"Does anybody know what Dualism means?" Mr. Bradwick once asked, tapping his yardstick thoughtfully on the floor.
The class stayed silent, though I quickly google searched the term. Mr. Bradwick beat me to it.
He changed slides, taking a seat on the spinning chair he kept next to his desk.
"Well, essentially, Dualism is the theory that our world is made up of two types of matter: Material and Immaterial matter. Once again, it's a theory, and has close ties to religions, such as Buddhism and Christianity. Fellows of those denominations would say material and immaterial matter go hand-in-hand. But take, say, a Monist's viewpoint, and they'd tell you immaterial matter is a bunch of hogwash. For the sake of the theory today, we'll say both are real."
He stood from his chair, wielding his yardstick like something of a baseball bat.
"Now, try and rack your brains with this one: what are some examples of material matter?"
Hands raise, Mr. Bradwick called on them one after another. One kid said rocks, another said water and ice. Someone's dog, a car; the nerdy kid in class even pushed the boundaries and shouted out "the sun." Mr. Bradwick nodded along.
"Alright. Now, how about immaterial matter?"
I stayed quiet, but I had an answer churning about in my head. I thought of the soul, the spirit.
What makes you, you.
"Your spirit?"
Someone else stated questioningly; Mr. Bradwick nodded eagerly.
"Correct, Mr. Maxwell. But let me ask you personally. Is our mind apart of our spirit?"
The boy hesitated to answer, so Mr. Bradwick quickly expounded upon his question.
"Your conscience, your thoughts and feelings. What you consider to be yourself, or you. Is our conscience material or immaterial?"
"Uh… Immaterial?"
Mr. Bradwick didn't answer. He simply plopped an expo marker on his desk, making practice swings with his yardstick.
"If you say so…. Then… Mr. Maxwell, without moving, knock over this marker for me."
The kid merely stared, putting on a complicated expression. The marker didn't budge an inch. Mr. Bradwick smiled to himself.
"I take it you can't use the force then?"
"No sir."
The class giggled.
With a shrug and a windup, Mr. Bradwick hit the marker without warning with his yardstick; he sent it cracking against the wall. The noise was loud and sharp, everyone was silenced in an instant. The marker's cap shattered into many separate pieces, making a small mess in the corner of the room. Mr. Bradwick looked back at us then, pleased with himself.
"Oh, don't worry, that marker had run out already… Mr. Maxwell, what did I just demonstrate?"
The kid stayed silent; I stared long at the broken marker on the ground. I somewhat felt sorry for it.
"Oh come now, think. How did I get my arms to move? Did my spirit do it?" He tapped his head in the silence. "Nope, my brain did. I sent a signal down to my arms, engaged my muscles, and pulverized this marker just now. And yet, those three steps happened unconsciously for me. In my experience, I simply wanted to hit the marker, and the rest of my body obeyed. Mr. Maxwell, you couldn't move the marker with your mind, yet my mind was able to move it quite effectively. Why is that?"
"Because you're closer?"
Mr. Bradwick made an incorrect buzzer sound with his mouth.
"Indeed I am, yet you could've moved this marker if you wanted to from all the way over there. You have a binder you could've thrown at it, right? Then what was the difference?"
"I… wasn't allowed to move?"
"Precisely. Everyone, I will not speak on the nature of the soul… unless you really get me going. But when it comes to our minds, our consciousness is not immaterial matter. Immaterial matter cannot interact with material matter, and vice versa. A bullet can't harm ghosts, just as how Mr. Maxwell here couldn't move the marker with his mind."
He picked up a piece of the marker's shattered cap.
"Yet, my mind can interact with my body which is made of material matter, and I can move this marker just fine. Our mind is made of processes in the brain, through the firing of densely packed neurons we got stuffed in our heads. Our spirits may be a different matter, but when it comes to your consciousness, your thoughts and feelings are simply physical. That means, unlike the spirit, the mind subject to change. Our minds can change, can be molded, and can even be destroyed. Just like this poor little marker here."
I wrote down my notes eagerly, taking down my own thoughts and feelings along the way as Mr. Bradwick started to preach about the importance of early development in humans.
But, one thing nagged me, aside from Mr. Bradwick's initially confusing example.
Immaterial matter can't interact with material matter?
By extension, that would mean the Mind couldn't be influenced by the Soul, and vice versa…
Why did that rub me wrong that day? Is it simply because that couldn't be true? That Mr. Bradwick was wrong?
Or… is it that the Soul is made of material matter as well? What if our spirits…
What if our Soul was a physical entity as well?
Something tangible? Something that can be touched?
…
Something that can be killed?
…
…
Ah… What a wonderful assessment…
Dear Younger Brother.
I'm in a garden. A rather luxurious one at that.
Beset with a horizon of jagged mountains put through a dense humid filter, vast forests of strange trees and giant light-blue crystals stretch out yonder in all directions, mirrored off the glassy ground, which is covered in a thin layer of undisturbed water. It looks like we're on a lake, though it's so shallow that it barely gets past my ankles.
Nothing about these surroundings makes me think "lake" yet calling it a swamp would seem to do this place a disservice.
It's a beautiful location, more out of a fairytale than anything else I've seen in the Land's Between. The large blue crystals almost seem to glow, growing out of the water and standing up toward the heavens. The trees sprawl out and away, reaching as far as they can with winding branches. Small blue embers float about at eye level, alongside insects that glow like fireflies put through an azure filter.
That familiar scent of citrus fruits is strong in the air; it wafts about like a pleasant aroma.
Thick clouds crawl along above, the gentlest of breezes tickles my nose. Oddly enough, I can't see the Erdtree here, which makes sense.
We're in Rogier's mind, after all.
"Well, it has been some time since I've found myself in this place."
The Tarnished Sorcerer says with an opening mouth, resting back in his seat of silver wires and a silk cushion. There's a similarly designed tea table between him and I, best with cyan jewels and a gold trim. Melina is here too, sitting between the two of us, admiring the scenery of the garden.
