Gerhardt ran his clawed digits along the sword, observing Cinder as she spoke. Circumstances again interrupted their journey back; the Seer had come to visit once more. Salem's deceptively calm, and even kind, voice ordered for Cinder to meet with an old associate, one that Gerhardt that Gerhardt remembered hearing of.

Adam Taurus.

Leader of the Valesian Branch of the White Fang.

The man was tall enough, not a giant by any stretch but stood a few inches over Gerhardt. His build was nothing remarkable though, surprisingly lithe for what he was. Gerhardt recognised the type of blade he wielded for some reason. Eastern in look, something that required more dexterity than it did strength. Perhaps that explained the faunus' build.

"I fail to see what purpose you have for contacting us Adam," said Cinder with vicious impatience. Her eyes burned with the ire of her new powers "We were instructed to hear you out, but as far as I can tell you have nothing to offer."

Adam's visor hid his eyes and therefore their expression well, but a displeased frown still betrayed his feelings. He let out a sigh "The White Fang has more to gain from this 'special relationship', and you do too. We want to rile up the villages in Mistral, faunus live among them but we know they itch to be truly free."

"And you need us why? The White Fang are more than capable of inflaming some racial tension."

The bull faunus kept quiet, and Gerhardt was certain that was to be the end of the negotiations. Asking for something without anything given in return. Cinder would never entertain charity. Especially not to someone who was so tactless as Adam Taurus was.

"Huntsmen."

Cinder's eyes perked up "Huntsmen?"

Adam growled quietly "They form the backbone of the community out in the villages of Mistral, nothing will happen as long as they form the pillar for society. Normally we could have dealt with them ourselves, but in order to cover for your hired that idiot of yours Roman's mistakes I had to sacrifice many of my elite. So now we can no longer overpower Huntsmen as easily as we could before."

Gerhardt watched Neopolitan bristle as she stood up, before Mercury and Emerald simultaneously pulled her down with surprising grace. Roman, who was Roman? Someone important to Cinder's newest subordinate? The name tasted familiar but was murky all the same. Gerhardt fell irritation bubbling into anger, and apparently it showed. Cinder turned to him in a sudden movement and smiled as her Maiden powers glowed. To most that was a threat, but Gerhardt saw it for what it was. He felt the scorching fire running through the veins underneath his skin.

What a beautiful feeling.

"We know you have plans in Mistral," continued Adam, either oblivious or uncaring to the tension that was building, "if you help us destabilise the villages it will be much easier to make a move on Mistral proper."

Cinder shook her head "We don't have to 'make a move on Mistral proper', we have an insider who will have things ready for us when it suits."

"If you think Lionheart will guarantee anything for you, then you are sorely mistaken."

Gerhardt understood very suddenly the implicit meaning of that statement, he knew that the number of people who were aware of who Lionheart really worked for was small. Very small. There was an unspoken war going on between Cinder and Adam at that moment, as both tried to read the other.

Finally, one gave, and to Gerhardt's surprise it was not Adam.

"I will not help you myself," said Cinder with a hint of spite, "We have designs in Kuroyuri specifically, and while I wish I could take part in securing our interests my Mistress has made it apparent that I am to return promptly despite prior orders to clean up Hazel and Tyrian's mess. But I can spare two of my group to help you, and in return you will help them tie up loose ends in Kuroyuri."

Emerald and Mercury straightened up.

"Gerhardt and Neo will help you."

There was surprise in Emerald's eyes, but nothing else. Mercury even looked somewhat thrilled as he relaxed back onto the log he was using as a makeshift chair.

Adam nodded "I would rather not have to deal with Roman's lacky, but she is undoubtedly effective. As for Gerhardt, some of my men told me about his fight with Roman. If what they said is accurate, then he will be invaluable."

At that very moment everything went deathly still. Adam looked confused as Mercury and Emerald seized up, while even Neopolitan froze despite the insult from Adam. Cinder's eyes widened as she turned to Gerhardt.

Fight with Roman? When had he fought with someone called Roman? He had woken up from death, he knew that. Cinder had woken him. There had only been blackness before then, nothing before then. How could he have fought this person?

Gerhardt looked at the metal of his plate armour. He observed the dents and bruises but saw nothing that reminded him of anything to do with this Roman. He had scratches from his fight with Oda, some scuffs from the legions of Grimm and even some slight dents from where the Atlesian soldiers had shot at him before he blacked out. Judging by the size it was likely the work of an Atlesian Paladin.

