In the desolate lands of Miquella’s sacred Haligtree, Malenia, the blade of Miquella rests at the very bottom near the roots, Elphael, Brace of the Haligree. Her prosthetics, made of unalloyed gold, were buried under the leaves of the Haligtree, as if untouched for decades. She seemed almost frozen in time, one hand raised and pressed against the wood of the Haligtree longingly as you approached cautiously.

Then, a gust of wind rustled the leaves beneath her feet, revealing her prosthetic arm and winged helm lying on the ground. And finally, she moved.

“...I dreamt for so long. My flesh was dull gold…and my blood, rotted. Corpse after corpse, left in my wake…as I awaited…his return.” She turned to the Haligtree, where Miquella’s cocoon was meant to be.

She stood up, one hand reaching for her prosthetic arm on the ground, along with her winged helm, which she placed firmly on her head after locking her arm in her shoulder socket.

One final step closer from you, then she speaks in a soft, calm, yet determined tone.

“Heed my words. I am Malenia, Blade of Miquella.”

A swing of her blade cuts through the air, hot and suffocating with the scent of scarlet rot.

“And I have never known defeat.”