Nathaniel sat alone by the campfire, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows across his face. The cold night air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was far away, locked in the memory of the fight with Rellana.

He closed his eyes and replayed the duel over and over. The way she had moved—it was like nothing he had ever seen. She wasn't just fighting; she was orchestrating an attack, as though every swing of her blade had already been decided long before he'd even raised his sword. Her swords, one engulfed in flame, the other wrapped in frost, had created a deadly harmony that kept him on the defensive. No matter what move he made, Rellana was there, two steps ahead.

"She fought with rhythm," he muttered to himself, leaning back against a stone wall. "Every attack followed a pattern, but it wasn't predictable."

He thought about the way her swords clashed together, fire and ice creating a storm of chaos that was so beautifully controlled. She had seemed calm, composed, almost like she was holding back. And that frustrated him. He had thrown everything he had at her, but in return, she had barely broken a sweat.

Nathaniel's fingers traced the hilt of his own sword absentmindedly. It had felt heavy in his hands during the fight, as if it was weighed down by his uncertainty. He thought his immortality would give him confidence, an edge over his enemies. But in a duel like this, it only reminded him of how vulnerable he still was. Death might not be the end for him, but that didn't mean defeat wouldn't sting. Losing again wasn't an option.

"She's not like Godrick," he whispered. "She doesn't rely on brute strength. It's all precision and finesse. She didn't fight me to kill me—she fought to teach me."

The memory of Rellana's eyes, sharp and focused, lingered in his thoughts. She hadn't looked at him with the malice or rage he had seen in Godrick's gaze. There was something almost respectful about it, as if she recognized his potential but wouldn't let him advance until he proved himself worthy.

And that last attack—Carian Sovereignty. When she had raised her sword, charging it with raw magical power, he had felt a chill run down his spine. It had been slow, deliberate, but utterly unstoppable. When the magic blade slammed into the ground, it had nearly cleaved the whole arena in two. He had barely dodged it the first time, but he knew if she unleashed it again tomorrow, he'd have to be smarter, faster.

"I wasn't ready," he admitted to himself, staring into the flames. "But I won't make the same mistakes again."

He thought about her other techniques: the Carian Phalanx that shielded her with magical blades, the way she seamlessly shifted between frost and flame, and that devastating finishing move, Rellana's Twin Moons, which he had only caught a glimpse of before she knocked him down. He had underestimated her, thinking her mastery over magic would make her less dangerous up close. But she was a master swordswoman too.

"I need to be more than just strong," he realized, clenching his fists. "I need to be smarter. Faster. I have to learn her rhythm, predict her moves. Fighting her is like... like facing a storm. You don't fight a storm with brute force. You weather it, and then you strike when the storm is at its weakest."

He sat in silence for a moment, the fire crackling softly as the weight of tomorrow settled on his shoulders. Tomorrow, he'd face Rellana again, but this time, it wouldn't be the same. He wouldn't just rely on his immortality or brute strength. He'd learn from her, adapt, and fight her on her own terms.

As the fire began to die down, Nathaniel finally stood, his resolve hardening. "She wants to see if I'm worthy of that Great Rune. Tomorrow, I'll show her that I am."

Nathaniel heard the soft creak of the door behind him and turned his head slightly. Melina stepped inside, her expression as calm and unreadable as always. The flickering light from the fire cast long shadows across the stone walls of the room, and for a moment, she simply stood there, observing him in silence.

"Melina," Nathaniel said, his voice low, his mind still turning over the events of the day. "Come to give me a lecture?"

Melina's gaze softened, and she shook her head. "No. I've come to offer you counsel, if you seek it." She stepped closer, her movements graceful, as if she was barely touching the ground. "I could feel your frustration from the other room."

Nathaniel sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I messed up today, didn't I? Rellana handed me my ass on a silver platter."

Melina stood beside him, looking down at the dying fire. "She is a formidable opponent, skilled in both sorcery and the sword. You were unprepared. But this is not the end."

"She was... different," Nathaniel said, his brow furrowing. "Not just powerful. She fought like she had no doubts, like she was sure of every move I was going to make before I even made it."

Melina nodded. "Rellana is not merely a warrior. She is a guardian, a protector of her sister, Rennala. Her purpose is clear in her heart, and she fights with that clarity. She does not seek personal glory or victory for its own sake. Her duty is what guides her."

Nathaniel let out a bitter laugh. "Great. So, I'm not just fighting some knight—I'm up against someone who's got a noble cause. Fantastic."

Melina's eyes flickered with a hint of sympathy. "Thy immortality gives thee an advantage, but it also blinds thee to the weight of each battle. Rellana fights as if every strike matters, because to her, they do. Thou must find thy purpose, Nathaniel, and fight for it with the same conviction."

Nathaniel was silent for a moment, staring into the embers. "I thought defeating Godrick was the end of it, you know? That I'd finally prove myself. But here I am, about to face another demigod's protector, and I don't even know if I'm good enough."

Melina crouched down beside him. "Thou art more than capable. But thou must let go of the belief that immortality will carry thee. Tis not the answer to every challenge. Thou must fight with thy mind, with thy heart."

Nathaniel looked at her, his frustration softening. "You really think I can do it?"

"Aye," she said softly, her gaze meeting his. "But only if thou dost grasp the cause for which thou fightest. 'Tis not for power, nor for glory alone. Thou dost strive to become Elden Lord, yet beyond that, thou dost battle for this realm—for the souls thou holdest dear. Seek thy purpose, and it shall light thy path."

Nathaniel felt the weight of her words settle over him. He thought of Roderika, of the people at the Roundtable, even of Melina herself. There was more at stake than just his pride or survival.

"I guess I've been thinking too much about the fighting," Nathaniel said softly. "Maybe it's time to start thinking about why I'm fighting."

Melina rose to her feet, a faint smile gracing her lips. "This be the first step toward true strength." She turned toward the door but paused. "Tomorrow, when thou dost stand 'gainst Rellana once more, mark mine words: triumph lieth not in the might of thy blade, but in the clarity of thy purpose."

Nathaniel nodded, a sense of calm settling over him as Melina left the room. He watched her disappear into the shadows, her words echoing in his mind.

Tomorrow would be different. He would fight not as an immortal Tarnished, but as someone with something worth fighting for.