Sleep was necessary. Mitranis found it in a damp cave, tucked away somewhere in Limgrave. There was a way to reach his destination from there: Volcano Manor.
The dream kept repeating. And these last few nights, more than ever. The women in dark robes and veils. The days as a child, locked away in darkness. The small creatures — lizards scorched by whatever came out of that child's hands. Electricity. Little bolts of lightning he was forbidden to use. Instead, they gave him a dagger. His dagger. Tenebrae.
Each time, the dream grew sharper. Especially because Mitranis had felt himself wrapped in that lightning. It had given him the speed and strength he'd needed to fight, no question — to close the distance to Godrick's side in the blink of an eye and tear him apart.
And that night, the dream was no longer just a dream — it was memory. Those women had given Mitranis Tenebrae. The memories were unraveling now. The electricity he'd once used for mischief had become the key to bringing down a demigod.
"Hello? Anyone in there?" a familiar voice called out.
A voice with a mocking edge. Hard, almost impossible, to trust. But an ally, for better or worse.
Mitranis slowly opened his eyes, rubbing them as he sat up. He was in a large chamber of the cave. Plenty of odds and ends. A chest. Clearly suspicious. That was his way of traveling — that con man's magic.
"Shut up, Patches," Mitranis said. "You could've moved me a little more gently. You're way too loud."
"You don't like my voice anymore!" Patches crowed, running a hand over his bald head, feigning concern. "And to think you used to love my bedtime stories when you were a boy."
Mitranis sighed. Patches was a swindler, a cowardly killer who made friends with the Tarnished he'd later murder. He was... the opposite of Mitranis? Who could say for certain that Mitranis wouldn't end up doing the same thing to Hestia? He himself could, without question. That was exactly why he was heading to Volcano Manor now. So that it wouldn't happen.
"The stories, sure," Mitranis said, getting to his feet. "Like the one where you swore you'd ridden a rune bear. How could I forget all the details you twisted."
"But the dream did its job, didn't it?"
"The worst part is I believed it." Mitranis sighed, straightening his clothes. "Do you know how much Bernahl chewed me out when he caught me heading into the misty forest, because you'd said that's where you found the bear that let itself be ridden? I don't even know how many squats and push-ups I had to do as punishment."
Patches ran a finger over his upper lip, his usual tic. He laughed like a mischievous child. He was the most crooked recusant Mitranis knew. Almost funny, even, as long as you started from the assumption that not a single word out of his mouth was true.
The man was entirely bald, fair-skinned, and ran condemned soldiers, outcasts, and army deserters as if they were nothing more than pawns or two-bit bandits — and he always had the strangest items on hand. He called himself a merchant. To Mitranis, he was just a very good thief, and a small-time one at that.
"You said you'd give me something, by the way," Mitranis said, glancing sideways at Patches as he made his way toward the chest.
"In exchange for a small donation, obviously," the man answered, rubbing his hands together briefly.
Mitranis turned his head now, looking at him more directly. He sighed, closing his eyes. Then he pulled something from his pouch and handed it to Patches. Those round little things scattered everywhere, left behind on the corpses of the dead. The essence within them, used for trade. It was like the gold of this land. The gold of the Lands Between. Tarnished who no longer walked with grace couldn't turn that "gold" into strength anymore. So they used it as currency, or as a trinket instead.
"Here are your runes, man."
Patches gave a little bow. A mocking one, really. He pulled a strange chunk of rock from his bag. It had carved decorations on it. They looked like inscriptions, sigils. If they were gold, they belonged to the Golden Order. What was this thing?
"I properly looked into the origins of this priceless object," Patches said, sounding every bit the salesman now, even though Mitranis had already paid him. "This thing can seal away some big fellow. One in rags, with a giant staff, horns sticking out everywhere, and a horrible tail. Someone who survived him told me about it. I swear it on Godfrey!"