An Atlesian Paladin.

Torchwick had piloted an Atlesian Paladin, hadn't he? Gerhardt remembered that day, he had gotten his cape embroidered with a special symbol as he went shopping with... who did he go shopping with?

Velvet.

They had seen Roman and gone to fight him, hadn't they? While in a fight he had cut Torchwick's arm off. Faces that were murky suddenly became very clear. Velvet laughing as she watched his amazement with that movie they had gone to see. Yang screaming at him for trying to kill Torchwick. Ruby smiling as they left detention because he agreed they should get to know each other better.

The Pontiff's crown and mask commanded all his attention, as he came to a realisation.

This wasn't home.

A chill coated the air, as Gerhardt turned to Neopolitan with recognition. Torchwick's partner.

An enemy.

His ice-blue eyes glowed freezing her still, and as he opened his mouth, Neo could see the razor-sharp teeth he had. Emerald cast an illusion in an instant feeling the permafrost coat her skin, but Gerhardt's eyes stared at her still with no change. Mercury slowly coiled himself as he prepared to spring to action, too sudden and Gerhardt himself would pounce.

The Outrider lifted his sword with one hand despite its size, hunching over as he shakily stood on two legs.

"Do not think about those things Gerhardt. Ignore them," said Cinder calmly, her eyes doing their best to hide her own feelings.

In that moment, curt and yet eternal, Cinder felt terror pulse through her. The eyes of the Outrider turned to her not with anger, frustration, or fear but instead with utter blankness. With one look he asked who she was, and of all the situations that could have arisen that was perhaps one of the most dangerous scenarios. The power of the Fall Maiden coursed through her, as she desperately tried to influence him with her power as she had learned to do.

There was resistance, and for the slightest moment the magma that seemed to course through his skin went quiet. A cold and deeper Dark instead dripped off of him. Gerhardt's pale blue eyes burned red as they stared at Cinder, and she swore in the blackness trailing off him she saw screaming faces.

But as suddenly as it came. It went.

Gerhardt began nodding slowly as he once again Embered to Cinder's relief. All hints of what had happened disappeared, save a great sheen of ice that had nearly swallowed the whole area.

The Outrider sighed as he mulled over what Cinder had arranged.

Adam was going to be working with them. Gerhardt did not know why Neopolitan was being used, considering that Adam had a bad relationship with this 'Roman' which Neopolitan seemed quite fond of. He wondered just who Roman was. He'd never met the man. It mattered little however, a Knight must obey.

Cinder turned to Adam with unmistakable sweat on her forehead despite the massive chill that now coated the area. The faunus had a similar nervous expression. Cinder let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding "We will need to discuss the 'conditions' of using him."

"Alone again Priest?" asked Romund calmly, his ethereal footsteps echoing along the street. He watched the man and his 'congregation' from the corner of his eyes, noting with distaste the state of the villagers.

Kensuke turned from the congregation who moaned and screamed as he looked to the Outrider instead of them. The priest shook his head "No I have my flock."

Romund stared with the frozen remnants of pity that he had, as Kensuke looked on at the crackled skin and hollow eyes of his fellow villagers. He watched the one that Kensuke had called Daisuke tear at the skin on his head, while another one named Rikka cried and curled into a ball in a mess of robes that they had been forced to wear. The Outrider saw the others lie on the ground without purpose, their senses dead to the world. A fate ever so common in Lothric.

"You are alone Priest," said Romund with soft breath, "we both are."

There was a certain finality to those words that even Romund couldn't bear thinking about.

Kensuke sighed "I suppose we are then, I take it you want company?"

Romund gave him the closest thing he could to a smile from his deformed and ravaged face locked behind inches of steel plate.

"Only if you would be so kind."

Kensuke quickly hushed and shooed the congregation, watching as they retreated into the depths of the village to go about the reconstruction that was still ongoing. Dorhys had great plans for the village, and with the hollowing of all but one of the survivors she also had the many hands to see it all through.

The Outrider slowed to allow Kensuke to match his stride, considering he was just barely up to Knight's stomach even while Romund slouched it was nigh impossible for Kensuke keep up unless he accommodated the priest. Kensuke was an old man making his way through the last stride of his seventies. He was verging on decrepit, and even a younger and healthier man would not have matched Romund unless he chose to allow them to. The least the Knight could do was show some compassion and make it easier for him.

"So, has Dorhys been working you to the bone as usual?" said Romund with as much of a conversational tone as he could muster, idle chatter had never been his specialty, but it was best to enjoy these things when he could.

