Is that what you've been doing since this adventure? Roaming about espousing the virtues of water treatment?

"Well, a little bit of everything. Nobody really has an answer to the problem of Flame. The best bet, as far as I see things, is to raise the overall level of human science.

Fortunately, since we've got a handful of immortals running around now, we should be able to avoid the main problem in ages past. Knowledge is lost without being passed on. Well, that's the problem itself.

The source of the problem, of course, is that the Nameless Moon is scared shitless of humans and keeps purging history. Doesn't even the guts to go for assassination. He may get desperate with someone like you running around, though."

One truth will remain. There is going to be some blasted clown.

"Well, at least it wasn't Maldron again."

Can the places that have been dragged into the Heap return from it?

"No.

Well, maybe. With a really big boat. It might be worthwhile to experiment with exactly what can be taken from there. At the end of everything, we did make off with the ultimate prize, and nothing bad seems to have happened since the giants didn't notice."

Is Aldia's illusion of Drangleic strong enough for the linking of the Fire to affect the outside world, or did he manage to snatch the real Throne of Want?

"The Throne was part of the dream, sure. But that's the power of a Throne. Actually, the Throne itself doesn't matter. It's a fetish – a focus! No dirty jokes, Mytha! It doesn't matter. The First Lord didn't need one.

It existed in the dream as a discrete goal. Something to be earned. Taken. It focused the irresistible will of one who would be Lord of Cinders. Being in a frozen dream at the bottom of a lake could hardly stop Fire."

When I woke up, I was surprised to see I wasn't at a bonfire. I squinted as I looked up and blinked a couple of times to clear my eyes. Something was wrong. I was being watched over by someone who couldn't have been there.

It was a knight in mixed plate armor which had been hammered thin and had any non-vital protections stripped away for ease of movement. Tatters of a deep red mantle and skirt hung about the dirty armor. For certain, even the most distinctive armor could be taken by another, but the way he stood was the same – legs tensed to move and one hand on the pommel of the dagger at his belt.

"D-duke Alva," I groaned as I sat up and grabbed at the blood-sticky hair on the back of my head.

I still had my prosthetics, so I knew I wasn't trapped in a flashback. I didn't think Aldia's time travel crap worked by accident either. It was the present, and for some reason, Alva had returned this hellhole before I had.

He grunted disapprovingly and said, "Just Alva, Prateiro. Why have you come?"

"I wanted a rematch against the dragon. The hell are you here?"

"To break a vow."

"You going to… elaborate?"

He just grunted and pointed up at something.

"Bel!" Mytha yelled as she swung down from the giant roots.

She'd really gotten used to using her tail since we'd met, so she was able to stretch across gaps and leap down with all the speed of a jungle snake. It probably would have been terrifying if I wasn't used to it. That said, Alva didn't flinch.

"I'm alright," I said.

I struggled to my feet as Mytha landed. Overhead, I heard the roots vibrate as the rest of our forces made their way down.

"Allow me inspect the wound," Mytha said. "Have you already used a lifegem?"

Alva interrupted: "She'll be fine. There's a bonfire not far from here." Mytha turned, and he introduced himself, "I am called Alva the Seeker. Color me surprised to see the Princess of Shulva hunting a dragon."

"You recognize me?" Mytha said.

"I recognize many things now," he said bitterly. "Yet vision is not enough. I have been trapped here, for lack of power." He paused and turned to me before continuing, "Prateiro, I hope you have brought enough to overcome the Judicator Giants… and those Knights. Else, turn back now."

"You're trapped at this bonfire?" I said.

"No," he said, gripping his dagger. "I cannot leave until I have free– until I have completed my mission. Undead tenacity is not enough. Unless you have brought the King and his dragonriders, we have little hope."

I shrugged.

"Not exactly, but I wouldn't have returned if I thought we didn't have a chance."

"You haven't changed," he said.

"Why would I?"

He grunted and started walking away.

"The bonfire is this way," he said.

Mytha stared at me expectantly, but I just shrugged again. Commoner that I was, I hadn't exactly spoken with the former duke extensively. We might have met once before we both came back from the invasion, undead. All thirty-odd undead got to know each other well enough from the King's parades and discussions and planning.

