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Chapter Text

"Wait. There's something else I want to tell you."

Oscar tried to reach one of his arms towards the other Undead in a desperate attempt to catch their attention.

Despite his efforts, his arm remained anchored to his side. The weight of his sword and shield, usually so natural and easy to handle, had become too heavy for him to move, let alone lift.

His movements passed unseen and his voice remained unheard. All Oscar could do was to lie still on the pile of rubble under him and watch how the Undead abandoned the cell.

They didn't give Oscar even something of a second glance over their shoulder.

A second later, they were gone, onward to their own personal adventure, one where Oscar no longer had a role to play.

A sad smile appeared on Oscar's lips from behind his helmet.

Was it childish of him to take offense at the coldness the other Undead had shown to him?

Why should they care about him?

Why should Oscar mean anything to them?

Oscar had freed them from their eternal confinement, but there had been no comraderie or sympathy behind the act. Oscar had simply done so out of duty to himself and to the prophecy he and his family believed to be true.

Not once had Oscar stopped to consider the emotions or interests of the other Undead.

Not once had he felt guilty for burdening them with such a dreadful fate.

A fate that, no matter how horrible and cruel, Oscar had always hoped would be his in the end.

He had freed as many Undead as possible as some sort of failsafe in case he failed his mission and his journey was cut short. It had been a tactic, a cunning and sensible strategy born from the mind of an elite knight of Astora, and yet, Oscar had never fathomed that such possibility would ever become his reality.

I am the chosen Undead. Me, and no one else. This was my fate... at least, that's what I have always believed, but now, look at me. Hollowing just a few days after I embarked on my journey as an Undead. Defeated after my first encounter with a powerful enemy. Crushed before my quest could truly begin. Dying and hollowing alone in this pit's very bottom. Wasted, lost, without a purpose.

He laughed under his breath. A sharp pain emerged from the center of his chest.

Fateless.

The Hollowing process had started. He could feel it spreading  from his heart to the rest of his body like a blight.

Oscar clenched his jaw, trying to contain an upcoming scream, but he soon discovered the effort was unnecessary.

He didn't have the strength necessary to scream, no matter how much his body demanded it. His pain and feelings, whether he wanted or not, would have to remain trapped within himself.

Why? What did I ever do to deserve this fate?

Eventually, the pain ceased, or perhaps it remained, and his body had simply become numb to it.

Oscar could only wonder.

After a small moment of pause that brought him little rest, his scattered thoughts wandered back to the other Undead he had saved.

A dark feeling sprouted from his rotting heart.

Ungrateful bastard.

Oscar's teeth chattered. The hatred he felt towards the other Undead was as sudden as it was warm and comforting, almost like the flame of a bonfire.

Then, he heard it.

The distant echoes of clashing metal and crumbling stone mixed with the grotesque roars of a demon, the same beast that had reduced Oscar to his pathetic current state.

He laughed again. The aftertaste of his jealousy was not bitter, but sweet and tasty.

That demon will kill you. You will die and go hollow, you useless fool. You are not the Chosen One; freeing you was a waste of my time. You are a failure... and knowing your journey will be as short as mine fills my soul with nothing but joy. I'm glad you failed, I'm glad that creature will destroy you; and if he doesn't, then I will.

The battle carried on.

Before he knew it, Oscar found himself cheering for the demon. If that monstrosity succeeded in killing the other Undead, then he would forgive the creature for what it had done to him.

He may even feel eternal gratitude towards it.

Yes... if the demon fails to kill you, then I'll do it myself. Once I go Hollow, I'll hunt you down, I promise! Damned thief of my fate, you could never be the Chosen One. The Chosen One is me... ME! And if I can't be it, then no one else can! Let this world rot in everlasting darkness! I don't care! I—

His thoughts met a sudden end when the scream of the Undead resonated in his ears in the form of an agonizing cry.

It cleansed Oscar's heart and thoughts from the whirlwind of bleak emotions that had plagued him.

The hatred, the jealousy, the resentment... all of them disappeared and were replaced by a paralyzing sense of lucidity.

The evil smirk painted on his mouth shattered. Oscar cracked his lips open in disbelief.

"No." Oscar looked up to the hole in the roof where fading rays of light infiltrated the room and showered his entire body. "No, this cannot be. You can't be dead."

He waited in despair for the voice of the other Undead to reach him again, but everything was silent. Even the monster had gone quiet as well.

Had they killed each other in battle?

Oscar refused the possibility, but the unbreakable silence soon proved his hopes wrong.

"Please." Oscar sharpened his hearing, but he caught only the rythmic sound of droplets of water falling from the roof and the soft blow of the wind racing through the asylum's corridors. Of the other Undead there was no sign. "Don't do this to me."

He waited.

No sound ever came to him.

"This isn't true." Oscar muttered. Grief formed a painful lump in his throat and tears escaped from his eyes. "You said you would carry on my quest in my name. I gave you my last Estus Flask as sign of my faith in you. You promised me you would get out of this infernal place and fulfill the prophecy. Dying and Hollowing here is my fate, not yours, you hear me? This is not your fate!"

A coughing fit punished Oscar. A stream of blood surging from the corner of his mouth mixed with the tears dropping from his chin.

"I..."

For a moment, his Hollowing stopped. It was perhaps nothing more than a delusion, but to Oscar, it felt real.

Amidst his grief for the untimely demise of the other Undead, guilt found its place in his heart and forced Oscar to remember how unjust and cruel he had been; of how he had no right to cry the person he had envied to the point where he had wished for their death.

That wasn't me, it was the Hollowing. I never would have betrayed them if it wasn't for this curse spreading over my body. I would have never opposed them because of some petty feeling like envy. That's not the kind of man I —

He couldn't finish.

It wasn't that he had no energy or sanity left in his mind to do so.

The reason for his self-censuring was simpler.

It didn't matter if he tried to deny it, Oscar knew the truth.

He was lying.

That's not true. It was not the Hollowing which put those thoughts in my head.

His sword and shield escaped his hands.

It simply set them free. My true self...the jealous, resentful, traitorous man I am deep down. The man I become when my conviction is put to the test. The man that could have succumbed to darkness and opposed you in a blind fit of envy had we both made it out of this place, my friend.

Oscar rested his head against his bed of cold stone.

The Hollowing reassumed its work on his body. Oscar didn't fight against it.

He closed his eyes once more, knowing that the next time he would open them, he would be merely an empty shell corrupted by despair and driven by madness.

I see it now. A man like me could never have been the Chosen One, but perhaps, a person like you could have. You listened to my request, you accepted the burden of my fate, you gave me hope when I had none.

What had Oscar said to the Undead back then?

If he remembered correctly, he had thanked them for allowing him to die with hope in his heart.

"Nothing but a lie." Oscar said, using the last of the air remaining inside his lungs.

I failed. Gwyn's fire will not be linked again. My quest was nothing but a fool's errand. Nothing I did ever mattered; it was all in vain.

The cold embrace of the Hollowing dug its nails on his back and pierced his skin. It was only a matter of minutes before Oscar lost himself to it.

Were failure and oblivion my fate all along? Were they your fate too, my friend?

Madness started to erase every trace of his old self to give place to the new being Oscar was destined to become.

Oscar made one futile attempt to keep his ideas coherent, but they slipped through his fingers like sand.

The only thing that he could hang on to was the memory of the other Undead's back as they had exited the cell.

Though the image had formerly caused him pain, now it brought him bittersweet comfort.

Oh, that's right. There was something else I wanted to tell you, but you left before I could do so. Something tells me you had a tendency to leave others talking to themselves.

Oscar's lips moved. Meeting his cursed fate with a smile felt like a victory, no matter how insignificant or small.

My name. Oscar of Astora. I wanted you to remember me as something more than a mere Elite Knight, but our fates would not have it so. That's fine, I'm not worthy of being remembered at all, but you were, Chosen Undead. I wish...I knew... your name...

Oscar heard a fainting sound.

He ignored it.

It couldn't be real.

And even if it was, it meant nothing to him.

He was Hollow, and so was the other Undead.

That was their reality.

Everything else were simply the insane delusions of a lost soul.

A soul that had once gone by the name of Oscar.

I wish...you hadn't met...

A soul that had once aspired to greatness.

...the same fate as me.

A soul that now was hollow.

Chapter Text

Oscar woke up.

Being Hollow felt no different than being alive.

His thoughts, his emotions, even the pain of his broken body., everything remained the same.

He stood still and silent in disbelief.

Was that all there was to Hollowing?

Was that really the state of existence every Undead feared?

Such an unfounded and ridiculous superstition.

Disappointment simmered inside him together with another emotion.

Betrayal.

Oscar was no stranger to it. In the forsaken land of the Undead, no one was. It was a hard lesson that every Undead had to experience sooner or later. It came in many forms.

Sometimes, betrayal came in the form of comrades that backstabbed their friends the moment they no longer were of any use to them.

Other times, betrayal manifested as strangers that lured innocent fools to their deaths with honeyed and playful words that concealed their dark intentions.

Above all, betrayal found its way through the uncaring attitude of the gods towards their people, for it was not uncommon to see the most jolly of believers or the most faithful of followers lose themselves to despair when they realized their efforts would never amount to anything and their prayers would always go unanswered.

In all these shapes, Oscar knew betrayal, but he had never felt as betrayed by anything or anyone than by his own Hollowing.

Why had it not driven him to madness?

Why had it not forced him to forget all about himself and succumb to his lowest instincts?

Why was he still aware of his reality?

His gloved fingers scratched the rocky ground.

As scared and regretful as he had been as his Hollowing overcame him, deep down, Oscar had also wished that his new existence would free him from all his earthly burdens.

His failures, his regrets, his fate, none of it would matter once he had gone Hollow. It wouldn't be because Oscar would have come to terms with the mistakes of his previous life.

No, overcoming defeat and moving on was a skill exclusive to the living and a few Undead, those whose wills were adamant enough to keep going no matter how many times they died.

Hollows had a different fate.

Through the eyes of a broken man, such fate was superior to the endless fighting that plagued those who never surrendered.

Madness, and the peace that came with it, even if it was just a pale imitation of the real thing.

Oscar had always considered those ideas to be little more than the senseless blabber of crestfallen warriors and sullen commoners, but when he found himself at the brink of his final death after the loss of the fate he had coveted all his life, he had begun to understand the meaning and wisdom behind those words.

After all, a mad being without a purpose or the sanity necessary to care about its situation was also exempt from all types of suffering.

Hollows did not care about the futility of their existence or the uselessness of their actions; they merely existed as the brainless creatures they had been reduced to.

The hate and despair that guided them couldn't hurt them, not when they were no longer able to understand where those sentiments came from or what they meant to them.

They couldn't ponder endlessly on those feelings as the living and the Undead did.

To Hollows, they were the fuel that drove them to attack, destroy, harm and kill, nothing else.

It was a pathetic existence, but also a painless one. If Oscar thought about it, he could see a grotesque beauty in its simplicity.

It was a lot more than what Oscar could say about the life and fate of any Undead, and especially his own.

"Is this my true fate?" Oscar asked. His voice took him aback; it once had been soft and soothing, now, it was so guttural and hoarse than it was more akin to the growl of an animal.

It repulsed him, and made him wonder how dreadful his appearance was.

Not that it matters now. Perhaps this new appearance is a blessing. The next foolish knight that ventures into this place will not hesitate to kill me the moment he sees me. I wouldn't stop him. Who knows? I think he would be doing me a favor.

An answer he hadn't expected came to him.

Oscar tensed his entire body the moment he heard the screech of rusty metal coming from his left side.

His faced turned by instinct towards it. The touch of soil on his cheek and the clear sight of burning fire made Oscar realize his face was naked.

My helmet.

How he had lost it was a question Oscar couldn't answer. As hazy as his memories before his Hollowing were, he could swear on his honor that he had died with his face covered.

Before he could continue to ponder about his missing piece of armor, Oscar became more intrigued about the bonfire that slowly continued to heal his damaged body.

He had no memory of lighting it. Oscar had been so immersed in trying to kickstart the prophecy that he had forgotten about the most basic precaution to survive in that doomed land.

A shameful mistake, one that would have earned him the scorn and ridicule of every other Undead.

No, it wasn't that I forgot.

Oscar thought, looking up to the roof in search of the rays of light piercing through the hole he had created after the demon had sent him flying with a single swing of its hammer.

He found only untouched stone covered with cobwebs and leaks of rotting water.

I thought lighting it would be unnecessary. I never imagined I would die and hollow here. My fate was to escape this place and become the Chosen One. Who else if not me, a skilled and brave elite knight of Astora, was worthy of the title? What a blind and prideful fool I was.

A shadowy silhouette hidden behind the other side of the fire stood up, its movements preceded again by the clanky whisper of its armor.

Oscar clenched his fists and tried to move, but his body, while slightly recovered, was still in no condition to fight or flee.

His heart thumped inside his chest as the Hollow approached him.

Or was it an Undead?

For all Oscar knew, it could be one of the many he had freed from their cells.

A bitter chuckle drowned inside his throat.

That would be a fitting fate for a loser such as me. A fate that repeats itself endlessly in a loop of failure and death. What a meaningless existence my life is, what a wasteful burden to bear. I despise my fate, but what does my hate matter? It's all over, and whatever existence I am forced to endure after this one, I'm sure it will be just as cursed. End my life then, fellow Hollow, and pray that I fade into oblivion for good.

Oscar closed his eyes just as the figure stopped next of him, looming over him and casting its shadow over his chest.

Silently, Oscar took a final breath and braced himself for the lethal blow, whether it came as a stab in the heart, a swing to his neck or a crushing blow to his skull.

He had resigned himself to his fate and had found numbness, if not peace.

For Hollows like him, fortune didn't get any kinder.

Oscar tried to find sanctuary in the happier memories of his life one last time.

His childhood, his family, his fellow knights, but they were all phantoms that disappeared when he tried to reach them.

The Hollowing had taken them away from him forever.

Am I not allowed even this small comfort?

The sound of the other's armor echoed through the cell, followed by the thump of its knees resting on the floor.

Why, gods?

Oscar flinched at the touch of a gloved hand on his forehead. He knew what would follow.

The other Hollow would pull his head back to expose his neck completely, and then, Oscar would feel the sharp bite of steel as his throat was slit open.

I know I failed, I know I am not a perfect man, perhaps not even a good one, but I always tried my best. I persevered, I lived as honorably as possible. I always knew the darkness would end and a new age of fire would come. My faith never wavered until now. Why, then? Lord Gwyn... how did I ever offend you? Why do you punish me with this cursed fate? Please, answer me. I beg of you.

"You're awake. It was about time."

Oscar's eyes opened against his will. He found a face of rotting flesh staring at him. The image was dreadful, but to Oscar, it felt godsent.

Sadly, his relief was short-lived.

"You." Oscar grabbed the Undead's wrist. "But... you died and went Hollow. The demon, it defeated you. It—"

"It's gone, and I'm still here." The other Undead answered, freeing their hand from Oscar's grasp. They searched inside a dirty bag tied to the hip of their recently acquired broken armor, probably a souvenir of a defeated Hollow, and took out an Estus Flask.

The same Oscar had given to them during what had supposedly been their final farewell.

"Drink."

"Why? Why are you still here?" Oscar said harshly. "The prophecy... it will not begin until you leave this place. Forget about me. Our fates are different, mine is to perish here, yours is to live and link the fire. You promised me, remember? Or does your word have no value at all?"

"Drink."

"Fool. You defeated the demon; you survived your first ordeal. You journey has just begun." His words came loaded with anger. "Don't you dare put everything at risk now."

Not for me, not me. I would never forgive myself if…

"You talk too much." With little gentleness, the other Undead put a hand behind Oscar's head and lifted it. They then put the Estus Flask so close to his mouth that Oscar could feel a few drops of the elixir soaking his lips. "Now drink."

Oscar mustered all the strength left in his broken body and slapped the Estus Flask away from his face with a violent swing of his arm.

It was a miracle the flask didn't escape the Undead and crashed against the floor.

Somehow, Oscar could see shock and offense form in the empty eyeholes of the Undead. Shame almost drove him to apologize, but he had no time for formalities.

Every second the Undead passed in his presence was an invitation for Oscar to kill them. He was now Hollow, he could lose control at any moment.

If he did, then everything both him and the Undead had accomplished so far would have been for nothing.

No, I won't let you do this to either of us.

Oscar straightened his back. His belly burned as if it was covered with red irons. The sea of blood that once had been his insides protested against his efforts and punished him for his sudden movements.

A warm surge of blood rushed up his throat. Oscar coughed it up messily after almost choking on it.

His arms trembled as his strength faltered. The Other Undead held Oscar with their free hand before his head could crash against the ground.

Then, they helped him into his knees and continued to aid Oscar as he, with both his hands shaking as they struggled to endure his weight, vomited what seemed to be a ceaseless stream of blood.

"Idiot. You should have drunk." The other Undead said to Oscar as they helped him rest his back against the cell's wall, as closely to the bonfire as possible. "You're too stupid to be a knight. Your homeland must have low standards."

"How dare you insult—" Oscar said in between gasps. Before he knew it, the Undead emptied half the Estus Flask inside his mouth and forced him to swallow.

The cure worked instantly. Oscar felt how the burning pain from his destroyed insides began to vanish, as did the sharp sting of his torn muscles and broken bones.

"It worked." The other Undead said with faint amusement. "Knights are so predictable. Here, drink the rest."

Oscar glared at the Undead, his lips tightly sealed. It was embarrassing enough he had fallen for a trick so cheap once.

He wouldn't allow it to happen again.

Realizing Oscar would not drink even a single drop more, the Undead sighed heavily and put the Estus Flask away in their bag.

They sat next to Oscar and looked at the fire. "Suit yourself. Let's wait for the bonfire to heal you then. It could take a while"

The Undead looked at Oscar, but the knight rejected the contact and moved his head in the opposite direction.

They spent a long while with only the sizzling sound of embers as their company. While the Undead seemed to be hypnotized by the dancing flames, Oscar kept his eyes fixed on the wall.

He didn't dare to look away from it. It was as if his whole world would crumble if he did.

"Your sword and your shield. They're over there, and so is your helmet." The Undead said.

Oscar didn't answer, nor he gave the Undead any signs of having heard them.

He noticed a forced friendliness in the Undead's tone. They were trying their best to initiate a casual conversation, perhaps in an attempt to ease the tension between them and Oscar.

Sadly for them, the result was the complete opposite, and Oscar's anger towards them continued to grow, though not as much as it grew against himself.

"Forgive me if I offended you by removing your helmet, but I had no choice. I had to make sure the Humanity I infused you with was stopping your Hollowing. It worked, but not totally."

A kick in the teeth wouldn't have been more effective. Oscar hid his eyes behind his hand.

I see, so you are the reason my Hollowing wasn't completed. You robbed me of my fate yet again...and what's worse, you wasted one precious Humanity in someone like me. You damned fool. Look at you, you should have used it on yourself.

"It's alright." The Undead said, resting their hand on Oscar's shoulder. "Half your face still looks hollow, and your voice is damaged, but you're still here, that's all that matters."

Oscar jerked his shoulder, forcing the Undead's hand off him.

"Your concern for me is meaningless." Oscar said, still refusing to look at the Undead in the face. "I neither need it nor appreciate it. Get out of here, I don't want to be in your presence any longer. It sickens me to know I have entrusted the fate of the world to a moron like you. Leave and never return."

"Sure, I'll leave. " The Undead replied. "And you're coming with me."

"I'm not. You have your fate, and I have mine."

A fate too important to let it go to waste because of me. Please.

"I know."

"So go now."

"No."

"Then I'll kill you."

With a brusque movement only enabled by the combined healing of the Estus Flask and the bonfire, Oscar faced the Undead and grabbed them by the neck with the same hand he had used to cover his eyes.

The Undead's rotting face showed no emotion as Oscar's fingers became warped around their neck. Seeing the Undead's face corrupted while his was healed, even if just partially, made Oscar's heart sink to his feet.

Look at you. You should have used that Humanity on yourself, not me. Had our roles been reversed, I...

Guilt stopped being a concept and became a physical burden so heavy that Oscar feared it would crush him until nothing but the dust of his bones remained.

He couldn't continue with his Hollow charade. Oscar's fingers slipped from the Undead's neck; his hand fell to the floor.

Oscar stared at it, not daring to look at the Undead's face any longer.

"Why?" Oscar didn't know how he kept his tears at bay, but he was grateful for it. He had already made a fool of himself too many times for a lifetime. "Why did you come back for me? I didn't ask you to save me."

"It's true. You didn't." The Undead nodded.

Oscar felt no trace of anger towards him from their part.

"Then why? Why you did it?" Oscar's voice trembled, making him sound like a demon.

"I could ask you the same about me."

Oscar laughed. It was the first heartfelt sound that came from his body in a long time, and yet, it felt cruel and condescending.

"Do you think I saved you? You think I freed you from your cell because I felt sorry for you?" Oscar said, directing a piercing glare to the Undead. "I care not about you at all. You were merely one of the many Undead I freed in case I failed. You were a failsafe, a plan B. You mean nothing to me as a person."

"I see. Still, you saved me. Now I'll return the favor to you, whether you want it or not."

"Are you listening to me? Or is your brain as rotten as your face and you can't understand my words?"

"Mock me if you want. Come," the Undead stood up. They offered their hand to Oscar, "let's get out of here. If you have the strength to argue, then you have the strength to walk. I'll help you."

"I hate you." Oscar hissed at them. "I wish you had gone Hollow after that demon killed you."

The Undead winced, their hand slightly retreating.

It was working. Oscar didn't wait for an answer. He knew he had to be relentless and inject as much venom as he could into his words

"That's all I could think about as I died after you left me behind to fight that monster. If you had Hollowed, then maybe my own Hollowing wouldn't have started in the first place. Somehow, I would have found a way to heal myself and leave this place so that I could be the Chosen One. It is not the injuries that demon inflicted on me which almost turned me Hollow, it was you. All of this is your fault. You robbed me of my fate, you left my heart devoid of hope, and for that, I hate you more than you can imagine, foul thief."

Oscar spat at their feet. The vulgar gesture came out more naturally than he intended, and he wondered how much he had faked it, if he had at all.

Do you see now? I'm not worth saving. Please, leave me. I don't want to move on anymore. I just want to disappear. That's my fate.

"I hate you too."

Oscar's heart went numb for a second. The Undead clenched the hand they had offered him.

"I never asked you to free me. I had already accepted my fate to remain forever trapped in that rotting cell until the end of time came. It was a meaningless life, but also uneventful... and so much better than the living hell that is the outside world; but then you came and changed everything. You set me on a path I didn't choose, and I hate you so much for it."

The Undead trembled from head to toe. Oscar kept quiet, bitting his tongue and trying to endure the guilt festering inside him.

"The Chosen One? The prophecy? The bells? Gwyn's fire? I wanted none of it. I had given up on this world. It is not worth living in it, and it's definitely not worth saving."

Oscar wish he could tear his ears off.

If the Undead noticed the despair they were inflicting on the fallen knight, they didn't care. They kept going, making Oscar believe they did so out of a twisted form of revenge against him.

"All I wanted was to remain here until I Hollowed... and I almost succeded." The Undead fixed the black holes they had for eyes on Oscar. "Had you arrived a second later, you would not have found an Undead capable of thought, but a crazed Hollow lusting for destruction. I was so close to fulfilling my true fate, but your appearance lighted a spark of hope in my heart. It was feeble, but somehow, it was all I needed to keep my Hollowing at bay, whether I wanted it or not. You saved me, and I hate you for it, just as much as you hate me for coming back for you."

"If you hate me so much for stopping your Hollowing, why did you—"

"Because we were wrong." The Undead replied. "This place is not our grave, knight. Dying and Hollowing is not our fate. For so many years, I convinced myself of the opposite, and yet, it took only your fleeting appearance to make those thoughts go away. I realized that maybe even a lowly Undead without memories or a past like me could still have a purpose, if I just dared to walk the path you had set for me. So yes, I hate you for setting me free on this world of misery I sought to escape, I hate you for proving my beliefs wrong, I hate you for robbing me of the fate I had chosen for myself… but my hate is nothing compared to how grateful I am to you for this new chance at life you gave me, even if that was not your intention and I mean nothing to you."

The Undead's voice broke. Before Oscar could say anything, they went to a corner.

They returned to Oscar's side with all of his equipment. The Undead carried his sword and shield on their back.

They knelt next to Oscar, and offered him his helmet, the only missing part of his armour.

Oscar couldn't accept it, not when all his energy was spent on trying to contain his tears.

He failed miserbly, just like he had done so many times before in his life.

"Please, elite knight, let me return the favour." The Undead said, gently setting the helmet on Oscar's head, maybe sensing the shame the knight's tears caused him. Then, they offered him their hand again. "You've done so much for me, more than you imagine. Let me get you out of this place, alright? It's the least this lowly Undead can do for you."

Oscar had always felt safe behind the privacy of his helmet. Now, the shelter it offered him didn't help him feel any less pathetic.

He lifted his hand, trembling, unsure of what he was doing. A thousand questions fluttered in his mind.

Was it right for him to be saved?

The prophecy spoke of only one Undead escaping... what would be the consequences if two did instead?

Who would be the Chosen One?

Him, or the other?

What would they have to do to prove themselves worthy?

What would Oscar be capable of?

Oscar knew the answer.

He knew what lengths he would go to make himself worthy of the title. If his aborted Hollowing had taken away precious memories from him, it had also granted Oscar something valuable in return: a truth about himself he would have never discovered otherwise.

No, he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't let himself turn into a green-eyed monster hungry for glory, no more than he already was.

It was settled.

Oscar would remain in the Asylum, and the Undead he had freed would—

"You sure like to take your time." The Undead said with a trace of friendly mockery. They grabbed Oscar's arm and drapped it around their shoulders. They secured him by getting a firm grasp on Oscar's wrist and holding him by the waist with their other hand. "Let's get you back on your feet. Are you ready?"

"I'm not coming with—"

"Here we go."

"Wait." Oscar didn't have time to prepare. He gave out a wheezing grunt of pain as his legs and damaged insides stung under the weight of his armor.

Though the Undead carried most of his weight on their shoulders, keeping himself on his feet was a harder task than Oscar had imagined.

He rested his free hand against the wall, breathing mouthfuls of the Asylum's musky air. They came together with the bubbling echo of the blood still trapped in his throat.

Oscar coughed it out, almost losing his balance each time he arched his stomach.

"I'm sorry, perhaps I was too brusque." The Undead said. "Are you alright?"

Oscar gave a last violent cough as an answer, causing a few drops of blood to escape through the slots of his helmet.

"Easy." The Undead said as Oscar struggled to catch his breath. They let go of his waist and hastily looked inside their bag. "Rubbish, a pebble, an arrow... here it is! No, wait, that's just another pebble. Damn, why is that flask so hard to find every time I need it?"

"Leave it, I'm fine." Oscar said in between gasps. "My injuries are not lethal anymore. Save the cure for later, I don't need it right now."

"Dont be stupid. We can always refill the flask as long as the bonfire—"

"I know, but everytime we do so, the enemies we both defeated so far may return." Oscar insisted strictly. "Let's not push our luck. We need to get out of here now."

´We´? Have I so easily accepted it? Am I so eager to get another chance at being the Chosen One that I would allow this Undead to save me? Even after I know what I would be capable of? I truly have no shame.

"Very well." The Undead said with little conviction. Just when Oscar felt he needed to instruct them further, the Undead returned their hand to his waist and helped him walk.

Their pace was slow and clumsy. Sweeps of pain traveled through Oscar's body with every step he took.

He tried to keep his grunts silent, but from time to time, one escaped him in the form of a drowned scream.

Each time, the Undead stopped, allowing Oscar as much time as he needed before they could continue. They also used those brief breaks to steady their hold on Oscar.

From behind his helmet, Oscar looked at his fellow Undead. His eyes, still red from the tears he had shed, became misty again at the sight of the other.

You are tired too. Your battle with that demon left you weak and you still haven't recovered. Do you think I don't notice? I can feel it in your steps, I can hear it in your breathing, I can smell it in your sweat... but still, here you are. Burdening yourself with a dead weight like me. Fate must have been in a jesting mood when it decided I would be entrusting the fate of this land to you, the most foolish Undead in all of Lordran. Unless I—

Again those instrusive dark thoughts. Oscar casted them away from his mind, but their mark remained.

"Listen to me." Oscar said, his knees trembling. "Please."

The Undead pulled his arm, relieving Oscar of as much of his weight as they could. A small smile appeared on the wrinkled corner of their mouth. "No. You talk too much. Save it for when we are out of this place. You can lecture me all you want then; or you can insult me too. You seem to be fond of it."

"I'll betray you."

The Undead's smile wavered. More than fear or shock, it was confusion which painted their corrupted face.

"I don't understand."

"If we both make an exodus from this place, either of us could be the Chosen One. The prophecy cannot be changed or challenged...in the end, one of us would have to die so that the other could fulfill their fate and link Gwyn's fire." Oscar spoke calmly, as if he was talking to a friend about the most trivial of matters, even if the digust he felt towards himself increased with every word. "I've wanted nothing more in my entire life than to have such purpose. I've trained, fought and suffered endless trials to become the knight I needed to be so I could be worthy of the title."

The Undead listened in silence. Oscar made a short pause, in hopes they would have something to say.

After receiving nothing, he continued.

"Just as I gave you another chance at life, if you save me now, you'll be giving me another chance to take back the fate I thought lost, and I will not hesitate to fight for it, no matter the cost."

The Undead remained quiet.

Say something. Leave me behind. Kill me. Make me go Hollow. Say something... do something! Please, your silence is more than I can bear.

"You're not saving your generous friend, you are freeing your envious rival. Your enemy."

"I see."

Always with the dry answers. Had Oscar been in better shape, he probably would have punched the Undead in the face.

Instead, he laughed without humor.

"Now you know."

"Indeed."

"What will you do?" Oscar asked them.

"The answer is obvious."

"I see." Oscar didn't blame them. He would have done the same. "Know that my heart is free of any resentment towards you. I wish you luck in your journey. Oh, before you go, there is something I wanted to tell you. "

My name.

"I'm—"

"You see? You talk too much." The Undead reassumed their march. Oscar couldn't stop them. "Like I told you, save it for later. We are close to the entrance now."

"But," Oscar tried to move his arm, but the Undead's grasp on his wrist was as strong as a shackle, "why?"

"Because you haven't betrayed me yet."

"But I will, I know it in my heart."

"And why are you so sure?"

"Because that's who I am. If we both survive, betraying you will be my fate."

"Fate." The Undead snorted. "If fate has proven to be anything today is that it is as fickle as a goddess' purity."

"But—"

"Enough." The Undead said firmly. "Maybe your fate is to betray me after all. Maybe I'll kill you first, maybe we'll both die and the prophecy will be lost forever. Don't misunderstand, I don't know tomorrow any better than you do, knight. I don't know what my ultimate fate is, but... I know that wasting my existance away in this place, feeling sorry for myself, hiding from the outside world like I did for so long is not it."

"So instead of fighting for the fate you would wish for yourself, you struggle to avoid the fate you dread."

"It seems that way."

"You are a fool. Then again," Oscar took a step foward. His helmet concealed a soft smile, "so am I."

The Undead nodded and continued to support Oscar.

Maybe I could do the same. If I can't be the Chosen One, maybe... I can try my best to become your ally and not your enemy. That's the fate I want for myself now. It's not much, but it's not nothing. That's good enough for me.

"Oscar. Oscar of Astora."

"What?"

Oscar turned his face towards the Undead.

"My name."

"Oh, I see. My name is..." The Undead's face darkened. They let go of Oscar's waist to open the Asylum's gates. "I don't remember."

"That's alright." Oscar replied, slightly regretting bringing up the subject. "I'm sorry if I caused you offense."

"You didn't. I have only myself to blame for the loss of my name." They kept on walking. They were almost at the edge of the cliff. "Thank you for sharing your name with me, knight… Oscar. I only wish I could do the same."

"Maybe I could call you Chosen Undead in the meanwhile. You know, to keep you motivated and focused on your potential fate."

The Undead laughed under their breath.

"Yes." The Undead smiled. "I think I'd like—"

They never got to finish.

A whistling arrow made sure to silence the other Undead for good when it pierced their throat from behind.

Oscar could only catch a brief glimpse of the rain of tendons and putrid blood that came sporuting from the Undead's wound before they crashed against the floor.

An explosion of pain emerged from his belly, but Oscar didn't feel it. His injuries were mere trivialities.

All that mattered to him now was the inert body lying next to him as a crimson puddle melted the snow underneath them.

"No!" Oscar reached his hand towards the Undead.

As furious as he was scared, Oscar rested his hands on the floor and looked over his shoulder.

Dozens of Hollows, armed to the teeth with bows, swords, axes and torches infested the Asylum walls.

He recognized most of them, not because he had met them in life.

They were the same many Undeads he had freed.

All of them have failed, all of them had Hollowed.

"How can this be?" Oscar muttered as a hoard of Hollows emerged from the Asylum's doors. One of them, their leader, held the bonfire's scorched sword in its hand as a trophy.

Oscar looked at the other Undead. He crawled to their side and held them in his arms.

Is this...

The herd of frenzied Hollows roared in unison before charging at them like a stampede.

Oscar didn't care.

In his mind, only one incomplete thought lingered.

...our fate?

Chapter Text

"Keep staring at the sky all you want; you'll never get a decent view of the sun in this place. We get no more than a few distant rays and their poor warmth."

"Have a little faith, friend. The sun always rises, no matter how long it takes."

The crestfallen warrior looked at the jolly knight. He had maintained the same ridiculous Y shaped posture for what felt like an eternity.

He let out a bitter chuckle. In another time, he might have found the knight's devotion amusing, inspiring even.

In another time, he may have shared the knight's optimism.

He would have allowed himself to believe that, if he persevered, things would change for the better, and perhaps, as impossible as it seemed, hope would prevail in the end, and the sun would indeed shine down on Firelink Shrine.

The thought embittered his mood.

Had he ever truly been as naïve and foolish as the sun praising knight?

His many deaths had tarnished his memories, but hidden deep within himself, the crestfallen warrior could see the fading shadow of his past self. He gazed at it and felt nothing but disgust and shame.

His acrid feelings transferred to the knight and transformed his annoyance towards him into disdain.

He wanted the knight gone.

The crestfallen warrior didn't care what became of the hopeful idiot, not as long as it meant he would disappear from his sight for good.

"If you are so eager to praise your beloved sun," the warrior spoke, dragging the words as he stared into the bonfire's flame, "I recommend you go somewhere else. The Undead Parish is a good choice, you may find an altar for you to praise to your heart's content... if you are brave or stupid enough to venture into that infected site in the first place."

And something tells me you are both.

The warrior snorted.

Just like I was so, so long ago. Countless deaths cured me of my idiocy; if you are lucky, the same will happen to you. Who knows? Perhaps by sending you into a path of failure, I'd be doing you a favor.

His words must have moved something inside the knight, for soon he dropped his arms to his sides and turned around. The crestfallen warrior could feel the weight of the knight's eyes on him.

"Oh dear, I must be truly annoying you if you want me gone so badly." The knight said without losing his friendly tone. "I am sorry you find me so irritating, but I assure you that there's no need to be so sour about my presence here, friend. If it is my praising which is offending you, all you had to do was say so. I know well not everyone is fond of it. If I died each time someone tells me how silly I look while praising the sun, I'd have gone Hollow ages ago."

The knight laughed. His voice carried some of the warmth of the living. It was a common trait of those whose transformation into Undead was still fresh.

The crestfallen warrior had heard it many times before. He wondered if he once had sounded the same,

You foolish neophyte.

The thought almost escaped the warrior's mouth. He held his tongue, and instead, he merely watched as the knight sat down on the ash-covered grass.

Even then, the knight radiated a happy and hopeful energy, and with childish enthusiasm, he kept on looking at the sky filled with grey clouds.

Such attitude did nothing to quench the crestfallen warrior's resentment towards him, but the growing silence between them was enough to keep the peace.

And still, for some reason, the warrior's mind kept on bringing thoughts and questions that would never become words.

Why did you become Undead, knight? What do you seek to find in this forsaken land? Glory? Power? Wealth? Revenge? Purpose? Your fate? Meaningless, all of it. You'll find nothing here but reality. The cold, cruel reality that all your hopes and efforts are illusions. Oh, you blind fool, you'll pay dearly for your optimism... Just like I did, so long, long ago.

"Because nothing here ever changes. Hollowing is the only thing we Undead can aspire to."

The warrior rested his elbows on his thighs and joined his hands together. He rested his forehead against them.

The warrior stood still, as if he had turned into stone.

The knight looked at him over his shoulder. He had been about to try to start a conversation with the crestfallen warrior, no matter how short it might have been, but he changed his mind after seeing him so lost in thought.

The knight even dared to say the warrior looked as if he was offering a prayer to whatever god he believed in.

While the warrior had showed him little respect during his time of praising, the knight wouldn't reciprocate in the same manner.

That was not the way of the Warriors of the Sunlight, and Undead or not, Solaire was still a proud member.

Nothing would ever change that. He believed it with as much fervor as he believed he would succeed in his quest.

He would find his sun.

He had to.

That had been his sole reason to become Undead.

"I know I will." Solaire said to himself. He removed his helmet before returning his gaze towards the sky. "The sun always rises."

As if rewarding his faith, the sky granted Solaire a small change.

It wasn't the blinding shine of sunlight he had hoped for.

Instead of light, the change came in the form of a shadowy silhouette appearing into the distance. It grew bigger and louder with every passing second.

The high-pitched cries and fluttering sound of flying wings caught the crestfallen warrior's attention as well.

Both him and the knight stared at the upcoming figure.

The crestfallen warrior pondered on what that unexpected change could mean not only for Firelink Shrine, but also to himself.

Absolutely nothing.

He breathed a heavy sigh and looked away.

The answer didn't disappoint him.

He hadn't expected anything else.

Nothing will ever change. That is a lesson I learned long, long ago.

A shower of endless arrows came flying down at them.

Oscar's honed warrior instincts allowed him to act despite his paralyzing grief. Swiftly, he took his shield from the Undead's back and slammed the lower tip against the ground.

The shield became firmly stuck on the soil. Without further thinking, Oscar grabbed the other Undead by the arm and forcefully dragged them together with him behind the improvised barrier. The pain of his injuries, though numbed by adrenaline, became a throbbing presence in Oscar's body, as natural and constant as the beating of his heart but much more distracting.

Oscar did his best to ignore it. Instead, he gathered all his strength and focused on keeping the other Undead as close to him as he could.

The ringing echo of the arrows crashing against the shield filled Oscar's ears and drowned the feral roars of the Hollows.

A fugitive arrow hit Oscar in the elbow, but his armor repelled the projectile before it had the chance to dig deep into his skin and bone. It left behind a pulsating ache; a minor wound Oscar could endure.

Even if the injury had been serious, Oscar would have paid little mind to it. In that moment, his priority was not himself, but the Undead in his arms.

They were still alive.

When Oscar had pulled their body behind the safety of his shield, he had done so out of pure sentimentalism. He didn't want to see the corpse of his friend profaned with the arrows of Hollows.

He hadn't expected the Undead to have any life left inside them, but they had managed to surprise him once more.

Oscar had first heard the life still clinging inside the Undead's body in the form of a wheezing breath. It had been just before the first arrow hit the shield.

The arrow stuck in their throat had reduced the Undead's voice to gasps of bubbling breaths.

The next sign of life they gave Oscar was a faint twitch of their fingers.

Oscar held their hand. The Undead had little reaction to his contact, and Oscar wondered how aware of their situation they truly were.

He wished, for their own sake, that it was little to none.

Deep down, Oscar wished the Undead had died.

If they had, they at least would have been spared of the agony of the next death that awaited them, one so horrible that it was bound to reduce them both to Hollows.

The crazed mob of enemies kept drawing near. It was a matter of seconds before they reached their victims and feasted on them, the same way a starving predator tears apart its living prey limb by limb.

Oscar had no reason to believe the Hollows he had unleashed wouldn't do the same with him and the other Undead.

And yet, that was the kindest scenario he could imagine.

Hollows were savage creatures, unhinged by any moral or emotional shackle, always driven by an unquenchable bloodthirst. They were mindless beasts, but that didn't stop them from being cruel and inventive in their killings.

Oscar had witnessed their wicked deeds before, more times than any man should.

In every occasion, he had tried to save the victims, but they had always perished in his arms. Either because he had been unable to reach them in time and treat their infected wounds properly, or because he had been forced to strike them down himself when, after their last torturous moments as sentient Undeads, they had transformed into Hollows.

I am an elite knight of Astora.

Oscar held the Undead's hand tighter. The Undead answered the same way.

The knightly side of Oscar's mind spoke to him again.

He had to wield his sword and fight.

But how could he when he could barely stand on his own feet without help?

To make things worse, his enemies were too numerous for him to defeat all by himself.

Perhaps, if he was in better condition, Oscar would have had a decent chance of achieving victory. After all, he was a skilled elite knight of Astora.

And yet, I...,

Oscar looked down to the Undead, only to discover the other's pitch-black eye holes were gazing at him too.

The Undead tried to say something to him, but the arrow in their throat had silenced them for good.

Chosen Undead.

Oscar tried to speak in their stead. He couldn't find the right words to say. The trotting of the approaching Hollows did nothing to help him concentrate.

The ground shook under their dozens of feet. Their repulsive voices pierced into his ears like poison knives.

"Forgive me." Oscar finally said, knowing the Undead couldn't hear him under the roars of the Hollows, nor could they see his lips move underneath his helmet.

Oscar looked to the sky, and wished the sun was there for him to see one last time before his brutal death.

Our fate was indeed cruel, my friend. At the very least, I'm glad neither of us had to face it alone.

A rotten hand grabbed Oscar by his helmet. He struggled bravely, even more so when he felt how another Hollow, perhaps more than one, tried to pull the other Undead away from him.

"Stay back!"

Against the protests of his body, Oscar managed to land a heavy kick on a Hollow's face. The lower jaw of the creature broke with a loud crack, leaving its mouth forever open.

It was all in vain.

To Hollows, pain meant nothing.

That was not the case for the living and the Undead.

The reminder came to Oscar as a heavy blow to his helmet, strong enough to bend the metal and reach his skull with the same force as if his head had been uncovered.

His world became empty and white. When Oscar came back to his senses again, the first thing he noticed was the absence of the Undead's hand in his.

"No!"

Instinctively, he tried to stand up, but a Hollow stamped his foot against his belly, forcing Oscar to stay still on the ground. Oscar screamed as the pain contained in his stomach exploded and spread to his body faster than a spark lights gunpowder.

Blood invaded his throat, almost succeeding in choking him.

The Hollows roared in a pale imitation of a collective cackle. Among them, there was one that laughed the loudest.

Oscar recognized it. He had caught a quick glimpse of it before losing consciousness. It was the same Hollow that had grabbed him by his helmet and stricken him.

As if reading his thoughts, the Hollow repeated the scene, much to its fellows' delight. The creatures shrieked and grunted approvingly as the Hollow grabbed Oscar by the hair and hit him again in the temple with the handle of its scorched sword.

The bonfire's sword.

The blow was twice as strong than the first. Oscar held on to consciousness only by a thread. He saw his discarded helmet lying not too far away from him. It had a deep dent right on the top.

The Hollows kept on laughing as if they were courtiers and Oscar was their personal jester. The more Oscar listened to them, the more his hatred grew.

When his fury reached its peak, not even the combined injuries of his head and stomach could compare to the wound that had been inflicted to his pride.

It was already shameful enough the Asylum's demon had defeated him with a single blow, but being the laughingstock of a crowd of disgusting Hollows filled Oscar with more humiliation than he thought humanly possible.

I'm an elite knight of Astora.

Many of his memories had been lost to his incomplete Hollowing, but Oscar could still remember clearly the trials he had gone through to become the knight he had always dreamed to be.

He had proven his worth in multiple battles, he had received horrific wounds, he had carried on no matter how many of his friends betrayed him or died before his eyes.

He had endured all the pain and despair life threw at him and transformed them into a pillar of strength, a source of motivation that kept him moving forward no matter how meaningless his actions felt.

And I will not die at the hands of such pathetic creatures!

Inspired by his anger, Oscar tried to hang on to that same pillar once more so that it could grant him the energy necessary to fight like the knight he still was. And if he failed, Oscar would perish as a dignified man, not like a lowly and scared dog.

He sought inside for his knightly motivation.

It was gone without a trace.

Oscar widened his eyes at the discovery.

Gone forever, just like his dreams and fate.

He had no time to mourn his loss. The Hollow made sure of it when it forced Oscar back on his feet only to strike him twice.

Once in his stomach with its knee, another across the face with a diagonal slash of the carbonized steel of its sword.

I am an elite knight of Astora.

The Hollow grabbed Oscar by the neck before he fell and slammed his back against the ground.

The rest joined in.

And yet, I...,

Soon, the knight found his body oppressed by a relentless flow of kicks and stabs, most of them directed at his stomach.

None of the blows was lethal.

No.

