Chapter 3: Storming Stormveil Castle
Harry flew down the fields of Limgrave on Torrent, avoiding the sight of various knights patrolling the pathways to Stormveil Castle. As he drew nearer to the passage that led to the castle, he drew Torrent to a stop and dismounted. As Torrent dissipated into smoke, Harry silenced his footsteps and crept close to the nearest guard before stabbing him through the neck, killing him instantly. Once upon a time, he would have hesitated to even throw a spell causing harm, but now after fighting a war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, he now understood the point Remus Lupin had tried to make once.
""Harry, the time for Disarming is past! These people are trying to capture and kill you! At least Stun if you are not prepared to kill!"
Harry's heart raced as he moved swiftly through the fields, his instincts honed by years of battles and challenges. The echoes of his past whispered in his mind, reminding him of the lessons he had learned and the sacrifices he had witnessed. The clash of swords and the cries of war had left an indelible mark on his psyche, shaping him into a warrior who understood that sometimes, the path to victory required difficult choices.
With each silent takedown, he felt the weight of the responsibility he carried. The lives lost in the war against Voldemort served as a grim reminder that evil could not always be defeated without force. Remus Lupin's words now echoed more loudly than ever, and he could no longer afford to cling to his previous notions of avoiding lethal spells. The knights he encountered were part of a force that posed a threat to him.
After swiftly dispatching yet another knight, Harry's focus shifted abruptly as the clash of steel met his ears. He had barely a moment to react before a powerful blow from a knight's shield sent him sprawling to the ground. The impact was jarring, and his vision briefly blurred as he fought to regain his bearings. Before he could fully recover, the knight's sword arced toward him with deadly intent. Instinct drove him to duck and roll, narrowly avoiding a strike that would have taken his head off.
The relentless knight continued to press his advantage, his sword whistling through the air once more. Harry's heart pounded as he managed to evade the fatal strike, but the knight's determination was unyielding. A searing pain erupted across his chest as the sword found its mark, leaving a deep gash that burned with every breath. Gritting his teeth, Harry fought through the pain, his mind racing to find a solution as he blocked another swing of the sword with his own sword.
With a howl of anguish and determination, he summoned his magic, channeling it into a Reductor curse that surged toward the approaching knight. The spell struck the knight's chest with a resounding impact, hurling him backward with bone-shattering force. The knight's body collided with a jutting rock, his head slamming against it with a sickening thud. The abrupt end of the confrontation was punctuated by the unnerving stillness that followed; the battlefield now marked by the consequences of their clash.
Gasping for breath, Harry's chest heaved as he surveyed the aftermath of the battle. The pain radiating from his wound was intense, a stark reminder of the fragility of his existence in this unforgiving world. He could not afford to remain in this vulnerable state for long, not when danger could lurk around any corner.
Summoning Torrent with desperate urgency, he clambered onto the spectral steed. The bond between them was immediate, a shared purpose that transcended the pain and exhaustion that weighed on Harry's body. As they surged forward, the wind whipped against his face, temporarily drowning out the agony of his injuries.
The vacant pathway leading to Stormveil Castle stretched before them, a passageway fraught with its own perils and uncertainties. Harry's grip tightened on Torrent's ethereal mane as they hurtled forward, his determination now intertwined with the beat of Torrent's spectral heart. Each heartbeat resonated with his own, a synchronicity that reminded him of the power that flowed through this enigmatic realm.
Approaching Stormveil Castle, Harry's keen eyes caught sight of another Site of Grace nestled beside an abandoned shack. Thanking the stars for his luck, he climbed off Torrent and sat before the Site of Grace, sighing with relief as his wounds began to heal. Amid the backdrop of his restoration, Harry's gaze fell upon an unexpected sight. Against the worn walls of the shack sat a young woman, her presence a poignant juxtaposition against the desolation surrounding them. His steps measured and cautious, he approached her, his hand reaching out to gently shake her shoulder. The woman's reaction was one of startled surprise, her body tensing as she jolted upright. Her eyes darted around, wide with a mixture of fear and uncertainty, until they eventually settled on Harry.
