As Hestia and Mitranis passed through the portal of Redmane Castle, they were met with the grim visages of soldiers and knights. Outside the castle stood Jerren, his horse tethered—the same steed he had ridden the previous day to rescue Mitranis. He removed his ornate helm, revealing a face marked by a short, graying beard, a scar slicing across one eye, and close-cropped, silvery hair.
"It's about time you left this wretched place and made for Limgrave, is it not?" Jerren said, letting out a quiet chuckle. "I want you to take this horse, Mitranis. I've heard Hestia rides some manner of horned steed. But you, you've no mount."
"Oh… Jerren," Mitranis replied, taken aback. "This is unexpected. I'm deeply grateful for your kindness."
The young man approached the horse. The beast accepted Mitranis' gentle strokes on its head and neck with calm delight. It whinnied softly, tossing its head, exuding a serene temperament.
"She likes you, Calliope does," Jerren remarked, chuckling again. "I've packed food and water in her saddlebags. We're not overflowing with provisions, but this should see you through this forsaken land without trouble."
"So, she's a lady…" Mitranis said, stroking Calliope once more. "No wonder we get along so well."
"No one cares for your charms, Mitranis," Hestia interjected, adjusting one of the provision bags.
"She saved your hide. She's as valiant as Leonard," Jerren replied, giving Calliope a fond pat. "Now, be off with you. I'm wagering you'll bring down at least one demigod. Give it your all, and return here alive—Calliope included."
"So it shall be, Jerren. Thank you for everything. We'll meet again soon," Mitranis said, bowing respectfully.
"My thanks, Jerren. I'll meet your expectations, doubt it not," Hestia added, mirroring the gesture.
With graceful ease, Mitranis mounted Calliope. Hestia let out a sharp whistle, and at once, the steed Jerren had spoken of appeared—a towering creature, rugged in form, with a mane thicker than any common horse and two horns akin to a bull's, a strange amalgam of equine and bovine.
"Come, Torrent! Let's ride!" Hestia commanded, spurring her steed into a swift gallop.
"That lass is a firebrand…" Mitranis muttered, glancing at Jerren. "Take care, friend. We'll return and give your old comrade his final, glorious battle. Until then!"
With a tug, Mitranis urged Calliope into a gallop, racing to catch up with Torrent. The stone bridge they crossed was littered with wooden barricades, smoldering campfires tended by soldiers, and explosive barrels. Hestia had stormed through this very bridge with a vow to slay all within the castle. But now, thanks to Jerren, hostilities had ceased.
"Torrent's swift as lightning, Hestia!" Mitranis shouted, raising his voice to be heard.
"My friend's a bolt from the heavens," she replied, casting a fleeting glance his way. "I've plenty of sweet raisins for him. Your horse will have some too."
Mitranis nodded, and they pressed on. Beyond the bridge, the land was a maelstrom of chaos. A throng of soldiers clashed with monstrous, towering dogs that moved on hind legs alone, their forelimbs withered and useless. Their massive jaws, lined with long, bloodied fangs, bore scraps of blue and red cloth from the soldiers they'd devoured. Their bloodshot eyes gleamed with madness.
"Best avoid those rabid beasts, Mitranis," Hestia called, urging Torrent to greater speed. "Those wretched things are no easy foe."
"Agreed," Mitranis replied, spurring Calliope to match her pace.
Hestia and Mitranis wove through the battlefield, evading the carnage. They rode through the remnants of an ancient forest, its trees long dead, their trunks standing like mournful sentinels. Scarlet and white fungal growths clung to rocks, sprouted from the earth, or gripped the barren trunks. Massive, budding flowers crowned some of the logs, their stench a blend of decay and perverse vitality—the hallmark of Caelid.
Though the terrain was treacherous and the paths labyrinthine, Mitranis navigated with confidence. He had never set foot in Redmane Castle, but his sense of direction was keen. They rode northwest, following the road that would lead to the main southern route through Caelid.