The Hollows would not let him die so easily and quickly. They were only getting started. They would take their time and enjoy their torture of the knight.

The man responsible for their freedom.

This hell is of my own doing.

The thought killed his anger. It wasn't until it had vanished completely that the knight realized how weak of an imitation of bravery and motivation it had been.

I set this in motion. I freed them, they died, and they went Hollow because of it, because of me. I think..., this is the fate I truly deserve. Yes, of course. I shouldn't have expected anything else. After all, I'm nothing but a failed elite knight of Astora. In the end, I'm just—

"Oscar!"

The scream was filled with agony and fear. The sound of that word was surreal, almost unnatural.

Then, the knight remembered.

It was his name.

The voice, no matter how distorted, was not new to Oscar.

He knew to whom it belonged.

"Chosen Undead." Oscar muttered with the little air the Hollows had left in his body.

The Chosen Undead is me.

Oscar moved his head to his side and witnessed the torture of the Undead. His friend was out of sight, hidden behind the group of Hollows torturing them.

Whatever the creatures were doing to them, it was horrible enough to have forced a sound out of the Undead's destroyed throat.

I am the Chosen Undead, not you. It's me, and no one else. I should let you di—

Oscar cut his thoughts short before they could commit another betrayal against the other Undead.

How can I think any of that now? How could I forget about you?

Oscar needn't ask himself those questions. He already knew the answer to both.

His pride, enhanced by his incomplete Hollowing, had blinded him to the existence or the suffering of the other.

All that had mattered to Oscar after his humiliation at the hands of the Hollows was himself.

The Undead, the prophecy... they all had faded from his mind.

A selfishness so cruel Oscar had never witnessed before.

He clenched his fists and tensed his jaw.

If the Undead hadn't screamed his name in despair, would Oscar have remembered either at all?

My friend, I asked you to forgive me.

The leader of the Hollows grabbed Oscar's cheeks and made him look directly at its rotten face.

But now I see that I was wrong.

Then, the Hollow raised the broken, scorched sword high and aimed directly at one of Oscar's eyes.

I don't have to ask for your forgiveness.

Oscar stopped the sword before it could reach him. His hand and the Hollow's remained locked in an unbreakable struggle. Oscar didn't falter, not even when the rest of the Hollows inflicted dozens of injuries on him to make him flinch.

I need to earn it. That's why...

"I'll save you. We'll leave this place together! Do you hear me?" Oscar screamed as he continued to push the Hollow farther away from him. The creature growled and snarled, confused by the sudden defiance of its prey. "Chosen Undead, you said so yourself. This place is not our grave!"

After one final push, Oscar succeeded in getting the Hollow off his chest, but not without snatching the scorched sword from it first. Without knowing how, Oscar stood on his feet.

The remaining Hollows surrounding him stepped away from him like scared animals. Oscar proved their fears right by beheading their leader with the bonfire's sword before the creature had the chance to react.

The head rolled on the floor; the ghost of a growl still engraved in its dreadful features.

Oscar didn't waste time in his small victory and lunged himself at the group of Hollows torturing the Undead. The second of his victims fell to the snowy ground with a slit throat, the third, with a severed spine.

"I'm still here!" Oscar exclaimed as he snuffed the life of the fourth Hollow.

The rest, finally snapping out from the death of their leader, started to fight back. Oscar could hear them coming for him from behind his back.

He didn't care and kept fighting his way towards the Undead.

Oscar didn't notice, but his struggle to reach his friend, no matter how doomed to fail it was, filled him with more satisfaction than his pride ever had.

"I'm with you!" Oscar's voice broke.

Then, he saw them. It was little more than a flashing glimpse, but it was real. The other Undead, with a Hollow holding and pulling each of their limbs in different directions while another gnawed at their face like a vulture.

The scene froze Oscar's blood in his veins, but he didn't stop fighting.

It wasn't over yet.

"Do you hear me, Chosen Undead?" Oscar exclaimed as the group of Hollows behind him jumped at him and dragged him to his knees.

Oscar didn't stop. He would reach the other Undead, even if he had to crawl to them as the Hollows devoured his body.

I am Oscar, an elite knight of Astora. And above all, I'm your ally. Your friend. I'll save you, so please...

"Don't you dare give up." Oscar said, his entire body succumbing under the weight of the dozens of enemies on top of him. "Don't you dare go Hollow!"

I hear you, Oscar. I hear you now just like I heard you back then. I don't have anything to forgive you for. No... if someone here has to apologize—

One of their arms finally gave in. The sound of tearing meat and bones was only surpassed by their own scream.

The Hollow eating from their face lost interest when it saw the discarded limb on the ground. The other Hollows holding the Undead let go of them, suddenly deciding that fighting for the torn meat was more interesting than to continue to dismember them.

As they laid on the snowy grass, the Undead began to feel it.

The emptiness blooming from their heart and spreading to their body.

The fate they had once wished for had returned to them again.

Forgive me, Oscar. But I can't...

The Hollowing.

I can't.

Chapter Text

Survive.

This word is the only remnant of my past.

Who said it to me?

I do not know.

I've forgotten.

Just like my name.

It's faded.

My past life is a shattered memory.

The person I once was is gone forever.

Lost after countless deaths.

Yet, the word continues to echo within me.

The Hollowing has not silenced it.

I can hear it.

It whispers.

Why?

Why does it linger?

Why does it not disappear?

It granted me an unbreakable will to persevere.

It blinded me.

It drove me to burn countless of times.

Only to rise and fall again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

No matter how many times I died, I kept fighting.

I was forever trapped in a loop of endless cycles.

I ran away from it.

This I remember clearly.

Survive.

Even after my voluntary imprisonment, the word remained.

For so long it kept the Hollowing away.

It prolonged my sanity against my wishes.

It tortured me.

Survive.

What for?

What good has surviving ever brought me?

It's caused me only pain and disappointment.

My body is broken.

My soul is tainted.

Meaningless.

Survive.

Why should I?

The knight is still alive.

He freed me.

And now I'm going Hollow.

It's all his fault.

He's to blame.

Survive.

He's not.

I am.

Forgive me.

Survive.

I don't want to.

Not anymore.

This torture.

This pain.

Make it stop.

Please.

Don't you dare go Hollow, he says.

I'm sorry Oscar, but I can't.

Survive.

I can't.

I won't.

Neither of us will.

Oscar laid still under the Hollows. His spirit and determination to save the Undead hadn't faltered, but his body couldn't carry on.

He relentlessly tried to move his muscles, but the crushing weight of the Hollows kept his body glued to the ground. Only one of his arms, the one wielding the scorched sword, remained free.

The Hollows growled victorious and filled the air with their putrid breaths, as if mocking Oscar for his efforts.

Feebly, he looked at the Undead.

They weren't moving. The hole where their arm had once been vomited generous sprouts of blood.

The Hollows responsible for their maiming were still caught in a duel for the Undead's torn arm like a pack of starving dogs. The greediest of them, the same that had gnawed at the Undead's face, took every chance it had to dig its teeth into the arm and snatch away a mouthful of meat.

Before Oscar lost sight of it after a couple of Hollows began to stomp their feet against his head, he saw one of the Undead's fingers hanging from between the glutton's teeth.

"Chosen Undead."

Two of his ribs cracked. His stomach became a sea of fire. One of the Hollows kicked him in the jaw, almost succeeding in breaking one of his teeth.

A stream of blood came shooting out of his mouth. The warmth it offered him was the only comfort Oscar had left.

His spirit began to decay, but he held on to it. Oscar knew he would go Hollow the moment he allowed it to slip away.

It cannot end like this.

His fingers grasped the scorched sword until his knuckles became white under his glove. A Hollow tried to take it from him, but Oscar refused to let go of it.

Angry, the creature dug its teeth on his wrist, piercing leather and skin alike.

It pulled away with a violent swing of its head, taking a chunk of Oscar's glove and flesh.

The pain wasn't enough to make him surrender the weapon.

This isn't our fate.

A distant cry caught the Hollow's attention just as it was about to crush Oscar's forearm with a rock.

The creature looked at the sky; its fellow Hollows did the same.

Oscar didn't notice.

Or is it?

He only became aware of the change when another shriek pierced the air.

Oscar looked up; his tired eyes managed to catch a fleeting glance of a pair of spread black wings dashing through the sky above him.

A strong blow of wind hit Oscar in the face.

Immediately after, he felt how his back became free of the Hollows' unforgiving burden. He took several deep breaths and devoured each mouthful hungrily, ignoring the pain they caused him.

I'm alive.

The thought settled on his mind before Oscar had time to rationalize it. An overwhelming relief eased his body and slowly calmed down his racing heart.

He then heard the furious screams of the Hollows as they were blown into the air like leaves. They all met their ends when, instead of landing on firm land, they plummeted down the cliff like boulders.

Their roars echoed, none of them distinguishable among the turmoil.

From behind Oscar, the giant raven cried again. The enraged Hollows that had remained near the Asylum replied to the animal's interference with an uproar conformed by their collective war cries and the whistling of the arrows, swords and axes they threw at their new enemy.

The commotion continued to grow louder and more chaotic.

It was a gory battlefield Oscar had no time to witness.

He could only pray that the giant raven would escape as unharmed as possible from the assault of the Hollows.

A part of him stayed focused on the noble sacrifice of the animal, but Oscar had a more important matter on mind, one that required all his attention.

Chosen Undead.

Oscar began to crawl towards his fallen comrade. He had taken merely a few seconds to recover his strength and gather his thoughts; even then, he felt he had wasted much of the little precious time he had.

The Hollows were distracted but not defeated, and the Chosen Undead still needed his help.

Oscar had to hurry before it was too late.

"I'm coming for you." His words came out faintly. Oscar knew the Undead couldn't hear him, but he kept talking to them. It was comforting and reassuring, almost as if his words were a charm that would keep the Undead and himself alive and free of Hollowing. "Wait for me."

He reached the Undead after what felt like an eternity. He felt the warm touch of the Undead's blood filtering through the fabric of his gloves.

"I'm here." Oscar let go of the scorched sword and rested his hand on the Undead's chest. "I'm—"

His head collapsed on the floor before he could finish. His body had long been pushed beyond its limits, and no amount of spirit or will were longer enough to make it move.

His stomach burned as if it was trying to melt Oscar's insides.

He had to find a way to heal himself, no matter how slightly. Otherwise, neither him nor the Undead would be leaving the Asylum.

Another of the raven's cries reached him. This one was filled with pain.

For a second, Oscar thought he had listened to the raven's dying shriek, but the rhythmic beating of its wings proved his fears wrong.

The animal fought bravely, but the Hollows were numerous and fierce. He knew the raven would continue to fight and offer them protection for as long as it could, but if Oscar didn't hurry, the animal may well perish or abandon him and the Undead to their fates.

Neither option was acceptable.

Using the last of his energy, Oscar moved his hand from the Undead's chest to the bag tied to their hips. He searched inside it.

Peebles.

Rubbish.

Broken arrows.

And more rubbish.

What use did you ever think you could make out of all this stuff, you fool? You are a lost cause, seriously.

Oscar thought, almost with a smile.

The thought turned sour as soon as it manifested.

The Undead would never pick every piece of useless trash that crossed their way again. They would never want or do anything, because they were already—

"No." Oscar muttered, his hand finally emerging from the bag with the half-empty Estus Flask. He took a small sip, barely more than a few drops, just enough to recover the strength necessary to feed the rest to the Undead.

I should drink it whole. It's mine.

The dark whispers resonated inside Oscar as he managed to get himself on his knees and put the Undead's head on his lap.

He snapped the metal tip of the arrow stuck in the Undead's throat and pulled the shaft out from their neck.

The arrow came out cleanly, but the process had still been rushed. Oscar didn't stop to calculate the damage he knew he had accidentally inflicted on his friend.

All he could do was trying to heal them.

I've tried to save many other Undeads before. I always failed. Why should this time be any different?

Oscar struggled to keep his hand from trembling as he poured a dash of Estus inside the Undead's mouth.

There was no reaction, no chocking or attempt to swallow. The liquid fire remained stuck in the Undead's throat.

Thin golden streams started to leak from the hole the arrow had left behind.

It's no use. Forget about this poor soul. Save yourself.

"Drink." Oscar said, wishing his audible voice would keep his inner one silent.

The Undead didn't react.

Their empty eye holes had finally become completely devoid of life.

"Drink!" Oscar fed the Undead more Estus, leaving the flask almost empty. Desperate, he shook the Undead with enough force to wake them up from even the deepest slumber, but the Undead remained still.

It wasn't until then that Oscar realized how light their body was.

They died.

"No." Oscar held them closer to him. The empty vessel that had once been the Undead remained still.

Oscar lost sense of the world around him, as it happened every time he witnessed death.

Death, own or someone else's, was not something one could ever get used to. It was a truth Oscar had discovered long ago.

Apathy and indifference were shields that helped the Undead focus and keep up a valiant facade, but death always left its mark.

In a sense, death was no different than torture. No one came out of it unscathed, not the tortured nor the torturer, nor the dead nor the witnesses.

Not even for the bearers of the Undead curse was death trivial. It didn't matter if they could come back to life many times, not when each revival took something away from them and brought them closer to their inevitable Hollowing.

The only Undead who didn't fear death were those who were new to the curse or those whose souls were freshly infused with Humanity.

The Chosen Undead was neither.

They had sacrificed their only Humanity and given it to Oscar.

They had retained their sense of self after years of disillusioned imprisonment and after their death at the hands of the Asylum Demon, but the rotten state of their body reflected how brittle their hold on sanity really was.

Oscar knew one more death would be enough to break the Undead's spirit for good.

Not even a gentle passing would have saved the Undead from Hollowing if they were to die again, and their latest death at the hands of the Hollows had been a hellish, torturous nightmare.

Oscar only needed to look at the Undead's face to know the torment the Hollows had put them through.

The right side of the Undead's face had been eaten to the bone, exposing their teeth in a perpetual mockery of a grin. What little flesh remained was scarred with teeth marks and infected clawing wounds.

Their remaining limbs were dislocated and twisted like the parts of a mistreated rag doll.

Even if their torture had only lasted minutes, the despair of such experience would have been enough to reduce the bravest of knights to a crying child begging for death.

For a decayed Undead, there was no hope.

But this Undead is particularly determined.

A shard of hope sparked inside Oscar when, against his rational judgement, he dared to consider the possibility that the Undead had died without Hollowing.

Someone as stubborn as you wouldn't have Hollowed now that we were so close to leaving this place. You are better than this, I'm sure of it.

With renewed optimism, Oscar imagined the Undead being reborn at the bonfire with their sanity intact.

It was not over yet.

The corpse in his arms would fade away and rise again from the bonfire's ashes.

Maybe there was still a chance for Oscar to save them.

Maybe they would meet again and leave the Asylum together.

Maybe—

His childish illusions were devoured by reality when his eyes saw the scorched sword on the snow.

The bonfire.

Oscar picked up the sword.

It is gone. Destroyed by the Hollows.

Oscar hunched his back until his forehead touched the Undead's. His left hand clenched the sword's handle, his right hand the Estus Flask.

Even if you didn't go Hollow, there's no place left here for you to return. Where will you go? What will happen to you? What have I done to you?

"I'm sorry." Oscar said under his breath. "This is all my fault. If I had known I would put you through so much pain, I would have never—"

Oscar bit his tongue.

There was no point in lying when the Undead could no longer hear him.

He would have, and Oscar knew it.

He would have put the Undead through a thousand hells if that had benefited him.

Hadn't he already done so when he disrupted the stale but peaceful existence of the Asylum's residents with his selfish interference?

Oscar had sentenced them to their Hollowing, and had the Asylum's Demon not defeated him, Oscar would have escaped that place without dedicating a second thought to the decayed Undeads he would have left behind.

They could have fought and devour each other for all eternity, or they could have gone back to their cells and fester in their misery for all time.

Oscar wouldn't have cared, not as long as his fate as the Chosen Undead of the prophecy was sealed.

Who is this despicable man? Has he always been me? Shameful. Unworthy. Selfish. Weak. And now... chosen. Not by merit, but by default.

Oscar straightened his back. Gently, he laid the other Undead on the snowy grass. He stared at the corpse before it faded into the wind.

It would happen at any second. The least Oscar could do was to look at the empty shell of the Undead he had condemned before it disappeared into nothingness.

The fight between the raven and the Hollows continued. In his mind, Oscar apologized to the giant bird for his sentimentalism, knowing too well he was spending time he did not have on senseless rituals, but he was decided to grant the other Undead that small gesture.

It was the least a lowly elite knight of Astora could do for the Undead that had saved him.

"I'll link the fire in your stead." Oscar said after drinking what little Estus remained in the flask. He felt like a thief plundering a body when he put the container away in his bag. "I'll fulfill the prophecy. This chance you gave me... I won't waste it, I promise. Farewell my friend, and thank you. For everything."

Oscar listened to himself and became invaded with shame.

You gave me your last death; I give you some honeyed words. How empty and childish they sound. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. That's all I am.

His arms began to shake out of control.

I'm not worthy of being the Chosen Undead, I never was. I never will be. Perhaps... perhaps that's why my fate was to die and Hollow here. I'm not a hero. I do not make changes. I can't make them happen, just like I can't save anyone. I can't even save the Undead that helped me. How can I expect to save the world? I'm not a hero. I'm—

A biting cold dug its fangs in his heart. His eyes continued to look at the corpse of the Undead, but he could no longer see it. His whole world became reduced to the halted corruption that was starting to spread on his soul and body again, reignited by his moment of doubt and weakness.

The Hollowing had seized its chance.

Oscar tried to fight back.

It was in vain.

He had no source left that could lend him strength.

His memories, his hopes, his pride, the prophecy, the Undead.

They were all gone.

All because of him.

"I'm a sham." Oscar stared at his trembling hands. He could feel the corrupted half of his face expanding its reach on his healthy skin. "A fraud."

I should just disappear.

The scorched sword slowly approached his neck.

He had to be precise.

If he was lucky, it would be swift and painless.

Oscar knew he could ask nothing more from death.

I should just—

Oscar's hand stopped just before the burnt metal reached his flesh.

He blinked, thinking the opposition came from his survival instinct, but soon he discovered it came from a hand holding his forearm.

At first, he thought the image was only a final trick from his Hollowing mind, but when the Undead's fingers tightened their grasp on him, Oscar realized it wasn't a delirium, but reality.

"You." Oscar felt how the flow of time and his Hollowing came to a halt.

He gasped, as if he had awakened from a nightmare. Promptly, he pulled his arm away from his neck and put his other hand above the Undead's.

"You're alive."

The relief he felt clashed with the bitter awareness of what he had been about to do to himself. It was a memory too fresh and strong to cast away.

Scared its shadow would overwhelm him if he pondered on it for a second, Oscar locked it in the deepest part of his mind.

Had the weight of the other Undead's hand on his arm not been there to remind him they were still alive, Oscar doubted he would have succeeded.

Amidst his despair, he felt grateful towards the Undead.

Even if it hadn't been their intention, they had saved Oscar from his worst enemy.

Himself.

The Undead took a deep breath. They swallowed the Estus stuck in their throat. It came down to their stomach with a bubbling murmur.

They coughed and spat bloody drops of drool that stained their armor and face.

Quickly, Oscar put a hand behind their back and helped the Undead into a sitting position. He made sure to be as gentle as possible, no matter how weak and unresponsive his own limbs felt.

The Estus he had drunk had refilled some of his strength, but his mind had still to come to terms with what was happening around him.

"It's alright, you're safe now. I'm here." Oscar said to the Undead as their coughing fit started to fade. They looked at him, their face too scarred and deformed to convey any emotion.

It was unnecessary. Oscar already knew how they felt.

Confused, lost, angry, betrayed even.

He had felt the same way.

The Undead had been there for him.

It was time for Oscar to do the same for them.

"The Hollows remain, but we're not alone in this fight." Oscar explained to the Undead. Finally, he looked over his shoulder.

The raven was injured. It could still fly, but there was an arrhythmic dissonance in the movement of its wings. It was barely perceptible, but Oscar could see it.

The raven's wounds weren't lethal, but if the fight continued, they could turn crippling.

"I won't let that happen." Oscar said, holding the scorched sword with determination. He turned his face back towards the Undead. "Listen carefully. I'll go fight the remaining Hollows. I'll distract them while you and the raven—"

A sword's blade whistled as it cut the air in a horizontal slash. If Oscar's ears hadn't been so accustomed to the sound, the sword would have severed his head from his shoulders cleanly.

Instead, Oscar plunged himself backwards and dodged the sword. It was a clumsy maneuver, but elegance had no place when it came to save one's life.

Pulled down by the weight of his armor, Oscar hit the ground with his back. Without wasting a second, he brought himself back to his feet and held the scorched sword handle with both hands.

His offensive stance reflected his anger.

He looked around, eager to find the Hollow that had attacked him so he could kill it before it hurt the Undead.

There was no one else.

Only him and the Undead.

"Chosen Undead?"

They stood in front of him, a sword hanging from their only hand.

Oscar's sword, the same the Undead had carried on their back.

The same sword that had attacked Oscar a few seconds ago.

No.

His stance faltered. The Chosen Undead saw the opportunity and leaped at Oscar.

He jumped out of the way, leaving the Undead to dig the sword into the ground. The Undead roared in frustration and swiftly freed the sword with a vertical slash that cut the ground as if it was butter.

Chunks of soil and grass rose into the air together with the blade. The Undead growled and pulled the sword down with all the strength of their arm. 

 It was a furious, savage attack that almost broke through Oscar's defenses.

The straight sword and the scorched sword clashed against each other, a few sparks exploding from their violent contact.

"What are you doing?!" Oscar exclaimed. "Stop this!"

Not without guilt, Oscar kicked the Undead in the stomach. The Undead staggered enough for Oscar to deliver a killing riposte if he had wished so.

Instead, he allowed the Undead to recover, convinced their attack had only been the result of their disoriented mind.

A violent frenzy that simply needed cooling.

A meltdown that would pass after some venting.

Just that, nothing more.

"Chosen Undead, it's alright. It's me, Oscar." Gently, Oscar took a step foward, his hand reaching out towards them. The Undead looked at him, their chin covered with drool and their deformed mouth twisted into a snarl. "It's all passed. The Hollows can't hurt you anymore. Please, calm down. I swear I will not let anything else—"

His voice fell on deaf ears. The Undead attacked Oscar again.

Their attacks were chaotic and relentless. There was no real thought behind them other than madness and bloodlust.

The way the Undead moved the sword to deliver crushing blows left many weak spots exposed.

The style was not unknown to Oscar.

It was the same powerful and vicious battle style of Hollows.

No! You couldn't have gone Hollow! You're still sane, I know it! There's still hope in your heart! This is just a momentary fit of madness. It'll pass soon, and then we'll leave this place together.

Right, my friend?

His former sword inflicted a shallow wound on his left side. The sharp metal tore silk and chainmail alike, managing to reach Oscar's skin and draw out blood.

Oscar flinched, not just because of the pain.

It was the Undead's cruel laughter what finally broke his concentration. They tried to finish Oscar off with a stab directed at his heart, but Oscar parried the attack in the last moment.

This time, he didn't not hesitate, and his counterattack came in the form of a riposte that injured the Undead heavily.

The Undead cried and stepped back, but soon after, with little concern about their wound, they initiated another mindless attack on Oscar.

It really happened.

Oscar kept blocking and dodging, but he didn't attack again. His stance became wholly defensive, all his stamina was spent on keeping himself safe, but he couldn't employ it against the other Undead.

Whatever had drove him to counterattack was now buried deep under the realization of his newest failure.

You've gone Hollow.

The thought hurt more than he dared to admit. Yet, underneath it, there was something else. A brighter feeling.

One that burned like fire. It broke through his despair and granted him hope.

And now I must destroy you.

Oscar began to attack the Undead with the same aggression they showed him.

He did so with a smile.

His dark thoughts took over.

Oscar didn't notice.

Even if he had, he wouldn't have minded.

I will kill you, and become the true Chosen Undead.

Chapter Text

"They all failed me. They were strong, but none saw the truth. Will no one ever prove to be different?"

The darkness devoured the serpent's words.

There was no answer, only silence.

Still, cold and quiet.

Though empty, it was not meaningless.

Kaathe listened to it.

Its peaceful beauty was tainted by the sleeping mumblings of his brethren.

He could not see the traitor, nor did he look for him.

The lover of humans was not worth the time and effort.

Frampt's speech overcame the silence.

His words, though broken, were not without sense.

Kaathe had heard them many times before.

He was not fond of them, but neither he took them seriously.

Frampt's disgustingly glorified farce set human souls on fire, but for Kaathe, it was little more than a dull lullaby.

He closed his eyes.

There was no point in continuing his laments now that Frampt had infected the darkness.

Kaathe would sleep until silence had returned.

If fortune was on their side, both him and Frampt would be awakened by the toll of the bell.

Kaathe played with the idea but kept his expectations low.

He knew the odds.

The next Undead that accomplished the feat would likely not be any different than the rest.

Just another sorry fool without the power or soul necessaries to fulfill neither his or Frampt's fates.

The thought was tiring, but not disheartening.

Unlike mortals, serpents knew the true meaning of patience.

And among all primordial serpents, none knew it better than Kaathe.

He would wait for his Dark Lord.

Frampt gagged on a snore and pronounced the king's name.

Kaathe's eyes sprung open.

The word never failed to embitter his mood.

His desire to rest ruined, he stared into the darkness.

Then, he saw it.

Serpents were seldom prone to amazement, especially Kaathe.

But the change, though insignificant and small, was far from irrelevant.

"Pathetic creature lost in the darkness." He reached towards the interloper, his neck stretching across the endless pitch-black void. "Why have you wandered here?"

The presence was familiar.

Nostalgic.

Who are you?

Kaathe hastened his pace.

Is it really you?

Frampt's blabber and snores grew louder, but Kaathe could no longer hear him.

Have you come back to the start?

All that mattered to him was the intruding presence dancing aimlessly amidst the darkness like a dying flame.

Welcome back, furtive lord.

A flickering ember.

Bearer of the Dark Soul.

I'm Hollow.

Their wished had finally been granted.

Their immunity to it had always been a curse more than a blessing, but at last, their mind and body had yielded.

It was all so marvelous.

The Undead became drunk with their new reality. Being Hollow was more fulfilling than they could have ever dreamed.

Nothing could compare to it, except for the knight.

Watching him dance as he continued to block their attacks and counter them with powerful ripostes was the most beautiful image the Undead's mind had conjured since the loss of their former memories.

They knew the scene would, in time, become a precious memory that would stay with them for all time. Their first memory as a Hollow would become their most treasured.

My fellow Hollow.

Every cut, every stab, every injury they inflicted or received filled them with peace and fulfillment.

To the Undead, the frenzied duel was a demonstration of understanding and camaraderie between them and the knight. There was no hate or resentment behind the blood they both spilled.

The act was natural and harmonious. Each strike the elite knight landed on their body was an acknowledgement of the Undead's existence, a token of their fire-forged friendship, and the Undead cherished them as such.

For the first time in ages, or perhaps in all their wretched existence, someone cared enough for the Undead's life to want nothing more than to end it.

Their many past deaths, though hazy and confusing, had an emptiness the Undead hadn't forgotten.

They had all been without a purpose.

Many of them had been accidents, consequences of the Undead's clumsiness or carelessness. The rest, those who had been committed by beasts or people, felt so trivial that the Undead doubted the perpetrators had remembered the killing for more than a few hours.

The knight was different. He attacked them with a passion that went beyond hatred or madness.

The Undead didn't know what to call that sentiment, but they understood it.

They felt the same way towards the knight.

The care and gratefulness they felt for him was intoxicating to their heart, but to their body, being merely the vulgar and weak vessel of their soul, it was overwhelming. It found no other way to convey their wild emotions other than with violence and a thirst to destroy.

And above all, a hunger to devour.

The Undead smiled, their deformed face twisting into a snarl that didn't match with what laid inside their heart.

It wasn't that they longed for the knight's death. Their intention was too pure to reduce it to such term.

Death was not the objective but a consequence of the Undead's true intention.

They would devour the knight, just like the Hollows had done with their face.

The Undead didn't resent the creatures for what they had done.

The act had been torturous, but it had also been innocent and illuminating. Eating was, after all, the greatest celebration of life, and the only way Hollows had left to express what little specks of humanity still lingered within them.

The Undead could now see the truth.

At its core, the Hollows' feasting on their flesh had been an act of love.

What better way to thank the knight for freeing them and giving them purpose than to do the same and devour him whole, entangling their essences together for all time?

The act could appear perverse and cruel at first sight, but just like their blood-soaked duel, there was a deeper meaning hidden underneath their shallow display of aggression.

The Undead didn't bother to formulate a rational explanation to what their hollowed heart and mind knew was true.

The knight's flesh, soul and fate would become one with the Undead. They would nourish each other for all eternity.

Together, they would become a fusion of souls. Loneliness, despair and futility would be concepts they would no longer be able to understand.

They would always have each other.

The Undead would only need to feel their rotten blood rushing through their veins to remember the knight still existed within them in some form, continuing to give them the strength they needed to live on as a Hollow.

If there was a more sincere gesture of care and appreciation, the Undead couldn't fathom it.

The knight charged at them.

The Undead opened their mouth, salivating with anticipation of their first bite.

A lump formed in their throat and paralyzed them where they stood.

My friend.

Had they had the eyes necessary to do so, they would have cried.

The knight's attack reached them before they could snap out of their trance.

The Undead flinched and their weapon escaped from their hand as the knight's coiled black sword pierced their right side with a powerful stab. The weapon cut skin, flesh and bone effortlessly until it reemerged from the Undead's back covered in rotten blood.

There was no pain, not even after the knight used the stuck sword to push the Undead to the floor, further destroying their organs with his violent motions as they both fell to the ground.

The Undead landed on their back. Their vision of the grey sky above was swiftly replaced by the knight's face as he held them down with one knee pressed on their chest.

"It's over." The knight said. Though slightly more corrupted, his face was still more human than Hollow; other than the crazed smile frozen on his lips, there were little signs of true madness in his features.

The image sent a stabbing shiver to the Undead's heart. The unyielding affection they felt towards the knight began to shatter and morph into something else.

Something fouler, something more appropriate to what a Hollow was supposed to harbor inside its putrid soul.

You cannot trick me. You're Hollow, just like me. Stop pretending you're not.

"Pathetic creature, you'll die now by my hand." The knight pulled out the scorched sword from their body. The weapon's tip dripped blood on the Undead's rusted chainmail as he held it right above their chest. "As fate has commanded me."

The knight laughed under his breath.

The Undead laid still. Unless the knight acted quickly, they knew they would have plenty of opportunity to turn the fight in their favor.

Had they wanted to, the Undead could have lunged their mouth at the knight's throat and rip it open with a single bite.

It would only take a second; yet, they waited and allowed the knight to deliver his final blow.

Dying at his hands was far a better outcome than the possibility of their duel and bond as Hollows being nothing but a lie.

If the knight wasn't truly Hollow, then the bond that tied them together would be a farce.

Without the Hollowing, it all meant nothing.

The Undead refused to accept the idea.

Seconds passed, and the only noticeable change was the knight's sword increased trembling.

Guttural growls only perceivable for the Undead began to form in their destroyed throat.

Do it, kill me. You're Hollow. Why do you hesitate now? Who are you trying to deceive? Who are you trying to impress? Stop pretending and kill me!

The knight's features softened; his smile disappeared.

His expression was not one proper of a Hollow nor that of a man about to kill.

The change caused all the hatred stored inside the Undead to break free, as warm and abundant as the blood leaking from their many wounds.

Stop pretending!

The Undead's words came out as a roar. Blinded by anger and broken by disappointment, they lunged their mouth at the knight's exposed neck. Their teeth pierced his skin and became stuck in his flesh.

Blood flooded inside their mouth. Unlike their own, the knight's blood was fresh and sweet.

It was not the blood of a Hollow.

Why? Why are you not Hollow? Why did you not kill me? Is that not what you wanted, what you warned me you would do at the first chance you got? You feckless liar!

The Undead warped their only arm around the knight's back to prevent him from escaping while they devoured him.

The knight offered no resistance, not even a grunt of pain.

So be it. You may not be Hollow, but I am. I'll devour you until there's no trace left of your sad existence.

They readied their jaw and prepared themselves to start feasting on their willing prey.

Seconds passed.

The Undead remained frozen.

The knight's blood in their mouth became tasteless. The hunger that moments ago had seemed unsatisfiable transformed into disgust.

The Undead held the knight closer to them. Their hold on his throat began to loosen.

Why, knight?

They heard the clinking echo of the knight's scorched sword hitting the ground.

Please, tell me.

The knight surrounded their shoulders with an arm. His grip was strong but not forceful.

Why did you pretend?

The Undead's teeth departed from his flesh completely and chattered.

Why did I?

"You're not Hollow. Neither of us are. It's alright, let's stop this now. " The knight said.

Why did we?

A tearless whimper hatched in the Undead's chest. The world of their fake Hollowing came crashing down.

"Oscar."

"It's alright. Let's just stop."

I'm not Hollow.

Oscar realized without any feeling of shame.

If his attacks were savage and desperate it was because they were driven by an eager  ambition to cut down the Hollow and reclaim his rightful place as the Chosen Undead of the prophecy; no matter how erratic his movements and thoughts were, they were still under his control.

It was all thanks to the Hollow.

With their Hollowing, they had given Oscar hope and a new purpose that had kept his corruption from taking over him.

I'm grateful to you, I really am.

The Undead dropped their guard. Oscar took the chance, decided to finish their duel once and for all. It had been amusing, but he had duties to fulfill.

Duties only the Chosen Undead could carry out.

That's why I'll kill you.

He couldn't waste any more time with a crazed Hollow.

He knocked the creature down and immobilize it under his weight. Looking down on his defeated foe, Oscar felt a rush of anticipation reaching all the nerves of his body.

It was over. He needed only to deliver the final blow and his fate would be sealed.

Without the Hollow standing in his way, the prophecy would be his to take and do as he wished with it. He deserved it, he had earned it.

The world owed him that much, and Oscar was ready to reclaim his reward.

There was no shame in his victory or in his actions. Oscar was just a knight about to exterminate a Hollow.

It was his responsibility not only as an elite knight but also as a sentient Undead to rid the world of those foul creatures.

He was doing it for the sake of the land, not only for his selfish ambitions.

There was no shame in the killing of a Hollow.

"It's over. Pathetic creature. You'll die now by my hand ."

Only glory.

"As fate has commanded me."

The laughed that escaped his throat felt foreign.

Kill it. Put this thing out of its misery and take back what's yours. It owes you that much.

Oscar's hands tightened their grip on the bonfire's sword and trembled. He felt like a squire about to commit his first killing after an honorable duel.

He wondered how faithful that scenario was to his original memory. The thought of his lost memories came with a twinge of grief that almost brought tears to his eyes. With great effort, Oscar turned his back on the past and focused on his present.

He could not recover what was already lost, but he still could create a future for himself, one that shone brighter than the incandescent sun.

His fate was at hand, so close that he swore he could feel its weight on his fingertips.

All there's left between me and my fate is you.

Oscar glared down at the Hollow.

The Hollow stared back at him.

In its deformed face destroyed by wounds and rotten with Hollowing, he saw only sadness and disappointment.

Oscar winced, his heart dropped to his feet. He blinked, convinced that his tired eyes were playing a trick on him, but the Hollow's face remained unchanged.

It was unnatural.

A face so scarred had no means to convey any emotion, and even if it had not been half devoured, a Hollow's features were not supposed to demonstrate sentiments other than madness or anger.

It went against all Oscar had learned and expected from the world. He sought for an answer, for any sort of explanation that could put his mind at ease so he could kill the Hollow for good, but he found none.

Unless—

His smile became a grimace of disillusionment.

Oscar had suspected it.

Deep inside him, a part of him had known since the start.

He had seen the truth concealed behind their violence, but he had refused to accept it.

Why should he when the Undead was just as willing and eager as him to play along with their farce?

No, you're Hollow! You must be, I know it!

His lips parted.

Before he could pronounce a word, the Undead lunged themselves at his throat. Oscar felt the hot touch of his blood mixing with the sharp teeth of the Undead as they threatened to tear his skin open.

Oscar clenched his jaw. It was the only reaction his body could muster.

The Undead held him closer to them with their only arm. It was a strong grasp Oscar could have broken if he acted quickly enough.

He didn't.

Instead, he waited.

Not for his death, but for an answer.

Go on. Kill me. You're Hollow, are you not? It should come as natural as breathing to you. You should rejoice in it. Do it now, I will not stop you.

If they were truly Hollow, Oscar knew death was unavoidable by that point.

If they weren't, if being Hollow was only a façade the Undead was willing to perpetuate with his death, Oscar would not run from it.

He had no right to do so, not when he had agreed to take part in the whole charade and had done so with so much pride and fervor.

It was then Oscar discovered the only way for him to die with honor was to perish at the Hollow's hands. A part of him prayed the other would read his thoughts and grant him that last gesture.

I was wrong. The world doesn't owe me anything, and neither do you. I am the one who's in debt with all of you. I've failed so many times and I just keep falling lower. I see the wrong in my actions but I never stop. I never change. I'm a monster. Please, help me make amends. I beg of you... kill me.

Oscar closed his eyes.

He remembered all the injuries he had stricken on the Hollow, each worse and more violent than the last. He had enjoyed inflicting all of them, not out of bloodlust but out of relief.

Each had meant a step closer to his fate.

Why? Why did I pretend?

Oscar felt how the scorched sword's handle started to slip from his fingers.

Why didn't I stop?

The Hollow held Oscar tighter. They remained still; their bite frozen in an eternal moment of hesitation.

It was not an action proper of a Hollow.

You fool.

Oscar let go of his sword.

He warped that same arm around the Undead's shoulders. Slowly, he felt the Undead's teeth departing from his bloody throat.

You're wondering the same thing, aren't you?

Oscar opened his eyes.

"You're not Hollow. Neither of us are." He felt the Undead shaking against him. "It's alright, let's stop now. "

"Oscar."

His name.

Even after all that had happened, they still remembered.

"It's alright." Oscar said. For the first time since the Undead curse had found a way into his body, he felt alive. "Let's just stop."

They both did.

The moment of peace that followed was brief and met an abrupt end at the hands of reality, but it was all Oscar and the Undead needed to realize that whatever fate had in store for either of them, it was not dying at the hands of each other.

For me, that is enough.

Oscar thought just before the raven's cry resonated behind his back.

Perhaps even more.

It was Oscar who gently broke their embrace.

"Listen to me."

The Undead was limp on their knees, their chin glued to their chest and their eyes fixed on the ground.

They didn't look at Oscar. They couldn't, not when the sin they had committed against him was as fresh as the blood dripping from the corner of their mouth.

I'm not Hollow.

The Undead watched Oscar's blood spreading on the snow under his knees. Just how seriously they had injured him was a thought they didn't dare to touch.

But I'm still a monster.

"Please, we haven't got much time." Oscar put his hands on their shoulders. He waited, but he got no answer from the Undead.

It didn't take long for Oscar to stand up and leave them behind, but not before picking up his former longsword, the same the Undead had used to injure him.

I'm sorry, Oscar.

The Undead looked up the moment they felt the absence of Oscar's weight resting on their shoulders. They whimpered, their fear and despair increasing at the same rate of their anxious heartbeat.

What I tried to do to you—No, what I've done to you is beyond forgiveness, I know it, but...

The Undead rested their only hand on the snowy grass in an anguished attempt to find their balance to stand up and go after Oscar. Rather than landing on soft blades of grass, their hand met a sharp, uneven surface that made the Undead hiss with pain.

Instinctively, they looked at what had harmed them.

Oscar's discarded sword. The bonfire's sword.

The Undead grabbed it and held it close to their chest as if it was a charm.

That weapon of coiled and burnt metal would be the only memento they would have left of Oscar once he had abandoned them.

It would be a fitting punishment for what they had done to him. The Undead understood and accepted it, but that didn't make it any less difficult for them to face Oscar's departure.

Their grief over the loss of the only person that mattered to them was too great for the Undead to bother with stoicism or dignity.

Please, don't leave me.

The Undead's breathing became irregular with agitation. They stood up clumsily, their legs shaking and burning with dozens of wounds. They walked towards Oscar, his back turned on them as he tried to free his crest shield stuck on the snow with the help of his sword.

Please, don't go.

The Undead tried to speak, but his damaged throat and tongue could only remember how to pronounce one word.

"Oscar."

Oscar gasped in surprise. He turned around just in time to see the Undead trip over in front of him.

"Chosen Undead!" In the blink of an eye, Oscar was again at their side, kneeling next to them and helping the Undead into their knees. His sword and freed shield laid discarded close by. "You fool, can't you see how badly wounded you are? Why did you—"

Oscar's concerned expression wavered. Seeing his eyes fill with guilt was unbearable for the Undead.

They tried to hold him again, but stopped at the last second, afraid they would not be able to let him go again if they did.

Instead, they put their hand on Oscar's shoulder. He replied to the gesture by putting his hands above theirs.

You don't owe me anything. You have nothing to make up for. I'm not angry at you, I never was. So please...

Oscar gave the Undead's hand one last squeeze before he gently took it off from his shoulder. Then, he picked up his sword and shield.

The Undead grunted, shaking their head and dreading what they knew Oscar would say next.

Don't do anything stupid.

"This is how it must be." Oscar said, trying his best to make his words a comfort for the Undead. "This is how I want it to be. This is the fate I've chosen for myself. Trust me when I say that giving my life for you fills me with nothing but pride. Not only it is my fate, it's also my greatest honor."

The Undead held the bonfire's sword closer to their chest, their head still denying at what their ears heard.

I don't want it... I don't need your sacrifice! I don't want you to do this for me. Not for me.

They opened their mouth, but nothing came out of it other than Oscar's name.

"Listen." Oscar said. The Undead could hear in his guttural voice the tears trapped inside his throat. "I'll distract the remaining Hollows while you and the raven escape. Do not move from here. Wait for the bird to come pick you up. No, I know what you're thinking. It wouldn't work... I'm afraid it is too injured to carry us both. "

Oscar looked at the still ongoing fight between the raven and the remaining Hollows. The Undead imitated him.

Several swords, axes and arrows clung to the animal's body like leeches. The ground of the battlefield was covered with dead Hollows and dozens of its destroyed black feathers. One of its feet was curled and soaked with blood. When it tried to fly, its movement were desperate and heavy, as if each flutter of its wings implied a wave of pain.

Yet, despite its injuries, the raven continued to fight bravely the few Hollows that remained, but what they lacked in numbers, they compensated with ferocity. More than a duel for victory, for the raven the fight had become a struggle for survival.

A surge of sadness stung the Undead.

All this time, the raven had been protecting them and Oscar and it wasn't until then the Undead became aware of the animal's sacrifice.

If only I hadn't wasted our time with my selfish Hollow charade, this wouldn't have happened. If only I...

The Undead looked away, too ashamed to continue watching the trial the raven was enduring because of them.

"I have to hurry, before it's too late." Oscar stood up. "Do as I told you, my friend. Please, it would mean everything to me."

The Undead looked at him.

For a moment, they felt the same way they had back in their cell, when their eternal self-pitying had been interrupted by a mysterious knight looking down at them from the roof as he offered them a corpse with the key to their freedom.

The Undead knew it was this image and not the one they had chosen before which they treasured most.

A light in the darkness, a fire burning in the deepest abyss. That's what this memory is for me. That's what you are for me.

"Oscar."

The Undead grabbed his hand and used it as a support to stand up.

A light that must keep shining.

"Stop this." Oscar tried to push them back on the ground, but the Undead resisted his attempts. For once, they felt glad they had injured him to that extent. Had Oscar been in better shape, they doubted they would have been able to defy him.

A fire that must not fade.

"Stop! You stubborn fool, I won't let you interfere. Just stay here and do as I told you! If I must cut your ankles to make you stop, I will."

Oscar's threat was so hollow it was almost comical.

Astora must be quite the sentimental land for its elite knights to ignore that threats are not supposed to be spoken.

The Undead and Oscar looked at each other. When Oscar was about to continue with his speech, the Undead stabbed him in the stomach with the bonfire's sword.

They are supposed to be acted.

Oscar's mouth opened in a silent scream. His sword fell, but his shield remained firmly attached to his forearm. The Undead pushed the sword deeper onto his belly, hating themselves for what they were doing, but knowing too well they had no choice.

Oscar held the Undead's arm with his free hand, his knees struggling to keep him standing.

"But— " His voice had been reduced to a breathless whisper. His hand slipped from the Undead's arm to their wrist as his legs succumbed to his weight. "But—why?"

Because this is not your fate.

"Oscar."

The Undead gently took Oscar's hand away from their wrist and helped him into a sitting position by making him lean against a rock.

Oscar tried to pull the coiled sword out, but his strength wasn't enough. The sight of betrayal and frustration in his features was too much for the Undead.

They picked up his longsword and turned their back on him without giving him a second glance.

They didn't want to remember Oscar looking at them that way. They erased the image from their mind and replaced it with that of their first encounter.

