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One-Winged Birds
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The Tarnished held the snapped needle in two hands. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship, forged by the hands of a demigod. Why was it in the possession of the commander at the heart of the Aeonian swamp? It was anyones guess, but there it lay.
The Tarnished fiddled with the needle over and over, trying to find a way to join the pieces. It was of no use. The craftsmanship was far too fine and far too complex compared to any other work found anywhere else in the lands.
Melina often found these moments curious. In times so dire, Yanna would take the time to admire things made during times of peace. Things that could only be made during such times. It was curious to her. Melina took corporeal shape as Yanna began using the snapped needle too…
To sew. Yes. Sew her clothes back together. Incredible. To use the divine unalloyed needle to stitch together simple rags. Melina was quite used to her tarnished ally making time for detours such as this. They had made far too many trips seeking out paintings and books crafted by famous artists and authors before The Shattering. Such things fascinated Yanna. She took great joy in speaking about the artistic pursuits of men and women.
“I do believe Lord Miquella would find thine use of his needle most distasteful,” Melina murmured, not that she cared.
Yanna pulled a thread through her cloak, closing a tear opened by the previous battle. She displayed it to Melina. It was not the most cleanly of jobs, but it got the job done. Her tarnished ally’s clothes were repaired, and they could continue.
“Sewing is a good skill,” Yanna said. “My mother said, ‘It builds character.’”
Melina did not respond. Things often went like this during the never-ending autumn in the Lands Between, when the night came, and still stars came out. Yanna could not sleep and sought conversation to stave off madness. Melina provided a companion in that sense. Not that Menlina minded. Silence was not something she wished on any soul.
“I helped weave a great tapestry once,” Yanna said.
Melina did not respond.
Yanna continued, her voice strained and quiet. Melina could hear the doubt in her ally’s voice. Memories easily turn into lies these days. There was no way to be sure whether this was a tale or the truth being spoken.
“It was important. It told the tale of our Emperor’s ascent to the throne. It was commissioned to be made with the finest silks and threads, and the most skilled craftsmen could work on it. I wasn’t that important, only an assistant, but I got to hold the silk as my teacher wove the tapestry. There were about twelve other weavers in that room, and twenty other assistants, including me. It was a huge project, and incredibly expensive, but all I remember was the silk. It was the softest thing I’ve ever felt. Softer than clouds and hair and anything. Melina, can you imagine that? Silk so soft that clouds cannot hope to compete?”
Melina could not. Yanna's face broke into a smile.
“We wove beautiful works, my teacher and I.” She continued to fiddle with the needle. It reflected uneven blue light off its golden surface. Light that did not suit its color.
“We depicted the sun and stars with silk and thread. We forged goblets and platters out of brass and silver, and it was magnificent. I remember the day when the Emperor asked my teacher if we could make him weapons or mechanics. My teacher could, of course. It wasn’t a hard task to make moulds for weapon heads or to make the mechanics for prosthetics. He was talented, and I learned much from him. He made prosthetics for the men when the coup began, and that’s when we stopped making tapestries and goblets and platters. I learned to fight to protect the forge, but I wasn’t very good at it. I couldn’t protect my teacher when the coup reached our forge, and the New Emperor ordered our hands removed. That’s how I got this, you know.” Yanna waved her brass arm at Melina.
It was a rusted thing, connected crudely to her elbow. Melina knew, from whatever burned memories she had, that Lord Miquella’s work was much better than whatever Yanna bore. Yanna’s prosthetic was truly mechanical in nature.
“But I remember making the tapestry, and weaving incredibly incredible works. It was important. Creating that work. Weaving that history. Do you understand?”
Melina did not.
“Do you want to learn to weave?” Yanna asked.
“No,” Melina stated, reaffirming her life's purpose. “I was born to bear the vision of the flame.”
This was Melina’s fate. To destroy and burn, and know nothing else. She would not know of creation. This was not to be her destiny. There was silence then onwards. The pillar of grace flickered silently in the night as Melina and Yanna sat in a quiet vigil. The clinking of metal broke the silence as the tarnished attempted to repair the needle again, but failed once more.
