As Shabriri started to walk away into the misty path that wound down below the mountain village, Tarnished felt a rush of frustration and confusion bubbling inside him. He clenched his fists and called out, voice raised and strained with emotion, "What do you mean by that? Didn't you say grace is beyond saving? Wasn't my entire journey through this broken land proof that it's all too late? Too many lives have already been thrown into the fire of no flame. The Erdtree burns, the people are lost, and you now tell me I must find a solution to fix everything? This world is already doomed!" His voice echoed into the fog as if demanding an answer from the land itself.
Shabriri, who was already halfway down the path, halted his steps. A strange chuckle escaped his lips dry, hollow, unsettling. Without fully turning, he tilted his head just enough that one glowing eye glinted through the mist. "O ye Tarnished of the Golden Order," he began in a singsong tone, "thy journey hath only just begun. The path is thine to carve, the end thine to define. I am but a whisper, a wind that moves between moments. I come and go, but you thou must not believe the end is near, for the end is only what you make of it. Until our fates cross once more, may chaos guide thy feet..."
He murmured something more at the end perhaps a name, or a warning but Tarnished couldn't make it out. The words were swallowed by the mist as if the world itself didn't wish them heard. Then, without another glance, Shabriri turned and vanished, his figure dissolving into the fog like a dying star fading from the edge of the horizon.
Tarnished grunted in frustration he had come so far, suffered so much, and yet the truth remained hidden behind riddles and silence. He sighed deeply, then allowed himself to collapse onto his back in the soft, grassly mountain slope. The mountain was covered with bright, glowing blue flower grass, a surreal field that looked like something pulled from a dream. The grass shimmered under the moonlight, glowing faintly like it had absorbed the stars themselves. It was the kind of place anyone would want to rest in forever, a peaceful patch above the village where the noise of life felt distant.
His metal armor clanked and echoed as he hit the ground, a hollow sound that rang out into the starry night, swallowed gradually by the vast silence. He stared up into the abyss of the sky, thoughts spiraling. On one hand, he bore the crushing responsibility of becoming the Elden Lord a fate seemingly destined only for him. On the other, Melina was still waiting, holding on to her faith in him to become the Elden Lord. But what was the point of the throne if no one was saved in the end? There's no purpose in reviving a corpse, no victory in restoring something already lost. The Golden Order was decaying, its roots exposed and rotting, and he feared the world might collapse before he could even try to fix it.
He wrestled with doubts, his mind swimming in silent questions, when the stillness broke a voice, old and gentle, came from just above his head. An elder from the village had approached quietly, unnoticed until now. The old man leaned on a gnarled staff and asked, "Has the young lad with you left already? I was hoping to see him bye at least."
Tarnished was spooked by a sudden voice, though it was no one dangerous just an elderly Albinauric who had once aided both him and Shabriri with perfuming potions during their stay. Tarnished exhaled slowly, shoulders easing as the elder eased himself down beside him. "You see that castle over there?" the old man said, pointing a gnarled finger toward the horizon. "That's the Academy of Raya Lucaria once the dream of thousands from every corner of the Lands Between."
Tarnished remained quiet, nodding gently. He already knew this. He had walked its grand halls and broken the spell that Ranni had cast upon her own mother, Headmistress Rennala. Still, he stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt the elder's soft recollection. He followed the direction of the pointing hand, eyes landing on the castle. It stood proudly gorgeous white stone framed by ocean sapphire blue gables. A shimmering mana stream of pale blue arced up to meet the rays of the moon, draping the academy in a translucent veil like magic given physical form. The earth surrounding it was blanketed in dense white mist, glinting with countless sparkling glintstone motes, giving the place a majestic, almost divine appearance with an unsettling whisper of dread.
Tarnished finally spoke, voice low. "Luth... I visited the Academy once. It was a good trip, though that mist was impossible to navigate."
Luth chuckled softly. "You're right, the mist is like a void. But if you know how to read the stars, it opens up like a story."
Tarnished tilted his head up, gazing at the night sky. He was taken aback. The stars were dazzling, breathtaking in their brilliance. Each glowed with its own hue, its own rhythm, its own soul. They shimmered beneath the moonlight, bathed in silver beams. And in the mana-rich air of the Lands Between, their light seemed even more vibrant like the sky itself was alive.
He wasn't sure if he had ever truly stopped to admire the world since the day he awoke. But truth was simple, The stars never burned for men like him. But still, he looked at them. Had he always been this way? Just wandering from battle to battle, day and night, like a hollow shell animated only by orders and duty? How many times had he died now, all in the name of becoming Elden Lord? A path paved in blood and repetition. It struck him with a heavy irony while the land below crumbled into madness, the sky remained serenely beautiful. Still, untouched, and calm as ever.
