When the coronation ended, Lucian dismissed the assembled soldiers, ordering them back to their posts. For the time being, they were to continue their duties as before; once the affairs of the castle were fully settled, he would redistribute responsibilities.
As the troops departed, the space beneath the throne quickly emptied. Only the great and lesser lords remained gathered before their new king.
Lucian knew well the reason for their lingering, so he rose from the throne and walked toward them. It was clear the lords had already spoken amongst themselves, arranged in order of rank, land, and station.
At the head of the line stood an old acquaintance—Edgar, lord of Castle Morne.
In Limgrave, Morne was counted the greatest stronghold beneath Stormveil itself. Though weakened by rebellion, its military strength diminished, Edgar's position as the highest-ranking lord remained unshaken.
Lucian placed the ornamental straight sword, gleaming with golden light, upon Edgar's shoulder. Two light taps—and then he moved on.
No pomp, no excess. The ritual was swift, soon completed.
Yet though brief, none of the lords voiced complaint. They had come for one purpose only: to swear fealty. And Lucian's acceptance was all that mattered.
Seated once more upon the throne, Lucian gazed at the men and women below.
Beyond Morne, most of their holdings were small fortresses—little more than keeps. Some were hardly more than villages; their so-called "lords" better suited the name of elder or chief.
Altogether, scarcely a dozen or so. These would become the hands and voices of Lucian's will throughout Limgrave.
Yet among them, one name was missing—Kenneth Haight.
It seemed, much like in the original story, he had already been ousted from his fort by Godrick's knights. He likely knew nothing yet of Lucian's coronation.
So be it. When time allowed, Lucian would pay the place a visit. The fortress held items of importance, after all.
He dismissed the lords with a wave of his hand, save only for Edgar, whom he bade remain.
Now, before the throne, there stood only Nepheli, Hakkan, Lancelot, and Edgar.
Facing them, Lucian spoke slowly;
"I would make of Stormveil and Morne a haven open to all peoples. Here they may trade, take rest… or take up arms in our ranks. I would see this place governed well. Will you aid me in this?"
The four were startled by such words.
Lucian laid out his vision in detail. He sought to build a land under his protection, a place of harmony. Not only for Tarnished and the native folk—but for every race, that they might find here a better life.
Prejudice and strife would surely remain. The place could never be perfect.
Lucian was no Miquella, to weave a flawless Eden beyond reach of pain. But at the very least, here all would have bread to eat, shelter to rest beneath.
A beginning, from which better days might yet grow.
After some deliberation, the plan was set in motion.
Lancelot was appointed Deputy Regent, the only man among them versed in letters. Lucian could not remain in the castle at all times, nor did he wish to spend each day mired in governance.
The Lands Between would not be won with Stormveil alone. He must travel, must grow stronger.
In this world where power lay with the mighty, strength was the sole claim to kingship.
Thus, one to bear the weight of rule in his absence was vital. And after days of quiet observation, Lucian deemed Lancelot well suited.
Noble by birth, possessed of strength, and a man of character. It was he, after all, who had first rallied the Storm Knights to Lucian's cause.
So Lucian entrusted him gladly.
As for whether this haste in granting power might plant hidden dangers—no. In a world where might made truth, any with sense who had seen that world-rending strike would never dare to betray.
Nepheli was ever one to shield the weak. When she heard of Lucian's plan to build a refuge for Tarnished too feeble to behold grace, barred even from the Roundtable, she agreed without hesitation.
Lucian tasked her with the policing of Tarnished within the keep—to protect them, but to punish without mercy those who broke the law.
In truth, her strength made the role beneath her. But Nepheli said she would only serve in the post for a time, until others could take her place. She was a warrior; her fate lay not behind walls.
Edgar was sent to the Weeping Peninsula, to spread word of Lucian's decree and give aid to Tarnished landing on its shores.
By its nature, many exiles would make landfall there. So Morne too would become a haven, alongside Stormveil.
As for Hakkan—he refused the high office offered him.
Such near-charitable favor was not what he desired.
So Lucian gave him a different task—
—
"Have you heard? They say a Tarnished has slain Godrick and claimed a Great Rune."
"Aye. And they say that once he crowned himself King of Stormveil, the gates were thrown open—to all Tarnished alike. Shall we go see?"
"You're going? Then I'll come too."
"And me as well!"
…
Within the Roundtable Hold, such talk was unending.
The fall of Godrick, the rise of Lucian—it was the hottest matter of the day.
The old All-Knowing Gideon sat at the great table, yet he read no tome this time.
Before him lay not books, but parchments—reports, gathered intelligence. Over and over he read them, until he knew them by heart.
His agents had perished, each in strange and inexplicable fashion, after daring to record the event. Gideon had already taught them sorceries for such work—yet even so, they had died.
It irked him. The most crucial truths were missing. His men unreliable.
Only vague reports remained, and a single eyewitness account of that pillar of light.
None could even say what the foe had been.
The reports read like madness; Godrick had fallen beneath the lands, only to crawl back up, grotesquely transformed.
