Chapter Text

Echoes of the Shattered Lands: Lost Grace Found

Lord.

I.

In a land. Across the fog. The Lands Between.

There, the great Erdtree stands, a relic of power, sentience, and glory from times immemorial.

Former glory that is.

The leaves and rays of gold that shone endless, now disappearing with the embers that rain from the sky - seeking to set the world ablaze and renew that which was lost.

The capital Leyndell, once a gorgeous yet dangerous fortress, now buried in mountains of ash so large even the gravel dragon Gransax threatens to vanish from sight. Before, remnants of soldiers loyal to the capital’s inhabitants that survived along a labyrinth of streets, now smoldering cinders torn asunder by the putrid and ulcerated tree spirits, their confused rage destroying anything that has yet crumbled.

No living being exists within nor near the holy metropolis, not without the crippling emotion of despair for The Land Between’s devastation. Save for one.

A Lord. An Elden Lord.

Only, their gaze which should be lifted upright and gazing out to the continent they lord over is cast down, deep in thought. They are examining in their hand, a fragment of Amber Starlight. The only piece they ever found, despite having searched everywhere in and out of The Lands Between.

Words piece together in their mind, floating and translucent as it whispers quietly, like a lullaby -
“...passing flash… if the stars… command the fates of the gods… consumed… mere humans…”
A mess of words at first, but as the Lord’s mind inquires further, with unending patience, a phrase gradually comes to light.
“What remains of a passing flash of starlight. If the stars command our fates, then amber-hued stars must command the fates of the gods. Such is the belief that inspired the use of these shards to prepare a most special draught. Cannot be consumed by mere humans.”

Fate…

To be abandoned by the Greater Will… The Shattering… Godwyn’s death…

Slowly, the Lord returns the shard to their spacial inventory, then looks up. Summoned by their voiceless call, a strand of gold stretches and twists like a vine, reaching out to the Lord’s outstretched hand. Upon contact, shimmers of resplendence resonates,

And the Lord vanishes.