Morgott felt her presence before he saw her.
He sat before the thrones, cool stone beneath him and his staff across his legs. Or, rather, he sat leaning against the throne where his father would have been, careful not to scratch the wood with his horns. But Godfrey had not graced this seat in some time. Radagon had been upon it longer, had ruled beside Marika to create the Golden Order as so many knew it today.
But that order was fading. The world was fading, had been fading ever since Godfrey had been sent away. Ever since the visits down to his cell beneath Leyndell had ended, a firm but gentle voice from the darkness at the edges of light never returning. Leaving him alone, save for the times he could find his twin within the cavernous maze upon which the capital stood.
And oh, didn't that rankle. To miss that voice, that presence, so much he was taking comfort in a seat he had held but briefly as he went off to war. That he wished for his father close by, no matter that he had not stopped his mother from throwing him into a hole to never see the light of day. The grimace that stretched across his face made his whole body tense, his tail twitching to reflect his irritation at these bothersome thoughts.
This was a mistake.
Fire in his side, burning as the ragged edges of broken bones ground against each other, stole his breath and left him gasping. He placed one gnarled hand on the ground to keep from falling over, closing his one eye to block out the agony as it washed over him.
Radahn had been a fierce enemy, and not one Morgott had relished coming to blows with. It was not for nothing the man was known as the scourge of the stars, and his mastery of blade and sorcery were almost without equal. But even one so accomplished may be outmaneuvered if drawn out of position, focused so much on a monstrous foe that he could not properly lead his army as it was flanked. The memory brought a smile to Morgott's lips, knowing on that day he had been a fell omen to the Red Lion General as his forces broke around their duel.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he controlled his breathing and let the cool night air soothe his aching flesh. Scents from the city wafted up to fill him, the sweet perfume of flowers and the sick stench of fear, all driving deep to help push away the terrible aches. The pain was coming less frequently now, months after the siege. In a few more weeks he would be fully recovered, no longer plagued by these episodes and the weakness they brought. Then he could…
Could what? Reign as king of people that didn't know who he was? Had only seen his face as 'Margit,' the dreaded defender of horn and claw? Try to maintain the Golden Order as it crumbled around him? The Lands Between were as shattered as the Elden Ring, whole regions wracked with conflict as armies marched under the banner of his demigod siblings. Enough blood had spilled to satiate even Mohg and his insane cult, drowning the world in a crimson tide. The Erdtree still stood, a shining beacon seen from every corner, but would permit none entrance to what remained of the Elden Ring.
And yet here I sit, Morgott thought to himself as he reclined against his father's throne once again. The final caretaker for a ruined kingdom.
"Thou art in pain," she said, finally announcing herself. Morgott opened his eye as moonlight gathered, motes pooling into the shape of a woman beneath a wide brimmed hat. Four blue hands rested across her lap as she settled on the parapet separating the balcony from the rest of Leyndell below. "I hope my presence does not lead to further aggravation of thy injuries, brother."
"I give thee greeting, Lunar Princess Ranni," Morgott said, baring his teeth in a smile. "For what reason this visit, if thou art truly present at all?"
"There is reason to doubt?"
Morgott laughed, his mirth overwhelming even the pain the action caused, and said, "Always."
Ranni tilted her head, examining Morgott with a single eye. The other remained closed, though the spectral face that shimmered close had that eye open. Morgott wondered at the symbolism there, if any existed. If there was one thing his younger sister appreciated as much as her secrecy, it was showing off how clever she was.
If he could even consider her related anymore, what with that puppet's body her soul now inhabited. Once fiery red hair was now a shade darker blue than her flesh, and her joints made the faintest creaking sound as she moved. Porcelain skin with wire muscles, animated by sheer force of will.
"I will forgive thee this transgression," she said. "For in truth thine words have hit the mark. What is seen is merely an illusion wrought of moonlight, and mine true body rests elsewhere."
"A wise precaution considering these trying times," Morgott replied. "I might have struck thee believing murderous intent, as Radahn graced me with not long ago."
"Thou need not worry of mine intent, brother, nor that of Radahn's. He has fallen, and with him so has Caelid."
Morgott winced. "So it is true. I had heard he and Malenia did battle, but reports have been scarce. To think the starscourge himself slain…"
"Not slain," Ranni said. "Fallen. No one was victorious in that conflict, for Malenia was driven back and Radahn afflicted with the scarlet rot that courses through her."
A chill ran up Morgott's spine, and he tightened his grip on his staff. But despite the ice in his veins the breeze that gently rushed across the balcony to push aside the fallen leaves also brushed against the sweat beading upon his brow. He wiped it away in one smooth motion, brushing his scraggly hair away from his lone eye.
"So thy mention of the fall of Caelid is that the land has become poison, drawn from Malenia's touch," he said. "Thine are dark tidings, sister."
Ranni shrugged. "Alas, such is what we must live with."
"What I must live with, assuming what thou hast become can be called living," Morgott growled. He stood up, leaning on his staff for support, and his shadow reached far in the moonlight to stop just before his sister's feet. "Why this macabre form, Ranni? Didst thou hate our family so much, or just mineself? Did the thought of relation to one of the hated omen drive thee to such extremes?"
"Thou think too little of both me and thineself, brother," Ranni said. "I have come merely to give word of what has transpired, and to offer thee an accord."
