Before they could react, the monstrous winged creature lunged, unleashing a ghastly screech—a hymn of death and mutilation. As it landed, the crow's massive retractable talons tore apart the merchant's meager camp. Fortunately, the merchant and his pack beast found refuge among nearby rocks.
"It's too damn dark…" Mitranis muttered, concern lacing his voice. "I hope you can manage—"
"Starlight!" Hestia cried, raising a peculiar rapier-like sword.
"Incredible!" Mitranis exclaimed, his excitement palpable.
Mitranis darted toward the crow, playing the role of bait. Hestia, adept with both blade and Glintstone sorcery, held her ground. Mitranis circled the beast, forcing it to lurch erratically—leaping, slamming its talons into the earth, and snapping its beak in search of its prey.
"Glintstone Arc!" Hestia shouted, conjuring another spell.
This time, she summoned a great bow of radiant magic, loosing a powerful arcane arrow at the crow. The projectile struck the creature's chest, where Hestia aimed for its heart. But it was a miscalculation. The beast's bloated, malformed body concealed its vital organs, and the Scarlet Rot's vile influence had engorged it with grotesque fungi, shielding it further.
The crow surged toward Hestia with unnatural speed, catching even Mitranis off guard as he prepared to slash its underbelly. The giant bird lunged with a vicious peck, which Hestia barely dodged before being flung backward. She landed on her knees, struggling to rise as the crow closed in.
"Churning Magma!" Mitranis roared, casting a spell to aid his companion.
Hestia watched as molten lava enveloped the crow, hindering its movements. The magma erupted in a fiery blast, scorching the creature's back, singeing its wings and plumage. Though not dead, the beast was cornered.
"Use your magic again, Hestia!" Mitranis shouted from behind the crow.
Hestia reacted swiftly, scrambling to her feet and charging the beast. With her rapier-like blade, she conjured a massive azure blade of Glintstone magic, akin to the arc she had cast earlier.
"Die, you wretch!" Hestia screamed, delivering the killing blow.
Her strike targeted the crow's thick neck, severing it cleanly. The Glintstone blade, honed by Hestia's potent magical prowess, cut with merciless precision. Blood gushed in torrents from the wound, and the giant bird collapsed, convulsing as it faded into dust, as though its existence were but a fleeting shadow.
The battle was over. Caelid's terrors surpassed Hestia's expectations. Her heart pounded, her breath ragged. A wave of dizziness hit her, followed by a fit of coughing. Then, she felt her mouth gently pried open.
"Swallow this now," Mitranis said, placing a small bolus in her mouth.
Hestia couldn't respond but ingested the remedy. The dizziness, nausea, and toxic sensation began to fade. So this is the Scarlet Rot… she thought as her senses cleared.
"You're not used to this cursed air," Mitranis said, helping Hestia to her feet and guiding her toward the merchant's ruined camp. "Overexertion means breathing in this vile rot."
"I'll have to return to Limgrave… Kale was right. This place is a true hellhole," the merchant grumbled, kicking at the remnants of his branch-and-leaf bed.
"Then let's all leave together. Dawn's near, thankfully," Mitranis said.
With preparations complete, Hestia, Mitranis, and the merchant resumed their journey to Limgrave. Departing at dawn gave them an advantage, and by late afternoon, they neared their destination. Suddenly, Hestia's gaze caught something off the path. On a small hill stood a monument of greatswords of varying sizes, the largest at its center, bearing an inscription.
"What's that, Mitranis?" Hestia asked, pointing to the monument before looking at him.
"I suppose… go see," Mitranis replied, meeting her eyes. "Just beware of any creatures. We're not in safe lands yet."
"Alright, Father," Hestia retorted with mock exasperation.
Dismounting from Torrent, Hestia led him by the reins. The swords were larger than she'd expected, their number suggesting a significant event. At the monument's heart, she approached the largest blade to read its inscription:
"Lord Godfrey, at the end of his campaign.
His golden armies, unconquered and unbreakable.
Yet he finds Grace lost, torn, and faded."
Hestia was struck by the words. As a Tarnished, she knew of these events, but standing before this monument, reading the words echoing her ancestors' tales, felt different. The inscription carried a weight of sorrow and injustice—the grim fate of those who fought for Marika and forged the Golden Order's glory, only to be cast out as pariahs.
