(ELDEN LORD! SUMMER ROSE) CHAPTER ONE

The Suppressing Pillar had stood longer than memory. Longer than kingdoms. Longer than even the Erdtree.

It rose from the center of the Gravesite Plains, surrounded always by drifting ash and circling Gravebirds whose mournful cries never seemed to stop echoing across the dead grasslands below.

No banners flew there. No pilgrims remained. Even the spirits avoided lingering near it.

The pillar simply existed.

But beneath it… something shifted.

The first sign was not sound.

The Gravebirds stopped crying. Thousands of them, all at once, and the sudden silence spread like a held breath. Then the wind died. The pale grass stilled across the plains, and ash lingered motionless in the air.

Far above, beyond the veil concealing the Land of Shadow from the world beyond, something vast moved behind the clouds and the pillar trembled in response. Dust trickled from ancient cracks running along its foundation, hairline fractures that had not existed moments before.

Then came the sound.

A low groan rolled through the earth, so deep it bypassed hearing entirely and settled directly into bone. Across the Gravesite Plains, mausoleums shuddered, ancient tombs split open, and buried corpses stirred beneath the soil.

The stone monument atop the pillar glowed slightly, and the carved words upon it burned gold. Then red. Then black. A crack split directly through the inscription, and below the pillar, darkness leaked upward.

The Gravebirds reacted first.

They began screaming, hundreds of them hurling themselves against the pillar in a frenzy of broken wings and snapping beaks, clawing at the stone as if desperately trying to hold it together.

It did not help.

The second tremor hit harder.

The elevator platform shattered free from its chains and plummeted into the abyss below. Massive chunks of stone peeled away from the pillar’s sides, crashing into the plains with impacts that sent geysers of blackened earth skyward.

And then, for one impossible moment, the veil became visible.

It stretched across the horizon like a membrane drawn tight over the sky. Golden threads ran through it in vast geometric patterns no human hand could have woven.

Something struck it from the other side. The sound was wet. Then the veil bulged inward before another impact followed.

The golden threads snapped one by one.

Patch had always felt small at night.

The kind of smallness that came from knowing every road on the island, every cliffside trail, and every stretch of shoreline where the ocean spray reached the grass. Patch was fishing boats drifting across dark water, crooked, old, and wooden fences patched together too many times, porch lights glowing through fog below the hills, and the sounds of somebody’s radio playing through an open window.

Home… Or at least, it had been.

Now the island felt almost hollow, as though something essential had been scooped out of the world and forgotten to be put back.

Ruby sat cross-legged on her bed beneath the dim glow of her desk lamp, staring at Crescent Rose where it rested against the wall opposite her. The weapon looked wrong standing still. Like it belonged to someone else now. Someone who could have saved her.

…Maybe it did.

Beacon was gone.

Even thinking the words felt unreal. Saying them aloud would have been worse, like admitting that the ground beneath her feet had never been solid to begin with.

Gone.

Sometimes Ruby still caught herself expecting to wake up in the dorms with Weiss complaining about noise levels and Yang stealing her snacks while Blake pretended not to smile at either of them. She would reach for her scroll to check team messages that no longer existed. She would glance toward the window expecting to see the tower rising against the skyline.

Then she would remember the tower collapsing, fire tearing across the skyline faster than Ruby could process, and despite receiving warnings against it from her dad, she would find herself imagining Pyrrha’s expression right before the end. Something achingly close to contentment on her face.

Ruby squeezed her eyes shut, but it did not help. More memories came unbidden, each one a shard of glass lodged beneath her ribs:

Cinder smiling like she had already won.

Penny torn apart in front of the entire stadium, her last words fading beneath the shock of the watching crowd.

Grimm flooding the streets like a tide of shadow and teeth.

Pyrrha turning to ash in the wind that swept through what remained of Beacon's skyline.

And afterward…

Yang broken on the ground, her arm gone, her eyes hollow in ways that had nothing to do with pain.

Blake vanished into the night without a word, leaving only silence and unanswered questions.

Weiss pulled back into Atlas's cold embrace, trapped within her father's gilded cages.

Ruby exhaled shakily and reached for the half-packed bag resting beside her bed. Her fingers brushed against the worn fabric of one of Yang's old travel bags, scuffed at the corners and stained with engine grease from years of adventures Ruby hadn't been old enough to join.

Now she was old enough.

Now she wished she wasn't.

Jaune, Ren, and Nora had already left for Mistral. For Haven Academy. For answers. Maybe for revenge, even if none of them were saying it out loud yet. Ruby had seen the way Jaune's hands trembled when he thought no one was watching, had heard the strain beneath Ren's careful silences, and had watched Nora laugh too loudly at nothing as though she was terrified of what might happen if she stopped.

None of them were hiding the damage especially well.

Ruby knew she should have stayed.

Taiyang certainly thought so. He hadn't said it directly—her dad was too gentle for that—but she saw the worry behind his smiles, the way he hovered in doorways like he was afraid she might disappear if he looked away too long.

