At the sound of footsteps outside her chamber, Ranni stirred from slumber. Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to wakefulness—only to meet a sight she loathed.
A mask. Broad-brimmed hat casting shadow, mouth sewn shut with golden thread.
Seluvis.
He stood in silence beyond her door, calculating as always. Ranni's mood, already soured from her rest being broken, curdled further.
Unlike Iji or Blaidd, Seluvis was not one she trusted. She felt no affection for him, only disgust. He remained her retainer not by choice of kinship, but because Caria's defenses required his craft. His puppetry and barrier sorcery had proven useful.
Still, seeing such arts wielded by him always left her uneasy. Puppetry was a legacy of Nokstella, one branch of the Eternal City from which Caria's line itself had sprung. To Ranni, the craft held no stigma. But in Seluvis's hands, it was… foul.
Worse, he was discourteous. Beneath his servility, she sensed ambition, a selfish hunger poorly hidden. He believed his performance flawless, not realizing Ranni saw him for the puppet he truly was.
Her face betrayed none of this. She wore her usual cold mask. Still, Seluvis would not come to her chamber unbidden without reason.
Lifting her gaze, she bade him speak.
"Lady Ranni," Seluvis rasped, "a Tarnished has breached Caria Manor. Shall I move to have the intruder executed, to preserve the dignity of our house?"
Ranni's thoughts turned inward. A Tarnished? Here? For what—treasure? But what did it matter.
The Carian title of Lunar Princess lingered, yet she held no intent to rebuild. The manor was already a ruin. Its nobles long fled, its people long gone. Even the sword-monument outside, mockery of a grave. The Cuckoos had died in heaps, but Caria itself was little more than a dead city.
She remembered. Radahn away at Sellia, Rykard serving in Leyndell. Only she remained, young and alone. But the old retainers had held the line, and the Cuckoos had been beaten back. That was long ago. Now, not even carrion-seekers came here.
And she—she could not risk showing herself openly, not while pursued by the Fingers' shadow. Few within the manor even knew she resided here.
Nor could she descend to the lower wards, crawling as they were with Fingercreepers. Once brought down from the mountains in the age of the astrologers, they had seemed harmless. But after her break with the Two Fingers, she had seen too clearly: their writhing digits mirrored the cursed guidance she had rejected.
No, she would never walk where their touch reached. At most, she lingered at the Royal Moongazing Grounds, hidden beneath her title.
So: a ruin breached. Little consequence. Still, with Blaidd absent, she might look herself.
"Enough. I understand," she said at last. "You may go."
But Seluvis lingered, unmoving.
"Lady Ranni, I would sugge—"
"Seluvis."
Her voice cut like ice.
"I require no counsel on what must be done."
He bowed stiffly and withdrew, his face hidden beneath mask and brim.
Only when he was gone did Ranni rise from her seat. "A Tarnished has entered Caria… Who could it be? How did they breach the wards? And for what?"
Her form shimmered, vanished.
When she reappeared, it was atop the high dais beside the Moongazing Grounds. From there she could see everything.
And what she saw gave her pause.
In the reflecting pool below, her collaborator—the Stormlord, Lucian—was locked in battle with the phantom shade of Royal Knight Loretta.
So Seluvis's "intruder" was him.
They had only just crossed blades when she began to watch. Already, she could see the change. Lucian had grown stronger—everywhere.
Once, she had thought him merely a warrior wielding storm. But his first strike was a Dragon Communion prayer. His follow-up, a Glintstone crystal barrage from the Academy. Then a spell from Sellia, unmistakable. His storm was fiercer, his body sharper, his command of blade and sorcery seamless.
The gale roared about the field, but it could not veil her eyes. She watched him drive Loretta's phantom to its end.
And when he conjured Carian sorceries—sword-arts she herself had traded to him, she inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. He had learned well.
But when she saw him wield Black Flame, her composure shifted. That was no common power. It was the weapon of the Godskin Apostles, the same dark fire the Gloam-Eyed Queen herself had once commanded.
And she, Ranni, knew well the ties her bloodline bore to them.
At last, Loretta's phantom fell. The storm cleared. Lucian turned his eyes upward.
It was then that Ranni spoke.
"It has been some time, Stormlord Lucian."