"An accord!" Morgott said, throwing up his free hand. He turned away from Ranni to look at the throne and the city beyond. There were so few lights now, many homes either abandoned or full of people huddling in the dark. But even so obscured his eyes could make out the traces of grand temples, of beautiful walkways leading to still growing gardens. All that he had shed blood to defend. "How gracious of thee! And where was thine accord when Radahn came to mine door proclaiming his right to rule, or even before as our grand council fell apart? No, Ranni, despite what all would wish I am king. A king does make make accords. He makes decrees."
"Thou wouldst be the last of kings, with such vision," Ranni replied. "The Golden Order is broken, Morgott. It cannot hold the world together."
"And whose fault is that?" he snapped, glaring at her over his shoulder. "Not mine. No, not mine. Our family runs rampant, butchering themselves and their people, but I stand alone before the Erdtree because there is no one else. And if that is so, then I will be the last of kings. It is what thou and the rest have made of me."
"It does not have to be that way."
Ranni moved away from the balustrade, her porcelain feet touching the ground. She stepped forward, two arms reaching for Morgott. He turned, cloak billowing around him, and held his staff out like a sword to her throat. Ranni stopped short, her hands still outstretched, and Morgott saw that her doll's face could shift expression as eyes both physical and spectral widened in concern.
"I would see us free of this," Ranni went on. "Free of the shackles of grand powers dictating the logic of the world. All I wish is what is best for us and everyone else."
"And so I call thee liar, Lunar Princess Ranni," Morgott growled. "For I see within thee same as I saw within Radahn and all the rest. Desire, enough to see the world burn. Madness and chaos unchecked."
"I am not touched by frenzy, brother."
"Thou might as well be."
She flinched, and Morgott felt a stab within his chest. Not a physical pain, like what Radahn forced upon him with might enough to make the stars themselves kneel. This was like a burning shard of frost forcing its way to the deepest part of him, mixing with all the poison his life had made of his own wretched soul.
"Go, Ranni," Morgott whispered, resting one hand upon his father's throne. Weariness ate away at him, gnawing mouths whose hunger knew no end devouring his strength and leaving him weak. "Just go."
"To continue on this course means death," Ranni said, her voice soft. "Thou must know this."
"If it is so, then it is so," Morgott said. "If one of our family stands over my ruined body then it will be a fitting end to this sorry affair."
"Not just our family," Ranni said, walking backward to the balustrade and the protection of the moon. "Marika has called back the Tarnished."
"Marika is hanging from the arc of the Elden Ring with a spear in her side," Morgott replied. "She cannot do anything."
"It was set in motion long ago, when thy father was sent away, that they would one day return."
"But why?" Morgott asked. "For what purpose…"
Words died on Morgott's lips as he imagined such purpose. For he had seen Marika before she had been sealed away, the great goddess suffering with the feverish worry of Radagon struggling to come to the surface. Even as she screamed and pulled against her bindings, as Radagon bellowed his defiance, Morgott had witnessed the same thing he had in all his family.
Desire enough to see the world burn.
"I see," he said. "She would stoke the flames of their ambition to strike the final blow against crumbling edifice."
"One last time, Morgott, I offer thee accord," Ranni said. "Freedom, for thyself and the rest of us. Thou dost not have to die."
Morgott did not respond for a long while, still looming over his father's throne. His father, who might even now be returning. Assuming he had not perished, of course. Godfrey no longer lived within grace, could not see it even to the degree Morgott did. That golden glow, faintly illuminating the world.
His father, who had come to him as he lay in filth and squalor to act for a time as the goodly parent. His father, who had not stopped Marika from tossing him into the bowels of the earth.
When he was young those visits had been freedom. A comforting hand in the darkness, a rough voice speaking of a world Morgott could scarcely imagine. It had filled up the entirety of his existence, love and hate warring against each other in the face of what he had accepted to be absolute sovereignty.
How little he had understood then.
"Thy wish is to be restrained by nothing," Morgott said at last. "I can see it, with all thy talk of liberation. Thou cannot bear to be shackled. I can sympathize, but I cannot believe."
"Then this is goodbye, for I doubt we shall see each other again."
"Yes, I imagine so."
Morgott remained where he stood as she vanished, fading away into the same moonlight upon which she had arrived. He did not watch her leave, hands shaking as he struggled within himself against a mad urge to smash his staff into the throne before him. To shatter the finely crafted wood, taken from the Erdtree itself, and throw the remnants to the wind.
Would it be so wrong to be selfish, just this once? Would it be a sin to let loose his own desires upon a world that had done its best to break him?
Perhaps it would, and perhaps it wouldn't. Regardless, he had no time to muse overlong upon such inconsequential matters. So he pushed down his rage and his disgust and his despair, letting out a shuddering breath that seemed to encompass the wholeness of his life as white knuckles eased their grip on the staff.
If the Tarnished were returning, then he would have to be ready for their arrival. He would have to send out his trusted cavalry, those riders of the night, to seek them out and destroy them. He might even find use for pathetic Godrick, wallowing in self-pity as he was within Stormveil. The wretch was indulging in grafting as a way to power, and were not the Tarnished meant to have grown strong outside the bounty of the Erdtree?
If Marika had intended to use the fire of their ambition as one last strike against the Golden Order she had helped to build, then he would extinguish that flame before it became an inferno that could not be stopped. For if he was to be Morgott, the last of all kings, then he would do his duty as ruler of the realm.
Just as his father would.