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1
They called me the Ashen One, or Champion of Ash. When I sat up from my coffin, I had no memory left, only a sword and a shield by my side. The world was as grey as a thick mist. A large Darksign dragged its long tail across the sky, cleaving those filthy clouds.
The Firekeeper said my duty was to return the Lords to their thrones, so I took off, without really understanding what “ash” meant. Only I felt I was a piece of rotten meat, thrown into the hounds. Rotten, but still muchly craved.
Occasionally, there were monsters among the hounds as well --- like the red phantom appeared out of nowhere in the Crucifixion Woods. He could not see the others, nor could he understand me. He only chased me relentlessly into the ruins, his giant club hauled up a trail of dust from the ground.
With hollows standing ahead, and a red phantom chasing after, I simply stood and waited for my doom. To unkindled Ash, death was merely a way to get around trouble, as the concept of life no longer existed. I sheathed my sword and waited for the club to strike, but someone called out to me. It was the first human voice I heard since entering this forest.
“Hey, come up here!”
I looked up. A slender figure stood on the second floor of the ruins. He raised his staff and summoned a gust of wind that blew past me. Like tamed dogs, the enemies went after that invisible bone. The gust gently lifted his black locks, revealing a pair of clear blue eyes.
In my time as an Unkindled, I’ve only seen dilapidated cities. Until meeting him, I didn’t know I still remembered the image of an ocean.
And then an ugly brawl took place. His desk was broken. Torn books were all over the floor. I lay among a pile of parchments, couldn’t even pull myself up, because I strived to block the invader’s attack to protect my savior’s wall of scrolls. The sorcerer stood before me, examining me, his pale lips pressed firmly into a fine line.
I moved my fingers to push a scroll away. I felt guilty, or at least responsible.
“Forgive me… I didn’t mean to get your study destroyed... I’m sorry, truly, but I really don’t know why he came after me.”
My words were ridiculed by a cold, mockish glare. I stared back blankly, until he sighed in surrender.
“You Unkindled are scorched of all your flame. You seek ember. Thus some invade the others for it.”
So I wasn’t the only Unkindled One. I asked, “Are you… also unkindled?”
He curled his lip slightly. I saw waves blown up in his deep, oceanic eyes, sweeping over the fire hidden within. At that moment, I understood he was not a rootless ash like me, he still had much to burn. Sure enough, he pointed to the scrolls behind me as his other hand clutched to something in the pockets of his coat.
“Very well. I am Orbeck of Vinheim, a sorcerer, with plenty to share.” he proposed in a low-pitched voice, “I can teach you some spells, if you promise to recompense me.”
2
I wasn’t sure how many years Orbeck spent in the Crucifixion Woods. When I gave him the scrolls found around the Farron Keep, he was too elated to even fake that deep, low voice. He exclaimed like a young student, and recited a long list of terminologies about sorcery. Then, seeing my confusion, he put down the scroll and pushed over a pile of books.
“You can learn sorcery, as long as you know how to read. ”
He said, and I took note of that.
I couldn’t read the Great Swamp’s language or Carim’s Braille. The books Orbeck brought were the only things I could read. I searched for names, hoping to evoke some memories, but always ended up asking him to describe those places for me: Drangleic, kingdom of the accursed. Melfia, sorcery school founded by banished sages. Astora, city of the Sun. Mirrah, land of knights…
He spoke about many places, except Vinheim. I always pictured it as a cold place, because of his glacial blue eyes. I observed him closely when he talked, imagining his days in the Dragon School, and how he traveled all the way here in that thin classical coat.
“Lothric is almost done for. Why did you leave Vinheim for here?”
Orbeck blinked at the question, his eyes never left the page. I noticed he reached for his pocket again.
“...I’m on a journey of discovery.” He mumbled.
Before I asked what that was, Orbeck diverted and turned the question to me. He asked if I was looking for my past. I seized the pages nervously. All the Unkindled bore a duty, and thus shall not waste their time on irrelevant matters.
