Lucian sat with arms crossed, deep in thought. Where could he find more Rune Arcs?
They were tied directly to his strength—unlike the grind for runes, a Rune Arc was immediate, effortless. His Great Rune already bore the faint curve of restoration; more than half of its hollow arcs were filled in. Perhaps fewer than ten more shards would complete it.
Already, all his attributes had risen by six. How far could it go? Ten points? More? Or less? And when the arc was fully mended, what further power would awaken within?
Whatever the answer, the Great Rune's change was undoubtedly a blessing. From what he'd seen, the completed form would not disappoint.
—
While Lucian journeyed to the Divine Tower to stir his Great Rune, Roderika and the others, under Nepheli Loux's guidance, were led through the Roundtable Hold.
Nepheli introduced the great hall as they walked, and Roderika listened in quiet awe. Not only was the Hold magnificent, but its origins and secrets left her stunned.
Soon, they came before the smith's chamber. The sharp ring of hammer on metal struck steadily from within, and heat radiated from beneath the door.
"Master Hewg," Nepheli called, grinning, "sounds like you've got another big project."
The hammering slowed. Hewg glanced up as they entered, expecting another band of green Tarnished under Nepheli's care. But when his gaze fell upon the armor in their hands, his eyes narrowed.
It was the battered plate of a Banished Knight—one he had worked on before.
"…Where's the knight who wore this?"
Roderika, flinching at Hewg's hulking, misshapen form, nearly shrank back. But remembering Lucian's instructions that she must treat the smith with courtesy, she steadied herself and spoke softly;
"Lord Lucian is presently before the Two Fingers. He entrusted us with this task… he asks that you repair this armor."
With a grunt, Hewg brought his hammer down in a final blow, quenched the weapon, then lifted his head to study them more carefully.
He rarely spoke much with Tarnished, save for practical exchanges. But gossip floated easily through the Hold, and even Hewg overheard things as he worked.
"So… his name is Lucian," the smith muttered. "Then he's the one they call the 'Storm King'—the Tarnished who felled Godrick?"
Roderika nodded quickly. "Yes. Lord Lucian."
Hewg looked into her eyes then, and blinked in surprise. Her irises—emerald, luminous—were the same shade as the one who had once cared for him. The eyes of a Spirit Tuner.
Roderika faltered under his stare. "…S-sir? Is something the matter?"
"…No," Hewg said at last, turning aside to mask his slip. "Only that I did not expect so much from that secretive fellow. Stronger than I thought." He motioned brusquely. "Bring the armor here."
Though he sensed her potential, Hewg dismissed the thought. No one would choose to learn from a wretched misbegotten. Better to spare himself the humiliation.
The Tarnished laid out the pieces. Not only Lucian's armor, but also Elyssa's, both scarred from battles with the Omen and with Godrick himself.
As for Redd and Andre, their Crucible Armor had suffered too—but their gear was bound with the life force of the Crucible, and so healed slowly on its own.
Lifting one piece, Hewg turned it over, grimacing. "Badly damaged… but salvageable."
He set it down and added: "Tell them this; their armor's strength lags behind their power. If they want better protection, they'll need dragon scales. Bring me that, and I'll forge it into their plate."
Roderika nodded, memorizing every word.
"And the weapons?" she asked. "Lord Lucian hoped you might strengthen those as well."
"That depends," Hewg grunted. "Weapons can be tempered, but it takes smithing stones. I trust he knows this?"
"We've brought them."
Three greatswords were placed before him; two Lordsworn's Greatsword and the Claymore. One of the Lordsworn's Greatswords was newly taken from Stormveil's treasury, but the other two had followed Lucian since Castle Morne, bearing countless scars despite careful upkeep.
That was the way of warriors—their weapons carried their battles. Only pampered nobles boasted blades that never saw a nick.
Then the table clattered as a bag was upturned. Smithing stones—dozens of them, spilled across the surface.
Hewg's eyes widened. "So many… rare to see them in such number."
They were Lucian's spoils from Stormveil's vaults. Limgrave's mines had toiled endlessly to feed Godrick's hoard; now, all of it belonged to Stormveil's new lord.
Roderika bowed. "He asks that you strengthen them as much as you can. Please."
Hewg said nothing more, only gathered the stones in his gnarled hands.
—
When the others drifted away to explore the Hold, Nepheli lingered, closing the door behind her. Hewg did not reach for his hammer.
"Spit it out, girl. You've got something else to say."
