I do not own Elden Ring or Dungeon ni Deai o Motomeru no wa Machigatte Iru Darou ka.
"Drink up, everybody. You deserve it!" The patron goddess, Loki, celebrates, raising her alcoholic beverage high up in the air.
"HUZZAH!" The rest of her Familia follows suit, celebrating another successful dungeon dive. Meanwhile, at the front of the pub...
"Alright, you can make your announcement—but keep it short," Mia said, conceding to the stranger's request.
A slow grin crept across the man's face. He stood tall, broad-shouldered and imposing in a suit of battered crimson armor, the lion insignia emblazoned across his chestplate. His armor set clung to him like a second skin—steel layered with worn leather and traces of dried blood, each scratch a testament to battles long past. Without the helmet, his wild hair spilled out in sun-bleached tangles, and his eyes gleamed with fire and conviction.
"Thank you," he says, clasping his hands together. The clap rings out with thunderous authority, silencing the crowd and drawing all eyes to him.
"CHAMPIONS!" he hollers. "I look around and see champions in the making. While you're all content with braving the dungeon beneath this city, perhaps I can offer you something greater. A true trial of strength and spirit. A celebration of battle and glory. I speak of a challenge no dungeon can match—"
He throws his arms wide, voice swelling with pride.
"—I INVITE YOU ALL TO THE RADAHN FESTIVAL!"
For a heartbeat, the room holds its breath.
Then, laughter erupts, loud and raucous, breaking the tension like a shattering spell.
"A festival more challenging than the dungeon? Give me a break."
"There's no place in the world tougher than the Dungeon."
These were just a few of the scoffs heard amidst the uproarious laughter. Though disheartened by the dismissive crowd, the announcer had fulfilled his duty. All he could do now was hope—hope that even one person might take his words to heart.
"Hey! Over here!"
He turns toward the voice and saw a woman waving him over. An Amazon, unmistakably.
Taking the cue, he makes his way toward her booth.
"Tiona, why'd you call him over?" someone nearby asks.
"What? I want to hear more about this Radahn Festival," Tiona replies casually.
Her words light a spark in the announcer's chest. For the first time that evening, a genuine smile touches his lips.
He stops at the edge of the table, towering over most of the seated adventurers. The Amazon woman—Tiona—gestures for him to sit. He did so with a grunt, the joints of his crimson armor creaking slightly as he settled in.
"Nice armor," comments a wiry young man with a foxlike grin—Finn, the captain of the Loki Familia. "That's not Orario craftsmanship. Too... war-forged."
"Looks like it's seen more than a few battles," added a calm voice. Riveria, the High Elf, gives the armor a discerning glance. "Well-made. Reinforced leather under the pauldrons. Custom work?"
The man gives a small nod, fingers tapping the lion sigil on his chestplate. "Forged in Caelid. Worn by the knights who served under General Radahn."
"Radahn?" Bete scoffed, arms crossed. "Never heard of him. Sounds like another self-important warlord."
The man chuckles. "He was a living legend. The kind who'd wrestle gravity to stay on horseback."
There is a pause—half skepticism, half intrigue.
"I like him already," Tiona says with a grin, leaning forward. "So, what's the challenge? This Radahn Festival… what's it really about?"
The man leans in slightly, eyes gleaming with fire.
"It's about fighting like you've already died—and winning anyway."
That earned a few raised eyebrows.
"Well," Finn said, his interest clearly piqued, "you certainly know how peak our interest."
The table grows quiet, their attention now firmly fixed on the stranger. The man leans forward, resting his gauntleted hands on the table. "I was sent by Castellan Jerren," his voice is low but resonant. "A steward of tradition. A man who honors warriors not with titles or coin, but with trials worthy of legends. He has sent me across many lands to find those with the fire to face the impossible."
"And what exactly is this impossibility?" Riveria asks, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You say it's a challenge, but to what end?"
"The Radahn Festival is no mere celebration. It is a battleground. A gathering of warriors from across the lands, drawn together to challenge the might of General Radahn himself—a demigod." He pauses, letting that sink in. "It is the highest honor a warrior can claim—to cross blades with a legend, even if it ends in death. A true celebration of war!"
