After the mighty Radahn fell, Alexander had spent many a day scouring the dusty battlefield, picking apart the heaps of debris to find the mangled corpses that still riddled the place. Most of them were but bones at this point; however some had their flesh ironically preserved over the many centuries as writhing masses by the scarlet rot, allowing Alexander to refill his hollow insides with the still-living essence of these once great warriors. Obviously Radahn's freshly-dead body was the most intact, and of course Alexander had stored some of the legendary Starscourge's form underneath his lid; even now, the flesh seemed to burn within him, resisting the contagion of the rot-laden mounds that accompanied it within his clay bowels.

There were many a scrap of fallen champions upon these dunes. That much was to be expected. What Alexander didn't expect, however, was stumbling upon the body of a scarred, one-armed, sweat-soaked woman—a woman who, in spite of her wretched appearance, was still very much alive.

He'd thought she was dead, at first, but when she mumbled a hoarse, delirious, "I'm sorry." to no one in particular, Alexander was taken greatly aback.

"Sorry?" he echoed. "Sorry to whom?"

The woman, who'd had her back turned to him, suddenly rolled over to face the sound of his voice. From behind, she looked elegant, with her flaming hair and silky golden dress, but when Alexander caught wind of the gruesome scarring that covered her eyes, and the necrosis that riddled her one remaining arm, he recoiled a bit.

The woman's gaze tilted in his direction; though she was clearly blind, Alexander suddenly felt pinned by her disgruntled stare..

"R…" she murmured. "Radahn?"

"Radahn?" Alexander chuffed. "Oh, no, I'm afraid you missed the festival, my dear."

He folded his arms.

"My name is Alexander," he proclaimed. "And you are…?"

The woman grimaced. "Alexander…?" she repeated, in a trailing voice. As she spoke, her one remaining hand moved to graze over her scarring in a frantic manner, as if she were astounded by its presence.

"Wh… Where is Radahn?" she asked, when she finished fumbling with her mask. "He was—just here."

Just here? No, that couldn't have been possible. If Alexander had a face, it would have scrunched up in confusion right then and there.

"Good lady, I say again: I'm afraid you missed the festival," he repeated. "Radahn has been dead for several days now."

At that, he couldn't stop himself from sighing dreamily. "It was a glorious battle," he added, jolly voice subdued by reverence.

The woman gave a start at that. "Several days?" she repeated. Her tone was… disbelieving. Alexander harrumphed affirmatively.

"Yes, quite a few now," he said. "This year's Radahn Festival saw an end to his toils at last. Ah, even driven mad by rot as he was, he fought as a champion until the very end."

The woman visibly winced as the word "rot" permeated the air between them. A grimace crossed her lips, and she dropped her head to her gold-laden feet.

"He survived the bloom?" she rasped.

"Eh? What bloom?" Alexander asked. The woman's gaze lifted to fix him in a confused stare.

"The bloom," she repeated, as if it were obvious. "The flowering of the scarlet rot."

"Ah! You mean the great battle between General Radahn and Malenia the Severed! Yes, his ineffable warrior spirit survived the rot that ravaged him. Though it cost him his wits, he persisted for centuries, holding back the stars, awaiting an honorable death."

A low moan escaped the woman's chest. She shook her head softly, as her lips peeled back into a horridly pained look.

"Radahn…" she choked out. "Brother… Forgive me."

Alexander gave a great start at that.

"Brother?!" he exclaimed. "You and Radahn were family? Surely not!"

Though the woman seemed wrapped up in whatever mental anguish the news of Radahn's death brought her, she nodded to Alexander.

"We shared a father," she murmured.

Shared a father… Alexander thought. Radagon? Does she mean to say she is a demig—wait.

Alexander gazed inquisitively upon the woman for a moment longer, before realization struck him like a bolt of draconic lightning.

The flaming red hair. The golden attire. The clear symptoms of rot. The missing arm.

The signs were painfully obvious. But Alexander simply refused to believe it.

"Wait," he snapped. "Wait! Wait just a bloody moment! You mean to tell me—"

His words faltered, and he lay in stunned silence for several heartbeats, during which the woman gazed at him expectantly. Eventually, he let out a slow exhale from his canopic body.