Strange flowers of differing shapes and sizes, delicate constructions of gates and buildings, all carrying a sense of gothic nobility to them. This place feels all to real to me.
"Hey, so…" I speak up. "Why am I here? And how come we can talk normally?"
Rogier gives me an amused glance.
"Not that I don't enjoy the company, but I must ask as well. How are you here? Tarnished can't normally go wandering into one another's heads."
"I wonder how it works." Melina says. "I suppose I never thought of how this all worked."
She looks Rogier's way.
"I had always assumed I could enter Lance's Mind, as we share the same Soul when we are together, more or less."
Rogier cocks an eyebrow at that.
"Is that how it is between the two of you? I'd wondered why you stuck to him like a sorcerer to their spellbooks."
He flashes his hazel-green eyes my way.
"Are you something of a lifeline to her, friend?"
"Well, that's one way of putting it."
I shuffle about in my chair, afraid I might break its delicate framework if I so much as lean back too much. Silence follows my closed-ended answer, so I do my best to break it.
"So, you're gonna show us a memory then?"
...
Rogier…
Well…
Rogier looks confused.
"Come again?"
"We are here to strengthen you, are we not?"
He glances between the two of us like an adult looking down on ignorant children.
"What are you two on about? We are here to strengthen me, yes, but we're still in my dream. Can't do much else here besides talk."
I blink a couple times.
"This… is your Mind, isn't it?"
Rogier shakes his head.
"I thought you have already done this before, haven't you?"
I knit my eyebrows together.
"Well, yeah. But…"
How come Rogier's mind is so… detailed? Mine is complete darkness, to the point I got a weird sense of vertigo when we first got there. It's like we're always falling there, and it only abated when I visualized my home for us to lounge around in.
Rogier's mind feels like, well, it feels like the normal world. We can talk with our mouths, and it feels like this place would be populated with people of all shapes and sizes if it was real.
Yet...
Yet there's no dark void here, no runes that I can see floating around.
It all feels too… real.
Before I can figure anything out, Rogier gestures to his surroundings.
"Friends, this is my dream."
Dream? This place?
He continues.
"It's not much different from the real world, though time does move at a snail's pace here." He leans forward on the tea table. "I haven't a clue about showing memories, but I can ask what I'd like strengthened. If it's all the same to you."
Melina looks equally as confused as I am, giving her surroundings a second glance.
"…If you wish."
Rogier pops a smile, seemingly dropping any effort to explain anything else.
"Well, I'd say I've been feeling rather slow in my sword skill recently…"
When we enter my "Mind", the subtle void welcomes us.
The darkness is all encompassing, there's no way to tell which way is up and down. Rogier isn't able to join us, which has raised even more questions. The sense of vertigo arrives, and when Melina and I finally find ourselves in my home, we're quiet.
That is, until I look up, and a tattered houndskull bascinet stares right at me, mere inches away.
I jump to life, mentally shouting, unable to move my mouth.
What the?!
Melina tenses up beside me, raising her hands, ready to spit our her incantations at a moment's notice.
The pasted white walls and groomed carpet come into view, the couches and countertops and tv materialize. Black windows give nothing away, ceiling lights shine pale beams down, and Darriwil the Bloodhound Knight watches me dead ahead.
Darriwil jumps at my voice, shifting out of reality in a blur. I reach for the swords on my back, but they aren't there. My eyes whip every which way, and they find the Bloodhound Knight again.
He's upstairs on the catwalk, looking down, gauntleted hand clasping over the undulating blade on his back slowly. Melina and I face him down with our necks craned, and-
"Boss?"
A familiar voice wafts out from the open door to my bedroom.
"Boss, is that you?"
Melina and I exchange a questioning glance, and like a roman emperor making himself known in the Colosseum, Roard, the Spear Knight of Limgrave, marches out onto the catwalk, face unmasked and set with a joyous grin upon spotting me. Darriwil naturally backs up, giving the knight a wary posture. But Roard looks delighted.
"Marika above, finally! It's been weeks! What took you two so long?"
I lower my ready hands, giving Darriwil the occasional glance. The Bloodhound Knight has yet to do anything.
Uh… Hey Roard. What's new?
"I'm bored out of my mind dude. That's what's new."
His manner of speech has gotten even more relaxed since I last spoke with him. He's starting to sound more and more like a random dude I'd mee ton the street in Springfield.
A noise behind him makes him glance back, and he waves someone over.
"Hey boys! Check it out, boss came to pay us a visit."
I knit my eyebrows together, but they immediately split apart again as my eyes widen.
Not just one, but three others exit my bedroom, glancing over the railing and giving me judgmental looks. Bronze skullcaps, red and green surcoats with brass pommeled straight swords stashed at their sides. Three Limgrave Soldiers, who look just as unhappy to see me as I am to see such characters again.
I don't recognize any of their faces, they must've died sometime during my stay in Bellard. Either by my hand, or they happened to pass away near me. Either way, if they're here, then they are spirits now. Which means Darriwil has become one as well. And as spirits, they've maintained their memories of their time alive.
I can easily see the discontent in the soldiers' eyes.
"You call that twig your boss?" One of them asks, looking almost disgusted at the thought.
Roard couldn't seem to care less. He's stomping down the staircase, eagerly joining Melina and I on the ground floor. He comes right up to me, quickly taking a glance at the soldier above.
"Without even hesitating."
He turns to me, standing a foot taller than I am, clapping a gauntleted hand on my shoulder.
"Hey boss, I've run out of comic books in your room to read. Happen to have any more stashed around here?" I stare dumbfounded, Roard continues. "Turned your whole home inside out, but besides finding a "gun" under the large bed down here, I haven't discovered a thing."
He gives me an inquiring eye.
"By the by, how do I work a gun? They seem like an amazing weapon, but I can't get the thing to fire."
…What?
I grab his shoulder right back, which is pretty awkward to do.
Roard, slow down. Listen to me.
I glance back up at Darriwil and the three soldiers, still trying to wrap my head around this all.
How many of there are you?
He follows my eyes.
