(ELDEN LORD! SUMMER ROSE) CHAPTER FIVE

The gates of Leyndell had not looked this whole in centuries, or at least, that was what the histories claimed.

Summer had read enough of them by now: half-burned manuscripts recovered from drowned archives, scattered records preserved beneath catacombs, and oral accounts recited from memory by old knights who barely remembered their own names. She had spent nights beside dying campfires listening to Ansbach recount shattered dynasties and vanished bloodlines while scribes scratched notes onto parchment with cramped fingers. Over the years, the stories had begun to blur together into one endless cycle of conquest, ruin, and rebirth.

Leyndell had been sacked, abandoned, reclaimed, and rebuilt atop its own corpse more times than Summer could count.

Yet tonight, as always, the gates stood open.

The colossal doors groaned softly in the evening wind as Summer rode through them atop Torrent, the spectral steed’s hooves clopping against worn golden stone. Her white cloak hung heavy from her shoulders, stained with mud, ash, and the dried blood she had not yet bothered to wash free. It had worked itself deep into the fabric during the fighting near the western cliffs three days earlier, and there had been little time for vanity since then.

Beside her, Sir Ansbach rode with the same rigid dignity he carried into every battlefield and council chamber alike. Age had weathered him further over the years; deeper lines marked the corners of his mouth now, and more silver was spotted through his beard, but his posture remained iron-straight in the saddle.

Only the tension around his jaw betrayed his exhaustion.

Thiollier followed several paces behind them, quieter than ever, his dark cloak fluttering in the cold wind drifting through the capital roads. His eyes moved constantly, watching rooftops, alleys, and empty windows as though he expected ghosts to emerge from the ruins. And honestly, in Leyndell, ghosts rarely stayed buried for long.

Behind them all came Roderika guiding a supply cart laden with salvaged equipment, bundled provisions, spirit-tuning tools, and crates of recovered tomes from the Altus Plateau. Her red hair had been hastily tied back with a strip of cloth already coming loose, and streaks of ash darkened one side of her face.

All four of them looked exhausted because they had been gone for nearly three weeks. 

Three weeks spent clearing the remaining revenant nests beneath Altus. Three weeks negotiating with rogue holdouts who still believed the old Golden Order might somehow return unchanged. Three weeks burning corrupted burial sites where Deathroot still lingered beneath the soil. And three weeks of fighting things that should have stayed buried.

Leyndell looked different every time Summer returned, but the ash still fell. It would probably continue falling for decades, perhaps centuries. The burned Erdtree saw to that. Even now its enormous blackened branches loomed over the capital, shedding charred bark and drifting cinders into the streets below.

But the city lived again, and that alone still felt miraculous sometimes.

The great roads that had once been clogged with rubble, corpses, and wandering monstrosities had finally been cleared stone by stone, body by body. Collapsed districts now held crude scaffolding and half-finished homes built from scavenged marble and timber, and lanternlight glowed warmly behind repaired windows that had remained dark since before the Shattering.

People lived here now, and not just Tarnished warriors or wandering zealots. Ordinary people with families.

Summer saw a woman hanging laundry between two cracked columns that had once supported a royal archive. Nearby, children darted laughing through a plaza where Summer herself had once fought an ulcerated tree spirit large enough to split buildings apart with its body. An elderly man sat upon an overturned crate carving wood with a knife so worn the blade barely extended past his thumb.

After everything she had seen in the Lands Between, normalcy felt stranger than horror, enough to startle her sometimes. 

People noticed them immediately as they passed. Some bowed their heads, most waved cautiously, and others simply stared.

Summer had never fully grown comfortable with the look people gave her now. A look that was not exactly fear or even reverence, but something heavier than either.

“The city feels quieter,” Roderika said softly as she guided the cart closer beside Torrent. “Calmer.”

Ansbach snorted slightly. “Reconstruction tends to have that effect. People stop expecting death around every corner eventually.”

“Do they?”

The old knight did not answer immediately, and his silence spoke loudly enough on its own.

Summer kept riding.

The royal stables eventually came into view, or rather, what remained of them after ten years of reconstruction. Half the original structure still lay collapsed beneath blackened beams, though new stonework had begun rising around the ruins.

She slid from Torrent’s back with considerably less grace than she once possessed, and the moment her boots hit the ground, pain shot up both legs.

Gods. Everything hurt.

