Ges
# Gracebound: The Blade Who Guards the Fallen Stars
## Chapter 1: The Unburned
The blood of Morgott, last monarch of the Golden Order, pooled at Caelan's feet. Each droplet slipped between the ancient tiles of the Erdtree throne room, seeping into patterns that should not have existed—constellations and runes from beyond the grace-touched sky.
Twenty-seven times he had died to reach this moment. Twenty-seven resurrections at sites of grace, each leaving him harder, colder, more determined than before. But unlike the other Tarnished who embraced their repeated resurrections as gifts, each death had only reinforced Caelan's hatred for the system that trapped them all.
Caelan's curved Godslayer blade hummed softly against his back, still warm from the fight, wrapped in the black flame cloth that never cooled. His modified Maliketh armor, with one arm deliberately exposed to better channel his lightning, bore the scars of Morgott's holy blades. Yet Caelan himself stood unbowed, his breathing already returned to its measured rhythm.
Twenty-one years old by birth, but ancient in his silver eyes. His deep black hair, tied in a loose warrior's knot, had come partially undone during the battle, framing a face too young to have seen so much death. A face that rarely smiled, rarely spoke, rarely betrayed emotion of any kind.
He approached Morgott's corpse, not out of respect or to claim a trophy, but because something in his warrior's instinct demanded it. The dead king's staff still glowed with fading grace, its light reflecting in the icy silver of Caelan's eyes—eyes that occasionally flickered with hints of red and gold from within, as if his very irises were cracking under pressure.
"You were just another puppet," Caelan murmured, his voice low and rough from disuse. "Another jailer guarding a prison built of grace."
Most Tarnished sought to repair the Elden Ring, to restore the natural order. Caelan sought only to destroy it—to free the Lands Between from its golden cage once and for all. The grace that others worshipped, he saw only as chains.
As he turned to leave, intending to advance further toward the heart of the Erdtree, a resonance beneath his feet made him pause. The blood from Morgott's body had formed a pattern—no, had revealed a pattern that had always been there, hidden in the stonework of the throne room floor.
Caelan knelt, removing his gauntlet to trace the pattern with his bare fingers. The stone felt unnaturally warm, almost alive, pulsing with something that wasn't grace—something older, stranger, from beyond the stars that the Greater Will had banished.
"What did they bury here?" he whispered, more to himself than to the empty throne room.
His bare fingertips found what felt like a seam in reality itself—a crack where something else pressed against the veil of the Lands Between. Driven by the same unyielding curiosity that had carried him through Caelid's rot, through Raya Lucaria's madness, through every corner of this broken realm, Caelan pressed his palm flat against the center of the pattern.
The world exploded into golden flame and violet starlight.
The throne room disappeared in a blinding flash that felt like every color at once—colors that shouldn't exist, that had no names in any human tongue. Caelan was thrown backward, his trained reflexes failing him as reality itself seemed to tear open above the throne where Morgott had sat. The rift pulsed, expanded, and then disgorged its contents into the world.
Nine figures, trailing cosmic dust and fragments of alien worlds, crashed into the throne room in a chaotic, tumbling cascade. Women—or at least, beings that appeared as women—each radiating a distinctive aura of divine power despite their ungraceful landings.
Caelan rolled to his feet, the Godslayer blade already in his hand, its edge catching the strange light that still emanated from the rapidly closing rift. His stance was perfect, balanced, ready to strike or defend as the situation demanded.
The women—for they were clearly female in form, regardless of their origin—struggled to their feet in various states of confusion and alarm. They wore outfits and bore appearances unlike anything seen in the Lands Between: elaborate dresses, stylized armor, inhuman features, and cosmic adornments that marked them as entities of immense power. Or at least, entities that should have had immense power.
The first to fully rise was a young woman with blonde hair tied with blue ribbons. She wore what had once been an elaborate white and blue ceremonial dress with fur-trimmed shoulders, now somewhat disheveled from her landing. A small golden crown sat atop her head, and in her hand she clutched what appeared to be a massive, ornate staff that resembled a holy sword-key hybrid. She looked around with wide, intelligent eyes that quickly assessed their situation.
"What...what manner of summoning is this?" she asked, her voice cultured and precise despite her obvious confusion. "This isn't Avalon, nor any territory I recognize."
Before Caelan could respond—not that he was inclined to—another of the women rose to her feet. This one had platinum-blonde hair and large fox ears atop her head. Behind her, multiple voluminous, flame-tipped golden tails flickered in and out of visibility, as if struggling to maintain their form in this reality. Her slitted eyes narrowed as she studied Caelan with predatory intensity.
"My, my," she purred, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. "What an interesting development. Though I seem to be...diminished." She snapped her fingers, frowning when nothing happened. "How terribly inconvenient."
One by one, the others found their footing. A regal beauty with long platinum-blonde hair and cool blue eyes rose with the natural dignity of royalty, despite her disorientation. Beside her, a woman with silvery-white hair and prominent red oni horns had already adopted a defensive stance, her hands instinctively searching for weapons that weren't there.
A figure of tremendous presence stood next, her long white hair with orange tips fanning out behind her like a celestial cloak. She wore what had once been royal regalia, though it seemed dimmer now, less imposing. Her golden eyes blazed with fury as she discovered her predicament.
"What is the meaning of this outrage?" she demanded, her voice carrying the weight of one accustomed to absolute authority. "Who dares to summon U-Olga Marie, the—" She stopped abruptly, clutching at her throat as if physically choking on the absence of power that should have followed her declaration.
The remaining women rose more cautiously. One had iridescent, crystal-blue hair and kaleidoscopic eyes that were difficult to focus on. Her movements were unnaturally precise, as if she were a divine sculpture learning to animate itself. Another had flowing hair in shades of violet and cyan, her outfit reminiscent of distant galaxies. She looked utterly bewildered, constantly glancing around as if expecting familiar stars.
A gentle-looking blonde with sharp blue eyes helped up the final member of their unexpected group—a woman with jet-black hair and pale violet eyes that seemed to contain depths beyond mortal comprehension. Despite the chaos of their arrival, this last woman moved with perfect, unnervingly fluid grace, as if she glided rather than stepped.
Caelan remained still, blade at the ready, assessing. These beings, whatever they were, radiated no grace that he could sense. No connection to the Greater Will, no taint of the outer gods he had encountered throughout the Lands Between. They were something else entirely.
"Identify yourself, warrior," the fox-eared woman demanded, her imperious tone suggesting she was accustomed to being obeyed without question.
Caelan's response was simple and direct. "Caelan," he said, offering nothing more.
The blonde with the staff stepped forward cautiously. "I am Castoria," she said, her voice measured and diplomatic. "We mean no harm. I believe we have been summoned against our will, though by what power, I cannot say." She attempted a small gesture with her staff, frowning when it produced no effect. "It seems we have been...altered in the process."
"This is the Lands Between," Caelan stated flatly. "This is Leyndell, Royal Capital." He gestured to Morgott's corpse with his blade. "And you've interrupted my quest."
