Harry Potter and the Shattered Ring

As Harry and Melina turned to leave, boots crunched on gravel behind them.

"Wait, Tarnished," the captain called out. Harry turned to see him approaching with something in his hands. "There's something you should have."

In the captain's weathered palms lay a peculiar knife, smaller than a dagger, with intricate markings etched into its surface.

"What is it?" Harry asked, taking the offered blade. It felt warm to the touch, almost alive.

"A Whetstone Knife," the captain explained. "No ordinary blade - it's a tool of enhancement. With it, you can imbue weapons with various abilities, channel different types of power through them." He reached behind his back and unstrapped something else. "Which brings me to this."

He presented Harry with a sword in an ornate scabbard. The weapon was beautiful, its crossguard decorated with flowing designs that seemed to catch the light.

"The Lordsworn's Greatsword," the captain said with reverence. "Been in my possession since... well, since before the Shattering. It's served me well, but something tells me it'll serve you better."

Harry grasped the sword's handle, surprised by how natural it felt in his grip. Melina stepped closer, her eye studying the blade with interest.

"That sword..." she said thoughtfully, "it bears the markings of the Carian Royal Family. It could serve as a catalyst for Carian Magic."

"Carian Magic?" Harry looked at her curiously. "What's that?"

Melina shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "That's not something I can teach you, I'm afraid. My knowledge is limited to the Golden Order's arts. For Carian Magic, you'd need to seek out someone versed in their traditions - perhaps in Raya Lucaria, if you ever make it that far."

Harry nodded, carefully attaching the scabbard to his belt. The sword's weight felt reassuring against his hip.

"Thank you," he said to the captain. "For both of these. But... I just realized, I don't even know your name. Everyone just calls you 'Captain.'"

The older man's face softened slightly. "Been so long since anyone's asked... hundreds of years, in fact. The title became who I was, or who I thought I was." He patted his armor, searching through pouches until he found a scrap of parchment.

His hands trembled slightly as he held out the parchment to Harry.

"Artan," Harry read aloud. "Your name is Artan?"

"Was. Is." The captain - Artan - smiled wearily. "Feels strange hearing it again. Like waking up from a very long sleep."

"Well, Artan," Harry extended his hand, "I'm Harry Potter. And I promise you, I'll be back. Godrick's reign of terror ends soon."

Artan clasped his hand firmly. "Harry Potter," he repeated, as if committing it to memory. "A strange name for these lands. But then, you're a strange Tarnished, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," Harry grinned.

"The men and I will do what we can to prepare," Artan said. "When word spreads that we've turned against Godrick, others might follow. There are many who serve him out of fear rather than loyalty."

"Be careful," Melina warned. "Godrick's spies are everywhere."

Artan's eyes hardened. "Let them come. Better to die standing than live crawling." He looked at the sword now at Harry's hip. "That blade has tasted the blood of gods before. Use it well."

"I will," Harry promised. He pulled out the Whetstone Knife, studying its markings. "Though I might need some practice with this first."

"The knife will respond to your intent," Artan explained. "Like your grace powers. Focus on what you want the weapon to do, and the knife will help channel that purpose into the blade."

Harry nodded, tucking the knife away safely. "Thank you, Artan. For everything."

"Thank you, Harry Potter," Artan replied solemnly. "For reminding an old soldier what honor feels like." He glanced at Melina. "Watch over him, my lady. Something tells me this young man is going to change everything."

Melina's visible eye crinkled with amusement. "He certainly has a habit of doing that."

As they prepared to leave again, Artan called out one last time. "Potter! When you face Godrick..." his face darkened, "make him remember what it feels like to fear."

"Oh, I will," Harry assured him, his hand resting on the Lordsworn's Greatsword. "Count on it."

Artan returned back to his camp, joining with the other soldiers. He started barking orders at them, Harry was sure he heard him say they must search the area for anyone who might need their help.

"Your first allies in this world," Melina observed. "And powerful ones at that. A captain of Godrick's forces, turned to your cause."