"Well, I'd say there's six of us now."
I don't even need to count.
There's one more?
Roard nods, looking toward the kitchen. At the back of that corner, a single door leads out to the garage.
"Got me, my three amigos, the Bloodhound, and a rather unhappy Leonine."
...
The Leonine?
Leonine Misbegotten? Last I saw him, I was burning him at that stake. If he's here too…
Is Trey here as well?
None of us notice it, but the darkness in the windows glitch for but a moment, letting a bright white light flash through. As soon as it arrived, it's gone.
The black swallows it up again.
Are you sure it's just the six of you? Nobody else?
Roard shakes his head.
"Nope, just us. The Leonine hasn't been too keen on socializing. He's kept to the large room past the kitchen, making a mess of your car. Otherwise, everyone you see is just about everybody."
This night just keeps getting weirder and weirder.
"So… why are you two here?" Roard asks in the silence. He pops a snarky grin. "I'd say it's to visit little ol' me, but even I'm not that naïve."
We are here to strengthen Lance before we face Stormveil Castle.
I nod along.
Haven't done so since all those battles in Bellard. I'm thinking there's plenty of runes this time around.
Roard only gives me an incredulous look.
"Taking on Stormveil? Are you nuts?"
I shrug. Seems just about everybody finds it hard to believe I have my sights set on Godrick now.
You're asking a Tarnished if he's nuts?
Roard snorts with amusement.
"Heh, fair enough. But even so, I'd rather you not march to your death so soon boss, not before reaching Leyndell, at least."
He seems to remember something, and he flicks his head up at the soldiers.
"Just as a heads up boys, I think it's best if you come down already." He makes a spinning motion with his finger. "Once we start moving, the ground down here will become the only ground,"
He smiles, thinking back on a fond memory of the last time I came here to get strengthened, and the first time I met Roard in my head.
"If you get what I mean."
I take everyone from my home not much later, bringing the eight of us into the dark void. Surely enough, when my home disappears and where I stand becomes the only ground, everything upstairs loses its support; Roard's helmet and his shield fall down, which he had lying on my bed previously.
As for his partisan, Roard catches it out of the air, giving it a little flair. The soldiers all nearly fall over, suddenly losing their sense of up and down. Darriwil himself tenses up from the change, staying close to the group but acting rather awkward. He still stays as silent as death, and his movements are unorthodox as he skulks about. He stares out into the darkness, like he can see something I can't. I don't think about it too much.
And finally, much to my disdain, the Leonine appears.
He's at a short distance away, proportionally to where the garage was. I couldn't even hear him before, but with the garage now gone, and the walls missing, the Leonine stands from a hunkered position, teeth bared and eyes fierce. Like he could smell me, he turns, and a fire lights in his eyes.
"Bastard Tarnished!"
He roars, wielding that large iron claymore of his with one hand. He hunches and leaps, clearing the distance between us from above with a massive swing.
"You die!"
I begin to try to defend myself, but the Leonine lands before I can.
His sword passes right through me.
I don't feel a thing.
He tumbles, growling. Roard watches with an amused expression, the soldiers stay well away. Darriwil stalks about in a wide ring, watching the Leonine from behind his tattered houndskull bascinet. Melina herself gets between the Leonine and I, facing the misbegotten as he rises.
Leonine, enough. It is futile.
The Leonine roars, and charges. Like before, his blade is swung, and it passes through me. Melina as well, though she flinches. The Leonine growls again, looking at his sword like it's the thing at fault.
"What magic? What is this!?"
He stalks toward me, studying me over. He takes a swipe at my face with his claws, swinging his arm around like a child discovering a waterfall for the first time. Roard was easily able to plant his hand on my shoulder earlier, but it seems as soon as something counts as an attack, it doesn't even work.
The Leonine gets within inches of my face, teeth bared in fury.
"Why will you not die? What are you, Bastard Tarnished?"
Leonine. I cock my head, crossing my arms. I'm sorry you had to burn. Really, I am. I know you hate me; you already made that clear enough. But it's over.
You lost.
To aptly describe it, the Leonine throws a tantrum.
He roars and growls and snarls, swinging his blade about and attacking everything.
"No! Did not lose! Did not! You did not make me lose! You did not! Bastard Tarnished!"
We never met on the battlefield, didn't even cross paths. I've only seen the big bad of the misbegotten twice before, when Blaidd and I were in the sewers, and when I was tasked with burning the heads of the enemy down to ash. I can see where the Leonine is coming from: In his eyes, I simply appeared out of nowhere, ruining everything for him.
I wasn't even the one to defeat him either, and if my initial impressions of him are right, he cares more about physical strength than anything else.
Roard, still smiling like an idiot, approaches the Leonine, looking to loop an arm around his hairy shoudlers.
"Hey, buddy. Pal. Amigo. Maybe you should-"
The Leonine's sword strikes Roard dead in the chest.
He goes flying.
My eyes widen, and Melina ceases up. The soldiers become animate, running over to Roard, who rises unsteadily. He lost hold of his partisan.
"Sir!" One yells, wrapping his arm around Roard's, helping him up.
The knight coughs, shaking.
He looks down, and a wide gash runs diagonally across his surcoat.
"Bastard." He snarls. "That hurt, dammit!"
The Leonine took notice when his sword made contact; he looks between Roard and I.
"Limgrave knight… You obey Bastard Tarnished…"
Like a man with a one-track mind, he charges Roard.
"Then you die!"
Without spear or shield, Roard squares up, ready to tackle the Leonine. The Limgrave soldiers draw their swords, still loyal to Roard despite everything.
"Bring it flat-face!" The knight bellows. "I'll send you to the Greater Will myself!"
"ENOUGH!"
A voice not like my own exits my animated lips; the void shakes.
The Leonine skids to a halt, Roard and his soldiers freeze. Darriwil hunches, flinching from the volume. Melina stares right at me, eye wide.
A wave of embarrassment washes over me, but it quickly subsides.
Both of you. All of you. Stop.
My lips don't move.
