"May I have word, Geralt?"

Geralt descended from the last aerial branch. Lighting Igni, he saw Rogier leaning on a wall, staring deep at the scene before them: ruins of the Stormveil Castle's undergrounds forming a long dark tunnel. Rays of sunlight shone upon stilled Deathroots, raising a silhouette on the unfathomably endless dark depths. A charming place, Geralt thought as he walked towards the sorcerer. "What is it?"

Rogier turned to him, though his eyes kept fixed at the dark depths, "It's regarding Gostoc; I can't help but feel you do not want to rip his heart out."

Geralt raised an eyebrow, "Why would I want that?"

"You may not want it now, but you will, in time," said Rogier, "For you see, Gostoc will betray you, should the opportunity arise, and around here in Stormveil, gruesome opportunities are simply ample."

Under his snarky voice, Geralt found a bitter and resentful massage hiding behind the curtain of sarcasm, "Speaking from experience?"

"Yes," came the reply, "Though it's a memory I do not wish to revisit."

"Fair enough," said Geralt as he turned again at the arena before him, thinking for another question, "What's our plan now?"

"We follow the Deathroots until we find the Prince of Death."

"Prince of Death," Geralt repeated, a sour taste on his lips as he uttered the title, "How can a man claim death when he himself would one day fall to it?"

"He is not a man, Geralt," said Rogier, "He is a God, who bears Destined Death."

"Is that a special kind of death or is it just a fancy name?"

That made Rogier chuckle as he finally turned his eyes away from the darkness, "Think of what death is in your world, is it living anew, or is it eternal vanishment?"

Geralt raised an eyebrow. He was familiar with the idea of regrowth, Vampires did it, so did Ghouls and Alghouls, but to be resurrected? He had only ever hear of that in fiction. His eyes fled to Gostoc, who was descending through the branches. Was he deemed to live again after his death? Such a sorry creature could not die forever. Now that's a fate worse than death. He turned back to Rogier, "So, Destined Death is resurrection? You die and will be born again?"

Rogier smiled and shook his head, "Resurrection and Destined Death are two different types of death. The former is what Queen Marika cursed us Tarnished and all other creatures in the Lands Between with, and the Destined Death is what a normal cycle of life preserved, but was taken away from us by the Golden Order."

So many specific names, and yet, Geralt quite struggled to grasp them wholly. Concepts of Life and Death is this world was too complicated for his liking. But from the tone of his voice, he suspected that Rogier did not love this 'Golden Order'. Was he seeking Destined Death to kill himself off this world? "Does the Prince of Death bear Destined Death?" he asked.

"No, he fathers Those Who Live In Death," said Rogier, and smiled wider when Geralt flinched from confusion. "The idea of resurrection has been corrupted. Now, when I or Gostoc die, we return in the same body, with the same wounds that caused us death, but now hollowed, shallow of mind and eyes."

"And all this stems from the Prince of Death?" Geralt asked.
"Yes, he corrupted the cycle which Queen Marika established."

So this is your desire, Rogier, to kill Death itself, Geralt thought. Though he planted doubt on his conclusion as well. He still did not know what a man this sorcerer was, but nevertheless of his goals and reasons for venturing into the dark depths to meet the Prince of Death, the witcher had to applause him for his courage.

Behind them, Gostoc fell on the ground with a deep thumping sound. Rogier remained still, apathetic towards the Gatekeeper. Geralt too stayed where he was, letting Gostoc rise all by himself.

"I believe we can go now," said Geralt.

"Whyever not," said Rogier as he pushed himself from the wall, "Set one of these aerial Deathroots afire, Geralt. We need constant light."

Geralt casted Igni at a Deathroot that scratched into the dark depths. The fire soon spread across the Deathroot and set it everywhere aflame. Their path was lightened.

The two walked by the burning Deathroot. To Geralt's left, was the ruined walls and wooden planks amassed together, as if a hurricane had brought them down. On some of the planks, giant bats rested. What would the possibility of Prince of Death being a Vampire be? He wondered.