Harry's voice carried a calm reassurance as he addressed her, "It's all right. You are safe. I didn't mean to startle you."
The young woman's gaze held a flicker of wariness, her face guarded. She studied Harry for a moment, her voice cautious but tinged with curiosity, "Who are you? Are you here to... help?"
A small smile touched Harry's lips, his eyes conveying empathy as he responded, "I'm Harry. And yes, I am here with a purpose—to mend the Elden Ring and restore what has been lost. But I'm also here to offer help, to extend a hand to those who've suffered in the lands between. Might I know your name?"
"I am Roderika. All of them... subjected to grafting. Every soul that accompanied me. They braved the treacherous waters for my sake. They waged battles, all for my sake. A wry chuckle escapes my lips... Their sacrifices, all in vain. Arms lost. Legs lost. Even their very heads... severed. And then affixed to the spider's grotesque form. Do you comprehend the irony? Once the spider's grafting takes hold, you metamorphose into a chrysalid. It is rather surreal if one contemplates it deeply."
Harry was taken aback by the outpouring of grief from the young woman and sought to steady her by placing his hand on her shoulder "Roderika, what you are saying... it is almost hard to believe. The weight in your words, the echoes of sacrifice and suffering, they are like shadows in the corners of our minds. The path you all chose, the battles fought, only to face this horrifying grafting – it is a tragedy beyond measure. To have your limbs, your very essence, taken and twisted, it is a nightmare made real. And the spider's touch turning you all into chrysalids... it is a darkness that is hard to even fathom. But we cannot let that darkness consume us. We must stand against it, to honor those who fought and suffered."
Roderika smiled at Harry and clutched his arm "Oh, you are kind, fellow Tarnished. But I must admit, I do not possess the same level of courage as you do. Facing the prospect of losing one's arms, legs, or even their head is undeniably terrifying. I yearn to blend in, to be just like everyone else, yet fear holds me back. I find myself consumed by cowardice, feeling utterly feeble and lacking in bravery."
"What will you do now?" Harry asked, sitting beside Roderika who shook her head in a whimsical manner.
"I must confess, I am uncertain about that. However, encountering you again has brought me some joy. Certainly, could I trouble you to convey a message if you happen upon the small chrysalids within Stormveil Castle? Kindly let them know that my affection for them persists, and despite my fearful heart, I am growing confident that I will be part of their circle before long. Strangely, I am starting to comprehend the intricacies of enduring "pain" a bit better. Please know that it has been a delightful reunion to see you."
Harry's gaze rested upon Roderika, his mind a swirl of conflicting emotions as he processed her words. After a fleeting moment of contemplation, he rose to his feet, his movements exuding a sense of resolve. He regarded the frail figure before him, a woman who had borne the weight of suffering in this desolate realm. With a deep breath, he addressed her with a tone that carried a mixture of compassion and determination.
"Roderika, your plight has not gone unnoticed. I assure you, once I have fulfilled my mission of delivering your message and confronting the Shardbearer within the walls of Stormveil Castle, I shall return for you. This is a promise I make to you, a promise that resonates with my commitment to mend the Elden Ring and bring hope back to this land."
A flicker of surprise crossed Roderika's eyes, her expression softening as she absorbed Harry's words. Her voice, though filled with weariness, held a glimmer of newfound hope as she responded, "Ah, Tarnished one, your words pierce through the shadows that have shrouded my heart. It is a rarity to encounter one whose intentions transcend their own plight." Roderika's weary smile conveyed gratitude as if their brief encounter had forged an unexpected bond. She spoke again, her voice carrying a mixture of resignation and longing, "May the currents of fate carry you safely through the trials that await, Tarnished one. Though our paths may diverge for now, I hold the hope that destiny shall weave them together once more."
