The Mistwood was a miserable place.
Despite the glow of the Erdtree, somehow the skies above this damnable forest were always gloomy and dull. Despite the constant wind that brushed through the trees, the humidity in the air was so thick it was practically suffocating; it was uncomfortable to simply breathe, let alone hike through the dark shadows cast by the forest's canopy, trying not to trip over the rolling and uneven terrain. The mist that granted the Mistwood its title helped none either, sometimes the veil so thick that light simply refused to filter through the vapor; it took the better part of a few days for Jaune to adjust to how quickly darkness could blanket the forest floor.
"This one here."
Jaune bit back the urge to groan as Blaidd pointed at a tree, thick as a troll and probably twice as tall. Standing probably only a few meters above the others, it was hard to tell where its own branches began and which ones belonged to the surrounding smaller trees, but at the very least the difference in height allowed a small measure of light to break through the canopy. With an expectant look from his "mentor," Jaune began the arduous process of looking for the thickest branch to serve as their firewood for the night.
This had been Jaune's life for the past three or so weeks; it was hard to tell exactly how long had passed since he and Kalé parted ways at the Church of Elleh. Without the strength of Runes, the only way for him to get stronger was to work and survive. Guided under Blaidd's watchful eye, his days were filled with mundane walks and a few hours of training, but far more than either of those his time was spent on tedious labor; tasks that Blaidd deemed necessary to Jaune's "training," yet Jaune himself only saw as a sadistic whim.
Not that he voiced it.
Once he'd asked the question as to why they didn't simply pick up the sticks and leaves that littered the ground. It seemed far more effective and less time consuming, and Blaidd had praised him for recognizing that. After teaching Jaune what to look for in firewood–as well as what wood to use for different types of tools–Blaidd had unleashed hell on Jaune during sword training, the shift in intensity so absurd that Jaune questioned the necessity of it all.
Blaidd's answer was that he was simply balancing out Jaune's workload.
After searching the base of the tree for a good starting point, he quickly set about climbing his way up, gripping his fingers into the plethora of knots and grooves that marked the bark's surface from untold years of abuse from the wildlife here. When he reached a point where there were no places for him to grab onto, he unlatched the small handaxe at his waist and cut one out manually. Progress was slow, and not even a minute in Jaune could feel the ache in his fingers begin to build. Rope would have been a wonderful tool right about, but he feared just how Blaidd might "reward" him for his creativity.
"So, any questions today?"
Speaking of, Blaidd's voice rang out from somewhere behind him. Securing his footing, Jaune craned his neck over his shoulder to see the hulking form of his mentor lumbering around the forest floor, his arms laden with stones; probably for their firepit, or perhaps tonight's craftwork. He'd found out soon enough, so he turned back to climbing while racking his brain.
Oftentimes Jaune asked questions during his training: about the Lands Between, about craftwork, or even about Blaidd himself. Sometimes he was climbing trees for firewood, other times it was during swordwork, but most times it was during their craftwork. It kept his thoughts occupied, and according to Blaidd it was good exercise for the mind, encouraging quick thinking and analysis under stress as well as teaching him how to multitask.
Where Kalé had been a veritable fount of general knowledge, Blaidd offered a far more focused perspective on things. He was not afraid to voice his opinion on matters and often did, but he was always open to questions and debate. It didn't take long for Jaune to learn that Blaidd encouraged curiosity, and was very accommodating. Contrary to his image as a rugged, rough-and-tumble warrior, the wolf-man was very wise.
Combing over what he remembered, Jaune frowned as a particular bit of information came to mind from his first day in the Lands Between. That white masked bastard, Varré, had said something about Stormveil Castle; a demigod of a kind, nested within its halls. Supposedly a step on his path as a Tarnished. He'd heard of the place before, and there was a time where he'd tried to traverse Stormhill to reach it; he never even made it past Stormfront Gate before he met a most swift end.
"Stormveil Castle," Jaune grunted, pulling himself up, "who is its Lord?"
Blaidd hummed in thought. "Its true Lord has been lost to time, likely killed off during the Shattering War like so many others. These days, an unholy man by the name of Godrick lurks there."
The name 'Godrick' was said dismissively; Blaidd almost sounded disgusted in saying it. Jaune stopped for a moment to look back at Blaidd, and just as he thought, there was a distinct sneer on the wolf-man's face, a new expression for him. Kalé had done much the same, but refused to elaborate as to why; with a shuddering stare, his only warning was to avoid Stormveil Castle for the time being. If Blaidd was reacting much the same way, Godrick must be a foul man indeed.
