Lucian had already slipped out from beneath the tent by the time the commotion began.
After Selyra dragged the two Cuckoo Knights outside, the pair cloaked themselves in Unseen Form and slipped away from the encampment with ease.
It seemed the Cuckoos had little experience fighting unseen foes. Their ranks carried no tools to counter stealth.
After all, even the capital of Leyndell had only begun issuing Sentry's Torches after the Night of the Black Knives, when bitter lessons were burned into memory.
Perhaps the Cuckoos once had some means of piercing invisibility. But years of neglect had dulled their vigilance. Even if such tools still existed, they remained unused.
Lucian thought grimly that tonight would at least remind them of the need.
He and Selyra left the camp behind. On the road, Lucian caught sight of several Cuckoos whose arms and armor marked them as leaders.
He was not surprised. Every host had its champions. Still, these stood out—uniquely equipped, distinct enough that, had they not worn the Cuckoo crest, one might mistake them for wandering NPCs from some other story.
But Lucian did not linger to study them. Instead, he guided Selyra into the woods at the rear of the camp.
On Liurnia's eastern shore, he had seen little of the Cuckoos—only a small band skirmishing with spectral Carian Troll Knights. The western coast, however, was another matter entirely.
From his current vantage, he could see scattered fires stretching south into the distance.
It was clear; the Cuckoos had seized the entire western bank, entrenching themselves across the land.
Lucian and Selyra were still well within enemy territory.
The scale of it all gave him pause. The Cuckoos' army was vast, large enough to occupy nearly the whole coast. How many soldiers did they truly command?
Clearly, they knew how to preserve their strength. Their numbers had endured since the age of legends, surviving even the Shattering, when the Lands Between were torn apart.
But where did such an army come from?
Lucian did not know that the Cuckoos plundered more than treasure and resources.
They seized people as well.
When they conquered territory, they gathered the common folk and bound them into servitude. Those who survived toiled as slaves—working the fields, forging supplies, building arms. Even the lowest Cuckoo footsoldier could abuse them at will.
And yet, the Cuckoos left their slaves a bitter path upward.
Any who proved their worth were permitted to join their ranks, gaining the right to dominate their former companions.
A cruel system, but effective.
Those who rose through betrayal became harsher masters than the Cuckoos themselves. And those still bound in chains, desperate for escape, strove all the harder to prove their value.
In time, the oppressed came to accept their captors. Some even embraced the name of Cuckoo, forgetting who had first cast them down.
The strategy had never failed. It was how the Cuckoos endured.
Now, hidden deep in the woods, Lucian and Selyra began to take stock of their spoils.
From the storage disk, Lucian drew three stone chests of varying size.
He opened the largest first. Within lay a weapon—
A single-handed axe.
Its blade was studded with great shards of green glintstone. Crystalline growths crept across its edge and along the haft.
A name shimmered in Lucian's vision: [Glintstone Carver].
He turned it over. Another weapon he had never seen before. Its war skill allowed it to release a vibrating arc of magic from the blade, reminiscent of the vibro-blades of old science fiction.
It resembled the Cragblade, but crafted to slice through glintstone itself. As a weapon, its strength was modest—likely more tool than armament.
He set it aside and opened the second chest.
Inside was a finely wrought dagger. Its war skill: [Assassin's Gambit].
Useful, at least. Combined with Unseen Form, it could erase even the faint sound of footsteps.
The third chest held something stranger.
A small ornament, unassuming save for the jet-black gem set in its center.
The stone was utterly dark, without glimmer, yet Lucian felt a faint resemblance to the Black Moon of Nokstella.
Though, of course, the true Moon of Nokstella looked nothing like this.
Still, text flickered before his eyes: [Seal Key of the Eternal City].
Not much information. Neither which Eternal City it belonged to, nor what it unlocked. Only that it was a key—and born of that ancient civilization.
Lucian frowned. Without the display of its name, he would never have thought it a key at all. It resembled a talisman more than anything.
And yet, when he placed it into his talisman pouch, it began to fuse with the leather as if it belonged there.
Clearly, it carried more than symbolic weight. The black gem at its heart radiated a subtle force, akin to fragments of the Moon of Nokstella that forged memory stones.
