A kneeling ghost appeared in the depths of Volcano Manor's gloomy corridors. His face was weathered and covered in stubble, and the sound of his whispered sobs echoed through the hallway.
"Someone... Please, someone kill him... Kill the great serpent... Kill Lord Rykard..."
Skyl followed the ghost's cries.
He knew exactly who this spirit was.
A fallen Gelmir Knight.
After Rykard willingly allowed himself to be devoured by the great serpent, his knights discovered that their once-noble lord had become a monster. They retrieved the legendary serpent-slaying spear and rose in rebellion against him.
When Skyl had played Elden Ring, the character who left the deepest impression on him wasn't Tanith, the charming mistress of Volcano Manor. It wasn't Rya, the adorably clueless serpent girl, or Diallos Hoslow, the melodramatic young knight. Nor was it Bernahl, the would-be lord, or Patches, that familiar face from the Souls games.
It was this unremarkable ghost.
Skyl knew he was a strange person. He rarely cherished the living, yet he was particularly fascinated by stories about the dead.
Perhaps everyone shared a little of that strangeness. Otherwise, there wouldn't be so many people throughout history trying to summon the spirits of the departed.
Once a person died, everything they had done in life became part of an unchangeable past. The dreams they had failed to realize became eternal regrets, carried through the ages.
Loyal soldiers had perished after their lord betrayed them. All their heroism had been buried alongside their bodies in the belly of a serpent.
That was precisely the story of the Gelmir Knights before him.
The more deeply they had believed Rykard could lead them to overthrow the Erdtree's oppressive system, the more devastating their despair had been when he fell into depravity.
Even at the height of Gelmir's power, they had failed to breach the royal capital of Leyndell.
The light of dawn had never once reached their eyes. Yet they believed the sun would eventually rise again, and that belief alone had been enough for them to march willingly onto the battlefield.
It was the story of a group of rational idealists who had died in the darkness.
Their spirits still wandered the desolate halls of Volcano Manor, endlessly begging passing Tarnished to slay the great serpent.
They wanted to preserve the last remnants of their lord's honor, safeguard the ideals they had fought for, and retain some final shred of dignity when future generations passed judgment on their place in history.
The warriors of Gelmir hadn't fought to satisfy the selfish desires of a monarch or advance their own interests.
They had fought for the people of the world.
Even if they had failed, their honorable cause deserved better than to be stained by their lord's disgrace.
Some people spent their entire lives serving nothing more than an ideal and a banner.
Skyl knew he could never devote his existence to an ideal or a banner.
He wasn't a hero, nor was he a mortal.
His life would never contain regrets.
And perhaps that was precisely why the regrets of history mattered so much to him.
The Gelmir Knight looked up at Skyl.
"You're Tarnished, aren't you? Here to challenge the demigods? Please, hurry and kill the great serpent. Tarnished, take that spear and run it through the monster... That thing must die. We cannot allow it to continue dishonoring our lord's name and ambitions."
"I'm not Tarnished, and I'm not here to challenge the demigods."
Skyl crouched down and met the eyes of the kneeling knight's spirit.
"Then leave this place," the knight murmured dejectedly. "Volcano Manor is no place for someone like you."
His voice grew increasingly bitter.
"Why are you still here? Have you come to laugh at a dead man? You know I'm powerless now. All I can do is place my hopes in the living. I'm a useless ghost. All I can do is beg. I'm a wretched beggar who can do nothing but watch as time slowly devours my memories."
His grievance against fate was simple. He had already given everything he possessed while alive, yet even in death, he was forced to endure humiliation without being able to do anything about it.
"I lost. We failed. I'm nothing."
The knight's voice trembled.
"Please, whether you're Tarnished or not, whoever you are, finish what we started. Kill the rotting body of our former lord. Destroy it. Free his honor from the prison of that corpse and let it rise once more into the skies above the Lands Between."
Perhaps it was Skyl's expression, as silent and unyielding as an ancient mountain, that finally broke the knight.
The spirit burst into tears.
He wept like a helpless failure, a speck of dust abandoned by the passage of history.
Skyl had seen that expression before.
He had seen it on the face of his father after he lost his wife.
He had seen it on an elderly beggar beneath a bridge, clutching his bleeding groin after being attacked by a dog.
He had seen it on the face of a homeless female classmate sitting on the railing of a bridge.