"Wait!" Gostoc rushed to them, shuddering as he closed the distant between himself and the witcher. His body must have been hurt by the fall, for he took some time to even rise to his feet. Geralt, despite not being fond of him, did not bash him away.

Rogier acted in indifference and instead turned to him, "Geralt would you answer a question of mine?"

"Go ahead," said Geralt.

"What was the creature that you encountered in your world? Can you describe it for me?"

Geralt thought back of the Mantled Beast in that mansion. Not many things could be said of him, for they fought in the dark, and the scarce moments of light shining on him revealed nothing particular. "He wore an old mantle, was intelligent, and had claws."

"And aught else?" Rogier asked.

Geralt shrugged, "I have nothing. He wasn't a normal monster I'd encounter in my world."

Rogier turned back to the path, frowning at the dissatisfaction of his answers. "Whilst we may not know what has trespassed to your world, it doesn't diminish the danger this monster bears. The Lands Between hosts fearsome beasts unknown to every other land I've read or heard about. I'm afraid doom might befall your world."

Geralt pursed his lips. Thanks for confirming my concerns. Every second passed here reduced his chance to return and successfully kill that monster. Anxiety building up in him and he liked it not. An anxious hunter was his own worst enemy. He still hadn't find his weapons and yet had found a way to creep into the underground ruins of a foreign castle to help a man he had just met to help him fulfil his quest. Truly a hotheaded adventurer.

"Your world?" Geralt frowned in surprise, remembering Gostoc was beside him as well.

"Shut it!" said Rogier sharply as he stopped. The two halted as well. Gerlat looked around, the fire on the Deathroot was still burning, and no beasts could be find in the corners, so he asked Rogier of his concern. "It's not around us, Geralt, it's beneath."

Suddenly, the ground began to tremble. Something carved it and burst out of the ground. It was a giant monster, serpentine and worm-like, with a wooden body adorned with dark pusses of Deathroot.

Gostoc cursed aloud and fell on his hips, palsied by the size and the intimating face of the beast. Rogier looked worried too, as he turned to Geralt and spoke, "This is a Tree Spirit, albeit one corrupted with Deathroot."

"Will we be able to defeat it?" Geralt asked.

"We better so, for else we would get devoured by him," Rogier answered as he unsheathed his rapier and leapt at the beast.

"Got up, Gostoc!" Geralt shouted. He didn't wait for an answer as he ran to join the sorcerer. His only weapon were his signs, from which only Igni seemed to be useful here, so he would be casting it.

Rogier meanwhile had his staff high in the air, conjuring and shooting spells at the beast. They only served as a mere nuisance for the Tree Spirit, who getting frustrated, leapt at Rogier and swung its claws at him.

Rogier dashed aside and thrust his rapier into the creature's hand. The Tree Spirit whipped around, running his claws widely in a circle. His claws tossed him to a wall. As Rogier slipped to the ground, the beast ran to him when it suddenly stopped.

Geralt looked for the cause and saw the beast staring at a screaming Gostoc who was taking steps backwards. The stress pressure must have pushed him to this hysteric reaction, which would save Rogier's life for the Tree Spirit began running towards the Gatekeeper.

At once Geralt leapt forward and casted Igni, unleashing rounds after rounds of fire at the beast. The Tree Spirit wailed and crawled backwards, now looking at Geralt. So, you don't like fire, eh? Geralt thought as he darted back and forth between the monster's claws.

Meanwhile, Rogier had risen up, and was again attacking the beast with his magical crystals. They pierced through its skin, but dealt little damage, only serving to shift the Tree Spirit's attention away from Geralt.

With this shift of attention, Geralt casted Igni again. The Tree Spirit burnt and cried, the fire had burnt pass his wooden skin. Enflamed and angered, the Tree Spirit whipped around, madly slashing its claws wherever they reached. With the walled corners sourounding them, both Geralt and Rogier found it difficult to dodge those attacks away and thus received painful blows.

