"Apprentice," Sellen began, looking at the sturdy frame of the man who had just dispatched a Pumpkin Head in five seconds. "Before we begin your formal education, I must ask: do you truly have no foundation in the arcane?" She had been observing him, yet his potential remained an enigma—shrouded by a physical presence that felt like a coiled spring.
In the Lands Between, it was an unwritten rule that few could master both steel and sorcery. To excel in physical combat, sorcery, and incantations simultaneously was a feat achieved only by the Red-Haired Champion, the second husband of the Moon Queen.
"It's true," the Tarnished admitted. "In the past, I had the desire to learn, but the mages I encountered always insisted I lacked the 'inner spark' for it."
"I see..." Sellen nodded slowly. "Those senile fools at the Academy are hardly fit to judge. A collection of stagnant husks, the lot of them." Her voice, usually calm, carried a sharp edge of contempt when mentioning the Academy.
"But do not worry, apprentice. Even if you were a dull piece of flint, I would carve you into the most brilliant Glintstone in the land. It is a teacher's duty to find the light within the stone." Her tone softened. He was her first student—the only soul brave enough to seek her out without fear. She felt a surge of purpose; she would mold him into a sorcerer without peer.
"I believe you," the Tarnished smiled. His first impression of Sellen was excellent—not because of her appearance, but because of her honesty. She didn't hide her "dark history." That was the mark of a true scholar.
"To cast sorceries, you need a catalyst. Unfortunately, I have nothing suitable for you here." Sellen gestured to the room filled with nothing but parchment and raw glintstone. Her own staff was too advanced; for a beginner, a high-level catalyst would hinder his grasp of the fundamentals.
"A catalyst, huh..." The Tarnished rubbed his chin.
"And apprentice, given that you are fundamentally a warrior, a traditional staff might feel... clumsy in your hands."
He had to agree. He couldn't quite picture himself waving a wooden stick around in the heat of battle.
"Fear not. The Carian Royal Family possesses a type of 'Magic Sword' that serves as a catalyst. It would suit your style perfectly. Until you obtain one, I will teach you the theoretical foundations of the stars."
He sat down, and Sellen began the lecture on the origins of magic.
She spoke of the ancient days when a great comet washed over the land, carving out the basin that became Liurnia. She spoke of life from the cosmos that arrived with the star, flourishing until a terrifying meteor shower buried their civilization beneath the earth.
Centuries later, new residents—the first Astrologers—discovered these ancient ruins. They looked to the sky, but the stars had grown dim. Refusing to accept a darkened fate, they used the essence of the stars to create Glintstone. Eventually, they built the Academy of Raya Lucaria and exchanged knowledge with their neighbors, the Carian Royals.
While the Academy studied the distant stars, the Carians studied the brilliant Full Moon. These paths diverged until a hero emerged: Rennala, the Full Moon Queen. She unified the Academy through absolute power, and for a time, there was peace—until her husband abandoned her.
The broken Queen lost her heart, and eventually, her mind. She was whispered to be mad, stripped of her authority, and locked away in the Grand Library.
"So, apprentice, whether it is Academy sorcery or Carian sorcery, all of it is unearthed from the stars. But beyond these, there are many other paths." Sellen explained with tireless patience. "To master the glintstone, you must feel the pulse of the cosmos."
"I understand. I'd heard of Rennala, but I didn't know she'd been cast aside like that." During the War against the Giants, the Liurnian wars were happening simultaneously. He hadn't paid much attention, and shortly after the Liurnian stalemate ended, he and his kin were exiled before they could even march on Caelid. He never did learn who the Queen's husband was.
"Ahem." Sellen coughed lightly. "Queen Rennala was a magnificent sorceress. Her talent was peerless. It is a tragedy..." Sellen's voice held a rare note of pity, though as a scholar obsessed with the cold logic of the stars, she couldn't quite grasp how one could be so utterly undone by "love."
"I will teach you a few basic spells. Master the theory. When you find a suitable catalyst, I will test your progress. Do not disappoint me."
"I won't."
"Good. Time is passing. You have your own duties, I know. Sorcery is important, but it is not your whole world. You have a path to walk."
The Tarnished nodded.