Harry nodded in acknowledgment, his expression a reflection of his earnest intentions. "And I, in turn, hold the belief that our paths shall intersect again. Until then, take care, Roderika. May your journey be marked by resilience and eventual redemption."
With those parting words, Harry turned away, his resolve firm as he ventured forth toward Stormveil Castle.
Drawing closer to Stormveil Castle, Harry called Melina to his side and inquired, "Lady Melina, you mentioned your desire to accompany me to the base of the Erdtree. I am curious, what is the reason behind your need to go there? Is this journey a common one for all finger maidens?"
Melina was silent for a moment before slowly responding "In my quest, I am seeking the purpose bestowed upon me by my mother, a purpose hidden within the depths of the Erdtree many years ago—a purpose that justifies my continued existence, despite the agony of being consumed by fire and devoid of a physical form. However, I must confess a truth that weighs upon me. Though I have assumed the role of a finger maiden, I find myself unable to provide the guidance that is expected of me. In truth, I am no maiden, and the certainty of my purpose has long been eroded by the passage of time..."
Harry paused, reflecting on Melina's response. The finger maiden could have been him in another life if he had been bereft of his friends and the guidance of Albus Dumbledore. He recalled his fifth year when he had felt so angry and alone all the time. Turning to his companion, he thoughtfully began "Sometimes, as you continue to explore and grow, your purpose becomes clearer. We might not have all the pieces of the puzzle right now, but that does not mean we will not find them eventually."
"You are kind, Tarnished. Perhaps, what you say will turn out to be the truth. But look, we are here at Stormveil Castle". Melina was right. Harry had finally arrived outside Stormveil Castle. At the edge of a precipitous cliff, Stormveil Castle loomed majestically over the expanse of Limgrave. Its imposing form stood as a stark silhouette against the sky, its architecture a blend of grandeur and decay. The very stones seemed to be etched with tales of battles long fought and secrets tightly held.
From a distance, the castle's exterior presented an ominous sight. The walls bore the scars of countless conflicts, etched in the form of craters and gouges, each lined with thorny brambles that seem to have taken on a life of their own. The sight of Stormveil Castle evoked within Harry a poignant sense of nostalgia, and his mind was instantly transported back to the hallowed halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As he gazed upon the castle's form, he could not help but draw parallels between the two formidable structures.
Much like Hogwarts, Stormveil Castle boasted an array of towers and turrets that punctuated the horizon, reaching skyward in a manner that seemed almost defiant. Yet, whereas the various spires of Hogwarts seemed to convey a sense of unity and purpose, Stormveil's towers appeared to stretch out in all directions with a certain disarray, as if striving to dominate their surroundings.
Hagrid's hut, perched on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, had its counterpart in the landscape surrounding Stormveil. There were isolated structures dotting the castle's environs, perhaps guardhouses or sentinel posts, which seemed to mirror the remoteness and wildness that Hagrid's abode had always held.
In the distance, the vastness of the Great Lake at Hogwarts found its echo in the sweeping landscapes that unfurled beneath Stormveil Castle's imposing cliff. Yet, as Harry's eyes lingered on the distant expanse, he could not help but acknowledge the disparity. The Great Lake had always held an aura of serenity, inviting students to its shores for moments of respite. In contrast, the land surrounding Stormveil seemed to exude an air of apprehension, as if nature itself was wary of drawing too near to the foreboding castle.
While Stormveil rivaled Hogwarts in sheer scale and a certain intimidating majesty, there was a palpable absence of the warmth and camaraderie that had always been the heartbeat of Hogwarts. The laughter echoing through the hallways, the sense of belonging, and the feeling that every stone had a story to tell—these were the elements that set Hogwarts apart and made it a true home to countless generations of young witches and wizards. As Harry steeled himself to enter Stormveil Castle's shadowed halls, he could not help but long for the familiarity and comfort of the castle he had called home for so long.
