The Tarnished lay quietly in Fia's embrace, contemplating his next move. He had intended to head straight for Liurnia to find a catalyst for his magic, but there was still a young girl waiting at the Stormhill Shack. He needed to deliver the item he found in the pile of corpses, and he hadn't forgotten about Boc the seamster.
"Lord Vargram, I have something to give you," Fia said, reaching beneath her pillow to produce a thick, leather-bound tome. The pages were yellowed with age, smelling faintly of cold earth and incense.
"Magic from my homeland..." Fia handed the book to him. "The sorceries of the Deathbed Companions."
"Death sorcery? Is it related to the Rune of Death?" The Tarnished examined the cover. It was deep black with gold-trimmed edges, and in the center was an embossed crest. He blinked. "Why is the emblem a wolf?"
"Hehe... Lord Vargram, we never truly had a unifying crest of our own... until you arrived. Now, we have our sigil." Fia smiled tenderly.
"Your faith is terrifyingly steadfast," the Tarnished joked, shrugging. "I'd offer a prayer for you, but my incantations usually only work on physical wounds."
"Anything of yours... is a blessing to me," Fia replied, leaning into him. "The magic in this book does not hold the absolute power of the Rune of Death, but it is enough to grant 'true' sleep to the living. In this age of the Erdtree, long life is often a curse of lingering agony. If you meet those seeking an end, use this to grant them peace. It shall be a new strength for you."
"I'll take it. But I'm no sorcerer... I only just started learning glintstone basics, and I don't even have a proper staff."
"That is a challenge," Fia admitted. "Catalysts are picky. Using one that doesn't suit your spirit can backfire."
"Fia, I've heard rumors that before the Golden Order, there were indigenous deities in the Lands Between associated with death. Is that true?"
"The deities of death... you mean the Deathbirds?" Fia mused. "Yes, they existed. Before the Erdtree, death was a natural part of the cycle, governed by the Twinbird, the mother of all Deathbirds and the envoy of an outer god of death."
In those ancient times, the dead were not "returned to the roots." Instead, they were burned in Ghostflame, and their souls were guided by the Deathbirds. But when the Greater Will sent the Two Fingers and the Three Fingers, a new era began. Marika defeated the Gloam-Eyed Queen, who wielded the Rune of Death, and death was plucked from the laws of the world.
"What's the difference between the Deathbirds' fire and the Rune of Death?" Fia asked, her interest as a companion of the dead piqued.
"I haven't met a Deathbird yet," the Tarnished said, "but I've heard their cold Ghostflame burns the body while souls are ferried away. The Black Flame of the Rune of Death, however, is a double-slaughter—it incinerates both flesh and spirit simultaneously."
"Burning the flesh... that sounds very much like the rites of my ancestors," Fia pondered. "Perhaps my lineage had contact with that ancient god of death long ago."
"Maybe. History is a long, tangled thread. But one thing is certain: there are two distinct 'deaths' in this world. I'm not sure if Ghostflame and the Rune of Death ever clashed, but I suspect we might find out." The Tarnished stood up. "The Ghostflame might be useful against Those Who Live in Death—those poor souls whose spirits are corrupted, preventing their bodies from returning to the tree."
"Lord Vargram..." Fia looked up at him, her eyes soft. "Death is complicated. Some crave immortality, while others beg for the silence of the grave. If I were still a Deathbed Companion, I might have sought to give those living in death a place in the Order... but I have a new fate now."
She rested her head against him. "I am now the Wolf-bed Maiden. I seek only to feel your warmth and accompany you in your rest. I have no other desires."
"Your devotion is as... expansive as your heart, Fia," the Tarnished remarked, causing her to blush a deep crimson. "But I hope you follow me by your own will—not out of duty or debt, but simply as Fia."
"I understand... but for now, let me stay by your side as my way of returning the favor."
In a separate corner of the Hold, the Crucible Knights Siluria and Ordovis (spirit-forms) communicated through the resonance of the Crucible.
"Did you feel it, Ordovis?"
"Yes... Godrick is dead. It seems the White Wolf hasn't lost his edge."
"Godrick was a child playing with toys. He wasn't even a match for a Banished Knight. His 'grafting' couldn't mask his hollow nature. Where do we go next? Our kin are scattered; many I can no longer sense."
"If you cannot sense them, they are either in a 'sealed' location... or the connection has snapped. If it's the latter..."
"Even we cannot escape parting, it seems. But the Crucible will guide us. A new age is coming, and we shall be its iron pillars."
The Tarnished departed the Hold and rode Torrent back to the Stormhill Shack. He found the "Little Red Riding Hood" girl, Roderika, still sitting there. However, the hollow despair in her eyes had been replaced by a faint, flickering light.
"Tarnished... you're back. And you're... whole," she stammered, looking at his aura of newfound power.
"I told you I'd deal with Godrick."
"You... you actually hunted a Demigod? You are truly brave."
"I didn't forget your request." He handed her the Chrysalids' Memento. "This belongs to your people. It's right that you have it."
Roderika took the silk-wrapped bundle with trembling hands. Inside was an exquisite brooch, but as she touched it, hundreds of tiny, pale-white motes of light began to swirl around her.
"What is that?" the Tarnished asked, sensing a strange energy.
Roderika began to cry—a mixture of grief and sudden, overwhelming relief. "They... they believe in me. Even though I'm a coward who did nothing, they say that in the future, I will do something wonderful."
"Wait, you can hear them? Are those spirits?"
"Can't you hear them? Is it just me?" she asked, startled.
"Hehe, interesting. It seems you have a rare gift, little one. Your friends are right—you're meant for more than sitting in a shack." He patted her shoulder. "You have the talent of a Spirit Tuner."
Roderika looked down at the brooch, the fog of self-loathing finally lifting. "I want to find a purpose... I've heard of a place called the Roundtable Hold. Perhaps I can be of use there."
"Then let me show you the way." The Tarnished crushed a memory of Grace, weaving a golden path for her. "Go. Someone there might be able to help you cultivate that gift. I know nothing of talking to ghosts, but there are masters in that hall."
"Thank you... if not for you, I would have died here in my own sorrow."
"Think nothing of it. By the way, my name is Vargram. But I think I'll keep calling you 'Red Riding Hood.'" He flicked her hood playfully.
"Ugh..." Roderika blushed, but didn't pull away. "If you wish... you have done so much for me. I will try my best, for my friends... and to eventually help you."
"That's the spirit."
"I have nothing to pay you with now, but... please take this." She handed him a Golden Seed.
The moment it touched his hand, it vanished into his Flask of Crimson Tears, which glowed with a sudden intensity.
"Whoa! That's the second time today the flask has acted up. What are they putting in these things?" he muttered, shaking the bottle.