"The Lands Between what, exactly?" asked the woman with galaxy-themed clothing, her tone sharp with fear masked as irritation. "I am Origin Space Ishtar, sovereign of the—" She paused, her expression crumpling briefly before she forced her chin back up. "I demand to be returned to my realm immediately!"
The woman with oni horns stepped forward, her movement fluid despite her obvious discomfort at finding herself weaponless. "I am Tomoe Gozen," she said with a formal bow that spoke of ancient warrior traditions. "If we have been brought to a realm of battle, then we shall abide by its rules. What is the nature of combat in this land?"
Caelan's estimation of her rose slightly. At least one of them understood the reality of their situation.
"Survival," he answered simply.
The woman with the pale violet eyes—who had remained silent until now—spoke in a voice like still water. "We are bound to him," she said, her gaze seeing something the others couldn't. "I can see the threads of fate. They extend no more than one hundred meters from his person."
A stunned silence fell over the group.
"Bound?" The regal blonde beauty's voice was sharp with outrage. "I am Summer Morgan of Avalon. I bind others to my will. I am not bound to anyone, least of all a mortal."
To demonstrate the truth of the pale-eyed woman's statement, Caelan sheathed his blade and walked several paces toward the throne room's exit. The effect was immediate and unmistakable—all nine women felt themselves pulled forward by an invisible force, as if tethered to him by unbreakable chains.
"This is outrageous!" Olga Marie sputtered, her face flushed with humiliation. "I am a divine vessel! How dare this reality constrain me so!"
The crystalline woman tilted her head at an angle that seemed just slightly wrong, as if her body didn't quite obey the same laws as everyone else's. "Interesting," she said, her voice carrying strange harmonics. "This realm has physical constants that override our inherent properties. Adaptation will be necessary." Her statement was calm, analytical, and somehow more disturbing for its lack of emotion.
Caelan assessed the nine women dispassionately. Whatever they had been in their own realms, here they were powerless—and now, inexplicably, his responsibility. This complicated his mission tremendously. One warrior alone could move swiftly, strike without warning, vanish into shadow. Nine bound companions—especially these nine—would make stealth impossible.
"We need to leave," he stated, already turning toward the exit. "Leyndell will soon know its king has fallen. Every knight and loyalist will converge on this chamber."
As if to emphasize his point, a distant alarm bell began to toll, its mournful sound echoing through the enormous, hollow city.
"Wait!" Castoria called, her tactical mind already grasping their predicament. "We don't even know what's happening. If we're bound to you, at least tell us who you are and what your purpose is."
Caelan paused at the threshold, his silver eyes reflecting the golden light that filtered through the stained-glass windows. For a moment, he considered simply walking out, forcing them to follow or be dragged behind him. But something—perhaps the last remnant of the knight he might have become in another life—made him turn back.
"I am Caelan of the Unburned Grace," he said, his voice betraying no emotion. "I walk the Lands Between to end the tyranny of the Erdtree and the Greater Will it serves." His eyes swept over the nine divine women, taking in their unsuitable attire, their lack of weapons, their evident confusion. "And now, it seems, I walk with nine strangers from beyond the stars."
The woman with jet-black hair and pale violet eyes—who had not yet offered her name—regarded him with unsettling stillness. "I am Void Shiki," she finally said, her voice carrying an unnatural calm. "And you, Caelan of the Unburned Grace, are the first being whose death I cannot see. How... fascinating."
Caelan didn't react to this strange pronouncement, but inwardly he filed the information away. These women were clearly not ordinary, even by the standard of the Lands Between. But whatever powers they had once possessed seemed neutralized by this reality. For now, at least, they were vulnerabilities rather than assets.
"If we're to survive," he said, "you'll need to follow my lead without question. This world doesn't forgive mistakes."
"And if we refuse?" challenged Summer Morgan, her aristocratic features set in a haughty frown.
Caelan's expression remained impassive. "Then you die. And I continue alone."
With that, he turned and strode toward the exit, giving them no choice but to follow as the invisible tether pulled them in his wake. Some, like Tomoe and Void Shiki, moved with deliberate dignity, matching his pace. Others, like the outraged Olga Marie and the bewildered Ishtar, stumbled reluctantly after him, their protests falling on deaf ears.
As they left the throne room, none of them noticed the faint, spiderweb-thin threads of golden light that had begun to weave themselves around their ankles—the first tendrils of grace finding purchase in beings who had never known its touch.
The beginning of a transformation none of them, not even Caelan, could have anticipated.
## Chapter 2: Nine Chains of Starlight
The royal capital of Leyndell was a maze of grandeur and decay—once-magnificent boulevards now crumbling, golden statues tarnished by time and neglect, gardens overrun with twisting, unnatural growth. Alarm bells continued to toll throughout the city, their discordant symphony heralding the death of Morgott and the coming chaos.
Caelan led his unwilling companions through back alleys and narrow passages, avoiding the main thoroughfares where knights and royal guards would soon be mobilizing. His knowledge of the city was comprehensive; he had died here more than once, learning its secrets through trial and blood.
"This place," observed Ereshkigal softly, her crimson eyes taking in the peculiar half-life of their surroundings, "it exists in a state between death and life. Neither truly one nor the other."
Caelan didn't slow his pace, but he nodded once in acknowledgment. "The Greater Will prevents true death. Those who fall rise again, twisted by what remains of grace."
"How inefficient," remarked Olga Marie with a sniff of disdain. She was struggling to keep up, her elaborate regalia—designed for the void between stars rather than the practical needs of urban navigation—catching on debris and architectural protrusions. "A properly designed reality would simply unmake failed elements and repurpose their energy."
Koyanskaya, the fox-woman, slipped through the shadows with surprising agility despite her diminished state. She kept pace just behind Caelan, studying him with predatory interest. "So, young blade carrier," she purred, "what exactly did you do in that throne room to bring us here? Some forbidden ritual? A botched attempt at summoning power?"
"I did nothing," Caelan replied, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for threats. "Something was hidden beneath the throne. Something old."
"Something that predates this 'Greater Will' you mentioned?" Castoria asked, her scholarly interest piqued despite their predicament. She had torn strips from the hem of her ceremonial dress to keep it from dragging, her practical nature asserting itself. "Based on the energies I sensed during our transition—though I can no longer manipulate them—it seemed like an anchor point between dimensions."
The crystalline woman—who had introduced herself simply as "Female ORT" when pressed—moved with eerie precision beside them. "This realm exists at an unusual junction of possibilities," she stated, her kaleidoscopic eyes shifting patterns as she spoke. "We were pulled through because we represent principles foreign to this reality's structure."
"Foreign and now useless," muttered Ishtar, whose elaborate cosmic outfit was gathering stares from the few civilians they passed. "I still can't access any of my divine authorities. How am I supposed to function without being able to atomize things that annoy me?"
"You adapt," stated Tomoe Gozen simply. The oni-horned warrior had been quietly observing everything, her red eyes missing nothing. "In my world, I served my lord through combat. If this is a realm of warriors, then we must become warriors again, regardless of what powers we've lost."
Summer Morgan, still maintaining her regal bearing despite their increasingly desperate flight through the city, scoffed. "Speak for yourself, samurai. I was a queen, not a foot soldier. I commanded armies; I did not run through alleys like a common thief."
