East of Redmane Castle lay a stretch of tidal flats. Beyond them flowed a river, and on the opposite bank were the Wailing Dunes.
This was where the forces of the Haligtree and the Redmanes had fought their decisive battle during the Shattering.
Scarlet clouds eternally shrouded the sky above this land. Every so often, General Radahn would unleash a mindless roar, and from the distant bank it sounded like the mournful howling of a thousand beasts.
Legends claimed that the countless heroes who had fallen here still lingered as restless spirits, their souls continuing an endless battle even after death. The ghosts of mothers calling for their lost sons and daughters were said to wander the dunes as well, weeping through every night.
Malenia had returned to an old battlefield.
Behind her followed the champions participating in the Radahn Festival.
Before her stood the soldiers of the Redmanes.
Once again, the warriors of the Red Lion placed themselves in the path of the undefeated Blade of Miquella, refusing to allow her to approach General Radahn.
Castellan Jerren stood between the two sides and called out, "Brave Redmanes, why do you obstruct the festival?"
One of the Redmane Knights replied coldly, "We will not allow her to humiliate our general."
Jerren nodded, then turned toward Malenia.
"Lady Malenia, why have you come to participate in this festival? Surely you understand that Redmane Castle does not welcome you. You were the one who brought General Radahn to ruin. It was the poison within you that drove him mad. With a hatred this deep between you, even I cannot approve of you participating in this battle."
Malenia's answer was deliberately vague.
"I was invited."
"Then who invited you? Who could possibly convince you to travel all this way merely to humiliate a defeated general?"
Everyone's eyes turned toward Skyl.
The mage had been standing inconspicuously among the crowd, yet even Malenia treated him with unusual respect.
That alone made one thing obvious.
He might be dressed in the robes of an Academy sorcerer, but there was nothing ordinary about his true identity.
Jerren had noticed him long ago. From beneath his hood and behind his gray-white beard, the old warrior studied Skyl intently.
"Then, my friend, would you care to give this old man an explanation?"
Skyl looked at the mortals standing before him with such solemn expressions.
They had no idea that they were already inside a pocket plane, a place where both spacetime and the laws governing it were under the Silver Tree's control.
Skyl could snap his fingers and reduce everyone here to dust.
Then snap them again and bring them all back to life.
Of course, he would never do such a thing.
Life was the last thing that should ever be treated with contempt.
"Then I'll give you an explanation."
Skyl pointed toward the sky.
"Did all of you see those silver streaks stretching across the heavens earlier?"
"Of course."
People nodded.
"Those were the roots of the Silver Tree. Think of them as a giant hand that reached into the original world and lifted the spacetime structure of this entire region out of it. This area is now completely sealed. It may look as though the outside world is just beyond an invisible wall, but there is currently no way to leave."
"What kind of joke is that?!"
Several of the warriors who had come for the festival reacted with anger and alarm.
"It isn't a joke. But there's no need to worry. Once this battle ends, the seal will naturally be removed. Until then, the Silver Tree will record every person, every object, and every phenomenon that occurs here. This entire segment of history will be reproduced in perfect detail and used to create an instanced plane."
Skyl glanced around.
"An instanced plane is essentially a copy of the original. Right now, we are in the process of creating that copy."
"What in the world are you talking about?"
Jerren did not know why, but a deep unease had begun to rise inside him.
His old nose seemed to catch the sharp, rusty scent of fate.
Something in his mind was screaming with a terrible sense of déjà vu.
Throughout all his years wandering the Lands Between, Jerren had occasionally experienced this feeling.
When he watched the poor die from poverty.
When nobles died within palace walls.
When soldiers died upon battlefields.
That unbearable weight of destiny had returned once again.
"We are players of the Silver Network," Skyl continued. "We came here to participate in the Radahn Festival, just like everyone else. But General Radahn will not simply vanish when this battle ends."
"This legendary battle will be recorded."
"Radahn, all of you, everyone here except the players will be preserved within the Silver Network. Your legends, your battles, every moment of your valor will endure forever."
"I still don't understand..."
Jerren's voice trembled.
He had never imagined that mere words could carry such weight.