Yang needed time, and the house felt fragile enough already, balanced on the edge of something none of them wanted to name. But every hour Ruby spent sitting still only made the pressure in her chest worse. 

Movement felt easier.

Movement always felt easier.

When Ruby was moving—running, climbing, fighting, or even crafting—her mind had something to hold onto. Momentum became its own kind of anchor. As long as she was going somewhere, she could pretend she knew where that somewhere was.

She checked the contents of the bag again just to give her hands something to do.

Ammunition, organized by caliber. Medical supplies, wrapped in sealed pouches. Extra Dust cartridges, each one slotted into its padded compartment. Cleaning tools for Crescent Rose, because even the end of the world didn't excuse poor weapon maintenance.

Lastly, a few changes of clothes, folded tighter than strictly necessary. 

It was almost funny. Her world had nearly ended, and Ruby Rose was still worrying about whether she packed enough socks. The thought nearly made her laugh.

Outside, the wind pressed softly against her bedroom window. Moonlight spilled pale silver across the floorboards, catching slightly against the edge of Crescent Rose's blade, and making the weapon gleam.

She stood and lifted Crescent Rose onto her shoulder, heavy yet comforting.

Ruby moved toward the window and looked out over Patch.

The island slept beneath drifting fog. Distant porch lights glimmered weakly through the darkness below the cliffs, amber smudges against the deep blue of the coastal night. Waves rolled quietly against the shore far away from the house… and everything looked normal.

That was the strangest part.

How could the world still look normal after Beacon? How could the moon still hang incomplete in the sky, as broken as everything else, yet somehow still beautiful? How could people still sleep while Ruby lay awake replaying every mistake she had ever made?

How could the ocean keep moving like nothing had changed?

Ruby rested her forehead lightly against the cool glass. The fog had crept closer while she packed, so now it pressed against the window like breath against glass.

"I'll catch up to them," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "I'll help somehow."

The words sounded small in the empty room. Small and desperate and maybe a little bit brave.

Then, suddenly, the floor shifted beneath her feet.

Ruby frowned. She had lived here long enough to know every creak, every groan, every complaint the old structure made against wind and weather. This was none of those things.

This was something else.

A second tremor rolled upward through the floorboards, stronger this time, making Crescent Rose rattle against her shoulder, metal whispering against cloth.

Ruby straightened immediately, her body shifting into something closer to alertness.

Another tremor hit.

The window glass shook violently in its frame. Dust trickled from the ceiling. Downstairs, something ceramic shattered against the kitchen floor. A mug, maybe, or a plate her dad had left by the sink.

"What the—?!"

The earth groaned.

The sound was impossibly deep, bypassing her ears entirely and rattling through her teeth and spine. Ruby stumbled sideways as the entire house lurched hard enough to knock books from her shelves and send her desk lamp skittering across the floor.

An earthquake?

Patch didn't get earthquakes.

Patch had never gotten earthquakes.

The tremors intensified, and Ruby rushed toward the bedroom door just as the lights flickered overhead. The bulb in her lamp buzzed, flared, and died. The light from the hallway followed a second later, plunging the house into near-darkness.

Static prickled across her exposed skin, raising the fine hairs on her arms. And her ears popped painfully as the pressure shifted—once, twice, three times—as though the atmosphere itself was being compressed from all directions.

Another violent tremor rolled through the island. Outside, dogs began barking frantically across neighboring houses. Somewhere further down the road, a car alarm shrieked to life.

Then came the sound.

A low, distant groan that did not resemble thunder or collapsing stone so much as two massive and hard materials dragging themselves together. 

Ruby froze.

The ocean outside had stopped moving.

Moonlight reflected across the water in perfect, unmoving silver. And beyond the cliffs, far beyond where the horizon should have been, something enormous was emerging from the fog.

At first, Ruby thought it was a mountain. A new island somehow rising from the depths, pushed upward by forces she was just beginning to understand. That would have made some sense. 

Then the fog shifted, and she realized mountains were not supposed to have windows.

Golden lights shone weakly through the mist, pulsing slowly, rhythmically, almost breathing, and the silhouette continued rising upward from beyond the coastline as the earth shook harder beneath Patch. 

Ruby gripped Crescent Rose so tightly her knuckles went white, her breath catching painfully in her throat.

Enormous pillars wider than Beacon Tower rose from the sea, their carved inscriptions glowing beneath the waterline. Then the inscriptions pulsed and began crawling across the stone like living things.

Then the horns began to ring. Deep, mournful, and ancient beyond comprehension. And the windows of her house shattered inward as the sound wave hit.

Ruby threw herself flat, shielding her face with her arms as glass sprayed across her bedroom floor. The bells continued ringing, impossibly loud, impossibly close, even though the structure was still miles out to sea.

Then, as suddenly as it began, silence.

The tremors stopped, the horns fell quiet, and the ocean resumed its gentle back-and-forth as though nothing had happened.

Ruby lay trembling on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and scattered books, her heart pounding so hard she could taste copper at the back of her throat.

At that moment, Patch felt even smaller.