"A teacher should support her student. I cannot leave this place yet, but you may return whenever you wish."
"I will." He felt a genuine warmth in her words. After activating the Grace outside her door, he prepared to leave. He made sure to shut the heavy iron door and hide the entrance with debris. Sellen's situation was precarious; a little camouflage couldn't hurt.
I think I've found a good student, Sellen thought, a small smile appearing behind her mask. It had been so long since she had spoken to anyone since being branded a heretic. This projection was well worth the effort. She turned back to her books. I must review the advanced theorems... I cannot have my student outpacing his teacher too quickly.
"Sellen... a fine teacher," the Tarnished murmured, glancing back at the ruins with a smile.
His business at Waypoint Ruins was done. Next on the list: the Third Church of Marika and the Flask of Wondrous Physick. According to his memory, the church sat north of the Mistwood. He decided to stick to the main road rather than cutting through the forest.
As he walked, his aura was so sharp that the local wildlife—usually bold enough to harass travelers—scented the "predator" and stayed far away.
"At least no more sheep," he muttered.
As he approached the outskirts of the Mistwood, he heard a voice shouting from a high ridge.
"Is anyone there?! Is there anyone of sound mind who can hear the plea of Kenneth Haight?!"
"Anyone at all! Oh... O Great Erdtree, pray send your servant to my side!"
The Tarnished looked up. Standing on a ruined archway was a middle-aged man dressed in the extravagant, slightly gaudy silks of a high-born noble.
"Ah! You! The Erdtree has heard my prayers!"
"Oh... a Tarnished... no, no, even a Tarnished is welcome in these dark times! Regardless of station, all who cherish Order are brothers!" Kenneth seemed intoxicated by his own grandiloquence.
"Tarnished! I require your assistance! Come to the side of Kenneth Haight, if you please!"
Truthfully, the Tarnished wanted to keep walking. The man reeked of "Order-zealot"—the kind of person who would fly into a rage if you spoke a word against the Tree. But Kenneth added:
"If you complete my request, Kenneth Haight shall reward you handsomely!"
A reward. It sounded like Varré's line, but the man's tone was pompous rather than oily. It was less annoying, at least.
"Stop shouting, I'm coming up," he called out, waving his hand.
"Allow me to introduce myself! I am Kenneth Haight! Heir to the Limgrave lords! Tarnished, I have a task for you, and as I said... the reward will be substantial." Kenneth puffed out his chest, radiating a bizarrely confident pride.
"Just tell me what needs doing," the Tarnished said, letting the noble's self-important chatter go in one ear and out the other.
"Right, right..." Kenneth frowned at the bluntness but pressed on. "South of here, past the Mistwood, lies my ancestral home: Fort Haight. I ask that you retake the fort for me!"
"You lost your castle too?" The Tarnished crossed his arms, looking toward the fort's silhouette.
"You mean... the business at Castle Morne?"
"Word gets around."
"A tragedy, to be sure. But my situation is different. I was ousted by a Knight Commander sent from Stormveil." Kenneth's face reddened with anger.
"A Knight from Stormveil?"
"The fool fell into a bloodthirsty madness! He began slaughtering his own men and desecrating the fort! Utterly ungentlemanly!"
Bloodthirsty? The Tarnished immediately thought of Mohg. Varré had mentioned a "Lord of Blood." It seemed his nephew's cult was spreading its influence.
"I'll look into it," he promised. Not for Kenneth's sake, but to see what kind of mess his "nephew" was making of the world.
"Huzzah! I wish you luck, Tarnished! Oh, but one more thing—watch out for Godrick's 'Tarnished Hunters'."
"Tarnished Hunters? What are those?"
"They specialize in hunting your kind. If they catch you, they'll drag you to Stormveil to be used for 'Grafting'."
"Grafting? Godrick..."
"Godrick is a beast!" Kenneth spat. "His lineage is diluted, his power is borrowed, and his character is non-existent! For such a man to claim the throne of Limgrave is an insult to the very soil!"
The Tarnished looked toward the distant, jagged silhouette of Stormveil Castle. A flash of cold killing intent flickered in his eyes. Maybe I'll deal with him sooner than I thought.