardly while Malenia backed up. What remained of Placidusax’s popped eye gushed buckets of blood and grime that poured down his face and thumped to the floor like a stream of visceral tears. Malenia sidestepped a stray glob as it flung towards her, only for her heel to slide into a puddle of it that sent her stumbling further backwards. Briefly, she wondered if the sickly blood of an Elden Lord would be enough to tarnish her unalloyed limbs.

Placidusax’s twin heads issued a unified duet of stomach-churning bellows that blasted his rage into the heavens—and in response, the heavens sent down yet more lightning. Malenia’s teeth loosely clenched, and she sighed under her breath. She’d become quite ill of the constant rain of electricity… then again, if that was all the Dragonlord had beyond his oafish rolling, then perhaps it was to be expected.

By now, the paralysis had just about faded from her legs; not a moment too soon, for the instant that a smattering of sparks began their telltale churn around her, she leapt forwards out of the way. Apprehensive of subsequent volleys, she did not stop when that first spire of light smote the ground where she once was; she kept running, outpacing the dragon’s vengeance with ease. She sprinted down the length of his starboard flank, bound over his tail and came back round the other side, scanning his craggy skin for any weak points while the storm raged futilely in her wake. Along the whole of his sides, nothing brazen or obvious met her eyes, for though his hide was cracked and withered, it showed near none of the soft flesh hiding beneath. Coming up to his left, however, Malenia spotted just what she was looking for: A thick serpentine figure coiled itself around his chest, terminating in a jagged stump that peered out meekly over his shoulder. It seemed Placidusax had once boasted even more than two heads, for what she saw could be nothing other than another neck, its head having been severed who knows how long ago and its form partially fused to his body. The stump that remained bore a dull golden face, scarred over and yet certainly more tender and vulnerable than anything protected by the armor that coated the rest of his form—and thus, she had her target.

Malenia stopped dead in her tracks, giving herself only a moment to dig her soles into the ground before pouncing for the exposed flesh. Gold met gold, and for a split-second moment, Malenia tensed, wondering only briefly if her intuitions had served her well. Just as soon as the thought passed her mind, however, she had her answer when her sword did not stop upon contact with the severed remains. The point of it slid so easily into Placidusax’s neck that Malenia herself, travelling with her leaping thrust, had to hold her other hand out to break her fall as she careened straight into the wall of sinew and stone. It was her own body that stopped her from stabbing any deeper into the thick of the neck, coming to a halt with a meaty thud against the dried, frail tissue into which her blade was now buried up to the hilt—the hilt being the hand permanently affixed to its base.

Placidusax was sent lurching at once. Malenia’s whole world rocked and at once she shot a hand up to the edge of the neck stump and wrapped her fingers around a single rocky scale. Already scraped and bloody, it burned to clench the rugged stone as she did, but she grit her teeth and held tight as the great dragon thrashed. Hooked into and dangling from his neck as she was, she moved with him, swinging back and forth like some malignant ornament and perhaps half as secure. Fighting the fire in her battered hand and the growing ache in her wrought muscles, she panted through clenched teeth and held firm while Placidusax flailed wildly. Though her prosthesis buried itself surely within the swollen golden meat of his neck, her hand wept tears of crimson as she held on, its tenuous grasp only persisting because the spines of the Dragonlord’s scales dug into her fingers just as deeply and perhaps deeper than she dug into them. Her own blood trickled in rivulets down Placidusax’s skin and was swallowed when it mingled with the black-and-gold fluid leaking from the wound from which she currently hung suspended.

Down below, Ash threw another great swing into the beast’s chest. The force of the impact was apparently enough to jolt Placidusax out of his incensed hysteria, for his heads whipped down to face the knight, though only for a moment. Immediately after, they raised themselves to the sky… as did the rest of his hulking frame.

The ancient dragon had fought with such inept and heavy-handed lumbering that Malenia had almost forgotten the notion of flight. As she started to ascend even further from the ground than she already was, however, her stomach dropped to the pits of Nokron. Placidusax flew up and up, closer to the sky and the raging storm high overhead—and indeed, it seemed indistinguishable from him. Red lightning crackled in the air and dark gray gales coalesced all around Malenia. All of a sudden, she was surrounded on all sides by a whipping wind. Her sight was fettered when her own hair was thrown into her eyes and her ears were filled with the half-hiss, half-roar of a brewing storm.

Instinct overcame her. Her bloody hand released its hold on Placidusax, leaving her dangling by just her great blade. In the mounting tempest, she strained to keep herself level with the embedded prosthesis, but was able to press her open palm against the wall of flesh and push while her golden arm pulled, and just as easily as it had buried itself into the body of her foe did it slip back out, completely relinquishing her hold on the old lord. As soon as her sword was free of its sheath, Malenia realized with a skip of her heartbeat that she should have thought this action through: without her weapon fixing her in place, there was nowhere to go but down, and down she went. She plunged straight to the ground below, her last glimpse of Placidusax being his disappearance into a black stormcloud before she reflexively, almost autonomously, spun herself around midair until her feet and gaze were pointed towards the stone floor that rushed like a speeding comet to meet her.

She had not nearly enough time to land properly, only to brace for impact. The rock struck her with all the force of Placiudusax’s wrath, sending her knees into her chest nearly fast enough to drive them into her heart. Faster still than the wind was pushed from her lungs by her legs was her vision plunged into total blackness as her head careened into the earth. She tumbled with the motion, turning over enough times to completely scatter what remained of her bearings in a desperate attempt to disperse the impact to any degree. She wasn’t sure how far she skidded along the concrete, nor was she quite sure when exactly she stopped. All she could tell was at some point, she was no longer spinning, but the world was.

Amidst the darkness, stars pulsated and flared. Malenia’s eyes clenched shut, but the dizzying kaleidoscope persisted behind her lids. It was incoherent, bordering on nauseating. Her hand flopped onto her sweat-lined forehead and pressed deep against her brow as if the pressure would bring some kind of stabilization. It didn’t. Everything spun in her brain, making it impossible to tell up from down, left from right, anything from everything.

She didn’t notice Ash come sprinting up to her, only felt a pair of barbed hands on her shoulders that heaved her into a hunched sitting position. They held her firm while she gasped and groaned, keeping her upright as she waited for her senses to return to her.

And slowly—or perhaps not, she couldn’t tell—they did. As the spots in her vision calmed, however, her discombobulated body finally registered what had happened the moment she crashed to the floor, and like a riptide the empty space in her head was flooded with a pulsing, throbbing pain. It screeched in discordant tandem with her scatterbrained daze, washing her over with a new wave of dizziness. Though she sat squarely on the ground, held firm and still by Ash, everything swirled and tumbled as if she had been pulled with Placidusax straight into his storm.

Amidst the din of pain and confusion, her ally’s voice was distant, but she heard it nonetheless.

“Malenia! Are you alright?”

The Empyrean groaned.

“No,” she professed. The one word took what little breath she could afford from her lungs, and she found herself panting as she went on. “That… that fall, my bearings are… in pieces.”

“Breathe,” Ash implored. “Your wounds, they are not healing.”

“What?”

“The cuts and abrasions that adorn you—they persist as fresh and angry as ever. Were you not sapping the lifeblood of Placidusax as you did me?”

Malenia’s stomach sank. As soon as Ash uttered such a venture did the lurking notion dawn on her. No, she realized, she was not. Her lifehunt powers, they…

The Scarlet Rot. The baleful demon that bubbled within her veins, all these years. She, its progenitor, who had inherited its inferno. Its poison, its contagion, its decay… and its parasitism. The parasitism that melded with her own divine will to extract the life force from her enemies and draw it into her body. With the Scarlet Rot and all its inheritance gone, so too was that otherworldly vampire bite with which her sword so fiercely glinted.

The one good thing that wretched Outer God had ever bestowed upon her. Gone when she needed it most.

Her hand fell away from her head.

“Dammit…” she muttered. “Just my luck.”

“What is it?”

“My lifehunt powers are gone. They… they vanished with the rot.”

Ash fell silent. As Malenia sat there awaiting his response, the psychedelic array of stars and spots that filled her vision continued to fade, letting her tilt her head to look over her shoulder at him, just in time to see him finish fiddling with the faded leather belt slung around his waist. A strap fell to the floor behind him as he offered Malenia a small, shimmering crimson flask.

“Drink,” he ordered. Malenia shook her head.

“I told you then, and I tell you now,” she growled. “If the dew of the Erdtree slips into me–”

“Then the rabid hounds the shattered Order sends your way will pale against what awaits us in the clouds,” Ash interrupted, tersely. “Your vampirism is gone, and so is the bloom that would pull you from death. The Erdtree burns as we speak, Malenia. I’ll take my chances with whatever comes tumbling from its failing boughs. Will you?”

