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Chapter Text

And just like that, she stood atop the Elden Throne once more. Horah Loux and Morgott dead at her feet. When Godfrey had shed his makeshift visage of a Lord to fight her as Horah Loux of the Badlands, she was painfully reminded she, too, took on a mask of pride through her long and tedious journey. The aureate frenzy of these lands started to take hold of her, and she saw less and less of the world around while the tree - the damned, burning tree - became clearer than ever.

Up until now - as reality set itself back to mundane focus. Her gauntlets were bloodstained, her worn-down shirt had gained another rip and she was weary, oh so weary to have everything behind her. 

Find Radagon. The only resolution propelling her forward. This was the last place he could be hiding in. She’d know, having upturned every rock and peered in every hovel across the plains, mountains, and lakes.

Clarity came, and she shed the golds and silks she’d never tolerate wearing in her previous lifetime. No more silvers and patterned leather, either. Standing atop the Golden Order-ruled world, in literal sense, right next to its set of power, the Tarnished…took off her clothes and kicked them to the side. The crumpled set of clothes she pulled out of her pack were nowhere near as ornate. To call them rags would be a quite merciful comparison. Once she was done, she looked just like how she did opening her eyes under the Erdtree’s light for the first time. A Grace-given prisoner, brought back to life, away from home.

She remembered she had a name. And a title. And a story. And that what she was here to do, did not define her whole being. The mantle of the Tarnished fell on her relatively soon.

First and foremost she was Adrianne, the Decadent. A criminal sentenced to death in lands far away from here. 

Her white hair swayed in the winds that carried the ash coming from the burning Erdtree. She filled her lungs with the smell of a collapsing order and held it in until it became nothing but ordinary air to her senses.

Her Glintstone-coloured eyes welcomed the sight of hegemony broken. Of Gold going to hell.  Her fingertips traced the glyph of a silver brand on her forehead that appeared when she awoke here for the first time. It was time. Time to bring Destined Death to the God.

Witless Tarnished... Why covet Destined Death?
To kill what?

The surprise in Malekith’s voice was astounding at first. The question was self-explanatory on its own. Then she realised; he was but a naive servant who could only obey orders.
So she knelt by the fading wolven maw and sought a glimmer of golden eyes between the cracks in the black armour her spells had hewn. Half-mad and high on the victory, she adjured the Black Blade with a grin.

To kill who, Maliekith? You know best who escaped the Destined Death for far too long here.

In the cowl of darkness which hid the details of Marika’s shadow maw, something glimmered. Shock? Relief? The Tarnished was not to know - picking the spot to plunge her Godskin Stitcher right through the dying beast’s head.

Death was hers now, and stars, she was eager to deliver.

She couldn’t quite place why she wanted to put an end to Marika’s tyranny so badly ever since acquiring the Rune of Death. She was far from following the dogmas of the Golden Order from the get-go. Neither was she a fan of how decrepit everything had become as the Queen played hide-and-seek with her responsibilities. The Eternal had conquered all there was to conquer only to let it all die in the end? Adrianne harboured little love for the concept of Gods in general, and her opinion only soured as she listened to the list of transgressions-dubbed-achievements committed by the late ruler of all there is. 

From Omens to Demi-Humans, to Fire Giants. The Golden Order had been watered with the blood of everyone who opposed it, willingly or not. She never liked hypocrites, especially the one looking back at her in the mirror.

But someone had to put a stop to it, and given how things were, they ran out of suitable candidates a long time ago.

She ventured into the golden light with fingers coiled around the Rune of Death.

Let it be…

…the end.

Her eyes burned from the overwhelming brightness but she steadily treaded further into the bowels of the tree, crossing the flaming stumps of the thorns that barred her way the first time. It was quiet, too quiet. The Giants’ fire devoured the branches of the world tree without any hiss or crack, slowly turning it into ash.

…And inside there she was, without fanfare and reverence, the Eternal strung like fresh laundry on what was left of the Ring with little dignity, a red spear piercing her side. Poetic.  Hate and disappointment bubbled within the Tarnished as she stood under the lifeless likeness of the goddess. Marika, the God-Mother has been reduced to a cracked marble. A dead power. A decoration. So pathetic it was difficult to believe.

Months worth of wrath, pain and being put down found egress here, before the so-called god’s majesty.