Rogier was soon on his feet, thrusting his rapier and casting his spells. The Tree Spirit kept his focus on the sorcerer, allowing Geralt to cast one last Igni that burnt through the beast's bones, causing him to yield, laying exchausted. Rogier then walked towards the Tree Spirit's head and thrust his rapier into his skull, killing him for good.

The beast's corpse began to evanesce with the light, and the rays stemmed from it danced towards the sorcerer, merging with him. The corpse disappeared.

Gostoc jumped to his feet, "Oh, Queen Marika, thank you!" He exhaled breath harshly, tying one of his hands to his chest.

Rogier shot him a sharp look and opened his mouth to utter an insult to him, but refrained from doing so after a moment of thoughtful thinking. He might not have forgiven Gostoc for his life saving wailings earlier, but he would not insult him either.

"That light, what was it?" Geralt asked.

Rogier turned to him, wearing a smile again, "Oh that? That was the beast's Runes being transferred to me. Worry not about it, it's a concept comprehendible to the people of the Lands Between alone."

"Alright," Geralt sighed and turned around, "So, what now?"

Rogier looked upwards, "Well, the fire of the Deathroot has been extinguished, but there is no need to light it again, for I know the Prince of Death resides behind that marred wall before us." He pointed towards their front, where a ruined wall had not completely fallen to the ground yet, creating a passageway for them to walk through.

"And why are you this certain?" Geralt asked.
"Because, my dear friend, this Tree Spirit was a guardian of the Prince of Death."

Geralt nodded, accepting Rogier's words without hesitation. He didn't have the knowledge required to argue against him.

Rogier went in front, leading the three to the passageway, whilst Gostoc remained close to Geralt, but still a few feet behind. Beneath the ruined wall, a black floating rhombus was hovering over a small stump of roots. Rogier bent over to inspect it, and sighed dreamily as he rose to his feet again.

"A Site of Grace," he said, "Albeit lightless for those Tranished who cannot see the Light of Grace."

Both the Gatekeeper and the sorcerer shared a poignant silence; disquieted and reminiscent of what they had lost. Gostoc turned his eyes away and stammered with bewilderment, "What's…that?"

Rogier followed the finger and abruptly froze, staring with widened eyes at the destination.

Before them, numerous protruded roots pointed towards a face. A giant face pressed into the ground, melted into a misshapen plate. Bar the pair of eyes and a nose nothing resembled humane about this face. Considering Rogier's reaction, Geralt knew this was the Prince of Death he so wished to discover.

And immediately Geralt knew he did not like what he was seeing at all.

"Godwyn the Golden, Prince of Death," Rogier exclaimed as he walked forth, oblivious to Geralt and Gostoc's distress, "Long have I searched to find you, my liege. Day by day, more enamoured by you."

A deep sound boasted from the face. Is that thing alive? Geralt frowned as he stepped in front of Gostoc and kept watchful eyes on the face.

Extending his hands aside, Rogier continued, "Now, as I stand before your manifestation, my prince, I beseech you to take me, as the Champion of the Undead! May I bestow freedom upon all those born from your bosom."

Geralt frowned deeper as he heard a muffled sound ringing through the area. Rogier was silently awaiting whilst Gostoc was baffled by all that was happening, neither made that sound. It came from somewhere underneath them.

But before he could inspect it further, something carved through the ground. A black Deathroot with a sharp hilt that pierced through Rogier's abdomen and rose him aloft. Gostoc broke a gasp beside him and Geralt himself widened his eyes in his shock.

Rogier spent a few seconds chocking on blood as the Deathroot stood firmly on the air. Blood spurt out and spilled through the branch. Another muffled sound erupted, this time clearly from the corpse, likening a growl that bespoke rejection. The Deathroot heeded the sound and crawled out of Rogier, making him fall to his face.

