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Anor Londo was every bit as magnificent as the stories told. Soaring spires, arching buttresses, and pristine stonework all gleamed under the light of the glorious sun, which itself felt more… sunny than anywhere else in Lordran. This place was the home of the Great Lord Gwyn and his family, gone as two of them may be, but Solaire basked in its light, knowing it was the same sky his god once stood under.
Making his way through the city was a difficult endeavor. The Silver Knights posted throughout the city were unerringly hostile and strangely unresponsive to Solaire’s attempts at communication. Somewhat guilty as he’d felt stabbing them and pushing them off rafters, they failed to stop him from progressing. He had a mission to accomplish, after all, and a sacred one at that, and if the knights of Anor Londo refused to listen to reason and no one otherwise came to acknowledge him, then he supposed he would carry on through battle as he had thus far.
Anor Londo had yet to reveal anything new. Nothing pertaining to his quest, or even to the Firstborn, though there were enough conspicuously empty statue pedestals and replaced stained glass to make Solaire’s heart hurt.
While his trek had amounted to nothing yet, there was still plenty of ground to cover. He hadn’t even made it to the grand cathedral, and he had high hopes as to what he would find inside.
As the main entrance to the cathedral was shut tightly, Solaire was taking a back way, finding a place to rest at a bonfire inside the palace. The Silver Knights on the edge of the roof gave him quite the scare, but some speed and well timed dodging had seen him safely to the palace interior. He would take a breather, helmet blessedly set to the side, then be on his way.
Just as found himself dozing, a crash resounded from the hallway, followed by horrendous clanking. Solaire wondered if the Silver Knights had suddenly become friskier. Before he could stand to check on the safety of his hiding spot, the door to the room burst open.
It was a knight. Not a Silver Knight, but the undead one he’d met in the Burg. They were clad in a fine set of Astoran armor and set apart by a signature red scarf Solaire found endearing.
The knight, whose name was Dinbrand, he recalled, stopped halfway through the doorway. One hand clutched the knob and, from the angle of their body, they seemed to be using it for support. As Solaire called a greeting, the knight tipped forward. They landed hard, not even attempting to break their fall. Protruding from their back, to Solaire’s horror, was one of the Silver Knights’ massive arrows.
He hurried over to the poor knight, hooked them under the arms, and dragged them further into the room. The door he shut once more, just in case.
The knight was nearly dead, and their shallow breaths created a dreadful wheezing. Not that death posed a long term issue, but dying was generally not a pleasant experience, especially not one like this.
As an undead, simply letting the knight die and allowing their cursed corpse to pull itself back together was the most practical option. However, the arrow was an obstacle. The knight would not be able to heal with it piercing them so, which left Solaire with a disagreeable task.
“My friend, if you can hear me, I am going to remove the arrow. Sorry for the indecency.” Placing one foot on their back, Solaire wrenched the arrow from the knight, a terrible sound of scraping metal and wet flesh following it. Solaire winced and tossed the arrow, which was the width of his forearm, to the side. He gently turned the knight on their back, for their comfort upon waking, and pulled them closer to the bonfire.
Solaire took his seat again. The knight had already stopped bleeding, but their armor was mangled and tabard bloodsoaked. He supposed he should be grateful they died quickly, but he surely would have preferred them whole and alive. The revival bit of being undead was shaky between each person. The time it took for one to rise again varied, from Solaire’s experience, and he hoped it would not take them long to recover. This knight had caught his attention, and he was admittedly eager to be able to have a conversation with them outside of combat.
The passage of time was a fickle thing, and Solaire’s world rarely maintained contact with the knight's for long. Their brief meeting outside the Undead Burg and their cooperation against the gargoyles had only resulted in a basic introduction of the knight: their intention to ring the bells and their great skill. They had met once again below the Burg likely thanks to the calling of their soapstones. The foul sewers would have been the worst leg of Solaire’s journey yet had it not been for the knight. Mere moments into the depths, the knight had emerged from the darkness. Together, covered in muck, they had navigated the stinking corridors nearly without a scratch. The dragon, despite its size and disturbing appearance, had quickly fallen beneath their blades.