"This Godrick fellow… he a deplorable sort?"
"Deplorable is putting it lightly," Blaidd muttered, just barely loud enough for Jaune to hear. "Aye, Godrick the Grafted is not the type you'd want to share tables with. A decrepit man who hunts other people to graft, pasting their limbs either onto himself or onto one of his little 'pets.' He has the gall to call it a gift, but it's nothing but a vile practice borne from the deepest bowels of depravity."
That… wasn't ominous in the slightest. It also begged the question as to why he hadn't been taken for grafting the first time he died in Stormhill.
"Is that something to worry about, then?" Jaune asked worriedly. "This forest is close to Stormhill, is it not?"
The last thing he wanted was to wake up in the night with a spear shoved down his throat.
Blaidd snorted. "Perhaps if you keep climbing, the tree will hide you. Then you might not have to worry."
Sighing, Jaune ascended.
Diallos' office was a quaint thing. Formerly one of the royal guest rooms, it had an open balcony that overlooked Leyndell with stone pillars to frame the view. The only hint that this might have been a person's quarters at one point was the door that led to the personal bath. The bookshelves that had likely only held cosmetic bookshelves in the past were now crammed with a plethora of tomes, each of them filled with reports of the city's status and organized in painstakingly chronological order. Where the bed likely would have been, there was now Diallos' desk: a wide thing that Jaune himself had commissioned for his friend. Papers sat atop its surface in neat piles, and the only decoration in the room was sat on a small helmet stand, the mask of House Hoslow.
In the middle of Diallos' office were seats and a marble table for meetings; and it was where Jaune found his friend, fitted in his armor that marked him as head of the Administratum and looking none too pleased. And he was not alone.
Light blonde hair that bordered on silver, pastel skin as pale as the snow atop the Mountaintops of the Giants, and eyes the color of roaring flames; a smoldering gaze that seemed to crackle with might. She wore dark gray robes, the cotton material splitting just above her stomach to reveal scale armor made from gravel stone, and across her breast was a simple metal chest plate; tempered blackened steel with an iridescent glint in the warm light of the room. Small pauldrons of stone-like material adorned her shoulders, curling upwards like a series of horns. Most would have simply assumed her to be a simple warrior lady, for there was no shortage of those in the Lands Between, but Jaune knew better.
"Lansseax," he muttered.
This presence was one he'd felt before: the two times he'd fought her in his first few months in the Altus Plateau. Jaune had known about the Ancient Dragons' ability to shift between forms thanks to Marika–the tragedy of Vyke the Dragonspear was not lost on him–but it was his first time seeing Lansseax in this form; yet her presence was unmistakable. Like a lightning bolt ready to crash there was a distinct charge in the air accompanied by the faint smell of ozone that radiated off her form. Different from the other Ancient Dragons he faced in Farum Azula proper, however, was the faint essence of grace he could feel emanating off of her; likely a side effect of her affections for the Dragon Cult of Leyndell; or one member of it, in particular. As to why she was here, he had no idea. Her expression was neutral, and though her posture was proper it held no trace of tension.
Diallos looked up at him in relief.
"So you know her?" He asked, coming over to grasp Jaune's arm in a brotherly shake.
"Aye, I'm surprised to see you with all your hair, given who she is."
Lansseax growled, annoyance overtaking her features as she glared at the two of them. "I sit before thee, Elden Lord. Speak not as if it were not so."
Jaune frowned as he guided Diallos behind him, much to the other man's confusion. "Mil-"
"Something to say, Lansseax?" Jaune asked, preparing for a fight. Lansseax scoffed, her former annoyance shifting to a bored expression as she rolled her eyes.
"Wert it mine intention to fight thee, I wouldst spare myself the trouble of this form," she drawled. "I cometh in peace, as messenger of Farum Azula. Nay, I cometh on behalf of Lord Placidusax."
Jaune narrowed his eyes. So this wasn't just a personal visit, then. Glancing at Diallos he signaled for him to leave the room, an order Diallos dutifully followed. Turning back to Lansseax he slowly walked over and set himself into the opposite chair. If she was here on orders from Placidusax, that could only mean one thing.
"He's awake then, I take it?"
