Does the name 'Manus' mean anything to you?

"The Great One of the Abyss, right? The Queen being a fragment. I know the basics of the story – how everything ties together. But my focus in studying the Abyss was on its practical effects. Pressurization, sedimentation… the creation of dregs in the human body…"

The Lady's Forest? Which Lady? Is that what it was called before the war?

"Eh. Some old goddess. It was part of the old cultural history of Heide. The people who lived near the forest just inherited those old traditions. Of course, there's the matter of that ring, right? And why in Drangleic, the giants left behind trees only in that place. Not in Black Gulch or anywhere else they hid. It was her."

What could Vendrick and Aldia get out of the princess that was worth three generations of war?

"Everything.

It's not like they were keeping her as political prisoner. She was the cornerstone on which all of the royal brothers' research was based, even after they took different paths.

The Drangleic we both explored was a dream. A memory nestled in the Dark. How did Aldia make that? That's not something a human thinks of. When I develop a new gonne, people will tell me that I'm a genius, that no one ever thought of it before. It's not hard to think of 'make bullet go farther' and figure it out from an existing gonne.

And yet, there were the King and the Duke. You don't just wake up one day and decide that you're going to create an entire country in an imaginary worldspace. Where would you even start?

They're geniuses, yes, but ideas don't come from nowhere. They learned all their art from the Princess. From her body, anyway."

These dread knights, are they anything like the ancient dark knights with skeletal armor?

"You speak of the ancient Darkwraiths. The forebears of Nahr Alma's Brotherhood of Blood. They were knights once, yes. But the Darkwraiths themselves were not the first. Just as Sinh or any dragon you might slay is no archdragon.

I have met the ancient Knights of Man. And I died every time those blind monsters caught my scent."

Now, I'd never been to the castle. It was constructed to celebrate the "victory" over the giants, and building a castle – especially a castle on a mountaintop in the middle of nowhere – isn't exactly speedy work. I made the dinnerware for it, of course, but that could be used before the castle itself was ready.

Really, that should have been another red flag, like the Queen who just appeared from nowhere. What sort of King builds his castle so far away? It's not like the Old Iron King hiding in his fortress. It was a castle. A castle is a show of majesty. Yet, who would make the journey to see it?

Apparently, Mytha and myself.

We walked back from the Forest, to the crossroads past Old Akelarre, and on toward the castle. As you saw later, the King had come to rely on mercenaries to protect the outermost regions. Our "victory" had nearly broken us. Our coffers were full of golden treasure taken from the outermost ring of the island, but our strength was spent.

We had to be cautious. The boy-king of Astora had a legitimate claim to the throne. If he felt like crossing the mountains, we might find ourselves overwhelmed by the old knighthood. Well, the kingdom did anyway. Mytha and I beat down those hollows the same as any others. She was disgusted by the "blasphemy" of the dragonblooded flexile sentry, of course.

Now, there's the matter of the Shrine of Winter. Its pull is irresistible. Even though it would be so simple to walk around it, no undead – no human – could walk away from it. Such was the King's enchantment. He'd sought to preserve our history there, so that anyone to succeed him would know. Only, you couldn't read the letters, could you?

They were the script of the scholarly tongue when the King's men put chisel to stone. Nearly lost now, after only a few hundred years. The short version is that the walls described the legend of the Twin Dragons and how they guided the first Vendrick, the King's grandfather. That's where the symbol of the kingdom comes from.

Well, it doesn't matter now, does it? At least not for this story. Mytha was passingly interested because of the dragons but ultimately thought it just a pale copy of the Sanctum City's shrines.

Anyway, I didn't have any trouble passing through. I clearly didn't have the four Great Souls, nor did I manage to brute force the doors by having as many souls as the King. It was already open. More on that later.

We journeyed to the heartlands, time slipping constantly forward as we did. For an undead who can forget, the journey isn't bad. For one who remembers every step of the way and for a cold-blooded reptile, it was a trial.