Even with the sewers providing ample time for conversation, the knight had spoken very little, though Solaire could not fault them for not wanting to breathe the rancid air more than necessary. Still, his curiosity about the knight was great. Their mastery of their longsword, their unshakable demeanor… they recovered from a direct hit from the sewer dragon without hesitation. Who was this mysterious warrior?
On the floor, the knight shifted.
“Welcome back, my friend.”
The knight sucked in a deep breath and bolted upright, then began desperately shucking off their armor. Helmet, then pauldrons, then gauntlets, then a pause. Their breathing was ragged and their shoulders heaved with each gasp. Their back was to Solaire, so he could not be sure, but they seemed to be staring at something in their hands.
“Don’t worry, you’re safe here. The door is shut. The Silver Knights won’t find us here.” Truthfully, Solaire was uncertain as to why the knight was in such a state, but perhaps it could be chalked up to dying and the extra stress of dying in such a place as Anor Londo. Lots of new things and pressures, surely, with it being the city of the gods and all.
Solaire’s uncertainty turned to outright alarm when the knight practically themself at him. The thought that perhaps they had gone hollow flashed through his mind, but was quickly dismissed. The knight was… holding his hand. They clung to him like a child clutching a blanket. Still wearing full mail, their weight was considerable against his side as they leaned into him entirely. Most disconcertingly, they were crying. The brave undead knight who had unflinchingly vanquished all manner of demons and monsters was crying into Solaire’s shoulder.
Perhaps he should reevaluate his perceptions. Even the most hardened warriors still had feelings.
Tentatively, Solaire wrapped his other hand around the knight’s and eased his back against the wall.
They remained there for a long time, giving Solaire’s mind plenty of space to decide on a good reaction to this situation. Eventually, the knight’s quiet sobs turned into slower, even breaths. Their hands stayed clenched around Solaire’s when they finally righted themself, and Solaire let them.
He’d offered his aid to this undead, and he hoped they considered him a friend. Whatever was plaguing the knight, he would do his best to help.
“Are you alright now?”
No response.
“What has happened to put you in such a state? Surely more than just dying again,” Solaire added.
The knight sighed, eyes closed and face downturned. Slowly, they disentangled their hands from Solaire’s and held them palm-up.
Their fingertips were gray and withered, reminiscent of the skin of a….
Realization dawned. “Oh, you’re… going hollow,” Solaire said softly.
The knight nodded miserably.
“But why?” Solaire blurted. “I’m sorry, please don’t take this poorly, but I’ve heard what they say at Firelink Shrine. You’re fulfilling the old prophecy. You’re the Chosen Undead. You have plenty of reason to stay sane. What happened?” He took the knight’s hands again.
They opened their mouth, then paused. Their brow twitched. “I can’t remember my sister’s name.”
Solaire frowned.
A tear dropped from their chin. “She was my life. I gave up everything for her. I left home and became a soldier because I knew she would get enough money to be okay whether I lived or died. I’d do it again, too.” Their words became choked. “She wrote letters to me while I was away. She was never too far when I had those letters. I was never alone. But here… she’s gone. And I can’t even do right by her by remembering her name.
“It’s all so hazy now. Anything before they locked me up in that prison. Feels like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was. Only have myself now, and some half-formed memories of who I used to be. I’m still just a foot soldier. With every death… I’ll get closer to hollowing. Then I’ll be nothing.”
Solaire’s heart sank further with each sentence. This brave knight, more capable than nearly anyone in navigating Lordran, granted a fate by the gods themselves, was nevertheless succumbing to hollowing like any common undead…. They must truly be heartbroken.
A smaller part of himself balked at the idea of one hollowing despite a clear path to victory. What hope would he have of finding his sun?
But now was not the time to think of himself.
“Such is the fate of the undead. I’m sure your sister loves you all the same,” he murmured. “She would understand the hardships you face. Though you are gone from her life now and may not recall much of her, she will keep you in her heart for the rest of her life.”
The knight sagged as a few more tears fell down their face. Their hands tightened on Solaire’s, and they remained silent, so he assumed he was providing some comfort.
“As for being alone here, I truly understand. Lordran is a place like no other. It is a foreign land to most of us, and few arrive with friends. It is difficult to find someone sane, and impossible to keep them nearby for long. But I promise you this,” Solaire cupped their cheek with one hand and gently lifted the knight’s face to look into their eyes, “I will not leave you alone should I be able to be by your side.”
