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Chapter Text

“Mongrel intruder”

Syvis searched the dark room for the voice’s owner, instead coming face-first with a red serpent with a brilliant green eye. “Thou art Tarnished, it seemeth…” So he’s here… Syvis turned to the demi-god, surprised to see his sanity intact. “Yet my purpose standeth unchanged” Ahh, maybe I spoke too soon. She would have preferred to exchange a few more words at least before blows, however, she knew that she now stood in the chamber of the Impaler, perhaps she had hoped for too much. He did have a particular reputation after all.

“...in the embrace of Messmer’s flame.” Of course, the theatrics. Did he really think this would impress anyone?

“My lord Impaler, if you would," she began, concealed eyes momentarily captivated by his flame, a rich red she hadn’t sensed before. It suited him, this gorgeous display of violence; it made her warrior’s heart tingle. She had never managed to produce a flame of her own, her skills were better suited to other things. But there was something in the intensity of his gaze as he unleashed it, a focused appreciation that made the heat feel… directed. “Before we inevitably clash swords, might I lend your ear?” She sidestepped, dodging his flame explosion gracefully. Her hand flew to her side and drew her light-greatsword above her head, then redirected his spear thrust, bringing his face down to hers. Gold eye to her blindfolded own. Time for you to listen. Now. Syvis seized the opening, her fist slamming into his gut, stealing his breath.  For a moment, in that close proximity, she felt his unseen stare linger, a weight that felt less like dismissal and more like a strange assessment. He grunted, clenching his teeth, his serpents hissing around him. “I hail from the lands between.. I,” she cut herself off, straifing around his lunge as he clawed the air she stood in. “Vile liar”, he sneered, sending off several fire projectiles she danced around. Strong, but predictable. The air crackled with residual heat. Not very chatty, is he?

Her movements were fluid, something she felt infuriated him. She knew he possessed the strength to shatter her, yet she danced just beyond his reach. Just try to catch me. Despite the fluid grace of her dodges, a subtle tightness was beginning to coil in Syvis's muscles, a reminder of her less-than-ideal entry. Should have grabbed a nap first. I assumed he would be a bit more talkative. Not my best idea. Her face flashed with red light as she spun past another searing lunge, clicking her tongue. This wasn't the disjointed aggression she'd anticipated. For him to be both coherent and aggressive, most demigods had lost one after the first sentence. He threw himself in the air, muscles rippling as he swung his spear in an arc, flame igniting the air before her with a rush of acrid air. What terrifying strength.

She rolled fluidly beneath his descending form, her hand a lightning strike, seizing a fistful of his cloak as she sprang to her feet, yanking him off balance. He crashed to the stone with a jarring thud, the follow-through of his momentum unleashing a wild, flaming swing. She arched backwards, her weight supported solely by the grip on his cloak, a defiant smile playing on her lips as the inferno roared inches above her. “Insolent, but… effective.” He growled, swinging his other hand up, curling with angry flame. She released her grip, letting herself stumble back, just out of his reach. Getting impatient, are we? Don’t get emotional now.

She jumped over the next swipe, her light-greatsword a silver blur as she thrust it towards the space his head had occupied a heartbeat before. A flicker of disbelief tightened the muscles around his golden eye as she moved above him, a confident curve spreading across her lips. She kicked a foot to his chest, a fluid motion carrying her just over his retaliatory swipe. The acrid stench of burnt air mingled with a deeper, unsettling aroma rising from below, a heat leeching through the metal of her greaves. She landed, “I am telling the truth, you know?” She raised her hand in the wing stance, her voice cloaking the start of her fatigue. She twirled away from a wall of flame, waltzing to his side, as he thrusted his spear forward into the space she used to be in. “You could be polite and listen,”  she remarked, her tone almost conversational. A guttural snarl tore from Messmer's throat. He hadn't anticipated such persistent evasion. His golden eye narrowed, a fresh wave of fury contorting his features as he whirled, his spear a lethal arc aimed at her centre. She ducked suddenly as he spun around her, spear dangerously close to her, moving to the centre of the room. Marika above, he’s no joke. I might have to try something different.

"None call from hence. This realm is sealed by the Queen Marika's own hand." He dove overhead, spear in hand, to land a blow, hoping to cleave this intruder in two. With years of honed skill, she dodged, but he summoned several spears from underfoot, and she felt the wind whip past her cheek as she jumped up and back, slicing them down as she flipped over. That was close. Landing untouched, but running out of tricks, she could only make this look so effortless for so long. Just who is this guy? Each near miss was a stark reminder of the raw power he held, and her annoyance that it was directed at her. “And yet.” She quipped, enjoying the display of skill before her. Not an unattractive voice either. She thought she heard a fleeting, almost silent exhale from him, a sound that wasn’t completely anger, before it vanished. A strange stillness settled over Messmer for a moment as he readied the spear at his side once more. Her continued ability to anticipate his attacks despite the blindfold was… perplexing. "Perplexing," he finally stated, his voice low and thoughtful, the fury momentarily subdued. "Despite her blindness, a keenness remains. A pity 'twill soon be quenched."


Messmer barely acknowledged the faint tremor beneath her movements. To him, this was nothing more than a chore—she danced, and he watched, waiting for her to tire, as he had done countless times before. A low hiss escaped his lips, barely audible. Her little victories were delaying the inevitable. "Thy fleeting evasions speak more of desperation than skill, Tarnished," he declared, his voice ringing with confidence. "A blind insect flitting before the flame. The outcome remaineth the same."  A flicker in his voice suggested a genuine, albeit perhaps grudging, appreciation for her skill, gone as quickly as it appeared. "Wouldst thou expect me to credit such fables, uttered by a lowly Tarnished?" He shifted his weight, a subtle grinding of his armored joints, trying to grab hold of her, eager to rend a hole through this slippery intruder, red familiars darting out but coiling around empty space. Always a step ahead. He swung desperately, and she parried him; a sharp intake of his breath betrayed the unexpected force of her block as he dropped to a knee from exhaustion. Right then. Syvis slammed the pommel of her blade into his chest harshly, and he was sent backwards. She moved to speak again, but she heard the snakes hiss. He collected himself quickly, his golden eye widening, lips in a thin line. Honestly, just five seconds of not trying to kill me. Is that too much to ask?

"Indeed, Impaler. Indeed." She muttered, sidestepping his next lunge; he was making this needlessly difficult. If Miquella hadn’t wanted him dead, she doubted they’d even have crossed paths, given how little word of him remained in the lands between. Knowing she couldn't maintain this dance forever, Syvis wondered if she’d have to resort to the only advantage she possessed. It’s so dishonourable. Not one she wanted to use. Let's try again. “If you could…” He scraped his spear across the ground, angry yellow sparks leaping from the blade, sending it straight for her. Her body flowed like water, bending and twisting just enough for the sparking spear to pass harmlessly by, her blindfolded gaze remaining fixed in his direction. There was a subtle shift in his stance, a micro-adjustment to better anticipate her movements, he was trying harder. “...Temper your expectations, and perhaps this impressive display of strength.” Messmer scoffed, a sharp, dismissive sound, his grip tightening on his spear. A rush of flame moved beneath her, the air was thick now, and she was finding it harder and harder to breathe. This heat… he’s trying to overwhelm me. She clenched her fist subtly, a surge of determination warring with her reluctance. I don’t want to use lightning here, I might kill him. “I might be able to prove it to you.” Though he’s giving me little choice.

While Syvis hadn’t meant this to sound condescending, Messmer’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek, fully aware of his inability to touch her."Poison doth drip from thy tongue, Tarnished," he stated, his voice low and dangerous. "To speak of my strength, whilst thou dancest just beyond its reach." He swung again, the air whistling past her ear, and she leapt, a searing ache blooming in her thighs, making unseen eye contact with the serpent on his shoulder. "Thou shalt choke on those words, as I prove my strength upon thy broken form." She felt her cheeks blush as she landed behind him, preempting his low swing as he turned, didn’t have you down as a sweet talker. He threw a fireball to her left as he swung to the right. She moved from the flames, but the tip of his spear caught her blindfold and helm, ripping them off. Ahh shit. The strap. She pirouetted backwards, sword held in a familiar wing stance as she caught her breath. The dance halted, and they took each other in. And then, the silence stretched as he finally saw her.

She was clad in gold metal armour, engraved with golden order symbols but also those of the dragon cult, a red sash was chained across her body, which swayed with her like a dancer’s skirt. Long brunette hair carrying the momentum of her turn behind her, there appeared to be runes woven into plaits, giving the thick, wavy curtain even more weight. He noticed a pair of black-gold bangles around her arms, similar to another around her neck - almost like a collar, though that appeared crudely made and damaged, at least, not by the same hand as the bangles. The three shone a deep gold before the light settled. He recognised the runes – were they… shaman? –  but was unable to place them.

Her eyes opened, one a striking gold, almost iridescent, the other a fierce red, a ruby embedded in an obsidian eye. The stark contrast held him captive for a fleeting moment. Both held him in a fierce gaze, and he realised her chest was heaving, finally appearing more mortal than godly. Fell giant’s left testicle…. Syvis finally saw him clearly: the raw fury etched on his face, the coiled tension in his powerful frame... A primal awareness flickered within her, a sharp recognition of the lean, powerful build beneath his imposing armour. The heat of the chamber seemed to intensify, mirroring a sudden, unwelcome warmth spreading through her veins. Definitely working with some primaeval urges here. Shame about the whole 'trying to kill me' thing. Her eyes softened, scanning down, then up, and a sly smile twisted the corner of her mouth. The crimson serpents writhed restlessly, and the oppressive heat of the chamber pressed in on her with renewed force.

"The blindfold is gone. And with it, thy courage, it seemeth” He jabbed, gold eye meeting her mismatched one. He noted the unsettling disparity in her gaze, the gold seeming vibrant, almost knowing, while the ruby eye held a detached, ancient quality.  “You’re cute. Really,” her smile pulled into a larger grin, a genuine warmth in her expression. “Even you got a rest, remember?” As she spoke, a metallic tang bloomed on her tongue, a familiar pressure tightening around her ribs, like unseen claws clenching. Joining the party are we? Oh, I’m thrilled.

A faint tremor ran through her hand gripping the sword hilt. Not a fan? The pain surged as she held Messmer in her dual regard.  I think he’s rather pretty personally. The warmth in her smile flickered, replaced by a sharp, almost imperceptible wince as a jolt of pain shot through her temples, hardening the ruby eye to a cold, distant red. As his golden eye locked onto hers, she felt an unnerving intensity, a focus that felt like he was trying to see something deeper within her. Messmer’s brow furrowed almost fractionally at her sudden shift – the flirtatious smile replaced by a flicker of pain and that unsettlingly detached red eye. A flicker of confusion crossed his intense gaze, as if trying to reconcile the two conflicting expressions. "What… manner… of...?" he began, a note of genuine bewilderment entering his voice for the first time. She refocused, her golden eye now sharp and clear. Oh yeah, him.

"O vile creature, what perplexes thee so? Or doth thy skill prove less infallible than thou assumed?" He taunts aloud, swinging his spear to the side. "That brief falter… a crack in thy resolve. My serpents themselves grow eager at thy weakening." Don’t you get all pissy, she snapped internally at the stirring presence within, I’m handling this. Messmer caught the briefest flicker of pain in her eyes, a momentary slackening of her stance before she tightened it once more. His serpents hissed, their heads weaving, sensing an anomaly in the chamber's energy but unable to pinpoint it. I’m going to have to use it. No other way.

She charged, her first offensive move. But I need him alive, a thought warring with the rising impatience as she sensed his focus lingering on her movements, tracking her with an unnerving intensity, as if dissecting her.  Her sword slid down his spear as he deflected her clumsy strike. Don’t make this difficult now. They clashed again, a frantic, messy exchange betraying her desperation to be done. Why did you go ring the dinner bell! Small yellow currents seemed to form around her, a tell-tale sign of her lightning attunement, yet she uttered no incantations. Messmer narrowed his eye, a flicker of understanding crossing his features; she was holding back again.

The air crackled around Syvis, the small yellow currents flaring into a sudden, uncontrolled surge of raw energy. A jagged arc of vibrant gold, shot through with threads of angry red, lashed out from her outstretched hand during a slash – a reflexive burst fueled by the unwelcome passenger within. It was enough to send Messmer stumbling sideways, the smell of ozone sharp in the air where the errant lightning now scorched the stone beside him. "Shit!" she cursed, the sound ripped from her throat as much in surprise as in a desperate, instinctive lunge of her body. She twisted, her momentum shoving Messmer violently to the side, just as a second, wider arc of the errant lightning scorched the air where he’d been standing. I said alive.

Messmer was taken completely off guard by the chaotic display, a wave of primal alarm crossing his features, and he seized the opportunity presented by her strange movement. He lunged, his hand clamping down like a vice on her outstretched arm, the impact jarring her shoulder. With brutal strength, he yanked, using her own momentum against her, and swung his leg in a swift, brutal strike that slammed into her legs, the force knocking her off balance and sending her crashing to the stone floor. Before she could react, his weight slammed down on her, pinning her beneath him, the cold, sharp tip of his spear pressing against her throat. A harsh laugh escaped his lips, relief washing over him that her relentless evasion had finally faltered. Yet, a deep furrow creased his brow, a dart of suspicious bemusement in his eye. Should have let it hit you, ungrateful git.

Syvis felt the presence recoil; she glared forward at nothing in particular, both surprised and annoyed. So you pull that, then leave? “Rude,” she clipped out, her shoulder throbbing from the brutal grip. Thanks for the mess. Her own lungs burned with each ragged inhale, the stone cold against her back, the scent of acrid fumes finally waning. Through the haze of exertion, she watched Messmer’s chest heave in mirroring gasps, sweat dripping down from underneath his helm, sticking strands of red hair to his forehead. But as his breathing began to even out, a subtle change flickered in the intensity of his golden eye. It wasn't just the relief of victory; there was a new stillness, a focused scrutiny that made the hairs on her arms prickle. His gaze lingered on her trapped form, a slow, almost appraising sweep from her face down her body. Oh, that look. His crimson serpents lowered their heads, their green eyes gleaming with a disturbing curiosity, inching closer as if drawn by her scent. She felt a faint tremor run through her aching limbs, a betraying weakness beneath his oppressive weight. Don't let him see it. But the way his lips subtly curved, a nascent, cruel smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, told her he already did.

"So… thou art finally subdued,"  he purred, a hint of relief colouring his tone, quickly replaced by a deeper, more possessive undercurrent in his scrutiny. Syvis breathed out, a confusing thrum starting in her hips, a physical response she fought to ignore under his dominant presence. This is new. Every word stoked an unfamiliar heat, a thrilling danger she couldn’t place, but had no intention of denying just yet. Got under your skin, did I? “Took you a while, hmm?” She teased, a flirtatious gleam in her gold eye. He hissed, but his voice was laced with another intent, a slow savouring of the moment. “I wonder….” His spear ghosted across her neck, the cold steel nearing her increasing pulse.“...how many pieces I could break thou into…" A thrill, sharp and undeniable, shot through Syvis at his words, a sinful anticipation tightening within her. Her body responded against her better judgment, a treacherous heat blooming low in her belly. Be careful, I‘ll bite. She looked into his golden eye, boring into her a sick kind of thrill; he is terrifying, this is not the correct reaction. From below, near his legs, one of his crimson serpents uncoiled slightly, its green eyes fixed on her with a curious intensity, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air.

“I am personally happy to call it a draw, if you are?” Syvis managed, each breath a conscious effort, a frustrating heat coiling in her lower body where his hips were a stubborn weight against hers.

Messmer’s purr deepened, a vibrating rumble that made her skin prickle, a dangerous promise held within the sound. “A draw, little tarnished? After such a… promising beginning?” His golden eye, sharp and predatory, flickered down her body, lingering on the subtle tremor that still ran through her. The serpent near his shoulder stirred, its small black wing twitching slightly as it mirrored the gleam of avid interest in its master's gaze. “Nay, sweetling. Mine appetites have been stirred. To deny them now would be… most unsatisfying.” He shifted his weight slightly, the spear point remaining a hair's breadth from her throat.

Syvis’s lips twitched, a dangerous little smile threatening to break through her forced composure, a flicker of her inherent recklessness surfacing despite the cold steel at her throat. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, Lord Impaler. But you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not exactly comfortable with your… intimate proximity.” Her own heat was building, a frustrating betrayal that clenched low in her belly, but she wouldn't let that treacherous warmth reach her expression. The serpent by his leg had now fully uncoiled, slithering closer, its head resting near his thigh, its green eyes never leaving her. Don’t react, that’s what he wants.

Messmer’s grip on his spear tightened, a hint of a merciless smile playing on his lips. “Thy comfort matters not, Tarnished. Especially when thy fear doth flavour the very air thou breathest.” He lowered his head, his warm breath carrying the scent of fire and something metallic, ghosting over her ear. “Speak truly now, doth the nearness of steel quicken thy mind… or merely hasten thy yielding?” A tremor, not entirely from fear, traced its way down Syvis’s spine at his words and the intimate nearness. Why is this… no it’s not. The serpent above his shoulder extended its head, its green eyes now level with Syvis’s, its gaze unnervingly intelligent. What are you looking at?