The rain started early. At first, it was just unpleasant. As time went on, it got worse. The mud built up, and it became harder to make any progress. Fortunately, I was wearing boots, but I had to tighten the laces or risk losing them in the muck. Mytha slowed down a lot. Trying to slither through it was like trying to swim in honey, and if she went too fast, the tip of her tail would sling it everywhere.

She got tired faster, and when she got tired, it meant both of us would spend an hour sitting there in the rain. Sometimes, we would find a tree or a rock to hide behind. They would never keep out the rain completely. We only got more and more soaked.

My armor was soaked all the way through, of course. I was damp to the bone. But Mytha was naked and cold-blooded beside. Her body didn't produce any warmth, and she had nothing which would have kept the warmth she had to start. A regular reptile in a regular rain would have just waited out the weather in some place warm and dry. We didn't have that luxury.

Not only was she slowing down because of the mud and fatigue, but she was getting sluggish. No matter how long we rested, she just wasn't springing back like she had before. She was getting sleepy because of the cold.

It's like how just because undead won't be crippled by pain, we still avoid lacerating blades. Losing too much blood is still a bad thing. Mytha was no longer limited by an ordinary human body, but she'd lost too much heat, and there wasn't a bonfire in sight.

On our third or fourth break, I said, "Mytha, do you want to head back? I think we're about halfway there, but it may only get worse, especially climbing the mountainside."

"No," she said bitterly. "No, I won't be a burden."

"Look," I said, "you've already struggled to get this far. If the cold takes you out, I don't have the strength to drag you. We can't even make a fire out here."

She hauled herself up on her spear as best she could and said, "Do you question my-"

I said, "Yes! I'm not exactly fighting material, but I had basic soldiery training and am undead now. You're not built for this, Your Highness."

"No, I'm…"

Her shoulders slumped. With her arms slack, she looked at the ground. I don't think she wanted to meet my eyes.

"I'll build something," she said. "There's got to be–"

"We're in the woods! What are you expecting to build?"

I went off a little, I'll admit. Being trapped in wet armor will make anyone cranky, but it's been worse for me ever since my ship took a direct hit on the approach to the giants' island. I had to swim to shore on the back of a powder barrel.

"I implore you," she said, "Don't make me go back alone. I could not bear the silence of that tower again. Nor do I wish to confront my sins of motherhood yet. If the burden is too great, then leave my body here to rot. Yet, take me with you."

She waved her head at me.

"That's a little drastic, don't you think?" I said, backing off. "It might be a little rough, but you could finding a place in Majula. Or if that doesn't work, at least you know the lunatics at the fight club won't hunt you down outside of the ring. I've appeciated your help, but you don't have to travel with me."

"Do you not enjoy my presence?" she said, fear creeping into her voice.

Mytha places a firm hand on Bel's shoulder.

"Do you truly mean to tell this part of the story, dear?"

"It'd be incomplete without it. I've been sparse enough on our conversations already? Did I even mention the two of us saying more than five words to each other since the War God statue?"

Mytha scratches her lip.

"No, I suppose you have not. You cut short my introduction to Drummond as well."

"Because it killed the story flow."

"I don't disagree, yet I feel I have not been given sufficient attention. What of all our conversations on the finer points of oil mixtures? Now you are going into a quite climactic conversation without sufficient narrative weight and foreshadowing. Our even-patient Monarch has not been shown the rapport we had built on our journey, beyond a handful of especially dramatic scenes.

I did warn you to write a full script when we left Blackriver Castle. Were you too distracted by the prosthetic tool schematics you got from the court physician?"

Bel pauses.

"Yes."

Sidling back into the story… It's raining, and we're both miserable. Mytha is probably about to pass out from being cold-blooded. Mytha's teary-eyed and I'm having a really awkward time dealing with her.

She asked if I didn't enjoy her presence, so I said: "Well, I've enjoyed it just fine. Why are you acting like I told you to never come back?"

"I beg your pardon, Sabela," she said quietly. "I do not know what sort of life you have lived. Every parting I have known before I met you has been final. My brother sold me to a foreign land. My husband cast me out, and my son never sought to find me until I could be of use to him. I do not even know what became of my daughters.

