Melina sat atop the Roundtable itself, her palms pressed lightly against the polished surface, legs dangling over the edge. Her feet swayed idly in the empty air as her gaze drifted upward, fixing on the high, domed ceiling above the great hall.
The Roundtable Hold was, after all, the domain of the Two Fingers. Though Melina bore no particular resentment toward them, she also felt no desire to stand so openly beneath their scrutiny.
Her reason? Pure instinct.
Thus, she did not follow Lucian in exploring the Hold's many chambers. Instead, she remained beside the great Grace that shimmered golden in the hall — an aegis that shielded her from any unseen gaze. Here, she would not be exposed. Here, she could simply… drift into thought, her feet swinging lazily.
In the past, her every step had been driven by a singular goal: to seek a worthy Tarnished. All else she encountered along the way was little more than passing scenery — never her concern, never touching her heart.
With Torrent, she had wandered the Lands Between, seeking one who might ascend to Elden Lord. In those days, she never knew loneliness, nor boredom.
But after choosing Lucian, there was no longer urgency in her search. She need only wait for him to grow strong, to lead her back to the foot of the Erdtree.
And so, she began to savor the journey.
Though their travels together had been brief, the experiences they shared already outweighed all her solitary years combined. Only in living it could she see how vivid the path could be… and how dull the act of waiting.
Melina was a pure soul — pure as a blank page. For she had been made so.
She knew how to aid others: to strengthen them, to bestow ashes of war, to reveal the map. She knew proper manners, how to speak without offense. She had no body — only spirit — and yet still she endured in this world.
All of it was because her purpose required it.
But no one had taught her how to travel alongside a companion. How to speak not merely without angering someone, but in ways that might bring them joy.
All memories not essential to her mission had been erased.
For they were not needed to fulfill her purpose.
And so she often felt lost. She knew only that she must seek her purpose — yet not what that purpose truly was.
Melina did not hate this destiny; she would see it through. And yet…
When Boc had spoken of his mother, she had wondered — what was the bond between an ordinary mother and child?
When Irina reunited with her father, she had thought — what might it feel like, to be cherished by one's parents?
She did not know these answers. For all her life until now had been only purpose.
But now… it was different.
Now, she had someone she could trust — someone strong, gentle, and unwavering.
Even if she was uncertain within, she could place her faith in him… as he had placed his faith in her.
She was grateful that the foot of the Erdtree was still far away. There was still time — time to seek answers, to etch the sights of the road into her memory, to fill the empty spaces in her heart.
Since it is so… until I reclaim my purpose, I shall enjoy the journey.
Lucian approached the great Grace at the Roundtable. Unlike with the lesser sites of grace scattered across the land, he needed not to sit; a simple touch drew him into its presence.
Melina's swaying feet froze for a moment, then resumed their gentle rhythm.
We are companions. Even if I appear… less than proper, that should be all right, shouldn't it?
In her own awkward way, she was testing the waters. She was still a girl, after all, and wanted to learn what existed beyond her mission — like how to simply be with another.
Lucian, too, was surprised. Melina seemed different somehow, more casual than before. But he could tell she was simply passing the time.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said.
She stopped swinging her legs. "And? How is the Roundtable Hold?"
"It exceeded my expectations — the facilities, the attendants, the services…"
"And the heroes? Were there many great warriors?"
"Honestly… I didn't meet anyone particularly strong. The Hold seems to have fallen into decline."
A faint note of regret colored his words. The founders of the Roundtable — some had gone mad, others had turned traitor. Only the All-Knowing still held it together… and he, a schemer through and through, left no true champion to command respect in the open.
Melina, too, was a little disappointed. This was not the Roundtable Hold she had imagined.
Still, Lucian found himself fond of it. Compared to the Roundtable Hold in the world he remembered, this one felt… more alive.
"But the items here are useful, and the people seem decent. All in all… I rather like it."
"I see. Then… shall we set a small goal?"
"What sort of goal?"
She considered for a moment, then held up a single finger before them both, a confident smile gracing her lips.
"Before becoming Elden Lord… aim to be the Roundtable's greatest warrior."
"I believe you can. For you shine with every mark of a hero — courage, strength, kindness… and things I cannot even put into words. That is how I see you."
Lucian hadn't expected such words. It was almost like a girl in his school days confessing her admiration — a simple compliment, yet it made his heart race.
Not because of the words themselves, but because of the trust… and the person speaking them.
He had never been good at facing others' expectations — because no one had ever expected anything of him. Even now, becoming the Roundtable's strongest was no great challenge for him. But he didn't know what to say.
No one had ever taught him how to respond to praise.
In his past life, whenever hardship came, he had hidden in games. Games were his only refuge.
Should he answer with confidence? Or deflect with humility?
He didn't know.
But now… things were different.
He had grown stronger — strong enough to shoulder the trust of another. He no longer needed to run away.
And so, he wanted to learn. To learn how to bear another's faith.
Lucian removed the gauntlet from his right hand, revealing a pinkie finger marked with scars no grace could erase. He extended it toward her.
"I'll do it. Let's make it a promise."
Melina did not know this gesture, but she understood its meaning at once. She extended her own small pinkie finger, marred by old burns.
Their scarred fingers intertwined — a vow between two kindred souls.
Like two lone beasts finding one another in the wild, they would tend to each other's wounds.