Adrianne’s arms moved on their own, stringing the Destined Death bow in a flat motion. A black-red arrow born of the same power was pointed at the broken body of Marika. But the Tarnished couldn’t shoot, not yet.

“I hope you’re doing good, Your Highness? Hiding here when all that you have built goes to shit?” Adrianne’s mocking voice rang in the cavity of the tree, undoubtedly reaching the immobilised goddess’ ears.

The weapon, still nocked, pointed downwards. 

“Tell me, how does it feel to be the very cause of all your woes? You being there and me being here is all your fault, after all.” The nightfolk woman awaited an answer but none came. There was something empowering in lashing out at a target that could not retaliate, even more than killing a target who couldn’t escape.

So the arms holding the Godslaying bow dropped down completely to let the Godderiding mouth yap as it wished.

“Look at you! A pathetic excuse for a God! Everyone turned on you even without seeing your true face. There won’t be any yes-men to surround you now. And even then, your most devoted followers admitted your Order to be flawed. The Fingers want you gone, all five! Queen of Nothing! Harbinger of Misery! Marika!”

A great turmoil shook the ground, but Adrianne was less than concerned. “Oh, Great Erdtree! May you silence all words of criticism like you used to! Burn to soot, you damn trunk!”

The shaking magnified and the arch holding Marika propped up like some kind of effigy began to crack. 

Before Adrianne could raise her weapon, the golden line shattered and the corpse it held fell down.

It hit the ground hard, rock crashing against rock. A cloud of dust rose, preventing her from getting a clear shot. The Tarnished had to wait for it to settle down, but as it did….

A hand reached for the hammer set upon an anvil carved out of the Tree’s insides. But it was not Marika’s hand…The living sculpture stood up. Gold streaks ran red, like blood.

For the love of the Universe…

For the cold embrace of the Void…

Angel of Gold…Radagon…

She should have seen it coming. Goldmask’s ramblings, the statue in the Capital… and up until now she thought it to be a mocking joke, an allegory. Radagon is Marika…In some 

mystic sense, in some political sense…. But no. They are one. Truly. One. She saw it manifest before her very eyes.

The anguish of her soul ran deep enough to make her lose control over the Rune of Death. The bow she held deformed and combusted into tongues of flame falling on the ground all around. Golden leaves that laid scattered across the inner sanctum hit by the flame, turned black. Not that it mattered at all to the trembling woman. Her mind was failing her, let alone her flesh.

Angel, O Angel…who took your light?

The only reason for her being here, the source of her perseverance, her raison d'etre was walking towards her with slow, heavy steps. Hammer in mangled, stone hand.

She was broken. 

Had it all been Marika’s ploy? Was it not Grace’s will for her to find him? To save him…? Bring him back…?

Adrianne pulled her staff and her sword from their scabbards…and tossed them over the edge of the sanctum’s plate. They fell without the sound of ever hitting the bottom. 

“I won’t fight you…” The Tarnished muttered, relinquishing her mettle, slowly giving up on everything.

His march was unrelenting and she raised her hands, signalling she was indeed defenceless. And yet he was closing still. A walking corps -  a virtue shattered - he could be best described as. His flesh petrified into broken stone but the gold of Grace still shone through the cracks, in contrast to Marika’s dark and lifeless body. 

O, Angel, has she taken your wings?

Radagon’s face was a mask, a sombre half-mask of duty as he raised his hammer to strike her down. She dodged on instinct and for a few seconds they were interlocked in an intimate dance where the one wanted to hit the other at all costs, and the other clung close to foil all the blows. Still, he was ungodly swift and a blow that merely made contact with her body sent her tumbling through the plateau. When she got back to her feet they were shaking, shaking with disbelief. Less so pain. He wants her gone as everyone before did. Her Angel…her Angel of Gold. Marika’s puppet. Adrianne raised her arms again in a sign of defeat. Her head hung low, for she did not want to see his face ever again.

But the heavy steps did not cease. No miracle happened. Through some sixth sense, she felt it -  the swing that would flatten her head against the stone floor. Then what? This again? And again? And AGAIN?

That’d be madness…

“BRING THAT HAMMER DOWN-” She screamed before Radagon’s hammer made its last plunge.

