Another sleepless night passed, and in the blink of an eye, dawn broke. The Tarnished opened his eyes, examining his palms before looking up at the sky, which had returned to its natural state. He sighed. "The logic isn't hard to grasp, but mastering it... that's a different story."
Sorcery and Incantations were fundamentally different. Incantations were driven by conviction; the stronger your belief, the more potent the miracle. But Sorcery was a distinct system of theory and logic—it was, at its core, a form of scholarship.
"It certainly suits those knowledge-obsessed scholars," he mused. In just one night, he had grasped the essence of what Sorcery was: the manifestation of one's own understanding. While it shared some DNA with Incantations, the latter was essentially borrowing power from a Great Will or deity. Sorcery, however, was more like innovation—taking the stars or other natural phenomena as a blueprint to create a brand-new force.
Both had their limits. The limit of Incantations was the ceiling of the deity providing the power; no matter how great a priest you were, you could never surpass the Erdtree itself. The limit of Sorcery was the fragility of the mind; a single error in the complex logic could lead to a backlash that few humans could survive.
"Slow and steady. No rush." The Tarnished packed his gear and set off.
The dawn winds were sharper than those of the night. Trees swayed violently, and the dilapidated shacks groaned as if they might be swept away at any moment.
"I doubt the wind is strong enough to take these shacks down, but... wait, what's that?" Amidst the whistling gale, he heard a faint, high-pitched sobbing. It was an eerie sound in the morning mist.
"What now? A ghost?" He followed the sound to a nearby wooden hut. Crouched in the corner was a young woman wearing a crimson hood. Her body was trembling, her eyes wide and glassy.
"Everyone... has been grafted..." she murmured, seemingly unaware of his presence. "Those who came with me to the Lands Between, those who fought for me... they're all..."
She spoke in a daze, her words frantic and fractured. "He cut off their arms... their legs... their heads... and made them part of the spider." She looked up suddenly, her voice shaking with a breakdown. "Did you know? Those who are grafted... they become like cocoons."
(Another victim of the grafting? Is she a survivor?) The Tarnished watched her without speaking. Instead, he channeled a soft, warm glow of Runes—a gentle, comforting light.
The warmth seemed to pierce through her terror, and slowly, her breathing leveled out.
"Feeling a bit calmer?" he asked eventually.
"Are you... a Tarnished? Thank you..." Her eyes were still dull, but the frantic edge was gone. "Are you traveling alone? Are you heading toward Stormveil Castle?"
"I am alone, and yes, Stormveil is my destination. Why?"
"Was it the smooth words of the man in the White Mask...? Or do you wish to become part of the spider yourself? If it's the latter, then you're just like me... but I don't have the courage. To have my limbs and head severed... it's too terrifying."
She began to weep again. "I want to be with everyone, but I'm too weak... I'm a coward."
"Hold on, hold on. I have zero interest in being part of a spider," the Tarnished said, feeling a headache coming on. This girl was clearly traumatized. "First of all, I didn't listen to any 'White Mask' idiot, and second, I'm not going there to be grafted."
"Then... then why...?" She blinked, confused.
"I heard there's a twisted excuse for a King in that castle. I'm going there to hunt him."
"Ah... you are truly brave. I wish you luck, then." She looked at him with genuine admiration.
"Oh, wait..." She looked up again. "If you can, please take this little one with you. It's too cruel to let her stay with a coward like me... Her name is Aureliette. Please be kind to her; she seems to like you." She pulled back her cloak, and a small, glowing jellyfish floated out—a Spirit Jellyfish.
"Oh..." The Tarnished looked at the shy little creature. "Her name is Aureliette?"
"Yes... I found her by chance. She seems to be looking for something." The girl gently nudged the jellyfish toward him. Aureliette drifted right up to the Tarnished's chest; he caught her gently, noticing the spirit seemed to turn a faint shade of pink—the spectral equivalent of a blush.
"A shy one. Fine, she can come with me." He patted the jellyfish's translucent head. Spirit Jellyfish were unique beings—the spirits of children who had passed away with unfulfilled wishes.
