Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-Knowing, bent over his desk, ceaselessly leafing through tomes and scrolls. Only when Lucian entered did his hands finally still.
The helm upon Gideon's head, bristling with countless ears and eyes, tilted upward, and a weary, rasping voice issued forth:
"Forgive me for sending Ensha to fetch you. He cannot speak, but it is for that very reason that I trust him above all others. I hope you'll understand."
Lucian's gaze swept over the chamber. Books towered high upon shelves, spilled across the floor, and clustered upon every surface, threatening to bury the room itself. His hunger for knowledge was truly insatiable.
Ensha, having ushered Lucian inside, departed at once, closing the door with care.
Lucian wasted no time, "Spare the courtesy. Tell me, why summon me here?"
Gideon took up the staff propped against his desk and rose from his seat. He approached, the weight of authority in each step.
"This is, I believe, our first meeting. I am known as Gideon Ofnir. As a Tarnished who wishes to stand before the Elden Ring and become Elden Lord, I am accumulating knowledge. To be all-knowing. To put it simply, I would propose a bargain between us."
Lucian measured the man, weighing his words, probing for intent. "And what bargain do you speak of?"
But Gideon, instead of answering, posed a question of his own, "If my reports are correct… you have already stood before the Two Fingers, have you not?" He paused, then asked with peculiar intensity, "Tell me—what did you make of them?"
Lucian recalled their grotesque form, their cryptic mutterings. And a certain line from the world he remembered came unbidden to his lips.
"The Fingers are… strange. I fear they may already be broken."
For the first time, Gideon faltered. His thoughts raced. He had anticipated many answers—blind reverence, indifference, even disdain, but not this. That Lucian should, with but a single audience, pierce the very heart of the Fingers' ruinous state… it was an insight Gideon himself had clawed toward only after much deliberation and years of unease.
This tarnished was sharp. Dangerously sharp.
Yet Gideon felt a stirring of satisfaction. Perhaps even relief. He had not expected to find another who saw as he did. A rare smile entered his voice.
"Ho… unexpected indeed. Very good. Very good. If that is truly your belief, then we stand upon common ground."
Lucian smirked beneath his helm. Of course Gideon was pleased, he had merely returned to him Gideon's own words, cast back like a shard of glass. A small jest of a traveler far removed from this age.
"Then tell me, Gideon—what is it you would have of me?"
The All-Knowing grew solemn. "The Two Fingers would have you slay the demigods and seize their Great Runes. Let us begin, then, with the weakest among them; Godrick the Grafted."
"I shall supply all intelligence our Roundtable has gathered. I will place allies at your side, and arm you with provisions. When Godrick falls, the Rune shall be yours. And I… shall see that word of your deed spreads, your station rising to stand—at least in name—beside mine."
He let the words hang, then added coldly, "The reality, of course, you must already grasp."
The offer was generous—alarmingly so.
"And what," Lucian pressed, "is the price?"
"Merely this; play your part."
"Your part?"
"Yes. An act, for the Fingers." Gideon's many eyes shifted toward the wall—the direction where the chamber of the Fingers lay.
"They seek to pit you against me, to wrest my dominion from the Roundtable. So be it. Let them believe it. We need only give them the performance they crave. The truth, that their counsel is fractured, that they no longer command—remains ours alone. Thus, you gain stature. And I, freedom from their meddling."
The logic was clear, even elegant. The Fingers had grown restless with Gideon's designs, his spies had seen their envoys slinking too close to his affairs. Better, then, to let them fixate on a false struggle.
Lucian inclined his head. "Your terms are fair. I accept."
Yet inwardly, he kept his own counsel. Gideon's wings would one day need clipping. Their aims aligned, but only for now.
The All-Knowing extended his hand. "Excellent. To few do I grant the name of comrade. May our pact endure."
Lucian clasped it. An accord sealed, though neither man believed it eternal.
"…And what shall I call you, comrade? For without a name, even my tongues cannot sing your praise."
"Lucian"
"Lucian… then soon, all the Lands Between shall know it—should you truly wrest the Great Rune from Godrick's wretched grasp."
Lucian left the chamber, retracing his steps toward the traders' stalls. Surely this time no one would bar his way.
The pact gnawed at his thoughts. Gideon's aid was no small boon; spies within Stormveil would sow chaos, allies such as Nepheli would lend their blades, and the paths through the fortress would be cleared for his advance. The Grafted's end was all but written.
It was, in truth, difficult to imagine Godrick surviving the storm to come.
"Hey there, traveler!" a voice suddenly called, breaking his reverie. "Care to browse my wares? Goods you won't find anywhere beyond these halls."
From a nearby stall, a merchant grinned beneath a hood, beckoning him closer.