Chapter Text
Love. A word so simple, yet so ruinously vast.
Aurelis had never known its shape until now—never felt its chill and warmth interlace in his chest like entwined frost and flame. It was a feeling so raw it tore the chains from his soul, exposing a heart that beat not for power, nor vengeance, nor survival… but for her. Ranni.
He sat slumped against a broken pillar of ancient stone, its marble cracked by age and battle. His body was bloodied, bones aching beneath torn cloth and scorched mail, but such pain no longer held dominion over him. For cradled in his lap, as though the stars themselves had fallen to rest in his arms, lay the one for whom he would burn all kingdoms, for whom he would tear down gods.
In the beginning, Aurelis fought for no one but himself. Survival was his only creed. Then came Ranni, and together they liberated the oppressed miners, defying cruelty with steel and sorcery. That was the next chapter—he fought for justice. But now… now that Stormveil’s vile master lay slain in a ruin of gore, now that the air no longer trembled with fire and the howls of the damned had faded, Aurelis understood.
He was no longer fighting for the realm, nor for vengeance, nor for some sacred law.
He fought for her.
His love.
The one whose presence turned ruin into reverence, whose silence was more eloquent than any poem. Ranni lay there, serene, her breath light as snowfall. The moonlight kissed her pallid cheeks, and in that pale glow, she seemed as though born of the very firmament—a daughter of stars resting upon the breast of a mortal knight.
And so he sang to her, softly, as a father might to a slumbering child, or a lover to his heart’s moon. A lullaby—ancient in spirit, woven from sorrow and silver.
“Her Light Will Keep the Stars”
A Moonborn Lullaby, for Tenor 2
Verse I
Sleep, O sleep, ye flame-born kin,
Moonlight calls through ashen skin.
Fret not the dark where rot may grow,
Her light shall shine where thou dost go.
Verse II
Demigods rise, and demigods fall,
Crowned in ruin, shackled by thrall.
But one walks ‘neath the silver bough,
She guards thy path—be still, rest now.
Chorus
Her light will keep the stars from falling,
Her voice will hush the ancient flame.
Though shadowed knights and grief come calling,
Thy soul shall sleep in starlit name.
Verse III
The Erdtree burns, its roots run red,
With kings long dead and gods unsaid.
But she who walks ‘twixt time and tide,
Shall hold thee fast, her arms thy guide.
Chorus
Her light will keep the stars from falling,
Her love shall mend the broken dawn.
Though thrones may rot and fate be calling,
In her embrace, thou art reborn.
Final Verse (whispered)
So hush thee now, O gentle heir,
The night is long, but she is there.
A moon of blue, a hand so kind—
Her light shall keep the stars aligned.
His singing lingered in the still air, threading itself through the ruins and over the graves of the countless dead. It was not merely a lullaby—it was an offering. A balm upon a land steeped in sorrow. Aurelis wished, perhaps foolishly, that those souls—consumed, butchered, and forgotten beneath Godrick’s reign—might find solace in the melody. That in death, if only briefly, they could feel something soft.
He turned his gaze downward once more. In his lap, Ranni lay as though embraced by starlight. Then, her eyelids fluttered—subtle as the petals of a flower roused by moonlight. Her eyes opened, that crystalline glintstone blue, and Aurelis—who had faced horrors and torn tyrants asunder—was struck still. Never before had he seen such beauty in another’s gaze. They were twin stars glimmering in the black sea of his life, a light in his abyss.
“Hello, Aurelis,” she whispered, voice hoarse yet sweet, as one of her four hands rose to rest gently against his cheek.
Aurelis leaned into her touch, his hand rising to interlace with hers. Fingers intertwined—softly, reverently. “Hello, Ranni,” he answered, voice low and trembling with the remnants of battle and the surge of love. He leaned down, and with all the care he could muster, pressed a kiss to her brow. Her skin was warm, the pulse beneath it steady, and for the first time in what felt like centuries, peace held him.
She sighed quietly, shifting slightly to rest more comfortably in his lap. Her other arms coiled around him gently, not to pull him closer—but to remain near, as if anchoring herself to the man who brought her back from death’s edge.
“Your singing was beautiful,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded, dreamy. “A strange comfort… in such a ruined place.”
Aurelis smiled faintly, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. “I sang for them,” he said. “The lost. The broken. The ones who had no voice.”
“And for me?” she asked, a glint of mischief returning to her eyes.
“For you most of all,” he replied, leaning down to kiss her lips softly. It was not a kiss of lust or desperation—it was calm. Tender. Like the gentle falling of snow after a long and bloodied war.
Their foreheads rested against one another for a moment in silence. Nothing else needed to be spoken. The air, for once, did not demand screams or steel.
“Ranni?” Aurelis asked after a moment, his tone careful, as if afraid the spell of peace might shatter.
“Yes, love?” she answered, her voice so sweet it could have quelled storms.
