The woman opened her eyes slowly, quickly coming back to wakefulness. She never truly slept, had no need to, but over the centuries she had formed a habit of resting her eyes when the night rose into the sky outside, as seen in the one window she had to the world outside, where she could see the first rays of the morning sun. The glade around her was silent as the grave, as it always was. The roots of the tree above her were thick and strong down here, forming a barrier around the pool at the glade's center. With her left hand, her good hand, she reached out and touched the bark of the nearest root. It gave way under her touch, the pale wood turning white and then crumbling to dust. She would have petted the root to comfort it, apologise for her own touch, but she knew it would do no good. With a sigh she sat back into her chair, caressing the stories decorated into the sacred wood. She knew the stories, of course, better than most. She featured in most of them, after all. Her and her siblings and half-siblings.
She had spent her youth with them. Looking up at the night-sky with her half-sister. Bouts of fighting and athleticism with her half-brother, and simply talking with her younger brother. Of all her siblings, of which she had many, her younger brother was the most dear to her. Even when they were children, they had always been together. He was weak, but she was strong. She could be reckless and prideful, whereas he was calm and gentle. When the War came and shattered their world, she had wanted to stay by his side, fight his battles. But it had not turned out that way. The War took them to different places, and their battles were not the same. She could not have fought his battles, as much as he could not have fought hers. It was still her greatest shame, and the reason she lived in this glade, now that the world had passed itself by.
She wondered, too, where her half-brother had gone. Last she had seen him had been during the War, for they had fought. Even as children they had been competitive, each striving to outdo the other and thus bringing out the best of both of them. As they grew into adults and the War forced them onto their own paths, that competitiveness turned to rivalry. They became enemies, leaders on opposing sides. There was a great battle, and they met on the battlefield. It was no a friendly duel as in their childhood, but a fight to kill their opponent, a battle to the death. Neither had won that battle. She had kept her title as the Undefeated, and her brother had lost his mind, his coherence shattered by his battle-lust. Isolated as she had become, she could not say what had become of him. She hoped he was well, in spite of himself.
A sound brought her out of her reverie. At the far edge of the glade was a door that led up and into the city that surrounded the glade. She had gone through it once to come to this place. People had prostrated themselves at her feet, but any that touched her had cried out in agony as their bodies rotted. Now they contented themselves with guarding the city, and her, from any that sought her out.
Through the lone window, a setting sun could be seen, the rays turning the rot in the air to pale gold.
There was a man there, at the door. After a moment she recognised him. He had been here before, many times. She had killed him each and every time, his lives ending upon the edge of her sword. It would seem he had come again to be humbled. She rose from her seat and, kneeling to the floor, put on her right arm and helmet.
"You know my name, Tarnished. Have you come to your death again?" She said. The man made no reply, instead he lowered the visor of his helmet and readied his own swords. Through the slit in his helmet she could see the man's eyes. Steel-grey and with a warrior's look. Perhaps this time might prove more diverting than all the others.
This was no friendly bout. This was to be a battle to the death, to again prove her title as the Undefeated. But it felt like the onset of a duel as they approached each other in slow, measured steps until they met at the centre of the glade, flower-petals dancing in the water as they circled each other. Eventually the man struck and the woman parried and countered, but the man stopped the attack with his own weapon. So they danced, each testing the skills of the other, each attack stopped and countered. The man was different from the other times he had come. His eyes gave not a hint of fear or hesitation as the woman's sword passed his head by inches.
For a brief moment the woman was transported back to that long-ago battle-field with her half-brother, each pushing their bodies and skills to their limits to overcome their opponent. The woman realised she would have to do the same here, but the man matched her every effort. This was a battle of the ages, performed alone with no one to see it. And yet, the woman felt eyes upon her, different ones than the warrior-steel of the man she fought. The rays of the setting sun outside had faded, leaving a deepening dusk.
Their fight carried on until dusk had faded and left only night. The man was growing tired, and an attack that he would have easily parried at the outset slipped past his guard and cut open his vest, leaving a section to fall open on his right. There the woman saw a mark that carried fell omens; a burn-scar that had left the flesh black and twisted, carrying up the man's shoulder and onto his back.
"Death itself has humbled you as well, I see." The woman said and took a step back.
The man made no reply, instead gripping the slashed vest and ripping off the sleeve of his right arm.
"Who are you, Tarnished, that you would throw yourself upon such dangers?" The woman asked, on her guard against surprise attacks.
"I have no name. I serve only Lady Ranni." The man said. At that moment, the woman saw the ring gleaming on the man's right hand. A crest she had not seen since before the War. The crest of Carian royalty.
"I will see her quest fulfilled, no matter the cost."
The woman looked up and saw the night sky through the singular window with a resplendent full moon.
"So this is your gambit, half-sister." She said.
Without another word, the two clashed again. Their swords sparked and water splashed as they met in the pool. The woman attempted to end the fight then and there but the man slipped past her attack and struck, his own weapon slicing into her body. He had been silent throughout the fight but now he gave a great cry and pushed through, cutting her open.
Her blood spilled onto the flowers and into the water. With a curse she collapsed, her good arm held to the wound, but within moments she fell to the ground, her strength failing. With a cry of pain she pushed herself onto her side. The man was standing some distance away, weapon at the ready, saying nothing.
She could feel it pushing. Her godhood asserting itself, her Empyrean nature forcing itself to the fore that she might crush this invader and reduce him to rot, and survive. But she was tired. She had had a long existence. Longer, it felt, than the world in which she had lived. Longer, she was sure, than she deserved. She missed her siblings, her brother most of all. Maybe she could see him again, on the other side.
So she fought back against herself. Pushed against her godhood even as her body began to fail, but it was strong. Her godhood did not desire to die, not yet. But she was the Undefeated. Even if she was about to lose that title, she refused to do so to herself, to her own nature.
"Ranni, Radahn, Miquella. I'll see you soon."
The full moon sparkled as she closed her eyes for the last time.
I apologise for any lore-inconsistencies within this story. I am still going through my own first playthrough and as such I have yet to see the full picture myself, and I decided not to do deliberate research for this story so that I would not spoil myself.