After leaning into the Tarnished's embrace for a long while, Fia finally let go, albeit reluctantly. The warmth she felt from him was unlike anything she had ever experienced—it was both ancient and revitalizing.
"You truly are so warm..." Fia murmured, before a sudden thought struck her. "Wait... Lord White Wolf, is this the power that has been passed down through our legends? How do you feel? Do you feel weakened or drained?"
"I'm not that fragile," the Tarnished replied, straightening up. He sat beside the girl, glancing at her breathtakingly beautiful face.
(I swear, since returning to the Lands Between, my luck with women has skyrocketed. Maybe losing the Grace actually improved my fortune.)
"Is something the matter, my Lord?" Fia asked, feeling a flush of shyness under his silent gaze.
"Nothing. I just have a question for you." This maiden seemed to possess a deep understanding of death; perhaps she could resolve some of the doubts festering in his mind.
"Please, ask." Fia listened intently.
"You know of the death of Godwyn the Golden? He was... a nephew of mine, after a fashion. His death puzzles me."
"Godwyn..." A flicker of surprise crossed Fia's eyes. "I didn't realize you shared such a bond. If it is about his passing, I do have some insight."
"When I first arrived in these lands, my sensitivity to death allowed me to sense a peculiar phenomenon. There are many 'living dead' here—the locals call them Those Who Live in Death."
"I've run into a few on the road," the Tarnished noted.
"I can feel it, Lord White Wolf... the 'Death' of this world is stuck. It has been snagged on something."
"Stuck? Explain."
"Life and death should be a cycle. Even a Deathbed Companion's role is to take power from the living to nourish the departed—it's a balance. But the Erdtree is different now. Think of it like this..."
She paused, searching for the right metaphor. "Imagine hundreds of Deathbed Companions draining the strength of thousands of heroes to revive a single Great One... but that Great One isn't actually dead. All that power is being siphoned into a void, yet the process won't stop. The natural rhythm of birth and decay has been shattered by this obsession."
"And the Those Who Live in Death?"
"Based on what I feel, they are born because they have touched something connected to that 'incomplete death,' causing their souls to be rejected by the Erdtree's cycle of rebirth."
The Tarnished frowned. "So the situation is worse than I thought."
"The Erdtree is struggling," Fia continued. "There is a being that is both dead and not dead, and it is accelerating the depletion of the Erdtree's power. The 'Return to the Roots'—the process where the dead feed the Tree—is being corrupted by this entity. That entity is Godwyn. Perhaps 'Prince of Death' is a more fitting title for him now."
Considering his relationship with the man, her tone turned somber.
"Dead yet not dead... I see. No wonder Godwyn's passing threw the entire system into chaos. But what kind of power could cause such a state? Unless..." The Tarnished's brow furrowed as a dark realization began to take shape.
"Lord White Wolf, there are two types of incomplete death. One where the body dies but the soul remains, and another where the soul is annihilated but the body lives on. I believe Godwyn suffered the latter. Because his soul is gone, the Erdtree cannot 'process' him, yet it keeps pouring energy into his immortal husk to try and revive him. That process is what secretes the filth that creates the dead-born."
The latter... Godwyn's soul was murdered? The pieces were starting to fit together.
"I think I understand now."
"I am glad I could be of help. My power is limited, but I will do whatever I can for your grand ambition."
"Don't speak so lowly of yourself. If you've chosen to follow me, have some confidence." The Tarnished patted her shoulder lightly.
"I understand," Fia nodded obediently.
"Well then," the Tarnished stood up. "I should get moving."
"Must you go?" Fia rose as well.
"I'll be back. Keep the bed warm." He winked.
Fia gave him a soft, lingering smile. "I shall be waiting, Lord White Wolf... may your path be blessed."
As he stepped out of the room, he saw Hewg still at his anvil. The smith didn't look up, but his ears were practically twitching.
"Took you long enough," Hewg grumbled. "What were you doing in there?"
"Just some 'consultation.' We didn't do anything scandalous, if that's what you're thinking."
" 'Yet'? This is the Roundtable Hold! How can you even think of such things?" A loud CLANG echoed as Hewg's hammer hit the anvil with unintended force.
"What happened to the 'cold professional' who didn't want any involvement with me?"
Hewg stiffened, thought for a second, and then went back to his rhythmic pounding. "Right... I forge. That is all. What you do is none of my business."
(Man, he flips faster than a pancake,) the Tarnished thought.
He spent a bit more time exploring the Hold. He noticed another set of double doors that were tightly sealed, emitting an aura that made his skin crawl. Since they wouldn't open, he moved on.