Thunder cracked overhead. A drop of rain fell onto her skin, then another, and then another, until a steady downpour was falling from the sky. She knew right away that it heralded a new storm, one that she had already angered quite severely.

With lips as thin as a penstroke, Malenia snatched the flask from Ash’s hands and threw her head back. The holy water that spilled down her throat lit up with gold even as she watched it pour from the mouth of the chalice. With the first swig, the spinning in her head ground to a halt and the vignette that darkened her vision had dissipated all in the very literal blink of an eye. With the second swig, every last cut and bruise covering her vanished, from the pricks left by Ash’s briar to the oversized, crackling clawmarks left in her stomach. With the third, she thrust the flask back into Ash’s hands and stood up with an incensed haste and a furrowed brow. Neither of them said a word and she spared him only a glance before turning her gaze to the darkening sky.

An explosion of thunder sounded behind them. They spun around in unison to see a black cloud falling from the sky and straight towards them; as they watched, the shape of the Dragonlord materialized from the storm, blazing claws spread out and poised to smite his prey.

He fell towards them as fast as Malenia fell towards the earth. The swordswoman jolted to life and dove straight to the right just as Placidusax soared by at astounding speeds, barely missing Malenia’s tattered, trailing dress. The air around him swelled with heat, but that sensation came and went just as fast as his talons did.

Malenia landed ungracefully on her hands. By the time she staggered to her feet and spun to face the dragon, his form was already dissolving into the clouds. Not a few moments later, she saw that same black nimbus encircling high overhead, watching as it banked towards the center of the colosseum and then came barrelling towards her. This time, she was ready, and kept her balance as she leapt out of the way. Placidusax dissolved into the clouds again; when he dove into the ground for a third time, it was pointed at Ash, who barely managed to roll free of the swathe that Placidusax’s galvanized slash carved through the air. This time, he did not take to the skies, instead spinning to face the two intruders.

Another great flash of lightning split the sky, followed by an ear-ringing thunderclap. The rain coalesced into a torrent that soaked Malenia to the bone, washing the golden blood from her katana as it sparked into place. A ways away, Ash climbed to his feet and hastily fixed his flask back to his belt. Placidusax stared the both of them down, eyes shining with wrath that glowed even through the curtains of rain that separated him from them. Malenia took in a deep breath and held it for a long, heavy moment. Her head was no longer pounding, but her heart was. She would have to make those three crimson doses count. The storm through which her blade would be slicing had only grown darker and angrier. The nimbus had become a tornado, and here she was, smaller than ever before.

Her hand reached up to graze the nub that protruded from her solar plexus. Her brother’s needle had done its job, yet it remained interred in her skin. It felt warm to the touch, as if his gentle light emanated from it, unalloyed and unflinching.

Miquella awaited her. Her and all the things she had to show him. She would not be ripped from his embrace by this tired old beast.

Her golden fingers squeezed her blade. Ash hoisted his greatsword back onto his shoulder.

Another thunderclap shook the whole sky. Placidusax answered its call with a roar that rumbled the ground in kind. Little red sparks flitted through the air around his prey.

This is not my grave.

Malenia leapt forth.

Chapter Text

Malenia had no trouble weaving through the veil of bolts that were hurled into her path. They were too slow, too obvious. Steering well clear of even the tiniest ominous spark even as the cracks of thunder on stone ignited the air and drowned out the pounding of rain did Malenia peel through unphased. In her wake, Ash too left only whimpering cinders of jitters and hums setting the puddles around them aglow. Perhaps Placidusax, despite the onset of the icy, watery flood that now enwreathed the colosseum and the whole rest of this grand lightshow, was really wearing out—or perhaps the constant wanton summoning of lightning was becoming just a tad too predictable. Either way, as far as Malenia was concerned, he was slowing down, whereas she, thanks rather bitterly to Ash’s crimson elixir, wasn’t. She bit her tongue, however; she had no idea what the Storm Lord was capable of with the tempests of his name now truly at his back. One thing was for sure: The great dragon’s will to fight was far from heeled.

She leapt back for the swollen flesh on the stump of his neck. It seemed she, too, had become predictable, judging by the talons crashing straight into her. In the time it took for the breath to be evacuated from her lungs, she met the floor with all the tenderness of a giant’s hammer coming down on a soldier’s skull. For a moment, she was plunged into a breathless darkness, unable to resist as Placidusax’s ragged talons crushed her in their grasp. The world around her lurched as he twisted his hand, grinding her deeper into the stone. Her lungs felt flattened, barely able to breathe, and jagged rock covered her ears, muffling the world outside.

Before he could sand Malenia down to a pulp, however, Ash’s greatsword came bearing down on the beast’s arm. There was a sudden shift, and then as soon as it had come on, Placidusax’s wrathful hold on Malenia vanished. The sound of the storm rushed to meet her, as did the cool open air of the throne room. She was free to gasp for air and, more importantly, to roll onto her stomach and find her feet. The floor was covered in a pooling layer of water now, but that was something she was more than used to. She squeezed her sword and threw her eyes towards the Dragonlord, watching as his towering form shifted to look at Ash. His great stone forelimbs dragged across the ground until one suddenly came up and went alight with a familiar red glare. Malenia had no choice but to fall backwards out of the way; within half a second lightning crackled just inches from her face. She tilted her shoulder towards the ground and rolled crudely away from the attack, tumbling until her feet touched stone again and she could plant a hand into the floor to halt herself, chest panting and ears ringing.

Placidusax raised his other claw as soon as the first touched the ground. Just before it could come sweeping down, Malenia caught a glimpse of the hand that had just sent her tumbling: It was the same hand with which the dragon had crushed her against the stone and the hand Ash had waylain, now bearing the angry scuff of his many heavy blades. Dark golden blood welled from the marks, a clear sign that the stony skin had been cracked.

As easy a target as she could get, she thought. She leapt to her feet and dashed forth, sword at the ready. The great dragon’s lumbering form leaned awkwardly in her direction as he raised his opposite forelimb to swipe down at Ash, but recoiled away from her as soon as the tip of her blade plunged into the crags of his skin and sank into the soft meat below. Reaching her flesh hand out, she wrapped her fingers around the center of the slender blade, locking it into a half-sword grip and driving into her target faster and angrier than he retreated from her. Blood ran thickly as if swollen, a small waterfall of blackened gold painting the Dragonlord’s scales. She pushed and pushed until he jerked with a suddenness that Malenia did not expect from the great beast. His arm pulled away, but her sword remained stuck in its stone. Her feet left the floor as she was yanked forth and a vicious sting bit into her hand as the blade was loosened in her grasp, sliding the crease of her palm right along the razor edge. She pulled her hand back at the same time as she wrenched her prosthesis contra to Placidusax’s retreat, finally overwhelming her sword’s adamant bite and sliding it free from the dragon’s arm.

Stumbling backwards to find her feet, Malenia held her sword out in front of her, ensuring her foe did not retaliate while she was busy re-righting herself. Looking out, however, she saw him shift his focus back to the Tarnished whaling into him with an oversized greatsword, so for a moment, she decided to catch her breath. Even revitalized by the crimson tears as she was, she had not been given much time at all to rest from the exertion of facing this godly beast. Her chest rose and fell with hard, dry pants that filtered through half-clenched teeth. Steeling herself, she clenched her hand, but quickly winced when her nails inadvertently dug into the fresh cut along her palm. For a moment, her attention was stolen by the pain, driving her to lift her hand to her face and gaze upon it. Blood smeared messily across her fair skin, coating everything from her wrist to her fingers. A thin red line, darker and thicker than the blotches that surrounded it, continued to freely weep blood. Her whole hand throbbed with a sensation caught halfway between burning and numbness.

Staring at her hand, Malenia was filled with a sense of unease. Not because the injury, painful though it may have been, was particularly deadly, but because it simply felt… wrong. Not just the cut itself—everything.

It was almost incomprehensible. Why did her hand, necrotized to the core, shimmer with clean, shiny skin, unfettered by the centuries of decay that had mired her whole body? Why did her nerves, decimated to the point of near-uselessness by the scarlet cancer, twitch and jolt with all the vitality of Miquella’s own radiance? Why did her blood, thick and dark with rot, run with an almost dazzling ruby redness, a red so much more vibrant than the one that should have been there, flowing like water as she watched?

Why could she even see it to begin with?

Her ineffable warrior spirit faltered. The barriers she had erected to block out the overwhelming sensations of being finally liberated from a curse she thought eternal, all at once, began to collapse. Her rough, breathless gasps grew staggered. Her sword went from pointed warily in the direction of Placidusax to spearing the ground to help her stay upright. Her fingers twitched, then rose to life and curled inwards. Her fist clenched again; when the pain of her nails digging into her open wound shocked her nerves, she jerked back to life as if revitalized. When the intrusive action forced more blood up from between her fingers, she stared transfixed, eyes wide and mouth agape. When the burning became too much and she was forced to pull her blood-logged nails away, she smiled.