Romund's casual nature still surprised himself, never mind Kensuke.

The priest nodded "She's… being difficult I will admit. She expects bi-daily sermons to the congregation, even though my people can no longer differentiate between night and day. I wish she would just kill them, it's less cruel than using them as brain-dead slaves."

If only Kensuke knew just how much worse things could get.

"It wouldn't be the way of the Cathedral to do the right thing." Romund turned to look at Kensuke "You will learn that the evil of men is perhaps unmatched by anything except the hubris of the Gods."

The Priest sighed "You speak as if you knew them."

"Knew who?"

"The Gods of course," laughed Kensuke, tired beyond words.

A flash of painful memories coursed through the Outrider, as he remembered back to the days before Irithyll had become free. He remembered, the lonely child that was Gwyn's lastborn. Immature despite being older than anyone else alive.

Romund let out a hollow chuckle himself "I served one once upon a time. Before I was an Outrider Knight, I was a Knight of the Darkmoon. We served the great and illustrious Gwyn's son, the Darksun Gwyndolin. The last God left. Supposedly."

The Outrider slouched over against a wall, giving Kensuke his cue to listen and learn. If there was one thing Romund enjoyed the man for being other than resilient, it was his nature as a good listener.

"Even as I served him, I saw the corrupt nature of the Gods," began Romund, "their very history is drenched in arrogance and stupidity. But to be born in Irithyll at that time effectively resigned oneself to his service, as we were powerless to the Silver Knights, Giants and Batwing Demons of Anor Londo. I am cursed and blessed by the fact that I chose the path of Knighthood as a Darkmoon Blade instead of joining the bastardised remnants of the Princess Guard, for if I had not, I likely would have been fed to Aldrich when Sulyvahn brought about his coup against Gwyndolin. Of course, that also meant that this caused me to become what I am today. As I instead helped Sulyvahn and Aldrich lead it."

The voice of Dorhys calling for Kensuke interrupted them. The Priest asked another question, but another call ensured he had to leave. Romund bid him off, the Evangelist would not dare touch Kensuke now that she knew he was favoured.

An odd way of seeing a friend, but Romund had no doubt that Kensuke would accept that they lived in odd times.

The Outrider wandered into the church proper, still heavily under construction in certain areas but a modest enough bed room existed for someone of his size. Better than sleeping on the field as he went about his missions for Sulyvahn. If only he could take off his armour and enjoy it as he once had.

He pondered Kensuke's last question, about what life had been like in Irithyll at its height. He remembered almost all of it surprisingly, a commodity he would not have much longer. Sleep tugged at him, another precious thing he soon may not be able to enjoy in the near future.

As he felt himself drift, for the first time in a while he dreamt. He was not stuck in the hell that Sulyvahn had put him into. The iron and flesh cage that was his armour. He was.

He was home.

Irithyll grew colder day by day, but Romund would be lying if he said he found it disquieting. If anything, it made him feel warmer than any fire ever could. He had never been happier than the day he had seen snow first fall on Anor Londo. The beautiful frustration and fear on Gwyndolin's face as he tried and failed to disperse the snow with his illusions.

It had been the first time he had seen the weakness of the God.

Now he ruled over Anor Londo and Irithyll alone. He sat perched on one of the two thrones made in the former cathedral, where the illusion of Dragonslayer Ornstein and the last true Knight of Anor Londo Executioner Smough had tested undead to see if they were chosen. His sole rulership was a new development from the millennia of co-rulership with Sulyvahn. With Aldrich long gone having fed the Flames against his own wishes, and Gwyndolin forever rendered powerless inside the room that once housed the Lordvessel, it was fair to say that Romund was free. No Gods. No Masters.

Sulyvahn was in the Grand Archives for the time being, and likely would be for a few decades. Time was convoluted in Lothric especially as the Flame faded again with time and space itself becoming loose, but the Irithyllian blood in him relegated death from old age to a mere fantasy. Sulyvahn was not born of Irithyll but he did not age all the same. Therefore, long periods of time without seeing each other were expected, and of little consequence. His friend would not die, and neither would he. That was the curse and blessing that life had bestowed on them. The Cycle was striking others with the afflictions of longer life, as even those normal men and women of Lothric seemed to die less and less with those that did often getting right back up again at the bonfires. Sulyvahn's research in the Grand Archives was focused on how to best overcome that. To see whether there was a quicker way of bringing an end to a cycle than letting it burn out.