Her lungs filled with hatred and not air, and her voice conveyed every ounce of it.

“-And I won’t return here. Ever.” Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet the void under his eyelid. 

She saw his eyes once, of radiant gold and copper…

O, Angel. What hasn’t she taken from you?

“Kill me and I’ll turn my steps far below the capital instead. I’ll let my flesh be sung by the Three Fingers without as much as a blink and I will hand your world over to the Frenzied Flame…!”

Another step.

“I fought long and hard to not be a tool, Radagon. Whatever choice I pried from the world I’m giving to you now. Strike me down and be damned, you and your beloved Order or stead your hand and hear my words…your choice… YOUR CHOICE, RADAGON!”

She awaited the blow, staring him dead in the lifeless eye…but he did not move from the spot where he halted. They both were still.

Adrianne was craning her head up. He was tall alright. Little less than twice her height.

He either broke down completely or was listening now. Assuming the latter - her next words were crucial, and even if she feared it all being Marika’s plot, she had to give it a shot. 

“The Golden Order as you know it is done for…” His hand tightened on the hammer. “The world is dying and soon there will be nothing to keep order over.”

The hammer’s grip cracked under the pressure.

“And as I see it, we have only three options…” 

Silence.

“One…You kill me, and I give myself to the Frenzy.  Two. I kill you and the madness continues into a new era and Marika gets to remain a thorn in everyone’s side. Including the Greater Will’s.  Three…we get rid of Marika…and usher in a New Order...together…” 

Stillness. Maybe he needs some time to think…

“I know you were devoid of choice, Radagon,” Adrianne put all faith she had into the words she spoke. “Let me give you back a fraction of what you had taken away. I’m letting you decide your fate…”

He hadn’t moved an inch. The shattered statue of a man he was. 

“There’s no saving what is left. Unless the status quo is what you enjoy…The misery of many, including you.”

Minute of silence, an hour, a day. No, this was not going anywhere.  A few wobbly steps took the woman over the chasm.

“Very well, if you won’t talk ...”  She balanced her feet masterfully on the very edge of the plane that held the bodies of the two unlucky gods.  

“I know where this chasm ends…I believe you know too.”

There was this odd tranquillity when their fate was sealed and nothing but air came to meet her back. There must have been a long way down from here to the catacombs of Leyndell, but the Tarnished was not granted the ability to experience the flight down because of a hand, hard as a rock, that grasped her by her hair and hoisted the squirming, screaming woman up. She grabbed onto his only hand to try to pull herself up to ease the pain on her scalp and neck. It’d be a miracle if she walked out of here not completely bald. As she struggled within his grasp, she noticed he made a choice.

The hammer laid discarded on the ground.

He dragged her back a great distance from any ledge, dropping her down near the anvil, still specked with the golden dust. 

“So…” she murmured, massaging her head.

“What you are proposing violates the Golden Order.” he finally spoke, and his voice rang as solemn as funeral rites.

“To hell with the Order!” Adrianne was equally stunned by the fact he spoke and the fact he still stood in defence of something that had hurt him so greatly. “Grace guided me all the way here not to hear your moans and protests that I circumvent the Greater Will!”

The redhead giant did not look convinced.

The Tarnished let go of all her qualms with an irritated huff. “ I came here only because Grace had shown you to me in a vision…”

“This still goes against the Greater Will…” Radagon repeated like a mantra.

“Then maybe the Greater Will learned to manage its expectations and you weren't let in on the news?”

At that, the Leal Hound of the Golden Order fell quiet and the Tarnished ran with the opening in his defences.

She showed him her outstretched hand where glowing particles took familiar shapes. “I have the near entirety of the Elden Ring with me here. We could mend it and use your body as a vessel if I’m not mistaken. And if that doesn’t work then hell, if I can bear one Great Rune, what difference would a few more make?”

There was the faintest of movements in his posture.

“Do what you think is right. Set yourself free, Radagon,” Adrianne urged, hoping this all could end already. 

The giant took but one step towards her when he began shaking uncontrollably, clawing at his severed chest as if the flames devouring the tree took to burning him as well. For a moment, the Tarnished thought she had doomed him. When Radagon collapsed under his weight, Adrianne was upon him in a heartbeat, terror etched on her face. The rumbling intensified, having its roots right under the man’s body. Something woke up underneath the stone surface of the plateau. They weren’t alone in here.

