"I see... so that is how it was." Fia listened to the Tarnished's account, her understanding of death in the Lands Between deepening. She had always suspected that if Godwyn died in soul, there must have been a counterpart who died in body. Now, the puzzle pieces were fitting together.
"The Hallowbrand Rogier is searching for is the mark carved during the first death of a demigod," Fia explained. "Normally, it should be a single, complete circle. But because there were two 'initial dead,' the mark was split... Wait." Fia paused, a flash of realization crossing her eyes. "Was the timing of these two deaths coordinated?"
She looked at the Tarnished, seeking an answer from the man who knew Godwyn best.
"I can't say for sure," the Tarnished replied. "Whether Godwyn's transformation into a Prince of Death was an accident or a cold calculation remains a mystery."
The logic was tangled. Ranni's goal was clear: slay her flesh to escape the Two Fingers. Godwyn's death was the first step in shattering the Elden Ring's lineage—kill the most perfect heir, and the Golden Order loses its future. But for the "Hallowbrand" to split, they had to die at the exact same moment.
"My Lord... I believe it happened like this," Fia mused, rubbing her temples. "There can only be one 'First Dead.' But because they died simultaneously, and because Ranni only targeted her body, the logic of the world forced the other death to be one of the soul to complete the ritual requirement."
"I think Godwyn was intended to be the only initial dead," the Tarnished added. The mastermind behind the Black Knives—that certain someone—planned a complete death for Godwyn. Ranni was likely just a partner who bartered her help for a fragment of the Rune of Death to free herself.
If the timing had been perfect, Godwyn would have died fully, and Ranni would have died fully. Instead, we have this mess: a soulless living corpse and a bodiless doll.
"It means someone messed with the clock," the Tarnished muttered. "Someone meddled in the shadows to ensure both died at once, creating this paradox of the Cursemark. But who would benefit from such a chaotic result?"
"My Lord, you found Ghostflame... you encountered a Deathbird, didn't you?" Fia asked, changing the subject to the physical evidence he brought back.
"A big one," he grunted.
"It feels... very similar to the magic of my lineage." Fia closed her eyes and touched the charred residue of the Ghostflame. Despite the bone-chilling cold that would freeze a normal person's blood, she seemed unfazed. She began a low, rhythmic chant. To the Tarnished's surprise, the cold ash flickered back to life with a pale, violet-white flame.
"A small trick, My Lord. You can use this flame to locate things tied to the ancient rites of death. Just now, I saw a vision... a totem of twin birds."
She spoke of a time before the Erdtree, where death was managed by the cold Ghostflame. Souls weren't returned to roots; they were burned, purified, and ferried across a river by a skeletal boatman to the "Far Shore."
"I believe I can refine the spells of the Deathbed Companions using this insight," Fia smiled serenely. "I will become a greater strength for you, White Wolf."
Leaving the Hold, the Tarnished rested at a Site of Grace in Liurnia. Melina materialized, her brow twitching as she sensed the new presence within him.
"Hello... you within him," Melina said politely. "I am Melina. I travel with this man."
"Hello, Miss Melina! I am Asimi," the Silver Tear chirped, manifesting briefly before tucking herself back into the Tarnished's shadow.
"You're getting better at socializing, Melina," the Tarnished teased. "I'll give you a passing grade for that one."
"I am... making an effort. Though Curulla finds me a difficult conversation partner," Melina admitted. The jellyfish spirit floated nearby, bobbing as if exhausted from trying to talk to the "wooden" Melina.
"Where is the hidden lady?" Melina asked, noticing Aenophe's absence.
"She has business of her own for a while."
Melina looked slightly downcast. "I see. She and I... were somewhat alike."
"Don't worry. Next time you see her, she'll have brought a dozen more 'silent' types for you to stare at awkwardly." The Tarnished could already imagine the scene: Melina and twenty Black Knife Assassins sitting in a circle, saying absolutely nothing for hours.
"Your next destination?" Melina asked.
"Caelid."
Melina's expression turned solemn. "Be careful. Caelid is a wound on the world. But I should warn you... through the Grace, I have seen things. A group of Tarnished is moving toward Caelid. They are not like the others. They radiate a frantic, bloodthirsty aura."
"A group? Moving together?" The Tarnished frowned.
"Yes. They possess a madness I haven't seen in this age."
The Tarnished's mind went back to the old days—to the "Badlands" and the extremists who were exiled with Godfrey. There was a faction of warriors who lived only for slaughter, a bloodline that hated the Erdtree with every fiber of their being.
The descendants of the outcasts have returned, he realized. And they're heading straight for the Festival.