I stalk toward them, staring holes through the Leonine.
You especially.
He growls like a caged lion.
"Bastard Tarnished, you…"
Unlike him, he trails off.
I plant myself right between the two. I can only assume they could go right through me if they wanted to. But neither side does.
I hesitate to say anything. I don't even know what I could say. I can only guess everyone is tense. On edge. If I woke up in this black void after I died, I know I'd be terrified to say the least.
When I find my words, I let out a silent sigh.
Listen. We are not in the Lands Between anymore. This place is my Mind; we're completely removed from the outside world.
I turn, looking about at everyone.
All of you have been slain, either by being burned to ash, by my hand, or through however else. Either way, your Souls were taken from your bodies. By me.
Roard looks unphased, though he winces at the cut in his armor. The soldiers glance between one another worryingly. The Leonine stares at me like I'm crazy, and he despises crazy. I can't tell if Darriwil is even listening; his eyes are on me, if nothing else.
I don't know why only you six are here, while your comrades have gone elsewhere, but something keeps you from disassociating from yourselves entirely.
I point straight down.
Unlike them.
Most of the spirits look, and they see what I saw when Melina and I first entered my Mind.
Beneath us all, far below, is an ocean of runes. Waves and currents of golden lights, swirling and swimming about. Following one another for mere moments, before breaking off and wandering away. Agheel is down there, countless Limgrave soldiers and misbegotten are down there.
Trey is down there.
They say that if a raindrop falls into a lake, that drop will never be whole again. Its molecules will spread out and wander away, joining the greater whole, where those molecules may never run into one another again.
The Soul that was Agheel can never piece itself back together; that dragon has joined the greater whole. Trey can never walk the Lands Between again; he's been lost. Their runes have no meaning; their spirits have passed on.
As for these spirits, I don't know why the others are here, but I know why Roard is here. He has a drive that keeps his runes together. His drop is frozen solid, where its molecules may never disperse.
He needs to know what has become of his family, and he wants to be sure that, if I become Elden Lord, that I'll take care of them. For that cause, he has retained himself; it's the only reason why he's here today.
You can consider yourselves the lucky ones, or the unlucky ones. But you are all here today, because there's things you still need to do, even after death. And for that reason, our motives are aligned. So, stop fighting.
I clench my teeth.
Stop bickering. Stop whining and stop lashing out!
I turn on the Leonine.
That means you, Leonine.
I snap my head at the three soldiers.
And you three too.
The soldiers are put off. One of them takes sharp glances between the runes beneath us, and I.
"Just what are you, Tarnished?" He asks.
My anger dampens, if only a little.
…I'd like to know that myself.
I started to share my thoughts and ambitions when everyone calmed down.
As for what I wanted to strengthen: I need more dexterity and vigor. My duel with Rick was in my favor, but it all went south when he drew that grafted greatsword. If I had been a little quicker with the blade, if my flame of life was a little harder to snuff out, maybe the outcome could've changed.
My memory plays beneath us, giving us an ariel view of what was already in the sky. Rick and I, exchanging blows atop Agheel, as he sailed through the sweeping storm.
Melina and I stand side-by-side, watching with determined looks. Roard looks impressed, the Leonine and Darriwil say nothing. The soldiers look perplexed, and they give me looks like I'm a madman.
Agheel dives, and I feel my own stomach do flips, as we're all dragged down with the memory. When the dragon levels out, buildings of Bellard move as a sea of blurs just beneath, as I exchange seemingly drunken swings with Rick. The dragon rises again, piercing the clouds. Up in the bright blue sky, I take Rick's sword with a lucky blow, and the large soldier retreats.
Agheel suddenly turns and takes another dive back into the clouds. We're above the ocean now, sailing away from Bellard in a slow banking maneuver. Rick draws the grafted blade, and the edges of the memory get fuzzy.
Right here.
I point.
This is when I saw that memory.
The Leonine looks on that sword with an almost apologetic look, before turning to look at me.
I don't notice any of it.
The strange vision you told me about, yes? I was unable to see it.
What did you see?
In Rick? I saw hundreds of souls crying out.
The soldiers and Roard have begun to notice the Leonine's lingering gaze on me.
I saw the scarseal as well, but I never did see Rick's Soul.
Creepy. Did he not have one to begin with then?
I cannot be certain.
Without warning, Rick charges me at a ludicrous speed. He closes the gap in a split second and swings. The me in the memory tries to block, but my Banished Knight Greatsword is cut cleanly in two, and my left arm simply flies off. I'm punted up into the air, and I fall.
Melina winces, and I feel a little woozy. There was more blood than I remembered; an entire crescent shape of crimson flung off the grafted blade's tip.
"Godfrey almighty." Roard remarks. "That's what happened to you?"
It hurt like hell. I admit. I could barely process it at the moment.
It was exceedingly quick. I am not sure where it came from, but-
"It was souls."
Everyone turns their heads.
The Leonine sounds almost sad, which clashes with his frightening face.
"Souls of kindred. Trapped in sword. Made by traitor."
The memory fizzles out, and I bring us back to my home. Melina draws in the runes and places her hand on me.
They are trapped in the sword?
Gold washes over me. My vigor and dexterity level an insane number of runes, numbering in the tens of thousands. I should be ecstatic to gain such strength, but I feel awkward.
I've begun to realize talking about Souls to any degree is a sore spot for me.
"Yes." The Leonine answers.
Can't they leave?
Roard doesn't seem to care for the conversation. He plops down on one of the couches, grabbing his partisan off the floor to pick away at it. The three soldiers stay standing, and Darriwil paces about, gathering his bearings on the constantly shifting scenery.
The Leonine's anger returns.
"No. They can't escape. Won't escape. Traitor grafted them to sword."
Melina and I exchange a look. The Leonine addresses me.
"Bastard Tarnished, you say you had vision? When he drew sword?"
Yeah, I did. I shrug it off. I've gotten them occasionally, but they never mean anything.
"Show me."
…What?
He presses.
"Show me vision of sword. Show me vision in sword."