A shinning peace cleansed their soul from fear and doubt.

As long as I have this memory, it will be as if you were still by my side.

Taking a deep breath and ignoring Oscar's hushed pleas, the Undead charged at the battlefield of the raven and the Hollows.

Somewhere within me, you will always exist. I'm not alone.

The first Hollow that died at their hand never got to know the face of its killer. Its head departed from its shoulders before it got a chance to look at the one-armed Undead that appeared out of nowhere.

The other Hollows were not so careless. One by one, they transferred their attention from the injured raven to their new opponent, one far more interesting to kill and tastier to devour than some random intruding animal.

The raven wasted no time.

The Undead watched it fly away from the gory scene directly towards Oscar. With little elegance, the raven grabbed him with his healthy foot and raised up to the sky with him.

The Undead smiled, uncaring of how the relentless attacks of the Hollows had broken their defense and reached their body in the form of lethal blows.

The Undead collapsed. The Hollows surrounded them.

None of it mattered.

Oscar was safe.

That's enough for me... no, it's more than that.

The Hollows discarded their weapons and threw themselves over the Undead like hyenas, showering them with starved bites and gnaws.

It is everything.

"No." Oscar said, hanging on to consciousness by a thread as he reached his arm towards the distant Asylum.

The cold wind crashing against his body and the pressure of the raven's foot around him had robbed him of whatever little energy was left in his ragged body, but it didn't stop Oscar from screaming when he saw the blurry image of the Hollows devouring the Undead whole.

"No!"

His voice resonated across the landscape, but it was heard by no one other than the raven.

The animal echoed his lament with a mournful cry.

Chosen Undead.

The raven's song was the last thing Oscar heard before he fell into the darkness of unconsciousness.

How could you?

Like most his prayers, the question remained forever unanswered.

Chapter Text

You were gone longer than usual. I thought you had died. Your return is unexpected but not unwelcome. Any companionship other than the one this sun-adoring moron offers would be greatly appreciated, even if it's just that of a raven.

The crestfallen thought as he stared into the bonfire's dancing flames. He looked at the sunlight warrior from the corner of his eye and saw him looking at the giant raven with the same amazement as if it was an ancient dragon of legend.

It was not the reaction he had expected from him.

Ravens were harbingers of ill omens.

It was common knowledge among the habitants of the land, whether they were living or Undead.

Why then, did the sun praising knight appeared to be so in awe at the sight of the approaching bird?

The crestfallen warrior pondered on the question.

Could it be that the knight was like him and that he too refused to believe such stupid superstition could hold even the slightest speck of truth?

After a moment of reflection, the answer became obvious.

"No." He rolled his eyes and shook his head. The bonfire's sizzling murmur became more pronounced at the touch of the blows of wind coming from the raven's wings. "He's just a childish idiot."

A tired sigh followed his faintly amused chuckle.

Though annoyed, the crestfallen warrior found no real reason to be angry at the sunlight warrior for his easily impressed disposition.

Perhaps, he thought, this time he could be more forgiving and allow the other his moment of wonder.

Giant ravens were not a common sight in Lordran, and he could understand, though not share, the appeal such creature could have for some, especially for fools like the sunlight knight.

The crestfallen warrior may have shared the same reaction when he had first gazed upon Firelink Shrine's raven long ago. It was not probable, but nothing in Lordran was impossible.

Whatever his original reaction had been, the crestfallen warrior had to admit the constant presence of the raven in the shrine had soon transformed the bird's novelty into a boring routine.

The same had happened with the countless of fools the raven insisted on bringing to Firelink Shrine from Northern Asylum. The crestfallen warrior had learned none of them was worthy of a warm welcome or much of his attention.

Some Hollowed, some disappeared without a trace, but none accomplished something relevant in their pitiful existences.

In that sense, they were no different from him.

"But I'm still here." The warrior said with an emotionless smile. "I do nothing, I am nothing, but I'm still alive. As alive as an Undead can be."

That fact alone had made him realize that such existence was the best fate any Undead could ever achieve.

Fabled prophecies of glory and purpose were little more than fairy tales only the lost and the foolish believed in.

The crestfallen warrior couldn't remember, but as much as it shamed him, he knew he most likely had been the same long ago. It was a fortune that Lordran had taught him better and helped him open his eyes.

He was thankful. The experience had not been gentle nor kind, but it had been necessary and humbling.

His gratefulness for the way reality had shown its crudeness to him was great enough for him to wish to share his wisdom with others.

Few of the newcomers sought his help, and even fewer appreciated the knowledge he imparted, but the crestfallen warrior didn't care for the glares of disgust and hatred his honest words earned him.

It wasn't his fault most of the Undead, especially those who came from the Asylum, lacked the courage or intelligence necessary to understand his words.

This deed of mine is thankless indeed.

The crestfallen warrior took a deep breath and exhaled it through his nostrils.

But as long as someone is willing to hear, I'll be here to help. It's not as if I had something better to do anyway. Firelink Shrine is as dull as it is peaceful.

He turned his head and looked at the giant raven.

Well then, let's meet the new wretched twit you brought this time. At the very least, I'm sure he or she cannot be as unbearably annoying as—

For the first time in ages, his eyes opened wide in fear.

The raven was diving directly towards him, its wings spread but completely still, as if a freezing spell had been casted upon them.

With a nimbleness he thought he had long lost, the crestfallen warrior dodged the raven just before one of its wings hit him. Black feathers grazed against his face as he pulled himself backwards.

He fell on his back and remained paralyzed in shock until he heard the echo of the raven crashing against the shrine's stone columns.

The inertia of the clash faded and the raven's body collapsed. Its final landing shook the earth.

Legs trembling, the crestfallen warrior stood up, his hazy mind still trying to make sense of what had happened.

It had been too long since he had last experienced true chaos and conflict. It took that brief taste of both to make him realize how bitter they were and how little he had missed them.

As he clumsily walked towards the raven, the crestfallen warrior found himself longing for the peace that just a few moments ago he had taken for granted.

A part of him feared it had been taken away from him forever.

"You poor thing." He said, his voice devoid of sentiment. He knelt next to the dying raven. With a gentleness he thought had long departed his body, he rested one hand on top of the bird's blood-soaked feathers.

He caressed them.

It came to him it was the first time he did so.

Both him and the raven had spent what felt like ages in Firelink Shrine, but the giant bird had never wandered close to him, and the crestfallen warrior had never tried to catch its attention.

The companionship between them, if it could even be called that, had always been shallow and mundane, like the one a shadow offers to the body that casts it.

"And yet, you were always here."

The raven didn't react to his words or touch. Shudders of pain came together with its every breath.

Steadily, its panting became slower.

With little fanfare, it stopped completely.

The crestfallen warrior stared at the raven's corpse. It vanished from existence like dust into the wind.

A single feather damp with blood remained trapped in the warrior's hand. It was the only trace the raven left of its passing through world.

The crestfallen warrior gazed at it. Something in his eyes changed.

The change lasted too little for him to notice it, and before he knew it, everything went back to normal.

All around him and within him returned to its previous state, so unchanged by the raven's sudden demise that it was easy for him to pretend it hadn't occurred at all.

"Meaningless." He said, clenching the hand holding the feather. "All of us are. That will never—"

"Hey, come quickly!"

His personal musings perished at the hands of the intrusive voice of the sunlight warrior.

Silently, the crestfallen warrior secured the feather on his belt.

"He's badly injured. We have to—" The sunlight knight's tone sharpened with stress at the null attention the crestfallen warrior showed him. "Are you listening to me? He needs our help!"

The crestfallen warrior continued to pay no mind to his questions or pleas, and as casually as if he had just gone to a corner to relieve himself, he returned to his usual spot in front of the bonfire.

Watching the fire dance around the coiled sword had always been a source of comfort. Now, when he looked at it, it felt empty.

Nothing's changed.

He heard the knight's voice again into the distance. To his ears, it was no more relevant or meaningful than the buzzing of a gnat.

Then, why does everything feel different?

His fear from before rekindled with a burning force that transformed any other thought in his mind into ashes.

Somehow, he knew.

The raven and the Undead it had brought with it had broken something beyond repair.

Peace would never truly return to Firelink Shrine.

Somehow, he was sure.

Perhaps all this time I was wrong.

Even when he had no reason or need to do so, he smiled.

And superstitions have more truth in them than I had thought.

Anger was not familiar to Solaire.

In the rare occasions it manifested within him, the effects were short and left no trace of resentment in his heart; but at that moment, the sullen warrior was making a formidable job at testing the limits of his patience.

Solaire had laughed off his rudeness without second thoughts.

He had understood and accepted the annoyance the other so obviously felt towards him without ill feelings.

Even if the warrior had outright offended him with the worst of insults or petty displays of aggression, Solaire would have forgiven him.

He had learned no good ever came from replying to that kind of treatment with violence. The mockery of others was not easy to bear, and forgiveness and understanding often proved to be twice as difficult to grant; but in the end, Solaire was always willing to bet for this harder path, if not for the good of those who offended him, then for the sake of his own honor and peace of mind.

So far in his life, he had remained true and loyal to his code. Though not unwilling or afraid to retaliate against anyone who threatened his life, Solaire had never done so out of an emotional outburst.

No one had ever driven him to the deep end of real anger.

No one except for the sullen warrior.

"What's wrong with you?" Solaire spat at him. "Are you really not going to help him?"

The raw anger in Solaire's voice had no effect on the other. The crestfallen simply kept staring into the fire without a care in the world.

Solaire's stare transformed into a piercing glare. He had heard of the ruthless and unsettling indifference common in most Undead, but he hadn't expected to witness it so early on his journey.

Deep inside his heart, he had hoped the rumors were just the ignorant blabber of those who despised all the Undead. To see his expectations and hopes betrayed so cynically shook something within him, leaving him trapped between disappointment and a reluctance to accept that an indifference so cruel could truly exist in the world.

A violent coughing fit freed Solaire from his thoughts. It came not from him, but from the knight in his arms.

The raven had dropped the injured knight on Solaire without previous warning. Solaire had barely had time to react and catch him before the raven's flight lost all its balance and direction.

The act had not been gentle for either Solaire or the knight.

His arms still stung from the knight's weight having being so brusquely thrown into him. It had been by pure chance that his shoulders hadn't snapped from their joints. There was also a lingering pain traveling his back like a wild spark.

Distracting as it was, Solaire kept his discomfort to himself. He had no right to complain, not when the knight in his arms had wounds that put Solaire's injuries to shame.

The worst of them all was the sword deeply stuck on his lower belly. Solaire had not dared to touch it, even less tried to pull the weapon off. First, he needed to restore the knight's health with Estus as much as possible.

Only after the elixir had cured most of his wounds and restored a large portion of his strength would Solaire attempt to remove the weapon from his body. Otherwise, the process would likely prove lethal for the knight.

Solaire dreaded the moment when he would have to make the knight undergo that agonizing part of his healing.

He took a deep breath and turned his back on the burning resentment he held for the uncaring sullen warrior and the dreadful image of the sword's removal. He had not time for petty feelings or fear of the future, not when the knight the raven had entrusted to him was in dire need of his help.

With a renewed conviction and a clearer mind, Solaire held the knight firmly, decided to offer stability to his body until his coughing fit passed.

By the gods.

Solaire gasped when he looked at the knight's face with more caution. By instinct, one of Solaire's hands jolted directly to the handle of his sheathed sword.

There was no doubt about it.

The knight's features were half Hollow.

Who was to say it was not the same case with his mind?

The blade of his sword began to emerge from the sheath.

He could take no risks, not with a Hollow. For the sake of the land, Solaire knew he had to strike him down before he got out of control and hurt someone.

"Why? Chosen Undead."

Solaire recoiled at the knight's voice. It was difficult to imagine it came from a man and not a demon.

"Chosen Undead. Why did you—"

His voice broke into a pitiful whimper before he could finish.

Solaire felt his heart soften. Not with little shame, he retreated his hand from his sword.

The knight, despite his appearance, was not Hollow. Solaire was sure of it.

Hollows couldn't speak with coherence, and even if they could, no Hollow would be able to show the wrenching sentiment that drenched the knight's words.

Fate has not been kind to you.

Solaire thought as the knight kept muttering questions and laments he couldn't wholly understand. Even if he didn't comprehend the context of his pain, Solaire could clearly see how real and cutting it was for the knight.

That was reason enough for Solaire to offer him his help again, this time without a trace of doubt.

"It's alright." Solaire said, gently putting the knight down on the ground. He held one of the knight's hands in an attempt to comfort him while he searched for his Estus Flask. To his surprise, the knight reacted to his touch and held his hand with a tight grip that was close to being painful. "You're safe now."

Solaire only tried to free his hand once he managed to find the flask. The knight, with his eyes firmly shut and twitching as if he was trapped in a profound nightmare, breathed heavily when he felt Solaire's hand trying to depart his.

He struggled to keep it from happening, but he was too weak to present any real resistance.

"Chosen Undead." The knight muttered. His hoarse voice was twisted with delirium. "Chosen Undead."

"You're going to be alright, my friend." Solaire said, wishing he had more soothing words to offer. He put a hand behind the knight's head and began to lift it closer to the flask. "Now drink."

The knight's eyes sprung open. It happened so quickly that it caught Solaire off guard. To his surprise, the eye on the Hollowed half of the knight's face was normal. There was as much color and life in it as in its counterpart.

They glistened as the knight stared at Solaire in disbelief.

You're not Hollow.

Solaire smiled back, not wanting to further disconcert the confused knight with a pronounced frown or an expression of shock in his face.

Far from it.

"Now now, there's nothing to be afraid of, I'm here to help you. We may both be Undead, but I won't let you die. You have my word."

Solaire's smile froze in his lips when the knight wrapped his fingers around one of his metal bracelets.

"You." The knight said. His expression turned hopeful, almost happy. It brought great relief to Solaire, but it vanished when just a second after, the knight's face darkened with dismay. "No, it's not you. It's not you."

"Easy, don't force yourself." Solaire insisted, trying his best to keep the knight calm. "I know you're in pain but try to relax. You'll be back in one piece in a heartbeat; otherwise, my name's not—"

"Chosen Undead! It's not you!"

"Stop! What are you—"

The knight's palm hit Solaire in the bridge of his nose. Though not overly painful, the blow blinded Solaire's eyes with tears and disoriented him, almost making him lose his grip on his Estus Flask.

Blood began to flow from his nostrils and leak into his mouth. Solaire hissed, covering his face with his free hand. It was not until his fingers touched his nose that he realized what the contact implied.

"Wait, no!" Solaire stood up.

He wiped his reflexive tears with a sweep of his forearm and saw the knight wandering about aimlessly with graceless but surprisingly swift steps as he screamed and looked for the one he had mistaken Solaire for.

"Chosen Undead! Chosen Undead!" The knight ran in the opposite direction and tripped over with a broken stone tile.

Solaire gasped, convinced the knight would fall on his chest and further impale himself with the sword in his belly. He had no time to look away or close his eyes.

Fate must have showed pity on the delirious knight, and rather than hitting the floor with his body, he managed to put his hands between him and the ground. The contained force of the aborted impact took its toll on his body, and despite his crazed efforts to get back on his feet, the knight remained stiff on his knees.

Yet, his screams continued, each louder than the last, each containing the same words.

"Chosen Undead!"

Solaire clenched his jaw.

What had happened to the knight to break him to that extent?

What horrors did Lordran hold to transform men into uncaring warriors like the crestfallen?

The questions sparked another feeling in his heart, one rarer than anger and resentment. It manifested not as a reaction but as more questions.

What did Lordran have in store for Solaire?

What would it transform him into?

Solaire's stare became a mournful frown. The sight of the kneeling knight still crying for the person he missed brought tears to his eyes again, not as a reflex, but as result of his emotions.

He would have shed them freely and without shame had it not been for the interference of the crestfallen warrior.

"You're truly useless, aren't you? Can't even get rid of a single Hollow." The crestfallen warrior said, wielding a longsword in his right hand. "And to think I at least hoped you made up for your stupidity with brute force and skill. Pathetic; and now, you've left me no choice than to strike this wretched creature down myself. I should have known it would end up like this."

With a vigor that didn't match the stiffness of his tone, the crestfallen warrior raised his sword with his two hands right above the knight's head.

"It couldn't have been any other way."

The longsword came down with a whistle as it cut the air in a horizontal slash. Sparks and not blood exploded from the blade when it clashed against Solaire's sunlight straight sword.

The metal of both weapons clanked as their wielders looked at each other.

"Really now, defending a Hollow? Ah, and crying for it as well. See, that's the problem with you Warriors of Sunlight. You are all a bunch of emotional imbeciles, but you... you are beyond ridiculous."

"Quiet!" Solaire raised his sword and broke the weapons' contact. The crestfallen warrior took two forced steps back before he regained his balance. "First you refuse to help this man when he was in need, and now you're trying to kill him? You're more despicable than I thought. He's not Hollow, you know it as well as I do! Stop making up excuses for your cowardice."

"Not Hollow? Look at his face, listen to his voice, see his behavior. He's beyond salvation, and clearly in so much pain. Who knows, perhaps by killing him, we would be helping him. Is that not the creed of your covenant, sunlight knight? To aid those who are in dire need? Oh, woe is me, to have come across the most incompetent member of that legion of fools."

"Enough." Solaire put himself between the knight and the sullen warrior. "I care not for the insults and assertions of a broken washout like you, but I won't let you hurt this man. Put down your sword and I shall do the same, but if a stubborn beast you'll be, I will not hold back."

Solaire kept an unfaltering defensive stance and stood as tall as he could, hoping the crestfallen would back down in intimidation.

He had grown to hate him, but the last Solaire wanted was to be the perpetrator of unnecessary violence and death. To taint a sanctuary like Firelink Shrine with blood spilled in battle felt almost like a sin, an offense so grand that it would not go unpunished by the gods or fate.

It was one thing to kill mindless Hollows. In his short existence as an Undead, Solaire had already eliminated his fair share; but to strike down a fellow sentient Undead was an experience new to him, one he had never thought he would have to face.

We are no longer bound to the aggressions of the living. We are all Undead here. The Darksign branded in our flesh makes us all the same. What good could come from fighting each other? What are the both of us even fighting about?

"Such nonsense." Solaire muttered, relaxing his muscles. "Please, let's stop this now. There's no need for any of this. I'm sure you feel the same."

"No need, you say?" The crestfallen warrior laughed earnestly. For a moment, Solaire could see traces of the man the warrior had once been before Lordran had transformed him into an empty husk. "Of course there's no need for this. There's no need for anything, really. We Undead have no need or meaning at all, yet we still are. Our hearts have no need to beat, yet they still do. Our actions have no purpose or relevance, yet fools like you are obsessed with justifying them with ideals and creeds that signify nothing. Meaningless, all of it."

Solaire frowned as the sullen warrior's cackle died down.

"Do not misunderstand. I do not wish to kill that pitiful Hollow out of duty or honor. I've abandoned such childish ideas long ago. He annoys me. I want him gone, that's all there is to it."

The crestfallen warrior readied his stance. Solaire replied with the same gesture.

"And to tell you the truth, I feel the same about you. And something tells me..." the warrior smirked, "you feel the same about me. Do you not, knight of sunlight?"

Solaire didn't answer.

The two warriors remained trapped in a tense silence that was abruptly broken by the clash of their swords.

Neither knew who attacked first, but they shared an identical thought that rang inside them as the toll of a bell.

I shall not be defeated by the likes of you.

It was the raging duel between the two men which finally snapped Oscar out of his trance.

He stared at them, first with indifference, then with anguish.

The more he watched, the more he wondered if he and the Chosen Undead had looked the same during their fraudulent battle.

The memory of the Undead stung his heart as much as it hurt his body. His wounds numbed by his delirium pulsated with renewed fervor.

Oscar screamed, but his cry was lost to the echoes of the dance of swords of the warriors. It didn't take long for their blood to spill on the ash covered floor.

They're going to kill each other.

"No." Oscar said, his voice so low that it was imperceptible to his own ears.

The memory of how he had viciously enjoyed attacking the Undead flashed so vividly before his eyes that Oscar swore he was back at the Asylum.

They'll die because of me.

Just like the Undead and the many other residents of the Asylum had.

"Stop it."

He tried to stand up, but an incapacitating pain kept his knees glued to the ground.

Oscar's hands traveled down to the coiled sword on his belly. He held it tightly, making his body twitch in agony at the slightest movement.

He swallowed, his arms trembling in fear of what he was about to do.

Never again.

He started to pull the sword out. The skin and flesh he destroyed countered by sending him a wave of pain that threatened to drive him to absolute madness.

He clenched his jaw, his teeth creaked at the pulverizing pressure.

Pain evolved to a level unknown to Oscar. It bit, burn, tear, and stung simultaneously.

He screamed again, unable to focus his strength on any other task than the removal of the coiled sword.

Chosen Undead.

The scorched metal emerged from his body covered in his blood.

You did this to me.

The sound it made as it abandoned his body was no less sickening than the aftertaste his bile and blood left in his mouth.

You died so I could live.

Oscar's sight had started to become pitch black just before the last broken ends of the coiled sword left his body with the muffled and gory murmurs of tearing meat.

And I can never forgive myself for it. So please, you two...

"STOP!" Oscar exclaimed, smashing the coiled sword against a stone tile.

His roar was followed by complete silence.

Oscar lifted his face. The cold sweat on his forehead dripped down to his chin and reflected the bonfire's glow.

Shaking with a spreading fever, Oscar looked at the two warriors.

The one with the blond hair neatly tied in a ponytail stared at Oscar with his mouth agape. He stood still, his sunlight straight sword resting on one of his defeated opponent's shoulders.

The other warrior, brought down to his knees, looked at Oscar with no less bewilderment.

"Please, no more." Oscar said, one of his hands covering the bleeding hole the coiled sword had left on his body, while the other struggled to support his weight. "I don't want anyone else to die because of me. All this violence, all this suffering... It's not worth it. I'm not worth it. I beg of you, don't do this. Just—"

Stop.

His strength abandoned him. He fell on his right side and landed on a pool of his blood.

He saw a fading silhouette looking down at him with palpable concern.

Oscar felt the warm touch of Estus being poured on his belly wound. He thought he then felt the elixir's taste on his dry mouth, but by then Oscar had retreated too deep inside his mind to be aware of what was happening to him.

He didn't care anymore.

He doubted he ever again would.

"Why?" The darkness swallowed their laments. Just like in life, no answer or comfort was ever offered in return. "Why does it never end?"

"Ah, I was wrong. You're not the bearer of the Dark Soul. I should have known it was too good to be true." A voice said to them. "Still, you have his same scent. Could this poor soul truly be his descendant? I must say I expected much better from his bloodline."

"Why?"

"Ah, so you're awareness has not abandonded you."

"Why can't I go Hollow?"

"What are you saying, you deplorable creature?"

"Make me go Hollow. Erase me from existance. I don't care what you do to me, but please, make it all stop."

"You sorry fool. You were cursed to existance the moment you were born into the world. That's something not even us primordial serpents can change. If it is of any comfort to you, I'll let you know you are completely Hollow. Judging by the state of your soul, you have been for a long time."

"I'm... Hollow?"

"Indeed. In fact, you're Hollowing is deeper than any other I've seen before; yet, your mind remains clear and strong." The creature hummed after a pensive pause. "Perhaps, just perhaps, there's a glimmer of potential in you."

The endless darkness morphed into a fleshy and toothy cavity that engulfed them whole.

"I know not yet what use I can make of you, but to let you wander aimlessly for all time in this abyss would be a waste. Rest now,young Hollow. Rest your soul and leave your fate to Darkstalker Kaathe."

"I'm Hollow."

They laughed as the jaws of the serpent closed and trapped them in a new darkness warm with life and heavy with stench.

What should have felt like a curse was  nothing but pure bliss.

Not only were they truly Hollow, but the serpent's mouth had also offered them something life never had.

Answers, and above all, peace.

So this was my fate all along. I could ask for nothing more. Wherever you are, I know you're feeling the same as me right now.

The Undead closed their eyes and smiled.

Right, Oscar?

Chapter Text

The Bearer of the Dark Soul.

The Furtive Pygmy.

The easily forgotten fourth lord.

The father of humanity.

If we were to get sentimental, we could say that he still lives in all of you, the sad creatures he left behind.

He does not.

He is gone.

He forsook you.

His reasons were his alone.

Perhaps he feared his creation and ran away.

Perhaps he grew tired of his existence among his kin and took his own life.

Or perhaps he merely got killed and died.

Whatever the cause, he is gone.

He is not coming back.

When I saw you floating aimlessly across the darkness like driftwood after a storm, I dared to think the opposite.

I was hopeful.

And so very naïve.

It was a moment of weakness, bred after dozens of disappointments.

It won't happen again.

I've grown stronger and wiser from the experience.

I also have you with me now.

Among all his kin, you share his blood.

It should make you special, but you are vulgar beyond forgiveness.

His blood has kept you sane even after Hollowing.

It should be a blessing, but to you it has always been nothing but a curse.

When I taste your flesh, I taste only regret and loneliness.

When I peek into your memories, I see only emptiness.

When I listen to your heart, I hear only pity.

Not for others.

Only for yourself.

Worthless.

That's all you think you've been for the world.

You are correct.

You wasted all your life dwelling on your own trivial suffering.

Other than dying constantly like a clumsy fool, you did nothing.

Never for you, even less for anyone else.

Little Hollow, I admit I am doubting my decision.

You are way too useless.

You are sane, but you are empty.

There is no passion in you.

You're not like other Hollows, but one as lacking as you cannot be my Dark Lord.

The Pygmy's blood means nothing when it's wasted on you.

I'm not angry.

You humans know no better.

But a primordial serpent should.

And now, here I am, fooled twice by my own desperation... It seems my search for the Dark Lord has been more exhausting than I had thought.

Kaathe grunted and waited for a reply.

Though disappointed, he was willing to give the Hollow a chance to defend themselves.

The Hollow rested still on his tongue.

He wondered if they had heard his speech.

The silence they gave him made him realize they were deep asleep.

They had been since he had started talking.

Lowly fool. What use did I ever think I could make out of someone like you?

Kaathe opened his mouth, eager to rid himself of the failure he had allowed inside him.

Wander in nothingness for all eternity, miserable wretch.

Then, he felt it.

A dream.

A memory, one so strong that it spread a sickening sweetness on his tongue.

What is this?

Kaathe snapped his mouth closed as he tried not to choke on his saliva.

This memory. Is this a dream of yours, little Hollow? Can Hollows dream at all?

Intrigued, Kaathe closed his eyes and stared into the Hollow's essence.

He expected to see images of lost memories. Memories of dreams and happiness, of pain and torture.

Instead, all he saw was the image of a knight looking down at him from above.

A shallow and irrelevant memory from a shallow and irrelevant Hollow. Yet, this insignificant scene ignites a burning motivation within you. You took this tiny thing and made it your all.

Kaathe's laughter mixed with Frampt's distant sleep talking.

If the Pygmy could look at you, he would see himself in you.

Together, they became an ominous melody that resonated across the abyss.

And smile.

After many attempts, the best the sunlight knight could offer Oscar as a resting position had been a half sitting posture against the shrine's old tree.

The stone steps did nothing to give Oscar any more repose, as they kept his legs irregularly placed on the ground; the tree's bark was also riddled with splinters, many of which had found their way through Oscar's chainmail.

At the very least, the spot had proven to be a good place to receive the bonfire's heat without it becoming overbearing.

The sunlight knight had apologized to Oscar dozens of times for not being able to find him a better location to rest and heal.

Oscar had listened to his explanations but had said nothing in return.

He had remained so still and silent that he could have passed as one of the tree's many overgrown roots.

Yet, for a reason Oscar didn't care to discover, the sunlight knight insisted on talking to him.

"Friend, look what I found!"

The always happy knight knelt in front of him and placed a shield on Oscar's lap.

"This belongs to you, doesn't it? I could tell the moment I saw it! Let me tell you, it wasn't easy getting it back from that little bald man who found it before me. What was his name again? Preaches, I think?"

The knight scratched his chin and arched an eyebrow, trying hard to refresh his memory. After a while, he shrugged.

"Oh well, his name's not important anyway. He made me pay him quite the sum for it, all while claiming he was offering me a bargain exclusive to the Warriors of Sunlight. He called it a 'jolly discount'. I swear, the gall of some people. I told him off on his shameful behavior, of course. I'm sure he'll see reason and change his ways from now on. He promised me he would. He even thanked me; can you believe it? Then again, he only did so after I paid him so... Damn."

He laughed.

The sound of his laughter was by then as familiar to Oscar as the sight and warmth of Firelink Shrine's bonfire.

As always, Oscar said nothing.

Slowly, he moved his eyes from the distant nothingness he had been staring at for what felt like ages and looked at the knight.

His name returned to him the moment he saw his face.

Solaire.

The word tried escaped his lips, but it died as a thought.

The memories following Oscar's awakening after his fainting were hazy with fever and corrupted by pain.

The only constant and clear aspect about them was Solaire himself.

He had washed Oscar's face and hair with the same care he had cleaned and bandaged the only injury the Estus hadn't fully healed.

The wound left by the coiled sword was finally starting to scar, but the new skin was tender and carried traces of its rough and merciless cauterization.

That had been the crestfallen warrior's doing.

The crestfallen had acted without saying something beforehand. He had merely walked towards Oscar and pushed Solaire out of his way after the Estus had failed to stop the bleeding.

All Oscar could remember was the burning bite of the crestfallen's sword, glowing red with the bonfire's heat, as it seared his wound closed.

The smell of his flesh and muscles being carbonized was still vivid in Oscar's memory. He doubted it would ever go away.

"Fire burns fire." The crestfallen had said mockingly under his breath as he looked at Oscar like he was a rabid dog getting sacrificed. "My debt to you is paid."

He had barely had the time to finish the sentence before Solaire had forced him to back off with a punch in the jaw.

How Oscar had endured that last agony without Hollowing or how the incident hadn't resulted in another duel to the death between the two warriors was something he couldn't remember.

Why?

The question echoed in his mind.

Why have I not Hollowed?

There was no answer.

Chosen Undead.

Solaire's eternal smile waned.

Oscar didn't care to figure out what emotion his eyes conveyed to make the knight's lose his radiant optimism

His thoughts had become his entire world.

Everything else held no importance for him.

"I know, I know. I talk too much, don't I?" Solaire said with a friendly tone. Oscar saw right through his façade but kept silent and unresponsive.

Other than his slow breathing, he gave no signs of life, not even after Solaire helped him place his hands on top the Crest Shield.

"You want some alone time to rest, I know you do. If you need anything, just let me know, alright? Don't worry, I'll be right here. Say, how about I prepare us some Estus soup? Sounds good, right? Hey, don't judge before you try it! It's a recipe I picked from a knight of Catarina I met before arriving here. A fine man he was, though he did have the tendency to fall asleep even during conversation. I wonder where he is now. Hopefully he—"

"By the lords, you really love to hear yourself talk. Are you sure you didn't drive that onion knight to suicide? Because the more I listen to you, the more attractive that cliff over there looks. I bet that Hollow vegetable feels the same... if that thing is still capable of feeling anything at all."

Oscar heard the crestfallen warrior laugh at his own taunts.

"By the last time, he's—" Solaire said without looking at the crestfallen.

Not without effort, he bit his tongue and closed his eyes before taking a deep breath.

When he opened them again, they were free of anger.

"Don't listen to him." He said, patting Oscar on the shoulder. "He knows not what he's talking about. You are an Undead just like me, alright?"

Solaire stood up.

Oscar didn't follow him with his eyes to see where he was going.

His whole attention was fixed on the shield resting on his lap.

One of his fingers tried to trace the crest imprinted on the surface, but he stopped when it met one of the many marks the Hollows' shower of arrows had left behind.

Chosen Undead.

Oscar clenched his hands, hiding his fingers from the dents as if they were cursed runes.

What had at first felt like nostalgia for having his beloved shield returned to him turned into dread. He wished to throw the object as far from him as possible, but his mind had become disconnected from his body.

With no other way to escape, Oscar closed his eyes. He gained the appearance of a noble knight resting peacefully after a day of dutiful work.

This shield once belonged to an elite knight of Astora, to a noble man that once thought himself good and worthy.

He chuckled in his mind.

Nothing could be farther from what he really was, from what he had become.

From what he had always been.

And always will be.

The thought threatened to sink him into deeper darkness, but a memory that always found its way to his soul casted an intruding light that forced Oscar back to sanity.

Chosen Undead.

For the first time since he had woken up, he felt his heart racing inside his chest.

What you meant back there, when you said you hated me... I get it now. At this moment, I hate you for the same reason. It's a shame that, unlike you, my gratitude does not outgrow my resentment.

The scar on his belly beat and burned like a second heart made of fire. The weight of the shield was heavier than an anvil.

This is the kind of man I am. I warned you, didn't I? And yet, you saved me. It was your mistake, not mine.

He repeated the last part of his thought over and over, unsure of what he wanted to accomplish, but hoping it would grant him peace at last.

Even if he didn't deserve it at all.

"Once the Estus is hot, add two purple mosses... or was it three red mosses? It might as well be a leaf of green blossom."

Solaire used a stick to remove the pot from the bonfire. He stared at it the same way a novice squire inspects a new weapon.

Curses, Siegmeyer made it look so easy when he prepared it! Why am I such a useless cook? I even burn the water when I try to—Alright, calm down Solaire, it's just some soup. Don't let it get to you.

"Of course! The next ingredient is clear!" Solaire exclaimed. He improvised and searched inside the pouch hanging from his waist. "And a little of touch of... a white soapstone. Oh dear, perhaps just a little dip. There!"

After putting his beloved item back in its place, Solaire looked at the fallen knight.

"It's almost ready, friend. This soup is bound to soothe your scar and lift your spirits, you'll see. The flavor might be a bit peculiar, but given its benefits, it shouldn't be that big of a problem."

The knight gave no signs of having heard him. His chin was glued to his chest, his arms so limply resting on top of his shield that Solaire began to wonder if he had made a mistake by returning it to the knight in the first place.

Solaire had been sure that seeing his precious and extremely rare Crest shield returned to him would make the knight feel better.

In Solaire's mind, the action had been logical.

It had never been his intention to bring his spirits lower, if that was even possible.

Had he acted too rashly?

Was the shield a part of the knight's past he wished to forget?

Solaire cursed himself for not having considered neither of those questions beforehand. It wasn't the first time he allowed his heart to cloud his better judgement, nor the only occasion he had caused unintended sorrow on those he wished to help.

He sighed as he stirred the soup with a wooden spoon.

Perhaps I'm really just an annoying fool.

Once the elixir had cooled a bit, Solaire poured half of the portion into his empty Estus Flask.

We are Undead. I know well we don't need to eat; we may do so to heal ourselves or boost our strength, but to do it merely for the pleasure of it is foolish. Siegmeyer said so himself. He laughed it off and so did I. Right now, I fail to see what was so amusing about it at all.

He would feed the knight his share first and save his portion for later. A sudden twitch in his stomach had made him lose his appetite.

After some more thought, Solaire decided he would pass on the meal. He realized he was more tired than he had imagined, and rather than food, he craved for a moment of rest.

He wondered if the crestfallen warrior would want to drink his portion of soup in his stead.

Solaire frowned at the idea.

The mere thought of the sullen man was enough to sour his mood; still, Solaire had grown sick of the constant and unresolved tension looming over them. Perhaps it had been foolish of him to think things could be any better between them.

They had battled each other to the death.

Solaire had come out victorious, and had it not been for the interference of the fallen knight, Solaire wouldn't have hesitated to take the crestfallen's life. As much as he despised senseless violence and death, he was a Warrior of Sunlight.

If he engaged into battle, there was no going back, not unless he wished to lose his honor as a man and knight.

Solaire casted the memories of the incident away from his mind.

He had never been one to enjoy dwelling on the past, especially if the memories were difficult to deal with.

He could do nothing to change the way things had unfolded, but there was one thing he could do. He could find a way to ease the enmity festering among him, the crestfallen warrior and the fallen knight.

If offering the crestfallen warrior some Estus soup proved to be a chance for a new start, Solaire was willing to give it a try.

It was settled.

After feeding the fallen knight his share, Solaire would offer the crestfallen his own portion.

Solaire knew the other was more likely to spat on his face than to accept the food, even less thank him for it.

It didn't matter. Slim as it was, there was a chance everything would turn out for the better.

I'll see about that later. For now, it's not him I care about.

Solaire thought as he gave the knight's Estus soup a final shake in the flask.

Senseless as eating is to any of us now, and stupid as I may be, I really hope this gesture can offer you some comfort, my friend. I know not what you've been through, but if I'm sure of something is that having a warm, peaceful meal near a fire is the least you deserve. And if I can help you with it, please let me try.

"What are you doing?"

Solaire almost gasped when the crestfallen's voice reached him. He looked over his shoulder and saw him standing behind him, tall and still as a statue.

Solaire stood up and backed away from him so swiftly that one of his feet almost steps into the bonfire's flame. He unsheathed his sword carefully so as not to spill a single drop of soup from the flask.

The crestfallen warrior laughed at him. It was the same hoarse and condescending chuckle that emerged from his chest every time Solaire did or said anything. He was not shy about directing the same insult to the fallen knight too, but there was something different about it when Solaire was the addressee.

It was a derogatory undertone that Solaire had heard many times before in his life but had yet to get used to. The sound was always a blow to his pride, a confirmation that what most people thought of him was indeed true.

"Did I scare you? Well, blame me not. If you didn't drift away inside your thoughts so easily like a simple fool, I wouldn't have caught you off guard. You better change this habit of yours fast; otherwise, your journey across Lordran will be a lot shorter than you expected."

He laughed again. Solaire held his sword and flask tightly enough for his knuckles to become white.

Though the barbed words of the crestfallen were upsetting, more so was Solaire's incapacity to understand his behavior.

Why did he insist on injecting so much venom into his words?

What did he expect to gain from insulting Solaire or humiliating the already defeated knight, the same man that had saved his life from Solaire's blade?

Was the crestfallen so unconcerned with his own life that he did not to fear Solaire at all, not even after the quick defeat he had suffered at his hands?

Was he so cruel that he felt no gratitude towards the fallen knight?

Solaire had pondered on those questions before, but never had they been so confusing to him as they were then, when they all came to him at once.

He discovered he wasn't nearly as angry as he was baffled.

"By the lords, don't look at me like that." The crestfallen said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I wasn't scolding you. I merely gave you a well-intentioned suggestion, a tip of survival. You don't have to get worked up about it as if we were a couple of immature squires quarreling over their lord's attention. I do not wish to fight you... I think we both already know how that would turn out."

Another laughter. This time not for Solaire, but for the crestfallen. It carried no less disdain for himself than it did for the fallen knight or Solaire.

Solaire dared to say it carried a lot more.

He looked away from the crestfallen warrior as he slowly sheathed his sword. If the other was honest and he did not seek a fight, neither would Solaire.

A duel only started after blades clashed. Until then, peace was still an option.

Solaire tried to pass the crestfallen by without further interaction, but he blocked his way.

"Wait. What's the hurry, anyway? Trust me, that rotten sack of bones and self-pity over there is not going anywhere."

"Don't call him that. You may be all of that and more, but he's not the same as you. Please, move aside."

"What else can I call him other than what he is? Just look at him."

"I do. Perhaps it's you who's looking but not seeing at all." Solaire tried to continue his way, but the crestfallen blocked him again. "I'll ask you again, move aside."

"What happened to the Warrior of Sunlight I met when he first arrived here? Where has he gone to? Don't tell me Lordran has unmasked the real you already... you haven't even left Firelink Shrine yet! Ah, no matter. I know when my company is unwanted." The crestfallen moved and spread an arm forward. "There, on your way. I wouldn't want the Hollow's soup to get cold. Gwyn forbid it!"

Solaire couldn't move his legs.

Instead, he stared at the crestfallen warrior, whose face was adorned with a pronounced version of his ever-sarcastic smirk.

"What do you mean by that?" Solaire asked, changing his position so that he and the crestfallen could see each other directly.

"By what? I mean all that I say and say all that I mean. I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

"About Lordran unmasking the real me." Solaire said, knowing the other man was only forcing him to say the words out loud.

"I meant exactly that; there's no need for an explanation."

Solaire's heart skipped a beat.

True, he had acted with more aggression towards the crestfallen than he had done with any other person in a long time; but it hadn't been without reason.

It wasn't that he had changed because of him, Solaire was merely showing him a part of himself he had seldom showed to anyone in his whole life.

At his core, Solaire was still the same man he had always been.

Nothing inside him had changed.

"If you are really in so much need for an explanation, I suppose I could give you one. Perhaps I was going too fast for you... don't you worry, I'll be sure to go slower next time, I know it can be hard for you to follow."

"Don't patronize me."

"Me? Never. What ever gave you that idea?" The crestfallen laughed. Solaire could only endure the jab in silence, as the crestfallen did not give him a chance to reply. "But first, answer my former question, sunlight knight. What are you doing?"

Solaire took a moment to answer, unsure of what the crestfallen expected to hear. If he had ever felt more confused and repulsed by a person before in his life, he couldn't recall.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Solaire said with a rudeness that felt foreigner to his tongue and ears. It shocked him and made him mellow his next words. "I made us some Estus soup."

And by us, I mean me and the fallen knight. Not you.

Realizing how inconsiderate the implication was, Solaire knew he had to make quick work of correcting his statement. It also came to him that maybe this had been the source of the crestfallen's recent bitterness.

Solaire hadn't bothered to ask him if he wanted to some Estus soup. He hadn't done so to spite him, the idea simply hadn't crossed his mind, not until a few moments ago.

Oh dear. Maybe I was too rude. This attitude is certainly not like me... could this be what this man means by saying I've changed? Did I really offend him so much by not offering him Estus soup? I never would have considered him to be so sensitive.

Unconsciously, Solaire relaxed his body.

I was petty, I admit it. Still, I'm glad this conflict's origin is something as simple as some soup. How childish of us! Well, no matter. Now we can make amends.

"You can have some if you want." Solaire offered with a slight smile that, while not friendly, was polite.

It came to him it was the first time since their duel that he spoke to the crestfallen with a tone that was neither defensive nor indifferent. "Do you have an Estus flask with you? There's still a generous portion in the pot over there. Feel free to serve yourself as much as you like. If you don't have a flask, I can lend you mine... but first, let me feed the knight his portion before it gets cold. Trust me, Estus soup tastes horrible when—"

"No, knight of sunlight." The crestfallen warrior said. "I'm not talking about your Estus soup."

Solaire felt how his hopes of a peaceful truce burned down inside him.

"For the third time." The crestfallen continued. "What are you doing?"

Solaire was paralyzed.

Despite his inferior physical strength and build, the crestfallen warrior suddenly seemed much more imposing than him, like a colossi ready to stomp Solaire under his foot.

"I don't understand."

"Such a dimwit. Or perhaps you are in denial? Oh well, I'll rephrase the question to a more direct version. Why do you still linger here in Firelink Shrine?"

"What do you mean? You already know very well my reasons for being here." Solaire snapped at the crestfallen. He gave a quick glance to the fallen knight. "I'm helping him recover. I cannot just abandon him to his fate. As long as he needs my help, I'll remain by his side. It's my duty as a Warrior of Sunlight—"

"Spare me the pious declaration. You've repeated it so many times that I already know it by heart. Tell me, is this code of yours the only reason you refuse to leave this creature behind? Does he being your fellow Astoran has nothing to do with it?"

"How do you know we—"

"His armor, but even without it, his appearance and behavior betray him. The blue eyes, the blond hair, the stupid sentimentalism, the pretentious self-righteousness, the disturbing tendency to promptly get attached to others... all traits and flaws common in most Astorans."

Solaire flinched at the memory of his homeland. It would have brought tears to his eyes had the crestfallen wasn't so determined to counter his nostalgia with anger.

"Ah, Astora. Once a wondrous land, so rich in culture and power. So idealistic, with its brave knights and virtuous women, all eager to fulfill their fates and prove they are so special."

The crestfallen warrior looked at Solaire and smiled. He couldn't tell if he did so with pity or disgust.

"It's no wonder why you people transform so quickly into the most dreadful of Hollows. Your heads are so filled with ridiculous hopes and dreams that you cannot bear to see them coming undone by reality. You may act as if you could endure the worst adversities, and for a time, you do. Sadly, that strength of will is as brittle as your weak hearts. In the end, you all break, and when you do, you fall harder than the rest. I've seen so many Astorans share that fate, and from what I've seen, you and that wretch are no different."

"Enough! You're wrong about everything; about Astora and its people, and especially about me."

Solaire spoke with a fervent pride that made his blood rush to his entire body.

"When I help people, I couldn't care less if they hail from Astora, Carim, Thorolund, Catarina or nowhere at all. And even if I wasn't a Warrior of Sunlight, I'd still aid anyone in dire need! I didn't join the covenant to force myself into act this way, I did so because I agreed with its ideals and creed. If you think I'm helping this man simply because we share the same homeland or just out of a blind sense of duty to my covenant, you are not half as perceptive as you think you are."