"Thank you... and if you see the others—those who became cocoons—please tell them something for me."
"Tell them I love them... and though I'm still scared, I'll join them soon. I'm learning not to fear the pain." A self-deprecating, hopeless smile touched her lips.
Aureliette tugged on the Tarnished's sleeve as if trying to tell him something. He glanced at the spirit, then looked back at the girl.
"You seem to have misunderstood my reason for going to Stormveil."
"Eh...?"
"I'm going to kill Godrick."
"..."
"You know what that means." He didn't elaborate. He gave her one last look, then turned and walked away.
"What a... brave soul..." she whispered. If only I were like you... if only I could take up a weapon to protect everyone... She looked at the warm Rune light he had left behind, then buried her face in her knees and curled up again.
The wind on Stormhill was biting, but for the first time, she felt a lingering warmth.
"You... seem to have brought back a very unique companion."
When the Tarnished reached the next Site of Grace, Melina appeared. She looked at Aureliette, who was currently clinging to the Tarnished's shoulder, her expression unreadable.
"A girl asked me to look after her." The Tarnished sat down. Just ahead was the tunnel leading to the castle—the post guarded by Margit.
"You've grown stronger again..." Melina noted the energy radiating from him. It was far more potent than when they had last met. To grow this much without consuming Runes in such a short time was unheard of.
"A warrior's job is to constantly improve," he said casually.
Melina's expression shifted slightly. "I do not think other warriors... grow quite as fast as you."
"If you're going to compliment me, keep going. I like the sound of it."
"..."
"And she's back to being silent." He rubbed his temples. Just as the air was beginning to turn awkward, Aureliette floated over to Melina.
"?" Melina watched as the jellyfish extended a small tentacle toward her.
"The little girl is saying hello to the big girl," the Tarnished said, his tone sounding suspiciously like a teasing elder. Melina looked flustered; she had almost zero experience with social interaction.
"Just shake her hand," he prompted. "Don't tell me you don't know how to socialize. If I ever meet your parents, I'm going to have a talk with them about your upbringing."
Melina's face stiffened for a fraction of a second at the mention of "parents." She knelt down so she was eye-level with Aureliette. The jellyfish wiggled happily and offered its "hand" again.
Melina reached out, palm up, and gently held the jellyfish's tentacle.
Watching from the side, the Tarnished noticed something odd. Melina seemed to be hiding her hands, or rather, there was a certain hesitation in how she used them. Still hasn't fully opened up, he thought. Well, if she isn't ready to talk, I won't pry.
After the "handshake," Aureliette began zipping around the two of them, clearly energized.
"She has a lot of spirit..." Melina whispered. She knew the tragedy of the jellyfish—of children gone too soon—and felt a pang of pity she couldn't act upon.
"She does." The Tarnished stood up, his gaze fixing on the dark maw of the tunnel leading to Stormveil.
"What are you thinking about?" Melina asked.
"I'm wondering which branch of the family Godrick came from. His ancestors must be spinning in their graves—or trying to crawl out of the Erdtree to smack him."
"They cannot crawl out..."
"Why not?"
"Because... he is a descendant of Godwyn."
The Tarnished froze. He did a double-take. "Wait, what? Repeat that."
"He is of the Golden Lineage. A descendant of Godwyn the Golden."
"You've got to be kidding me..." The Tarnished facepalmed hard. "My perfect, brilliant nephew... how could he have a descendant this pathetic?"
"My poor Godwyn. He's gone, and his legacy has turned into this." Among Marika and Godfrey's children—excluding the Omen twins—Godwyn had been his favorite. He was brave, possessed his mother's calm grace, and his father's boisterous strength. He was the perfect heir.
To die like that, only for his lineage to produce a monster who grafts limbs onto himself out of a sense of inferiority... it was an insult.
"Godrick... was born weak. He lacked the divine strength of his forebears," Melina explained softly. "But the pride of the Golden Lineage would not allow him to be ordinary. So, he turned to grafting."
"Right. So he's weak in body and even weaker in mind. I look forward to seeing exactly how he's ruined himself." He scowled and stepped toward the tunnel.