Lucian walked slowly along the great avenue within the castle. But as he passed a certain spot, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.
He raised his hand and pointed toward something ahead, then turned to the Crucible Knight, Redd, at his side.
"What is that?"
Following the direction of his lord's hand, Redd looked.
There stood a massive stone sword, carved from rock itself, its tip angled toward the heavens, its form wreathed in a sculpted storm. The craftsmanship was exquisite—so lifelike that it seemed as though a raging tempest had been frozen in time.
Behind the statue of sword and storm was the very wall that had once been split open by Lucian's Wind Spirit Moon Shadow when he slew Godrick the Grafted—its surface cleaved clean and smooth as a mirror.
"This," Redd explained, "is a monument, built in remembrance of the day you slew Godrick and reclaimed Stormveil."
Lucian raised a brow. He hadn't even known such a thing had been constructed here.
At least they hadn't carved a likeness of him directly. That would have been far stranger—to be stared at every day as though a shrine piece.
He stepped closer and studied the monument. As art, it was quite beautiful; the sculptor's hand was skilled indeed. A sword entwined with storm—it was a fitting tribute, capturing the very spirit of that battle.
"When was this built? And why am I only learning of it now?"
Redd thought for a moment.
"Construction began fairly early, once the main repairs to Stormveil were complete. It was scheduled soon after. Everyone meant to tell you once it was finished, but… it only came to completion shortly after you left. So you missed the unveiling."
Lucian grew curious. Whose idea had it been to raise such a monument? He half suspected Lancelot. It would be like him.
"And whose suggestion was it?"
But to his surprise, Redd pointed at himself.
"Mine—and Andre's."
Lucian considered this, then nodded. It did make sense.
In the old days, the Crucible Knights had marched beside Godfrey, leaving battlefields and monuments scattered across the Lands Between. Perhaps the tradition of sword-monuments, left behind to commemorate wars, had begun with them.
He moved closer still, noticing that words had been carved into the base of the statue. Of course—what was a monument without an inscription?
It read:
The Battle for the Return of Storms. Lucian, the Stormlord, struck down Godrick the Grafted and restored the Storm King's reign. Thus was Stormveil once more embraced by the storm.
Lucian nodded. A simple inscription, yet it captured the essence of that day well enough.
More than the boast of slaying Godrick, it was that final line he favored: Stormveil once more embraced by the storm. The word "embraced" carried a gentle note. It spoke not only of Stormveil's return to its rightful lord, but also of the benevolent governance Lucian sought to uphold—peaceful transitions after war, and harmony among peoples.
Not merely rule, nor command—but an embrace. That was the word that resonated with him.
Redd, seeing his lord's satisfaction, continued:
"In truth, after last night's battle with the Night's Cavalry, we've already planned another monument. To be raised at the battlefield where we wiped them out from Limgrave."
At first, Lucian thought to stop them. Such things consumed effort. But then again, monuments spread his name, his renown—they forged a legacy that manpower alone could not.
And besides, this was his soldiers' devotion, their way of showing loyalty. Though most of these followers had once been foes, drawn to him only after battle, their bond with him had grown strong.
And he had to admit… there was something gratifying about being remembered this way.
—
Leaving Stormveil by a hidden path at the rear, Lucian emerged at the cliff's edge.
From the shadows of the passage, he stepped into the open, and once more beheld the vast, awe-inspiring sight of Liurnia spread before him.
From this height, the view seemed without end, stretching infinitely outward, as though his gaze could swallow the world.
Beneath him lay the boundless waters of Lake Liurnia, shimmering like a sea. Even in bright daylight, a pale blue mist clung to the lake, draping the land in mystery.
Beneath the trees rising from the waters, glintstone crystals gleamed like starlight.
On both eastern and western shores, dense forests spread in endless green. And in the far distance, the grand sorcerous academy of Raya Lucaria rose proudly, towering over the landscape.
Beyond it all, the Erdtree bathed the horizon in golden warmth, balancing the lake's chill with light. Perhaps this was the harmony that once bound moon and Erdtree together.
Lucian stood at the cliff's edge, drinking it in, gazing down upon one of the greatest vistas of the Lands Between.
At his side, Melina also lingered on the scene, her voice soft with wonder.
"…Beautiful."
Though Redd was still present, Lucian could not help but respond, as if speaking only with her.
"Truly beautiful."
To Redd, it might have sounded like a simple remark. He nodded after a pause.
"…Indeed."
Hearing this, Melina laughed softly, covering her mouth.
Though unseen, her carefree laughter softened Lucian's expression.
But the harmony was soon broken.
A sharp eagle's cry rang overhead.
A moment later, a broken, bird-shaped marionette soldier fell from the sky, crashing down beside them. Its crude body was little more than sheets of iron hammered together with strange parts. The sound of metal on stone rang out as it shattered into pieces.
Though mangled, it still twitched. Spotting Lucian and Redd, it swung its scythe wildly, dragging itself in circles on the ground. Its legs had snapped from the fall.
Lucian wasted no time—he kicked it cleanly off the cliff.
Stormveil's rear cliffs were sheer, impassable terrain, never meant for invasion. Its defenses here were always light. Yet now, it seemed, even this was no longer safe.