For a second, Solaire felt victorious and strong, but neither emotion survived the disdainful scoff of the crestfallen.

"And here we have it! A perfect proof that everything I've said about Astorans is accurate!" He dedicated Solaire two soulless claps. "Aren't you selfless, almost a saint."

Solaire took a step back.

What is this? This feeling... Why does this man—

His hands trembled, soaking the one holding the flask with drops of lukewarm soup. He steadied his heart and body, but it proved to be close to impossible.

"Let's see." The crestfallen said without giving Solaire room to recover. "You are not helping that thing because you feel obliged by your covenant nor out of some sense of patriotism for a fellow Astoran. You linger here because you want to, because you are a good and kind man. Is this how it is, sun-adoring knight?"

Solaire didn't dare to say the answer out loud. As much as he dreaded all the crestfallen had said about him and his beloved homeland, his words had made Solaire too self-conscious of his beliefs and actions.

If he declared himself a good and kind man, would that make him honest or sanctimonious?

The answer used to be clear; now it was shrouded in the mist of doubt.

"Truth is you are neither." The crestfallen warrior said. "If anything, you are a liar."

"No!" Solaire exclaimed, desperate at how deep the jab had stung. "I've made many mistakes in my life, both as a man and a knight, but all I've said is true. I'm not—"

"If you weren't lying, then you would have answered my question the moment I asked it. And what was the first thing you did? You tried to lecture me again about those godforsaken Warriors of Sunlight, as if I was the one you needed to convince and not yourself. It seems to me you are now the one making excuses for your cowardice."

The crestfallen warrior jerked his arm. Less than a second after, Solaire felt the twisted and scorched metal of the coiled sword against his throat.

He tried to counter it, but the moment the crestfallen took a step closer to him, his strength faded.

"You're scared, Solaire." Hearing the crestfallen speak his name only served to increase his power over him. "Watching that Hollow's meltdown broke something within you. It was more than what your Astoran heart, sentimental by nature, indoctrinated by dreams and deluded by your covenant's creed, could endure. If Lordran could reduce an elite knight from your dear Astora to such a pathetic thing, what would it do to you?"

Solaire looked up at the sky. He saw not the sun, only gray clouds.

"Suddenly, the journey you were eager to begin became a monster you didn't dare to face. It came to you that, perhaps, Lordran was not the land of glory and heroism you always thought it was. You knew it, but you couldn't accept it. How could you when doing so would turn you Hollow?"

"I..." Solaire's voice broke inside his throat. Contrary to the warm touch of the coiled sword, the fragments of his voice were ice-cold.

"Instead, you remained here, embraced in the eternal safety of Firelink Shrine. And what better excuse to silence your conscience than to convince yourself you were doing it for that Hollow's sake. He is beyond salvation, he is never getting better, which means you would have to stay here by his side for all eternity. That's what you are really doing here Solaire, is it not?"

The Estus flask escaped from his hand. It shattered, splashing its content all over Solaire's and the crestfallen's metal boots.

Carefully, the crestfallen warrior retired the coiled sword from his neck.

Ashamed and defeated, Solaire fell to his knees.

There was a relief in hearing the truth he had tried to ignore finally being spoken out loud, but there was a greater embarrassment in it having come out from someone else's mouth and not his own.

"You're cruel." Solaire said with the only thread of voice he could muster. He thought about looking at the fallen knight for reassurance and support, but stopped, afraid that gazing at his defeated semblance would break his own spirit beyond repair. "Monstrous."

"So is Lordran. If you can't accept it, if this all so unbearable for you, then you have no place here. You might as well return home and be lynched by the living or lock yourself into the Asylum. Though given the latest turns of events," the crestfallen held the raven's feather in his fingers, "the latter is not an option anymore, unless you wish to embark on a pilgrimage all the way there by yourself; even then, something tells me that place is not what it was... and that he is to blame."

Solaire raised his head and looked at the crestfallen. He was staring at the fallen knight, his eyes brimming with resentment.

It was the first time Solaire saw real emotion in them.

"What are you talking about? You... you're wrong! That man is innocent, he'll always be unless you can prove otherwise."

"Oh, but I can." The crestfallen knelt in front of Solaire. He held the coiled sword in one hand and the raven's dried feather in the other. "I know not how he got himself impaled with the bonfire's sword, but  I'm sure it wasn't something that happened by mere chance. Whatever he did at the Asylum, it was unnatural enough to change things."

Solaire listened to the crestfallen with attention, as if he was a minstrel telling the tale of a hero of old.

"Without the raven, there's no way for any Undead to arrive to Firelink Shrine from there. Without their coiled sword, all Asylum's bonfires have been snuffed out. I almost pity the poor deluded souls who dare to venture into that secluded place from now on... they would be better off offering themselves to the Abyss. I'm sure most of them will be Astorans. Well, serves them right. That's what they get for falling for that Undead prophecy nonsense in the first place."

"Many Astorans knights devote their entire lives to make themselves worthy of the fate foretold by the prophecy." Solaire said, his arms trembling. "It's their way of life, their greatest honor. They suffer, live and die for it. You don't know anything at all about them. You can mock me all you want, but I won't allow you to taint their beliefs and sacrifices with your empty insults!"

"Don' take your hate out on me. If you want to hate something, hate Astora. Hate all the old fools who brainwashed your fellow knights with that bogus; hate your peers for being so naïve and dependent on a fate fabricated by some unknown moron ages ago. If you live like idiots, it's only natural you all die a senseless—"

Solaire grabbed the crestfallen by the collar of his chainmail and dragged him closer to his face. The movement was brusque enough to make the crestfallen lose his grip on the sword and the feather.

Even then, when Solaire looked at his eyes, he saw no fear in them, only amusement.

Don't you dare say anything else. Have you not humiliated me enough? Don't do it. Please, if you have any trace of humanity left in you...

"Thou who art Undead, art chosen." The crestfallen said. He grabbed Solaire's hands and pulled it away from him. He found no resistance. "In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords. When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know."

Solaire hid his eyes behind his hand. He did not see crestfallen's warrior smile, but he felt his arms surrounding his shoulders in a hollow imitation of an embrace.

He didn't reject it.

Empty as the gesture was, he found some comfort in it.

He really was just a sentimental fool.

"What beautiful verses. Perhaps I cannot blame others for being deceived by such enchanting words. In this world of darkness and desolation, we must hang on to the smallest glimmer of hope we can find, no matter how fake it may be."

My sun.

Tears escaped Solaire. They were as silent as they were abundant.

The crestfallen dug his fingernails deep into Solaire's tunic. Had it not been by the chainmail underneath, they would have pierced cloth and flesh and make him bleed.

"Yet, they mention nothing about Gwyn's fire nor its linking, do they?" He whispered in Solaire's ear. "Either it's a verse this Hollow made up while immersed in his feverish dreams, or he is much more dangerous than he lets on. And I, for once, am eager to find the truth behind him once and for all. If I don't, I'm afraid I will go Hollow."

Solaire felt how the crestfallen held him closer.

"I wouldn't want that to happen. You could say I'm in dire need of some assistance."

The embrace had long stopped being gentle. Solaire knew he was trapped, and even if he escaped the crestfallen's arms, he would not be free.

"You wouldn't deny your help to a man as miserable as me, would you, Solaire? Oh, Firelink Shrine's kind and unyielding Warrior of Sunlight, aid me in this. Who knows? Maybe by helping me, you'll be helping yourself too. The choice, however, is yours."

Solaire answered the same way the fallen knight always did; with nothing but absolute silence.

Yet, the message was clear for the crestfallen warrior.

"Thank you. I knew that if I explained things to you, you would see reason. Maybe I was wrong."

He laughed.

"And not all Astorans are lost causes after all."

Oscar woke up from a thin sleep.

He looked at Solaire and the crestfallen warrior and saw them breaking their embrace.

The crestfallen was smiling.

Solaire was crying.

For the former he felt nothing, but the image of the latter sparked something in his soul.

Something that almost resembled sympathy and regret.

But I can't feel neither. That's not the kind of man I really am.

He looked away, not wanting to burden his heart with the scene any longer.

Right, Chosen Undead?

Chapter Text

Chosen Undead.

Ring the bells.

Chosen Undead.

Link Lord Gwyn's fire.

Chosen Undead.

By fate you were chosen.

Chosen Undead.

Wait.

What's this?

The Asylum's fire has grown weak.

Its bonfires could be at risk.

When was it last kindled?

Has it ever?

It will fade.

The prophecy.

It would have to be changed.

It would be too much work.

I'll deal with this later.

First, I sleep.

Where was I?

Oh, yes.

Chosen Undead.

Please make haste.

So many have failed.

Chosen Undead.

Where are you?

Chosen Undead.

I'll remain here.

Chosen Undead.

Are you there?

"Chosen Undead."

"Ah, no wonder why you and this Hollow get along so well. He is as fond of repeating annoying nonsense as you. Another charming trait of Astorans, I presume."

The crestfallen warrior said to Solaire. He glanced over his shoulder; the sunlight knight looked away before their eyes could meet.

The crestfallen warrior frowned. For how long would that fool uphold his promise to him? His power over Solaire had not waned, but he was starting to fear it had never been as strong as he had thought.

I must hurry. The last thing I need right now is for this idiot to play the hero again.

"Chosen Undead."

The words made him wince.

The so-called prophecy of the Fate of the Undead had become one most tiring aspect of his life in Firelink Shrine. Every time he heard it, the crestfallen warrior felt an irrational wave of disgust and rage.

It was a petty reaction, but none could say it was unfair or unearned. The believers and preachers of such scam were always twice as pretentious and self-important than the prophecy itself.

They were all so convinced they were special and unique, which only made it more hilarious when they failed and faded into absolute oblivion.

Long ago, the crestfallen warrior might have felt pity for these poor men and women. Not anymore.

His compassion had evolved into annoyance; then, into apathy.

Finally, it had transformed into hatred.

And at that very moment, all of it was directed at the half-Hollow.

He was not like the many other Undead that had arrived to Firelink Shrine before. That was not to say the crestfallen warrior considered him special.

If anything, he was an anomaly.

The half-Hollow was useless, broken, defeated and hopeless; yet, his arrival had changed everything. The life the crestfallen had once known in Firelink Shrine was gone forever, and it was all because of him.

He was sure of it, and he hated him for it.

How dare you?

The crestfallen felt his heart pumping with rage inside his chest.

Who the hell do you think you are?

The pain of his fingernails piercing the flesh of his ungloved palms made him aware of the harm he was causing himself.

Just like his heartbeat, the sting felt real and relevant. He couldn't remember when it had been the last time it had been so. Even during his fight against Solaire, the crestfallen had thought nothing of his own injuries.

He had felt them, but they had meant nothing to him.

Now, just the feeble bite of his bleeding palms was enough to make him react. For the first time in ages, his body had spoken to him and he had answered in return.

It made him feel human again.

Almost...

Alive.

The crestfallen warrior looked down at his bloody palms.

I never understood why we Undead even bleed.

He clenched his hands and stood in front of the half-Hollow.

Blood is the sign of life, the fuel of our bodies and souls. What use do we have for any of that in this cursed land? It's meaningless, an absolute waste. That's what we all are, even me. My life in this shrine had no real purpose, but it still belonged to me. It was nothing, but it was a nothingness that was mine to claim; and for me, that was everything. Now...

"Chosen Undead."

The crestfallen warrior remembered the raven and how it had faded away into the wind after its death.

It's gone. All because of you.

"Enough of this foolishness." The crestfallen warrior said.

He raised his foot. First, he kicked the Crest Shield away from the half-Hollow's lap.

Then, with more strength, he kicked again. This time, his foot crashed against the half-Hollow's cheek.

The pathetic creature fell to his side and landed against an overgrown root with a loud thump. The crestfallen warrior gave him no quarter and stomped his foot over the half-Hollow again; instead of his face, he aimed for the scarring wound he had helped to seal.

The creature cried as soon as the metal boot touched his weak spot; his horrible voice was like a morbid parody of a rabbit's squeals as it struggled to remove an arrow stuck on its belly.

The crestfallen warrior kept going until sweat began to pour from his forehead. Each time, he kicked with more fervor and the half-Hollow screamed louder.

"So much for your muteness and faint whisperings, huh?" The crestfallen warrior growled without stopping the beating. "If you can scream, then you can talk, can't you?"

The lower part of the half-Hollow's tunic started to become wet and darker with the blood of his reopened injury. Some of it stained the crestfallen's boot, causing him to spill red drops across the grass whenever he gave the creature a new stomp.

"If you can talk, then you will." The crestfallen said, lifting his leg and gathering his all his strength on his knee. "And if you won't, then I'll make you."

"Enough!" Solaire grabbed the crestfallen by the shoulders and pulled him away from the half-Hollow just before he could deliver the kick. "Have you gone mad?! You're going to kill him!"

"Shut up." The crestfallen warrior snapped at Solaire. He should have known the sunny moron wouldn't be able to keep quiet and neutral for too long. "Stay out of this. Do not forget you gave me your word."

"I know, but—"

"Violence is the only way we'll make this thing talk. Now keep quiet, Solaire. If you really want to help me, then do as I tell you and don't say a word more."

"But you promised... you promised me you wouldn't hurt him without reason!"

"I'm not."

The crestfallen warrior lunged himself forward. Solaire's meddling had sparked a flare of rage that ignited every nerve in his body. The sensation was glorious and warm.

Despite his anger, he smiled.

How could he have existed for so long deprived of those little pleasures sprouting from his body?

This feels nice.

He grabbed Solaire by the center of his tunic and pulled him closer to the half-Hollow. The crestfallen warrior noticed Solaire's eyes gleaming with sympathy and pity for the creature.

To his surprise, the crestfallen warrior felt something resembling tenderness for the knight of sunlight as well.

This feels great.

"You took care of him with more gentleness than he deserved. You were patient with him, you cleaned his wound, you washed his face and hair, you gave him back his shield, you talked to him, you tried to feed him, you were always by his side... and how did he repaid all these kindnesses, Solaire?"

The crestfallen warrior grinned at Solaire's hesitation.

He felt victorious.

This feels real. I am real. Hollow creature, if I didn't hate you so much for what you've done, I'd be grateful for what you have taught me, for what you made me remember.

"Exactly." The crestfallen continued after Solaire couldn't say a word.

He let go of the knight, leaving a crimson imprint of his fingers and palm on the face of Solaire's hand-drawn sun. "He said nothing. By the lords, he barely looked at you in the eye at all! I will not waste my time in such niceties with him. If he won't talk out of cordiality or gratefulness, then I'll make him talk out of despair. Besides, what's pain for a half-Hollow anyway? He probably isn't feeling anything right now. Oh well, I'll have to keep trying. There's no hurry. None of us have somewhere else to be or something better to do, do we?"

"You're talking about torturing him." Solaire interrupted. He put his hand above the blood-covered sun painted on his chest and held it tightly. "I promised I would help you by staying out of all this, but I can't just stand still and watch you torture this man any longer."

"If you can't help me in a request so simple, you'd be failing me. And what's worse, you'd be failing your duty as a Warrior of Sunlight." The crestfallen warrior glared at Solaire; his jaw was tense as a bow's cord. "Do you want me go Hollow, Solaire? Do you hate me so much that you gave me your word only to betray me afterwards? You gave me hope, and now you're taking it away. You're cruel."

What was the word he called me? Oh, right.

"Monstrous."

"May the Lord of Sunlight forgive me for the consequences of my weakness, but I can't abide to this." Solaire said, trembling form head to toe as he continued to hold his clumsily drawn sun. "I can't."

The crestfallen warrior felt a beating vein about to explode on his temple.

How could Solaire continue to be so stubborn?

The crestfallen had made him yield to him.

He had filled his heart with doubts, he had infected his dreams with fears, he had mocked and shamed his beliefs.

Solaire had succumbed to his words. It had been easier than the crestfallen had expected.

His victory had been sweet, but it had also been a bitter disappointment.

Deep down, the crestfallen had expected more resistance from Solaire. It really had been a shame the man had ended up being nothing but talk. For a moment, the crestfallen had believed the sunlight knight was made of something stronger than the average Undead that passed though Firelink Shrine.

Alas, the illusion had passed, and all it had been necessary for Solaire to expose his true self had been some snide insinuations and hollow insults the crestfallen had put little heart into.

In the end, Solaire was as much of a weak man as he was.

Or so the crestfallen had thought.

How dares he? Who does he think he is?

The crestfallen warrior felt a murderous intent against the sunlight knight.

This man is a pest. He is in my way.

Taking advantage of Solaire's distraction over his broken promise, the crestfallen warrior slowly lowered his hand to the broken coiled sword hanging from his belt.

He's left me no choice. Oh, what's death to an Undead anyway? Neophytes like him always make such a fuzz about it as if we were still alive, but I know better. If I kill him, he'll just revive from the bonfire's flame. Then, I'll just have to keep killing him until he goes Hollow and dies for good. It should be easy as long as I attack him as soon as he rises from the ashes. What a drag, but if that means he'll stop meddling, so be it.

His fingers got a firm hold on the sword's scorched handle.

Solaire remained blissfully ignorant of his intentions.

The crestfallen warrior had warned him of the dangers of being so carefree of his surroundings. Yet, his words of wisdom had again fallen of stupid and deaf ears.

Oh well, these things happen. I'm not used to gratitude anyway.

He tried to deliver the surprise and lethal blow, but his arm didn't move from its place.

This feels... wrong.

The crestfallen warrior couldn't believe it.

What was which anchored his arm to his side and prevented him from attacking?

His honor?

His pride?

No.

Impossible.

He had neither. Perhaps, long ago, he had acted dutifully according to a code ruled by both qualities, but not anymore.

Or did he?

The mere thought of it stunned him.

Was it really a travesty for him to consider that, among his reawakened emotions, those qualities could also be present?

Can it be...

The crestfallen warrior wondered as his gaze traveled down to his hand holding the sword.

...that a crestfallen like me—

His hopes and expectations were crushed by the sight of the half-Hollow holding him by the wrist.

"D-don't." The creature said to him in between gasps. "I-I will...t-talk—"

He coughed and clenched his jaw in frustration. The effort each word required from him was obvious even to the crestfallen.

The half-Hollow took several deep breaths and looked at him in the eyes.

"But...don't do it."

The crestfallen warrior felt his blood freeze in his veins. He stepped away from the creature as if he was a dragon ready to engulf him in a wave of fire.

Without the support of the crestfallen's arm, the half-Hollow dropped to the uneven surface of the stone steps. He landed again on his side and gasped at the agony of his pulsating wound.

Solaire was at his side in an instant.

The crestfallen warrior could hear him asking questions to the creature. He thought he also heard him asking for his forgiveness.

It wouldn't have been a surprise to the crestfallen if Solaire had done so while crying.

Maybe, maybe not.

He had no way to know.

The world around him stopped existing. His whole perception was reduced to the surging emotions attempting to burst free from his body but unable to find a way out.

I felt something.

The crestfallen warrior looked at the coiled sword.

Was it hope?

He hadn't noticed until then that the weapon was still lacquered with the half-Hollow's dry blood.

Whatever it was, it's gone. He took it from me. He left me with nothing yet again.

Unconsciously, his free hand jolted to the raven's feather on his belt. Like the coiled sword, it was covered on the crusty blood of its rightful owner.

Idiot.

The crestfallen warrior felt a chuckle escape his lips.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

The chuckle grew into a soft laughter.

How did I dare to think a crestfallen warrior like me... What a joke, what a jest!

The laughter evolved into a loud cackle that echoed across the shrine.

"That's alright, it doesn't matter! None of it does! See, Solaire? I told you! All this fool needed was some encouragement, a little taste of physical rhetoric!"

The crestfallen thought he had lost everything. Just when everything seemed lost, he remembered there was still one rope he could hang on to.

He had been right about the half-Hollow. He had broken his silence. That had been what the crestfallen had wanted in the first place. Surely his success and the answers he was about to receive would fill the emptiness spreading inside him.

And emptiness that had long been there but had never bothering him before.

Or had it?

"Talk then!" The crestfallen exclaimed. "Tell us the story, foul creature, of your little adventure in Northern Asylum. It's bound to be an interesting tale! I know it is. Don't you feel the same, Solaire? Don't you?"

He looked at Solaire and the half-Hollow. He couldn't decipher what expression their faces conveyed, but something told him it was pity.

That couldn't be right.

Why would they pity a man that was euphoric with happiness?

What strange people Astorans are.

He laughed again until his sides got sore.

"Very strange indeed!"

Oscar confessed everything.

He had started with his name and couldn't stop himself afterwards.

The words came out of his mouth like vomit. They flowed as freely as the blood from his wound, but unlike the reopened injury, there was no way of stopping the verbal hemorrhage.

It felt strange for his tongue to be so eloquent and eager to speak after all the time it had remained unused.

Oscar couldn't believe he remembered how to pronounce anything at all other than the words that so frequently had escaped him since his arrival at Firelink Shrine.

Chosen Undead.

It came to him that not once during his story he had pronounced the nickname of his fallen comrade. When he spoke of them, Oscar referred to them simply as the Undead from the Asylum. He also talked of them coldly, and no one who heard him tell his story could have believed the Chosen Undead had been important to Oscar at all.

You were never the Chosen Undead, were you? It was merely my silly way to call you. I think you were fond of it, in some childish and foolish way. Yes, that would be a lot like you. I guess I was fond of it too, but truth is... you were never the Chosen Undead.

He paused. His unstoppable tongue had finally met an obstacle it wasn't able to sort.

Had he reached a part of his story that still caused him pain?

If that was the case, then I wouldn't have been able to start with my useless tale in the first place.

He breathed a small chuckle that sounded no different than a cough.

Oscar swallowed. He noticed with dread a lump in his throat that wouldn't go away.

No, I won't.

His breathing quickened.

I've cried enough, more than I should have ever done. It's unworthy, it's pathetic, it's weak. What kind of knight—

He felt a gentle weight resting on his shoulder.

Solaire must have thought the gesture would bring Oscar some comfort, but the only feeling it caused him was shame.

Oscar couldn't bring himself to look at his fellow knight, even less thank him for his sympathy.

It wasn't only out of embarrassment. In a way, he wasn't thankful for it at all. In the deepest corners of his heart, the more kindness Solaire showed him, the more Oscar's resentment against him grew.

He grabbed Solaire's hand and put it away from his body. His movements hadn't been violent, but there had certainly been no friendliness in them either.

Solaire must have understood, for he didn't try to comfort Oscar again. Instead, he focused solely in keeping the Estus soaked cloth firmly pressed against Oscar's wound.

Oscar had tried to do it himself, but he had been too weak. In the end, he had been left with no choice than to accept Solaire's help.

Even if he had outrightly refused and told the Warrior of Sunlight to piss off, Oscar was sure Solaire would have still helped him against his will.

They were just like you. Helping me out when I never asked for it. Fools, the both of you. Keep this up, and you will end the same way they did.

The ruthlessness of the thought left Oscar more speechless than he already was. Just when he believed he had already come to terms with the selfish and lowly man he had always been, a new speck of the darkness luring inside sprouted from his soul and shocked him.

His incomplete Hollowing had exposed too much of his true self, more than he was able to face all at once.

He had to accept it; even if it destroyed his heart in the process, he had to embrace his true essence.

I don't have to pretend anymore. My past is lost, my memories are gone, my dreams have faded and the fate I thought was mine is out of reach. I'm free at last. Free to be my true myself. I should be relieved, but all it makes me feel is—

"Is this how your story ends?"

Oscar glanced at the crestfallen warrior. The sullen man was sitting in his usual spot near the bonfire. He held Oscar's and his own Estus Flask in his hands. He played with them a little before putting them down on the floor.

Then, he picked up the coiled sword and inspected it as if he was a blacksmith valuing the worth of a freshly crafted weapon.

"Some lowly Undead dies so you and the raven can escape from the demented Hollows you set free." His voice was filled with fake interest and admiration. "Then you arrived here and... well, I guess both me and Solaire know what happened next. Is this how your story ends, half-Hollow?"

Lowly.

Oscar remembered the Chosen Undead had used that same word to refer to themselves.

I called you many things too. Awful things. By the lords, I tried to kill you. I know I have no right to pretend I'm offended by what this crestfallen calls you, but...

He clenched his hands and glared at the crestfallen. Oscar was ready to defend the memory of the Chosen Undead from the insolence of a broken man.

What did he know of what had happened?

Oscar may have told him and Solaire of the events that he had set in motion in the Asylum, but what did they know of what he and the Chosen Undead had shared?

They didn't understand. They never would, and Oscar didn't want them to.

He wouldn't allow either of them to mock the Chosen Undead.

Don't pretend.

Oscar flinched at the murmurs of his mind.

You are not this kind of man, remember? Don't pretend.

"What's the matter? Did he fall asleep? Quickly Solaire, wake him up. I don't want him to leave me hanging. Punch him in his wound if you have to."

"Don't order me around. He's talked enough for now. If he needs rest, we should let him have it."

"Such insolence! Keep this attitude up and I won't share any more of my Estus with him. Or what's worse, you don't want me to accidentally break both flasks, do you? Just like you did with your own... What an idiot."

"Keep talking if you want, I won't listen."

Solaire was about to help Oscar into a more comfortable position so he could rest, but Oscar answered before anything else happened.

"Yes." He said, his voice meek and empty. "That's how it all ends."

"Liar." The crestfallen warrior stated with so much confidence that Oscar almost became convinced that all he said was true. "There's more to it than what you've told us, isn't it?"

"I don't—"

"Listen to me well, creature." The crestfallen warrior stood up. He pointed the coiled sword towards Oscar. "I didn't force you out of your self-pitying trance just so you could tell me the boring misadventures you shared with some rotten moron in the Asylum. I couldn't care less about that nonsense. Now, you're going to tell me the whole thing again, but this time, you won't keep anything from me. If you do, I swear I'll make you wish it had been you who the Hollows devoured and not that simpleton that sacrificed their sorry skin to save your life."

"I've told you everything!" Oscar exclaimed; his face hot with fury. "I don't care if you don't believe me, but I won't let you—"

Oscar bit his tongue.

Chosen Undead.

He tensed his jaw until his teeth began to creak.

"Do I have to explain everything? Are Astorans really so dense?" The crestfallen roared with honest frustration. "Damn you!"

Then, without warning, he launched the coiled sword towards Oscar.

Solaire put himself between him and the projectile, ready to deflect it with his iron bracelets.

It wasn't necessary, for the weapon landed right at Oscar's feet.

"Tell me how you did it."

"Stop! Don't you dare to come any—" Solaire warned the crestfallen.

"Out of the way, you blind fool!" The crestfallen warrior pushed Solaire out of the way before the knight had the opportunity to react. "I'm not going to kill him! Are you really so stupid to think I would get rid of him when he hasn't told me anything useful yet? Use what little brain you have in that empty head of yours and stop being a nuisance! In fact, why don't you just leave already? Isn't it clear to you that not even this half-Hollow wants you here? If you can't see it, you must be blind. Leave, sunlight clown. You don't belong here, you never did."

It was seldom Oscar had felt so exposed.

He looked at Solaire. It was the first time he saw true hurt in the knight's face.

Regret and guilt made Oscar look away, afraid Solaire would stare at him and see that what the crestfallen had said was true.

Oscar didn't want Solaire around. He had never found him annoying, and he certainly didn't consider him stupid, but his presence was too painful for him to endure.

The help he so selflessly lent him, the quirks that escaped him every time he talked to him, they way he had risked his life to save him; it was all to similar to them.

Chosen Undead.

Oscar couldn't ponder on the matter any longer, not without tears betraying his eyes. Desperate to put an end to the tension, he spoke before Solaire could reply to the crestfallen's heartless taunt.

"I told you. It wasn't me who pulled the sword from the bonfire." Oscar said, holding his head with both hands. "A Hollow did it, but I do not know how. I'm as much in the dark about this as you. Please, you have to believe me. I'm not trying to deceive you."

"Deceive me? As if you ever could. Now, for the last time, stop with your feeble lies and tell me the truth. How did you pull the sword from the bonfire? Don't you think of lying to me again. You won't like what I'll do to you if you dare."

"Kill me now, then." Oscar said without fear. "For my answer will never change. What I'm saying is true, and if you don't believe me, that's your problem, not mine."

The crestfallen warrior laughed at Oscar.

"Isn't he a brave one, Solaire? No wonder he managed to become an elite knight! What a man, what a warrior. If I wasn't so scared that your fellow Astoran here would cut my head off if I let down my guard, I would bow to you, Oscar, elite knight of Astora!"

Oscar felt as if the coiled sword had entered his body again. He wished the earth would split open and engulf him.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Very well, forget about this cursed sword." The crestfallen kicked the coiled sword. The weapon was out of sight, with only a distant clank revealing its landing spot. "On to the next question, one you have no way to sneak your way out of. In your feverish dreams, you spoke of the fate of the Undead. Don't get me wrong, I've heard that damn poem so many times that I'm surprised it hasn't driven to insanity... but there was something odd about your version. Tell, was that particular verse of your own invention?"

"What?"

The crestfallen warrior's eyes became wide with a crazed anger than sent shivers down Oscar's spine. Before he knew it, the man had knelt in front of him and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic.

"Don't play games with me, monster."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Oscar said, feeling the chilling sting of his cold sweat on his back.

The crestfallen pulled him closer to his face. He inspected him for a long while.

Solaire didn't intervene. To his own shock, Oscar found himself longing for his assistance.

It was then he became aware of how unjustly ungrateful he had been to Solaire.

No wonder Solaire had given up on him. Oscar didn't blame him. If anything, Solaire had been too patient with him, a lot more than what Oscar deserved.

"Up." The crestfallen stated with an unyielding tone. The order brought Oscar back to reality, but he didn't comply to it. Instead, his only answer was to look directly at the crestfallen.

He saw how the man's features became adorned with wrinkles as anger further twisted his frown and the corners of his mouth.

"Up!"

The crestfallen pulled Oscar without the slightest concern for his injury. He dragged Oscar up using the tree's bark as support.

Oscar gasped as his feet were forced to endure his weight after a long time of being free of its burden. The pain that traveled his body was familiar.

It was the same pain that had almost driven him to unconsciousness when the Chosen Undead had helped him stand up at the Asylum. The Chosen Undead had been brusque too, but not out of resentment.

They simply had been too eager about helping Oscar; their actions had been pure.

The treatment the crestfallen warrior was giving him couldn't be more different. Unlike the Chosen Undead, he enjoyed every ounce of pain his rough movements inflicted on Oscar.

With the same care as if he was handling a dead body, the crestfallen warrior slammed Oscar against the tree.

Oscar's head hit the bark and bounced at the impact. His sight became dizzy, but the sight of uncontained fury on the crestfallen's semblance never stopped being crystal clear.

"Linking Gwyn's fire." The crestfallen hissed. "What the hell does that mean? Did you come up with it? And if you didn't, who told you that verse? Answer me!"

Oscar repeated the phrase in a voiceless stutter. The words had made sense to him when he had repeated the prophecy to the Chosen Undead, just when he had been sure they would become his living legacy.

It wasn't until the crestfallen warrior ordered an explanation that Oscar realized he didn't know anything about the verse at all; not what it meant, nor where he had heard it.

At some point he couldn't identify, the words had simply settled inside his mind without him noticing it. More than a thought, for Oscar they were a piece of subconscious information he felt he had always known, like a dormant instinct that had recently awakened within him.

How? Who?

Oscar made an honest effort to decipher an answer, not for the crestfallen's sake, but for his own. Now that he had been made aware of what he knew, Oscar became overwhelmed by how little he understood it.

He searched inside his broken memories, but in the fragments that still lingered in his mind he found nothing.

Am I going mad?

Oscar breathed out a soft laugh.

Maybe I was mad long before I came here. There's no other explanation for it. What a cruel fate yours was, Chosen Undead... to sacrifice your life for a demented fool like me.

"I don't know." He said, unaware that the crestfallen warrior had been about to demand an answer from him again. "I really don't know."

Oscar smiled at the crestfallen.

It was the sullen man's turn to be the one to cower in fear. His expression snapped Oscar out of his trance.

His smile vanished and was replaced by a bewildered grimace that unveiled that what he said had no trace of treachery in it.

All was true.

"You heartless monster." The crestfallen warrior muttered at Oscar. His voice was so broken by despair that Oscar couldn't help but to pity him. The feeling remained even after the crestfallen warrior punched him in the face, right in the same spot he had kicked him before.

"You're not lying." The crestfallen warrior exclaimed as he continued to punch Oscar. "You're really not! You truly don't know, half- Hollow! You ruined my life here, you made me believe I could still make great changes... how could I not if a creature as pitiful as you did? You changed everything for me, and you don't even know how you did it! Is that how it is, elite knight of Astora? Answer me... Answer me!"

Oscar couldn't. Not only because of the beating he was receiving, but also because he knew that it didn't matter what he said, it would never be what the crestfallen warrior wished to hear.

I can't help you.

Oscar thought amidst the punches.

I can't help anyone. Chosen Undead. I'm not the Chosen Undead. You were the Chosen Undead, I'm just—

"Why won't you say anything?!"

The punch Oscar hoped would knock him into unconsciousness or perhaps even grant him death never came.

Solaire made sure of it when, with a nimbleness he hadn't shown before, he made his way under Oscar's arm and kicked the crestfallen warrior away from him.

"I've failed you again." He whispered to Oscar as he held his wrist and carried him in his shoulders. "Not anymore. This time, I'll make amends for what my weakness has caused."

Oscar looked at Solaire.

"Chosen Undead." Oscar didn't notice what he called him, and neither did Solaire. He was too focused in keeping his attention on the crestfallen warrior.

Slowly, Oscar aimed his attention at the other man too.

He stood near the bonfire, trembling like a beggar during a winter's night. His face was soaked with sweat, and his eternal mocking smile was now an anxious grimace. The heavy breathing of his lungs made his body twitch uncontrollably.

"Stop it." The crestfallen took a step back. "Don't look at me like that. Who the hell do you two think you are? Monster, why did you come here? Why did you ruin everything for me? Why did you do this to me?"

Oscar shook his head. He reached his free arm towards the crestfallen.

"You're wrong." Oscar said, so close to tears that he was surprised he managed to keep them at bay. "I never meant—"

"Stay away from me." The crestfallen pulled back as if Oscar was infected with a deadly disease. "Monster!"

He ran away from Oscar and Solaire before either could stop him. He was so blinded by fear that he had already tripped twice when he once again tripped down the shrine's stairs.

"I hate you!" His voice reached Oscar from the shrine's lower level. "I hate you!"

I hate you too.

Their voice rang too clearly inside Oscar's mind for it to be only a memory.

"Chosen Undead?"

He looked around for them, expecting to see them smiling back at him.

He couldn't find them.

Only Solaire was there to answer back.

"Oscar?"

"No. They are dead. Of course, how stupid of me... perhaps I was too hopeful. I'm sorry."

Oscar laughed.

Solaire answered only with silence.

"I'm sorry."

He remained completely quiet, even after Oscar's laughter transformed into a whimper.

"I'm sorry."

Solaire said nothing still. Instead, he helped Oscar sit down. By the time Oscar touched the floor, his tears had already broken free.

Solaire stood by him. He didn't try to make him stop or tell him everything would be alright, but he remained next to him nonetheless.

The only thing that outmatched Oscar's appreciation towards the knight was the unbearable shame he felt for his own weakness.

What did Solaire think of him?

What concept could he possible have of Oscar when he had only seen him in his most deplorable state?

The real me.

The thought made him choke. He could only imagine how ridiculous he had just sounded.

Did it matter? It wasn't as if Solaire's opinion of him could be any lower than it already was.

Still, it hurt.

The Chosen Undead at least had had the chance to see little traces of Oscar's dignified and honorable façade before the Hollowing had reduced him to his true form.

Oscar had always found comfort in that. With Solaire, he had none of it.

It was too much. His shame and embarrassment would be forever branded on his flesh, just like the Darksign.

How much better and glorious Oscar's fate would have been if he had perished as a proud elite knight at the Asylum?

No one would remember him, his life would have met an abrupt and unworthy end, but he would have died as Oscar, a true elite knight of Astora.

Such fate was much kinder than his current life as Oscar, the crying, selfish, cruel, ungrateful and envious half-Hollow.

This is who I am. I must not forget it. I must accept it. To do otherwise would be an insult to everyone I've harmed.

The Undead appeared before his mind again. This time, Oscar welcomed their memory with disgust.

If only that godforsaken Undead he freed had left him to die as he had commanded them, then Oscar wouldn't have been forced to endure the nightmare that was his new existence, a parody of his previous life.

I hate you, Undead. I hate you with all my heart.

Yet, when Oscar tried to speak his thought so it could become real and tangible, his tongue betrayed him.

"I'm so sorry."

He only noticed Solaire had embraced him after he felt him shuddering against his chest.

Is he crying?

How stupid of him, to ask a question to which he already knew the answer.

"I'm—" Oscar tried to apologize amidst his weeping.

Solaire held him closer before he could finish.

Chosen Undead.

No.

The person with him wasn't them.

"Solaire."

The man whimpered at the sound of his name.

It came to Oscar it was the first time he said it out loud.

Gradually, Oscar's shame dissipated. He knew it would be back to him the moment of venting was over.

He knew he would regret everything once things had returned back to normal. He couldn't remember, but he doubted he had ever been any different.

He didn't care. At that moment, none of it mattered.

Right now, I have this. Right now, this is enough, and I'm grateful for it.

A peace like he hadn't felt ever since the Asylum Demon had destroyed his body finally returned to Oscar. He didn't realize how much he had missed it until it engulfed his entire soul in what felt was pure light.

Just like I'm grateful to both of you.

He closed his eyes and wept.

I really am.

Chapter Text

The cliff’s bottom was pitch-black.

He had never gazed upon it, but the crestfallen warrior knew not even the Abyss could be more dreadfully empty.

He held the edges of the stone wall and took a step closer. Soon, the tip of his feet had no ground underneath them.

All it would take was one more step and everything would be over.

No one would be witness of his deed.

 Solaire had stayed behind with the half-Hollow upstairs. The crestfallen warrior had waited, but the knight of sunlight never came looking for him.

Am I not worth helping? Is this how it is, Solaire?

He breathed a humorless chuckle.

Well, you are not wrong, not at all; and yet, I had hoped...

The crestfallen warrior tried to make his final movement, but his body didn’t answer to his commands.

What was it that held him back?

The fear of the end of his meaningless existence?

Ridiculous.

He had made almost a religion out of his belief that no one’s life and actions, including his own, had true relevance for the world. Certainly, death couldn’t scare a follower of such creed., especially an Undead.

Could it be then that, deep down, he feared that whatever awaited him in the pit’s bottom wasn’t death but his Hollowing?

The crestfallen warrior laughed at the idea.

Nonsense.

He didn’t fear the Hollowing; he longed for it, now more than ever after what the half-Hollow from Astora had done.

Thanks to him, no more Undead hailing from the Asylum would ever reach Firelink Shrine.

While Astorans were dignified, pretentious and pious, the Asylum’s Undead were ignorant, clumsy, careless, and above all, clueless; but what else could be expected from them?

Life at the Asylum was far from glamorous, and every little creature than managed to make its way out of that damned place after years of imprisonment couldn’t be expected to be in the best shape, neither physically nor mentally.

The outside world was almost a novelty to their rotten brains and destroyed memories.  Their plight was awful indeed, and it had not passed unnoticed by the crestfallen warrior.

Perhaps it was for that reason that, as much as they got on his nerves with their constant questions about the most obvious and trivial of things, the crestfallen warrior had felt pity for those lost souls. 

As time had passed, his life had slowly shaped a new purpose for him.

When the crestfallen had decided to take permanent residence in the sanctuary after giving up on his ill-fated quest, he never thought he would become the shrine’s unofficial guide. The role was far from being fulfilling, but he couldn’t deny there was a sense of purpose in it.

Even after he had long lost all pity for the many Undead that always failed on their deluded quests, the crestfallen warrior felt something resembling pride in his duty as their mentor.

I am more experienced. I am wiser. I know better, and they were aware of this. No matter how much I detested their meddling or how much they resented my honesty, they always came to me for answers.

The crestfallen warrior took the raven’s feather hanging from his belt and held it gently with both hands.

It’s all over. Without you, no Undead from the Asylum can come to Lordran again. Had it not been for that cursed elite knight of Astora and his Undead comrade, none of this would have happened. Had it not been for their foolishness, you wouldn’t have died.

He felt a biting coldness blooming from his chest, as if he had been impaled with an ice-enchanted sword.

Without all the Undead from the Asylum, who will seek my help now? Who else would be willing to listen to what a crestfallen has to say? What is my purpose without them?

 Solaire had been an exception. Other than him, the crestfallen couldn’t remember when it had been the last time a fellow Undead hailing from anywhere else other than the Asylum had paid him any attention.

Most of the time, no one who passed through Firelink Shrine looked at him, even less tried to engage in any kind of conversation.  On some occasions, the Asylum’s Undead showed him the same level of disdain.

Yet, the crestfallen warrior hadn’t cared, for he knew that an Undead that would be willing to listen to him would always come.

Not anymore.

He looked down again to his soon to be tomb; or what was worse, to his birthplace as a Hollow.

Hollowing is the only thing we Undead can aspire to. Everything else is an illusion, a lie. My entire life led me to this, my failed quest taught me nothing else. I embrace it, I do not ask any more from my fate. It’ s not unfair or cruel, it just is. Then, why? If I hadn’t doubted before, why am so scared right now?

A void replaced his heart and began to consume everything within him until only his fears remained.

Is this... the Hollowing?

His chest hurt at the agitated and uneven rhythm of his breathing. The crestfallen warrior lost its strength and balance. He had to hang on to the stone wall to prevent himself form plummeting down the cliff like a miserable pebble.

It was supposed to bring me peace, not drown me in everlasting despair.

The crestfallen warrior lost his grip on the raven’s father. The wind blew it away from him and Firelink Shrine forever.  He watched it fly away into the distance until it blended into the landscape.

I have no right to complain. A crestfallen like me cannot aspire to anything else. Besides, this is what I always wanted, isn’t it?

The crestfallen warrior closed his eyes, willing to ponder on the question for as long as his fading sanity allowed.

Isn’t it?

“Come on, if you’re really going to go through with this, just do it already! I’ve grown tired of seeing you trembling and doubting like a squire that just lost his knight’s sword! ”

The crestfallen warrior felt an unwelcome pressure on his back. A small push that almost made him fall followed.

The vertigo and sense of fatality was enough to break the trance of the Hollowing and bring him back to his senses.

“If you are afraid,” the owner of the boot whispered in his ear, so close to him that the crestfallen could feel his breath against his skin, “I can lend you a hand. And in return for my services, I’ll loot your corpse. You’re bound to end up in New Londo from here... Dreadful place, it gives me the creeps, I tell you. Oh well, a little trip there has never killed me, at least not yet.”

The stranger laughed. The crestfallen warrior tried to look at him, but the man pushed him closer to the precipice before he could move his neck.

“Or I could just, you know, kill you here and save me the all the trouble, but I’d rather spare that beautiful firekeeper over there the gory scene. And I certainly don’t want that bloody sunlight warrior upstairs to hunt me down for killing his crestfallen pal. No sir! He maybe me an idiot, but what he lacks in wit, he makes up for in strength.”

The crestfallen warrior almost cackled at the ignorance of the other.

Bold of him to think the firekeeper would be shocked or traumatized by witnessing his murder, as if she was an innocent maiden that swooned at the sight of blood.

And yet, that misconception was nothing compared with the absurd idea that Solaire would care about his fate in the slightest.

“If that fool scares you so much, fear not.” The crestfallen declared. “He wouldn’t mind. No one would. Not him, not the firekeeper, not the half-Hollow, and above all, not me!”

“What was that?” The stranger asked him with unconcealed curiosity. His tone changed abruptly when the crestfallen warrior began to laugh with an open heart. “Hey, what are laughing about? Fool! Is your impeding death so hilarious to you?”

“Perhaps it is!” The crestfallen warrior replied.  He spread his arms, as if he was a priest giving a lecture to his faithful followers. “Perhaps it is!”

The stranger was left mute in bafflement, or maybe he was laughing alongside him in a shared moment of crazed epiphany.

The crestfallen warrior couldn’t know.

It all will be over soon. Be it with fear or with laughter, everything ends. Such is the fate of all the crestfallen like me!

He no longer cared.

Such is the true fate of the Undead!

“I’m back, Oscar.”

Solaire exclaimed in a boisterous voice that almost made Oscar jump in surprise. He was carrying their freshly washed tunics in his arms.

He hung the clothes on the improvised structure he had built near the bonfire with his sunlight sword, his round shield and Oscar’s crest shield.

It had not been easy for Oscar to convince Solaire to add his rare shield to the pile. After some arguing, Solaire had finally accepted Oscar’s request.

Rather than thinking he had been persuasive, Oscar felt he had been looked down upon. He was sure Solaire had only complied out of pity.

He disliked the thought, but what other explanation could there be?

I shouldn’t be surprised.  After all, everything I’ve shown him is weakness. If he pities me, it’s because I’ve given him all the right reasons for him to do so.

