Marika's words were sparse—barely a few hundred fragmented lines stretched across a dozen paragraphs. Melina struggled to feel anything from them. "This recounts the origins of the Tarnished. Every Tarnished descends from King Godfrey's army. The timeline places it after his decisive battle against the Storm King. Isn't this a betrayal?"
Melina blinked and turned her gaze aside. "Analysis is your task. I merely read the guidance."
"That's betrayal, plain and simple. Marika's heartless."
"On what grounds?"
"Exiling the Erdtree's most powerful army, stabbing her consort Godfrey in the back—he fought to the bitter end. If that's not heartless, what is?"
Throne's stare was cold, his voice indifferent. "No matter her plans, these acts will always stain her legacy."
Melina's breath hitched. She didn't know why she felt compelled to argue. "How can a mortal comprehend a god's vision? This is precisely why the Tarnished were born—why a possibility was left for The Lands Between."
"Oh, thank the heavens. On behalf of the Tarnished, I thank the Goddess's entire family." Throne mockingly cupped his hands, his grin sharp as a blade. "The Tarnished have returned, but where's King Godfrey? He's Tarnished too. Could it be she wants us to shake the Erdtree's foundations while he swoops in to reap the rewards?"
It wasn't just a conspiracy. When the Tarnished reached the end, Godfrey appeared—like the snipe and the clam, with Marika the fisherman reaping the spoils. Throne's mocking prowess was undeniable.
Melina's expression shifted—confusion, anger, then apathy masking both. Throne confirmed one thing: Melina was tied to Marika, but her fragmented memories left her unaware of the connection. She wasn't Marika. No need to subject her to sarcasm or persecution.
"Alright, the Goddess's affairs are far beyond us. Let's focus on the present. Whatever the truth, it'll reveal itself at the foot of the Erdtree." Melina exhaled softly as Throne dropped the subject. She rose slowly. "You sleep first. I'll keep watch." "You're not sleeping?" "Don't think of me as human. Sleep holds no purpose for me."
Melina stood stiff, like a dead log. She turned away, but Throne's hand caught hers. She glanced back, startled, as he rose. "I'm a man of fairness. You've always kept watch. Tonight, I'll take the first shift."
Melina felt neither touched nor annoyed. This man didn't understand—she'd said plainly she didn't need rest. But she knew him well enough by now. "This fairness is meaningless. I don't need care."
"No, you do." Throne's gaze locked with hers, steady and unflinching. "Why do you think I fight?" "To become the Elden Lord." "And then? Becoming Lord?" Melina paused. "To fulfill my purpose."
"What's the purpose for?" She hesitated. A purpose was a purpose—why did it need a 'why'? Wasn't it fate's design?
"Fighting, becoming Lord, fulfilling a purpose—they're all about living better. Escaping the helplessness of weakness, controlling destiny, changing others' tragedies." Throne's voice was earnest, his eyes unwavering. "Without benefit, who'd suffer in The Lands Between? You think everyone's a masochist?"
Melina frowned, turning his words over in her mind. They carried a strange weight. The throne—demigods and Tarnished alike chased it, not just for the grand cause of saving the world, but for the raw power it promised. Authority. Supremacy. That's what drew them like moths to a flame. "But I'm different."
"Hmm. So, have you remembered your purpose yet?"
Throne already knew Melina was different. Her existence was a tragic inevitability—kindling for a greater fire. She shook her head. "Not yet. I'll only know when I reach Leyndell."
"Then there you have it. If you don't know anything, why do you walk around with that face, like you're ready to die at any moment?"
He laughed, pulling her down to sit beside him. She didn't resist, stiff and unyielding as a wooden doll. "I'll admit something. Back in Mistwood, I wasn't exactly… productive. Mostly slacking off."
Melina let out a soft "hmph." Exactly as she'd thought.
"My time's running out, sure. But the tighter the clock, the steadier I need to be. Rushing blindly toward some vague purpose—that's not the way." "That's just an excuse for laziness." He chuckled awkwardly, his expression shifting back to something earnest. "You caught me."
"Listen, I wasn't born for some grand purpose. If someone kills me tomorrow, at least today I can say—" He leaned forward, the firelight flickering in his eyes. "I lived this day comfortably. Happily. I don't owe anyone a damn thing."
Melina stared at him, momentarily lost. This earnestness was unfamiliar. In her memory, he was always smiling—sinister, ferocious, unhinged.
Just as Throne began to marvel at his own eloquence, Melina cut in. "What does this have to do with me? Or with sleeping tonight?"
He nearly launched himself into the fire. His blood boiled.
This block of wood was worse than Sellen. Why couldn't she connect the dots? "What I'm saying is, since your purpose is a mystery, stop walking around like a damn corpse. Enjoy being alive. And we're companions, aren't we? Things are meant to be shared. I don't want to take advantage of you."
Melina tilted her head, indifferent. "But I don't care."
Veins bulged on Throne's forehead. He wanted to strangle her. This was revenge, wasn't it? No—she was paying him back for all the times he'd interrupted her.
He took a deep breath, forcing his anger down. "But I care! You're following me every day. I hate owing favors. So here's the deal: from now on, we split the watch. No more acting like a block of wood." His frustration spilled out.
Truth was, he couldn't stand seeing her half-dead. If he didn't provoke her, she'd go a year without uttering a word.
The queen of cold indifference, the bane of simps. 'I might not be burning with passion, but I'll at least light a fire under you, you damn block of wood.'
Melina still didn't fully understand, but she'd spent enough time with Throne to know better than to stay silent. Curiosity had loosened her tongue. If this were their first meeting, she wouldn't have said a word.
"Is this another condition of our deal?" Throne asked, his voice flat.
