The Tarnished ascended to the peak of the Divine Tower. There, he found the desiccated remains of a colossal, finger-like entity sprawled across the stone, and before it, a Great Rune shimmering with a brilliant golden radiance.
"It seems the Two Fingers that guarded this Great Rune met their end the moment Godrick died..." Melina remarked, her voice flat as she looked at the silent corpse of the Fingers.
"Fingers... good riddance." The Tarnished didn't grant the remains a second glance. He walked directly to Godrick's Great Rune. As he reached out to touch it, a violent wave of rejection pulsed from the artifact.
"Oh...? Lower your pride. You're nothing but a clump of power." The Tarnished squeezed the Rune with a surge of his own aura. The Great Rune trembled, then went still, becoming docile in his grip. Power was simple: to master the feral, one had to be more ferocious.
"That's better." He pressed the Rune into his chest, and Melina immediately channeled her energy to begin the fusion. Integrating a Great Rune was far more complex than standard runes, but with her help, it was only a matter of time.
As the power settled, the Tarnished let out a breath. "Marika was right to leave the Tarnished behind. And it's just as I suspected—the Greater Will, or rather the Ring itself, is goading the Demigods into conflict. It distributed these shards like bait in a jar, waiting to see which 'larva' would consume the others to become the next Elden Lord."
"It appears so..." Melina replied, her realization dawning. "In that light, the Shattering was an inevitability."
"But this power... it feels dormant," the Tarnished noted.
"It lacks the blessing of an Arc," Melina explained. "You've seen the vision of the Ring—beneath it lies a Great-Arc designed to receive grace. When the Ring shattered, those arcs scattered across the Lands Between. To truly awaken the latent power of a Great Rune, you must find a Rune Arc to serve as a vessel."
"More errands. Fine, I'll find one eventually. The Rune is mine, and that's what matters."
"We are one step closer to the promise..." Melina whispered, looking toward the distant Erdtree.
"According to the maps, the next stop is Liurnia of the Lakes," the Tarnished said. "It's the gateway to the Altus Plateau. I heard two great wars were fought there."
"Correct. First, the war between the Golden Order and the Carian Royals. Second, the internal rebellion after Queen Rennala lost her heart. She is said to be imprisoned in the depths of the Academy even now."
"I see. But before that, I need to return to the Hold. With a Great Rune in hand, I suppose I'm officially a member of the inner circle."
"I forgot to ask..." Melina paused. "You didn't do anything... outrageous back there, did you?"
"Is that really the impression you have of me?"
Melina silently took half a step back.
Inside the Roundtable Hold, Nepheli Loux was reporting to a man in a darkened room.
"So, the tyrant of Stormveil is dead? Interesting. He did have some modicum of talent, it seems."
"Yes, foster father. The Tarnished I met... his storm was the fiercest I have ever witnessed," Nepheli said with deep respect.
"Haha, as a senior of this Hold, I welcome such a capable newcomer." A man clutching a five-fingered scepter stepped out from the shadows. His most striking feature was his helmet, adorned with countless ears. This was the All-Knowing, Sir Gideon Ofnir.
"Very well. This youth has caught my attention. I may have a trade for him... one I'm certain he won't refuse. Heheh."
As the Tarnished re-entered the main hall, he spotted a new face sitting near the fire. A man in gold and silver armor with a red cape sat with a golden greatsword resting beside him. He looked ordinary at first, but a small, silver head protruded from his right shoulder—one that the man cradled with obsessive care.
"Another Tarnished? Hello. You can call me D," the man said as the Tarnished approached. He paused, his voice turning sharp. "...Wait. You carry the scent of Those Who Live in Death. Though it's unavoidable in these lands, let me warn you: stay away from the dead. And be especially wary when the Mariner's boat is near."
"A hunter of the dead?"
"They are empty husks that should not exist. Do not waste your pity on them." D's eyes flickered toward the balcony as he spoke.
"If they try to kill me, I won't be holding back," the Tarnished shrugged.
"Good. But they are cursed, and raw strength isn't always enough. Remember my words: stay away." D stood up and left, casting one final, lingering look toward the upper terrace.
Curious, the Tarnished followed D's gaze to the balcony. Tucked away in a corner sat a man in a large traveler's hat.
"Rogier? It's been a while. What happened to your legs?"
"Ah, it's you! Haha... well, I had a bit of an accident," Rogier laughed awkwardly. His legs were mangled and wrapped in bandages. "After we parted, I found what I was looking for beneath Stormveil. It was... more than I bargained for." He pulled a blackened, pulsating pustule from his pocket.
"What is that foul thing?"
"A Prince of Death's Pustule. It comes from the remains of Godwyn the Golden."
The Tarnished frowned. "You know about Godwyn?"
"Yes. He is the source of the Deathroot. I brought this to study it... to find a way to save those affected by it."
"Aren't you afraid of turning into one of them, carrying that around?"
"I took precautions." Rogier pointed to a faint golden glow over the rot. "Holy essence. The Golden Order excludes death, so Litany of Proper Death has a natural suppression over it."
"Fair enough. But you still haven't explained your legs."
"That... was my own clumsiness. I reached the bottom of the castle and fought an Ulcerated Tree Spirit. I was exhausted, but I pushed on toward the 'face' of the Prince of Death. I underestimated the curse. I was nearly consumed by thorns when a sudden, violent gale sucked me up and threw me onto a high ledge."
Rogier looked at the Tarnished with a knowing smile. "That wind... I assume I have you to thank for the broken bones instead of a death by thorns?"
"I didn't do it on purpose," the Tarnished grumbled.
"Haha, I'll take the broken legs over the curse any day. Thank you, friend. And congratulations on felling Godrick." Rogier extended a hand. "You're as fierce as the storm itself."
"It was a family matter," the Tarnished said, shaking his hand. "Since you're the expert—tell me. How exactly did Godwyn die? I have my theories, but I want the truth."
Rogier leaned back. "I overheard your talk with D. We were partners once, you know. He hates the dead; I want to save them. Most of them are just lost souls wandering aimlessly. They were rejected by the Law, and I want to know why."
He lowered his voice. "Long ago, someone stole a fragment of the Rune of Death from Maliketh the Black Blade. Through a ritual, they imbued that power into daggers. The assassins were women—Numen, like Marika herself—known as the Black Knives.
On the Night of the Black Knives, they used those blades to slay Godwyn. It was the first time a Demigod had ever died. That event triggered the Shattering and everything that followed."
The Rune of Death... The Tarnished's mind darkened. He knew the Numen were Marika's kin, but they had also been cast out of the Greater Will's favor. For them to steal from Maliketh and kill the Golden Son... this wasn't a random act of terror. This was a calculated strike, and someone had been pulling the strings from the shadows.