The description matched Margit, no question. Something that could seal away someone of that size, that power. It sounded too convenient to be true. Or else it was some strange contradiction — and, no doubt, another fragment of history turning the past of the Lands Between into a stranger and stranger puzzle. A headache, without question.
Mitranis took the object out of Patches's hands.
"I'll keep this," he said, holding himself back from mentioning what he already knew.
"You would've wished you had this thing before fighting that monster, wouldn't you?"
That was something Mitranis had expected. Eyes had been on him, Hestia, and Rogier as they made their way into Stormveil. Archibald had probably been the one who went inside and tailed the three of them more closely. Patches, on the other hand, had likely only made it that far — enough to watch the fight with Margit from a safe distance. Fit the coward he was.
"I see," Mitranis said, his irritation plain in his voice. "You did your homework beforehand. Proved this thing was worth selling. Thanks... for the thought, I suppose."
With that said, Mitranis crouched in front of the chest. There was water pooled around it. A small puddle. Damp everywhere. How could Patches use a place like this as a hideout? Mitranis hated sleeping in spots like this. They reminded him... of those dreams.
"See you at Volcano Manor," Patches said, his voice different now. Concern.
Even though everything about that man sounded like mockery, like scheming, it was plain he held some real regard for Mitranis. Maybe because he'd helped raise him. Who could say. It was hard to tell whether Patches felt anything at all for anyone, or anything.
"See you around, 'Uncle Patches,'" Mitranis said, looking at the bald man with a mocking smile.
Then he opened the chest and vanished into a gray cloud. That chest worked as a teleporter. Old magic, ancient magic, as old as this land. Hard to understand how it worked, like so many things. It just worked, and that was that.
A while later, Mitranis was walking into the manor. The old Troll that guarded it eyed him sideways from a distance. It could have gone mad and attacked him, but Mitranis already knew the giant recognized the scent of anyone who'd spent enough time around the place. There was no bond. Just an absence of aggression.
The red lights. The corridor of a manor that was still elegant, still adorned. You could still feel the lineage, the nobility. The place of an ancient Lord who wielded a power that was hard to fully grasp. The paintings of the man in question: a figure with a full, gray beard. Always shown in profile. In a few paintings, more head-on.
That man's gaze was always hard. As if mercy, decency, and any feeling in that vein simply didn't exist, didn't matter in the slightest. Mitranis had heard things about him, no question. The owner of Volcano Manor. Master and Lord: Lord Rykard. Praetor Rykard... the monster.
Then Mitranis reached a wide hall. Staircases, the manor's other corridors branching off from it. A cozy fireplace, almost like a joke. They were practically inside a volcano's crater. The fireplace felt like a bad punchline.
And then, a seat that had once belonged to a lord. Now, to a lady, of course. One flanked by an enormous knight in copper armor that covered every inch of his body. Expressionless, perhaps someone who'd never spoken a word in his life. The perfect guard.
"You're back, Mitranis," the lady said from her seat. She rose.
Her pale gown stirred delicately, gold embroidery detailing the bodice, the sleeves, the shoulders. Most striking of all was her silver mask, set with jeweled details running across her brow from a line above the bridge of her nose, like the bearing of some stateswoman. And the golden crown. Both the mask and the crown trailed a woven chain veil that hid her neck, and her hair, from view.
Because of that, Mitranis had never seen a single human detail of Lady Tanith. Maybe the faintest hint of an expression in her eyes. One she never revealed to anyone. Except her daughter, Rya. And... Mitranis liked to think, sometimes, to him too. Hard to say, honestly.
Mitranis knelt. He smiled at the lady, and at the guard with his enormous copper armor and sword.
"That's right, Lady Tanith," he answered, bowing his head now.
The lady went quiet for a few seconds. That wasn't like her. She was more the type to answer right away. Short. Relentless. Quick.
"Did you have a nice little vacation?" she asked, her fingers tapping lightly against the right armrest of her seat.