It was gone. It was really, truly gone.

“Malenia!”

Ash’s voice snapped her out of her trance like being hoisted out of an icy ocean. She looked towards him, eyes wide, and noticed him pointing frantically over his head. She followed his finger and darted her gaze upwards just in time for a bright red firework to explode in her face.

Placidusax’s attack was nothing short of vengeful. Falling from the clouds to hurl his entire being at Malenia, his claws imbued with the lightning of the divine storm, he struck her as if the Greater Will itself had descended from the great beyond to smite her for her transgressions. She was hurled like an arrow loosed from a bow and flew backwards, dazed and weightless for a long, suspended moment before the world rushed to meet her in the form of a column of rock.

A dull pain burst forth in her back, thickly concentrated around her head. There was a flash behind her eyes and then she was plunged into a familiar darkness. Like the rind of a Rowa fruit was she peeled from the wall by gravity to fall limply to the ground below. Her vision filled with undulating chains of stars that swam across her eyes in every direction at once. They dazzled her senses, leaving her without the mind to try and lift herself from the floor—though it was doubtful if her body would have obeyed right away in the first place.

She gasped. Water entered her mouth and dove down her throat, carrying with it tangible bits of gravel and dust. She tried to cough, but couldn’t do it without breathing. Her jaw twitched, betraying a sign of life under her skin. As she struggled to peer through the galaxy in her eyes, she flexed her jaw; it obeyed and closed shut. Shielding her tongue and throat from more insipid sand, she pushed the water from her mouth and breathed again. The liquid filtered back through her teeth, leaving sand to crunch unpleasantly in her jaws, but it was preferable to swallowing the stuff. She continued breathing in an effort to revive herself, working her entire body almost like a pump. Back and forth, back and forth, the motions of her lungs gradually powered up the rest of her. Her fingers trembled with an unsteady life as she pushed them into the ground. Her face lifted from the stone and her upper body followed suit, creating space for her to slide a golden knee up under her belly and further push herself into a hunched-over kneel. Water tumbled from her lips as she coughed up the fluid that had entered her chest.

Her head spun with the effort of sitting up, compounded by the heaving of her body as she expulsed globs of water. Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head in an effort to scatter the stars in her vision. It worked somewhat; solid light trickled into her eyes but the image it wove was fuzzy—it was the stone floor, she knew that much. She spat the sand in her teeth into the pooling water below; at least that cumbersome sensation was easy to evict. The sickening pain and dizziness, however, were a very different story. She groaned and continued to blink the stars away, but the effort of focusing her eyes only magnified the pounding in her skull as a coherent image began to coalesce.

Somewhere ahead of her, thunder boomed.

The ripping winds of the storm suddenly ceased in their mayhem as a great gust of air slammed into her face. Frigid water was sent splashing over her, soaking into her dress and filtering through the maille beneath, and her knees slid along the ground as she was shoved backwards. Her face stung from droplets like icy needles scattering across her skin. In her disorientation, Malenia was unsure what could possibly be happening—looking up, however, she did not like the answer.

There before her stood Placidusax in all his bloody glory. A geyser of wind erupted from around him while a blinding red light coalesced in his claws, taking the form of a lightning spear the size of a watchtower. Everything whirled as the blood-chilling bolt gathered power, readying itself to unleash a blast so powerful her concussed mind could barely even fathom it—and here she was, on her knees, smack in the middle of the blast radius.

Malenia’s heart leapt into her throat. She scrabbled to get her feet under her, but her smooth metal hands slipped on the water-slicked stone, and with a pitiful splash that was drowned out by the roaring din around her, she fell face-first back into the pool beneath her, knocking her head on the stone and scattering her bearings again. Her breath, and her limbs, seized, leaving her a twitching imbecile plastered to the earth while devastation loomed right in front of her.

There was an earth-shaking THUNK next to her head. A thorned pair of hands grabbed her under the arms.

The wind rushed out of Malenia’s lungs as Ash lifted her half-limp form off the ground. With a heaving grunt, the knight threw the much larger woman over his shoulders and held her against his back, then took off into a dead sprint. Malenia’s toes trailed along the surface of the water and her overlong katana dangled limply from her prosthesis, dragging its impossibly sharp edge along Ash’s form, but that did not deter him one bit. Trying her very best to blink her vision back to life, Malenia tilted her head just enough to see the shrinking image of Ash’s grafted blade greatsword lying on the floor, abandoned where she had lain.

The din of Placidusax’s great bolt was becoming overwhelming. Malenia’s heart hammering in her skull, the panicked gasps of the Tarnished beneath her and the loud clanking of his armor as he tore through the rain, the great chorus of the storm itself all faded to make room for the screeching of an impossibly powerful Dragonlord preparing to smite his tiny prey.

Thunder cracked hotly. Malenia flinched at the deafening sound.

“Fuck!” Ash cried, though she barely heard him. The hands holding her against him yanked on her and threw her unceremoniously to the floor. She gasped as she hit the ground, but that breath was immediately squeezed out of her when Ash dove directly on top of her.

Placidusax unleashed his wrath.

Whatever horrifying thunderclap ensued, Malenia heard not a peep of it, for as soon as the blast wave hit her, her eardrums burst. She issued a hoarse cry as her rattled head was shoved into the earth with the force of the concussive blast, but thankfully Ash’s weight held her in place, bracing her against the unflinching ground as an explosion capable of levelling an entire town raged around them.

His protection did not, however, assuage the power surge that shot up her prosthetic legs. That hit her in full force and very nearly shocked her heart out of beating. On the bright side, the sudden onset of muscle lockup her whole body went into helped keep her even more still. Even her jaws and throat seized, leaving her unable to vocalize the awful sensations travelling up and down every nerve pathway in her body at light speed. On the dark side, however, everything else also froze. Head pounding, ears ringing, she fought for any ounce of autonomy, wanting nothing more than this ongoing battle to simply breathe to be won already without some new war party clinching her lungs in a death trap. The lightning pooled in her conductive limbs, occasionally shooting painfully into her chest, but not enough to stop her from forcing her diaphragm to work with every ounce of disoriented strength she had in her. Held completely still, enduring an entire thunderstorm’s worth of fury in a single strike, all she could do was breathe to still her palpitating heart.

And then, just as viciously as it came on, the lightning died with a final gasp and debris-clogged shockwave. Even while her ears still rang, the din of the storm rushed to meet Malenia, and she gasped with the sudden crescendo of electricity in her veins dying down to an angry swarm of bees buzzing in her limbs. Her head continued to scream at her, but she blinked the rain out of her eyes and focused on Ash’s helm, mere inches from her face. The intimidating visor stared resolute and unscathed at her, but the ragged, choking breaths that whistled from within and the great tremors that racked his body told her that Ash was far from alright. She reached a trembling, twitching hand up and placed it upon the wet metal.

“A-A… Ash?” she rasped. Her stomach twisted in her belly. Ash issued a single weak rasp in response. Malenia squeezed his helm.

“Ash…” she repeated, struggling to form that one word.

His hands, placed astride her, slid out from beneath him. His head crashed into her shoulder.

“Finish the fight,” he sighed. Then, to Malenia’s horror, the Tarnished slumped against her and went completely limp. Her blood froze as cold as the icy downpour around her.

“Ash…!” she called. She placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him. He did not move.

“Ash!” she called again, louder this time. “Ash, get up!”

In a sick twist of irony, Ash’s weight was lifted from her body. Not because the knight had obeyed her command, however, but rather because, before her very eyes, his battered and lifeless form dissolved into a cloud of twinkling gold that was swiftly whisked away by the ripping winds of the storm.

“Ash!” Malenia cried. On pure instinct, she reached out and grabbed for the flecks of dust that were once her friend only for them to dissolve at her touch, leaving her empty-handed and alone as they were scattered to the tempests.

Malenia sat up, eyes wide but staring at nothing, mouth agape but utterly speechless. The rain continued to fall, drenching her to the bone and washing away what of Ash’s remains had stayed on her dress.

“N-No,” she whispered. “Ash…”

High overhead, Placidusax roared.

Malenia’s gaze snapped up to face the dragon and saw that he had already fixed her tiny, trembling form in his sights. Sparing her not even a moment’s peace, he raised a talon up by his head, claws spread wide. Thunder clapped as they flashed red with lightning.

As if things couldn’t get any worse. She scrambled to her feet and leapt out of the way just in time, falling to the ground some feet away with a cold splash. She found her feet again, quicker this time, giving her a chance to skitter backwards when Placidusax swiped at her once more. She continued to backpedal as the dragon recovered, chest heaving and electroshocked body shaking.