The Academy's Marionettes could climb endlessly, heedless of losses. With bird-shaped dolls and hot-air balloons, they buzzed like gnats, endlessly irritating.
The Marionette Lucian had kicked away tumbled down, crashing against stone spurs until it fell to pieces. Looking closer, he saw the cliff's base already littered with puppet corpses and shattered balloons—remnants of those slain earlier by Elyssa and the stormhawks.
One great hawk landed before him, its bladed talons sinking into the land for balance. It was an aged stormhawk, scarred and reforged. A mechanical throat sac had been grafted into its body, giving it the power to breathe fire. Its severed claws had been replaced with long blades, flesh and steel now fused inseparably.
These were the cruel alterations made under Godrick's rule.
Every time Lucian looked at them, he felt a pang of sorrow. Yet the hawks were warriors, untroubled by their mutilations. Stronger than their kin, they fought now with unwavering loyalty to him.
Lucian inclined his head, asking after Elyssa's whereabouts.
The hawk took wing, circling ahead, waiting for them to follow.
Guided thus, Lucian and his companions soon reached a ruined church beyond Stormveil.
This was the Church of Irith, where the sorcerer Thops could be found in the Lands Between. But now it lay empty—Thops still busied himself with study in the castle. The church's Sacred Flask had long since been removed at Lucian's command.
Now the place served as a rest camp for Elyssa and the stormhawks.
Inside, stormhawks perched upon broken walls, resting their weary wings. Silver Knights lounged upon pews, longbows at their side. Since the Marionettes' attacks were only small-scale harassments, few knights were needed to hold the place. These posted here rotated shifts, using the assignment as training for their archery.
The real burden of battle fell to Elyssa and the stormhawks.
She stood before a grand statue of Queen Marika, gazing upward in thought. Lucian knew this was her way of resting—standing still, conserving strength. She had once told him that in the snowfields, one had to master rest even in harshest conditions.
When the knights noticed their lord, they immediately rose and saluted. Lucian waved them back, though none would sit again, their discipline unshaken.
Elyssa turned, bowing low.
"How are things here?" Lucian asked once she had straightened.
"All well enough," she answered. "The Academy's purpose remains unclear, but for now they are only harassing us. The Marionettes they send are weak—easily dealt with by the stormhawks. Larger, stronger forces I handle myself. But… their constant interference is vexing."
Lucian trusted her words. For wide-area battles, Elyssa was unmatched—even more so than the Crucible Knights. Her sorceries, such as Zamor's Ice Storm, could freeze entire battlefields in a single cast.
And she was not one to boast. If she said there was no problem, then there was none.
"What of the frequency of their attacks?" Lucian pressed.
Before Elyssa could answer, a stormhawk's piercing cry rang out overhead. Enemy sighted.
She glanced skyward, then sighed. "There, you see. Just like that. The harassment is near constant. The stormhawks must take turns flying out to clear them away. And the larger groups strike without pattern—sometimes quickly, sometimes after long pauses. Impossible to predict."
Lucian's brows furrowed. It was harassment, pure and simple. Annoying, not dangerous.
He stepped outside the Church of Irith.
"Come," he said. "I'll see this for myself."
The timing was suspicious. For an attack to occur so soon after his arrival suggested the Academy was somehow aware of his presence. Liurnia was their domain. They could dispatch forces at will.
Guided by stormhawks, Lucian came to a cliff less steep than the rest. Here, Marionettes were scrambling upward in clumsy droves. Some fell, shattering on the rocks below—only to be gathered up and reforged by their kin into new dolls.
Above, bird-shaped puppets and balloons already clashed with the stormhawks. Those carried archers with four arms, each hand clutching a bow, loosing arrows in rapid torrents. Accuracy was poor, but the sheer speed and chaos of their fire forced the hawks into constant evasion, shredding their stamina.
No wonder the stormhawks had seemed so weary.
Still, the puppets were fragile. Few stormhawks were injured, and in the time it took Lucian to arrive, the skies had nearly been cleared.
Standing at the cliff's edge, Lucian spoke, his voice calm yet resonant.
"Raya Lucaria. I know you can see and hear me. Whatever your reasons, hear my final warning."
"So long as a single servant of your Academy sets foot within my domain, war will begin at once. And I will march upon your turtle shell."
"Do not doubt that I can. Your seals are not without weakness."
With that, he raised his right hand.
Power surged forth, a storm bursting into being. His strength had grown since his recent ascension, vast enough to wield spells once deemed too wasteful.
Winds howled up the cliffside, snatching Marionettes into the sky like toys. Balloons and bird-shaped dolls alike were swept away, while the hawks soared freely, masters of the tempest.
Lucian turned his palm upward, slowly closing his fist.
The storm condensed into a dense, crushing sphere. Within, blades of wind scythed in every direction, reducing puppets to dust.
At last, he opened his hand, and the remnants were cast away—scattered toward Raya Lucaria itself.
For now, Lucian's focus lay upon the coming Festival of Combat. If the Academy behaved, he would allow them to live a little longer.
But if they continued to provoke him…
He would not hesitate to alter his path, and erase Raya Lucaria first.