A colossal abomination, larger than any mountain troll. Blackened flesh, oozing sores, frame gaunt as a skeleton, but with a vast face—upside-down, grotesque, like some sea-creature.
Could such a thing truly dwell in the Lands Between?
And in the end, Lucian had unleashed some immense art, erasing the thing entirely, so much so that not even a trace of it could be found.
Had it not been confirmed by multiple sources, Gideon would have sworn some fool had written it after eating poisoned mushrooms.
Yet the account of that pillar, sundering heaven and land, could not be dismissed. Too real, too vast to ignore.
Was such power even possible for man?
And that monster…Its form, its deadly aura—utterly alien, utterly dangerous.
In all his long years, Gideon had never read nor heard of such a thing.
He scoured the records again and again, but no answer revealed itself. And this weighed heavily—for his judgment of Lucian's strength would decide how he must deal with this rising king.
If Lucian truly was…
But then, a great clamor arose in the Roundtable. So loud that even through the walls of Gideon's chamber it could be heard clear.
He scowled. These Tarnished, unruly as ever. So easily stirred, so lacking in discipline.
Soon, one of his hidden watchers whispered the cause.
The man at the center of their cheers—Lucian himself—had come to the Hold. Summoned once more by the Two Fingers.
Lucian entered clad in the same regal garments he had worn at his coronation, adorned with the golden sigils of kingship.
It must be said, he cut a fine figure. Lucian himself took no small satisfaction in it.
He had defeated Godrick, claimed a Great Rune. Now it was time for the Two Fingers to fulfill their promise.
Behind him, several young Tarnished bore the battered armor of Banished Knights and the two blades taken as spoils. Roderika too walked at his side, cradling a scepter in her hands.
She had wished to remain in Stormveil, reluctant to leave. But Lucian brought her nonetheless—to meet the smith Hewg, and perhaps, if fate aligned, to inherit the craft of spirit-tuning.
Though he prepared himself for disappointment. The world had already diverged greatly from the paths he knew. Roderika's companions yet lived; the butterfly effect might deny him this boon.
If so, then he would simply grant her a safe, gentle life.
As Lucian and his retinue entered the Hold, Tarnished gathered, recognizing him by sight.
Their calls drew more, until a crowd surrounded him. All craned their necks to see the one who had struck down Godrick.
They were astonished by his youth.
So young a Tarnished was most often green and untested. Save rare talents such as Nepheli or Rogier, few so young bore such strength.
The Hold's true veterans were older, scarred by time and battle.
Yet his youth earned no scorn.
For his aura was that of a beast—sharp and lethal, like a blade against the spine. His raiment declared his sovereignty. And his deeds spoke louder than either.
Lucian did not drive the onlookers away. Indeed, he had dressed for this very purpose—that his fame might spread within the Hold, drawing Tarnished to Stormveil and Morne.
Before long, the Two Fingers' Envoy pressed through the crowd, cleared his throat, and spoke loud:
"Tarnished Lucian, to seize a Great Rune is no small feat. Therefore, the door of the Fingers shall be opened to you. Enter and be received."
Gasps broke from the crowd.
The chamber of the Fingers had ever remained sealed. They knew nothing of the hidden passage used by Gideon and the envoys.
To them, Lucian was the first ever to be granted true audience.
The massive doors creaked open with a grinding wail. Through the narrow gap, the Tarnished caught their first glimpse of that vague, terrible silhouette.
They etched it into memory as Lucian strode forward. The crowd parted, granting him way.
Once he crossed the threshold, the doors closed fast behind him.
Roderika and the others were left outside; only he was permitted within.
Nepheli soon arrived, as arranged, to tend to the matter of repairs with Hewg.
Within the dim chamber, Lucian felt a strange weight.
Not long ago, he had entered by secret way. Now the front gate opened wide before him, his name proclaimed in the hall beyond.
The Two Fingers had made certain all knew it. A staged spectacle—but effective.
He remembered well the looks of awe in the Tarnished's eyes, and at last understood why so many loved to bask in grandeur.
Enia beckoned him closer, smiling.
"The Fingers are most pleased with you," she said. "Not only for the fall of Godrick and the claiming of a Great Rune. Your wish to build a haven for Tarnished in Stormveil is also most commendable. That summons in the Roundtable—that was the Fingers' will. They wished all to see your worth."
The Two Fingers stirred, their digits shifting with eerie life.
Lucian nodded. It was as he expected.
They wished to stir Tarnished into action. The more who could be rallied, the better.
He bowed slightly. "I have not failed the mission. Whatever merit I bear is by the Fingers' past aid—and above all, by their guiding hand."
The Fingers swayed in approval.
Enia translated with a warm chuckle:
"The Fingers say; To one so meritorious, we shall not be miserly. As the first Tarnished to claim a Great Rune, we have prepared a rich reward."
Lucian licked his lips. The last "gift" had fattened him greatly. What would this one bring?
The envoy presented a tray—
A Sacred Chalice, a pair of Sacred Flasks, runes of many sizes. But most dazzling of all—a multitude of Rune Arcs, their pale light gleaming.