Chapter Text

Prologue: The Fast Fading Flame

It had been arduous. A journey filled with hardship and pain. It had been long since they arrived in Lordran but now, the knight dubbed the Chosen Undead stood before the felled body of Lord Gwyn. His skin had been charred, and his once calm eyes had banished. A Hollow, no less. Perhaps he lacked the will to sustain the power of the Flame. Or maybe he had given so much to keep the world's light. A hero in the eyes of the Undead that stood before him. Said Undead bowed in respect to the God, and the once brilliant soul that Lord Gwyn had found beside the flame in the Advent of the Age of Fire was now weakened. But still powerful indeed. It was a tradition upheld by said Undead to take the souls of those they defeated. And they did, holding the soul within their hands. It was slightly warm.

• Amazing -muttered the Undead in admiration- it's strong. That is the power required to Link the Fire. Well, I guess I will need this…now…it is time.

The hero saved the soul within their possessions, and started walking towards the center of the ash-ridden arena, nervously. A lot of thoughts crossed their mind. The kind face of Gwynevere, and her beautiful figure. The pleading voice of the Firekeeper of the shrine, begging for the fire to be Linked. The proud voice of Kingseeker Frampt after the Lordvessel had been retrieved, whom probably was witnessing the Kiln from faraway, awaiting the new Great Lord. And many other voices. This was for them. To halt the abuse of the Undead, to banish the Dark and the Abyss. To return the light to all. Those motivations fueled the Chosen Undead, whom reached to the centre of the kiln with their hand. And fire was lit.

The fire quickly grew, like it had done before by the hand of Lord Gwyn. But then, the Undead linking it felt something writhing beneath their skin, like something was moving in panic. They attempted to ignore it, but then, their arm catched on fire, like a tree starting to burn from a nearby forest fire. It was incredibly painful. The pain stung to the bone. From their arm, the flame continued to expand throughout the Undead's whole body, eventually engulfing them and the whole area in fire. That was the linking of the fire; the act of preserving the world's Flame. Utter sacrifice. And soon, the flames did wax and no Dark remained.

Chapter 1: A Lord of nothing but Cinders

The pain eventually stopped, halted by unknown means. Cold and emptiness settled. Whatever was squirming under the Undead's skin had stopped moving, now calmed. But yet, an uncomfortable warmth persisted similar to a lingering burn. A remnant of the immense pain from before. When the Undead knight opened their eyes, they were met by the ceiling of a damp, rat infested cell. The brick floor and the metal bars were an image that the Undead didn't want to witness ever again. But, somehow, they were captured again in that accursed prison.

• Th…the Asylum…but how…the…the Flame…

Their voice was filled and somewhat impeded by their emotions. A mixture of surprise, confusion and a deep, deep ire. The Undead took off their helmet and touched their face. They could feel a scar, a product of a burn. 

Further removal of their armor showed a strong burn extending from their arm and their upper torso; the same path the flame had consumed their body. Worst of all, the dehydrated, rotting skin revealed their state of near-Hollowing. Immediately they clutched their hands and collapsed into a fetal position. They…had been lied to. They weren't a "Great Lord", the Undead Curse remained with the Darksign on their skin as proof. No, they were nothing. Nothing but a Lord of cold and miserable cinders. And they had been sent back to the Asylum from whence they came. As if nothing had changed at all.

A while passed. Definitely enough for the sadness to fade. They needed to keep their heart up. Or the curse would make them Hollow. Many minds had been taken by the cruel curse. They refused to be just another Hollow inside of a cage. No. They needed answers. They had been manipulated. That sudden strength of will made their heart beat stronger and with purpose. That alone could starve off their Hollowing.

And with that newborn determination came a light from the ceiling, illuminating the dungeon. A shadow broke through the light entering the dungeon, and a corpse, not very different to the inhabitant of the cell, fell to the ground. When the Undead raised their eyes, they met a knight donned in the same armor as them. That man then closed the trapdoor in the ceiling and his footsteps made it clear that they were moving away. 

• Oh - said the Undead - It's a second chance. The same, all over again… 

The charred knight reached for the recently arrived corpse, and in a pocket there was a key. The happiness they felt the first time that situation played out returned as a warm memory. But then, dread manifested in the Undead's mind. If everything was truly the same…

• Shit. I'm not letting that happen again… 

The Undead used the key on the cell door; to no surprise the door opened. The now free Undead sprinted throughout the dungeon, passing by the side of near-mad Hollows and reached for the metal ladder at the end of the tunnel, climbing it with haste as a huge sound of a powerful force hitting the brick wall was made clear. Their liberator had been attacked by the warden of the Asylum. Upon reaching the top of the ladder the Undead sprinted through the courtyard and opened a huge wooden door, leading to another courtyard of brick floor. The cold air of the mountains hit their helmet. And in the air, the breath of something enormous could be faintly heard. 