Bete scoffed, arms crossed, his voice thick with disbelief. "A demigod? C'mon. Gods can't have kids. That's basic knowledge."
The knight turns his head, calm and unshaken. "Your gods can't; the ones from Tenkai—bound by ancient laws, stripped of divinity when they descended. But the god of my homeland is different. She was never from Tenkai, and therefore is not bound by your laws."
The table listens in silence as he went on.
"Radahn is not the son of a god. He is the step-child of one. For reason's unknown, his father left his mother so can become king consort to the goddess, the ruler of our lands. Through this union, he is considered a demigod."
Riveria's eyes narrows, intrigued. "So, he's not divine by blood… but by inheritance."
"Exactly."
Tiona leans forward, a spark in her eye. "So this festival… it's to fight him? That's the challenge?"
The knight nods. "Yes. To stand against General Radahn in the heart of a battlefield. To test your strength against a legend shaped by war."
Bete clicks his tongue but said nothing this time.
"And those who join… what do they stand to gain?" Finn finally speaks, quite and thoughtful
The knight gives a small smile. "Glory. Purpose. And the kind of death that songs are written about. And if you're lucky, perhaps a bit of his power as well"
A heavy silence hangs in the air around the booth after the knight's final words.
It is Gareth who breaks the stillness, his voice deep and grounded. "Hmm... a battlefield like that, against a proclaimed demigod? Sounds like madness. But I've seen madness forge legends before." He scratches his beard thoughtfully. "Still, I'd want to see this Radahn with my own eyes before calling him a 'challenge.'"
Tiona grins, practically bouncing in her seat. "I love it. A big-shot warrior step-demigod! That's like something out of an epic saga! I mean, who wouldn't want to fight that?"
Tione, seated beside her, raises a skeptical eyebrow. "People who enjoy living? I mean, sure, it sounds thrilling, but a whole festival just to fight one guy? The step-son of a god? Sounds like a death wish." The twin sarcastically answers.
The knight chuckles. "Some have called it that."
Lefiya fidgets in her seat, eyes flicking between the knight and her companions. "It just sounds... terrifying. Someone that powerful? What if you're not strong enough? What if no one is?"
The knight turns to her gently. "That fear? That's part of the invitation. Only those who feel it understand what it means to face something greater than themselves."
Bete exhales sharply through his nose, clearly unconvinced. "Tch. Sounds like a waste of time. If this Radahn guy's as tough as you say, then anyone who goes is just asking to get stomped. I'm not signing up to be crushed under some god-spawn's boot. Besides, if you want to fight the strong, everyone comes here where the Dungeon is. Everything outside Orario is just a bunch of weaklings" Bete snarls.
The knight does not argue. He just nods once. "That's fair. I've heard in these lands that this city is where the strongest warriors can be found, but don't underestimate the rest of the world. You'd be surprise at what exist." He looks around the table, his eyes lingering on each of them. "But for those have an interest in the Festival… it's a chance to find out what you're really made of."
Another silence follows—but this one is heavier. Thoughtful.
Finn leans back in his seat, arms folded, his sharp blue eyes never leaving the knight. He'd been quiet up until now, weighing every word.
"It does sound like an adventure," he admits, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. "A battlefield unlike any other. A gathering of the bold and reckless... Sounds like something right out of an old hero's tale."
The knight inclined his head, respectful. "It is."
"But we're not warriors chasing stories," Finn continues, his tone shifting. "We're a Familia with responsibilities. We face danger every day down in the Dungeon—but we do it with purpose. Strategy. We don't walk into battles just to see if we die well."
Tiona opens her mouth, but Finn holds up a hand. "I'm not saying we shouldn't be curious. But there are too many unknowns. We don't know where this Radahn Festival is being held. We don't know how we'd get there. And most importantly…"
He leans in slightly.
"…we don't know if this is even real."
Finn's expression settles into something firm, resolute. The curiosity hadn't vanished—but the decision was made.
"Whether it's real or not," he said evenly, "this Radahn Festival… it's not for us. We're adventurers. We seek glory and renown through delving into the Dungeon, going deep into it, and returning alive."
Riveria nods, hands folded in front of her. "Our strength has purpose—measured and focused. Charging into a battlefield for glory alone through death? That's not the path we've chosen."