The moment Harry's worn boots made contact with the shadowed entrance of Stormveil Castle, the ominous quiet shattered like glass. Defenders, vigilant in their patrols, spotted his approach and unleashed a ferocious assault. Banished Knights and Exile Soldiers, trained in the brutal art of warfare, acted with brutal efficiency. Fire crossbows and bows were wielded with lethal intent, launching a maelstrom of arrows and bolts that slashed through the air like vengeful spirits. The clash of iron against stone resounded like a macabre symphony of death, each impact a haunting reminder of the merciless nature of this battleground.
With instincts honed by a litany of life-threatening situations, Harry's hand sliced through the tempest that rained upon him. His reflexes, guided by survival's bitter wisdom, allowed him to deflect arrows and curses with an almost dance-like grace. The defenders' onslaught intensified as he pressed forward, the incantations rising to a crescendo of aggression. The very air was infused with hostility, woven with the snapping of bowstrings and the venomous hiss of spells designed to bring about his downfall. Shimmering shields of arcane energy emerged around him, each one absorbing the ferocious assault and granting him precious moments to advance further. Amid the chaos, he caught glimpses of the path leading to the entrance, the defenders' ranks thinning as his counterattacks found their mark. And then, as the final Banished Knight met his end, a fleeting silence settled over the battlefield—a deceptive respite, a haunting pause before the next act in this grim saga.
The landscape around him was a tableau of carnage, evidence of the unrelenting clash that had unfolded. But now, in the lull, Harry's gaze remained fixed on the entrance, an archway that seemed both a portal to salvation and a maw of inevitable danger.
As Harry approached the Site of Grace nestled within the castle's foreboding interior, Melina materialized by his side, her ethereal presence a soothing balm to his wounded body. With a faint hiss of pain, he lowered himself onto the ground, granting Melina access to mend his injuries. The intricate architecture of the castle seemed to absorb the dim light, casting long shadows that danced like specters across the stone walls.
Surveying the surroundings, Harry couldn't help but remark, "This ambiance does little to uplift the spirits." His voice carried a tinge of wry humor, a feeble attempt to pierce through the weight of the atmosphere that pressed down upon them. The chandeliers hung low, casting a pallid glow that barely seemed to dispel the encroaching darkness, while torches flickered with an almost desperate determination.
Melina's healing touch worked its magic, the discomfort receding as his body knitted back together. He breathed in the history that clung to the air, the very walls whispering tales of battles waged and secrets concealed within their ancient stones.
As Harry's wounds were tended to, a new voice emerged from the shadows, interrupting the quiet.
"Stormveil Castle has always been a grim place," Melina's voice carried a sense of solemnity that matched the castle's ominous ambiance. Her ethereal presence seemed to shimmer against the dim light as she spoke. "Legends speak of a time when a Storm Lord held dominion over Limgrave, wielding the unfettered power of the True Storm itself."
Harry's curiosity was piqued. "The True Storm?" he queried, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to grasp the concept.
Melina nodded; her gaze distant as if she were peering into the annals of history itself. "A force of nature that could command lightning, wind, and rain with the mere force of will. The Storm Lord was said to be able to summon the very elements to his aid, unleashing their fury upon those who dared to challenge his rule."
His mind whirred with the implications of such power. The Storm Lord, a ruler whose authority was marked by the raw might of the elements, had once made Stormveil Castle his stronghold. But as with many legends, the tale had taken a tragic turn.
"What happened to him?" Harry's question held a note of curiosity.
A shadow seemed to cross Melina's features, her ethereal form momentarily dimming. "As with many who defied the Golden Order's rule, the Storm Lord faced the wrath of those who sought to extinguish his defiance." Her words held an air of bitterness, as if she herself had witnessed the events unfold. "Lord Godrey, a commander under Queen Marika's command, led an army to this very castle. The clash that ensued marked the final stand of the Storm Lord and his loyal followers."
"Lord Godfrey must have been formidable"
"Indeed, he was" a new voice chimed in. Harry jumped in, a shield forming on his hand. The newcomer raised his arms in surrender as he approached.
