Lucian stood in a daze, his gaze locked on the landscape before him.
Since arriving in this world, it had been nothing but danger and darkness—storm-lashed cathedrals, suffocating crypts, and oppressive caverns. The sheer brutality of it all had made him forget one simple truth: Elden Ring wasn't just a grim world of rot and death. It was also a work of art.
Now, bathed in the radiant light of the Erdtree, Lucian rembered.
The first ti he booted up the ga in his past life, he'd felt this sa awe—the childlike thrill of adventure, the joy of discovery. He could almost hear the soft hum of golden leaves rustling, sll the faint floral perfu in the breeze, watch herds of docile goats grazing peacefully in the distance.
It was a mont of calm in a world baptized in blood.
For the first ti since arriving, Lucian truly felt alive in this sprawling, fantastical land. The doubts—the denial about his own death, the uncertainty of whether this was a dream or true reincarnation—faded into the golden light. None of it mattered anymore.
He was here now. So he would live.
Hakkan ca to stand beside him, following his gaze toward the towering Erdtree.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" the rcenary said softly. "Even with the Golden Order shattered, the tree still stands."
Lucian didn't answer right away. A long silence stretched between them before he spoke, his voice steady.
"I've decided. I'm going to bring peace to the Lands Between."
Hakkan blinked. "What? Are you serious? Do you have any idea how impossible that is?"
"I might've decided it on a whim, but my conviction is real," Lucian replied, eyes unwavering.
Hakkan's expression twisted with disbelief—and sothing else. Was it… hope?
He didn't believe Lucian could succeed. Not really. But sohow, hearing those words, he couldn't help but imagine it. A world without endless war. A world at peace.
"…Then I hope you succeed," Hakkan said, exhaling deeply. "And when that day cos, I hope I'm still around to bask in it with you."
With a nod to his warhorse, Hakkan swung up into the saddle. The mont had co.
"This is where our road parts. It's been a pleasure, Lucian. Let's hope we never et on opposite sides of a blade."
That last line was grim, but Lucian knew the truth of this land—it was a real possibility.
"Ha! Just make sure you don't die in so ditch before I get to buy you that drink."
They shared a final smile.
As if rembering sothing, Hakkan turned back. From his saddlebag, he tossed sothing toward Lucian. The young man caught it with ease.
It was a helt—made of dark tal, the top and back plated with scales, the face shrouded by a fine chainmail veil, only the eyes left exposed.
Lucian recognized it instantly. The helt of a Kaiden Sellsword. No wonder Hakkan never wore it—it had been stashed away.
"What about you?" Lucian asked. "You'll need this."
Hakkan didn't look back. He simply waved a hand.
"A helt is armor for a warrior. You need one. I don't."
"…I'm not a warrior anymore."
Lucian said nothing more, cradling the helm in his hands.
"Live long enough to share a drink with the future Elden Lord," he called after him. "If you die before then, I'll hunt you down myself."
Hakkan laughed, loud and wild. "I'll be waiting!"
Lucian stood in silence for a mont, watching his friend ride off.
He already considered Hakkan a companion. Whether or not they ever crossed paths again remained uncertain. But in the Lands Between, everyone had their own fate to follow.
Turning toward the ruins of a distant church, Lucian began his walk once more.
After about ten minutes, following the gentle trail of Grace, he arrived at a small hilltop.
He couldn't help but mutter to himself.
"Definitely not like the ga. The map is way bigger… but honestly, it feels more real this way."
In the ga, a mountaintop was just a few minutes' ride away—compressed for gaplay. But here? The scale was enormous, humbling.
A glowing Site of Grace shimred ahead, soft and warm like a campfire waiting for tired hands.
Just as Lucian reached out to touch it—
Rustle.
He froze.
Sothing moved in the nearby bushes. His fingers slid toward his weapon, eyes narrowing. He held his breath, body tense, ready to strike.
But the sound vanished as quickly as it ca—perhaps a passing animal?
No. He knew better.
"Stop hiding," he said calmly. "That wasn't an animal. I can tell the difference."
Swish. Branches parted.
A figure stepped out of the undergrowth.
He wore flowing white robes, stained dark with ancient blood. A smooth white mask covered his face, shaped into an eerie smile. His gloves, once white, were now mottled red and brown.
Lucian recognized him instantly.
White Mask Varré.
Once a battlefield dic, Varré had been abducted by Mohg, the Lord of Blood, and corrupted by his cursed power. Now, he served the Blood Lord with a twisted sort of glee.
"Well, well," Varré cooed in a sickeningly sweet voice. "What keen senses you have."
His tone made Lucian's skin crawl.
Every word from Varré sounded like he was savoring his own tongue, saring blood across his lips and whispering it straight into his listener's ears.
He was... revolting.
And flamboyant.
Lucian fought the very real urge to draw his blade and cut him down. Instead, he played dumb.
"Who are you?"
Varré's gloved hands—darkened by blood—folded together in a gesture far too dainty for the battlefield. He rubbed them together like a fly scheming over a al.
"Oh, yes... Tarnished, are we? Co to the Lands Between for the Elden Ring, hmm? Of course you have. No sha in it."
"Unfortunately for you, however, you are maidenless. Without guidance, without the strength of runes, and without an invitation to the Roundtable Hold... You are fated, it seems, to die in obscurity"
His laughter was delicate and poisonous.
Lucian's expression hardened. This guy was even worse than he was in the ga.
Apparently catching on, Varré's tone shifted—just a bit.
"Luckily for you, however , there is one shining ray of hope for even the maidenless."
"Why, it's your lucky day! You've t —Varré. Take care to listen."
"Are you familiar with grace? The golden light that gives life to you Tarnished. You may also behold its golden rays pointing in a particular direction at tis. That is the guidance of grace. The path that a Tarnished must travel."
"Grace's guidance holds the answers. It will lead you Tarnished to the path you are ant to follow. Even if it leads you to your grave."
He chuckled again.
"Now, I don't know if you're one of the rare Tarnished who can actually see Grace's guidance, but if you are… well, I daresay it points you straight to Stormveil Castle. Yes, the one looming on the cliff. The one ruled by that decrepit demigod, Godrick the Grafted."
Lucian silently endured the lecture, eyes sharp.
'So the lore and progression are still mostly the sa.'
"What are you doing here?" he asked bluntly.
Varré tilted his head, voice syrupy.
"I serve a certain… noble master. I'm here to shepherd the maidenless Tarnished down their proper path."
"It's ti you set off, I should think.," he added with a twirl of his hand. "To Castle Stormveil, on the cliff, where grace would guide you. If you seek the Elden Ring"
"Even if maidenless as you are"
And with that, Varré turned back toward the woods, leaving only the stench of old blood and a lingering, mocking laugh.
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