Oscar didn’t realize he had been staring at Solaire until the knight turned around and looked at him after finishing with their tunics.

Solaire smiled at him.

Oscar couldn’t return the gesture. He tried, but the best he could muster was a small wrinkle at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s good.” Oscar said with a nod of his head. “I appreciate it, but there was no need for you to do this.”

“Of course there was!” Solaire went to Oscar’s side and sat down next to him. “You can’t expect us to go around Lordran covered in blood, do you?  We may be Undead, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take care of our ourselves and our equipment. Besides, it could give people the wrong impression of us. They could think we are savages, or worse, Hollows!”

Solaire could only enjoy a few seconds of his laughter before it drowned in his throat.

Slowly, he looked at Oscar again, his eyes filled with shame.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine.”

“I swear I wasn’t trying to offend you, Oscar.”

“I said it was fine. “Oscar’s tone put a definite end to Solaire’s lamentations.  Realizing his voice had come out much harsher than he had intended, Oscar put a hand on Solaire’s shoulder. “You didn’t offend me at all, Solaire. I know how I look and sound; anyone would be bound to confuse me for a Hollow. Lords, if anything, I would be offended if you had called me a dashing knight. No one likes a flatterer.”

Oscar faked an amused chuckle, hoping Solaire would react to it in the same manner so that they could break the tension before it could wholly manifest between them.

It didn’t work, and for the first time, Oscar witnessed a completely solemn semblance in Solaire’s features.

“Please don’t do that.” Solaire finally said after a long and excruciating silence that had driven Oscar to the most uncomfortable extremes of awkwardness. “You don’t have to pretend that my words weren’t out of place, just like you don’t have to pretend that you enjoy my presence.”

“What? Solaire, I’m not pretending—”

“Yes, you are. I do not blame you, I know well how annoying I am to people, and it’s not without reason. Oscar, you have a kind heart for trying to be friendly with me regardless, and I thank you for it, but I’m going to have to ask you to cease with it. Be polite, be civil, but please don’t act as if you enjoyed my company when you clearly don’t.”

“And who says I don’t? The crestfallen? ” Oscar asked, quickly removing his hand from Solaire. He felt an invisible wall rising between them. “Are you really going to take his word on my opinion of you instead of my own? If you do, then maybe you are a complete idiot after all.”

Oscar knew he had crossed the line, that his words were knives that were digging into the most vulnerable spot of Solaire’s heart, but he couldn’t stop himself.

It wasn’t fair.

What gave Solaire the right to turn things sour between them out of a sudden?

Yes, his little jest about Hollows had been a bit out of place, but Oscar hadn’t taken it personal in the slightest.

And yet, what truly made Oscar’s blood boil wasn’t Solaire’s unnecessary overreaction.

“Even if you are not an idiot, you are a hypocrite, Solaire.” Oscar said, with little regard of the consequences his declaration would have. “You really are.”

“Am I? Well, enlighten me then.” Solaire’s defiance would have made Oscar think twice about proceeding had they been in any other circumstances. “What have I ever done to be worthy of such awful title? I don’t understand, I truly don’t.”

“Yes, you do. You merely don’t want to admit it. You are so blinded and deluded by your ego that you can’t bring yourself to do it, but you know well what I’m talking about.”

“You sound like the crestfallen. Maybe it’s him who should have kept you company instead of me. You two would have gotten along nicely.”

“Indeed. If only he hadn’t run off after trying to kill me, I’m sure we would have become the greatest of comrades.  At least he was honest in his hatred for me, and not condescending in his pity like you.”

“Pity?” Solaire sounded like a child repeating a word he hadn’t heard before; but underneath the initial childish disbelief, there was the angered undertone of an insulted knight.  “Is that... is that what you think I feel for you? Do you think I only helped you out of pity?”

“Exactly.” Oscar replied, suddenly regretting having brought up the whole thing.

He was exhausted; his face still pulsated from the crestfallen’s beating, his scarring wound was a relentless source of burning pain, his eyes and throat were sore and dry from his shameful crying.

To argue with Solaire was the last thing he needed or wanted.

“Oscar...”

“Stop it, Solaire.” Oscar said. He had intended for it to sound like an order, but it came out more as a plea instead. “Stop talking to me. Stop helping me. That’s all I want from you. Please, don’t make me beg you. I’ve already humiliated myself before you many times... don’t make me add one more ridicule to my shame. One unpayable debt is enough; I don’t need another.”

Had Oscar not bawled his eyes dry just a few moments ago, he was sure his tears would have betrayed him right in that moment.

Why?

He grabbed his forehead with one hand and squeezed his temples as if he wanted to squash his head like an eggshell.

Why did I say that?

The Undead that had died so he could live came back to him again, as swiftly and silently as an arrow.

You. I’ve mourned you, I cried you. My tears were supposed to heal me...  but it’s not enough, is it? Nothing I do will ever be enough to make it up to you.

“Oscar, listen to me.”  Solaire spoke, and Oscar couldn’t ignore him, no matter how much he tried to do so. The sunlight knight, despite his tired expression, had a shine in his eyes Oscar had never seen before. “I wish I could make you look inside my soul so that you were convinced I’m being honest with you, but I can’t, so you’ll have to take my word for it, and I wish with all my heart that you do so.”

He swallowed before he could continue.

“Not once since the raven entrusted your life to me have I felt pity for you. I felt pain for your wounds, I felt frustrated for not knowing what you had gone through so I could be able to help you in a better way, and now that you’ve shared your story with me, I feel sadness at  your grief for your fallen friend... but I’ve never pitied you. Not when you were too weak to talk, and certainly not when you allowed yourself to cry in front of me.”

Oscar recoiled at the mention of the incident.

 Just like he had guessed, once his tears had stopped and his sobbing had ceased, nothing but shame had remained. There had been relief too, but it was a mere speck compared to the waves of humiliation and regret that had flowed inside Oscar’s heart ever since.

“We are knights, Solaire.” Oscar said with a voice so low that Solaire had to sharpen his ear to understand his words. “There’s no bigger shame for us than to show weakness. I’ve forgotten much of my past, but this I remember clearly. I know you think so too, so please, don’t lie to me. I’m not a child that needs coddling, so don’t treat me as such. Be honest with me, and don’t be afraid to show your disdain for my pathetic display. Trust me that, as your fellow knight, I would understand.”

“Yes, we are both knights, but I’m afraid we do not share the same concept of weakness and shame, Oscar.”  Solaire replied with a more adamant tone. “So what if you were in need of help? So what if you cried? How does any of that make you weak or pathetic? I’ve found myself in both situations before, more times than I can count, but I cannot comprehend why it would ever make me feel ashamed of myself.”

“Then you ought to reconsider your perception of what a knight is and start behaving more accordingly to what is expected from one, Solaire. And for the sake of your own honor, I would suggest you make haste about it.”

Oscar knew he sounded cruelly unyielding and stern, but he was only doing it in Solaire’s best interest. As his fellow knight, it was his responsibility to guide him back to the right path of knighthood so that Solaire could be spared from ever falling as lowly as Oscar had already done.

Solaire was a strong and capable warrior burdened with a sensitive heart. While not intrinsically a flaw, it was a double-edged sword that could compromise his honor if he didn’t stop.

“I know not what could ever lead you to believe that a knight would find shame in those kinds of things.” Solaire looked at Oscar with genuine shock. “If it is part of the code shared among elite knights, then I’ll be forever grateful I was never accepted among their ranks.”

“It’s common sense.” Oscar continued, growing desperate at Solaire’s unwillingness or incapacity to understand the true meaning of what he was saying. “Knights are meant to serve people, to protect them, to give their life for them if we have to. In moments of despair and difficulty, we are beacons of hope and strength. We must not falter; we must remain forever strong. To fail to do so is to fail as men and knights.”

Lords, look at me... Preaching so ardently about knighthood after failing so miserably at it.  Will I ever stop pretending?

“That’s my point!” Solaire exclaimed. Oscar could tell he was equally tired of him as he was of the sunlight knight. “We are meant to be strong, and it’s for that same reason that we must allow ourselves to feel our sadness and receive help whenever it’s necessary. Otherwise, we may end up just like the crestfallen! Did he look strong to you, Oscar? Is that... is that what a knight is supposed to be?”

It didn’t came as a surprise for Oscar that Solaire was at the brink of tears again. If anything, he was shocked he had managed to hold them back for so long.

“Am I in the wrong?” Solaire wiped his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. “Have I been making a fool out of myself all this time? I just don’t know anymore. I mean... you are an elite knight, Oscar. Perhaps you do know better than me. After all, I’m just some idiot, a traveling laughingstock whose only merit is to be physically strong. Other than that, I’ve got nothing. No wit, no talent, no natural skill... nothing. Compared to you, I’m nothing.”

Solaire wiped his eyes again, but no sooner had he cleaned his tears when new ones welled inside his eyes.

“Damn it.” He hissed in frustration before turning his back to Oscar so he couldn’t see the scene. “Damn it all.”

Oh, Solaire.

Oscar felt his heart swollen with regret.

What have I done to you?

He hesitated, not knowing how he could fix what he had just broken with his unnecessary declarations.

He thought about it for long, his mind desperate to find a solution before things passed a point of no return. Oscar knew very well how powerful words could be, and how quickly they could fester if they were allowed to settle inside one’s heart.

But what was he supposed to say?

If he asked for his forgiveness, Solaire would give it to him. He would then accept that Oscar had been right all along.

It was the last thing Oscar wanted.

Because... I’m not.

Oscar’s eyes widened at the answer. It had been so simple that it made him wonder why it had been so difficult for him to find.

“No, Solaire.” Oscar said, wishing he had the courage to rest a hand against Solaire’s back. “You are much more than I could ever be. What I said to you was uncalled for... I am the one in the wrong here, not you. Please, do not listen to the words of a failed knight like me.”

“I never pitied you, Oscar. I thought I left that clear.” Solaire said in between sobs. “Please, don’t you dare pity me now. If this is how I’ve made you feel all this time, I apologize, for it is a terrible feeling indeed.”

Oscar stopped for a moment. He looked inside him and discovered no trace of pity for Solaire. He didn’t feel sorry for him at all.

If Oscar wanted him to disregard his imprudent statements, it was only for Solaire to go back to his true self, to the jolly and kind knight that had saved his life, far away from insecure and brittle man Oscar had reduced him to.

“It wasn’t because of you, Solaire.  If I ever felt as if I was being pitied it was because I was the one who was pitying myself.”  Oscar confessed, feeling as if he was opening a can of worms he thought had vanished during his moment of crying. “I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I couldn’t believe that I was worthy of being saved. I didn’t want to be saved. I see it now... I always did, but I—”

Oscar swallowed. He had no tears left to shed, but he swore he felt their phantom feeling streaming down his face when Solaire turned around and looked at him.

For a second, Oscar swore he was looking at them and not Solaire.

“Forgive me.” Oscar continued before he lost his voice. “All I’ve said is wrong. They are hollow words born from the heart and soul of an useless knight and failed man that couldn’t even save the Undead that saved him. I’m that incompetent, and as such, my words are of little worth and should be not be—"

“Stop it.” Solaire pleaded as he turned around.  “Why are you talking about yourself like that? Oscar, you are an elite knight of Astora! Do you remember what honor it is for us to achieve such title? Many spend their entire lives training to even being considered to join their ranks, but only a handful show the skill and prowess necessary to become one. You may have forgotten about it, but trust me when I tell you that what you achieved was more than what men like me could ever dream of.”

“It means nothing, Solaire.” Oscar said, feeling his body tremble. “What good did the title do to me if I was never able to prove I was worthy of it? My shameful defeat at the hands of the Asylum Demon was clear proof I wasn’t as skilled as I had thought. The fact the Chosen Undead had to drag me out of that place after I had given up made it clear I was not half as brave as I believed.  My attempt at taking their life showed I was not a noble man at all. In all these situations, a true elite knight would have risen above it and come out victorious and proud. A man like you would have been able to do so, I’m sure of it; but men like me would be better off dead.”

An absolute silence followed. The bonfire sizzled as its fire danced around its intact coiled sword.

Oscar and Solaire stared at each other. Had Oscar not looked away first, he was sure they would have spent the rest of eternity in that same position.

“One’s worth is like faith.” Oscar said as he looked deeply into the bonfire. “You can only know their power after you test them in the direst of circumstances. I went to the Asylum in search for the fate I had coveted all my life, convinced I was the only one worthy of being this world’s savior, only to discover that I was wrong. I was not the protagonist of a fabled prophecy, I was just some prideful moron that paid dearly for his arrogance. I was never the man or knight I thought I was... and then, nothing mattered to me anymore. Not the world, not my life, not my fate.”

“Oscar...”

“I failed horribly in all aspects, Solaire. The Chosen Undead even proved to be nobler and braver than me.” Oscar smiled and shook his head. “And it infuriated me. Some elite knight I was, surpassed by a nameless Undead that never wanted to be freed in the first place.”

 Oscar laughed under his breath. It slowly transformed into a growl that made Solaire widen his eyes in fear.

“Did you hear what I just said?” Oscar snapped at him as he punched the ground. He glared at Solaire as if he had been pestering him for a confession. “They never wanted me to free them. They hated me for it, and I hated them too.  I was cruel towards them, I confessed I would betray them at the first chance I got... and yet, they still saved me.  And now, here I am. Trapped by my own incompetence, bound to a debt I cannot repay. I can’t be the chosen Undead. The Chosen Undead was the true—”

It was only when he was about to repeat the same words that Oscar realized he had been calling the Undead by his nickname all along.

He didn’t know how to continue after that. He kept quiet until he could gather the courage to say what he had long owed to Solaire.

“You’re a good man and an outstanding knight, Solaire. This is what I truly think of you, and I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me.” Oscar didn’t look at Solaire in the eye. “But I can’t allow you to continue helping me, not when I know I will never be able to repay it to you. I just—"

Oscar’s mouth remained open, but he could say nothing else. Tired in all senses, he breathed out what little air remained inside his lungs and leaned his head against the tree.

He stared at the sky, decided to allow Solaire to leave Firelink Shrine without having to be a burden for him any longer.

Instead, Solaire imitated him and rested his back against the tree right at the opposite side. He heard him breathe out a heavy sigh.

For a long while, neither said anything.

Oscar felt tempted to ask Solaire if he had something he wanted to say, but he stopped himself when he realized how obvious the answer was.

Oscar had taken Solaire’s moment of confession and made it all about himself, as if all the time Solaire had allowed Oscar to cry on his shoulder hadn’t been enough.

My self-pity is becoming a habit, and now, it has harmed someone else other than me. I don’t want this. I need to move on from this... but I don’t know how. Chosen Undead, is this how you felt during your imprisonment?  How did you not go Hollow? Were you really so strong of heart and body?

Oscar thought of them for a while longer. Then, he casted the Undead from his mind, not out of envy or resentment, but out of necessity.

The Chosen Undead was gone, and their memory, while comforting, was also dangerous for Oscar. As much as they were dear to him, they were not what he needed at that moment.

One day, I hope I can think of you and smile, but not yet. I’m still not ready. Right now, there’s someone else that needs my help, and if I can grant it to him, I want to try.

In the end, Oscar decided the wisest option was to allow Solaire time for himself.  He surely was as tired and drained as Oscar was, perhaps a lot more.

We both need some rest, don’t we? You’ve earned it, my friend.

Oscar closed his eyes, hoping sleep would engulf him soon.

But, when we both wake up, let’s talk again some more. And this time, I’ll keep silent and listen to everything you have to say. Let’s make amends. Alright, Solaire?

A gentle snoring was his only answer.

Hmgg...

Oh, Chosen Undead.

Hmgg...

Lord Gwyn!

It’s you, it’s really you!

Hrraaoogggh!

What? No, I’m not scared of crystal lizards!

Hmgg...

Kaathe! Leave that settlement alone!

Hmgg...

Link the fire, Chosen Undead.

It is your fate.

Can you hear me?

Hmgg...

It is your fate.

“Fate.”

Oscar woke himself up.

The echoes of his dreams faded before he could become aware of them. Only the last word that had escaped his lips remained.

It was difficult for him to believe that such term had ever been his entire life. Now, it felt like a bad memory he couldn’t cleanse from his mind.

It was just a dream.

Oscar rubbed his eyes. Sleep had done nothing to cure their dryness. It was then Oscar noticed the awful thirst parched in his throat and mouth.

He wondered if Solaire could fetch him some water.  

He knew not where Solaire had found a supply of water in Firelink Shrine, but Oscar didn’t have the luxury to be picky about its origins.

Whether it came from a clean well or a ruin filled with stagnant water it made no difference for Oscar, not as long as it quenched his thirst.

Still, he wasn’t going to wake Solaire up if he was still asleep. He would wait patiently for him to wake up on his own, and then—

“Solaire?” Oscar said as his heart dropped to his stomach. He had looked at the same spot by the tree where the sunlight knight had fallen asleep, only to discover it was empty.

With his heart racing inside his chest, Oscar looked at the structure near the bonfire. Solaire’s sword and shield, as well as his tunic adorned with a clumsily hand-drawn sun, were gone.

Oscar’s crest shield was carefully placed in front of his feet, with his blue tunic folded on top of it.

“Solaire?” Oscar asked again, though shouting was a more fitting term given the volume of his confused voice. “Solaire!”

Nothing.

He was alone with nothing other than the ever-burning bonfire to keep him company.

“But—” Oscar stuttered, unable to wrap his mind around Solaire’s abrupt departure. “This isn’t what I—”

 No... no!

Oscar began to swing his body until he got it in a crawling position. The wound on his belly, which had stayed peacefully dormant, punished Oscar with a heavy sting that left him breathless; but it wasn’t enough to stop him.

He didn’t know how, but Oscar was determined to find Solaire. He had turned their last conversation bitter, making their parting terms seem ungrateful on his end.

For all Oscar knew, he had broken Solaire’s spirit for good. And now, he no longer had the chance to set things right.

Solaire hadn’t granted him the opportunity. Why should he after the treatment he had received at Oscar’s hands?

As much of a kind man he was, he had his limits, and Oscar had gone beyond them.

No, it cannot end like this. Not again.

“Solaire.” Oscar began to drag his limp body upwards to the same route he had seen Solaire descend when he had returned with their washed tunics. “Don’t go. Please, give me the chance.... to make amends.”

Solaire.

“Solaire!”

 “Oh, would you shut up? You’re worse than a Hollow after it sets itself on fire!”

Oscar smiled at the voice coming from behind a wall of stone.

“Solaire. You’re—”

“Solaire? Oh, you mean, that big fellow with a strange fetish for the sun? Sorry mate, but he left the shrine a while ago.”  A bald man appeared before Oscar. He twitched his mouth in disgust. “By the Lords, you’re one ugly fellow! Don’t worry, just make sure to hide half your face and you can still pass as a dashing knight! And what the hell is up with your voice? Did you swallow a Hollow and it got stuck in your throat?”

He knelt in front of Oscar and held him by the chin.

"Wait, I know you. You must be the half-Hollow that depressed fool talked about. Well, he's not exactly gaining points for originality with names, is he?"

Oscar tried to break free, but the bald man was much stronger than what his wimpy body implied.

His other hand, so quietly hidden behind his back, finally emerged. Oscar gasped at the sight of the broken coiled sword.

"Half-Hollow, full Hollow, no Hollow at all... it makes no difference to me. When you die, you are all corpses. And corpses are meant to be looted. And let me tell you, that crest shield of yours is worth much more than what that sun-loving idiot paid me."

The bald man pressed the coiled sword against Oscar's temple.

"Sorry mate, you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Chapter Text

The stone platform began to descend.

Solaire stood right in the middle. His mind was so lost in thought he didn’t notice the decayed state of the rusty chains that dragged the old elevator downwards.  Few people would be daring enough to take their chances and use the antique contraption, even more so if they were aware of the cursed place that waited for them at the deep end of the tunnel.

None of it mattered to Solaire. At that moment, the storm forming within himself was a greater challenge than anything the cursed land of Lordran could throw at him.

An idiot and a hypocrite.

The terms fluttered inside his mind.

The former was a label Solaire had long accepted to be inherent to his own being. It had followed him his entire life; even after achieving knighthood, he hadn’t been able to get rid of his reputation as a hopeless fool.

The people he helped often regarded him as annoying, and few were the ones who genuinely thanked him or didn’t try to trick him in the process.

The treatment he had received from his fellow Astorans knights had been no kinder. They had always considered him unfit for knighthood despite his physical strength. No matter how much Solaire trained or improved his skills, it was never enough to earn their respect.

What he lacked went beyond his fighting talent, which had never been too highly praised by his superiors in the first place.

He simply didn’t have what it took to be a great knight.

An elite knight of Astora.

Solaire held the sun painted on his chest.

The covenant of the Warriors of Sunlight had been the only place where he had truly belonged.

Righteous knights, guardians of all that was good in the world, in the name of the Lord of Sunlight.

I can see it now, what the crestfallen meant. It's no wonder I come off as a pretentious, self-righteous idiot.

What had been his reasons to join the covenant in the first place?

Solaire had always believed he had done so out of a personal affinity with its creed.

Despite the little gratitude it earned him, he loved to help people.

The world was a dark place drowned in misery. Every person had their heavy burdens to bear, and if Solaire could aid others with their crosses, he would gladly do so.

 And yet, there was something else, something the crestfallen warrior had pointed out after seeing through Solaire as if he was made of glass.

I’m weak, perhaps not of body, but of mind... that’s why I’ve always depended on those who are in need  of help to make myself feel useful. Deep down, maybe I don’t do it because I’m kind of heart or because I care selflessly about others, I do it only to cope with my incompetence. That’s the reason, the rest are all excuses.

Solaire released his sun and allowed his arm to fall limply against his side.

And yet, even if you called me a hypocrite...

The elevator reached its end. Behind an entrance of stone, the ruins of New Londo expected Solaire.

... you also regarded me as a good man and an outstanding knight.

Solaire took a step forward, his heart beating hard and quickly against his chest. He couldn’t remember being so scared before in his life.  It was further proof that he was where he was meant to be.

Oscar, I know not if you really meant it, but to hear such compliments for the first time fills my soul with hope and strength. You may think of yourself as a failure, but to me, you are a true elite knight of Astora. That’s why I want to prove myself worthy of your words.

Beyond the entrance, Solaire found only flooded ruins long submerged by an ancient flood. The sun hadn’t shone upon that place in centuries.

To be honest, I’m not doing this only for you. I need to prove it to myself too, that I’m not just a hypocritical and condescending benefactor that uses others to ease his insecurities... I am a Warrior of Sunlight, a knight whose help is selfless and just. Only then will I be able to return to Firelink Shrine and see you in the eye again. Only then can I ask you to forgive me for using you as an excuse for my own cowardice.

Solaire went down a set of ancient stairs. His hand was firmly placed on top of the handle of his sunlight sword. New Londo was riddled with Hollows.

Solaire was expectant of an upcoming attack, but the demented creatures were too immersed in their crazed minds to pay any attention to him.

They were beyond help.

Solare pitied them. He never would have expected Hollows would incite sentiments of those kind in him.

Yet, the gloomy feeling brought a sense relief to his mind.

Amidst the darkness the surrounded him, Solaire smiled.

I never felt this way towards you, Oscar. Now I know for sure.

The sun, though out of sight, must have noticed the boost that occurred on Solaire’s wavering faith, and it rewarded him with an encounter that was nothing short of being a miracle.

Solaire stopped at the sight of the crestfallen warrior sitting in front of him, right at the middle of the platform that divided the entrance from the old bridge that granted access to the ruins.

His back was turned on Solaire. The crestfallen’s chainmail was soaked wet; it had formed  a large puddle underneath his body.

That was strange. Had the crestfallen warrior fancied a swim after running away from Firelink Shrine?

Solaire could comprehend that swimming was perhaps a method the crestfallen had to calm down his nerves, but how would anyone dare to enter the cursed waters of New Londo was beyond his understanding.

I’m not here to judge him. What matters is that he has regained his composure.

“There you are.”  Solaire said.

The crestfallen ignored him.

Solaire hadn’t expected anything else.

He knew it was as difficult for the crestfallen to accept his help as it was for Solaire to grant it to him.

The man had done great damage to him.

His venomous words had left profound scars in his heart and faith. They would take long to heal, if they ever did at all.

His treatment of Oscar still made Solaire fume with rage. Had Solaire not stopped him, the crestfallen warrior would have beaten Oscar to death, and for that he hadn’t forgiven him, just like he hadn’t forgiven himself for having remained idle during much of the incident.

He had insulted Astora.

He had made fun of all the knights that died while trying to bring hope back to the world.

And he’d had so much fun while doing so.

Solare’s upper lip quivered as the tension on his jaw grew, leaving his neck as stiff as a tree.

 He had never found it so difficult to offer his help to a person before in his life.

He wasn’t sure the other deserved it to begin with.

And that’s why you are the one I need to help the most now.

Solaire hesitated for a moment, fearing he was acting out of a deluded sense of superiority.  Knowing he would trap himself in and endless loop of self-doubting if he allowed those thoughts to run free, Solaire steeled his heart and carried on.

“I came looking for you.” Noticing the cold formality of his tone, Solaire did his best to add more warm to his voice. “I didn’t expect to find you so quickly, but I’m glad I did.”

The crestfallen warrior, whose head had remained glued to his chest, slowly straightened his back.

Good.

At least it was a sign that he was listening.

“What happened back in the shrine... Well, it’s in the past now. Listen, I know you hate me, and I’m not going to pretend I like you either, but that doesn’t matter right now. Our problems are not something that can be solved with just a few words, but there’s no need for you to stay here all by yourself any longer.”

Solaire discovered that his initial resistance was disappearing. The more he talked, the easier it came to him to offer his help.

He also realized that the resentment he held against the crestfallen warrior wasn’t as strong or bitter as he had thought.

He didn’t pity the warrior at all. What he was starting to feel for the crestfallen was similar to what he felt towards Oscar, though not as pure or intense.

I understand.

Solaire removed his helmet and carefully placed it down on the floor.

I don’t excuse what you did to me, nor do I want to pretend you didn’t cause me a great deal of pain, but I can understand why you did it. That’s why, right now, I hope... no, I want to lend you my help in the sincerest way possible, and do it not for my sake, but for your own.

“Let’s go back.” Solaire knelt behind the crestfallen and put his hand on his shoulder. “What do you say?”

The crestfallen put a hand above Solaire’s.

“Very well.” Solaire said, his voice as warm as the sun itself. “Can you walk? If not, I can help—”

Solaire couldn’t finish. His wrist screamed in pain when the crestfallen twisted his hand upwards until it touched the edge of his metal bracelet.

By instinct, Solaire’s other hand rushed on top of the  crestfallen’s in a desperate attempt to break free from his unyielding grip.

“What are you doing?!” Solaire’s voice echoed across the flooded ruins. The Hollows nearby cowered in fear while others ran away in panic. “Stop this right now! Have you gone—”

Mad.

It was all Solaire meant to say, but when the crestfallen turn his head around, he discovered the term was no longer appropriate to describe his state of being.

Hollow.

“No.” Solaire stuttered. “How can this be?”

In sanity, the crestfallen warrior would have answered to his stupid question with a roll of his eyes and a mocking scoff, followed by one of his usual insults that poked fun at Solaire’s ignorance.

As a Hollow, the crestfallen turned his whole body around without letting go of Solaire. He pulled him closer to him and tried to stab him in the neck with a broken sword that had long lost its sharpness and color, but could still deal deathly damage with its bluntness if it hit the right spot.

Solaire reacted despite his growing despair and blocked the weapon with his other metal bracelet. The force of his unexpected blocking caught the crestfallen off guard. Solaire took advantage of the moment and freed his hand.

With a nimble maneuver, Solaire managed to create a decent distance between him and the other, but the success and relief he should have felt were tainted by reality.

Why?

Moved only by his need to protect his own life, Solaire unsheathed his sword and talisman. His shield remained firmly set on his back.

With a sadness he couldn’t hide, Solaire looked up at the crestfallen, or better said, to the empty shell that had once been a man.

The Hollow had no expression on his blank face. Two empty eye holes had replaced the snarky orbs that Solaire had grown accustomed to see each time he looked at the crestfallen warrior.

The eternal sarcasm imprinted in them had always been nothing but annoying for Solaire, but in that moment, he longed for that expression with a nostalgia so powerful that a lump almost formed in his throat.

Why did this happen?

This time, Solaire swallowed his potential tears.

There was no place for crying during battle.

Who did this?

The Hollow rushed at Solaire.

Solaire, clinging to his talisman, readied himself to cast a miracle.

Nothing happened.

His faith was not powerful enough; it became painfully clear the moment the Hollow’s broken sword dig its way into his left arm.

Was it me?

“Don’t you worry.”  The bald man’s hand travelled from Oscar’s chin down to this neck. The coiled sword’s drew blood as its warm sharp ends were forcefully pressed against his temple. “It’ all be over soon. You won’t feel a thing, my dear knight, and you should be grateful for it. If you were a cleric, I wouldn’t be half as merciful.”

The bald man twisted the sword. Whatever expression was drawn on Oscar’s face was enough to make the scoundrel laugh with all the power of his lungs.

Oscar looked at him. He held the other’s wrist, but he did so with so little strength that the man didn’t notice his touch and kept laughing with his head up towards the sky.

Is this my fate?  

His body began to lose the energy he had regained under Solaire’s care and his prolonged rest near the bonfire.

To die at the hands of this scoundrel?

A knot formed in his stomach, not too far away from his pulsating wound.

To think of Solaire had become no less distressing than remembering the Chosen Undead.

Both of you... you sacrificed so much trying to help me. I never gave you a good reason to do so. Even now, I don’t understand why either of you tried to save someone like me.

Oscar became overwhelmed by shame at the memories of his treatment of Solaire and the Chosen Undead.  He tried to convince himself, like the coward he was, that his actions had been justified, but no excuse he tried to construct was enough to offer him true solace.

I couldn’t even thank you the way you two deserved.

“Oi, are you there? Don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you!” The bald man began to shake Oscar as if he was a rag doll. He separated the coiled sword form his temple and began to hit Oscar with it on top of his head. “You’ve got no manners at all!”

Despite the rough treatment, Oscar remained unresponsive. He cared not in the slightest for the bald man and his need of acknowledgement.

The people he was addressing in his mind meant too much to him to let the childish behavior of a vulgar rogue interfere.

Chosen Undead.

“Oh, forget it, you’re no fun at all.”

The bald man threw Oscar to a side. Oscar rolled twice before he could finally stop his landing and lay down on his chest.

The wound on his belly stung sharply enough to transform his breathing into a quick and irregular compilation of gasps. He covered the pulsating scar with one hand while he forced his other to carry his entire weight.

Disoriented, he looked around. He had landed dangerously close to the bonfire. The image of seeing his life and body being reduced to ashes filled him with horror.

He almost killed me.

The thought’s initial dreadfulness was cut short as the second passed.

Why am I so scared of losing my life? I’d just be reborn again, and then this man would kill me once more until I go Hollow or he gets bored of me. Or maybe I’ll go completely Hollow now and find true death at his hands... Why should this horrify me? Isn’t this what I deserve? Isn’t death what I’ve been longing for since you gave your life to save mine?

“Seriously? Are you not gonna put up a fight? Are you sure you are a knight?” The bald man said as he moved to Oscar’s side and pushed him away from the bonfire with his foot.

“No, clearly you’re not. I bet your armor is just some memento you looted from a real knight you killed before arriving here, and the same goes for that crest shield. Well, I never thought I would find a kindred spirit in this boring place! Suddenly, I won’t feel so bad about killing you anymore; after all, a thief that robs a thief is nothing short of a hero.”

Oscar tried to rise up again, but the man kept him down by stomping his boot against his back. A drowned scream escaped Oscar’s mouth.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you? What a wuss! Seriously now, you’re so pathetic you’re almost making feel like I’m the bad guy here. That’s not fair, now is it?” He said, slowly releasing Oscar. “I’m doing nothing wrong. I’m sure you agree, don’t you?”

Oscar knew the answer.

Scared he would give it away to the thief if he remained still a second more, he focused his strength in dragging himself closer to his crest shield. Rather than trying to stop him, the bald man watched him, wholly entertained, as if Oscar was a slug trying to run away from a cruel child.

Chosen Undead, I can never atone from what I did to you.

“Go on, you’re almost there!” The bald man cheered as Oscar finally made it to the shield and put a hand on top of it. “Well done! All the snails of Lordran are envious of your talent.”

Chosen Undead, I feel as if I’ve betrayed fate itself by being alive while you remain dead. I once called you a foul thief, but I’m the one worthy of such title. The prophecy was yours to fulfill, you were the true Chosen Undead. I was merely the catalyst that would enable your predestinated journey, but you decided otherwise. You saved me, you gave me a second chance... but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. I don’t know how I can repay you for this gift you gave to me. I’m not capable of anything anymore. I don’t think I ever was.

Oscar’s fingers caressed the surface of his shield. The dents scattered all over he had once hated now felt natural to his touch, as if they had always been part of the shield’s original design.

I don’t know what my fate is.

“Alright, enough of this.” The bald man said, catching his breath after an amused and long laughter. He knelt next to Oscar and grabbed him by the wrist.

But even so...

“No more touching my future goods. I don’t want your Hollow-ness to infect the shield. That could lower its price quite a bit... though now that I look at it more carefully, it is already in pretty bad shape. Oh well, I’m sure that Shiva moron of the East will still be willing to pay a good price for this piece of junk. It wouldn’t be the first time he pays me a generous amount for old trinkets that aren’t worth my—”

Oscar knew he would have no other chance. He acted swiftly, before the other could even attempt to stop him.

Distracted by his blabbering, the bald man couldn’t react in time to stop Oscar’s wrist before it escaped his fingers. When he became aware of his mistake, it was already too late, and the only thing he could do was to stay still with his mouth agape in surprise before the crest shield delivered a crushing blow to his face.

Oscar showed no mercy. The power in his swing didn’t falter, not even when he felt and heard how the man’s bones were crushed by the impact of the metal.

 He kept pushing, ignoring his pain and exhaustion, until the bald man darted away from him and crashed against a stone wall.

The man remained still and unresponsive, his body stuck on a pathetic imitation of a sitting posture, his head hanging limply against his right shoulder. His nose was a shapeless mass of blood, and from his mouth, a broken tooth fell.

Oscar stared at his deed.  Just when he had been about to feel pity for the man, the scoundrel regained his senses. He hid his destroyed face behind his hands and screamed in agony.

“You goddamn bastard!” The bald man cried, struggling to get back on his feet. He failed at first, but he was starting to regain his balance little by little. “My face, my face... What did I do to deserve this? What did I do? ”

Oscar had no time to spare. He knew he had to get up and prepare for battle. Regardless of how pathetic the other’s screams were, Oscar could hear his desire for revenge in his voice.

Chosen Undead.

Using his crest shield as support, Oscar began to stand up.

His body rejected the idea. It did everything in its power to make him stop. His limbs hurt, they trembled, they faltered, they failed him and made him fall to the ground again just when Oscar had been about to stand on his own feet.

Oscar didn’t give in. He kept trying, no matter how many times he failed or how fervently his body insisted on keeping him glued to the ground.

Solaire.

“You’ll pay for this!” The bald man exclaimed,; he was already standing. “I’ll give you a death so horrible that it’ll make you go full Hollow!”

After a prolonged struggle he had been about to lose, Oscar’s body succumbed to his will and did his biding, though not without dozens of complaints in the form of sparks of pain that traveled through his every nerve.

I did so many horrible things to you both. Everything I did, everything I said was filled with venom. A poison I intended only for myself but that I, in my weakness, didn’t hesitate to spread among you as well.  And now, you are gone. It was all my doing.

Standing on his own demanded a heavy toll from Oscar. His breathing never fully stabilized, and he continued to pant heavily. More than a knight prepared for battle, he had the semblance of an old man about to faint.

 I cannot make amends for my actions, I cannot repay my debt to you, I cannot change the past. My selfishness, my self-pity, my doubts, my incompetence; even now, their chains remain.

The arm where he held his crest shield was the first part of his being that stopped trembling. Slowly, just after he raised the shield in front of his chest, the rest of his body began to settle down.  The spasms never ceased, but they no longer were incapacitating.

But even so... even if I don’t know what my purpose is anymore, even if I’m not worthy of any kind of fate, I cannot just stand still and let this man have his way. I won’t let it end like this. I can’t waste your sacrifices  and let it all go to waste. I can’t do that to neither of you... I can’t!

“Are you serious?” The bald man sneered at Oscar. “You think you can defeat me with your shield alone? Well, think again, half- Hollow! I won’t fall for the same trick twice!”

He wielded the coiled sword as he would a dagger.

“Come then! I’ll make you regret you ever crossed paths with Trusty Patches!”

Solaire, Chosen Undead!

Their battle formally started when the thief attempted a jump attack directed at Oscar’s head.

He blocked it.

His arms begged Oscar to stop, both out of pain and resignation, but he ignored them. His body could still be eager to go back to its everlasting sulking state, but Oscar’s mind no longer shared that wish.

He countered the attack. The thief dodged it, but judging by his delayed reaction, Oscar could tell he hadn’t expected him to have the strength necessary to defend himself properly.

What is my fate? What is my purpose? The man I thought I was is gone. My past is a fading shadow, my future is an unachievable lost dream... but my present still exists, and I owe it all to you. I’m not sure where it will lead me, or if there’s really somewhere it can take me; and yet, right now, burdened as I am with my chains, as trapped as I am in my own self, I decide to stand up and fight.

Oscar rushed towards the thief. The wound the coiled sword had left behind no longer felt like a keepsake of his failures. The constant pain it gave him was not a distraction.

For your sake. And perhaps...

It was a reminder he was still alive.

Even for my own.

It was over.

It hadn’t taken long at all.

It couldn’t have been any other way.

He had barely presented a challenge for the sunlight knight when he was a normal Undead. He’d never stood a chance now that he was Hollow.

This is it.

He thought as he laid on the floor as a pool of his own blood formed under his back.

I’m dying for good.

The crestfallen warrior didn’t know how he was capable of thought during the last moments of his existence. His lucidity, lost in the shadows of fear and madness, had returned to him out of nowhere, not long after the sunlight knight had delivered the killing blow in the form on a stab to his heart.

You could have killed me much sooner. Why didn’t you? Was watching me fight in this deplorable state amusing to you? You’re cruel, warrior of sunlight. Maybe you do belong in Lordran after all.

He heard the thump of the knight’s knees as he collapsed next to his inert body. The crestfallen warrior looked at his face, and what he saw didn’t surprise him.

Really now, about to cry for a Hollow you just defeated? You hopeless fool. Astorans are all the same... well, maybe not all of them. I am the perfect example.

The crestfallen breathed out a faint chuckle. The ruins of Anor Londo were so immersed in silence that it didn’t pass unnoticed for the knight of sunlight.

The crestfallen saw him staring at him in disbelief, he even dared to say he did so with hope.

Foolish, foolish knight.

“Up above the Undead church.” The crestfallen said with what little breath he had left. “Under the ruins of Blight town.”

“What?” The warrior of sunlight stuttered.

“The bells of awakening.” The crestfallen warrior continued. He couldn’t remember when it had been the last time his voice came free of disdain or mockery. It made him sound like a completely different man.

Well, that’s probably because  my voice now sounds as awful as that elite knight’s. Just when I was starting to romanticize things...

“The bells.” He looked at the knight of sunlight. “Ring them both...and something will happen. Surely this will be of help to you and that unsufferable half-Hollow back in the shrine, won’t it? I hope with all my heart that it will.”

“Don’t talk! I don’t... I don’t have an Estus Flask with me anymore, but you’ll be alright! I’ll take you back to Firelink Shrine and—”

“No, knight. I’m not getting out of this alive. Death has taken over my body. Soon, my soul will follow. You’re such an idiot if you dare to think otherwise. You were a fool to come looking for me in the first place... but I’m grateful you did.”

The crestfallen warrior made sure to take one last look at him before he closed his eyes for good.  

Is this it? Is this what my whole life boils down to? Was I born just to give this fool and his comrade one feeble piece of advice? After surviving for so long, is this fool’s face full of grief the last thing I’ll ever see? Everything I ever did... was all for this?

“Thank you, Solaire.” The crestfallen said after laughing one last time.

It's not a bad fate.

He began to fade away into the wind.

Not at all.

There was nothing he could do. Deep inside his heart, Solaire knew it well, but a lingering regret kept whispering in his ear.

He could have avoided it. He could have saved him.

He had failed.

His hands fell right where the crestfallen warrior had just been a second ago, before his body vanished into nothingness.

Solaire didn’t cry for his departure. Inside him, there was only emptiness.

He wondered if Oscar would approve of his numb indifference.

Solaire wished he would.

It was the only thing he had left to hope for.

Solaire let go of his sword and talisman. Of the two, the latter was the heaviest, despite having proven to be nothing but useless during the battle.

"Oh, my sun."

Around him, the Hollows, completely uncaring of his existance, continued with their endless lamentations.

"My sun."

Chapter Text

“A knight looking down at you as the clouds in the grey sky slowly move in the background.” A deep growl purred inside Kaathe’s throat. “Why do you treasure this image with all your heart, little Hollow? No matter how I see it, I find nothing special about it at all; and yet, it fills you with overflowing passion.”

Maybe it was because of the enormous rift between the nature of humans and primordial serpents that Kaathe couldn’t make sense of the Hollow’s memory, but he was too intrigued to give up so easily.

“This knight, he saved you... but you weren’t happy about it at all. You thought he had stopped the Hollowing you had longed for most of your life. Silly creature, so ignorant about your own self, so obsessed with something you already had. You could have stayed at the Asylum for all eternity and you would have never Hollowed, for you already were Hollow long before you arrived there.”

Still, perhaps he was being too strict with the creature sleeping peacefully inside his mouth. After all, they were the first sane Hollow capable of thought and emotion he had ever encountered. They were an anomaly created by the Pygmy’s blood running through their veins.

“Could you be something else?” Kaathe asked to the darkness. “Not an exception, but a harbinger?”

It was only hope born from wishful thinking, but Kaathe still took it seriously.

“It’s not very probable, but nothing in this world is impossible.”

Kaathe had lived long enough to know that there was no such thing as ‘unique’ in the world. Some individuals could prove to be rarer than others and be more capable of bringing forth a real change, as had been the case with the Four Lords.

In this sense, Kaathe considered them special, but he did not think of them as one-of-a-kind wonders that were worthy of endless mourning if they failed or perished.

“Gods and humans all think they are so extraordinary, as if the fate of the world depended on your pitiful existences. Do you not know that the world cares not about you at all? None of you are indispensable, none of you are irreplaceable, not even those who stand out from the crowd, for when you are gone, someone else will always come to take your place.”

If this is the case...

Kaathe moved the Hollow from his tongue and placed them right between his teeth.

Even if I killed you now and swallowed your tattered corpse, it wouldn’t be the end of sentient Hollows, would it? You may be the first, but you are not the last.

He hesitated for a moment. Then, he put the Hollow back on the wet surface of his tongue.

The pygmy’s blood. How much is your current state related to its influence? I don’t know, little Hollow. Perhaps these are only the musings of an old snake, but they conflict me. And it feels... good. For the first time in ages, I feel as if I could aspire to a new and bigger purpose, far away from the awful monotony of being forever waiting for my Dark Lord.

Kaathe smiled.

“Look at me, getting all sentimental over some pitiful idea that has little chances of success. Am I so accustomed to nothing, that I would become so easily obsessed with anything?”

Kaathe blinked twice before the realization made his eyes widen.

“Of course. This is why you treasure the memory of the knight with so much devotion, Little Hollow.” He said, tilting his neck back and forth soothingly. “Isn’t it?”

The Hollow replied in dreams.

Kaathe repeated the answer out loud.

“Oscar, elite knight of Astora.”

“Goddamn bastard.”  The bald man hissed as he recovered from an intended lethal blow delivered to his neck with the shield's edge. He coughed and put a hand on the growing bruise spreading from his neck to his throat. “You almost killed me.”

Oscar had put what remained of his strength on that final swing, hoping it would end the battle once and for all. For a second, he had been sure of his success, but fate had soon punished him for his arrogance again, as if to remind Oscar that all his efforts were meaningless.

He had fought with all the courage his feeble heart had been capable of mustering and all the power left in his muscles and bones. Even after the bald man had discovered the vulnerable spot on his belly and had attacked it mercilessly, Oscar had continued to fight.

It hadn’t been enough.

Chosen Undead, Solaire.

He had failed.

Forgive me.

Against his wishes, his legs failed him. He fell to his knees. Oscar managed to keep his torso away from the ground by using his shield as support, but it didn’t make his posture any less pathetic.

“You fight pretty well for a loser. Maybe you are a real knight after all.” The bald man scoffed. He cleaned the blood leaking from his broken nose with his thumb and stared at it. “What a mess you made of me. To tell you the truth, I never would have imagined you would be so much trouble to kill. I was careless... and too merciful.”