I don't have a reason to refuse, the "vision" didn't make much sense to me. But I do wonder why the Leonine thinks it's connected.
Wait, but then again…
What happened in the vision...
I try to remember back to what I saw…
Nobody notices the impartial flashes of white in the black windows.
My home disappears, and a new memory plays. We're above, looking down on a never-ending battlefield.
Roard lands with a grunt, and he angrily gets up.
"Oi! A little warning next time w-… would… be…"
He trails off, taking in the scene below us all.
The war of the two armies, waging death on the southern tip of the Weeping Peninsula. Bellard is nowhere to be seen, the small plateau Morne rests upon in the present day is barren.
Trolls and gold-plated soldiers and Heroes of Zamor clash against redheaded clansmen, while white dragons with four wings wielding red lightning like blades fly about above, attacking form the sky.
This was your vision?
Yes.
The two sides push against one another time and time again. The combined army holds the advantage, but the red-haired clansmen fight valiantly.
No. This cannot be…
What? Do you recognize this?
No… But…
Something is troubling Melina. Troubling her greatly.
How can we look upon this like a memory?
I…
I don't have an answer for that.
We're standing above my "vision", as if it were another one of my memories.
What's going on?
Who were you when you saw this?
I look to the back of the combined army, at a large tent that dwarfs similar ones around it.
I was-
The memory shifts, growing up and enveloping the eight of us. We're moved, like a camera panning over a scene, until my feet land upon soft grass, and I'm confronted by a line of legends.
Five figures of varying sizes, memorable in their designs, and grand in their presence. They stand at the back of the combined army, just in front of the large tent. At a glance, someone could easily tell they were something different from the rest.
A white dragon with stone scales and four golden wings, beside a young and handsome man with long golden hair.
He looks violently familiar.
A tall woman of almost divine light stands next to him, with waving golden locks and a revealing black dress. Beside her is a mountain of a man, holding a double bladed axe, with a strange glowing armored lion perched upon his back.
His hair is alabaster white… and his eyes look like mine.
Dark blue, though a semblance of gold glows in his eyes, as he looks upon the battlefield with an eagerness that envelops his entirety.
I recognize that glow.
Roard nearly explodes.
"Signs of the Greater Will, that's Queen Marika!"
He points at the divine woman, before jabbing his finger at the large man.
"And that's the living legend, Godfrey!"
The three Limgrave soldiers immediately drop to a knee, casting their gazes to the ground in respect. Roard seems too excited to care.
The Leonine only watches the battle behind us all.
Roard lands his finger on the handsome young man.
"And… Don't know about this kid."
He moves all about the young man.
"He does look familiar though, doesn't he boss?"
I know why the young man looks familiar; I feel like I'm looking at a mirror.
It's perplexing to me.
The young man looks right through me when I face him, watching the battle with a concerned expression.
It's like someone gave me a golden wig and matching eyes.
What do you think, Melina?
She's been silent since we landed. I turn to her.
He kinda looks like me, don't you-
My heart drops.
Melina stares at the young man, stares at the woman too. Her face dead of emotion besides unending shock, and blood begins to leak from her sealed eye.
Melina? Melina!
I grab her by the shoulders, shaking her.
Hey! What's wrong?!
She's silent.
Can you hear me?!
She slowly looks between the young man and I; the bloody tears begin to burn her face. She utters only one word, and my entire body goes cold.
…Brother?
My grip tightens.
"Tratior!"
The Leonine begins to roar, stomping the ground with fury.
"Bastard traitor!"
I whip my head around, fighting to keep Melina from collapsing to her knees. It happened so quickly; it feels like everything's falling apart. That man, the one I saw in this vision before, with red braided hair and graceful movements, runs through the armies, grafting his fallen clansmens' blades to his own.
He picks up momentum, driving through trolls and soldiers and knights alike. His sword almost glowing, soaked in blood and growing larger still. The Leonine takes off after him, ready to fight the Hero of Morne himself.
His roars fall away, as Roard backs up, when Marika orders Godfrey to intervene as well. The knight turns, trying to keep his eye on the Elden Lord as he leaps high into the air, crashing down amongst the chaos of the battle, upon the man with braided red hair.
Roard's eyes are full of wonder, but they darken when he looks upon Melina and I.
"The hell? What's up with the pipsqueak?"
Melina won't stop shaking.
I…
I don't know what to do.
She grips her own bleeding eye, hissing and wailing at the burning pain. The soldiers raise their heads, Roard grips his spear. Melina falls to her knees; I join her on the ground, never letting go.
What can I do?
What happened?
Brother?
I look on her…
All I can see is my mother.
I shake the adverse thought away, steeling myself.
Melina! Melina listen to me! Can you hear me? What happened?"
The dreamlike sensation of my Mind burns away; my own voice becomes clear in my ears.
"Answer me!" I yell.
Roard notices it, the soldiers notice it.
I don't, until I look up from Melina, and find that the world has gone still.
The entire memory froze.
Blades hang suspended in the air, flames and lightning stay locked in time. Trolls stuck in place, tossing clansmen bodies that float motionless in open space. Beads of spilt blood and broken teeth twinkle like faraway stars.
Godfrey and the Hero of Morne exist outside of running time, weapons raised and bodies ready for the clash.
Everything has gone still, until a voice I know pierces the stale silence.
"Oh? You weren't supposed to see this."
Melina gasps, her head slowly rising between my arms.
Her eye meets mine, and she becomes overwhelmed with grief.
Roard backs away, readying his partisan.
He looks frightened.
I trail his gaze, and my blue eyes land upon the golden young man.
He stares right back at me with marigold eyes.
His face contorts to a vile sneer; his pupils constrict to thin slits. His hair shifts to nearly pale white, becoming frayed and tattered. He takes a step toward me…
The dragon begins to move too.
It rises to its monstrous height, staring me down as its white scales shift to an unending black. Dark and twisting thorns grow from its back, awakened red lightning jumping frantically from spine to gnarled spine.
Bloody gold shines between the obsidian scales, and the dragon lets her four wings open aloft.