Her shoulders ached from weeks spent carrying armor and spell catalysts, her ribs were still bruised from a revenant ambush near the western cliffs, and even her teeth hurt somehow, a constant dull ache born from exhaustion so deep it had stopped feeling temporary ages ago.

Torrent turned his head toward her with a soft snort.

“I know,” Summer muttered, rubbing his neck. “I’m tired too.”

The spectral steed huffed warmly before dissolving into pale blue motes that scattered into the cold evening air.

“We should report to the war chamber immediately,” Ansbach said as he dismounted beside her. Unlike Summer, he landed with his dignity intact.

Summer envied him for approximately half a second, then she groaned. “Give me an hour. I need to wash the revenant out of my hair first.”

“You need food first,” Thiollier corrected.

Summer glanced toward him.

The poison scholar leaned against the stable entrance with his arms crossed, watching her with concern.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he continued. “That dried meat and tea nonsense doesn’t count.”

“I’ll eat during the meeting.”

Roderika immediately frowned. “Summer—”

“I said I’ll eat.”

Nobody argued further.

Over the years, they had all learned which battles were worth fighting, and which ones absolutely were not.

The audience chamber had long since ceased functioning as an audience chamber. 

The throne was gone, replaced by a long stone table buried beneath maps, casualty reports, supply ledgers, and hastily inked correspondence from every surviving corner of the Lands Between. Candles guttered in iron holders, and a brazier crackled near the eastern wall, barely keeping the cold out of the cracked stone chamber.

Summer collapsed heavily into one of the chairs surrounding the table, the wood creaking ominously beneath her weight. Ansbach immediately moved toward the maps. Roderika claimed a stool beside the brazier, slowly unwinding the scarf around her neck with exhausted fingers. And Thiollier settled near the wall, close enough to enjoy the fire’s warmth while still keeping the entire chamber within view.

For several moments nobody spoke, then Summer exhaled slowly and rubbed at her face.

“Report.”

Ansbach nodded once.

“The rot in Caelid continues to recede,” he began, “and the Cleanrot Knights have established permanent burial grounds for their dead. They request authorization to construct a memorial site near the southern dunes.”

“Granted,” Summer answered immediately.

The old knight continued. “Liurnia remains unstable agriculturally, though Carian grain reserves prevented famine through the winter. Lady Ranni sends her regards alongside a request for additional timber shipments.”

Summer almost smiled at that. “Tell her we’ll send what we can spare. Next.”

Ansbach’s gauntleted finger traced slowly across the map toward the western coastline. “The Deathroot crisis has officially ended.”

Summer leaned back slowly in her chair as silence settled across the chamber.

The Deathroot had screamed as it burned, and the Erdtree had shook for three straight days while black flame consumed roots buried beneath half the continent. But afterward, the spreading corruption finally stopped, and Those Who Live In Death had begun dying properly for the first time in millennia.

“It still feels strange,” Roderika admitted, “not waking every morning expecting another spirit outbreak.”

Thiollier nodded beside the wall.

“Strange,” he murmured. “But merciful.”

Summer looked down at her hands resting atop the table, at the hands that had killed demigods, rebuilt gods, and wielded Destined Death itself.

“…Good,” she said softly. Then louder: “What else?”

Ansbach hesitated slightly. “There remains the matter of Mount Gelmir.”

Summer immediately stiffened.

Of course there was.

The old Leyndell army stationed there during the Shattering had descended fully into madness after Rykard’s corruption spread through the region. Even after Summer slew the Praetor years ago, the remnants of those forces remained entrenched within Gelmir’s tunnels and fortifications alongside the surviving serpent cultists.

Men and women so broken by war and blasphemy that surrender had stopped meaning anything to them long ago, becoming nothing more than fanatical cannibals.

Summer crossed her arms. “What about them?”

Ansbach straightened subtly. “The reconquest is complete.”

The chamber went still again.

Summer stared at him.

“…Complete?”

“Complete.”

There it was, the slightest edge of pride beneath his otherwise disciplined voice. It was rare enough to be startling.

“The army of Leyndell engaged the final holdouts three days ago, and the resistance finally collapsed before dawn this morning. The remaining serpent cultists have either surrendered or been eliminated.”

Summer blinked once and then again. “And nobody thought to tell me sooner?”

“We wanted confirmation before reporting victory,” Thiollier said gently from beside the fire. “You have spent years carrying this campaign upon your shoulders. We wished to spare you false hope.”