The knight stared, blinking back more tears. A beat, then a shaky nod as they pulled away.
He had come on a bit too strong there. “As a Warrior of Sunlight, I am duty bound to come to the aid of my fellow undead.” Better.
“Thank you. I’m… sorry you had to see me like this.” They scrubbed their eyes with the heel of their hand.
“We all have our moments, friend,” Solaire replied.
“Except you, it seems,” the knight said, rueful but not unkind.
“Ha. No, no, you don’t know everything I think just yet,” he smiled wanly.
He earned a dismissively cocked eyebrow from the knight, who then began removing their mail and the gambeson beneath to repair what damage they could.
Time to move on from that, Solaire supposed. Nevertheless, he wished he could have offered a bit more advice, perhaps just more empathy. He himself struggled little with the knight’s loss of self. His memory was as keen as it was when he was alive, for which he was endlessly grateful, but he did acutely understand the knight’s loneliness. No one to remember him, no one to miss in return. A blessedly all-consuming purpose in Lordran, yet he could not escape the terribly human need for companionship. That was one of the reasons he was so drawn to the Warriors of Sunlight. He understood the value of cooperation, whether in battle or conversation.
Solaire studied the knight. They hunched over their mail. A pyromancy flame burned in one hand, small tongs grasped in the other, as they carefully repaired the hole in their armor. In the glow of the bonfire, their eyes shone with determination, and their lip curled slightly in concentration. Solaire wondered if they looked the same in battle.
He took in the shape of their face, the strong slope of their jaw, the well-muscled curve of their bare shoulders. Scars mottled their body. Their hands were covered with burns. They were handsome, certainly, but so very human.
A human on a path trodden by gods.
What fools they both were.
A small smile pulled on Solaire’s mouth. Yes, he was quite fond of this knight.
The knight must have seen him from the corner of their eye and looked up from their work. They gave him an uncertain look.
“Dinbrand, have you–”
“Just Din.”
“Ah, Din, have you seen any place as beautiful as here? I don’t think even the churches back in Astora measure up to this.”
Din hummed and returned to their armor.
Well. That would not do. Not speaking more on their current situation was acceptable, but wallowing in silence was not. At least, not for Solaire. A person could not cry on another person’s shoulder to just immediately return to their old taciturn self. Besides, he finally had a chance to just talk with Din, and he would be seizing the chance.
He opened his mouth, but Din spoke before he could continue.
“You think those white robed soldiers like looking at that statue of Gwynevere all day?”
And so the knight’s ice began to melt.
Eventually, Din patched up their armor and cleaned away the blood, and it was time to move on.
Solaire happily trotted alongside them as Silver Knight after Silver Knight fell to their blades. There was still no sign of his sun, but having Din by his side again, this time talking and even making a few jokes (“You’ve seen the stray demons, too? If I had an ass like that—”) was its own victory.
The guardians in the cathedral posed the greatest challenge either of them had faced yet: a giant with a great hammer and who Solaire could only assume was Dragonslayer Ornstein himself.
One grueling battle later and both warriors, slightly crisp from Ornstein’s lightning, greeted Princess Gwynevere in the flesh.
She was beautiful, and Solaire could only admire her radiance as the Chosen Undead received the Lordvessel and their mission.
They bowed deeply as they left the princess’s chamber, proper Astoran etiquette seemingly enough for the goddess, and found themselves idling in the threshold of the cathedral.
Din seemed oddly unmoved, stiff, even, for having met a goddess. It was an immense honor, beyond the imagination of a humble undead. Humans, undead or not, risked their lives and those of others constantly to earn the favor of untouchable and distant gods. How could direct contact with their god not compel something within them? Shock, perhaps, or a grave sense of what they must do.
Solaire was a hypocrite, though. He himself felt heavier since seeing the goddess. He had not even spoken to her, leaving the attention to Din as he saw proper. Din had clear instructions on what to do and where to go and how to save the world. Solaire should be pleased they had such information. And yet….
He paced down the stairs. Fresh air and sunlight, yes, that was good. Chase away any jealousy he may feel when he rightly should not. A few breaths, then he turned back to speak to Din, but he felt the world shift, and he faced only the empty cathedral.