But I wanted to remember something, as everyone I met did. Hawkwood remembered the Undead Legion. Anri and Horace remembered Aldrich and the children. Siegward remembered his friend and his promise. As for Orbeck, he was no ash, so of course he never forgot about sorcery.
“Well, if I can remember someone… or some place, then my duty will have a cause… I guess.”
“Is that so?”
He finally lifted his eyes to meet mine, “If you don’t recall anything, then you’ll leave your duty?”
I stared at him, my memory blank, but almost immediately, I heard my own voice respond,
“No.”
Orbeck crossed his arms. He examined me just as when we first met, his eyes reflecting the shrine’s evershifting light like sea glasses. Eventually he turned back down to the books and commented plainly,
“Well, I cannot tell exactly where you are from. But not likely from Vinheim.”
3
He never explained that conclusion. Without a homeland or a past, I went on for my mission. I died again and again. The world began to lose its color in my eyes.
I had no everlasting love, no haunting feud, no promise to keep. Can I really find the Lords and link the fire, driven by some crude leftover spirit?
Before I found an answer, all the other Unkindled ones left one after another, seeking other ways out, or having their wish fulfilled. Hawkwood was the first one to walk away after I defeated the Abyss Watchers. He must never want to see me again, or this accursed fire-linking duty.
Beyond the Abyss Watchers’ grave was the perilous Tomb of Carthus. Horace went hollow there. I killed him, and told Anri I never found him. Harboring guilt, I wanted to accompany her, but that thought was brushed off by what she said,
“My duty must be done, even alone. We all have our reasons, don't we? Ahh, you are brave indeed. To face your duty alone.”
I could only swallow my proposal and put on a bitter smile. I began to leave my signs everywhere. Anri summoned me in Anor Londo. We managed to defeat Aldrich.
Then she left her sword. She said it was her thanks.
After slaying Yhorm, Siegward gave me the last bucket of Siegbrau. I carried it to the second floor of Firelink Shrine, where I practiced sorceries. Time in Lothric was convoluted, its days had no Sun, and the moon never came above the shrine. There was only the dingy sky covered by tainted clouds.
“My duty must be done, even alone. We all have our reasons, don't we? Ahh, you are brave indeed. To face your duty alone.”
Anri’s words echoed like a hard slap on my face, stirring up an unjustified resentment in me. Unlike them, I had no everlasting love, no haunting feud, no promise to keep. The duty was all I had. Therefore, I was alone and left alone. Therefore I was the ideal Unkindled.
“Hey.”
The night drew his shadow long as it closed the distance between us. I was used to Orbeck having no sound of footsteps. I turned back. A white handkerchief hung in the dark, before my blurred sight.
I took it, pressed it against my eyes, and handed the Siegbrau to him. An Undead’s withered throat was no longer used to booze. The alcohol made him cough, sending a flush to his pale eyes and cheeks. I gave the handkerchief back to him, but he did not take it.
“Keep it.”
He sounded like he didn’t want to touch it again. I unfolded the piece of fine cloth and buried my face in. It smelled damp and sweet, like ocean mist. A smell of another world, a world I would never set foot in.
“Can you take me to Vinheim?” I murmured, soaked in his scent.
“Why?” He tilted his head skeptically as he leaned against the arch.
“Is it not possible?”
“Vinheim lies across the Northern sea. It’s not somewhere you can warp to by leaping into the bonfire.”
He replied in a low, coarse voice, his fingers flipping the silver ornament on his neck.
“Besides, I don’t even know if Vinheim still exists.”
I asked him what kind of place Vinheim was. He said it was freezing there, more so than in Irithyll. I could imagine. Irithyll was frigid and immaculate. The painted world was chilly, but gentle, like the embrace of a lifeless mother. Vinheim must be as cold as a stone heart, for the lack of longing he had when he spoke of it. I could even imagine him leaving the academy, boarding the deck, gazing at the distancing fatherland as he wrapped himself in a sorcerer’s cloak.