Geralt cursed as he ran to the sorcerer. However, the Deathroot moved and turned towards him. Geralt glanced back and forth between the Prince of Death and the Deathroot, threatened by their aura. Casting Igni could kill the Deathroot, but it would also anger the corpse. So he took a step back, thinking his words to pursue the Prince of Death from killing Rogier.

The corpse growled again and, the Deathroot rushed forward to him. Before Geralt knew it, the sharp hilt pierced through his chest. He gasped as the Deathroot forced him to fall on his knees. He closed his eyes shut and bit his lips. When he opened them again, his vision was blurry. Though his eyes were wide open, the scene before him was changing.

He saw a young lad with eyes swollen with fear, staring at him. His dishevelled hair was familiar…too familiar. His shivering lips turned into an unsure smirk as he pushed forth. Geralt again felt a soaring pain burn in him. He looked down and cursed; a sharp pitchfork was through his belly.

The lad walked aback, and Geralt bent forward, falling to his knees. His head was crouched downwards, his eyes shut as his hands gripped the pitchfork.

Dead. Geralt remembered his death. The pain felt fresh even after all these years. To relieve it again…a nightmare he did not wish to partake in.

So with all the might he could muster, he rose his head again and opened his eyes.

There was no dishevelled lad in sight, he could only see the Prince of Death. The pitchfork too had changed its place with the Deathroot. The corpse led out another sound, this time lighter, almost approving. The Deathroot crept out of his body. The opportunity had arisen for him to get up and flee, but Geralt gave up the opportunity as he sat there kneeling.

A pair of Deathroots danced towards his arms, entwisting themselves around his armpits and rising him aloft. Geralt spared a look at the ground, seeing Gostoc running away muted and frightened. He would not make it long, he thought, The creatures lurking here would hunt him down. Then he looked at Rogier, laying on his face unconsciously. Something was growing on his abdomen, where the Deathroot had left its mark.

He floated even higher than the Prince of Death. Looking upwards, he saw the sunlight shining at the roof of the tunnel. The Deathroots brought him out of the undergrounds, to the Stormveil Castle again.

At once, his eyes burnt when the sunlight shone upon them. A blinding golden light that seemed never ending. Nonetheless, he opened his eyes, and through the light, he saw a golden tree. An enormous golden tree that shone rays of gold everywhere. It was bigger than everything he had seen, no dragons matched its height, and no gold ever shone this bright.

He had to look away, for else he could have lost his eyes.

He blinked, and there was no light. The scene again had changed, this time to a dark forest under a twilit night. It was as if he was looking at it from above, flying like a bird and staring down. He saw something move between the bushes. Crouching forward, he looked thoroughly and tensed up as he saw the Mantled Beast in the Deadweight Woods crawling out of the forest. He had found a way out of the manor, and was starting to go out of the woods too.

Is this real, or just an illusion? Either case terrified him, only fuelling his desire to return to his home further.

He blinked and the sight of the giant tree came back again. One of the Deathroots left his arm, and turned towards the tree, as if pointing at it. The Prince of Death was sending him a massage, one which Geralt could not understand.

The branches holding him descended, bringing him back to the ground. Then, they laid him on the familiar courtyards and within a second vanished from sight.

Numbness spread across his body as Geralt's mind struggled to comprehend the events. His senseless body laid there for what seemed like ages when he heard footsteps coming towards him.

The guardsmen towered over him, bending down and inspecting the witcher. They did not kill him, which surprised Geralt. Instead, they took him to their arms and walked to an unknown destination.

Geralt was sitting on a chair. He knew not when or how he ended up here. A bolt of pain passed through his chest, the wound laid there open. He could see his insides rose and fell with his every breath. Breaths that burnt his throat with every exhaling. He coughed harshly and sank on his chair.

"Sip thy wine, O kindred," came a voice from the other side of the table. A large throne hidden into the shadows, whereon a larger figure sat. His hand, unshaded by the candlelight, pointed to a golden chalice on the table.

