"I have no regrets."
"That's all I need."
Alistair knelt beside Torrent, rubbing the spirit steed's snout affectionately before offering it a handful of dried roots. As the loyal beast munched away, Alistair stood and turned back to Melina.
"But I appreciate your concern," he said, his voice calm. "I know your warning comes from a good place, and I won't ignore it. If she ever proves herself an enemy, I won't hesitate."
He smiled faintly. "At worst, it's just another side quest. And we both know how those end."
In his experience, so-called villainous characters often offered more rewards the longer they were allowed to live. Cutting them down prematurely usually meant missing out on spells, artifacts, or key lore. Souls logic, plain and simple.
Melina didn't respond. Alistair didn't take offense. She and Alice were alike—quiet, reticent, enigmatic. Getting a full sentence from either was a minor miracle. It was probably only his prior remark about not wanting the Elden Ring that had startled Melina into speech earlier. Now that he'd reaffirmed his commitment, she likely felt no need to say more.
That was fine. He was used to silence. Silence had often been his only companion. If anything, he found comfort in it. No noisy NPCs trying to sell useless wares or ask him to go kill rats in a basement. Peaceful, focused. Just enough chatter to ground him, not so much to overwhelm.
Torrent trotted through the night as Alistair surveyed the dim horizon. Faint light glinted off a set of moss-covered ruins up ahead. He dismounted, unsheathed his sword, and moved in.
The ruins were infested. A small mob of wandering soldiers patrolled the area, led by a pumpkin-helmed monstrosity. Alistair made quick work of them, his upgraded weapon cutting through flesh and armor alike. When the last foe fell, a golden site of grace flared into view at the rear of the chamber.
Alistair approached the iron door behind the newly-activated site of grace and rubbed his hands together with anticipation.
This whole place had felt like a mini-dungeon. Lots of enemies, even a boss. And yet all it gave him was some Runes. Surely something worthwhile lay behind the gate. A chest? A rare item?
He reached out and lifted the gate with a creak of rusted hinges.
What he saw inside made him pause.
A person?
———
"Oh? A Tarnished?" The voice was soft, detached. "How rare to receive a visitor."
The speaker was a woman clad in a cerulean robe that resembled an academy scholar's garb. Her bare feet rested delicately on the stone floor, and an odd, expressionless mask covered her face.
"My name is Sellen. As you can see, I am a sorcerer. So, what can I do for you?"
Sorcerer?
Alistair felt a twinge of déjà vu.
Wait a moment…
"Can I learn sorcery from you?"
"Oh? You wish to study glintstone magic?"
Sellen's voice was unreadable, but she examined him with a subtle tilt of the head.
"You seem to possess the bare minimum aptitude. However…"
She hesitated.
"I must warn you. I was exiled from Raya Lucaria. Labeled a heretic. Even among magicians, I am feared."
Her gaze turned inward.
"Knowing that, do you still wish to be my pupil?"
Alistair nearly twitched.
Heretic, sorceress, cast out from her academy. Aloof exterior, sharp mind, haunted past…
It was a checklist. The classic Soulsborne magic teacher profile.
"I do."
He met her gaze without flinching. "I'm very determined."
Sellen exhaled quietly, her masked head tilting again.
"…You're an odd one."
Then, more firmly: "Very well. I will teach you glintstone sorcery. But know this—I am strict. I do not coddle. There will be no forgiveness for laziness or failure."
That's fine. Better a tough teacher than a dead one.
Before she could ramble further, Alistair stepped forward eagerly. "I'm ready. Let's begin."
She chuckled lightly.
"Very well. Begin by telling me your name, your current knowledge of sorcery, and your general background. I must assess your level."
"Alistair. A Tarnished. Zero knowledge of sorceries or glintstone."
"…You don't know what glintstone is?"
"Nope. What's that?"
Sellen was silent for a long moment.
"You've… never heard of glintstone?"
Alistair shrugged. "Memory loss."
"Ah."
She shook her head slowly. "That explains it. Very well."
She lifted a pale blue shard from the desk beside her and held it up to the firelight.
"This is glintstone. The crystalized amber of the stars."
"Golden amber contains the essence of ancient life. Glintstone, however, contains fragments of the very cosmos."
She let that sink in.
"Glintstone sorcery is the pursuit of the stars. Of their essence, their memory, and their will."
Alistair blinked.
Star-amber? Essence of life? Cosmic fragments?
It was like trying to read item descriptions from three different games mashed together.
But something about the crystal tugged at his memory.
He raised a hand and focused. A shard of pure soul crystallized in his palm—a skill he'd retained from a long-dead simulation, one not of this world.
"Like this?"
Sellen froze.
"You said you didn't know sorcery."
"I said I didn't know your sorcery. This one's from somewhere else."
He studied the shard, comparing it to the glintstone. "They look similar, but they don't feel the same. Different... weight."
The shard dissolved in his fingers.
Sellen's eyes narrowed behind her mask.
"Show me that again."
"No."
Alistair's voice was calm but firm.
"I have no idea what this really is. Only that someone once warned me—before losing his mind—to be careful. Said it was dangerous."
Sellen's posture stiffened.
"But… just a glance…"
She was already leaning closer, voice low, pleading.
Alistair held out another shard.
"Quick look. No touching."
Her masked face twitched as she leaned in, peering at the soul crystal as if its facets might open the gates of heaven.
"Put it away."
Her voice was hoarse.
She stepped back. There was awe in her tone. And fear.
That structure. That gleam. Those impossible soul patterns. It wasn't just some glintstone mimic. It was something ancient. Something that screamed of pain, loss, and forbidden knowledge.
Sellen had once experimented with pyromancy through corpses. She had delved into star magic. She had, at one point, carved into her own flesh in the pursuit of truth.
But this?
This was sacrilege of another magnitude. And its perfection made it worse.
She stared at Alistair.
"You made this?"
"Sort of."
She said nothing.
He could feel the hunger in her gaze. The longing. And the weight of knowing she would chase this power, no matter how far it dragged her.
So he lied again, gently.
"I'd love to share it. But I need to understand it first. The last person I knew who studied it… well, he's not around anymore."
And that, too, was not untrue.
Sellen slowly nodded.
"Wise. Dangerous knowledge should not be wielded lightly."
He gave her a small, thankful smile.
In truth, he knew what would happen if she got her hands on it. She'd study it. She'd go mad. She'd vanish, reappear as a boss fight. Maybe leave behind a spell or two.
But he liked her. And he'd rather not be forced to kill her later.
If distraction kept her alive, he'd take that route.
And if fate demanded otherwise… he'd be ready.
***
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