Night had fallen over the Church of Elleh. Gawain and Kalé sat huddled around the campfire, each holding a brown earthenware jug filled with fragrant spirits as they drank together.
"It's exactly as you said," Kalé remarked, wiping his mouth. "This brew is far more mellow and aromatic than I imagined. Are you truly not planning to sell me a few more bottles?"
Gawain shook his head with a smile. The "Siegbrau" was something he had essentially "borrowed" from the Onion Knight, Siegward. Only the knight himself knew the exact recipe; after all, an Onion Knight who could brew Estus Soup inevitably added a few special ingredients to his liquor, making it intoxicatingly sublime.
"I don't have much of a hoard left myself," Gawain replied. "A friend of mine brewed this personally and gave it to me as a gift. I only brought it out tonight because I had a sudden craving."
A look of regret crossed Kalé's face. He was deeply enamored with the flavor; just two sips made the lingering aches throughout his body feel lighter. It seemed such a fine treasure was not something one could ask for in abundance.
He looked at the strange traveler before him, feeling a sense of wonder at this chance encounter. Earlier that evening, hearing the massive commotion outside, he had been ready to pack his things and flee. Then he had seen the colossal corpse of the Tree Sentinel. He had stood there frozen in shock until Gawain spotted him.
Ultimately, it hadn't turned out to be a bad thing. Though this strange Tarnished possessed terrifying strength, he was surprisingly friendly toward a nomadic merchant like himself. Not only had he bought out some of Kalé's stock, but he had even shared this divine brew for free.
"Ah, if only I could meet guests like you every day," Kalé sighed. "Lately, the soldiers have been patrolling everywhere, hunting Tarnished like you to take back to the castle for that 'grafting' business. I was actually planning to leave the church in a few days and take the backroads toward Liurnia Lake to continue my trade. I didn't expect such an unexpected windfall tonight."
Hearing that Kalé intended to leave, Gawain fell into thought. He recalled the lore surrounding the merchant—specifically, a piece of cut content from the game.
Kalé wasn't just wandering aimlessly at the Church of Elleh; he was consciously searching for traces of the legendary Great Caravan. Unfortunately, the Great Caravan was buried in the deepest reaches of the Capital's sewers.
If the original cut content were to play out, Kalé would follow the trail of crows left by the caravan all the way to the Royal Capital. There, upon finding his kin buried alive, he would succumb to despair and the Frenzied Flame before the Three Fingers' door, eventually requiring the player—as the Lord of Frenzied Flame—to grant him the mercy of death.
Since Gawain was aware of this ahead of time, he naturally wouldn't stand by and watch one of the few friendly characters in this world walk toward such a tragic end.
"What's the hurry?" Gawain asked. "Just stay here for a while longer. In a few days, I'll take care of Godrick. Once he's gone, this part of Limgrave will be much more comfortable for nomadic merchants like you."
Kalé took it as a well-meaning joke, though he didn't mind indulging in the fantasy.
"Haha! In that case, I'll have to ask you for a trading permit. I've wanted to set up shop inside Stormveil Castle for a long time."
"Deal. When the time comes, come find me at Stormveil. I'll help you expand your business until you're leading a Great Caravan of your own."
At the mention of the "Great Caravan," Kalé's eyes flickered with a complex, unreadable emotion.
"Yes... a Great Caravan. That would be something."
After draining the last drop from his jug, Kalé seemed a bit tipsy. Before long, his head nodded down as he drifted into a peaceful slumber.
"Wait... is that mist?"
Gawain felt a sudden chill. Fog began to roll into the church, and the air temperature dropped noticeably under the moonlight.
Sensing a presence, he stood up and turned around. Atop the crumbling stone walls of the Church of Elleh, a blue silhouette gradually manifested. She wore a massive witch's hat that almost completely obscured her face. In the dim light, her features appeared doubled—two faces overlapping—and four puppet-jointed arms rested elegantly upon her lap.
"Tarnished... do not fear. I mean no harm. Might we have a word?"
Ranni looked down at the Tarnished, who was staring at her blankly. She assumed her entrance must have been so stunning that he was momentarily lost for words.
Gawain, however, was merely feeling a wave of nostalgia. She was exactly as he remembered: prideful and meticulous about her presentation, always finding the perfect high-perch to look down on people during a first meeting.
In Dark Souls, his favorite ending was bringing the Fire Keeper back to watch the First Flame fade into silence. In Elden Ring, his favorite was the Age of Stars. In that gods-forsaken world, almost every companion ended up dead; there was little left to cherish. It felt better to take the Laws and leave, returning freedom to the living and letting the future be whatever it would be.
