Chapter 21: A Broken Soul and a Fading Ember
"Damn the gods it's hot," Erik griped, feeling more soggy and dirty than when he'd walked through those sewers. His companions did not bother to respond, even if they agreed. They were too busy sweating buckets. The heat was so bad that Lucatiel had stripped off her Mirrahian garb and had actually put on the Desert Sorceress's outfit. Chloanne did the same moments later, the thin and sparse fabric allowing for a good cool breeze to caress and cool them. The only person who wasn't suffering the worst was Mytha, and that was only because she was used to Jugo's intense heat. But even that paled before the oppressive warmth radiating from the lava and the queen's skin was glossy with her sweat.
"We should find some shelter up at the Iron Citadel. There were all sorts of wards in place to repress the heat of the forges so it may be cooler inside," Mytha pointed out, stepping carefully across what had once been a roof of a temple.
With Alken submerged in molten earth, there were no streets or paths to the center of the city. The four Undead had to use the roofs and floating piles of rubble to cross, which was extremely hazardous. A single slip would incinerate them and none wanted to find out what happened to an Undead who died due to drowning in lava.
It took a long time, far more so than they'd first thought, but the group made it to the imposing keep that dominated the center of the city. Stepping onto the remains of the bridge the group let out a sigh of relief at not only reaching their destination without any of them dying, but also a sudden whisper of chilliness that settled on them. The powerful enchantments laid into the stone around them still held strong and it kept the worst of the heat away. Erik only hoped it would be even better inside.
"Is that a bonfire?" Chloanne spoke up suddenly, pointing off to the side of the bridge where indeed a flaming sword impaled a pile of charred bones on what used to be a staircase.
"So it is," Mytha said, strutting over to it and letting the flames roar to life.
"This spot is almost as bad as the bonfire situated right on that crumbling tower in Heide," Erik grumbled while Lucatiel nodded in agreement. There was a balcony and some railing to prevent someone plunging into the seething fires below, but the landing dropped off suddenly into lava where it lapped almost gently against the edges of the steps.
Oddly enough the bonfire emitted no heat, instead pushing it away and keeping the area about room temperature.
"So, Mytha, can you tell us about the layout of the castle?" Chloanne asked and the queen nodded.
"Certainly. Let me see… if my memory is correct the bridge here leads to a gatehouse and from there the front entrance. The inner courtyard beyond is filled with a large number of Blacksteel refineries and master-class forges." Seeing the looks of confusion, the woman from Jugo explained. "Castor liked having the best smiths and Forge-Masters close by. It kept the secret of Blacksteel and our automata from being stolen and it allowed my husband to oversee everything. He was a bit of a control freak when it came to war and industry and liked to have a direct hand in what went on in his domain."
"Reminds me of an old chef I knew back in Lindelt," Erik mused. "He used to hate anyone messing up his kitchen or doing things differently from his own way. Used to work down near the Central Market in a tavern. Made a mean omelet. Crud, now I want eggs."
His companions laughed at the young cook, before they turned their gaze to the Iron Citadel.
"Are we ready?" The chef asked, and was given a wave of bobbing and nodding heads. "Then let's raid this castle!"
At once the group rushed off, eager to escape the infernal heat and find the next soul.
Approaching the bridge, the Undead saw a trio of sleek black armored knights wielding curved blades that tensed as the travelers approached. However as soon as they spotted Mytha they fell to their knees, ancient oaths of loyalty moving their bodies despite their Hollowed nature. The queen grinned at that, pleased her hypothesis was proved true for the Alonne Knights.
"Rise, my subjects, and stand aside for me and my guests! They are to come to no harm while in these walls!" The Queen of Alken stated, her voice a booming force that resounded across the area. The Hollowed knights rose and saluted their monarch before bowing and letting the quartet past. The same scene played out again inside, with the two Alonne Knights standing guard within falling to their knees. Once the group of Undead had stepped into the blessed shade and coolness of the foyer, Mytha turned back to her ever loyal soldiers.
"Thank you. You have waited a long time, guarding your king. You may rest, now. I permit it."