Summer pressed both palms flat against the table, and only then did she realize her hands were trembling. Ten years. Ten years since she slew Rykard. Ten years since she first marched beneath Leyndell’s banners as Elden Lord. Ten years trying to clean poison from wounds older than kingdoms.

And now, finally, Mount Gelmir was quiet.

“How many?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Ansbach understood immediately. “Acceptable losses.”

Summer looked up sharply. “That is not a number.”

“It is the number you are receiving tonight,” Ansbach replied evenly, meeting her stare without flinching. “The accounting can wait until morning.”

Summer opened her mouth to argue, but stopped.

Thiollier was already watching her with that soft, exhausted understanding he always carried, and Roderika had quietly moved beside her chair at some point during the discussion, concern evident across her tired face. Even Ansbach looked weary beneath the rigid professionalism.

“…Fine,” Summer muttered eventually. “Morning.”

“You should eat something,” Roderika said immediately.

Summer groaned. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it remains correct every single time.”

Before Summer could respond, movement appeared at the chamber doorway.

A young Tarnished servant stepped cautiously inside carrying a sealed parchment clasped in both hands. She bowed quickly before crossing the chamber and offering the letter toward Summer.

“For you, my Lord. From the Queen’s chambers.”

Summer accepted it, broke the seal, read it, and immediately frowned.

“What is it?” Ansbach asked.

“Marika wants to see me.”

“Now?” Roderika asked.

Summer nodded once. “Privately.”

The room exchanged brief glances, and that alone made the exhaustion in Summer’s stomach tighten slightly.

She pushed herself slowly upright from the chair, every muscle protesting.

“The rest of you get some sleep,” she said. “We’ll finish this tomorrow.”

“As you say, my Lord,” Ansbach replied.

Summer rolled her eyes, then turned toward the long corridor leading deeper into the palace.

Summer pushed the door open without knocking. An old habit, one Marika had never discouraged. The Eternal Queen sat at her desk, as she always did, surrounded by parchment, tomes, and ledgers.

"The reconquest of Mount Gelmir is complete," Summer said, closing the door behind her. She let out a tired breath. "The army of Leyndell is victorious."

Marika looked up from her papers. Her cracked golden face held no surprise, only a deep satisfaction.

"So hath it reached mine ears already,” she said. “Word doth travel swifter than any host of men, even in this age of ruin.”

"You could have told me before I walked in."

"Nay. I did will to behold thy countenance when first thou didst speak it thyself.”

Summer crossed the room and sat on the bench against the wall, the same bench she had collapsed onto a hundred times before. 

Half the western roads are unusable, the wounded haven’t even been counted yet, and—” She stopped and rubbed at her eyes. “Gods.”

"Thou hast led an army unto war for the first time,” Marika said. “Therefore art thou not unworthy to hear all its reckoning.”

"I led a small squad. Ansbach led the actual army."

"Thou didst lead both; diminish not thine own hand in this matter.”

Summer leaned her head back against the wall. The stone was cold. It felt good.

"It's done," she said. "After ten years. It's finally done."

"Even so.”

"I should feel triumphant."

"Whatsoever thou feelest, let it be. There is no ‘should’ where weariness hath taken root.”

Summer barked a quick laugh. "That's very philosophical for a goddess."

"Long ages have I had wherein to consider such things.”

The candle on Marika's desk quivered, and somewhere outside, the night bells rang softly.

"Yet is there more that must needs be spoken," Marika said eventually. Summer noticed the change in tone.

"What?"

"For many weeks past have I felt a stirring." Marika's golden eyes fixed on Summer's face. "An unbinding betwixt the worlds.”

Summer's chest tightened. "The veil over the Land of Shadows?"

"Aye. It hath stood fast since the elder sundering of the world; yet now…" Marika stood and walked to the window. "Now it is moving."

Summer rose from the bench and joined her at the glass.

Beyond the window, everything looked normal. Or as normal as this broken world ever looked.

"Do you think it will fall?" Summer asked.

“Not whether it shall fall do I question, but what hand doth pull it down.”

Before Summer could ask another question, the earth shook and the floor lurched beneath their feet. Summer grabbed the windowsill to keep from falling, and Marika did the same, her cracked fingers gripping the stone.

Bells rang in discordant alarm, and distant crashes echoed across the capital: tiles falling from rooftops, walls cracking, and the sound of things breaking.

"What—" Summer started.

Marika's face had gone pale, with recognition. Summer had never seen Marika afraid. 

"The veil…” the Eternal Queen whispered. “It falleth.”

And in response, the earth shook again harder.