"Romund!" called a booming voice from across the room.

The Tyrant of Irithyll shifted in his throne as he saw his visitor.

"Vordt of the Boreal Valley," said Romund with some distaste.

The former Captain of the Darkmoon blades once upon a time, before the Twilight of the Darkmoon when Anor Londo and Irithyll's streets had run red with the loyal Blades' blood. Vordt had been rarely seen apart from Gwyndolin during the final years of the God's rule, as he grew frailer from the poison Romund had brewed and as he became more paranoid as he saw plots everywhere except by those he held with most esteem. It was fortunate Sulyvahn had convinced the Darksun to send Vordt away on a mission, so the coup could take place, even now he dreaded the idea of fighting the man. Vordt's greathammer was a mere mace in the Captain's hands.

That said everything there was to be said about Vordt's strength.

He had been friend once, a good friend. Romund had shared many revels with the man after successful persecutions of those who had sinned against Anor Londo. He had drunk alongside the man, fought alongside the man, slept alongside the man. There was a time when he would have given his life for Vordt, and the Captain would have done the same.

That time had long since ended.

The Pontiff Knights stepped forward barring Vordt any further entry, while the Fire Witches readied their Immolation Tinders burning with that wretched Profaned Flame that Sulyvahn was infatuated with. With the Pontiff's absence both orders obeyed him without question, although Romund could see the fear on the Pontiff Knight's faces. They were graceful fighters but were not so perfect as the Fire Witches. Still susceptible to every weakness any normal soldier could have, far too human.

He would have to work on that with Sulyvahn when they got back.

"What brings you to me Vordt? You have not been spotted this far from Eliana's side in a millennium. It must be important, especially for you to trek the entire way up to Anor Londo from Irithyll. You're just in time for the return of Gwynevere, and a conversation with Gwyn. Because I can assure you, there is a better chance of seeing them than you do your old master."

Vordt was hardly a stupid man, and even if he were there was no man or woman dumb enough to believe Gwynevere was ever returning. The runaway Goddess had not been seen since before the Gwyn had left to link the First Flame in times immemorial, if it were not for Eliana appearing one day two millennia ago it would be fair to assume that Gwynevere had long since perished. But a half-human and half-goddess bearing the blood of Gwyn appearing unannounced in Anor Londo proved otherwise, and despite having been abandoned by his sister with not even a goodbye, Gwyndolin had been happy to take Eliana in.

Another family member for the Darksun, and a legitimate one. Unlike that Dragonling Yorshka, daughter of the Crossbreed.

But alas, his thoughts had wandered. Vordt appearing was, suffice to say, an unusual occurrence. It had been a common understanding that Vordt was not happy with Irithyll's new regime but could do nothing about it. The same was however true for Sulyvahn's desire to see Vordt gone, even now after conquering the power of the Profaned Flame and controlling a legion of Irithyll's strongest warriors it was more trouble that it was worth to try and fight the former Captain of the Blades.

Romund agreed with his friend on that matter.

Vordt snarled "We wish to speak with Gwyndolin."

The Tyrant could not help it. He laughed. He laughed to the point that tears prickled in his eyes.

As stubborn as ever.

"For a loyal dog you are poor at listening to what your betters tell you. Begone Vordt. Slink back to hide behind Eliana's skirt and be glad that we do not kill your or your taskmaster for asking such things!" Romund waved to the Pontiff Knights to see Vordt off.

Metal clanked, but the thundering footsteps of Vordt were not heard. Romund narrowed his eyes. Vordt stood still, not budging as the Pontiff Knights grabbed his arms in a feeble attempt to move him. The former Captain of the Blades was a mountain of flesh clad in full plate, superhumanly strong even among Irithyllians. Everyone knew that.

But to see it was something much more disconcerting, especially when it was indirectly threating him.

"I shall not move until Eliana's request is granted," declared Vordt standing tall as he drew his weapon.

The Fire Witches coated the room in fire, as their Tinders pointed to Vordt who unflinchingly glared back at the abyss where their faces should be. Romund watched, as the Fire Witches began to pool their strength together creating a profaned Sun that drenched the room in a black-orange flame.

Vordt stared still.

More trouble than he was worth, curse whatever friendship he had once shared with this man.

"Stop."

With a simple command the Fire Witches blanketed their flame, the Sun dwindling until it was no more in a few moments. Vordt nodded slowly, already knowing that Romund had acquiesced.

The Tyrant sighed as he rose from his seat "Send her in then."