A relieved sigh rippled through the squad of knights and they sunk to the floor, weary and relieved of duty. Souls poured out of the collapsed forms and entered the adventurers, filling them with vigor.
"To think they would still kneel before me…" Mytha whispered to herself, staring at the fallen knights with an unreadable expression. Erik patted her comfortingly on the small of her back, since he couldn't reach her shoulders. The queen shook her head and gave the young chef a grateful smile.
"Who's there?! Is that you, Pate?! I won't let you take my treasure again you sniveling little…!" A man in basic merchants garb rushed out of a side passage, brandishing a dagger and a glowing pyromancy glove. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees the three beautiful scantily clad women and his jaw drops. The man recovers quickly though, shaking his head out of the daze and tightening his grip on his blade.
"What? Who're you?"
"Um, I am Erik Potts of Lindelt, and these are my companions; Lucatiel, Chloanne, and Mytha," the young Undead introduced, stepping in front of the women. The merchant blinked in surprise, having only just noticed the sole male. "And who are you, good sir?"
"Who, me? I'm Magerold, who else? Magerold of Lanafir, treasure hunter and merchant! What? Have a look at my wares?" The self-proclaimed treasure hunting merchant said with a nervous laugh, not liking the sharp look the tallest woman shot him.
"A thief dares to plunder my home? How Drangleic has fallen," Mytha spat, but a restraining hand was placed on her thigh, courtesy of Erik.
"It has been a very long time since Alken fell, Mytha. In fact I am surprised there is anything left here of value," the chef said, looking at Magerold for confirmation.
"Yeah, not much left but lots of scrap metal and broken equipment. There is some stuff here and there, but mostly this castle has been picked clean. Well, except for some places. There's a fog gate near the courtyard and there's a huge goat horned demon that lurks in the lava near this massive bronze bull statue," the nervous explorer revealed. The queen thought for a moment before giving a curt nod.
"Very well then. I shall pardon you for now. But I would advise you leave this place. Sooner or later the wards will fail, and this region is done for. And, I do not look kindly on grave robbers," Mytha warned, and the man hastily nodded.
"I'll leave! I'll return to Majula! Thank you for your kindness, my lady!" Magerold exclaimed hurriedly before running back down the corridor to grab his things. As he did so the queen let out a huff and headed over to a flame-spouting bull's head set in the wall. She reached over with her spear and poked something between its eyes, and with a click the fires stopped spewing. Mytha then bent down and snatched up a red-hot key from an incinerated corpse nearby. She peered at the thick metal item and hummed in thought.
"I remember this key. King Vendrick commissioned it a while back as well as a lock. It seems my husband kept a copy after sending the original to its purchaser."
"How did you spot it from so far away?" Lucatiel asked, impressed by the keen eyesight of the royal woman.
"I didn't, I just sensed its magic. Anyone can pick a lock with tools and time. Castor came up with a way to prevent this; enchanted key and lock combination. The lock has a defensive spell, and the paired key has the counter spell. Anyone who puts anything that is not the proper key near the lock hole will be hit with a jolt of magic, stunning them. These Magic Locks and Keys became popular and he sold them across the world. I had a feeling he'd keep a few copies for himself though. Never know when you might want to open a rival's treasure vault or securely barred fortress door," Mytha said, dipping the key into a nearby urn of water and watching the resulting steam trail into the air before sneering at the charred remains. "Looks like this thief won't be opening anymore locks."
"You don't like thieves, I take it," Erik said, stating the painfully obvious. Mytha just nodded.
"In Jugo, the greatest and only sin is Theft. All others are merely different forms of it. Lying is stealing the truth. Greed is stealing from the needy. Heresy is stealing from the gods. Murder is stealing a life. Theft is the First Sin, the Last Sin, and the Only Sin, as decreed by our kingdoms founder and my ancestor, King Aurorus the Just."
"It is true, Erik. Thieves and the like are treated as the worst criminals in Jugo. Many a time such people have fled the borders into Mirrah and us knights are tasked to bring them in and hand them back to the Thief Catchers of our southern neighbor. I myself have done so a few time," Lucatiel said, elaborating on the traditions of the desert kingdom.