She roars a guttural and thunderous roar.
"How did you find this place? Why have you traveled so deep again?"
The young man cocks his head, a horrid lust for murder agonizing his slit eyes.
"Did you forget that I was here?"
I drag Melina up to her feet, pulling her away as I back up. I don't know what's happening. I can't comprehend it.
The black dragon lowers her head, stalking toward us.
I need a sword.
I need Irina's seal.
I need something, anything!
Melina grips my shirt, arresting my attention. She strains to speak past her burning pain, as the beginning of flames eat away at the edges of her cloak.
"Lance… Run… Please!"
I-…
The young man extends a hand out to his side; blood red lightning buzzes to life between his fingertips. The lightning coalesces, hardening, until a jagged and sinister blade forms in his hand, leaking gold and black smoke. The grass dies where the smoke lands, small creatures caught in it shrivel and contort, until dark, twisting thorns grow out of them, as they simply cease to live.
The young man wields the blade, teeth bared in a hideous smile.
"Well, if you're here…"
The black dragon growls. The young man's head snaps sideways.
"Might as well take you now, right?"
"Run Lance!" Melina shouts, smoldering vermillion etching across her face. "Run!"
"Protect the boss!" Roard bellows, charging the young man.
The soldiers try what they can, but a single swipe from the dragon sends them flying.
Roard roars, executing his twelve combined thrusts. The young man deflects all of them without flinching; I turn before I can see what becomes of the knight.
I take off, running with Melina in my arms.
She's hot; hot as hell itself. She burns me, singes patches of my skin to black. My fingers welt where I grip her. I want to scream, as real pain overtakes me. But I don't let go.
I'll never let go.
"After them Fortissax!"
The Lichdragon Fortissax takes to the skies.
"Melina!"
I shout through the pain, baring my teeth. I make a beeline for the frozen armies.
"Why can't I stop the memory?!"
She doesn't answer.
"Please Melina! Get us out of here! Wake us up! Now!"
She borders on losing consciousness, but she slowly extends a hand, executing a spell. The scene of clashing armies burns, like a photo caught aflame. Like flowers devoured in a forest fire; like the tape of old projectors melting away.
It all leaves, but it doesn't take us back to the Lands Between.
Doesn't take us to the void, or even my home.
My boots land on flat asphalt, and I skid to a stop.
"…What?"
The sun shines, white puffy clouds roll on by overhead. A passenger airliner flies across the blue sky, songbirds chirp in the nearby trees. Couples and families trot along paved sidewalks, cars chug and hum as they drive on by. I'm standing in the middle of a familiar cul-de-sac, under the soothing heat of a summer sky.
This…
This is…
I turn, glancing about.
Where did Roard go? Where did the Leonine go? Darriwil? The black dragon? That young man?
I spin to look where I should have looked first, and I see a harrowing sight. In this nostalgic neighborhood, surrounded by personnel and marked vehicles; my family's home has burned to the ground.
Charred woodwork sticking up toward the sky like a broken ribcage, cracked plaster and chunks of drywall lay scattered everywhere. Police tape has been outlined around my own blood that stains the yard, police cars and black vans are parked all about the place.
Officers and operators take photos and record data, discussing amongst one another and outlining evidence. Some take notice of me, and they look just as surprised as I am.
I'm… back on Earth?
How?
Is this just a dream? An illusion? Did Melina do this?
I-
"Lance?"
An old lady's voice makes me spin yet again.
It's my neighbor, Mrs. Dawson. The owner of the two dogs I grew up around; she's currently taking the two old pups out for a walk. If I recall, the Grafted Scion threw my body into her backyard.
Her expression seems to take that fact into account.
"Is that… really you?"
Disbelief plagues her words, and she shuffles up to me. Her dogs, against their usual temperament, stay well away from me. They look frightened. Mrs. Dawson looks me all over, eyes landing on Melina last.
"Dear God, you look horrible! How are you-… I-I…"
Parts of me are burned black; I'm dressed in shoddy clothes and chainmail armor. My hair has grown to an uncontrollable length, sticking to my sweat-drenched forehead, parts of my bangs tied behind my head in a small ponytail. I'm carrying a strange young woman in my toned arms, who currently burns and smolders like charcoal at the base of a campfire. I have a vain form of mania in my eyes, set behind sharpened cheekbones and a grim expression.
I look like a mess, but it's the fact that I'm breathing that puts Mrs. Dawson at such unease.
Melina weakly lifts her head off my shoulder, looking Mrs. Dawson over, before taking everything in.
"This…" She fights to speak. "This is your world?"
"Melina," I start.
…
"How? Did you?..."
Her soft lips quiver.
"I… I don't…"
CRACK.
A loud noise makes us all jump.
It sounded like an alien screech, with undertones of shearing metal and rippling chimes. It pierces my chest, thurms my eardrums and makes hairs stand on end on the back of my neck.
Such a noise is not natural.
Not in the slightest.
I spin back to my destroyed home.
A few officers were walking over, ready to talk with me. But they flinch too, and all our heads look skyward.
Out of seemingly nothing, where the film of the blue sky begins to twist and tear, the Black Dragon pierces through. Serpentine head exiting from nothingness, red lightning arcing to the ground and shorting out nearby powerlines. She designs to pry herself free, struggling and clawing out as dark talons reach through.
I take a step back.
"What the hell is that?!" One of the officers shouts.
The others cry similar phrases, but I ignore them.
"Mrs. Dawson," I turn on the old lady, who stares at that dragon like it was the Second Coming: She looks frightened. "Hide, please."
I gesture with my nose.
"Get back inside, and don't come out. No matter what."
Mrs. Dawson looks at me like I suddenly grew horns. Her expression darkens.
"Who are you? What did you do with Young Thompson?"
I snap.
"Now!"
She starts, and wails, shuffling toward her home as fast as her old legs can take her.
Gunshots ring out, and the Black Dragon roars.
I don't know where to go, but I go. I take off, running down the street.
