"Who's there...?"
Mounted on Torrent, the Tarnished turned toward the voice. A petite girl sat perched atop the ruined stone walls of the church. She wore snow-white robes and a massive witch's hat, her skin a deep, celestial azure that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. She looked less like a living being and more like a phantom born of a dream.
She possessed several features far beyond the human norm. Her left eye was as deep and cold as a full moon, while beside her right eye hovered a translucent, ethereal second face—a spectral woman with delicate features and mysterious blue runes trailing from her eye, overlapping the girl's own closed right lid. This symmetry of closed and open eyes was strikingly similar to Melina's.
Moreover, she had four arms.
Faced with this beautiful, dream-like apparition, the Tarnished's very first words were:
"Gah! Where'd this blue-skinned, four-armed freak come from? Are you a Grafted?" He instinctively backed up half a pace.
"...Insolent wretch!" The girl snapped, her voice trembling with indignation. She clearly hadn't expected such a crude reaction. Are all Tarnished this unrefined?
"Fine... fine." She composed herself, her voice regaining its cool, aristocratic edge. "I had heard rumors of a Tarnished traveling atop a spectral steed."
"It took me some time to track thee down." She elegantly folded her two pairs of hands, radiating an aura of ancient nobility. She gazed down at him, choosing to ignore his earlier insult with practiced grace.
"Oh, so you're not a Grafted." The Tarnished leaned in for a closer look. Up close, he realized she wasn't flesh and blood; she was a meticulously crafted doll.
"....." Being a doll, her face remained motionless, but the atmosphere around her grew palpably heavy with irritation.
"It is thou, is it not? The Tarnished who can summon the one called Torrent." She maintained her patience, her voice a measured inquiry.
"Torrent? Never heard of him."
"...."
"Then what is that beast thou art currently sitting upon...?" She looked at him with the expression one might give a particularly dim-witted child.
"You're seeing things." In the blink of an eye, the Tarnished dismissed Torrent and looked back up at the girl, who—even perched on the ruins—wasn't much taller than him.
"Interesting..." Her voice shook slightly. "I am the Witch Renna. I shall ask thee one final time: thou canst summon the spectral steed Torrent, correct?"
This woman is remarkably patient, the Tarnished thought, though he continued to shake his head in denial. Looking at her icy demeanor, a mischievous urge to mess with her took hold.
An immobile doll face, even worse than Melina's. Let's see how far I can push her.
"Fine... thou art determined to deny it. Very well..." The girl known as Renna lowered both pairs of hands.
"What, going to hit me now? Typical Grafted temper."
"CEASE MENTIONING THAT ABHORRENT GRAFTING, TARNISHED!" Finally, she broke. Her calm, melodic tone spiked into a shout, though her porcelain face remained frustratingly still.
This kid is kind of hilarious.
"Fine, fine."
"...." The witch was utterly speechless. How could such a person exist?
"I ask thee for the absolute last time. Is it thou? The one who summons Torrent?"
"You saw it with your own eyes, why are you still asking?" The Tarnished looked at her with an expression of pure, feigned confusion.
"..." She was stumped. Actually, why am I still asking? Does this man possess some sort of mind-altering field? Am I already affected?
"Thou... thou art a disgrace to the craft of magic. I shall remember thee." After a long silence, that was the only retort she could muster. She left two items on the stone and vanished into a flurry of blue glintstone petals.
"Is this the new fashion for travel in the Lands Between? Everyone's turning into light or mist. I really have fallen out of touch with the times." Some people could teleport through space while he was still riding a horse. It was truly a tragedy.
He sighed dramatically, then walked over to where "Renna" had been sitting and picked up a small bell and a stack of ashes.
"What a nice lady. Left me a parting gift. Almost makes me feel guilty for teasing her." He shoved them into his pocket just as Boc's voice called out from the darkness.
"Master! I've found you!" Boc sprinted toward the church, waving his arms. "Miss Melina told me you were coming here!"
"Indeed." The Tarnished led Boc into the relatively intact interior of the Church of Elleh.
"This place is safe enough for now. Stay here while I'm in Limgrave," he instructed.
"Are you continuing your journey, Master? May I ask... what is your goal?" Boc wanted to support his benefactor's dream with everything he had, even if he was "only" a seamster.
"I'm heading for the Capital. I'm going to be the new King," the Tarnished said casually, yet his voice carried an undeniable weight of certainty.
"A King... then I shall follow you for the rest of my life." Boc's eyes shone with unwavering loyalty.
"Hah, there aren't many people as simple and honest as you left in this world, Boc." He saw a rare spark of purity in the little demi-human.
"You saved me, Master. It is only right." Boc smiled bashfully.
After resting for a while, the Tarnished prepared to set out again. "Time to head for Stormhill. I wonder if the old winds still have any bite."
"You said you were going to rest..." Melina's voice drifted from the shadows.
"Sss... right. Slipped my mind." If she hadn't mentioned it, he probably would have kept running until he collapsed.
"Oh! You require rest, Master? I shall prepare a bedding for you immediately!" Boc rubbed his hands together excitedly.
