ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ

Between the fire and dark, how could he choose when he wanted neither, instead he decided to create an alternate path – a newfound history that would lead to events that could have already occurred before.

|––Dark Souls––|

The Soul of Cinder has been defeated. The Ashen One, a flickering ember that became emboldened through the monsters he's slain, fellow Embers of Ash he's fought and banished, and Gods he's usurped. But then, he was still nameless – he was still just a fading Ash.

Standing over the barren plains, he was surrounded by countless steels of shields and swords, great swords and spears all alike thrust into the blackened ground. The scene all around told the simple story of the tragedy of the thousands who fell, and the blackening skies contributed to the darkening atmosphere. There were so many weapons, each belonging to Champions, Cursed Undead, and peripherally fellow Unkindled who were all fell in the pursuit to rekindle the fire.

To rekindle the fire…

The Ashen One was standing still, idle and cold as he simply watched the fire be consumed by the dark. The sun and its light – the fire; fade.

To rekindle the fire…

The Champion of Ash noticed a beaconing light, ever so slowly and tired he turned his head towards it, the battered helmet he wore was damaged beyond repair as all the armor he donned was like made of dust as it all began to disintegrate. The effect on the armor was slow in its decay, but so was the vessel his soul took refuge. With each limping step towards the glowing summoning, he was losing control over his legs, the armor's weight suddenly becoming unbearable and heavy. Yet, like the accursed undead he was, as he was an ashen one, he couldn't since his waking felt anything – even the cold blizzard, the fire's warmth, but most noticeably: pain.

Without the ability to experience such sensation, and perhaps emotions as well, he fell on both knees as he began to crawl. In the rare moments where he thought of the world was in as he recalled what he's seen and fought all around. Maybe…

Just like how he couldn't remember what life was like, what he was as a person before he became 'this' – maybe just like him; the world didn't matter.

To rekindle the fire…

He grunts not out of struggle to reach the beaming light, instead he grunts as he forces himself to remember what life was like, what he was as a person before he became 'this' – there was once purpose; there had always been a reason.

Yet, there was nothing. He couldn't, and he can't. At this realization, like his eyes have finally been opened for the first time throughout his journey – this was also the first time he felt utterly hopeless.

Despair began to eat him as he still crawled to the glimmering light. He was becoming like those who he has encountered, accursed undead or unkindles that were going mad due to the existential crisis they faced. Perhaps that was how their mind was shattered – by simply asking what was the purpose of it all.

Damaged gauntlets laid on the soothing sign as he summons whoever it was.

The Ember of Ash was drifting away ever so peacefully, until warm hands grabbed his own and the warmth that was within those burned palms hold tightly to the Unkindle's. Those hands, how burnt they may appear, those were soothing hands that have helped him become stronger – The Fire Keeper is and was a friend and companion along the way.

"Ashen One, you are nearly there. Hold on to my hands and rise."

He looks through his helmet and looked up to meet the Fire Keeper's face, fairest of white was her skin as was her hair, and similarly looking into where her eyes would be – covered by a crown of the sort that hid her absent eyes.

Her absent eyes…

The Unkindled must have forgotten to present the Fire Keeper the eyes he has found, back in that darkened replica of the shrine. It had been so dark it sent shivers in his bones the longer he was in that world – a world without light, only darkness. It emitted an uneasy feeling. In the short time he had been in there, it provoked a brief conflict in his overall quest and duty. It led him to think and ponder for long and hard.

To rekindle the fire. The cycle would just continue. The nightmare continues.

To abandon his duty, to abandon the fire. The nightmare continues.

There was no relief to the nightmare that persist.

Unless…

He created an alternate ending. A path that would at least soothe the nightmare, even if just enough for comfort. Instead of searching to end it all. How about at least on making it bearable. Just a little bit better, and not make it overly worse than it is.

Quietly, as a man of few words, he reached within his satchel and retrieved the pair of eyes he has kept and placed them on the maiden's soft delicate hands. The sudden but expected stiffness could be both felt and seen as the Fire Keeper figured what it was. She was silent for a moment, before she began.

"…Ashen one, are these… Are these eyes? How gracious of thee, ashen one. The very things we Fire Keepers have been missing."