"Are you… Malenia?" he finally gasped. "The Malenia?"

The woman gazed at him for a moment. Gingerly, groaning in pain as she did so, she hoisted herself off of her side and placed one foot beneath her, forcing herself onto a knee, upon which she promptly leaned. Alexander awaited her answer with bated breath.

Slowly, she nodded.

"Yes." was all she said.

"WH—" The force with which Alexander's disbelief was shattered had him stumbling backwards. A gravelly hand placed itself upon his chest as the piece of Radahn within him burned brightly with recognition, while some other pieces of the warriors inside him trembled with tangible rage; others still grew stony.

"Y-You—what… by the gods above! It really is you, isn't it? Malenia the Severed, in the flesh…"

It only took a matter of moments for Alexander's hornswoggled stammering to melt away in awe.

"O, Malenia, golden valkyrie, 'tis of utmost honor to meet you!" he marveled. He bowed as much as his stubby legs and rotund form would allow, though to one of human build such as Malenia—THE Malenia—it must have looked as if he were about to topple over.

"Utmost honor indeed," he rumbled, voice subdued.

As he stood up from his bow, he snuck a glance towards the kneeling demigoddess. She stared at him blanky, almost uncomprehendingly—granted, it was a bit hard to read her expression given the calcified mask that covered half her face, but nevertheless, Alexander found himself shifting awkwardly and waiting for her head to drop tiredly to the floor before continuing.

"I'd first heard word of the war between you and General Radahn when I was but an untempered pot," Alexander went on. "I was made to be a warrior, you see, but as a young lad the prospect frightened me to no end! When I was struck by the awe of your tale, however, ah—I knew my destiny to be true right then and there! Great Malenia, your battle was magnificent! An inspiration!"

Malenia's gaze had slowly lifted back up to him as he spoke, and when he finished, she simply held that stare for a moment that to Alexander felt like minutes.

Then, she scoffed and shook her head, letting it fall back to the ground.

"There was nothing 'magnificent' about that battle," she muttered.

"Eh?" Alexander exclaimed. Taken aback, he took a slight step away from the valkyrie, silent as she continued.

"It was nothing more than a foolish display of self-righteousness," the demigoddess spat. "Our fight… was one of the worst things to happen to the Lands Between."

"What?!" Alexander couldn't stop himself from belting out the word from his ceramic belly. "But, noble Empyrean, how can you say such a thing? I've fought Radahn myself, and even with his wits long gone, he was a grand warrior through and through! For you to have fought him to a standstill, in his prime—surely such a spectacle must have been a thing of beauty!"

Malenia's head jerked up to face him. Sitting up just a tad, she waved her one hand agitatedly at the landscape that surrounded them.

"Look around you!" she snapped. "This wasteland—is it beautiful to you?"

"W-Well, yes, Caelid is certainly the worse for wear," Alexander admitted. "But the clash itself must have been incredible! Two brave, dignified warriors, fighting for—"

"Caelid became what you see before you now because I gave in to desperation," Malenia interrupted. "I surrendered my dignity on that day."

Alexander fell silent. Inside of him, many of the warriors he'd collected writhed with anger as Malenia spoke. Clearly they had not forgotten their grudge against her. Others—the ones who had fought alongside her in that fateful battle—went utterly still.

"Thousands of good men met their end," Malenia went on. Her voice, though weak, had begun to rise with an angry bitterness. "Radahn languished for lifetimes as a shadow of his former self. The whole of Caelid was reduced to nothing but rot! And for what? I returned to a broken home. I kept a ceaseless, pointless vigil from then until today. I sat and waited while my brother—!"

Malenia suddenly stopped. She stared at Alexander with her jaw hung slightly agape, quiet pants issuing from her jaws. Bringing her teeth together softly, she shook her head.

"I've said too much," she muttered. Then, with a grunt, she pressed her arm down into her knee and climbed clumsily to her feet. Upon standing, however, she let out a huff of surprise as she began to totter backwards.

Instinctively, Alexander waddled over and reached his large, gravelly hands out, firmly placing them on either side of Malenia's midriff and stabilizing her. When she seemed balanced and he realized he'd just put his hands on Malenia, he quickly retracted his arms and folded them back over his chest, stepping away from the towering demigoddess, who gave him an absentminded nod.

