The Tarnished first traveled via the Grace back to the Stranded Graveyard, then summoned Torrent to ride toward the Coastal Cave—the same cave where he had previously cleared out the demi-human uprising. Before they had parted ways, Boc had shared a crucial secret: a hidden tunnel within that very cave led directly to the offshore island.
Deep within the cavern, past the damp tunnels, lay a path that bypassed the crushing tides. Emerging from the other side, the salty sea breeze greeted him.
Stepping onto the island's soil, he kindled the Site of Grace. Before him loomed the ruins of a grand, roofless cathedral. Inside, the massive, stone-like remains of an Ancient Dragon lay slumped over the altar, its silent form a testament to eons of decay. Beneath the dragon's ribs, a stone basin pulsed with a low, rhythmic red light.
"This is it," the Tarnished muttered, stepping toward the Altar of Dragon Communion. Even in death, the residual power of the Ancient Dragon radiated a pressure that made the air feel heavy.
"This appears to be only a minor church," Melina noted, appearing suddenly by his side.
"There are different tiers to this?"
"Naturally. Faith has its own hierarchy. This is but a small island; at its peak, it likely hosted few practitioners, and thus its pool of collective belief is modest." As always, Melina was a wellspring of quiet information.
"So the size affects the outcome." It made sense to the Tarnished—praying to a sapling of the Erdtree would never yield the power of praying to the Tree itself. Dragon Communion followed the same logic.
"The scale determines the strength of the incantations you can grasp. When you offer a heart, a powerful altar can grant more profound transformations. A smaller altar's gift will be... more subtle."
The root of this power was the Ancient Dragons. Looking at the calcified skeleton, the Tarnished noted it was smaller than the ones he had seen on the battlefields of old—likely a juvenile that had never reached maturity.
"I understand. Like the difference between a minor prayer and a High Erdtree Incantation." Melina nodded in confirmation.
"No matter. Even a basic start is a start."
"Align the heart with the center of the altar," Melina instructed. "The altar's essence will flood the organ. When you consume it, the dragon's essence will become your own."
Following her guidance, the Tarnished initiated the rite. Crimson energy surged from the basin into the cold, grey dragon heart. In an instant, the dead organ began to beat—a heavy, thunderous thrum that echoed through the ruins like a war drum.
"Quite a spectacle," the Tarnished smirked. He opened his mouth and consumed the heart in one go. There was no sensation of chewing flesh; instead, the organ dissolved into pure, scorching energy that raced through his veins.
The power of the Wyvern exploded within him. Melina stepped back to avoid the shockwave. She watched as ghostly, spectral dragon claws flickered over the Tarnished's hands. In a brief moment, before he suppressed it, a terrifying draconic majesty flared in his eyes. With a casual flick of his wrist, the ground before him was gouged out, leaving a trench several meters deep.
"Casting an incantation without a catalyst..." Melina's voice held a rare note of surprise. In her experience, only those whose souls were fundamentally attuned to the source of the power—like Marika with the Order, or the Fire Giants with the Flame—could manifest such power through sheer will.
Why could this Tarnished do the same?
"It's just the power of a Wyvern, but it's still more than most creatures can handle." The Tarnished massaged his arm. Beneath his gauntlet, the skin was radiating heat from the energy discharge, and wisps of white steam curled into the air.
"What are you staring at, girl?" he asked, noticing Melina's lingering gaze.
"Nothing..." She quickly regained her composure. "How is it that you can release an incantation so directly?"
"Oh, that? Probably something to do with my past."
"Would you... tell me of it?" For the first time, Melina showed a spark of genuine curiosity.
"If you're interested, that's a good sign." The Tarnished felt a weight lift; she wasn't just a mission-giving spirit, she had feelings after all.
He began to tell her of the days before he joined the Great Crusade. At that time, he was a wanderer who had left his homeland specifically to travel the Lands Between and challenge its greatest legends. He lived for the thrill of the hunt.
In those days, the world was teeming with giants, the power of Destined Death, and the Ancient Dragons. While most civilizations rise by overthowing the previous ruler, the Ancient Dragons were different. Their King had vanished long ago, leaving them leaderless but still formidable. They were wise enough to know their era was ending, especially after their capital began to crumble. Most had retreated to the skies, to the city in the clouds.
