Much time had passed since the rebellion at Castle Morne. The chaos within the walls had finally been quelled, and Edgar, the Castellan, was finally able to take a breath of respite.
Taking advantage of the peace, Edgar left the castle to visit a small, overgrown cemetery to pay respects to his long-deceased wife. Although a Castellan, Edgar was, as the Tarnished had bluntly pointed out, a man of little consequence in the grand design of the Lands Between. He was a descendant of the Banished Knights from the era of the First Elden Lord, but he was a shadow of his ancestors. He lacked their mastery over the storm; all he possessed were the fundamental combat forms of a lineage that had long since lost its grace.
Edgar's life had been defined by wandering and hardship until he found himself in the Weeping Peninsula. There, in a small, unnamed village, he was taken in by a kind family and met the love of his life: Hyetta.
Hyetta had been blind, her eyes clouded by a mysterious ailment, but her spirit was gentle. Edgar loved her fiercely, seeing past her infirmity. They married, and for a brief window of time, Edgar was happy. He trained every day to protect his small home, unaware that his wife was suffering in silence.
She felt a searing heat behind her eyes every day—a burning agony she hid to spare him worry. When she became pregnant with Irina, the pain miraculously subsided. Edgar thought it a blessing from the Erdtree. But the "blessing" was a cruel illusion. On the day of birth, the fire returned with a vengeance. Hyetta passed away the moment Irina entered the world, consumed by a fever that seemed to burn from within.
Edgar had buried her and fled that village with the infant Irina, eventually finding service under Godrick the Grafted. He hadn't looked back until now. He didn't know that shortly after he left, the village was purged by fire and became known as the Ailing Village—a place people spoke of only in hushed, fearful tones.
"Hyetta... our daughter looks just like you," Edgar sighed, touching the weathered headstone. "Same face, same voice... but she's losing her sight too."
After the trauma of the rebellion and the harsh words of the Tarnished, Edgar had reached a decision. He would resign. He had spent his life protecting a cold stone castle in the name of a lord like Godrick, who turned out to be a monster. He realized now that protecting the castle wasn't the same as protecting his daughter.
He returned to the castle to finalize his resignation, only to find the garrison in an uproar.
"Castellan! It's terrible! The young lady... she's gone!"
"What?! I told you to watch her!" Edgar's heart plummeted. He immediately led a search party of ten men across the peninsula. They searched the bridge, the ruins, and the forests, but found nothing. Then, a chilling thought struck him.
"The village... follow me! To the Ailing Village!"
As they approached the outskirts of the village, a wave of unnatural heat hit them. It wasn't the warmth of a hearth; it was a maddening, dry heat that made the brain itch.
High above a ruined tower in the center of the village, a horrific sight manifested: a dark, eclipsed sun, wreathed in an eerie, flickering gold and red flame.
"What... what is that?!" the soldiers cried out, stumbling back.
The village was an inferno. Figures danced and shrieked within the flames, their movements jerky and wrong. But the horror was just beginning.
"My eyes... they're burning!"
Edgar turned to see eight of his ten soldiers clutching their faces. Pale yellow flames began to leak from between their fingers. Their screams turned into manic laughter.
"The Sun... the Sun! AAAGH! MAY CHAOS TAKE THE WORLD!"
The eight soldiers sprinted into the burning village, diving into the fire as if it were a cool pool. Their eyes had melted into glowing pits of yellow flame.
"Castellan, run!" The two remaining sane soldiers dragged a dazed Edgar away from the perimeter.
"Irina... she might be in there..." Edgar collapsed to his knees. The heat was so intense he couldn't even draw his sword. "Why is this happening? Why the village?"
"Castellan, the signal! The Knight Istvan left you a sign!"
Edgar fumbled for the golden scrap of cloth Istvan had given him. He tore it apart, and a golden glyph flared into the sky.
In an instant, the Old Knight Istvan appeared as a golden phantom. He took one look at the village and recoiled.
"What in the name of the Order... what is this fire?!"
"Don't look at the light above the tower!" a soldier warned.
"Sir Istvan... please, my daughter!" Edgar pleaded.
Istvan drew his blade and tried to push into the village, but as he neared the first shack, his helmet began to smoke. The heat was ignoring his armor. Suddenly, a group of figures lunged from the smoke.
"Nomadic Merchants...?" Istvan gasped. Dozens of merchants, usually peaceful, were shrieking and playing discordant tunes on their stringed instruments. Yellow fire erupted from their eyes like lasers, melting through Istvan's shield.
"Gah! This isn't normal fire... this is something else entirely!" Istvan retreated, his spectral form flickering. "I've seen the Giant's Flame, but this... this feels like it wants to unmake the world."
He looked at his warped blade and the despairing Edgar. "I can't get through this alone, Edgar. Not against this 'Madness'."
Istvan looked toward the horizon, toward Liurnia. He raised his hand, gathering the last of his strength to send a piercing golden signal—not just an SOS, but a direct summons to the only person he knew who could stare down a god.
"I hope you're watching, Vargram... we need the 'Elden Lord' of this age, right now."
Back in Liurnia:
The Tarnished feels the pull of the gold sign. The "Madness" of the Frenzied Flame has erupted in the Weeping Peninsula.