Oscar almost laughed at the last assertion. The bald man had only showed him spite and savagery during their battle. He had also cackled scornfully at Oscar’s offer for a truce.

Oscar had only done so when,  after noticing signs of exhaustion in his opponent, he had thought him capable of accepting the offer, especially since, at that moment, the tables had turned and Oscar’s chances of winning had been at their highest point.

Looking back, Oscar saw how naïve he had been.

I was too prideful as well. Showing mercy against a scoundrel, as if I still could consider myself an honorable knight like Solaire.

The bald man put down his hand and started walking towards Oscar.

“I was going to give you a gentle death, you know?” The man said, closing the distance between Oscar and him with every step he took. “Sure, I played around with you a bit, but it was all just some good-natured fun. I never intended to hurt you the way you hurt me, you lousy monster.”

Oscar raised his shield in an attempt to protect himself one last time, but it was no obstacle for the bald man, and he easily put the barrier out of the way with a single kick. Before Oscar had the chance to try the same again, the bald man grabbed him by the neck and lunged him backwards.

Once he had Oscar pinned to the floor, the bald man sat on his chest and put the coiled sword just inches away from his face.

“But now, I’ve changed my mind. I’m still going to kill you, but first, allow me to repay all the pain and trouble you’ve caused me. Truly, this is the least you can do after being so needlessly cruel to me, don’t you think?”

Oscar, struggling to find his breath as the bloodied hand of the thief squeezed his throat in a crushing grip, could only answer with a bitter glare.

“Hey, don’t give me that look! I’m innocent, you did this to yourself.” The bald man grinned maliciously and lifted the coiled sword above his head. “I know, I’ll start by plucking those beautiful Astoran eyes out of your face. I bet someone in this twisted land would be interested in buying them. Nothing is impossible in Lordran... except for my mercy.”

Without further announcement, the sword plummeted down.

Oscar’s hand stopped the blow before it could reach its goal. It had been a reflex motivate by a latent thought in his mind.

Keep fighting. If you can’t do it for yourself... then do it for them.

“Why do you keep struggling?!” The bald man said in frustration as Oscar’s strength proved to be harder to break than he had expected. “I’ve had enough of this! You’ve already wasted too much of my time.”

He removed his hand from Oscar’s neck.

Oscar had no time to enjoy the cooling relief of his renewed breathing as a greater agony soon took its place. He screamed in pain as the bald man relentlessly rubbed and pushed his thumb against his wound.

Though protected by his chainmail, the pressure and friction of the circular movements passed directly to the soft and scarring flesh.

“Oh I’m sorry, am I hurting you?” the bald man said with an amused undertone. “Alright, I’ll stop now, but first.”

He used his thumb’s fingernail to sharpen his touch and pressed it against Oscar as if it was a knife.

Oscar screamed again, this time loud enough to make his own ears ring. Meanwhile, the bald man looked down at him with a victorious smile that unveiled all his teeth.

“This is all your fault.” The bald man exclaimed as his strength finally started to defeat Oscar’s. "You hear me, half-hollow? I did nothing. This is all because of you! I’m not killing you, you’re killing yourself! Just like that sullen—”

The bald man’s expression became a shocked grimace as he was lifted off Oscar.

Free of his weight, Oscar laid limply on the ground and felt as if time had gone back and he was again at the Asylum, when he had been almost defeated by the Hollows, saved only by the raven’s arrival.

Oscar had almost come to believe he had never left that place, that everything that had happened afterwards had been an illusion created by his delirious mind, and that at any moment, he would go Hollow and kill the freshly tortured Chosen Undead by himself.

“Oscar!”

A familiar voice he thought he would never hear again brought Oscar back to Firelink Shrine. A moment later, his blurry sight regained its focus and he could confirm that his ears hadn’t tricked him.

“Solaire.” Oscar lost his voice, not because of the pain of his open wound, but out of emotional disbelief.

And happiness too.

For a moment, everything seemed to make sense in the world.

Thank you.

Oscar smiled at his friend.

Thank you for coming back.

“Oscar.”

One of his hands travelled swiftly to Oscar’s side as he gently used the other to hold his head.

His fingers and palms became instantly soaked with warm blood.

Oscar’s blood.

“Oscar.” Solaire said in between his agitated panting.

His friend said something to him.  Solaire didn’t listen. He had no time to lose, he had to save him. He had to stop his bleeding and his pain before he went Hollow.

“Don’t leave me.”

Shaking as if he was high with fever, Solaire immediately looked for his Estus Flask hanging from his belt, and cursed his idiocy when he remembered he no longer had it with him because, in his clumsiness, he had shattered it.

“I’ll help you, Oscar.” Solaire stuttered as beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. “You’ll be okay, I promise. But please, don’t go Hollow. Please...”

Not you too.

Oscar tried to speak again, but Solaire left his side before he could hear him. He lunged himself at the same spot where he remembered last seeing the crestfallen put his own and Oscar’s Estus Flasks. Crawling, he looked as carefully as his frenzied mind allowed him, but he found nothing.

No.

Solaire’s hand wet with blood made him slip and he slammed his forehead against a stone tile. He was back up immediately, too immersed in his despair to feel any sort of physical pain.

Just when hope seemed to have been lost forever thanks to his incompetence, Solaire found his cooking pot. He had forgotten completely about it, but in that instant, it felt like a gift sent by the Lord of Sunlight himself.

To his dismay, the pot had been turned over, either by the crestfallen when he had run away, or by Oscar and the scoundrel during what seemed to have been a long fight.

Solaire swallowed the bitter aftertaste his anxiety had plastered in his mouth and throat and picked up the pot. He inspected its insides, his heart sinking to his feet when he felt how lightly it weighted.

A large portion of the soup had been spilled, but some remained.  It was very little, but perhaps it was enough to keep Oscar from Hollowing.

A darker thought infiltrated his mind. If Oscar’s wound had been too heavily reopened, Solaire would have to seal it with fire again, just like the crestfallen had done.

The image formed a hole in his chest. He doubted Oscar, no matter how recovered he became after drinking the Estus soup, would be able to endure the agony of a second cauterization without Hollowing.

Solaire didn’t even know how he had managed to keep his sanity after the first time, and the mere thought of being the one responsible of making a Hollow out of Oscar was more than he could bear without feeling a chilling emptiness spreading from his heart.

“It’s alright.” Solaire said to himself with a hollow chuckle. “I’ll solve everything, that I will.”

Before he knew it, he was back at Oscar’s side. He lifted his head from the ground and, without giving time to Oscar to ask or complain, Solaire fed him the soup with desperate intent. He noticed Oscar’s disgusted expression at the broth’s taste, but it didn’t matter to Solaire, and he didn’t stop, not until all the soup from the pot was gone.

Once it was done, he threw the utensil away and stared at Oscar, who was trapped in a small coughing fit after the forceful healing.

Solaire’s breath hitched in his throat when Oscar slowly began to regain color in his face and his breathing stabilized into a more relaxed pace.

Still, when Solaire looked at the hollowed half of his face, he couldn’t help to think it had spread its influence farther.

“Don’t go Hollow.” Solaire whispered to Oscar, holding him closer. “Don’t go Hollow.”

Once more, Solaire covered Oscar’s bleeding wound with his hand. He pressed it gently, not strongly enough to cause pain to Oscar but with the necessary force to keep more blood from leaking out.

Oscar muttered something, but to Solaire his words were only senseless blabbering.

“I’m sorry I left you alone.” The rushed words broke his voice. “I wasn’t trying to abandon you, I swear. I needed to go away for a moment. I had to—”

 He bit his tongue until it bled, unable to confess to Oscar anything about his failed quest to bring the crestfallen back.

“Oscar, don’t go Hollow.” Solaire pleaded, unable to keep his shaking arms under control. “Promise me you won’t.”

Oscar answered.  Solaire didn’t understand him, or maybe he did. In any case, his anxious heart demanded further reassurance.

“Promise me, Oscar.” He repeated, unaware of the growing pressure he was inflicting on Oscar’s wound. “Promise me!”

If you do, I’ll—

“Oi... what happened? It feels as if a mule had kicked me in the head.”

Solaire straightened his back as soon as the thief’s voice reached him.

“By the lords, how the hell did you manage to punch me? You bloody half-Hollow! You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” The thief, whose name Solaire had never bothered to correctly remember, gasped in horror once the dizziness of his brief unconsciousness dissipated. “Solaire! What are you doing... Oh.”

A small and innocent giggling followed.

Solaire felt his whole body going stiff and tense, all while his heartbeat sent boiling blood to his head and eyes, turning his sight red.

“Wait, I know how this looks, but I can explain.” The thief continued with a carefree tone. “We were only sparring, nothing serious. Hollowy there got a bit carried away... but that’s okay, I forgive him. He is half-Hollow after all, it’s not his fault he can’t control himself.”

 Solaire lifted his hand from Oscar’s wound and stared at it.

“I had to hurt him to make him stop, but I didn’t mean to harm him! It was all in self-defense, I’m sure you understand.”

He did this.

Solaire clenched his hand into a shaking fist from which Oscar’s blood dripped.

I heard you screaming, Oscar.

“Oh, come on, don’t give me the silent treatment. Look, I’m sorry, alright? There, I said it, now we can all be friends. Undead pals... and a half-Hollow, but still a friend nonetheless.”

“I’ll set this right, Oscar.” Solaire whispered to his friend as he gently put his head back on the floor.

“Still won’t a say word to me? Please Solaire, the least I want is for you to think I’m the bad guy here. I want us to be on good terms. Trust me, here in Lordran, friends are not something you find around every corner, so you’d do well to make sure you don’t lose one over some silly misunderstanding.” The man insisted. The roll of his eyes was audible in his voice. “I know, to prove how sorry I am, even if I’ve done nothing wrong, how about I give you and Hollowy some peace offerings? Just some little friendly gifts from your pal, Trusty Patches.”

Oscar tried to grab Solaire’s wrist, but the knight of sunlight stood up too quickly for him to catch him.

“First, a gift for my new two-faced sparring partner!” The thief announced. “A piece freshly ripped Humanity! Don’t ask me how I got it, it’s a secret. Next, two Estus Flasks for my two best friends! I found them lying close to the bonfire... were they yours? If they are, I’m terribly sorry for having picked them up, but I had no idea! I’ll leave them right here, free of charge.”

Solaire turned around. Patches dedicated to him the sunniest of his smiles.

“Not enough? Someone’s in a greedy mood today! I didn’t expect such attitude from you Solaire, but I guess we can all indulge in our avarice from time to time.” Patches said with feigned indignation. “Fine, fine! You drive a hard bargain. The sacrifices I make for my friends...”

Patches clicked his tongue and denied with his head as he searched inside his pocket. By then, Solaire was already less than a meter away from him.

“Behold! A ring, one I’m sure will prove to be invaluable for our dear pal Hollowy! What does it do, you ask? It’s quite simple. See, you put it on and then—”

Solaire’s knuckles silenced Patches’ mouth as they crashed directly into his cheek. The crack of a bone being broken in half filled the air.

A gelid silence fell upon Firelink Shrine. It lasted completely uninterrupted until the moment when Patches, crawling pathetically on the ground with a hand above his destroyed cheekbone, looked at Solaire, his eyes welling with tears.

Solaire cared not about the pitiful look of the scoundrel, and he felt nothing for his disgusting expression of incredulity.

Nothing except for hate and resentment.

“Why, Solaire?” Patches asked as he curled into a fetal position and protected his face behind the safety of his arms. Even in that defeated position, the snake didn’t stop spitting venom and lies. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry... please don’t hurt me. Solaire, you’re a Warrior of Sunlight, surely you wouldn’t hurt an innocent—”

Solaire made quick job of the ineffective barrier of Patches’ arms and grabbed him by the neck. He could have ended his life there and squashed his throat like an eggshell. It would be an easy feat for Solaire, but that would be unfair.

The thief didn’t not deserve an end so painless and quick, not after what he had done to Oscar.

“S-Solaire.” Patches muttered, his eyes turning red with the trapped blood in his face.

Solaire let go of him, but only to punch him again, this time thrice as hard as he had done before.

Patches let out a high-pitched cry of fear and pain and tried to escape the scene, but there was no escaping from Solaire.  To the knight, the man was nothing but a troublesome spider that deserved to be squashed.

You almost made Oscar go Hollow. You almost took him from me, and for that I won’t forgive you. Not ever.

“I don’t want to fight! Please stop, Solaire! I don’t want this.... I don’t want to die!” Patches kept on squealing like the rat he was, but he was wasting his breath. Solaire’s ears were deaf to his pleas; the only thing he was worth receiving from him was punishment. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t do this to me! Please, I beg of you!”

The more he begged, the crueler Solaire’s attacks became.

If I had killed you when I first met you, if only I hadn’t been so stupidly naïve to think you would change your ways,  if only I had acted like a real knight... If only I hadn’t left Oscar alone, then none of this would have happened!

“I’ll set things right.” Solaire stated in anguish as he tried to run away from his thoughts, but there was no escape from his mistakes. The only path he had left was in front of him, in the form of the thief he needed to destroy to make atonement for all the harm his stupidity had caused. “I’ll kill you, as I should have done long ago! Such is the way of a true knight of Lordran!”

“What did I do?” Patches wept in between the unending flurries of punches that continued to drive him closer to the confines of death. “What did I...”

Oscar had seen that same look before. He was not able to recall exactly the circumstances, but he recognized that ice-cold glare as proper of men and women that found pleasure destroying other people’s spirits and reducing them to shells of their former beings.

The bald man’s eyes had traces of it too, but his version had lacked the murderous bloodlust Oscar had seen so clearly on Solaire’s.

"It’s alright, Soilare.” Oscar had said to the knight, eager to calm him down and erase from his face that dreadful expression so unnatural of him. “I’m not going Hollow. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

It had been for naught.

No matter how much Oscar had tried to bring peace to his friend’s heart, Solaire was out of reach, too lost in the passion of a vengeful wrath.

“I’ll set this right, Oscar.”

“Don’t do this, Solaire.” Oscar had begged to him. He had tried to get a hold of him, but Solaire had paid no attention to his words or efforts and had left Oscar behind. “Solaire!”

Oscar had witnessed how his fears became reality the moment Solaire first hit the thief with all the strength of his arm.

The sound  that came from the thief’s face made Oscar’ blood freeze in his veins. He had hoped Solaire would stop after that, but it had been only the beginning of a merciless battering that soon had transformed into torture.

Watching Solaire unleash his strength in a manner so free of any restraint filled Oscar’s soul with horror.

Solaire was a man capable of great destruction. Any other man with a weaker and more malicious heart would have used that potential for selfish means, completely reassured that few would be brave enough to stand in his way, and even less succeed in stopping him.

But not Solaire.

 For all Oscar knew, he had never employed his strength in the service of such petty purposes, and despite all the humiliation and rejection he had suffered throughout his life, Solaire had still found it in his heart to be kind and use his power to help others.

To see him succumb to resentment, reduced to a man willing to put his beliefs aside just to satisfy the foolish need of revenge, was more than Oscar could endure.

He wouldn’t allow it.

Solaire had done much for him. Oscar wasn’t going to just stay still and watch him lose himself in a whirlwind of madness like he had done.

He forced his mildly healed body back on his feet. The wound on his belly was still bleeding, but the hemorrhage wasn’t hindering or lethal.

Even if it was, Oscar wouldn’t have allowed it to stop him.

It’s now my turn to help you.

Oscar thought as he walked towards Solaire. He made haste when he looked at the thief and saw little signs of life coming from him.

I’ve tried to help so many Undead before. I’ve always failed.

The Chosen Undead flashed before his eyes.

But not this time.

Oscar lunged his body directly at Solaire’s arm just as he had been about to deliver what probably would have been the killing blow on the disfigured face of the thief.

More than grabbing it, Oscar hugged the arm against his chest and held it as tightly as he could.

Solaire looked over his shoulder and glared at him, his eyes still gleaming with the hatred he intended for the thief.

“Oscar?” Solaire’s features mellowed, but not for long, and when he spoke again, he sounded more like an angry executioner than a knight. “Don’t interfere. I won’t tell you again.”

“No.” Oscar tried to make his voice sound as firm and unyielding as possible. He strengthened his hold on Solaire's arm, unsure of how long he would be able to stop Solaire if the sunlight knight made an honest effort to free himself. “I won’t let you continue with this, Solaire.”

“Why?” Solaire scowled, his mouth twisting into a furious snarl that came close to succeeding in making Oscar back off. Oscar steeled his heart and firmed his resolve, not for his sake, but for Solaire’s. “Why do you feel mercy for this man, Oscar? After all he’s done, how can you not want him dead?”

“It’s not about what he deserves or what he’s done.” Oscar said imperiously, as if Solaire was a lost squire in dire need of guidance. In a way, Oscar thought, he was. “It’s about what you’re doing to yourself, Solaire. You are not this kind of man. You are a noble knight, a true Warrior of Sunlight.”

Oscar took a deep breath before continuing. With a much kinder and softer tone, he added, “And above all, you are a good man. Please Solaire, do not do this... It's not worth it."

Oscar knew he had no real right to act as if he knew any better, not when he had succumbed to his darkest thoughts so many times before. Solaire most likely thought the same, and Oscar wouldn’t blame him if he decided to shrug off his words as the hypocritical statements of a half- Hollow and failed knight.

Still, Oscar was ready to persist. His past experiences may have denied him the right of ever again thinking he had the moral high ground, but they had granted him knowledge, and if with it Oscar could keep others from making the same mistakes he had committed, he was willing to endure the shame his past caused him and try to make something useful out of it.

I’ll do it for you.

“Who says I wouldn’t like it?” Solaire turned his head back to the thief by the name of Patches. By then, the scoundrel looked more like a corpse than a breathing man. Oscar could only tell he was alive by the soft whimpers that escaped his bleeding mouth. “What makes you think I don’t want to change, Oscar?”

Oscar’s hold on Solaire’s arm faltered at the cruel statements. He embraced the arm again just as it was about to escape his grasp completely, but the bewilderment Solaire had sown in him remained, and it weakened his limbs to the point of numbness.

“I’m not a noble knight, I’m an idiot.” Solaire continued without emotion. “I’m not a Warrior of Sunlight, I’m a deluded fool. I’m not a good man, I’m weak. You, the crestfallen, all the people who have mocked me and insulted me long before I became an Undead... you all were right about me, Oscar. I’m a sham, a parody of what a knight should be. Not anymore.”

Solaire began to pull his arm from Oscar.

“I can’t continue being this way. Lordran has no place for the weak and the incompetent. I will not let it best me; I won’t allow my weakness to blind me any longer! And if to do so I must forge my heart into something horrible, I’ll do it! I’ll do anything that helps me become the knight and man the worlds demands of me, the kind of man that is able to endure all the atrocities this cursed land throws at me without cowering in fear and crying for all the pain my incompetence causes to others!”

Oscar snapped out of his trance and held Solaire’s arm just a second before it slipped away from him.

“I must...” Solaire’s voice began to break. “I must do this, Oscar. If I don’t, then I might as well go Hollow now and die at your hands.”

“No, Solaire.” Oscar said. “None of what you said is accurate, even less it’s true. Killing this man in cold blood will not turn you into a true knight or a stronger man. It will change you into something you’ll hate and there will be no going back.”

He held Solaire’s hand.

“You are already a true knight and a strong man, Solaire. Do you think that being cruel, merciless, or indifferent are signs of someone who’s strong? In this world, to become such person is the easiest feat one can accomplish. To succumb to those dark thoughts requires no effort at all. I know this Solaire, I’ve been there before, and I can assure you that I found no strength in that place, only shame and regret.”

Oscar knelt next to Solaire. The coiled sword’s wound tried to make him complain and wince, but Oscar ignored the shots of pain it sent to his entire body.

“But to be kind, to be brave enough to show your emotions, to be selfless enough to help others, to have faith that hope may still exist in this bleak world... those are the qualities of a worthy knight and a true man.”

Oscar closed his eyes for a second.

Chosen Undead.

“All qualities I myself wish I had.”

If I did, maybe you would still be alive.

“Then why?”  Solaire muttered, hiding his face from Oscar behind his other hand. “Why am I so weak? Why do I always fail, Oscar?”

Oscar took a moment to measure his words and thoughts. The first thing he felt tempted to say to Solaire was that he was wrong, that he hadn’t failed, but the rejected the idea promptly.

It would do no good to dismiss Solaire’s assertion as a mere mistaken perception he had of himself. Oscar knew better than to think there hadn’t been moments in the past when Solaire had been truly been weak or had failed, and to tell him that he hadn’t would only make him drift away from Oscar, probably forever.

Then, Oscar realized it was in that same line of through where his answer lied.

“You feel weak at this moment, but you aren’t weak, Solaire” Oscar finally said. “You have failed before, as have I and everyone else that has ever been born in this world, and you’ll fail again in the future, but that doesn’t make you a failure.”

His words were far from the ideal of comforting. Oscar wondered if they had earned him Solaire’s eternal hatred, but to his surprise, Solaire remained silent, the soft squeeze he gave to Oscar’s hand being the only proof that he was listening to him.

He reciprocated the gesture before continuing.

“You always kept moving forward, Solaire. You are here now, aren’t you? A weak man—” Oscar swallowed, almost finishing the sentence with his usual like myself phrase once again.

This is not about me.

“A weak man would have never done the same; and if right now you feel like you can’t go on anymore, as if everything you’ve done so far is meaningless, then allow me to help you get through this, Solaire. You didn’t abandon me when I needed help the most, and I won’t abandon you now. To me, this is what a real knight is supposed to be, and I owe this all to you, so please...don’t do this.”

Solaire looked at Oscar, his lips quivering with he trapped words he couldn’t say.

“Don’t let Lordran transform you into something you are not.”

Gradually, Solaire’s hand abandoned Oscar’s grasp.

This time, Oscar made no effort to take it back.

Solaire would not continue with the torture, he could tell by the look on his eyes.

Instead, Solaire stared at both his hands soaked with blood, both Oscar’s and the thief’s.

Horror twisted his features.

Oscar had only a second to look at them before Solaire covered his face with his hands and slammed his head to the floor. A series of screams, distorted by his unleashed grief and muffled by the flesh of his palms, made Solaire’s entire body shudder violently.

Oscar laid an arm around his shoulders and clutched Solaire to him, in a similar way Solaire had done when Oscar had finally allowed all the emotions festering inside him to run free.

"I'm here, Solaire." Oscar said. "I promise."

Above them, the clouds in Lordran's eternally grey sky kept moving, while the sun hidden behind them shone more brightly than ever.

Chapter Text

The thief would live.

Oscar never would have imagined he would be glad about it, but he was indeed relieved the scoundrel would not taint Solaire’s hands with any more of his blood. His lethal wounds had been healed by the Estus Oscar had fed to him, but the elixir had done little about the bruises spread all over his now deformed face.

The thief would have to die again to regain his former appearance; until then, he would be stuck with the new features Solaire had rearranged for him with his fists.

 Oscar felt no sympathy for the man. What had happened to him was not a punishment, merely the consequence of his actions.

And yet, it comes so easy for me to pity myself and play the victim.

There was too much self-awareness in the thought, too much truth for Oscar to dwell on it for long.  Ashamed and eager to escape it, Oscar picked up the Estus Flask and put it away inside the bag hanging from his belt. Inside it, there was an identical recipient.

His fingers traced the second Estus Flask’s surface before they left the bag.

He knew not which flask had formerly belonged to him and which was the crestfallen’s.

Not that it matters anymore.

The sullen warrior was not coming back.  Oscar had not said a word regarding the subject, but he knew the crestfallen’s departure was permanent.

Solaire.

Oscar needn’t ask him any details. He already had a clear idea of what had happened between them while they were gone from Firelink Shrine. 

If only I had never arrived here, none of this—

“No.” Oscar chided himself in an extremely low voice. “Not again.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had no time to allow himself to be taken by the currents of such thoughts again. The comfort they promised him, no matter how real it could appear, was fake and hollow.

Still, they were so very inviting and tempting, like a bowl of hot soup during a snowy day.

This is all my fault.

Oscar turned around abruptly, wishing to turn his back on those looming ideas for good, but there was no real escape from the voice that continued to resonate within him.

“He’ll be alright. He's still unconscious, but he's not longer in danger.” Oscar said, so loudly that his distorted voice echoed across the ruins of the shrine. “You don’t have to worry anymore, Solaire.”

He smiled at his comrade. Oscar knew Solaire had heard him; he had practically screamed.

Solaire however, didn’t react at all. He kept staring at the bonfire, his arms limply resting on his crossed legs, with a semblance on his face so devoid of emotion that Oscar could have sworn the man in front of him was not a jolly sunlight knight, but the crestfallen warrior.

No, not the crestfallen.

Oscar thought as he went to Solaire’s side and sat down next to him, as swiftly as his wound let him. Oscar had forced the bleeding to stop by warping his clean tunic around his belly as if it was a sash. The improvised bandaging had worked relatively well, and he was thankful a second cauterization hadn’t been necessary. Had Solaire not appeared, Oscar knew the thief would have succeeded in reopening the wound completely.

Oscar doubted he would be capable of carrying out the sealing process again without losing his mind to the burning agony, even less if he had to do the whole thing by himself.

Solaire was in no condition to help him anymore.

He had withdrawn deeply into himself as soon as his breakdown had ceased, far away from Oscar’s reach.

Oscar had hoped that Solaire would return to normal if he gave him time, but it had been in vain. By then, Solaire was so unresponsive that he didn’t even look at Oscar as he accommodated himself closer to him.

Oscar couldn’t tell if Solaire either didn’t notice his presence or didn’t care about it at all. He didn’t know which option worried and hurt him most.

He continued to look at him, the smile on his face slowly fading as Solaire remained too immersed in his own thoughts to give Oscar the slightest sign that he cared or was in need of his useless company, but he remained to his side regardless.

He looks like me.

The realization caused Oscar’s eyes to drift away from Solaire, and he too found himself looking at the dancing flames of the bonfire.

His heartbeat hastened its pace.

His need to help Solaire, partially fueled by his wish to repay him all the kindness he had shown him, transformed into a frantic urgency to save him. Oscar needed to act, he had to do something to stop Solaire from succumbing to the doubts and fears brewing inside him, just like it had happened to him.

If Oscar did nothing, Solaire would be gone forever, and all he would leave behind was an empty husk.

 Oscar looked at Solaire again, and he saw what he had been too scared to fully accept before.

Solaire was dangerously close to Hollowing, perhaps a lot more than Oscar had ever been.

Don’t.

Oscar could understand it now, the desperation Solaire had felt when he had thought Oscar would go Hollow in his arms.

To Oscar, it felt no different than the grief that had drenched his entire being when he had witnessed the Chosen Undead’s demise at the hands of the Hollows.

The memory sent a rush of bile up his throat and twisted Oscar’s stomach into a painful knot that almost made him sick. He was only able to regain control of his body because of Solaire, even if the sunlight knight didn’t do or say anything.

His presence alone was enough to remind Oscar he had to remain strong. He owed much to Solaire, almost as much as he owed the Chosen Undead, and he would not get any closer to repaying his debt to neither of them by standing idly by, overwhelmed by disheartenment and a past he couldn’t change.

He may have failed in his task of defeating the thief, but Oscar couldn’t allow the same to happen with his obligation to save Solaire.

I promised you I would, and I will.

Oscar tried to speak, but he didn’t know what to say, even less how to say it. He tried to use himself as a reference to figure out what could bring Solaire solace.

What had Oscar wished to hear the most during his prolonged state of uncertainty and melancholy?

He hadn’t longed for words of wisdom or harsh but good-intentioned pep talks.

And yet...

He had already done both with Solaire. Looking back, Oscar wondered what had driven him to speak with so much confidence just a while ago, as if his status as an elite knight still held any relevance.

He had meant everything he had said to Solaire, but he wasn’t so sure if he had ever had the right to speak to him in that manner.

I don’t know better than you, Solaire. I didn’t want to put myself above you or make you feel as if you were foolish or weak, I just wanted you to stop. Just like I want you to stop right now, before you transform into a sulking shadow that sees no way out of his misery... before you become like me.

Oscar’s hand tried to approach Solaire, but there was too much shame weighing it down, and it went no farther than a few inches away from Oscar’s body. It didn’t even depart from the ash covered grass.

Damn it.

Oscar cursed his incompetence. Was he so useless that he wasn’t even able to help the man that had aided him so many times before, without ever asking for something in return?

Any other person in Lordran would have killed Oscar the moment they laid their eyes upon his corrupted face. Even if the Hollowing hadn’t scarred his flesh and destroyed his voice, it wouldn’t have been shocking if they had gotten rid of him anyway and looted his corpse afterwards, just like the thief had tried to do.

And even if there was no malicious intent behind their actions, most people would have just left Oscar to his fate, unwilling to burden themselves with a problem that didn’t concern them.

But you saved me.

There was as much disbelief as admiration in the thought. Oscar had felt the same way towards the Chosen Undead, but he had changed that pure sentiment into something awful, into a chimera of resentment and envy that had remained deeply rooted inside him, even after all that had happened afterwards.

This time, Oscar’s heart, finally free of those chains, allowed itself to feel for Solaire what he should have felt for the Chosen Undead since the beginning.

I want to save you.

Oscar’s lips broke apart.

He said nothing.

But I don’t know how.

He snapped his mouth shut, the clash and grinding of his teeth audible to his ears.

I don’t want my words to break something inside you... not again. I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have. What should I do?

Oscar forced his mind to look for an answer and to do it quickly. Solaire’s fate was in his hands, just like the Chosen Undead’s had been. Oscar would not make the same mistake again and treat it as if it were something he could dispose of without the smallest concern.

I’ll do for you what I wasn’t strong enough to do for them.

Unconsciously, Oscar pressed his wound, pushing the damp cloth of his tunic as close as possible to his side.

He opened his mouth again, unsure of what he would say, but decided to say something.

Anything.

“Oscar.” Solaire said, softly turning his head towards him. His eyes had rings under them and were dry from staring at the bonfire’s flame for so long, but Oscar could still see in them the phantom of genuine worry and care. “Are you alright?”

To say Oscar was taken aback would be an understatement.

Not only Solaire had finally said something to him after having been silent for what felt like ages, he had done so only to ask Oscar about his well-being.

What Oscar had taken so long to do, what he had meant to do from the start but instead had pondered on endlessly, Solaire had accomplished in a matter of seconds.

His words were pure and genuine. It was not an elaborated speech or a fabricated smile. Only a simple question born naturally from his heart.

Oscar nodded silently in response, his stoic face not betraying the affliction tormenting him inside.

Why are you asking me this? This is not about me, Solaire. It’s about you! Don’t make this about me. Don’t you dare.

“That’s good.” Solaire said in response, his voice devoid of any sort of tone or feeling. “It really is.”

With that, as suddenly as he had acknowledged Oscar’s existence, Solaire seemed to have forgotten about him just as instantly.  He returned to his previous indifferent and uncaring state as if nothing had been spoken between them.

“I am fine, Solaire.” Oscar said in a hurry, putting everything else on his mind aside. He would not let Solaire escape him, not again. “Don’t worry about me. What about you? How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

Oscar noticed how overwhelming his cluttered questions sounded. They were nothing like Solaire’s; they lacked all sort of comfort when they came from his mouth, but he couldn’t stop.

Now that he had a grasp of Solaire, he was too afraid to let go of him again, no matter how slightly.

Solaire paid him no mind.

Rather than discouraging him, it made Oscar more determined to bring his friend back to reality.

“Do you want some Estus?” Oscar said, not waiting for an answer and promptly searching for a flask inside his bag. “I know, I can prepare you some of that Estus soup from earlier. Just tell me the ingredients and how it’s done, and I’ll have it ready in no time. How about that? I must confess I’m not much of a cook though... but it can’t be that hard, can it?”

Oscar’s enthusiasm shattered when his hand hesitated about which flask it should grab. The fear he would pick the crestfallen’s and give it to Solaire made Oscar regret having brought up the idea in the first place.

The memory of the crestfallen was painful in itself as well. Oscar did not miss the sullen man, but he regretted he had met a fate so cruel.  There was no comfort or happiness to be found in his demise at Solaire’s hands, not even after all he had made Oscar go through.

His Hollowing and death were reminders looming over Oscar and Solaire of what Lordran had store for them, of how merciless that land was and how little it cared about their dreams or hopes.

The crestfallen’s ghost also played another role; he was an untouched and festering subject between Oscar and Solaire, one neither had any wish to talk about.

Chosen Undead, speaking of you is too difficult for me, but when I talked about you and what happened at the Asylum... I felt relieved, as if I was finally bleeding a bad wound. It didn’t feel good, but it was good, if that makes any sense. Perhaps it would be the same with you, Solaire. I cannot be sure, but it could be a good place to start.

“Solaire, I’m—”

“Oscar.” Solaire’s interruption cut Oscar’s words short. Before Oscar had time to wonder if it had been a coincidence or a deliberate move on Solaire’s part, the sunlight knight continued. “Can I ask you something?”

It took a moment for Oscar to find his voice again. Though slightly frustrated with himself for having his opportunity to help Solaire denied again, he did not hesitate to continue along the line that had been placed before him.

“Of course you can.” Oscar nodded, speaking with all the kindness his destroyed voice could still convey. “Anything at all, Solaire.”

“And,” Solaire continued, “do you promise to tell me the truth no matter what?”

“Yes.” Oscar said, only realizing the weight such promise implied after he had agreed to it. He didn’t regret having tied himself to that vow, but the little time he had been granted to think about it left Oscar feeling lost and unprepared, as if he had been thrown into battle with the best intentions in his heart but armed only with a stick.

“Thank you.” With those two words, Solaire settled the matter. There was no going back. “Oscar, I know you’ve lost many of your memories, but... Back in Astora, do you remember anything at all about what the other elite knights said about me? I know they considered me a fool, but I need to know what exactly their thoughts were. I know it sounds foolish, but I need to know, Oscar.”

“Why do you—” Oscar bit his tongue. He had given Solaire his word and questioning his motives would bring nothing of benefit to neither of them. Swallowing the rest of his question, Oscar nodded in silence and complied. “Give me a moment.”

He closed his eyes and forced his broken memories back to the top of his mind. What little remained of them was too incomplete to make sense out of them, and the few that had remained untouched by the Hollowing were irrelevant to Solaire’s question.

Still, the nostalgia and longing they caused in Oscar was almost palpable, and had he not been so committed to fulfilling his promise to Solaire, he would have gladly spent more time exploring the fractured shards of his past.

After a difficult farewell to his happier memories, Oscar continued in his search for Solaire’s petition.

He found nothing.

His disappointment was nothing compared with his relief.

“I’m sorry.” Oscar said. “But I—"

He found it. There it was, hoping to be discovered by Oscar just at the end of his search. He analyzed it and felt tempted to break his promise.

Why the Hollowing had spared this memory? Was it another one of fate’s cruel jests against him?

“What is it?” Solaire asked, finally looking at Oscar. Life was starting to return to his dead eyes. “Do you remember anything?”

No, I don’t. I’m sorry, Solaire.

“Yes.” Oscar didn’t have the courage to betray him. Solaire had already gone through a lot, the least he deserved was Oscar’s condescension and deceit, even if either was preferable to the truth.  

“Well?” Solaire said, and for his tone, Oscar could tell he was equally nervous to hear the answer as he was to reveal it. “What did they say, Oscar?”

“They... Solaire, why do you want to know this? What does it matter now?”

“Just answer me, Oscar.”

“But what’s the point of all this? What do you—”

“I need to know this. Please my friend, it would mean a lot to me. Be honest, that’s all I ask.”

“Solaire... Yes, they mocked you endlessly. To most of them, you were a recurring joke; they laughed at your mannerisms, at your gullibility. Some of them even planned schemes beforehand to make you fall for them, to make you believe you were being of help for the elite knights, when in reality, it was all a game for them, a chance to bet on whether you would fall for it or not.”

Oscar felt the shame as if all the deeds of his former comrades had been his responsibility. In a sense, he thought, he wasn’t wrong. He had no memory of ever trying to stop them, of ever scolding them for their childish behavior so unproper of elite knights.

Why didn’t I do anything?

Oscar wished Solaire would punch him as hard as he had done with the thief. It was the least he deserved after having been so aloof and indifferent.

“I... I see.” Solaire said, and Oscar could hear the edge of tears in his voice.  “Why, Oscar? If you remember this, why didn’t you say so before? Why did you act as if you didn’t know me?”

“I wasn’t acting. I didn’t remember any of this, not until now. Solaire, I’m so sorry; if I could go back in time—"

“That doesn’t matter.” It was the first time Solaire spoke to Oscar with so much harshness. Then, without giving Oscar time to recover, he threw at him another question. “What about you, Oscar? What did you think of me back then, before the Undead curse fell upon you?”

“I never mocked you, Solaire. If I could go back in time and stop them all from being so cruel to you, I would. Trust me I would.”

“Answer the question, Oscar.”

“Nothing. You meant nothing to me, Solaire.” Oscar said impatiently. “What could I possibly think of you? I didn’t know you personally, and I didn’t care to. You had no relevance in my life or my purposes, your actions didn’t affect mine. Whether you lived or died, whether you were respected or mocked, it was all the same to me. I didn’t care about you Solaire, just like I didn’t really care at all about anyone or anything else that wasn’t my glorious fate.”

“How many, Oscar? How many knights in Astora thought I was a fool?”

“Solaire...”

“How many?”

“All of them, Solaire. Not only the elite knights.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

But not me.

Oscar couldn’t bring himself to reaffirm his innocence. Even if he had been the only knight in Astora that hadn’t considered Solaire an idiot, he had never spoken out for him. He was no less guilty than the rest.

“So it’s true.” Solaire breathed out in what almost sounded like a chuckle. “I didn’t misunderstand or was wrong in my judgment. I was only a clown to them. Surely the commoners thought the same. It’s funny... I’ve always known this, but to have everything confirmed to me—”

He couldn’t finish. Oscar knew what would follow.

Solaire’s tears would betray him any second, and Oscar had to be ready to offer him as much comfort as possible, no matter how impossible it seemed for him after everything he had said.

But the scenario never happened. Instead, Solaire shifted his position and rested an arm on his knee.

“I can’t go back to Astora.” Solaire said, placing a hand on his chest, a bit above his heart, right where the dark sign was. “Even if I wasn’t an Undead, I would never go back. I could never return to a place where I never belonged. Still... after failing so miserably on my quest in this land, I can’t help to wonder why I ever thought Lordran would be any different than Astora. What made me think I would be any less incompetent as an Undead? If I couldn’t find my sun when I was alive, what chances do I have to find it now that I’m cursed?”

He rested his forehead against his forearm.

“What have I done?” Solaire said. “Did I come here to find my purpose... or was all just an excuse to escape from my reality? No wonder I make a fine Warrior of Sunlight, for I too forsook everything I had to run away, just like Gwyn’s firstborn did. I do envy him, you know? At least his actions were expunged from history, but mine will always live in the minds of those who mocked me. That’s my legacy. A fool’s legacy.”

He was about to say something else, but his voice failed him when Oscar put his hand above his.

The gesture had not only been Oscar’s way to show Solaire how much he understood him, it had also been a petition for him to stop.

“You’re not a fool, Solaire.” Oscar whispered; his voice perfectly audible in Firelink Shrine’s ominous silence.

“How can you say that? Have you not understood it yet, Oscar? I did not become an Undead out of mere chance, I became one by my own choice. I cursed myself, deluded by my hopes that Lordran would...” Solaire removed his hand away from Oscar's, as if he was unworthy of being near him. “Oh Oscar, how could I believe this journey would be an adventure filled with meaning? How many people see their lives destroyed by the accursed sign? And yet, I trivialized everything, as if their pain didn’t matter, as if being Undead could be considered a blessing! The crestfallen—”

Solaire raised his head as soon as the mention of the sullen warrior escaped his lips.

“He was right.” Solaire said, his face dry of tears. “Lordran did unmask the real me. I’m not a daring knight or a merciless killer, I’m just some idiot. A recurring joke. Maybe this confirmation was my sun all along.”

His hand returned to his chest. The painted sun wrinkled until it lost its form as Solaire squeezed his tunic with growing desperation.

“I’ve found it. My journey... it’s ended.”

“Solaire? What’s wrong? Solaire!”

“It’s over.”

“It isn’t! You are not a fool; your quest has only started!” Oscar held him by the shoulders and forced Solaire to look at him in the eyes. “Please, do not give up hope now. Do not become like me!”

“Once I dreamed of nothing else.” Solaire said, barely able to talk as his breathing became a compilation of shallow gasps. “To be like you... a brave and noble elite knight of Astora. I did not want the fame or the glory, I just wanted... to help people. I wanted to give them hope... I wanted to be someone they could count on, someone they could believe in... but in the end, I was only a joke to them.”

Solaire collapsed to the ground. Oscar couldn’t stop the fall, and he fell together with Solaire, his hands still firmly resting on his shoulders.

“Not to me.” Oscar continued, holding Solaire’s hands as they kept a tight grip on his chest. "You have never been a joke or a fool to me, Solaire. You’ll find your real sun, I promise! I’ll help you find it; I’ll make it my new and only purpose in this Undead life. I’ll be always by your side! I’ll set things right, I’ll make it up to you! Just please... do not—”

“Oscar.”

“Do not go Hollow.” Oscar said. “This is not your fate, Solaire.”

“I—" Solaire’s grip on his chest started to loosen. He tried to smile at Oscar, but just when the worst seemed to have passed, Solaire’s clenched his jaw and growled in pain, his hands twisting his tunic to the point of almost tearing it apart. “I can’t.... The Hollowing, I feel it. It’s dark... so dark.”

Oscar felt it too. He thought he would go Hollow together with Solaire.

“What have I done? I don’t want this.” Solaire whimpered, his voice full of regret and fear. “Oscar, I don’t want to go Hollow. I don’t want it to end like this... but I can’t stop it. I can’t.”

“You won’t go Hollow.”

There was no time for tears or Hollowing. Solaire was still there with him.

Hope was not lost for neither of them.

Clinging to that thought, Oscar left Solaire’s side, ignoring his pleas of not abandoning him. When he returned to him, Oscar moved Solaire’s hands off his chest.

“You are going to be alright.” The liquid humanity twitched gently on Oscar’s palm. The dark essence emitted a familiar aura, an energy Oscar had sensed before.

He knew where the thief had obtained it.

He knew to whom it had formerly belonged.

“Oscar.”

“I will never let you go Hollow, Solaire.” Oscar muttered as he placed the Humanity right on top of Solaire’s heart. The essence fused with his body and disappeared, now existing only as part of Solaire’s soul. “You can be sure of that. Now rest, my friend. And don’t worry about me, alright? I will be fine; right now, just focus on yourself.”

Be selfish for once in your life.

Solaire tried to say something. Oscar shook his head and put a hand on top of Solaire’s eyes. He did so not only to help his friend sleep, but also to save him the image of his tears.

“Rest. You deserve this, Solaire.”

And so much more.

“Oscar?” The fetid darkness that surrounded them was so absolute that it took a long moment for them to realize they were awake. “Where am I?”

“You woke up? And not only that, you’re even more Hollow than before.”

A voice that came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time made the fleshy ground underneath them tremble.

“Hmm... You are astonishing.”

The cave opened in the form of two sets of gigantic teeth. Before they had the chance to register what was happening around them, the wet ground, that revealed itself to be a tongue, pushed their body out to a new and deeper darkness.

 They screamed, thinking they had been cursed to wander aimlessly forever in that abyss, but a slippery body warped itself around them and held them gently.

“Oh, little Hollow, do not be afraid. I am not your enemy.” The creature spoke, his face out of their sight.

His embrace became more forceful. To their surprise, they did not find it ungentle or uncomfortable. There was a warmth in the creature’s touch that they had never felt before.

That's not true. I've felt it before once.

“I'm your mentor.” The orange eyes of the monstrous serpent met their own. “Your guardian.”

The Hollow relaxed their body.

They were safe. They had finally gone back where they belonged.

“Your elite knight.”

They had returned home.

Chapter Text

A set of armor, a shield, a sword, and a helmet.

A knight was not a complete unless he had all four. Together, they kept him alive and protected against all dangers, and in return, the knight was meant to take care of his equipment with extreme diligence.

Oscar could tell Solaire had fulfilled his part of the agreement masterfully. His round shield and sunlight sword were not enhanced with any sort of magic spell, and though the craftmanship behind them was decent and reliable, they were not outstanding pieces on their own.

Yet, despite their evident use, they were almost in perfect condition.  The sun painted on the shield shone brightly on its polished surface, while the sunlight sword’s edges were sharp with regular and careful whetting.

Carefully, Oscar picked them up and examined them. He left Solaire’s helmet on the floor. His strength, thought mildly replenished, was still flickering. The weight of the sword and shield were already more than he could carry without dropping any of them by accident in the process. He would return for the helmet later.

The obvious respect and affection Solaire held for his weapons moved something inside Oscar, and it made him long for his own lost equipment. He was grateful his crest shield had survived all his ordeals, but he regretted his helmet and sword had not shared the same fortune.