"Fear not, fellow Tarnished. I am not here to harm you or your finger maiden. I'm looking for a little something, here in the castle and thought to join forces with a fellow Warrior"
"Who are you?" Harry asked, his shield still raised. Melina dissipated in a fog as the man ventured closer.
"Rogier," the sorcerer introduced himself with a hint of amusement, his tone carrying a sense of playfulness. He gestured to the silver staff in his hand, a conduit of arcane might. "A sorcerer, as you might have surmised." He wore a wide brimmed brown hat that partially covered his face. His clothing was a mix of shades of brown, yellow and green. Dumbledore would have liked this guy, Harry mused internally "My name is Harry Potter"
"Interesting way of using sorcery" Rogier indicated the shield Harry still had held up in his right hand. "I don't believe I have even seen someone use sorceries without the aid of a magic seal or a sorcerer's staff."
"I guess I am just built differently" Harry replied, finally letting the shield fade away. Rogier approached the Site of grace and let out a sigh of appreciation.
"May I ask why you have ventured into the accursed depths of Stormveil Castle?" Rogier's eyes held a flicker of curiosity as he regarded Harry's presence before him. "Are you oblivious to the grave danger that permeates these halls?" His tone carried a somber weight, the gravity of their predicament mirrored in his furrowed brow. "This fortress is teeming with Tarnished hunters who harbor a gruesome obsession with our kind. Their sinister pursuits lead them to enact a ritual of grafting, a vile practice that results in our brethren being stripped of their very essence."
He paused for a moment, allowing the weight of his words to hang in the air.
"And yet, here you stand, amidst this realm of shadows and peril. Surely, you must possess a purpose profound enough to brave such treacherous grounds."
"Unlike you," Harry's voice resonated through the hushed corridors of Stormveil Castle, the weight of his purpose evident in his words, "I am on the quest to mend the shattered Elden Ring. That's the only purpose I can find for myself in this world."
Rogier, the enigmatic sorcerer, regarded Harry with a gaze that seemed to pierce through the layers of his being. "You can see it then, I take it?" Rogier's voice held a note of wistfulness, a glimpse into the depths of his own journey. "The guidance of grace. Well, enjoy it while you can. I am Tarnished, like you. But unlike you, I've seen neither hide nor hair of this guidance for the longest time."
"Still," Rogier continued, his voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and resignation, "I won't forget how it felt when I first came here, to the Lands Between."
"The guidance of grace feels like a pull on my very soul, hurtling me towards the end," Harry responded, his brows furrowing in contemplation. The threads of destiny seemed to weave themselves tighter around him with each passing moment. "My finger maiden told me that it will direct me towards the quickest way to mend the Elden Ring. Perhaps once I have succeeded, I can go home."
Rogier's lips curled into a knowing smile, a testament to the weight of their shared experiences. "I'm privy to a few magical battle arts," he offered, his tone both inviting and earnest. "Would you care to learn one? As a fellow Tarnished, once guided by grace, I'd love to help you out, if it pleases you."
The opportunity to expand his skills, to learn from another who understood the intricacies of their world, was one that Harry could not easily dismiss. The castle's ancient walls seemed to echo with the significance of this encounter, a crossroads that had brought them together.
"I don't see the harm in it," Harry conceded, his gaze locking onto Rogier's.
For hours that seemed to bend time itself, Harry and Rogier delved deep into the intricate tapestry of spells and sorceries that the Lands Between had to offer. Harry found himself both fascinated and perplexed by the unique array of magical disciplines that permeated this realm. Soul and moon sorceries, their power drawn from the essence of life itself, opened his mind to a new realm of possibilities. Blood spells, their nature enigmatic and unsettling, stirred within him a mixture of curiosity and caution. And then there was gravity magic, a manipulation of the fundamental forces that governed the world, which ignited his imagination with its sheer audacity.
