4. Mirrorlink Shrine

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When he awoke, he was somewhere else entirely.

The man rose drowsily as confusion set in. He stared about, certain that he had fallen asleep mere moments ago, resting beside his new companion. Now, suddenly, he found himself at the top of a steep mountain peak, on a plateau of worn stone and fresh green grass. For a moment, he ignored everything else and ran his fingers through the gentle blades, unable to recall the last time he had done so.

Besides the grass, there was an enormous white tree that reached far into the dark sky, its knotted branches barren and mangled. It was dying, withered down to the roots, and even the rocks around it were loosened and falling apart. Encircling the tree was a series of stone archways, each one bearing a unique design. These too showed signs of decay, however, and most were broken in half or crumbled away entirely, their engravings lost to time.

Within the archways was also a bubbling well, its clear waters contained by a ring of seamless stone. The fountain was carved entirely from one piece, and unlike the rest of the pinnacle, it was in pristine condition, showing not even a crack along its masterfully crafted design. Etched in the sides were impressions of animal heads — a lion, a wolf, a hawk, a serpent, and more — which trickled rivulets of water from their mouths, streaming down the mountainside and blessing it with fertile growth.

He stood abruptly as he noticed another's presence. A woman stood before the well, dressed in a plain grey robe with her back to him. All he could see of her was shimmering raven hair, woven into a four-strand braid that fell below her knees. She chanted softly as if in prayer, and the man stepped closer to listen, unable to resist the temptation.

"Wayward dreams, forgotten echoes of the soul's longing, hear mine voice. Shed light and cast thine shadow, take root within me. Find peace within these placid waters. Retreat to the emptiness beyond our will, where the vanquished assume new form..."

Her chanting suddenly ceased. The hairs of his neck stood on end as the woman turned to look directly at him, even though her eyes were concealed behind a diamond tiara. Her blue-tinged lips were slightly parted, not in astonishment or concern, for it was all but impossible to judge her fair expression. Then, she spoke in a melodious voice.

"Art thou an awakened? Or merely another figment of mine imagination?"

He could not help but stare in awe at her ethereal beauty. She held out a single, fragile hand, and the man approached without fear, extending his own in greeting. As they touched, he realized her fingers were incredibly shriveled and pruned, like an old maid's, which stood in stark contrast with her ageless face.

"Yes, I see," she nodded, returning her hand to her side. "Thou art indeed lucid. I welcome thee, Lucid One, to the Well of Attunement. I am the Well Maiden. I have tended to these waters for ages past, and shall also tend to thee, if thou'st want."

The man looked past her to the well, entranced by its pure waters. The surface reflected the world to perfection, marred only by a constant ripple that extended outwards from the center. After a moment, he realized there was a steady pulse that coincided with the ripple, as if the mountain itself had a beating heart.

"A great calamity hath befallen the kingdom," the maiden addressed him gravely. "The Watchers have failed in their duties, and the Demons' curse yet awakens. Only a true champion can undertake the quest to halt the destruction, and restore peace to the land. Tell me, Lucid One, art thou a champion?"

He hesitated before admitting the truth.

"Then thou must become one. To this end, thou must retrieve the remnants of the Lordbrandts, the divine blades wielded by the Four Watchers. Only these may put the Demons to rest."

Then, the Well Maiden turned and made her way through one of the fallen archways, leading to a path down the mountainside. She glanced back at the silent figure. "Please follow me, Lucid One. There is another who would wish to speak to thee."

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He followed her down a broken staircase, built directly into the mountain itself. It spiraled around the steep crags, and the pair made at least two loops before coming to a massive opening in the rocky face. There were great bars embedded into the stone, each one nearly as wide as the man himself, but he barely noticed their presence. Instead, he stared past them to what they contained.

Beyond the barred window was a massive cavern, churning with flame and noise. It was furnished like a blacksmith's shop, complete with anvil and smelter, but enlarged to incredible proportions. Hunched over the forge was an impossibly large figure, his gargantuan size dwarfing his surroundings. He had skin like molten metal, and gouts of lava burst from cracks in his flesh. He head was encased in a golden helm, with vertical slits for sight, and from its collar stretched a thick gold chain that bound him to the wall. In his fist, a weighty hammer rose and fell with steady precision. It never faltered in its rhythm, at least until the Well Maiden spoke softly.

"Volk, an awakened hath come to visit us."