As Hestia lingered at the monument, Mitranis remained astride Calliope, vigilant for any threats. He knew better than to approach the church further east along the path. Rumors spoke of attacks there by a Tarnished-hunting warrior from another faction, and Mitranis had no desire for trouble.
"Hey," the merchant said to Mitranis. "That lass is spirited. Doesn't seem like she's been here long. And it seems you like her. I mean, her chest bouncing as she rides is hard to miss, but you were staring like a fool."
"Speak for yourself, nomad," Mitranis snapped, spitting on the ground. "I'm more concerned for her safety than her figure."
"But she can fight. A fine partner, no?"
"Stop talking about her chest, please. Here she comes."
Hestia returned unhurriedly, her expression heavy with melancholy. Lost in thought, she ignored the merchant's and Mitranis' conversation and the nomad's lingering glances. She mounted Torrent again.
"Marika's Grace… it's a strange thing," Hestia said, gazing toward the Third Church of Marika. "I still don't understand what she wants from us. But I must press on."
"Well said, miss," the merchant replied with a smile.
"No clue what she thinks, Hestia," Mitranis said solemnly. "No one's heard from her in millennia. Exiling so many warriors didn't bring peace. Let's keep moving."
Hestia noticed ruins to the west, nestled in a dense thicket. She'd seen similar ruins near a swamp by a forsaken tomb where her journey in the Lands Between began. Curiosity prompted her to ask.
"Hey, Mitranis, why not take the path through those ruins? It looks shorter."
"You've no holy incantations or weapons to deal with what's there," Mitranis replied gravely. "Those ruins are crawling with Those Who Live in Death."
"I've heard of them… A knight in gold-and-silver armor spoke of them," Hestia said pensively. "So those are the ruins he meant. Let's stick to your path, then."
"Wise choice, miss," the merchant added with a kind smile.
Mitranis urged Calliope onward, eager to find a place to rest. The Third Church of Marika, near the teleporter that had once sent Hestia to Caelid's northern reaches, was the safest bet. The winding path to the church posed few threats beyond wolves.
That is, until they reached the clearing where the church came into view. A Troll loomed nearby. These creatures, once lesser giants allied with the Fire Giants, had been decimated by Godfrey's forces, ushering in the Erdtree's unchallenged reign.
The trio crept along a rocky cliffside. Half an hour later, they spotted the Troll patrolling the area—a formidable barrier for travelers to or from Caelid. They paused, exchanging glances to assess the situation.
"Hey, old man," Mitranis said to the merchant. "Stay safe. We'll handle this brute."
"Piece of cake," Hestia added, her face alight with excitement.
"Right, right… Dismount and let me watch the horse," the merchant replied.
Mitranis handed Calliope's reins to the merchant. Hestia dismounted, letting Torrent vanish as she often did. The two warriors readied for battle. Hestia now understood Mitranis' strategy: he'd draw the attention of large foes, allowing her to strike with magic or surprise attacks.
Mitranis charged the Troll, dodging its initial blow and slipping between its legs. The beast stomped heavily with its right foot, but Mitranis evaded with grace, positioning himself by its left. With a swift strike, he slashed the Troll's heel with his dagger, unbalancing it.
"He's lost his stance!" Mitranis shouted to Hestia. "Hit its torso!"
Hestia was already conjuring Loretta's Greatbow. Releasing a Glintstone arrow, she struck the hollow in the Troll's torso—where its stomach should have been. Such an attack worked only when the creature was off balance, unable to shield itself with arms or colossal blade.
The strike was true, and the Troll collapsed face-first. Like a shadow, Mitranis appeared, leaping high to plunge his dagger into the creature's nape. He dragged the serrated, Volcano Manor-forged blade toward its crown, slicing as if through butter. The Troll's final agonized roar echoed before it faded, just as the crow had the previous night.
"We did it!" Hestia cheered, rushing to Mitranis.
"Ha! You were incredible," Mitranis said, grinning at the redhead. "You've a knack for sorcery, but you're no slouch with a blade. We'll use this tactic against big foes, agreed?"