"Our cause," Harry corrected her. "Speaking of which, you're going to have to teach me how to use this sword properly. Can't rely just on grace powers."

"Indeed," Melina agreed. "Though something tells me you'll master it quickly enough. You seem to have a talent for adapting to impossible situations."

Two Days Later

Harry held the Whetstone Knife in one hand, and the Lordsworn's Greatsword in his other hand. There was a strange resonance between them. He followed the pull of that connection, drawing the knife along the length of the sword. As the edge met the steel, pale white light rippled across the blade like a flowing current of magic.

"The sword is ready," Melina observed, her voice quiet but full of anticipation. "Now, try channeling your intent through it."

Harry nodded, his grip tightening on the glowing greatsword. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the blade in his hands, the way the light flickered with every subtle movement. Then, with a powerful forward swing, he unleashed that energy, pouring his intent into the strike.

The air itself seemed to split in the wake of the swing. A crescent of blinding white light erupted from the blade, slicing through the forest ahead with unstoppable force. It moved like a living thing, cutting a swath through the trees like a scythe through wheat. One by one, the massive trunks fell, severed cleanly in half, their toppling forms crashing to the ground with thunderous echoes that rolled through the woods.

As the last tree fell, the white shimmer faded from the sword, leaving it once again an ordinary blade. 

"Impressive," Melina said, her smile soft but full of pride. "Your control grows stronger each day."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but another voice interrupted.

"That was just the warm-up," Artan called out. He stood at the edge of the clearing, his own sword drawn and gleaming. "Let's see how you handle real combat, Harry Potter."

Harry barely had time to steady himself before Artan rushed forward. What followed was a grueling, punishing four hours of intense combat training. Soldiers rotated in and out, taking turns sparring with him, each one bringing their own unique style to the fight. Some were quick and nimble, darting in with swift, precise strikes that tested his reflexes. Others came at him with heavy blows forcing Harry to rely on his agility to stay on his feet.

Harry adapted. Every time he was knocked down or forced to yield, he rose again, his movements growing sharper. Sweat dripped from his brow, his muscles ached.

But Artan... Artan was in a league of his own.

His strikes came with the precision of a master swordsman, and his defenses were near impenetrable. Time and again, Artan knocked Harry down, he countered every attack with ease. And yet, he never let Harry fall without a lesson.

"Your footwork's sloppy," Artan would say, offering a hand to pull Harry back to his feet. "If you don't control your footing, you don't control the fight."

"Mind your guard," he'd snap after landing a hit on Harry's exposed side. "You're leaving yourself wide open. Anticipate."

"Don't telegraph your strikes!" Artan barked when Harry's swing was too slow, too obvious. "Feel the blade's weight. Don't fight against it—use it."

Each time, Harry listened, internalizing every critique, every correction. He could feel himself improving. The Lordsworn's Greatsword no longer felt foreign in his hands.

Hours passed, and it was starting to get quite dark. Harry's body ached from countless blows, his chest heaving from exertion. Artan came at him again, his strikes as swift and unrelenting as ever, but this time, something clicked.

Harry saw an opening—a slight lapse in Artan's guard, a momentary shift in his stance that left him vulnerable. Without hesitation, Harry feinted left, drawing Artan's attention. Then he spun to the right, using the momentum of his body and the sword's weight to drive through Artan's defense.

The strike was clean, precise. Artan's blade flew from his hands, clattering to the ground several feet away. Harry's own sword stopped an inch from Artan's throat.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, slowly, Artan's lips curved into a grin.

"Well done," he said, his voice low and approving. "Looks like you finally learned something."

Harry stepped back, lowering the sword, a rush of pride and relief flooding through him. His heart still pounded from the intensity of the fight, but he couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. He'd done it. He'd finally bested Artan.

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice hoarse but filled with satisfaction.

Artan bent down to retrieve his blade, giving Harry a nod. "You're getting there, Potter. But don't think one victory means you've mastered anything."