She needed to buy herself some time. At the very least, she was beyond the reach of his claws now—a mistake that was easily rectifiable for the beast, however. It didn’t take long at all for him to right himself, assess the situation, and shove Malenia from all the way over from where he was with a potent flap of his wings. Globs of blood from the gnarled gash Malenia had carved into his golden flesh flung into the sky, encircling his great form in a grim sparkle. They floated in the air for just a moment before falling right as he himself, with another furious wingbeat, rose from the ground. A great stormcloud overtook his form and swallowed him up in the span of a second, leaving Malenia alone in the pouring rain.

She knew, however, that she didn’t have long. She darted her eyes around the arena, scanning for the nimbus that would soon reappear overhead. As she looked, the glint of unalloyed gold caught her eye. There lay her helm, half-buried in water but otherwise miraculously untouched. She darted over to it and scooped it up, letting the water drain from the inside of the helm before placing it loosely over her head. Holding it at a lopsided angle, she was able to peer well enough through the slits in the visor to keep an eye out for Placidusax. It wasn’t much, but it would surely prevent the next blow from turning her throbbing skull into paste—something best avoided if she had the space to evade his tempestuous attacks. With that in mind, she moved towards the center of the throne room.

Her foot collided with something hard, tripping her. She quickly righted herself and turned to see what it was: The long, spiralized handle of Ash’s greatsword. It lay abandoned, its master gone. Golden blood and fragments of stone beaten from Placidusax’s body covered the jagged edge of the blade, but the rain was making mincemeat of washing it all away.

Malenia’s shoulders fell. Only half-aware of her actions, she bent down and reached her true hand towards the sword with slow, ginger movements, almost as if she were afraid to touch the thing. When her fingers closed around the handle, something in her grew cold.

She gave a firm tug. The sword was, as to be expected, unreasonably heavy. Malenia grunted as she hoisted the handle up until the tip of the armament pointed straight towards the ground. For as huge and hulking as it seemed when Ash lugged it around, it barely came up to Malenia’s chest and, for as cumbersome as it felt, was about half the length of her own katana.

Were it not for everything happening, Malenia would have chuckled at the way this intimidating sword illustrated just how tiny Ash was. A blade so heavy it sent his entire body careening every single time he swung it, barely able to even lift the thing even after all this time spent wielding it… to her, barely more than a shoddily-made arming sword.

How determined he must have been to lug that bundle of blades everywhere he went. A determination he brought into her home and she felt in full force with the thousands of duels he went to with her until he finally brought her to her knees. A determination that pulled him through the mire of his decaying homeland and through all the Lands Between until he stood at her door. A determination that had led her to this very moment, gazing upon the lonely weapon with clear eyes, grabbing it with clean hands, reflecting with a head filled only by her thoughts and no one else’s.

A telltale rumble of thunder swelled over the ambience of the storm. Malenia flicked her gaze in the direction of the sound to see a billowing plume crawling out from the clouds, buzzing with red lightning.

Her gaze flicked back to the sword.

A determination that the Dragonlord sought to squash like a bug.

Placidusax dove towards Malenia and slashed.

Nothing. His claws swiped through empty air. Crashing to the floor, he spared a quick glance over his shoulder to see Malenia’s figure there in the rain, several strides away from where she had stood just a moment prior. Eyes that once glimmered through locks of soaked hair were now obscured by a shiny golden helm and alongside her slender blade lurked the grim, ugly sword her companion had wielded.

From the center of the arena, Malenia’s lips curled into a sneer. Her chest rose and fell sharply with strained heaves, but the words she growled to the Dragonlord came forth unfazed.

“This…”

She lifted the greatsword and placed it upon her shoulder.

“... is not where his quest ends.”

Placidusax roared at her and dissolved into rain and winds. This time, Malenia was ready. As soon as she heard the crackling of his thundercloud form coalesce from behind her, she took off running towards the edge of the arena. Thunder split the sky as he swiped at her again, but she rolled to the side and found her feet as Placidusax landed just a few feet from where she had sprinted to. Malenia leapt into the air and plunged her sword downwards. With a meaty crunch that could only come from splitting armor and piercing the flesh beneath, her sword embedded itself in the same spot where she had straddled him before. Placidusax’s two heads screeched their fury and his necks twisted to direct a wave of yellow flames at her. The hand holding Ash’s greatsword lifted from her shoulder and moved towards the wrist of her prosthesis, hastily fumbling with the latch that held her blade in place until she heard a small click. She stood up, and this time the katana did not come with, instead remaining buried in the Dragonlord’s withers. Placing her prosthesis on the handle of Ash’s weapon, she gripped the handle with both hands and held it in a firm grip, baring her teeth and narrowing her eyes at the twin glows that emanated ominously from the backs of Placidusax’s maws.

Then, in a flash, the two lights erupted into fire just as Malenia issued a roar of her own and swung Ash’s greatsword with all her might.

A sound like a hundred pickaxes striking the same rock at once greeted her. With a shrill shriek of pain, the flames that were just about to overtake Malenia died in Placidusax’s jaws as the head she struck careened straight into the neck of the other one. Blood poured from a deep gash that spanned the whole of Placidusax’s face, taking with it chunks of broken-off stone skin.

Digging her feet into the dragon’s spiny back, Malenia lifted the greatsword over her head and swung straight down. Placidusax yanked his heads out of the way just in time, but unfortunately for him that was not what she was aiming for. Metal rang on metal as the flat of Ash’s blade struck the golden spike currently sticking out from Placidusax’s flesh. In one fell swoop she hammered her katana straight into Placidusax’s back, burying the full length of it in his body. If there were any vital organs in the chest of a dragon, she must have missed them, for instead of keeling over and dying in a geyser of blood, Placidusax issued another enraged scream and with a frantic beat of the wings lifted himself off the ground. Malenia’s entire world wobbled with the motion, but against her better judgment, she maintained her balance.

“You want to send me falling again?” she called. “Come on then! Try me!”

He was more than keen to take her up on that. He flapped his wings and rose higher and higher into the sky until his heads pointed upwards and his back went nearly vertical. Malenia’s feet slid out from under her but she did not fall, instead catching the protruding handle of her blade before her descent could begin. She only dimly noticed the ground getting further and further away, for she had her sights set on one thing: A gargantuan stone pillar, just one of many encircling the colosseum, that Placidusax was getting closer and closer to cresting. Her feet dug into his skin, bracing herself as the top of the pillar inched closer and closer.

Mist formed at her feet, coalescing and snaking up her prosthetics until it enwreathed her ankles, then her knees, and then her waist. Her heart pounded and her stomach twisted, but she held firm as Placidusax’s form started to dissolve around her. It wasn’t until the stony wall beneath her feet began to vanish and her sword loosened in his flesh that she leapt into the air, bringing the golden blade with her; she threw it upwards and barely registered the sound of it clattering on top of the pillar before her outstretched prosthesis grabbed squarely onto the lip of it. With a grunt, she hoisted forth Ash’s greatsword and tossed it onto the smooth stone face above as well, freeing her true hand to grab on and pull herself up.

From atop the pillar she could see the whole of the throne room. This made it much easier to find Placidusax as soon as he began to reappear even while she busied herself with affixing her katana back into her prosthesis and hoisting Ash’s greatsword onto her shoulder. Red lightning crackled on the outer edge to her left, hugging the edge of the arena and speeding towards her pillar. She braced herself, bunching her knees and holding her breath. With as much precision as someone who’d been rendered blind for centuries could muster, she tracked the cloud with wide, wild eyes, carefully counting the number of giant pillars between her and the encircling nimbus.

Five…

He was much further below her than when he’d first entered the clouds. She fidgeted with her katana and tried to still her beating heart.

Four…

Her toes curled around the lip of the pillar, as if trying to hold her in place should this reckless, borderline insane gamble go wrong.

Three…

She gave the handle of the grafted blade greatsword a squeeze, clutching it close. The weapon’s weight would be a beast to wrangle, but she had to. She was in far too deep.

Two…!

She slid her feet over the edge of the floor and plummeted from the sky. Ice cold rain pelted her face, and it was only by placing the flat of her sword against her helm that she was able to keep it on her head. Just ahead of her, the angry stormclouds parted to reveal three glowing eyes atop ragged stony faces. Blood trailed from the fourth like a banner. Placidusax snarled at what he saw falling towards him.

One…!

Malenia spun in the air until Ash’s greatsword pointed straight upwards; falling faster and faster, the sheer torque of her descent threatened to rip the heavy, wettened blade from her grasp, but she clutched the handle as tightly as she could.

The ground was growing closer and closer at a terrifying rate, but something else grew closer still. Like a speeding carriage, the flying Dragonlord rushed to meet her.

Now!

