Sisters of Night and Flame: an Elden Ring Prelude

By PhenolicHawk

As the lands descend into war, heed my call, O children of the moon and sun, my heirs of dominion. Claim what once was mine—I entreat thee, seek thine own paths with unwavering resolve. Unto you, a potent gift I bestow; a boon of power and fortune. Guard it well, for it harbors the strength to either uplift or utterly consume. Awaken, my progeny, and embrace your desires and destinies.

Prelude Chapter One: Grace Of Gold

Marika I

I came from beyond the fog, from shadow into light. As a emperyean, Granted a protector, a clergybeast turned warrior, a shadow to call my own.

As the new morning's light kissed the eyes of Marika, the sheets slipped from her skin. The young queen awoke in her bedchamber, its interior adorned with stone tablets of her studies, and great curtains suspended above her bed. She stirred, prepared to meet the day. Marika stood and turned toward the mirror before her, and within its reflection, she saw a girl—herself. Her youthful form was quite a sight. Despite the countless battles she had endured to reach this moment, no marks or embellishments adorned her pale flesh, and her eyes remained as fresh and clear as the golden hue of the skies above the Altus Plateau.

"The day is nigh," the girl in the mirror mused, and a sly smile crept across her face. Marika paced to her wardrobe and slipped on a dress, adorned with golden seams and crafted from the finest black linens. The silky black fabric slid smoothly over her body, caressing her pale skin, leaving her standing uncontested in both beauty and ambition.

"Sister, the time has come," a deep and gruff voice called from behind Marika's bedroom door. Such a voice might prompt many to jump in fear, yet Marika moved toward it without hesitation. She knew this voice well, for it belonged to none other than her Shadowbound Beast—her brother—and a gift bestowed upon her by these very lands when she first entered them: Maliketh, the former High Clergyman of Farum Azula.

"Have thou combed your coat, dear brother?" Marika teased, placing her hand upon the door. A smirk played at her thin lips as she twisted her wrist, opening it. There stood the white beastman adorned in black armor.

"Indeed I have, it is a special day," Maliketh mused, his yellow eyes peering down at Marika from his towering height. She ran her hand through his white fur, checking for knots. Unfortunately, she discovered more than a few, though fewer than usual. Furrowing her brow, she showed her annoyance at his dishonesty.

"You have, brother, but not well. On the day of my coronation, you should at least look presentable—even if you plan to hide in the background, as I am sure you do." Marika cocked her head at an angle, awaiting her brother's response.

Maliketh remained silent, merely nodding in agreement, then stepped aside to allow Marika through the entrance. Thus, they walked together. Marika's footsteps were quiet as they advanced down the hallway and into the golden sunlight illuminating the walkway outside her abode. Even as they moved forward, Marika felt the presence of a singular eye boring into her back.

From a realm veiled in shadow and mist, Marika had come to these lands. Chosen as an Empyrean, she was destined to serve as the vessel for the Elden Ring and to reign as Sovereign over this domain. In its infinite wisdom, the Greater Will appointed her a protector—Maliketh, now known as the Blade of Marika. His past was steeped in the lore of ancient Farum Azula, where he once served as a high priest, worshiping and serving the dragonlord alongside his beastman disciples, now tragically few in number. He was chosen not merely for formidable strength, but for steadfast loyalty to those deemed divine.

Legend whispers of a former feminine power that once governed The Lands Between: a daughter of the Greater Will, akin to Marika, who married the Lord of the Ancient Dragons and subsequently vanished. In the land of Caelid, governed by these dragons—ancient or modern—the drakes maintain a strained peace over the greenlands, aided by the Beast Regent Serosh who acts as an informant for Marika and Maliketh.

"Maliketh, do you know who will crown me?" Marika inquired as they walked. "Surely the Golden Order has sent one of their own to preside over the ceremony. Would you enlighten me on which scholar shall crown me?" She already knew all the scholars of the Golden Order who worshiped her, and whoever crowned her would inevitably lead that order.

