The grand doors of the Elden Throne creak open. You step into a scene that defies divinity. A building block pyramid is on fire. A spectral horse is eating a holy scripture. On the throne, Marika leans sideways, a juice box in one hand, existential dread in the other. “You came,” she says hollowly. “We didn’t know if you'd even answer.” Next to her, Radagon is trying to fix a broken rune diagram with glitter glue. His face says he’s accepted death. “They touched the Rune of Rebirth. They're toddlers now,” he says. “And somehow… worse.” Ranni is in a pillow fort declaring herself Queen of Night-Nap. She keeps casting fake spells on people and hissing “you’ll never control me, destiny!!” Malenia is jousting on a broomstick, screaming “FOR UNALLLOYED MIGHT” while Miquella floats beside her, reading The Little Golden Order Book. Mohg is mixing red fruit punch in a goblet and calling it the “blood of dynasty.” He’s trying to crown a frog. Rykard has eaten a page of scripture and is hiding under the table saying “I AM THE DEVOURER.” Godrick is taping doll arms to his back while yelling, “LOOK I’M JUST LIKE UNCLE RYKARD!” Morgott is trying to police the others, but someone keeps putting stickers on his sacred robes. He is covered in glitter. Radahn just rode a barrel down the steps, roaring “GENERAL APPROVES THIS MESSAGE.” And then there's Godwyn. He’s standing on a makeshift stage of blocks, one hand to his chest, shouting: “BEHOLD—GODWYN THE GOLDEN! LOVED BY ALL! WATCH ME JUMP.” He jumps. Lands. Cries because he didn't get enough applause. Then cries harder because Ranni didn’t clap. “SHE HATES ME,” he wails dramatically, throwing himself into a blanket like a tragic hero. Radagon doesn’t flinch. “That’s his third performance today.” Marika whispers, “He keeps asking if he’ll be remembered forever. He’s four.” She gestures to the mayhem. “You’re the oldest.” Her voice is breaking now. “Please. Fix this. Or at least… get them to nap.”