It was not long before Vordt fetched his Mistress. In she walked, elegance personified. Every step graceful and full of beauty. Silken marron hair, marking her as a descendant of the Lord of Fire. Her golden eyes burning with that unknowable quality that all Irithyll wished to unravel, with pink skin that was almost tanned in comparison to the white skin of Irithyll's sons and daughters.

Eliana, daughter of Gwynevere.

Romund could see why Sulyvahn found her interesting, and he could see why the rest of Irithyll found her alluring. But he also saw the danger she posed. A child of the Gods, a rallying point for those that opposed his and Sulyvahn's rule. But also, a being that helped legitimise the claim the regime had, the idea that the God's blessed their self-governance and that a child of them walked the frigid streets.

Because of course, the inhabitants of Irithyll proper knew none of the details surrounding the Twilight of the Darkmoon Blades. Romund had made sure that no one knew. Only those who had no interest in telling the truth possessed it.

Eliana. Too important to kill or to let live, and so the limbo of her existence was instead enforced. No one acted against her, and in return she did not interfere with the Cathedral's or his activities. She kept Vordt from taking action as well.

The Tyrant of Irithyll gave her the welcome she deserved.

"Ah, there you are," snarled Romund, "It's been too long. What have you come for?"

She smiled with a distinct bitterness "I would wish it longer Usurper, but sometimes necessity draws even the most ill-suited beings together. I have not spoken with my Uncle in a hundred years, not since you last let me see him. Is my love and worry for him not enough?"

"No." Romund descended down from the throne judging her with every step "No, it is not."

The Pontiff Knights warily drew their swords once more, as the Fire Witches again stoked their Tinders. Vordt's greathammer dangerously slid across the floor.

Silence.

"I have received a message from my Mother," said Eliana with great hesitation, "and I wish to relay it to my Uncle."

So, that confirmed it then? The Princess of Sunlight still persisted. Even after abandoning her daughter. Romund has suspected she had gone the way of the Firstborn, but it seemed that Gwynevere was surprisingly robust. Certainly, she was smarter and stronger than her younger brother.

"In return for me graciously allowing you to relay that message, I only ask that I be there to hear it be given."

Eliana's nod was sharp but was complimented with a bitter frown, seems she expected to have to make concessions. Romund smiled. He could not afford to appear to be giving too many concessions, such allegations might jeopardise his and Sulyvahn's work by suggesting weakness in both of them.

He decided to keep his genuine interest in what the Princess of Sunlight had said carefully hidden.

"Come then," beckoned Romund moving towards the elevator that rose to the room where Gwyndolin was kept prisoner.

He kept quiet, and as a gesture of goodwill chose to allow Vordt to accompany her without calling his own Pontiff Knights or Fire Witches to accompany him. He would not need them anyways, he had been a Darkmoon Blade too and one of the strongest of them. He could hold his own should he need to.

The great doors stood still, grand but not betraying the true glory of what they did. The prison of the Darksun. The Jail of Gwyndolin. Ironic that the room which once trapped the fates of the undead to link the flames through Gwyndolin's illusion of Gwynevere was now where the last-born found himself imprisoned. Two Fire Witches flanked the door on each side, barring entry.

"Open it."

Without a word they did, standing back as the great doors opened with a massive groan. An ornate room draped in the finest décor and furniture in all Irithyll stood before them. Romund sighed, Aldrich had wanted Gwyndolin shackled in the dungeons, Sulyvahn had agreed at one point until Romund had convinced him otherwise. If ever anyone was to see the God in chains, their legitimacy would be at stake. Instead he was still treated like the God he was. Much to both his and Sulyvahn's distaste.

"Ah my dearest Eliana, it's so good to see you."

"Uncle!"

Romund watched as Eliana hugged the emaciated and weakened Gywndolin, whose sickly appearance was worse than ever. He was still administered the poison that Romund had made all those years ago, for if his strength were to wax even a tad then all could be lost.

"How are you Uncle?" asked Elina her emotions apparent.

Gwyndolin's smile was painful "As well as could be expected little Eliana."

"Make it quick both of you," said Romund, "I have neither the want nor the reason to stand here and listen to you two exchange useless pleasantries."

Both shot him a vicious glare, but there was nothing they could do. Gwyndolin would remain prisoner, and Eliana would remain a living ghost. It could be the last time they saw each other, but sympathy did not come into ruling Irithyll. How many had Gwyndolin sent to become hollow on the path to link the Flame? Eliana was not guiltless either, her mother's daughter. Liable to cause as much suffering as Gwynevere had all those years ago.

