The rope bridge swayed beneath Lucian's feet, every step of Torrent's hooves sending the planks creaking in protest. The sound was sharp—creak, creak—and every tremor made his stomach tighten. So ridiculous part of his mind imagined that, at any mont, a massive pale serpent would erge from the gorge below, snapping the bridge in two.
He shook the thought away. This wasn't Ashina, and the Lands Between had serpents of their own.
Peering down, he saw that while the drop was daunting, it was not bottomless. The valley floor below blood with clusters of Miranda The Blighted Bloom—large and small—exhaling clouds of poisonous pollen until the air at the bottom swirled like a thick, deadly fog.
Lucian turned his gaze forward. At the far end of the bridge, the path climbed toward a church perched at the top of the hill. But it was not the church that first caught his attention.
A towering tree rose beside it—straight and massive, its upper branches heavy with golden leaves.
A Minor Erdtree.
Where there was a Minor Erdtree, there was often an Erdtree Avatar guarding it, and defeating such an avatar could yield crystal tears of rare and wondrous power.
He tried to recall what kind of tear this one might hold, but the mory would not co. Erdtree Avatars were weaker than the demigods, but still far more dangerous than a Grafted Scion or even the Leonine Misbegotten. Perhaps… testing his ttle against one before challenging Godrick the Grafted wouldn't be a bad idea.
But first—the task at hand.
Crossing the bridge, Lucian urged Torrent up the slope. Strange figures wandered the path—n clad in golden-embroidered garnts and wearing ornate masks of beaten gold. Their movents were slow and aimless, their backs sprouting twisted, half-grown branches.
The Guardians of the Minor Erdtree. Once, they had been masters of the martial arts, bound to the tree by an ancient covenant. Even in death, the pact kept them bound, their bodies refusing to crumble to dust.
In other words—walking corpses.
Lucian gathered the storm in his blade and sent it spiraling toward the nearest Guardian. The compressed wind struck like a drill, shredding its upper body into splinters instead of flesh.
He peered at the remains. Beneath the fine garnts, the body was entirely wood.
The guardian writhed on the ground, still moving despite its injuries. Lucian sent another blade of storm to finish the job, reducing the upper half to fragnts.
The other Guardians closed in, but Lucian did not dismount. From Torrent's back he rained storm after storm, cleaving the wooden warriors apart and, when needed, bringing his greatsword down to end their twitching motions.
Within monts, all was still.
"A bit weak," he muttered. "How do they expect to protect the tree like this?"
He rode on toward the church, leaving their splintered bodies behind.
After he was gone, the ground near the corpses shifted. Thick roots burst through the soil, winding over the shattered forms. Slowly, their bodies knit themselves back together, the wood nding under the roots' touch. The roots retreated underground—and the Guardians rose again, silent and unyielding, to resu their eternal watch.
On the road ahead, Lucian passed a group of Wandering Nobles, gaunt and shriveled almost to bone. Two were in advanced decay, their flesh hanging loose. Yet still they walked, bearing their banners, searching for so way to end their existence.
He ignored them. The Shattering of the Elden Ring had also shattered the Golden Order's grasp on death. Even the part of the Greater Will's law that allowed Erdtree-burial had failed.
Now, no matter how many tis they were beheaded or torn apart, the nobles would writhe back into living heaps of flesh.
Once, they had called it a blessing of the Erdtree. Now, it was a curse without end.
At last, Lucian reached the church.
Through the whisper in his ear, lina nad it for him—the Church of Pilgrimage.
Before the entrance, a translucent figure sat slumped in a chair, head turned toward the horizon, muttering over and over:
"The mausoleum prowls. Cradling the soulless demigod."
"O Marika, Queen Eternal. He is your unwanted child."
Following the specter's gaze, Lucian saw it—a colossal four-legged Wandering Mausoleum, roaming the plains, its moss-covered shell marking the weight of countless years.
"The Wandering Mausoleum…" The spirit kept repeating it, the words soaked in obsession.
Inside, the church lay in ruins. At its heart stood a great statue of Radagon, and beneath it, a Sacred Tear left behind. Lucian picked it up, set it at the altar's blessing, and rested a mont to restore his strength.
Just as he was ready to depart, lina's voice stopped him.
"Wait. Spoken echoes linger here. A saying left behind. I want to decipher it—it could be… important."
Lucian rembered. In so churches, Queen Marika had left words carved in stone—commandnts, or perhaps riddles. He was curious to hear this one.
"What does it say?" he asked.
lina hesitated, then spoke slowly, her tone sharpening with surprise.
"Words of Queen Marika, who vanished long ago."
"In Marika's own words..."
Her voice took on the cadence of ritual:
"Then, after thy death, I will give back what I once claid."
"Return to the Lands Between, wage war, and brandish the Elden Ring.
Grow strong in the face of death.
Warriors of my lord.
Lord Godfrey."
As she spoke, fragnts of mory stirred in Lucian's mind. The words were as he recalled, but sothing felt… missing.
lina's brow furrowed. "It seems to be the exhortation Marika left after banishing Horah Loux and his warriors… but incomplete. There must be more, before and after."
"No wonder so many Tarnished have been called back to the Lands Between," she murmured. "It was her design all along. But what is she truly planning?"
Her eyes shone with a rare, quiet excitent. Lucian realized she was genuinely fascinated by the history hidden here. And truth be told, so was he.
"Lucian," she said at last, "we may have found a thread that leads to the secrets of this land. We must seek out more echos."
He nodded. "We will. One day, we'll know the truth."
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