If he concentrated, Oscar could feel the phantom of a memory, the same that would have informed him why they had been so precious to him in the past. Sadly, the memory was too destroyed by his incomplete Hollowing.

My Hollowing.

His fingers traced the corrupted half of his face, the uneven surface of his wrinkled skin was more akin in texture to rotten wood than the flesh of a human being. So far, he had lacked the opportunity to look at his reflection, but the reactions his new appearance had gained him was all Oscar needed to confirm he was indeed repulsive, perhaps even scary to look at.

I cannot go around with my face exposed. It would gain me too many unnecessary enemies, and they would not be without reason if they attacked me, not when I look like this. I too would react the same if I were in their place.

His destroyed voice only complicated things further.

For all Oscar knew, Undead marked with heavy signs of Hollowing, no matter how sane and sentient they still were, were as despised in Lordran as they were in the rest of the kingdoms.

There was a faint possibility they received a gentler treatment in a cursed land full of Undead, but Oscar kept his expectations low.

He chuckled humorlessly under his breath.

Look at me, thinking about all this as if I were preparing to start a new journey. I don’t even know when I’m going to leave this place, if I ever do at all.

He was getting too ahead of himself.

He would have time to ponder on his appearance and his future later, but only after Solaire woke up. Until then, nothing else mattered.

Oscar wasted no more time and he hastily went to his friend’s side. Solaire, now sleeping in the spot by the tree previously occupied by Oscar, didn’t react at all when his sword and shield were carefully placed on his lap.

Oscar finished the gesture by placing Solaire’s hands on top of his equipment, the same way Solaire had done with him after retrieving his crest shield.

He doubted Solaire could feel it, but Oscar still hoped the familiar weight of his beloved sword and shield would bring comfort to his friend, even if he was lost in a deep sleep.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? To have your weapons near you.”

 Oscar said, standing up and smiling at Solaire.

“I do remember having been very finicky about it. Lords, back when I wasn’t Undead, I could never find sleep unless I had the handle of my sword in one hand and my shield in the other. Some called me paranoid and fastidious, but... no, they were right. Well, what do you know, it seems I wasn’t what you would call popular among the elite knights. Now that I think about it, we weren’t the most likeable of people in Astora, were we? It’s a good thing you were never accepted among our ranks, Solaire.”

Oscar laughed, not realizing how awful it sounded until the words reached his ears.

Lords, that had a much better ring to it in my imagination.

“I didn’t mean— Wait, let me rephrase it. It’s indeed awful you never managed to become an elite knight, Solaire.”

That’s even worse.

“What I mean is... Elite knights are overrated anyway.” Oscar said, pointing at himself. “Don’t believe me? Just look at me... or better yet, don’t. My face used to earn me compliments, you know? But now, it’ll only give nightmares to others. Do you think it could prove useful in a battle against Hollows? If I ever get overwhelmed by a horde of them, I may as well try to charm them rather than fighting them.”

He laughed again.

Solaire never joined him.

If it weren’t by the gentle and constant raising of his chest, he could pass for a corpse. Even if he had been awake, Oscar doubted his pitiful attempts at being amusing would have earned him the lightest chuckle from Solaire.

Perhaps it was a good thing Solaire couldn’t listen to him. The second-hand embarrassment he would have felt for Oscar would make him wonder why he had helped a half-Hollowed idiot like him in the first place.

Oscar was sure of it.

“That’s not true.” Oscar said. He couldn’t continue to fake happiness, not when the image of Solaire was there to remind him of his reality. “You wouldn’t do that; it wouldn’t be like you at all. You’d probably laugh with me, if only not to make me feel like an awkward fool. Or maybe you’d find my stupid jokes genuinely funny and laugh at them with all your heart. That would be a lot like you, Solaire.”

Solaire’s head tilted slightly to the right, making Oscar believe he had heard him and that he would wake up.

Instead, Solaire remained completely lost in sleep.

“Or maybe you’d get mad at me for trying so hard to act friendly towards you. You’d probably think I was mocking you and you’d punch me in the face. It wouldn’t be like you, but I don’t care.”

Oscar raised his voice, hoping it would reach Solaire and bring him back.

“I couldn’t care less what your reaction would be. Whether you laughed with me, rolled your eyes in embarrassment, or told me to leave you alone for good... anything would be better than to see you like this.”

In this state I put you in.

“Wake up, Solaire.” Oscar waited in a mournful moment that felt eternal. “Your journey cannot end like this.”

I cannot carry on, not if you leave me too. Not like they did.

 “If someone like me got better, then you can do it too. I know you can.” Oscar swallowed. “And when you do, let’s go find your sun together. Just like I promised.”

He couldn’t say a word more, no matter how much he wished to keep talking. He kept gazing at Solaire, but to look at his peaceful factions for too long was not easy for Oscar. He feared he would see traces of Hollowing spreading on Solaire’s face if he stared too carefully at it.

He knew Solaire was clean of the lethal curse, his soul purified and energized by fresh Humanity, but Oscar’s mind insisted on feeding him the worst of scenarios, no matter how improbable they could be.

What if the Humanity had failed?

What if Solaire’s despair was too great to be healed by any known means?

What if Solaire Hollowed and died while he slept and faded away, without ever giving Oscar the chance to talk to him again?

“No, that won’t happen.” Oscar said firmly, as if he was trying to convince Solaire and not himself. “You’re stronger than me. You’ll get through this; I know you will. Did you hear me, Solaire?”

Silence.

Oscar still nodded as if he had been granted an answer.

“Wait here, I’ll go get your helmet. I’ll be careful with it, don’t you worry.” Oscar didn’t stop talking, not even when the wound on his belly stung after he crouched down to pick Solaire’s beloved headpiece. He continued with his blabbering on his way back. “You see? I’m not as clumsy as I look. The Hollowing may have corrupted my body, but my reflexes are as sharp as ever. That didn’t sound pretentious, did—”

His foot stepped on something, perhaps a particularly slippery pebble or a puddle of blood, twisting his ankle and bringing Oscar down to the ground with a thunderous crash.

He only had time to protect Solaire’s helmet by holding it close to his chest. Oscar didn’t regret the action, but his body scolded him for prioritizing the helmet rather than his own well-being. In retaliation, it sent waves of burning pain to all his nerves and limbs, his belly wound being the most punished area.

It took a long moment full of hoarse gasps and drowned screams before the pain passed, and even then, the numbing aftermath was no less hard for Oscar to endure.

“I’m alright.” Oscar said as soon as he could get back to a kneeling position. He looked at Solaire and he gave him a reassuring smile. “I jinxed it, didn’t I? But not to worry, nothing happened to your helmet. “

Not sure if I can say the same about my ankle and my wound though.

“I’ll be there in a moment.” Oscar said, wondering why he was trying so hard to act as if nothing had happened when Solaire hand'tseen or heard him. “I’ll just take a moment to catch my breath. I am fine, just a few scratches... nothing some Estus can’t heal.”

He put Solaire’s helmet on the floor took out a flask out from his bag. He slowly dragged himself closer to the bonfire.

I don’t have the luxury to get injured. This is not a game. Solaire needs my protection.

Oscar continued to scold himself strictly as the bonfire’s flame transform into liquid elixir and filled the flask. Once it was full, Oscar drank it whole.

The healing effect soothed the swelling pain pulsating in his ankle and cooled the flaring beating of his wound.

Against his better judgement and fully aware it was unwise, Oscar reached his arm towards the bonfire’s flame again, decided to fill the flask for a second round.

He stopped however, when a tiny glittering caught his attention from the corner of his eye.  He blinked once and scrubbed his eyes, thinking it had been his imagination, but when he looked at the origin of the sparkling again, he discovered that it was quite real.

Slowly, he picked up the object and brought it closer to his face.

A ring, probably the same that had caused his fall.

The same the thief had offered to him as proof of the honesty of his apology.

Oscar’s common sense urged him to throw the object far away from him. It was probably cursed or rigged with some sort of deathly spell, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Instead, he inspected the ring more carefully. He put the Estus flask back on the bag and held the accessory with both hands, using the fire’s glow to have a better view of it.

It was made of what appeared to be silver. The metal itself was lackluster, even rusty, but the three dark gems incrusted on it made up for all its flaws. They expelled a shine that Oscar would have considered beautiful if it weren’t for the morbid aura that came with it.

It emanated abundantly from all the three gems, especially from the one in the middle, which was also the biggest.

The aura itself was visible. It danced on top the middle jewel like a tiny grey flame.

It was not a pleasant sight, but it was hypnotizing.

Without knowing how or when, Oscar discarded his gloves and held the ring with his naked fingers. It was then he discovered his right hand was as corrupted as his face.

The entire right half of his body had Hollowed.

Did Solaire know?

There was no doubt about it. After all, he must have seen the true extent of Oscar’s corruption when he had cleaned and bandaged the wound on his belly.

He probably had said nothing about it in order to save Oscar from further mortification.

A gentle gesture, one Oscar would have deeply appreciated were he not so mesmerized by the ring.

A thought crossed his mind, long after his body had already made the choice.

Try it on. It’s just a ring. It can’t hurt you.

Just as the ring was about to touch his Hollowed index finger, a voice reached Oscar.

“Link Gwyn’s fire...”

“Solaire?”

Oscar turned around, his mind forgetting about the ring and breaking its spell with little effort. Clumsily, he put it away inside his bag.

“Solaire, you’re awake!” Oscar couldn’t remember the last time he had felt a happiness so pure, so untouched by melancholy or bitterness. “I knew you would—”

Solaire’s eyes were still closed; from his mouth no word had come out.

The weight of Oscar’s disappointment was almost physical. His chest transformed into a heavy burden he could barely carry without collapsing to the floor.

“Link Gwyn’s fire... What? Where am I? What the hell happened?”

Instinctively, Oscar put on Solaire’s helmet.

He would soon need all the protection possible.

Then, his hand immediately jolted to the broken coiled sword hanging from his belt.

“It hurts... it hurts!”

He picked up his crest shield, lying not too far away from were he was, and sprung back to his feet with an already prepared defensive stance. Without thinking twice, Oscar put himself between Solaire and the awakening thief.

All the pain emanating from his wounds was numbed by a shot of adrenaline born from one single desire: to protect Solaire from harm no matter what.

“My face... Why, Solaire?” The thief whimpered, caressing his features and becoming increasingly horrified at his new appearance.  He shuddered in what appeared to be a pitiful crying fit, only to abruptly straighten his back as he continued to hide his face behind has hands.

In his current state, the thief would no be able to put up much of a fight.

A part of Oscar, the one which voice was always practical, urged Oscar to get rid of the thief and to continue killing him until he Hollowed if he happened to be reborn from the bonfire’s ashes.

Another voice, which tended to be sentimental, kept Oscar where he stood.

He couldn’t kill the thief.

Oscar had pleaded Solaire to spare his life.

What would Solaire think if he woke up and discovered Oscar had murdered the same man that had been so difficult for him to forgive?

It would make everything seem as if Oscar had only convinced Solaire to spare the thief so he could kill him himself.

Yet, what other choice did Oscar have?

The thief was in horrible shape, but Oscar’s condition was hardly any better.

If a new fight started between them, Oscar knew his chances of winning, while higher than before, were not very superior to the thief’s.

Besides, the thief was cunning, and his cruelty would be enhanced by his anger. His aggression and ferocity would make him a dangerous opponent, more so if he was eager to take revenge on Solaire.

Oscar wouldn’t allow it.

“How could you?” The thief said, looking at Oscar, his eyes projecting nothing but hurt. He breathed by his mouth; his nose too destroyed to be of any use anymore. “Why did you do this to me? What did I do? I did not deserve this... I did not.”

The disgust Oscar felt for the thief’s pathetic display flared up the dormant hatred he held for the man.  He would have killed him right in that moment if it weren’t for the pity that sprouted from his heart at the same time.

There was something in the thief’s voice that made everything he said sound genuine, as if he was in the right and had been unjustly mistreated by Oscar and Solaire. Against his will, Oscar felt a rush of blood painting his face red with shame.

The thief must have felt the growing effect his words were having on Oscar, and he tried to get up and get closer to him, but his legs failed him.

“Curses!” His frustration changed his expression, but he quickly mellowed it before he looked at Oscar again. “Solaire, please help me. I know I made you angry. I know you think I’m not worthy of your help, not but you can’t leave me like this, in so much pain. I beg of you... give me some Estus so that my pain can stop. Help me, Solaire. If you do, I promise I’ll leave; you and your friend will never see me again. Just don’t abandon me now... or I’ll could go Hollow. Please don’t do this to me.”

His broken and bloodied lips transformed into a subtle smile as Oscar approached him.

“Thank you. You are a good man, Solaire.” The thief reached his hand towards Oscar. “I forgive you for what you did to me. I know Lordran can drive all of us to moments of insanity.... I too have fallen victim of my darkest instincts many times; but I never mean it. I can’t control them, they simply overcome me. Surely you understand, don’t you?”

“I do.”

The thief’s swollen eyes lost all their shine. The change was so abrupt it could have passed for comical in any other situation, but at that moment, Oscar had no time to find amusement in watching how the thief’s entire act came crashing down.

Before the thief could react, Oscar grabbed him by the wrist and twisted his arm behind this back. The thief squealed and struggled like a fish on dry land, eager to break free from Oscar’s weight on his back as the knight forced him to lay down with his mouth against the ground.

“But that’s neither your excuse nor just justification, thief. It’s only one of your many lies.”

“You devious prick!” The thief spat. “I should have known a half-Hollow like you would not be above playing such dirty tricks on me! What did you, Hollowy? Did you kill Solaire just so you could loot his equipment and trick me? Well, aren’t you a hypocrite. Hollows are all the same. Deceitful and hateful creatures, all of you. And stupid too... seriously, who would ever loot, even less wear, a helmet as ridiculous as that? Well, at the very least it keeps me from looking at your disgusting and rotten face.”

“Enough!” Oscar exclaimed, twisting the thief’s arm with enough strength to remind him of his situation. “I could kill you right now, and if you don’t keep quiet, I will.”

“You wouldn’t. An elite knight for Astora would never—”

“I’m not an elite knight of Astora. Not anymore.”

Not after everything I’ve done.

“Please don’t do it.” The thief muttered with a sob. It would have tricked Oscar if he wasn’t already prepared to deflect his lies. “Spare me.”

“Cease with your tricks, you’re only wasting your breath. I won’t fall for them.”

“Please, Oscar.” The thief began to cry. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. You did not deserve  it. Yes, I did try to steal your crest shield from you, but I never wished for things to turn out as they did. I know you think I’m nothing but a liar, but what I said is true. These temptations... they are stronger than me. I cannot win against them. I’m a weak and pathetic man. You said you understood me. Do you really, Oscar? Do you know what it is to be prey of your darkest thoughts?”

Regret overcame Oscar. He should have known better than to admit something so personal to an unscrupulous scoundrel, but he would have never imagined the thief would succeed in catching him in his treacherous claws.

It was almost a shame the thief was an enemy and not a friend. To have someone Oscar could talk to about the subject would be a great source of comfort.

But he couldn’t trust the theif, no matter how inviting his honeyed words were.

Oscar steeled his spirit and resisted the trick. It took a lot more effort than he had anticipated.

“What of the crestfallen warrior?” He asked, using the intimidating edge of his destroyed voice to his advantage. “Was he a victim of your darkest instincts too?”

“Ah, so you perceived his essence. A trait more proper of Hollows than the Undead... Of course, I should have known.” The thief stopped crying. He wiped his tears by rubbing his face against the grass before continuing. “Why should I answer you? No matter what I say, you won’t believe me. You already have your own conclusion and I cannot change it.”

The thief chuckled maliciously. Oscar made sure to get rid of his haughty pretentiousness by twisting his arm almost to the point of breaking it.

He only stopped when the thief began to scream and beg for mercy.

“I did nothing to him!” The thief cried, trying in vain to break free from Oscar’s grasp, but there was no escape from him. “He took his own life, I swear! He jumped before I had the chance to push him down! I barely had time to steal some Humanity from him... the bastard took the jump so suddenly that I almost fell together with him!”

It was not the answer Oscar expected to hear. All this time, he had thought the crestfallen had simply run away and Hollowed somewhere else, the same place where Solaire had later found him and killed him out of mercy, and that his corpse had been looted by the thief afterwards.

He took his own life.

Now, the thief had taken that thought and shaped it into a monstrosity that Oscar no longer recognized, even less accepted.

“Liar.” Oscar hissed; his teeth fully exposed in a snarl behind the helmet. The thief’s arm started to crack, but the sound his bones made, together with the thief’s shrieks, fell on deaf ears. “He did not take his life... it was you! You killed him!”

“Stop, please! I’m telling the truth!” The thief said in desperation as his arm was at the edge of snaping from its joint. “Why would I lie to you, Oscar? I have no animosity towards you! You saved my life, you healed me... it was you, wasn’t it? And I’m so grateful to you for it. Haven’t I proved it to you already? I gifted you my only Humanity.... I gave you my ring!”

“Shut up! I’m sick of your lies and your repulsive attempts at distorting  the nature of your actions! Do no misunderstand, thief. I did not prevent your death, I was saving Solaire. A man like him does not deserve to be tainted and transformed by a worthless rat such as you.”

“You’re right! I’m a rat, a spider, an animal!” The thief said as if he was confessing his sins to a vicar. “I’m an awful being... I do not deserve to be near you. Please Oscar, just let me go. I promise I will not get near you or Solaire ever again in my whole existence. Trusty Patches will disappear from your lives forever! Just please... do not hurt me anymore. I cannot stand pain. I just can’t.”

“You won’t. You’ll try to kill me the moment I free you. Once you get rid of me, you’ll go after Solaire. We may be Undead, but I will not allow you the satisfaction of taking our lives, especially not Solaire’s.”

The memory of his friend and how vulnerable he was to the thief’s potential attack reinforced Oscar’s determination.

The image of Solaire perishing at the scoundrel’s hands made Oscar’s heart sink.

He couldn’t allow it.

Never.

“I’m Undead too!” The thief shrieked. “What would you gain from killing me? I’d just be reborn from the bonfire’s ashes again, with my body intact and all my wounds healed. Would that really be a smart move for you or Solaire, Oscar?”

Oscar couldn’t deny there was sense in what the thief said. He had been so immersed in his urge to protect Solaire that he hadn’t given much thought to the consequences of getting rid of the thief.  Still, he was far from believing the suggestion had been born out of honest concern for his or Solaire’s sake.

Though still unsure of what the thief was planning, Oscar eased his hold on him, enough to grant the man some comfort without giving him the opportunity to escape.

The thief sighed in relief.  “You see? I don’t have any ill intentions against you! If you still don’t believe me, then try putting on the ring, Oscar. I swear that its effects are bound to erase all trace of resentment and doubt you have against me.”

“Maybe I will.” Oscar said, sensing the disappointment brewing inside the other man. “But not now. First I have to decide what I’m going to do with you.”

He intended his words to be menacing, but they were also the truth. The thief was no less trapped by Oscar than Oscar was by him.

“Are going to kill me?” The thief ventured.

“No, but neither can I let you go.”

“Then what? Are you going to stay on my back forever as if I was a turtle and you were my shell?”

“Yes, if I must.”

“You can’t be serious...”

“I am. Now be quiet, you voice is like poison to my ears.”

To his surprise, the thief complied, but not without first whimpering in frustration.

It was truly a fortune the thief had not decided to struggle. Oscar doubted he would have been able to stop his escape.

He could feel his own stamina dwindling. It was only a matter of time before the thief noticed.

Whatever Oscar chose to do with him, he knew he had to decide quickly.

He couldn’t ignore his desire to kill him, even more now that he knew the role the thief had played on the crestfallen warrior’s fate. Oscar thought of confronting the thief with his actions again, but he knew a man like him would never regret what he had done.

The thief would likely try to make his murdering of the crestfallen seem heroic and necessary, arguing that had the crestfallen not chosen to end his life, then he would have never had the chance to steal some Humanity from him.

And had the thief not done it, then Solaire’s Hollowing wouldn’t have been stopped.

He doesn’t know. He cannot know what happened with Solaire and the Humanity... I cannot let him transform the crestfallen’s death into one of his deviant manipulations.

Regardless of what the crestfallen warrior had done, he didn’t deserve that treatment.

Nobody did.

His death was not something to be mocked, judged, or played with, not by Oscar or anyone else, especially not the by thief.

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment and dedicated a brief prayer to the sullen knight, hoping he was now at peace.

Deep down, Oscar couldn’t ignore the guilt he felt for his demise. He knew it was foolish and purposeless to try to place the blame in such situations, but the phantom of his responsibility engulfed him in its shadow.

He had broken the crestfallen’s warrior world and taken from him everything he had.

He had been responsible for the raven’s death.

He hadn’t been able to give the crestfallen any answers, not regarding the coiled sword, nor the verse of Undead prophecy Oscar had invented.

Or had he?

The memory of his failure helped Oscar remember that which his happiness for Solaire’s supposed awakening had almost made him forget.

The thief had said the verse too.

Oscar had heard him say it.

He remembered.

He knew.

“I’ll let you go.”

The thief raised his head from the grass. Oscar couldn’t see it, but he knew there was a satisfied and victorious smile painted on his lips.

Oscar hoped he enjoyed it.

It wouldn’t last for long.

“But first, you’ll answer my questions. If I suspect at any moment that you’re lying to me, I’ll give you a fate worse than death.”

The bluff may have failed had it not been by the almost demonic undertone of his destroyed voice. It was the first time Oscar felt glad the Hollowing had damaged it too.

“Do you understand?”

The thief gulped and nodded anxiously. “Y-yes.”

“For your own sake, I hope you do.”

The thief’s fear weakened his muscles. Oscar took advantage of it and kept his arm twisted against his back with one hand, while he held the coiled sword closely to the thief’s eyes.

He had always felt repulsed by torture, and he would have never expected to ever become a torturer himself.

Grateful that Solaire couldn’t witness his shameful actions, Oscar proceeded with his deed, feeling more like a monster than a man.

“Do you know of the Undead Prophecy?”

“Yes, yes!” The thief cried, clenching his swollen eyes closed and trying to back off from the sharp ends of the coiled sword. “I know it by heart! I’ll recite it out loud if you want me to, but please don’t pluck my eyes out!”

You had no qualms about it when you tried to do the same to me, did you?

Oscar bit his tongue. He would gain nothing by recriminating the thief for his hypocrisy.

“Then you know that there’s no verse in it that speaks of linking Gwyn’s fire, right?”

“You’re right! Oscar please, don’t hurt me.”

“Then why?” Oscar said, lowering his voice to its deepest tone possible. “Why did you say it? What did you mean by it?”

“What? I never—"”

Oscar replied by cutting the thief’s temple. It was a shallow cut, one that barely allowed any blood to come out; yet, the thief screamed as if Oscar had pierced the coiled sword deeply into his brain.

“I warned you. You’ve left me no choice.”

“No, wait! Wait!” The thief twitched as if Oscar had already made him go through the most horrible of tortures. “I don’t know what it means, but sometimes... sometimes I just hear it in my dreams! A voice chants it along with some other nonsense. Not many Undead hear it... and those who do end up going Hollow as soon as they listen to it. You are the first Undead I’ve met who remembers it... the only one besides me who didn’t lose his mind to the verse.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m telling you the truth! I’ve been Undead a long time, Oscar. Trust me when I tell you I know nothing more of that verse! Lordran is a twisted land where not even time and space remain constant... Even now, I understand so very little of how things work around here, but I’ve told you all I know! That’s the true, Oscar!”

Oscar kept the coiled sword against the thief’s face, allowing his fear to increase until it made him confess any information he tried to keep to himself.

He waited patiently, but the thief spoke nothing else than terrified blabbering.

After a while, Oscar decided it had been enough. The thief’s fear had surpassed the limit of honesty. By then, he was so scared of Oscar and what he could do to him, that he would make up any kind of story in order to save his life.

It was one of the many reasons Oscar had always despised torture. Much was lost to it but little was gained in the process. The tortured would always reach a point where he would say anything to make the pain and the stress stop.

Even if Oscar had been more versed in the tactics of extracting accurate information by those despicable means, he didn’t have he cruelty necessary to carry them out. His poor imitation of torture had already left his heart burdened with shame.

He was just as desperate as the thief for the whole thing to end.

“I believe you.”

The thief shuddered.

“Oscar, does that mean... you will let me go now?”

“Yes. I gave you my word.”

“Oh... Oh, Oscar! Thank you, thank you! My generous and kind elite knight, the best Astora and Lordran have ever seen! I’m not worthy of your mercy, but I accept it! I’ll keep my end of the bargain too. Never again shall we meet! You’re a true friend, Oscar—”

“Indeed, you will walk away from Firelink Shrine with your life.” Oscar moved the coiled sword away from the thief’s face. He stabbed him in the wrist with it, tearing and destroying tendons, bones and muscles alike. “But not unharmed.”

He let go of the thief and pulled out the coiled sword as harshly as he could. Oscar was back on his feet, his ears deafened by the thief’s unmeasured screams as he hugged his injured arm close to his chest and twitched on the floor like a slug on a salty surface.

It had been necessary.

Oscar couldn’t allow the thief to walk free without incapacitating him first. With a destroyed wrist, the thief had no opportunity to attempt any of his dirty tricks.

Before Oscar allowed himself to feel pity for the man, he forced him to stand up and pushed him towards the shrine’s stairs.

“Leave.” He said, pointing at the thief with the coiled sword wet with his blood. “Find a place to heal yourself, change your ways if you can, but never return to this place. Don’t ever go near Solaire again. I’ll know if you do, and I’ll make you regret it.”

The thief face’s, no less deformed than Oscar’s, changed into a defiant grimace that made Oscar fear he had been too generous with his mercy.

“Shut your hole, you dirty maggot. I’m sick of your bravado. You’re tired and weak... I’ve known it since the moment you immobilized me. The only reason I didn’t attack you was because you had advantage over me. Oh, how have the tables turned.”

The healthy hand of the thief, red with his blood, started to glow crimson with a magic unknown to Oscar.

Oscar raised his shield. He would not allow the man to reach Solaire, no matter how many times he and the thief had to kill each other. Even if he died a thousand times, Oscar would not go Hollow.

“Ungrateful bastard. You should have forgiven me... you should have accepted my gifts and let me go unscathed! But no, you had to hurt me again!” The thief smiled, putting his glowing hand next to his face. “So be it, if you’re not going to appreciate my apologies or my presents, then I’ll take them back! Let’s start with my Humanity, shall we? Wait... I cannot sense it in you. You didn’t use it? That’s odd, where else could it be? Unless... Oh, of course!”

The thief’s eyes fell on Solaire. Oscar put himself in front of him in a heartbeat.

No, I won’t let you!

“Poor sunny boy, condemned to death and to his Hollowing by the same man he so much helped and cared about.” The thief cackled. “Serves him right. That’s what he gets for being such an idiot! That’s what he gets for trusting a half—”

The thief’s head exploded into a shower of blood. Drops of it reached Oscar, spotting his chainmail and Solaire’s helmet almost entirely.

The inert body of the thief collapsed to the floor. The morning star responsible for his death stroke again, reducing his face into a gorier pulp that no longer resembled a human head.

Oscar could only watch in horror as the bearer of the spiked hammer attacked the lifeless and headless body a third time.

“Perish, foul thief.” The wielder of the morning star said after recovering his breath. “Along with your lies and wicked mischief.”

Perhaps it was only because of the shock that had taken over his body, but Oscar could swear that the man, a cleric judging by his clothes, had found pleasure and thrill in the murder.

Oscar had no time to make further judgment, and the eyes of the cleric found him before he could come to terms with what had happened in front of him.

“Oh, hello there. Was this rogue trying to trick you? Did you want to kill him yourself? Forgive me, I believe I robbed you of the satisfaction. I apologize, but I also ask for your understanding. This man and I had unfinished business. I saw my chance and I couldn’t help myself. Oh well, nothing of value was lost. Trust me, this man deserved a much worse end than the one I gave him.”

Oscar couldn’t speak. His tongue was glued to his dry palate.

“Where are my manners?” The cleric crossed an arm around his chest and made a slight reverence. “I’m Petrus of Thorolund. I’m here on a mission. I would have arrived here much sooner had it not been by the schemes of this scoundrel. What about you, knight? Are you on a mission as well? Could it be... of the Undead kind?”

The cleric took a step forward.

In response, Oscar took a step back.

“Ah, a shy one, and Undead indeed, judging by your smell. Your companion sleeping over there is the same, isn’t he? Don’t take it the bad way, knight. All Undead carry the same scent. Though I admit yours is... peculiar. Stronger, acrider. Almost like a Hollow’s.”

The cleric’s eyes travelled to Oscar’s, who barely had time to turn his face the other way. He had no way to know if the cleric had noticed the rotten skin from his eyelid through the helmet’s visor, or if he had seen his corrupted and ungloved hand.

“Well.” The cleric insisted. “Are you, knight?”

 Oscar couldn’t answer, not without his voice betraying him.

Trapped by his own incomplete Hollowing, Oscar began to miss the thief.

Behind him, Solaire continued to sleep peacefully.

Chapter Text

“Take off your helmet.”

The gentleness in Petrus’ voice was alluring.

 Had Oscar not just witnessed the killing of the thief, he would have trusted the cleric blindly.

He would have believed the man of Thorolund had no traces of savagery or violence in him.

“What’s the matter? I gave you an order.” Petrus said, standing so close to Oscar that he could smell the thief’s blood splattered all over his clothes and morning star.

Oscar looked down, desperately trying to conceal his eyes from the cleric’s penetrating gaze. He did the same with the coiled sword in his hand. He hid it behind his back, tying the weapon to his belt as stealthily as he could.

He felt like a child trying to hide his latest mischief and failing miserably at it.

 “Do it, knight. Or are you too Hollow to understand me? If that’s the case...”

The metal spikes of the Petrus’ mace touched Solaire’s helmet and forced Oscar’s head up. The cleric jerked his head at the same direction where the thief’s corpse laid, unrecognizable and destroyed.

“Then you’ll leave me no choice than to grant you the same fate of that scoundrel. Resent me not, it would be nothing personal. I’d just be fulfilling my duty as an Undead cleric. I may forgive the lives of other Undead now that the curse has fallen upon me as well... but to spare a Hollow would be an unforgivable sin. Oh, I cannot allow it. Allfather Lloyd forbid it!”

His features twisted on a contrite gesture, his eyes welling with tears at the sole thought of his potential offense.

The expression felt devoted and committed, but not natural. To Oscar, it looked like an act Petrus had practiced in solitude until he had mastered it. 

Honest or not, it didn’t matter.  There was no escape from Petrus, not without Oscar sentencing himself to defeat.

If Oscar’s chances to defeat Patches had been minimal, his chances to defeat Petrus in battle were nonexistent. Unlike the thief, Petrus was not injured or exhausted, and he was surely equipped with the many tricks, miracles and artifacts clerics had developed to hinder the Undead since time immemorial.

To try to fight him would not be courageous or heroic, it would be suicidal.

Above all, Oscar couldn’t risk provoking Petrus’ anger and unleash his fury, not when Solaire could get involved in the mayhem.

At that moment, Oscar knew his only option was to obey Petrus. He needed to show the cleric enough clarity and intelligence to counter the inevitable impact his hollowed face would have on him.

After readying his spirit, Oscar nodded.

With his unhollowed hand, trembling and covered in sweat, he began to remove Solaire’s helmet from his head.

The cleric replied with what Oscar interpreted was a sign of trust and moved the spikes of his morning star away from him.

“You were sane from the start? Well, I’m glad.” Petrus said with a small smile on the corner of his mouth. “Why didn’t you say so before, knight? Can’t you talk or are you just—”

The cleric gasped and backed away from Oscar once his face was fully exposed. Oscar’s instincts acted against his will and made him lift his shield.

He couldn’t avoid the reaction.

The look of disdain Petrus directed at him was as full of hatred as it was of disgust.

“By the Lords.” Petrus raised his morning star in an offensive stance. “Your face... there’s no doubt. You’re Hollow.”

Oscar, immediately putting down his shield, shook his head. He wished to deny Petrus’ fears with his words, but he was scared his monstrous voice would sow more fear and distrust against him in the cleric’s heart.

Instead, aware he was playing a risky card that could cost him everything, but knowing he had no other choice, Oscar slowly knelt before Petrus and laid his crest shield right before his feet.

To his own shock, Oscar felt how his bruised pride took offense at his meek behavior.

He thought he had gotten rid of such pretentious perceptions about himself, and yet, there was his ego, scolding him for acting in a way so inappropriate for a knight.

I’m doing this for Solaire. I’m protecting my friend.

The thought helped Oscar focus and muster the strength necessary to bow his head until his chin touched his chest.

There’s no shame in it, only honor.

“This crest... You? An elite knight of Astora?” There was so much disbelief in Petrus’ voice that Oscar couldn’t help to feel humiliated by it. “Reduced to this?”

Oscar swallowed his pride again and nodded in affirmation.

Petrus scoffed. Oscar could see by his shadow that the cleric was slowly lowering the morning star.

“I must admit I expected better from one of Astora’s supposed best. What happened, knight? Did Lordran caught you off guard, or was it your birth which got you into the elites and not your skills?”

Oscar could feel his face burning with something that went beyond shame but couldn’t call itself anger. He remained silent, as he would have done even if his voice was still normal.

“Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. It seems that Thorolund is not the only place where blood and birth reign above everything else.” Petrus chuckled under his breath with so much bitterness that Oscar was sure he would kill him with more viciousness than the thief. “What a disappointment, but such is the way the world works, to my everlasting chagrin.”

He made a pause.

Unable to fill the silence it brought, Oscar pushed his chin closer to his chest until he could feel the soft vibrations of his crazed heartbeats.

“I should kill you right now. You’ve disgraced your homeland, and you are so infected by the Hollowing that you can barely call yourself Undead .” Petrus stated, stomping on the crest shield as if it was scrap.

One of Oscar’s hand readied itself to grab the coiled sword hanging from his belt. If a fight was inevitable, he would not run away from it.

He had a reason to persist, he had someone to protect.

“Then again, you distracted the thief long enough for me to kill him. And I supposed that you are as sane as a half-Hollow can be.”

Petrus kicked the crest shield out of his way and took a step closer to Oscar. He then put a finger under his chin and moved Oscar’s face up.

For a moment, more than a well-intentioned but zealous cleric, Oscar felt in the presence of a deranged executioner.

Petrus’ scowled before he let go of Oscar with a violent swing of his hand.

“Put your helmet back on. You’re a sore sight for my eyes.”

Oscar obeyed, with less humility than before, but without any signs of confrontation that could cause Petrus even the slightest offense.

“It’s not my duty or my responsibility to correct Astora’s mistakes, and I’m certainly not in the mood to kill a man in such deplorable state. I’ll let you keep your life, knight, for what little worth it still has. Consider it my way to express my gratitude towards you for the little service you offered me.”

A wave of relief dragged Oscar almost to edges of gratefulness. Had Petrus not reaffirmed the disgust Oscar caused him by pushing him out of his way with a violent wave of his arm that sent Oscar crashing to the ground, Oscar would have grabbed his hand and thanked him earnestly for his mercy.

Instead, Oscar had to bite his tongue to keep a drowned scream from escaping his lips. The pulsating pain that came after his rough landing paralyzed him for a while. As soon as he recovered, Oscar crawled as fast as possible towards his crest shield and picked it up.

Then, he crawled twice as quickly towards Solaire. Fortunately, his friend was still trapped in an interrupted and peaceful sleep, totally unharmed.

Oscar sighed, thankful that Solaire had remained unaffected by the new tension Petrus had brought with him to Firelink Shrine.

Oscar gave Solaire a reassuring pat on the shoulder before he sat right in front of him.

Using the shield as a barrier, Oscar remained right between Solaire and the bonfire.

On the bonfire’s opposite side, Petrus had found a comfortable spot to rest, and he too had sat down. He reached his hands closer to the fire and rubbed his palms to spread the soothing warmth.

“Oh, for the sake of Allfather Lloyd, there’s no need to be so defensive, knight of Astora.” Petrus said, so unthreatened by Oscar that he barely looked at him. “I believe I told you I would spare your life. I have no intention of harming you or your friend... though I must admit the idea is tempting. A Warrior of Sunlight, isn’t he? They’ve saved my life as many times as they have tried to end it. They are nothing but savages desperate to find an excuse to fight others and kill them. But what can you expect from the members of a covenant led by the most brutish and traitorous god to have ever existed? They know no better, these mindless beasts.”

Petrus laughed at his own taunts. He aimed a cruel glare at Solaire. Oscar moved, breaking all of Petrus’ visual contact on Solaire with his body and shield.

The cleric’s amused expression turned sour at Oscar’s interference, and he rolled his eyes before dedicating an uncaring shrug to Oscar.

“Ah, a taste of the famous and melodramatic comradery between Astorans. I’ve heard of it, but I didn’t expect to witness it here in Lordran. Does it make you feel less Hollow, knight?” Petrus inquired, returning his gaze to the bonfire. “Well, we all have our coping methods, I suppose. If you find solace in helping this idiot, who am I to judge? Each to their own, that’s what I’ve always said.”

Oscar was thankful Solaire’s helmet concealed his frown. Petrus, unaware of Oscar’s growing dislike towards him, kept trying to warm his hands. His movements, so tranquil a few moments ago, became frustrated and tense, as if the bonfire had offended him in the worst way possible.

“I cannot believe this.” Petrus hissed. “Has none of you even tried to kindle this bonfire? I understand the Undead neglect useless bonfires like the Asylum’s, but this one? Look at it, it’s little more than a dying flame! Disgusting and incompetent creatures, the lot of you!”

Oscar, almost forgetting his need to keep quiet, was close to asking Petrus of the effects of leaving a bonfire unattended for too long.

The weight of the coiled sword became more present on his waist.

Was the lack of kindling the reason the Hollows had managed to destroy the Asylum’s bonfire and break its coiled sword?

Had it really burned so weakly?

Was Firelink Shrine’s bonfire the same?

Knights like Oscar had only a basic perception of the nature of bonfires. Bonfires healed the Undead, and from its ashes, they were reborn after death. They needn’t know much more other than that.

On the other hand, clerics, especially those who hailed of Thorolund, were deeply versed on the subject, and they were private about it to the point of being secretive. The fact Petrus had spoken about the matter was already uncommon. Either he was more open minded that his fellow clerics, or he didn’t care at all.

Oscar couldn’t determine which option was true, but he regretted his missed opportunity to learn and understand more about what had happened at the Asylum.

Chosen Undead.

“Or is it the firekeeper’s fault? Oh, just what we needed, another incompetent wench entrusted with a responsibility bigger than herself.” Petrus continued. “Why have you not punished her, knight? It is your duty to remind her of her rightful place and make her fulfill her role. I would do it myself, but it would not be proper of a cleric. She’s locked in the safety of her cave, but if you used your sword, I’m sure you could reach her and draw some dutifulness out of her.”

Petrus laughed under his breath, amused. He tried to pass it off as a cough, but he couldn’t trick Oscar.

“What? You’ve still got nothing to say? I guess you’re really a mute then. It looks like you and that woman downstairs have more in common than I thought. Just imagine the fun the two of you could have if those bars weren’t in the way. I’m sure that some fraternizing would help her relax and clear her mind so she could focus on her duty. I’m sure it would be soothing for you, too. Alas, things are not always how we want them to be.”

Oscar recoiled when Petrus smiled and winked at him as if they were a couple of friends sharing a secret. The vulgar gesture, together with the dreadful insinuations, finally transformed Oscar’s dislike for the cleric into utter disgust.

A need to protect the firekeeper sparked inside Oscar; it burned no less strongly than his need to keep Solaire safe.

Oscar’s entire body went stiff with the contained anger he couldn’t express, the tension of his rigid muscles causing an uncomfortable pressure on his belly wound. He flinched, a small grunt escaping his chest as he covered the injure with one hand.

Petrus noticed his reaction and took it as a cue to react the same way. He put a hand on his chest and gasped in shock. “Oh my, how awful that sounded. I meant absolutely nothing by it, knight. I hope my silly words did not bring lewd thoughts to your mind, though I would not be at fault if they did. A man’s imaginations are his responsibility, after all.”

Petrus laughed again. Oscar wished he was in full health so he could let the cleric know what he really thought of him.

Oscar hated his weakness with more fervor than ever before.

He hated he had to pretend to be a half-witted Hollow just to keep the cleric friendly and peaceful.

He hated he wouldn’t be able to keep Solaire or the firekeeper safe if Petrus were to try something.

He hated his incompetence and how well he had convinced himself he was unfit to be a true knight.

The damage he had done to himself with such thoughts was almost as incapacitating as the injuries in his body, perhaps even more.

His body would heal.

Time, some Estus and the bonfire, no matter how feebly its unkindled flame burned according to Petrus, would heal his injuries eventually, but they would do nothing with the scars Oscar had inflicted in his mind and heart.

How do I undo everything I’ve done to myself? How can I repair everything I’ve destroyed?

Gently, Oscar looked over his shoulder.

Solaire, what am I supposed to do?

“Oh, if only we could fully kindle this bonfire ourselves... such a shame the rite has long been lost in this cursed land.” Petrus sighed heavily. “Dear me, I’ve said too much. Forgive me, knight. I’m afraid my exhaustion has loosened my tongue. Then again, it’s not a big deal. It’s not as if you could talk and tell others, is it?  It’s not as if you were pretending to be mute just to hide something from me... right, knight of Astora?”

A hole formed inside Oscar’s stomach. He turned his head and looked at Petrus, who was smirking at him almost with pity.

“Well? Can you?” Petrus insisted.

The crest shield in his arm was the only thing Oscar could cling to.

“You’re testing my patience. I do not like liars, knight. I’ll ask you again, can you talk or not?”

“Yes.”

Petrus’s smug face changed into a scowl of repulsion. For a moment, Oscar was sure the cleric would throw up at the mere sound of his voice.

“Repugnant. What kind of abomination are you?” Petrus said after three gagging fits too exaggerated to be natural, but also too well executed to not be insulting and degrading for Oscar. “I don’t know what sins you’ve committed, but they surely earned you the scorn of the gods. I don’t see any other reason why they would allow you to exist while you look and sound like this... the Undead curse is an awful thing indeed.”

Petrus wiped some drool from his chin before continuing.

“But I do appreciate your honesty. I knew I had heard a horrible sound when I arrived here. At first, I thought it was the growl of a demon. I admit I didn’t think it would be you. Your poor, miserable man. Perhaps sparing you was a mistake. Letting a creature like you alive could be a sin in itself... I could grant us both redemption for our errors. As a cleric, it would be an honor to assist you in your way to repentance, knight. Are you interested in listetning to my offer?”

“I do not need redemption.” Oscar replied, forgetting about the pretended respect he was supposed to show Petrus.  “Not from a man like you.”

“A man like me? I take great offense at that unfounded accusation, knight. What have I done or said to make you have an opinion so lowly of me?”

Oscar was left speechless.

After all the horrible things he had said and implied, how could Petrus act as if his heart was pure and free of all sin? How could he feign an innocence so convincing that it almost made Oscar regret having accused him?

“You know the answer. You cannot make me forget all the things you’ve said.” Oscar said, resisting Petrus’ trick after remembering his words, one by one. “I may be Hollow of body, but not of mind.”

“Are you sure of that?” Petrus smiled as if he was a pious priest. “My friend, I’m afraid your Hollowing damaged your sanity more than you think. I do not recall ever saying anything inappropriate in your presence. I am cleric, for Allfather Lloyd's sake!  I am a shepherd, not a sinner. To prove it to you, I’ll let you know my offer still stands.”

Oscar knew well Petrus would never take responsibility for his actions. It didn’t matter how much Oscar swore and insisted in what Petrus had said, Petrus would always blame it all on Oscar’s Hollowing and dismiss his accusations as the imaginings of a half-Hollow.

 If Oscar wasn’t careful, if he allowed that game to go on for long, he feared Petrus’ silver-tongue would succeed in breaking him.

The only way out for Oscar was to comply and listen to Petrus’ offer and put an end to his scheme, before he had the chance to draw Oscar into an unending spiral of self-doubt.

“What do you want from me?”

“Splendid! I knew you’d come around, knight.” Petrus’ said with fake relief, as if redeeming Oscar had been the greatest accomplishment of his life as a cleric. “I know I should not be telling you this, but you deserve to know the truth. You see, my mission here is to aid a most gracious lady in her search for the rite of Kindling, which, like I’ve said, was lost in this land long ago. I’m afraid my fair lady and my fellow clerics have yet to arrive; needless to say the rite has not been recovered yet... but we could try to perform the kindling right here, in this bonfire. Sure, it would only be a pale imitation of the real ritual, but it could help the bonfire’s flame to burn stronger.”

Petrus pointed at the bonfire.

“If we succeed in our little experiment, the fire will heal our wounds twice as fast than it does now, and the Estus it provides will be thrice as effective! I’m ashamed to admit it, but my previous encounters with the thief left wounds in me that have not healed properly, and they never will, not with the feeble healing this puny unkindled flame emits right now. Your wounds would heal too... I can tell you are in great pain, knight. Help me kindle this bonfire; not only you would be redeeming yourself for your past sins, you’d also be granting me, the firekeeper and any other Undead who passes through Firelink Shrine the comfort we deserve.”