While he intended to prevent the tragedies he could in this reality, he knew he had to maintain a good relationship with Ranni—the "designated wife" of every playthrough.
Ranni furrowed her brow slightly. She felt that the expression the Tarnished was giving her was... strange, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why. Just as she was about to speak again, he stepped closer of his own accord.
Pushing her slight confusion aside, she delivered her not-quite-truthful introduction.
"A pleasure to meet thee, Tarnished. I am the witch Renna. I heard word of a Tarnished accompanied by a spectral steed. It took me some time to find thee, but it seems thou art the one. That steed, called Torrent... thou canst summon him, canst thou not?"
Gawain nodded and produced the golden whistle, which housed Torrent's soul.
"Yes. You've found the right person."
"Good. Then I have something to give thee. It was entrusted to me by Torrent's former master, and today, I pass it on to thee."
From within her heavy Snow Witch robes, Ranni produced a bell and a small box containing ashes.
"This is the Spirit Calling Bell. So long as a soul has not returned to the Erdtree, thou canst use this to summon them. They shall serve thee as their master for a time. Take it, along with these ashes of Lone Wolves."
She paused, a flicker of surprise appearing in her eyes.
"It seems thou already harbor two very interesting souls within thee. It appears I am not the only one interested in thee."
As he took the items, Gawain felt a sense of relief; he could finally summon spirits to aid him in battle. However, finding high-level Grave Glovewort to upgrade them would still be a challenge for now. While a king like the Ancient King could rely on his bloodline to command the Stormhawks, a spirit like Lhutel would need Glovewort to regain her full combat potential. And those were only common in the Eternal Cities, which would require a major battle to reach.
"Very well. I have said my piece," Ranni said, preparing to vanish. "I shall depart now. I doubt we shall meet again. Tarnished, pray enjoy the taste of the Lands Between. I am curious to see how long thou wilt remain a puppet of the Two Fingers."
Ranni was intrigued by the man, but seeing the Golden Vow aura around him made her feel a hint of disappointment. He seemed like any other Tarnished following the guidance of Grace. Between that and his lightning-based prayers, he likely had ties to the Ancient Dragon Knights of the Capital.
Seeing her about to leave, Gawain quickly called out to her. He had one more thing to ask, and he wasn't sure if it was too late.
"Wait! Witch... Renna. Could I ask a favor?"
Ranni's fading silhouette solidified once more. She looked at him with a playful, mocking tilt of her head.
"A favor? For Torrent's sake, I suppose I might listen. Speak. What is it thou desirest?"
"The servant of a friend of mine was separated from him near Liurnia Lake," Gawain explained. "There are Recusants wandering everywhere now. I don't know if it's too late, but if you happen to encounter a girl named Lanya, could you lend her a hand?"
Gawain was thinking of Diallos's servant. According to the game's timeline, her tragedy was set to happen around these few days. If Ranni were willing to intervene, there was a slim chance of saving her. He didn't want that future Jarburg warrior to be so unlucky.
Ranni considered this. A mere servant of a member of the Roundtable Hold... if the girl wasn't dead yet, it was a trivial matter for her. She could simply have Seluvis—a former member of the Hold—find a way to toss the girl back.
"The task is simple enough. But thou shouldst know that most people flee from a witch. Art thou truly certain thou wishest for my help?"
"Tarnished aren't exactly a popular bunch in the Lands Between anyway," Gawain countered. "What's the harm in accepting a witch's kindness?"
Gawain drew a straight sword with his left hand. Then, using a Sacred Chime, he coated the blade in the shimmering infusion of the Darkmoon Blade.
"Of course, I don't expect you to help for nothing. If you ever encounter a problem you can't solve, I will do the work for you. Consider my Darkmoon Blade as my pledge."
Ranni stared at the sword, which now emitted a deep, ethereal blue radiance. She was momentary stunned. She could tell it was a unique enchantment, but why did its nature feel so strikingly similar to her own Law of the Dark Moon?
Maintaining her regal composure, she cast aside her previous dismissiveness. Her internal attitude toward this stranger shifted. He was no longer just an "unimportant" Tarnished. She decided she would actually look for that lost girl after she left.
"So be it. If fate guides our paths to cross again, I shall collect on this favor."
Gawain watched as Ranni vanished into the mist, and the fog slowly cleared from the church. He looked up at the Dark Moon hanging in the sky—the symbol of her destiny—and murmured to himself.
"We will definitely meet again. No matter where you go, your fate and mine will eventually intertwine."
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