“What shall we do next?”
She paused, her expression softening. A small breath escaped her. Her shoulders slumped slightly. For the first time since he met her, she looked… tired. Not physically, perhaps, but spiritually—drained by the long path they had walked.
“Maybe we should… take a break,” she said finally, a little laugh tucked behind her breath.
Aurelis studied her face, and in it he saw the exhaustion beneath her grace. Her journey had been long and cruel, her burdens heavy. And here, now, she could finally breathe.
“Then let us return to camp,” Aurelis said, his voice gentle. “Let us rest.”
“We shall!” she declared, her expression brightening. And there it was: her true smile. Not the regal smirk of a witch-princess, nor the guarded look of a tactician. But a smile born of joy, raw and untainted.
They stood, slowly and with effort—both weary, both wounded. But before they could begin the trek back to the campfire’s dwindling glow, Ranni paused.
“Oh! Before we go,” she said, excitement dancing across her features, “we mustn’t forget—Godrick’s Great Rune.”
Aurelis blinked, brow arching slightly. “Great Rune?”
“Yes,” Ranni explained, turning slightly and pointing toward the broken throne room. “It is a fragment of power, inherited from the Elden Lord. Each of the demi-gods bears one. Godrick’s is among the least… but still dangerous. Still important.”
“So… what does it do?”
Ranni smirked. “That, my dear, is for me to decipher. But it may grant us strength—or open new doors sealed by old laws.”
Aurelis let out a quiet chuckle, exhausted but content. “Very well. Let’s claim it.”
He reached out his hand, and she took it. Their fingers entwined again, unspoken vows exchanged with every step they took. The night stretched onward, the stars gleaming overhead—witness to love found not in peace, but forged in ruin.
And so the witch and her knight turned toward the legacy of kings and ruin, hearts beating in time, walking forward together into whatever fate awaited them.
________________________________________
Ranni and Aurelis moved silently through the path from whence they came, the ruined stones echoing their slow steps. The storm of violence had long passed, but its memory clung to the air like smoke. It felt like hours—perhaps days—since they had battled the hulking abomination in the chapel, met Nephili amidst the slaughtered, and carved a crimson path through the cursed legions of Godrick. Time, it seemed, was as distorted as the kingdom they walked through.
The castle now stood eerily quiet.
Ranni led the way, though her bearings were guided more by intuition than certainty. “I remember… a tower east of the central courtyard. That is where the Great Rune should lie,” she said, her voice floating like moonlight on a still lake.
They crossed into the courtyard again. Here, silence reigned—but not peace. The stench of blood lingered in the air, and corpses littered the paving stones like broken puppets. These were not their kills. No, someone—or something—else had carved a path here. Whoever it was, they moved with brutality and swiftness.
As they reached the courtyard’s edge, the road forked—one path leading toward a broken gate, and the other across a cracked stone bridge, which in turn led to the looming tower Ranni had spoken of.
She took one step forward.
In the same breath, Aurelis’s arm shot out, gently pulling her back. “Wait.”
A thunderous roar split the silence.
From above, as if cast by the very gods in wrath, a massive creature crashed to the earth—right where Ranni had stood.
Its form was grotesque and regal all at once: the beast was a lion, yet not wholly so. Its body was unnaturally elongated, muscled beyond any natural measure. Golden fur, now matted with old blood and ash, hung in tufts from its limbs. Its forelegs were wrapped in rusted manacles, remnants of a life once caged, and its face bore a jagged iron helm fused to its skull—grafted, just like the cursed soldiers that once served Godrick.
Its eyes, blazing with a mad intelligence, locked on Aurelis.
The lion guardian lunged.
Aurelis rolled aside, drawing Moonveil in one swift, fluid motion. The katana gleamed under the pale sky, its blade humming with residual lunar energy.
The lion twisted and spun mid-leap, claws raking across the stone where Aurelis had just stood. Its movements were unnaturally quick for its size. It came again, this time roaring with maddened fury, jaw snapping for Aurelis’s throat.
But the knight was no longer the man who first entered Stormveil.
He ducked low and surged forward, slipping beneath the beast’s neck. Moonveil crackled to life. A flash of blue—like moonlight reflecting on still water—swept through the air.
The beast halted mid-roar.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then, its head slid from its shoulders in a clean, radiant cut, blood spraying like a silver fountain as the body collapsed in a heap of twitching limbs.
Aurelis stood behind it, the blade at his side, its glow fading slowly into silence.
Ranni blinked, processing what had just occurred. She turned to Aurelis, eyes wide. “You decapitated a lion guardian. With a single stroke.”
Aurelis sheathed Moonveil with a quiet flourish, sighing. “It leapt at you. I reacted.”
Ranni smirked, one of her hands resting on her hip while another brushed back her silvery hair. “Well. Look at me, a poor damsel in distress,” she said with mock melancholy. “Snatched from the jaws of death by her noble moonlit knight.”