"The one who will crown you is Shabiri, whom you met at year's end," Maliketh replied, his tone holding a note of annoyance. Shabiri, barely nineteen years old, was youthful compared to his fellow scholars. Marika often sensed something amiss with the youngling, despite his talent and reverence for the Golden Order's ideals.

"I see. Why him of all scholars? He is quite… green." The corners of Marika's lips began to curve upward, but were promptly stifled by a growl from Maliketh. "Brother, thou art no fun. I ought to send you back to your temple in Farum Azula to don your priesthood once again." He met her remark with a soft growl, and she smirked at him.

"Marika, cease your jests. Shabiri's destiny has been foretold by Enia and the Two Fingers. He will crown the next lord as a scholar and herald of the coming age. He may be young, but potential lies within him," Maliketh said, his claws clicking softly against the floor as they walked.

"So, he was not chosen purely on a whim," Marika mused. "They expect him to assume a leadership role within the Golden Order?"

"Indeed. Shabiri will lead the Order alongside another scholar, Radagon. He shares the same inexperience, but is as talented with his words as he is with his blade," Maliketh explained.

Radagon…

Before long, the two half-siblings stepped out into the streets of Leyndell, the Erdtree looming protectively above. Buildings gilded in gold lined the way, and the streets were rather empty—most citizens had gathered near or inside the great cathedral for the ceremony. Soon enough, Marika and Maliketh were flanked by the city's golden knights, who accompanied them toward their destination.

Marika twirled, taking in her surroundings: the yellow bricks beneath her feet, the marble statues of heroes whose names she cared not to know, and the green grass that would never taste death. Her presence in the capital and the removal of the rune of death, now encased in her half-brother's sword, ensured that this land would remain timeless in its grace.

Eventually, Marika's bare feet touched the cathedral's steps. As her toes met the first stair, Maliketh receded behind her, vanishing like an apparition into the background. The commoners gathered around the cathedral remained silent as Marika lifted her chin, righteous and steady, and strode forward to claim the crown awaiting her inside.

The cathedral's gates opened, revealing the inner sanctum. Within stood Shabiri, his golden armor shining brilliantly, contrasting with his short brown hair. Behind him stood a young red-haired man wearing a similar guise. His striking golden eyes met Marika's own, and his kind face contrasted sharply with the look of righteousness etched upon Shabiri's features. Marika's gaze then locked with Shabiri's; his eyes were as deep and raging as the surrounding seas. He bore an upturned smirk, and in his hands lay Marika's crown—a single golden band playing with the light filtered through the cathedral's stained-glass windows.

"Marika, Empyrean of the Shadowlands, Princess of the Numen," Shabiri began, his words amplified by a cast incantation. "Do you accept this crown and title as the guiding light, the sun in the darkness of the night, the chosen sovereign of the Golden Order and the Lands Between as Queen Eternal?" His voice echoed across the cathedral, shaking ancient stone pillars and stirring painted icons on the walls. Marika held her breath, measured and steady. She knew her answer well.

"I, Marika, Princess of the Numen, renounce all former titles, ladyships, and responsibilities," she spoke somberly, carefully masking her inner thoughts. "To become not just Queen Eternal, but the guiding mother of these lands and its people, and all they stand for." Slowly she knelt, allowing Shabiri to place the golden crown upon her head. The crown felt light—like a feather—yet it bore a weight she had come to cherish.

"Queen Eternal, please stand." Following Shabiri's directive, Marika rose. She waved to her audience, and they erupted into cheers and screams. The Tree Sentinels astride their great steeds raised their torches, creating pillars of flaming celebration. Nobles and commoners alike cried out for her ascension. Marika found their clamor somewhat overwhelming, but acknowledged that this was their right and her duty—to let them celebrate their newly anointed queen and god. She smiled, letting their light fill her.

Eventually, twenty soldiers struggled to close the cathedral's massive doors, sealing Marika from the tumultuous crowd outside. A sigh of relief slipped from her lips. "There is no more to this ceremony, young scholar, is there?" Marika asked, turning to Shabiri who stood at attention beside her.