A rush shot through Syvis, her crimson eye blazing with defiance, while her gold eye held a flicker of something… else.  “Surrender isn’t exactly in my vocabulary, Impaler. Though I’m always open to… negotiations.” Her gaze locked with his. “Perhaps you have something more… engaging in mind than a quick slice?” The serpent by his leg had begun to weave its way around her leg, its scales brushing against her armour with a soft, rustling sound. 

Messmer’s eyes darkened, a raw hunger flickering within their depths. “Engaging, sayst thou? Nay, sweetling. Mine engagements with thee shall be… far more intimate. They shall test not only thy mettle… but the very core of that enticing fire I feel beneath thy bold words.” He pressed down slightly, just enough to make her gasp, a sharp, involuntary sound. The serpent above his shoulder lowered its head at the sound, its forked tongue flicking out towards her cheek, a silent, curious probe into her state. “And I deem… that core far more… pliant than thou wouldst confess.” He’s flirting? Now?

Syvis’s breath hitched, a perplexing annoyance stirring internally. He might be right. The unwelcome heat was intensifying, her body betraying her carefully constructed composure. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble. “You’ll have to try harder than a glorified toothpick, pretty boy. I’ve faced down gods with more… persuasive arguments.” Her hips shifted subtly beneath him, a tiny, instinctual movement fueled by the strange arousal that was beginning to coil within her. Maybe I should stop. The serpent by his leg had now reached her hip, its cool scales brushing against her armour, a subtle, unnerving caress.

Messmer’s gaze narrowed, a predatory gleam intensifying. He felt the almost obscure shift of her hips, and a cruel understanding dawned in his eyes. “Ah, the tarnished savours the contest, even in subjugation. A… fascinating defiance.” He lowered his voice again, a dangerous caress that seemed to wrap around her faster than the serpent around her leg, laced with a growing anticipation that made his golden eye burn brighter. “Reveal to me, little intruder… what forfeit art thou prepared to endure for this ‘draw’ thou so casually demandest?” His gaze dropped again, lingering with a disturbing intensity on the rapid pulse throbbing in her throat. “And what… exquisite sounds mightst thou offer as collateral?”

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Syvis chuckled, the sound echoing slightly in the stiflingly hot chamber, a genuine amusement bubbling up in the air laced with an unspoken threat. Oh dear, play it off. Her gaze flickered down his body, a deliberate, almost insolent smirk dancing on her lips before returning to his intense stare, noticing the way the serpent by his leg had paused its ascent, its head now near her waist, as if momentarily arrested by her audacity. "But duty calls, you see. Lord Godfrey has been quite insistent about proper etiquette, especially when escorting… guests to the Roundtable Hold. Fraternising, as he so delicately put it, is apparently frowned upon."

Messmer didn't so much as twitch. His weight remained a deliberate pressure, the spear point a chillingly still presence against her throat. His golden eye, however, narrowed infinitesimally, a flicker of something cold and calculating replacing the earlier heat. The serpent above his shoulder remained still, its gaze unwavering.  "Etiquette, mongrel?" he spat, the word laced with a venom that made Syvis’s skin recoil. “Thou art foolish to deem this a pleasantry. This is… a demonstration of dominance." His voice dropped to a low, menacing growl. "A stark reminder of who holdeth thy life in their hand. Of what thou owest for thy intrusion. Bursting into my sanctuary as if thou wert its mistress." He shifted again, the subtle movement grinding his hips against hers, a blatant dismissal of her attempt at levity. The serpent near her waist tightened its subtle hold. “Godfrey's words hold no weight within these walls, should I grant credence to thy claims. I behold but a tarnished who hath forgotten her station and requireth reminding." His grip on the spear tightened, a violent anticipation gleaming in his eyes. "The scent of power clings to thee, 'tis true, yet so too doth a staggering naiveté. A dangerous concoction."

Syvis’s playful smirk faltered slightly. Oh. There was a chilling certainty in his tone, a disregard for her supposed authority that sent a prickle of genuine unease beneath the surface of her forced bravado. He’s just… flirting surely. She couldn't help but lick her lip at his words, a strange sensation mixing with the apprehension, feeling the cool scales of the serpent near her waist press against her. Tarnished, who has forgotten their place? It had been quite a while since anyone had dared to speak to her with such contempt. Perhaps I need to spar more, might have lost my touch. She felt him grab her face harshly, his clawed fingers digging into her cheeks, forcing her gaze towards him. The serpent above his shoulder shuffled its wing violently, he seems calm. "Lost in thy musings, Tarnished?  Strive to remain present in mine company." His grip intensified, bordering on painful. The serpent near her waist had now begun to weave its way around her torso. "Thou mistakest mine… forbearance… for frailty. A deathly misjudgment in this realm." Okay, she thought, a sliver of her earlier thrill receding, replaced by a more cautious awareness, feeling the subtle but undeniable restraint of the serpent coiling around her. Maybe he's not in the mood for games right now. He actually seems… genuinely pissed.

"I fear we might have gotten off on the wrong foot..." Syvis began, the usual confident lilt in Syvis's voice was noticeably absent, a flicker of genuine conciliation in her gold eye, a cool, constricting sensation spread around her torso. Maybe I let this go a bit too far. "...as I said before, I come from the Lands Between and..."

"Enough of thy weaselling words, Tarnished," Messmer cut her off, his voice a low, venomous hiss that vibrated in the confined space. The serpent above his shoulder remained eerily still, its green eyes unwavering, fixed like emerald chips. Something's wrong with that one. "Thy insipid excuses pollute the very air. Thou art here. I am here. Let us cast aside this pretense." His golden eye raked over her, a predatory gleam intensifying, his gaze lingering on the serpent now firmly encircling her waist.  "Whatever paltry 'task' thy claimest, pales before the weight of mine own duty."

“Duty?” Syvis asked nervously. What exactly do you mean by that? She felt him tense suddenly, his muscles bunching beneath her gaze, the serpent around her midsection constricting, the one by his shoulder hissing. So you can do things other than stare. "Tarnished," Messmer’s voice dripped with a cold astonishment, his golden eye narrowing to a slit. The serpent by his shoulder had now begun to climb over her torso, its movements a slithering echo of its companion's tightening grip. "Did those deafened ears of thine truly fail to heed the words of the Lord Impaler upon thy coming? The decree is absolute. The graceless shall be cleansed by mine own flame. And yet… Thou art prone before me, behaving as if these core truths were but whispers in the void." He shifted his weight, the spear point a stark reminder of his lethal reputation. Right but… Both serpents now had a firm hold on her, one around her leg and waist, the other nearing her chest. Are you only going to kill me...? “Such staggering insolence. Or art thou, in sooth, as witless as thou art bold? To violate my domain and ignore the very foundation of mine authority?" A dangerous incredulity colored his tone. "Answer me, Tarnished, is thy arrogance without limit, or art thou simply… profoundly simple?" 

Syvis's mind raced. This was not going well, and she did need to get him to the Roundtable; Godfrey would have her head if she failed. But the thrill of being pinned, the sharp edge of danger, the undeniable pull towards this infuriatingly dominant man… it was a potent cocktail, one she had indulged too much, now laced with a genuine fear as the serpents tightened their silent grip. Get it together, Syvis. Think. She needed to diffuse this, redirect his attention. "Look," she began, trying for a more placatory tone, a subtle tremor underlying the forced softness, laced with a hint of what she suspected he wanted to hear, feeling the serpents' cool scales against her armour, a disconcerting intimacy she was beginning to dread. "Maybe I might have been a bit, you know, bold. But the Roundtable really is important, for both of us. Think of the… opportunities for… further engagement once we're there. A more… private setting, perhaps?" She let her gaze linger on his lips for a fleeting moment, a desperate gamble, hoping to steer his thoughts in a different direction, noticing the way the serpent nearing her chest had paused, its head now resting near her collarbone, its green eyes still fixed intently on her.

Messmer’s grip on her face tightened almost imperceptibly. He wasn't fooled. "Opportunities? Thou supposest I await some grand stage to… dismantle… thee, Tarnished?" His eyes narrowed, a cruel amusement playing on his lips. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed the tip of his spear into the gap between her armour plates at her shoulder. The serpent near her collarbone nudged against her neck, its tongue flicking out, a silent, unsettling kiss. “Enlighten me, if thou art able, as to the nature of thy predicament, tarnished? Do lend thine thoughts to the matter.”

A sharp gasp escaped Syvis, quickly followed by a low, involuntary groan. The serpent around her torso tightened, cold scales stealing her breath, while the one near her neck pressed closer, muscles contracting. Her hips instinctively arched a fraction against his, a reflexive, a subtle movement that she immediately clamped down on, her muscles screaming in protest. Her teeth gritted, her knuckles white where she gripped the cold stone floor, anchoring herself. Damn it, not now. Being unable to die had left her with an interesting relationship with pain, a threshold she desperately didn’t want him to glimpse.

Messmer’s golden eye sharpened. A slow, knowing smile spread across his mouth. He had felt it. The barely concealed pleasure beneath the forced discomfort. It was a revelation, a crack in her defiant facade, and it sent a jolt of pure, sadistic excitement through him. The serpent near her neck had now weaved its way behind her head, its scales brushing against her hair. "Ah," he purred, his voice laced with a dangerous satisfaction, conjuring his cursed flame in his other hand. "So the defiant heart doth find solace in a touch of… dominance after all. How… enlightening."

His gaze flickered then, drawn by the flash in the intense crimson of her other eye, the one that had become distant, detached. Now you come back?! It was locked onto him - and his flame, a raw, untamed flicker stirring within its depths, a direct, almost analytical gaze that momentarily widened his eye. Now or never.

“I’m sorry to do this.” She pulled a piece of paper from her side, her muscles straining slightly as she prepared to catch his weight, and the sudden sickly scent of lilies hit Messmer as she blew the contents over him. “Fowl trick… O’ lightless creature,..” was all he managed to utter, his voice already slurring, as the sweet embrace of his sister lulled him into a light but unavoidable sleep, his companions flopping limply to the side as his eyes closed, their once-intense gaze now vacant. His spear hit the floor with a loud echoing clang. That was quick. She caught his heavy head as he fell forward on her chest; she knew she didn't have long but took the time to wrap his companions carefully over his shoulders. Will have to remember to thank Thioller for the powder. She closed her eyes, lips grazed a closed fist as she uttered a golden incantation, a crackle of lightning wisped out and surrounded them, the air shimmering before the room dematerialised in a silent implosion. The Impaler was plucked from his dark chamber like a forbidden apple. 

Chapter Text

Syvis breathed heavily in the steaming, mineral-rich bath of the round table. Red, sensitive skin tingling under the hot water, her muscles screaming. She was completely submerged to her nose, delighting in the crushing pressure on her lungs. She had transported the two of them to the roundtable hold, where Morgott and his father had secured the slumbering demigod. Morgott's jaw had tightened, his gaze widening momentarily as it darted towards Godfrey before settling on Messmer's still form, surprise yielding swiftly to a wary look. Godfrey had let out a soft, disbelieving exhale, his attention fixed on Messmer's motionless body. A deep crease had formed between his brows, a clear sign of worry, yet his hands remained close to the hilt of his axe, almost subconsciously. I’ll have to ask about that later. Though, she had been thankful to not be there when he awoke. The sealed cut on her shoulder, a loving souvenir of their introduction, twinged. Gods, I love magic.

She groaned as the scalding water seared the small scales forming in patches across her skin. Syvis was rarely truly alone - even Melina had taken off at one point in the Capital. For reasons still unknown to her, she held a curse, some kind of vengeful force within her. Perhaps ‘being’ offered it sentience it didn’t have, it was more an overwhelming blood lust, that occasionally spoke, something with the capacity to sway her mind. A jolt of red energy erupted, furiously crackling around her. Touchy. The pain in her ribs had been the precursor, it rarely leaves without a more electric display.

It had already taken a toll on her body, each flare-up had led to more changes; scales, muscles, her eye… She had kept her sanity only thanks to Melina, who had approached her after she had ripped apart a tree sentinel. She squeezed her eyes at the memory. That poor horse. There she was given torrent, in a surprising amount of poor taste, her guidance and 3 golden binds. "I grant you these bindings, once worn by Queen Marika herself, imbued with the very essence of her grace." She had tied them gently to her armour, the first person in the lands between to bestow kindness upon the savage killer. "These shall stay the influence of your... other self."

It had been a few hours since he had arrived, and she assumed by now the rest of the roundtable had spoken with him. Except for me, of course... She was surprised to hear that Melina recognised Messmer in some way. Godfrey’s peculiar demeanour gave rise to some questions as well, definitely something to investigate. A growing need for air made her lungs ache, but she remained submerged, savouring her throat tensing on instinct. Or you could… stay out of family issues.

The thought of him, a delicious dread that slid a cold finger down her spine despite the bath's heat, made her focus on her new guest specifically, the power he was capable of wielding… and she knocked him out. She pulled a face. He would be pissed, that was certain…. A flash of his cold, dangerous gaze crossed her mind, the movement of his hips on hers. Well, he wasn't exactly being reasonable. He seemed… preoccupied with his ‘Duty’. Fortunately for her, the roundtable common areas held a protective spell, and no physical harm would befall her, although it did not extend to verbal lashings. His face flashed in her mind as her throat seized, trying to convince her to surface, the pressure of the water echoing his weight on her. He resembled Radagon, both in face and hair, and she mused that he was not unattractive. If a little… strange. There was a regal quality to him, a similar controlled intensity to the way he had moved during their fight, a strange sort of… captivating power. How unique the children of Marika all are! And those serpents! How regal and vibrant! She burst above the water level, gasping, chest moving heavily. She felt the air return to her lungs with a satisfying itch.

The smile from the sensation waned, her gold eye glazing over in thought, her crimson one thrumming with a potent fading power, the lingering echo of the entity within. It is curious, though…he resembled Melina more than Syvis cared to admit; there was a similar ethereal quality to their gaze, her companion had been without her memories for a very long time. Perhaps they are related? She felt a soft twinge in her ribs, the scent of lavender and fire blossom thick in her nostrils. The damned thing is still more active than I’d like, she glanced at the pale window. I’ve spent too long here already, it’ll have to do. Her condition was kept quiet from the other demi-gods; only Melina held her secret, she preferred it that way - less to trust - but it made for difficult days. She finally stood, water retreating off her body as she stretched.

She took an initial step out of the bath, testing the presence in her chest, behaving for now, it seems. The cool air sent bumps across her skin, and she grabbed her towel quickly. After patting herself dry, she wrung the excess water out of her long brown hair, feeling it itch at her back as strands escaped the cloth vice. The hairs on her neck raised. “It’s rude to intrude upon another’s bathing, didn’t you tell me that?” Syvis spoke into the misty room, the scent of burnt wood and Erdleaf petals swirling as Melina stepped silently towards her. "Indeed. Yet, if memory serves, you held that true honour resided in respect for a fair duel. Your recent... acquaintance has shared the particulars of your initial meeting." Melina said, her tone dry. Syvis snorted. I imagine he kept a few to himself. Her gold eye fell over her friend as she dried the left side of her face. “So he’s not pleased?”

"Nay, not in the slightest."

Wonderful. I’m sure Godfrey will have words for me. I’m going to need to talk to him soon; no point putting it off further. She reached for her enchanted bandage, Melina’s brainchild, but saw her soft, glowing hands already lifting them up. The two quietly wrapped Syvis in the cloth, as they had done so before. Melina traced the gold glow of the runes across the bandage on her back, checking for any rips from her recent dance. She hummed in thought, and Syvis found herself staring at her delicate features, so like his, yet softer… maybe even prettier. Syvis found herself suppressing a smile. I’ve tangled with worse egos. He’ll be eating out of my hand by the time I’m done.

Syvis returned her focus to Melina, who had begun to pass over her armour, recently repaired. “He looks like you”, Syvis observed, her gaze lingering on a shared sharpness around the eyes. More of a question than a statement. Melina continued her inspection uninterrupted, “He claims kinship... It is, perhaps, a plausible connection." Syvis frowned at her words, fumbling with leather latches as she continued to dress, her mind already racing. “Are you not intrigued?” she pressed, her voice laced with a hint of urgency. “This might be a way for you to learn more about your past”.

Melina stood up, satisfied with the integrity of the seal beneath Syvis’s armour. Her familiar gentle eye pointed directly into Syvis’s golden one, holding her gaze. Even you don’t look into it…, what do you see? Syvis flickered her gaze to the red iris in the mirror’s reflection. What did he see? Why did he look? She returned her attention to Melina, a familiar unease stirring. I thought I got over that particular transformation already. It had been… difficult. “Let us not hasten, Syvis,” Melina said, her tone firm, a subtle worry tightening the corners of her eyes. “Our knowledge of him, and of Miquella, is... incomplete.” Her tone was firm, is she worried about me? Worried about me? Please. I handled him well enough… She felt a slight blush on her neck. I just… the situation became… distracting. “He may have sought his demise for reasons yet unknown.” Ever the pessimist. Melina always seemed to approach new individuals with a deep-seated suspicion, a careful testing of their intentions before fully trusting them – a process Syvis herself had undergone all that time ago.