There was a hint of sadness and grief as she dwelled on it. Maybe she recalled the time when she once could see before she took on the duty and the role of Fire Keeper. Yet again, she took a brief pause as she took the liberty to process what this meant – what the Ashen One was indicating on performing. With a given, she started to explain.

"Ashen one, my thanks for the eyes thou'st given. But Fire Keepers are not meant to have eyes. It is forbidden. These will reveal, through a sliver of light, frightful images of betrayal. A world without fire."

The end of her speech nearly made her choke at the prospect, and the idea of a world without fire made her voice tremble. Still, she was a companion of him, and so tends to him – as was what she had mentioned since their first introduction.

"Ashen one, is this truly thy wish?"

The Unkindled said nothing, and she pressed no further, only doing what was expected by the turn of events. What a twist. A Fire Keeper, a servant to the Flame, would be the hands to actually finish it.

"Of course. I serve thee, and will do as thou bid'st. This will be our private affair. No one else may know of this, and I will blindly tend to the flame. Until the very flame understands of thy grand betrayal."

Assisting in what she could, the Fire Keeper helped the Ashen One rise to his feet, taking the initiative to wrap the Unkindled's arm around her as she pushed against his weight to keep him standing as they limped towards the bonfire.

In their slow walk, the cold breeze that struck them as it howls in its passing, the Fire Keeper spoke up to talk with the Champion of Ash – turning her head as she looked up to him, as though she has regained her sight although she had not.

The only thing those eyes would do – was to see what was to come. Not to regain sight.

"Ashen one, forgive me if this soundeth strange. The eyes show a world without fire, a vast stretch of darkness. But 'tis different to what is seen when stripped of vision."

The anointed Champion listened intently to what she has seen, as a glimmer of hope spurt within him as he held out – to hope. The hope of an alternative, a change, a difference.

"In the far distance, I sense the presence of tiny flames. Like precious embers, left to us by past Lords, linkers of the fire. Could this be what draws me to this strangely enticing darkness?"

Without a doubt, the Ember of Ash could say the same, both that are bound by duty to the flame, share the same attraction to the darkness. But was it truly darkness, when flames despite how small were still ever present?

The Ashen one could not be fit to address such things, despite being the bringer of that time where the world continues without the flame. Despite…

Despite being recognized by the Noble Lords, who surrendered their fires to the True Heir.

And. As well as granting death to the Old Gods of Lordran, deliverers of the First Flame.

Finally, they came to a stop by the bonfire on which the Soul of Cinder rested, and the flame goes without its guard. In this time, without the hints of interruption, both servants to the flame simply dwell on the fire's weakening strength. The Fire fades. It was as obvious as the Unkindled watches, and obvious as the Fire Keeper senses the flame.

Rekindling the Fire – could be done no more to prolong its era. It was dying. It always has since the Lord of Light; Gwyn, became the first sacrifice to feed the Flame.

The Fire feeds, and it takes and it takes. Until there is nothing left but hollow dust. Even it will become and turn to its origin. Into nothing, from whence it began.

Without further more moments to spare, the Fire Keeper gently left the Ashen one to his own as he stood behind, all as he watched to witness his and her Grand Betrayal becoming unravel with no other audience other than themselves. The Fire Keeper took small yet unwavering steps, displaying her commitment to the Ashen one and his choice, as well as her own volition to being an accomplice to this traitorous action against the Old Gods and their bound duty.

Bound duty. That was right, the Lord Ludleth of Courland mentioned it once. "Prisoners, both, kept to link the fire." The Ashen one, and the Fire Keeper were prisoners, not bound but chained to such so-called duty.

The Fire began to drain, and the light fades. The Fire Keeper has knelt and cradled the First Flame within her burnt hands. The light has gone, and darkness surrounds them. Still, the Fire Keeper remained kneeling as she observed the First Flame. It has carried the light for over thousands of years, it has brought light for so long, and now in the palm of her hands – the First Flame was drained to near nothing.

"The First Flame quickly fades.

Darkness will shortly settle."

A long silence embraced them both. Until she began again.

"But one day, tiny flames will dance across the darkness.

Like embers, linked by lords past."

Then again, silence as both dwell on their Grand Betrayal as darkness surrounds them.

"Ashen one, hearest thou my voice, still?"