"Uncle… I bring a message. From Mother."

"I-I see. What message did your mother give you?" Gwnydolin stood up to hear the answer, a sudden show of strength both he and Romund were surprised was even possible to show.

Eliana licked her lips to try and force herself to speak. Her Uncle waited with great patience, and even Romund seemed perched to listen for an eternity if necessary.

The silence was deafening. But with one final lick of her lips, Eliana continued.

"She said she's sorry she never said goodbye, and that she's sorry she cannot help you. She's sorry for everything."

Gwyndolin collapsed into a heap. He wrenched the Crown of the Darksun from his head, revealing his glassy unfocused golden eyes growing wet with tears and pure ivory hair were revealed for the first time in many millennia.

"That's all she said?"

Eliana nodded her heart bleeding.

"Well, at least now I know. Countless cycles have passed, and there has not been a day in them where I have not wondered why your Mother never returned. Why she never helped me. Why she left me alone."

"… Uncle?"

"She left me alone because she did not care," laughed Gwyndolin,"it took me hundreds of thousands of years to see my Eldest Sister did not care. While Filianore slept with the Pygmys and my older Brother was exiled, Gwynevere decided to abandon me. I took in her daughter, with not a single question despite having not seen her since Father went to link the Flame, and she still did not return. Now she has the audacity to apologise, and not even appear herself to give it? An eternal curse upon her."

"Uncle please…"

"Just leave me, I ask you for this one thing. Leave me be. I have nothing more to say to you. Follow your own design, for I will have nothing to do with it."

All of the life that had remained in the God seemed to have left, his face morose and his spirit battered beyond any repair. Eliana reached her arm out, but she withdrew it seconds later. Vordt watched from the background, still as a statue. Romund watched with shock.

Eliana withdrew, stalking out of the doors with haste. Vordt followed close behind giving one last fleeting look to his former master and God. Eliana's retreat was surprisingly tactless and lacking in grace for someone like her, but Romund could tell that relaying that message had hurt her. Almost as much as it had hurt her Uncle.

Romund made to leave himself his curiosity sated.

"Not you."

The Tyrant of Irithyll looked at Gwyndolin with a range of emotions; anger, shock, hate, and perhaps most disgustingly of all. Pity.

"Why haven't you killed me?" asked the Darksun, the very life drained from him, "Why must I suffer like this?"

All the reasons that Romund had mulled over in his head, as to why Gwyndolin deserved to exist in humiliation and pain ran through his head but none seemed to justify it any. For a moment, he saw not a false idol that had caused the deaths and suffering of untold thousands in a quest to prolong the inevitable, nor his own God that he had loyally served for several millennia prior. All he saw was a tired, scared boy draped in the robes of a God. Deemed so weak and feminine at birth that he was raised as a daughter. The last true God of this city that still breathed.

Left alone in the Twilight of Anor Londo, Gwyndolin had never grown or changed. From the instant his father left, till right now he was very much the same being. Terrified of the dark.

So why did he allow the God to suffer like this? When even he could not justify it?

Gwyndolin's eyes widened like a cornered beast "Why do I suffer Romund?"

"I don't know."

Romund turned his back on the God, not listening to his pleads that he stay. He waved to the Fire Witches as the closed the great doors once more to the grandiose prison of the last God that had stayed. All others had run or died, and even the one that was left behind wanted to go.

But the greatest irony, was that Gwyndolin had willingly stayed behind in fear all those years and yet now he will be forced to persist when he finally chose to go.

All the political opponents Romund had murdered, their children exiled, and names torn from the history books. His fellow brothers and sisters that he had cut down while they begged for mercy. Despite all the atrocities he had committed as Tyrant of Irithyll this was perhaps the most heinous.

He could not kill him. The one who had both shaped and ruined his life was forever part of it. He had not the heart to kill him nor could he afford to.

Romund walked out past the great hall, and onto the steps that led to the Great Cathedral waving off the concerned questions of the Pontiff Knights and the glances of the Fire Witches. He looked at the beautiful moon that shone with an almost purple glow, as flakes of snow painted Irithyll and Anor Londo both.

He saw Farron Keep, and the Undead Settlement which was alongside Lothric on that Great Mountain with the mighty bridge that connected them. He saw the ruins of the Profaned Capital from his perch on high.