Syvis finished the last buckle on her breastplate, the weight of the metal settling comfortably, a familiar reassurance against the unknown. Layers of protection against his inevitable fury, she thought, a faint curl touching the corner of her lips. She pulled a comb through her long, dark hair, trying not to look too hard at the burn scar across her red eye– a faint white sheen that pulsed faintly when the curse stirred. She felt Melina plait some strands, her touch gentle and precise, weaving them into the gold band across her head, her crown. Syvis sighed, dropping her hand. “I suppose he’s fully filled in then?” she whispered, her mouth turning downward. "I was informed he bore it as well as one might expect… Still, I would counsel caution in your words when you next meet him." Melina faced her, satisfied with her Lord's appearance. Syvis scoffed, “I’m sure there’s the perfect dialogue for I killed your mother and now am Elden lord, sincere apologies.” Melina gave a ghost of a smile, but her eyes showed more concern than humour. Syvis was very thankful for that protection spell indeed. As was Melina.

Chapter Text

Syvis approached the large double doors of his current residence. It was just a waiting parlour, yet the air within felt charged, like the moments before blades clashed in a colosseum. Deep breath. Shoulders back. Remember: smooth descent, hold the line, steady rise. As she entered, a veil of dust motes danced in the dim light, momentarily obscuring the figure of the Impaler who sat in the corner, a beacon of hatred in the finely decorated room. His golden eye snapped to her, immediately dissecting her form, and the serpents flanking him seethed, their scales rustling like dry leaves as she entered his perimeter. I feel good about this. She had just left 2 hours of Godfrey's ‘Brief’ coaching. The rest of this is so fucked but I am nailing the bow.

She pressed her feet together and gave a formal bow, a now meticulously practised gesture. Her spine curved with a fluid grace that belied the coiled anticipation in the room, her gaze lowered just so, the movement as smooth as the draw of a well-oiled string. Hold it... perfect. Here we go. “Hail, Lord Messmer the Impaler. I am most honoured to hold thee in my court” Some strands of her hair fell down, one after the other, like a sheer but wavy curtain being pulled. Who even says hail? Her attempt at Old English felt stiff, giving her voice a tone of uncertainty. These words are tedious. He’s not going to buy it. She waited for a response, but only the deeper, unimpressed hiss of the larger serpent crossed the gap. Fuck you, the bow was perfect.

Straightening, internally disregarding his dismissal , she continued. J ust get on with it. “I offer my sincere apologies for the …nature of thy entrance, I had hoped to honour thee further in combat, a true display of skill. It is a slight I will rectify once an opportunity for a rematch arises”. His gold eye remained fixed on her, burning with an intensity that made her skin itch, a sensation she found both threatening and… regrettably stimulating. It was a look she knew well, one of barely leashed fury. “Charming, isn’t it?” She muttered under her breath. This Lord shit is useless, Godfrey. He doesn’t care! She felt a twinge of irritation, speaking like this is so fucking stupid. A muscle twinged in his forearm, revealing he had heard her. Fell god, have mercy.

Since advising her, Godfrey had insisted on proper ‘court’ language immediately, sharing that he too had to adapt when he became lord. ‘Mastery cometh from practice, my lady. And none can deny a lord of both strength and eloquence… not all battles commence with swords.’  With that, she agreed, and the old lord became her Lord Regent. But still…. thrusting her into the viper's nest hardly felt like a fair lesson. Especially when the viper in question was Messmer. Who seemed to be peeling back her skin layer by layer in his mind.

“Thou art no prisoner here,” she continued, her voice gaining a touch more of its natural edge, trying to find rhythm. Thou? Thee art not my prisoner? “I shall offer thee safe return to thy keep whenever thou requires. Though I hope thee will remain a while? I have much I’d like to ask thee about the land of shadow.” Her gaze flickered down to his hand gripping the ornate armrest of the chair. The knuckles were stark white, the tendons taut beneath the skin. A sudden, unsettling image flashed in her mind: that same hand, not clenched in restraint, but… elsewhere. A reckless thought flickered through her, a dangerous temptation. She cleared her throat, a nervous flutter in her stomach. That last ‘thee’ felt right at least.

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace. Maybe not. Syvis felt a flush creep up her neck, a response to the oppressive aura and the inappropriate stirrings within her. She studied his sharp features – the harsh angles of his cheeks, the unforgiving gleam in his golden eye. He likely only desired to crush her windpipe, a prospect that sent a shiver down her spine, not completely uninvited. Honestly, that might do. A sinful thought, but the heat in his gaze was a potent intoxicant. The injury in her shoulder twinged, still lingering despite her accelerated healing. Like a token of affection.

She clicked her tongue softly. That last ‘thee’ was totally wrong. Fighting down a surge of impatience, fleeting memory of Melina’s cautioning words flashing in her mind, she shifted tactics. “Lord Godfrey is your adoptive father, yes? It must have been a relief to be reunited,” she began, turning to pace the room, her gaze drifting downwards, a deliberate invitation for his eyes to follow the sway of her sash. Perhaps mentioning his tutelage would create a fragile bridge . Her lessons with Godfrey swirling in her mind. Rot below, we might even bond. A shrieking cry of metal ripped from Messmer’s spot, his hands clenching on the metal armrests, the scraping sound echoing in the tense silence. A cold wave washed over her, a cutting reminder of the chasm between them. Family, it seemed, was a bad move. “Ahh… not close?” She muttered before she could stop herself. Syvis, shut up. A roundtable seal can only do so much.

They stared at each other, the air crackling with his vehement animosity. Syvis reservedly noted one of the serpents rising, its emerald eye fixed on her with predatory focus. The spell… should apply to creatures. The initial fear receded, replaced by a heavy, sinking sensation in her core, a familiar thrum that her body traitorously recognised. The phantom sensation of the serpent wrapping around her in the chamber room ghosted across her skin. Now is not the time, you harlot. Focus! She forced her attention outward, admiring the lethal beauty of the emerald eye, a mirror reflecting the deadly intent in its master’s own. This is not going well. Despite the tension, Syvis found herself drawn into the serpent, leaning towards it slightly. It hissed harshly, baring its prominent fangs. Gods, you’re gorgeous… and you could probably kill me in seconds.

Syvis contemplated leaving; perhaps a strategic retreat until he had calmed down. She turned to look at the heavy door; no doubt a watchful council member lurked beyond, interpreting her departure time as a measure of the meeting's success. This dance of forced politeness and veiled threats was exhausting. I fucking hate this, the way everyone reads into every word and gesture. "Nosy gits." She released a frustrated breath and turned back to him, her eyes momentarily glazed over with the impending explanation to Morgott, the weight of his disappointment already palpable. A small, perfunctory bow, and she turned heel, managing a mere two steps before his voice, sharp and arresting, halted her.

“Thou killed her…” his voice, though strong, held a tremor of raw emotion. Ah. Fuck. That. “Thou hast slain the eternal Queen Marika… my mother…” Here we go again. The gold of his eye seemed to burn with the very essence of frenzy, the agony lacing his words almost darting out at her. A petty resentment began to stew. How many times must I have this conversation…

“I was guided by her grace”, Syvis stated, the words leaving a metallic taste in her mouth, unconvincing even to her own ears. Though it was true, she had followed a golden hue across the lands between, guiding her to foes as allies alike. She hadn’t exactly asked. “So thee claims, as most tarnished do...” Remain civil. A strained exhale escaped her lips. She opened her mouth to respond, but he rose from the chair with a slow, deliberate control that contradicted his inner turmoil. Syvis, with all due respect, he’s going to kill you. Her gaze flickered involuntarily to the powerful muscles flexing in his thighs -  an enticing display of the threat she now faced.  Please… a shred of survival instinct! 

Syvis swallowed; the lump in her throat wasn’t from fear. “Thou killed her.” She released a strained exhale. Messmer’s golden eye narrowed fractionally, a glint of something beyond pure rage sparking within its depths as he registered her reaction. A matured wave of annoyance, threatening to spill out into her words, sloshed within her. She ran a hand through her hair, rubbing her tongue slowly along her teeth. Honestly, everyone's acting like I just kicked a puppy. It was Marika. "I ended her suffering," she stated, her tone flat, the words carrying a hint of weary impatience. "A mercy you clearly fail to comprehend in your grief." She immediately chided herself internally. Probably could have phrased that better. Stop getting impatient . The serpent extended out to her and hissed again. She barely flicked an eye at it. Still doing the cute intimidation thing? Bless.

“Dost thou have no respect?” Absolutely not . A flicker of a dark smile touched the corner of Messmer's lips, as if her unspoken impudence was a spark that both irritated and intrigued him. “No reckoning of thine own hand, be it moved by another or by thine own design? Or is it simply thy… pastime to traverse the lands, felling gods?” His approach was a slow burn, each movement charged with tacit intent. You, of all people, are calling me out for that?  A cold ripple started at the nape of her neck, a sensation that felt both invasive and disturbingly magnetic. She bit the back of her lip subtly, a dangerous urge to smile warring with the gravity of his words. By the Erdtree, control yourself. Her hands moved behind her back, her fingers lacing together, squeezing a thumb as a desperate anchor to centre herself. The words left her lips smooth and controlled, a carefully constructed facade against the sudden spike of her senses so close to him, a sensation already losing its sharp edge. Honestly, I ran around doing everything Marika asked and suddenly I’m the dick when that involved killing her . “I understand that—”. A serpent, its scales gleaming like polished ruby, thrust its head inches from her face, a blatant act of intimidation that nearly made her bite her tongue. Right, theatrics, again. Am I explaining myself or not?

Her mind flashed with fragmented images of Marika crucified within the Erdtree, a memory that still held a bitter taste. Shit. Right. Grief. Godfrey, you utter twit, a quick 'how to handle weeping demigods' seminar would have been much more bloody useful. Not how to fucking bow correctly! Her annoyance softened. I killed his mother… “Thou dishonourest the very grace of the Golden Order thou claimest to serve. I vow to rectify that transgression.” Okay, handle this with extreme care. Please. 

“Lord Messmer…” He flinched, his muscles bunching as if to strike, the faint shimmer of the enchantment the only barrier to enacting his rage. Syvis shifted uncomfortably, her hands fidgeting slightly. "Please, just listen... Mari-...Your mother... was contained, imprisoned within the Erdtree. A Lance... right through her side." The archaic formality had dropped away, she didn't think it appropriate for this. “Please, ask Melina or Morgott... it was a mercy. A terrible one, but a mercy nonetheless. Not something I delighted in… not at all." She winced internally. Smooth as sandpaper, Syvis. Well done. “If she’d wanted to not be… gone… after I, handled her other half. She would have said… And I would have not done that . Immediately.” You sound like an idiot . She took a beat, internally vowing that the next time Godfrey tried to correct her wrist during a bow, she would instead demonstrate the precise hand movements required to effectively throttle a former Elden Lord who failed to prepare her for this .

She silently noted the lack of reaction to her mention of Radagon. Guess the familial fondness doesn't extend in that direction . He seemed to stew, a new suspicion darkening his gaze. “What is thy intention with my lost sister? Is she bodiless because of thee?” Right, because everything is always my fault. She squeezed her thumb harshly. S he’s my friend, you self-important prick.

“No, neither of us knows what happened…. Look…” She ran a hand through her hair again, ruffling the plaits left by Melina, frustrated and struggling to convey her honesty. “When I first came to these lands, I was tasked by Marika and the Two Fingers to assemble the lost Great Runes from the Shattering…. The first one I claimed, I killed for.” She swallowed down the memory, the violent arc of red lightning – we can feel guilty later. “But… the more time I spent running around… blindly following grace and killing whoever it directed me to, the more I lost myself.” I should have rehearsed this; Melina could have given tips. This was obviously going to come up. A fragile hope, likely foolish, stirred within her at his uncharacteristic silence. The surprise that briefly registered on his face did little to quell her scepticism. Honestly, what had she expected? A heartfelt welcome after the 'necessary steps' Godfrey and Morgott had so delicately phrased?

“These lands needed guidance, not culling…” Emphasis on 'needed.' Her resume, unfortunately, leaned heavily into the latter. Turns out, she had a knack for it. A disturbingly enjoyable knack. She edged forward, her attention on the subtle twitch of the crimson serpent coiled at his leg. Messmer didn’t react, or he didn’t notice. “I chose to partner with the demigods who could… to reform the Golden Order together… ask anyone here.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she focused on the intricate detail of his armour - anything to avoid the blaze of his scrutiny for a second. Perhaps a detailed explanation of her kill-to-positive-impact ratio? No, probably not the time. “She… Queen Marika… brought me back from death countless times, no matter my decisions. If… me releasing her was not her aim, I wouldn’t have succeeded.” Another step, a little closer now, she could feel the oppressive warmth rolling off him, making the fine hairs on her arms prickle. This time, the serpent at his shoulder fluttered its wing. Right, don’t push it. “Please, I implore you, trust my words,” she finished, her voice weary. Convince him you're not just a glorified murder hobo, Syvis. You can do this. Abruptly shifting her head, she forced herself to meet his intense glare, focusing on the peculiar shape of his Iris. Yep, still wants to turn me into a fine red mist. Nailed it.

He remained silent. You know what? I’ll take it. Despite her less-than-eloquent explanation, Syvis really did want to help the Lands Between.  And not through the wholesale slaughter everyone had first seemed to expect of her, and all tarnished alike – a directive she’d briefly followed until realising the Great Runes could be… acquired… without such permanent measures. After Godrick's demise, a death she hadn't truly wanted despite his pathetic grasping for power, she had resolved to find another way. A sudden, jarring flash of black and red assaulted her vision, a phantom pain echoing in her ribs. That day, she had discarded the enchanted bangles for other talismans, stupidly wanting to be stronger. In her arrogance, the monstrous truth of her inhabitant had been revealed. The look on Melina’s face was telling, a look she hoped to never see again. Focus on the angry serpent in the room.

“By what count doth thy ambition claim the lives of my blood? The very breath within this hold feels… diminished, does it not?” Sharp, well, at least we’re talking.

“Uhm…Within my court, but not always here necessarily, reside Morgott, King of Leyndell; Ranni, the Lunar Princess and Ambassador of Raya Lucaria; Rennala of Raya Lucaria, Queen of the full moon; Malenia, the Unbound Blade; Godfrey, the Lord Regent; Gurranq, the Caelid Sentinel, and Melina… my Maiden. Those are the names you would likely recognise, although not an exhaustive list.” Now that I think of it, Melina needs a better title. He shifted, and Syvis found herself inhaling without conscious thought, the sharp, almost acrid scent of burnt cinders that clung to him now underscored by a surprisingly delicate sweetness of rose, an unsettlingly contrary combination. Of course. But rose too? “Hardly a holistic list tarnished,” She cursed under her breath, a barely detectable tightening of her lips betraying her irritation. “Give me a break.” His hand twitched, said that one aloud, didn't I? 

She cleared her throat, turning her body away from him slightly. Guess we’re doing this now. “That is… true. The inquisitor Rykard… he had succumbed to a path beyond redemption, despite my best attempts.” Her eye twitched as she recounted the rather challenging attempt at conversation, so much effort for nothing. “He willingly offered himself to the embrace of an eternal serpent. And was.. Beyond reason.” Messmer’s golden eye widened reflexively, his mind focusing on ‘serpent’, with great hesitance. “Does thy Golden Order, then, share in the prior’s widespread hatred of the serpent?” You’re adorable, really.  A scoff escaped Syvis, a short, dismissive sound accompanied by a slight roll of her eyes. I killed Rykard because he tried to eat me, not because he was a snake. Her gaze drifted to the serpent gliding between her armoured legs, then up to the other, perched on Messmer’s shoulder like a living, emerald sentinel. Definitely not because he was a snake. “Don’t be daft. If that were the case, why would you be gracing my humble abode? Contrary to popular opinion, I find them… beautiful. To have such magnificent creatures as constant companions is a marvel, indeed.” Her gaze flickered back to Messmer, a hint of a knowing smile playing on her lips. Especially the way they moved around me, naughty, is that you or them? Messmer didn’t react, slowly blinking his eye. She licked her lip nervously, her dual gaze shifting to the serpent on his shoulder. You heard me… right? 

“Rahdan had succumbed to madness following a clash with Malenia,” Syvis twiddled with her gauntlet strap, a habit Godfrey would scold her for, claiming it made her look disinterested. Right, because this riveting explanation of how spectacularly her 'uniting the demigods' strategy imploded requires unwavering intense eye contact with a fucking furnace. “... the reasons for the clash remain… unknown due to an unfortunate incident. That in itself…” She waved a hand, having lost all motivation to pretend this was the informal exchange it started as. Load of good that brilliant plan did. ”...is a long story, even after removing his great rune, his wits… had departed.” She found herself rambling, her gaze following the sinuous path of the wandering red serpent as she spoke, a strange fascination in her eyes. Each time she refocused, Messmer seemed inexplicably closer, a silent predator narrowing the distance. Perhaps a joint effort. “Those loyal to him held a festival of war in his honour. His final battle… it was honourable.” She smiled slightly at the memory, that had been a fun night.

“Thou speakest of honour for battle? A curious notion, coming from thee." His voice was sharp, the proximity making it resonate directly against her ear. There was a subtle shift in his tone, a nuance she couldn't quite decipher – perhaps the raw edge of his anger had softened, replaced by something else? Is he… teasing me? The sleeping powder she had got from Thiollier… Gods, she'd be furious at such a tactic herself. “I am sorry. You appeared to me to have your mind intact, but your… lack of awareness of recent events only amplified your distrust… and I couldn’t afford to lose another demigod.” And the matter of our uninvited observer. 

