Elden Lord of Cinders

After tending to the last of Melina's burns, Lloyd let out a quiet breath.

He patted her smooth, warm back twice to signal he was finished, then rose and wandered over to a patch of shade beneath a tree, lying down to rest. Originally, he'd only planned to take a short break before heading out to explore again.

But as he was settling in, Melina—now dressed—walked over and sat down beside him.

Lloyd was still wondering why this "piece of wood" had suddenly taken the initiative to come closer when, after a brief pause, she reached out a finger, tapped his cheek, and slowly traced the shape of a small turtle.

Lloyd: "...?"

Seriously? She was still hung up on that?

It was only a touch, leaving no mark, just the faint lingering scent of autumn leaves.

Her small act of revenge complete, Melina withdrew her hand into her sleeve. She didn't leave, though—just sat beside him, gaze averted, eyes on the weeds at her feet.

After a long silence, Lloyd finally spoke.

"What's wrong?" He turned his head toward the "wooden post."

"In a hurry? We could head to the Royal Capital first."

Melina was quiet for a moment before shaking her head.

"No, it's something else."

Another stretch of silence passed before she lifted her gaze toward the towering Erdtree in the distance, her voice holding an odd, hesitant note.

"What do you think of Millicent?"

"What do I think of Millicent?" Lloyd blinked.

"What, did you two get into a fight?"

"No. It has nothing to do with that."

She lowered her head slightly, her eyes drifting over her gloved hands resting on her knees. The fine silk gloves were the ones Lloyd had given her during their first treatment together, meant to hide the burns on her hands.

Even after she'd healed, she hadn't managed to return them—and had kept wearing them ever since. It was those same gloves she'd worn just now to draw that little turtle on his face.

Truthfully, she liked them. Not just because they covered her burns, or because they were finely made and comfortable to wear.

There were other reasons.

But she knew she would have to give them back someday. And as her burns healed, she had been forced to accept more and more of her own death.

Even without reaching the base of the Erdtree, she had already caught glimpses of her mission, hints of its shape forming in the darkness of her Gloam-Eyes.

This latest treatment had shown her even more, and she realized she was beginning to cross that invisible line.

But what could she do?

She had tried to stop herself—keeping her thorns of rejection in place, limiting their conversations, trying to remain nothing more than a stranger traveling the same road.

It hadn't worked.

When she didn't cross the line, he came closer on his own.

When she put up thorns, he brushed them aside.

When she tried to keep her distance, he gave her the gloves—making refusal impossible.

If she were just an ordinary girl, without a mission, without the vision of those flames...

Then maybe, right now, she would be lying in his arms.

But there were no "ifs."

The more red threads she held in her hands, the clearer she saw her destined death.

And the more certain she became of one thing—these gloves would have to be returned.

Even that wouldn't be enough. It would be better if she passed them on to someone else.

Trina. Millicent. Even Ranni...

But when she tried to make herself do it, she found herself stuck.

Partly because she'd never done anything like this before and didn't know how.

Partly because she liked the gloves too much to give them up.

Should she keep wearing them for a while longer? Just as a small, selfish indulgence?

But reason told her—the longer she wore them, the harder it would be to take them off.

She stared at the gloves for a long time in silence.

Finally, with a quiet sigh, she lifted her head, resolve beginning to show in her eyes.

"Lloyd, you—"

Her words cut short.

Before she could finish, a hand landed on her shoulder. With a light pull, he drew her straight into his arms.

By the time she registered what had happened, she was lying against his chest, staring up at him as he looked down at her.

"You…"

"Little turtle, I let you draw that one back, but I still haven't gotten you back for ambushing me last time."

Melina was momentarily at a loss for words. He was still holding onto that?

Before she could form a reply, a flash of red entered her field of vision.

Upon seeing their current position, the red figure froze.

"You two…"

"Oh, Millicent, perfect timing." Lloyd looked up at her, then pointed at his own face.

"Melina just drew a little turtle on me. Come over and tell me where it is."

Millicent: "…"

So you're telling me you're hugging because of a little turtle?

If it were anyone else, Millicent wouldn't believe a word of it. But Lloyd… well, it's Lloyd.

"There's no turtle."

Millicent studied his face and found nothing, but Lloyd still seemed unconvinced.

"The mark might be faint—come closer and check."

Without any suspicion, Millicent leaned in… and was promptly pulled into his arms by a large hand.

"…Mr. Lloyd?"

Now lying alongside Melina in his embrace, Millicent was stunned. Lloyd glanced down at the "wooden post" and the "little flower" in his arms, his smile carrying layered meaning.

"Ha—prank successful."

Millicent: "…"

Melina: "…"

A sudden wave of helplessness hit both of them, making them question whether the emotions they'd just felt meant anything to this idiot at all.

Before either could respond, a golden figure suddenly appeared.

"Got room?"

"Yes."

And so, the gold squeezed itself in between the wooden post and the red flower.

But it didn't stop there.

After the gold settled in, Lloyd thought for a moment, then opened his inventory and summoned the purple and silver flowers, resting one on each shoulder.

Now fully "armored" in girls, Lloyd exhaled in satisfaction.

Holding three in his arms and carrying two on his shoulders, he gazed toward the distant Erdtree, his expression gradually relaxing.

How nice…

The feeling of having someone to hold…

Or perhaps, simply, the feeling of not being alone anymore.

...

"You've found companions again."

In the gray-lit sacrificial hall, the blindfolded woman gently stroked the Ash she held in her arms.