• You! Come down, you coward! 

The Undead stepped forward and suddenly, something fell through the roof of the Asylum. A beast of great proportions, of a greenish color. Its fangs were exposed in a horrifying expression with its red eyes illuminating its face. The beast was wielding a great wooden hammer and if one paid attention to said weapon, blood stains were visible. It wasn't clear if the Demon even understood the taunt thrown at it, but it was clear by the sadistic expression on its face that it would enjoy the murder of the escapee. 

The Undead remembered that beast, for the very first confrontation they had was unforgettable for the Undead. But the knight wouldn't run, not again. And something inside their body gave them the strength to face the monster. 

The Undead clutched their hand around the hilt of their sword and immediately charged the Demon, dodging a strike from the towering hammer and stabbing the beast on its belly. The warden let out a sound of pain and rage and again attempted to strike the knight; another time unsuccessful. Enraged, the Demon started to wind up another attack but was interrupted by a fiery explosion on its face. Firebombs are always handy to have, and the Undead Warrior knew that well. 

The Undead took the chance, throwing their sword like a spear to the forehead of the beast. The Demon dropped its hammer, falling to the side. The body of the beast fell to the ground, covered in its own blood. Its eyes no longer moved and the once mighty Demon was now a mere, but regardless corpse. 

• That's…that's what you get…- the knight started panting, exhausted after the battle - now… him…

Some of the prisoners of the Asylum started clapping and vitoring from their cells, happy to see the Demon slayed. Behind the helmet the victorious Undead was smiling, happy for the first time in a long while. They then grabbed the hammer dropped as a trophy and a new weapon, resting it on their shoulder to alleviate its weight and walked toward a corridor leading to the sewers and more jails. They needed to find their friend. Behind them, many Undead broke out of their jails in search of freedom. And along their raised voices the words "Undead Legend" were frequent. The heroic Undead stopped in their tracks, clutching their fist. The Legend of the Undead seemed darker and darker by the minute. 

• Undead Legend…what a joke…

A visible feeling of disappointment and anger made itself clear in their voice. They had experienced the apparent truth of the legend. And with every thought of said "legend" their skin felt the pain of the fire and whatever was haunting their insides was moving around nervously, imitating their feelings. The knight started to run not only in a hurry towards their friend but also, to get away from the mentions of the curse as much as possible. 

It was only a minute until the knight reached a special cell, and a knight donned in high-quality armor of Astora was inside, seated in rubble. It took only a few strikes of the Great Hammer to break the frail walls of said cell, with the wielder entering in a hurry. The injured man moved his head towards his fellow Undead. 

• You aren't a Hollow, are you? Thank goodness… 

• You were freeing the captives. You are Undead as well, right? 

The fallen knight smirked under his helmet. The steadfast behavior of the slayer of the warden, the same warden that had injured him, was impressive, as well as the feat performed. The man of Astora nodded "yes" upon hearing the question, before speaking again 

• Regrettably, I have failed on my mission. But…perhaps you can carry the torch. You are unique, even among the Undead. I can sense it. 

Almost the same words that the knight has heard all that time ago. Knowing what came next, the charred knight reached into their possessions, finding along the Soul of Gwyn, existing in a place where, by all accounts, it shouldn't exist. That item generated a certain feeling on the knight, who chose to ignore it in favor of a small, golden bottle. They pulled the bottle out, feeling its soft surface and handed it to their companion. 

• You are wounded - said the Undead in a kind tone - This is a divine blessing. It should heal you fully. Take it. I refuse to let you hollow. 

• …thank you 

Visibly confused, the Astoran knight took the bottle, consuming the water inside. After a few seconds they rose up with their wounds fully healed. He would not hollow that day

• You might have just saved me. My name is Oscar, from Astora. Who are you? - spoke the healed knight - 

• I'm…no one, really. Just another Undead - answered the charred knight - 

• Are you following the Undead Legend? 

• Yes - the knight showed a little restraint in answering. The truth of the "legend" drew ever closer to their mind - I need to follow it, I seek answers for certain matters 

• Most noble. I would go along but I need to free more captives. Thanks to you, I will be able to finish my task. Hopefully we will meet again. Take this - Oscar handed his comrade a large key, before shaking their hand - you'll need it for the door. And thank you. 

They then parted ways, and the Seeker of Truth, for lack of a better term to describe themselves; exited the cell and the building, walking towards the end of the mountain and standing at the brink of falling. They closed their eyes and felt how they were grabbed by a giant animal. A Crow. The animal instantly took flight in pilgrimage, towards the Land of the Ancient Lords. Lordran.