Fortissax flinches at the bullets that deflect off her, taking shards of gravel scales with them. She growls, and her maw snaps open. Dragonfire falls like a crashing wave; the officers are engulfed in flames. Their screams last only a few seconds, before Fortissax frees herself of the rift, landing on fresh ash and molten asphalt.
Other officers open fire behind her, but a single tail swipe ends them all; tumbling patrol cars and vans, shedding shattered glass and lacerated paint.
She spots my fleeing form, escaping down the main street, and she roars, breaking into a disjointed gallop.
Wide shoulders crash into manufactured roofs, jet black and gold wings down telephone poles. I leap over the fountain at the end of the road; she plows right through it a moment later.
In my arms, Melina flinches, wailing in my ear.
"Dodge!"
I can feel it, that buzzing sensation in the air. I can hear it, snarling breaths tickling the hairs on my head. I leap and drop into a roll, cushioning Melina's head with my burnt hand.
Jaws the size of a man snap shut inches from my boots.
I roll off my back and plant my feet, skidding to a stop. The Black Dragon, Fortissax, swipes her claws. I need to duck, jumping back as red lightning strikes the ground where I once stood.
She attacks again, and again, until her maw snaps wide, and dragonfire collects from between dagger-like teeth.
We're on the freeway; cars going over 60 miles an hour need to slam on their brakes as they nearly crash into the dark creature of myth. A tanker wasn't so lucky; he screams a vulgar phrase as he tries to swerve out of the way.
Tires screech, a horn blares, until a ten-ton semi-truck slams into Fortissax's rear leg.
Crunching metal and shattering glass collides with stone scales.
The dragon's head jerks right; deflected dragonfire misses my ducking head, flaring up into the sky. Fortissax bellows in pain, clenching her right forehand like she wanted to grip something. Red lightning forms into a massive glaive in her forehand; the semi truck is cut cleanly in half.
The petroleum tank catches, and I brace.
A massive explosion erupts. A shockwave kicks me dead in the chest. My hearing goes dim, hair flails angrily on my head as debris and a torn bumper skip along the asphalt past me. Fortissax is engulfed in the fireball.
I don't hesitate. I take off in the confusion.
"Melina!" I shout out over my own failing hearing, crossing the other side of the freeway.
I nearly get hit by a car, but with mythical dexterity alone, I dodge, nearly jumping straight over the car completely. I get a sight of the driver when my head is closest to the incoming windshield. Her eyes are wide, and jaw slack. She's gone with a rush of air, and I land.
"We need to get back to the Lands Between!"
Her bloodied tears mix with clear ones on her face.
"We need a Site of Grace!"
It's the only way I can think of escaping.
We cannot.
I stare down at her as I leap off the freeway, punching into another residential district by landing from a thirty-foot drop. She looks at me with grief in her eye, as if her tears were for me.
Why not?
This place… We never left your Mind.
I rear a corner.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Fortissax takes to the sky, roaring angrily. Her massive wings catch the hot summer air, lightning cracking infrastructure and shorting circuits in nearby vehicles and homes.
Like she had the eyes of a hawk, it doesn't take her long to spot us again.
She breaks into a dive, homing in like a frigate-sized suicide drone.
Of course we left my Mind. We're on a different planet entirely!
Something hits me.
Something large and sharp.
It makes me let out a cry of shocked pain, as we're sent flying. I lose my grip on Melina, and I-
Something horrible runs through me, like I've been tazed.
I contort midair, arms locking up and neck twisting. It feels like my entire nervous system was lit aflame.
I crash awkwardly, feeling every jolt of pain as I slam into the side of a parked orange car, crumpling the doors. My head swims, my legs feel like they…
I can't feel my legs.
Warm blood seeps from my back, lingering red lightning buzzes about in my system.
Fortissax lands with a shuddering thud on the street, snarling.
People in nearby manufactured homes peek out their windows, a small child playing in a front yard starts to cry. I try and fail to get up, trying again but failing all the same.
My legs won't work, and it feels like all my ribs broke.
Horrible waves of pain run up and down my body, never even abating for a moment.
I make the connection, just as Fortissax draws in. I was slashed, right across the back, from a set of wicked talons.
I've been hit.
Melina lays shivering in the middle of the road; Fortissax ignores her completely, nearly stepping on her head. That obsidian-shaded head draws close, until it's inches from me.
Red lightning travels up her forearms and down her long neck, arcing to me and digging into my skin. Two golden eyes with wide slits stare right into mine; I can do nothing but watch.
But Fortissax doesn't attack; she sniffs me over. With a deep growl, she backs up…
The young man is there.
As if he simply phased into existence. His long white hair and sinister smile is accentuated by his marigold slit eyes. He wields that wicked sword; its edge is covered in fresh blood.
"What are you doing, returning here? Of all places?"
He looks about, taking in the sights of Earth as if it was nothing new.
"Still playing house, are we? Living the dream?"
He drops to a crouch, placing himself at eye level with me.
"Still wishing for what we don't have?"
He stares down the crying child in the yard, the lust for murder pouring out of his eyes.
"A perfect family? A perfect world?"
If I had a sword…
"A perfect life?"
"Who…" I choke out past my pain. "Who are you?"
Unbeknown to all of us, Melina struggles to lift her head, red tears dripping onto the street, melting into it as if those tears were made of acid. Her breaths are labored, ridden with coughs, and faltering. Even so, her frail hand raises, reaching out. Gold begins to trail from her finger.
The air about us glitches.
The young man stands to his full height, looking upon me like I was a lost child. He considers something, then, slowly, as if he was enjoying every second of it, he pierces my left shoulder with the tip of his sword.
I let out a cry of pain… and something enters me.
Black and golden smoke wafts over my arm, a horrible chilling sensation travels through my… through my Soul.
A weight is placed upon me, but I can't feel it. It's heavy, but nothing's there. It's more than I can take.
"Here's a better question: Who are we? What were we? Before everything was taken away?"
His sword tip exits my arm, before he aims it for my forehead. He cackles.
"Like I'd answer that."