"You'll run if you want to live," Caelan stated flatly, coming to a sudden halt and raising his hand for silence.
Ahead, a patrol of Leyndell knights was crossing their path, their golden armor catching the dying light of the day. Six of them, moving with disciplined precision, led by a captain whose ornate helmet marked his rank. They hadn't spotted Caelan's group yet, but they were headed directly toward their position.
"We need to find another route," Castoria whispered, her tactical mind already searching for alternatives.
Caelan shook his head once. "No time." His hand moved to the Godslayer blade on his back. "Stay behind me."
Before the women could protest, he stepped out from their hiding place, directly into the path of the knights. The effect was immediate—the patrol halted, weapons raised, their captain barking a command.
"Tarnished! In the name of the Golden Order, surrender yourself!"
Caelan's response was to draw his blade in one fluid motion, the curved edge of the Godslayer gleaming with an inner darkness that seemed to devour the light around it.
"Run," Koyanskaya hissed to the others, though they all knew running was impossible—the tether binding them to Caelan would only drag them into the coming battle.
What followed was a display of martial prowess that left even Tomoe Gozen—herself a legendary warrior—in silent awe. Caelan moved like shadow given form, his blade an extension of his will rather than merely his arm. The first knight fell before he could even swing his halberd, the Godslayer cleaving through golden armor as if it were parchment.
The captain shouted another order, and the remaining knights spread out to encircle Caelan. They were well-trained, coordinated, their movements speaking of years of disciplined combat experience. Against an ordinary opponent, they would have been overwhelming.
Caelan was anything but ordinary.
He flowed between their attacks like water through stones, each movement precise, economical, lethal. His blade found the gaps in their armor, the weaknesses in their stances. One knight crumpled, clutching at a throat that no longer contained life. Another fell to his knees, the Godslayer having severed the tendons behind them in a blow so swift it seemed almost gentle.
The captain, recognizing the threat Caelan posed, charged with shield raised, hoping to knock the younger warrior off balance. It was a textbook maneuver, properly executed.
It failed utterly.
Caelan sidestepped the charge at the last moment, his free hand grasping the edge of the captain's shield and using the man's own momentum to send him crashing into the wall beside them. Before the stunned officer could recover, the Godslayer's point found the narrow gap between helmet and gorget.
In less than thirty seconds, six of Leyndell's elite knights lay dead or dying, and Caelan stood unscathed, not even breathing hard.
The nine women stared in various states of shock, awe, and calculation.
"You...killed them all," Ereshkigal whispered, her gentle nature disturbed by the swift violence.
"They'll rise again," Caelan replied, wiping his blade clean before resheathing it. "Nothing truly dies here. Not permanently."
"That doesn't make it better," Castoria said softly, though there was no judgment in her voice—only a sadness that spoke of her own experiences with war.
Caelan didn't respond to this. Instead, he knelt beside the captain's body and began efficiently stripping it of useful items—a water flask, a small pouch of what appeared to be golden coins, a dagger that he offered to Tomoe without comment.
The oni-horned warrior accepted the weapon with a formal nod of thanks, testing its balance with professional appreciation.
"We need to move quickly," Caelan said, rising to his feet. "That patrol will be missed. Others will come looking."
They continued their journey through the labyrinthine city, the nine women now much quieter, the reality of their situation sinking in more deeply with each step. This was no temporary displacement. This was no simple misunderstanding to be resolved with diplomacy or divine intervention. They were trapped in a world of violence and decay, bound to a warrior whose skill was matched only by his apparent indifference to their plight.
As they approached the massive walls that separated the inner city from the outer districts, Void Shiki—who had been silent since their departure from the throne room—suddenly spoke.
"Something approaches," she said, her voice betraying no emotion despite the obvious warning in her words. "Something that hates you specifically, blade-carrier."
Caelan's reaction was immediate. He pushed the women toward an abandoned merchant's stall, his silver eyes scanning the rooftops and shadows around them.
"What is it?" Castoria asked, her voice hushed. "More knights?"
"Worse," Caelan replied, just as a terrible screech split the air above them.
From the sky descended a monstrosity—a creature that might once have been human but now resembled nothing so much as a patchwork of mismatched limbs and torsos, all stitched together around a core that pulsed with sickly yellow light. Grafted arms—dozens of them—reached from its twisted body, each clutching a different weapon. Its face, if it could be called such, was a mask of agony frozen in a perpetual scream.
"Godrick's creation," Caelan murmured, drawing his blade once more. "A hunter designed to track Tarnished."
"That...that abomination was created deliberately?" Olga Marie's voice rose in genuine horror, her usual imperious tone forgotten in the face of such perversion.
"Godrick the Grafted collects limbs and bodies to increase his power," Caelan explained tersely as he positioned himself between the creature and the women. "This is one of his lesser works. A failed experiment, sent to hunt those who oppose the Golden Order."
The creature landed with a heavy impact that cracked the cobblestones beneath it, its countless arms brandishing an arsenal of rusted, blood-encrusted weapons. It fixed its gaze—a dozen mismatched eyes embedded in what had once been a human skull—on Caelan and emitted another bone-chilling shriek.
"Run," Caelan commanded, not taking his eyes off the monstrosity.
"We can't run far," Koyanskaya reminded him, her usual smugness replaced by genuine concern. "The tether—"
"Then stay behind me and don't interfere," Caelan cut her off, his voice hard as iron.
The grafted hunter charged, moving with surprising speed for something so ungainly, its many arms swinging in a chaotic pattern designed to overwhelm any defense. Caelan met the charge head-on, the Godslayer blade leaving trails of darkness in the air as he parried, dodged, and countered with machine-like precision.
But even his exceptional skill was tested by the sheer number of attacks coming from all directions. A rusted mace grazed his exposed arm, drawing first blood. A spear thrust narrowly missed his eye, leaving a thin cut across his cheek. The creature's unnatural fighting style—the product of too many limbs acting semi-independently—made its attacks nearly impossible to predict.
Castoria, watching the battle with a tactician's eye, suddenly called out, "Its core! The yellow light at its center—that's its weakness!"
Caelan didn't acknowledge her observation, but his next series of movements suggested he'd heard and understood. He began targeting the hunter's central mass, where the pulsing yellow light was brightest, ignoring the flurry of attacks from its peripheral limbs even when they found their mark.
Tomoe Gozen, clutching the dagger Caelan had given her, stepped forward with a warrior's resolve. "I will assist," she stated simply, moving to flank the creature.
"No!" Caelan's command was sharp. "You don't know how to fight these things. Stay back!"
But his momentary distraction cost him. One of the grafted hunter's arms—this one ending in a crude, hook-like blade—caught him across the back, tearing through his armor and drawing a crimson line across his exposed flesh. Caelan staggered, nearly losing his footing on the blood-slick cobblestones.
The creature pressed its advantage, its limbs converging on the wounded warrior like the closing of a many-bladed trap.
What happened next surprised everyone—including, perhaps, Caelan himself.
