Return to the Lands Between

It was a dim, colorless space, filled with thick gray fog.

In that gray void, only an enormous gravestone and flowers left as offerings stood out. Perhaps because so much time had passed, the epitaph had long since become illegible, but its many lines still made it clear that whoever lay buried here had been no ordinary soul.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept into the seemingly motionless space. Flowers and gray-white, wolflike hair stirred in the breeze. The wind scattered the fog ahead, and golden light illuminated the deathly silence. A speck of gold drifted deep into the grave and merged with the person buried there.

"..." The dead man's fingers twitched, and at last, he rose to his feet once more. Life returned to the silent space.

"Is this... Grace?" The man ran a hand through his hair, catching a few gray-white strands in his palm. He opened his equally gray eyes, their spirit seemingly untouched by age, and studied them closely.

"How interesting. Marika, what exactly have you chosen? Am I to witness your golden age, or..." The man narrowed his eyes at the sliver of light ahead.

"Very well. Let me see what the Lands Between have become." He had barely begun to step forward when a cool breeze swept past, leaving his entire body chilled.

"Hm? Where are my clothes?" Only then did he realize he was wearing nothing but a loincloth.

His gaze turned cold as he examined his gravestone. Looking closely beyond the spot he had emerged from, he could see that someone had tampered with it before. In other words, a grave robber had "visited" this place.

"What a bastard... Robbing my grave, of all places... You'd better hope I never find you." He shook out his hands and stretched his long-idle body, then headed toward the golden light without lingering.

The closer he came to the light, the blurrier his vision became. When he could see again, he was inside a dilapidated building. Judging by its interior, it appeared to be a chapel.

Once again, the sight before him surprised him. He remembered seeing much the same when he had been driven from the Lands Between... Still, now that he was back in this land of slaughter, he naturally needed a weapon.

Sure enough, he found a broken table leg that would serve nicely as a club. He picked it up and tested its weight, then shook his head. "Terrible quality. Oh well, it'll have to do."

"Hm?" Just then, something caught his eye in a shadowed corner. A woman in a white robe lay there, her striking beauty undiminished even by her bloodless face. She had bled heavily from her abdomen and was already dead. Judging by her clothes, she appeared to be a maiden.

"'Even if guidance has long been broken, please become the Elden Lord'... is that it?" He crouched beside her and read the white message she had inscribed in her final moments, a trace of emotion crossing his face.

Even at the very moment of death, she had still wished for such a thing. What devotion.

"The Elden Lord... Heh. Is that really a lord...?" He lifted the woman into his arms and carried her outside. "I certainly intend to become a lord, but I have no interest in being a false one."

Looking down at the bloodless girl in his arms, he fell silent for a moment. This place seemed to be a passage connected to the Land of Fog, and she seemed to have been waiting for someone like him to return to the Lands Between.

Unfortunately, he appeared to have arrived too late... But he would not let her death go unmarked. After carefully burying her, he erected a gravestone. Since he did not know her name, he could only inscribe "Devout Maiden" in its place...

"All right. Time to get moving." He quickly collected himself and surveyed his surroundings. This appeared to be a floating island, where a single careless step could send him plunging into a bottomless abyss.

As he looked around, the urge to explore stirred within him. In his early years, he had traveled the Lands Between alone, his only interest being the search for treasure...

To the left of the chapel's main entrance, he found a locked door. There did not seem to be a key nearby.

"Locked... Unfortunately, I'm not one to follow the rules." He grabbed a nearby stone and smashed it down hard on the handle. With a clang, the door broke open.

"My hand's gone numb." Shaking his hand, he climbed the stairs to the chapel's upper floor, where something glittering caught his attention. When he approached, he discovered that it was an urn of ashes.

They were the ashes of a hawk. Such ashes were the traces left behind by lives that had not returned to the Erdtree after death. Yet this hawk carried the presence of a storm. Could it be...

There was another problem: he had neither clothes nor a storage bag. How was he supposed to carry this away? "If there's any cloth around here, I could make a bag on the spot... Wishful thinking, though."

There was not even a bird in this godforsaken place. Expecting to find cloth was asking too much. Well, there were a bird's ashes...

He stepped through a nearby door into the corridor above the chapel, where a chest stood at the far end.

"There really is something here." He opened the chest and found another small urn of ashes.

"Does this ever end?" He picked up the little urn and examined the storm and eagle designs on it. "A Stormhawk? Was it a subordinate of that hawk king from earlier?" He put the urn back after speaking. The same problem remained: he could not carry it.

He might as well keep going. Perhaps he would stumble upon something useful, maybe even some cloth. Who could say?

Returning to the chapel's main entrance, he crossed the suspension bridge ahead. Beyond a massive archway stood an enormous statue in a circular plaza.

He looked up at the statue. It depicted a woman he knew all too well: Marika, the Eternal Queen, who governed the Order of the Lands Between. She was deeply entwined with his own past-and she was the woman who had personally banished both him and her husband.