She huffed. "Indeed. He doth intend to honor his word: coexistence."
Smiling, Jaune leaned back into his seat. An excellent start and welcome news.
In the realm beyond time, he and the Ancient Dragon Lord faced each other in honorable combat. Not Jaune's idea, but rather Marika's; a trial for lordship, she'd said. It held no significance in his ascension to Elden Lord; Placidusax possessed no Great Rune, fighting him meant nothing, yet fight they did. Jaune's victory was hard-fought, and in the end Placidusax had been spared on the condition that the Ancient Dragons would, at the very least, not hinder the efforts of Jaune's people.
Not only that, but having thought it over, Placidusax might also know of a solution to his time dilation issue. While there were some advantages to the difference in time between Remnant and the Lands Between, the irresponsibility of leaving his kingdom unattended for days at a time weighed heavily on Jaune's mind. Who better to solve the problem than the Lord of Time himself?
"His wounds?" Jaune asked.
Lansseax eyed him critically. "Grave, yet he shall live," she reported.
To be expected. Placidusax had not been an easy opponent to defeat, forcing Jaune to bring most if not all of his strength to bear in order to bring him down. Eldritch lightning and arcane magicks unknown even to Marika, their fight had been beyond spectacle. Still, the Dragon Lord was already wounded even before Jaune stumbled onto the Realm Beyond Time, from a battle that he was not privy to; wounds that were already grievous. Adding the wounds that Jaune himself inflicted…
Jaune stood. "Take me to him at once."
Lansseax reeled, startled. "Pardon?"
Sighing, he gestured vaguely in frustration. "While I could transport myself to Farum Azula, suddenly appearing in the middle of his territory would be incredibly rude. At least with you taking me back, you are capable of letting him know my intentions ahead of time."
"Yet thy intentions are what, Elden Lord?" Lansseax questioned with a deep frown.
"I intend to heal him."
"Thou'rt certain?"
Now in her dragon form, the Ancient Dragon's voice carried through the air as if they weren't flying faster than the speed of sound; a feat owed to a mechanism of ancient magicks that Jaune was still trying to figure out. Without flapping her wings they were kept afloat, almost as if the wind itself were carrying them. Wind magic, gravity magic, or even a dedicated form of magic for flight could be responsible, but there were no visible crests or seals that he could see responsible for their casting despite the fact he could feel the current of magic being used. Perched upon her back, a gravity crest anchoring his body to hers, he hummed at her inquiry.
"What do you mean?" He asked.
Lansseax seemed to shudder, perhaps laughing at how casual Jaune was despite the task ahead. Warranted, certainly. Even with the power of the Elden Ring, Placidusax supposedly existed before the Erdtree came to being. Would his power even be able to heal an Ancient Dragon, let alone their Lord? It wasn't guaranteed to work, but he had to make the attempt if he wanted this relationship between their people to flower.
"I ask of thee: dost thou believe it wise, healing the Lord of Time? The very Lord who once ruled the Lands Between with tempest in hand and divine lightning in the other; the first true Elden Lord? Thou wouldst believe him to not challenge thee, in a bid to reclaim his title?"
Jaune quirked a brow at her. "You would speak against the good health of your Lord?"
"Nay," Lansseax denied immediately. "Fiercely do I long for Lord Placidusax to return to us in full. Yet… as one who did face thee in combat, I admit my curiosity. Thou hast a tendency to spare thine enemies. Why?"
Jaune sighed. He did have a tendency to spare those who faced him, but enemies? That seemed a bit of a stretch. Perhaps when he had first arrived in the Lands Between he could've claimed many of his opponents to be his enemies; survival had been his foremost objective, and dying over and over seemed counterintuitive to that. In that regard, the Lands Between was rife with enemies. But as he got stronger? Upon ascending to Elden Lord? True enemies were few and far between, least of all in the mortal coil. The Ancient Dragons were not his enemy, but that didn't mean they couldn't be in the future; not something he wanted, for the sake of his people as well as Placidusax's.
"Your curiosity… does it stem from my sparing of Placidusax's life? Or yours?"
Lansseax' following silence was very telling. To think that would bother her still; yet in retrospect, what was three years to the sheer magnitude of an Ancient Dragon's lifetime? Species as long-lived as hers may very well have a warped perspective on time itself, something that Jaune wasn't necessarily unfamiliar with given his being a Tarnished. But for her, it must've seemed like yesterday that they were in the Altus Plateau, battling it out across the fields along the outer walls.