“How valiant of thou.” Hold on. Excuse me, fucker. Syvis narrowed her gaze, her tone quickly saturated with sarcasm, a bitter taste in her mouth as the memory of all of their first charged encounter resurfaced. His presumptuous pronouncements of her worth, that unsettling dismissal, hips grinding to hers with arrogant certainty… her jaw clenched and she bit her tongue, feeling the cool rush of dubious arousal circle a sharp spike of resentment. He thought he could just… take? She tried to relax her jaw. Was I going to stop him? The memory of her own conflicted response, a desperate desire warring with ingrained resistance, only stoked her current annoyance.

“You were hardly… open… to negotiations,” she continued, voice tight. The memory of the Shadow keep, its wet stones, housing the oppressive atmosphere of his chamber, the sheer pressure of his presence, let alone his power. The way he had pushed her limits, how hard it became to breathe, almost like her own curse. The sound of shifting scales traced a sly finger from her shoulder to her ear, she raised her shoulder a fraction. Yeah… that was going… somewhere… She blinked once, shifting her focus to his closed eye before resettling on the amused orb. “Something about… duty?” And the sting of his blade in her flesh, a brutal punctuation mark to his purpose. A pressure on her leg almost made her jump, yanking her attention downwards. At it again are we? The serpent, scales brushing against her heavy armour, had begun to coil with deliberate slowness up her leg, head nearing the small of her back. She lifted and dropped her leg, sucking on her tongue in annoyance. Despite her feelings, his audacity was outstanding. I am still the Elden lord.

“Care to rein in your pets?” She steadied herself as the muscular body shifted around her, brows furrowed. “Didst thou not call them a marvel?” He spoke each word slowly, as if he savoured every syllable, a subtle relish colouring his tone. He leaned down over her, towering by a good margin. Her glare hardened, and she deliberately stepped closer, invading the space before he could. “So you did hear me, then.” She tilted her head back, forcing herself to meet his golden gaze. The sheer solar intensity of it still had a disorienting pull, a strange warmth blooming low in her stomach, but she fought to maintain her defiant stare. Attractive and intimidating, yes, but not untouchable.

She took another, smaller step, closing the remaining distance between them until their bodies were almost touching. She met the wall of heat emerging from him, arcane in origin – a sweltering shield forged from his own damn arrogance. He matched her scrutinising gaze, eye switching between her gold and red ones, searching, a slight twitch of muscle under his eye gave her all she needed. Her lip curved, and a small, smug smile played on her lips. She refused to yield. Messmer straightened his back completely, a slow exhale escaping his nostrils, a subtle acknowledgement. Next time, try harder. An immediate, fierce, internal reprimand followed: Get a grip, by the Erdtree’s grace.

“I seem to recall another interesting moment, Tarnished.” His hand reached out to cup the serpent emerging from behind her shoulder. “Were you… quite attached to that particular accessory?” Syvis’s mind flickered back once again, the enchanted blindfold – Melina’s ingenious theory that the red eye of her cursed inhabitant couldn’t react to what it couldn’t see. It had worked surprisingly well until Messmer had ruthlessly revealed its rather blaring flaw. It shouldn’t have been as much of an issue as it was, but something about the slender demigod stirred the beast within her to an unusual frenzy. Maybe it’s how tall he is. You always did hate giants, a wry internal smile touched her lips. Or perhaps something else… The thought was punctuated by a harsh thump against her ribs, a violent internal jolt that made her bite down hard on the inside of her cheek. Her body, ever perverse, responded to the lingering pain with a shiver of euphoria. “A shame to have ruined it, but then… I wouldn't have been graced with thine pretty… yet admittedly curious eyes” You’re one to talk, at least both of mine are open. A sudden, wet flick against her ear startled her mid-thought, the slick sensation intimate and intrusive. She turned toward the guilty party, a green glassy pool in her peripheral. You are testing my patience. “Your companions are curious,” she muttered, tempering the urge to shrug the serpent off, ignoring his prior statement “Do they possess their own will?” The question hung unanswered in the charged air. Back to this? Really?

“It wasn’t haste… merely my own… duty . The dishonour is mine, and one I still intend to right, as I stated before.” Syvis forced a smile, a brittle thing that didn't quite reach her crimson eye. Right my wrongs, the old dog said. “You did best me after all.” Her smile widened, a touch too bright. Humility is a virtue. Humility. Is. a. virtue. Messmer's eyebrow twitched, a fleeting shadow crossing his features before he schooled his expression. Yeah, don’t count on it happening twice. Next time, I’ll let it hit you. Syvis felt the pulse in her crimson eye, that wasn’t an invitation. She turned towards the flickering fire in the hearth, the serpent and Messmer trailing behind her. Either of you.

“Forgive me, these rooms get a bit frigid.” She positioned herself perhaps a breath closer to the flames than was prudent, a perverse comfort blooming as her armour grew intensely hot, the biting sensation a temporary balm to the intrigued presence writhing within her. Don’t need you interfering any more, you hear me? Scram. Her body wouldn’t burn; she was immune, another strange peculiarity, no doubt because of the curse’s aversion. The serpent retreated, a cool, scaled band settling behind her neck. Her stomach knotted as she became aware of the rough texture across her skin, mixing her mingling discomfort with a strange satisfaction, it was almost pleasant - Like scratching an itch. Yeah... not very convincing, sly creature. Your master is practically forged in fire; I know heat doesn’t bother you. She turned to face Messmer, remaining close to the comforting heat and leaning casually against the mantelpiece, one arm propped against the cool stone. Does he command them? They seem to move like they did. She didn’t know what reality she preferred. A silent tension spread between them, the serpent wandering to her collar. “Very curious,” She smiled, unamused.

Messmer's attention remained solely on her, his golden gaze a pointed study of her cursed eye. If he noticed anything in its depths, he gave no indication. Gods, she wished she possessed even a fraction of Melina's ability to read others. He either knows or suspects, both are undesirable. “See something you like, Lord Impaler?” The other serpent at his shoulder, its emerald eye fixed on her, began to glide through the air between them, its forked tongue flicking out, tasting the strained breath she exhaled. Using the movement as a distraction, Messmer quickly glanced downwards, a slow, considering scrutiny in his depths as he watched the heat shimmer off her gold-etched armour. "The lengths you go to for a mere semblance of warmth, Syvis."  He savoured her name, a subtle possessiveness lacing the sound, a deliberate slight.


“Elden Lord,” she corrected, her voice clipped, a sharp edge of disdain lacing the jab, yet there was a subtle tightening in her core despite the bravado, a spark of exhilaration. Dangerous move… let’s hope it pays off. His golden eye snapped up, meeting hers, and she held his gaze, letting her annoyance flare visibly, a shield against the unsettling undercurrent she felt.

He raised his head slowly, deliberately, as if looking down from a great height, a thin, forced smile stretching his lips – a mask of condescension that didn’t reach his eyes. “Forgive my manners… Elden Lord,” the title dripped with a mocking sweetness, a poisonous expulsion. He leaned back slightly, his gaze sweeping over her with a calculated slowness, taking in her posture, her stance.

He began to approach, a deliberate, measured pace. The serpent at her leg subtly tightened its coils in a silent warning.  Instinctively, a prickle of unease, and she took a single step back, away from the comforting heat of the fire, internally cursing. Do not panic. You’ll ruin it. The serpents responded in kind, a low, cacophonous hiss emanating from their scaled throats. Syvis stood unmoving, acutely aware of his movements, a dangerous thrill thrumming beneath her skin. The enchantment protects me… he can’t break those rules. His familiars moved with him, sinuous and unsettling, their scales brushing against her legs in a deliberate caress that stirred the forbidden heat. He’ll test the edge, but he won’t cross it. A flicker of perverse excitement momentarily pierced her defiant facade. He stopped directly behind her, and she feigned a flinch as his hands clamped down on her shoulders, his fingers digging in with a possessive firmness that sent a jolt of pleasure through her. It was the cliff edge, the terrifying drop, but instead of fear, a reckless exhilaration bloomed. Don't jump. But the view from the edge, the dizzying vulnerability, held a dangerous allure she didn't entirely resist. A strange anticipation coiled within her, like looking over the sheer drop, admiring the rocks beneath. Don’t fall, Syvis.

She watched as one of the serpents rose slowly before her, its body emerging from between her legs, its emerald eye a hypnotic focus. A fleeting thought danced in her mind: Can he see through them? His finger tapped her shoulder softly, as if feeling the edge of the barrier, a feather-light touch that sent a ripple through her core, a sly probe against the spectral barrier. She missed the almost imperceptible drag of his nail against the edge of the enchantment, a silent mapping of its contours. A rush of pure sensation swept down between her legs and thighs, a warmth that bloomed with shocking intensity. If not for this damn magic… Her fingers twitched, a phantom sensation of sparks dancing between them. He pulled her against him, his chest pressing firmly against her back, stealing her breath. Don’t disappoint. His mouth moved closer to her ear, the heat of his breath sparking an illicit high.

“ What I would do to thee ,” he began, his pace slow and deliberate, each word a carefully weighted promise of violation. His hot breath on her ear, the words a low, venomous rasp that sent a shiver down her spine despite her attempts to remain unaffected. Let me hear it. “If not for this… loathsome enchantment…” She heard the wet slide of his tongue as he licked his lips, grazing her earlobe with a mockingly playful caress that made her stomach clench with a delicious blend of revulsion and a desperate yearning. Filthy . The serpent hissed inches from her face, its forked tongue tasting the air between them. Messmer’s left hand moved slowly down her arm, each touch a deliberate caress that traced the shape of her armour and the heat beneath, ending its journey on the rigid plates of her waist, his fingers digging in with a sudden, possessive pressure. She swallowed her gasp and the rush shooting through her. Still playing by the rules. She bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze locked on the approaching serpent. She felt the other subtly manoeuvre her leg, drawing it towards its master, and Messmer pulled her body tighter against him.

“How thou wouldst beg… plead…” His voice was silk, yet the rasp remained, a dangerous undercurrent. His nails scraped lightly against the armour plates, a grating sound that made the hairs on her neck stand. The serpent before her inched uncomfortably closer to her eye, its gaze unwavering. Syvis clenched her jaw, forcing herself to remain outwardly still, but the frantic thrum of her heart betrayed her desire. Her hands slowly fisted, the nails digging into her armoured palms as her body began to respond to his proximity, a traitorous heat pulsing in her core. “…that I mightst grant… even a moment’s mercy . ” His hand slid further up her waist, settling possessively on her lower ribs, his fingers splaying out. Gods, I crave this . She slowly exhaled, feeling arch against him. Yet you can’t touch me, that foolish arrogance overriding her sinful indulgence. Not like you claim . Syvis fought to maintain her composure, the surge of adrenaline beginning to fade through her, a survival instinct kicking in to mask the reckless desires. That’s enough now. More than I should have allowed.

“Yet the enchantment persists,” she said, her voice low but steady, a hard edge of cocky certainty cutting through the air. She deliberately stepped away, putting distance between them. He allowed it, straightening up, the serpents uncoiling from her legs with what felt like a deliberate, lingering contact across her armour, a final promising caress. “So I guess we’re both… dissatisfied.” In more ways than one. She turned, squaring her shoulders, lifting her chin, her cursed eye meeting his with a challenging glint. A brazen, almost challenging smile touched her lips. “...And I’m still Elden lord.” Chew on that, dog.


A beat of silence, his familiars returning to him, his hand trailing over them, Syvis found herself eyeing the gesture with a slight jealousy. His hand hesitated as she turned to look at the fire, wiggling her fingers free of the last of her excitement. “And where are these Great Runes now?” The question rumbled from his chest, his voice lower, the cadence of his breathing heavier, as if an internal calculation had momentarily pulled him inward. Syvis blinked. Predictable. Can’t have dirty Tarnished hands on them, can we? "And why is their current location of such pressing concern to you, Lord Messmer?" Her voice was laced with suspicion but an equally teasing undercurrent. "Curiosity, Tarnished .” She watched the red serpent nestle into his palm, wrapped tightly around his forearm, her hand twitched. Why do I want to touch them so badly? She paid little attention to his words, having mentally put Messmer down as docile now, another under her allure, more concerned with how to convince the other serpent to reapproach her, but it remained loyally across his shoulders.  “And a vested interest in preventing further… mismanagement of such potent fragments.” Syvis's cocky smile returned in full beam, almost unintentionally as she admired smooth ruby scales. His tone shifted, accompanied by the twitch of the serpent’s black wing, and she reluctantly shifted her focus to him. “Their influence is a delicate thing, easily corrupted by those who do not understand their true weight." Syvis almost laughed aloud. You have no idea.

She couldn’t help her cheek, fleeting glimpses of Messmer's likely reaction forming in her mind. Oh, you are going to absolutely loathe this, aren’t you? “I have them … don’t you worry. I’m keeping them nice and safe.” Warm even. She scanned the room, finding her mind wandering, missing a subtle curve that touched the corner of Messmer’s lips, a ghost of a smile that didn’t reach his eye. He flexed his hand, knuckles cracking with the movement, the serpent in his hand shuddered, black wing twitching in agitation.   “In what form, tarnished… or does thee simply carry such potent artefacts loose within one’s pocket?” His tone shifted, the earlier sharpness replaced by something teasing, a low murmur of begrudging amusement at her actions, his companion pushing its head into his hand. Oh, he’s going to hate this.

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“No, I hold them… within me.” She smiled, lazily fiddling with her gauntlet again, purposefully looking at the latches with mock interest. I’ll tell Melina about this, she’ll find it funny. “I think the finger reader called me a vessel? Whatever that means…” Here it comes… She stifled a full grin, peering up at his watching face. But then, abruptly, his golden eye widened, a surge of shock momentarily eclipsing the previous intensity.

The space between them suddenly tautened with a different kind of tension, one that felt ancient and weighty, carrying the echo of forgotten things. The very air in the room seemed to thicken, growing heavy with a significance Syvis couldn't quite grasp. What…? A prickling unease crawled beneath her skin. This explanation, the only one she had, that had sufficed others and enraged a few, felt profoundly inadequate here. The serpent in his hand recoiled with a hushed hiss, tongue flicking wildly, the other echoing in tandem. She sensed a deeper understanding dawning in his mind, a knowledge that eluded her. 

“Thou holdst them? Within… thyself?” His voice, moments before a low murmur of detached amusement, now held a clarifying resonance, tinged with a recognition. Syvis took longer to react than she liked to admit, a strange paralysis holding her still, a feeling of pure unease. Her preemptive enjoyment at his distress over her holding the runes had puffed into smoke. Definitely not the reaction I expected. “Yes?” Syvis answered plainly, squeezing her fist slightly. A lump in her throat formed as she tried to decipher the unsettling shift in his demeanour. Was it such a big deal? Is that not what all tarnished are? “ What of it?” She felt he knew something, something important. For a long moment, Messmer remained still, his gaze fixed on Syvis, a flicker of disbelief in his golden eye. Then, a low chuckle escaped his lips, the sound devoid of genuine humour, bordering on derision. He shook his head slightly, a cynical smile painting his mouth.

“O’ Mother…” A prayerful whisper escaped him, head drifting upwards as if addressing someone unseen. “Why bestow one so… fragile… with such a precious burden?” His lips curled in disgust, “One so clearly… incapable?” Another dry, brittle laugh scraped from his throat. “A Tarnished vessel? The irony would be nigh amusing were it not so… pathetic.” Excuse me? Pathetic? Syvis felt her brows lower, the wry hands of fury caressing her heart, extinguishing the last of Godfrey’s stern instructions of politeness. “Oh, would you actually shut up !” She spat, heat whirling in her chest. The pacifying enchantment steadied her fist, every other emotion replaced by indignation at his condescending tone. Bloody festering hills, if he weren’t so undeniably beautiful, I’d have carved his pretty face off. Every carefully chosen word, every offered gesture of understanding during this meeting now felt like a fool's errand. Gods, I knew he had a complex… but really? The carefully chosen words, the offered hand, the attempt to navigate his grief, even allowing him that brief, unsettling touch, a gesture that now felt shamefully exposed. And yet, he stood there, regarding her as if she were nothing more than the dust clinging to his polished greaves. Tarnished, are we?

The latch of her gauntlet clicked loudly, her hand clenching.  “I’ve had quite enough,” Syvis said, her voice dangerously low, each word a carefully weighted stone. “Quite enough of you acting as if you possess some divine understanding, Impaler .”

A slow, rapacious smile spread across Messmer’s lips as he watched her reaction, his earlier mockery replaced by a sharp, focused interest. He straightened, his movements fluid and deliberate, like a hunter sensing an opportunity. “Dost thou now?” he purred, walking in front of the fireplace, maintaining the distance between her, but forcing her to follow his movements. “Tell me, little lord,” he said, his voice regaining its low, menacing quality. “This… enchantment that binds me. What assurances hast thou of its strength? Its… limits?” He gestured around the room, as if holding up the invisible shackles for her to examine. He can’t break the spell. Syvis stood her ground, meeting his gaze with a defiant tilt of her chin. “Confident enough,” she replied, her voice cool despite the subtle quickening of her pulse. “Planning a tantrum?” What is he playing at?