Hours passed, with Hestia and Mitranis alternating between urgent gallops and slower trots to spare their steeds. The dangers of Caelid were manifold, and overtaxing Torrent and Calliope was not an option. The region's creatures were grotesque: beyond the colossal dogs, smaller ones teemed with sprouting spores, as if decay bloomed within them. Miranda's blossoms and their lesser kin dotted the path, alongside shambling, putrid walkers—once Caelid's inhabitants, now little more than zombies, their bodies and minds poisoned by the Scarlet Rot.
As dusk fell, the Tarnished and the Recusant reached the southern road of Caelid, which would eventually lead to Limgrave. Mitranis squinted into the distance, spotting a faint glow a kilometer or more away.
"There's a bonfire ahead," he said, pointing. "We should approach. It might be a safe place to rest for the night."
"Likely a trap," Hestia countered. "This land is dead, after all."
"It's probably a merchant," Mitranis insisted. "Believe it or not, there are still folk in these parts."
Mitranis urged Calliope forward, and Hestia, with a sigh, followed on Torrent. This man's far too carefree… If I didn't know his skill in battle, I'd call him a fool. But he lives here; I shouldn't doubt him so, she thought, keeping pace.
Minutes later, they reached the site: a merchant beside the road, accompanied by a gaunt, horse-like mount. The man played a strange stringed instrument, its melody haunting yet beautiful, evoking nostalgia for moments lost forever.
The merchant paused his tune, eyeing Hestia and Mitranis with calm curiosity despite their unfamiliarity. He set his instrument aside, stoked the bonfire's flames, and adjusted a large cloth sack nearby.
"Rare to see travelers here," he said, his voice steady. "I know some Tarnished prefer these roads at night. Though the crows spare no one, day or night."
"A pleasure to meet you," Mitranis said, dismounting and taking Calliope's reins. "We're bound for Limgrave. Surely you've seen others heading that way."
"I suppose," the merchant replied. "Some go, some return. Some who go never come back; others return vowing never to leave again. Such is the way of you Tarnished."
"Would you allow us to rest by your fire?" Hestia asked, cutting to the point. "We'll pay, or purchase your wares if you prefer."
"I can chip in for some goods," Mitranis added, pulling out a small pouch. "Got a few rune fragments here…"
"Seems you've less than me, ha," Hestia teased. "Don't expect me to lend you any."
Mitranis ignored her and inspected the merchant's sack. It held bundles of arrows tied with cord, boluses to cure Scarlet Rot, and other minor trinkets.
"These boluses are essential," Hestia said, glancing at Mitranis. "We don't know what lies ahead."
"Wise choice," the merchant agreed. "You're near the Aeonian Swamp. You'll need protection against the Scarlet Rot."
"Five for each of us," Mitranis decided, pulling out his runes.
The merchant eyed their runes and charged a steep but fair price, given the perilous region. Hestia took arrows, while Mitranis chose venomous bone daggers. Other items were available, but Jerren's provisions sufficed.
Hestia and Mitranis spread out the blankets Jerren had provided, sitting close to one another with their backs against an ancient tree trunk, facing the fire. Across from them, the merchant's tent—a low, elongated structure of branches and leaves—served as his bed.
The merchant resumed playing, his melodies shifting from sorrowful to nostalgic, with a few livelier tunes. They spoke of his nomadic people, their lost homeland, and the inescapable pain of their tragic fate.
"That melody's somber," Hestia remarked, staring into the flames, her gaze distant.
"The nomads' tale is a sorrowful one," Mitranis said. "They were hunted mercilessly by the Golden Order, locked away and tortured in catacombs, or so I've heard."
The merchant stopped playing, his eyes dimming. Though much of his face was hidden by a bandana, his furrowed brow betrayed a mix of despair and fury. He calmed himself, wrapped his instrument in thick cloth, and spoke.
"Not a pleasant tale to tell or hear, lad," he said. "But you're right. Many of us were hunted, and few remain—if any. Still, we carry on as long as we draw breath. Good night, young ones."