“It is fruitless,” Melina murmured.
There were many things Melina’s Tarnished Ally could do, but alas, repairing that needle was not to be one of them. The hands of the Unalloyed himself crafted it. Not just anyone would be able to mend its pieces into a whole once again.
“I know. I know. I simply do not trust that Gowry to repair it correctly,” Yanna said.
Melina only tilted her head in response.
“Is that not why we have collected the needle? To bring it to Sage Gowry? To heal the girl.”
Yanna nodded, but Melina did not understand. They faded into silence again. Yanna said nothing else that night. Melina simply listened to the crinkling of brass fingers and shimmering grace as she looked at the night sky. As morning came, her corporeal body flickered away, the magic that kept it there fading.
One-Winged Birds
_________
Melina recalled finding Yanna upon the beaches of Limgrave. The one-armed Tarnished was distraught more than anything. She carved away anything in her path, searching for something, babbling about brass and jewels. Melina thought she was crazed, like any in the Lands Between, and almost disregarded her. It was at Torrent's insistence that she followed the woman for a few moments longer.
Torrent liked her for some reason.
It was when she dug a prosthetic out of a land octopus and attached it to her stump that the Tarnished’s sanity seemed to return. Melina watched as she calmly began to gather rowa and peacefully conversed with the merchant clan.
It was after the Tarnished gently coaxed an alliance with Seamster Boc that Melina decided to introduce herself under the guise of a maiden. A lie to mask her true intentions. After the accord was set, Yanna set out a bowl of fruit and meat.
“Share with me, self-proclaimed-Finger-Maiden,” Tarnished Yanna said.
“I cannot eat,” Melina stated, glancing at the bowl of Rowa and wolf meat.
“There are many more things to share than food and drink,” Yanna murmured. She smiled as she began speaking on a tale from her land of a goddess and a weaver, and how they had a competition of skill. The goddess lost, but she did not lose gracefully; instead, she bitterly took out her frustrations on the victor.
Melina wondered what would happen if the Queen were to take part in this story.
Melina recalled this first meeting when she gazed upon the rotten form of the girl they had procured the needle for. She wondered if this was a time in which things other than food and drink ought to be shared. The girl in question had a burned and exhausted look to her eyes as Yanna stuck her with the needle, bringing her writhing to a quiet.
“My name is Millicent.”
“I am Yanna.”
“Ah, well met,” Millicent winced.
Melina watched as the girl struggled to stay on her feet. The rot writhed within her. The girl admitted it herself. A part of Melina did not understand why they took the time to save this girl. Maybe that was simply the coldness of Melina’s death speaking. Perhaps that was the kindness Yanna had in spades for those outside herself that allowed her to save Millicent. Melina did not know.
“What will you do now?” Yanna asked.
“I think I will be traveling onwards,” Millicent said, her gaze focused beyond the Erd Tree. “There is a place I must see. A person I must speak to.”
Yanna nodded.
“I wish you good luck then.”
Millicent simply nodded.
“I pray we meet again, if fate permits it.”
The girl then left without a second word, leaving Melina’s ally with a simple token to mark the experience. Melina felt slightly exhausted by the whole ordeal, but alas, what was she to say? When Yanna chose to rest for the evening, a few words were shared. Flames were set alight as Yanna cleansed the rot from her body with a spell, before she set out a bowl of rowa.
Melina’s thoughts drifted back to the girl.
“Why spend so much time on her?” Melina asked quietly. Yanna fiddled with the clay token, marked with the symbol of The Blade.
“She is one-winged, like me,” Yanna said, a grimace building on her face.
Melina tilted her head. She glanced at her ally’s brass arm and let out a sigh. Sympathy would garner them much pain in this time and era. Melina supposed it was simply out of pity that Yanna decided to help the girl. Melina continued to watch as Yanna turned the clay talisman Millicent had gifted her around in her hands. Eventually, her tarnished ally decided to hang it around her neck using a length of twine.