Immediately, suspicion pickled him. Geralt only spared a glance at the chalice before staring back at the shadowed figure. He did not utter a word, only leaning further on his chair, thinking of a way to get out of this situation.

The shadowed man laughed heartedly, amused by his distressed expression. He pushed on the throne's elbows and arose, bringing his face into the sphere of the candlelight.

A face pale as the moon, with broad shoulders that overshadowed his smaller head. His eyes and hair, both painted white, glowing no beauty or elegance with them. Upon his head was a golden crown, and from his shoulders hung a tall cape.

There was no doubt in Geralt's heart, this was Godrick the Grafted.

"Pray tell, O kindred," the lord wore a wicked smile as he straightened, pushing his cape away, "What drove thee into the aboding of Lord Godrick the Golden?!"

The cape fell down and revealed rounds of wiggling hands on the lord's shoulders. Any other man would have shuddered to death, but Geralt firmly wanted to survive, so he remained tranquil. He would not answer the question, for that would have put him into a defensive position. Instead, he rose another point, "I'm no kindred of yours, lord."

Godrick laughed, "Oh, truly? But thy divine eyes tell otherwise…" he crouched forward, rising his hand towards Geralt, "Who else hath shining golden eyes but those of the Golden Lineage? Thou'rt of the same stock as me."

The hunger in his voice warned Geralt. His white eyes earnestly searched Geralt's face. "I am the Lord of all that is Golden," he continued, "And now, I lay claim on thine eyes, lowly Tarnished. For whomsoever is more deserving of those than I?"

His hands were but a few inches away from Geralt's face. He had to think fast. "And by what means will you take my eyes from me?"

Godrick froze, his lips forming an excited smile, "Well, let me sate thy curiosity," he returned back to his throne, "I shall have thy head on a plate, adorned with golden olives to give it a pleasing smell. Then I shall gouge those eyes out, and then mine, and then graft them into myself, becoming the truest heir of my forefather Godfrey, First Elden Lord!"

Geralt inwardly snorted, "Very imaginative." The child-like excitement for golden eyes and the sadistic means that he would take to get them all screamed of a pathetic lord who thought himself greater than what he actually was. Geralt needed no fighting, he could get out of this situation by his persuasion skills. "But something truly bugs me, kinsman."

"Lay it out," said Godrick.

"Do you have no regards for our family name?"

Godrick's smile faded, "What dost thou mean?" His tone turned accusative, as he crouched forward again.

It was Geralt's turn to smile, "Well, you brag about becoming the truest heir of your forefather, and yet, you would have me killed like an ordinary prisoner. I presume all those poor souls now grafted to you were once Tarnished. Do you want the word to spread that Lord Godrick the Golden brought his family as low as a grafted Tarnished?"
"I care not what the masses think," Godrick lied, as Geralt could cracks of truth forming in his tone and demeanor. If he wasn't scared of people, he wouldn't have turned himself into this monstrosity.

"What would your forefather think of you, lordling?" said Geralt, intentionally provoking Godrick's emotions with his carefully chosen words, "Would he think you a coward for betraying your kinsman's wish, or a mighty heir for honouring the Golden Lineage?"

Since he was completely ignorant of who Godrick's ancestors were and what they valued, he could only hope that this Godfrey, First Elden Lord was an honour bound warrior and not a scheming grey eminence, or even worse, a bloodthirsty maniac.

Fortunately, his assumptions proved true when he saw the expression on Godrick's face change into one of sudden enthusiasm, but in the split of a second, he suppressed those emotions. "I fail to see how a golden plate adorned with olives dost not befit thee. How shall I squeeze thine eyes out of thy skull then?"

A thought arose in his head. Would Axii work on him? He had used Axii to tame horses and unintelligent men alike, and there were some imbecile lords out there who fell to his tricks, could he be one of them too?