He mulled over his own words, why he'd spared her of all people; although "spared" seemed a bit of a stretch. He may not have killed her, but that may have also been due to the timely arrival of a Black Knife Assassin; one who'd attempted to snuff him out in his exhaustion. Yet, even that wasn't true, if he was being honest with himself. Even had he not been interrupted, he doubted he would have killed Lansseax when she was at his mercy; because he held no hatred or disdain for her or her kind. Rather, he felt only sympathy.
"The tragedy of Vyke the Dragonspear," he murmured, the words barely intelligible beyond the rushing wind; but that didn't matter.
Suddenly, Jaune nearly stumbled as Lansseax came to a harsh stop. Lightning–rich with eldritch energy and gleaming a deep crimson red–arced across her scales in long streaks, cracking like whips. Her growl filled the air with such hostility it was almost tangible, but Jaune did not move, his mouth curling in a commiserate frown. Perhaps he knew of Lansseax' tragic relationship with the Dragonspear of Leyndell, but evidently those feelings ran deeper than he'd known. The sheer grief that emanated off Lansseax' soul came rolling off in waves, a roiling torrent of regret and longing that might have crippled lesser men; but he was not a lesser man, and this pain… was one he himself was familiar with.
"Dare not to sully that man's name with thy tongue," Lansseax roared, "lest I tear it out myself; Lord Placidusax be damned!"
Despite the sheer rage in her words, Lansseax's voice held a clear quiver that betrayed her emotional turmoil. A small voice crack that told Jaune of great despair and mourning; how long had these feelings settled in her heart? As a heavy weight settled in Jaune's chest, he had the feeling that it hadn't been nearly long enough.
"Peace, Lansseax," Jaune assured calmly. "I do not deride his story, nor do I mock your affections for him."
Lansseax' craned her head over her shoulder to glare at him, a single cindery iris almost burning through his skull with its intensity. "Elaborate."
"I came to know of his tale, and your involvement with him, in Liurnia," Jaune explained. "A vestige of his spirit, vengeful and maddened with grief, guards the corpse of a maiden within the Church of Inhibition, to the East of the Grand Lift of Dectus."
A sound akin to a gasp rushed out of Lansseax' mouth, and the malice that permeated the air lessened somewhat. "Sanriel…"
Quirking a brow, Jaune hummed. "So that was her name? Vyke's maiden, I assume?"
Lansseax seemed to calm herself, lightning fading away with a lingering crackle before fizzing out of existence. Though her rage had been abated, sadness still permeated her form. Her head bowed as she closed her eyes, and had she been in her human form, Jaune could imagine the way her lips peeled back to be some kind of smile. Her head swayed gently as she seemed to lose herself in her mind.
"Indeed," she murmured, opening her eyes to look at him once more. "Sanriel was his maiden; and our lover."
Jaune blinked. "'Our?'"
Lansseax shuddered again, and this time Jaune was sure it was a laugh. Not a purely joyful one, though. This laugh was laced with melancholy; a trace of longing and nostalgia.
"She was the herald of our love," she whispered. Her voice was fond, filled with a yearning that simply hurt to hear. "She did confide in I–of all the peoples of Leyndell–of how to best aid her Tarnished. Deeply did she care for his well-being, and verily did she long for his success. Hence, Vyke joined the Dragon Cult, and so too did mine affections for him begin. As the march of time did pass, Sanriel too did earn my affection; her gentle firmity attractive in its own right."
Lansseax seemed to remember who she was talking to, and in a gesture that was simply too human she shook her head with a sound akin to a groan. "I let slip too much. Forget what thou'st heard."
Those words triggered something in Jaune, a memory of a time that seemed so far from the present. Suddenly, he was no longer sitting upon the back of an Ancient Dragon. Suddenly, he was stood in a dark cave dimly lit by luminescent foliage, ancient pale candle light, and the golden rays of a Site of Grace. A reaving chill that sunk to the depths of his bones, yet he'd never felt warmer.
'Ah, should I add thee to the list? Another one, kind of heart. As kind of heart as they?'
"Elden Lord?"
The memory left him, and the remnants of those emotions drifted away with a solemn exhale. Blinking, he was returned to the skies, and Lansseax' inquisitive stare, no longer filled with hostility.
With a sigh he waved her away. "Simply caught in the web of nostalgia, same as you."