Tarnished looked at the village in the distance, a warm pulse of life radiating from it. The sounds of children laughing, the clang of metalwork, and the scent of burning herbs reached him even from far away, painting a vivid picture of vitality. It was a rare thing, a miracle even, to find a place in the Lands Between that felt untouched by the decay of the world. Perhaps it was because this village rested on the farthest edge of the realm, so distant from the Erdtree's fading influence that it had carved out a pocket of purity. Or maybe it was simply the people resilient, hopeful, thriving despite the odds. With Luth's recent words echoing in his ears and the scene before him so full of life, Tarnished felt a piercing moment of clarity. Even if the Golden Order was destined to collapse, maybe it was still worth trying to save something. Even if the world burned, better to fight for a single spark than let it all fall to ash.
Luth noticed Tarnished spacing out and asked softly, "You okay? You seem... lost."
Tarnished blinked and shook himself free from his thoughts. "Uh... no, nothing. It's just that... this village is the only place in the Lands Between that feels alive. Everything else I've seen is just rot, war, and silence. But here... it breathes. It feels like it remembers what it means to be whole. It's not just the people, or the laughter, or the fires in their hearths it's the soul of the place. Like the land itself hasn't given up."
He paused, glancing down at his gauntleted hands. "Everywhere else, I've walked through ruins that don't know they're ruins. Graves that still think they're homes. Even when the sun shines, it's like it's mourning something lost. But here... it's like the world exhaled and gave us a moment of peace. And for once, I don't feel like I'm just passing through someone else's tragedy."
He looked up at Luth with a faint, tired smile. "It breathes. And maybe... maybe I needed to see that something still can."
Luth let out a brief chuckle, though there was a shadow behind his smile. His expression soon turned solemn. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke again, slower this time. "Y'know? This village wasn't always like this. We live in the mountains, surrounded by fog so thick it chokes the sun. And in that fog there are beasts. All kinds. Sometimes... they come up the mountain. And when they do, it's never safe. We've lost many. Too many. There were nights when we'd hear howls echoing so close we'd swear they were inside the walls. Some families huddled together with weapons drawn, others hid in the cellars, praying for dawn to come faster."
He paused, eyes clouding with old memories. "We tried building barriers fences, traps, even magical wards when we could afford them. But it never really stopped them. The fog messes with everything. It bends sound, hides movement, makes you doubt what you're seeing. Sometimes it feels like the fog itself is alive. Like it's trying to lead the monsters straight to us."
His voice dropped lower. "There were winters when we barely made it through. People would go missing sometimes in the middle of the day. No signs of struggle. Just... gone. And we'd find nothing. No blood. No tracks. Just the silence. And every time, it left another hole in this village we couldn't fill."
Luth's gaze returned to Tarnished, weary but resolute. "So when you say it breathes now... maybe it does. But that breath came at a cost. A terrible one. And it's why we never let our guard down. Not even for a minute."
Tarnished sat up straighter, brow furrowing. "Is that why some villagers are always looking downhill? Standing like statues with their eyes glued to the trees? Like they're waiting for something to emerge?"
Luth nodded slowly. "That's part of it. The other part... they're looking for someone. Someone we lost in the last monster wave. And maybe, in some stubborn corner of their hearts, they believe she might still return."
Tarnished hesitated before asking gently, "An adult? Someone from your guard?"
Luth shook his head, eyes downcast, fingers absently brushing over a patch of grass. "My granddaughter. Cerina. She was my light. My little star. So bright that even the moon seemed dull beside her laughter. When the last wave came, we did what we could. We fought, we shouted, we burned torches and banged drums. We lit up the mountain like a festival of flame, trying to drive the beasts back. But we didn't see the second group monsters that came from the far cliffs, quiet and fast. They moved like shadows, slipping through defenses we thought were secure."
His voice trembled. "Some were hurt, some fought back... but she... she vanished in the chaos. It all happened so quickly. One moment she was behind me, clutching my belt, and the next... just gone. No scream. No sound. Just... absence. We searched all night. Days, even. The fog only thickened, as if it wanted to keep her hidden from us forever."
Luth's fingers curled around the grass, pulling at the blades unconsciously. "Sometimes I think the fog knows what we lost. That it carries her voice in it. Every so often, when it rolls through at dusk, I swear I can hear her laughter in the wind. I tell myself it's just memory... but deep down, I hope. I always hope."
Tarnished's voice softened, almost a whisper. "May I know her name?"
Luth looked up slowly. "Cerina," he said, the word trembling in his throat like it was made of glass. "I used to tell her stories by the broken well near the hill. Said the stars would listen if you whispered your fears into the water. She believed me, in that wholehearted way only children can. Every night she'd tiptoe out there, holding my hand, and whisper her dreams into that well tiny hopes, like wishing the fog would lift, or that her mother's cooking wouldn't burn."