If the Erdtree was a jail, Marika and Radagon, prisoners ...then where was the jailor? 

The moment this thought had crossed her mind, the stone began rippling under the fallen body like it was a lake of grey. The ground resembled waves that grew significantly larger when a gigantic gelatinous hand filled with golden tree-like veins emerged from under the surface. It reached up, feeling the non-existent arch, then slammed down into the petrified flesh.

Adrianne wanted to shriek in terror, but before she could even think to panic, she acted. Getting a firm hold on the hallowed cavity of his body, she began hauling the god away from the grasp of the lurking beast. Her reaction was timed almost perfectly, and she was determined to drag Radagon away from the entity at all costs. Only she lacked the strength to free the man’s lower body from the vicious grasp and, without any weapon, she lacked the means to sever the vices. 

Ultimately, the struggle was quick, as Radagon’s body sank beneath the surface, pulled down by an unknown terror. Adrianne was relentless, and she held onto him as long as she could - until the stone of his neck began to crack. His head broke away from the rest, and it tumbled back in the embrace of the Tarnished.

Holding dearly onto the remains, Adrianne was retreating in panic across the stone-turned-lake. The environment shifted and changed under swirls of golden mist. Her pants became waterlogged, and she felt nauseous from the sudden flood of golden light that overtook everything in the darkened interior of the sanctum. 

In the middle of the conjured lake, a giant beast, taking the form of a wormlike sludge of golden starlight, slowly rose from its confinement. Its movement was flowy and graceful and all-encompassing, just like its translucent flesh seemed to hold in the whole cosmos. 
In an almost human-looking hand, it held an enormous helix-shaped blade. It wasn’t complete, as there was no grip or guard to hold. The sharp edge was pressing into the beast’s skin, gold dew dropping from the opened wound.

Adrianne watched the unnerving spectacle unfold with a sinking feeling in her gut. That had to be the jailor. That stood between Radagon and any semblance of his freedom. To accomplish anything, she’d have to slay it with bare hands.
She smiled bitterly, nuzzling her face into the faded mane of red hair she held.

This had to be the end. 

The star-cradling monster raised its worm-like head and began to huff golden nebulas. 

What a day, huh?

As she sat there, waiting to perish under a blanket of aureate mock-fire, she felt something clasp her shirt too close to the skin and PULL her backwards with such force to drive the air out of her lungs. She touched nothing but air, flying soaring through the air a few paces, then landing face-first in the water.

The beast’s breath split in two, enclosing her and Radagon between two walls of flame that died down without harming either. Once Adrianne scrambled to her feet, she couldn’t believe her own eyes, if doubting them any more was even possible.

Two eyes of burning amber looked at her expectantly. Red Mane glimmered in the golden rays of impending doom. One of Radagon’s wolves had shielded them from the attack. It was holding her discarded weapons in its jaw, her Carian Sceptre and Godskin Stitcher. 

“I take it, you want me to fight it?”

The animal seemed to respond with a canine equivalent of a nod. She reached for the staff and adjusted her hold on Radagon’s head.

“For fuck’s-”

Her wolven saviour lunged forward without waiting for her answer. The helix blade of the beast cut through the water’s surface, aiming to split the wolf in two. It jumped high in the air and stabbed the entity’s bulbous body with the sound of shattered glass. 

“Dear Tarnished, I told you I will join you in the battle to the bitter end, just utter the world and I-”

“No, Latenna!" Adrianne yelled at the disembodied voice, running parallel to the spot where the wolf was engaging the cosmic slug.

“I said…”

A cloud of white ash appeared behind her back, taking the shape of a feminine face, silver mail, and a bow. Immediately she drew her weapon and sent three flashes of pale light flying in the direction of the monster. One sank into the glowing spot marking the end of its neck, causing it to thrash and tumble. 

This was too good of an opportunity to lose it over a needless quarrel. Vexed, the Tarnished raised her staff and, taking good aim fired a torrent of primaeval current right into the beast’s exposed side. The spell mangled the being of the stars badly, drawing more golden sap which began to tint the lake with its starlight shimmer. 

Now, Adrianne had a sliver of hope for victory and a reason to fight.