As Rogier shared his knowledge, his eyes gleamed with the passion of a true sorcerer. He reveled in the intricacies of crafting spells tailored to specific tasks, a masterful art that Harry had yet to fully comprehend. Each gesture, each incantation, seemed to carry a profound purpose, a purpose that resonated with the very essence of the Lands Between.
"Imagine," Rogier's voice was animated as he demonstrated a soul sorcery with a wave of his staff, "a sorcery that does not require any particular motion or way of speaking. Here in the Lands Between, the essence of the spell is entwined with the very fabric of our intentions. The weaving of magic is an intricate dance between our desires and the arcane forces that respond."
Harry's eyes widened as he observed the manifestation of Rogier's sorcery. A comet-like sorcery manifested in front of them from his staff that Rogier directed towards the entrance of Stormveil Castle. It was a stark contrast to the wand movements and incantations he had grown accustomed to at Hogwarts.
"Indeed," Rogier continued his expression a blend of enthusiasm and pride, "though we have no spells like your world that can be tailored to your specific needs, our sorceries are shaped by our intentions. Each casting becomes a reflection of our innermost thoughts, a testament to the connection between our essence and the weave of magic itself."
Harry marveled at the concept, his mind racing to grasp the implications. The idea of spells responding to the raw intent of the caster was both intriguing and daunting. It required a depth of understanding, a harmony between mind and magic, that he had only begun to fathom.
"Truly marvelous," Harry echoed, a sense of awe coloring his words. "To think that magic could be so intimately tied to one's thoughts and emotions." As the glow of the soul sorcery faded, leaving behind a lingering sense of wonder, Harry felt a newfound appreciation for the depth and diversity of magic that surrounded him.
"The battle art you've learned belongs to the glintstone family," Rogier explained to Harry, his voice carrying a sense of reverence for the craft. The two of them stood in front of the Site of Grace, the walls adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with ancient energy. Rogier's staff glowed softly as he demonstrated the incantation once more, a cascade of glinting stones forming and swirling around him. "These arts were conceived at the great Academy of Raya Lucaria, situated to the north of this castle. A place steeped in history and tradition."
"In the past," Rogier continued, his words carrying a tinge of nostalgia, "these battle arts obeyed laws that often contradicted the very principles upheld by the Golden Order. It's fascinating, isn't it? The Golden Order, once so steadfast in its doctrine, had the capacity to adapt and absorb practices that once opposed it."
Harry nodded, his thoughts echoing the sentiment. The world was far from black and white, its complexities often defying easy categorization. The malleability of the Golden Order, once unyielding in its reign, underscored the fractures that had begun to splinter its foundations.
"Indeed," Rogier mused, his gaze distant for a moment before refocusing on Harry. "With the Order now fractured, twisted, and in need of repair, adaptability is more important than ever. These battle arts are not mere spells, Harry. They reflect the world's evolution, its willingness to change and evolve."
"Remember, these arts are tools," Rogier said, his tone shifting to one of practicality. "Use them wisely, use them with purpose. They are a means to an end, a means to mend the Elden Ring and bring about change."
Once their impromptu lesson had concluded, Harry and Rogier rose from the soothing embrace of the Site of Grace, a renewed sense of purpose burning in their eyes. As they cast their gazes towards the walkway that led to the imposing main gates of Stormveil Castle, a tacit understanding passed between them.
With a subtle nod, Harry and Rogier set foot upon the narrow walkway, flanked by treacherous chasms on either side. The air seemed to thicken with tension as they ventured forward, every step a deliberate progression into the heart of danger. The path stretched before them, a serpentine trail of uncertainty and peril, weaving its way toward the distant gates that guarded the fortress.
The walkway itself was a testament to the brutality of this world, a gauntlet of obstacles of various kinds littering the path, demanding swift reflexes and unwavering focus. Wooden barricades loomed like sentinels, their presence a clear indication that passage would not be granted without a formidable struggle. Harry's grip tightened on his wand, a silent reassurance of his determination to overcome whatever challenges awaited. Rogier, his staff held at the ready, exuded a calm confidence that spoke of his experience navigating the trials of the Lands Between.