"And this time… it seems you don't have to worry as much about losing them."

Seeing that he was still pretending to sleep, her lips curved in a faint smile. She lowered her head and blew softly across his face.

When his nose twitched at the ticklish sensation, she lifted her head again, smiling.

"Relax. I'm not angry. I'm truly happy for you."

"However…"

She turned her gaze toward the small purple flower nearby.

"Don't forget that child. When you weren't doing well before, she helped you a great deal… and paid quite a price for it."

She beckoned the purple flower closer.

The "sleeping" Ash cracked one eye open, spotting the flower—its glow dimmer than before, a trace of hurt in its appearance.

"…Lord Lloyd…"

At that, he sighed, reached out, and pulled the purple flower into his arms. Letting her cling to him, he fished out a gray ring.

With no resistance, the ring slipped onto her slender finger.

[Obtained Covenant: Trina's Oathsworn King]

The moment it was on, the dimness faded from her form.

Then, after crowning her with the ring, he lifted his hand and slipped a finger into her mouth, restoring her glow.

Once the purple flower was soothed, the half-drowsing Ash looked up at the blindfolded woman.

"Earlier…"

"When your condition worsened, I stepped away," she replied softly, hugging him tighter.

"It's fine now. It's over."

Still, he reached up to touch her cheek.

Even with Alice's aid and long healing, faint traces of the old fracture remained. But he didn't apologize—he knew if he did, she truly would be upset.

So instead, he committed the scars to memory and shifted the subject.

"I met some children out there. They're all wonderful… kind, strong, adorable… and Alice. If I could, I'd love to bring them to meet you."

She was silent for a while before sighing.

"…What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just thinking… the finest firewood is always solid through and through."

Half-asleep, he didn't understand her meaning, nor had the clarity to dwell on it.

Since she wasn't angry, he kept talking—about the children, how good and well-behaved they were, how bright the world outside could be… and how much he missed her.

She listened quietly. Whether he spoke of those "children" or of her, she gave no special reaction.

Because she knew—whether herself or that group—he saw them the same way.

After all, "solid wood" wasn't just a nickname.

When he'd spoken enough, and she'd indulged him long enough, she reached out once more, covering his eyes and stroking them gently.

"Ashen One, that's enough for now."

"Will you tell me the rest next time?"

It wasn't a brush-off. In truth, she would remember every word he said.

Especially before the little purple flower arrived—when she had only his voice to keep her company—she treasured every chance to speak with him.

But as she said, it was enough for today.

If she indulged too much, she would be neglecting her duty.

So, with that gentle caress, the Ashen One slowly closed his eyes.

The brief flicker of wakefulness that had just surfaced drifted back into sleep.

Then, the little purple flower, now much brighter than before, lifted her head to look at the blindfolded woman.

"Was he… always like this?"

She was referring to the blindfolded woman's earlier description of the Ashen One's wooden, detached state.

Even without knowing what was happening in the outside world, even as a cursed child who could never grow, she could sense from his words that something was wrong.

But the woman seemed to think it was all perfectly natural.

At the question, the blindfolded woman gazed down at the Ashen One in her arms and shook her head slightly.

"If you mean before, then yes—he was like this."

"But if you mean further back, before I even met him… then no, I don't think he was."

"I've never seen that version of him."

"But I've heard others speak of it."

She lifted her head, eyes drawn to the fire in the distance, now burning more brightly than before.

"Back then, he was still a person.

Not a heap of cold, dead ash.

He needed the warmth of others just to pretend he was still burning."

Even she was part of that pretense.

...

Lloyd woke again.

This time, though, he wasn't in anyone's arms.

On the contrary—when he came to, he felt weighted down all over, and in some spots, even damp.

Opening his eyes, he saw that those who had been beside him had all fallen asleep at some point, some of them even drooling.

Except for a certain blonde.

When Lloyd opened his eyes, she was still moving her fingers, completely focused as she wove something over his chest with threads of gold.

When she noticed he was awake, Alice lifted her head, pointed toward the children sleeping at his side, and made a "shhh" gesture.

Lloyd understood. He didn't speak or try to wake them, only shifted his position slightly—carefully enough not to disturb anyone—so they could rest more comfortably.

Then Alice lowered her head again, intent on whatever she was working on at his chest.

The moment was warm, almost peaceful… but after a while, holding the same position started to make Lloyd's expression twitch.

How to put it… after so long living a life of constant travel and fighting, suddenly being pinned in place and unable to move was strangely unsettling.

And the problem was, there were so many leaning against him that he couldn't even move his arms. His hands had been tucked into someone's embrace, leaving him unable to so much as wiggle a finger.

This…

Just as he was mulling over the discomfort, a familiar touch brushed the corner of his mouth—then slipped inside.

Alice was still working at his chest.

But now she only had one hand for it.

The other was at his lips, with two fingers resting inside his mouth.

Lloyd hesitated.

This… probably isn't right, is it?

But before he could decide, something traced across his tongue.

A soft scrape—gentle fingertips gliding over it, carrying a faint, sweet scent.

It tickled.

Lloyd arched a brow, then, without hesitation, struck back.

Alice's movements faltered, her work becoming uneven.

A light breeze passed, scattering fallen leaves.

Beneath swaying, dappled shadows, lonely travelers huddled close, their fire burning bright.

It would have been a perfect scene—

If not for a certain someone moving in uneven fits.

...

[Upto 20 chapters ahead for now]

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