"The eclipsed sun... Lord Godwyn, do not abandon me!"
Lhutel's consciousness surged back into reality. She could no longer remember why she had cried out those specific words, but she stared blankly at her palms, which were still in a spectral state. More importantly—why was her head firmly attached to her neck?
"You're finally awake. I repaired your entire form, yet you stayed in a coma. I was starting to think something went wrong with the ritual."
Gawain let out a sigh of relief after checking her condition. It seemed the Humanity from his own Darksign had bled into her soul, causing her prolonged unconsciousness. Fortunately, the traces of the curse had vanished on their own before he even had to clean them up.
No sooner had he finished speaking than Lhutel let out a piercing shriek. She lunged forward, throwing herself at his feet and wailing uncontrollably. Despite being a spirit, she sobbed as if trying to squeeze out non-existent tears.
"Waaaah! Lord Godwyn, you have finally returned to life! I always believed this day would come—that the Eclipsed Sun would bring back the soul of the soulless demigod!"
Gawain looked down at Lhutel, who was clinging to his leg like a lifeline, and felt a wave of helplessness. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Melina stifling a laugh before fading back into the shadows. She had clearly anticipated this. Then again, if anyone in the Lands Between saw the thing inside his chest, it was hard not to draw some strange conclusions.
"Calm down. I am not the Godwyn you served. He's been dead for a long time."
Lhutel looked up, her expression one of pure confusion. Why would the man before her deny it? Everything was unfolding exactly as the prophecies foretold. She glanced around the surroundings and realized she was still in the tomb she had prepared for herself. In an instant, she seemed to rationalize everything in her head and released her grip on his legs.
"I understand. You are worried that returning to the Royal Capital too hastily will allow those conspirators to repeat the Night of the Black Knives. That is why you chose to return here, at the very edge of the Lands Between. I knew it... those Shardbearers outside the Capital wouldn't just give up. Give the word, and all the Mausoleum Knights who followed you into death will gather under your banner to march once more!"
Gawain looked at Lhutel's dead-serious analysis. He realized she had likely been interred here shortly after the Night of the Black Knives—perhaps around the time Marika shattered the Ring. She hadn't seen the actual Shattering War break out.
"Lhutel, it has been a very long time since you were laid to rest. Those demigods you speak of—the Shardbearers—are not doing well. Let me tell you what has happened during this long age."
He gave her a brief rundown of the mess that followed Marika's shattering of the Elden Ring: how the Shardbearers fought each other until they were all spent, and how the war ended in a stalemate after the horrific battle between Malenia and Radahn that left Caelid a rot-infested ruin. The Lands Between was now essentially a giant cesspool, and every living thing was just treading water to stay alive.
Lhutel fell silent. Her expression shifted from shock to distortion, finally settling into a calm that suggested she had expected this all along.
"I see. In that case, I am willing to follow you and strike down those Shardbearers. We will return to the foot of the Erdtree—to our glorious home, Leyndell."
"Are you still insisting on this? I told you, I have nothing to do with Godwyn."
Lhutel's gaze became even more resolute.
"I understand what you are saying, but it does not matter. What matters is that those Shardbearers must pay for their actions. Regardless of your identity, since you were able to rouse me from my slumber, you are the one I choose to follow."
As Lhutel looked at the face that wasn't quite familiar, a complex surge of emotion filled her heart. Before she had followed her lord into death, she had slit her own throat in a state of absolute despair. Although her spirit hadn't been completely erased by Destined Death like Godwyn's, she had suffered a wound so severe that she should never have regained her consciousness. Theoretically, even if forcibly summoned, she should have been nothing more than a mindless monster driven by combat instinct.
The only possible turning point was the guardian star of the soulless demigods—the Eclipsed Sun. It had descended upon the Lands Between, bringing back the soulless spirit. Yet, the "guardian star" denied his own identity.
Lhutel still harbored a small, hidden hope. She vaguely sensed a gap in her memory; between the moment she ended her life and the moment she woke up, her consciousness must have been somewhere else. If that were true for her, perhaps it was true for him as well. Maybe this was the price of rebirth—a change in appearance was only natural. After all, she knew what the Prince had become after his death, and that realization had been the final straw that broke her will.
Regardless, the man before her was her only hope. She had to hold on tight.
"One day, you will remember who you are. Until then, I will clear away every enemy in your path," Lhutel whispered to herself, as if comforting her own heart. She didn't even realize she was simply refusing to accept the possibility that the prophecy was a lie.
When she tried to stand, her legs buckled, and she nearly fell. Gawain quickly reached out to steady her.
"Forgive me. I am far too weak right now. I cannot even fight properly."
"That's expected. You've been without a head for so long you've probably forgotten how to control your body. I just finished fixing you; don't push it. Go back into your spirit ash jar and rest. We'll talk about fighting once you've recovered."