~~~
Din found Solaire again at the Sunlight Altar.
Haloed by the sun—a real one this time—he seemed so inviting. Din slid against the railing next to him. A conversation, simple, comforting, human. Their desperation in Anor Londo had since left, partially thanks to the man standing beside them.
They didn’t tell him the truth about Anor Londo. He didn’t need to know. What would he think, anyway? That they were a liar? Would it shake his faith? No, leave that to them to think about.
Din basked in the warm glow of the sun and of their friend. Solaire told a story of the Firstborn, who by Din’s standards seemed okay for a god. Maybe he wasn’t the worst one, but a fat lot of good that did Solaire.
Solaire, despite first appearances, was down. Feeling the effects of their not-quite life now. He didn’t find his sun in Anor Londo, and now he felt lost. Fuck.
Din didn’t know what to tell him. The same he’d told them? They’d never had a way with words even if they had the conviction behind them. Finding a sun? A sun? Ridiculous, but they should thank his obsession for keeping him human this long. Brave, constant, compassionate Solaire would not, could not go hollow while Din could help.
What did they know that could help? What had they learned so far? The prophecy was fake. Go figure. The gods were not nearly as great as they claimed. Nothing new. Humans were of the dark but seemed to only be made worse by it, and living in the light gave the gods the upper hand to control them. Controlled, but alive. And gods could be killed.
Solaire, their sister, the people they’d left behind wherever their home was. Din couldn’t leave them to hollow in the dark.
Not that knowing that would help right now.
They leaned into Solaire’s shoulder and entwined one of their rotting hands with his.
“You’ll find it. This sun’s been here since forever and it’ll stay that way for a while yet. Yours will be waiting for you.”
~~~
The world narrowed to nothing but battle. The wretched beast flailed its insectoid limbs wildly, and Solaire was forced to split his attentions between dodging its attacks, coordinating his own, and not stepping in the flesh-melting lava that would almost certainly end him for good.
Sidestep the centipede arm, stab, then—oops, there was its other limb. Solaire flew across the rough stone. He heard his helmet land in the lava with a hiss. A fleeting thought about the dangers of concussions passed through his mind.
With a grimace, he moved to stand, only for shocking pain to shoot up his leg. He landed painfully on his rear. His leg was visibly broken, slightly crooked just below the knee. He reached for his estus flask. Empty. Why was it empty? Had he really sustained that many injuries between the last bonfire and here?
The centipede demon eagerly stomped closer as it realized its prey had stopped fighting back.
His talisman, where was it? He could still throw lightning, maybe drive it away. He couldn’t kill it like this but….
A cacophonous impact cracked through the cave. The demon staggered. Another followed, this time exploding in contact with the demon. With a shriek, its centipede arm fell into the lava.
Pyromancy. Who in this age could wield pyromancy that powerful? Were the Witches of Izalith still alive and cleaning out their lawn of demons?
An armored figure emerged from the glare of the lava. It was Din.
The demon growled, somehow still standing. Din charged with their sword heroically raised and pyromancy flame ignited. With their usual steadiness and prowess, the demon was destroyed.
How did they maintain such poise? They never stopped, were never defeated. Was it fate? Was some hidden god guarding them? It almost didn’t seem fair.
“Solaire!” Din had found him embarrassingly defenseless. “You alright?”
It was not that he did not welcome being saved sometimes, especially by Din, but…. He simply could not straighten out his thoughts on the situation. Jealousy should be below him.
The rush of the battle suddenly fled his body. He slumped with a sigh.
“My leg.”
Din nodded and held out a hand. Solaire sheathed his sword and accepted their aid.
They hobbled together out of the lava field. A bonfire waited for them just beyond the tunnel from the field. Din set him down against the stone wall. Estus flasks filled, they rested shoulder to shoulder.
Why? What was wrong with him? If he just knew why he still could not find his sun, he could change or do something different or pray more or something.
His last resort was this awful place, Izalith, the fallen home of demons. He could catch glimpses of the splendor the city once held: intricate stonework, appealing arches, and a fantastic use of the natural underground environment. It was not the location itself that vexed him. It was what Izalith had produced. The demons, despite most wanting to beat him to death, showed much more sophistication than he had previously believed. They even made their own weapons. However, he had been taught that the products of the Witches, pyromancy and demons, were unsavory, even blasphemous. He knew better now, of course, but would a sun, a gift from the lord of lightning, be found here of all places, in a home of something so unlike his miracles?
