Chapter 4

There are those who walk alone. And there are those who are guided.

The Tarnished had known only silence since his return to the Lands Between. He had spoken no words, nor had any been spoken directly to him in kindness.

But now, as he knelt before the Grace, his breath slow from battle and flight, he was no longer alone.

She stood before him—a maiden, wrapped in ash and secrets.

Her robe, flowing like the mists of a dying fire, concealed much of her form. A cloth of black silk covered her eyes, yet somehow, she saw him.

She had no need for sight.

She had come for him.

The Maiden Without Sight

"Greetings, traveler."

Her voice was steady, yet there was something beneath the surface—a sorrow, hidden well but not completely buried.

"I am Melina. An emissary of the Erdtree."

She took a step forward, the soft rustle of fabric carried by the wind.

"You are Tarnished. I have seen your kind before. I know your purpose… even if you do not."

The Tarnished remained still. He had no way to answer her.

But she did not seem surprised.

If anything, she tilted her head slightly, as though she could hear the silence he could not break.

"You bear no voice, yet still, you walk the path. A strange fate, indeed."

The wind whispered between them.

Melina slowly knelt before him, her unseen gaze unwavering.

"If you seek the throne of the Elden Lord, you will need aid. You will need strength."

She extended a gloved hand.

"Allow me to serve you. Together, we may yet reach the Erdtree."

A pause.

The Tarnished glanced at her outstretched hand, then at the Grace before him.

What was this? A trick? A test?

He did not trust easily. He could not afford to.

And yet—

There was no deception in her voice. No falsehood in her offering.

She did not promise victory. Only guidance.

The warrior exhaled softly. He had walked alone long enough.

He reached forward.

Their hands met.

And Grace filled him.

A Gift of Strength

A warm light surged through his limbs, flowing from her touch into his very soul.

The distant voices of the past whispered in his mind—memories of warriors long gone, of battles fought and lost, of Tarnished who had come before him and failed.

"I can take you to the Roundtable Hold," Melina said softly. "A place where Tarnished gather. A refuge beyond the reach of death."

She closed her fingers around his hand, as if sealing the pact between them.

"In return, I ask only one thing."

A silence passed.

She did not need to hear him speak to know his question.

"Take me to the Erdtree."

The Tarnished studied her face. Though her eyes were hidden, her lips were set in a calm, unwavering resolve.

She was bound to the same fate as he.

She, too, was searching for something.

At last, he nodded.

Melina gave the faintest hint of a smile.

"Then it is decided."

The world shifted.

The Roundtable Hold

A sudden pull, a weightless sensation—as though the very air had twisted around him.

And then—

Silence.

The dim glow of torchlight flickered against aged stone walls.

The Tarnished stood within a great hall, its floors of intricate marble, its towering doors carved with ancient markings.

But more importantly—

He was not alone.

Figures moved within the Hold, some clad in armor of old wars, others wrapped in robes of forgotten faiths. Some hunched over in silence, as if the weight of their failures had long since broken them. Others watched him, measuring his worth.

"This is Roundtable Hold," Melina's voice echoed beside him.

"A gathering place for Tarnished such as yourself. A place outside time, untouched by the hands of the living."

The Tarnished turned, taking in the presence of those who lingered here.

A man with a long white beard, his face worn by time, leaned forward from his seat, observing him with interest.

"Ah, a new face. No matter—strength will determine your fate soon enough."

A woman in a dark robe, her features hidden beneath a veil, seemed to stare through him rather than at him.

A warrior, his armor heavy with the marks of battle, smirked as he sharpened his blade.

"Another fool seeking grace? Hah. Good luck with that."

The Tarnished said nothing.

He did not need to.

Melina's presence remained at his side, quiet but certain.

"When you are ready, the road shall be open to you once more," she murmured. "Gather strength. Learn what you must. But know this—"

Her tone grew solemn.

"The road ahead will be long. And few have reached its end."

The warrior understood.

He had no voice. But his blade would speak for him.

And so, he turned away from the firelit hall, back toward the fading glow of Grace.

The path to the throne lay ahead.

And he would walk it.