The heavily fortified position before him was known as the Gatefront Ruins. As the name implied, it was the mandatory gateway to Stormveil Castle. Beyond this checkpoint lay the Stormhill—a region perpetually lashed by tempests, which gave both the land and the castle their names.
Godrick's army held this position with an iron grip. Their primary duty was to guard the road to the castle, but their secondary, more sinister purpose was to hunt the Tarnished passing through. They knew the Tarnished were drawn to the castle by a hunger they could not deny, seeking the Great Rune their "Lord" possessed. The soldiers stood ready to harvest fresh limbs to offer to Godrick the Grafted.
Knights in tarnished brass armor, clutching greatshields and spears, patrolled the main road. The crest on their surcoats—a twin-headed war axe—was the ancient symbol of the Golden Lineage, an emblem of the raw power they once prided themselves on.
Emphasis on "once."
Under the depraved rule of Godrick, these soldiers had long since abandoned their noble faith for the macabre. Like lord, like servant: Godrick had turned the Stormlands into a cemetery of severed parts, and his men were no better than common butchers. As the Tarnished had seen with the rogue commander at Fort Haight, these men were hollowed out by bloodlust.
The spear-knight continued his patrol, unaware that the battlefield behind him was being systematically dismantled. One by one, the soldiers fell in silence. By the time the knight sensed something was wrong, it was too late. A cold flash of steel ended his vigil; the Gatefront was cleared.
"That took more effort than I expected." Wiping his blade, the Tarnished exhaled. Silently neutralizing dozens of soldiers, several war-hounds, and a fully armored knight was no small feat. He had used the sallow-skinned, semi-mindless soldiers as his blind spots, eventually maneuvering behind the greatshield knight for the final execution.
"He's even throwing dogs into the fray now." He glanced at his empty bolt-quiver, finding Godrick's methods increasingly pathetic.
As he surveyed the ruins for any stragglers or loot, he came across a stone obelisk in the center of the camp—identical to the one he'd found on the peninsula.
"Another one." He touched the stone. Just as before, golden script manifested in the air, swirling into a parchment that flew into his pouch. When he pulled out his map, the geography had expanded significantly. Limgrave's western terrain was now laid out in intricate detail.
"Only half the region... this is West Limgrave. There must be an Eastern map." He studied the new markings. Most of the topography remained as he remembered it, though a specific icon on the Stormhill caught his eye—another Evergaol.
"No rush. Plenty of time for that." He moved to a nearby carriage—or rather, a Troll-drawn hearse. He kicked open a massive wooden chest on the back, finding a sharpened Lordsworn's Greatsword. It was clear Godrick was plundering the countryside for every scrap of metal and resource available.
He reached the Great Road leading up to Stormhill. A fresh Site of Grace shimmered nearby, providing a much-needed spot for respite. Taking down a military camp had drained a fair amount of his stamina.
"Stormhill... I wonder if the winds are as fierce as they used to be." As he gazed toward the cliffs, a blue, spectral shimmer manifested before him.
The Tarnished didn't reach for his sword, but his eyes narrowed.
"Greetings... traveler from beyond the fog. Tarnished one..."
The spirit coalesced into the form of a young woman. She wore a heavy, dark traveling cloak. Under his watchful gaze, she knelt and lowered her hood, revealing her face.
Her rose-gold hair was cut to her shoulders, curving slightly at the ends. Her expression was a calm, fathomless pool. Her eyes were her most striking feature: the right eye was a clear gold, marking her as one blessed by the Order, but her left eye was sealed shut. A black, claw-like mark—resembling a three-toed beast's talon—crawled from her eyelid to her cheek, binding the eye in a permanent seal.
"My name is Melina," she said softly. "I offer you an accord."
"We've met before, haven't we?" the Tarnished asked. "The one who tended to me in the Stranded Graveyard and left the Flask... that was you." Her aura was an exact match for the scent he'd caught in those final moments of unconsciousness.