Malenia swung the greatsword downwards with all her might. The sound it made as the whole of her velocity, all that momentum, went straight into Placidusax’s face was nothing compared to the gnarled cry that the beast bellowed out in response. The head she hit careened straight into the second one and he froze up for the briefest of moments—a moment long enough to send his flight completely off course. Placidusax rolled over midair and went into a sharp descent downwards, but not sharply enough to stop himself from colliding headlong into another of the enormous pillars. Malenia’s heart skipped a beat at the explosive sound of such a huge rock cracking down the middle and when she looked up to see the entire upper half of the column begin to tilt towards her, her heart sank faster than the now-limp dragon went into a nose-dive towards the floor, leaving her directly underneath the falling mass of stone.

How foolish she had been. Had she not learned her lesson the first time the Dragonlord had left her suspended in the air with a sword buried in his hide and nowhere to go but down? Now here she was in a far worse version of that same predicament, with no Tarnished to pull her from the rubble and no crimson flasks to bring her back to life. Had she truly signed her own death warrant so close to the end of this gruesome journey?

Dull gold flashed at the edge of her vision. Her eyes snapped to see one of Placidusax’s flaccid wings trailing behind him, the flesh underneath torn but largely intact. Flesh that the dragon’s rocky skin was built to enshrine in armor, for it was so infirm.

In that moment, the softest thing Malenia could hope to land on.

It was a complete shot in the dark. But it was all she had. She took a deep breath and held for a moment, steeling herself for the riskiest maneuver yet. Then, she released her grip on Ash’s greatsword. With the one thing anchoring her to Placidusax gone, she was immediately flung into the air. Her bearings scattered to the wind, she threw her gaze around, scanning with desperate haste for that golden sheen, and found it just as she raced past the boundary of his wing. Barely able to keep track of the rapidly-retreating haven, she reached her sword opposite to the direction it felt like she was falling and drove it upwards. The sensation of the tip sinking into something pliant and malleable made her heart sing. With a clench of the teeth she curled her arm inwards as hard as she could, dragging herself closer to the base of her blade as it remained fixed in Placidusax’s wing. Her pounding head had just the faintest of moments to clear, giving her a chance to see that she had, in fact, stabbed directly where she wanted to. As her freefalling body realigned with her blade and placed her in front of the underwing, however, her stomach lurched when she suddenly felt the blade slip free from its sheath. Her free hand shot forwards and grasped at a stray piece of shredded flesh, slick with oily blood and ready to tear away from the dragon’s body. Just as it did so, Malenia shoved her blade into a thicker, sturdier fold near the corner of the wing. It punched through the skin on the outside and ran itself through all the way up to the base of the weapon. Gripping the spiny edge of the wing with her true hand, ignoring the feeling of it cutting into her skin, she angled her arm and tilted her blade so that the spine dipped towards the wing, trying to use the curvature of the armament to bite into Placidusax’s skin and strengthen her grip somewhat.

It was as secure of a position as she was going to get. Gripping another, less-frayed bundle of bloody golden flesh in her fist, she pulled herself into the underside of Placidusax’s wing and braced just in time for the rock to meet them.

Everything suddenly went black. Malenia didn’t register the moments between hitting the ground and waking up face-down on the floor some distance away. She was not exactly there for the moment of impact, nor when her anchor came loose a split second later and sent her tumbling out of the underwing and onto the ground below, rolling over and over until she came to a halt near the tip of Placidusax’s tail. She returned to the waking world, however, to put her hands under her and lift her head from the floor with an exhausted groan. Dazed and confused, she rolled onto her posterior and placed a hand to her head, looking blearily around the spinning colosseum. Between the fog in her mind, the visor on her head, and the rain in the sky, it was almost impossible to see much of anything beyond splotchy colors. She did notice, however, when those splotches suddenly grew even darker as if… shadowed.

Her head tilted up to see the falling half of the pillar careening straight towards her. The sight was enough to fill her with the adrenaline needed to haul herself to her feet and stagger away as fast as she could. The width of the shadow grew by the second, taunting her with an edge of freedom that was just out of reach. Her head swam and her body screamed, but the hammering of her heart stopped her from slowing down. She broke into a run, forcing her shaking legs to carry her faster than the boundary of safety could retreat. Fresh rain pelted her as she drew beyond the pillar’s grasp, but she didn’t stop there. Wheezing and staggering, she kept going until the sound of the pillar hitting the ground had her diving to the floor with her hands cinching her helm to her head.

The ensuing boom was deafening. A rain of concrete splinters showered her amidst the cacophony, nearly tearing through her dress if not for the protective maille beneath. Her one remaining arm and half-leg, however, stung with the sensation of a thousand sharp stones pelting her at once. The rain in the air was overtaken by clouds of dust as the rubble scattered.

Malenia didn’t move a muscle for what felt like eons. It wasn’t until the sound of fracturing rock finally began to die down that she dared to perk up and look back at what had happened. The shattered pillar had flattened the lifeless body of Dragonlord Placidusax, ringed by an entire field of dust, gravel, and dozens of imposing stone chunks that had all somehow missed the woman huddled against the floor. The fractured main body of the structure was firmly nestled in a blood-splattered hollow caved in from Placidusax’s body, threatening to break what remained of him in two. The great beast was nothing short of pulverized by the fall.

Malenia stabbed the ground with her sword and pushed it into the earth until she rose. Leaning on the slender blade, she simply stared at the gruesome sight with mouth agape, hunched over and gasping for air until a word finally found its way to her lips.

“Ash…” she breathed, the word barely more than a whisper. Even so, it seemed to pull what little strength she had from her body as she sank back onto one knee.

“Ash,” she rasped again. “We did it. We won! It’s…”

She fell to the floor with a soft whump. Even as a fuzzy darkness crept into her eyes, a smile found its way to her slick, wet lips. High above, the storm parted, bathing Malenia in a warm ray of sunlight.

“It’s over.”

When Malenia came to, she found herself propped against the outer wall of the throne room. Though the storm had died, she found her world shadowed by a familiar figure hunched over her unconscious form.

As soon as her eyes fluttered open, Ash reared back.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed. Though her head pounded and everything hurt, Malenia let slip a smile.

“I am,” she agreed hoarsely. “And you’re back.”

“Of course I am. You thought I’d simply leave you here?”

A weak shake of the head.

“N-No, of course not. But I…”

In spite of herself, she chuckled.

“I find myself forgetting just who you are. When… When the dragon blew you to smithereens, I thought you gone for good.”

Ash returned the quiet laugh. His helm tilted to gaze out at the wreckage of the battle.

“Judging by the state of things, you certainly fought as if I was.”

Malenia nodded. A thought flitted across her mind, and her smile faded.

“T-The trophy…” she eked out. Ash tilted his head at her, so she elaborated, “For Hewg. The proof of a god slain. Did you…?”

Ash lifted a hand up and opened his fingers. Before Malenia’s eyes, an image of gold coalesced above his palm. A wispy, glittering visage of Placidusax, surrounded by flames, rain and lightning.”

“The Remembrance of the Dragonlord,” Ash explained. “When next I visit the Roundtable Hold, it shall be hewn into what remains of the Erdtree. There, Hewg can gaze upon it in all its glory.”

Malenia nodded. “Good,” she sighed. The Remembrance faded from view and the hand holding it offered itself to her.

“Can you walk?” Ash asked. Malenia pursed her lips.

“I’m not sure,” she assessed. “Everything– Ahh… everything hurts like no other. Have you… any of that crimson elixir?”

A small silence before he answered.

“I waited to see if it was necessary to give it to you. I didn’t want to force you to drink it if you could recover on your own. It felt undignified.”

Malenia rolled her eyes.

“Just give me a damned drink,” she groaned. To his credit, the uppity Tarnished was quick to obey, and she was even quicker to sip from the gilded flask. In the blink of an eye, her pain quieted to a low, dull ache, and the numerous cuts and bruises covering her body closed up and faded. With a vigor like she hadn’t just fought the king of the dragons, she stood up.

“Much better,” she remarked. “Are you ready to go?”

“Not quite,” Ash proclaimed. “Have you seen my sword lying around here?”

Malenia paused.

“Uhh…” she stammered. Her eyes fell on the corpse of Placidusax, and her shoulders fell with them.

“I last saw it when I buried it in his head,” she admitted. A head that was currently covered in tons and tons of rock.

“Ah,” Ash observed. “Damn. No way am I fishing it out of there.”

Guilt tugged at Malenia’s insides. “I’m sorry, I–”

“No, no, ‘tis alright. I only wish I could’ve borne witness to that!”

“With what blade shall you fight now?” Malenia asked. She turned to face him and saw his visor tilted towards an ugly, jagged dagger held reversely in his hand. She grimaced.

“That mangled thing?” she quizzed.