Gareth crossed his arms, a slow rumble in his chest. "Where adventurers, thick and through, not warriors ready to forfeit our lives willingly for fame and glory. The choice is obvious for us."
The knight takes in their words without offense. In fact, he smiles—small, but sincere. "Then you've chosen well."
He turns slightly, as though ready to leave—but pauses, hand dipping into the side of his satchel.
"One last thing," he said, drawing a small black pouch and placing it on the table. "A gift. Not a token of invitation—just a remembrance."
From within, he drew out a stack of square medallions, each one roughly palm-sized and forged from a golden-hued metal that shimmered subtly, as if woven with threads of starlight. They were surprisingly light in the hand, but cool to the touch—carrying the weight of something important.
The edges of each medallion were beveled with fine celestial patterns—stars, moons, and curved arcs like the paths of comets. In the center, an image was pressed in masterful detail: a lone knight standing defiant on a battlefield with the stars over him, swords in both hands.
"This is the Starscourge Heirloom," the knight said, offering one to each of them. "They're given to those who show the spirit of a champion, and looking at all of you, I'd say you all got the stuff of champions."
Tiona's eyes sparkles as she held hers up to the light. "This is amazing."
Tione glances at hers, then at the knight. "You sure you want to just hand these out?"
"For listening to an old warrior's tale, yes."
Bete examined his with a skeptical squint. "This thing isn't cursed, is it?"
The knight gives a soft chuckle. "Not unless you want it to." he answers jokingly.
Finn looks down at his own medallion, turning it slowly between his fingers. "Thank you," he said, not without a trace of respect. "For the offer. And the gesture."
The knight give a final nod. With that, he turns and strides towards the tavern's doors.
The tavern buzzes on around them, but at their table, a quiet stillness had settled. Each of them sat with the Starscourge Heirloom in hand, their thoughts drifting back to the knight's words.
Tiona is the first to break the silence. "I mean… don't get me wrong, I know we said no, but doesn't a part of you want to go? Just to see if it's real?"
Tione shakes her head, resting her chin on her hand. "I'm not itching to get flattened by some 'demigod'. But… yeah. It's stuck in my head now."
Lefiya turns the medallion in her fingers again, frowning softly. "He said Radahn is a stepchild of a god. And that this god… isn't from Tenkai."
Riveria crosses her arms, looking thoughtful. "It implies there's a divine structure separate from the one we all know. I've never read about such a pantheon."
Bete rolled his eyes. "So what—some foreign god just raises a kid and dumps him into a battlefield to swing a sword? Sounds made up."
"No more than some of our gods choosing to run pubs and live in mansions," Finn said quietly. "Maybe there's more to divinity than what we know."
A moment passes.
Then Tiona leans over the back of her chair, grinning. "Hey Loki~! You've been quiet this whole time. You have to know something."
At the far end of the booth, Loki had been drinking her ale, watching the entire exchange unfold.
"That knight's not bluffing, I'll tell you that. About this god not being from Tenkai, I doubt… Wait."
Loki's voice trails off, her head tilting upward as her eyes slowly flutter open—half-lidded, unfocused, as though she's catching the tail end of a distant memory. Her expression shifts subtly, a flicker of recognition breaking through the usual haze of mischief. The sudden change doesn't go unnoticed by her Familia, who watch with quiet curiosity.
Then, her features twist into a rare frown, her brows knitting together as she closes her eyes once more, the weight of the realization settling over her like a veil.
"Yeah… it's coming back to me now. I know where that guy's from," she murmurs, her voice lower, more serious than usual.
Without another word, she takes a long pull from her mug, draining the bitter brew as if trying to wash the truth from her tongue—or fortify herself against what's coming. The clink of the mug hitting the table echoes faintly, a stark punctuation to her uncharacteristic solemnity.
"You don't seem too pleased about this sudden remembrance," Finn ventures carefully, his sharp eyes studying the subtle shift in their goddess's demeanor. Around the table, the other executives of the Loki Familia quietly echo the sentiment with slight nods or pointed glances, their silence loaded with expectation.
"That's because I'm not," Loki replies curtly, her voice flat and unamused.