In a sudden, swift move, the serpent usually coiled at Messmer’s leg, having silently moved behind her during his movements, flicked out, a crimson blur catching Syvis just behind her ankles. She stumbled backwards, pure surprise throwing her off balance until the unyielding edge of the centre table slammed into her spine mid-fall. Winded and disoriented, a gasp escaped her lips, quickly morphing into an aggravated sigh. Marika, how badly do you want to see your son? Syvis pinched her nose, the lingering sting of the fall fueling her irritation. As she moved to push herself up, a shadow fell over her; she looked up to Messmer, way too close. He approached, not to touch her, but instead placed his hands on the surface of the table on either side of her hips, effectively caging her, wood pressing into her lower back. Trapped. Just like that. Tripping me over was somehow polite enough for the seal?

He looked down at her, giving an air of clinical study, straight into her embarrassed face. “The weight of your assurance grows heavy, does it not, little lord ?” he hummed, the title a deliberate caress laced with mockery, his voice a low, menacing tremor that coiled around her. He began to lean in, the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the unwavering focus of his single visible eye growing larger with each inch, making it impossible to stand without touching him.

“This… enchantment that binds me… doth bind thee also…” His breath ghosted across her face as he spoke, the nearness stirring a disquieting tremor beneath her skin, a beginning of something she immediately suppressed. “…how truly secure doth thy position feel now?  Thou didst yield rather… readily to my touch earlier, little lord. A delightful little game thou invited. Now, wouldst thou not concur 'tis but courtesy to return the favour?” What is he doing? Cold and sharp panic began to prickle beneath her annoyance. She tried to push back, to create space, but found herself inexplicably held in place, the invisible forcefield resisting her efforts. The seal… It’s holding me. The very magic meant to protect her was now a cage, its boundaries turned against her. That isn’t… how that’s supposed to work. A frustrated heat, hotter now with building alarm, rose in her cheeks.

Messmer’s lips stretched into a cruel, triumphant smile as he observed her straining muscles, watching the enchantment circumvent her movements. Clever, I’ll give him that, the bastard. He leaned in closer, chest pressing against hers, the rough texture of his armour digging into her own. Pushing up against the table, Syvis adjusted her position, the unforgiving edge of the table now pushing into her thighs, yet his unyielding body kept her pinned. “Thou art yet finding this… diverting, art thou not?” Asshole. Syvis felt her eyes roll back slightly, then she snapped them away, trying to angle her head to the side, desperate for a sliver of space. He’s going to make this unbearable, isn’t he? One of his crimson serpents, scales shimmering in the soft light, oozed onto the table beside his hand, its emerald slits fixed on Syvis. I thought we had something, traitor. She glared as it silently glided behind her on the table, its movements too deliberate, too knowing. No doubt up to more shit.

Messmer’s gaze flickered down to her mouth, a fleeting shadow of something vile on his lips, before returning to her eyes, a vicious amusement swirling within his depth like a venomous tide. She exhaled, straining to lean back, futilely attempting to make more space. Okay, I may have drastically misjudged this. Her fingers, white-knuckled, gripped the edge of the table, a desperate anchor and a silent plea for restraint. “Move, Impaler. You’ve made your point.” As much as Syvis’s pride screamed in protest, she scolded herself for her arrogance, for not anticipating his intimate knowledge of such intricate seals. You win, now shift. Messmer leaned in closer, his warm breath, carrying the faint scent of ash, ghosting over her ear as she pretended a sudden fascination with something unseen to her left. His smile was clear in his voice, “Perhaps… a sweeter tone might yield a more favourable outcome.”  I am so far beyond dealing with this right now. Her annoyance curdled into a foul brew of embarrassment and a visceral awareness of his body on hers.

The scent of ashes emanating from him was stronger now, more heady and intoxicating than any hearth fire, and the palpable heat of his body added to his oppressive presence.  Don’t react. Stay calm. His right hand moved, the dry, rough texture of his knuckles brushing against the smooth, cool metal of her gauntlet on the table, she gripped harder, feeling a dangerous jolt move up her arm. Not accidental. She seethed, “Fucking move!” Messmer’s smile widened, a flash of teeth in the dim light. Fuck sake, Syvis. “So soon doth thy tongue descend to base vulgarity, little lord?  I confess thy prior attempts at eloquence held a certain… charming quality. A mere Tarnished mimicking a lord’s measure.” It’s a taunt, don’t bite. His nose, the barest whisper of contact, ghosted across the sensitive skin of her neck, and another jolt fired, a spark igniting under her skin. 

“Godfrey is a Tarnished,” Syvis retorted, the words clipped, her gaze flickering momentarily to his lips before snapping back to his runic pupil. Even now, you can’t help yourself, she internally muttered, get out of this before someone sees.

Messmer’s face tightened, the amusement vanishing, replaced by a hard, contemptuous line of his jaw. “Indeed… However, Lord Godfrey doth possess that which shall forever elude thee, Tarnished. Mine own respect.” She felt a muscled rope move across her back, pushing her further into his chest, making it hard to breathe. Right on cue. 

His hand moved with a chilling deliberation, wrapping around her neck, his thumb tilting her chin upwards, forcing her to meet his gaze. Wait… Wait, what the fuck? Syvis panicked, chest beginning to heave. She went to raise her hand to his wrist, but the precarious angle of her body against the table made it clear any sudden movement would send her tumbling. Her mind raced, her mismatched eyes widening with a dawning, terrifying understanding and equal disbelief. He shouldn’t be able to do this. His other hand moved with agonising slowness, tracing cold, deliberate circles on her armoured thigh, the unyielding edge of the table digging cruelly into her leg under his oppressive weight. He dropped his smile. “Lord Godfrey possesseth understanding of power; thou art merely its instrument. Each facet of thy existence… the manner in which thou carriest thyself with such vexing arrogance, the reek of ambition clinging to thee… Thy desperate fumblings with a title thou hast not rightfully claimed… It is repulsive.” 

Syvis’s jaw clenched, her mind a frantic whirlwind searching for an escape route. Thanks, Godfrey, I told you it was stupid. Amidst the surge of fear and confusion, a treacherous sweetness ignited within her - a perverse thrill at his raw intensity, threatening to bloom in the face of danger. Hold on. New plan. She crushed it down, meeting his hateful gaze with a sly resolve, undercut by the shake in her hands gripping the table’s edge. “Repulsive, am I?” she derided. Time for something truly stupid. Leaning forward, she turned towards his unmoving face, the space between them vanishing until her breath mingled with his, a deliberate challenge that earned a sharp, painful tightening of the hand on her throat, a tingle of pain almost goading her on. “Yet here you are, close enough to taste it….” A flicker of something unreadable crossed Messmer’s face, a momentary crack in his mask. “If I disgust you so much, Impaler, why don’t you just… leave? You seem a little too keen to soil your loins with me.” She glanced briefly at his lips, so close , acknowledging their undeniable pull. Beautiful yes, terrifyingly so. But pride is a sharper weapon. Her eyes held a deliberate provocation, a silent, dangerous dare. It was a gamble, the last one she had, hoping he was as full of himself as he seemed. Show me that demigod ego . She felt a faint rush, not like before, before she was safe; but this? This was jumping at the cliff edge, staring the danger in its face. Now make an excuse and let go. He held her gaze for a beat longer, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on, then a sardonic smile returned. “Even a demigod has vices, little lord.”

Syvis let out a choked, humourless laugh, quivering with disbelief. Fuck me, he just admitted it? That was not the reaction Syvis wanted, not the one that would release her from this compromising closeness. No, push it further, the cracks have to be there. “Vices? Oh, I think this is bordering on something a little more… involved now, wouldn’t you say?” Her eyes pointed between their bodies, pressed so tightly together she could feel the beat of his heart against her own. “Lord Messmer the Impaler getting all hot and bothered over a ‘repulsive’ Tarnished? Quite pathetic, isn’t it?” A muscle twitched in Messmer’s jaw. He squeezed her throat, hauling her up towards him, the sharp nail of his thumb tracing the cold metal of her plate buckles. “I would counsel thee to weigh thy words with utmost care, Mongrel. My vices are not confined to simple… awareness.” A silent, unseen restraint coiled around her leg with unnerving speed, a sudden pressure that tethered her to the spot as his other familiar continued to hold her pinned against his chest. This is getting worse.

Her chest was moving faster now, breath coming in shallow bouts. How is this happening? Her rudimentary understanding of how the enchantment worked felt butchered and mocked, the hand around her neck should be impossible, yet the fingers rubbing circles on her throat told her otherwise. He shouldn’t be able to touch me. Not like this. Her pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against his grip. Don’t make this irrevocably worse. But Syvis, cornered and desperate, had found a root, a fragile hold, and with dwindling options, was determined to dig up the entire tree, even if it crashed down upon her.  She raised a sarcastic eyebrow, her lips curving into a sickly sweet smile. “Lonely up in that keep of yours, Impaler?” she drawled, her tongue moving with deliberate, exaggerated slowness. “Did the other Tarnished who wandered in not quite… appeal to your discerning tastes?” She wasn't arrogant enough to believe his pastimes had suddenly manifested on the very day of her visit. She swiftly banished the unsettling thought. Demigods, as usual, above mortals. What a joke. He pressed his lips to her ear again, his voice a low, conspiratorial hush that made her shoulders squeeze towards her. “Those who tread my domain seldom depart…  unbroken. Or indeed, living.” A heavy weight settled in her stomach, a dangerous one, the reality of her situation settling into her gritted teeth. Perhaps she had indeed dismissed him as docile too soon. 

“Does the cage chafe, little lord? To be so… contained by thine own making?” His hand on her waist pushed under the buckles, fondling the soft leather beneath it, goosebumps flooding across her skin. “Nowhere to run, like a cornered animal, panting and desperate.” His eye shone with a predatory lust, drinking in her body under his, ruthless satisfaction etched in his features. “I am free to touch thee…” His thumb, rough against her skin, caressed her jaw, his fingers moving to tangle brutally in her hair “…explore thee…” He lingered there for a drawn-out moment before his fist tightened in her hair, yanking her head back slightly. “…and thou art held fast, utterly immobile, by the very sorcery thou didst believe wouldst safeguard thee. Does that… bitter irony… ignite terror? Or perhaps…” His smirk widened, eye darkening, lips pulling back to reveal teeth, “…a more unwelcome stirring?”

He tilted her back with terrifying ease, and Syvis’s hands finally shot out, gripping desperately on the rough, regal fabric of his cape, as she fought to maintain some semblance of connection to the ground. Why did that work?! He had been slowly, relentlessly, pushing his leg between hers as he spoke, negating her frantic attempts to keep her thighs clamped together. He should have stopped by now, got me to grovel or something. He placed his open mouth on the slick sheen of sweat at her jaw, tongue darting across her skin, his chest trembling against hers, her back arching painfully under the motion. Shoving his nose into her hair, he inhaled with an unnerving, possessive intensity, voice dropping to a husky whisper, breath hot and fetid against her neck, igniting a wildfire of unwanted sensation that made her stomach churn. “Doth it fill thee with dread, little lord, that I can taste the essence of thy fear… and that delectable bud of arousal thou seekest so fiercely to hide?” His hand at her waist slid lower, his fingers splaying with brazen familiarity against the juncture of her thighs, an invasion that sent a sickening wave of heat flooding her core, her body betraying her with a shameful response to his touch. “That even as thou dost attempt this pathetic display, thy very flesh doth crave mine touch? And perchance… even yearns for more… thorough explorations?” Syvis could feel him now, hard ridge pushing against the leather of her inner thigh. He’s not going to stop. “Get your filthy hands off me,” she choked out, her voice trembling despite her attempt at defiance, “I’m not yours to fuck because you’re so pent up with your bloody superiority complex.” Her hands shook violently in their desperate grip on his cloak, her movements once again denied by the invisible, smothering weight of the enchantment, futility punctuated by his laughter. I can’t stop him. I can’t move. She steeled her face,  but inside, she felt exposed, the most fragile and mortal she’d felt in a lifetime, for once utterly helpless against the whims of the demigod. She felt her thighs clench again, You could at least have the dignity to feel only fear. Her eyes stung. No sleeping powder this time.

His hand moved again, more insistent, rubbing roughly against the seam; she willed her hips still. “Thy endearing defiance persists… little lord.” He dragged his teeth with deliberate slowness across the sensitive skin of her neck, a sharp, unsettling scrape that left her skin prickling, before pulling back suddenly to look at her. Syvis felt herself physically shrink under the raw, predatory hunger beating down on her, her breath catching in her throat. He pressed his face close to hers, his breath panting hotly against her cheek, forcing her to breathe him in. “I do hope thy constitution, like thy defiance, proves…” he paused, tongue swiftly gliding across his bottom lip, considering. ”... resilient enough to withstand that which thy very flesh… doth foresee awaits thee.” 

“Go choke on it, Impaler,” Syvis cracked out, her voice trembling as she strained against the unyielding binds. Messmer made a soft, tsking sound, a condescending little click of his tongue. It wasn't truly sympathetic, more like the sound one might make at a child throwing a tantrum, utterly unmoved by their distress. I went too far. I went too far. A wave of shame washed over Syvis as she felt the wetness between her legs, a humiliating betrayal of her desire. She was always the one in control, always the instigator , the tease , the one holding the reins. Messmer had taken that, effortlessly, and turned it into a beautifully crafted cage with no discernible exit. I can’t get out of this. Her foot, her last tenuous anchor, finally slipped. He slammed her down on the table, pulling her flush against his hips. One hand slid from her neck to her stomach, nails slowly, deliberately scraping against the cold metal of her armour, a rasping sound echoing angrily in the room. The other hand moved with renewed intent, ruthlessly pulling her thigh further to the side, exposing her more fully. What if someone sees?

The weight of his familiars flowing across her sternum felt less like a restraint and more like a grounding force, hot bodies coiling around her arms and across her neck, bodies sliding between her hands; that she could finally touch them was a cruel irony. Messmer watched his companions move, a subtle tightening at the corner of his lips. The fire blazing behind him cast him in a hellish light, an infernal halo that sharpened his features, and Syvis felt a sickening lurch in her gut at his terrible beauty. He looked like a fallen god, magnificent in his cruelty, and a forbidden fascination coiled within her, making her wonder what desperate plea a lamb might offer its slaughterer.


“I wonder…” he began, voice a low, intense hum that made her core tense. “...how much it would truly take to break you, little lord?” He pressed his hips more fully against hers, his hardness now against her groin. Her hips moved slightly and her chest heaved, a ragged mix of panic and a strange, ripening anticipation. She watched him move, his shadowed face a mask of predatory desire, an almost desperate hunger in his gaze. This was the fall, the terrifying rush as the ground disappeared, and a strange exhilaration mingled with the plummet. His hands moved with a sudden urgency to the buckles of her armour, his fingers fumbling slightly with the intricate leather straps. “Forgive me, my lord…” he murmured, his voice dropping, his hands making short work of the straps connecting her greaves. “…I doth confess…” A sickeningly sweet heat spread through her limbs, pooling low and heavy, while a cold fist of terror still clenched in her gut. His low voice, thick with intent, was the only sound that registered. “…I possess a somewhat regrettable tendency to… overindulge mine curiosities."

Chapter Text

Knock, knock, knock. The sharp rap at the parlour door shattered the suffocating tension, the sudden intrusion feeling like a church bell in Syvis’s ears, making her flinch. A low hum vibrated in Messmer’s chest, a twisted amusement in his eyes, unbothered by the risk to them both. “Should I grant them entry, little lord?” he mused aloud, his gaze lingering on Syvis’s dishevelled state. “To observe their esteemed sovereign in such a… delectable predicament?”

Syvis shot him a furious glare. He’s actually insane. Her jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached, the words a strained hiss fighting against the tremor that threatened to overtake her voice. “Don’t be a fool, Impaler. This charade cuts both ways. Remember my injured shoulder, so apparent after I extended my invitation? They won't see some clumsy tumble or a lover's spat. They'll see the brutal reality of how you ‘serve’ your Elden Lord. One glance at me, and the whispers of your… zealous duty will become deafening accusations. Your welcome here will turn to ash.”

Another sharp knock echoed. Messmer looked at Syvis, a calculating glint in his eyes, as if weighing his options. Then, with brutal swiftness, he leaned down, his fingers digging into the chain across her breastplate, yanking her roughly to her feet. Thank the lan- His other hand clamped onto her jaw, tilting her head back, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck. In a deliberate violation, he slowly licked the side of her neck, the wet heat causing Syvis to whimper. His mouth lingered near her ear, breath a chilling caress as he whispered a swift venom: “Savour thy reprieve, little lord. It shall be fleeting.” Then, releasing her abruptly, he stepped away with an unsettling nonchalance to lean against a nearby chair, as if their violent interaction was merely a casual aside. His serpents, mirroring his composure, smoothly uncoiled and returned to their positions on his body.

Syvis stood frozen, every muscle screaming in protest, her hands clenched so tightly her armoured knuckles ached. Move. Another knock, longer, a demanding intrusion. Messmer spoke, his attention fixed on a distant tapestry, his voice laced with a detached amusement. “Haste, then, Elden Lord. Wouldn't do to disappoint thy eager audience. Let us see that renowned composure. Perform.” A subtle, involuntary shiver traced its way down Syvis’s spine at his command, a reaction she desperately tried to conceal, pressing her trembling hand across her mouth, clamping her cheeks, a futile attempt to contain the roiling emotions within. Ignore him. Control it. She forced shallow breaths through her nose, her chest feeling constricted, as if an invisible weight pressed down on her. Pull it together. Now. The thought was a desperate plea. No one can see this. No one can see how easily he… how weak you are.