"Goddess Malenia," Alexander said, his normally bombastic timbre subdued, "I've taken such inspiration from your great duel with Radahn, all my life! 'Tis my destiny to achieve such heights, myself! And you mean to tell me—the glory of that spectacle was a sham?"

"Who decided that would be your destiny?"

"My makers, of course!"

"Your… makers?"

"Yes, my ma…" It occurred to Alexander just then that the blind woman could only know him by voice. With that in mind, he clarified, "I am a jar, you see, created to be a vessel for the remains of great warriors. With the combined power of these brave souls interred within me, it is my goal in life to best better and better foes 'til we are all one great warrior, together!"

"And your makers decided that? Not you?"

"Ahh…" At that, Alexander did give pause. Shuffling on his feet, he conceded, "Well, no, I suppose it was not myself who set me down my path in life. But what does that matter? If I am a warrior made, then a warrior I shall be!"

"To what end?" Malenia asked. "When you have attained your highest goal, slain the finest of champions and taken them within yourself, become the greatest warrior jar you could possibly be—what then? What will you do with that power?"

"I—" Alexander started, but quickly trailed off when the question's full weight really hit him. "Err…"

What an astute question. And one he'd never bothered to ask himself. For the whole of his journey, the farthest he'd ever seen was its end; not once did he think about life after. It had simply never crossed his mind, or even the minds of his entombed warriors.

Of course, he'd always had his doubts whether he would really live to face down the ultimate foe, especially after his craven display before the Starscourge; it had become increasingly apparent that he as a vessel was lacking. He'd never let such thoughts eat away at him, but the sentiment was there nevertheless. Perhaps with such an outlook, he didn't really have a need to think of the bigger picture.

But now that he was being asked what that bigger picture even was?

"Well, I… I don't know," he finally professed.

Though she had turned away from him at this point, Malenia stilled. Then, she spun around to face him once more.

"When you find the power you seek," she said, "it is your choice what to make of it. Your responsibility. That is what that power grants you."

She took a step towards him, much more determined than her prior teetering.

"And if you have the power to bring these great foes to their knees," she went on, "then I implore you, Alexander—heed my words. Being a warrior is not only about how you fight. It is about who you fight, and why. To declare yourself a greater warrior, an opponent must fall. For every victory, there is a casualty. So please, before you undertake an oath of combat, think about who you must slay to uphold it."

"... I see." was all Alexander could think to say for a long, tense moment. Perturbed by the heavy silence that followed, he shook himself and added, "Thank you, noble swordmaiden, for your words of wisdom."

He forced a little chuckle. "If I can't be the ultimate warrior, then at least I shan't be a fool one!" he remarked with a rekindling of his joviality.

Looking around the battlefield, he noticed a sand-flecked, winged golden helm lying lopsidedly nearby. Waddling over to it, he picked it up and, after dusting it off, held it out to Malenia.

"I believe this to be yours," he offered. The demigoddess reached out, feeling blindly for Alexander's hand for a moment, then placed it upon her head. True to the jar's intuition, it fit her perfectly.

"Thank you, Alexander," she said softly.

"Of course, ma'am," he replied graciously, then paused. "And, Malenia—if I may…?"

She returned his question with an expectant gaze.

"If it brings you any comfort… your brother died well," Alexander said earnestly. "As I said, he fought like a legend 'til the very end."

Malenia gave a soft nod at that.

"Good," she murmured. "Thank you, for giving him the honorable death he deserved."

"Oh, I must confess, it wasn't me who brought him to the earth," Alexander proclaimed. "No, no, I was but a crock in that fight. The real hero was a nameless, faceless Tarnished. He fought with a thousand times anyone else's speed and strength, I must say!"

Malenia gave a start. "A Tarnished?" she repeated.

"Yes, indeed! One brandishing an absolutely massive sword! An ugly thing, I must say. Looked like a melting pot of smaller blades fused together! But ah, despite the awful look, he fought beautifully with it, and—"

"Malenia!"

Alexander perked up. That was a new voice. But it was a new voice he recognized!