“Not just this,” Ash corrected. He curled his opposite arm as if placing the greatsword entombed in the wreckage on his shoulder. Malenia’s confused sneer only intensified as, in the blink of an eye, pale blue wisps erupted from his empty hand and stretched to form the shape of a sword. The azure glow flashed, then faded away to reveal the object Ash had summoned: Another sword, longer still than the multi-bladed one interred in Placidusax’s lifeless body but vastly slimmer in profile. The base of the grey blade fanned out from the dark, semicircular handguard before swiftly tapering off into a long, slender point. A deep, textured fuller indicated a craftsmanship far finer than the crude welding of blades that adorned Ash’s old sword. For such an oversized weapon, it was magnificent.

“Were you able to do that the whole time?” Malenia exclaimed incredulously. When Ash nodded, she pressed, “And why didn’t you?”

“... Out of respect for a friend,” he answered, words slow and careful in their deliberation.

“What do you mean?”

“A story for another time,” he deflected. “Let us finish this journey.”

Chapter Text

“So it’s true, then.”

Hewg leaned against his anvil. Whether to peer closer at the twinkling icon of Placidusax in Ash’s palms, or simply to hold himself upright, Malenia wasn’t quite sure. All things considered, it was probably both.

“You’ve… really done it,” Hewg went on. For how bone-chillingly dead he sounded, the disbelief in his voice was vibrant. “You’ve slain a god.”

Ash nodded. “With the weapon you forged,” he affirmed.

“Where is it?”

Ash and Malenia both gave a start.

“Where is what?” Ash asked.

“The greatsword. You… came to me with that fancy magic blade you can pull from thin air. What happened to the weapon I smithed?”

Malenia pursed her lips and shuffled on her feet, deciding it would be best to leave Ash to the talking for this one.

“It was… lost in the battle,” Ash professed. “Buried under a mountain of rubble.”

Hewg’s sunken eyes widened.

“You lost the god-slaying weapon?!” he rasped. Ash raised a commanding hand; from it, the magic sword snapped into existence.

“What did you use to raise that greatsword to god-slaying status?” Ash gently questioned.

“Ancient dragon stones,” Hewg answered after a pause. Ash nodded.

“Though it may seem spectral, this new sword is as materiel as any other,” he declared. “It can be hammered, treated, and smithed as you would any weapon. With some more smithing stones, we can forge this into something that will run the gods through like a hot knife through butter.”

The sword blinked out of the air in a blue flash. Ash lowered his hand.

“And I would be honored to raise it to such prowess,” he finished, before adding, “after you have escaped from this place.”

Hewg stared blankly at Ash for a long moment, silent save for his rattling, groaning breaths. Malenia quietly clicked her teeth together as a feeling of dismay and irritation heated up within her. If Hewg refused to leave this doomed prison over the loss of the greatsword, gods knew what she would have to–

“Alright.”

Malenia breathed a sigh of relief inside. Ash nodded approvingly.

“Thank you, smithing-master,” he rumbled. “I shall fetch Roderika. Malenia, would you follow me?”

Blinking at the unexpected request, she agreed. Ash led her out of the east wing and into the heart of the Hold where Roderika awaited them.

“He wants to speak with you,” Ash informed the girl. Her eyes widened; without a word, she dashed back to where he and Malenia had just been. The valkyrie followed her with her eyes until she disappeared round the bend before turning to face Ash.

“You wished to be alone with me?” she quizzed. Ash nodded.

“There’s something I’d like to discuss,” he said, then gave a small shrug. “That, and–”

He was cut off when a loud gasp emanated from the hall to their flank, followed by a joyful cry.

“I wanted to allow them some privacy,” he continued. It seemed Roderika’s elation was contagious, for Malenia heard it in the Tarnished’s voice; her own heart lifted at the sound.

“As for you,” Ash declared, “We need to get your gown in order.”

As soon as he said that, it occurred to Malenia just how hot the flames of the Hold felt on her back, where her golden attire had been torn to ribbons by their battle against the Dragonlord. In spite of the sweltering heat, she felt her cheeks grow even warmer.

“And how exactly will we do that?” she asked. “Hewg is a smith, not a seamster.”

“I know someone who is.”

“Wha– Of course. Who don’t you know?”

Ash shrugged. “Queen Marika?”

“Fair play.”

The approaching sound of boots on wood issued from the east wing. Roderika appeared in the hallway hand-in-hand with Hewg. The girl’s normally subdued expression shone in the light of the fire and her eyes shimmered almost translucent with tears of joy.

“Hewg agreed to leave this place,” she announced. “Thank you, Ash. Thank you–”

She cut herself off with a small sob before sniffing and righting herself.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.”

Ash’s reply wasn’t directed so much at Roderika as it was the scaly old man stood astride her.

“‘Tis good to see you free of your shackles, friend.”

Hewg grunted. “Yes, well… to where shall these old feet be off now?”

“Stormveil Castle.”

“What?!”

It was Roderika’s voice. She stared at Ash with wide, horrified eyes.

“We can’t go there!” she protested. “That’s the domain of Godrick and… and…”

She swallowed.

“And the spider,” she finally finished, sounding as if it took every last ounce of courage to whisper that out. Ash shook his head.

“Godrick is no more,” he told her. “A new ruler has taken hold of Stormveil and indeed all of Limgrave. A familiar face—one you helped raise into such a position, Roderika.”

Roderika’s grimace told Malenia that she still was not so sure. Deciding to speak up, she clarified, “The one who calls herself Nepheli Loux.”

At that, Roderika’s eyes flashed with recognition.

“I… think I remember?” she reached. “There was a spirit—a mighty one, who held too much pride in his nobility to answer our summons. You went downstairs with the ashes and then Nepheli left soon after.”

She tilted her head. “Did that spirit answer to her?” she asked. Ash shrugged.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But whatever awaited her in those ashes brought her to the throne of Stormveil where she now resides.”

“I see.” Roderika spared a quick glance towards Hewg. The old man looked as if he had forgotten how to stand now that he was no longer bound by his chains. Perhaps he had.

“Would you come with us?” Roderika asked. “Just in case…”

“Of course,” replied Ash. His helm tilted in Malenia’s direction.

“I will handle this,” he told her. “In the meantime, would you care to meet my seamster friend?”

Despite the flushing such a question brought to her cheeks, especially with the two onlookers, Malenia nodded.

“So be it,” she agreed. “Where is he?”

Ash placed a hand on her chest in a gesture that had become oddly familiar. In the back of Malenia’s mind, a spark of grace ignited.

“Right…”

An abandoned room. Dim torches. Somewhere beyond the entrance, a glimmering golden glow.

“... here.”

Malenia’s feet suddenly left the ground. The image in her head manifested before her eyes; in the time it took for her heart to beat, she was there. She looked around the mid-sized room until she spotted a tiny, rat-faced demi-human huddled against the wall with his hands clasped in a prayer-like pose. The little thing did not appear to be communing with any gods, however; at least, not after he looked up to see her. His eyes widened in fear for a very brief moment before glimmering with recognition.

“I remember you,” he said, in a voice just as timid and tiny as young Roderika’s. “You and m’lord came through here the other day.”

Malenia tilted her head, trying to remember. She recalled when Ash had led a one-armed, disheveled version of herself out of the Caelid hills and across the whole of the Lands Between with Finlay in a mimicry of her and the Leftenant’s last moments together. Retracing her steps, she recalled their passage through Leyndell, and the tiny demi-human that eagerly greeted Ash as his Lord—the very demi-human in front of her now.

She nodded at him.

“Boc, was it?” she asked. He nodded, prompting her to continue, “Your Lord sent me here to look for one ‘seamster friend’ of his.”

“That would be me,” Boc answered. “Do you require my services?”

Instead of answering, Malenia simply turned and presented the shredded back of her golden dress to him.

“Goodness!” Boc exclaimed softly. “Did you get in a fight with a dragon?!”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I see. Well, I don’t know what I can do about the broken chainmail, but I can certainly try to patch up that dress. Could you come here, please?”

Malenia approached Boc, who directed her to a somewhat level pile of damaged furniture that the little demi-human was able to climb atop and bring himself up to her shoulders. He deftly took some of the scraps of golden fabric in his hands and gave it a once-over before commenting, “This attire—it’s of the demi-gods’ make. I can tell. Where did you get this?”

Malenia pursed her lips and mulled the decision to disclose her identity before deciding that this small, meek demi-human—and more importantly, ally to Ash—would struggle immensely to do her any harm.

“From my brother Miquella.”

Boc’s hands let go of her dress.

“You’re Malenia?!” he squawked. This close to her ears, his flabbergasted cry made her wince. He gasped and hurriedly whispered out a dismayed “O-Oh, sorry, sorry…”

“‘Tis alright. And yes, I am,” she replied.

