After all, if the summoning of spirits weren't limited, then anyone with a handful of ashes and access to a Spiritcaller's Snail could piece together a makeshift army—an endless legion of ghosts born from the Erdtree's remnants.
"I'll dismiss them first... wait."
A thought struck Alistair.
Soul?
He stared at the Spirit Calling Bell clutched in his hand. A bold idea began to form.
Without a word, he rang the bell three times in quick succession. A sudden pulse filled the air.
Beside him, Melina's eyes widened in disbelief.
The Wandering Noble stepped forth, followed by the trio of wolves gifted by Ranni, then the spirit of the noble sorcerer, and finally—the tattered, half-formed figure of the Finger Maiden.
Four sets of ashes. Four summoned spirits. All simultaneously.
Even Alistair stared in surprise at the spectral beings now surrounding him.
He'd thought maybe he could manage two at once, given his unusual state. But four? And it felt like he could do more, as if his own soul—robust and abnormal—could substitute for the binding of the Rebirth Monument. He could feel it in his marrow.
If he pushed it, he could summon further still, even away from monolithic shrines.
"I really am the Endless God of War now," he muttered.
But his humor faded when he turned his gaze toward the last summon. The Finger Maiden.
Unlike the others, her form flickered and swayed like a candle in a storm. Though a spectral form, she seemed to possess some trace of self-awareness, a mind not entirely lost to ash and memory.
"She is..." Melina's voice trembled faintly.
Alistair nodded slowly. "She might have been my original Finger Maiden. I don't remember, but... it feels like it."
He frowned, stepping closer. Her aura was weak, fading. The bond that held her soul together was fraying at the edges.
"Melina," he said quietly, "do you know how to heal a soul?"
She hesitated, then shook her head.
"The Golden Order teaches that the soul is eternal and unbroken. Most healing incantations only touch body and mind. The soul is not a field many study. And spirit-tuners... they're rare now, almost gone. Especially out here."
Alice added, "And even if I wanted to help, I lack the means."
That left only one path.
Alistair sighed and prepared to dismiss the Maiden back to her ash—until a glimmer in the corner of his interface caught his eye.
Soul Energy.
Wait.
He had nowhere to spend runes. Could it work? Could he feed a soul—like offering nourishment to another?
It was a dangerous idea. Pure soulstuff, once separated, could be corrupted, or worse, grow consciousness of its own. But in her state, what choice was there?
Carefully, he extended a hand. A glint of white energy gathered at his fingertip. He reached deep into his own reserves, carved off a sliver of his essence, and presented it like food to the dying soul.
The Maiden stirred.
She raised her head slowly, as if drawn to the scent. Then, gently, she leaned in and took the wisp of soul with her lips.
The effect was immediate.
Not drastic, not sudden. But it was real.
Her form solidified slightly. Her flickering steadied, just a touch. She began to digest the soul — slow, arduous, but steady.
"You... gave your soul to her?" Melina asked, stunned.
"Couldn't use it anyway."
Then something occurred to him.
"Wait. Melina, you're a spirit too, right?"
"I am."
"Want some?"
Before she could answer, he casually flicked a small orb of soul energy at her. It hovered mid-air, then sank into her form.
There would be some loss, of course. Transferred like this, soul essence would slowly fade. But for Melina, whose spiritual form was whole, it wasn't necessary for her to... lick his fingers, like the other had.
"...Thank you," she murmured.
"I don't suppose you want a bite?" he asked Alice.
She thought for a moment, then nodded. She took a small taste, then passed the rest to Melina.
"I don't have a soul," she said flatly, "but I was curious what it tastes like."
Finally, Alistair turned and looked at Torrent. The spectral steed pawed the ground beside him, ever silent, ever steady.
"Want some?"
Torrent neighed softly.
Alistair grinned and placed a drop of soul against his muzzle. The steed accepted it gently, like a child taking fruit from a trusted hand.
When all was done, he dismissed the spirits, letting them return to their ashes to digest what they had been given and walked back into the world.
The sky had begun to dim. He followed the terrain eastward, skirting the cliffs to the west. There were no caves, no ruins, just scattered beasts and demi-humans, quickly dispatched.
By nightfall, he crossed a mossy stone bridge, veering northeast.
Then, as he approached a new Site of Grace nestled in the treeline—
Edge of the Mistwood.
A low growl echoed in the trees.
Alistair froze, his hand on his weapon.
The sound rose into a full-blown howl, sharp and lonely.
"That's a wolf," he muttered.
---
"What... is that?"
In the shadowed ruins of the Mistwood, Blaidd the Half-Wolf stood bloodied and breathless, staring at the abomination before him.
He had come here tracking a traitor. Darriwil. A known murderer, cast from the ranks of the Bloodhounds.
He had suspected the rogue was hiding somewhere in this shattered ruin. And so he'd waited, atop the broken tower, overlooking the treetops, unmoved by the beasts below.
Then the mud came.
No one knew when it arrived. No one saw it approach. It simply... was.
A mass of writhing sludge, half-rotted flesh, and bone splinters. It coiled around a slumbering rune bear, consuming it whole.
Flesh melted. Limbs fused. The bear's form twisted and morphed into a multi-limbed nightmare, seeping black pus and flailing with blind, monstrous rage.
"??椆?丆帆!" it screamed in a language that was not language. Sounds scraped from a dying mind.
Each limb moved with chaos, some punching, others clawing, others casting magic.
One limb wept. Another laughed. Another prayed.
It grew with every kill.
When Blaidd struck, frost bloomed from his sword and froze its arms solid. The monster shattered. He thought it finished.
He was wrong.
From the cleaved trunk of its neck, a new limb grew, thin and skeletal, holding a staff made from a corpse.
And... his Magic flared.
A comet of blue light struck Blaidd squarely in the chest, driving him to a knee.
He tried to rise.
Another limb burst from its ribcage and slammed into him, sending him sprawling across broken stone.
"It's... still growing..."
The thing wailed, not in anger but in sorrow.
As if crying for its mother.
As if begging for death.
Then came a sound.
Snap.
A single finger snap.
Golden light fell from above.
A meteor of pure Grace crashed down upon the creature, enveloping it in blinding radiance. A greatsword followed a relic of ash and fire that was driven deep into the heart of the writhing monstrosity.
The monster howled.
Not in pain.
But joy.
"??丆屷庡懇?丆撨暟?祅充综合ba??両..."
The flames spread.
And the creature burned. Not in torment, but in release.
As its cursed flesh turned to ash, it whispered something, as if thanking the flame for its mercy.
A man stood in the crater, clad in armor scorched black by countless infernos.
Blaidd stared.
"Who... are you?"
But the stranger did not answer.
He turned to the side.
And looked at the blonde girl who had just materialized at his shoulder.
***
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