We all gathered about the central flame, unsure of what came next. Its color had turned to a brilliant red-orange hardly different from ordinary fire. Only, it was not ordinary fire. It was tall and wispy and seemed to fade in and out of vision. It was as if time itself interacted strangely with its light.
As we watched, shapes within it slowly became clear. Fragments of the Elden Ring which the Frenzied Flame had not been able to dissolve.
The Prince of Death rose up at once and thrust his hand into the fire. In his hand, he held an ember with a Rune within. It was a twisting, boned wheel which seemed all the more natural in his grasp.
"Ahhh," he cried, "my name. My name, my mother's secret name, at last!"
The Witch of Chaos was undaunted by the Lord's attack and took an ember with her charred hands. Her own Rune throbbed and pulsed with perverse life.
I took what remained. The Rune was a burning ring. It felt familiar, like the Flame of Ruin, but…
I didn't think on it too hard. We needed to be away from here, from this ritual site and what may have been left of the Lord. The Gloam-Eyed Queen said something, but I didn't hear it. Her brother carried her as we left the tower, hopefully for good.
We emerged to find our people cornered. Not by the pygmies. The stone archdragons had descended in force.