"That'd be great. Just a quick nap will do."
Soon, the Tarnished fell into a deep sleep within the church ruins. But peace was a rare commodity for him; events had a way of finding him even in his dreams.
"Another dream?"
He found himself back in the hazy, purple-hued dreamscape. "Trina, it's you again, isn't it?"
"Tarnished, do you never sleep...?" Trina appeared before him. Unlike their first meeting, she seemed much more comfortable around him now.
"I'm a busy man," he shrugged.
"That is exactly why I sent thee a little help. To make thy journey a bit easier." Trina gave him a sweet, innocent smile.
"Help? What help?"
"Hehe, guess." She looked at him playfully.
"You sent Torrent?"
"Correct!~" She clapped her small hands. "I told thee before, I've been watching thee since thou arrived at the Chapel of Anticipation. I even saw thee jump off that cliff."
"As expected of a warrior of the old blood; thou art truly fearless in the face of danger." She looked at him with genuine admiration. In this age, such raw bravery was a rarity.
"I'm not a 'descendant' of the old blood," the Tarnished corrected with a sigh.
"Eh? Is that so?" Trina looked surprised.
"Most of the Tarnished coming back now are the children or grandchildren of the exiles. But I'm the real deal. I was in the first wave that marched with Godfrey." He wasn't trying to brag—being a first-generation exile wasn't exactly a badge of honor these days—but he wanted her to understand who he was.
"Thou... thou art..." Trina's words failed her for a moment.
"GRANDPA!" She suddenly pointed a finger at him.
"Shut it, kid! I'm not that old!" He grunted. He could call himself old, but he wasn't about to let a little girl do it. "Say that again and I'll give you a swat."
Trina immediately covered her mouth, her golden eyes blinking innocently. "But Torrent chose thee because of that connection. Dost thou know Melina, then?"
"Ah... yes," Trina nodded. "I asked Melina to look after Torrent for a while."
"That horse is something else. A real 'bull-horse'."
"Torrent is a good boy. He was born of the Haligtree. What many see as an Omen's curse is, to me, more like a product of my ideals. Personally, I don't agree with the idea that the Omens are 'cursed'." Trina's expression became serious.
"I've heard that in the past, 'Omen' features were seen as a blessing of the Crucible—the primordial form of the Erdtree," the Tarnished noted.
"Yes. I have read the old books. In the beginning, life was blended; there was no distinction. Many creatures bore wings, horns, or scales."
"Like the Misbegotten?"
"Exactly. I often wonder... why must we discriminate? We are all part of the family of life. I can understand not being able to communicate with beasts, but those who have hearts and speech... to shun them simply because of their birth is a tragedy."
"Perhaps that's why the Golden Order was destined to fail," she added sadly.
"It's a rare sentiment you have there. In the Lands Between—especially among the Golden Lineage—racism is a sport. They look down on everything. Even the warriors who built their empire were spat upon the moment they lost their Grace."
The Tarnished laughed coldly. While their exile was part of Marika's grand plan, he remembered how the soft, pampered nobles behind the lines used to call the front-line soldiers "savages." Even without Marika's intervention, the discrimination would have happened.
"Thou hast suffered much... Tarnished." Trina looked at him with sympathy. Even within her own Haligtree, shadows of prejudice remained. She felt she hadn't done enough.
She stood on her tiptoes, reaching out to pat his head. But the height difference was too great; no matter how much she hopped, she couldn't reach. The Tarnished watched her bounce around for a moment before leaning down with a smirk.
"There! Got thee." Her small hand stroked his hair, a heavenly smile on her face. The Tarnished felt a strange sense of peace. He didn't have many psychological wounds, but her presence was undeniably healing.
"I shall work hard to erase this hatred. Please... thou must become King."
"No need to ask. It's the plan." He smiled back. This girl was nearly perfect—in beauty and spirit, she was a scion Marika could truly be proud of, far surpassing the likes of Godrick.
"By the way, did you have a specific reason for finding me this time?"
"No. I was just bored. It is very lonely staying in the Haligtree by oneself." She sat down beside him.
"I thought the Haligtree was full of people?"
"No..." Trina's expression grew complex. "I mean... my physical self."
"Oh? You're stuck in the tree?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Mmm... 'stuck' isn't quite the right word. But I cannot leave. My power is very faint; even talking to thee like this takes quite a lot of effort."
"I see. I suppose I'll have to make a trip to the Haligtree then, to see your real self," he promised.
"I look forward to it. But do not rush. The Haligtree is very far from Limgrave. As an old soldier, thou must remember... it lies beyond the mountains of ice."
"That is a fair trek."
"I shall wait for thee, Tarnished," she said with a sweet smile.
They talked for a while longer about the sights of the Haligtree.
"It is time. I must go. I wish thee a safe journey." She waved.
"Yeah. See ya." The Tarnished turned and walked into the shadows. The darkness enveloped him, and he slowly opened his eyes in the physical world.
He felt refreshed. Trina's dreams never left him tired; instead, he felt more energized than ever.
"Alright... Stormhill. Let's move!"