PRELUDE - THE EMERGENCE
Do you see it? The golden light of grace? Abundant in its blessing. O', Tarnished… Do you feel it?
The land of Queen Marika and her ilk, the demi-gods. With every call of her name, the Golden Order rose to prominence, devastatingly consolidating their reign with every death of their enemy.
Lord Godfrey, the Lord of the Battlefield. He alone was the reason for their strangling clutch on these lands and as time went on and schemes bore fruit, the Elden Ring was shattered in a moment of grief… or was it rebellion?
Do you remember, O' Tarnished?
The smell of the lake. The sounds of swords clashing. The view from the academy.
Rise, Tarnished—thou who are dead yet live. Rise.
SER EMYR
The light of grace slowly fades into one of the many bodies that littered the cave. Blood began to run again, bones strengthened and flesh healed. The mind was the trickiest thing.
The faint trickling of water resounding through the cave was a peaceful one. One that was broken by the startling shriek of the body. The man.
He didn't know who he was or what he was. Was this… life? Was it real?
REMEMBER.
Images in the man's mind began to play like captured moments, paintings brought to life through the power of the mind. Balls, academic studies, star-gazing, knighthood, nobility… ambition. These things felt alien to the prisoner as if these things were not his own experience and yet… something felt so familiar. As if he could reach out and touch them, experience all of it all over again.
The only thing he could feel was an overwhelming state of loss.
In his iron mask that weighed as heavy as his heart, the prisoner cried for a life he lost. Looking out to the abyss of the cave, the utter darkness… there shone a tree, a golden tree.
With what little strength he had he lifted himself to his feet, the chains hanging from his wrists clinking against the damp stone, a reminder that even whilst his heart beat he was still a prisoner.
The golden tree drew him in. It felt like he floated over to it, for he could barely feel the sharp rocks and trickling water he shifted through to get to it.
"I…am Emyr." his voice bounced back into the helmet, reverberating against his mind as more memories flushed through. "I was… a knight." Then he felt the weight of the estoc at his waist, sheathed and unused for an age. On the other side a stave, the tip of it embedded with glintstone.
I am Emyr. The one in those memories. The silver-haired nobleman of Caria, a student to the Raya Lucarian Academy and… something more.
"I… remember."
Reaching out to the tree, he'd grasp one of its branches. It was… oddly warm with a soothing sensation working its way through his body. It gave him a sense of relief as the adrenaline began to wear off.
One side of his bulbous iron mask was scratched and dented with its eye covered, the other side was just as damaged however that eye was open. His visible singular eye against the golden sheen of the tree looked black when in fact, his eyes were brown with darkened, bruised sockets.
Emyr looked around the cave and wandered toward the door that was only visible thanks to the light of the tree that was bent in its direction. With his little strength, Emyr could barely open the titanic doors that led to the next room and hopefully, his salvation…
Inside sat a site of fluorescent light, grace. A tiny golden aura with strings of grace shooting off in all directions, swirling and intertwining with one another. This grace led Emyr forward despite the pain beginning to set in again and as he kneeled to its splendor… Everything felt renewed.
The pain simply disappeared. Physical pain. The emotional toll of his resurrection brought the Prisoner to tears, each tear landing flatly against the inside of the iron mask.
"I need… to get this off." he tried to twist it, push it… to no avail. It was locked. "I need to get this OFF!" the Prisoner lamented, struggling against the cruel twist of fate. He got so frustrated he swung his closed fist at the prisoner's mask - a sharp snap resounded into the empty room, followed by a scream of pain.
His knuckle had already inflated to the size of a rock, bruising and swelling. The prisoner trembled as he fell to his side, staring into the golden light of grace… and through it, the elevator.
Freedom…
"... light."
Was he seeing things… or was it that these strings of golden light were twisting after he rested there? They were turning in one direction. The elevator.
Holding his hand, Emyr groaned as he rose back to his feet once again, trudging on toward his meeting with the outside world after what felt like… he couldn't comprehend the time spent here, in this cave of death. How different were the Lands Between?
Reaching the elevator, it shot up fast enough to send the prisoner buckling down to his knees before it hit the top level of the tomb where only a door stood in his path.
"Another bloody door…" Emyr whispered to himself.
As the door grew closer Emyr could only feel his anxiety heighten. The door was shut by the bottom, drawing out yet another groan from the prisoner. He slowly kneeled, gripping the door and, with surprisingly little effort, the door lifted. A golden ray burst from under the door, illuminating the entire room. That light was a spark for Emyr and it sent him into a frantic panic to escape the confining tomb.
Freedom!
Hastily he gripped the door with both hands, despite the excruciating pain that shot through his arm and body, everything in him a warning to stop. To heal.
"COME ON!" he screamed as the door lifted to his chest, he maneuvered his hands to push up against the door with all the force he could muster.
The door flew up to lock in place, Emyr fell through the open gap as the light of the Erdtree beamed down upon him, his singular eye squinting against the light… he sat there, hands lying between his thighs with the gorgeous view of Limgrave and the Erdtree still standing tall, it's light shimmering through the fog that descended from the storm eclipsing the castle of Stormveil, its branches spanning across the open blue sky.
The trees danced in the light wind, hoofs of deer beat the ground like drums, and wonderful shrieks of the hawks that lingered under the clouds… the cold gust of wind brought a shiver. Another reminder… that he lived.
The wind… how beautiful that felt to feel.