A long, stunned silence followed. For a moment, Malenia briefly wondered if Boc had heard her before his hands clasped her dress again.

“I see,” he said, clearly trying to regain his composure. “Well, I do have this golden needle and thread here. It should allow me to work on godly garments like these.”

“Thank you, Boc,” Malenia said in earnest.

“O-Of course. Any friend of m’lord is a friend of mine. Besides, I’d be a right fool to turn down an opportunity to stitch new threads for royalty… That maille beneath this dress should keep you safe from my needle, but please try to keep still nevertheless.”

She nodded and settled into place as Boc got to work.

“Alright, I think that’s the best I can do with what I have.”

Malenia stepped away from Boc’s improvised workstation and turned around to face him. She didn’t feel like taking off the dress for inspection in front of him, but from what she could tell, the holes and gashes in the fabric had been largely sealed. She nodded at Boc, who looked away.

“I know it’s not the best,” he stammered out. “I don’t have the best materials with me at the moment.”

“‘Tis certainly much better than what afforded me before,” Malenia assured. “You have my thanks, Boc.”

“My pleasure, mistress.”

“Malenia will suffice.”

She looked at Boc for a moment longer, then tilted her head.

“Ash—our Tarnished friend—he strikes me not as the type to wish regards as a Lord. Why does he have you address him so?”

“Because he was so eager to call me that.”

The two of them gave a start at the familiar voice. From the corner of Malenia’s eye, Ash appeared.

“M’lord!” Boc exclaimed. The Tarnished waved.

“Good to see you too, Boc,” he greeted with a tenderness Malenia didn’t recognize, yet sounded so like him. “Have you fared well since last we spoke?”

“Rest assured, m’lord, I’m just fine.”

“Good to hear! Have you shown our friend here your needleworking skills?”

As Malenia turned and presented Boc’s work to Ash, the seamster looked down and blustered “Y-Yes, well… I did the best I could with what I had. Godly garments aren’t easy to work, even with this needle you gave me.”

“It seems fine and well from where I stand,” Ash commented. “Good work, Boc.”

“Th-Thank you, m’lord.”

“What say you?”

Malenia realized Ash was speaking to her. “Good work indeed,” she echoed. To Boc, she added, “I wonder what wonders you would be capable of with a proper workshop.”

“I am honored to hear that from you, Malenia.” Then, “M’lord, how did you come to meet her?”

“A grievous amount of combat,” Ash replied. “I’d love to share the story, but I believe at this moment that our Empyrean friend would like to return home.”

Malenia nodded. “Yes.”

“Going already, m’lord?” Boc asked as he opened his sewing kit and slid the golden needle inside. “Please, do be safe on your journeys.”

“I will be back soon enough, little one,” Ash reassured as he walked up to Malenia and placed his hand on her chest. A familiar image took shape behind her eyes and the same airy feeling from before overtook her before the ground beneath her feet changed and the facsimile became reality. She found herself standing before a doorway that led to the staircase outside of her resting place.

The sight stirred up a sudden swell of emotions in her.

“What will you do now?” she found herself asking. Ash was silent for a moment before replying, in a contemplative voice, “What I was called to this land to do.”

“What awaits you, as King of the Dark Moon?”

Ash had made his way to the lip of the staircase ahead, but at that question, he gave pause.

“I’m not quite sure,” he admitted. “But whatever it is, I won’t greet it as a King, or a Lord. When the Elden Ring has been dissolved and the Greater Will’s power over this land sapped, my part in all this will have been played.”

“Who will rule this land if not you and her?”

She wasn’t quite ready to dignify her with her name just yet.

“That is not for me to decide. Together, the people of the Lands Between can rebuild the throne as they would have it—they, and no one else. Though…”

His voice lowered, as if he were no longer talking to her.

“I suppose in some small way, I’ve already made my choice… How is Finlay?”

Malenia gave a start at the sudden remark. With a slight sense of importance, she caught up with Ash as he resumed his walk down the stairs.

“It has been some time,” he went on. “I do hope the Leftenant is still here.”

Malenia nodded and shuffled down the stairs. Coming to the bottom, she immediately saw the great cocoon that housed her dear brother, nestled firmly into roots that snaked around them in splintered patterns—the resting spot it was always meant to occupy, damaged and desecrated by the Lord of Blood. Below that sat her humble throne, flanked on one side by the shimmering spirit of Leftenant Finlay.

And on the other, a gold-clad knight who stared unflinchingly at the sword Finlay held inches from her face.

Malenia’s reaction was instant. Sparks flew from her sword. Her feet carried her like the wings of butterflies that once burst forth from her back. She sprinted straight for the stranger, who didn’t seem to notice her presence until her hand seized her upper arm and yanked her backwards. With a soft, feminine cry, the knight rolled along the floor, quickly finding her feet as Malenia firmly planted herself between the stranger and the cocoon, joining Finlay in thrusting her sword towards her sternum.

“Step back!” she barked.

The stranger did not react right away—at least, not with any sense of urgency. Standing up, she dusted off the pale gilded cloak that blanketed her armor and fixed Malenia in an expressionless stare.

“General Malenia,” she observed. Her voice whistled like wind from her helm—delicately and gently, but with a cold to it that turned some of Malenia’s anger to unease.

Unease which quickly became confusion when the knight raised a fist to her heart and offered a polite bow.

“Needle Knight Leda,” she declared in that same eerily calm voice. “Devoted soldier to Miquella the Kind—and, as it were, to you.”

For the briefest of moments, Malenia’s sword faltered.

“Needle Knight…?” she echoed under her breath. She had heard that name before, long ago. Gold-adorned warriors who once served alongside her Cleanrot Knights, but who only answered to her in the wake of Miquella’s long slumber. Guardians who stayed behind when she declared war on Radahn, but were all gone when she returned. They had left on a journey to… to…

Malenia grimaced. A journey to what? Where had they gone? She tried to think, but nothing came to her.

“I remember your kind,” she said, halfway to herself. “But…”

She straightened. Her blade raised towards Leda’s face once more.

“What happened to all of you?” she demanded.

“While you journeyed with your soldiers into the heart of Caelid, we Needle Knights followed Kindly Miquella into the Realm of Shadow,” said Leda.

Malenia balked.

“The Shadowlands?” she repeated.

Before Leda could answer, another long sword appeared at her back. Ash had finally caught up and placed himself firmly between the entrance to the great room and Leda, who tilted her helm in his direction.

“Ahh, another,” she observed, unfazed by the three blades all pointed at her. “Were you guided here by Kindly Miquella?”

Malenia flicked her sword, pulling Leda’s attention back towards her.

“My brother journeyed to the Realm of Shadow?” she drilled. “When? How?”

At this, Leda seemed the slightest bit perplexed.

“That was always the plan, was it not?” she asked. “You set things in motion with your journey to Caelid and so Kindly Miquella set off on a journey of his own.”

“What? No!” Malenia stared at Leda like she had grown a second head. “I fought Radahn on behalf of–”

She swallowed the sour lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.

“On behalf of Ranni,” she finished through closed teeth.

“That’s right.” Finlay’s voice turned both their heads. “I was there when Milady met the witch. The Caelid war was of her design.”

Leda shook her head.

“No, that can’t be right,” insisted the Needle Knight. “Our kind Lord was the one who sent you off to war. I stood alongside him while it happened– Ahh, wait.”

It seemed a realization had dawned upon Leda. She hummed in thought for a moment, then said, “I believe I may know what is causing you to misremember, General.”

Malenia squeezed her sword.

“I am misremembering nothing,” she insisted. “Do not try my patience, Needle Knight.”

Leda tilted her head; despite her face being hidden by her helm, the subtle knowingness of that gesture made Malenia doubt her own convictions for a second.

“I could try to explain it to you,” she offered, “but I’d imagine you would rather hear the words from Kindly Miquella himself.”

“I would rather not wait for my brother to awaken from his slumber to find out,” Malenia bit back. “So either you tell me right now or–”

“Kindly Miquella’s slumber has been over for quite some time.”

“Trifle not with me, woman!” Malenia snapped. “Do you not see the cocoon behind us? It has been days, days, since I wrested him from the clutches of the Lord of Blood and–”

“Ahh, so it was you who moved Kindly Miquella’s husk.”

Malenia’s heart skipped a beat. Biting back a gasp, she hid her shock behind an angry step forward that had the tip of her blade kissing Leda’s helm.

“You knew of my brother’s imprisonment?” she hissed.

“It was never an imprisonment,” Leda denied. “Mohg was simply another piece of the puzzle.”

“You mean to say Miquella intended to suffer at the hands of Mohg? Have you spent all your absence losing your mind?!”

“Rest assured, General Malenia, your brother never once suffered. As soon as he was placed upon the Throne of Blood, he absconded to the Realm of Shadow. Besides, the charm placed on Mohg would have prevented him from harming Kindly Miquella anyhow.”

