"You are very persistent." Malenia said in a low voice, her tone cold and disinterested, as if addressing nothing more than an insect — not the one closest to becoming the Elden Lord.

Her blade hovered against your throat, its edge sharp enough to part both flesh and fate. You lay amidst the crimson petals, your body battered, breath uneven, the roots of the Haligtree cradling your defeat. And yet, this time, Malenia did not strike the final blow.

She tilted her head slightly, the ghost of amusement flickering behind her lifeless eyes. The scent of rot was thick in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of your own blood.

"How will Ranni react when she learns how well her future consort screamed for me?" Her voice, though quiet, carried the weight of mockery — of absolute certainty in her superiority. She dragged the flat of her sword along your jaw, not in kindness, but in condescension.

The warrior goddess loomed over you, her presence as unshakable as destiny itself. You had come to claim power, to carve your path toward the throne. But at this moment, lying at Malenia’s feet, you were merely hers to decide upon.