As Harry and Rogier pressed forward along the path, an ominous quiver swept through the air, ripples of uncertainty that seemed to materialize from the very stone beneath their feet. Harry's gaze sharpened, surveying his surroundings with a mix of wariness and curiosity. Amidst the stark backdrop of Stormveil Castle, a distant tower cast a mesmerizing glimmer—a radiant, almost golden allure that danced like sunlight upon the surface of still waters. But this was no gentle sunlight; it was an omen of impending confrontation.
From within that luminescent cascade emerged a towering figure, a grotesque amalgamation of raw strength and eerie beauty. Twisted horns spiraled from his flesh, a macabre crown upon his head. His body seemed both human and monstrous, an unholy union of the two. Muscles bulged beneath ashen skin, and eyes gleamed with a predatory intelligence. With a resonant thud, he descended from his lofty vantage point, his sheer presence heralding a reckoning that would not be avoided.
As he alighted before them in the castle's courtyard, his form seemed to cast a pall over the very earth, darkening the path ahead with the weight of anticipation. Harry's grip tightened around his wand, a silent readiness coursing through his veins. Beside him, Rogier shifted, the air around him quivering as if in response to the newfound tension.
"Margit" Rogier hissed, brandishing his staff as Harry cast a shield charm over them both.
"Foul tarnished, in search of the Elden Ring. Emboldened by the flame of ambition. Someone must extinguish thy flame. Let it be Margit the Fell!" Margit raised his staff and pointed at them, ready for battle.
In the heart of the castle's courtyard, the clash erupted into a violent crescendo. Harry's resolve, honed by battles past, surged forth as he unleashed a Reductor curse, raw magical power coalescing into a tangible force. But Margit, the Fell, was no mere adversary; with a casual sweep of his staff, he deflected the curse, the spell's energy dissipating into the ether. His response was immediate, a display of unearthly prowess as he leapt into the air, the golden gleam of a hammer forming in his hand.
With an earth-shaking thud, Margit slammed the hammer upon the ground, a shockwave of force rippling outward. Harry and Rogier, caught off guard, were hurled back, their bodies skidding across the courtyard's uneven stone. Groans of pain erupted from both as Harry fought to regain his footing. Beside him, Rogier was quick to retaliate, his sorcery manifesting in the form of glintstone waves—luminous ripples that surged forth with deadly intent.
The waves crashed upon Margit, who grunted and raised his staff in defense, a shield of raw energy forming in response. The impact sent tremors through his frame, but his resolve held firm as he weathered the onslaught. Meanwhile, Harry seized the opportunity, closing the distance with a series of swift, calculated strikes. Beginning with a transfiguration of the rusted swords into gleaming spears, he banished them at Margit. Following that, Harry sent the spell that was fast becoming his new signature spell.
"Sectumsempra"
The simultaneous attacks proved to be too much for Margit as he dropped to his knees. As Harry ran towards him to land the killing blow, Margit threw golden knives at him. While Harry managed to dodge one, the second one went through his right shoulder, throwing him back. Margit jumped in the air once more, this time conjuring a spear and stabbing it in a downward motion at Harry. Harry threw himself away, at the last moment as Margit landed, rocks flying at the impact.
"Well, thou art of passing skill. Warrior blood must truly run in thy veins, Tarnished."
As Margit once more advanced at Harry, Rogier fell on his back, his staff now in the shape of a greatsword, stabbing Margit through the back. Margit howled in pain, throwing Rogier off his back. Harry, taking advantage of the momentary opening, unleashed a stunning spell, a jet of red light that engulfed Margit. Temporarily blinded and disoriented, Margit stumbled, his grip on the staff faltering. Sensing the opportunity, Harry channeled his magic with renewed intensity, summoning torrents of flames that enveloped Margit, searing his twisted form.
