Luna
With a heavy, ragged sigh, Luna slowly stood back upright, her boots sliding slightly in the damp soil. Every muscle in her back throbbed, and her eyes burned like hot coals from letting the Storm's power run rampant across the bridge. She forced the lingering static from her mind, shoving the violent surge back down into the dark as the radiant golden tree beside them dissolved into a quiet mist of amber embers, swept away by the autumn breeze.
Beside her, a dull thump cut through the quiet.
Luna turned to see Marika collapse onto her side in the dirt. The Queen's physical body, already battered, bruised, and carrying cracked ribs from Morgott's assault, had finally yielded to absolute exhaustion. The sheer toll of channeling a divine incantation through a flesh-and-blood form had drained every last drop of her remaining strength.
In a swift, practiced movement, Luna knelt and pulled the fallen Queen up over her shoulder. Marika's skin was ice-cold and trembling, taut with the harsh tightness of deep dehydration.
"Did castin' that bloody sapling drain the very life outta ye?" Luna muttered under her breath, hoisting the bruised goddess higher to balance her weight. She was far denser than she had imagined, perhaps a sign of her strength steadily returning. Her depictions did not cast a fragile, delicate queen, but an imposing and powerful goddess after all.
She carried Marika toward the center of the dirt pathway where a tiny, flickering site of Grace had sprouted from the stone. It was a rare mercy in a land that offered none. Camp could be made here. Grace, after all, was a sanctuary where no beast or soldier dared set foot. 'A rare spot of peace in a land that seemingly never knew the term.' Duchess chimed in, earning a chuckle from Luna herself.
Luna set Marika down gently against a moss-covered boulder, wrapping her heavy cloak around the Queen's shoulders before resting her own hand on the hilt of her Dismounter as she plunged it into the earth. With a sigh, she slowly relaxed against it's blunt edge and allowed the exhaustion of the fight finally claim her.
Melina
Slow, measured footsteps echoed along ancient stone towers. Glowing blue crystals sprouted from nearly every wall, and the air hung heavy with the sharp, musk scent of sleeping wolves and old dragons. Magic was so dense in this high place that it settled over the chamber like a thick, shimmering fog.
The traveler moved with deliberate grace. Her leather boots made firm, rhythmic thuds against the flagstones, her dark cloak sweeping barely an inch above the glistening masonry. Beneath her hood, her pale skin bore the faintest, subtle hint of warm pigment. She was as though a corpse had dared to dream of life once more, and risen far fairer than when she was laid to rest.
She ascended the long winding stairs, stepping onto a central stone elevator surrounded by ancient texts and baubles of study. The lift hummed, rising smoothly into an upper chamber that held further trinkets of intrigue and scholarly pursuits. Slipping past the tokens of knowledge, after a brief inspection of course, she climbed the spiral steps to a smaller, crowning chamber holding a great throned doll.
The figure was carved of smooth porcelain and painted a pale, cold blue, possessing four arms and wrapped in heavy white furs beneath a grand, pointed witch's hat that sat crooked toward its zenith. One could easily mistake her for a regal, mechanical toy, yet a distinct, ancient presence pulsed within the wood, porcelain, and string.
As the traveler stepped over the threshold, the doll's head perked up. A single golden eye met a single spectral eye. Silence settled heavily between them.
"Strange occurrences have come to pass of late, Lady Ranni," Melina spoke, her voice like a soft, elevated melody. Every syllable carried a quiet, sharp gravity.
"Strange, indeed," the doll responded. Ranni's voice was calm, yet laced with an underlying, crystalline chill. It was akin to a hanging icicle, to be marveled at, yet simultaneously feared. "Speak thy mind, traveler."
"It would seem that whispers suggest... mine own mother liveth," Melina said, a rare note of hesitation softening her tone. "She walketh in the flesh, faring alongside a knight clad in dark, unfamiliar heraldry. She marches by a mark for which I hold no reckoning."