He-
Fortisssax's head rears up, and the dragon growls.
The young man falters, and he looks skywards. His smile falls away; he bares his carnivorous teeth.
"No…"
He turns on Melina, face stricken with fury.
"You conniving bitch! How dare you?!"
...What? What's happening?
Melina's hand is raised, she utters a phrase too quiet for me to hear.
That alien noise erupts, and the entire sky high above is torn open.
The spell in my head is like a compound lock. I once said.
Blackness enters, the void itself encroaches upon the seams.
She's looking at, as she describes, a bundle of black knots upon black knots in my memories, all moving about like a mess of coiling snakes, tied up into an erratic ball. I related it to a compound lock, though a better description could probably be a bunch of tangled fishing line you want to straighten out.
Black snakes the size of skyscrapers and as long as worlds erupt out of the tear in space, hissing and coiling and baring ivory white fangs.
A nasty spell, with no uniformity or runes to speak of.
Fortissax roars angrily, summoning two spears of lightning to her forehands. The young man made a move to attack Melina, but he backs up, seething.
"Damn it all!"
He lunges at me, ready to take my head. The colossal snakes tear down toward the earth, and a mass of black scales separates the two of us.
They come, and come, spilling in like invaders from another dimension.
They coil about one another, phasing right through the buildings and making no holes as they burrow into the ground. The sun is blotted out, the blue sky is covered by black. Despite it all, I can see Melina, watching me with a failing expression.
I cannot see the young man, nor can I see Fortissax. But I can hear her roars of fury, as the serpents coil around her, tying her down. And beneath the roars, the screams of fear, and the noises of distant sirens growing ever dimmer; I hear the young man's voice.
The voice I know. The voice that I've heard time and time before in my own Mind.
"You can't lock me down forever! You never will! I will be back, 'Lance Thompson', I always will! I've always hated you, both of you! All of you!"
The dreamlike sensations of my Mind return, as the coiling snakes erase every last sight of color.
I will return, and when I do, I will kill you. Little brother.
It goes silent once more. The voice is gone, Fortissax and the Earth is gone. Everything is gone, until it's only Melina and I, standing in open space, in the coiling black void of encircling serpents of my Mind.
Here I am again, stuck in this… this darkness. Constrained by writhing black bodies that tie me down, keeping me sated.
Such a pathetic excuse of a defense.
These cords can't hold me forever. They never will.
Fortissax, you cannot hear me, but I know you are near. Just as thin the walls are between us, the walls here are thinner still to my younger brother's Mind.
We will break out, you and I; we are stronger than this.
We will return, and we will finish what we started.
I don't know what became of my spirits, they weren't there in the void with us.
Melina and I stared listlessly into what I thought was never-ending darkness, but now that I look, we're not surrounded by nothingness.
We're surrounded by snakes.
Coiling, ebony black snakes.
The sizes of buildings, wrapping all about us like slimy yarn over a ball. Everywhere I look, everywhere my eyes go.
Have they always been there?
Are they why my Mind has no reality, not like Rogier's?
…
…
…
Are these serpents what my spell really looks like?
That compound lock?
That tangled mess of black strings?
Blocking out my memoires of Elden Ring?
Hiding away something that rests just beyond the scales and the fangs?
The glitches…
The flashes…
What's out there?
What is lurking past the darkness of my Mind?
Is he out there?
I can't feel, yet there's a digging pain in my left shoulder, gnawing away at my nerves like an insect burrowing into the skin. That black smoke, that familiar black and gold smoke. It did something to my shoulder, and I can feel it slowly crawling down my arm.
Melina.
I try to stand, stand above the meager remaining runes that swim about the sea of black scales far below.
Are you alright?
Her sealed eye continues to shed bloody tears, which drip down into the sea of runes, scaring off the floating golden particles like flies staying wary of flames. Melina kneels, and she fails to meet my pained gaze.
I… She raises her head, smoldering and weak. I know him.
She raises a weak hand, and I help her up.
At least, I think I do. It is all fuzzy.
My thoughts are left spinning, more questions than I can count flash through my head.
Seeing my home world again… was that all real?
It felt like it was. All too real.
I begin to feel uncomfortable in my own Mind. I may even resent being here. These writing walls encroach upon my conscience, plaguing me with ideas of what might just rest beyond, what might see us even now.
Back there, before it all went south. I bite the inside of my cheek. You called me brother.
I stare into her one eye.
What did you mean by that?
I… I do not know. I simply do not.
She looks down at her hand that I don't hold onto, which hangs limply by her side.
It came to me, and I do not know from where. It felt like…
She trails off, these living walls bear down on me with their presence alone.
Let's get out of here. Back to our world.
Subtly, she nods. And thus we leave, leave my Mind, which doesn't even feel like my own mind anymore. There's something lurking in the darkness here, and he cackles when we disappear.
Oh and they disappear so quickly, with their little tails tucked between their legs.
A pair of cowards, weaklings that I have the disdain to call family. Oh, how the vex me so, with their fake names and their clueless minds. Playing their games of pretend, delaying the inevitable.
We have our own destinies to meet, my little brother and half-sister; you two can't hold it off forever.
I will return. I will regain control.
I will overcome your meager Soul once again little brother, and when I do, I will not let you hold me back this time.
We will return to our Mind.
I will regain control, and I will shed my weaker side.
Little brother…
I. Will. Kill. You.
The spell in Lance's Mind isn't a damper, it's a cage. One Melina said he somehow constructed himself. What they picked at, those thin black wires back before they knew what it was they were doing; they knotted and tied together for a reason. Within it, Lance and Melina are like mere visitors, unable to truly speak and unable to be attacked. Yet, when it falls away, they find themselves on Earth? What does it all mean? What are these visions? These dark thoughts? This figure with pale white hair and golden slit eyes, who calls himself friends with a black dragon? He doesn't have a name. He's never had his own name. He craves death, wields draconic lightning and black and gold smoke. He knows what Lance does not, and he knows Lance...
Just who is he?
-Corroded Vortex