"I get it, Mitranis," Hestia replied, her excitement fading to irritation.
Hestia loathed being lectured, and Mitranis seemed prone to it. Not that he meant to be condescending—she understood that. She was new to the Lands Between, and he had more experience as a native. Still, she bristled at anyone assuming they were right outright. She always had something to say on any matter, or so she believed.
"Let's find the merchant," Mitranis said, heading uphill.
Hestia hurried to catch up, noting their height difference. Standing beside him, she observed Mitranis' sturdy, muscular build—unlike the lithe bandits or assassins she'd dispatched, who favored daggers or curved swords. Mitranis seemed capable of wielding a longsword or even a greatsword.
Her thoughts didn't linger long. A fleeting anxiety—or was it nervousness?—stirred within her. Foolish, she thought, to feel this beside a near-stranger. Yet the feeling was unmistakable. She pushed it aside, focusing on their journey to Stormveil Castle.
Mitranis quickened his pace, stirred by similar thoughts. Hestia's fierce expression and graceful movements in battle had caught his attention, despite his efforts to focus elsewhere. He never dwelled on a woman's appearance in combat—whether fighting a Tarnished or alongside a Recusant, such distractions could be fatal. Yet Hestia had something he couldn't ignore, beyond mere looks. The nomad's crude remarks lingered, bringing a flush of embarrassment as he walked close to her.
"Damn that merchant," Mitranis muttered under his breath.
"Why curse him?" Hestia asked, curious.
"Oh… because he'll probably overcharge us before going his own way. We earned plenty of runes from that Troll," Mitranis lied, hoping to sound convincing.
"I doubt it. He's a good sort. Always smiles when I look at him."
That's because he's ogling your chest like an idiot, Mitranis thought, choosing silence. No need to dwell further—they'd reached the merchant. Mitranis approached Calliope, stroking her gently. She remained calm despite the Troll's roars. Hestia watched as the merchant opened his sack, addressing them.
"I want to give you something," the merchant began. "I thought of more provisions, but this will serve you better."
He pulled a medium-sized bag from his sack, containing a mortar, knives, cords, and a few vials and jars.
"You can use these to craft items from what you find," the merchant explained, handing the tools to Hestia. "You're nearing a forest—perfect for gathering berries, mushrooms, resin, sprouts, and animal remains."
"Oh… thank you, sir," Hestia said, surprised.
"That'll be useful, no doubt," Mitranis added. "My last crafting kit was eaten by a land octopus."
"I hate those things—especially since they regenerate," Hestia said, her face souring.
"True, but they're delicious if you know how to cook them," Mitranis said with a grin.
"No comment…" Hestia approached the merchant to thank him again. "Thank you, sir. I suppose you'll go your own way now."
"Aye, I'll head along the coast to avoid the bears—especially the giant ones. It's safer, so long as I steer clear of the beach. Giant crabs lurk there. You two should rest at Marika's church nearby. You've faced fierce battles—those beasts, that crow, and now the Troll."
"Take care, old man," Mitranis said. "If you see Kale, send him my regards."
"Will do, Mitranis. May Grace guide you to your purpose and grant you a safe journey."
After the farewell, the two watched the merchant vanish down the path between the forest's edge and the beach. Once he was out of sight, Mitranis sighed. The nomad's comments about Hestia's body had been awkward, though she seemed oblivious. They walked together to the ruins of the Third Church of Marika.
There stood an ancient statue of the Goddess, arms outstretched as if forming a cross, symbolizing how her Grace reached all—or so Mitranis thought. He and Hestia sat around the nearby Site of Grace, ravenous. They unpacked food from their steeds' saddlebags and settled to eat. Then, Melina appeared, having been absent for over a day.
"Hey, Mitranis," Melina said, removing her hood and sitting. "Why didn't you stop that merchant from speaking so brazenly about Hestia's chest?"
"What?" Hestia snapped, glaring at Melina and Mitranis with indignation.
"I told him to stop," Mitranis said. "But that old nomad must be desperate—or hasn't seen a woman in years. No need to make a fuss, Melina."
"I know," Melina replied with a faint smile. "I just wanted to note his audacity. At least he gave you good tools. That crafting kit will be invaluable."