Sentimentality.
“Do you think we will see each other again?” Yanna questioned.
Melina gazed at the stars.
“If fate permits it.”
One-Winged Birds
_________
Melina watched as Yanna fussed over the corpse of a Finger Maiden. The Whitemask Varre requested the blood of a maiden, but as Yanna was maidenless, Melina suggested an alternate route. She had known of a former champion's failure after all.
“It’s such a pretty dress, truly.”
Melina watched as her Tarnished ally ran her flesh fingers over the corpse's dress. It was drenched in black blood and horribly frayed. Despite that, even Melina could see the embroidery and the care that had gone into creating the garment. It was only slightly jarring when Yanna tore a bloody piece off and pocketed it.
For Whitemsk Varre Melina assumed.
“Why are we assisting that man?” She asked, taking form at the flickering grace.
Yanna sighed and glided over the sliver of grace. Melina watched as she placed her flasks underneath the glowing pillar; the sap drained from them. Yanna folded her legs and let her eye close. Today had been trying indeed. Melina watched as Yanna chewed her lip, fixated on the freckles that dotted her ally's face, like the stars that now guided the future. It was several moments of maddening fire and howling wind until she broke the silence.
“I am curious about alternatives,” Yanna said. “The Whitemask proposes this Lord of Blood, and the Witch Ranni intrigues me. I would be remiss to investigate. ”
Melina found herself rapidly fraught. This line of thinking was wise, on technicality alone. Perhaps allowing the Queen’s rule to fall would let something new be born. Was that not the reason the Erd Tree should be burned? Alas, such questions were not for Melina to ponder.
She glanced back at the tower in the distance. The maddening fire set atop scorched all who dared gaze too intently. It reminded her of black flame that scorched all who dared touch it. Melina’s gaze flickered back to the corpse of the finger maiden. There had been a failed champion in this quest before—a Tarnished, who had faltered at the final step.
Perhaps too many questions would lead down the wrong path.
Melina felt inclined to guide Yanna away from such questioning as if she were a real finger maiden.
“Perhaps,” Melina murmured. “Perhaps not. We should not concern ourselves with the ravings of blood.”
Yanna poked at the flasks.
“Perhaps.”
Night fell upon them, chilled and unkind. Melina watched as the stars moved like fireflies in the sky, carrying fate along like stones in a river. The night howled with pain. The village, only a few steps away, moaned with the sounds of men afflicted with madness. Liurnian Knights patrolled the path to the Lift of Dectus, their vigil unchanged since the start of The Shattering. The flickering flames of madness harshly illuminated the area, leaving Melina perturbed. She wished she could do more, but her incorporeality left her floundering as her tarnished ally rested.
She reflected on her status as a spirit. Melina was born at the foot of the Erd Tree. She knew flame, and it was her purpose. But there were other spirits in these lands, and other singular things often drove them. Those singular goals drove these spectres and kept them restless. Melina's mind flickered with this consideration when the bloody red phantom of Knight Vyke stalked out of the woods.
Yanna slowly opened her eye, gazing upon the red-drenched visage of the former hero.
“Ah- you bloodied ghost,” Yanna murmured. She glanced back at the Finger Maiden as Knight Vyke’s spectre dragged itself up the hill. Melina watched with curiosity as the two contenders for the throne stood apart from each other. The shade of Knight Vyke did naught more than grumble, as it had little thought in this form, Melina suspected.
“Some part of you still protects,” Yanna murmured, as she collected her flasks and strapped them to her belt. “Hunter Yura suggests phantoms such as yours are stains upon the world. I would not know, as they do not exist in my home.”
Yanna drew her blade and pointed it at the shade.
“I will do as he recommends. Rest now, blood-stained shade. You have no place here.”
Melina faded from the real world as Yanna stepped away from the pillar of grace. But she continued to observe. Steel and madness struck each other, and she could not help but be concerned.