"I did not realize you were awake even then..." Her admission confirmed his suspicion.
"Hah. That makes things easier. I've been looking for you. State your terms."
"Have you heard of the Finger Maidens? They serve the Two Fingers, offering guidance and aid to the Tarnished." Melina's voice was devoid of intense emotion, steady and measured.
"I know the type." He nodded, recalling Varré's mocking words about being "maidenless."
"But you are without a maiden... I can play that role. I can turn your Runes into strength. If you seek the Elden Ring, this power will be of use to you."
Turning Runes into strength... He actually needed this. Since his resurrection, the ability to instinctively absorb the power of the fallen had left him. It wasn't a loss of Grace; it felt like a fundamental shift within his own soul.
"In exchange, I ask that you take me with you... to the foot of the Erdtree."
"Agreed," he said instantly.
"...The negotiation was swifter than I anticipated."
"Call it a debt of gratitude." Her care and the Flask had been his lifeline. He wasn't the type to haggle over a life-saving favor.
"There is no need. It was Torrent who chose you. I merely acted on his behalf."
"Torrent?" Another name he didn't recognize. Melina pulled a ring from her cloak.
"This is the Spectral Steed Whistle. It allows you to summon a spirit-horse named Torrent."
The Tarnished took the whistle and blew a sharp note. Almost instantly, a sturdy steed with curved horns like a bull's trotted out of the mist. It shook its mane and approached him with an intelligent glint in its eyes.
"Is it a horse? A bull? A... bull-horse?" He stroked Torrent's flank. The appearance was bizarre—perhaps a crossbreed of some ancestral spirit. Torrent nudged his hand affectionately.
"Torrent has taken a liking to you... please, treat him well." Melina rose to her feet.
"I don't know why he chose me, but I won't let him down." Torrent was powerful, built like a tank. He felt more reliable than the pedigree chargers used by the Tree Sentinels.
"You said you could convert Runes?"
"Yes... touch my hand, if only for a moment." She extended her right hand, palm up. As their hands met, she began to chant an ancient, rhythmic incantation. In an instant, the ocean of Runes he had gathered from the camp flowed into his limbs and marrow.
A golden flash sparked in his eyes before fading. Speed, stamina, raw power—every fiber of his being surged with new vitality.
"It is done. The Runes are now part of you."
He stretched his arms, feeling the influx of power. It was good, but he was still far from his peak. To surpass his former self, he would need mountains of Runes more than this.
Melina watched him in silence. When she had touched him, she had felt something... strange. An energy she couldn't name, something ancient and familiar, yet buried deep.
"Much obliged," he said. "The road might be long, though. I might not get you to the Tree as fast as you'd like."
"It matters not... so long as your heart truly seeks the Erdtree."
"I see." He vaulted onto Torrent's back. "Strength is necessary for the journey, but so is exploring. I'm a bit of a scavenger." He gave her a crooked grin.
"If you have need of me... I will appear at any Site of Grace." With a final nod, she dissolved into blue motes and vanished into the golden embers of the campfire.
"Quiet girl... but she can inhabit the Grace? That's no ordinary spirit." In his memory, only those with the purest Golden Blood—like Marika or Godwyn—could merge so seamlessly with the Erdtree's light. Even his brother Godfrey had tried it once, only to be rejected and nearly tossed across the room. The memory made him chuckle.
"Seems I'm meeting all sorts of interesting people." St. Trina, then this maiden.
He looked down at the muscular spirit-steed beneath him, then turned his gaze toward Agheel Lake, where the dragon still held court.
"Torrent, old friend... how do you feel about a dragon hunt to celebrate our partnership?"
The Tarnished's tone was light, but his eyes were burning with a predatory fire.
Neeeeigh! Torrent tossed his head, his hooves stamping the ground in eager anticipation.
"Good. Then let's ride!"
He snapped the reins, and Torrent took off like a shot, a streak of spectral light heading straight for the lake.