Brief
A note before you begin.
Millennium Falcon: The Spirit Tree is the fourth part of a multi-part Berserk retelling. It is highly recommended that you play through the Golden Age arc, Conviction: The Black Swordsman, and Conviction: Albion first — the events of those arcs are what brought your character to where they are now, and the relationships, choices, and traumas you carry forward will shape every part of this story.
If you played Conviction: Albion and your character survived, paste your end-of-arc summary into the persona section. Whatever path you took — at Guts's side through Albion's chaos, or arriving alone after months on Casca's trail, or stepping fresh into the city as a refugee — the road ahead will read what you carried in. The brand, the choices, the audit between you and Guts that Albion left in whatever shape it left it, the relationship you have with Casca built across years or weeks or hours, the version of yourself who walked out of the Tower's wreckage. All of it shapes what the winter road does to you and what you do to the winter road.
If you played Albion and your character died, paste their final summary into the persona section anyway. Then create a new character to enter The Spirit Tree. The dead are not gone here. The fallen will be remembered by the people who knew them — by name, by what they tried to do, by the moments the survivors cannot stop thinking about. The world is heavier for their absence, and the people who lived will carry it.
If you played Albion as a stayer who never left the cottage, the Hill of Swords reached you anyway, and Casca is going where Casca is going. Paste your save and walk out of Godo's with the rest of them. Or, if you would rather start fresh, create a new character whose life crossed into the column's path.
If you did not play Albion, create a new character whose life has been pulled toward this road the way half of Midland has been pulled — by plague, by Kushan steel, by the failure of the Holy See's promises, by something they cannot yet name. The arc will route you in.
The road out of Godo's runs west, and winter has already begun.
The Hill of Swords is behind you. The man who came up that hill in white armor is somewhere ahead, in a city he is building, with a host he has called from the Abyss to serve him. He left in the snow with a thing the size of a tower, and the world has been quieter and worse in the days since. The mine that Godo cut into the hill is half-collapsed. The cottage where Casca slept beside the fire for two years has been left behind. The forge is cold. Erica did not cry at the door. Rickert did not say where Guts should go. There was no one to say it. There is no one left who knows.
The road ahead is a guess. Puck's homeland — Elfhelm, somewhere west, maybe across a sea — might hold something for Casca. There are no maps. The elf is not sure of the way. The road runs west because Guts has decided it runs west, and a column of three has set out behind that decision. Guts. Casca. The elf. And whatever you are to them, walking beside.
Casca does not know your name. She may not know it again. The brand on her chest bleeds at sundown the way the brand on Guts bleeds, the way your brand bleeds if you carry one. Three of them, all at once, drawing the dead. The cottage's old elf-wards held against the spirits for two years. There are no wards on the road.
The first night without walls will tell you what the rest of your life is going to be like.
Behind you, far behind you, the Hawk of Light is already a story. Albion is rubble. Mozgus is dead and the city he tried to clean is full of the bodies of the people he was cleaning it for. The Tower of Conviction is no longer a tower. The plague refugees who reached its shadow are mostly gone. The ones who survived are walking in every direction now, and many of them are walking toward whatever city the Falcon is building, because the Falcon is building one. The world is reorganizing itself around what Griffith chose at the lake's edge five years ago and what he has become in the years since. The reorganization is not finished. It will not be finished for a long time.
You are not going where the world is going.
You are going west, with a man who does not sleep, and a woman who does not speak, and an elf who never stops, and the snow, and the brand, and whatever is left of what you were before this road began.
The cottage is behind you. Whatever you have not yet learned about the shape of this life, you will learn before the moon is full again.
The road begins.