One-Winged Birds
_________
“The Valkyries. Are they all equipped with these?” Yanna asked, glancing down at the shining gold arm. Melina’s Tarnished had quite gushed over its craftsmanship, lamenting on how she could not have one of her own. Melina did not understand why she would want such a thing. The brass arm Yanna bore, albeit crude, had a charm of its own.
Millicent ran a hand over the gold prosthesis and simply shrugged. Melina understood the look of someone whose memories eluded them. Her eyes only acknowledged the presence of the arm, but not its history.
“I do not know,” Millicent said after a moment of silence. “I know that if this arm serves me well enough, perhaps I can wield a sword again. Perhaps it can be something that will aid me in my quest.”
Quest? Melina wondered what quest had the girl trekking north, past the Erd Tree, for that’s where she surely was going. None went to lands forsaken by the gods. They were barred.
“I wish you luck then,” Yanna said.
“Yes… luck,” Millicent murmured.
The day turned into night, and Melina watched from incorporeality as Yanna and Millicent shared a quiet meal. It was not any more than rowa and meat, and silence seemed to consume the night more than anything. Melina allowed herself to drift away into some form of sleep for a moment before her peace was broken by Yanna.
“Where do your travels take you?”
“North. I bear a message for Lady Malenia.”
Yanna nodded. “She who burned Caelid.”
Millicent scowled. “The greatest warrior. Blade of Miquella and Defender of the Haligtree. I must return something to her.”
“I see. Then I pray upon your success.”
In the morning, Millicent was gone. Melina manifested herself and saw that Yanna was polishing her flasks, and gazing upon the stitched-together map of the lands between. Melina noted that this map distinctly did not include the Lands of the Hornsent. Curious, indeed, but it was of no import. Though at that thought, Melina briefly thought of her Lord Brother. She wished him well in that Land of Shadow.
Yanna was murmuring something to herself, not bothering when Melina sat next to her, hands on her knees.
“What ist thou pondering about?” Melina asked.
Yanna glanced up before she removed a carved stick and a glass bottle with crushed rowa inside. Melina was not remotely startled as her tarnished began using the crushed rowa as an ink to mark the map, making notes around Liurnia and Caelid.
“My teacher liked to study the work of weavers he envied,” Yanna said, drawing a circle over the forest where the falling star crashed. “He believed it was good to learn from them to improve his own craft. We learned a lot doing this. In hindsight, it is quite obvious this lesson. Learn from those you envy, or admire, and take what you can from them.”
Melina raised an eyebrow as Yanna drew a circle near the entrance to the Lord of Blood’s palace, where Whitemask Varre said he would be stationed. The Rivers underneath the Lands Between had been sealed for many years. It had taken magics forbidden to access the Palace in the way Yanna had.
“The Emperor often held competitions for artisans to curry his favor. It was an honor to compete, and my teacher often did, although he only won once or twice. I aided him in these endeavors, and it was at these events that I learned to watch the other artisans. The workshops my teacher envied the most often had the most elaborate methods of displaying their work. The tapestries they weaved would have techniques that needed the hands of multiple people to achieve. We would often then try to incorporate such things into our own works, and add upon them in new ways.”
Melina bit her lip when she noticed Yanna mark the place where they had met that strange girl, Hyetta. The one who had asked for the grapes of madness, which Yanna had so readily supplied.
“Is thou’s preaching relevant to something?” Melina asked, letting far too much annoyance slip into her voice.
Yanna chuckled.
“Yes, yes, of course, I am sorry. I only mean to say it is important to draw upon many fonts to be well inspired. As such- The Lord of Blood. Lady Ranni. Lord Miquella. Maiden Hyetta. Queen Marika,” Yanna murmured, turning to face Melina.
“You.”
“Thou hast presented me with many options for the fate of this land. I am not from here, but it is up to me to decide. Why is it so?”
Melina raised an eyebrow. This was an odd thing to complain about. Almost childish in her mind, yet so simply mortal.