"Sounds... unforgiving," Erik said slowly, and the queen nodded in agreement.
"It is. But it must be. Jugo has few resources, and trade is our primary method of obtaining goods and materials. A thief who steals a bolt of cloth or a Common Fruit from a caravan ends up doing more harm in my homeland than elsewhere because such things are far more expensive and harder to obtain," Mytha explained.
Erik just sighed but nodded in understand. "Alright then. Let's move out. I want to clear the fog door before night fall." His companions all nod, and as they head out to confront their next foe the chef hears the footsteps of the retreating Lanafirian. He silently wished the man good luck, and prayed Magerold does not run into them again. He doubted Mytha would be so forgiving the second time.
The chef stumbled for a moment when the tall dark skinned woman tossed Erik the now cooled key.
"I have no idea what it is for. But you're the traveler and the leader. You should be the one to hold onto it for safe keeping," Mytha explained. The cook just nodded and slipped the tool into his pouch before continuing to walk.
Passing by more kneeling Alonne Knights the group emerges from the cool darkness of the Iron Keep's interior and stepped once more into the sweltering heat. The entire square courtyard had been subsumed in the lava, twisted and melted stairs leading down to nowhere but a fiery death, while several Alonne Knights armed with gargantuan bows and different armor stood at the ready on balconies and walkways around the area. These soldiers quickly bowed to their liege lady as well, putting aside their weapons. Mytha waved them off, commanding them to rest and smiling a sad smile as they comply, finally allowing themselves to rest and die.
The group did not know if they would rise again. It took several deaths for a Hollow to lose all their souls and surrender their final spark of life. But if ordered to do so by their monarch? Perhaps the even Curse of the Undead could fall victim to the unwavering and unbreakable loyalty of Mytha's knights.
And the queen could only weep silently as she watched her devoted servants obey her. For so long she had been convinced of her worthlessness in the eyes of her husband. For so long had Mytha ignored the adoration of the people, believing it all to be a lie. In her thoughts the Fairest Queen laughed mockingly at herself. All it took to see the truth was a handsome young man and the destruction of all she knew and cared for! The gods and fate must have truly twisted senses of humor.
"There, I see the fog gate. Past the Furnace Room and walk way. We'll need to lower it first, though," the queen said after drying her tears, desperate to focus on something else to distract her.
"I see levers on both sides. Let's see what happens when we pull them," Chloanne suggested and everyone agreed. As they approached the lever closest to them, Lucatiel wandered over to the big, heavy door that connected to a very large chamber. From above it had looked as if the chamber connected to both sides of the courtyard, seeing as how it dominated its corner of the castle. She was about to open it and find out what was on the other side when she felt Mytha's hand close around her arm and pull her back.
"Careful!" The queen cried. "That door leads to the Furnace Room! It was used to superheat Titanite for forging purposes!"
Mytha led the knightess back to their group, the ore trader having pulled the lever and lowering the walkway. It hung at an angle though, the chains fouled up and so they'd need to pull both levers to fix the problem.
"And? It's not being used right now," Lucatiel protested, annoyed at how the taller woman was dragging her away like a naughty child.
"No, but that doesn't mean it's not on! See that large circular wheel?" the queen asked, pointing to the front of the so-called Furnace Room where a rusted red steering wheel-esque lever sat.
"See how the spokes are at an angle? That means it was turned on, and since the castle fell no one bothered to close it! Now the lava has filled the heating cells, and is sending massive amounts of superheated air upwards! In the past, just stoking it with coal and wood was enough to have the Furnace Room melt people who opened the doors before turning it off! Just imagine what Chaos-tainted lava would do to you if you'd unleashed it?"
The swordswoman paled at the thought, and she bowed her head in apology to Mytha.
"I'm sorry, I just thought we could cut through it, like a short cut," Lucatiel explained.
"If it was closed, shut down, and cool, it would have been an excellent idea," Mytha confirmed. "But right now it is too hot and dangerous."