She spun her wand in her hand, observing as the slug’s movements grew lamer. It changed its sword-wielding hand, as the former one was lacerated almost in half. At least they were now equally worked up. Pushing two fingers between her lips, she whistled for the wolf to return. It came running, a storm of fur and triumph. Without wasting a second, Adrianne heaved Latenna onto the red back and retrieved her sword from the animal’s mouth.

“Keep safe, both of you. I will finish this,” she cried an order before taking off towards the recovering beast.

The Red Wolf turned around and bolted in the opposite direction, heedless of Latenna’s pleas and protests, to stay and fight by her friend’s side.

Through the never-ending lake, among the visions of countless Erdtrees fashioned to make the onlooker seem powerless in comparison, they all ran towards their goals.

Adrianne ducked under a series of holy arcs drawn by the incomplete blade then retaliated with her own Moonblade, sinking the sorcery deep into the darkened belly and its network of rootlike nerves. The translucent shell gained a webbing of cracks. She took to striking it again, and again, and again watching as the kaleidoscope of silvered lines grew more and more dense across the beings’ skin.

With every glass-like ring, she grew increasingly infatuated with the want to see it shatter and spill, heedless of the twisted blade, a divine reckoning, falling straight onto her head.

After all had gone silent the wolf and Latenna found the half-dead woman sitting by the Erdtree anvil, her gaze dazed and watching as the vision, or illusion, that the Beast had cast was falling apart in golden dust. Water returned to stone and endlessness was given borders again. Adrianne got up at the sight of the wolf returning and slowly, hesitatingly approached the crumbled remains of Marika’s body. Her headless kneeling torso was a sorry sight, akin to the land she governed. Destined Death once again materialised in her scorched and wounded arms, black-red flames licking at the wounds as a painful reminder.

Everything is mortal now.

Even gods.

The bow drew with little effort.

And the bolt shot through the stone as effortlessly as it was still flesh. 

Her strength waning, Adrianne used her staff for support to walk towards the awaiting wolf. She hobbled, bent in half, carrying Radagon’s head to Marika’s shifting remains and carefully installed it in place. The stone clicked in place satisfyingly. Mark of the Destined death slowly faded into nothing. With the last of her strength, she summoned the Great Runes one by one, carefully slotting them back into the entirety of the Elden Ring. When the last of the Runes, Malenia’s, was inset into the whole, the world went black.

She slipped into busy unconsciousness. There were voices, millions of them at the same time, saying different things. Congratulating her, cursing her and all and everything in-between. And during this audience she was not allowed a single thought. 

And so she drifted,

And waited,

In soul she could not say was her own,

Filled with thoughts,

And when all was finally silent, all she wanted to do was cry. 

Oh…

Oh….?

That sensation…

My hand moved in a means of habit knowing all too well what the warm and wet strokes across my face meant.

“Blaidd…’ I murmured with a rasped morning voice, “How many times did I tell you you can’t sleep on my bed? Stubborn dog-”

Wait. Blaidd is dead. I killed him.

I got up with a start on the world's most uncomfortable bed, the weight of Radagon’s wolf pressing me against the stone. All the more comfortless that there was nothing between my flesh and the cold surface. The glimpses of the room, and the strands of fabric hung on the ceiling were more than telling, and then the unmistakable scent of ash hit my nose. 

Oh, sweet stars.

The wolf jumped down from the bed, revealing the rest of the Queen’s Bedchamber. But there, would you believe, was he. Back in flesh and bone, Radagon, with a glint of gold returned to his eyes. 

He opened his mouth to speak but I had none of it, falling back onto the bed.

“I’m dead,” was my only, idiotic answer. Well, I was dying of thirst but I laid on the stone motionless, hoping he would go away. I did not have the strength for anything as of now.

“Your wounds have been severe but they healed well, I-”

“I’m dead .” I repeated with more power. “ And people usually don’t talk to corpses ,” I’ve added in my head.

I closed my eyes and only heard some shuffling. The sound of tail slapping the floor repeatedly and then, finally, the glorious rhythm of quieting steps. I jolted back up and began a desperate search for anything to drink.