Lucian felt his thoughts clear, as though magic came more easily to mind. The boon was faint, but to a true sorcerer it would be priceless.
Even so, he suspected the gem's full potential lay beyond him. Perhaps it resonated with a form of sorcery he had yet to master.
He stored all three items once more. Of them, only the dagger might be of immediate use. The rest could be secured within Stormveil's vault.
The road called them onward. Soon, Lucian found the site he had been seeking: the place where the Jellyfish Shield once lay.
A wrecked carriage stood by the roadside, surrounded by corpses of men whose skin was stained purple by jellyfish venom.
But the spirits who had struck them down were gone, likely vanished after avenging their kin.
Several Cuckoo soldiers lingered by the wreck, pretending to investigate while slipping trinkets into their pockets.
Lucian searched the debris. The goods were scattered, most carried off already. But of the Jellyfish Shield, there was no trace.
He guessed the jellyfish had carried it away themselves, burying it in honor of their fallen.
For jellyfish were not mindless beasts. They were spirits reborn of human souls, with will and thought of their own.
When one was attacked, the others nearby would all burn red with rage, fighting as one.
Their shared fury was their only means of survival. And their shield's war skill, Contagious Fury, embodied that power.
A pity, Lucian thought. One less tool for strengthening allies. And truthfully, a jellyfish's head made for an odd shield to begin with.
He lifted his gaze. On the slope ahead, the outline of ancient structures loomed against the starlit sky.
He and Selyra ascended the hill, cloaked in Unseen Form.
On the path, three headless Troll Knights barred the way. These spectral warriors did not rely on eyes to sense intruders, rendering stealth useless.
But their movements were ponderous. Lucian and Selyra easily slipped past them.
At last, they reached the Site of Grace at the summit.
Lucian kindled its light, then turned to examine the towers themselves.
The Four Belfries.
The chest that once held an Imbued Sword Key had already been emptied—no doubt the very one Lucian had claimed earlier.
Four ancient belfries rose across the hill, identical in form. Each bore three massive bells, hung in a trinity above, and their walls were carved with the image of an aged figure holding a tablet aloft, cradled by the branches of the Erdtree.
The figure was oddly familiar. Lucian thought it resembled the sages of the Uld Dynasty, though erosion had worn the features smooth.
These towers, capable of bridging realms to the Eternal Cities and even to skyborn ruins—surely they were of the same age.
He tilted his head back. Above, the stars burned bright, and the moon hung vast and silver, revealing all the heavens of the Lands Between.
For what purpose had these towers been built?
Exploring further, Lucian was startled to find another difference from the game he remembered.
In that version, only three belfries had functioning portals, while the fourth—the highest, held only a chest.
But here, all four contained gateways.
One had already been opened, its key inserted into the imp statue beside it. Likely the very key stored in the chest above.
The Cuckoos, he realized, must have been the ones to use it.
Yet unlike him, they could not have known where each portal led. They must have chosen blindly.
Which meant—one of the portals no longer led where he expected.
In the game, they had connected to three destinations: the Chapel of Anticipation, Nokron, and the Crumbling Farum Azula. But with a fourth added here, the balance had changed.
Three gates awaited him. He had but one key.
Troubling.
At least he could rule out the Chapel. If the Cuckoos had gone there, they would have left traces. Stormveil would never have stood quiet had they passed through its heart.
That left some other, unknown place.
Resolving to see for himself, Lucian touched the open portal.
When next he opened his eyes, he stood in a cavern lit only by the glow of glintstone.
Massive crystals studded the walls, casting a pale blue radiance. Corpses of Cuckoo soldiers hung impaled upon the jagged shards.
Lucian frowned. He knew of many crystal caves in Liurnia—sealed caverns, the master Lusat's prison, but none like this.
He turned back. Behind him, another portal waited, whole and functional.
Tentatively, he touched it—and was returned to the Belfries.
He froze.
The Belfry gates were one-way. Always one-way.
Yet here, the portal had returned him.
Which meant… the destinations were not what he thought.
Perhaps none of them were.
Lucian pressed a hand to his forehead, frowning in frustration.
The mystery had only deepened.