Lhutel nodded. She knew that after such a catastrophic wound and a long slumber, she couldn't regain her peak form instantly. Furthermore, she lacked a physical body and had to reside within the ashes to recover. Unless she had a medium like a Spirit Calling Bell or Grave Glovewort to strengthen her, she would only be a hindrance in battle.
"If you have need of me in battle, please rouse me. I shall fight for you as I promised."
Once Lhutel's soul was safely tucked back into the ashes, Gawain felt a sense of relief. The soul-melding ritual had been a success. With a few minor adjustments to the details, he was confident he could replicate the process. He looked at the empty space beside him.
"You knew this would happen, didn't you? That she would mistake me for a resurrected Godwyn."
Melina leaned against the stone wall as she manifested, a smile playing on her lips.
"I only had my suspicions at first. But given the striking resemblance between the Eclipsed Sun the Mausoleum Knights worship and the Darksign on your chest—combined with your soul-repairing techniques—it's hard for anyone in the Lands Between not to think of that legend. So... are you truly the most perfect demigod returned to life?"
Gawain rubbed his temples. He could forgive Lhutel, but why was Melina thinking this too? These coincidences were just the result of the "creator" reusing certain motifs.
"It's just a coincidence. If having a Darksign makes me Godwyn, then I know a place called the Ringed City where the knights have marks way more obvious than mine."
He paused, then added while looking at her, "If we're going down that road, then maybe I really did know you in a past life. Your voice is identical to hers."
Melina was momentarily at a loss for words. Why had the conversation suddenly turned to her? A strange thought crossed her mind: when he had so readily agreed to her terms before, was it not just because she could act as a Finger Maiden, but because her voice reminded him of someone? She suddenly understood how it felt to be "misidentified" like Lhutel was doing to him.
"Anyway," Gawain continued, "Lhutel's appearance is different from what I expected. I thought the leader of the Mausoleum Knights would be... more rugged. I didn't expect her to be like Irina, just older and tougher."
"The legend says that Godwyn the Golden was so perfect in grace and charm that he even charmed the Ancient Dragons into becoming his allies. It's only natural his followers would reflect their lord's radiance."
Gawain nodded, checking his map for the church across the plains.
"Makes sense. It's not too late yet. Let's keep moving. We'll cross the plains and rest at the Fourth Church of Marika before the day ends."
He left the tomb, which held no more secrets, and summoned Torrent. On the way across the Tombsward ruins, he made short work of a few followers, claiming the Winged Scythe as his prize.
However, he found the pagan weapon—modeled after a white-winged maiden—to be mostly useless despite its cool combat art. He felt it was far less practical than the spinning "angel" attacks of the winged fat knights who used to guard the path to the Twin Princes.
Next, Gawain spent what felt like several hours giving the local Walking Mausoleum a "pedicure," chipping away the skull-shaped barnacles until the massive structure finally settled onto the ground. He didn't plan on going inside yet; since he had no Remembrances to duplicate, the soulless corpse could keep sleeping for now.
Throughout the journey, he noticed something strange: the headless Mausoleum Soldiers guarding the area didn't attack him. Though they lacked heads, they seemed to sense Lhutel's aura on him. They simply knelt on one knee in respect before returning to their silent vigil.
Without further obstacles, he reached his destination: the Fourth Church of Marika. He would rest for the night and prepare for the most important objective of this trip tomorrow.
In a place Gawain hadn't noticed yet—inside the Weeping Evergaol—the Ancient Hero of Zamor opened her eyes from a long meditation. She stood up and touched the ethereal walls of her prison. Though she could see the landscape outside, it was a cage she could never escape on her own.
As a member of a long-lived race, she would not wither easily. In truth, this was by design; the Evergaol was specially crafted to sustain her body so that her sentence would never end. Throughout the long ages, the only things that kept her sane were endless meditation and a burning hatred for the Golden Order. That ancient, bone-deep betrayal was etched into the very core of her soul.
Because of that, she knew the dynasty that sought "Eternity" would eventually collapse under the weight of its own schemes. She only had to wait. Today, however, she had been roused by a thunderous boom and the tremor of the earth. The annoying, persistent silence that usually hung over the area had vanished.
"Has someone come?"
She didn't know what change had occurred in the world outside, but for her, any change was a good thing. She had sensed outsiders passing by before, but none had ever caused such a violent commotion. If the order outside had fractured as she suspected, perhaps her prison would finally be opened.
She took up her curved sword for the first time in years, stretching her long, graceful limbs. For the first time in centuries, the face behind the mask showed a flicker of emotion. Had the moment finally arrived? Whether it was an assassin or a friend coming to liberate her, she would accept either. Anything was better than this endless, stagnant waiting.
────────────────────────────────────────
Support me here: https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Elden Ring: In the Name of Ash (40 chapter - Ongoing)
Join the journey and become part of the story!
────────────────────────────────────────