Well, I guess I have to try. The time was running out and he had to make a choice. So he answered, "By fighting me." Before Godrick could find the chance to retort, he held his hand aloft and casted Axii. "You will fight me in a trial of combat. Give me back my weapons so I could fight you fairly."

A white halo appeared around the lord's head and faded quickly. Godrick's eyes rolled and he was dizzy for a moment before regaining his conscious, "Yes…yes a trial of combat. I shall win against thee, and once and for all claim my place amongst the great warriors of the Lands Between."

He clapped his hands, beckoning a guardsman from the outside. "Open the arsenal and bring the newest additions here." The guardsman nodded and left.

Godrick poured himself some wine, a satisfied smile on his lips as he leaned back on his throne, "Didst thee notice, O kindred? Thou'st yet to give me thy name."

"Geralt," the witcher answered.

"And I am Godrick the Golden. Our names are similar, are they not?" Godrick laughed, "Yet, I cerebrate, how come thou inherited Godfrey's golden eyes and not me?"

"By chance, perhaps," said Geralt.

Godrick shook his head as he chuckled, belittling Geralt with his mocking smiles, "Thy inheritance is nothing chance upon. Thou art, after all, a lowly Tarnished, blessed but with the rays of gold and the legacy of the Golden Lineage. I wager the sight of the Erdtree hast besotted thee, beckoning thee forward to be the next Elden Lord."

Erdtree. So that was the giant tree's name. The Prince of Death wished him to go to the Erdtree. To become this… Elden Lord?

Geralt jerked his face. He hated it when his clients put unachievable goals on him.

"I have long searched for a member of the Golden Lineage who also shares eyes with the Great Godfrey," said the lord, "Thou'rt the key to my ascension, kindred. With thine eyes grafted to mine, I can at last claim my rightful title!" He laughed like a drunk man would in his wedding. His soaring laughter echoed throughout the throne room.

Two guardsmen ushered in and brought with themselves a sack full of weapons. Godrick allowed Geralt to search the sack. The witcher found his silver and steel swords amongst a pile of axes and spears. He sheathed his silver sword and turned to the grafted lord.

Godrick raised from his throne, and as he walked away from the table, a shrieking sound followed him. Two great axes crackling the ground were wrapped against his hands. He arose the golden axe and shoved it on the ground forcefully, "Let our match begin, O kindred. Kneel before thy true lord!"

Geralt had no desire whatsoever to fight him. But how would he run from this place without getting killed?

Suddenly, he remembered an item Rogier gave to him.

He pulled the Homeward Bone from his purse, but hid it from Godrick's sight. The Lord laughed as he began storming towards the witcher.

Geralt brought the bone to his lips. He didn't know how the magic of this thing worked, but nevertheless, he whispered to it, "Get me to a place safest from Godrick's hands. Wherever you shall see fit."

A white light began conjuring around him. Godrick screamed as he ran faster, determined to kill him. Geralt could only hope that the bone was faster conjured than the wretched lord.

Geralt felt the sharp steel pierce through his chest before his sight faded away.

In a second, he was conscious of his surrounding again. His hand was empty, and as he unclenched his fist, he saw bone dust falling onto a wooden ground beneath him.

"Can I help you?" called a voice with a grumbling tone.

Geralt turned towards the source. He had teleported into a room, a library most likely, since shelves upon shelves filled with books encompassed the range of the chamber.

But the source of the voice was a man, clouded in plate armour with a unique helm hiding his face thoroughly. His hands rested against a table underneath him, whereon he was reading a book, using a candle so burnt out it was nearly extinguished.

A bolt of pain passed through him. Geralt dropped his gaze and looked at his burning chest. He brought his hand to where the axe had pierced and gathered black blood gushing out of the wound.

He frowned, a sudden feeling of dread evoking in him as he turned to the helmed man again. "I sure hope so," he said with a feigned indifference, whilst a new fear brewed in his heart.