The wolf stayed behind and looked at me with a judging glimpse in his amber eyes. I caught a jug from under the bed and began chugging its contents as if it was the sweetest celestial dew when, in fact, the water tasted like ash and I could feel the particles grinding against my teeth. I spent the next hour looking into the empty vessel, hoping I could conjure water. Finally deciding to move from my spot, I let the flimsy blanket covering me drop to the ground and looked out of the window-gateway leading to the Elden Throne. I really hated Marika’s home, all stone and no doors. One could assume many things about the now-dead god from the preferences of her accomodation. The fire eating the Erdtree had subsided by now and the sky instead of red was devoured by pale grey. Did I want any of this? No, I was forced to. 

A sigh was the best I could muster, feeling the weight of my actions upon my shoulders. And it was all the beginning…

A tail plopped against the floor with a soft woosh. The wolf was waiting. And I was not ready.  Seeing no  wardrobe or my old clothes I had no choice but to grant the audience to the King Consort as I was. 

“Go get him,” I nodded at the animal. It turned away and trotted down into the city. 

I sat down on the mockery of furniture but kept the blanket on the floor as it was. The thought of Marika ever touching it was more than enough to make me sick.

“So you are among the living after all…” The giant said as he entered the room again. He just awkwardly stood here while I sat sideways on the cold surface, hugging my knees to my chest.

“You’re angry…” I noticed. Truly, if his expression was sullen and sombre before, then now he was a fuming volcano.

“The capital lies in ash, and the Order-”

“The Order was crumbling long before I arrived here. And the last time I checked, ash was great for making the soil fertile again.”

He found the rebuttal difficult to counter, and I saw the doubt in his face, the little side glance that gave it all away. “We are to rebuild the Order…”

“Revisit,” I corrected. “Because if we’ll do the exact same thing again, it’ll crumble all the same.”

He was beaten, visibly. It seems all this time he was kept in the dark and woke up to a world changed. Reaped of all that he once knew. Oh what a familiar sight it was. 

“Have you seen my clothes…?” A diversion from the nagging topic might have been tactless, but I was sitting there naked and cold.

He winced in disgust. “Those heaps of dirty fibres you challenged me in? There is no more ill fit garb for an Elden Lord, I had them disposed of and-”

My hand went up to my forehead, and took off another source of my discomfort. A gold tiara. A chill ran down my spine. So it’s somewhat real…I’m married to Radagon and I’m the Elden Lord now.

As the news were sinking down my conscience, my newly betrothed forced me into some robes that he brought. This was an ill-fitting garb seeing it was clearly oversized for my non-Numen posture. He noticed it as well, and disliked it, judging by the amount of wrinkles on his nose but whatever.

I still felt bitter and used after all I’ve been through. And truly wish I hadn’t awoken in this new age. I was angry, disappointed and done. I couldn’t breathe in relief that it was all over. In fact I felt it was only the beginning. And somehow I thought Radagon was to be my enemy in all of this and I knew I couldn't bear it anymore. But I swallowed my tears for now. I needn’t arm my enemy against me. If it all truly was Marika’s ploy…

“What’s the state of things? What are we standing on?” I asked, as emotionless as one can muster while breaking down from the sheer inner strain. 

“The Ring is mended nearly flawlessly. That Mending Rune you have found was something even I would not have thought of.

“I didn’t find it. I was given it. By Goldmask.”

“Someone had come up with it on their own?” The giant seemed surprised by the notion, even as he was looking at the woman who slayed a god alone.

“I…guess I helped a bit.” I shrugged, there was little to brag about. 

Goldmask, just another martyr and victim to the cruel decline of an epoch.

“He saw the flaws of the Order and still believed it could be salvaged.”

“Not unlike Miquella…” Radagon added in a pained tone. 

“Tell me, Tarnished,” he sat down on the bed with sensible repulsion but it clearly was of necessity as his voice began to tremble, “All they all dead…? Are-”

That was enough, I knew what he was asking about. My raised hand silenced him as I tailored an answer in the bowels of my goodwill. How does one start admitting to killing another’s children?

“Ranni is safe, but disembodied and upset at me turning down her proposal,” I let the easiest thing out first.  “Radahn and Malenia…were being eaten alive by the Rot. I killed them solely out of mercy…Rykard, was not himself by the time I found him. Just a heap of overambitious serpent flesh. And Miquella…Well, I can’t tell his state. After Mohg plucked him from his Hailigtree he cocooned himself and if he wakes…When he wakes, I don’t want to be around. Elden Lord or not,” I admitted, truthfully. 