"You could see it that way. I'd prefer someone ordinary by my side—it might lift my spirits." Melina's tone was equally emotionless. She settled down, wrapping herself tightly in her cloak. After a pause, she glanced at Throne, who was rising to his feet. "Goodnight," she said.
Throne nodded, exhaling slowly. So, she can act normal after all. He smirked to himself. I'm just a meddler at heart. If Melina wants to be a pawn, fine. When the time comes, I'll burn her with the Erdtree—what does it matter to me? But deep down, he knew he couldn't do it.
If he were truly rational, he wouldn't have filled Sellen's head with strange knowledge, wouldn't have subjected the witch to daily humiliation. Sigh. I'm too soft. His gaze drifted to the left, where Marika's statue flickered in the campfire's glow. A merciless goddess. A cold conspiracy. A girl destined for sacrifice from birth.
Forget about pushing the relationship further to exploit Melina's combat skills. At the very least—
This is unfair!
Sunlight streamed through the window, catching Melina's face. Dust motes danced in the beam. Her lashes fluttered, and her single eye opened slowly. The campfire had long since died. Confusion flickered in her amber eye. I fell asleep? Her disbelief deepened.
Forced or not, it was the first time in years she'd slept so deeply. That shouldn't have happened. I only meant to close my eyes and pretend. How did I actually fall asleep?
Her gaze shifted lazily. A rusty iron bowl sat in front of her. She looked up and saw Throne crouched nearby. "You're awake?"
He was surprised too but shrugged it off quickly. A maiden of spirit doesn't need sleep, but that doesn't mean she can't. In The Lands Between, magic defies logic. Melina isn't a ghost or a vengeful spirit. She can fade into an Unseen Form within him, or she can appear almost human—touchable, tangible.
Now it seems she's capable of human functions—breathing, sleeping. He hadn't checked for a heartbeat, though. "I didn't think you'd sleep."
"Hmm. I don't know how it happened. Logically, I shouldn't feel fatigue." Melina sat up, her brow creased slightly. She seemed puzzled.
"Maybe it's because I was watching over you. You felt safe, so your spirit relaxed, and you slept." Throne offered the explanation casually. Melina tilted her head, considering it. Her eyes fell on the iron bowl beside her. Inside was a thick, black substance that resembled burned porridge.
"I got distracted. It burned. Just… make do." Throne scratched the back of his neck, grinning awkwardly. Since traveling with Sellen, he'd perfected the art of turning any meal into dark cuisine.
Melina hesitated. She didn't need food to survive, but refusing would only invite Throne's endless nagging. She picked up the bowl.
Many things in the world become a matter of course once that barrier is broken. Since she'd already slept like a normal person, eating didn't seem like a taboo either. She took a small sip, her eyebrows rising slightly. It tastes terrible.
The feedback couldn't have been more direct, yet she still sipped it slowly, like bitter medicine. Throne, shameless as ever, asked a question he already knew the answer to. "How does it taste?" "It's awful, Throne. You can't cook at all." His eye twitched, teeth grinding. "Melina, lying is a skill worth learning. Someone out there thinks my cooking is the best in The Lands Between."
"Then they've got a serious problem with their taste buds. Who is this person, anyway?" "My teacher. Also the one I'm looking for right now." Throne shrugged, revealing a piece of his plans for the first time. It sounded like it involved secrets, but Melina just nodded slightly, asking no further questions. She downed the rest of the porridge in one go, then cradled the bowl in her hands.
"As you said, let's split the work evenly. And from now on, leave the cooking to me." Seeing her take charge so smoothly, Throne was happy to slack off. He yawned, sprawled sideways on the ground, and watched her clean the bowl.
"Feeling better after waking up?" "That was part of the deal. You added so many clauses before—one more doesn't matter." Melina didn't look up. Her bangs hid her cheeks, and her hands paused briefly as she scrubbed the bowl.
"Besides, it doesn't feel bad." No one's born a masochist. When you fall into a deep sleep, when your mind empties, the usual confusion about purpose fades away. And once you break that first barrier, there's no turning back. Throne grinned. He liked taking things step by step. From getting Melina to follow him to making her answer questions, he'd laid too many traps in this deal. How could someone so honest outplay him?
The constraints of their agreement, combined with his deliberate cultivation of curiosity, shifting her from passive answers to active questions—it was all part of his plan. Just as he was feeling smug, Melina spoke again.
"Throne, I don't understand why you do these pointless things. I always feel like you're plotting something." Sometimes, her intuition was razor-sharp. Throne cursed inwardly but admitted it outright.
"I never do anything without a purpose.
You're right—I am plotting against you." "Why? Even without all this, I'd cooperate fully." Melina was genuinely confused. Their goals aligned, so why the theatrics? Throne didn't bother with excuses about fairness or pity. He sat up slightly, his tone cold and rational.
"You haven't been giving your full effort. I thought if we took our relationship a step further, we could become true companions. Your strength would be mine to wield." Simple and direct—it suited Melina.
She didn't want pity. She tilted her chin up slightly. "I won't be swayed by these trivial things. And I'm not as powerful as you think." "I noticed. Your foundation's solid, but your memories are fragmented. You fight on instinct."
"Then why cling to this delusion? Do you know why I avoid combat?" "The deal can be broken, but you can't die. That obsession drives you to the Erdtree, no matter what." Throne already knew the answer. He lay back down, hands behind his head.
"That's why I said we're barely companions. But I believe feelings grow with time. One day, you'll change your mind." Melina was about to fire back with a sharp retort, but the man was already snoring softly. Stunned, she tossed the damp cloth onto his face, leaned down, and whispered:
"In your dreams."