She was barely audible beneath the giant's din, but he heard her nevertheless, and ceased his hammering. He slowly shifted his massive frame to face them, causing the ground to quake. "Oh?" his gravelly voice rumbled through the mountainside. "You bring weapons? I forge weapons. Make whole."

"No, Volk," the Wall Maiden spoke patiently. "He is new. Thou must speak of the Lordbrandts."

"Oh," the faceless giant echoed. "I am Volk. Titan smith. You find weapons. Lordbrandts. I make whole. Lordbrandts broken. Xyne, Abator, betray us. You find weapons. I make whole. I make right."

The man could not believe his eyes. He was seeing an actual titan, something he had only heard of in myths. He could barely think, much less nod, but he could not refuse this godlike being.

"You take." The giant lifted a small tray between his rugged fingers, and it seemed like he might crush the thin metal, but he placed it carefully on the barred windowsill without incident. The tray held a small emerald flask, similar to his sapphire one, but filled with a glowing gold substance instead of water.

"Estus. It help you. Make strong." The man reached through the bars to retrieve the emerald flask, finding it quite warm to the touch, and nodded in thanks. To his surprise, the titan returned the gesture, causing his heavy chain to groan and shake the mountain's walls.

As the great golem of flame and metal shifted his bulk back to the forge, the man noticed something peculiar about his leg. The majority of the titan's bronze skin was covered in golden slabs, resembling patchwork armor, yet his left leg was encased in charred silver instead. It was the only mismatched piece of armor on his person. Sturdy rods ran along the thigh and shin guards, and were fastened into his very flesh. When the blacksmith turned, he dragged this silver leg across the floor with a grinding screech.

"Come," the Well Maiden interrupted his observations. "Our time grow'th short, and thou must soon return to the waking world." She led him back up the spiraling stairs, and soon, the blacksmith's hammer faded to a distant beat.

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As they ascended the narrow mountain, the man looked upward, and realized the sky was no longer there. There were no clouds, no sun or stars. All around them was pitch black, an impenetrable void that isolated the precipice. He looked far below, but could only see similar spiky mountains, forming a long ridge that stretched far into the shadows and out of sight. The only source of illumination was the shrine itself, especially the glistening white tree, which shined like a beacon of hope amidst the emptiness.

As the maiden resumed her place beside the well, she spoke, "Lucid One, thou shalt soon awaken. Please, find solace in the dream while thou'st able, and take what thou would for nourishment. The waters of this well are pure, and shall always flow for thee."

The man gladly obliged, and drank from the plentiful fountain. His body was perfectly fine in this dream, reverted to its natural state, no longer broken and burned by the angel's divine wrath. The waters refreshed his body, but that was not what truly ailed him. He suffered from a lack of understanding, from a dearth of knowledge. It was not that he doubted this innocent maiden, he simply did not understand.

As he sat beside the well, he recalled that his personal effects were still about him. His fingers passed over the sapphire flask and silver cane, then fell upon the leather-bound book, which he still had not opened. With time to spare, he realized he may not get another chance, and looked inside. To his dismay, the writing was in some foreign language, and the rough sketches granted him only a vague understanding of its contents. It was a hand-written journal, likely authored by Tensen, the scholar who had gifted it to him. There were intricate designs and symbols that filled entire pages, no doubt transcriptions of divine miracles, and the man sorely wished he could decipher their meaning.

With a faint hope, he turned to the Well Maiden to show her the pages. She offered no reaction behind her diamond tiara, but eventually bowed her head. "My apologies, Lucid One. I know'th not the mortal language, but perhaps the little snake might be able to assist thee. He is said to speak many tongues. He rests within the spirit tree, if thou wish to seek his counsel."

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With renewed optimism, the man approached the great tree, peering through its leafless branches for this supposed snake. However, he spotted nothing but vines and bell-blossoms wrapped around its peeling trunk. He circled a few times, looking high and low, until he caught the faint flicker of a purple tongue. He found the creature coiled around the base of the branches, just long enough for the tip of its tail to rest beneath its hairless chin. Its leather skin was an ivory white, blending in perfectly with the bleached bark, and violet crescents tipped each scale in a shimmering display of vibrancy.

"Hmm? And who are you, to stand so boldly before a coiled serpent?"

The man was taken aback. Despite the Well Maiden's description, he had not entirely expected the snake to talk, and stared dumbfounded in response. The creature's voice carried a youthful tenor, elegant yet brimming with confidence, neither deep as a man's nor soft as a woman's. "Speak, mortal. What would you ask of me?" His reason escaped him, and he could only manage a slight shrug.