“Enter,” Syvis managed, her voice a low, shaky whisper that betrayed the frantic hammering of her heart. A wave of self-loathing washed over her as she registered the lingering heat in her limbs, the phantom sensation of his touch. A terrifying question slithered into her mind: Had a part of her… yielded? The thought was a bitter poison. Not the time. Window, now. She pushed herself away from the table, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, as if her own body were now an enemy. Your hands are trembling; hide them. As she reached the window, she deliberately clasped her hands behind her back, forcing her shoulders square, attempting to adopt a regal lord's pose – a shield to the trembling mess she felt inside.

She stared out at a distant, blurry point, shame burning in her chest. Elden Lord. The title now felt like a cruel mockery. Strength, dominance – those were supposed to be hers. Yet, in that moment against the table, a terrifying surrender had flickered within her, a disgraceful yielding to his power. You let him. She pressed her back against the cool stone of the window frame, taking deep, shuddering breaths. She felt the faint stickiness on the side of her neck where he had licked her, and the fact that she hadn't instinctively wiped it away sent a fresh wave of self-disgust through her. She noticed the faint mist of her breath blooming on the cold glass, the delicate cloud trembling visibly through the condensation.

Speak up. “Enter!” she repeated, forcing her voice to be louder, though it still wavered. Her fingers clenched tightly behind her, the pressure a small anchor in the storm of her emotions. He touched me. He tasted me. And I let him. The raw violation should have filled her with pure revulsion, and it did, but beneath it, a disturbing awareness lingered – something weak, something unwanted. The sight of her own unsteady breath on the glass was a reminder of her lack of control, a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil that he had undoubtedly witnessed. He knew.  

The shame intensified. She was disgusted, by him, yes, but even more so by the traitorous desires her own body had betrayed, desires made sickeningly real by the dampness on her neck she refused to erase and the lingering sensation between her legs. She glared at Messmer’s back in the window’s glass. Overindulge… what did that even mean?  

The heavy door swung inward, revealing Godfrey, dressed in his usual attire, his eyes immediately scanning the room, assessing their proximity with a keen gaze. A muscle ticked in his jaw as his gaze swept between Syvis and the casually leaning Messmer, his usual stoicism marred by a flicker of disapproval. He held a polished wooden box carefully in his hands. Syvis glanced at him through the window’s reflection. He wasn’t pleased; the distance between her and Messmer didn’t look good. Give me a break. She kept her head high, pointed to the window, she needed every second.

Godfrey moved with a clipped efficiency, the tap of his rough fingers against the wooden box betraying a thread of weary impatience, closer to Messmer than her. Traitor. “Lord Syvis,” he began, his tone laced with strained diplomacy, she turned from the window, having pulled together enough composure for about 5 minutes. “Following our discourse – our deliberations – on the paramount importance of presentation, of a manner befitting an Elden Lord who has seen fit to… welcome Lord Messmer into their fold, I confess I anticipated a more generous display of grace. A shadow of the respect owed.”

Syvis’s jaw tightened. I didn’t even get that far, old man. She pulled her best smile, strained, but Godfrey didn’t seem to notice. She offered him a curt nod, forcing an even tone. “Of course, Lord Godfrey. We had simply drifted to other matters. Lord Messmer has been… most enlightening .” The half-lie felt heavy and brittle. She took a step towards them, but kept behind the table in the room, refusing to look at it. Syvis held her head to the side, tracing over the door. Four minutes.

Godfrey’s gaze flickered to Messmer, a silent apology in his eyes. Fuck you, he didn’t even like the stupid bow. “Indeed.” He then presented the box to Syvis. “A token sourced from Lord Messmer's stronghold. A gesture of amity, he assures me, as thou both tread this delicate path of alliance.” Syvis turned to Messmer, who had returned a hand to one of his pets, a sardonic lift to her brow. Messmer slowly moved his gaze on her, her body shivered involuntarily, his eye was unreadable. “It is customary” he stated, his voice smooth, “that such tokens serve as emblems of accord.” Syvis released a long exhale from her nose but managed to resisted the urge to roll her eyes, more of this court shit. Her tongue probed the inside of her cheek, how to artfully tell him where to shove it… She stole a brief glance at Godfrey and wished she hadn’t, quickly dropping her head towards the box now on the table. His face was a perfect mask of control, but something about that emerging blood vessel suggested he was not impressed. Right, perform. “As befitting such an occasion of newfound amity. Lord Messmer, I accept this gesture.” Her delivery was wooden, she didn't bother looking at either of them, lips curled slightly downwards, not having the energy to even pretend to care. A wave of embarrassment stirred at Messmer’s earlier words at her ‘attempt’ of lordship, she had never felt more humiliated, feeling his eye on her as she spoke.

Stiffly, Syvis stood before the box. I have to open it, don’t I? Their stillness answered her question; this was another performance, another owed smile. 3 minutes. She reached a hand across the lid, the wood feeling strangely warm through her gauntlet. Hopefully, it is something I can deny. Syvis flicked the lid up, the wood hitting the table with a heavy clunk. She blinked, momentarily confused to see exquisite clothing. Not a weapon? Or some strange impaled heart? Her hand slowly traced a dark, flowing ensemble of dragonhide leather, accented with intricate golden embroidery, a long red silk sash between the layers, the material supple under her armoured fingers. He definitely stole this from someone. A wry smile threatened her careful mask of composure, Perhaps I shouldn’t judge. Her mind momentarily clipping with countless lootings of tombs and graveyards, all necessary of course. It smelled faintly of herbs, one she struggled to place… Fulgurbloom? Godfrey tapped his foot discreetly. Her gold eye twitched, red eye socket itching. Right, yes. Straightening her shoulders, she opened her mouth, ready to release a poorly rehearsed response. Look again. Her eyes were forced down, searching the layers of black hide, then freezing. Remember? The blood drained from her face, a deep, dark thrum, calling from within her as she saw it. Nestled within the folds, attached to an ornate silver thread and silk, was a dagger. Blade crafted from what looked like a shard of polished white bone.

The room seemed to both expand and contract, senses overblown as a cascade of fragmented images flooded her mind. 

Darkness, a suffocating void that swallowed all light and stretched beyond the edges of sanity, suddenly collapsing down from all sides. Arcane symbols, raw and glistening, carved into slick black stone, Hands, so many hands, on her, around her, reaching, looking for something. A pool of absolute black, viscous and still, pulsing faintly, its edges slick with a constant, viscous drip. Did it hurt? The question echoed in the oppressive silence of her mind. Chanting voices, ancient and guttural, clawing at the edges of perception from a vast, unseen chamber. The hands are harsher, nails dragging, they sense it. Syvis moved a hand to her abdomen. A gaunt figure lay splayed on a blood-soaked altar, a heart is beating, so loud the room vibrates. A slow, churning movement disturbed the stagnant blackness, something pale and slick beginning to breach the surface. The hands dig, clawing and scratching, they found it. Syvis felt her stomach rip open. The coppery, overwhelming stench of blood choked the air, thick enough to taste. A bone blade, smooth and stained, was raised high in a trembling hand. I hope it did. From the depths of the inky black, a single, malevolent red eye snapped open, fixing its gaze.

Enough! A weight smashed against her ribs, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek, blood trickling onto her tongue. Look. She willed herself to still, crimson eye alight and focused on the dagger, like someone holding her head above a blade. She felt something try to lurch up her throat. More blood.  This fear was unlike the stirring heat Messmer had preyed on; this was a bone-jarring agony, as if her very essence was being fractured, her soul itself crying out in pain. They’re watching. She gasped, forcing herself to breathe, a strangled yelping sound, clutching the edge of the box, fighting to maintain her outward facade. Speak… do something! Can you?

“A… striking gift, Lord Messmer,” she managed, the words feeling thick and foreign on her tongue. “The craftsmanship is… remarkable.” Touch it. She gripped the belts at the side of her armoured leg, her mind trying to maintain a neutral mask. A fierce internal tug-of-war raged within her, her carefully constructed composure battling the raw, insistent demand echoing in her skull. Her boots felt cemented to the floorboards, a high-pitched whine building behind her eyes, the very air around her seeming to vibrate with the curse's command, threatening to seize control of her limbs. Bring it to me. Her gaze flickered to the ornate hilt of the bone dagger, a primal unease settling in her stomach. Then, a flicker of emerald. The familiar at Messmer's shoulder, its small black wing twitching, subtly shifted, its scaled body momentarily obscuring the bone dagger, its forked tongue tasting the air near the weapon as if assessing its threat, she closed her eyes. Look. No. Another crack against her chest, her eyes snapped open, but the curious familiar had concealed the blade with its motions, tongue flicking across the scaled fabric.

“The blade,” Messmer interjected, his golden eye, sharp as a hawk's, fixed on her, missing none of the subtle rigidness in her posture, the faint sheen of sweat on her brow, “is fashioned from a tooth of an ancient dragon. Prized for its… ritualistic significance.” But Syvis couldn’t move, the ringing in her ears drowning out his words, her gaze fixed on the unyielding stone of the hearth. Why do you want it? Her fight was internal, a searing rattle against her ribs, like a trapped animal desperate for escape. We know what it whispers to you. Godfrey's clearing of his throat was sharp, the sound echoing in the strained silence. His foot tapped a more demanding rhythm against the floor, and a crease deepened between his brows as he watched Syvis's increasingly erratic behaviour. “Indeed. And as I have stated, Lord Syvis, a gesture in kind would be fitting. A demonstration of balance in this… arrangement.”

The room seemed to pulse with a malevolent red light. Obey. She forced her hands behind her back again, grip on her wrist bordering on fracture, the pain a weak anchor. Bite me. She looked up at the ceiling, shoulders shaking with each breath. You do not command me. She levelled her head, eyes closed, a thin sheen of moisture on her lashes. “Of course,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I have… something fitting. Something that requires… a brief detour to retrieve.” You live in my body. My. Body. Ours. Every instinct screamed for escape, her muscles coiled tight, ready to bolt, the proximity of the door a fragile promise of release. Have I not suffered enough shit today? She sucked on her wounded cheek, tang of metal keeping her grounded.

Messmer’s gaze was a physical weight, dissecting the minute betrayals of her carefully constructed mask – the concealed clench of her jaw, the frantic pulse visible at her throat. He sensed the shift in the air, a prickling disturbance that echoed the beast coiled within him, though far less controlled. His companions stirred, wings fluttering. The familiar across the table recoiled slowly, returning to him with an unusual sense of urgency, its emerald eyes fixed on Syvis.

“Why the sudden departure, Lord Syvis?”  His voice held a new edge, projecting an air of annoyance. Syvis slowly met his gaze, her crimson eye now burning with a visible intensity. Messmer’s hand flexed, serpents hissing loudly. He pulled his cloak down, averting their panicked eyes, he hushed them. “Mine apologie-” Syvis interrupted.

“I apologise for… my lack of propriety, Lord Godfrey, Lord Messmer,” her voice strained but firm, stepping towards the door again. I will burn you away. “I hath failed to bring thy gift in advance, forgive my leave” She turned and swiftly exited the parlour doors. S uch disobedience . Keeping a steady gait, she walked into the dusty hallway, breaking into a run the moment the doors closed behind her with a merciful rumble. Run, little coward.

“Forgive me, Lord Messmer,” Godfrey said, his tone laced with exasperation. “Lord Syvis's… unpredictability is, regrettably… a recurring challenge.” But Messmer remained silent, his golden eye fixed on the closed doors.

Chapter Text

“…overindulge mine curiosities.” His voice was too smooth, too close, as if whispered directly into her skull. But he remained at the end of the table, hands moving.

A strained silence hung in the air, thicker than before. Any second now, the knock. Any second, the blessed interruption. But the silence stretched, taut and unbroken. What? Messmer’s fingers, still fumbling with the buckles of her greaves, finally worked them free. The cold weight of the metal slid away from her legs, landing with a muffled thud that seemed amplified in the impossible stillness. He didn’t get that far before. She kept waiting for the sound of the door, a desperate internal plea echoing the expectation. The walls seemed to breathe, to pulse, the ceiling a shifting tapestry of white and bruised purple. 

The crimson serpents remained, their emerald eyes burning into her, their silent presence a heavy weight. This… this isn't right. Syvis moved her hand across their unnatural warmth. Smooth, almost wet with a phantom stickiness. Messmer shifted slightly, his attention now on the fastenings of her waist armour. Leather creaked softly as he worked at the straps, his movements no longer rushed but deliberate, almost reverent. Her breath hitched, caught in her throat. This hadn’t happened. Any second. She couldn’t hear the crackle of the fire, only the faint, grating sounds of shifting metal. “Let us discern if that keen tongue of thine has rendered thee any less slick, little lord.”

Finally, the last strap gave way, and the metal and leather of her waist protection shifted, revealing the vulnerable fabric beneath. He tore the material apart with a brutal ease, his thumb pressing, grinding into the soft skin of her inner thigh. A low murmur escaped his lips, a breathless groan. “Ah. The vulnerable core beneath that defiant shell. Didst thou verily believe those paltry layers couldst keep me from thee?” His fingers traced the line at her waist, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver of dread mixed with something unwelcome through her. Where in the rot fields was the knock? Syvis’s throat was a locked cage, her limbs leaden. The ceiling coiling and shifting, a hazy violet mist swirling in the corners. 

The air grew heavy, charged, like before a thunderstorm. Messmer’s gaze intensified, dropping lower. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement that made her breath catch in her throat, his large hand moved between her legs. A cold dread washed over her, the lack of interruption a growing, sickening certainty. “No valiant saviour hastens to thy side this time, little lord? How… lamentable for thee.” The light behind him flickered, dying out, leaving Syvis in the still dark. 

A pressure, alien and invasive, bloomed within her. Two fingers, thick and demanding, forced their way inside. A tearing, agonising stretch that twisted her body into a grotesque parody of pleasure, a void opening within her that felt impossibly large. A strangled gasp escaped her lips, a sound swallowed by the oppressive, dreamlike silence. This wasn't stopping; it was only beginning. “Thy flesh yearns for mastery in all its tender folds, little lord. Suffer me to enlighten it.”

A soft, wet sound accompanied his unseen movements, a sickening intimacy in the void. Syvis squeezed her eyes shut against the blackness, as if that could somehow block out the violation she could only feel. Why? A ragged cry was torn from her throat as his unseen fingers stretched her roughly, a tearing sensation that made her shudder violently.

"There," Messmer's voice purred from the darkness, impossibly close, as if his lips were pressed against her ear. "No more feigning valour, little lord. Only the truth of sensation." His fingers dug deeper, a brutal exploration that ignited a coil of unwanted heat low in her belly, her muscles clenching involuntarily around the intrusion. Why did it feel so good? A choked whimper escaped Syvis, swallowed by the oppressive silence, her hips bucking slightly against her will. Why do I want more? Make it stop. She could hear his harsh, controlled breathing in the void, the only other sound besides her own ragged gasps and the sickeningly intimate sounds of his concealed assault.

"Ensuring thou art adequately pliant, little lord," he rasped, his voice laced with a cruel amusement. "Wouldn't desire any… hindrance when I at last claim that which is mine by right." His unseen fingers pressed wider, a painful expansion that made Syvis bite down hard on her lip, drawing blood, desperate to stifle the involuntary sounds of distress and a horrifying arousal. The pain sent a perverse thrum of pleasure through her, making her nails dig into the serpent scales. 

His unseen fingers forced their way further, adding another thick digit that tore through her resistance, rubbing against her soft walls, quickly coating in her flowing juices. A strangled moan was ripped from her throat, her body arching off the cold surface beneath her, a desperate, animalistic response to the brutal stretching, slick heat blooming further within her despite her frantic mental denials.

"Almost there," Messmer breathed, a dark triumph in his tone that sent a fresh wave of terror and shameful anticipation through Syvis. "Wouldn't want to rush such a… significant accommodation, would we, little lord? Making certain my reach is fully appreciated." His movements continued, each rough thrust into her needy hole, a deliberate trespass that shattered her control, leaving her broken and exposed in the suffocating darkness, her body betraying her with every involuntary shudder and moan.

A treacherous heat, a sickening bloom of want, coiled tighter within Syvis, pure physical sensation screaming louder than her will. No, no, not this. Fight it. Her breath hitched, a strangled gasp, her hips betraying her, lifting, arching against the unseen pressure, a desperate, shameful craving for more. "Thou art ripe now, art thou not?" Messmer's voice was a low, satisfied caress in the darkness. Gods, it feels… "All that defiance… doth ultimately yield to this." She could feel the slickness, her own sinful arousal, dripping onto the cold, unforgiving surface beneath her. Stop it. Stop feeling.

The fingers moved from her with a sudden swiftness that made her feel empty, her walls trying to clench down on them. Why can’t I see anything? His gold eye, a malevolent star, finally appeared. “Permit me further of thy sweet surrender, mine lightless lord.” His head, adorned with violet lights, descended towards her.

“Holy-” Syvis shot up, chest heaving, the sudden movement sending scalding water sloshing over the rim of the tub. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the lingering threat her body remembered so vividly, hands gripping the side of the stone bath.

Nothing.