"Tell me, why do you trespass within Caria's halls unbidden?"
She did not think him like other Tarnished, chasing rumors of treasure. And she had noticed: save for one creeping finger, no being within the manor bore wounds. He had harmed no one unnecessarily.
Whatever brought him here, it was not plunder.
Lucian's answer was simple.
"I came for you."
Ranni's brows rose slightly. She did not show it fully, but surprise flickered within. Her hidden tower's location should have been secret. Had he stumbled upon it only by chance?
"For me?"
She waved her hand. At once, retainers and Troll Knights withdrew, leaving them alone.
Lucian hefted a great jar, carrying it toward the dais.
"I found a Black Knife Assassin in hiding," he said. "On her blade, I discovered traces—marks left by your hand during the Night of Black Knives. Those blades were wrought with Death Rune fragments. It was you who bound that power into them."
At the base of the stairs, Lucian set the jar down. The divine seal suppressing it unraveled.
From within he dragged the assassin—limbs numb, body crumpled like an insect. Hood torn away, her face bare, she lay humiliated before them both.
Ranni's expression did not change. Yet inwardly, she felt a twinge of disappointment.
So this was why he came? To unearth the past, to confront her with deeds already carved in fate? How dull.
"Yes," she said plainly. "You are not mistaken. I stole a fragment of the Rune of Death,
and used it to forge the godslaying black knives through fearsome rite. I wove the plot of that night."
Her voice was steady, cold.
"So. Do you come now seeking justice for Godwyn's corpse? Do you mean to slay me in vengeance, Tarnished?"
Lucian shook his head.
"I pass no judgment. I came not to condemn, but to propose alliance."
Ranni's brow arched.
"Our pact already stands. And knowing now what I wrought, you would still persist? Or is this meant as leverage, a crude threat to wring favor? If so, you are a fool—and I hold fools in contempt."
Her tone sharpened, chill as the moonlit air.
"I am the witch Ranni. I stole Death long ago, and search now for the dark path. That I might one day upend the whole of it, and rid the world of all that came before. One day, I shall betray all, abandon all. Do you understand what that means? Do you truly believe you could still stand at my side?"
Lucian did not flinch. His gaze held hers, unwavering.
"Then I will say it again: I know what you've done—and still, I choose to ally with you. Not as before. Something deeper. A bond enough that we may rely upon one another."
Ranni laughed. Soft, sharp, incredulous.
It was not mirth, but scorn. How arrogant. Who could walk the path she sought? Not her elders, not her kin, not her blood. And certainly not a Tarnished.
"If you came with such foolishness, then leave. You speak of burdens you cannot fathom. The fate of a Demigod is not for you to share. Go, before you are crushed beneath it."
But Lucian climbed, one step, then another, ascending the dais toward her.
Her eyes narrowed. His obstinacy pricked at her patience.
Yet his voice was steady.
"Your Night of Knives. Your discarded flesh, this doll's form. I do not know the reasons. But I know this much, you hunt the Fingers. Am I wrong?"
Ranni's composure wavered for the first time.
Lucian pressed on.
"In my delving beneath the land, I've yet to find Nokron's true gate. But I know enough. In Sellia's ruins, in the relics of Nokstella, I learned of one treasure—the weapon you seek. The Fingerslayer Blade."
At those words, Ranni's gaze sharpened. She studied him anew.
He understood. He knew.
That blade—the only tool to slay the Two Fingers. The very thing she required.
To speak such knowledge aloud was to invite annihilation from the Greater Will itself. Yet here he stood, unafraid.
Silence stretched.
At last, Ranni spoke.
"I am curious. You are Tarnished. Were you not chosen by the Fingers? Did they not grant you succor, send their envoy to your very coronation? Even so, you would bind yourself to me?"
Lucian met her eyes, calm.
"Enough wordplay. I know there are many Fingers. The one in the Roundtable—yes, it aided me. Even damaged, I hold no quarrel with it. Our aims run parallel, for now. But that does not mean I will permit any hand to dictate my fate. Someday, even that Finger may turn. It may seek to bend me, to bind me. I will not allow it. To compromise is to kill oneself by inches. And I—"
His voice hardened.
"—I prefer to resist."
He paused, then added, with quiet certainty:
"In that, you and I share purpose."