Miriel's subtle shift in expression did not escape the Tarnished's notice. The two shared a long look; between those of keen intellect, words were often redundant.
"Ho ho, I see... It is truly the old turtle's honor to meet someone of your standing," Miriel laughed heartily. "But I must apologize—I cannot solve your problem directly. However, there may yet be a way." Miriel paused before continuing.
"As you know, incantations require faith as a medium to bridge the gap between man and the divine. But a bridge is not limited to a single path. If you possess something that is fundamentally close to the source of that power, I believe you can manifest the miracle even without a shred of faith."
Hearing this, the Tarnished placed a hand over his heart, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse and the boiling blood within. It made sense; he channeled dragon powers through dragon blood, and the Crucible's aspects through the gift Siluria had bestowed.
To use the miracles of the Erdtree and the Flame, he needed a different anchor. He looked down at his left hand. The mark of their ancient oath—the bond shared between the three of them—radiated a serene, golden light.
"It seems you already hold the key..." Miriel observed, his eyes widening slightly as he gazed upon the radiant sigil that tied the man to Marika and Godfrey. Even a creature that had lived through eras was taken aback by the weight of such a connection.
Using that mark as a focal point and drawing upon the Golden Doctrines Miriel had just shared, the Tarnished concentrated. A small, swirling sphere of gold—a rudimentary healing miracle—blossomed between them, bathing the man and the turtle in warmth.
"Truly extraordinary..." Miriel murmured, feeling refreshed by the light.
Incantations were the art of wielding the power of gods with a mortal frame. While Erdtree incantations were primarily focused on augmentation and healing, there were offensive miracles of devastating power. Usually, only Marika herself—as the vessel of the Elden Ring—could wield the Golden Spears and Hammers with true autonomy.
If she can do it because the Ring is within her, then I can simply model my strikes after her own moves, the Tarnished thought. For now, this simple medium was enough to tap into the Erdtree's reservoir.
As for the Fire God... he had bathed in giants' blood, but it hadn't bonded with him like the Ancient Dragon's blood had. Perhaps he truly would have to face the Flame of Ruin at the mountaintops. He pushed the thought aside for later.
"One more thing, Miriel," the Tarnished said. "What do you know of the rumors surrounding Sellen?"
Miriel grew solemn. "The world only accepts what is common. Tell me, traveler... in that age, and in this one, who decides what is 'common'?"
"I see," the Tarnished muttered, realization dawning on him.
"To follow the path is to be a genius; to stray from it is to be a demon. Lady Sellen was a lonely soul wandering Liurnia since childhood, chasing the trail of the primeval current. I watched her many times." Miriel stretched his neck. "Some say she had the potential to rival Queen Rennala. Both are strong, independent, and beautiful—but where Rennala is the soft, nurturing Full Moon, Sellen is the piercing, brilliant starlight."
"I understand," the Tarnished nodded.
"And what is your relation to her?"
"She is my teacher. The one who guided me onto the path of sorcery," the Tarnished said with a faint smile.
"Ah... cherish that bond. She is a fine teacher." Miriel chuckled. "I know a bit of sorcery myself, but I wouldn't dream of showing off in front of Sellen's apprentice."
"You're too modest. Anyone who teaches me a new perspective is a teacher in my eyes."
The conversation was interrupted as Melina materialized, her hair uncharacteristically disheveled and sticking out in odd angles.
"What happened to you?" the Tarnished asked, stunned.
"..." Melina looked around, bowing slightly to Miriel. "Pardon the intrusion. I am Melina. I travel with this Tarnished by virtue of a compact."
"Think nothing of it, Lady Melina..." Miriel went silent. Seeing her single eye, his ancient mind connected a few dots, but he knew better than to speak those thoughts aloud.
"Seriously, your hair. What happened?" The Tarnished reached out to smooth a stray lock. It felt surprisingly silky for a spirit.
"Aurelia... seems to be angry," Melina said flatly.
At that moment, the jellyfish girl Aurelia manifested, her translucent body glowing a frustrated, angry red.
Aurelia began bobbing and waving her tentacles frantically. She was complaining that Melina was incredibly boring—constantly reciting Marika's spoken echoes like a broken record. It made her head ache. Aurelia had no interest in theology, yet Melina wouldn't stop, so the jellyfish had taken her frustration out on Melina's hair.
"Is this true?" The Tarnished looked at Melina.
Melina nodded stoically. "I believed... they were words worth repeating."
"Not to a jellyfish! Why haven't you told me these echoes?"
"The churches you've awakened contain the Queen's words... but I assumed they would be useless to you," Melina replied honestly. "So I told them to Aurelia instead."
"They are useless," the Tarnished admitted. He knew those words by heart—the declaration of exile Marika gave to him, Godfrey, and the warriors. It sounded like a betrayal to outsiders, but he and Godfrey knew the truth: it was the first move in Marika's grand endgame. We were her insurance policy.
"Aurelia is essentially a child. Tell her a story or something," he sighed.
"You mean... the Shattering?" Melina asked, tilting her head.
"How is that a fun story?" The Tarnished's lip twitched.
While exploring the church's basement, the Tarnished found an empty chest. "Someone beat me to the loot?"
Miriel explained that the chest once held the Golden Order Totality Greatsword, a treasure of the Golden Lineage. It had been taken recently by a Misbegotten.
"Stolen?"
"Not exactly. I watched him take it," Miriel sighed. "I took pity on him. The Misbegotten have suffered enough under the Erdtree. If a sword can help him vent his ancestral rage, let him have it."
The Misbegotten had wept as he took the blade, wailing with a grief that spanned generations. When asked where the creature went, Miriel pointed toward the Mountaintops of the Giants. The Tarnished understood—the Misbegotten likely wanted to use the sword to help burn the very tree that had forsaken his kind.
As they prepared to leave, the Tarnished looked toward the horizon at a strange, dome-like structure.
"Aenophe, what is that building? A passage to the depths?"
"Yes, My Lord. It leads to the Ainsel River," Aenophe whispered from the shadows. "But I do not recommend going now. The depths are the domain of the Nox. The Silver Tears there can suppress the power of Grace. Unless you have a way to counter their mimicry and suppression, the depths will only sap your strength."
The Tarnished looked at the map. The underground world held the secrets of those who openly defied the Greater Will.