Bell stepped closer to the warm, golden light shimmering at the end of the cavern. Unlike the violent
Golden Crack that had torn him from Orario, this glow felt soothing—like a gentle hand guiding him
toward safety. His breath steadied as the light pulsed softly, illuminating the ancient stone pedestal
beneath it.
He stopped just a few steps away, hesitant. The warmth radiating from the glow eased the tightness in
his chest, calming the tremor in his hands. For the first time since falling into this unknown world, Bell
felt something other than fear.
"...What are you?" he whispered.
The golden motes swirled, drawing together into a single beam that hovered over the pedestal. Bell felt
it—an unspoken invitation. A call without words. A promise without voice.
Slowly, carefully, he extended his hand.
The moment his fingers brushed the golden aura, the world dissolved into brilliance.
Bell gasped as a gentle force wrapped around him, lifting weight from his limbs. His exhaustion thinned,
his fear eased, and the ache in his muscles quieted. It wasn't a Falna—no blessing from a god's
hand—but it felt... similar. Like a distant echo of divine power.
A Grace.
The word surfaced in his mind from nowhere, settling with absolute certainty.
"This... this is a Grace..."
Visions flickered behind his eyes—shadows of warriors rising from death, of paths illuminated by
golden sparks, of a world begging broken souls to stand again. Bell staggered as the images faded,
heart pounding.
A Grace did not strengthen him.
It guided him.
It anchored him.
And for the first time, Bell felt less lost.
A faint shimmering trail extended from the Grace like drifting pollen—leading toward a massive door
carved into the rock wall. Bell stared at it, then at the golden motes.
"You want me to go there... don't you?"
The light pulsed gently in response.
Bell swallowed, gripping his broken sword. "Okay... I'll trust you."
He followed the trail.
Steps led upward toward a broad stone archway. The air grew warmer, less suffocating, as though the
Grace's warmth lingered around him. Blue flames flickered along the walls, casting soft reflections
across the shallow water.
At the top of the stairs, Bell pushed lightly against the massive wooden doors.
They creaked open.
A blinding white light spilled through the crack, forcing him to shield his eyes. A breeze—real, fresh,
carrying the scent of grass—swept across his face. His heart lifted.
Outside.
He stepped forward—
—and froze.
A colossal figure stood at the edge of the clearing beyond the door. Towering, armored, monstrous. A
creature fused of bone and grotesque metal, clutching a jagged weapon nearly twice Bell's size. Its
skull-like face turned slowly toward him.
The Grafted Scion.
Bell's legs nearly gave out. "Wh-Wh-What—?!"
The creature screeched—an unholy cry that rattled the stones beneath him.
Bell turned and ran.
He sprinted across the clearing, heart slamming against his ribs. The Scion leapt with unnatural speed,
landing behind him with a quake that nearly threw him off his feet. Bell rolled desperately to the side as
its bladed appendage slashed downward, carving a crater where he had stood.
"I can't fight that! I can't fight that!"
He stumbled, slipping on the grass. The Scion rushed him again, its many limbs reaching outward like
death itself. Bell raised his broken sword, but it snapped entirely beneath the strike.
He screamed—
—just as the ground vanished beneath him.
Bell plunged off the cliff's edge, arms flailing as wind roared past his ears. The Scion's screech faded
into the distance. Bell's eyes widened, the world spinning wildly.
"I-I'm going to die—!"
The world went black.
Then—
Light.
A soft glow enveloped him, warm as a mother's embrace. Bell's body lay on cold stone, but he felt no
pain. No broken bones. No wounds. Only the lingering echo of fear.
He opened his eyes.
He was lying beside another Grace.
The golden motes hovered patiently, welcoming him.
"W-What...? How...?"
The realization hit him like a storm.
The Grace had brought him back.
It had saved him.
Not by rewinding time... Not by healing him instantly... But by returning him to its side.
Just as it did for the Tarnished.
Bell sat up slowly, breath shaking. "This world... it wants me to keep going."
He clenched his fists.
He wasn't strong. He wasn't blessed. He wasn't even sure why he had been brought here.
But he wasn't dead.
And that meant he could still move forward.
A faint sound drew his attention. Footsteps. Soft, deliberate.
Bell turned.
Silhouetted against the pale light of dawn stood a woman garbed in dark robes, her presence calm yet
distant. Her hood obscured her face, but Bell sensed an ancient gentleness in her posture.
She approached slowly, hands folded before her.
"Greetings, child," she spoke softly. "Lost one... little one... I offer you honest counsel."
Bell stared, heart racing. "Wh-Who... who are you?"
The woman bowed her head slightly.
"I am Melina."
The golden motes of Grace shimmered behind her—as though acknowledging her presence.
Bell's destiny had just taken its next step.
End of Chapter 3.