“I’m glad I bumped into you again.” Din broke their silence with a friendly nudge. “Both for your sake and mine. This place is a nightmare, huh?”
Of course Din had been victorious. They took on the whole of Izalith by themself with time to spare for him. They were brave, unyielding, and by now, unimaginably powerful. They were the ideal choice for Lord Gwyn’s successor.
The thought made Solaire feel rotten inside.
How did Din do this? They were not the most optimistic person, at least not outwardly. Were they relying entirely on their strength in combat? Was it easy for them?
“How do you feel?” Solaire murmured. “About… all this.”
Din’s expression quickly darkened. They nodded in an odd sort of way. “Not good. But it has to be done.”
“What do you mean?”
They chewed their lip, then opened and closed their mouth a few times before speaking. “Nobody’s seen Gwyn in a while. That’s what Gwynevere said, and nobody in Lordran I’ve met has seen him. I just… what does ‘inherit the fire’ even mean?” They sighed. “I’m still going to do it, but it doesn’t mean I like it.”
Din doubted, too, though they doubted the quest givers rather than the quest. They had hardly a shred of faith in the gods, and yet the gods seemed to look after the Chosen Undead as if they were a saint.
Was the Firstborn watching him now? Did he see his devotee struggle? Did he care enough to help?
Din stood suddenly, fast enough Solaire nearly fell sideways when he had nothing to lean on.
“Alright, let’s go. Your leg’s better now?” They extended their hand and hauled Solaire to his feet without waiting for an answer. Luckily, he had no problem standing.
“We’ve been in this hell hole for long enough. I think I know a way out.” They pushed him along a bit to get him moving, then took the lead with their sword and shield raised.
They agonizingly navigated a field of lava and roots. Several times, Solaire fell behind and Din waited for him to catch up.
Din was right: Izalith was a hell hole. The city proper, once they reached it, was vacant and charred. The crumbling stone dome that formed the roof of the cavern felt like a false, oppressive sky. The lava was so different from the light of the sun, emanating a stifling heat. Besides the obvious dangers of demons and burning death, the unceasing discomfort of the blinding lava and sweltering heat added insult to fiery injury.
Eventually, the road out presented itself: a long covered walkway leading away from the center of the city and disappearing into the decaying tunnels. When the light of the lava faded, Din lit the way with their pyromancy flame.
Solaire’s chest ached. Maybe it was impending heartbreak. Maybe it was his darksign warning him of hollowing.
He didn’t want to hollow. Dying sounded better. But he didn’t really want to die, either. He wanted to find his sun and then adventure with Din for as long as their prophecy allowed it. And then… what? The future held nothing for the undead. Even if he did succeed in his quest, would it matter?
Din left his side once, to cut down strange, multi-limbed creatures hopping about the tunnel. Solaire hardly noticed, until….
It began softly. A faint glow, like the dawn. It caught his eye and his heart, drawing him nearer to the patch of roots it was hiding behind. This was different from the damned lava outside, growing into clear, crisp sunlight. Was this it? Was this his sun? In the darkest, most soul-testing depths of the world, had he finally found it?
His sun was suddenly extinguished by the blade of the Chosen Undead. He could not hold back a small, pathetic noise.
“Gross things,” Din muttered. “Makes my brain feel weird.”
“What did you do?” he choked.
“I… killed one of those bug things?” They lifted their sword to reveal the dripping carcass.
And it was. Just one of the bug things. Not his sun. Just demon spawn.
Solaire sank to his knees. He could not bear it anymore. Finding his sun was the reason he became undead, why he had to leave his home. His god would not let him suffer such a fate without reason, would he? Would not be left without purpose? Would not be left to hollow like everyone he’d met here?
Din followed him down. “Solaire, what– Look at me!” They pulled off their helmet and lifted his head to look him in the eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“I still haven’t found it…. Did it ever exist?” For the first time since his arrival in Lordran, genuine despair crept into his bones. It felt like lead, like his soul pulled too much to even lift his gaze.