It didn't take much longer after that before Farum Azula was within sight. Mere minutes, given how fast Lansseax could fly.
The city was still in broad disrepair, but there was clear evidence that the place was beginning to heal. Buildings that Jaune had mentally marked during his 3 or so month venture here were visibly mended, the walls and pillars nearly pristine in comparison to the crumbling stonework he remembered. Where debris once littered the air, floating in clusters or in isolation, there was now empty air; the wreckage had been moved into piles, stacked high and visible in a few corners of the floating islands. A legion of smaller figures were moving about, and it took a second for Jaune to realize they were the Beastman. Skeletal and not, the Beastman shuffled around the city in droves, carrying stones and tools. Others were hard at work repairing the buildings, and others still were tearing down old ones; presumably to make way for newer structures.
Lannseax's flight took them above and through the city proper, and Jaune glanced to the side to see other Ancient Dragons raise their heads as they flew overhead, accompanied by a cacophony of roars that might have been a greeting. All of them were doing something, it seemed. Quite a few were helping to demolish old ruins, their larger size affording them an easier time with destructive tasks. Others seemed to be casting magic of a sort, magic seals circling around their gargantuan forms while they sat among the Beastmen; as for what purpose those magic seals served, Jaune hadn't a clue.
Before long they crossed the edge of the city and reached the wall of tempestuous wind. The swirling vortex of dust and debris was still present, but its winds seemed more constrained, constant. Rather than lashing about like whips they seemed to simply flow like a current through the air. Jaune found himself squinting as they approached the wall of the tempest; only for it to be proven for naught as whatever magicks Lansseax utilized provided an invisible barrier that prevented the dust from presenting even a minor nuisance. Through the lashing winds they soared, the sound of air rushing past was a constant assault on his ears, and Jaune struggled to see through the cloud.
And then all at once the sound of rushing wind simply ceased, and the very air itself felt as if it stilled. Silence reigned supreme save for the occasional movement of Lansseax's wings. Light poured into his eyes seemingly from everywhere at once, and before them was the circular arena that Placudisax rested in; the Dragon Lord himself floating in much the same position he had when Jaune first stumbled upon him. As they approached, the state of the Lord of Time's wounds became more and more apparent; golden flesh peaked through his scales in a litany of crossing gashes, and while there was no blood the tissue was obviously tender even at a glance. Well, as tender as an Ancient Dragon's flesh could be. The full extent of the injuries, however… it was concerning.
The moment they touched down, Placidusax stirred, his looming form creaking as his stone-like scales grinded against each other, the droning sound booming through the emptiness around them. Lansseax bowed her head immediately, and Jaune took the opportunity to hop off her back, giving her a bow of his head in thanks as he passed her. Approaching Placidusax, the Dragon Lord finally unfurled himself, his wings flaring dramatically as he landed on the ground with a sickening crunch; his forelegs crumpled beneath his weight, and Placidusax hit the floor with all the force of a meteor, shaking the arena with a mighty tremble that caused Jaune to stumble.
"Milord!" Lansseax cried, moving immediately to support her liege.
Placudisax growled, halting her with nothing but a glare with a single eye. Letting out a deep huff, he rose on quivering legs, seemingly projecting himself with as much pride as he could muster.
"Elden Lord."
Placidusax' voice was a mixture of two distinct voices combined into one, presumably representative of his heads. Weakened though it was, he was evidently attempting to inject some manner of grace into his tone, not that it was needed with Jaune.
"Lord Placidusax," Jaune called, a small smile coming to his face. "It is good to see you."
"Dispense with the pleasantries…" Placidusax grumbled, somehow sounding annoyed and amused at the same time. "I hath not the patience for them; make haste with thy business, or didst thou comest solely for my company?"
"Wasn't just pleasantry, Lord of Time," Jaune assured, the smile on his face growing into a full grin. "These may seem like empty words; but you look better."
The noise that escaped Placidusax' mouth might have seemed hostile were it not for the small curling of his mouth. Jaune's words bore no falsehood, but they were obviously relative to the conclusion of their bout. The Dragon Lord's wounds were only sealed at best, no longer weeping with golden lifeblood. With a huff that seemed more whiny than annoyed–an odd sentiment given the entity in question–the Ancient Dragon Lord turned one of his heads away petulantly, while the other leaned down to meet him.