One day, while wandering, the Tarnished encountered two Ancient Dragons who had descended to the surface, bored by the stagnation of the sky. They were kin, perhaps siblings. Despite their wisdom, the dragons were born of war, and their blood boiled for a challenge. Seeing the lone warrior, they didn't attack like beasts; they offered a "friendly" duel.
Crimson lightning had turned the sky red. The battle was titanic—the dragons' near-impenetrable scales nearly broke the Tarnished several times. But he was a warrior who thrived on the brink of death. The battle lasted so long and grew so massive that it eventually drew the attention of Godfrey, the first Elden Lord.
Godfrey had watched from the sidelines, shouting his desire to join the fray, only to be held back by his advisor, Serosh.
In the end, the Tarnished's blades found the gaps in the scales. He won the right to bathe in the pure blood of the Ancient Dragons. Gracious in defeat, the dragons—speaking in the human tongue—vowed a rematch in the future. The Tarnished had accepted with a laugh.
"It was that fight that gave me a resonance with their kind," he concluded. "Not long after that, Godfrey personally invited me to join his army."
"I did not realize you were from such a distant age..." Melina looked at him, slightly stunned.
"That dragon blood is probably still in me, fused into my bones." He hadn't known what the blood was for back then; now, he'd stumbled upon the ritual to awaken it.
"It seems Godwyn was not the only one to make friends of dragons," Melina mused, looking toward the horizon.
"Hah, the boy probably just heard the stories of my duel and wanted to try it himself," the Tarnished laughed.
Melina remained silent, but her opinion of him was shifting. Perhaps this man truly was the one who could fulfill the accord.
"Yura mentioned another altar in Caelid. You know of it?"
"Yes," Melina confirmed. "The Cathedral in Caelid is the largest remains of the cult still standing."
The Tarnished looked at the now-dimmed altar and sighed. Caelid it was, then—but not yet. He had no more hearts to offer.
After a final sweep of the island, they returned through the tunnels to the Stranded Graveyard.
"Back at the start," the Tarnished said, approaching the fog gate. He weighed the Stonesword Keys in his hand.
"...?" Melina looked at the keys, her expression shifting to one of confusion.
"What's wrong?"
"There are... traces of prior use on one. How did you acquire it?"
"You can see that?" The Tarnished was impressed. She had a sharp eye for detail.
"I can feel the resonance of the energy within... or rather, its lack," Melina explained. "It will still work, but it has been handled."
"And here I thought I'd pried it out cleanly," the Tarnished muttered, rubbing his chin.
"Pried it... out?"
"To be honest, I yanked it out of the mouth of an Imp Statue," he gave a mischievous grin.
"..." Melina didn't speak, but her brow twitched. Her micro-expressions were a language of their own.
"You're thinking I'm a common thief, aren't you?" He looked her straight in the eye.
"..."
"No..." Melina looked away and took two steps back.
"You said 'no,' but those two steps back say otherwise." The Tarnished's mouth twitched. She didn't say much, but she certainly had a personality. "But you're right. I'm a brigand at heart. I don't pretend to be a saint. If I can use it, I take it. I don't have time to waste."
"..." Melina watched his one-man show with a blank face.
"Just kidding. I bought one, and found the other."
"I see..."
"Then I used it, and pried it back out!" He burst into laughter.
"..." The look of "unimpressed" in Melina's eye was growing. She had never met a Tarnished so... talkative. Was he lonely? The Tarnished in the Hold were usually grim and stoic, not at all like this boisterous man.
"Don't give me that 'pity the elderly' look," he grumbled.
"Are you... going in?" Melina asked, ignoring his complaint and gesturing to the fog.
"Of course." He took the first key and slotted it into the stone imp's mouth. Since this seal required two, he produced the second key—the one he'd actually purchased from the merchant near the Demi-human Queen's ruins.
He inserted the second key into the upper imp. With a mechanical click, the seal broke. The fog dissipated, revealing a massive, sloping ramp leading down into the darkness.