"Don't jest at my expense," Hestia said, crossing her arms, visibly annoyed.
Hestia was all too aware of her striking appearance and disliked it being her defining trait. It felt like a weakness, despite her proven strength and skill in Glintstone sorcery, inherited through her lineage. She despised memories of being mocked for her red curls, freckles, innocent blue eyes, and, in adolescence, her curvaceous figure. Women called her a "tomboy," while men threw out terms like "bombshell" or "voluptuous" before training.
Mitranis noticed her irritation and preoccupation. He chose not to press the matter, shifting topics instead.
"I can't believe you wield Loretta's Greatbow," he said, pulling food from a bag to share. "That spell demands serious magical skill. Did you learn it here in the Lands Between?"
"Loretta's Greatbow is the most powerful spell passed down through my lineage," Hestia replied. "In my generation, only two of us mastered it—a rare feat."
Mitranis nearly asked more, but Melina's subtle gesture stopped him. He understood it was best not to pry into Hestia's personal life yet. Instead, he steered the conversation elsewhere.
"It's a spell that'll serve us well," he said. "I wield magma sorceries, common in Volcano Manor. I know a couple of Dragon Cult incantations—they came naturally. I also have an emergency healing incantation and one to muffle my footsteps. That last one's my favorite."
"Incantations require faith," Hestia said, impressed. "What else can you do? Let's show our weapons."
Hestia drew her sheathed sword, revealing its gleaming blade—a Carian knight's relic, likely millennia old. Meticulously maintained by her lineage, it was battle-ready. A polished stone adorned the base of its long, silver blade, with blue and gold accents on the hilt. It was a masterpiece.
"It's astonishing your sword hasn't crumbled, Hestia," Melina remarked.
"My family treated it as a sacred relic," Hestia said. "When someone from our lineage received Marika's Grace, it was entrusted to them."
"And that someone is you," Mitranis said, offering a warm smile. "Quite the ceremony your people have."
"You're a clown," Hestia shot back.
Mitranis laughed at her exasperated expression. He was growing fond of her. Despite her fiery, proud demeanor, her passion for her mission shone through, not mere hostility. Or so he thought, as he drew his dagger for her to inspect.
Hestia examined the dark-handled, serrated blade, etched with red accents that gave it a menacing yet refined look.
"This weapon is… sophisticated," she said, handling it carefully. "And threatening, despite its short blade."
"Indeed," Mitranis said. "It's imbued with Volcano Manor's flame, courtesy of my master."
"I see…" Hestia replied gravely. "You speak of that demigod, Rennala's son—Rykard, the Blasphemer."
"I prefer 'the giant screaming boa,'" Mitranis said, prompting a laugh from Melina. "Always yelling about 'FAMILY!' and 'TOGETHER!' He's loud but terrifying. I jest to cope with his existence. Rykard's truly fearsome."
"Let's hope he doesn't hear your blasphemy," Melina teased, her single eye glinting.
"Hear me? Not a chance," Mitranis said. "That man's unhinged, as if the serpent devoured his mind. But if someone else overheard, that'd be another matter. No one's spying on us, Melina—you know that."
"I suppose," Melina said. "It's part of my self-appointed duties. Hestia's senses aren't as sharp as yours."
"My senses aren't sharp?" Hestia retorted. "Maybe not now, but I'll learn to feel everything around me."
"No doubt, Hestia," Mitranis said calmly. "We can teach you. It's vital for survival."
Hestia bristled again. This guy, acting all-knowing. Yet the thought lingered that she'd need to hone every skill and technique to face Rykard and claim his Great Rune to restore the Elden Ring. The idea fueled her resolve but also stirred dread—facing a monstrous being, and perhaps Mitranis himself. Not worth dwelling on now.
Mitranis entertained similar thoughts. He imagined a future clash with Hestia but dismissed it for the present. Melina's gaze fixed on him, signaling an unspoken matter. He offered his dagger, letting her ethereal hands sense its energy.
"Hmm… I want to confirm something," Melina said, closing her eye as her hands hovered over the dagger. "I see… the power isn't in the blade."
"You mean that power?" Hestia asked, confused.