He desperately tried to understand what Skyl was saying, but every unfamiliar term only confused him further.
Instead, Jerren carefully studied Skyl's face, searching for even the slightest sign that he was lying.
There was none.
This man was telling the truth.
"You don't need to understand everything. You only need to know that this is an opportunity for General Radahn, and for every one of you, to endure forever."
"Endure forever?" Thops blurted out instinctively. "Wouldn't that amount to eternal torment?"
Skyl turned toward him.
"Suppose you could continuously return to the past. To you, everyone who existed in that past would effectively live forever. Would you consider them to be suffering?"
"Whenever you enter an instanced plane and meet the people within it, do they remember every previous visit you made?"
Thops froze.
Then understanding dawned on his face.
"I see. So in the future, every player will be able to challenge General Radahn for themselves." He slowly nodded. "That really is... a form of immortality."
"That's all the explanation I'm giving."
Skyl looked toward Jerren.
"Convince the Redmanes to stand aside. There's no reason for them to die here."
The Redmane formation did not move an inch.
From the proud knights at the front to the frailest young attendants at the rear, none of them thought of themselves as Radahn's servants.
They were warriors who had fought beside him.
And so they would become their general's final wall of iron.
Skyl could not persuade them.
Neither could Jerren.
Some people could be killed, but they could never be made to yield.
Malenia took a step forward.
Everyone's hearts tightened.
The undefeated Blade of Miquella had left mountains of corpses beneath her sword. If she chose to attack, the Redmane soldiers before her would undoubtedly die on this shore.
Malenia continued walking.
As she passed Skyl, she turned her head slightly and laughed under her breath.
"Your words aren't particularly persuasive. It seems even you aren't omnipotent."
Skyl shrugged.
"So you actually know how to laugh."
"Yes. I know how to laugh."
Malenia's golden prosthetic limbs moved with heavy steps, producing the faint grinding of machinery.
She raised her head and looked down upon the warriors before her.
"I am Malenia, Blade of Miquella."
Behind them, Alexander, Warrior Jar, reacted like an excited fan meeting his idol.
He rubbed his hands together eagerly and nudged the Tarnished standing beside him.
"Marika above, did you hear that? She actually introduced herself! What a line! That was incredible!"
Alexander puffed himself up.
"'I am Alexander... uh... Warrior Jar.' See? It just doesn't sound the same."
The Tarnished shrugged.
Her gaze, however, kept drifting toward Skyl's back.
More of the festival champions began whispering among themselves.
"So we're finally going to witness the undefeated Blade of Miquella."
"Shame about those loyal soldiers."
"An Empyrean has no mercy. The Redmanes are finished."
Malenia stopped directly before the point of a spear.
The Redmane Knight facing her needed only to thrust his weapon forward, and its tip would pierce straight through her chest.
Malenia spoke calmly.
"I can purge the Scarlet Rot from Radahn's body and restore his sanity."
"I will give him one final chance to duel me."
"And then he can die honorably beneath my blade."
The Redmane Knight fell silent.
After a long moment, he withdrew his spear.
Only then did everyone finally see the truth behind that supposedly unbreakable wall of iron.
These were nothing more than exhausted soldiers from a defeated army.
"Malenia."
The knight's voice was hoarse.
"See that you keep your word."
The Redmanes moved aside.
Their formation parted like the sea before a road.
The festival champions filed between them.
As they passed, the soldiers began singing a solemn, mournful dirge beneath their breath.
Their red helmet plumes swayed like bloodstained banners.
Along the shores of the Wailing Dunes, the wind had always blown with this same bitter chill, and now it carried the warriors' farewell across the river.
The champions waded through the cold water.
Behind them, the lament of the Redmanes slowly faded.
Ahead, the beach was filled with abandoned standards, spears, and arrows as thick as lances.
Beneath the yellow sands rested the bones of countless loyal warriors.
The sun finally disappeared beneath the horizon.
Night spread across the heavens in shades of black and deep blue.
And above them, the stars had never seemed so brilliant.
From somewhere far across the dunes came Radahn's roar.
It sounded like a war drum announcing the beginning of battle.
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