He smiled faintly at the memory, but it dissolved quickly. "She'd ask me if the stars ever answered. I told her, 'They always do, but real quiet so you have to listen with your heart, not your ears.' And she'd nod like that made all the sense in the world. She was only five when the wolves came. It wasn't even the ones we saw coming that did it. It was the ones that moved like ghosts silent, deliberate, like the fog had taught them how to disappear."
His voice cracked, trembling like a blade about to shatter. "All we found... was the ribbon from her hair. Still tied. Still pink. Just lying there in the grass like she'd vanished into mist. I keep it by my bed. Haven't untied it. Haven't let it go. Because the moment I do... it'll mean she's really gone."
His voice cracked, and with it came sobs that seemed pulled from the very marrow of his bones. The grief wasn't theatrical it was ancient, honest, the raw wound of a man who had nothing left but memories. His shoulders trembled under the weight of it, each breath a struggle between pain and pride. For a moment, he didn't even try to hold it in he simply wept, letting the night take whatever dignity was left to strip. And in that rawness, there was something sacred like he was mourning not just for her, but for everything the fog had stolen over the years.
Tarnished sat quietly beside him. He could've offered a hug, or a word of comfort, but he didn't. Because whatever he said would be hollow. It would feel like mimicry. He wasn't just witnessing a man's sorrow & he was standing at the edge of it, peering into a void that he hadn't yet fallen into himself. He recognized the shape of it, though, the way grief eats you from the inside and leaves only shadow in its place, but who does he have to grieve for? he didn't even remember his own name.
The silence stretched between them, not empty, but full of things that couldn't be said. The kind of silence only shared by men who've lived through too much and survived too little. It was a silence that carried weight memories, regrets, names neither had spoken aloud in years. The stars above blinked quietly, offering no comfort, only a distant reminder that the world moved on regardless of sorrow. Even the wind seemed reluctant to disturb them, weaving between the blades of grass without a sound. In that stillness, they weren't warrior and elder, they were just two souls paused in grief's long shadow. The kind of moment that doesn't end with words but with breath shared in mourning, and time surrendered to remembrance.
He didn't know that kind of loss not yet. And he couldn't pretend to. Maybe that's why he hadn't cried for anyone. Maybe that's why the world still looked at him like a stranger. He had walked through countless ruins, slain gods, toppled tyrants, but never once had he truly mourned. He hadn't stood over a grave with trembling hands, hadn't whispered a name to the sky and hoped someone anyone was listening. That kind of pain, the kind that rips pieces of you away and leaves holes no victory can fill, was foreign to him.
He wasn't fit to be a Lord not yet. Shabriri was right. A throne built on ignorance is no throne at all it's just a pedestal for another blind tyrant. How could he heal a broken world if he didn't understand the full weight of what had been broken? If he'd never carried it himself, if he'd never truly listened to the cries that echoed beyond his blade's reach? Leadership required more than power. It demanded grief, and empathy, and a heart cracked wide enough to let in the pain of others. And his... his was still sealed shut, armored by survival, untouched by real loss.
Tarnished stared down at his hands, calloused and stained. What was he really? A Lord without a flame? A flame without ambition? Or just another pawn dressed in armor, dancing to the strings of a rotting Order? He had followed grace, carried banners, spilled blood across forgotten lands all under the illusion that it meant something. But staring at his hands now, they felt more like relics than tools. They bore the marks of countless battles, but none of them had carved meaning into him.
He flexed his fingers slowly, as if expecting to feel something new pain, revelation, even regret. But there was only numbness. Was that all he had become? A vessel of orders and instincts? A ghost of purpose wearing the armor of a man?
One thing was certain whatever path he thought he was on, it hadn't truly begun. Not yet. Maybe he had been walking in circles, chasing illusions spun by dead gods. Maybe the real journey the one that mattered was only just now revealing itself. And maybe, for the first time, he would choose it for himself.
Just as the thought settled in his chest, a shift rippled through the air. The mana flow began to surge chaotically, like an invisible storm churning through the sky. Tarnished stiffened immediately. As a master of all arts, a one-of-a-kind prodigy, he was acutely sensitive to such disruptions. Something was wrong very wrong. He shot to his feet, armor rattling as he moved, eyes narrowed and voice sharp. "Luth, go hide in the village, something is wro "
But before he could finish, the air erupted with a harsh, high-pitched roar. It wasn't a sound it was a shockwave. The very wind trembled, the mountain quaked, and the sky itself seemed to recoil. Tarnished turned instantly, instincts razor-sharp, but the sight that met him was worse than expected. Luth stood frozen, pale and soaked in sweat, eyes wide in terror as if he'd seen death itself. Tarnished grabbed Luth by the shoulders and jerked him upright to snap him out of his daze. "Luth, now is not the time to space out," he barked, trying to pierce through the fear clouding his companion's eyes. Luth blinked rapidly, gasping like he'd surfaced from drowning. "A-Ad-Adula is awake..."