The water's embrace was a harsh, frigid shock, pulling him from the brink of unconsciousness. "We found him here, after all," a voice echoed, distant yet distinct, as darkness flirted with the edges of his vision. The Tarnished One clung to awareness, despite the pervasive throbbing that coursed through him, a pain sharp and alien, unlike any wound or break he'd suffered before.
He forced his aching body to move, a stark realization dawning upon him. His armour was gone, replaced by nothing more than a tattered loincloth clinging to his battered frame. His mind reeled – where had it vanished to?
Then, breaking through his confusion, came the sound of hooves against the wet ground. A horse emerged from the mist, its noble form a stark contrast to the bleak surroundings. Its rider, shrouded in mystery, dismounted with a fluid grace, their cowl thrown back to reveal their identity.
The pain within him peaked, sharp as a mouthful of shattered glass. Instinctively, a blinding light ignited behind his eyes, a harbinger of the frenzy that once consumed him.
The woman, Melina, was visibly shaken by the sight. In a swift motion born of necessity, she drew the Blade of Calling. The sword, usually alight with golden flames, now burned with an ominous black fire. He noticed, not without a sense of foreboding, that the mark on her left eye had faded, a sign of something amiss.
"You..." he began, his voice barely a whisper.
His gaze shifted to his own weapons, the straight sword and shield bestowed by that grafted monstrosity, lying far beyond his reach. With no time to spare, he dove to the right, narrowly avoiding her initial strike.
Melina's attack came swiftly, a diagonal slash aimed to maim. He raised a makeshift plank of wood in a desperate defense. The blade met the plank with a burst of black fire, the impact sending shockwaves through his arms. He retaliated with a sharp kick, aiming for her midsection, but she was quicker, sidestepping his attack by a mere centimeter.
Their familiarity with each other's combat style was evident, each move and countermove a testament to their shared history. He swung the remains of the plank in a blunt horizontal strike, but she countered with an upward slash. Anticipating her move, he released his makeshift weapon and ducked, his hands searching the water for anything that could serve as a weapon.
Their blades clashed, steel ringing against steel, as Melina transitioned her attack into a lethal thrust aimed at his side. The frenzied flame that once consumed him roared to life along his sword, meeting her black flame in a cataclysmic clash.
Just as the tension reached its peak, Torrent intervened, crying out and positioning himself as a barrier between them.
A moment of stillness followed, a brief respite in their clash. The Tarnished One lowered his sword, the infernal heat behind his eyes dimming. Melina's expression was an enigma, her thoughts concealed as she mounted the spectral steed.
"My apologies, Torrent. You know not of this man's folly, the havoc he wrought upon this world," she said, her voice laced with a deep sorrow. "I cannot bear the sight of one who so willingly embraced the Frenzied Flame."
"I tried everything!" he protested, his grip on the sword tightening, a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. "The unalloyed gold needles, forged by Miquella, I scoured the lands for them, embedding them into my flesh in a desperate bid to quell the flame."
He paused, drawing a deep, steadying breath. "Even after defeating Radagon and that golden monstrosity, I thought I had succeeded."
"That's enough," Melina interrupted, her tone a mix of weariness and resolve. "We will speak more when cooler heads prevail." With those words, she tossed a bundle towards him.
As she and Torrent faded into ethereal motes of blue light, he unwrapped the cloth, revealing the familiar sight of two flasks.
In the distance, Melina watched as the Tarnished stripped a fallen soldier of his armor. Memories flooded her mind: the potential she saw in him when he defeated Morgott's shadow, the moment she gifted him Torrent, and the power to convert runes into strength. She had deliberately maintained her distance, avoiding any attachment that might sway him from the path she believed was destined for him. Despite her efforts, he had followed in the footsteps of those before him.
She recalled pleading with him to abandon his quest, to resist the allure of the Frenzied Flame, but he had persisted, descending deeper beneath Leyndell until he reached the accursed prison of the Three. Her pleas fell on deaf ears as he embraced the flame.
The same flame that now consumed Varre in a display of excruciating agony. His bloodied mace dropped to the ground, his screams echoing through the desolate landscape.
Melina remembered the apocalyptic vision of a world reduced to ash, the heavens themselves ablaze. She remembered Torrent's ring, charred and crumbling, and the lifeless slump of his body as she lay beside him, death claiming them both.
Such a fate, a madness that threatened to engulf everything, must never come to pass again.
As long as she drew breath, she was determined to prevent it.