“But I still want to see it.” I indulged in the scene I dreamed up and giggled like a drunkard, “How does that sound? I’ll quit this lordseeking duty. Let’s go to the land of sorceries.”
He chuckled as well. Our laughters were real when it began. Then they faded like weakening waves. I ended it with some more awkward, silly giggles. I could sense Orbeck glaring at me. After a short while, he sighed.
“You should know… Even though you are Unkindled, and you bear a duty, no one can force anything upon you.”
We both knew how futile this argument was, yet it still made me very glad, as if his words really regranted me my life and soul. I stood up and walked up to him, almost wanting to hold his hand.
But I only told him about the new scroll found in the Profaned Capital.
4
Orbeck was thrilled by Logan’s Scroll. For the first time I heard him bring up the name “Vinheim” with joy. He said he had no way to thank me, and then took out a dragoncrest ring from his pocket. This was the second dragoncrest ring he gave me, the first one pulled directly off from his forefinger. This one must be what he always held on to in his coat.
“Go head. Take it. I make no use of it here.” He insisted as he looked down at my shoulder, his thumb gliding over the deep scars on my armor. “This is a sign, a cipher employed by sorcerers who use quietude to their advantage. With this, you can mask the sound of your every move.”
The ring did not fit, so I wore it as a pendant. I spent a long time at the Shrine to catch up with the spells in Golden Scroll. Reading Oolacile’s ancient magic was like deciphering a dead, dense epic poem. Orbeck had to ask the other savants for help, just to teach me a simple spell of casting light.
When the small sphere of light drifted from my staff, Karla clapped with a teasing smile, and then guided Irina’s hand to it. Cornyx applauded approvingly as well. I grinned like a fool. It was silly, I thought. The world had decayed so much that life and death were becoming unreal, but here I was, grinning whole-heartedly from ear to ear for a spell.
I lifted my eyes to search for Orbeck’s. He stood behind the light sphere with his arm crossed, smirking as well. When our eyes met, I finally got a clear look of the flame deep inside his blue eyes.
At that moment, I understood why he sought sorcery. Curiosity and creation were intoxicating. Every time one deduced a temporarily correct principle, or tamed an unknown force, one would think they have gotten closer to some sort of ultimate --- even if they knew that ultimate did not really exist. That addiction could reign over our selfishness or instinct of survival, and drive us to seek the spurned, even to sacrifice our lives for a meaningless, irrelevant cause.
Even after we became Undead, even after we were burnt to ash, that compulsion still lived in us.
Soon, I found the Crystal Scroll and a spell named Soul Stream in the Grand Archives. When he received these two items, Orbeck’s joy was unmatched by any reaction I’ve seen. His hands were shaking, as well as his voice.
“Unfathomable. This is crystal sorcery, created by the pale dragon, thought only to exist in legend...
I am ever grateful to you. This is truly sublime. I am afraid this is a debt I cannot repay, only...
I will be sure to unravel it for you. Just a moment.”
Affected by his ecstasy, I stayed in the shrine to study the Crystal Scroll with him. One day he went outside to practice new spells, leaving me to read at our usual spot. I tried to rest on the cold stone chunk used as our desk. When I woke up I found myself on a rug, surrounded by darkness.
We were done with candles once we learned to cast light. I grabbed my staff and released a glowing sphere in the size of a candle flame. Orbeck was lying on the same rug. The fake sunlight emitted some life on his pale face. He frowned even in his sleep, and was curling up like a child, with a book tightly clutched to his chest.
I knew he was also a trained swordsman, so I didn’t try to kiss him. I leaned in and reached out my hand. A strand of hair was within my touch, so was his long, beautiful brows and his pale cheekbones. But in the end I only retracted, and watched him until he was about to wake up. Then I sat away.