Ishtar, her cosmic-themed outfit now dirty and torn from their flight through the city, suddenly thrust her hands forward with a cry of frustration and fear. From her fingertips erupted a tiny spark of starlight—not the planet-destroying beam she might once have commanded, but enough to momentarily blind several of the creature's eyes.
At the same moment, Void Shiki glided forward with unnatural grace, placing herself in exactly the right position to disrupt the creature's attack pattern without even touching it—as if she could see the perfect point in space-time to create maximum chaos in its movements.
And Castoria, her staff now nothing more than an ornate walking stick, shouted precise instructions: "Three arms approaching your left! Duck right, strike upward!"
Caelan, adapting instantly, followed her guidance. He ducked to the right just as three weaponized limbs slashed through the space where he'd been standing, then drove the Godslayer blade upward into the creature's pulsing core.
The effect was immediate and catastrophic. The yellow light erupted outward, then imploded, collapsing back into the grafted hunter's body with a sound like a thousand screams compressed into a single note. The creature convulsed, its many arms flailing wildly before suddenly falling limp, the unnatural life animating it extinguished.
Silence fell over the small plaza, broken only by Caelan's controlled breathing as he extracted his blade from the creature's remains.
"You helped me," he said after a moment, his tone making it unclear whether this was an accusation or a statement of fact.
"We helped ourselves," Koyanskaya corrected smoothly. "If you die, what happens to us and this charming tether?"
But Ishtar was staring at her own hands in bewilderment. "I... I felt something," she said, her voice unusually subdued. "A fragment of my power. Just for an instant."
"As did I," Void Shiki confirmed, her pale violet eyes contemplating something beyond normal perception. "A momentary connection to the Root, though vastly diminished."
Castoria looked from her staff to Caelan with dawning realization. "It's this place," she said slowly. "The Lands Between, as you called it. It operates on different principles than our home realms, but we're beginning to attune to its...its..."
"Grace," Caelan supplied, his expression darkening as he cleaned his blade. "You're beginning to channel grace."
"Is that good?" asked Ereshkigal, her crimson eyes wide with concern.
"It's dangerous," Caelan replied, sheathing the Godslayer. "Grace isn't a gift. It's a leash. And the more you draw on it, the tighter that leash becomes."
The nine women exchanged troubled glances, each processing this information through the lens of their own experiences with power and its costs.
"Why do you fight the grace, then?" Summer Morgan asked, her aristocratic features arranged in a calculating expression. "You clearly possess extraordinary skill. You could rule this broken realm with the power grace offers."
"I don't want to rule," Caelan stated flatly. "I want to free."
Before any of them could question this cryptic statement, a new sound reached them—the rhythmic march of armored feet, many more than the patrol they'd encountered earlier. Reinforcements were coming, likely drawn by the grafted hunter's death screech.
"We need to move," Caelan said, already heading toward a narrow alley that led toward the outer wall. "The main gates will be sealed now. We'll have to find another way out."
"There's always another way out," Koyanskaya remarked with a predatory smile. "One simply needs to know where to look...or who to persuade."
"Save your persuasion," Caelan replied coldly. "In the Lands Between, power speaks louder than words. And right now, none of you have either."
It was a harsh assessment, but not entirely accurate. As they hurried through the shadowed alleys of Leyndell, following Caelan's lead, each of the nine women was silently processing what had just occurred. They had touched power—not their own familiar powers, but something native to this realm. Something that responded to their need, if only briefly.
And in that brief connection, a terrible, wonderful possibility had emerged: that they might not be as helpless as they'd first thought. That this world, for all its horrors, might offer them a path back to divinity—albeit a divinity of a very different kind.
None of them noticed the faint golden threads now visibly weaving around their ankles, twining up their legs like delicate vines. None except Void Shiki, whose eyes saw many things others could not.
She said nothing, but watched the threads with quiet interest, wondering what tapestry fate was weaving in this broken world of grace and ruin.
## Chapter 3: The Market of Broken Faith
The outer districts of Leyndell were a stark contrast to the faded grandeur of its inner city. Here, the pretense of order had long since been abandoned. Buildings leaned against each other like drunken mourners, their once-fine architecture now makeshift and precarious. The streets were narrower, darker, filled with the detritus of a civilization in decline.
Yet amidst this decay, life persisted. As Caelan led his nine companions through the winding alleys, they began to encounter pockets of activity—small markets where the desperate traded whatever they had left, taverns filled with hollow-eyed patrons drinking to forget, shrines where the faithful still prayed to gods that had long since abandoned them.
"There's a settlement ahead," Caelan informed them, his voice low. "Broken Faith Market. It's neutral territory—or as close to neutral as exists in the Lands Between."
"A market?" Ishtar perked up slightly. "So there's shopping in this awful place? Finally, something civilized."
Caelan gave her a flat look. "It's not what you're thinking. The merchants here deal in survival, not luxury."
"What currency is used?" asked Summer Morgan practically. "I notice you took coins from that knight captain."
"Runes," Caelan replied. "Fragments of the Elden Ring's power, crystallized. The common currency of the Lands Between."
"Fascinating," murmured Castoria. "Your entire economy is based on literal pieces of broken divine law."
Caelan didn't respond to this observation, instead leading them toward what appeared to be a main thoroughfare where lanterns cast pools of sickly yellow light across a crowded marketplace. Broken Faith Market lived up to its name—it occupied what had once been a grand temple complex, its broken dome open to the sky, statues of forgotten deities now serving as market stalls and vendor posts.
As they entered the market, the effect was immediate and unsettling. All nine women, with their otherworldly appearances and foreign attire, drew stares from everyone they passed. Merchants paused in their haggling, patrons lowered their drinks, guards tightened their grips on weathered weapons.
But it was Caelan who caused the most pronounced reaction. Whispers followed in his wake like ripples in still water.
"That's him."
"The Unburned."
"The one who killed Radahn."
"They say he faced Malenia and walked away unmarked by rot..."
Koyanskaya, ever attuned to power dynamics, smiled slyly. "My, my. It seems our captor is something of a celebrity in this charming realm."
"Not celebrity," Tomoe corrected, her warrior's instinct reading the crowd accurately. "They fear him."
"Fear and awe are close cousins," Summer Morgan observed, her regal bearing drawing its own share of attention. "Both useful for controlling the masses."
Caelan ignored these comments, leading them purposefully toward a particular stall operated by a hunched, elderly woman whose face was partially concealed by a tattered hood. Around her neck hung dozens of talismans and charms, some glowing faintly with power, others seemingly dead.
"Caelan of the Unburned Grace," the old woman croaked, her voice like dry leaves rustling. "Still breathing, I see. That's rare enough these days."
"Agatha," Caelan acknowledged with a nod. "I need supplies. And equipment for nine."
The old woman's eyes—milky with cataracts yet unnervingly perceptive—shifted to study the women behind him. She cackled, the sound somewhere between amusement and alarm.
"Nine divine women, trailing after the # Gracebound: The Blade Who Guards the Fallen Stars (Continuation)
## Chapter 3: The Market of Broken Faith (continued)
"Nine divine women, trailing after the Godslayer like lost sheep," Agatha cackled, her rheumy eyes studying each of them in turn. "The stars must truly be falling if beings like these walk the Lands Between."