Harry laughed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Don't get overconfident," Artan warned, retrieving his blade. "Godrick would have killed you thirty different ways by now. He's not just powerful; he's utterly ruthless."

Harry wiped the sweat from his brow, his mind racing. "Speaking of powerful opponents... there's a Tree Sentinel near the church. Melina, do you think I'm ready?"

She tilted her head slightly, studying him with her opened eye. "Your skills have grown considerably. Yes," she nodded after a moment. "I believe you could face him now."

"I'll need a horse, though," Harry said, turning to the soldiers who had gathered around. "Any to spare?"

Melina's visible eye twinkled with mischief, the corner of her mouth curving into a smile. "Actually... there's something I've been meaning to show you." She approached him, her steps light and deliberate, and leaned in closer. "There's a way for you to call a steed of your own. Say the name 'Torrent,' but first, repeat these words."

Harry raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as she taught him a phrase in the ancient language. He said the words easily, carefully pronouncing the strange words.

Harry found himself sitting astride a magnificent spectral steed that materialized beneath him in an instant. It was as if the horse had been waiting in the void, summoned by his very call.

"Meet Torrent," Melina said, her tone holding a trace of amusement as she watched his stunned expression. "A spectral steed, bound to those chosen by grace. He will be your faithful companion."

"Bloody hell," Harry whispered, running his hand along Torrent's mane, which shimmered like starlight. The horse's coat glowed faintly, and two sharp horns protruded from its head. Despite the spectral nature, Torrent felt solid, warm, and powerful beneath him, ready for action. The steed turned its head slightly, regarding Harry with intelligent eyes, as though acknowledging his rider.

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Harry asked, still marveling at the majestic creature beneath him.

"You weren't ready," Melina said simply, her voice calm but carrying weight. "Torrent chooses his riders carefully. But now..." She gestured at how naturally he sat in the saddle, "It seems he approves of you."

Around them, the soldiers murmured in awe, their voices hushed with reverence for the spectral steed. Artan stepped forward, his stern face softened with a nod of approval. "A fitting mount for a grace-bearer," he remarked, his gaze flickering between Harry and Torrent. "The Tree Sentinel won't know what hit him."

Harry gave Torrent a gentle nudge, testing the steed's responsiveness. Instantly, the horse moved fluidly, its steps silent as it circled the training grounds with incredible grace. They moved as one, Harry's body feeling perfectly balanced as if he and Torrent were already synced in a way he couldn't quite explain.

"This is brilliant," Harry laughed, exhilaration flooding through him as they picked up speed. The wind rushed through his hair as Torrent galloped effortlessly, the ground beneath them disappearing in a blur. And yet, despite their speed, Torrent's hooves made no sound, as if he floated just above the earth. "But how do I fight while riding?" Harry called, already imagining facing the Tree Sentinel atop his new mount.

"The same principles apply," Artan shouted back, watching Harry with a trained eye. "Feel the rhythm of your mount, let the flow of battle come naturally. Time your strikes with Torrent's movements. The Lordsworn's Greatsword is perfectly suited for mounted combat."

Taking the advice to heart, Harry practiced swinging the heavy sword from horseback, adjusting to the different dynamics. It took a few tries, but soon enough, the blade moved fluidly in his hands. Torrent instinctively sidestepped, shifting to give Harry the perfect angle for each strike. It was almost as if the horse was reading his mind.

"He's not just a horse," Melina explained, her voice thoughtful as she watched them. "Torrent is a being of grace, like the spirits that guide us. He will be as much a partner in battle as a mount."

As if to prove her words, Torrent executed a perfect sidestep just as Harry leaned slightly, allowing Harry to bring the greatsword down with precision on a nearby training dummy. The strike was swift and deadly, cleaving the dummy cleanly in two.

"Now this," Harry grinned, patting Torrent's shimmering neck, "this changes everything."