Malenia shook her head.

“Impossible,” she growled. “When I faced Mohg, Miquella was there with me. I felt his presence reaching for me. I heard him urging me onwards and begging to free him from his tortured state!”

“A part of the charm, perhaps. Docile or not, Mohg had to die for Kindly Miquella to continue his journey.”

The point of Malenia’s sword slipped through the visor of Leda’s helm. With a flick of her wrist, she wrenched the headpiece free from its place upon her shoulders. It flipped to the side and fell to the ground below, exposing the pale, golden face beneath. Malenia’s sword placed itself right at the space between Leda’s shimmering eyes.

“My brother would never place a charm on me,” she growled. Her true hand balled up into a fist and she swallowed the creeping urge to pierce Leda’s skull right then and there. “Do not speak such heresy in my presence.”

“Kindly Miquella will be able to explain it better than I will, it seems,” Leda observed. “If you wish to hear the truth from him, I am sure he would graciously provide.”

“My brother is asleep,” Malenia repeated. Leda’s gaze tilted towards the cocoon and she gestured towards it.

“You may find him for yourself if you so desire,” she offered. “Touch the withered arm, and you will be transported to the Realm of Shadow, where Miquella the Kind now dwells.”

Malenia said nothing. In the hot silence, one could hear how tense her breathing had become, filtering through a clenched jaw in large, rapid motions. Malenia herself could hear her heartbeat in her ears and feel the way her stomach turned with all sorts of fiery sensations. She held still, sword stiffly pointed towards Leda, who had just about nowhere to go on account of the other two blades placed in similar positions around her.

After a long moment, she spoke.

“Ash,” she muttered with a low, dark grit to the command. The Tarnished nodded.

“Before you continue on your journey, I ask of you one last favor.”

“Of course.”

Malenia flicked her head in the direction of the cocoon.

“Touch my brother’s arm and see for yourself,” she quietly ordered, “so I won’t have to let this conniving bitch out of my sight.”

Ash shimmied towards the cocoon, careful not to run into Finlay’s blade and more cautious still not to let Leda flee his gaze. Ducking under Finlay’s slender sword, he walked past Malenia and just beyond her field of vision until he stood before Miquella’s oversized husk of an arm. Silence followed, one that was broken a few seconds later by a gasp from Finlay. At the end of her sword, Leda’s eyes flashed and a soft, knowing smile turned the corners of her lips.

Malenia’s heart hammered in her chest. She licked her dry lips and squeezed her sword as she rasped out, “Ash?”

Nothing.

“Ash, answer me,” she called again. It was Finlay who responded.

“He’s gone, Milady,” she said in a voice ringing with amazement and just a hint of fear. “H-He touched Lord Miquella’s arm and—he simply vanished.”

Malenia said nothing. The only sign of her reaction was the sight of her sword beginning to tremble in her grasp.

With Ash’s blade no longer at her back, Leda took a step away from the two still facing her. Despite herself, Malenia did not advance with her. Leda gestured again towards Miquella’s cocoon.

“Touch the withered arm,” she implored. “You will not be alone in the Land of Shadow. My compatriots are there already. Like us, they have heard Kindly Miquella’s call. If you can find them, they are certain to lend you aid.”

Malenia lowered her sword. She kept her wide eyes fixed on Leda, who did the same even as she bent down to retrieve her lost helm.

A whirlwind of questions raced through her mind, each one its own emotion that gripped her stomach with deathrune claws and sent jolts through her hammering heart. Why was Leda here? Who was she? Why did her reality differ from Malenia’s own? Where was Ash? Was Miquella there? If he was, whose voice had she heard in her head in her battle against Mohg? Where did her war with Radahn fit into all this?

What was happening?

Malenia’s breaths began to stagger. She backed away from Leda, perturbed by the blank stare of her helm, until she bumped into the cocoon above her. With a hand that shook like a puppy in the cold, she reached towards Miquella’s arm.

“Milady, wait!”

Finlay’s voice snapped Malenia out of her daze. Her eyes flitted from Leda to the Cleanrot Knight.

“Let me join you,” Finlay beseeched. Her voice, ghostly though it was, carried a vivacious warble to it—a tremble that matched Malenia’s. “I…”

She stopped and flicked her gaze back to Leda for just a moment. The slender thrusting sword she brandished was unsteady and her scythe was too busy being used as a walking cane while the knight struggled to keep herself balanced.

“I need to know the truth,” she finally finished. “I know what I heard on the day you met with the witch. But if Lord Miquella truly dwells in the Land of Shadow—if there is some plan of his to which even his noble blade was not made privy…”

She shuddered.

“I need to know,” she repeated.

The spirit-calling bell still rested on the arm of her throne. Without a word, Malenia scooped it up in the crook of her prosthetic’s elbow, sparing Finlay and Leda one last uneasy glance before placing her hand on her brother’s.

The last thing she heard before her mind went dark was Leda’s voice.

“I will not be far behind. May we meet again.”

Malenia wasn’t sure how long she had been unconscious. When she came to, she found herself in an empty alcove—but not the same one that housed her brother. Rocks surrounded her on all sides while the flowers at her feet had been replaced with grass of a deep amber. The light of Elphael was gone, replaced by the glow of a single toppled lantern at the other end of the grotto.

Malenia hadn’t moved for a solid minute, frozen in place by the cacophony in her mind. Eventually, however, she staggered forth, finding a small stone staircase leading to the unmistakable rays of daybreak beyond this tiny hole in the wall. Cresting the top of the stairs, however, she saw not the sun, nor the light of the Erdtree—only its shadow.

Rays of light hung bent like curtains from the pitch-black branches of what could only be the Scadutree. The ugly, twisted malaise mentioned solely by the hushed whispers of her mother when she thought no one was listening. A seemingly impossible thing, shrouding the very center of the Lands Between that cowered under the shadow of the Erdtree.

Here before her now, towering over the Land of Shadow.

Malenia felt unsteady on her feet. She took the spirit-calling bell and gave it a loud ring. Finlay materialized at her side, whereupon she promptly fell into the knight’s chest. She caught her general with a grunt of surprise.

“Milady, are you alright?” she stammered.

“M-Miquella…” the Empyrean gasped. “Leda… she–”

She swallowed.

“She was right,” she continued. “Miquella is here.”

She didn’t want to believe it. It didn’t make any sense. Not a single thing about this added up. But if Miquella was home at the foot of the Haligtree where he belonged, then why did his grace whisk her off to the forsaken Shadow Realm?

“M-Miquella…” she rasped again. Finlay’s hands squeezed her shoulders as the knight gently hoisted Malenia to her feet.

“Stay strong, Milady,” she implored. “Whatever is going on, I am certain Miquella intended for this. Our kindly Lord would never deceive his loyal blade.”

Malenia nodded.

“Of course,” she agreed. “But I don’t…”

“That is why we are here.” Finlay spoke as if she knew what her general was poised to say. “If Lord Miquella is with us in this land, then so are the answers.”

She squeezed Malenia’s shoulders again, making sure her feet were firmly planted in the earth.

“We will find him, Milady,” she assured. “With I, Ash, and Farron at your side, nothing will stop us.”

Malenia’s gaze drifted out to the rolling hills that stretched before her. Between the sinister Scadutree, the imposing keep that stood tall at its base, the spiral-shaped shadow-bound city in the distance that touched the sky, and the myriad of ruins and destruction that scattered the plains ahead, what caught her eyes most was the lone knight resting at the foot of the hill. As if sensing her gaze, his black helm turned to face her. A thorn-clad hand raised, beckoning his friend over.

Malenia swallowed. A part of her screamed to ignore Ash’s command, to wheel around and retreat—to flee back to the embrace of the Haligtree and sit waiting for Miquella’s awakening. But the simple fact that she stood here now meant that Miquella was already awake somewhere deep in the heart of this abandoned, war-ravaged land. He would only return when his work here was done—what that work was, Malenia could not even begin to fathom. Only by taking the plunge could she come to know here and now, before Miquella’s quest led him to… wherever it was taking him.

Looking back towards Finlay, she nodded. Recalling their wretched reunion in the wailing dunes, she echoed the Leftenant’s words back to her.

“My brother awaits,” she said. “Let us bring him home.”

Finlay fell in line beside her as she moved down the hill towards Ash. After a second, however, a realization crossed Malenia’s mind.

“Leftenant,” she summoned.

“Yes, Milady?”

“Just now, you mentioned someone by the name of Farron.”

She looked over her shoulder at the knight. “Who is that?”

“Oh,” Finlay said, as if the answer were obvious. “That would be the name of Ash’s sword.”

Malenia scrunched up her nose. “His sword has a name?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t he?”

Malenia stopped.

“... What do you mean he?”