A different kind of signal, without question. Mitranis wouldn't react to it. He didn't like letting on that he'd noticed the little things that woman gave away, however small. Someone had told him once that this woman "cared about him." Hard to say. In the end, they'd all become food for the giant serpent. Bernahl had told him that once. Not to discourage him from doing his job. Just so he'd understand the recusant's path.
"My apologies for all of it," Mitranis said, head still bowed. "A lot happened. Too much happened. The Tarnished's assassination went through, but something came up, and I ended up in a different region..."
"Patches informed me you ended up at Redmane Castle," the woman cut in, her voice stern. "That must be it, then. So you're telling me you took care of everything."
"Yes... Fortunately, the man was traveling along the same route I took back to Limgrave."
That wasn't a small detail. So somewhere during that short nap in Caelid, Mitranis had taken care of someone. Someone Hestia would never know about. Somewhere between the nap, the conversation, and the attack of that giant, alien crow.
"You always bring me proof of your work. Why not this time?"
Tanith's question was relentless. She knew everything. Of course she knew. Archibald and Patches hadn't been trailing Mitranis out of their own curiosity. They'd been reporting to her.
"You're too old to play games like this," Tanith said, as though it were a reprimand and not a sentence handed down in advance. "Think about it."
Mitranis stayed silent for a few seconds. He tried to look up, still on one knee before Lady Tanith.
"I'll keep it in mind, I promise you," Mitranis said, his words clear and resolute.
The lady fell silent again, briefly. This reprimand was almost ornamental. Any other recusant would have paid for it. Might have died before even reaching the Manor. The other recusants would have seen to that themselves. Everyone wanted to stand out. It wasn't only about taking everything. It was about taking it to be recognized.
A faint stir of air. A sigh so slight that anyone without senses as sharp as Mitranis's would never have caught it.
"Go," Lady Tanith ordered, her voice dry. "Go speak with Bernahl. He's in the other hall. He's waiting for you, for your mission. You'll have to... answer for your strange little rest."
"Yes, my lady," Mitranis said, rising to his feet.
A slight bow once he was standing. A glance at Tanith, then at the knight. A Crucible Knight. That much Mitranis knew.
"I hope we get to train together some other time, friend."
The knight only gave a slow nod, almost imperceptible. That helm was far too massive to show movements so subtle, but Mitranis already knew him well. Ancient, not old. Powerful like no one else. With abilities, powers, and spells that maybe didn't belong to anything ever seen in the Lands Between. From before, maybe. Hard to say. No one truly understood the history of this ruined world.
Mitranis turned to head to the other hall, deeper into the manor. He heard the woman's voice, and stopped.
"Rya wanted news of you," Lady Tanith said. "She'll be in Liurnia, recruiting new members. I'm telling you so you'll go say hello. I imagine she misses you."
"I will, my lady," Mitranis answered, turning back to look at her.
Rya was something like Lady Tanith's daughter. Hard to say for certain. Everyone there was something like a family. The strangest one you could ever come across. But that woman with golden curls, a gentle, quiet face, and the most hunched posture Mitranis had ever seen, was... lovely. She didn't belong in this landscape, not really. That was exactly why he worried about her so much.
"If anything comes up with her..." Mitranis paused, just for a second. "Let me know, Lady Tanith. I'll go see to her the instant you say the word."
"I know," the woman's dry voice softened, just slightly, just for that instant. "Go."
The silence that followed didn't feel like just the end of a conversation. It felt like another message. One the two of them already understood. The kind that unsettled others, that made them feel envy. A kind of mother who took the others in, but only as instruments for her lord, her consort. The serpent that would devour it all.
A minute later, the great door of the hall where the recusants used to gather creaked open. There were few of them these days. Patches was out in the field, Archibald... Mitranis didn't much care what became of him. He was never around anyway. Another stranger. It didn't matter. Just one more of those who wanted power but wouldn't be able to hold it, and would die soon enough, no question. Mitranis already had the experience to know who would stay and who would go.