A heavy pause settles over the group as they wait—expectant, patient. The goddess lets out a long, slow sigh, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly as if the weight of some long-buried memory is pressing down on her.
"He's from an island, way out in the middle of the sea. The place is cloaked in dense fog and the waters around it are wild, probably cursed. Think it's called the... Between Lands… or maybe... Things Betwixt? Something like that."
She spits the name out like something bitter on her tongue, then takes another deep swig from her mug—clearly trying to rinse away more than just the aftertaste. Everyone at the table can sense it: Loki doesn't want to talk about this. But their curiosity—sparked by the appearance of the strange man and the mention of a foreign god—is stronger than their desire to respect her discomfort.
"Eons ago," she continues reluctantly, "before any of us gods ever descended, couple of gods and I visited that island. Heard about a god living there—one not from Tenkai. I think her name was Mary… or Maria… maybe Mariko?" Loki trails off, frowning under the weight of time. The collective look of disappointment from her Familia isn't subtle.
"What?" she snaps. "It's been eons since I thought about that cursed place. Cut me some slack, will ya?"
Their silence is answer enough. She grunts and continues, albeit with less enthusiasm.
"We arrived... and she weren't too happy. Told us to leave. Said something about not wanting outside gods messing around in her lands. The nerve of her," Loki scoffs as she tips back her mug and taking a long, ungraceful gulp.
"Did you comply with that request?" Riveria asks.
"Of course we didn't… at first."
"At first?" Riveria echoes, brow raised.
"We're gods," Loki says matter-of-factly. "You don't tell us what we can and can't do—especially not when I still had all my divine power. But then..." Her voice lowers, suddenly distant. "Her hubby showed up. And her dog."
"Hubby…? You mean she was married?" Lefiya asks, her voice tinged with disbelief as she tries to make sense of the surreal tale unraveling before her. Her brows furrow as she processes the implications, mind racing. "And you said her dog came too? Like… a normal dog?"
Loki scoffs, leaning back in her chair and waving the thought away like it was an insult. "Hah! No, it wasn't some mutt fetching sticks. That thing was anything but regular, and her so-called husband? Definitely not your average Joe. The guy was massive—bigger than a minotaur. A towering wall of muscle, wielding a giant axe that has seen centuries of battle," Loki mutters as the memory resurfaces. "But the most bizarre part was the ghostly lion-like creature thing latched onto his back, its jaws clamped into him like it was part of him. I have no idea what that was about, but the guy was ready to throw down with actual gods despite not being a god himself"
She pauses, her fingers tapping idly against her mug before continuing with a more serious tone. "But what really rattled us… was her dog."
Loki leans back in her chair, the weight of recollection creasing her brow as she tries to articulate the image. "It wasn't some regular mutt. This thing wore blackened armor, pitch as night, and carried a massive black sword in its hand. And that sword—it wasn't normal. It radiated something… wrong. Something final. Just looking at it gave me the heebie-jeebies. The other gods felt it too. Whatever that weapon was—it could hurt us. Really hurt us."
Riveria interjects, skeptical yet visibly intrigued. "A weapon that can harm gods? That shouldn't be possible. Who would even create something like that?"
"Doesn't matter. We backed off. They were stranded on some secluded island in the middle of the sea, surrounded by stormy waters and dense fog. Most of the other gods figured it wasn't worth the trouble. Beside, that place was weird."
"Weird… how so?" Gareth prompts.
"It's hard to explain. The natural laws—how the world works—felt different there. Gravity, space, time, even life and death… those things didn't behave normally like anywhere else. I don't have all the answers, but I'd bet it has something to do with that enormous, golden tree looming over everything."
"A giant golden tree?" Gareth echoes, intrigued.
"I was only there for five minutes, okay?" she snaps, defensively. "I don't know the details. All I know is that a god who wasn't from Tenkai lived there, she told us to leave, and we did. The last thing I heard was that there was some kind of big war going on. That was eons ago."
Eventually, the table's mood shifts. The weight of the conversation—gods not from Tenkai—gave way to laughter, clinking mugs, and the easy rhythm of celebration. Music resumed in the background, and the familiar hum of the Hostess of Fertility returned as patrons settled back into their revelry.
But Ais remained quiet.