Melina's smile softened. "The Tree Sentinel is still dangerous," she cautioned. "With Torrent, you will be able to match his mobility, but don't underestimate him. His strength is formidable."

Harry nodded, but despite the danger. This time, he felt truly ready.

"Then what are we waiting for?" he asked.

"Be careful, Potter," Artan called, his voice gruff but holding a note of respect. "That Sentinel's been guarding that church for longer than I've been around. He won't fall easily."

"Good thing I'm not alone then," Harry replied, looking between Torrent and Melina. "I've got quite the team now."

Harry extended his hand to Melina, who mounted Torrent behind him. Her arms wrapped gently around his waist for stability, and an unexpected warmth spread through Harry. 

"Well, well," Artan's voice carried over with a playful lilt. "Quite cozy up there, eh Potter?"

Harry felt his face immediately heat up as a chorus of whistles and chuckles erupted from the nearby soldiers. Several of them elbowed each other, grinning mischievously.

"Oh, shut up," Harry muttered under his breath, doing his best to ignore the teasing. But that only seemed to fuel their laughter, making it grow louder. Behind him, he felt rather than heard the softest of giggles escape Melina, sending another wave of warmth—of something more—through him. His face burned even brighter.

"Don't mind them," Melina whispered, her voice close to his ear, her breath warm against his skin. "They've forgotten what it's like to be young."

"Oi!" one of the younger soldiers protested with mock indignation. "I'm not that old!"

"Speak for yourself," Artan added with a grin, running a hand through his grey-streaked beard. "Some of us were already counting centuries long before the Shattering."

Harry rolled his eyes, trying—and failing—to ignore the continued teasing. "Right, we're off," he called over his shoulder. "Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

"Us? Never," Artan said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Good hunting, Potter. And my lady," he added with a bow to Melina, "keep our young hero in one piece, will you?"

Torrent moved forward at Harry's urging, the spectral steed gliding smoothly across the ground as they left the laughing soldiers behind. The closer they came, the more serious Harry's expression grew, the weight of the challenge ahead pressing down on him.

The massive figure of the Tree Sentinel stood guard before the entrance. The great axe in his hand rested heavily against his shoulder, his mount standing still and silent.

"I need to face him alone," Harry said quietly, breaking the silence. 

Melina's arms around his waist tightened slightly, a brief hesitation. "Harry..." she began, her voice gentle yet filled with concern.

"I know it's risky," he interrupted softly. "But I have to prove to myself that I can do this. That I can handle what's out here." His eyes were fixed on the Sentinel, unwavering.

There was a moment of silence as Melina considered his words. Then, with a resigned sigh, she loosened her hold and nodded, though her concern hadn't diminished. "Very well," she said, her tone laced with caution. "But if things turn dire—"

"You can jump in," Harry finished for her, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Just... give me a chance first?"

"Of course," she agreed, though her visible eye never left the imposing figure of the Tree Sentinel. She dismounted Torrent and stepped back, watching him intently. "Be careful, Harry. The Tree Sentinels are among the most skilled warriors in all the Lands Between."

Harry nodded, his grip tightening around the hilt of the Lordsworn's Greatsword. He felt the weight of the blade, its familiar heft grounding him, giving him strength. This was it. His chance to prove himself, not just to Melina or the soldiers, but to himself. He urged Torrent forward, the spectral steed gliding closer to the waiting Tree Sentinel. 

"Right then," he whispered to himself, eyes narrowing. "Let's see what you've got."

Taking a deep breath, Harry urged Torrent forward. The spectral steed responded immediately, its hooves gliding silently over the grass as they closed the distance between them and the towering figure of the Tree Sentinel. 

The Tree Sentinel's helmet turned toward them, its cold, lifeless visor locking onto Harry. Without a word, the giant warrior raised his massive, gleaming axe high into the air. In an instant, the Sentinel brought it crashing down in a devastating arc.

But before Harry could even process the attack, Torrent moved with an almost preternatural speed. The spectral steed sidestepped the blow, effortlessly evading the strike that would have otherwise cleaved them both in two.