As they spoke the group reached the end of the walkway and stood on the opposite causeway, looking to the left at the shimmering mists. The team shrugged off their heavy packs and organized their weapons and equipment. As much as Lucatiel wanted to keep wearing the silky sorceress's garb, it was far more important she have the defense of her Mirrah armored coat.
"Let's do this," Erik said, and he stepped up first. The mist was cool to the touch as always, but after so much heat it was almost unbearably cold to the Undead as they passed through.
What they saw on the other side made their jaws drop and Mytha growl in worry. What looked like a miniature Giant clad in thick black metal plates and with two obscenely large horns on the sides of its head stood at the far end of a circular chamber, massive sword held in its hands. In the center of its chest was a gaping hole, empty and dark. As they entered, flames flickered to life in the monstrosity's stomach, and the hole was filled with red fire infused with souls, animating the creature.
At once, the Soul of the Last Giant screamed out in fury and despair, and Erik was overwhelmed by the sudden outcry of emotions. He was almost decapitated as the behemoth leapt surprisingly far at them, but Mytha dragged him to the side.
"A Smelter Demon!" Mytha shouted. "Aim for the head, and don't let it flames touch you! They feed on souls!" All her warnings and worries were for not though as Erik raised his left hand with a strange, terrible look in his eyes. He shouted something in a language none of them recognized, and the room froze over almost instantly. Dark blue ice surrounded the young chef and the temperature plunged below freezing so fast everyone's skin cracked and blistered due to the sweat that had still clung to them. As for their foe, the magical chill was even less forgiving. The metal plates and sword shattered as the cold froze them solid, and the ice popped and screeched as it tore into the cursed flames that sustained the golem. It struggled for a moment before slumping to its knees, the furnace in its chest going dark as frost devoured the flames. Souls rushed out from it, and a iron grey colored soul popped out, floating over to Erik. It entered the cook, and soon his mind was captured by the past.
A Giant, it seems, did not see the world as humans did. It had no eyes and it perceived things through the light of souls and energy that flowed through the land. What the soul 'remembered' was also indistinct but telling none the less.
Peace. Happiness. The sun was bright in the Giant's homeland. The souls were plentiful. Arch-trees grew tall and the people tended to them. Darkness came out of nowhere one day, stealing their children. The Darkness was alive. It Wanted everything, and it stole the young to lure them. Their King roared and the Giants went to war for the first time since they had allied with the Gods of the First Flame to drive back the Ancient Stone Dragons.
War. Blood. Death. Countless lives were extinguished by his fists. His hammer had broken at one point, and he just wailed away at all the tiny little insects that stung him. A man with a Crown of Iron screamed a challenge, his soul flaring noble-gold with the grey tint of ambition. The two clashed. The King with the Soul of Iron slammed a hammer into him. He fell. The humans swarmed him. He struggled, but the Old Iron King beat him down. He awoke one last time. The last things he felt were his limbs being cut off, and the mocking laughter of Darkness's Want were the final sounds he heard.
Erik screamed as the painful emotions and memories assailed him, battering him down. The ice around him fragmented and melted away as his will to control it fled and it filled the room with clouds of steam.
"Erik! Erik! Are you alright?!" Lucatiel cried, grabbing the boy and shaking him. He was crying now, curled up in a ball.
"What is going on? Why is he reacting to the Smelter Demon's soul like that?! And how long has he been able to conjure ice?!" Mytha demanded, turning a piercing stare at the two women but they responded in kind, glaring back at the queen.
"We don't know! This has never happened before!" Lucatiel shouted, ignoring the last question. Chloanne had wrapped the chef into a smoothing hug, cradling him against her chest where he seemed to calm down. His sobbing dwindled, and his tears dried.
"Erik, are you alright?" Lucatiel asked after a few minutes. He shook his head.
"How did you summon that ice? Where did you learn that? Why did you react so poorly to the Smelter…" Mytha began, determined to find the answer, but Erik spoke up, cutting her off.
"What… do you know about those things?" He demanded, his voice cold and harsh as he stared up at the queen. Mytha was taken aback, but she composed herself.