“I’m sure it does exist, why else would you be looking for it? There’s still plenty of places left to look. Have you been to the Darkroot Basin yet?”
Solaire nodded. He could not see Din’s face anymore as tears clouded his vision. “Izalith is the last place for me to look. But it’s not here….”
“Well, of course you’re not going to find a sun underground!” Din growled. “What even made you think that in the first place? We need to get out of here before we roast. When we get back to the nice, cool surface, I’ll help you look for your sun, but first we need to get out of here.”
They stood and held out a hand for him. Solaire remained on the ground.
“No, you can… go. I’m afraid I’m done.”
“No, you’re not!” Din cried. “You promised me you wouldn’t leave me while your time was aligned with mine, and you can’t break promises like that.” They sighed, and began to sound almost desperate. “If you tell me what your sun looks like it would be easier for me to help.”
Solaire sighed. “I don’t know.”
“What?”
“I don’t know what it is.” He hated admitting it. He knew nothing of what he was searching for. He had assumed he would know it when he found it, and the divine signs had been clear in their message. He believed his faith alone would sustain him, but he was wrong. He really was the fool everyone took him for.
“You–” Din paced in a circle, then knelt again. “There’s one place left you haven’t been. I’ll get that slug to let you come with me. But you need to get up.” Their voice became barely a whisper. “Please.”
Solaire finally found it in himself to look up. Din’s face was a breath away from his, their eyes blazing. They gripped his shoulders hard enough that he could feel their fingers through his armor.
“I don’t know if I think you can find a sun, but weirder shit’s been happening. I’m giving you another chance. Please come back with me. You mean too much to me to just leave you. I want to give you the same hope you gave me. You’re my friend. We can finish this together.”
He should feel more than what he did. Everything was numb, only a distant holy warmth of companionship and of the familiarity of an invitation to cooperation. He should have felt it, the calling of a Warrior of Sunlight. But what did that mean now?
What he did feel…. He had made a promise. To a dear friend. It was not his sacred oaths that called him now. Sunless and forsaken, on the verge of hollowing, he retained his affection for Din, something that would have kindled into a love with time. That still had value.
“…I will follow you.”
The tension crackling across Din broke. They pulled Solaire close and pressed their cheek to his. Their tears ran together with their sweat as the sweltering cave faded away for just a moment.
~~~
Firelink Shrine had a warm, silent welcome waiting for them as usual. After a grueling ascent from the Demon Ruins, the fresh breeze and soft sunlight was a relief, Solaire could not deny that.
But despite its gentle beauty, an undeniable air of loneliness hovered over the shrine like a mist. The nooks of the ruined halls were bare. The bonfire dais supported nothing but its own coiled sword. Under a tree sat only an axe and a prism stone. The firekeeper, the poor girl, was statuesque.
The only life here was the ominous giant crow and whatever the other thing was.
A foul stench strong enough to pull Solaire the smallest bit from his daze emanated from between the creature’s ever-clacking teeth. His name was Kingseeker Frampt, according to Din, and he would be taking them to the Kiln of the First Flame.
“Yes, I need him! What if there’s weird shit in the kiln? I’ll need help to get there! And don’t you want me to get there? So the sun doesn’t go out?” Frampt had to be convinced to let the Chosen Undead bring a plus-one into the Kiln.
The ordeal itself would be considered an honor. Accompanying the Chosen Undead was a noble task; accompanying a friend to carry out a task was perhaps even more so. And to visit the origin of life, the birthplace of the sun…. He felt as if he should not bear witness or such a sacred place.
He truly should not. Whatever his quest for a sun was in actuality—a failed quest, a fool’s errand, a pure delusion—he was a lesser warrior for it. But Din wanted him here. So here he would be.
Eventually, Frampt relented. Din beckoned Solaire.
“Stay with me,” they whispered.
He took one last look at the clear blue sky before being engulfed by the creature’s mouth.
~~~
The Chosen Undead did not try to hold back their gagging coughs after Frampt dropped them into the hole, and in fact they may have played it up a bit out of spite.
That thing was rancid, and they hated him, and what they had to do, and everything else in Lordran, and they were going to let him know.
The door opened, leading to the Kiln. Din took Solaire’s hand and pulled him along the foggy not-really-stairs.
Solaire. The only one left. And not even he would make it out of this.