Harry reacted instinctively, channeling the golden grace energy that surged within him. His eyes flashed as he conjured twenty-five shimmering spheres of light. With a swift gesture, the orbs shot forward, streaking toward the armored giant like golden comets.

The explosions were deafening. Each sphere detonated with a concussive force that shook the ground, sending up plumes of smoke and fire. For a moment, Harry allowed himself to hope that the combined force of his attack had made some impact. But as the smoke cleared, his heart sank.

The Tree Sentinel stood unscathed, his massive golden shield raised high, its surface gleaming as if it had absorbed the full brunt of Harry's magic without so much as a dent. 

"Golden Order magic?" The Tree Sentinel's voice boomed from within his helmet, echoing like thunder. There was a mix of surprise and amusement in his tone, as though he hadn't expected such power from a mere Tarnished. "How does one such as you wield such power?"

Harry gritted his teeth, guiding Torrent into a wide circle around the Sentinel. "Why do you kill us?" he demanded, his voice sharp. "Why murder those seeking guidance from grace?"

A cold, metallic laugh erupted from the knight. "Guidance?" he sneered. "You are all Lord Rykard's prey. And I shall deliver you to him, little sorcerer!"

Before Harry could react, the Tree Sentinel's massive axe whistled through the air again, this time moving with terrifying speed. Harry barely managed to bring his sword up in time to deflect the blow. The impact was tremendous, sending shockwaves up his arms, making his entire body shake with the force of it. His grip faltered for a moment, but he held on.

"Rykard?" Harry called out, his confusion deepening. He had heard nothing of this before. "I thought you served the Erdtree!"

"The Erdtree?" the Sentinel mocked, his voice dripping with contempt. "The age of the Erdtree is ending. Lord Rykard will devour the very gods themselves!" His mount reared up. "And you, little Tarnished," the Tree Sentinel continued, "you will make a fine offering!"

In the distance, Melina watched with growing concern, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her hand had already begun to glow faintly, the golden light of grace swirling around her fingertips. She had promised to let Harry face this challenge alone, but as she witnessed the battle, doubt crept into her mind.

Harry and Torrent danced around the battlefield, dodging and weaving as the Tree Sentinel's relentless attacks came one after another. Each swing of the knight's axe left deep gashes in the earth.

Harry's breaths came in short, sharp bursts, his mind racing. He knew he couldn't keep this up forever. The Tree Sentinel was far more skilled and experienced than any opponent he had faced so far. 

"Come on," Harry muttered to himself, tightening his grip on the Lordsworn's Greatsword. "I can do this."

Torrent responded to his determination, picking up speed as they circled the Sentinel once more. Harry charged, swinging his greatsword with all his might. The blade clashed against the Tree Sentinel's shield with a resounding clang, sparks flying as metal met metal. But the force of the strike sent Harry staggering back, the Sentinel barely even flinching.

The knight's axe swung again, faster and harder, catching Harry off guard. The blade grazed his side, sending a searing pain through him as he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. Blood trickled down his side, staining his shirt, but he forced himself to stay focused.

"Is this the best you can do?" the Tree Sentinel taunted, his voice laced with cruel amusement. "Pathetic."

"I've faced worse than you," Harry muttered under his breath, his eyes blazing with determination.

Harry's sword clashed relentlessly with the Tree Sentinel's massive axe, each impact sending golden sparks flying in the air. Despite Torrent's supernatural agility, darting left and right, they couldn't seem to break through the knight's impenetrable defense. Every time Harry unleashed a spell, it was met with that massive golden shield. 

"Impressive," the Tree Sentinel's voice rumbled from within his imposing helmet, each word dripping with malice. "No Tarnished has lasted this long against me in centuries. Lord Rykard will be most pleased with such a worthy offering."

"Not interested in being anyone's offering," Harry growled, his breath ragged, frustration boiling over. He reached for the Whetstone Knife at his side. With swift precision, he drew the knife along the length of the Lordsworn's Greatsword. As the knife scraped across the blade, pale light rippled down the steel like waves on water.