Aurelis turned, arching an eyebrow. “Damsel in distress? You’ve threatened stars into submission.”
“Yes, well, not when massive lion abominations are falling from the sky.” She stepped forward, rising on her toes to kiss his cheek, a gesture both tender and playful. “Still. You saved me. That counts for something.”
“I’d do it again,” he said, resting his forehead gently against hers. “A thousand times.”
Her expression softened. “You know, there are many who’d kill to see me in their arms.”
“And yet,” Aurelis whispered, brushing her cheek with his fingers, “here you are.”
She leaned into him, smiling. “Here I am.”
________________________________________
The bridge stretched out before them like a blade laid across the land, its spine fractured and its surface littered with the remains of forgotten battles. Time and rot had claimed much of its stonework; whole slabs had crumbled into the abyss below. Wind whispered through its gaps like the breath of long-dead kings.
Aurelis and Ranni stepped forward together.
The tower stood beyond the bridge—blackened stone rising like a jagged fang against the pale and starless sky. It had no banners, no sigils, no flame to mark it a place of triumph. And yet it pulsed faintly with power, as though something within still remembered its purpose.
As they walked, the air grew colder, tinged with a strange pressure that settled upon their shoulders like unseen hands. Ranni’s footsteps faltered for only a moment. “I feel it,” she murmured. “The Rune. It sleeps within.”
Aurelis nodded, gripping the hilt of Moonveil more tightly. “Then we’ll wake it.”
They reached the base of the tower, finding the heavy bronze doors slightly ajar, rusted at their hinges. Aurelis pushed them open with a grunt, the metal groaning like a dying beast. Inside was darkness. True darkness—not merely the absence of light, but a void that swallowed sound and sense alike. The air was thick with the scent of dust, death, and power long untamed.
The first floor had been a sanctum once—perhaps a place of reverence to the Golden Order—but now it was only a hollowed ruin. The walls bore old carvings, some defaced, some simply weathered to illegibility. Aurelis stepped lightly through the debris, his bootfalls echoing up the spiraling staircase that wound its way to the heavens.
Their climb began.
Each step carried weight—not merely of stone, but of memory. They passed old bloodstains dried into the steps, and the husks of once-living soldiers slumped against the walls, their armor now fused with their corpses. One bore a spear still in hand, pointed toward the upper levels, as if in defiance of something unseen.
“The Rune is resisting,” Ranni said quietly, her voice near a whisper.
“Then let it resist,” Aurelis muttered, his jaw set.
They reached the uppermost level—an open chamber, high above the castle’s cursed grounds. The ceiling had long since collapsed, revealing the sky: a blanket of grey clouds shot through with golden streaks of lingering magic. In the center of the chamber, atop a pedestal of roots and twisted iron, hovered the object of their quest.
The Great Rune.
It was a fractured circle—golden, radiant, yet marred with jagged cracks. Ethereal tendrils drifted from it like strands of woven light. It pulsed faintly with the rhythm of a slumbering heart. As they stepped closer, Aurelis could feel its presence pressing into his mind. It whispered in forgotten tongues—of dominion, of blood, of a lineage both revered and damned.
Ranni raised her hand, but paused. “It does not belong to us,” she said, “yet it calls all the same.”
Aurelis approached. The Rune pulsed brighter as he did. He extended his hand, and for a moment, it resisted—as though it recognized the blood on his fingers, the will behind his eyes. But he had slain its bearer. He had conquered the Grafted. And with that victory, the Rune no longer had the strength to deny him.
It settled into his palm like a falling star.
The moment he grasped it, a surge of heat tore through his body—then a rush of icy calm. He saw visions: of Godrick’s ascent, his desperation, his envy, his unspeakable grafting. Then he saw the Rune’s true form—one piece of a shattered whole. Power, stolen and hoarded, now resting in the hands of one who had earned it not through bloodline, but through will.
Aurelis staggered slightly, gripping the pedestal for balance.
Ranni was beside him in an instant, her hands steadying his. “Are you whole?” she asked.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Just… heavy.”
She looked at the Rune, then back at him. “It will grow heavier. The more you wield, the more it will test you.”
“I’ll carry it,” he replied. “I must.”
They stood a while longer, gazing out across the realm. From this height, the entirety of Limgrave seemed spread before them like a shattered map. Fires smoldered in distant villages. The sky hung low with cloud and omen. Yet beside him stood Ranni—whole, breathing, watching it all with eyes ancient and alive.
She laced her fingers through his. “One Rune. Many more remain.”
“And we will claim them,” Aurelis said, his voice steady.
“But not today,” she added, gently tugging his hand. “Today, we return. To rest. To breathe. To simply… be.”
He nodded, and together they descended from the tower, the Rune pulsing faintly in his hand.