The capital is unapproachable for days.
She watches from the Sites of Grace in the mountains as the Flame of Frenzy consumes the Erdtree, spilling into the sky above it. As it spreads out to Leyndell, lines of yellow cinder racing across it in the pattern of fingerprints. As the sky above burns in shades of red and purple, like the pressure of the flame has bruised the world itself.
As she burns.
Burns with Black Flame.
She does not know why. Her memories are still missing. But she burns with Black Flame, and she is darkened accordingly. Her hair turns black, as does her Blade of Calling and the fire she calls forth from it. The sight in her right eye is burned out, yet the sight in her left is restored. And she is freed from the Sites of Grace. Her body turned physical with the weighty Black Flame.
It is strange, but welcome. As the Frenzied Flame consumes the Erdtree, the Sites of Grace vanish. Without them and without this new body and blessing of Black Flame, she would not be able to fulfill her duty.
To deliver the Lord of Chaos their due.
Destined Death.
The Godslaying Black Flame.
When the Erdtree and Leyndell have been largely burnt out, she enters them. She finds the ashes of Torrent and holds his whistle as it burns away entirely. She swears her vengeance, and then she finds the steps of the Lord of Chaos. Burnt black into the ground, melting the ash and soil underneath, smoldering with yellow embers.
And then she walks alongside them. She traces their path out of Leyndell, across the Altus Plateau, and through the Lands Between. Chasing the wave of yellow Frenzied Flame sweeping through the land, assuredly in the wake of the Lord of Chaos.
She passes by the inhabitants of the Lands Between, every single one blackened and frozen in that horrific position. Kneeling on the ground, back arched, hands clawing out their own eyes as they stare up at the eye-like swirl of Frenzied Flame hanging high in the sky. Each turned mad by its gaze, eaten from the inside out by its heat.
She passes by the structures that had dotted the landscape which are now slowly caving in. Scorched by iridescent fingerprints and cracking under their weight, as if they were slowly being crushed by flaming, invisible hands. In the face of such sheer force, wood is turned to charcoal and stone crumbles to dust and ash.
She passes by the burnt out Sites of Grace, now little more than piles of ash smoldering with yellow embers, as if they had each been suddenly set alight by Frenzied Flame in the same moment the Erdtree had. For all she knows, they very well may have been. The yellow Flame of Frenzy may have truly scorched Grace itself, racing across it to burn everything it touched.
She passes it all by, the landscape of the true end of the world, and she wonders how she ever let it get this far.
In hindsight, it perhaps should have been obvious. They wielded incantations of the Frenzied Flame with almost gleeful enthusiasm and skill. She had excused it because of the incantations' power. In pursuit of the throne against impossible odds, unsavory methods must understandably be used. Every advantage must be taken. This she told herself, even as she wondered why the Tarnished could wield them without they themself falling to the madness they inflicted.
She ignored when they wielded Vyke's Warspear and the yellow flame within.
She ignored when they slaughtered the residents of the Volcano Manor with a dark joy.
She ignored how the light faded from their eyes as they journeyed further and further into the Lands Between.
She ignored much.
Perhaps if she had not, she would have seen them for the monster they were. She would not have aided them, granted them the strength of runes, left Torrent in their care… she would not have let it get this far.
And yet…
And yet she remembers how they had looked upon her during their first meeting. Wide-eyed, almost like a child watching their mother, all awe and devotion. They had told her later they had been happy to meet someone who did not want them dead. Who wanted to help them. It had reminded her of a babe, only more so when they said they had no memories from before they awoke. That had, in particular, endeared them to her.
She had felt a sort of kinship with them after that.
She remembers how kindly they had treated Boc. The nights they would spend alongside Kale's campfire, regaling him with tales of their exploits across the Lands Between.
She remembers how they would do the same with her. As they passed time for one reason or another, they would sit beside her and talk. She could only see from the Sites of Grace, after all. Every tale of yet another merchant in a strange place, of yet another foe felled, of yet another artifact uncovered, recipe discovered, and strange individual met was one she enjoyed.
She remembers how they would indeed share their thoughts, their ambitions, and the principles they would follow. How they would raise the demi-humans, the Misbegotten, the Omens, and the Tarnished up. How they would create schools and courts of law to bring further equality and justice to the Lands Between. How they would treat all citizens with kindness and gentleness. All in quiet whispers as she held their hand, channeling runes into strength.
She knows them as what they were now: lies. Lies to deceive her, trick her, beguile her into aiding them on their journey of madness.
And yet…
And yet…
She remembers how they had sought out the Prattling Plate for Boc. How they told him he was beautiful, even when he was by all rights useless to them. His skill with a thread was truly mediocre at best, yet they had gone out of their way to be kind to him.
She remembers how they had spared the young girl Rya and the cowardly knight Diallos, even when they had attempted to strike them down for their slaughter of the other manor's inhabitants. The quiet words they had exchanged with them afterwards. The hunt through the manor to reveal Rya's origin to her, and the quiet days spent with Diallos in Jarburg. How they would play with Jar-Bairn and the other Living Jars.