Nepheli nodded. "Yes. Lord Lucian asked me to deliver a message to you, in private."
"Oh?" Hewg rumbled. "What words, that need secrecy?"
She drew a breath, then spoke carefully:
"He said Roderika is a gentle soul. Too gentle to wield a blade any longer, yet troubled that she cannot be of use. He's heard tell that those with eyes of her shade can commune with spirits. He wondered… if you knew aught of it."
"If not, he said he would turn to my foster-father. Surely, the All-Knowing would know."
Hewg froze. His face, monstrous though it was, grew troubled. Had Lucian guessed by accident, or had some whisper of his past reached him? Either way, it was dangerous.
If Gideon Ofnir learned of Roderika's gift, the girl might soon vanish like others before her. Maidens had gone missing from the Hold, one by one. Hewg suspected Gideon's hand in it.
"…And he told you not to speak this before her?" Hewg asked at last.
"Yes. He said it was for her pride's sake. He did not want her to think she was a burden."
The smith lowered his head, muttering. "That man… too damned kind."
Finally, he sighed. "I know something of it. I'll speak with him when next he comes. No… better I speak to the girl herself."
He looked up at Nepheli. "Help me. Bring her to me."
—
Nepheli found Roderika wandering between stalls, marveling at the strange relics of the Hold.
"Roderika," she said, clapping her shoulder with a grin. "Come. I've something to tell you."
The two went to Nepheli's simple room, bare but for a bed, a wardrobe, and a rack sagging with axes.
They sat together, and Nepheli spoke plainly:
"Roderika… you may have the makings of a Spirit Tuner."
"…Spirit Tuner?"Roderika blinked, puzzled.
"I don't know all of it. But it's said such folk can commune with lingering souls, and through certain relics—ashes—restore some fragment of their strength."
Roderika's eyes widened. "Such a calling exists?!" Then, almost trembling with hope: "If I truly have this gift, then—even if I am weak, I want to learn it. To train. To be useful."
She clenched her hands. If I can't fight beside them, at least I can help.
Nepheli laughed warmly. "That's the spirit." But her face grew serious. "It would mean learning from Master Hewg. Would you accept that?"
Roderika thought a moment, then nodded. "He may look frightening… but he was kind, I think. And if you and Lord Lucian trust him, then I will too."
Relief softened Nepheli's smile. "Then come. Let's see what he says."
—
Hewg hammered steadily, willing his thoughts quiet. He expected rejection; surely the girl would recoil at his misbegotten blood. Yet when Nepheli entered with her, his breath eased.
They had spoken. They had chosen to trust him. That was enough.
If the girl wished to learn, he would give her all he knew—everything left to him by the one who once showed him kindness.
—
Later, in Stormveil, Lucian sat upon the throne, reviewing reports of the castle's affairs. Already his thoughts turned outward; he had not forgotten his promise to Boc—to retrieve his mother's keepsake from the cave. When last he passed that way, Boc had been absent; perhaps the demi-human had gone alone.
Before he could act, a familiar voice rang out.
"Lord Lucian!"
Roderika came running across the throne hall, her small steps quick and eager, until she skidded to a halt beside him, catching her breath.
She had long since been told she needn't stand on ceremony in private. To Lucian, both she and Irina were like younger sisters, cared for without reserve.
Clutching her skirts, she spoke in a rush, her face bright with excitement:
"The armor has been entrusted to Master Hewg. He'll see to it. The Roundtable Hold is incredible—so many heroes gathered, and even the Fingers dwell there."
Her tone wavered then, dimming. "But… I cannot see the guidance of grace. For me, its light is too far, too great. So I thought… perhaps I can repay your kindness another way."
She looked up at him, her eyes shining. "Master Hewg says I have the gift to be a Spirit Tuner. I've begun to learn. Someday soon, I'll be able to help you."
Lucian listened silently, then smiled. He had no need of spirit ashes—heroes reborn in fragments of bone were still but pale shades. Yet for her… it was perfect.
She had found a path that was hers alone.
He reached out, ruffling her hair gently. "That's wonderful. I'll be counting on you, Roderika."
Her heart leapt. "Yes! I may be only an apprentice now, but I'll work hard."
As he withdrew his hand, she held the warmth of his touch in her thoughts, her chest full with gratitude.
You care for me as though I were family, she thought. So kind, even to spare my pride by keeping it secret. You're too gentle, Lord Lucian.
She would remember this kindness always.