“And why is that?” Did those golden eyes thought I knew no fear? What Miquella wanted to achieve had been more ambitious than all of the Demigods' ploys combined. Wanting to put the entire world to right is no small feat, and he was so painfully close to achieving his goal. 

“Miquella’s Haligtree rotted, and I killed his dear sister. Willfully or not.”

“I believe he would have understood…”

“Would he? I can’t. He and Malenia wanted to do good, they wanted to fix the ruin that Lands Between turned into…and all went to hell anyway.”

The God twitched as if struck. “Hell? What is this ‘hell’?”

He caught me off guard but, to his defence, there was no real concept of hell in the Golden Order.

“This is what being under Marika’s shoe for eternity is called,” I smiled wickedly, really wondering if he would catch the bait.

“Someone did come up with a word for it?” He really believed it. 

“Guess you could call me the author.”

Thanks to this exchange, tears were forgotten for now and I could take a deep breath without fear of shuddering. 

The new era dawned and there was sadly a lot to do. I could tell from Radagon’s tense posture, that he couldn’t hide under voluminous robes,that  he was as clueless as I. Good, this land has been in dire need of more human gods for a long time. I tossed the crown to Radagon, he barely caught it and shot me a puzzled look. 

“Have it silvered, I don’t really like gold…” I muttered scrutinising the spartan bedchamber filled to the brim with some tablets I barely glanced at the last time I ran through this room. “And have this ‘bed’ hammered to rubble, and put something wooden in its place, if you will.” Oddly, this request came with some approval from the man. One can wonder why. “And those?” I took one of those enormous tablets in my hand, surprised at its weight. “Toss them out, will you? I want my space.”

“Those are prayer notes, drafted incantations. We cannot just toss them-”

Once again, not letting him finish his tirade I interjected. “Then put them in some church or something! They’ll make nice floor tiles for all I care, I want them gone from here! Oh and, following the ‘less stone more wood’ trend, have some doors installed here….” I pointed to one opening, right next to the bed. “And there…” I pointed down the stairs that led to the room proper.”

I could swear storm clouds had gathered over Radagon’s head but he didn’t make a move to protest…for now.

“I believe that’s all?” No, no it was far from all. “I think I don’t have to remind you there won’t be any wars from now on? No prosecution of omens, demihumans, misbegotten, Albinaurics and so on and so forth?” I had to lay the new foundaments of the Order quickly enough to not let him object and detailed enough to let him get accustomed to the idea.  “All creatures alive in the Lands Between are considered touched by Grace, I have proof if you really need to hear some.”

“The Fingers-”

“We’ll ask them once they wake. If they wake. As long as no lightning comes raining from the sky I’d say we’re acting according to the Great Will.” I added quickly and got my bearings to leave. 

I did so without a word of goodbye. First, I didn’t think it was necessary. Second, I wondered whether I will be back at all.

Leyndell laid halfway covered in ash. I wondered how long had I been out for this to happen. Everything since Crumbling Farum Azula feels like a blurry dream, or alcohol-induced delirium. You can never tell one from the other when you’re me. 

Did the people evacuate in time or did they get buried? Still, I couldn’t help but be glad at the glory of the capital tarnished. Dragons couldn’t manage what we did, for I couldn’t claim Melina’s sacrifice as my feat solely. There was, finally, a twisted satisfaction in all of this. Ancient Dragons couldn’t pull off what I did. I smiled.

Walking through what was left of the streets I looked for any signs of life, but there was none.

“M-Master!” 

…or was there?

Boc waved at me from an unsealed window of an upper story of a building. I waved back. The mouse-dog-like maw disappeared from the window and a rope made out of tied together scraps fell down in its place.  I climbed it without much trouble, even if the robes did everything in their power to change that. I need to find my old garb and quick. The room seemed mostly untouched by the ash, save for what I have brought on my feet, as Radagon forgot to give me shoes when he dressed me. I sat on the windowsill dusting off my legs when a high squeak nearly sent me tumbling back to the street.

“What is it, Boc?” I turned around to see the demihuman wailing uncontrollably. 

He didn’t even let me jump onto the floor, kneeling and clinging to the hem of my dress.