How, with their own two hands, they buried Rya after she slit her own throat and Diallos after he gave his life for the Living Jars.
How they had wept for so long over their graves.
How they had buried and wept over Miriel and the many traveling merchants struck down by the Bell-Bearing Hunter. How they had hunted him down and burnt him to ash with the Flame of Frenzy in revenge.
She remembers the great journeys they undertook for the sorceresses Sellen and Ranni, for seemingly no reason other than to be kind. The camaraderie they shared with the Living Jar Alexander, despite his uselessness in battle beside them. The long hunt for Deathroot they went on for Gurranq and how they would not strike him in his moment of crazed frenzy. The way had merely stood silent and still where they struck him down in Farum Azula, eyes burning too hot with Frenzied Flame for tears.
They had buried Iji and Blaidd both, then Edgar and Irina, making sure each pair were together. D as well, after he had been struck down by Fia. She remembers their relentless pursuit of her in revenge, and the scorching of her repulsive Prince of Death, using the Flame of Frenzy yet again. She remembers how they had cut the Dung Eater down the second they could, burning him thoroughly to mad ash.
They had borne Kenneth Haight's insufferable arrogance with a smile and remained a steadfast friend to Nepheli Loux, helping raise her up to Lord of Limgrave. They had paced beside the Site of Grace looking sick when they realized Hyetta did not know she was eating human eyes. They had begrudgingly continued feeding them to her when she asked them to.
White-Faced Varre and his detestable master Mohg had been cut down by them, terrible anger guiding their spear both times. They carried Miquella's corpse, twisted and bloated by the horrible rites inflicted on him in his last moments, all the way back to his sister. Lain him against the crimson flower of rot she had become, alongside his niece Millicent.
She remembers it all, heard downplayed in the stories they had shared with her and then seen from the Sites of Grace where she had hidden herself, invisible and watching. The kindness they had thrown around so carelessly and naively. The sense of justice that had seemed to guide every swing of their spear and casting of their spells.
She remembers, and she wonders why. Why they had delved into those depths below the capital and let themself be scorched by the Three Fingers, why they bore the Frenzied Flame despite the havoc it would wreak, why they would forsake all the good in the world, deciding to incinerate it all indiscriminately.
She wonders, but she does not know.
They are sat beside the Site of Grace where they had first met. Limgrave burns around them, no different than the rest of the Lands Between. Behind her Stormveil Castle crumbles, the thorned roots that had entangled it before now flaking away as black ash. Nepheli Loux, Kenneth Haight, and Gatekeeper Gostoc dead and maddened in its throne room, eyes turned toward that terrible eye above Leyndell, even as the walls of the castle blocked it from their view.
Simply another reminder of their sins.
"Why?" she asks them simply, her tone as detached as ever. It is both easier and harder now than it ever was before to actually feel the same.
Easier because they no longer resemble her Tarnished. Their body is burnt beyond recognition, the metal plating of their armor welded to their skin. Their head is gone entirely, the neck a blackened stump, and a swirling mass of Frenzied Flame hanging above that hurts to look at. From here, they can pretend they were not once her Tarnished, her companion, and instead they have always been the Lord of Chaos.
Harder because she hates them. She hates them more than anything else in the world for what they've done. For what they threw away. For either how they lied to her or how they changed. For what they will make her do to them. It is difficult to keep the venom filling her from head to toe out of her voice.
"My death will not stop it." Their voice is voice strange and distorted, sounding like how that horrible, twisted flame looks. "The kindling was lit, and the fire has spread. All that is left now is to weather the storm before the calm."
Her hand tightens around her blade.
She knows it cannot be stopped. That is perhaps the most infuriating, hateful part of this all. No matter what she does to them, the Flame of Frenzy will consume this world and everything beyond it. As the Lord of Chaos, they have won. In every conceivable way.
"Tell me, Tarnished, why?" she asks again, raising her blade. Black Flame dances along the edge.
Several seconds pass again in silence.
Then, "You would have burnt yourself in my stead."
"As I should have." She lets the words drop heavy, enunciating every syllable clearly as if she were speaking to a child. "I chose my path. I set my heart on the world I would have had. Insead, you chose to steal it all from me."
"But you are alive." They finally turn what remains of their head to look at her. Their invisible gaze makes her skull ache and burn.
"For now," she replies, with as venomous a tone as she can manage. "The Flame of Frenzy will take me soon enough."
Her Tarnished nods slowly. "But for now, you live. Longer than you would have otherwise."
"Long enough to have seen you cast aside your mask," she spits. "I know now the madness and evil that lurked below your beguiling lies."
"They were not lies," replies her Tarnished, the words coming far quicker than the others have. She would say they even sound defensive were it not for the even tone with which they spoke them.
"If that is true then pray tell what were they?" She is unable to keep herself from raising her blade threateningly. "Were they your real self? If so, did it truly take only a few words from a possessed corpse and insane spirit for you to turn mad and forsake all that you were before?"
They do not reply for several seconds. They stretch on so long she half convinces herself to merely kill them now without waiting for their reply.