And he had seen it on his own face, reflected in a mirror in a foreign land.
Skyl had witnessed countless tragedies.
Yet he had forgotten them all.
Now, wherever he looked, his eyes saw only miracles.
Magic was the power to create miracles. With a heart that truly believed, anything was possible.
"I won't help you."
Skyl gazed steadily at the knight.
"I want you to kill Rykard yourself. Are you willing?"
"Even if I must die ten thousand times, I will never retreat."
Skyl rose to his feet.
"Spirits of Gelmir's fallen knights! I, Skyl, the High Tower King, summon your souls this day! Return from death and fulfill the wishes you could not accomplish in life!"
An ancient song, solemn and soaring, rang out as the warrior spirits returned from the void.
It was the song they had once sung when they marched on their great expedition toward their homeland beneath the Erdtree.
The sorrowful torrent of history transformed into swords in their hands and armored steeds beneath them.
At the thunderous command of a god, they crossed the impassable divide between life and death and returned to the mortal world.
Tanith, the mistress of Volcano Manor, was so terrified that she nearly lost her mind.
"They've all returned! They've all returned!" she cried.
Godfrey threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"Excellent! Excellent! Today, I'll lead my Crucible Knights and stand behind you brave warriors! Together, we'll slaughter that damned snake, Rykard!"
...
The battle began.
Deep within the volcano, the spirits of Gelmir's fallen knights launched their crusade against Rykard.
Meanwhile, Skyl had taken Millicent and the others on a leisurely stroll.
Volcano Manor was a thoroughly sinister place, its eerie atmosphere enough to make anyone's skin crawl.
They also encountered numerous Albinaurics who had been subjected to torture. Their bodies had been twisted into grotesque deformities, and their minds had been driven completely insane.
The scenes were horrifying beyond description.
Millicent and the others spent the entire journey frowning, unable to bear what they were seeing.
"Skyl, where exactly are you taking us?" Doniel asked, rubbing the goosebumps on his arms.
He had already thrown up several times.
"I'm not taking you anywhere. You're the ones who insisted on following me. Now that you can't stomach what you're seeing, you're going to blame me?"
"Well, it's kind of scary when you're not around."
Skyl entered an Inquisition chamber built into the mountainside.
It was a place where countless Albinaurics had been subjected to brutal torture.
There, he found a mask.
It was an Albinauric Mask, featuring an enormous, round head and two beady black eyes. It resembled a strange mixture of a turtle and an alien.
Skyl cheerfully pulled the mask over his head, instantly transforming himself into an adorable-looking idiot.
"Ah, that's better."
His companions stared at him, completely unable to comprehend his bizarre behavior.
Millicent was particularly bewildered.
Her boyfriend had always been a mysterious, unfathomable figure. Yet the moment he put on that Albinauric Mask, he looked like a complete doofus.
The contrast was so ridiculous that she could barely keep a straight face.
"Skyl, what on earth are you supposed to be?"
"Hold on. This isn't even my final form."
Skyl changed into a thick, bulky coat that made him resemble an overweight, middle-aged woman.
Then he produced a bouquet of flowers from the Mohgwyn Dynasty and happily stood before Millicent.
He held the flowers out to her.
"Thank you for the flowers, but I'd really appreciate an explanation."
"Don't you think I look incredibly handsome right now?"
Moli, the young apprentice, nearly collapsed from laughter.
Even Melina, who was usually so aloof and reserved, was struggling to keep a straight face.
Thops wore an expression of deep concern, as though he were witnessing the moment Mage Skyl had finally lost his mind.
Doniel, meanwhile, was utterly baffled.
Skyl shook his head.
He knew perfectly well how ridiculous he looked.
Yet this goofy appearance represented something precious in a world as cold and unforgiving as the Lands Between.
It was a rare splash of brightness amid all the darkness.
It represented an optimistic spirit that refused to abandon hope, even in the face of absolute despair.
Besides, an Albinauric holding a bouquet of flowers was practically the ultimate proposal outfit for any Tarnished!
If Elden Ring had actually included a marriage system back when Skyl played it, he would definitely have proposed to every single female character in the game.
But things were different now.
Millicent was the only person he needed to propose to.
This ridiculous outfit was simply his way of fulfilling an old wish.
"My Millie! My precious Millie! Hehehe."
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