"Thou wouldst mock a dragon at his weakest?" Placidusax muttered, but Jaune simply shook his head and began walking around the Ancient Dragon, observing the wounds more closely.
"No, I would not," Jaune intoned before he summoned an empty magic seal in his hand. In a flash of pale golden light, an incantation seal rapidly filled the voided space in the shape of a healing crest, and Jaune gently laid the seal upon a cut on Placidusax' neck. A sound similar to a groan rumbled through the dragon's throat, but otherwise he showed no sign of discomfort or pain; not that it really meant anything, as when Jaune lifted his hand the wound looked entirely unchanged.
"Thy magicks wilt not work on the likes of dragons, Elden Lord," Placidusax rumbled, his other head coming up and over to look at what Jaune was doing. "Mine body shall simply require the gentleness of time. Despair for my wounds no longer; thou canst do naught for them."
"And what about the Elden Ring?" Jaune asked.
"What of it?"
"Can the Elden Ring be used to heal your wounds instead?"
Placidusax seemed to pause, his heads pulling away to look at Jaune in consideration.
"Mayhaps…" the Dragon Lord mused. "The Elden Ring is creation made manifest, the domain of gods. The will of change itself."
Jaune hummed in thought. Not too different from healing incantations, then; though they were called healing incantations, their real ability was to revert change over time. Essentially, they "healed" by putting the body back to a place before it was ever injured. However, their caveat was time; wait too long before having the incantation cast, and you would only tax the caster and revert only to a point just after injury. Trying to rewind wounds from longer than even an hour away required casters of peerless mental fortitude, even with an optimized incantation seal like Erdtree Heal.
According to what Placidusax was saying, however, using the Elden Ring itself was fundamentally different. Rather than trying to erase a wound as if it never happened, Jaune could instead remake Placidusax' body; knitting new flesh where it was absent and breathing life into decayed tissue.
"Would you allow me to attempt it?" Jaune asked.
Placidusax tilted one 0f his heads at him, almost like he was a giant dog. His other head huffed a breath of hot air before dipping down to meet Jaune at a lower level, staring him in the eyes. "Thou'rt confident in thine own abilities?"
Jaune waved his hand hurriedly. "No, not now. There's… there's still a lot I need to learn in handling the Elden Ring," he admitted. His held up his hand and a small fraction of the Elden Ring's power sprung to life in his palm. "But once I gain mastery over these powers… I would use them to alleviate your pain, if you would grant me permission to."
"Thou'rt resolved to heal my wounds," Placidusax mused, head swaying. "I did know about thine intentions, to return to the Ancient Dragons their lord, yet I must ask of thee: why? What use have thee of a lord of ages past?"
Jaune shook his head gently. "Not just you, Lord Placidusax. I would have you and your people stand beside us during the coming conflict."
Placidusax narrowed his eyes, both his heads turning to regard him in equal measure. They pierced through him, searching him for something, though as to what Jaune didn't know. "Thou speakest of conflict? With whom?"
"The Outer Gods," Jaune declared resolutely. "I would have them carved from this world, exterminated like the foul pests that they are."
"And of what Gods dost thou speakest?"
Jaune blinked. "Pardon?"
"Of what Gods dost thou speakest?" Placidusax rumbled. "What Gods dost thou intend to challenge? Foolish boy, these lands have been bereft of Gods for centuries. Thy blades point at naught but shadows."
A/N: And that's a wrap!
As always, I genuinely appreciate all of y'all's patience. I know I don't have a schedule for this story, so your continued support is a blessing.
Now, the story.
Surprise! There are no Gods in the Lands Between! At least, that we're aware of. Don't worry, there's still going to be conflict in the Lands Between, (DLC notwithstanding), but with some of the lorebits that SOTE gave us this seemed like a perfect opportunity to set up more of the Remnant stuff, as well as give Jaune a bit of breathing room. Not too much, of course, but just enough that he'll have enough freedom for things to come.
Also, yes, Placi-Deucy lives! Genuinely one of my favorite bosses, only outshined by the other dragon boss in SOTE: I won't spoil it for anybody who still needs to finish up the DLC, but I'll just say you're in for a treat. Yes, Placidusax is Jaune's solution for solving the time dilation issue, but I'm going to try and avoid just brushing it aside with a mere training montage of Placidusax teaching our boi how to bend time or some biznatch.
Anyways, I appreciate y'all for stickin' around. Thanks for checkin' in!
Until next time!