"I could not lose you." Their voice is a whisper, as if they are imparting a secret upon her. "My ambition was not worth your life."
For a moment, she's shocked into silence. She stares at them, feeling a maelstrom of emotions within her. Rage. Hate. Sadness.
"And so you chose to rise as the Lord of Chaos?" she says finally, the barest hint of disgust lacing her tone. "You chose to damn existence in its entirety for I?"
Another stretch of silence, and then, "Did you see what was hidden below the capital? Between the Sites of Grace?"
It is such a strange change in topic that she spends a moment staring at them in confusion. "I did not," she replies eventually. "My perception was limited to only those places soaked in Grace. The Sites, and that of Leyndell, bathed in the golden light of the Erdtree."
Her Tarnished nods slowly, as if they expected this.
"Corpses," they say quietly. "Hundreds. Perhaps a thousand. Of the tribe Kale and his kin descended from. Imprisoned and locked away for heresy, turned insane because of it. They chanted a song of despair so terrible it summoned the Flame of Frenzy." A pause, and then they look up at her. "It is not madness that Frenzied Flame inflicts. It is knowledge. Of the terrible horror that permeates this world in its entirety."
She stares at them in shock, and they take it as permission to continue.
"I have met many people since I awoke, called by the Guidance of Grace." Their voice drops in volume with every word, as if they were being pulled back into their very memories. "If they were not already victims of tragedy, then they quickly met it. Sometimes it was both. This world does not tolerate kindness, Melina. It does not tolerate goodness. It will stamp it out, wherever it can find it, sooner or later. In its place, it will raise up evil and despair. The Frenzied Flame will burn it all away. Melt it until it is One again."
A pause.
"That is the path you chose?" she asks, voice quiet but incredulous. "You could suffer not the injustices of this world long enough to right them, instead deciding to turn them to ash alongside everything good. That is… it is well and truly a pathetic and cowardly path."
"They cannot be righted." The certainty in their voice astounds her. "They are written into the very fabric of this world, no more immutable than the sun or the stars. I could not change them if I tried, and so they are not worth you."
Her grip on her blade tightens once more, and she feels her lips purse.
"Are these few remaining days we will spend together truly worth so much to you?"
They nod slowly.
"Please," they say, voice sounding oh so much like it had not so long ago, before they had let themselves be taken by the Flame of Frenzy. Candid and gentle and kind.
She expects them to say more, but they don't. They leave it at that one word. A simple affirmation and request in one, begging them to do exactly as she said: stay here with them as the world melts away.
They may be lying. Or they may be mistaken, speaking the truth they believe. It is possible Frenzied Flame will simply leave this world a maddened husk of ash instead of returning it to this One.
But even if that is true, it is as they said before. Their death will mean nothing. The Flame of Frenzy has already been unleashed with the world as its kindling, and it will run its course no matter what either of them do. That much is true.
"I sought you to deliver what is yours," she says softly, half to herself. "Destined Death."
"You can," they reply, just as softly. "I will not retaliate."
"Even when you have doomed me to ash already?"
They nod. "Even then."
And then they fall silent, head bowed. As if they are awaiting her judgment. Which they are, she supposes.
She stares down at them, blade heavy in her hand. She could plunge it into the swirl of flame above their neck, replace its yellow with her black. Destined Death has been unleashed, and the Godslaying Black Flame is all the stronger for it.
They are correct, however. It would do nothing. The Flame of Frenzy has already been unleashed, and it will consume all, no matter the fate of its Lord of Chaos.
And despite it all, they are still her Tarnished. Hers, and no-one else's. Perhaps she is simply much more sentimental than she should be.
She sits beside them once more. The Site of Grace between them is gone, replaced by blackened ash and yellow embers.
From here, she can feel the heat of them. Their skin is assuredly scorching, a conduit for the relentless Frenzied Flame.
"What comes after the One?" she asks, and their shoulders crack and flake away as they shrug.
"I do not know." They bother not to hide the relief in their voice. "It was fractured once before, however. Split into the world we know. Perhaps it will be again. If it is, I can only hope it will be kinder."
She nods. After a moment, she holds her hand out.
"Share it with me," she says in a whisper. "The world you would hope to be born from the ashes of this one."
There is only a second of hesitation before they reach out to grasp her hand. The heat is scorching, melting her skin and flesh, blackening her bones. But it is her dear companion's hand. Her Tarnished's hand, hers. She will bear the pain and the heat so that she may hold it once more before the end of all things comes.
They speak. They share with her their hopes, their dreams, and their fears.
She listens.
There is naught else left to do, after all. She could scream, and cry, and rage, ruin their body with Black Flame and scar the world with it. But soon it would be melted away by Frenzied Flame, as surely as water carries away dirt and blood. As surely as night comes after day, chaos will take this world before reducing it to the calm serenity of homogeneity. The storm and the calm.
For her. Perhaps for others by the end of it, but she was the catalyst which set them down this path. Her proposed death so abhorrent in their mind that they sank themself even further into the Frenzied Flame than allow her it. Even that may have been truly for themself, but… she would like to believe it was for her.
All of it, for her.
