This particular mausoleum possessed neither a bell nor a guard. Had there not been another one nearby, its solitary existence might have felt tragic. However, without the heavy bell dragging it down, its movements were surprisingly agile.
The Tarnished watched as the gargantuan stone quadruped flexed its massive limbs, leaping into the air before slamming back down with an earth-shattering thud.
"What is it doing?" the Tarnished asked, intrigued by its erratic behavior.
"My Lord... the Mausoleums are mobile tombs built to house the remains of demigods who perished following the Night of the Black Knives," Aenophe explained, emerging from the shadows. "They are headless to prevent the spread of Deathroot into the remains. When they sense the threat of Deathroot beneath the earth, they stand tall, lifting the demigods' corpses as far from the ground as possible."
She pointed to the clusters of skull-like, barnacle-grey growths encrusting the mausoleum's legs. "Those are the marks of the spreading root. As long as those remain, the mausoleum will never cease its restless wandering."
"So they move to shake off the rot? A curious cycle," the Tarnished remarked.
"On a related note, My Lord... that man in the golden armor you traveled with—Darian—is far more complex than he appears."
"Because of his soul?"
"Yes. I can sense it. He shares a nature very similar to the demigods resting within these mausoleums. As you know, Queen Marika's children are numerous, and among them are those who share D's condition: two souls residing in nearly identical bodies."
The Tarnished paused. It wasn't hard to understand why Devin was so obsessed with the Golden Order. He likely viewed his twin-soul existence as a curse that only the Erdtree's "Grace" had the compassion to accept.
Yet, a sudden thought struck him. He had never seen Marika herself display such a condition. Was it because she was a God? Or was it simply something he hadn't noticed during the Giant Wars, when he and Godfrey were with her constantly? Marika was, after all, just a particularly special Numen. If her children inherited such traits, she likely possessed the seed of it herself.
"My Lord, the mausoleum is jumping this way!" Aenophe warned.
They retreated as the stone giant descended. Aenophe moved with ghostly speed, scaling the giant's leg in a blur and shattering the skeletal barnacles with a few precise strikes. The mausoleum groaned and settled into the earth, finally at rest.
"Should we enter?" she asked.
The Tarnished shook his head. "Let the dead sleep. Marika has many children; as their elder, I have no desire to disturb their peace."
As they continued toward the Church of Vows—a place the Tarnished was eager to visit to learn more about Radagon and Rennala—a brilliant red glow caught his eye. It was the "Evil Cinder," a flame that even the Erdtree feared.
From a ridge, they looked down upon a column of men in crimson robes carrying torches. At the front were warriors clad in black iron armor, their surcoats etched with flame patterns. On their chests was a grotesque, one-eyed face—the visage of the Fell God of the Giants.
"Interesting," the Tarnished sneered. He knew these men. They were the Fire Monks, the guardians Marika had appointed to watch over the Flame of Ruin atop the Mountaintops of the Giants after he and Godfrey had won the war.
"It seems the jailers have become the inmates," he whispered. "They've begun to worship the very flame they were sent to suppress."
"Power seduces... and it leads even the righteous astray," Aenophe said, her hand tightening on her black knife. She waited for a command to kill.
"Easy, Aeno. Let's not be so bloodthirsty. It's been a long day." The Tarnished patted her shoulder—reaching up a bit, given her height.
They followed the monks at a distance. He was curious: what were these mountain-dwellers doing in Liurnia?
"We must find him," a tall monk grumbled. "Chief Arghanthy was clear. We need the thief alive."
"I'd rather burn every Cuckoo and Carian in this lake," another spat, slamming a flaming mace into the ground. "This war is a nuisance."
"Patience. Adan is a fool, but he can't hide forever. Not with what he stole."
The Tarnished realized these monks were no longer loyal to the Erdtree. They had spent so long staring into the Great Cauldron that they had been blinded by its eternity. To them, the Erdtree's "Eternity" was a fragile lie; only the Flame was true.
"Who's there!?" The monks spun around as a sudden explosion rocked their rear guard.
"Ambush! Augh!" A minor acolyte was sent flying by a concussive blast.
By the time the lead monks reached the camp, the air was thick with ash. Through the grey veil, a man's silhouette emerged.
"Who are you!?" the monks barked, brandishing their flames.
"Arghanthy's training... is lacking," the Tarnished's voice mocked from the smoke. With a single sweep of his blade, a shockwave sent the monks sprawling. Only the leader managed to remain standing, though he trembled.
"Why attack us? Are you a dog of the Golden Order?" the monk growled.
"Don't misunderstand. I just wanted to see if the God's flame had any kick in your hands. Turns out, you're out of practice." The Tarnished stepped out, dusting off his cape. Aenophe remained hidden, watching with a mix of awe and curiosity.
"You seek the power of the Fire God too?" the monk asked, his voice shaking.
"Save it. Your little sparks are nothing compared to the true Giants. Now, I ask, you answer." The Tarnished leveled his blade. "Who is this Adan, and what did he steal?"
The monk, realizing the man before him was likely a veteran of the actual Giant Wars, lost his bravado. "He... he stole a secret of the flame. Something the Chief held dear. Adan fled to Liurnia, and we were sent to fetch him. That's all I know! You aren't with the Erdtree... I can see that. If I give you our prayer book, will you let us live?"
The monk pulled a heavy, red-bound tome from his robes. It was the Fire Monks' Prayerbook, embossed with twin circles.
"You're quite sensible," the Tarnished remarked, taking the book. "I wasn't going to kill you anyway. You lot replaced my people on the mountain; in a way, we're colleagues. And since I'm a rebel now too, we don't have much reason to fight."
"Fire is the only truth," the monk whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and fervor. "Even the Scarlet Rot fears the flame. This book... it requires a strong will to move the Fire God. Incantations aren't like sorcery; they are a plea for a miracle."
The Tarnished tucked t
he book away. "I'll keep that in mind."