"Hm? What's that?" A strange sound reached his ears. Instinct told him a fight was coming, and he settled into a stance to face the approaching enemy.

Sure enough, a round black shape dropped from the sky, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"Wait, where did you come from?" He looked up at the sky. There was nowhere up there to hide. And besides...

"What the hell is that? Looks like a spider." Its appearance was so grotesque that even he could not help clicking his tongue.

The enemy before him... No, "monster" was more fitting. Like a spider, its body was covered in grafted human limbs, with an exceptionally handsome face in the middle that only made it more unsettling.

Its excessive limbs allowed it to wield more weapons than other enemies: two golden straight swords and an enormous wooden shield. Without a word, it shrieked at him, all its limbs twitching in a thoroughly revolting display.

"What the hell... Oh, hold on." Then he noticed the two straight swords in its hands and the rather fine clothes draped over its body. A decidedly unfriendly smile spread across his face. "See? Just what I needed."

The Grafted Scion swung the twin swords held in its spiderlike limbs. Its movements were extremely fast, but utterly disorganized. Anyone with experience could see at a glance that it had no idea how to fight. Its only advantage was having more limbs than an ordinary person.

"Boring." He snorted contemptuously. Its entrance had made him think it might be formidable, but fighting it revealed that it was all show and no substance. It had speed, but its attacks were wildly chaotic. Even the paths of its two swinging swords crossed, nearly making them collide.

Seizing an opening, he smashed his club into the Grafted Scion's face. Pain sent its limbs into even greater disarray. Though its spiderlike hands left scratches across his barely covered body, he paid them no mind. He simply battered its head again and again until it stopped breathing.

Frail. Pathetic... Those were his first impressions of the monster.

"What a waste of a greatshield." He pried the golden twin swords from the Grafted Scion's hands and gave them a few practice swings, thoroughly pleased with the weapons. When he tore off its black cloak, he discovered still more arms grafted densely across its back. Like a freshly killed octopus still writhing, those hands continued to wave.

"What sick taste. Which idiot made a monster like this?"

After a while, he managed to turn the Grafted Scion's black cloak into a makeshift backpack. He then returned for the two sets of ashes, packed them away, and continued onward. As for the greatshield, unfortunately, he was not in the habit of using shields.

"A dead end?" Following the path beyond where he had defeated the Grafted Scion brought him to a cliff, with no other route nearby.

He approached the edge carefully and tapped the ground. It promptly crumbled away. "I knew this place wasn't sturdy."

He bent down and peered below, listening closely to the falling rocks to gauge the height. To his surprise, the cliff did not seem particularly high. He could still hear the rocks striking the ground from up here.

"Looks like this is the only way forward." He tightened his pack, walked to the edge, and leaped straight off. A veteran of countless battles, he had jumped from cliffs before. Given this height and the weight of his belongings, the fall would leave him half-dead at worst. As long as it did not kill him, there was no problem.

In the Lands Between-no, in battle-there were only two outcomes: life and death. As long as he survived, the extent of his injuries made little difference. That was how he had made it this far.

Gravity pulled him steadily downward, weightlessness flooding his body. Yet he felt no fear. Instead, he could feel his blood beginning to boil once more.

As the ground rushed closer, he finally drove a sword into the rock wall to slow his descent, hitting the ground with as little damage as possible.

"Tch... I really shouldn't do anything this strenuous right after waking up. Now I'm paying for it..." He spat out a mouthful of blood and smiled helplessly, leaning against the wall and slowly sliding down until he sat on the ground. "Seems I broke quite a few bones... Ah, I really am getting old..."

Having only just awakened before falling from such a height, he was now rather exhausted. After checking his surroundings for danger, he closed his eyes.

He did not know how much time had passed before, half asleep, he felt warm, moist breath against his face. Something furry also seemed to be nudging him.

"Don't worry, Torrent... This person is still alive." A girl's cool, even voice soothed the being named Torrent.

"This one is sure to seek the Elden Ring, too..." The girl seemed to step onto the ground; he could hear her shoes touching water.

He wanted to open his eyes, but he was too exhausted and gave up. In the next instant, however, a wonderfully warm presence enveloped him. His wounds and broken bones began to mend. Before long, most of his severe injuries had healed, leaving only a few insignificant bruises.

Is this... an Erdtree incantation? The sensation was familiar. During the wars, the priests in his company had cast this incantation as well, but the girl's seemed purer.

That only deepened his curiosity. Wanting to thank the person who had healed him, he opened his eyes, no longer quite so tired. Yet all he saw was a faint blue light flashing past.

"Blue teleportation?" He stretched his newly healed body and spotted a flask glowing golden-orange on a stone pedestal nearby.

"Crimson tears?" Naturally, he knew what those were. The Flask of Crimson Tears was one of the finest healing items of this golden age.

"Did that girl leave it... ? Now I owe her two favors." He smiled and tucked the Flask of Crimson Tears into his bag.

"Looks like this is where my journey truly begins..." He could feel it-that golden presence...