She sat a little apart from the others, golden eyes focused on the square medallion resting in her palm. The Starscourge Heirloom caught the warm light of the tavern and shimmered faintly, as though it held a light of its own. She wasn't one for words, but something about the knight's presence, his voice, the story he told—it lingered. Not in the way tales of glory often did, but in a deeper, stranger sense.
Her fingers close around the heirloom.
Not fear. Not awe.
Curiosity.
Ais looks over at her Familia, now laughing and trading jabs like nothing had happened. And then to the door where the knight had disappeared not long ago.
She didn't know if this festival existences.
But if it was real… she wanted to see it.
Time passed.
The knight's visit faded into memory, buried beneath the constant motion of Orario—the Dungeon delves, the quests, and the celebrations. The Starscourge Heirloom ended up tucked away by most, kept as a curiosity or trinket rather than a true call to arms.
For everyone else, things returned to normal.
But not for Ais.
It had been three years since she reached Level 5. A milestone most adventurers would have celebrated for a lifetime. But for her, the pride of that moment had withered into something dull—unsatisfying.
She trained. She fought. She pushed herself to the edge of collapse in the lower floors, baiting battles that others would have run from. Every clash, every sharpened instinct—she was trying to feel something. Trying to break the wall she couldn't even see.
But no matter how fierce the enemy, how far she pushed her body, her soul—there was no growth.
No progress.
And then came that fight with the Monster Tamer. The woman had been fierce—unhinged, powerful. But that wasn't what haunted Ais.
It was the name.
Aria.
Over and over again, the woman had looked at her with eyes full of history, of grief, of recognition. She'd spoken to her like she was someone else—someone long gone but very much alive in her memories of a bygone time.
Since then, the silence in her heart had grown louder.
She stopped sleeping. She trained longer. Fought harder. When that wasn't enough, she dove deeper into the Dungeon, alone and reckless.
And still—no change. No growth. Just a mounting, gnawing frustration. A question that beat like war drums in her head:
Why am I not getting stronger?
She stood now on the balcony of the Twilight Manor, wind tugging at her skirt as she stared out over the city. The heirloom—she'd never put it away. It hangs off her person, hidden under her armor. She'd almost forgotten about it.
Almost.
Her fingers found it now, gripping the cool, square metal as her gaze drifted toward the distant horizon.
That knight, with his strange armor and stranger story—he had spoken of a festival meant to test champions. A place not in the Dungeon, but somewhere beyond it. A battle so great it could shake the stars.
A part of her had dismissed it.
But another part had listened.
And now, as she stood in the stillness of night, a feeling stirred in her chest. Familiar and foreign at once.
Restlessness.
Like something was calling to her.
And this time… it wasn't the Dungeon.
It was late.
Most of the Loki Familia had already turned in for the night, their laughter and energy having slowly faded into the soft quiet of the Twilight Manor. But in the upper chambers, the flicker of lamplight still lingered, casting long shadows across a small sitting room where three of the familia's leaders remained awake.
Finn sat near the window, arms crossed, his expression thoughtful. Across from him, Riveria was pouring tea into a pair of mugs, while Gareth leaned against the wall, his thick arms folded and brow furrowed in concern.
"She's been diving solo again," Gareth muttered, breaking the silence. "Lower floors. Not just once or twice—it's almost every day now."
Finn nodded, not surprised. "I know. And it's not just that. Her movements have been... tight. Like she's holding something back or forcing it."
Riveria handed him a cup and sat down with a sigh. "It's been three years since she reached Level 5. For someone like Ais, that kind of plateau feels like suffocation."
Gareth grunted in agreement. "She doesn't talk about it, but you can see it on her. The frustration. Like she's chasing something she can't name."
Finn took a slow sip of tea, eyes still watching the night outside. "It's not just the lack of growth. It started after that fight with the Monster Tamer."
Riveria's eyes narrowed slightly. "The one who kept calling her 'Aria'..."
Gareth shifted his weight. "You think that's what's eating at her?"
"I don't know," Finn said quietly. "But something changed after that. She's always been quiet, but now... there's distance. She's disconnected. Even from the Familia."
They sat in silence for a while, the tension heavy in the room.