"Ah, speak of an Omen, and he shall appear!" the jar quipped. Malenia spun around, and leaning around her he could see the unmistakable grafted blade greatsword slung over his acquaintance's shoulder. His armor looked vastly different from when they'd last met during the festival, elegant gold-colored plates supplanted with a pitch-black helm and heavy mail wrapped in grim red thorns, but there was no mistaking that sword, nor that voice.

"Ah, we meet again, old chum!" Alexander exclaimed exuberantly. "You'll never guess who our friend here—"

"Malenia, are you alright?" the Tarnished huffed breathlessly, screeching to a halt right in front of her. Completely ignoring Alexander, the knight watched as the much taller woman grazed her hand over her chest, then looked up at him and nodded slowly.

"The needle has toiled and faulted for some time now," she reported, "but it appears to have stabilized. My flesh burns with rot, but it is fading. I am alright."

"Good," the Tarnished panted. He must have sprinted across all of Caelid to get here, for he was completely out of breath.

A bit odd if so, seeing as he had a horse.

"Forgive me, it slipped my mind that Mel… Melina cannot stray from her warrior for too long. I panicked, I—"

"It is alright, Tarnished," Malenia replied, cutting him off. Her tone had risen. "Just tell me: my brother—what becomes of him?"

"Miquella is safe," the Tarnished replied, free hand on his knee as he hunched over and tried to catch his breath. "But we will need to bring him home."

As Alexander watched, he—and even some of the warriors inside him—marvelled. His Tarnished chum was in cahoots with Malenia the Severed? This man was full of surprises, it seemed.

"Thank you, fair Tarnished," Malenia breathed. She placed her hand upon his shoulder, hunching over and leaning some of her weight onto him as she tried to rebalance herself.

"Oh, thank you…" she whispered. Her voice shook a tad. "You—You saved Miquella. You saved my dear brother. I am, forever, in your debt."

"You owe me nothing, Empyrean," the Tarnished replied. Then, his head drifted over to the jar who watched in silence.

"We meet again, friend," he remarked. Alexander nodded.

"To share words with the Malenia of legend, and then see you two conspire together… ah, what a day it has been, my good man!" Alexander let out a hearty guffaw. "What a day indeed."

The Tarnished returned the nod, then looked back up at Malenia.

"Shall we go?" he asked. She nodded.

"We shall. But, Tarnished," she added, catching his attention before he could turn away. She grimaced.

"My journey through Caelid while the needle raged has been… an ordeal," she admitted. "I fear that, without my prosthetic and in the state I am, I will lack the strength needed to carry Miquella's cocoon."

Before Alexander could even think about lending a hand in the matter, the Tarnished was digging around in his seemingly unending pockets.

"Rest assured, I know someone more than willing to offer her aid," he said to the goddess, before brandishing a small, ash-colored bell. He held it aloft and gave it a sure ring. Alexander watched in marvel as right beside the Tarnished, a spirit materialized from thin air. It took the form of a tall, gilded knight, long estoc in one hand and an imposing, yet graceful, scythe in the other. The elegant ruby feathers and felt that emblazoned her armor were obscured by an unsettling, almost chitinous layer of white.

Leaning on the handle of her scythe, the Cleanrot Knight fixed Malenia in her stare.

"It has been a long while, Milady," she said in a soft, ethereal, and grave voice. Malenia stiffened.

"Wha…" she choked. From where he stood, Alexander saw her one hand clench into a fist, then unclench, then ball back up again.

Everyone was silent for a long, long moment. The only perceptible sound was that of Malenia's breathing beginning to quicken, and then the shifting of sand as she took a small, barely noticeable step forward.

"F-F…" Malenia stammered. Slowly, her hand rose and reached out towards the knight.

"Finlay?" she finally said, in a whisper that trembled. The knight nodded.

"Yes, Milady," she replied, in an equally subdued tone. "I am here."

Malenia's hand fell gently upon the knight's chest. "Y-You…" she uttered. "You… live?"

"I'm afraid not," replied Finlay somberly. "You speak to my spirit, given corporeal form."

"Finlay," Malenia breathed. Her voice was tightening. "O, Finlay… Leftenant…"

Her hand traced its way up the spirit's chestpiece with the most delicate of motions. Her fingers glided across the engravings that guarded Finlay's collarbone, then curled against the nape of her neck, squeezing tenderly until they came to rest on the cheek of her helmet.