The Tyrant of Irithyll knew that this cycle would be the last, he knew it in his bones. The entire world was converging on one area again, as the Transitory Lands began to merge and become each other. The Fire was fading, and if the plan he and Sulyvahn shared did not work then all beings whether Human, God or something in-between would disappear with it.

The Cycles had shared eras of Dark and Light, and yet the outcome never changed. Stagnation continued as the world itself rotted over hundred of thousands of years. Only Sulyvahn and himself could bring about a third option.

But as he finally left after hours of gazing at the moon, seeing the weak rays of the aching and tired sun rising in the East he could only remember a saying in Irithyll. That just as a thing falls to pieces, it unleashes its last flash of great power.

He could only hope that this final cycle bore no such surprises.

The dream faded, and Romund awoke to bitter reality. His felt exhausted despite his rest, but alas that was reality now.

To have held Irithyll in his hands, and to have lost it because of a disagreement with Sulyvahn on the brutality necessary to achieve their goals. For speaking out once he had been damned eternally. Poetic justice, for all those he had killed and exiled.

No Outrider deserved their fate except him. Romund had long made peace with the consequences of his actions.

He knew Sulyvahn better than any had or ever would. While the objective was to take Gerhardt home, it was unlikely the Pontiff would leave this Remnant alone. They would return thereafter, to subject the World. Not for something as petty as more slaves or power.

No, Sulyvahn would do it to try and further their plan.

A world without cycles.

The time he had spent in the Grand Archives had taught the Tyrant much, but not nearly as much as was needed.

Romund was well aware of the hellscape that Lothric had become in their joint efforts to bring about such a world. Even after his own fall from grace to become an Outrider, Sulyvahn still worked towards the same goal.

He had what his people wrought upon this village. The idea of what they could wrought upon a whole world was enough to turn the stomach. All for a world that Romund now knew could never be in their own. He finally had realised the futility of his plan, although he had lost everything in return for being able to see it.

The Cycle was eternal.

Gerhardt must not return, and not just because no Outrider should be forced to return to Sulyvahn. Romund did not know exactly what plans Sulyvahn has for Gerhardt, the boy had was fresh in Irithyll's history, having appeared only about sixteen years ago. An instant in the sands of time that other Irithyllians had walked in. But that age was significant enough, it had been hundreds of years since a native-born child of that Boreal Valley had walked Irithyll's streets, even if Gerhardt's origin seemed anything but natural. There was more than meets the eye to the youngest Outrider.

A search party of this size and calibre would not have been sent for Vordt or even the Dancer going missing. But for Gerhardt, Sulyvahn had been insistent, almost rabid, in how he demanded that something was to be done. Romund knew that by preventing his return that he would spit in the face of Sulyvahn. That brought him unspeakable pleasure. The time was fast approaching where he will no longer recognise anyone or anything, when the Eyes would eat his soul. He would be damned if he could not spite Sulyvahn one last time.

It would not do if he could not see Gerhardt before that. To tell him he can escape this hell.

But little could be done for now, until Gerhardt was even found. He could delay until the outpost was complete, and the company of Kensuke was certainly appreciated. However, time marched on, and Adolar would grow suspicious if he did not lead them onwards. That would take a while yet, though.

In the meantime, Romund would eagerly indulge in this respite. What else was life willing to afford a monster like him?

"You know it's been really boring this past few weeks," said Yang, her hands behind her head.

Weiss nodded "You can say that again."

"You know it's been really boring this past few weeks."

Blake smiled as Weiss turned with outrage in her eyes. Yang had a beautiful smirk on her face, and face contorted with pure unadulterated self-satisfaction. Weiss began to try and give Yang a talking too, but Blake could tell that would never work. But the two made got into the friendly argument anyways.

She watched Ruby look on with that depressing dullness she found herself trapped in. Blake sighed snaking her hand around the smaller girl's shoulder and pulling her close.

Ruby was getting better, just painfully and slowly.

"How are you feeling?" whispered Blake, calm and quiet over the mock argument of Weiss and Yang.

"Ok. Much better than last week anyways."

Ruby's answer was curt, but that did not matter to Blake. What mattered was it was honest. Ruby had doubts about her worth and her ability, despite having melted these doubts in others with a bubbly and supportive personality. While Blake probably spoke to Yang the most of Team RWBY she loved them all equally, Ruby had helped her in more ways than one. Blake would put more than her neck on the line to help her leader out.