Ranni's single eye narrowed slightly. "The stars remained fixed in the firmament, and fate has not yet begun its march. An impostor of small consequence, surely." She dismissed lightly.
"I had deemed it the same, until they met Morgott's shade upon the gates of Stormveil," Melina pressed gently, a hint of trepidation bleeding into her words. "Not only did this strange warrior hold his fury at bay, but when the tide turned, Queen Marika herself stood amidst the mud and summoned a Minor Erdtree to mend the knight's broken form. She... bleedeth, Ranni. She treadeth upon her own feet." The implication rang through the now silent air as heavy as a church bell.
All of this brought a deep, cold worry into Melina's heart. An impostor wielding high incantations was troubling, but the reality of a surviving, physical Queen Marika was far more perilous.
"Thou wouldst imply these rumors bear truth..." Ranni trailed off, her tone bearing a subtle warning for the dangerous path her visitor was treading.
"True, I fear they are," Melina murmured. "I witnessed this knight with mine own eyes. She fought with a mechanical ferocity no Tarnished could hope to possess. Swift, yet calculating. And with my mother walking at her side, bestowing the Erdtree's grace in the open dirt... they could rise to become a catastrophic threat."
"There shall be no future Elden Lord," Ranni interrupted softly, her voice leaving no room for dispute, "save for whomsoever I choose to stand as my consort." Her cheek rested lightly now against the fist of one of her numerous arms, her expression becoming a dark, fallen curtain of pressure. The air itself seemed to magnify her intent, transforming a warning into a shockwave of silence.
Melina did not offer any argument in the moment that followed.
Ranni leaned back against her throned chair, her three other arms resting quietly in her lap while the fourth opened forward toward her guest. "Should these whispers indeed prove true... then the supplanting of mine own mother may come far swifter than we had foreseen." A subtle smirk adorned her features, for but a moment at least. "Make thy preparations and spread word to keep a watchful eye, but..." She paused, gazing out toward the fog-shrouded moon. "Do not strike until I am certain of the peril. Thou hast served our shared design well, Melina. Thou hast my gratitude." She waved her hand, dismissing the traveler now.
Melina bowed her head subtly, turning on her heel without another word.
She stepped out into the night air, her cloak snapping in the wind as her form dissolved into a soft drift of golden light. She would seek out this knight and her bleeding Queen herself. What Lady Ranni remaineth ignorant of shall bring small peril, in the end.
Ranni
Ranni watched as her kin faded into the gloom, leaving her alone once more in the quiet tower. In these ever darkening days, she had grown weary of solitude, yet her path demanded she remain near void of company until the stars aligned.
She thought briefly of Iji. He was wise, clever, yet fiercely impulsive. She feared his loyalty would one day prove his undoing, for his heart was too simple for the treacherous game ahead. How painful the guilt would surely bleed him, when the dawn of his one-day betrayal were to arrive.
She thought of Blaidd. He truly was her faithful shadow, whose very flesh belonged to the Two Fingers she so deeply loathed. He was a tender soul who deserved peace, yet thrived only in war. Ever present was the looming shadow that the Fingers would one day twist his mind against her. She feared deeply what cursed, malicious way they would someday act to spite her, and she feared most that Blaidd would be the instrument of their spiteful retaliation.
And Seluvis... the pathetic puppet master was a creature so vile that the mere thought of him made her cold heart sneer with disgust.
Now her mind returned to the strange report. A knight untouched by grace, wielding discarded or stolen steel, traveling alongside a bruised, bleeding Marika who still possessed the power to sprout the Erdtree from the mud, be it a sapling or not. The very thought made her long-dead heart stutter in its wooden casing.
A queen bleeding in the dirt, protected by a shadowy monster garbed as a knight... How droll.
Ranni shifted her gaze toward the distant silhouette of Stormveil. She would need to confront this knight herself. A new design was already taking root.