"I believe the power of Destined Death is tied to you, Mitranis," Melina said gravely. "I suspect you weren't aware until you faced Radahn, correct?"
Mitranis paused, recalling his training at Volcano Manor. Destined Death was a distant tale, mentioned by Tanith, Rykard's consort, as a historical warning about the Black Knives—warriors wielding fragments of that power.
"Exactly, Melina," he said. "It's just an old story to me."
Melina didn't respond immediately, staring at the Lost Grace. Hestia, recalling Melina's earlier tales, felt compelled to speak as her companions fell silent.
"Destined Death was part of the Elden Ring, until it was torn out as a rune and sealed, right?" Hestia began, glancing between Melina and Mitranis. "Later, someone stole a fragment of that rune and used it in a bizarre ritual to slay Godwyn the Golden, Marika's son. But only his soul died, not his body. That's what you told me, Melina?"
"Yes, in essence," Melina said, meeting Hestia's gaze. "Some details still elude me… My mind clouds at times, as I've said."
"A group of Numen descendants, the Black Knives, killed Godwyn in a profane ritual," Mitranis added, recounting Tanith's lesson. "Their weapons bore traces of Death itself. While they slew another demigod's body, with Godwyn, it was his soul. His body lies somewhere below, buried per Golden Order rites. That's all I know."
"That sounds grim…" Hestia said nervously. "Can we eat, Mitranis?"
As they ate, Hestia's thoughts returned to the sword monument. Its solemn words told a tragic tale—a bitter farewell to the homeland Godfrey and his followers fought to secure, only to lose Marika's Grace and be exiled. The thought had haunted Hestia since arriving in the Lands Between, now more vivid than ever.
"I still don't understand how Marika's Grace works," Hestia said after a sip of water.
"No idea either," Mitranis said, tearing at dried meat. "Maybe it's a mark saying you're in the 'club'—the Erdtree's chosen. Keeps you alive, too. Tarnished died long ago, but when Marika's Grace returned, they revived. Or so my mentor said."
"That's a crude, almost heretical way to put it," Melina said, struggling to stay serious. "But it's true. Those stripped of the Elden Ring's mark and exiled returned only when that golden gleam reappeared in their eyes. Many who lived and died, as Marika decreed, were reborn to wield the Ring, per the Eternal's command."
"I love how you speak, Melina," Mitranis said playfully. "Your voice gets so solemn—it's beautiful."
"You weren't even listening, you coward," Melina retorted.
"Harsh words, don't you think, Mitranis?" Hestia said, laughing.
Laughter followed, a strange reprieve in the Lands Between's desolation. But the moment was brief.
"I'd like us to revisit Marika's words from our first time here, Hestia," Melina said. "Now that Mitra—"
She stopped, her gaze shifting north. Night had fallen, making a golden glint in the misty forest to the southwest more visible, accompanied by a faint rumble. The group tensed.
"Just our luck…" Mitranis sighed. "I hope Kale's alright."
"What are we waiting for? Let's help him!" Hestia said, springing up.
"Fine, little heroine," Mitranis said. "It's a pain to do this before resting, but so be it. Let's go."
"That glint…" Melina said gravely. "That's a holy incantation. Something's happening in the forest—likely tied to Those Who Live in Death. Be cautious."
"Thanks, Melina," Hestia said, gathering her things. "I trust we'll have each other's backs, Mitranis."
"Uh… yeah, count on it," Mitranis replied, glancing southwest. "I always get a bad feeling about Those Who Live in Death."
"I must vanish for now," Melina said, her single eye meeting theirs. "Only if the worst happens will I appear. Remember, only you two can see me."
Melina rose and vanished. Mitranis stowed the food in Calliope's saddlebags and mounted her. Hestia summoned Torrent and climbed astride. A nearby Troll loomed, but they skirted it, riding behind trees at the forest's edge. They had to reach the source of the disturbance without delay. Melina's words were warning enough.
Though Hestia and Mitranis rode toward their goal, certain of what they faced and ready to confront it, they were drawn like moths to an unknown flame—one that could consume them, as light burns the insects it lures.
They followed the golden glint, as Tarnished follow Marika's Grace into the unknown, the cruel, the terrible… and perhaps Death itself. All in the name of the Eternal's Grace.