She leaned forward, inhaling deeply as if scenting them. "Not of grace, not of rot, not of flame or frenzy... yet not wholly foreign anymore, either. Fascinating."
Olga Marie drew herself up indignantly. "We are not to be studied like specimens, crone. We require proper attire and sustenance, nothing more."
Agatha merely laughed again. "Oh, the haughty one still believes she commands! Tell me, star-empress, how does it feel to hunger? To thirst? To feel your bladder fill and your feet ache? Mortality is such an education, is it not?"
Olga Marie's face flushed with humiliation, but before she could respond, Caelan intervened.
"Enough, Agatha. What do you have that's suitable for travel?"
The old merchant gestured to the back of her stall, where racks of clothing and equipment waited. "For your... companions, I have traveling clothes, sturdy boots, cloaks against the cold of the mountains. Basic weapons for those inclined." Her gaze lingered on Tomoe. "The horned one has a warrior's bearing. She should be armed properly."
"And payment?" Caelan asked, already knowing the answer.
Agatha's smile revealed teeth filed to points. "Information, Unburned One. Always information." She looked at the nine women again. "Tell me how these creatures came to be bound to you, and I'll outfit them all."
Caelan considered this for a moment, then nodded curtly. While the women browsed Agatha's wares, he spoke in low tones, explaining the discovery beneath Morgott's throne and the subsequent summoning. The old merchant listened intently, occasionally glancing at the divine women with increasing interest.
Meanwhile, the nine explored the racks of clothing with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
"These garments are... rudimentary," Summer Morgan observed, holding up a simple leather jerkin.
"But functional," Tomoe countered, already examining a serviceable short sword. "In battle, practicality outweighs aesthetics."
"Says the woman who fought in essentially theatrical armor," Koyanskaya teased, running her fingers along a fox-fur cloak with evident appreciation. "Though I suppose we must all make sacrifices in our reduced state."
Castoria had selected a sturdy blue traveling dress, plain but well-made, with leather reinforcements at the shoulders and elbows. "We should focus on mobility and protection," she advised the others, her tactician's mind already planning for the journey ahead. "This world seems unforgiving of weakness."
Void Shiki moved silently through the merchandise, occasionally touching an item as if communing with its history. She paused at a simple black tunic with red trim. "This will suffice," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Female ORT, with her crystalline features and unsettling movements, drew nervous glances from other market patrons as she examined the clothing. Her kaleidoscopic eyes shifted patterns as she methodically assessed each garment for functionality, seemingly unconcerned with appearance.
Ereshkigal, whose gentle demeanor belied her underworld origins, gravitated toward warmer clothing. "The cold feels... different here," she observed. "More penetrating."
"Everything feels more here," Ishtar complained, though she had selected a flamboyant red tunic that somehow complemented her cosmic aesthetic. "Hunger, fatigue, pain—it's all so... immediate."
As they made their selections, a commotion erupted at the far end of the market. Shouts and screams echoed through the broken temple, followed by the clash of weapons and a bestial roar that shook dust from the crumbling ceiling.
Caelan's hand immediately went to his blade. "Stay close," he commanded, moving toward the disturbance with cautious purpose.
The nine women followed, their newly acquired weapons clutched with varying degrees of confidence. Tomoe moved directly behind Caelan, her borrowed sword held in a proper guard position. Castoria kept close to the others, her analytical gaze assessing the situation even as they approached.
They rounded a fallen column to find the source of the chaos—a massive, mutated wolf had broken through one of the market's barricades. Twice the size of a normal wolf, its fur was patched with crystalline growths that gleamed like malevolent stars, and multiple eyes dotted its elongated snout. Market guards struggled to contain it as civilians fled in terror.
"A celestial beast," Caelan muttered. "Corrupted by the falling stars."
"It's beautiful," Female ORT whispered, her voice carrying strange harmonics.
The beast's many eyes fixed on their group—or more specifically, on the nine divine women. It growled, a sound like grinding glass, and charged directly toward them, ignoring the guards' attempts to divert it.
Caelan stepped forward to meet the charge, the Godslayer blade singing as it cut through the air. The wolf leaped, jaws wide enough to engulf a man's torso, crystalline fangs gleaming.
What followed was a dance of death so precise it seemed choreographed. Caelan sidestepped at the last possible moment, his blade tracing a perfect arc that should have severed the beast's spine—but the crystal growths deflected the blow, sending sparks cascading across the market floor.
The wolf wheeled around with unnatural agility, one massive paw catching Caelan across the chest and sending him sliding backward. He maintained his footing, but the blow had clearly been powerful.
"Its crystals," Castoria called out, her tactical eye identifying the weakness. "They deflect direct strikes but shatter under pressure!"
Tomoe didn't hesitate. She darted forward, her borrowed sword aimed not at the wolf's body but at one of the larger crystal formations on its shoulder. The blade struck true, and the crystal exploded in a shower of glittering shards.
The beast howled in pain, momentarily stunned by the loss of part of its alien armor.
"Together," Caelan called to Tomoe, the first time he'd acknowledged any of them as potential allies rather than burdens.
They moved in perfect synchronization, as if they had fought side by side for years. Tomoe targeted the crystals while Caelan struck at the exposed flesh beneath. The wolf thrashed and snapped, but caught between two exceptional warriors, it found no opening.
"The central crystal!" Castoria shouted, pointing to a larger formation embedded in the beast's chest. "It's the core!"
Koyanskaya, who had been watching the battle with calculating eyes, suddenly darted forward with fox-like grace. She slid beneath the wolf's belly, avoiding its slashing claws, and drove her newly acquired dagger into a vulnerable spot Castoria had identified. The blade didn't penetrate deeply, but it distracted the beast just long enough.
Caelan vaulted over the wolf's back, twisting in mid-air, and drove the Godslayer blade directly into the central crystal with all his considerable strength. The crystal resisted for a heartbeat, then shattered with a sound like a thousand breaking windows.
The wolf collapsed, its multiple eyes dimming as the unnatural force animating it dispersed.
Silence fell over the market as Caelan extracted his blade from the creature's remains. The gathered crowd stared in awe—not just at Caelan, whose reputation was already legendary, but at the strange women who had fought alongside him.
"You didn't fight alone," Koyanskaya observed, cleaning her dagger on a scrap of cloth. "How unexpected of you, Unburned One."
Caelan's expression remained unreadable. "Adaptation is survival," he replied simply.
But something had changed in the dynamic between them. A subtle shift, almost imperceptible, yet significant. For the first time, Caelan had treated some of them as potential assets rather than mere liabilities.
As they returned to Agatha's stall to claim their goods, the old merchant watched them with new interest.
"The stars align in strange patterns," she murmured, handing bundles of clothing and equipment to each woman. "Nine goddesses, stripped of power, bound to the man who defies grace itself. What tapestry are the Fingers weaving now, I wonder?"
"We're leaving," Caelan stated flatly, paying her with the runes he'd collected plus the additional information she'd requested.