"There are no more rites at this time, Queen Eternal," he answered, his voice no longer amplified. "However, you must choose a king consort. You need not do so immediately, of course."

"Ah… that," Marika said sheepishly, the notion of marriage and sharing her power having barely crossed her mind. "Well, young Shabiri, I shall choose a strong warrior as my consort, although I know not who. Is there anything the Golden Order plans to do now that I have been crowned?"

"Indeed, Queen Marika," Shabiri replied. "With your ascension, we may now act. The Golden Order and I have further plans." He gestured to the red-haired man nearby. "This is Radagon, my dear friend and war counselor."

Marika's confusion was immediate. "What need does the Golden Order have for a war counselor? Do you intend to go into battle?"

"Indeed, my Queen," Shabiri answered. "Even before your ascendance and my leadership within the Order, we have striven to bring all factions under our heel—save for a few exceptions. We also seek control over any educational institutions and the removal of unholy beasts, as per your original directives when you formed the Order." His words rang proudly, like a trumpet blasting its tune in steady repetition.

"To my knowledge, there is peace in these lands," Marika responded carefully, watching his reaction. "Do I presume wrongly?"

"You are correct that there is peace for the most part," Shabiri acknowledged. "Only a few unruly factions have yet to bow to our might. I ask for your support in bringing them under the Golden Order's control, and by extension, under your rule."

"Well, what are these factions?" Marika queried, her interest piqued by Shabiri's words.

It was Radagon, his tender voice chiming in from behind, who replied. His tone somehow irritated Marika, as it held the opposite edge of Shabiri's. "The Academy of Raya Lucaria and, by extension, the Carian Queen, Rennala of the Full Moon, who heads it. The Academy is formidable. They have their own defense of skilled knights, led by Rennala's sister The Twin Moon Knight, and magical prodigies such as Rennala's own apprentice, The Snow Witch, and many other faculty and teachers. Another faction is the Fire Giants in the continent's far north, who worship a Fell God that, like you, has recently arrived to live among its followers. Currently, our greatest concern is the Academy, as its teachings stand in direct opposition to our values. The Fire Giants, though formidable, are less of an immediate threat."

Shabiri picked up where Radagon paused, his voice biting and sharp. "We believe their studies are blasphemous and against the will of the Two Fingers we serve. Radagon and I have penned requests for entrance, to cleanse the Academy of such heresy, but have received no response. Their silence hints at rebellion. Tonight, Radagon and I will visit the gates and personally request their surrender."

"And if they reject this offer?" Marika asked.

"I shall bring down the Holy Hammer of the Golden Order upon their institution," Shabiri proclaimed proudly. Marika raised an eyebrow, intending to ask if diplomacy might spare bloodshed, but before she could speak, Radagon interrupted.

"Well… this matter could be resolved peacefully if a member of the Golden Order were to marry into the Carian Royal Family," Radagon suggested.

Shabiri's response was swift, dismissive, and disdainful. "A marriage? To that wretch Rennala?" he scoffed, his contempt evident. "The Golden Order will not dilute its purity with such base alliances. We shall bring Raya Lucaria to heel through might, not by concessions to those who defy the natural order."

Marika's eye twitched at Shabiri's arrogance. Still, she knew that time would teach him a lesson, should she humor him. "Enough, Shabiri. As Queen Eternal, I shall lend some of Leyndell's forces to you. Do as you will, but know that should you fail, I shall personally find a way to settle this matter."

Shabiri nodded, Radagon bowing behind him. "Thank you, Queen Eternal. May your reign continue long, and may you prosper."

"We will be off. Thank you for your time, Queen Eternal," Shabiri said. His golden robes shimmered as he and Radagon dissolved into golden light, leaving Marika in the now quiet cathedral.

From the shadows behind, Maliketh's deep voice growled. "What do you think will happen, sister?"

Marika smiled, her lips curving wickedly as she considered the future.