Chapter Text
The Cathedral was silent, a thin layer of snow covering the many steps that went towards its great gate. The metal door within the portal was tall and strong, ready to endure any siege if needed to be. It was a citadel in its own right, this place, and more than that. Perpetually left open once; an invitation to those blessed who called the holy city their home.
No more. The door was closed, and has been for quite some time.
Before it, three figures stood. They were unmoving, as if frozen to the spot by the chilly wind that played with their capes. From a distance, one could be forgiven to mistake them for one of the statues that adorned the imposing structure, for their likeness was nigh identical. And yet, their capes moved, and on closer look, one would discover they were not made of unmoving stone like their decorative counterparts.
Rather, they were seemingly made of metal and little else. But for any denizen of lands both familiar and foreign, that by itself would not be such an odd sight.
Knights they were, that much was clear. But their armour… it was nothing like those of ancient Astora or mighty Lothric, or even to that of the distant Alonne. It was smooth and jagged, elegant and bizarre. It should be cumbersome, yet it clearly was not. More still, it evoked a feeling of antiquity, as if the plate itself could speak of many stories it went through, even though its outward appearance betrayed little of the blows it received.
It was armour of the divine, after all, of the ancient unknowable that roused reverence and hate alike. It was there at the beginning, and it stood here now, close to the end.
Few remembered the ancient times these days, when they were a legion. Indeed, akin to the Cathedral, their plate was a relic of ages past, not unlike the warriors that stood vigil below its towering arches.
All had a large shield on their left hand, a flowing canal carved deep into its engraved surface. In the right hand, two of them wielded imposing slender spears, their capes white. The third one held a sword, a weapon of elegance and strength both, its blade coloured by the moonlight, tip aimed downwards. He differed with his blue cape also, the age of the faded thing obvious.
Most attention, perhaps, drew the helmets, silver wings standing tall and proud, while the faceguard was fashioned into a timeless design that deliberately left eyes revealed. Though, rather than eyes, one would only find darkness filling the helms' opening instead.
The ones with spears stood frigid, their pose that of a guard on a ceremony. The knight with the sword, however, was in what seemed to be a more relaxed stance, watching the canopies of his home turn white.
Even then, few would guess that his thoughts were disjointed, drifting. They were echoes of life long, long gone, full of longing, glory and bitterness. They were a malady and a cure at the same time, and he was tired of them. Nevertheless, he indulged in them often, for what else he was to do in this place, where so much and so little have changed?
Once, the battlements and the towers and the streets were always bathed in eternal golden glow. Never too warm, nor too cold. The gentle rays of sunlight that touched all within the city walls were not merely a constant companion either, but, maybe more importantly, a reminder of who they were: children of light and flame.
Now, the moon above shone bright with stolen light, as it had unceasingly for millennia, its argent hue reflecting on the flakes that never ceased to fall.
He didn’t mind the cold or the snow, but he did miss the sun. How could he not, after all they had done to keep it bright and strong? They sacrificed so much, time and again as the lifespan of the earth went by, only to eventually realize they had lost it all along the way.
Oh, how only he missed the sun.
***
Shrouded in fog, the surface was a land of gray crags, archtrees, and Everlasting Dragons.
An empty wasteland, unmoving, unchanging. No heat to warm, just as no cold to sting. No life graced the land, thus no death could end it. No light to banish dark, for neither could exist without the other.
The lands below were very much like the surface once. Once, though no one could tell how long ago that was. Likewise, no one remembered how it changed. But one day change it did; one day there was Fire, and with it all the disparity the surface lacked revealed itself at long last.
After that, the surface was so different from that which rested below it. There, most corners were dark, playing tricks on a naked eye until light chased the shadows away. From the smallest rodents to the largest of creatures that came to inhabit those tunnels and caverns, all were born and none could escape death. And there was cold. Until, at least, it began to fade by warmth that grew the closer one got to its heart.
And closer to it they did. From the Dark, They came and found the Souls of Lords within the Flame.
Nito, the First of the Dead claimed the Death Soul for itself, becoming its warden for as long as it would have him.
The Witch of Izalith and Her Daughters of Chaos followed, becoming the stewards of the Life Soul, coveting its heat with their entire being.
Our Master Gwyn became the Lord of Sunlight and declared a crusade to bring the glory of His Light Soul to every corner of the world.
Finally, the Fugitive Pygmy took hold of the last ember and divided the Dark Soul between His kind.
Story old as time itself. Retold countless times. And yet, as he saw the great archtrees for the first time, disappearing in the gray sky, a silver-clad knight couldn’t stop his thoughts from coming back to it. It’s a tale of their beginning, he pondered, the sounds of sabatons echoing throughout the land that didn’t know anything akin to it until now.
Maybe one day, he hoped, after their never-aging foe was cast down, it will be remembered as but a mere first act of the world they wished to create. Or, should they fail, maybe it would disappear along with their smouldering remains in the rivers of time.
Be it as may, the surface will know change for the first time. Of this, the Silver Knight was sure.