Though in the end, everyone left. Either they died, or they got their audience. Only the strongest stayed. Like a good dish, slow-cooked over low heat. That was him. Bernahl. Archibald.
"About time you got here."
It was the voice of the man from the cabin in Limgrave. Only now it wasn't easygoing, wasn't indifferent. And his face couldn't be seen either. That silvered, honorable armor, that helm of strange shape, curves running across a face completely hidden. Only slits remained for the eyes.
"I certainly took my time, Bernahl."
Mitranis didn't need to explain himself to the other recusant, his master. He'd already seen it all. And just as he had back in the cabin, he'd given the boy the same warning.
"We have work to do," Bernahl said, rising from his seat. "It's always good to work with you, dear student."
That line sounded like a joke, half reprimand. Was Mitranis Bernahl's student? He had been. He'd gained the strength, the philosophy of taking everything. But he'd also received, whether he wanted it or not, the strength that made up Bernahl himself. Purpose. Fortitude... Suffering.
"Who do we have to kill now?" Mitranis asked, crossing his arms.
He looked closely at Bernahl. The same firm stance, resting on his shoulder something that was no longer a Zweihander. It was a massive mace now. A serpent coiled around the head of it, its jaws poised over a sphere. The serpent that would devour the world. The mark of the strongest recusant of them all — the one their Lord himself hadn't yet claimed.
"You'll come with me to kill two," Bernahl said, his tone serious. "After that, there's another one assigned to you. It'll be close to where you promised to go. And to who you promised to join, kid."
Then, with the hand that wasn't holding his mace, Bernahl picked up an envelope and walked toward Mitranis. He pressed the letter into his hands, hard, as though it weighed pounds instead of ounces. The man's absurd strength.
"All the details are in there," Bernahl said. "Grab a few things, wash up. We leave in two hours."
With that said, Bernahl vanished from the hall. Mitranis sighed. This would be rough. Whenever he worked with Bernahl, they always ended up with the hardest bones to pick clean. Especially the ones where his usual agility wasn't enough anymore. He had to use damned brute force. The overwhelming strength Bernahl had drilled into him. The kind meant for taking everything.
Some time passed. Another chest — but not on the surface of Leyndell, this one down among the sewers. That was where you could set up a crossing. Up on the surface, there were too many guards, knights, and every other kind of creature.
The hall they arrived in felt strangely familiar to Mitranis. Before he could place it fully, Bernahl already had the answer for him.
"This is the hall of those who once followed Godfrey. And that place you were at — it's a copy of it, a projection. Whatever you want to call it," Bernahl explained.
Mitranis was about to speak, but chose to stay quiet instead. There they were — the two men who'd been trailing him so insidiously, even if he hadn't quite made them out until now.
One wore plate armor over fur — it reminded him of those Kaiden mercenaries. The other wore a long brown robe and a mask shaped like a sculpted bust of a head — curls, a beard. In its eyes, glinting stones. Glintstone, maybe?
More important than any of that: the two of them looked strong. Stronger than usual. Their weapons made that plain too. That warrior's sword was strange — gray, its edge twisting into a spiral. Though it was also just a feeling Mitranis had. And feelings like that were worth listening to. The less you trusted your luck, the better.
"Let's see what you're made of, kid," Bernahl said, planting his mace against the ground with a heavy thud.
He looked at the two men and cleared his throat a couple of times.
"Dear friends," Bernahl began, his voice almost cruel. "It wasn't my intention to come for you this soon. It's only that my student owes a blood price for his stubbornness. I hope... you'll cooperate. The harder you fight, the better this will go."
That was when Mitranis understood the fight would start right there. Bernahl let out a laugh — the same one he gave whenever a battle was about to be satisfying.
"Your turn now, Mitranis," the recusant said. "Show me that absurd power of yours. Do it while you pay your blood price — all of it to protect her. Do it now."