Leaning against a wall near the central table was a man in dark, bone-decorated armor, arms crossed in a silent, brooding vigil. The Tarnished tried to strike up a conversation, but the man didn't even acknowledge his existence.
"Ah, the newcomer," Gideon's voice drifted from his study. "That is Ensha. He is one of mine. He is always silent; pay him no mind."
"I see you've finished your tour. If you follow the path past the fireplace, you'll find the Twin Maiden Husks. They do not speak, they do not think... they are merely vessels for trade. You can find many necessities there."
"Thanks for the tip."
"One more thing," Gideon added, his voice echoing. "The members you see here are but a fraction of the Tarnished who have returned. Many have the right to enter, but since combat is forbidden, it remains civil. Mostly. Watch out for the parasites."
"Go now. Hunt the Shardbearers. Only then will you truly be one of us."
The Tarnished didn't linger. He visited the Twin Maidens, traded some spoils for a standard Knight's Armor set, and equipped it.
"It hides my handsome face, but safety first," he muttered, stretching his limbs in the new plate. He walked back to the central flame and touched the Great Grace.
"Wait..." A strange sensation washed over him. I see. So that's why Melina said this place was hidden. As he channeled the warp, he felt the space warping and bending. Unlike the straight-line travel of the outer Graces, the path to the Hold was convoluted. This place existed in a pocket of space-time, tethered to reality only by the Great Grace itself.
In the blink of an eye, he was back in the Castleward Tunnel.
"You look well-prepared," Melina said, appearing by his side as usual.
"It's an interesting place. Makes for a good base of operations."
"Stormveil is just ahead... your first Shardbearer awaits." Melina looked up at the massive, storm-swept fortress.
"The place looks even more dilapidated than I remember. And the guards have all been replaced by Godrick's lot." He looked toward the entrance and spotted a bedraggled old man peeking around a pillar.
The man was a mess—torn rags for clothes, thinning hair that exposed a pale scalp, and a missing arm. He looked like a beaten dog.
"You... you're a Tarnished, aren't you?" the man stammered, approaching them warily. "Are you going into the castle? Don't use the main gate. It's a death trap. Too many skilled guards."
"And who are you?"
"I'm Gostoc. I... I'm the gatekeeper here," he said with a nervous, gap-toothed chuckle.
"A gatekeeper?" The Tarnished narrowed his eyes. If you're the gatekeeper, shouldn't you be raising the alarm instead of giving tourists directions?
"Oh, oh! I mean no harm! I hate this place... I hate Godrick! I'd give anything to see someone take his head!" Gostoc's face twisted into a mask of pure spite.
"Fair enough. So, if not the gate, then what? Is there a back door?"
"Yes, yes! Look over there!" Gostoc pointed toward a massive breach in the wall. "Some... terrifying person blew this hole in the side of the castle recently. The guards haven't had time to patch it yet. It's poorly defended. You can slip right in."
The Tarnished looked at the hole. The edges were twisted and mangled, as if a localized hurricane had chewed through the stone.
(Is this Incaro's work?) Given Incaro's tendency to get lost and solve navigation issues with brute force, it was highly likely.
"But, if you're feeling brave, you can still try the main gate," Gostoc added.
"No thanks. We'll take the scenic route." The Tarnished gave Gostoc a deep, knowing smile.
"Wise! A very wise Tarnished indeed!" Gostoc cackled.
The Tarnished and Melina headed toward the breach. As Melina vanished into her spirit form and the Tarnished's back was turned, Gostoc's subservient posture vanished. A predatory, malicious grin spread across his face.
Stormveil Castle sat perched on a jagged cliffside. Once famous for its raging tempests, the winds now felt like a dying breath.
The Tarnished climbed through the rubble. He was now on the very edge of the castle—one misstep would mean a fall into the abyss below.
"Danger never disappears; it just changes shape," he mused, looking down at the jagged rocks. "The law of conservation of peril..."
The interior of the castle showed signs of ancient age mixed with recent violence. Unlike the fresh breach he'd just entered, many of the ruins here were centuries old.
"If you have a hole like this in your walls and you don't guard it, you're either overconfident or an idiot." He shook his head at Godrick's incompetence. You could put a Warhawk in charge and get better results than this guy.
As if summoned by his thought, a flock of Warhawks descended from the heights. These weren't normal birds; they had bladed talons and metal hoods. However, they ignored him, circling high above the battlements instead.
"Just passing through? Good. Let's keep moving."