It was this or go hollow. Disappear into some metaphysical time place or lose your you-ness. The choice was clear but painful.
They didn’t want to bring him there. They wanted him to be sort of alive and free, bright and beautiful, like how he’d looked at the Sunlight Altar.
But that wasn’t even possible anymore. He’d lost his hope and his self would go next and then he wouldn’t be Solaire anymore. And maybe leading him into the weirdest place either of them had seen wasn’t the best idea, but Din couldn’t just leave him. So was dying together better?
Besides Solaire… Din was rather looking forward to disappearing. They had a whole life they’d already lost. Dying as yourself was a rare thing here, and they didn’t know how much self they had left.
Suddenly, they realized they missed someone. Who was a mystery. There was only a gap where that person used to be. Their pyromancy teacher? Solaire, before he was even gone? Or someone from home?
They unconsciously rubbed their hands together. The degraded skin chafed up to the elbows under their gauntlets. They’d hollow soon if they didn’t do something.
Not hollowing sounded good but they still hated it. That they had to. That it was what the gods wanted. That it was the only good option, for themself and the one they missed back where sunlight still mattered.
Under their feet, the stairs turned to ash. The two knights found themselves in the Kiln of the First Flame. Ash, crumbled pillars, and more ash covered the land between them and the hollow tower in the distance, which was probably their destination as the only notable thing here.
They continued cautiously. The ground shifted as they tread ever forward. Black Knights stared at them from umbral hills. Only one tried to attack and died quickly after.
The two warriors finally reached the tower. In the center was the miserable First Flame. And Gwyn.
~~~
The only person their massive opponent could have been was Lord Gwyn. To Solaire’s surprise, he looked almost exactly like his statues in Anor Londo: tall, bearded, spired crown, the perfect image of a fatherly lord.
Except… he looked hollow. His skin was dried and clung to his eye sockets and cheekbones. He was disintegrating; ash flaked from his skin and armor.
Even the gods were falling apart.
The battle was difficult, to say the least. Lord Gwyn was a fast and ruthless opponent even in his current state. Din matched his speed, though even they recoiled from Lord Gwyn’s mighty blows. Solaire found himself mostly behaving as a strategic distraction.
The Great Lord fell as the other lords had: at the blade of the Chosen Undead. With final thrust into the collar of his armor, he became nothing more than an addition to the inert ash of the Kiln.
Solaire stood panting beside Din, who had removed their helmet and was wiping sweat from their face with their scarf. Their final enemy was defeated and the prophecy was fulfilled. The Chosen Undead could save the world, and Solaire… helped. He should be grateful for a role in something so important. And Din would be kindling, the replacement for Lord Gwyn. Which was good. For the world.
Din placed a hand on Solaire’s shoulder and tugged him into a ferocious hug.
“Thank you,” they murmured. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
Solaire buried his face in the crook of their neck. “I can say the same. If it weren’t for your help, I’d be raving mad down in Izalith. I—” He suddenly choked on his words. “I wish we—”
“I know. I know. Me too.” They backed away for a split second, and Solaire thought that was it. Then they returned with double the affectionate ferocity. “Just the wrong time.”
“We fought together. I don’t think it was the worst time.”
Din gave Solaire one last soul-crushing squeeze. Then they faced the First Flame and fulfilled their prophecy.
They reached out to the embers. Tiny flames stretched upward, up the coiled sword, licking Din’s hand. They stared into the fire as it consumed them, head raised in acceptance. They shone, bright, glowing, incandescent, a sun in the shadowy Kiln.
A sun.
The idea burst into Solaire’s mind like a streak of lightning. Was this it? Was the First Flame what he was meant to find? It was the sun, wasn’t it. The source of life and all souls and the fuel for the world. This was his goal, this was his sun. He was the sun.
In a burst of emotion too messy to comprehend—hope, joy, apprehension, anger, relief—Solaire lurched toward the growing inferno.
An ending, a true ending to his adventure. Completion. Companionship. Purpose.
He planted himself next to his friend and held out a hand to the Flame. Din met his gaze, nearly blank but for a gentle understanding in their eyes. He beamed back at them as they burned together.
Searing ecstasy burned in every vein as Solaire’s vision filled with the light of a new dawn.