Suddenly, the Tree Sentinel charged forward, his great axe swinging in a wide, devastating arc, aimed directly for Harry's head. But before the blade could connect, Torrent leaped into the air, soaring higher than Harry thought possible. As they hovered momentarily in midair, Harry marveled as Torrent jumped again, impossibly, while airborne, getting behind him.

With no hesitation, he swung the glowing sword with all his might. A sharp crescent of wind burst from the blade, streaking through the air. The strike caught the Tree Sentinel across his exposed back, cutting through his golden armor like paper. Blood sprayed from the gap, painting the ground in crimson, a deep wound carved into the Sentinel's once-untouched form.

The knight roared in pain, but instead of retreating, he muttered words in the same ancient language Melina had taught Harry, his voice filled with rage. His mount began to glow with a brilliant golden light.

Their charge was instantaneous—faster than anything Harry had seen before. The Tree Sentinel's mount surged forward with blinding speed, the golden axe swinging down. Harry barely had time to react before the great axe connected, slamming into Torrent with devastating force.

Harry's heart froze as he felt Torrent's body give way beneath him. His companion shattered into thousands of blue motes of light, vanishing into the air. Harry was thrown violently to the ground, his body slamming into the earth. He rolled across the dirt, gasping as pain flared through his side, his vision swimming.

"Torrent!" Harry screamed, a wave of grief and fury surging through him. His loyal steed—gone.

The Tree Sentinel loomed over him, the golden light of his armor casting long shadows. "Pathetic," the knight sneered, his voice heavy with cruel satisfaction. "This is your end, Tarnished. You will be delivered to Lord Rykard—"

But something stirred in Harry's memory. A distant spell, something from his world, something tied to protection, hope, and light. Without hesitation, he translated the spell into the ancient language Melina had taught him.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

What emerged from Harry's wand was not his usual stag. Instead, a massive elk materialized before him, its form constructed of pure golden light. The ethereal beast's antlers blazed like the sun. 

The elk charged forward, its movements faster than Harry could track. In an instant, its glowing antlers pierced both horse and rider. The Tree Sentinel let out a gurgling cough, blood spraying from his mouth as he struggled weakly. His mount thrashed, its golden armor turning red with blood.

Harry didn't waste the moment as he surged forward, gripping the Lordsworn's Greatsword with both hands. As he approached, blue magic flared around the entire blade, the energy swirling and growing, cloaking the sword until it extended far beyond its physical form. The blade of pure magic grew sharper, deadlier, and with a final burst of speed, Harry plunged the massive glowing sword into the gap in the Tree Sentinel's armor, aiming directly for his heart.

The knight screamed in agony as the blade found its mark, the force of the strike driving through his chest and out his back. Blood gushed from the wound as the blue magic dissipated, leaving only the cold steel of Harry's greatsword lodged deep in the knight's body.

"Impossible..." the Tree Sentinel gasped, his voice barely a whisper now. Blood dripped from his mouth as he struggled to comprehend what had happened. "A Tarnished... using both Golden Order magic... and Carian magic..."

"I'm not just any Tarnished," he growled. "And I'm not going to be anyone's offering."

With a final twist, Harry ripped the sword free. The Tree Sentinel slumped forward, his body collapsing to the ground in a lifeless heap. His mount, too, fell beside him.

Harry could feel the pain from his stomach. It was only now, after the battle that he noticed the long gash running across his abdomen. Blood dripped steadily down, staining his torn shirt a dark crimson. Gritting his teeth, Harry reached for the magic Melina had taught him.

'Healing Erdtree,' he whispered, the words barely leaving his lips.

A golden tree sprouted from the earth, growing rapidly until it stood two meters tall. Its branches stretched out, delicate leaves glowing softly as they released waves of golden mist. The healing energy washed over Harry like a warm breeze, soothing the pain and mending the wound. He watched as the gash across his stomach slowly closed, the skin knitting itself back together until it was as if he had never been hurt at all.

