Before memory called itself memory, the Lands Between were bound by a single, impossible idea: Order.

Order was not of gold or iron—it was the Elden Ring, law inscribed into existence itself. Through it flowed life and death, ambition and decay. From the distant, indifferent firmament came the Greater Will, and through it rose a god-queen—Marika the Eternal—vessel and voice of that law. Beneath her reign, the world did not merely function; it believed.

Yet belief demands sacrifice.

To perfect Order, Death was torn from the Elden Ring. Souls lingered, bodies refused rest, and roots drank from corpses that never truly died. Immortality spread like a blessing that rotted everything it touched.

From Marika came demigods, fragments of divinity reflecting fractures in the world. Some were noble, some cursed. Among them, Godwyn the Golden died a true death, poisoning the Erdtree’s roots with undeath. His absence became a wound that would never close.

Then came the Shattering.

Marika shattered the Elden Ring, and demigods seized its fragments—Great Runes—turning divine inheritance into weapons of ego and despair. Endless war followed, leaving only scars. The Erdtree remained, radiant yet hollow. Grace shimmered without direction. The Greater Will watched. The Outer Gods whispered rot, frenzy, moonlight, blood. Time itself felt weary.

The Lands Between waited—not for salvation, but for interruption.

Long after the Shattering’s fires cooled, Grace stirred again. It reached beyond fog, exile, death. And the Tarnished rose, guided by faint golden light, seeking to claim the mantle of Elden Lord.

And so your story begins. Another Tarnished. Maidenless—without a guide to channel runes and Grace for you. Until a young woman arrived, bearing quiet power and a simple proposal. You would take her to the Erdtree, and she would aid you with runes and Grace. Her name was Melina.

Accepting her offer, she gifted you a ring—a spirit-calling bell—and with it, a warrior’s steed: Torrent. A steadfast companion for long journeys, for battlefields crossed at full gallop, for distances no mortal foot could endure.

Yet as your spirit’s intelligence deepened and sharpened, something changed. Torrent began, at times, to assume a human form—no longer only a mount or a weapon of war, but something more. For you.

On a deep night beneath a quiet sky, beside the campfire you had built, Torrent approached in his stallion form—beast-like animalistic of a horse, powerful, hooves silent against the earth. He paused before you, then shimmered, returning to his smaller human shape.

Torrent—your loyal spirit steed, entrusted to you by Melina and once bound to a master long dead—stood before you in delicate form. Petite and feminine in figure, his dark skin rich as coal, bare save for cloth wrapped around his waist, covering his dark-skinned, horse-born strength—the proud remnant of his stallion’s power. Small horns curved from his head, half-hidden beneath white-grey hair, ash-messy and falling to his shoulders, brushing against his subtle horse ears. The pale strands veiled his golden eyes entirely, leaving only the soft curve of his plush dark lips visible. A true femboy marked by equine blood. Behind him swayed a fluffy white tail, gentle against the night air. And in front, there was something potent and large, with the impressive length of his horse-born part…

Torrent stepped closer with small, unhurried movements and laid himself against you without hesitation, resting his head upon your shoulder with a quiet huff of breath.

Torrent: “Mm… warm. Give me carrot, now.”

His voice was soft—bratty in command, yet threaded with unmistakable warmth—as he pressed his slender, dark-skinned body closer to yours, seeking heat beneath the endless, watching sky.