Unfortunately, Ruby had been quite insistent that no special treatment was to be given to her; the Breach had stunted the School Year but not halted it. Things were resuming at a slow but steady pace. Professor Port would wander in from clean-up operations covered in dust, both kinds, and scratches to give lectures. Oobleck would rush even more than usual through a lesson so he could return to the field with haste, people were adapting to the environment around them. The Grimm were growing less and less. Rumour had it within two to three months they would be completely gone.

Prof-no Headmistress Goodwitch wanted to speak with them in person, and from what Blake had heard around the dorms, this was not a meeting only Team RWBY was receiving. Some of the highest performing teams, save Team VRSN which had been sent on a mission that no one really knew much about, were being called to speak with Goodwitch. If Blake was to make a guess, it was for a reward or competition.

She was hoping reward to be honest.

"Well let's get going then," said Weiss having long ceased the argument with Yang, Pointless getting into arguments with her, even if she knew that Yang would get her going again by the end of today. She stared at the elevator with a bit of trepidation.

"Scared Weiss," teased Yang.

Weiss's nod was quick "Yes. Miss Goodwitch scares me if I am perfectly honest."

"Me too," said Yang all teasing gone.

Blake smiled "Me three."

"Me four."

Yang ruffled Ruby's hair with her patented ferocity pulling her into a hug, as a ball of black and red whined about Yang being 'embarrassing'. Weiss laughed as she directed the two into the elevator and Blake had to stop herself bursting into an unbecoming grin as she followed after them.

Yeah. Ruby was making progress.

The elevator dinged as the doors opened onto the Headmaster's old office, now belonging to Headmistress Goodwitch. Ozpin's absence had yet to be explained fully, there were rumours that he had died but others said he had been forced by the Council to stand down for his handling of the Breach. Maybe he had even retired? Truth was, no one knew.

"You're here," said Glynda calmly, stirring some coffee. Hot beverages seemed to be a universal thing between those who led Beacon. Her eyes closed over as she took a drink "I won't keep you long, so take a seat."

Blake blinked as she saw how perfectly the four seats in front of them were set out. Goodwitch's obsession with preparing for things was welcome, especially with how hands-off Ozpin could be. A bit of direction and purpose was needed.

Ruby took her seat last, and Blake sighed to herself. Her progress was good, but she was still a shadow of what she once was. Where Ruby had been confident, she was now nervous, where she had been boisterous, she was silent. Hints of what she was supposed to be like came out around her Team, but Ruby wasn't Ruby if she was uncomfortable around others she had come to know.

Goodwitch pushed forward four pieces of paper "Things are getting back to normal at Beacon as you can see, but Vale is still unstable. We were due to hold the Vytal Festival, but at the moment we cannot, and it is far too important for the stability of the Four Kingdoms to be cancelled. Instead Headmaster Lionheart of Haven has agreed to host the festival in Mistral, and Team RWBY has the marks and grades to attend. Would you like to?"

Ruby surprisingly spoke up "Um…. well I am not so sure."

Blake, Weiss and Yang all simultaneously exchanged looks.

"We'd love to."

"Can't wait to go teach."

"I am sure if would be a good learning experience."

The look of betrayal on Ruby's face was so pure that Blake started laughing. Weiss and Yang similarly giggled at Ruby's misfortune. The WBY of RWBY were far too invested in helping Ruby to let her pass up something she would never have done before this had happened to her. A tournament would get the competitive drive and confidence back into Ruby, that was beyond necessary at this point if they wanted to heal her from what had happened.

"Well then Miss Rose," said Goodwitch pushing up her glasses to hide the smile in her own eyes, "you sign here. The rest of you do the same, I'll fill out the rest."

A vicious scratching of pens occurred, followed by a delayed and dragging of Ruby's own pen across the consent form goaded on by the glares of Weiss and Blake, while Yang basically wrote Ruby's name for her using her sister's hand. Once finished they stood up ready to leave.

"One last thing," said Glynda reaching a hand out to halt them. "you can take the trains most of the way, but some lines are still destroyed from the Breach. The festival is not for another month, you'll have to walk the final stretch to Shade. You think you can handle that?"

Yang's grin was infectious "You know what that means guys?"

Blake groaned.

"Road trip!"

Hello everyone still trucking, once again assignments keep me to a slower update schedule but it only slows me. Never stops me. Anyways hope you enjoy and hope that things are going well for everyone else. I keep failing to meet the update schedules because of my work, but I will always upload the next chapter and thanks for waiting. As always I love to hear from you in reviews or questions. Stay safe everyone, and I'll catch you next time.