"Finlay…" Malenia echoed, as she began to visibly quiver. "M-May I…"

"You may, Milady."

Malenia's thumb slid itself into one of the gaps in Finlay's visor. Taking the knight's helm in a firm grasp, she lifted it from her head, to reveal the marred visage underneath. Her twinkling eye spoke of a woman who once bore a tender, beautiful countenance, but that had long since been desecrated by the disease that covered most of her face. Rot crept up the right side of her jaw and spread to her brow, which sat above a scarlet-clouded eye. Her skin appeared flayed and charred by the stagnant decay, as if she had been set alight and left to burn. Her teeth were partially exposed along the corner of her mouth, where her lips had melted away. What beauty remained in the preserved half of her features was broken up by an ugly red boil of a scar that ran up her neck from under her armor and snaked all the way to her nose.

Malenia's staggered breaths grew louder and heavier. Her trembling hand dropped Finlay's helm, letting it fall into the sand with a thud where it promptly dissolved into ash and vanished. Her now-empty hand reached forwards and timidly alighted upon Finlay's face.

If the spectre could feel any pain from a hand being laid against her rotted flesh, she gave no signs of it. Malenia, on the other end, betrayed her emotions with a whimpering "Oh…!" that died in her throat. Her fingers spread out to caress Finlay's cheek, where it held still for a heavy moment.

"O, Finlay," Malenia said again, her whimpery voice tight with anguish. "You were the youngest among the Cleanrots. Your body was yet uncorrupted by rot."

Her hand pulled away. The bits of blood and rotted refuse that came with it dissipated into ashen vapor, just like her helmet.

"You chose to walk the path of a hero on that day," Malenia continued. Her frail, tiny rasps were beginning to gain some color again, but the warbling grew alongside the strength of her voice. "You witnessed me as I succumbed to the curse. You watched as it spread through Caelid like wildfire and razed its people to the ground. You held me aloft as Emma atrophied right in front of you, all in a desperate bid to free me of the flower I had created."

"Milady—"

Malenia was choking out her words now. "A-And in spite of the horrors I wrought before your very eyes, still you chose to carry me home. Through the whole of the Lands Between, you bore my unconscious body across leagues and armies. You brought me—"

She stopped to choke back a pained whine from issuing forth from her throat. "You brought me back to the Haligtree, and wrested me from the clutches of scarlet rot that tried to pull me from your grasp. Y-You saved me, Finlay."

Malenia's high-pitched breathing was coming in labored, uneven eupnea now. She brought her hand to the socket on her shoulder and squeezed tightly, as if trying to steady herself on the unalloyed metal.

"And what was your reward?" she asked, her voice rising. "Rot! You decayed along with the rest of Elphael! Your family, your comrades, your home—all of it consumed by the same scarlet malady that you fought through, for me! And now, even your spirit is putrefied! The rot has corroded your very soul!"

She was shouting at this point, and her distress only grew by the word. Some of the mournful fury in her voice died, however, when her body doubled over in a broken sob.

"I've ruined you, Finlay!" Malenia keened. "I've ruined everything!"

She took in one more stertorous, wheezing gasp. And then, before his very eyes, Alexander witnessed something he would have thought totally impossible.

Malenia, Blade of Miquella, the golden valkyrie, Radahn's only true equal… burst into tears.

The demigoddess threw herself against Finlay's chest as she erupted into raucous, full-body sobs. Her one remaining arm lunged forth and slung itself over Finlay's shoulder, squeezing the knight against her body as the despairing convulsions wracked her.

Finlay said nothing as she wrapped her arms gently around Malenia's back and pulled her in, returning the Empyrean's decrepit embrace. Though she stood stoic and strong, her one unfettered eye glistened with an agony of its own.

"Everything I touch is defiled!" Malenia wailed. The words tore from her throat like bile. "My men, rotted! My family, rotted! My only home, rotted! What have I done, Finlay? Why must I spread this accursed plague everywhere I go?"

A wretched, abject cry left her lips. "Wh-Why couldn't I have just said no?" she wept.