The Dukes of Alva had long been pious, but their connection to Thorolund was strained first by Ferran and then by Vendrick. However, Vendrick was more than willing to use the Way of White as a tool. The King had allowed the current Alva to practice his faith openly and granted permission for a certain nun to reform her order.

That being Saint Serreta, Alva's childhood friend.

Only, she began to suffer a wasting illness shortly after we returned from the Ringed City. Alva obtained the King's permission to travel abroad in search of a cure. In doing so, he avoided the fate the rest of us undead would suffer at Aldia's hand.

In time, there were few who didn't know the story of Alva the Wayfarer. Only, as we all know, the heroic knight failed and relinquished his honored name in disgrace.

I wanted to ask him about the stories. I wanted to ask him about the witch. Instead, I focused on making sure none of the other undead we brought bothered him about it.

The area in which we'd found ourselves was the lower floor of the keep's audience hall. Still downward it sloped, and some of our strongest had to hold our siege weapons from rolling into the far wall.

The last time I'd been here, there had been three statues. In the center, some warrior-king. To his left, a noblewoman with "large tracts of land." The statue on his right had been missing. Now, that third alcove was broken through by one of the great roots. Climbing it would let us bypass the Ringed City's canyon wall and descend to the outermost ring.

Another vine led up from the lower floor to the upper, where a bonfire stood before an inner chamber. I was a little surprised that bonfire – which had long been there before the King arrived – yet still stood.

Well, after preparing, we descended to the city below. The dim light of dusk hung over the place, frozen in time at end of day, shortly before Majula. Rather than a fiery red on the sea, a sleepy amber gleamed from golden clouds.

From the furthest point of the city, it's possible to see all within. From the advantage of the high ground, the King had commanded a devastating sack. The veneer of the city – the staggering towers and statues of human suffering – had recovered, it seemed, but the streets were lifeless now.

Worse, all along the roads were headstones. How many had we slain?

A hole punched in the top of each stone made them resemble the "giants" which had attacked Drangleic in retaliation. It was as if they'd sent their very dead against us.

Seated on a great throne at the end of this stretch was a true giant… a gaunt, stone-skinned thing shaped like a Man but four or five times our height. It wore the robes of a judge – a Judicator Giant, we had learned when we fought. They were nightmarish things which compelled law and oath beyond even death.

The one ahead of us cried out in an unknown language, and dozens of specters rose before us in ranks. The tall, frog-helmed knights of Ferran's early kingship drew their shortbows.

"Go to ground!" I screamed, remembering that first massacre when the King's men had encountered them.

Alva was well ahead of me. He had already taken cover behind some tall gravestones. Our forces hid behind the few undead with greatshields or behind our cannons. Mytha stood proudly at the head of the formation. She wrapped me in her tail and used a sorcerous shockwave to repel the arrows aimed at her.

In spite of the monstrous power of the Judicators, they can't hold their summons as long as undead. That gap was all I needed. Alva was of course already rushing to the next point of cover. He'd been trapped at that bonfire long enough to make evading the Judicator a science.

He had no need.

I'd had Mytha carry it so it wouldn't get in my way, but I'd constructed a new, revolutionary gonne using Aldia's astrological tooling. Yes, the tooling itself. I didn't just attach a telescope to the top of the gonne. I mean, I did, but there were other refinements as well.

The precision of the tooling allowed me to produce components finer than even the ones I'd used for the gonnes the King had commissioned. That let me both scale up and improve the overall design. In Catarina some years ago, a gonnesmith discovered the means of adding a spiral twist to a gonne's barrel. This technique, rifling, stablizes the shot in the same manner as an arrow's fletching.

Between the improved trajectory and the much longer, stronger barrel, I needed to bolt a telescope to the top of the gonne. Now, keeping the grooves of the barrel clean took some extra care, but do you know what curled and fit just right? Bonfire sword.

I think it imparts some form of magic to the gonne as well, but I'm not about to let that monster Aldia inspect such a dangerous weapon. Lords know we would end up haunted by Forlorn wielding them.

Mytha retrieves a covered object leaning on the wall. She extends the lower end to Bel, who pulls the enormous gonne from its cover before placing it on the table for your inspection.

The weapon is, like the others, an elaborate piece of art. Instead of featuring the royal dragon imagery of the earlier gonnes, this one has reliefs of the "Seven Angels" felling giants – the King of Drangleic, the Royal Aegis, the Fume Knight, the Looking Glass Knight, the Throne Watcher, the Throne Defender, and the Scholar of the First Sin. The white steel is the fine alloy used in Eleum Loyce, and the dark wood is clearly giant-flesh.