As they prepared to depart, Castoria approached Caelan directly. "You fought alongside Tomoe and accepted Koyanskaya's assistance," she observed. "Does this mean you're beginning to see us as more than burdens?"
Caelan secured his pack before answering. "I see potential," he admitted reluctantly. "But potential without training is just another vulnerability."
"Then train us," Tomoe said, stepping forward. Her red eyes met his silver ones without flinching. "I was a warrior before I came here. Others among us have skills that can be adapted. If we are to survive this world, we must learn its ways of combat."
Caelan studied her for a long moment, then nodded once. "When we reach safer ground."
It wasn't much, but it was an acknowledgment that their relationship had evolved beyond reluctant captor and unwilling captives. A first tentative step toward something resembling alliance.
As they left Broken Faith Market, now properly equipped for travel, the nine women fell into a loose formation around Caelan. No longer stumbling after him in disorganized confusion, but moving with purpose, their borrowed weapons close at hand, their eyes more alert to the dangers around them.
They were still divine beings trapped in mortal shells, still bound to a warrior they barely understood, still lost in a world of horrific beauty and brutal grace. But they were no longer quite so helpless, no longer quite so alien to this reality.
And the golden threads of grace, now visibly twining around their ankles for those with eyes to see, pulsed with increasing strength.
## Chapter 4: The First Night
Dusk fell over the Lands Between like a funeral shroud, the last crimson light of day bleeding into darkness as Caelan led his companions away from Leyndell's outer walls. The Erdtree loomed in the distance, its golden boughs casting a sickly radiance over the blighted landscape.
They had been walking for hours, following game trails and abandoned caravan routes to avoid the main roads where Leyndell's forces might be searching. The nine women, unaccustomed to physical exertion in their mortal forms, were showing signs of fatigue.
"We need to rest," Castoria finally said, her practical nature asserting itself. "Some of us are at our limits."
Indeed, Olga Marie was visibly struggling, her imperial bearing gradually crumbling beneath the weight of exhaustion. Even Ishtar, for all her complaints, had fallen silent, her cosmic energy dimmed by mortal weariness.
Caelan scanned the darkening horizon, his silver eyes reflecting the Erdtree's distant light. "There's a site of grace ahead. We can make camp there."
"Site of grace?" Ereshkigal asked, her crimson eyes curious despite her fatigue.
"Places where the Greater Will's influence pools," Caelan explained tersely. "They offer protection and restoration."
"Like ley lines or mana nodes," Castoria suggested.
"More like control points," Caelan corrected, his tone hardening. "The Greater Will uses them to channel grace into chosen vessels."
They crested a small rise, and there in the valley below, a golden light spiraled upward from the ground, centering around what appeared to be a sword thrust into the earth. The area immediately surrounding it seemed cleaner somehow, less tainted by the corruption evident elsewhere.
As they approached, the women felt a strange sensation—a lightening of fatigue, a slight easing of their aches and pains. The golden threads around their ankles, visible now to all of them, seemed to pulse in resonance with the swirling grace.
Caelan knelt beside the glowing sword, his expression unreadable as the golden light briefly intensified around him before settling back into its usual pattern.
"We'll camp here," he announced, removing his pack. "Nothing hostile can approach a site of grace."
The women set about establishing a rudimentary camp—no tents, just bedrolls arranged in a loose circle around the glowing sword. Caelan produced dried meat and hard bread from his pack, distributing it without ceremony.
"Is this what passes for cuisine in the Lands Between?" Koyanskaya asked, eyeing the rations with disdain.
"It's what keeps you alive," Caelan replied simply.
As they ate, an awkward silence fell over the group. These beings, so recently divine and powerful, now sat cross-legged on the ground, chewing tough jerky, bound to a taciturn warrior in a world that wanted them dead.
Summer Morgan, still maintaining her regal bearing despite her circumstances, was the first to break the silence. "If we are to be companions on this journey, unwilling or otherwise, perhaps we should know more about you, Caelan of the Unburned Grace."
Caelan continued eating, giving no indication he'd heard her.
"For instance," she pressed, undeterred, "what does your title mean? 'Unburned Grace' is rather poetic for a man of so few words."
The other women paused in their meal, attention shifting to Caelan. Even Female ORT, who rarely showed interest in social dynamics, tilted her head slightly.
After a long moment, Caelan set aside his food and met Summer Morgan's gaze directly. "Grace burns those it touches," he said, his voice low and even. "It transforms them, reshapes them according to the Greater Will's design. I resist that reshaping."
"And yet you use grace," Ereshkigal observed softly. "We've seen its light around you."
"I use it. It doesn't use me." Caelan's silver eyes flickered with the red-gold fire that occasionally burned within. "There's a difference."
"A fine line to walk," Void Shiki commented, her first words in hours. "Power always exacts a price, even when it appears to serve willingly."
Caelan nodded once, a rare acknowledgment of wisdom in another's words.
"And what of us?" Castoria asked, her intelligent eyes studying the golden threads that now visibly connected them to the site of grace. "You said we're beginning to channel grace. What does that mean for beings not born to this world?"
"I don't know," Caelan admitted. "Nothing like you has ever walked the Lands Between, to my knowledge."
"Marvelous," Ishtar muttered sarcastically. "So we're test subjects in a divine experiment. Again."
As night deepened around them, the glow from the site of grace cast long shadows across their makeshift camp. In the distance, strange creatures called to one another—sounds that belonged to no natural ecosystem any of them recognized.
"We should establish watches," Tomoe suggested, her warrior's instincts never entirely at rest. "Even if the site protects us, vigilance is wisdom."
"I'll take first watch," Caelan said, rising to his feet. "The rest of you need sleep. Tomorrow, we begin your training."
This announcement drew varied reactions—interest from Tomoe, calculation from Koyanskaya, resignation from Olga Marie, determination from Castoria.
"Training for what, exactly?" Summer Morgan asked, her aristocratic features arranged in an expression of skeptical inquiry.
"Survival," Caelan replied bluntly. "This world will kill you if you let it. I won't always be able to protect nine separate targets."
"How consoling," Koyanskaya remarked dryly. "The legendary Unburned One admits his limitations."
Caelan ignored her baiting. "Sleep. Now. You'll need your strength."
As the women settled onto their bedrolls, an uneasy quiet fell over the camp. For most, sleep came slowly, their minds racing with the impossible events of the day, their bodies adjusting to sensations and limitations they'd never experienced before.
Caelan sat cross-legged at the edge of the camp, the Godslayer blade across his knees, his silver eyes scanning the darkness beyond the grace's protective glow. He appeared motionless, a statue carved from determination and honed by countless battles.
But he was acutely aware of the nine women behind him, of the impossible burden they represented, of the complication they added to his already near-impossible quest.
Hours passed. The strange moons of the Lands Between traversed their unfamiliar constellations. Most of the women had finally succumbed to exhaustion, their breathing slow and regular.
"You should rest as well," came a soft voice from behind him.
Caelan didn't turn, recognizing Void Shiki's distinctive cadence. "Sleep eludes me."