The seamster mumbled something unintelligibly but I could only comfort him, stranded as I was, by patting his head. I looked around from the ball of misery and saw Latenna, resting on a bed nearby. 

“Good to see you…both of you, well.” I said, my heart swelling with joy.

The girl nodded and Boc managed to stifle his outburst to occasional sniffle.

“M-maser c-can’t I call you a L-lord, s-stil?” Eyes wide as buttons, the seamster looked at me the way only a scolded dog can, and I almost gave in. 

“You don’t see a crown on my head, do you?” I laughed, probably too genuinely.

“Is it true?” Latenna finally spoke. “He did not make you an Elden Lord after all your struggle?” 

“Oh,” I caught my breath, “I’m an Elden Lord alright, I just don’t see myself wearing a stupid crown…”

We sat for a moment in silence, judging our position in this brand new world. But no one seemed confident enough to speak, and so again I had to be the lawmaker.

“I’d like you to stay in the court.” I started, as softly as I could. “Things will be different from now on. I want the demihumans, Albinaurics and omens alike to live as equals in the eyes of Grace.”

The archer was startled by the news, eyes opened wide. “You would do what the Unalloyed did?”

“Yes,” I answered looking into those pained eyes of hers, “I want to finish what Miquella started, for him and for all of us.”

The girl looked unsure, averting her gaze. 

“I know I’m asking a lot of you…but I can’t make it happen alone. You know best what atrocities your kin survived. Now we can make sure it will never be repeated…”

“But Omens, Master?” I did not like the note of doubt in Boc's voice, but now was the time to show the divine patience and understanding they all should get accustomed to.

“It’s not their fault they were born like this, Boc. They are beautiful in their own right. And I will do everything to help ease their affliction. With the ash we will be able to bury the shunning grounds once and for all-”

“Why?” Latenna wasn’t easily fooled, I knew. Songs of peace can only ring for so long, until you’ll get a note off.

“Because I don’t want to face an Omen in battle ever again…” They deserved the truth. “The horrors of Mohg and Morgott all began underground and I don’t want the Outer Gods to get more foothold here than they already have.  And…I really could use a good seamster.” I patted Boc gently on his maw. “Can you imagine? Radagon just sent me off like that without any shoes!”

The demihuman smiled and I knew he was sold on my cause. Latenna…

“Will you be able to leave on your own? Do you want me to send Radagon’s Wo-”

“I’ll manage on my own,” she answered coldly. 

I approached the window, getting ready to leave. “Should anyone want to give you trouble, just say you’re acting on the Elden Lord’s will, and that I will personally skin the perpetrator alive if but a hair falls from your head.” 

I slid down back onto the streets. Journey back to the palace was different. Commoners and Perfumers popped here and there, hurrying to attend to their own businesses. None hostile, what’s stranger. They bowed in their quick march if anyone walked past me close enough. It’s a different world. They just have no idea how different. 

I walked the path to the Bedchamber noticing changes. The bodies of finger crones had been taken away and the steady rhythm of hammer crushing the stone rang from the direction I was heading to. Radagon was supervising the work of a few workers with an expression I imagine I would sport, if I looked back at the prison I rotted in just to see it go up in flames, while I was walking free.  One can imagine the abuse that happened on that cold, hard surface.  

I tugged on Radagon’s sleeve to get his attention, and he was clearly startled to see me so soon. Or see me at all. 

“Think you know a place where we could talk?” I shouted through the noise of the work. 

We left the bedchamber and headed over to the Elden Throne, awkwardly making the journey up the stairs. The giant effortlessly walked five steps at a time, I slowly trotted behind.

The golden hue of the Erdtree faded to silver and white, and as I reached the top of the stairs I stood enthralled by its new fair visage. The tyranny of gold had ended. I instinctively reached to touch my branded forehead, a silver bleeding ring that foretold the coming age. 

And then, as if on the Universe's whim, rain fell. A thick curtain of water dropped over the Ashen Capital and soaked the new God and his Elden Lord. Radagon took the weather as just another inconvenience, judging from his irritated expression and hand raised protectively over his head. But I? I felt free, the rain seemed to wash away all tiredness of my journey. And I danced as I used to during festival days, around bonfires all those years ago. I danced as if I heard mother singing and playing, as if the Frenzied Flame guided my body and not I.

And that is how it all began.