You are the only decent companion I have had in all these years, brief indeed as our companionship has been. I could not return to those heartless sorceresses and soulless dolls without you.

So please… carry me with you. Or let us return to that tower of poison. I will grant you whatever is in my power, until the world unravels."

I sighed. I gave a long sigh. It was fixation. I'd seen it plenty of times before. She was clinging to the first half-decent person she found. It was a shame, because she could certainly do better than a wandering tinker whose entire worth was measured in gonnes.

I looked her in the eye and said, "I'm flattered, Mytha. But I'm in the middle of a journey I'm not likely to survive, even as an undead. You'll have to find another consort, I'm afraid."

"C-consort!" she stuttered. "I hardly think you meet the basic qualifications–"

"You're right; I don't," I said, trying to end it quickly. "So it does you no good to offer me the world. Look, there's a rock wall over there. We'll take cover and try to build a fire. Maybe you'll do better and have more confidence when you're warmed up again."

"Yes. Of course," she said hesitantly. "What… what shall I do to aid you?"

"Gather whatever small wood you can find," I said as I removed my cowl.

My hair was soaked anyway, and I didn't have any real equipment with me.

"Use this as a bag. Strip bark from the trees as you pass. Take small branches as well. I've got tougher hands. I'll dig a hole to try and set a dry place for the fire."

Well, I'll leave out the rest of the emergency camping measures. The short of it is that we did manage to get a fire going. I had plenty of firedrake stone chips, so ignition wasn't an issue at least.

The rock wall we were up against would have helped with the wind, but as you know, there really isn't any around the castle. We probably should have covered under one of the trees, barren as they are.

Of course, Mytha was always naked, but now I had to strip as well since we couldn't get out of the rain. Dripping clothes means dripping body heat. And I'll tell you what, iron prosthetics get cold as the Frozen Outskirts of Eleum Loyce. But I couldn't remove those. I have a… condition. I'll get to it eventually.

Now, I'd made Mytha self-conscious with the consort line, so it took a while for her to speak. We were both huddled over the still-small fire. She had her head tucked to her chest, and I was picking mud out of my finger joints.

"Sabela," she said thoughtfully, "why are you doing this? You've mentioned getting revenge on a dragon… fighting giants… honoring the memory of the men lost under your command. That is, you have mentioned them. I beg your pardon for saying such, but it seems as though they are excuses.

You lack passion when you speak of them. I've seen passion when you have spoken of your gonnes. There is none for your vengeance. Would you be willing to explain yourself?"

I sighed. She really was quite observant. Is, I mean, as you saw earlier.

"It's not so different from what you said when we found the god statue," I said. "The world is ending. We're all going to die anyway. I just want to do something. I want all that suffering we went through to have meaning. It sure as shit didn't do anything for the kingdom in the end.

Honestly, it's more like I just want to punch something until it gives me answers. I'm not going to get anything from Aldia, and everyone else is already dead. Might as well invade the giants again."

"That seems a little callous," she said.

I grinned a little.

"See, I wasn't a good person after all. Give it some time. You can find some better friends while I'm on my halfcocked quest."

She gave me a wry look and said, "Then who shall I speak about cocks with? I hardly imagine there is another living gonnesmith in Drangleic."

Bel leans across the table for emphasis as she speaks.

"Can you imagine her making that joke? Look at her now, pretending to be all dignified and proper. All an act. Don't let her fool you."

Mytha rolls her eyes.

"Honestly, Bel, you act as I am ribald at all times. Vulgarity loses its potency if shot all over everything."

"You're doing this on purpose. It's not even funny. I need to be drunker if I'm going to have to sit through more of this."

She slams her prosthetic hand on the table to attract attention.

"Barkeep! More rice wine! Not the cheap stuff this time! The jug I brought! Yeah, the Dragonspring! Two–, no, wait. You want a cup, Your Monarchness? Or your friend?"