“Many Tarnished have given up the quest to become Lord,” she stated, unable to think of anything else.
“It was asked of me,” Yanna murmured.
Melina nodded, gazing at the flickering grace. It wavered off into the morning sky, flecks of gold pointing towards the Great Capitol.
“That it was.”
Yanna simply chuckled.
“Then it will be done.”
One-Winged Birds
_________
Upon descending into the caves opened by Radahns' falling star, Yanna began knitting. Melina only noticed because it was an activity that replaced the stories her tarnished usually told. The silly tales teetered between charming and grating, but Melina had grown accustomed to them. She found the silence rather uncomfortable when it was switched for the sounds of bone needles and stitches.
The city of Nokron was accursed. It was destroyed by a falling star millennia ago and forgotten beneath the Lands Between. Melina reasoned that Lady Ranni wanted something from the city because it was separate from the Golden Order’s rule. Radagon’s youngest seemed to have a problem with authority, and Melina’s Tarnished appeared to have no issue partaking in such fancies.
No matter.
As long as the flame was carried. The correct flame, and Melina was satisfied that her Tarnished had not inquired about madness.
Upon reaching the center of Nokron, they quickly located what it was that Lady Ranni had sent Yanna to find. A blade forged from so inscrutable a material. Yanna was quick to point out that it was not made of metal after she had collected it from its case.
“It feels as if it’s a part of a larger whole,” She mused, turning it around in her hand. “Things like this often do. Do you get it, Melina?”
Melina was curious, but pushed it out of her mind. The thoughts of the blade did not cross her again until they arrived at the Royal Manor of Carria. It had quite slipped Melina’s mind by then, with their accidental discovery of Godwyn the Goldens' resting place. She only noticed the blade when it appeared alongside Yanna's customary bowl of rowa and meat, wrapped in cloth.
“That is the cloth you have been knitting,” Melina stated, manifesting herself. She gestured to the deep blue threads wrapped around the odd blade, crafted from the remains of Raya-Lucarian robes.
“Yes, it is,” Yanna noted, taking a bite of rowa.
Melina frowned. Was it meant to be a gift? A gesture of faith in Lady Ranni? Melina did not understand. She did not understand why the witch wanted the blade from the cursed undercity in the first place. The youngest of Radagon tread a heretical path, truly, but no more heretical than Melina’s.
She had no place to judge.
“I believe Lady Ranni places immense value on this blade,” Yanna said as if reading the air in the room. “I believe she has been waiting a great many years for it. A modicum of presentation may be nice for such a gift.”
Melina only nodded to this belief. It seemed correct in its notion after all. Lady Ranni was empeyrean. Perhaps Yanna was right, though Melina still felt somewhat annoyed.
When morning came, they ascended the tower in which Lady Ranni resided. Yanna had even polished her brass arm and boots to present the prize for some obscene reason. Melina did not make her presence known, but she suspected that it did not matter. While neither the spectre nor the doll of Lady Ranni cast their eyes upon Melina, she still felt watched, for she somehow felt a deep chill set upon herself.
“My thanks, Dear Tarnished. All the pieces are now in place,” Lady Ranni murmured, as she cradled the clothed blade.
“Soon I must set upon my journey. Upon the dark path only I may tread. Farewell, loyal one. It was but brief, but your services were fine and brave.”
Yanna tilted her head in response to that, her eye widening with curiosity. She opened her mouth for a moment, but did not say anything as Ranni's puppet faded away, leaving a strange statuette behind. Melina frowned while Yanna chittered about Ranni’s gift. They had returned to the grace that had situated itself inside the tower.
“This is a fine work, do you not think?” She said, holding up the strange wooden statue. It looked quite like an hourglass.
Melina did not respond. She just watched as Yanna talked about wood carving for the next moments, and how this object had to have been magically wood-carved indeed.