Finlay's subdued "I'm sorry." could barely be heard over Malenia's lamenting. The demigoddess descended into wordless bewailing, leaving Alexander standing and watching, utterly dumbstruck.

His attention was broken, though, when a heavy THUNK! vibrated the earth from right next to him. So transfixed was the jar upon the scene before him that he didn't notice when the Tarnished had plodded up beside him and allowed the gnarled tip of his colossal sword to plunge into the earth, placing two armored hands upon the ornate pommel.

Neither of them said a word to each other as Malenia unleashed centuries of regret and grief into Finlay's bosom, and eventually Alexander returned to gazing upon the scene. However, his mind was beginning to wander beyond the mere spectacle of such a display. Here was Malenia, one of the most fabled warriors in all the Lands Between, a pariah of raw fighting prowess, one of Alexander's two greatest idols… reduced to a bawling heap of self-loathsome contrition.

The sight was, frankly, haunting.

"Brave Tarnished," he rumbled somberly to his companion. The black-helmed knight turned to gaze in his direction.

"... Before you arrived, I exchanged words with Malenia," he said softly. "She told me that to be a champion was not as simple as mere strength, and that the path which was paved for me was not the path I must follow."

He gazed upon the sobbing demigoddess for a moment longer before continuing.

"And if this is what it means, to be a champion…" he finished, then sighed. "I don't know, my friend. Where ought I to go next?"

The Tarnished's gaze drifted solemnly between Malenia and Alexander.

"'Tis as she said to you, warrior jar," he replied. "That is your choice to make, and no one else's."

"I suppose it is," Alexander conceded.

The two did not say anything more as Malenia's crumpled, convulsing form, slowly but surely, began to grow steady. Her hoarse keening descended into plaintive whimpers, and then eventually died into small mewls. Pulling her head away from Finlay's chest at last, she straightened her back and gave the knight a pitiful stare.

"Lady Malenia…" Finlay murmured. Her hands, still on her general's shoulders, gave a firm squeeze.

"There is yet hope," she spurred, voice burning with a hard conviction. "We can fix this. Your brother awaits us. Please, Milady, let us bring him home."

Sniffling, the demigoddess nodded.

"I w-w-will not let him go again," she declared, voice as hard as it could be when it still trembled so. Turning her head around, she dipped her head to the Tarnished.

"It seems around every corner, y-you bring me yet another blessing," she said. It was somewhat unnerving to see a woman bawl her heart out so completely and then turn right around with no tears spilling from her masked eyes. "To see my brave Leftenant again—I thought it impossible. Thank you, Tarnished, from the depths of my soul."

The Tarnished bowed his head back. "With her help, we will brave the snowstorm that awaits us and return Miquella to his rest."

"Yes," Malenia whispered, as the Tarnished stepped away from Alexander and towards her. Then, her sightless gaze drifted over to the jar in question.

"And where will you go, warrior?" she asked, which prompted him to give a start.

"Well, I had originally planned to bake myself in the flames of the great mountain in the north, to temper my hide into something more durable," he said, "but… now I'm not so sure."

He chuckled, just a bit. "I suppose I have plenty of time to decide for myself, though, don't I?"

"That you do," the Tarnished said. "I hope to see you again soon, Alexander."

"The feeling is mutual, my friend," Alexander crowed, before giving a slight bow. "And it was an honor to meet you, Malenia."

"The feeling is mutual... my friend," she echoed back to him. Alexander's innards trembled at the words.

Finlay gave a gentle, but firm, tug on Malenia's shoulder. "Come, Milady," she beckoned. "Let us set things right."

The demigoddess nodded, turning to head along the length of the sandy plains that surrounded them. The Tarnished waved one last goodbye to Alexander before turning and following them, leaving the jar standing there atop the dunes.

Alexander finished his business and gathered his thoughts for a little while longer before making his own way out from the wailing dunes. He walked the whole way to the shore, across the inlet, and up the lift into Redmane Castle with his arms folded over his belly in thought.

When he stepped out into the main plaza of the building and found himself surrounded by an entire legion of Redmane soldiers, however, he found his arms opening up in surprise—especially when one of the footmen exclaimed, "It's him!"

