"I don't know what's going on, but I need to head somewhere. Want to ride with me?"
Alistair extended a hand to Melina, offering her a seat behind him on Torrent. He planned to revisit Kale, gather some runes, and perhaps stock up on supplies.
Melina hesitated, caught between two unfavorable options— trying to keep up on foot and inevitably falling behind, risking him falling into contract with the mad flame/frenzied flame or... accepting his hand.
She chose the last.
"And Alice?"
"She can teleport."
He glanced at the blonde woman, who only shook her head. Even after he'd fallen from the cliff earlier, she hadn't lost track of him. A mount wasn't necessary for her.
"Let's go."
Once Melina was securely seated behind him, Alistair urged Torrent forward.
The sky began to shift, clouds thickening and glowing red in the fading light. Riding through the open field, wind in his face and warmth pressing against his back, Alistair realized that despite the undead, the monsters, something about this world felt different.
There was breath here. A pulse.
"It's alive," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "It still struggles. Still hopes. Not like before... not like ashes."
"What did you say?"
Melina's voice stirred him. She looked up from behind, eyes searching his.
"I didn't say anything," he replied, genuinely confused. "Maybe it was the wind."
But Melina didn't seem convinced. That voice—low, rasping, despairing hadn't come from the wind.
Suddenly, Torrent halted.
Melina lost her balance and lurched forward, only for Alistair to steady her quickly by the shoulders.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
His expression darkened.
"Hide."
[Invaded by 'Evil Serpent' Messermo]
A red summoning glyph spiraled open in the near distance. Alistair's heart sank.
An invasion. Just like the old days. Just like the ambushes on the High Wall.
He dismounted, dismissing Torrent with a whistle, and gestured for Melina to conceal herself.
Then he drew his pitiful, unupgraded wooden stick.
A red phantom emerged, rising from the dying sun's reflection like an omen. Robed in crimson, wrapped in golden scale and serpents, the invader towered with grotesque majesty. One hand bore a massive spear. The other, a swirling red flame. Ornamented talismans rattled at his belt.
What kind of early-game cosplay was this?
"My friend," Alistair muttered, "you're not playing fair."
The invader said nothing. His movements staggered, like two wills inside him warred for dominance.
"The Tarnished..."
"Chaos Flame..."
Two voices came from the same mouth.
Then, with a serpentine hiss, he leapt.
The black and red fire in his hand became a swirling eye of flame, and he hurled it down.
Boom.
The blast shook the land, engulfing Alistair's position in a storm of crimson heat. The sheer range and devastation dwarfed anything a standard spell should achieve.
"What kind of modded build is this?"
Alistair rolled away, barely alive, and drank deeply from the Crimson Flask. He had barely recovered when the serpents around the invader lashed out, striking him and erasing nearly all the health he'd regained.
Everything about this enemy screamed unbalanced. Rapid, aggressive, relentless—he barely had time to breathe.
And yet... even as the enemy prepared its final strike, transforming into a writhing snake and summoning a fireball the size of a sun, Alistair stayed standing.
The flames fell like judgment.
And the world burned red.
But the snake's eyes widened.
Something was wrong.
That ember. That fragile, flickering soul. It should have been consumed. The moment the fireball detonated, it should have been devoured.
But it wasn't.
The fire parted.
And Alistair stepped forth from within it, untouched.
His battered soldier's armor was gone, replaced with black plate adorned with the crest of the First Flame. The wooden stick had become a curved black greatsword, glowing faintly with an unnatural heat.
A quiet fire—neither chaos nor madness—burned along his blade.
"You started it," Alistair said calmly.
The flame upon his blade was not of the Firelink bonfire. It was not the Chaos Flame, nor the Frenzied Flame.
It was the Flame that Never Fails.
The red invader, Messermo, staggered back.
The snake had dragged him here from the Shadow Realm, compelled by a distant pull, a scent it could not ignore. A new fire. Alien and primal. A secret medicine that burned openly, even under the Eye of Grace.
It had panicked, sensing rival flames encroaching. So it came—rushed. Desperate.
But it had not expected this.
It had not expected fear.
Messermo regained his senses as the snake inside him recoiled. He stared at the man before him, confused. The fire—it was stronger than chaos. It wasn't madness, yet it frightened the serpent.
"What are you?" he demanded.
Before Alistair could reply, golden light bloomed behind him.
A spectral Erdtree shimmered into view.
"He is Torrent's chosen," said Melina, stepping into view.
Messermo froze.
"Elder brother," she said softly.
Alistair blinked.
"Wait. He's your brother?"
He was still holding an Estus flask when he asked, wondering if he should throw it at the invader just in case.
Messermo seemed shaken. His grip on the spear tightened.
"A tarnished?"
"You've been gone too long. Much has changed. The world has moved without you."
Messermo faltered.
"And... Mother?"
Silence.
"Did she abandon me?"
His voice trembled.
He didn't see the sword lower in Alistair's hand.
But Melina did.
And she said nothing.
***
Patreon.com/Zexxxxy