I was Unkindled, champion of Ash, bearer of the lordseeking duty, but I couldn’t help myself. Later I hid a blank parchment in my notes and tried to draw his face when he explained a spell, dreaming that the charcoal stains were his locks around my fingers.
It did not take him long to snatched the paper away. I shrank and waited for reproach. Orbeck stared at it for a moment, his face flushed from the casted light.
“Looks like you still remembered how to pay no attention, after all.” he mocked with a smooth voice. “I will keep this. If this were the Dragon School, they’d whip you till you can’t even hold a pen.”
And then he sighed, looking deliberately disappointed.
“Do not be distracted, Unkindled. You only have two spells left to learn.”
5
After learning every spell in the Crystal Scroll, I had no more reason to linger in the Firelink Shrine. Some strange sense of ceremony compelled me to clean myself up before the final quest. So I polished my weapons, changed into a newer armor set, and untied my hair in front of the back of a shield.
It was then I heard footsteps, light and fast, something I haven’t gotten used to hearing.
“Master?”
I turned back, surprised. Orbeck rarely came up here. He quickly scanned those random weapons and articles filling my corner. Then his eyes fell on my loose braid. Letting out a quiet snicker, he waved me on.
Obediently, I sat down before him. He untangled my hair carefully and drew it backward, his cold digits slowly brushing across the ridge of my eyes and my forehead. The dead ashes inside me began to burn, screaming in flames.
It was not yet time to exchange parting words, since I still needed to come back to return the last cinders. So I asked,
“Are you going back to Vinheim after this, master? I mean, now you’ve learned all sorts of magic, you will be the greatest sorcerer your country has ever seen.”
I felt his chest pulsated, likely from a chuckle.
“Still so curious about Vinheim, aren’t you? Well, in Vinheim, only the aristocrats can enter the school, and my family had no fortune.”
Stunned by his words, I wanted to look back, but he pulled on my hair warningly, so I could only sit stiffly straight and listen to him recount the past with a voice softer than ever. He said he joined the Dragon School as an assassin. A sorcerer in name, a killer for hire. Coming to Lothric on a “journey of discovery” was a lie, as such journey was granted only to official students of the academy. The truth was, after he became Undead, he was exiled from the school, so he came here to seek sorcery.
“I suppose you understand now? Why I said you are not from Vinheim?”
I felt one hand rest on my back for a second as he reached for a ribbon. He sounded to be smiling, even carefree.
“You are no ordinary woman. All of these sorceries, and you've mastered every one. If this were the Dragon School, you'd be... well, overtly despised, and banished from the place.”
The warmth in his voice never ceased, melting away all the indignance and regret. His hands grew deft as he recalled the past. Before long he finished braiding my hair and let it hang over my shoulder.
“You have my thanks, for bringing me knowledge. Without your help, I will never be able to explore the depths of sorcery here.”
I felt somewhat shocked, and also a little sad. A lot of words stuck in me, but I could not pick out any one. He had seen the peak of power as well as the dying world. He had killed, and he had saved my life. He had committed foolish mistakes, but had also mastered the most unfathomable sorceries. I only had some cliches in mind for his comfort, but he must have thought about all of that.
He must know that he would regain humanity once I link the fire, leaving all that grudge and guilt in his previous life. Now he harbored a sea of knowledge. He could live a rewarding, fleeting life anywhere.
In this case, it seemed there was really little to be said. I could only stutter,
“I’m the one who should be thankful… Master Orbeck, you saved me. You taught me everything. And you’ll remember me… I am truly grateful to you.”
I bent over and bowed again and again, like a clumsy student, only hoping that his past could stop haunting him. At last I said,
“I will find you more scrolls when I come back.”
“You’ve offered me enough compensation.” He nodded slightly. “Be on your way, then. Promise to stay safe.”
I opened up the way to Lothric Castle. After a long battle with a horde of knights, I finally arrived at the gate. Surprisingly I spotted Orbeck’s summon sign by the stairs. I tried to summon him, and he really appeared in the form of a white phantom.