With a shaky exhale, she sank back into the water, a hand pressed to her throbbing temple. The discarded gold plates of her armour lay scattered about the room, damp bandages a haphazard trail to the water's edge. After her strategic retreat, she had plunged herself into the medicinal bath fully clothed. A faint, sharp tang of ozone still clung to the air – some corners of the Roundtable Ward lacked the pervasive pacifying enchantment. Convenient, when it suits. The curse's recent fury had left its mark, black scorch lines marring the walls where she’d fled. All for a ridiculous little knife.

Syvis finally let the tension ease, the pulse of her dream still thrumming beneath her skin. A frustrated click of her tongue echoed in the quiet. Messmer. A walking, breathing, devastatingly alluring, pent up fuck of a problem.  Disgusting. Why am I even thinking about him? She released a heavy sigh, almost tasting the blood on her lips, the ghost of his fingers inside her. Elbow propped on the cool stone, head resting, her other hand drifted, drawn by an invisible current, to the slick heat between her thighs. What am I doing? Her fingers slipped beneath the water, finding a traitorous welcome even now. She pictured his eye, that vertical slit, an unnerving focus that felt impossibly real, felt like it was still on her, not just the gold, but the other, unseen one. She groaned at the thought. He sees through you. A hesitant finger dipped further, trying to conjure the sensation of his touch. Not even close, not with these hands. His smell almost filled her nostrils; ash, destruction, fear… rose. Another finger joined the first, pressing deeper. He wasn’t this gentle. A stifled moan caught in her throat as her thighs instinctively tightened, remembering the rough pressure of his hand, pulling her open. Pathetic. The thrilling edge of his violation, the terrifying promise in his words. You let him. 

A subtle pressure, a silken slide, traced a path across her chest, so lifelike it sent a shiver down her spine. You want his vile touch. She arched back slightly, the sensation moving with her, a phantom weight coiling around the fullness of her breast. Her fingers moved to her clit, rubbing desperately, her breath catching in shallow gasps. A confusing knot of excitement and disgust tightened within her. Look at you, making all those pitiful noises. She covered her mouth, arching further back against the cool stone, the imagined serpent a warm, insistent pressure against her skin. She was so close already, her breathing ragged, the water's heat a poor imitation of his intense presence. Him. His sharp-edged face loomed in her mind; she could almost hear his voice, that low thrum that echoed in her chest.

“Fuck…” A soft, involuntary whimper escaped her lips, the edge drawing nearer, the pressure on her chest intensifying, almost constricting. Do you have no shame? “M-Messmer,” she whispered, the name a forbidden offering on the still air, a heady shame filling her chest, alongside a flushing coolness in her limbs. Her pride lay shattered at the bottom of the tub. Cumming for a demigod. She crossed the edge, a choked cry escaping as she bit down on her wrist, fingers spasming, legs trembling in the water, toes curling. The imagined slide of the serpent seemed to vanish over her shoulder as the tremors subsided, a soft moan escaping her lips. Her chest heaved, face flushed, his name a shameful echo in the quiet. How the mighty fall.  She winced, spreading a trembling hand across her wet face, continuing to touch herself with slow, deliberate strokes, eyes unfocused on the swirling water. You’re disgusting.

She pressed her palms to her temples, sinking deeper into the hot water, a frustrated groan escaping her. “I am so screwed.” Her arms dropped to the sides of the bath, the thought of unpacking that particular mess too much to bear. She bit her lip slowly, her hand drifting downwards again. He’d hardly have stopped at just one touch, would he?

Chapter Text

Syvis stood in her study, a room connected to her chambers where leaning towers of prayer books threatened to topple beside a haphazard collection of pilfered relics and purloined weapons – a silent testament to her ingrained kleptomania. The air hung faintly with the sweet, sombre scent of grave violets mingling with the dry undertones of dust, lending the room an atmosphere more akin to a forgotten tomb. To call the room unorganised was an insult to chaos itself.

She stood by the window, the low light kissing the polished white of the bone dagger as it twirled idly in her hands, a sharp furrow in her brow betraying her intense focus. Whatever it was that had triggered the curse had long passed. Even the sight of the gift box on the table, encountered after her bath, had elicited no reaction, her crimson eye remaining steady. Clearly, it caught it by surprise. Her thumb rubbed against the cool, smooth blade absentmindedly, as if the physical sensation might unlock the elusive images in her mind. The study door burst open. Syvis didn’t need to see who it was. Here we go.

“My lord, what transpired?” The faint tremor in Melina’s voice tightened Syvis’s grip on the bone dagger. Without turning from the window, her voice was dry, the words betraying a discomfort she tried to mask. “You could try knocking, Melina.”

The gentle brush of her friend’s cloak across the stone floor filled the strained silence as she entered, the heavy oak door creaking shut behind her. “Enough, Syvis. The matter at hand is grave.” Melina’s footsteps were light yet deliberate as she approached, each soft thud against the stone a palpable beat of concern that churned Syvis’s stomach. Just breathe . The thought offered little solace as her teeth clenched. “Tell me. What has come to pass? Another resurgence so swiftly?” Syvis finally turned, a loaded sigh falling from her lips. The worry etched on Melina’s face was a familiar ache in her own chest. Don’t lie… not entirely. A small, almost dismissive smile flickered across her face as she presented the dagger. Melina’s scarred fingers carefully traced the blade’s edge, sharp and assessing. “And what manner of blade is this?” Syvis watched her twirl it, a weariness settling over her. She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “Couldn’t tell you. Apparently, it’s part of the Impaler’s charming ‘gift’.” A thin line formed at her lips, eyes momentarily distant, clouded with the echoes of what she’d seen. Just spit it out. Another breath escaped her, her fingers fiddling with her gauntlet's leather strap. “I saw… things.”

Melina lifted her attention from the bone dagger, a subtle but telling flinch visible in her scarred hand. “A vision?”

Syvis shook her head, the movement sharp, her slightly damp hair falling past her ear. “No. It felt… closer. Like an echo, a half-remembered thing. The way you’ve described those… bleed-throughs, sometimes at the Churches.” She ran a hand roughly through her hair, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she searched for the right words. Keep it vague. Don’t let her see how much it shook you. She shifted her weight, her armoured fingers continuing to fidget with the intricate fastenings of her gauntlet before she leaned back against the cool, unyielding stone of the wall, finally folding her arms across her chest in a guarded stance. Breathe.

Melina placed the dagger gently on the cluttered table. Her soft footfalls drew nearer, and then her hand, a comforting warmth Syvis knew well, covered her own gauntleted one. She understood Syvis’s hesitance, the way she recoiled from direct questioning, especially in vulnerable matters. Patience, Melina knew, was the only path.

Syvis’s gaze drifted towards the window, the low, amber light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the cluttered room. Just the facts. A weighty exhale forced its way through her nose, and she took a moment. “I saw an altar. Some kind of ritual. A sacrifice.” Her voice was hushed, barely audible. Good start, now the rest. She swallowed, her throat tight. “I think… it was me. Or… someone like me. I could feel it, Melina. The… the actions.” The words felt thick and clumsy on her tongue, each syllable a leaden weight. Stop with the theatrics. Syvis’s impulse was to protect Melina from the lingering horror, but the maiden’s past insistence on facing such darkness alongside her left no room for argument. “There were symbols… swirling things. I tried to sketch them, but they just… dissolved.”  A vivid image seared itself onto the back of her eyelids: a crimson eye, adrift in a pool of viscous blackness, its pupil fixed directly upon her. A sharp throb resonated in her ribs.

“A red eye… and a lot of dramatic shit.” A brittle laugh escaped Syvis, the sound brittle, devoid of mirth. She exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders tightening into knots. You’re getting weaker.

“And beyond this... did you perceive anything further??” Melina prompted softly. “No.” The denial felt immediate, too quick. We said we wouldn’t lie. Syvis pressed the heels of her hands against her temples, a sharp pressure, a futile attempt to disperse the rising ache behind her eyes. Speak, what are you afraid of?! A small, reluctant breath escaped her. “Actually… yes. It spoke again.” A tremor ran through her chest, accompanying the swelling wave of unease. Gods, I’m making too much of this. It’s just a damn knife.

Melina’s expression remained carefully composed, but Syvis caught the tightening around her lips, the slight downward tilt of her brows – familiar tells that betrayed her concern. A softer look fell over Syvis’s features. “Melina, don’t give me that look.” She attempted a cocky smile, the practiced upturn of her lips a flimsy shield against the budding worry churning within. It was a smile Melina had long since learnt to see through. “Honestly, I’m fine.” The words felt weightless, empty even to Syvis’s own ears. Stop lying. Melina’s brows furrowed deeper, a shadow flickering in her pale gold orb. I can’t.

The maiden’s hold on Syvis’s hand tightened. “Its influence is growing, my lord. We cannot ignore this.” A surge of irritation prickled Syvis’s skin, quickly followed by the familiar sting of guilt at the evident worry etched on Melina’s face. You’re not handling this well enough . She shook her head, a small, shaky flinch directed as much at the internal voice as at Melina. “No. It’s just… a strange coincidence.”

“Yes, it is, Syvis. Ever since Malenia…” Melina’s hand rose, her scarred fingers reaching for the black gold necklace nestled against Syvis’s bandaged throat. The dark metal pulsed with a faint uneven thrum, a rougher imitation of the sophisticated, swirling echoes of the bangles adorning Syvis’s armoured arms. Syvis’s gaze sharpened, intently scrutinising Melina’s expression. Does she hold this against me? “This tether... it does not bind as it ought.”

Syvis shifted towards her, her movements intentional but stiff. One hand settled on Melina’s shoulder, the other cupped her cheek, a gesture that felt both instinctively protective and slightly awkward. I saw Godfrey do this once, this is supposed to be reassuring. She focused on Melina’s pale gold eye, her voice striving to convey a steadiness she didn't entirely feel. “This isn’t your fault, Melina. The decision was mine. The fact that you couldn’t perfectly replicate a seal woven with a century of power… that’s not on you.” A vivid image of scarlet butterflies flickered behind Syvis’s mismatched eyes. And I’d make the same choice again, consequences be damned.

“What is to be done?” Melina’s voice was woven with a persistent thread of concern. Syvis offered another smile, this one broader, more deliberately confident. Sell this. “It’s fine, Melina. I’ve already anticipated this. There are unique ingredients to be found in the Realm of Shadow, I had the ones I found sent to you earlier. We’ll formulate new treatments. We’ll adapt.” She took Melina’s forearms in her hands, her grip firm and grounding, her heterochromatic eyes locking onto Melina’s with forced conviction. The carefully constructed facade of self-assured success had returned, every line of her posture radiating an outward control. I have to make her believe this. I have to believe it myself. “You won’t lose me to this. It’s a challenge, yes, but one we will overcome. It’s… manageable. We will find a solution.” I can handle this. I must.

“I am preparing a new elixir. Expect it shortly.” A genuine smile eased onto Syvis’s features, wrinkling the skin under her dual gaze. Melina, ever my anchor. She lifted one of her scarred hands, her touch lingering for a moment before she pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “My dearest Maiden, where in the shadowed corner of the Lands Between would I be without you?” Releasing her grip, Syvis turned back towards the table, her attention now drawn to the ornate box containing Messmer’s gift, oblivious to the brief flexing of Melina’s other hand.

A familiar cocky grin spread across Syvis’s face. “Now then,” she began. “I imagine you’re here with a decree from Godfrey? Something along the lines of my head on a platter?” No doubt the old dog was howling her demise down the very halls.

Melina’s brow arched, a hint of tentative amusement now dancing on her lips as she settled silently onto a nearby stool. This should be good. Syvis remained by the table, the familiar arrangement a silent testament to their usual dynamic. “Verily, no decree of demise hath been proclaimed on this occasion.” A beat, her eye twinkling. “At first, Godfrey's displeasure at your abrupt departure was... most evident. Yet,” she continued, her eye following Syvis, who was tracking the trail of an illuminated dust mote meandering through her study, I really do need to clean this room. “Lord Messmer offered remarks on your… bearing that were, to say the least, intriguing.” Syvis blinked, her spine stiffening as if she’d been yanked upright by the collar, her head snapping towards Melina’s deceptively neutral face. “I’m sorry… What?” 

Melina’s tone remained carefully measured, betraying little, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “He made mention of your remarkable grace in broaching the tender subject of his mother,” she elaborated, her hands now resting serenely in her lap. “And the, as he phrased it, regrettable necessity of her demise. He seemed quite touched by your attempt to navigate his complex feelings, especially in light of your... 'distinctive' initial encounter.”

Syvis spun on her heel, her jaw dropping in disbelief, words failing her. “That… what utter bollocks! That’s not even remotely…” I wasn’t navigating shit. A faint flicker of gold sparked across Syvis’s cheekbones, a fleeting manifestation of her distress. I should have stabbed him in that dusty chamber when I had the chance.

Melina’s composure remained steady, a knowing glint in her eye. “Indeed. He did declare your sudden leave as his own misdeed. Apparently,” she continued, a playful lilt now evident in her voice, “a lingering wound he did inflict upon your shoulder during your initial introduction. He conveyed profound remorse and sends his deepest apologies through the esteemed Lord Godfrey himself.”

A sharp, crackling click echoed in the study as brilliant golden sparks danced between Syvis’s flexing fingers, the raw magic barely contained. “That… insufferable, manipulative little…” Her jaw clenched, vivid and unwelcome memories of their encounter assaulting her mind. Your own damn fault for getting caught. A fierce surge of pride warred with a bitter wave of self-loathing, the lingering memory of her private indulgence in the bath leaving a foul taste in her mouth. “That fucking viper! Who does he think he is? Trying to make me owe him something?” Jagged lines of gold lightning now snaked across the engraved patterns across her armour, brief but undeniable, the smell of ozone beginning to pierce the space. “Oh, I will tear him limb from limb.” His infuriatingly sharp and intense features flickered uninvited in her thoughts, and she shuddered, a flush rising on her cheeks, fueled by a fresh surge of self-hatred. Coiled gods, you are better than this.

Melina remained fixed on Syvis, observing the rapid and turbulent shift in her friend’s demeanour, the almost poorly concealed tension visible in her clenched hands. She’d witnessed enough of Syvis’s volatile emotions to recognise the telltale signs of a carefully constructed lie. “So then, Syvis. Recount what truly occurred.” Erdtree’s mercy.

A low, frustrated growl escaped Syvis’s lips. Go ahead, tell her how you ended up beneath him. Again. She finally broke eye contact, pacing a tight circle across the worn stone floor. Why not mention how much you enjoyed it? Sure, she’d love that. She snapped, her voice brittle with tightly leashed fury, “Nothing! Absolutely nothing happened.” A stray spark of gold lightning flared from her side, striking a nearby sword leaning against the wall with a sharp ting . Syvis immediately clamped her jaw shut, her eyes dropping to her wrist, feigning intense interest in the intricate patterns of her gauntlet. Stop making this so obvious. Melina didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash. “Indeed,” she said slowly, the single word hanging in the air, loaded with unspoken scepticism.

Syvis felt a muscle twitch beside her crimson eye. She forced a slow, deliberate exhalation, consciously splaying her hands in a gesture of openness that felt utterly false. “Look, I just… I might have… perhaps I…” The carefully constructed words crumbled into a frustrated mumble, and she abruptly bit down on her tongue, a silent act of self-chastisement. Humility, Syvis. A strained, almost pained smile stretched across her face as she briefly closed her eyes. “Suffice to say,” she began again, the reluctance evident in her tone, “I was not exactly the epitome of perfect lordship during our… interaction.” Putting it mildly.

Melina’s scrutiny remained unwavering. “Indeed, that much was evident. However, the crux of my inquiry lies elsewhere.” Another blurry shimmer of gold danced across Syvis’s gauntlet. She audibly cracked her neck, the sound sharp in the unbearably tense air. Fuck you, I actually tried this time. I even bowed!

“My true question, Syvis, is this: what exchange occurred between the two of you that would elicit such a... remarkably gracious manner from Messmer?” Melina’s tone had shifted, the earlier neutrality now carrying a hint of knowing amusement, a delicate yet pointed probing that caused Syvis’s teeth to grind involuntarily. Gods, if only you knew the truth.

Syvis braced both hands against the edge of the desk, letting her head fall forward in exasperation. “I don’t know! He’s some self-absorbed, arrogant demigod asshole… no offense,” she added quickly with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “This is just some… power play. Him trying to manipulate perceptions, control what others think and feel. And now even wear !” Her voice edged upwards on the last word, a faint, agitated spark of golden energy flickering at her fingertips as she gestured sharply towards the ornate box.

Melina turned towards the elaborate box, then back to Syvis, a distinctly expectant look gleaming in her pale gold eye. Do not even try it. Not even for you. “I am not playing dress-up,” Syvis snapped, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the polished grain of her desk.

A fleeting smile tugged at the corner of Melina’s lips before she swiftly regained her composure. “The Lord Regent has specifically requested that you wear it tomorrow… for Lord Messmer’s scheduled tour of the grounds.” Syvis’s head slowly rose up, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, she questioned through gritted teeth. “His what ?” Godfrey, that git. Have I not made enough of a fool of myself?

Melina rose with fluid grace, her movements hinting at the amusement she was trying to conceal as she deftly retrieved the folded fabric from the ornate box. She presented it to Syvis, who resolutely refused to meet her eye. “Come now, Syvis. Let us, at the very least, examine this truly abhorrent offering that has so thoroughly troubled your delicate sensibilities.”