His shirt, however, remained torn, the ragged edges still stained with blood. Harry glanced down at the torn fabric and sighed. "I wonder if there's a spell to fix this," he muttered, shaking his head as the golden tree faded and disappeared into nothingness.

The golden elk, Harry's Patronus, its antlers shimmered, their tips blazing like embers in the wind, before it too began to dissolve, breaking apart into thousands of golden particles that drifted away on the breeze.

"Harry!" Melina's voice called out, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned to see her running toward him, her eyes wide with concern. "That was... I've never seen anything like it. What was that creature?"

"A Patronus," Harry explained, his voice still tinged with wonder as he stared at the spot where the elk had been. "Though it's different here. In my world, it used to be a stag. Silver, not gold. But here..." He trailed off, glancing around anxiously. "Torrent... is he...?"

Melina placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Torrent cannot truly die," she reassured him. "He is a being of grace, bound to you. Give him time, and he will return to your side."

Relief washed over Harry, his shoulders sagging. "Thank goodness. I thought—"

"You care deeply for him already," Melina observed with a gentle smile. "That bond will strengthen both of you. Torrent knows your heart, and he will never abandon you."

Harry nodded, his hand instinctively reaching up to pat the empty space where Torrent had been. 

"The Tree Sentinel mentioned someone named Rykard," Harry said, cleaning his sword with a rag from his torn shirt. He glanced back at the fallen knight, whose massive golden armor was now stained with blood, his mighty axe lying useless beside him. "And he wasn't serving the Erdtree at all. He said something about Rykard devouring the gods."

Melina's expression darkened at the mention of the name. "Rykard... That is troubling news," she said quietly. "He was once a great general, a powerful force in the Lands Between. But now..." She shook her head. "That is a tale for another time. For now, we should return to Artan and the others. They'll want to hear about your victory."

Harry nodded, glancing once more at the Tree Sentinel's crumpled body. 

"Will Torrent be back soon?" he asked, already longing for the familiar presence of his steed.

"Call his name again," Melina suggested. "He might be ready to return to you now."

With a hopeful heart, Harry whispered the ancient words once more. Almost instantly, the air shimmered, and to his immense relief, Torrent materialized beneath him, his spectral form whole and unharmed. The steed nickered softly, turning its head to meet Harry's gaze.

"You had me worried," Harry said with a small laugh, patting Torrent's neck. The spectral steed responded with a gentle snort, nuzzling Harry's hand as if to reassure him that everything was fine.

Melina mounted behind him once again, her arms finding their familiar place around his waist. As they settled back onto Torrent, she spoke softly, her voice close to his ear. "You've grown stronger," she said. "That new spell you used... it carries power from your world, but it's been transformed by grace."

Harry nodded, the way it had felt different, more potent. "It felt different," he agreed. "More... purposeful. Like it wasn't just protecting me, but actively punishing evil."

Melina's arms tightened slightly around him, a silent acknowledgment of his words. They began their ride back toward the camp, the fallen Tree Sentinel and the battlefield fading into the distance behind them. But Harry's mind was troubled, turning over the same questions again and again. Who was Rykard? Why were the Tree Sentinels no longer serving the Erdtree? And what did it mean that his magic—his Patronus—had changed in this strange world?

"You're thinking too hard again," Melina teased lightly, resting her head gently against his back.

"Can you blame me?" Harry chuckled softly, though his brow remained furrowed. "Every answer just leads to more questions in this world."

"That is the nature of seeking truth," Melina replied, her tone wise and calming. "But for now, let's focus on celebrating your victory. Artan and the soldiers will want to hear every detail."

Harry sighed, imagining the teasing and jests waiting for him back at camp. "Great," he groaned, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "More teasing about us riding together?"

Melina's laugh was light and musical, her breath warm against his neck. "Most likely. But you've earned it, oh mighty Tree Sentinel slayer."