Riveria finally spoke. "We've always known Ais was carrying something—pain, memories, loss. But this is different. This is her feeling trapped."
"Think it's got anything to do with that knight a couple months back?" Gareth asked, scratching his beard. "She kept that medallion, didn't she?"
Riveria nodded slowly. "She did. And she was the only one who never stopped thinking about what he said. I caught her staring at it more than once."
Finn exhaled through his nose, expression unreadable. "If she believes that battle could make her stronger... she might go looking for it."
Gareth's jaw tightened. "And what if she finds it?"
Riveria placed her cup down gently. "Then we may have a choice to make."
Finn didn't answer. He simply looked out the window again, eyes scanning the dark horizon beyond Orario, where a new storm might already be building.
The morning sun pours through the high windows of the Twilight Manor, casting long beams of light across the halls. The Loki Familia is preparing for another expedition—this time a deep Dungeon run around floor 38, with some of its finest members assembled.
In her room, Ais silently stands in front of her mirror.
Her armor is fastened. Her sword is at her side. Everything looks the same. But to her, something feels wrong.
She presses a hand to her chest. No tremor of anticipation. No flicker of growth. Just the same dull echo of routine.
Her eyes drop to the desk near her bed—where the Starscourge Heirloom lays.
The square medallion sits quietly, but the way it catches the light made it shimmer, like starlight on water. Ais stares at it, unmoving, her expression unreadable.
With slow, deliberate fingers, she picks it up, brushing her thumb across the etched design. Just as she turns to slip it into the small inner pouch of her person, the soft sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor outside.
"Are you ready to move out?"
She turns.
Lefiya stands at the doorway, adjusting her gloves. Her voice is casual, but there was a slight tension behind her eyes. Whether it is concern or simply caution, Ais couldn't tell.
"Yes," Ais said simply, slipping the heirloom into her pocket.
Lefiya hesitates a moment longer, then gives a small smile. "Alright. We're gathering at the front."
She doesn't mention the heirloom. Didn't ask why Ais had been staring at it.
Ais nodded and followed her out, quiet as ever.
As they walk down the hall together, the familiar clinking of armor and quiet conversations echoed around them, but Ais's thoughts stayed fixed on the weight at her side.
She didn't know why she was bringing it.
Only that it felt... right.
Like she was walking closer to something.
The front of the Twilight Manor is alive with movement.
Supplies were packed, weapons were checked, and final goodbyes were shared under the morning sun. Loki stood with a few of the familia members staying behind, offering her usual snarky, slightly-too-emotional farewell.
"You better come back with fewer holes in you than last time," she huffs, arms crossed.
Finn chuckles. "We'll be back before dinner."
Loki gives a half-smile, then glances toward Ais—who stood a little apart from the group.
She is quiet as ever, eyes distant.
But inside, her mind is chaos.
Three years. Three years since Level 5. Three years of battle, training, exhaustion. And nothing. No shift. Just the same… hollow stillness.
Am I really stuck?
Is this all there is for me now?
She clenches her fists at her sides, a breath catching in her throat. The heirloom in her skirt—the one she had carried with her since the knight's visit—suddenly begins to radiate a soft, unfamiliar warmth against her side.
Her eyes widened. She reaches for it, fingers brushing over the fabric in her pocket.
But before she could grab hold of it—
The sensation changed.
The warmth spreads through her chest, her limbs, her skin. It wasn't painful. It was… gentle. Golden.
"Miss Ais!"
Someone screamed.
Lefiya is pointing to Ais' free hand.
Ais looks down. Her hand is dissolving—fading into stardust, shimmering in the daylight like scattered fragments of a dream. Trails of light drift up from her form, floating skyward.
"Ais!" Tiona lunges forward, but her hand passed through Ais's arm like it wasn't even there.
"Ais, what's happening?!" Riveria called out, stepping back in shock as more of Ais's body began to unravel into light—her legs, her torso, her skirt fluttering one last time in the wind before turning to stars.
"Ais!" Loki's voice cracks
But it is too late.
With one final shimmer, Ais Wallenstein vanishes completely.
Silence followed.
No one moved.
Only the wind remained, brushing through the stunned group like a passing spirit.
And where Ais had stood, the faintest sparkle of gold lingered in the air.