"Smelter Demons are the most powerful golems my husband made. That is all I know. I always assumed he used a Demonic soul as the base," the queen of Alken admitted. Erik stared into her eyes, trying to find falsehoods or deceit, but when he saw none he relaxed a tiny bit and looked away.
"They… are not demons. They were Giants," Erik said slowly, his head throbbing with a headache. "During the war, the Old Iron King turned the Giants he had captured into golems. He tore off their limbs. He carved them open. He filled their veins with molten iron and branded runes onto their very souls to change and control them. He did this all while they were still alive and aware."
Mytha gasped and Chloanne turned green. Lucatiel just frowned in disgust, but her heart and stomach were in rebellion against her.
"Why?" Mytha finally managed to ask. She believed the chef. How could she not when she saw the horror in his eyes?
"He hated them. They killed his wife. His men. His people. But he was manipulated. Just like the Giants. Someone… something… kidnapped all of the Giant's children from their homeland. They came to Drangleic to get them back, but the kidnapper forced them into a war."
"Who could do something like that?" Lucatiel whispered. Erik made an effort to shrug but it came off as a flop.
"I don't know. Just that it was Darkness that was alive somehow, and made of Want. Endless desire for something, but it was all broken and fractured. Like a distorted image in a cracked mirror," Erik said. Feeling better, he rose from Chloanne's lap and panted for air.
"As for my ice powers, I just figured out how to use Pyromancy to manipulate the cold and temperatures," the cook said to Mytha, explaining his freezing magic. He winced as he looked down and saw his left hand. His entire appendage had turned into a solid block of ice that was slowly cracking and splintering, taking chunks of flesh with every shard of ice that feel. He quickly downed his entire Estus Flask's contents, and that alleviated his damaged flesh somewhat.
Nobody spoke for a while. They were too shocked to do much else. After resting for a bit, recovering from absorbing the Smelter Demon's soul and fixing most of his hand, Erik felt a tug in his Fire Seed, and he blinked in surprise. Slowly, he turned around and let his magic lead him.
"Erik, where are you going?" Chloanne asked, worried. Lucatiel and Mytha looked up in concern as well but the chef waved away their concerns as he walked out of the golem's chamber.
"It's nothing, my Fire Seed is acting up," Erik explained, which made Mytha's eyebrows rise.
"You have a Fire Seed imbedded in you? Impressive. Such items are rare, even in Drangleic. I myself never had one implanted as I was proficient enough in Sorcery and Pyromancy not to need its help. But I have seen Fire Seed wielders do amazing things with their flames. They have a control even I envy."
"I know exactly what you mean about control. Lucatiel and I fought a Pyromancer in the depths of the Lost Bastille who not only could negate my Pyromancy with her own, but had Fire Seeds implanted in her hands and feet," Erik said, revealing a bit about his past battles. Mytha and Chloanne both had stunned expressions at that.
"The Lost Sinner was that powerful? And to have four whole Fire Seeds inside her… that is astonishing," the queen mumbled to herself. Erik stopped, right at the edge of the broken walkway, facing the ragged ruins of a metal staircase.
"You knew her?" He asked, staring intently at something lying across from him.
"I knew of her. A priestess of Eleum Loyce, banished and imprisoned in the largest Undead containment facility ever built. Her crime was apparently that she attempted to rekindle the First Flame itself but instead unleashed the Chaos which had been contained in the north for ages," Mytha said with a grim frown on her face.
"The First Flame? You mean it is not a myth?" Chloanne asked in surprise, which only grew as the regent nodded.
"I was not privy to all the details, but when the Curse of the Undead exploded across the world, Castor, Vendrick, and Ival gathered together in a secret meeting. What they discussed was apparently about finding the source of the Curse. They found it. I do not know much beyond that, but it seems that it is tied to the First Flame, and it has begun to flicker and die. The Monarch Candidate Contingency Plan was established to find a way to preserve the Flame from fading."
The three younger Undead all turned to stare at the queen, shocked beyond all reason. And for Erik, upon hearing the words 'Monarch Candidate,' the souls he'd collected thrummed and buzzed as if trying to communicate with him.