“Master Orbeck, how come? Are you here for the Grand Archives?”
I asked, bewildered. Host of embers couldn’t hear the phantoms, but they could hear us. The white phantom simply gazed at the shortcut to the archives as a response to my question.
I asked again, “Did you come here… to help me?”
He seemed impatient at my stupid questions as he took his staff and dagger from the belt.
So I had a chance to fight side by side with Orbeck of Vinheim. He didn’t use any consuming spells. Instead he fought with the strategies of an assassin. His Farron Flashsword was too fast to be caught by the eyes, his dodging steps swift like a kind of deadly dance, putting my graceless sword skill to shame. I still could not discard the practice of a knight, as I only fired a few inaccurate soul arrows. But he would not blame me. This was a battle, not a test.
“Mark my words, Ashen One... You remain among the Accursed...”
The battle eventually ended. Prince Lothric faded into a handful of dust, leaving only his cinders. Unlike Yorm and the Abyss watchers, the twin princes were murdered when they still had their wits. I felt guilty, but undoubtedly relieved from my duty.
I turned to Orbeck’s phantom.
“Master, I did it! Thank you…”
He sheathed his dagger and came up to me. I wanted to embrace him, but also felt it was inappropriate at the time. A pale smile bloomed by his lips. He held my right hand as if to write something on my palm, but he paused after a gentle stroke with the fingertip. White phantoms couldn’t remain for long in worlds without the Lord of Cinders. Orbeck’s shadow thinned like a veil.
“I’ll go back to Firelink right now.” I beamed at him, “I will meet you there.”
He smiled back at me and moved his lips for some inaudible phrase. Then his phantom faded.
I couldn’t wait to speak with him face to face, so I lit the bonfire and warped back right away. Orbeck’s usual spot was empty, his books still on the stone chunk desk. He must be at the Grand Archives then, I thought, as I warped again. I left my summon sign by the entrance, then entered the building hoping that our worlds were still overlapped.
I found Orbeck on the top floor of the archives. He slumped against a chair. It looked like he was asleep, tomes piling in front of him. I took one step forward and found his graceful face shriveled like a hollow, a piece of scroll seized in his hand.
He must have found the greatest spell ever invented. Once an Undead fulfilled their wish, they could finally rest in peace.
I kneeled down next to him and took the parchment from his fingers, which was still warm and soft like it was when it stroked my hair. For a moment, I wanted to tear that paper apart, yet I still unrolled it inch by inch.
Then I saw it contained no sublime crystal sorcery, no unraveled mystery of magic. It was just a portrait, a terrible, poorly-done sketch with a charcoal stick, the portrait he took from me.
Even unkindled ash had thoughts and sentiment. Even undeads had love and regret. We could have made the choices, and we indeed did make our choices.
In the end I wasn’t alone. In the end, maybe I was more than a handful of ashes. Nonetheless, no matter what I was and what I became, my duty was completed.
6
After defeating the soul of the Cinders, I stood inside the kiln, and looked up at the Darksign reigning over the sky, the gigantic hole that absorbed all illusions of humanity.
For the last time, I took out my staff and casted a sphere of light. Oolacile’s golden sorcery condensed into a gentle lamp, drifting above the kiln like a cloud. Then I summoned a few soulmasses to watch them hover over the tip of my staff.
I walked slowly to the unlit kiln and reached out to the coiled sword. Tiny flames erupted from the hilt, climbed up my arm and licked my shoulder. I sat down as I felt the cinders inside me getting scorched, the world in my sight greying out at a slow pace.
A gust of wind blew past my cheeks, carrying with it the damp, sweet fragrance of the ocean. The gust gently lifted his black locks, revealing a pair of blue eyes, eyes covered by thin frost, but gentle and clear. He held out a hand to me, smiling. Smiling back, I took his hand, and joined him into that warm drift.
But do you know what I think? I think that love is a touch and yet not a touch.
--- J.D Salinger, The Heart of a Broken Story