As the elder's words echoed through the room, Claude pinched his brows, withholding a sigh. He understood the implications of this revelation.
For the Bloodborne to even conceive of such an act with their limited minds, they must have received instructions. He had faced these creatures before—brutal, mindless, violent. But for them to act with such purpose… such intent? It could only mean one thing.
These instructions most likely came from their so-called 'God.'
Yet even as this realisation settled in, it did not bring any comfort. In fact, it left an unsettling weight in Claude's chest, a tightening feeling that he couldn't shake. The Bloodborne following orders was one thing.
What was truly unnerving was that if this God no longer existed and was unable to communicate with the Bloodborne, why would they perform this ritual?
Unless this God... No, this entity... was still alive?
The very thought lingered in the air like a poison, sinking deep into Claude's mind. His breathing quickened, and he had to force himself to remain calm. There were too many unknowns. But the more Claude thought about it, the more the pieces seemed to fit together.
"Do any of you know what the aim of this ritual was?" Claude queried, trying to better grasp the situation at hand.
The elder rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His face was gaunt, shadowed by the dim light, and his eyes were weary. "I'm not certain, but I believe it may have something to do with Solhart."
The name echoed in Claude's mind. Solhart. A name spoken by those who still clung to the old beliefs, praying in the slight hope of salvation, in the hope they may be freed from this unending night.
Despite Claude pretending to be His emissary, he knew little about this deity. Claude leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "Go on…?"
"After The Fall, our prayers to Him went unanswered. Despite our hope, we came to understand that He might have fallen," he explained, his words that of a man who had once believed fervently but had been forced to accept the cold, harsh reality of the world.
"But from tales of old, Gods don't simply fall. Their consciousness may fade, but the amalgamation of our faith in Them doesn't just vanish," he continued with downcast eyes.
A spark of realisation lit up in Claude's eyes. "Their God… He's trying to obtain Solhart's power?"
His words were met with a solemn silence, a tacit confirmation of his guess. It was a bitter truth they had all been circling around, afraid to admit it aloud.
Claude's mind raced as he tried to connect the dots, his thoughts flickering like a series of disjointed images.
What he had learned today challenged everything he had previously believed. 'My previous guesses were wrong... The Fall may not have anything to do with humanity. It might instead be referring to the fall of these native Gods...'
His stomach churned at the thought. If this entity still lived, still sought power, the consequences could be far-reaching—devastating even.
It wasn't like he could fight it. There was little he could do to protect this world from something like that.
A while after freeing everyone, Claude used his power to create some water to sate the parched mouths of the others.
Sitting in the main hall of the temple, Claude turned to the old man whom he now knew as Gerard. "You guys shouldn't be too far from here. Are you able to return home?"
Gerard sighed, his exhalation raspy and hoarse. "Ehrenlied, I don't think we can…"
He went on to explain his and everyone else's circumstances, his voice laced with regret.
They used to inhabit a settlement not too far from here. Despite the growing numbers of Bloodborne nearby, they had refused to leave completely, unwilling to forsake the temple of their God. How that turned out was rather obvious to Claude now.
As he had guessed, Gerard went on to say that several days ago, their settlement had been raided—no, massacred.
Most of the villagers had been brutally slain, with the ones before Claude being brought as captives.
"What about joining a nearby settlement?" Claude suggested, his voice more gentle now. "For the past few years, I lived with a group of people in a nearby set of Ruins."
"Ruins...? Their village head wouldn't be called Karl, would he?" Gerard asked, his eyes widening in recognition. There was a glimmer of something in his expression—hope, perhaps.
"How did you know? Do you know him?" Claude replied, intrigued. His heart lifted slightly at the possibility of reconnecting these people with someone they knew, someone who could help.
"That madman succeeded?!" Gerard exclaimed, ignoring Claude's question as he fell into confusion.
He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a look of disbelief etched onto his features. "Sorry, sorry. Of course, I know Karl. He always wanted to find a permanent settlement for his people. Former human cities are usually overrun by the Bloodborne or destroyed, so he turned to the ruins."
Claude listened intently as Gerard recounted the story of Karl, a man driven by a singular goal despite the odds stacked against him. There was admiration in Gerard's voice, mingled with regret.
"I always thought he was insane for that. Ruins had always been synonymous with danger. When I heard the news that a majority of the search party from that village, including Karl's father, had gone missing in search of some ruins, I held no hope for Karl's ambitions."
Gerard lowered his gaze, his expression turning sombre. "Yet... He succeeded," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "And I..."
The others, seeing this, quickly rushed up, their voices overlapping in a rush of reassurance. "Stop blaming yourself. Sure, you were against the idea of moving from here, but weren't we all? The blame lies with most of us, not just one person..."
Gerard weakly smiled, but it was clear that the weight of his decisions still haunted him.
Claude watched the scene unfold, a knot forming in his chest. It was always the same—normal people forced into impossible situations, burdened by choices they never should have had to make.
Just like him...
"Ehrenlied, are you sure they would accept us?" Gerard asked hesitantly, his voice thick with uncertainty. "Wouldn't we just burden them?"
Claude met his gaze. "Just tell them what happened and say that Claude sent you there."
"Claude...?" Gerard repeated, surprised by the name. The others exchanged glances, their expressions puzzled.
"It's my name. You could call me that instead of Ehrenlied if you want to."
"No, no. That is too disrespectful, especially after all you have done for us." The old man furiously shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief.
After making sure everyone was fine, Claude returned downstairs to the underground chamber. His mind was still swirling with the revelations of the day, but there was something else pulling at him now.
He vaguely remembered there being some strange markings on the walls and wanted to investigate more. Something told him that the answers he sought could be found there.
Within the room once again, he glanced around at the walls that shone with a golden hue, not dissimilar to the main body of the temple. Approaching the wall behind the altar, his pupils contracted as he saw what was on the walls.
Images.
Images were engraved onto the stone walls with an unknown technique that stood out in the otherwise bare room. They were intricate and detailed, the craftsmanship so precise that it almost seemed as if the figures were alive, frozen in time.
Tracing the carvings with his finger, Claude ruminated over what he was seeing. 'It seems to be depicting a war...?' He mused, his brow furrowing in concentration.
The image was split into two halves. On the left-hand side, a shining golden figure, adorning what seemed to be a crown and grasping a longsword, stood at the helm of a massive human army.
The figure exuded a radiant light surrounding it as if it were more than just a King or something similar—perhaps a God.
On the right-hand side, a shadowy entity stood above a large horde of crimson figures. The darkness surrounding it was palpable, almost as if it were seeping from the stone itself. It seemed to lack any true form, with large wing-like appendages sprawling out from its back.
Nevertheless, what truly caught Claude's attention were its eyes.
Crimson. Indifferent. Callous.
Just from the eyes alone, he could already somewhat grasp what the people creating this thought of the entity.
Evil.
Furthermore, Claude could guess what this entire thing was trying to convey.
A war. A war between man and monster. A war between Gods.
His breathing hitched as he studied the words carved at the bottom of the scene, their meaning sinking into him like cold steel.
'Zethrax. One of the Four. Herald of Shadows. Harbinger of Doom. The one who foretells an unending night. May his accursed name be eternally reviled, yet never erased from memory. Praise be to the Light, for He will vanquish this scourge.'