Giant Hunter's Rifle
A monstrous rifle used by the royal smith Sabela, who had become half-giant.
A weapon to embody a pygmy's fear and resentment, capable of felling even a proud greatwood from a safe distance.
Too cumbersome to use for counterattacks, arising from a philosophy that even being seen by some monsters is certain death.

In any case, instead of using a fork rest, I crouched and set the end on Mytha's tail. Looking through the scope, I took aim for the Judicator's eye.

The gonne cracked like thunder, and the Judicator's head burst into red mist. All eyes were on me as I reloaded the gonne and gave it back to Mytha. Each had seen horrors before, but nothing like that. Nothing which could kill such a mighty creature at such range, without even realizing it was in danger.

It wasn't that they feared me or the gonne in particular. Each realized that, as immortals, they may one day see such weapons on every battlefield. Weapons that armor cannot stop. Well, they should have realized already that armor is of little value against something like a dragon. Even against the giants, its value was dubious.

Keep that in mind. We're starting to reach the limit of human strength. And as the Dark grows, monsters will become more common. One of my clients in Catarina commissioned a number of large rifles in anticipation.

Well, what broke the silence after shooting was Alva clapping.

"Good," he said. "Without the Judicators, the others can be avoided."

Of course that jinxed us. The words had hardly left his mouth before the ground started shaking. The giants were coming.

Alva pulled a glass jar from his belt. It was full of brightbugs lazily eating some birch leaves. He unwrapped the top, grabbed one, and shut it again before the others could escape. Then he raised his visor, popped the bug in his mouth, and gave a quick chew before swallowing. He grinned at us. Have you ever seen a hollow with glowing teeth? It's disgusting.

Anyway, you know how that works. He gained the power of the stored Time in the bug. He hefted that big, curved "sword of gathering clouds" and began staring through the oncoming giants. I guess he was looking for a Judicator, because as soon as I saw one peek over the others, he ran off.

That made things easier for us, I guess. We set the ballistae and cannons in place to focus on the sheer numbers of common and warrior giant. We were finally going to use those damned acid cannons you saw lying about in the castle – to dissolve stone flesh as they were meant to instead of just destroying your equipment.

Now, the Judicators did summon more of Ferran's troops to try and destroy our weapons. Ironclad turtles swinging their greathammers about and the like. But each Judicator had to reveal himself in order to summon. And as soon as one stood up, he got a shot to the skull. This is basically a greatgonne. Maybe even an ultra greatgonne.

Thing is, we weren't there to fight giants. We weren't there to take revenge on the giants. Well, some of us probably were. But most were there because they thought battling a dragon was a great way to die at the end of the world.

Fighting the giants didn't matter. We were undead. We could die. We could lose our siege weapons. They could even corral us back to the bonfire. But none of us were scared of the giants any longer. How could we be, after seeing what Aldia had done to them? We weren't going to go hollow because of mere giants.

No, we just had to make a racket loud enough to rouse the dragon. Hopefully without going deeply enough into the Ringed City that we encountered… the Ringed Knights. Everyone was prepared for a giant, flying reptile. Seeing something "human" so deadly could cause a panic. I'm not going to explain them now, but if you ever find yourself in the Ringed City and think you've run into some of the old Darkwraiths… run. Don't look back.

Unfortunately, Mytha is actually great at commanding forces. In spite of our numbers disadvantage, we started pushing the giants back. I'm not sure what Alva was doing at the time. Looked like he was screaming at one of the spirits the Judicators summoned. Some woman with a terrible hat and ass for days.

Well, we weren't counting on him for anything anyway. I shot the Judicator near him so he wouldn't have to deal with that hexer spirit anymore. Of course, the real problem spirit-wise was the holy knight with antlers on his helm and a hammer bigger than the Iron King's sense of entitlement. I'd hoped to keep some of our equipment for when the dragon appeared, but there was nothing we could do to hold him back once he'd been successfully summoned.

They were certainly throwing everything at us. At last, we heard a low rumble and the rush of wings. I yelled for Aldia's men to prepare. The dragon – four-winged, terrible, and glimmering with Abyssal crystals – rose from beneath the city.