One-Winged Birds
_________
Melina had found the medallion in Lord Godfrey’s former chambers. It was heavy and cumbersome, and she could only touch it because the Erd Tree was nearby. It was only instinct that guided her to collect it. She did not know what she needed it for until the battle with King Morgott concluded. The King lay defeated, his withered form purged of horns. Melina watched over him as Yanna walked back out from the base of the Erd Tree.
“The briars block the Erd Tree,” Yanna stated. “None may enter to stand before the throne.”
Melina simply nodded.
“Yes, none may enter. But I can help you. It is my very purpose to serve in that very act, so let us continue our journey- to the Flame of Ruin, far about the clouds, to the snowy mountaintops of giants scorned by gods. They, I can set the Erd Tree aflame, and guide you down the path.”
She presented the medallion to her Tarnished. There was a moment of quiet, where nothing happened. Leaves fell from the sky, and Leyndell rustled emptily behind Melina’s back. Yanna simply stared at the Medallion of Rold. Its golden hue was battered into dull brass; the only piece of color remaining was the bright ruby stone.
“Before we continue on this grand quest, may I ask a question of you?” Yanna murmured, raising her brass hand to run it over the medallion.
Melina tilted her head.
“What bothers you, old friend?”
Yanna sighed. “The chapel, under this capital. The King sealed it with powerful magics. The Lord of Blood’s projection guarded it. What is behind that seal, that they may work together to keep it hidden?”
Melina knew what Yanna spoke. How worryingly close had she come to discovering ruin upon ruin? She glanced at the King and thanked him, for he had saved her Tarnished.
“Tis nothing by Omen misery, I would think,” Melina lied, as easily as breathing.
Yanna quirked an eyebrow.
“Very well then,” Yanna said. She collected the medallion from Melina’s grasp. “Let us get this journey to the Mountaintops underway.”
The journey to the Grand Life of Rold and beyond took nearly a day. When they arrived at the mausoleum of a lift, Yanna collapsed and hung her head in exhaustion. She had not let herself rest since the battle with King Morgott, and it was beginning to show. Melina felt a twinge of sorrow, but also impatience. But she understood. Rest was needed, and time they had.
“What do you make of this?”
Melian opened her eye and glanced at Yanna. She was holding up a half-medallion. Melina vaguely recalled the item as an acquisition made in Liurinia. She did not remember from whom.
“What of it?”
“It is very similar to that of the medallion you have gifted me,” Yanna said, placing it next to the Rold Medallion. She pointed to engravings of a warrior with a great spear and shield on the mystery treasure, and then gestured to the same image of the Medallion of Rold.
“I do wonder if this secret medallion may function on the grand life as well,” Yanna murmured. She fiddled with the ring on her finger as she studied the medallions. Melina did not know what to think, so she simply put the thoughts out of her head as they continued onwards into the frigid cold. They crossed great bridges and through ancient towns. Great chains larger than anything in The Lands Between bound the Mountaintops together, creating ways to cross between them. Storms raged, and raged and did not stop. Yet they still traveled onwards.
They traveled until they came across an anomaly.
Heat did not belong in the Mountaintops, Melina observed. It was an error. But the man known as Yura exuded it in spades. How he reached this place, Melina did not know, and apparently, Yanna did not either. It became apparent that something was gravely wrong when the man began speaking without the poise and control he had displayed in earlier encounters.
“Forgive me,” said the thing inside Yura’s body. He spoke brighter, less controlled. “You are previously acquainted with this vessel. That is most unfortunate, for he is dead.”
“Ah, then who might you be, corpse puppet?” Yanna asked, cold and serious.
“Ah, Tarnished, who would become Lord,” He giggled, an orange eye glancing upwards as he mock bowed.
“I am Shabriri.”
Melina’s mind went blank. She did not listen to the rest of the conversation, nor did she recall what occurred afterwards. She was simply enraged and terrified, and- and- Melina watched as Yanna cleaned blood off the sliver of moonlight gifted to her by Ranni. The double corpse of Shabriri was crumpled on the ground, the snow already covering the blood stains. Yanna picked up the reedlanders' blade and drove it into the ground before hanging Yura’s Kasa on it.