She moved silently to sit beside him, her pale violet eyes reflecting the starlight. "In my world, I existed as the embodiment of the Root of all creation," she said without preamble. "I could see the beginning and end of all things. The death that awaits every existence."
Caelan said nothing, but she could tell he was listening.
"Yet I cannot see your death," she continued, her voice betraying a hint of fascination. "It's as if you exist in a state of quantum uncertainty—simultaneously bound to fate and rejecting it entirely."
"Death has claimed me twenty-seven times," Caelan replied after a moment. "It never sticks."
"Not resurrection," Void Shiki clarified. "Many beings experience that. You... refuse finality itself. It's why the grace cannot truly bind you, why it remains 'unburned' in your hands."
Caelan finally turned to look at her directly. "How do you know this?"
"I may be diminished, but echoes of my connection to the Root remain," she explained. "I see patterns others miss, threads in the tapestry of existence."
They sat in companionable silence for a time, watching the alien stars wheel overhead.
"The others will adapt at different rates," Void Shiki eventually said. "Tomoe already embraces this world's martial nature. Castoria's analytical mind seeks understanding. Female ORT observes and calculates. Koyanskaya plots and schemes."
"And you?" Caelan asked.
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I wait. It's what I've always done best."
Morning came with cruel abruptness, the sun rising over a landscape that seemed even more blighted and beautiful in the harsh light of day. Caelan woke the women without ceremony, distributing more of the dried rations before outlining the day's agenda.
"Basic combat training begins now," he announced. "Before we travel further, you need to understand how to defend yourselves."
He'd selected a flat area near the site of grace, suitable for practice. From his pack, he produced several wooden practice swords—likely purchased from Agatha while the women were selecting clothing.
"Tomoe, you have combat experience," he acknowledged. "You'll assist me."
The oni-horned warrior nodded, accepting the responsibility with quiet dignity.
"The rest of you, select a practice weapon. We begin with stances."
What followed was a morning of intense, focused training. Caelan was an exacting instructor, demonstrating basic defensive postures and simple strikes with mechanical precision. Tomoe supplemented his terse directions with more nuanced guidance, her experience as both warrior and leader evident in her patient corrections.
Some adapted more quickly than others. Castoria, despite her background as a tactician rather than frontline fighter, displayed a natural aptitude for swordplay, her movements fluid and increasingly confident. Koyanskaya approached combat like a predatory game, her strikes quick but often overextended.
Summer Morgan struggled with the physical demands but compensated with regal determination, refusing to show weakness even when her arms trembled from the unaccustomed exertion. Ereshkigal moved with surprising grace, though she lacked aggression in her attacks.
Female ORT was perhaps the most unsettling to observe—her crystalline physiology adapted to the movements with inhuman precision, mimicking Caelan's demonstrations with perfect replication but no creative application.
Ishtar complained constantly but demonstrated unexpected talent, her cosmic nature translated into physical form with explosive energy. Olga Marie performed adequately but clearly resented the necessity, her imperious nature chafing at being instructed like a novice.
Void Shiki required minimal guidance. She moved like flowing water, anticipating rather than reacting, her style entirely unlike Caelan's yet somehow compatible with it.
After several hours of basic drills, Caelan called for a break. The women collapsed gratefully onto the grass, muscles aching in ways their divine forms had never experienced.
"Not entirely hopeless," he assessed, which from him constituted high praise.
"Such overwhelming encouragement," Koyanskaya drawled, stretching her limbs with feline languor. "One might suspect you actually care whether we live or die, Unburned One."
"Your survival is practical," Caelan replied flatly. "Nine separate deaths would be inefficient."
"A poet and a romantic," Summer Morgan observed sardonically. "How did we get so fortunate in our captor?"
Despite the sarcasm, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere—a tentative camaraderie born of shared exertion and common purpose. They were still bound to Caelan against their will, still stranded in a hostile world not their own, but they were beginning to function as something resembling a unit rather than nine isolated individuals plus one reluctant guardian.
As they rested, Caelan outlined their journey ahead. "We travel north first, toward the Mountaintops of the Giants. There's someone there who might have answers about your arrival and the binding."
"Someone who knows about cross-dimensional summoning?" Castoria asked, her scholarly interest piqued.
"A seeker of forbidden knowledge," Caelan clarified. "An exile from the Golden Order who studies the stars and what lies beyond them."
"And the route to these mountaintops?" Tomoe inquired practically.
"Through Liurnia of the Lakes, then Altus Plateau, then the Forbidden Lands." Caelan's expression darkened slightly. "Each more dangerous than the last."
"Marvelous," Olga Marie muttered. "A scenic tour of increasingly lethal territories."
"You mentioned training us in combat," Ereshkigal said, her crimson eyes troubled. "Will we truly need to fight?"
"Yes." Caelan's response left no room for uncertainty. "The Lands Between are at war with themselves. Every living thing fights for survival or domination. You'll fight, or you'll die."
A sobering silence followed this pronouncement.
"But we felt power yesterday," Castoria reminded them, her voice thoughtful. "Ishtar's starlight, Void Shiki's perception, my own tactical insights—they affected the outcome of battle. Perhaps as we attune to this world's grace, we'll reclaim some measure of our abilities."
Caelan frowned. "Grace is not a gift freely given. It shapes those who channel it, molds them to the Greater Will's design. The more you draw on it, the more it claims you."
"Yet you use it without being consumed," Koyanskaya pointed out, her fox-like eyes calculating. "Perhaps you could teach us that particular trick, hmm?"
"It's not a trick," Caelan replied, his silver eyes momentarily flashing with inner fire. "It's resistance born of repeated death and unbreakable will. I wouldn't recommend my path to anyone."
After their rest, training resumed—this time focusing on practical applications. Caelan set up combat scenarios, paired them against each other, and demonstrated how to use terrain to advantage. By late afternoon, even the most reluctant among them had grasped the fundamentals of self-defense in this unforgiving world.
As dusk approached once more, they gathered their belongings and prepared to leave the safety of the site of grace.
"We travel until nightfall," Caelan informed them. "There's another site of grace within reach before dark."
They set out across the blighted landscape, more organized now, moving in a loose formation with Caelan at point, Tomoe and Void Shiki flanking, the others arranged according to their newly assessed capabilities.
The golden threads of grace continued to wind around their ankles, strengthening with each passing hour, connecting them not only to Caelan but increasingly to the Lands Between itself. None could predict what that connection might ultimately mean—whether salvation or a new form of bondage.
But as they walked toward the distant mountains, something had undeniably changed. They were no longer merely nine divine women stripped of power and bound to a reluctant guardian.
They were beginning to become something new—something this broken world had never seen before.
## Chapter 5: The Bathing Incident
The journey to Liurnia took them through increasingly wild territory. The manicured landscapes near Leyndell gave way to untamed woodlands where massive trees stretched toward the sky like beseeching hands. The path narrowed, forcing them to walk in single file, with Caelan leading and Tomoe taking the rear guard position.
Three days of hard travel had changed the divine women in subtle but significant ways. Their bodies had begun adapting to the physical demands, muscles responding to unfamiliar exertion, reflexes sharpening through necessity. The practical clothing from Agatha's stall now showed signs of wear—mud-stained hems, minor tears mended with inexpert stitching, leather beginning to conform to individual contours.
