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Exhausted. Exhausted is the only word to describe the Ashen One as time after time again, he was bested in combat by the Soul of Cinder. And as he trudged through the ash hill toward the final arena, his being worsened. He could hardly breathe. He could hardly walk. He could hardly see and hear. He could no longer fight, but he had to link the first flame. For the Undead, for the Hollow.
As the Ashen One passed the fog gate, his vision focused on the Soul of Cinder, who once again marched toward him, sword in hand. He felt the exhaustion creep up little by little per battle, but this was the melting point. His vision failed to focus on the other, his final block on the road. And though he looked like one of the many pilgrims wishing for death, he raised his sword and fought.
They clashed time and time again like the battles beforehand. The Soul of Cinder, regardless, fought with ferocity, while the Ashen One's movement only worsened. He couldn't fight. It was too much. The embers engulfing his body, once a sign of comfort, now felt like agony. One, two, three swings and no more. He was struck down by a swipe of the Soul of Cinder's longsword. He would no longer get up, but he wouldn't turn to ash, prompting the protector of the first flame to raise his sword... but upon noticing the Ashen One's exhausted state, couldn't bring himself to kill him once again. He knew what would happen once the Ashen One reached the first flame; he'd bring about the Age of Darkness, an Age for the Hollow, something he's supposed to prevent, yet in this state... What could the Ashen One do? Thus, the Soul of Cinder walked off to the first flame and stuck his sword in Ash, sitting beside the burning ember.
The exhausted Ashen One, despite being at the Kiln of the First Flame, rested. The finale of his arduous journey, the battlefield which once filled him with courage and spirit, became his resting place. He felt relaxed, even with the Soul of Cinder not too far away, most likely conjuring a spell to kill him. But that never came. The Ashen One eventually slept, the ash beneath him comforting him. And as he awoke to the black sun, the exhaustion was no longer there, nor his will to fight.
He had to link the first flame, but he couldn't fight. He didn't want to. Thus, when he stood, he wouldn't grab his sword, nor activate his pyromancy flame. No, no. He would simply make his way to the Soul of Cinder, sitting beside him. They spoke no words, yet the atmosphere spoke millions. They were one in the same. A sword imbued with flame with pyromancy and a myriad of spells at their disposal with an ultimate goal in mind. They must have realized this at the same time, and stared at each other in solemn understanding. They were supposed to battle, to clash, and yet, here they were, staring at the first flame.
The Ashen One could use a break, some company other than the Fire Keeper or the hateful enemies on his journey. And so too, could the Soul of Cinder use some company, someone to bring comfort in the lonely battlefield of the Kiln of the First Flame. Linking the first flame could wait for just a little time. Protecting the first flame could wait for just a little time.