Melina did not bring it up when they rested next.
One-Winged Birds
_________
“To think we would meet in a place such as this.”
Melina glanced backwards as the girl from Caelid gracefully kneeled down near Yanna. She wrapped her cloak tighter. Melina thought the girl looked terribly gaunt, as if she were simply a corpse walking. Perhaps she should not judge, though. There were worse things to be.
“Indeed,” Yanna murmured. “Last we met, you asked me to call upon you in battle, though I have not needed that yet. Instead, I would ask you what brings you to this frigid place. Only madness resides here.”
Millicent shifted in her place in the snow.
“Yes, yes, I know well enough who you are. I am here in search of a fort. Its master was given a medallion that allowed him to visit the Haligtree,” Millicent said, staring off into the snow. Melina briefly wondered if the girl was like her. If she bore a vision, but had enough aid to carry it herself.
“Ah, this Haligtree I’ve seldom heard about,” Yanna said. “Would you tell me about it?”
Millicent nodded. “Lord Miquella’s Sacred Haligtree, where all are welcome. A place of sanctuary. Indeed- I believe this is where Lady Malenia can be found. And the Haligtree is found in these lands to the north.”
“Ah, fascinating…”
The conversation died, as the storm’s power became overwhelming. The grace that kept Yanna did not bless Millicent, and after a flurry of now, she had vanished. Melina did not mind this at all until Yanna announced they would be seeking out this fort. There was a fort marked on the map after all.
Castle Sol. It was not terribly far away. Torrent gladly took them to the castle when the storm lightened up, and they arrived not a half day later. Still, the chill of the mountaintops was grand. Melina could see the frost building on her Tarnished’s Brass arm, locking the fingers shut. The leather plating that Yanna wore became brittle with ice and useless in battle.
The Mountaintops had claimed all the warmth that could be gained by natural means. It made the battle against the master of the Castle, a warrior who used the frost to his advantage ever more difficult. Still, Yanna prevailed and defeated the lone commander of the fort in this uphill fight.
They came to rest at the very top tower of the fort, the wind howling and snow turning to a viscous weapon. Melina only noticed the medallion on the ground because of the frozen spectre huddled to protect it, even in death. Yanna noticed as well, brushing away snow to retrieve the half-medallion. Melina missed her reaction, but her Tarnished quickly pocketed the item and rushed back down the fort, only bothering to rest when they reached the top of the Lift of Rold.
Melina was confused and slightly annoyed. This was not their goal. They were supposed to search for the Forge and Flame. It was to be here in the Mountaintops, and Yanna had gone back their progress.
“Dear Tarnished, why are we here?” Melina asked, despite already knowing the answer.
Yanna glanced up at Melina before removing two separate pieces of the strange medallion. She placed them together, yet they did not hold as one piece.
“I must know,” Yanna murmured. She glanced at Melina before standing up and leaving the grace behind.
One-Winged Birds
_________
Melina watched as Yanna removed the needle from the flowering corpse. It had been barely visible and barely approachable. The rot of the Haligtree was a festering, sickening thing, toxic, yet thriving. Despite every opportunity to turn back, Yanna surged forward, slicing through knights of Miquella and Acolytes of Rot, and for what reasons, Melina did not know. She did not know, and Yanna did not tell.
Soon, they found themselves in a run-off pipe, overlooking the innards of Elphael. Melina watched as Yanna twirled the needle in her fingers, eye glazed and tired. In the moment, she wished she had words for her friend, but nothing came to mind. So they continued onwards, past the acolytes and to the roots, where The Blade of Miquella rested.
The battle went on for weeks.
Yanna was not a warrior. Not really. Melina knew it was the Tarnished’s immortality and plenty of unseemly tricks that had garnered Yanna most of her victories. It was upon Yanna’s eighty-fourth death that Melina recalled a different conversation during a different battle.