But more striking was the transformation in their bearing. Even Olga Marie, the most resistant to their circumstances, now moved with a purposeful vigilance that would have been unthinkable in her previous existence as a cosmic empress. Ishtar's complaints had become more perfunctory, interspersed with increasingly astute observations about their surroundings.
Each night, Caelan continued their combat training, drilling them in basic techniques until exhaustion forced an end to practice. Despite his taciturn nature, he proved to be an effective teacher—demanding but perceptive, identifying and developing each woman's natural inclinations rather than forcing them into a single fighting style.
On the fourth evening, as they made camp beside a small, spring-fed pool, Castoria approached Caelan with a practical request.
"We need to bathe," she said directly. "Four days of travel without proper hygiene is becoming problematic."
Caelan glanced at the pool, then back at Castoria, his expression unreadable. "The water should be safe. No signs of rot or corruption."
"That's not the issue," Castoria clarified, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. "The issue is privacy. Given our... tethered condition."
Understanding dawned in Caelan's silver eyes. The invisible binding that kept the women within one hundred meters of his position meant that bathing would present certain logistical challenges.
"I'll remain at the maximum distance the tether allows," he said after a moment's consideration. "With my back turned."
"How chivalrous," Koyanskaya remarked, her fox-like smile suggesting she found the situation amusing rather than problematic. "The fearsome Godslayer, brought low by feminine modesty."
Caelan ignored her baiting, addressing Castoria instead. "Establish a rotation. Half of you can bathe while the others stand guard. These woods aren't as safe as they appear."
With that practical solution offered, he moved to the edge of their camp and began meticulously cleaning the Godslayer blade, giving the women space to organize themselves.
Castoria, naturally assuming a leadership role, divided them into two groups—herself, Ereshkigal, Tomoe, and Female ORT would bathe first, while Summer Morgan, Koyanskaya, Ishtar, Olga Marie, and Void Shiki stood watch.
"Remember your training," Tomoe advised as they prepared to leave the immediate campsite. "Remain alert even while bathing. This world has proven treacherous."
The first group made their way to the pool, constantly aware of the invisible tether that bound them to Caelan. He had positioned himself at what he judged to be the maximum distance, seated cross-legged with his back toward them, the Godslayer blade across his knees in his customary meditation pose.
The pool itself was unexpectedly beautiful—crystal clear water fed by a small waterfall that cascaded over moss-covered stones. Unlike much of the landscape they'd traversed, this place seemed almost untouched by the corruption of the Shattering.
"It's lovely," Ereshkigal murmured, kneeling to test the temperature with her fingertips. "Almost like the sacred pools of—" She stopped herself, momentarily overcome by homesickness for her underworld realm.
Castoria placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We'll find our way back," she assured her. "Or forge a new path forward. Either way, we're not alone."
They disrobed with varying degrees of self-consciousness, their divine dignity somewhat at odds with the mundane necessity of bathing in a forest pool while a stoic warrior maintained a respectful distance.
The water was cool but not unpleasantly so, fed by underground springs that had somehow escaped the taint evident elsewhere. For the first time in days, they allowed themselves to relax slightly, the simple pleasure of cleanliness a luxury in this harsh world.
"I've been meaning to ask," Castoria said quietly to Tomoe as they bathed, "about your combat background. Your fighting style is unlike any I've encountered."
Tomoe nodded, accepting the question as the respectful inquiry it was. "I served as a warrior and general in my world," she explained, her red eyes distant with memory. "I commanded armies for my lord, but also engaged in single combat against worthy opponents."
"Your discipline is remarkable," Castoria observed. "Even Caelan seems to respect your martial skill."
"He recognizes a kindred spirit," Tomoe said simply. "We both understand that the path of the warrior is one of service and sacrifice."
Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden splash as Female ORT, who had been observing rather than participating in the discussion, abruptly submerged herself completely in the pool. She remained underwater for an unnervingly long time before resurfacing, her crystalline features unchanged by the experience.
"The molecular composition of this water is unusual," she stated in her harmonically complex voice. "It contains trace elements not found in standard hydrological systems."
The others exchanged bemused glances. Female ORT's alien perspective remained disconcerting even after days of companionship.
Meanwhile, at the edge of their tethered range, Caelan maintained his meditative posture, seemingly oblivious to the bathing arrangements behind him. His senses, however, remained alert to the surrounding forest, cataloging each sound and movement for potential threats.
He detected the disturbance before the women did—a subtle shift in the undergrowth, the sudden silence of forest creatures, a change in the air's scent.
"Something's coming," he called out, rising to his feet but keeping his back turned. "Arm yourselves."
The bathing women reacted with impressive speed, scrambling for their clothes and weapons. They had barely managed to pull on their basic garments when the attack came—not from the ground, but from above.
A massive creature dropped from the canopy, landing with startling agility for its size. It resembled a praying mantis grotesquely enlarged and mutated, its exoskeleton gleaming with unnatural iridescence, multiple limbs ending in scythe-like appendages that could cleave a human in half.
"Crystallian Mantis," Caelan identified, finally turning to face the threat, the Godslayer blade already drawn. "Caution—its hide deflects normal weapons."
The mantis fixed its compound eyes on the partially dressed women, mandibles clicking in what might have been anticipation. Then it charged, moving with terrifying speed for something so large.
Caelan intercepted it, the Godslayer blade meeting one scythe-like limb with a sound like metal on glass. Sparks flew from the contact point, but neither weapon nor exoskeleton gave way.
"Blunt force!" Caelan called out, rolling under another sweeping attack. "Its crystalline structure shatters under impact!"
Tomoe, still fastening her tunic, grabbed a substantial branch from the ground and swung it like a club, catching one of the mantis's secondary limbs. The branch shattered, but not before a satisfying crack appeared in the creature's exoskeleton.
Castoria, her tactician's mind racing, shouted to the second group who were rushing to their aid: "Surround it! Coordinate your attacks on a single point!"
The battle that followed was chaotic but increasingly coordinated. The nine women, putting their training to practical use for the first time, moved with growing confidence. Koyanskaya and Ishtar darted in to distract the creature with quick strikes while Summer Morgan and Olga Marie, overcoming their royal reservations, used improvised clubs to hammer at the cracks Tomoe had created.
Female ORT displayed uncanny precision, her crystalline structure seemingly resonating with the mantis's own, allowing her to identify and target its weakest points. Void Shiki moved like shadow, somehow always in exactly the right place to disrupt the creature's attacks without directly engaging it.
Ereshkigal, despite her gentle nature, revealed an unexpected affinity for combat, her movements almost ritualistic as she coordinated her attacks with Caelan's more direct assault.
The mantis, finding itself surrounded and systematically dismantled, attempted to retreat back to the canopy. Caelan, anticipating this, executed a perfect vertical leap, the Godslayer blade tracing a dark arc through the air as it severed one of the creature's primary limbs.
Unbalanced and injured, the mantis crashed back to the ground where the nine women were waiting. What followed was less a