With those grim words, the merchant retreated to his tent and closed his eyes. Hestia and Mitranis tried to sleep, but rest eluded them. They now leaned against opposite sides of the tree, back to back.
Hestia drifted off quickly, exhaustion overtaking her. In her dreams, she returned to her homeland, far from the Lands Between. There, she was a noblewoman, training to become a duchess, yet ever drawn to the art of combat.
Hestia hailed from a lineage tied to a Carian knight, a master of sword and sorcery inherited from the Carian family—renowned sorcerers who journeyed from the snow-capped peaks of the Mountaintops of the Giants to settle in Liurnia. There, the three great Carian sisters—Renna, Rellana, and Rennala, the Full Moon Queen, perhaps the mightiest sorceress known—had left their mark.
Her ancestor, seeking adventure and strength, turned his back on his Carian lords and joined the forces of Godfrey, the First Elden Lord. After countless battles to conquer the Lands Between for Marika, the Eternal—embodiment of the Elden Ring—her ancestor followed Godfrey and his armies into exile, stripped of the Grace Marika once bestowed. This exodus was called the Long March.
Generations passed, and many warriors wandered beyond the Lands Between, settling in distant realms. Hestia's family rose to wealth and power far from Godfrey's final battleground. From that noble house, she came.
Memories of her stately home, her servants, her training, her friendships, and her first love flooded her dreams. Then came the betrayal—her beloved choosing her sister, leading to Hestia's exile to the Lands Between.
Such memories jolted her awake. Despite her blanket, the night was frigid. Without glancing at Mitranis, she spoke.
"Hey, Recusant," she said.
"What?" Mitranis replied, yawning. "How'd you know I was awake?"
"Something tells me you don't know how to sleep," Hestia said, her laugh tinged with mockery.
"Fair enough. What do you want?"
"Will we face dangerous foes, Mitranis?" she asked, awaiting his reply.
"Without a doubt, Hestia," he said, peering at her from his side of the tree. "This is the cruelest corner of the Lands Between. We can't simply outrun every vile creature here with our steeds."
"Melina spoke of the terrible war between the demigods… the devastation," Hestia said, her voice heavy with sorrow. "When I was sent here, no one told me it was this bad. This place is truly dead."
"You're not wrong," Mitranis said. "But you Tarnished have brought life back to the Lands Between, you know."
"I'm not sure how to take that," Hestia said, letting out a rare laugh in his presence. "So many have died… and others have strayed from the purpose that brought them here. I fear that might happen to me."
Mitranis watched as Hestia drew her knees close, resting her chin upon them. The fierce woman seemed lost, not afraid, but burdened by an anguish he couldn't fully grasp.
"A dear friend came here with me," she continued. "We arrived together, but she went with her men to Stormveil Castle. I've heard nothing of her since…"
"I see," Mitranis said softly. "Now that we're headed to Limgrave, you're worried about her. Let's find her, then. Let's trust she's safe until we do, alright?"
Hestia looked at him, surprised by his empathy. But she wouldn't fall for a Recusant's wiles. Memories of her home flooded back—the vow to fight alongside the boy she loved, to battle together in the Lands Between as Tarnished. Yet he faltered, marrying her sister to avoid what he called a "slaughter." At least he's better than that coward, even if he's a damned Tarnished-killer, she thought.
Suddenly, Mitranis knelt, alert, staring into the shadows. A faint sound grew louder—cracking branches and irregular, heavy footsteps, like powerful leaps. Before the source could draw near, Mitranis sprang up, casting aside his blanket and kicking the merchant's leaf-bed.
"What the hell are you doing, you foolish boy?" the merchant shouted.
"Get up and ready yourselves!" Mitranis cried, drawing his dagger. "A giant crow approaches!"
"A giant crow, you say?" Hestia asked instinctively.
"Time to play every card you've got, Hestia," Mitranis said, gripping his weapon. "This is one of those mighty foes you asked about."