"Well, aren't you an odd one," the serpent mused in a languid tone. "Most mortals keep their distance when they spot a snake. They think us evil things, bred for cruelty and deception, but that is not true! You can always spot a liar by his nervous speech, his blinking eyes, his sweaty palms. We snakes never blink, and we never sweat. We are God's most honest creatures, to be sure."

Ironically, the man blinked, but could not find fault in the creature's logic. "What is your name, manling?" He shrugged again helplessly. "Do you not have a name?" After a slight hesitation, he nodded. "Can you not speak?" He cast his eyes to the ground involuntarily, and shook his head in shame.

"How curious. Well, in any case, you can call me Ryn, and I will admit that I find your company more tolerable than most. Your eyes are open, your gaze unwavering... quite like a serpent's, in fact... Tell you what, manling. You needn't ask anything of me. Just bring me whatever fancies you, and I shall do the talking."

The man gripped the journal's spine, but hesitated despite himself. Finally, he raised it for the serpent to see. "Hm, a book?" Ryn raised its head in mild curiosity. "How quaint. Place it in the branches before me. Don't be afraid, I won't bite."

Despite the unnerving assurance, he steeled himself and obliged. He nestled its open cover into the branches until it stuck fast, then stepped back as the snake used its tail to flip lazily through the pages. "Ah, a journal, no doubt kept by some foolhardy explorer. It seems he ventured into the Creche of his own accord, hoping to learn the secrets of the angels, but dug too deep and angered the Eye of Ogden. Those are not the sort of angels to grant mercy, you know."

The man subconsciously held his side, remembering the angel's mercy all too well. "Surprisingly," Ryn continued, "He still managed to transcribe some of their miracles. Such divine insight will take time to decipher, but I assure you, it will all be ready on your next return."

Although this creature had given him no reason for distrust, the man was reluctant to part with the journal. "Oh, come now," the serpent admonished him. "I would never lie to you, friend. My eyes remain open, and as they say, eyes are windows to the soul."

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As he returned to the Well Maiden, she gazed at him with a blank expression, though the air around her felt ready to snap with tension. "Lucid One, thou must awaken now," she spoke somberly. "The harmony doth quickly fade. I beg of thee, inherit thy destiny. Relieve the Watchers of their duties, and return the Demons to the depths from whence they came.

"To recover the first shard, thou must seek the Four Cardinals, secluded within the Basilica of Saint Andros. The path is guarded by divine protection, which can only be broken by ringing the Bells of Clarity in unison. The path shall be arduous, and the journey deadly, but thou must persevere for all our sakes."

As a thousand questions raced through his mind, with no way to voice them, the world suddenly began to spin and blur. The man rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision of the murky haze, but he was overcome by a debilitating slumber. The last thing he heard before collapsing was a distant chime, ringing faint and steady in a single unwavering tone.

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He bolted upright, blinking away the slight frost that formed around his lashes. He was back in the white birch forest, seated beside the shining beacon. It was still night, as far as he could tell, as if no time had passed since his slumber.

The only difference was that the stranger, Morrow, was nowhere to be found. In his place was a folded note, pinned down by a prism of clear-white crystal. The man picked up the prism and turned it over, noticing a strip of pale cloth tied around its center, then carefully unfolded the letter. To his surprise, he recognized this language, though he struggled to recall the symbols. As he sat and studied, their meaning eventually became clear to him.

"Nameless One," it addressed him. "Please don't think me rude. I awoke blessed with motivation, and could not afford to squander it. I have gone ahead to see where this trail may lead. You can try to catch up, if you're feeling brave. Best of luck to you."

He felt equally elated and dejected at the same time. He had made a friend, but that friend had disappeared into the unknown. As he read the letter a second time, he lingered on the title. In such a short amount of time, he had acquired so many names. Awakened, Lucid One, Nameless One... None of these were his true name, though. He could not tell anyone what it was, but he would always remember it, at least.

The man repeated it to himself, just to be sure, then rose from his resting spot. He pocketed the strange crystal as he stared up the cliffs, piercing through the veil of roiling clouds, and readied himself for the long climb ahead.

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Appendix

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Emerald Flask — A flask that contains a peculiar elixir called Estus. Restores stamina and spirit. The origin of Estus is shrouded in mystery, but its effects are undeniably useful. Its invigorating warmth fuels the soul, pushing it beyond supposed boundaries.

White Soapstone Shard — A relic of ancient times. When broken, it can summon the aid of a pale phantom. The soapstones are said to be blessed crystals, and resonate across time and space.