The jar found himself backpedaling as the men advanced upon him, in a slow, steady, uniform fashion. He backed up several paces, before his heel knocked into a hard stone stair, and he fell backwards with a disgruntled "Augh!" landing clumsily on his back. He pushed his hands into the staircase, sitting up hastily, but the Redmanes were already on top of him. They closed in on the stairs, bearing down on him unflinchingly until there was nothing but a small half-circle of space that separated the two parties, and then…

They stopped dead in their tracks.

A sound like a gargantuan drum rang out as all the spearmen jabbed the base of their weapon into the floor, assuming a vigilant stance. The tall, shining knights that formed the front of the brigade did the same with their fang-shaped greatshields, while they dipped the point of their swords towards the earth, holding them the same way the Tarnished had when he stood beside Alexander minutes ago.

Then, one such knight stepped forward.

"Warrior jar," he proclaimed, in a raspy, weathered voice. "We stand before you here today to commemorate your victory against Radahn."

"Eh?" Alexander queried, hopping to his stubby feet.

"You are a champion of the Redmanes," the knight declared. "And as such, we honor your strength."

"Oh. Well, erm… I thank you sincerely for the cheers, my good sir, but I regret to say I am but a crock," Alexander stammered. "I was not nearly the hero you think I was."

"You went to battle against General Radahn," the knight said. "When the fighting was over, he had fallen, and you stood tall. Such is a strength that the whole of the Redmane Army could not hope to achieve.

"We declare you to be Festival Champion," he went on. "And for earning that title, we have but one thing to ask of you."

The knight took a few steps closer to Alexander. When the living jar was within the reach of his sword, he knelt down, propping himself up on the imposing blade.

"Great warrior," he said in a low, grave voice. "Hundreds of years ago, our great general lost his wits to the scarlet rot. Since that horrid night, us Redmanes have slowly succumbed to the same fate."

His helmed gaze dropped. "We strive to maintain any modicum of order amidst these blighted hills," he went on bitterly. "To preserve the strength of the Starscourge's spirit and keep the rest of the Lands Between safe from our disease. But as the days stretch, and we continue to toil deathlessly, piece by piece we give in to hopelessness and insanity. Order has collapsed amongst the Redmanes, and it needs to be restored."

He lifted his head back up to look at Alexander. "Great warrior, we beseech you!" he declared, in a sudden booming voice. "As the only one standing among us now with the strength and wit to meet Radahn's measure—we offer you the title of Lord of the Redmanes!"

Alexander had already bore witness to more than one preposterous spectacle today, but this one knocked him backwards all over again.

"What?!" he bellowed. "Me? Your Lord? Redmanes, while I may be humbled by your faith in me, I—I am no leader!"

There was no response, verbal nor gestural, from the legion of soldiers. The knight kneeling in front of him simply placed the flat of the sword in his shield hand, bowing his head and offering the armament up to Alexander, who noticed just how tight his grasp on the blade was.

He looked around flabbergasted at the dozens of men that surrounded him, and realized that all of their heads had dipped in a gesture of supplication—of reverence. And such awe inspired a wave of it within himself, especially when the Redmanes within him vibrated with a warm, giddy sensation, a feeling he had never once felt so clearly from any warrior he'd ever interred: Hope. A real sense of hope at the prospect of their brethren being brought up from their knees, of their land persisting in spite of the scarlet rot, of all Radahn's suffering at Malenia's hands not being in vain. The piece of the Starscourge himself burned brightest of all.

As Alexander stared at the crowd of soldiers before him, eagerly—desperately—awaiting his call, Malenia's words echoed in his mind: When you find the power you seek, it is your choice what to make of it. Your responsibility. That is what that power grants you.

He had found power. And now it was his choice and his alone what he used that power for.

All his life, he reflected, he'd been a follower, walking along the path made for him, the path of champions. Anything else, anything less, seemed beneath his warrior spirit. But perhaps, in shaping his own destiny, in walking his own path, he could become a champion all the same.

These Redmanes certainly seemed to think so.

It was with such thoughts in mind that Alexander took the sword from the knight's hands and laid it against either spauldered shoulder.

"But if you see me worthy of such a role, then I shan't disappoint," he declared. "Gentlemen!"

He let the silence hang for a good, long moment.

"Let us make this lion roar!"

The cheers that erupted were positively deafening.