“The King is Merciful,” Yanna growled, running her fingers through her hair. The battle with King Morgott had been going poorly.
“Be it so?” Melina mumbled.
“No,” She responded. “He is brutal, but he is justified, as the world has not been kind to him. Still, I will be brutal in turn, for I must defeat him to continue with this confusing task.”
Melina raised an eyebrow.
“What will you do?”
Yanna removed several arrows from her belt, along with a pouch filled with butterfly wings.
“He will freeze.”
And so did The Blade of Miquella. Yanna was vicious towards Malenia. She threw away her own honor on the battlefield, not that there were any witnesses. Yanna froze, backstabbed, bled, and burned, and Malenia did not say a single word in response. She did not dignify Yanna's tricks with a response, and continued to press foreward. The Blade was honorable the entire time.
Melina did not know what to say.
It was simply time in the end. Yanna learned. She got better. Melina watched as she learned to strike truer and play dirtier. Learned to parry and block, and dodge, and strike at every opening with every dirty trick. And in the end, it worked. Even when the Rot Bloomed and the battle proved even more fraught, Yanna prevailed. Malenia fell, and the undefeated had tasted her first.
Melina could not decide what she felt.
The Goddess of Rot’s wings curled in a withering bloom, obscuring most of the Haligtree’s roots. It would not be long before it began to fester, but still, Yanna did not leave. She stood, frozen and bloodied, gazing upon the rotting bloom.
“My dear-” Melina murmured, manifesting as the Grace that touched this forsaken place.
Yanna did not respond. She pulled herself towards the flower and tore the petals apart, burrowing deep within. Melina could only watch and wonder in absolute confusion. It felt like ages until Yanna emerged from the rot flower, and when she did, she clutched a needle the size of a forearm, pearly and golden.
Melina stared at her Tarnished, and they shared a moment of eye contact before Yanna tried to take a step forward. She only took a single step before collapsing. The Rot did as it did, and Melina waited.
One-Winged Birds
_________
Melina was furious.
Yanna continued to shirk her request, her duty. They had left the Mountainops completely and descended upon Leyndell. Back into the golden city, and far from the duty Melina was proscribed to complete. Yanna weaved throughout the lower sections of the streets, a place Melina was familiar with at some point in another life. It wasn’t until Yanna turned towards a well Melina knew well that she knew where they were. She knew exactly where they were going, and it was maddening.
And she could not speak her mind. Melina could do naught but follow and watch.
Yanna did not take a moment's rest. She descended into the Leyndell sewerers without a moment's hesitation, slipping past its omen and imp inhabitants with grace and poise. Warrior jars protected the inner corridors, but Yanna smashed them to bits and gathered their shards. She reached the great tomb of the merchant clan presided over the spiral downwards into darkness, and Yanna did not hesitate. She jumped, and when she did not land her mark, she tried again and again.
It was maddening, and Melina was scared.
After ages of falling, failing, Melina demanded they speak. She would have an explanation for this. For her friend, who sought this Frenzy and desired to become its lord. When had that occurred? When did that happen?
How had she let it?
She would not.
“Tarnished,” Melina said. “I would say, if you intend to claim this Frenzied Flame, I ask you to cease immediately. It will bring nothing but true ruin to this world. It is chaos, devouring- unending. However ruined this world has become, there is still life anew. Births continue, and life endures-” Melina stared at Yanna, who had frozen still. “You know this… why do you seek the Frenzy? Please, leave it alone.”
Yanna did not move. The air hung stagnant a pungent, and for a single moment Melina thought her words had worked.
“No.”
Yanna continued, brushing past Melina to try to reach the bottom again. And when Yanna reached the Presipase of Proscription, past those many great corpses, Melina tried again. She tried to speak, but Yanna would not listen. She would not listen and did not stop for anything as Maiden Hyetta presented herself from the shadows. As she explained what the Three Fingers desired.
And Melina, as always, could only watch as her friend divested herself of all things and pushed past those flesh-wrought doors.