Reluctantly, Syvis retreated through the connecting door into the relative sanctuary of her private chambers. Melina’s gaze followed her for a moment before drifting back down to the white of the bone dagger resting innocently on the cluttered table. Her fingers, scarred and weary, traced its honed edges and subtle, inherent flaws with a quiet reverence.

The two held a silent understanding, forged in the shared crucible of their lost pasts and Melina’s initial guidance. Syvis, with a quiet devotion that was often disguised by her fiery nature, had guided Melina towards the crumbling churches of Marika on their journey – a path far beyond her initial, simple request to accompany her to the golden capital city, Leyndell. Melina had clung to each echoing whisper of her broken memories within those stone ruins, every fragmented word she could conjure meticulously recorded in Syvis’s journal. Beneath Syvis’s potent capacity for violence lay a keen and relentlessly inquisitive mind, and the complex enigma of Melina’s origins had become a captivating puzzle she was determined to unravel.

It had taken Melina a long time to realise that Syvis’s fierce dedication to uncovering her history stemmed not merely from intellectual curiosity, but from a deep-seated desire to express her gratitude for the gifted ancient bonds that held the sinister curse at bay.

It was Syvis, through careful observation, her interactions with Ranni, and extensive study of the Lands Between's hidden history, who had painstakingly pieced together the fragmented truth of Melina’s demigod lineage. Yet, the precise circumstances surrounding Melina’s peculiar fate remained shrouded in mystery, a clinging darkness that perhaps Lord Messmer, with his own carefully concealed secrets and veiled past, might finally illuminate.

Even now, as Elden Lord, the answers Syvis relentlessly sought remained ever elusive. Marika’s chilling silence within the heart of the Erdtree, a cold, echoing void that forbade all inquiry. Melina swallowed, a phantom recoil at the memory of that silent, crucified form – her mother , suspended in eternal repentance for incomprehensible sins. Then he had manifested. Lord Radagon. Syvis had stood unafraid before the fractured god, her voice a defiant challenge demanding truths for Melina, for the ravaged and bleeding Lands Between, never once for herself. Futile. The ensuing clash had been a brutal and terrifying ballet of divine fury colliding with mortal rebellion, cosmic energies viciously tearing at the very edges of Syvis’s being.

Then that sickening, wet sound – the horrifying crunch of steel rending, followed by a wet, ragged tearing of flesh. Melina had witnessed Radagon’s stone-etched hands rip a tear in Syvis’s golden armour, as he held her above him. Then, radiating a furious, blinding light, swinging his hammer with the force of a collapsing star deep into her unprotected flesh. Melina had only been able to watch, frozen in horror. The phantom echo of Syvis’s strangled scream, a sound so alien to the unyielding force she embodied, stung her ears. She vividly remembered the grotesque way Syvis’s body had crumpled, visible cracks spider-webbing across her skin like shattered porcelain under the weight of the blow, trapped within Radagon’s inexorable grip around her throat.

Syvis should have perished in that cataclysmic moment, her very being ripped from the inside out by the coalescing laws of order within a mere Tarnished warrior, crushed in the merciless hand of a silent, ruthless god. Yet, inexplicably, whether by a cruel twist of fate’s design or by the very inherent nature that allowed her to contain the shattered remnants of the Elden Ring she had already gathered, she had clung to life, picking herself up from the discarded pile he left her in. Continuing to battle the Golden Order’s leal hound, her weapon a flash of silver and crackling gold against his alabaster form, a vortex of unrestrained lightning, unyielding and fierce despite the hole the fundamental laws of reality ripped through her, decorating the floor with scarlet.

When his divine form eventually fell, an ominous, swirling cosmic energy pulsed outwards into the void he left behind, a silent, chilling harbinger of something ancient and vast stirring in the darkness. Syvis, battered and bleeding, but fueled by a will that defied mortal limits, turned to face her next, impossible adversary, a cocky smile on her bleeding lips. As the echoes of the Elden Beast's shattering demise reverberated through the Erdtree's heart, Marika’s fractured body had re-emerged, aglow with the collapse of the vassal of order.

Melina had been blinded by the sudden rush of searing gold. When her vision cleared, the broken form of Marika was no more, only motes of her essence drifting off like stardust. Kneeling before the empty space, now radiating a nascent, terrifying power, was Syvis. Melina hadn't seen the exchange, hadn't heard a word. There was only the grim reality of Syvis, head bowed, a faint golden luminescence now thrumming beneath her skin, an invisible weight set upon her shoulders. It was a silent coronation, a burden passed in the void by a shattered god.

Melina closed her eye solemnly. Syvis had carried her, without a single request for recompense, towards the fragmented remnants of her own lost history. Melina would not falter now. She would fight this insidious, encroaching darkness that threatened to consume her lord from within, this unsettling crimson that flickered ominously in her mismatched gaze, until her own flame was utterly extinguished. Her maiden. A fierce, possessive protectiveness bloomed in Melina’s chest, a feeling that resonated far deeper than mere duty or obligation. Syvis was hers.

Syvis returned from her chambers, a delicate blush now gracing her cheekbones. The garment she wore was striking: dark dragon hide, lined with a vibrant crimson silk, crossed elegantly over her chest, accentuating her curves. Her right arm was bare from the shoulder downwards, revealing scattered silver scales that shimmered against her skin like exotic freckles, a fine, dark glove encasing her hand and forearm. In contrast, her left arm was swathed in flowing gold silk, leaving her hand bare, where more of the silver markings caught the soft light. The dark, scaled hide formed a distinctive half-skirt around her waist, stopping high to reveal a longer, lighter fabric beneath that cascaded to her knees, intricately embroidered with golden symbols depicting the Erdtree intertwined with what appeared to be the fierce iconography of the Dragon Knights. Her waist down was encased in supple, expensive leather, her thighs each adorned with three straps, while a delicate gold thread circled her waist, terminating in a small, ornate clip – clearly intended for the bone dagger. Finally, a rich, ruby sash, its edges trimmed with fine gold thread, was wrapped around her waist, the luxurious fabric swaying down to her knees.

Melina’s breath caught audibly, her pale gold eyes wide as she took in the entirety of the unexpected ensemble. Syvis gave her opinion curtly, “I am not wearing this.”

Syvis’s expression was decidedly unimpressed, her arms crossed defensively over her chest, a clear protest against the luxurious attire. She felt acutely exposed without the familiar weight and security of her armour, the delicate fabric offering no way to conceal the network of bandages she usually wore beneath. Less protection, and practically everything is on display! She felt a small, private mercy that the lingering, discoloured marks from the recent curse flare-up were hidden beneath the rich material.

“You appear... most striking, Syvis,” Melina said softly, a genuine appreciation in her voice.

A faint spark of golden energy danced from Syvis’s jaw to her crimson eye. “That’s beside the point, obviously. I always look amazing,” she retorted, the blush on her cheeks deepening despite her attempt to project indifference.

  It’s beautiful, fuck him. “ But why this? Of all the… things!” Syvis gestured emphatically down at the revealing attire, her exasperation mounting.

“Consider...” Melina began, thoughtfully tracing the lines of the dragon hide that crossed Syvis’s chest with her eye. “The dragon hide... one might reasonably surmise it is a deliberate reference to your former role as Dragon Knight. Indeed, your past is apparent in your fighting prowess, the very cadence of your movements.” She paused, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to discern the underlying intent behind the attire. “The gold and the Erdtree embroidery… that clearly speaks to your current title of Elden Lord. And the red…” Her gaze flickered up, a fleeting, almost accidental connection with Syvis’s crimson eye before settling with deliberate intention on the gold one. Good recovery, you almost looked.

Syvis glanced downwards, her fingers absently smoothing the delicate fabric of the lighter embroidered skirt, a frustrated click on her tongue. “He most likely pilfered it from some poor sod’s discarded wardrobe.”

Melina sighed softly, a hint of hesitation in her voice. “I rather suspect… it might have been expressly tailored.”

“That fucking asshole!” Syvis’s voice erupted, echoing from within her chambers as she stormed back through the connecting door, jagged tendrils of golden lightning momentarily illuminating the frame before she disappeared once more. The door remained slightly ajar, allowing her furious muttering to drift into the quiet study. “I’m not keeping it! Godfrey can parade around in it for all I care!”

Melina sighed, the sound tinged with a familiar note of pained resignation. “My Lord, these… customary exchanges often accompany gifts of this significance. You cannot simply reject it outright without causing offence.”

A frustrated growl rumbled from within the chamber, punctuated by the sharp, erratic crackle of barely suppressed lightning and the clinking of sparks dancing across metal. “I don’t want to! Fuck… It’s too perfect. It feels like he’s deliberately mocking every facet of me.” The floorboards creaked under Syvis’s agitated movements. Melina’s gaze drifted across the chaotic tableau of the study, making a silent mental note that the precarious towers of ancient scrolls were now teetering dangerously close to critical mass. “That level of… deliberate foresight seems… improbable,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

“He absolutely is!” A flurry of rapid clicks and the sharp snap of fastening latches accompanied Syvis’s vehement retort from within her chambers. She reappeared abruptly, her movements quick and almost frantic as she tightened the final straps on her golden vambrace. Her black and gold cloak was askew, half-dragged carelessly across one shoulder, the intricate clasp undone. The sash, typically reserved for her journeys across the Lands Between, remained absent. More of this suffocating ‘regal lord’ rubbish. Melina gently fastened the heavy chain to the small latch across Syvis’s shoulder, the weighty cloak then settling to conceal the left side of her once again armoured body. A faint static discharge made the tips of Melina’s fingers twitch momentarily as she carefully adjusted the chain. “I confess, Syvis, I find myself... genuinely struggling to comprehend the depth of distress this particular garment has occasioned,” she said softly, perplexed by Syvis’s vehemence.

Syvis waved a dismissive hand, her unwavering focus solely on cinching the tight straps of her waist armour. “The fundamental issue, Melina, is the simple, unavoidable fact that he gave it to me.” Her tone was clipped, her gaze purposefully on the buckles, avoiding Melina’s bewildered expression. She sighed heavily, a long, shaky exhale escaping her nostrils. “Just… help me craft a response. Please. I refuse to be outmanoeuvred. Not by him.” Never again by him.

“You intend to… reciprocate his gesture?” Melina chose her words with a meticulous neutrality, observing Syvis with a flicker of intrigued curiosity, carefully masking any hint of her own thoughts. Syvis, lost in the battleground of her strategic planning, completely missed the subtle probing in her carefully chosen tone. She tapped a finger against her chin. “Precisely. Something undeniable. Something that demonstrates I perceive him just as clearly as he believes he perceives me.” A way to show him he’s not as clever as he thinks. A fleeting, reckless image flashed through her mind. Perhaps something that reveals… everything? She pinched the bridge of her nose, a silent, internal reprimand to her own impulsive and potentially disastrous thoughts. Is twice not enough?

“...you would have him know... that he is, in turn, seen by you,” Melina repeated slowly, a mere ghost of her earlier amusement playing delicately on her lips. Why the pointed emphasis?

“Yes,” Syvis affirmed, renewed determination in her mismatched eyes. “To turn the tables. To put the advantage back in my court.” She held Melina’s look, a silent challenge in her own. The thick silence stretched.

“As you wish, Syvis,” Melina conceded softly. “Whatever assistance you require, you need only ask.” A knowing smile, brimming with an unsettling certainty, bloomed on Melina’s lips, causing a faint twitch in Syvis’s brow. Syvis opened her mouth to voice her confusion, but Melina preempted her. “I know, Syvis. You’re perfectly fine. Your aversion lies in... being outmatched, does it not?” Syvis huffed, her hand now resting pointedly on her right hip, her gaze fixed on Melina. Why is she looking at me like that?

The maiden’s smile widened, a playful glint in her eye. “So, are you… Perhaps endeavouring to make a favourable impression tomorrow?”

A sudden rush of heat flooded Syvis’s cheeks, her denial erupting sharper than she intended. “Absolutely not! Don’t even start, Melina.” I am so not dealing with this right now. She turned sharply towards the study door, gesturing impatiently for Melina to follow her. Her maiden took her own deliberate time in complying, a soft, almost inaudible murmur escaping her lips as she gracefully crossed the threshold, her eye lingering on Syvis as she carefully secured the door behind them. “Seldom does anyone manage to burrow so deeply beneath your formidable skin, Syvis.” Oh, bite me.

“Quit staring at me,” Syvis muttered, her internal irritation beginning to simmer. You’re supposed to be my ally in this. She strode forward, her black and gold cloak billowing dramatically in her wake, Melina trailing slightly behind.

“But such a spectacle is rare indeed, to see you even remotely flustered in manners such as these,” Melina observed thoughtfully, looping her arm comfortably around Syvis’s right elbow, her touch light yet grounding. “He does exude a rather… fervent intensity, does he not? A quality that might… resonate with certain individuals.”

“I am not ‘ resonating’ ! I am incandescently pissed off. And I want him to understand, unequivocally and without any room for misinterpretation, that I will not tolerate any of his manipulative bullshit.” Syvis grumbled, subtly adjusting her brisk pace to comfortably accommodate Melina’s steady grip on her arm.

"Ah, but tread carefully, my Lord. You may have, at long last, encountered one who relishes your games as much as yourself." Melina chuckled, a lighthearted sound that did little to ease the sudden, icy knot of dread tightening in the pit of Syvis’s stomach. She had brazenly played off their encounter in the parlour, projecting her usual unwavering confidence, but in doing so, she had inadvertently constructed a formidable wall, effectively locking Melina out of the true, unsettling nature of their exchange. If only she knew.

The unwelcome, visceral memory of his tongue tracing the sensitive curve of her neck sent a wave of nausea through her, yet her limbs immediately betrayed her with a faint, traitorous flush of cold anticipation. The exquisitely crafted gift… it had been waiting for her during their conversation in the parlour. He had known. Even before she had initiated that foolish game of veiled threats and lingering touches, he had been several steps ahead. The image of the bone dagger, intentionally left on her study table, flashed in her mind. What else had he gleaned?

Much later that evening, Syvis was hunched over her desk, muttering a constant stream of observations and justifications to herself as she meticulously sketched out her counter-proposition for the attire, adding precise labels and annotations, the rhythmic scratching of her well-worn quill the most prominent sound in the otherwise quiet room. Melina moved with quiet efficiency around the study, carefully stacking weighty tomes and gently nudging stray, wayward scrolls into more coherent and organised piles. "So much will be arriving soon," Melina murmured, more to herself than Syvis. "The maps, the decrees... so many seals to affix. You require ample space to properly review everything." Syvis’s only acknowledgement was a continued, almost hypnotic hum and the steady, rhythmic scratching of her diligent quill against the parchment.

Suddenly, Syvis sat back with a decisive flourish, a final, emphatic line completing her intricate sketch. “By the Golden Order, I am utterly brilliant.” She rose abruptly from her chair, turning towards the study door with a newfound energy. “Satisfied with your… subtle suggestions?” Melina asked softly, her pale gold eye watching Syvis with a mixture of curiosity and affection. Syvis paused at the threshold, a slow, utterly cocky smile spreading across her lips, a familiar smile that never failed to elicit a faint flutter in Melina’s steadfast heart. “It's perfect,” Syvis declared, her mismatched eyes gleaming with unrestrained mischief and a hint of wicked anticipation. “And by the grace of the Erdtree itself, Melina, he is going to absolutely loathe it.”

Chapter Text

Hello everyone, It has been a hot minute. For anyone that has written anything, this is going to be painful. SO I had a plan, all my prewritten chapters neatly waiting to be published. DO I SAVE THEM TO THE CLOUD? No, of course not, because dear readers - I am an imbecile.

My partner's cousins come round, they have a 5 year old. I do not like children, I'm not horrible about it, just not a maternal person, there is a reason this story will never, ever, have children in it. To be clear, I am not horrible to children, I just don't want any of my own or in my space, the following is a reason why. They've raised this poor kid on a tablet, I say nothing, they are his cousins, not mine. Then disaster strikes, the tablet runs out of charge, the cousins are faced with the impossible challenge of being parents... so what do they do? Do they do anything sane? - Like recharge the tablet, or talk to their child? - No. They take MY LAPTOP, the one with MY UNBACKED UP story on it. Do they ask? Of course they don't! Why would they?! It couldn't have been my laptop, it's just in my home, it's clearly a communal one, a stray I rehomed and gave a warm bed.

To cut a long story short, the 'child' deleted all of it. I get it wasn't their fault, I didn't yell or anything, but I did bury my head in the sand. The idea of writing so much again so soon was too much. I had just played hours of the game as well to make up some world accurate trade routes for the story, and it was all gone. I haven't even been able to play the game again, that is the level of heartbreak. But you guys keep bookmarking and Delipha commented recently (Love you). And I thought of Syvis and Messmer again. So, I will be 'slowly' rewriting what I lost. Please do bare with me, it has been a while and the post frequency will not be biweekly, I'm hoping for weekly but I'm trying not to set up too much pressure.

I am sorry for not saying anything, I really enjoyed this story and had a lot planned, but that doesn't mean I can't make it again - perhaps even better than I had planned. I appreciate all the love and I am actually looking forward to the demigod with control issues and the poor sod of a main character. I wish you all a happy Monday.

:)









:')