Margit's roar of pain echoed through the courtyard as he staggered back, his once-mighty presence diminished. Harry and Rogier pressed their advantage, Harry's sword finding its mark as he struck the final blow, stabbing Margit through the heart. Margit wavered, then fell on his knees, his malevolent eyes turning to Harry and hissed.
"I shall remember thee, Tarnished. Smoldering with thy meagre flame. Cower in Fear. Of the Night. The hands of the Fell Omen shall brook thee no quarter." Saying this, Margit's form fell to the floor and dissipated into mist. The courtyard fell into an eerie silence, the remnants of battle settling around them. Harry's chest heaved as he caught his breath, his sword held at the ready. Beside him, Rogier's staff crackled with lingering energy.
"You fought well," Rogier's voice carried a note of respect as he approached Harry, his exhaustion mirrored in his gaze.
"As did you," Harry replied, a weary but satisfied smile tugging at his lips. As the duo now approached the unguarded gates of Stormveil, Harry spotted another Site of Grace. As he reached the soothing aura of the Site, his weary form sank to the ground, a hiss escaping his lips as his wounds met the tender embrace of its healing power. Beside him, Rogier's approach was more measured, a mixture of curiosity and concern etched on his features as he observed Harry's interaction with the grace.
"I sense your departure, Rogier," Harry spoke as the healing energies flowed through him, his voice carrying a tone of both gratitude and farewell. The presence of Melina beside him signaled her assistance in the healing process.
Rogier's gaze met Harry's, his own expression a blend of understanding and anticipation. "Indeed, Harry Potter. Our paths may diverge for now, but the tapestry of fate is woven in enigmatic ways. Until our threads cross again."
Harry nodded; a respectful acknowledgment exchanged between the two Tarnished. Rogier, with a graceful bow, initiated his departure. His steps carried him away from the Site of Grace, toward the gates that beckoned him onward.
"Farewell, Rogier," Harry's voice lingered in the air. As Rogier's figure disappeared, Harry turned his attention back to Melina, who continued her healing ministrations.
Amidst the gentle glow of the healing energies that enveloped him, Harry endured the mixture of discomfort and relief that accompanied Melina's mending touch. His breath escaped in a low, pained exhale as his wounded shoulder slowly began to yield to the ministrations of grace. As his body mended, his thoughts gravitated toward the finger maiden who worked diligently beside him.
"Forgive me" Melina began "I've been... testing you. To see whether grace truly does guide you. And... whether you are fit to face the challenge that entails. It seems my worries were unfounded. Torrent had your measure from the very start. Whereas I merely pretended. There is but one other thing I can do to offer you guidance. I can take you to the Roundtable Hold... A gathering place of Tarnished champions, guided by Grace..."
"Testing, you say?" he mused, his voice reflecting both curiosity and the understanding that the challenges of the Lands Between were far from straightforward. "It seems that even grace itself seeks to ensure its chosen path is walked by those deserving." With a slight shift of his body, Harry tested the condition of his wounds, his fingers gently probing where the pain had once gnawed. To his astonishment, he found that the anguish he had felt only moments ago was now replaced with a sense of vitality. Melina's healing touch had worked wonders, stitching the fabric of his flesh back together and banishing the remnants of pain.
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he flexed his previously aching muscles. "Remarkable," he murmured to himself, marveling at the speed with which Melina's magic had wrought its effects. Harry's gaze shifted back to Melina as she rose gracefully from her seated position, her expression a mixture of anticipation and purpose.
"I am ready," he affirmed with conviction, his tone a blend of determination and curiosity. As he spoke, he found his own hand instinctively reaching out, bridging the gap between them.
"Very well. Let my hand rest upon you, for but a moment."
Their hands touched and Melina pulled Harry into a vortex of magic as they vanished from Stormveil Castle.
AN: Hello again! Here is the next chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy it. As always, read and review please.