"What, exactly, is this monarch business?" Erik asked, turning to face Mytha, his other goal currently put on hold. The queen blinked in surprise.
"You mean you were not told?"
"Told what?" Lucatiel asked, worried, with Chloanne sharing her concerns.
"I just… they really sent you off without telling you anything?" When nobody spoke, Mytha had a dazed look to her.
"I-I see. That… explains some things…" She leaned against the wall and slid down it, confused. "I thought something was wrong. Before, when I'd fought the other Candidates they all seemed gung-ho and unflappable. But…"
The queen sighed and turned to the people she was beginning to consider friends.
"There are Undead with unusually powerful souls. These people, known as Monarch Candidates, are the best possible choices to use as messengers of sorts. They are to gather four souls which belonged to four very old and powerful beings, and use them in conjunction with an artifact King Vendrick made called the Throne of Want. Other than that, I know that only one Candidate can appear at a time, and if a Candidate fails either due to Hollowing or some other reason than the souls they have collected will be 'reset' in conjunction with the magic of the bonfires. Those flickering piles of bones and embers are connected to the First Flame somehow, and were made by Duke Aldia and the Ivory King using lost magic of some sort and based off of a set of Primal Bonfires that have been around for eons."
"I have been killed many times before," Mytha admitted. "I was demented and tainted by Chaos, but I still remember some things. Hero after hero invading the Earthen Peaks and slaying me, stealing my soul. I was a mere stepping stone for them. An obstacle on the way to the Primal Soul that hides here in Alken somewhere. Only for them to die and my essence to escape and then reform, just as insane and twisted as before. I do not know why. For centuries I have suffered. I do not know why. And that is the truth, Erik Potts of Lindelt. Please, do not hate me. Do not abandon me."
She looked up at Erik with genuine fear and sorrow, and Erik understood her words were true. The souls in him vibrated as if letting him know they were corroborating her story. He leaned down and took her hands into his own.
"I believe you, Mytha. And I promise I will not turn you aside or leave you behind. We are friends, after all." Erik flashed her a smile, and the queen returned it with one of her own.
Satisfied Mytha was calm now, Erik turned his attention back to his Fire Seed and the object just beyond his reach. He held out his hand, focusing on the feeling of connection. And something moved. A tiny, gilded treasure box rose shakily off of a corpse on the stairs and floated over to the Undead chef. It looked dainty and like what a noblewoman might use to store her jewelry and accessories.
He saw the lid was closed and the box locked, but as he peered at the keyhole a spark jumped from his left palm unbidden and wiggled its way into the lock. At once a faint click could be heard and he popped it open only to stare in shock at what he saw inside. Nestled in a bed of cut and polished Twinkling Titanite a weak and flickering ember burned. Despite its size and frailty however it oozed divinity. It was like a miniature bonfire with how it dazzled and soothed, but far more pure and refined. As its light washed over the chef his hand began to heal. Not only that but his Fire Seed seemed to drink up the warm light of the object, growing stronger and more deeply rooted into his body and soul.
Erik swallowed and licked his lips and his mouth went dry. The Fire Seed in him knew what it was. The Pyromancy within him knew what it was. His Humanity itself knew what this was. A fragment of the First Flame, a Legendary Ember, once used to forge the mightiest of artifacts. The art and the tools now lost, the last known Ember had vanished when Heide fell. So what was it doing here?
The girls leaned in to take a closer look and fell into a reverent silence as well as they beheld a source of reality itself.
"An Ember… was this what my husband used to forge his artifacts?" Mytha wondered, her voice a silky and quiet whisper. Erik said and did nothing, except close the box and put it away. Not into his pouch, but in the tiny pocket on the inside of his shirt where Donovan's tome rested next to his heart.
"It's time to go," Erik said after a moment. The spell of awe was broken and the group shook themselves awake.
"Y-yes. We should move on. Those souls won't collect themselves," Chloanne said in a wavering voice that grew stronger as she spoke. Silent nods went around, and the team walked off to find their next destination towards destiny.