Chapter Text
The next time a new Undead arrives in Firelink Shrine, Emily of Astora pays it no attention. She’s long since lost count of how many Undead have come here, be they brought in by the raven from the Asylum, Undead warriors wishing to find a cure to their Curse, or simply hapless commoners forcibly brought here and left to eventually turn Hollow all the way out here in Lordran.
She has heard of the prophecy, of course. The prophecy of an Undead, chosen to bring about the Age of Fire anew and end the Curse of the Undead. Who hasn’t, here in Lordran? It remains one of the few things that give this cursed land hope. Hope that, someday, all of the trapped souls here would eventually be freed of their curse, and be allowed to return to their homes far away, in the shining human cities of Astora, Catarina, and many others.
But to her… Emily holds no such hope. She holds hope, yes, but it is hope that the Curse will someday be broken, but there will be no freedom for her, for she is, and forever will be, bound to the bonfire of Firelink Shrine, tasked evermore with tending the flames and ensuring it remains burning bright for future Undead who require respite. It has been her duty for as long as she can remember; when she’d volunteered herself to the priestesses of Astora, willingly giving up her tongue, her voice, and her freedom, all for the purpose of eventually helping the Chosen Undead in their path to freeing the world of the Curse of the Undead.
And she will do her duty; she will not shy from what she must do. It is just… so much time has passed, so many Undead—from pyromancers from the Great Swamp, the sorcerers of Vinheim, the clerics of Thorolund, the warriors of Astora, of Catarina, of Carim, and, very rarely, a Chosen Undead from the Northern Asylum— all of them confident that they would be the one to break the Curse, yet none of them have even succeeded in ever tolling both Bells of Awakening, much less break the Curse. She has watched each and every single one of those brave and noble warriors lose hope, and eventually just… vanish, no longer to return to Firelink Shrine. Her own hope, she finds, is flagging, though she herself is at no risk of turning Hollow, though one need not turn Hollow to lose all hope to live.
It is these thoughts that swirl through her head as the new arrival comes, and she misses the sounds of footsteps descending the stairs to her little alcove, too embroiled in her own sad thoughts to pay any attention to the newcomer. It is not until the newcomer speaks up that she realizes she has company.
“Oh, hello,” a high, clear voice of a young woman calls out, and Emily’s head shoots up, staring at the newcomer to Firelink Shrine. Emily blinks, even rubs her eyes, unable to believe that the person standing in front of her is one of the new hopefuls to break the Curse.
The… girl—for Emily is unable to call her anything other than that; she is simply so young—standing before her is a small waif of a brunette, slimmer and smaller than even the timidest of clerics and sorcerers she has seen in the past that she is surprised that this girl has even managed to reach Firelink Shrine. The only truly remarkable thing about her is the metallic construct around her chest, a bluish-white light encased within it. She wears it over her leathers, and she wryly smiles at Emily when she notices the Fire Keeper staring at it. She raps a knuckle on the metal, the hollow thudding faintly echoing. “Don’t worry about this, love,” she says cheerfully. Suddenly, the girl smacks herself in the forehead, as if remembering something. “Oh bugger, where have my manners gone?” she asks rhetorically, before sweeping into a grand nobleman’s bow that has Emily smiling in amusement. “I’m Lena of Astora.”
Emily bows in response, before crossing her forefingers in an ‘X’ in front of her throat. Lena’s eyes widen in response. “You… can’t talk?” she asks as she approaches the bars, sitting down in front of it. Emily shakes her head, before “Are you… are you imprisoned here?” she asks, eyeing the bars of Emily’s alcove, her eyes narrowing, as if wondering what to do with them. Emily quickly shakes her head, pointing up towards the bonfire above them, before bowing her head and clasping her hands together, as if in prayer. “Ah, you’re this bonfire’s Fire Keeper, then?” Lena asks, and Emily nods. “Well… in that case, do you think you’ll be able to help me? I… I don’t really know where to go from here. I was told that there were… bells? That I had to ring.” She looks so lost, so confused that Emily cannot help but feel a pang of sympathy for the girl, before her eyes widen, realizing what the girl had just told her.
The Bells of Awakening. She stares at the girl, unable to believe what she has just told her. Her, a Chosen Undead? She barely looks like she can wield a longsword, never mind brave the terrors of the burg and Blighttown. But if she is a Chosen Undead… maybe there is something to her that will bring her success. After all, she’d managed to brave and survive the Northern Asylum. That’s a promising start.
But still… a Chosen Undead. Emily has long since lost count of how long it has been since the last one. Lots of Undead, yes, but so few who bother to learn how to properly walk the prophecy. She eagerly points to where both Bells can be located, downward towards Blighttown, and high above in the Undead Parish. She insistently points towards the Undead Parish, until she is satisfied that Lena understands that it is in her best interests to attempt the Bell in the Parish first.
A wide smile breaks through Lena’s face, and Emily cannot help but imagine a sunrise breaking through the clouds. She shakes her head to clear her thoughts, and she deeply bows as Lena gets up to begin her journey. “Hey, um… is it okay if I come back to visit you now and then? I’ve never really had a good sense of direction, and I’d hate to get lost in this place.” A cheeky grin finds its way to Lena’s face. “Plus, you make for much better conversation than that surly bloke up there.”
Emily cannot help but give a small smile in return, and nods in answer to Lena’s request, which seems to lift the girl’s spirits, if the way she skips up the stairs with a quick wave and a bright “I’ll see you later!” is any indication.