“What would you have me do?” Oscar replied dryly, feeling more interest in the offer than he was willing to show. He couldn’t care less about his or Petrus’ redemption, but if what the cleric said was true and there was a way to make the bonfire’s healing effect stronger, Oscar was willing to give it a try.

Solaire.

He didn’t look at his friend, but all his thoughts were directed at him.

It could heal you... it could help you wake up.

“Humanity.” Petrus declared. “Give it to me and I will feed it to the bonfire. If we are lucky, it will make it more powerful. Indeed, our chances of success are not optimal, not without the rite of kindling in our hands... but it could work, knight.”

“I have none.” Disappointment  lowered Oscar’s voice to a whisper.

“That’s alright. I can extract it. It’s a spell similar to the one the thief tried to use before, but mine is pure, developed by generations of Thorolund clerics. It will cause no pain.”

“But I’m half Hollow. I don’t think there’s enough Humanity left in me to—”

“Obviously. That’s why I never intended to extract it from you, knight.” Petrus explained, unaware or uncaring that his words were like knives for Oscar.

Oscar’s interest in the kindling vanished that instant.

“No.” He muttered, his stomach twisting into a painful knot. He clung to his crest shield as he unconsciously stood up. “No, you can’t!”

 “He would want it to be this way. He is, after all, a Warrior of Sunlight. Helping others in need is his duty.” Petrus said, back on his feet and walking towards Solaire, his morning star in one hand, the other one covered in a crimson aura. “And we are both in great need of help, aren’t we?”

“I won’t let you. Stop! Don’t come any closer!”

“Or what? You’ll kill me? We both know you are in no shape to fight, knight. Please, do not interfere. Your friend will die or go Hollow with honor. Are you so selfish you would take that away from him? What a nasty man you are. Besides, he looks healthy enough... I’m sure he can share some of his Humanity with us without Hollowing.”

“He almost Hollowed a while ago! If you take any of his Humanity from him... Please, don’t do this. He needs his Humanity; he needs to rest. He is a man, not an animal you can sacrifice for your experiments!”

 “I’m not asking for your approval or your permission, knight.” Petrus stood right in front of Oscar. He put his morning star on Oscar’s shoulder, the spikes of the mace clinking against the metal plate. “Move. I won’t ask twice.”

Without hesitating, Oscar dropped his shield and grabbed Petrus’ crimson hand. Before the cleric had the chance to understand what was happening, Oscar pressed his hand flat on his chest, right above his heart.

He removed his helmet, hoping that exposing his face would give more credibility and sentiment to his petition.

“My Humanity.” Oscar said as Petrus stared at him in puzzlement and disgust. “Take it. Take all that’s left of it inside me; it’s yours. Kindle the bonfire with it... do whatever you want with it, but don’t hurt Solaire. Please.”

Petrus remained still, looking unsure of who was in control of the situation anymore.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He finally said, his crimson hand digging its nails on Oscar’s chainmail. “You said it yourself, knight. What amount of Humanity a half-Hollow like you—”

“Enough to kindle the bonfire.” Oscar spoke with conviction, though he knew the assertion was little more than a bluff. “I promise.”

“A nice sentiment. One that, sadly, is awfully unfounded.”

“It will work. My Humanity will make the bonfire stronger. It will heal your wounds. I’ll make sure of it. Take it, cleric. Take it in place of Solaire’s.”

“Why, knight?” Petrus eased his hold on Oscar. He could tell the cleric wanted to remove his hand from his body, but Oscar didn’t allow it. “Why are you sacrificing yourself for this man?”

Oscar couldn’t answer. His reasons were clear to him, but he couldn’t express them out loud. They were not something he could share, not with a man like Petrus, who would have no qualms to dismiss them as the stupid sentimentalisms of an Astoran. It would be like sharing his memories of the Chosen Undead with a pack of rowdy drunks.

Solaire and the Chosen Undead deserved better. Oscar wouldn’t let their actions to be mocked by the cruelty and ignorance of others.

“Just take it.”  

Petrus said nothing.

Oscar didn’t know what to make of his expression.

He liked to think he had understood, that Petrus' heart was not so cruel to deny him that last kindness.

“Astoran camaraderie.” Petrus said, the barbs of his words no less sharp than the spikes of his mace. “What a strange thing it is.”

All kingdoms and their people had a label, an expectation they were meant to fulfill.

Mages from Vinheim were studious hermits.

Knights from Catarina were adventurous and bold.

Maidens and knights from Carim were adamant and loyal to a fault.

Pyromancers from the Great Swamp were peculiar and erratic.

Clerics from Thorolund were the most devoted to their duty.

People from Astora, both commoners and knights alike, were noble and sentimental.

Is this what motivates you, knight?

Petrus couldn’t stop looking at the Hollowed man before him.  He could feel the knight’s lingering Humanity twitching under his fingers, hiding desperately inside his chest as Petrus’ crimson hand threatened to pull it out.

For a half-Hollow, he had a decent amount of Humanity in him.

Do you protect the Warrior of Sunlight because being stupidly selfless and self-sacrificing is what everyone expects from an Astoran? Even more from an elite knight?

The knight’s commitment to the expectations the world had of him would have been admirable if they weren’t also so pathetic.

What a pity, that you are still trapped by such ridiculous notions. We are Undead... nothing is expected from us anymore. We no longer have someone to please or an expectation to fulfill. We are nothing.

“Very well. I shall allow you this small kindness, knight.”

We are free.

Petrus prepared himself to start the extraction process. It would not be a kind experience for the knight, but that wasn’t his problem.

“It is my duty as a high cleric of Thorolund.”

Petrus’ hand began to glow.

“Rest assured. I’ll dispose of your Hollow shell before it has the chance to cause any harm to me or your friend.”

Ah yes, your dear fellow Astoran... I’m afraid he’ll have to perish too. It is not often I come across with an abundant source of Humanity like him. Apologies, knight, but Lordran is full of dangers. You may be eager to go Hollow, but not me. I plan to keep my sanity for a long time, and one can never have enough Humanity. I’ll make good use of it, while and your friend can wander in the infernal depths forever.

“Oscar?”

“Solaire?”

Without saying nothing to him, the knight departed from Petrus’ grasp just before the extraction of his Humanity could start. Petrus, taken aback by the new voice, couldn’t stop the knight from fleeing.

Instead, Petrus was forced to watch another display of Astoran sentimentalism.

Watching the knight kneel besides the Warrior of Sunlight and throw his arms around his neck made Petrus feel physically sick.

Ridiculous. Are they knights or children?

Still, there was a sincerity in their embrace that Petrus couldn’t ignore.

 It was convincing.

Too convincing.

Petrus even dared to say that the affection they showed each other was real.

Nonsense. All Astorans play the loyalty and camaraderie charade so well, without knowing that an excess of emotion and attachment is a sin in itself. What a childish land. No wonder that dark beast left it in ruins when it attacked.

Petrus, concealing his steps with a silence miracle, approached the distracted knights.

Showing too much concern for others is overrated. Nothing good ever comes from it. It makes you... distracted, vulnerable. Before you know it, you perish along with the person you tried to protect. It’s a terrible flaw, especially in the presence of an enemy.

It was just as he had thought. They were both so busy crying on each other shoulders’ that neither noticed Petrus’ presence, even less the shadow his morning star casted upon them.

The half-Hollow dies first. It’s nothing personal, I just can’t stand his existence anymore... he is truly repulsive.

Petrus would have ended their lives right at that moment and extracted all the Humanity from their corpses had the Warrior of Sunlight not sprung his eyes open and glared at him, as if he had sensed Petrus’ intentions despite his silence.

The rage contained in his Astoran eyes froze Petrus’ entire body, leaving him standing still like a statue. He had not expected an Astoran to be able to convey that level of intimidation only with his gaze.

It was a warning, a threat that clearly informed Petrus of the consequences he would face if he dared to injure the half-Hollow knight.

The Warrior of Sunlight would kill him, viciously and mercilessly.

Time and time again.

Each time would be worse than the last.

He would betray all expectations from an Astoran and become a blood knight with an unquenchable thirst for revenge.

It was not a bluff, Petrus knew it.

He had been a victim many times of the zeal and aggression that took over the Warriors of Sunlight once they engaged in battle. They transformed into ruthless brutes that showed no mercy, as if they became possessed by the spirit of an enraged god of war.

A fear like Petrus had seldom felt before sent a scream to his throat. He backed down, so overwhelmed by panic that his feet tripped, making him hit the ground with a slam of his back. His morning star landed dangerously close to his face.

 The clanking echo of the weapon caught the half-Hollow knight’s attention. He turned around, the arms of the Warrior of Sunlight keeping him close to him in a protective manner.

The three men remained trapped in a rigid silence. The two Astorans looked at Petrus, one with confusion, the other with unyielding aggression.

But... Astorans are not meant—

Petrus stood up so quickly that some of his bones creaked. With little fanfare, and faking as much calmness as he could, he picked up his morning star and backed away farther from the knights.

“I believe we have interacted enough for a lifetime. I do not wish to intrude in your heartfelt reunion.” Petrus bowed his head. “It’s time for me to move to a more private location. Farewell, Astoran knights. May the flames guide your way.”

The half-Hollow knight tried to say something to him.

Petrus ignored him. He had no desire to look at his corrupted face a second longer, just like he had no wish to endure the threatening glare of the Warrior of Sunlight fixed on him.

He had to get out of there before the warrior decided to act on his warning.

His pace was not elegant, and he left the bonfire and the knights behind. Petrus only stopped running once he met a dead end in one of the shrine’s many corridors.

Curses.

Sheltered by the safety of the stone walls, Petrus’ fear transformed into anger and frustration. He smashed his morning star against the wall, leaving a deep scar on the stone.

All that Humanity... lost.

It was all the Warrior of Sunlight’s fault. Why couldn’t he have remained trapped in his corny display of sentiment like the half-Hollow? Why did he have to betray his Astoran nature and all of Petrus’ expectations?

Are you like me, sunlight knight? Do you too wish to get rid of all your shackles while in this cursed land? What of you, knight? Why did you pretend to be so concerned about your friend?

Slowly, Petrus regained his composure. Soon, he was left alone with only the memories of the Astoran knights to keep him company.

Was your devotion an act... or was it real? Why would you act like this when no one cares about the nature of your actions anymore?

He pondered on it for a moment.

Then, he spat to the ground.

“Astorans.” Petrus scoffed, resting his back against the wall while his morning star hung limply from his hand. “How irritating they are.”

“Here, drink.”

“I’m fine, Oscar.”

“I know, but you’ll feel better if you drink it. Come now, just one more sip. Don’t get picky now; Estus doesn’t taste bad at all.”

“Unless I transform it into soup.”

Solaire looked at Oscar. If he was expecting an answer, Oscar gave him none.

“Oh dear... did it really taste that bad?” Solaire asked with a mortified frown.

“I didn’t say anything.” Oscar shrugged.

“You didn’t try to deny it either.”

“Well, let’s just say it left me completely speechless, then.”

At first, Oscar thought he had been too cruel with his jest, but all his fears were silenced by Solaire’s chuckle.

He allowed himself to smile too. Being in the company of his friend, even after all that had happened and everything that remained unresolved, made Oscar feel as if everything made sense in the world.

He was thankful to fate for granting him this; for the moment of rest he was enjoying, for the soothing flame of the bonfire, for the peace that had followed Patches and Petrus departures.

Above all, he was thankful to fate for sparing Solaire’s life, for allowing him to wake up with his mind intact by the Hollowing. His body too had been spared from the curse, from what Oscar could tell.

That was good. Oscar could endure the looks of disgust his hollowed features earned him, but he doubted Solaire would be able to do the same.

He didn’t deserve that sort of treatment.

My friend.

Oscar put down the Estus Flask and rested a hand on Solaire’s shoulder.

Solaire looked at him, with his characteristic smile on his lips.

Thank you... for everything.

Enough with the thoughts, Oscar told himself.

He had never been good at voicing them, but he wanted Solaire to hear them. He wanted him to know how much he appreciated his presence and his kindness.

Oscar wanted to thank him with complete honesty for once, without him spoiling the moment with his bitterness or mean-spirited remarks.

He had just opened his mouth when he noticed Solaire’s smile shatter. The same change happened to Oscar a second after.

“Solaire, what’s wrong?” Oscar asked, each word leaving a bitter aftertaste in his tongue. All his happiness burned up inside him and transformed into ashes.

Reality had knocked at the door of their repose and shattered their illusion of peace. Oscar knew it would happen, but he had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon or so abrupt.

The familiar dread of an upcoming disaster was never easy to digest, no matter how many times Oscar had gone through it.

It was never easy to endure the cruelty of having something dear to him stripped from his hands.

“I’m sorry, Oscar.” Solaire muttered. He held Oscar’s hand, his nails leaving faint marks on his skin. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“What?” Oscar almost laughed at the statement, both out of disbelief and relief

He had thought Solaire had been about to Hollow again, assaulted suddenly by all the grief he still carried inside him.

But to hear him asking Oscar for his forgiveness?

It was ridiculous, blasphemous even.

There was only one explanation possible. Solaire was hallucinating. His mind could be free from the Hollowing, but it was still too bruised by exhaustion.

“Looks like someone’s feeling a bit delirious.” Oscar said jokingly to Solaire. “I know, let’s get you closer to the bonfire, it’ll do you good. Here, put your arm around my shoulders and—”

“Don’t ignore me, Oscar. Please.”

“I’m not.” Oscar said sternly but not without gentleness. “I just don’t have anything to forgive you for, Solaire.”

“I’m sorry for forcing you to answer my stupid questions.” Solaire continued, completely disregarding Oscar’s last statement. “I’m sorry you had to see me lose control... I’m sorry for almost going Hollow; above all, I’m sorry for making you waste that Humanity in me. It was yours, Oscar. You needed it much more than I did... you should have used it on yourself.”

“I needed it much more than you did? Is that your subtle way to tell me I’m ugly as sin, Solaire?”

“I failed you, Oscar. I was supposed to help you, but I only made things worse for you. How can I ever repay you for all I’ve done?”

“There’s nothing to repay.” Oscar said, allowing Solaire to continue holding his hand as he shifted into a sitting position. “Just like there’s nothing to forgive, Solaire. I did not waste that Humanity in you, I gifted it to you. And do you really think that I, of all people, would judge you for almost going Hollow? Or for losing control? Solaire, if anything, I understand why you—”

Did he?

Oscar wasn’t confident enough to finish the sentence, and he let the rest of the words died in his mouth.

Maybe he understood the reasons behind his own Hollowing and his moment of madness, but what made him think he knew anything about Solaire’s?

He knew the reasons that had driven his friend to the deep end of despair, but Solaire’s and Oscar’s motives were completely different.

Oscar had not lived a life full of rejection and mockery. He had never felt what it was like to be told he wasn’t good enough, that no matter how hard he tried to prove himself, he would never be at the same level than the others.

If his status as an elite knight was anything to go by, Oscar’s life had been the exact opposite.

“No, Solaire... I can’t say I fully understand the reasons behind your Hollowing. I can’t understand how your pain feels to you.” Oscar said, touching the hollowed part of his face with his free hand. The memory of Petrus’ disgusted look made Oscar remember how awful his appearance truly was.

Suddenly feeling too self-conscious, Oscar looked down, not wanting to repulse Solaire. “But I do understand what it is to feel hopeless. I understand what it’s like to lose all sense of purpose, as if nothing you do mattered anymore, as if all had been in vain. Solaire, I could never judge you for any of this... I know I don’t have the right to tell you this, not after all the time I spent pitying myself, but please don’t punish yourself for what happened anymore.”

Solaire remained quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know how you do it, Oscar.” Solaire said, inciting Oscar to look at him by softly squeezing his hand. Oscar complied, but kept the deformed half of his face as out of sight as possible. “I don’t understand how you can remain so strong after all you’ve gone through. You’ve suffered trials that would have driven me to absolute madness. Surely, I must sound like a child to you, complaining about my stupid problems and insecurities as if they—”

“They aren’t stupid at all, Solaire.  And if I appear strong to you now, it’s not because of me. You, the Chosen Undead... it’s all thanks to you. Without the help you two offered me, I wouldn’t be here right now. I would have given up long ago, consumed by my despair and my envy. But you saved me, and I’m grateful to both of you. I really am.”

“Look at me, Oscar. You don’t have to hide your face from me.” Solaire pleaded, and Oscar couldn’t refuse him.

Then, Solaire continued.

“I’m grateful to you too, Oscar. You saved me. If you hadn’t been here for me, everything the crestfallen said to me would have—” He swallowed.

The pain the memory of the sullen man still caused to Solaire didn’t pass unnoticed to Oscar. He tried to put an end to the conversation, but Solaire talked before he had the chance.

“Oscar, can we carry on after all that’s happened?” Solaire let go of his hand and stared the bonfire, his back gently resting against the old tree. “If the start of our journeys almost drove us both to Hollowing, can we really continue? Are we strong enough, Oscar?”

“I don’t know, Solaire.” Oscar didn’t know what else to say, other than the truth.

“I see.” Solaire replied. Oscar could tell, despite his polite tone, that Solaire had expected a more reassuring answer.

“But I want to try. I don’t know what I can do or where I can go, but I can’t just stay here. I want to move on, even if I don’t know how.”  Oscar grabbed the coiled sword from his belt and caressed its sharp ends with his gloved thumbs. “The Chosen... The Undead I freed at the Asylum taught me this. They knew not what their ultimate fate was, but they knew which fate they wanted to avoid. Maybe we could do the same as them, Solaire. Even if we don’t know where we can go from here, we can still move on and see how far we'll go.”

Solaire took a moment before he gave his reply. Oscar waited for him in silence, lost in the memories of his fallen friend.

“Yes. I’d like to try that.” Solaire’s voice was as warm as the bonfire’s flame. “The Chosen Undead was wise indeed, weren’t they?”

Oscar winced slightly at the sound of the Undead’s nickname coming from someone else’s voice other than his own.

At first, he felt displeased by it, but when he looked at Solaire and saw him smiling at him, the feeling changed.

It was soothing.

“They were kind of a dolt, and they had this strange habit of collecting rubbish and pebbles.” Oscar said fondly. “But yes... they were wise, in their own peculiar way.”

“I bet they were a good person. I wish I could have met them.”

“They would have liked to meet you too. You two would have gotten along well."

"Oh, really? Is it because we are both a couple of dolts?"

"Wait, I didn't say that!"

"Relax, Oscar. I'm just kidding... though juding by your reaction, I know you thought about it. You're cruel, Oscar."

"Alright, now you're just being overdramatic."

"What can I say? The consequences of being Astoran."

They laughed together. The peace Oscar had thought lost returned to them again.

"Let's move on, Oscar. Once we are fully healed, let's leave this place together." Solaire said. "What do you say? Can I accompany you, Oscar? Don't worry, I do not wish to impose. If you want to continue your journey on your own, I would understand. You don't have to—"

"Of course you can, Solaire. Only that you would not be accompanying me; I'll be the one accompanying you." Oscar replied. For a moment, he swore his voice, despite being a dreadful thing, sounded like its old self. "I did promise I would help you find your sun, remember?"

Something in Solaire’s expression wavered. It lasted only for a second, but Oscar saw it. He had no time to ponder about it however, for Solaire quickly quieted his doubts with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Oscar.”

Neither said anything more, but the silence that followed was not uncomfortable or awkward at all.

Chosen Undead... thank you for giving me this.

Oscar thought with a smile as he too rested his back against the tree. The wound on his belly, for once, caused him no pain.

Thank you for saving my life.

"Oi... well, that was a disaster."

In another time, in another place, Patches rose from the bonfire's ashes.

He strected his body, which was again in perfect condition.

"It seems I failed in my mission." He said, looking at his empty hands, so devoid of an Astoran crest shield. "She is not going to like this."

He shurgged before he started walking.

"Not at all. Oh well, at least I had fun! Until that cleric ruined it. It's always the damned clerics, ain't it?"

He laughed.

Then, he started to whistle without a care in the world, completely unconcerned about what awaited for him at his destination.

Chapter Text

“Why do you remain here?”

He gave no answer.

“Are you afraid?”

He held the white soapstone in his hand as if it was a charm.

“You’ve come farther than any Undead ever has.”

He found no comfort in the assertion.

“Why do you hesitate now?”

He couldn’t reply.

“What is it you fear?”

He wasn’t sure of the answer himself.

“Chosen Undead?”

He had never gotten used to the title.

“Can you hear me?”

He hadn’t forgotten about its rightful bearer.

“Chosen Undead?”

“Oscar?”

“Yes, Solaire?”

“Do you think that... well, it’s something a bit silly, to be honest.”

Oscar finished putting on his freshly dried tunic. He sighed in disappointment at how tattered and unkept it still looked, despite having rinsed it thrice. Regardless of his best efforts, water alone wasn’t enough to get rid of the blood. It had turned the formerly blue silk of his tunic into an ugly reddish color that gave it the appearance of being always dirty.

This is as good as it gets.

Oscar thought, smoothing the tunic against his chainmail with his hands as much as possible.

It’s not the proper look of an elite knight. Then again, I’m not one anymore.

“Oscar?”

“What? Oh, yes. What were you saying, Solaire?” Oscar smiled at his friend. Unlike him, Solaire still had the look of a capable and trust-worthy knight. His tunic, sword, helmet, armor and shield were clean and almost in optimal condition.

Compared to him, Oscar felt like a vagabond.

His blood had not only destroyed his tunic, it had also rusted a large portion of his chainmail skirt and the metal plates on his legs. His crest shield’s surface was uneven with multiple tiny dents, and his trusted sword was a broken, scorched and coiled piece of metal that, while mystical in nature and useful as a dagger, would have little to no value in battles the required a more offensive strategy.

Though versed in the use of multiple weapons, Oscar would have felt more comfortable wielding a straight sword.

He feared the inevitable diminishment his poor equipment would have in his performance during battle, and the consequences it could bring upon himself and Solaire.

The least he wanted was to be a burden that could not offer any real help or support to Soilare.

Even worse, he feared Solaire would endanger his life in order to protect his.

Finding better equipment stopped being a shallow need and became a priority.

“Oscar, would you...” Solaire continued almost with childish meekness, as if he was scared Oscar would answer with mockery or violence.

It shocked him that Solaire could consider him capable of either, but he understood where his caution steamed from.

It wouldn’t be the first time an elite knight treated you that way, would it?

It was still difficult for Oscar to accept he had once been so indifferent, and he could only wonder how many mistreatments he had allowed his fellow elite knights to get away with.

“No, forget it. It's nothing.” Solaire said with a chuckle after a brief pondering.

“You can tell me, Solaire. There’s no need for you to—”

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Solaire was by his side in an instant. Though his face was now concealed behind his helmet, Oscar swore he still could see Solaire’s beaming smile.

Oscar came close to rejecting Solaire’s help, but he didn’t find it in his heart to do so, not when the offer of help was also an obvious excuse to digress from the previous subject. If Solaire had changed his mind and he no longer wanted to ask him the question, Oscar wouldn’t insist on the matter.

If it is something of importance, he’ll ask me again later. If he doesn’t, then it was never relevant in the first place... though perhaps—

“Spread your arms a little.”

Solaire’s voice snapped Oscar out of his thoughts. After a soft sigh, he complied.

Solaire picked up Oscar’s belts and bags and gently buckled them around his waist. He did so carefully, paying special mind into not putting much pressure on his wound.

The attention was welcomed by Oscar, though not necessary. Without the constant and unyielding harsh treatment of the crestfallen warrior and the thief, the wound had finally been allowed to heal. Oscar could still feel it, but now more as a hardened patch on his skin rather than a source of pain.

“There you go! Now you look like a true elite knight of Astora.”

“I don’t know whether to feel flattered by your kindness or offended by your sarcasm.”

“I mean it, Oscar. Besides, it’s not the equipment which makes a man; a true knight could wear nothing but his undergarments and still impose the uttermost respect.”

“Is that so? Well, then I guess you’ll have no problem in lending me your clothes so I can be properly dressed, while you go running all around Lordran imposing respect with your sunlight nakedness.”

Oscar laughed under his breath, expecting Solaire to join him.

Instead, Solaire took off his helmet and stared at Oscar with a dead serious look in his eyes.

“Do you think my clothes would fit you?” Solaire asked. “I think they could be a bit big for you. Maybe if we leave them drying under the sun for a while, they could shrink. I'm not sure the chainmail would, though..."

“It was a joke, Solaire.” Oscar hurriedly said before Solaire could start with the process he had so stupidly suggested. “I’m fine, honestly. I’m sure I’ll find some better equipment along the way. We could even come across a blacksmith, if we are lucky. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“Oscar, if you really need them—”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, completely.” Oscar said. “Absolutely.”

“If you say so... at least let me lend you this.”  Before Oscar could stop him, Solaire placed his helmet on his head. “Heaumes take a bit to get used to, but they offer good protection. Not to brag, but this is a fine helmet, it has saved my life countless of times. I’m sure it’ll prove useful to you too.”

“Solaire, it was only a jest.” Oscar said, trying to take the helmet off.  “I can take care of myself; you don’t have to worry so much.”

However, Solaire shook his head and put a hand on top the helmet to keep Oscar from removing it.

“I am not underestimating your skills, Oscar, but I want you to wear it. Many dangers await us, and I want you to be well protected. Keep it on, at least until we find more proper equipment for you, alright? Besides, it will also keep you safe from other Undead too. I don’t want anyone to harm you just because of your Hollowing.”

Oscar couldn’t deny the pertinence in Solaire’s reasoning, but he still couldn’t accept the helmet, not when it meant Solaire would be exposed to danger.

As if reading his thoughts, Solaire have him a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“Hey now, I may have never made it into the elite knights, but I too got a few tricks under my sleeve. I won’t go down so easily, I promise.”

“Are you sure of this, Solaire?”

“Indeed I am.”

“Alright. Thank you.” Oscar said, not half as convinced as he tried to appear, but also fully aware that trying to convince Solaire of the opposite would only lead to an unnecessary argument between them.

It was the least he wanted, especially now that he and Solaire were finally ready to leave Firelink Shrine. “I wasn’t trying to underestimate you either. I know well how skilled the Warriors of Sunlight are, especially when it comes to casting miracles.”

“Of course.” Solaire said. For a moment, Oscar noticed a melancholic echo in his words, and he wondered if he had said something out of place.

Despite his optimism and enthusiasm, there was something troubling Solaire. Oscar could see it, but not clearly enough to know whether it was real or just a misinterpretation of his pessimistic mind.

“Let’s get going then.” Soilare said, giving Oscar a soft squeeze in the shoulder before retreating his hand. “Are you all set, Oscar? You’re not forgetting anything? Sword, shield?”

“I’m not so Hollow as to forget about the absolute basics, Solaire.”

“It never hurts to verify. Estus Flask?”

“Of course.” Oscar replied, taking out an Estus flask from his bag. “Yours?”

“I’m afraid I shattered mine.” Solaire said, his hand traveling to the bag on his belt. He took out a crumbled handkerchief from it and carefully unfolded it before Oscar.

“I managed to salvage most of the shards, though. It’s alright, I’m sure we’ll find someone who will be able to fix it! I’ll just have to be extra careful until then.” He put away the broken remnants of his shattered flask back into his bag. “Worry not, we Warriors of Sunlight relish this sort of challenges! It’s a chance for us to hone our skills and test our courage, as if this was a test sent from the Lord of Sunlight himself. I have my healing miracles too, so all is well.”

“Here, take it.”

“What?”

Oscar answered by grabbing Solaire’s wrist and putting the flask on his hand.

Just as he had done at Northern Asylum.

The reminiscence painted a soft smile in his lips.

The Chosen Undead.

They too had hesitated to take his flask at first.

“It’s yours, Solaire.” Oscar said, closing Solaire’s fingers around the flask. “Try to be more careful this time, alright?”

“No. I won’t accept it, Oscar. I can’t endanger you just because of my clumsiness.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Oscar said. He then took out the spare flask from his bag. “You take mine, Solaire. I’ll keep this one.”

“The crestfallen’s.” Solaire looked at the recipient with an expression that touched a string in Oscar’s heart.

“Yes.” Guilt echoed inside Oscar because of the lie he was so casually telling.

During the time he and Solaire had spent healing their spirits and wounds, Oscar had tried to difference both flasks and determine which had been originally his.

It had been in vain; but if telling Solaire that he was sure the flask he was giving him was his, if Oscar could pretend he had no doubts about it, if that little lie would ease Solaire’s burdens and make him accept the flask, then yes.

The flask that was now Solaire’s had never been the crestfallen’s.

It had always belonged to Oscar.

He was sure of it.

“I killed him.”

The confession lingered between them for a moment before the wind blew it away.

I know, Solaire.

Oscar kept the thought exclusively on his mind.

“I went after him as soon as I woke up. Do you remember, Oscar? It was just after our argument.” Solaire said, slightly embarrassed at the mention of the incident, as if it had been his responsibility.

Oscar remembered it clearly. It had been at that moment he had thought Solaire had left the shrine for good. If he had, Oscar wouldn’t have blamed him at all, not after all the awful things he had said to him.

Oscar tried to tell Solaire none of it had been his fault, but Solaire gave no pause to his speech.

“I wanted to bring him back. I wanted to forgive him, to help him. I wanted to prove that I was a true Warrior of Sunlight, but I failed.”

Solaire looked at the spot near the bonfire the crestfallen had favored. Oscar did the same.

“Sometimes I feel I didn’t try hard enough, but also something tells me there was nothing I could have done to save him... and I’m not sure what to believe anymore. What if I had gone sooner to him? What if I had tried to stop him before he left? What if I had never gone after him in the first place? He’d be still alive as a Hollow, wouldn’t he? He seemed to have been infatuated with the idea of Hollowing... it was his greatest wish and I took it from him, all because of my meddling. He never wanted or needed or my help, but I did so anyway, and I ruined it. I ruined everything for him.”

“Enough.” Oscar said. It came stricter than he had intended, more like an order from a captain to his troops than a suggestion to a friend.  Oscar regretted his severity, but a part of him knew it had been necessary.

He stood next to Solaire and a put a hand on his back, and with a mellower tone, he continued. “Stop tormenting yourself over this, Solaire. You are not to blame for what happened to him, do you understand? You didn’t fail him. What happened to the crestfallen is horrible, but it’s not your fault. It could never be your fault.”

Solaire closed his eyes and nodded slightly.

Oscar was thankful for the privacy Solaire’s helmet granted him. He feared the shame in his face would otherwise betray the information he was keeping from Solaire about the true nature of the crestfalllen’s fate.

Nothing of good would be gained if he told Solaire of the thief’s confession. Oscar wasn’t sure himself of what to believe, but he knew that whether the crestfallen had decided to take his own life or the thief had ended it, it had nothing to do with Solaire.

If they were to place the blame, Oscar felt he was the one who should be held responsible. He had changed things in Firelink Shrine, just as he had done at the Asylum. In both occasions, there had been dire consequences, both for him and other people.

That’s why I must make amends. I must live my life for all of them... I must repent for all I’ve caused.

“It’s not your fault either, Oscar.”

Oscar’s body and heart went numb. He retreated his hand from Solaire and backed away from him.

The only thing that outmatched his surprise was his agitation.

Why had Solaire said that?

Had he read his mind?

Was that one of the many skills proper of the Warriors of Sunlight?

Oscar realized he didn’t care to find an answer as much as he wished for the words to have never been said.

Solaire, either ignorant or relentless, looked at Oscar, his blue Astoran eyes fixed on him.

“What happened to the Chosen Undead at the Asylum. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was, Solaire.” Oscar said in a desperate attempt to counter his festering guilt. “It’s not the same as this.”

“That may be, but it changes nothing. I truly believe their death was not your fault.”

“Why? Why are you telling me this now?” Oscar no longer cared about regulating the tone of his voice.

He had thought the wounds in his heart had finally started to heal, but it had taken only those thoughtless words from Solaire to rip them open anew.

Had they healed at all, or had Oscar only deluded himself?

He was not sure of the truth anymore.

“Do you like senseless conflict, Solaire? Does it amuse you?”

“You know well that’s not the case, Oscar.” Solaire said in a rush. He at first had looked concerned about Oscar’s reaction, but now he was no less incensed than Oscar. “I just wanted you to know that I‘ve never thought you were to blame for—”

“It’s not about what you think, Solaire. It’s about what I did to the Undead and all the damage I must make up for!” Oscar exclaimed. “You killed the crestfallen because he had gone Hollow.  I tried to kill the Undead while they were pretending to be Hollow. I saw right through their act, but instead of stopping them, I played along. I wanted them to die, I wanted my fate back; and when I did stop, it was too late. Had I stopped sooner, had I not been so blinded by my stupid ambitions, they would still be alive, Solaire. Perhaps the two of us could have made it out of the Asylum... there was no reason for them to die.”

Oscar removed Solaire’s helmet and let it drop to the ground. He didn’t do so out of spite. The seclusion of the helmet had merely become too overwhelming.

“If I had helped the Undead rather than fighting them, the raven wouldn’t have gotten mortally wounded. It would have carried us both away from the Asylum. The Undead would be with us now; the bird would still be alive, and it would continue to bring more Undead from the Asylum, and the crestfallen would still have his reason to live... but it’s all gone. All because of me.”

Oscar could barely stand on his feet. He didn’t allow any sign of weakness to show on his body. The confession had been made, and now he had to face the consequences of it with the same courage.

Otherwise, it all would have been a sham, a pathetic attempt to make Solaire pity him.

“Is that the reason why you think I’m free of all guilt?” Solaire asked Oscar. Despite being prepared for a severe reprisal, Solaire’s harshness took him off guard. “Because you think that all that has gone wrong here is because of you? As if no one else’s actions mattered except your own?”

“You are one to talk, Solaire. As if you were any different.”

“I know I’m not! I know too well what is to carry such burden, how it is to feel that the fate of the world rests on your shoulders. I too am self-important and selfishly think everyone’s well-being depends on me! I’m condescending, just a foolishly sentimental Astoran, but when you tell me that I am wrong, that not everything that happens is my fault... I can see how vain I am, Oscar. It also gives me hope that, maybe, you are right. That I’m not supposed to punish myself endlessly for what has happened.”

“Solaire, it’s not the same.” Oscar muttered with the little voice he could muster. “What I did is beyond forgiveness, but I still must try to make it up to all of you. Otherwise, all the pain I’ve caused will be for nothing. My fate is no longer mine, Solaire. It belongs to the Chosen Undead...and to you.”

“And I reject it, Oscar.” Solaire replied, taking a step closer to Oscar, a deep frown between his eyes. “My fate and purpose are mine alone, just like the Chosen Undead’s were theirs. They are not yours to claim or live. That’s why I don’t want you to devote your life in the search for my sun, Oscar. I did not want to tell you this just before we departed, but you need to know. My search for my sun is my fate, not yours.”

Oscar tried to reply. Solaire had not held back with his words, so neither would he. He would show him no mercy, he would show him that an elite knight was as skilled with his tongue as he was with his weapons.

I’m not an elite knight.

Oscar’s legs faltered. He fell to his knees, prostrated in a defeated position from which he felt there was no escape.

He had felt so strong and healed just a while ago, and yet, it had merely taken a small peek to his past actions to make him question how real his recovery had been.

And now, he had lost his purpose again.

Solaire had taken it from him.

Strangely enough, Oscar felt no resentment towards him.

It had been merciful of him to cut Oscar’s hopes short before their journey had even started.

“What do I do now, Solaire?” Oscar said, his head hanging from his neck as he stared at the cloudy sky. “If I can’t live in the name of the Chosen Undead, the crestfallen, the raven and all the Undead at the Asylum I condemned, then what life am I supposed to live? If I’m not meant to devote my life to you, then what am I supposed to do? What kind of fate does a man like me can have?”

“Your own, Oscar.”

Slowly, Oscar moved his head from the sky and looked at Solaire. He hadn’t noticed the moment Solaire had knelt in front him.

Without saying anything, Solaire put away the Estus flask in his bag and held Oscar by the shoulders. His touch was always so gentle and considerate, almost fatherly. Oscar did not know why Solaire thought he was still worthy of his empathy. He would have asked him, had he not been also so bewildered by Solaire’s answer.

“You are free and worthy of following your own fate.”

“Solaire.”

“I helped you so that you could live and fulfill your purposes, not to shackle you to a debt that doesn’t exist. Oscar, I want to travel with you, I want to be at your side as we both explore this bleak land and we try to fulfill our goals, but please, don’t give up on your own fate.”

A sad smile formed in the corner of Solaire’s mouth.

“Then how?” Oscar said, not even attempting to reciprocate the gesture when he knew he couldn’t. “How do I make amends for all I’ve done? How do I redeem myself, Solaire?”

“I tried to do the same, remember? I wanted to repay you for all the harm I thought I had done to you. I thought my guilt would end up making me go Hollow, but what did you say to me, Oscar? That there was nothing to repay. That there was nothing to forgive, but I don’t think that was correct. I think there was plenty to forgive. I still think that a lot of what I did was unfair... but you forgave me, and you were so earnest about it that you didn’t even notice.”

Solaire sniffled his nose and chuckled under his breath. He pulled Oscar closer to him.

Oscar welcomed the embrace in silence.

“Forgive yourself, Oscar.” Solaire said. “Live. Continue your own path. That’s all you need to do. I’m sure the Chosen Undead would have thought the same.”

Oscar knew it too.

He knew the Chosen Undead, being the selfless dolt they had been, would have thought so too.

It didn’t make things easier.

Not in the slightest.

“I don’t know how.”

Or if I can.

Oscar’s soul quivered inside him, as if the little Humanity that remained within him was desperate to escape his body.

“We’ll figure it out together.” Solaire patted his back and sighed. “You’ll see.”

“Yes.” Oscar felt he needed to say more, but he couldn’t. Once again, he felt he had said too much while he had allowed Solaire to say very little.

He found solace in that, at the very least, he had restrained himself from spitting out poisonous and unnecessary remarks. He wasn’t sure if he could call it an improvement, but he was thankful Solaire had not paid the price of his mistakes this time.

How my past self would have reacted to all this?

The question served no real purpose, but it still fluttered around his mind while he allowed Solaire to continue to hold him for as long as he wanted.

What would that elite knight have done in my place?

He thought he found an answer.

He would have never allowed this. He would have rather die than to allow any weakness to show.

He didn’t know if it was real, but it wasn’t pleasant.

It isn’t weakness. It’ll help me grow and be better.

Gently, Solaire let go of him.

Right, Solaire?

“Our departure from Firelink Shrine is not going exactly as we expected, is it?” Solaire said with a drowned laugh.

“No. Then again, what ever goes as expected in Lordran?” Oscar answered, feeling a subtle lift in his humor.

“Always with the sunny thoughts, Oscar.”

“Just one of the many reasons why I wouldn’t make a decent Warrior of Sunlight.”

“Believe it or not, I think you’d make a fine warrior of the sun. You’ve got a strong arm, a strong faith and most importantly, a strong heart.”

Oscar hid his disagreement behind a small smirk.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you... if you perhaps were interested in joining the covenant.” Solaire continued, quite flustered. “I thought it could be some sort of good luck ritual between us before we set on our journey. It wouldn’t be official, not without an altar of sunlight to pray at, but... no, it was thoughtless of me. I’m sorry, Oscar. This isn’t what you need at the moment.”

Oscar first impulse was to disregard Solaire’s assertion, but he realized his friend was right.  It wasn’t that the idea of joining the Sunlight covenant repelled him, but he didn’t feel prepared to assume such commitment.

“I’ll think about it, Solaire. I cannot give you an answer, not right now.” Oscar said, carefully picking up Solaire’s helmet again. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”

“It’s alright, take all the time you need.”  Solaire said reassuringly.

They spent a short moment in silence.

“Perhaps,” Oscar said, putting down the helmet, “there’s another thing we could do before we depart. It’s not exactly as hopeful as joining a covenant, but I think it could prove to be just as meaningful.”

For all of us.

He searched in all his bags, but he found not what he was looking for. Solaire looked at him with childish curiosity.

“Damn.” He hissed under his breath. With some embarrassment, he asked Solaire, “do you have some prism stones with you?”

“Y-yes!” No sooner had Oscar asked him than Solaire was already stretching his hands full of shinning pebbles towards him. “I always carry them with me. Many say they are useless, but they always help me find my way around a new place. They’ve also saved me from quite a few nasty falls. And they are pretty.”

Oscar smiled before picking up four from the bunch, each of a different color.

“There are also more sentimental uses for them." Oscar explained. "Some use them to guide their friends back to them if they ever become separated. Among the elite knights, we used them to mark the dying places of our fallen comrades, in hopes the stone’s shine would guide their souls back home after death. We had no time for funerals, and the bodies were unceremoniously thrown into a collective pyre, but this we did. It was not much, but it was all we could do, and I... we liked to think it meant something.”

“It does, Oscar.” Solaire said. After putting away the rest of the stones, he stood up and offered Oscar a hand. “It definitely does.”

Oscar accepted the help. Then, he went to the bonfire, Solaire following him silently.

“For us Undead, the bonfires are the closest thing we have to a home. ”

He knelt in front of the bonfire and waited for Solaire to do the same. Then, he settled one prism stone close to the bonfire’s ashes, incrusting it deeply into the ground but without burying it completely, still allowing the pebble’s red surface to glow.

“For all the Undead at the Asylum that went Hollow.”

Oscar allowed a moment of silence to pass before he continued.

He placed a second stone, this one shinning green.

“For the raven that brought me and many others to this place.”

Another respectful pause.

Oscar picked up a blue stone, but before he repeated the process, he had a change of heart.

Instead, he gave it to Solaire.

Solaire understood. Oscar could tell it was not easy for him, but he hoped it would help him heal.

“For the warrior that watched over this shrine and its pilgrims for so long.”

Solaire’s voice remained steady, and if there was a lump in his throat threatening to break his words, he gave no signs of it.

Not blind to the effort he was making, Oscar allowed Solaire a moment of silence longer that the others, and he only continued once Solaire gave him a small nod.

Oscar picked up the last pebble on his hand.

This one was completely white.

He opened his lips, but it took him a moment to find his voice.  He closed his eyes, readying for himself for what he was about to do.

Oscar wondered why he hadn’t suggested the ritual sooner, and he doubted he would have carried it out at all had it not been for Solaire.

A part of him feared he had done so out of resentment, but when Oscar allowed himself to look at his actions with kinder eyes, he discovered he was wrong.

You are dead. Gone forever.

Oscar opened his eyes again and began to place the prism stone in front of the line he had formed with the others.

That has always been real, but with this ritual, I’ve made it completely clear to myself. I didn’t want to accept it, but I have to. I must.

“For the Chosen Undead,” Oscar said, tracing the stone’s surface with his finger one last time, “who saved my life and gave me a second chance.”

I won’t waste it. I promise.

Solaire put his arm around Oscar’s shoulders.

“It’s alright.” Solaire told him. “We are going to be alright, my friend.”

Oscar didn’t answer.

Not because he didn’t want to.

He couldn’t.

But he believed Solaire.

He did so with all his heart.

“Unsurprisingly, you return empty handed. Useless peasant. I knew you were too incompetent to carry out even this menial task.”

“I missed you to, darling. And hey, don’t blame me! I did manage to find that godforsaken Astoran crest shield, you know.”

“Then why did you not bring it here as you were instructed? Would this hyena really betray me? Surely you know what consequences would fall upon you if you tried.”

“Oh, calm down. Unlike this forsaken place, Lordran is full of morons eager to be tricked and looted. You can’t blame a man for trying to have some fun! I was gonna make a fortune out of that piece of trash before I brought it here... but things took a tiny sour turn. At least I learned that Warriors of Sunlight are not only rainbows and sunshine. I also remembered why I hate clerics. With. All. My. Soul.”

“Your blabbering is shameful. Had you not proved your usefulness before, I would snuff out your life this very instant.”

“I do not like the words that come out of your mouth, luv, but I do enjoy watching you so incensed. It makes that pretty Hollow face look so beautiful, almost... alive.”

“Cease with your idle chattering and listen to me, hyena. I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself for your absolute failure. This mission I’m giving to you may sound simple to your dense ears, but it holds more importance that you can imagine.”

“Really? Well, why not entrust it to someone more capable, then? Why would give so much responsibility to this incompetent hyena whose feelings you so much hurt with your insults?”

“Because I must make some use out of your unbearable and deceiving silver-tongue. Besides, I trust you’ll be interested in such task. After all, is it not the amusement of tricking poor unfortunate fools the only joy in your miserable existence?”

“That was harsh. A simple 'please' would have sufficed.”

Patches grinned at the ever-frowning woman.

“Well then, who is the poor idiot you want me to lure into your claws this time?”

The woman smiled.

Her heavily Hollowed features denied her face the pleasure of conveying her emotions, but Patches could still read what she was trying to express.

To his surprise, he saw no trace of malevolence in her gesture.

There was longing in it, and satisfaction.

Innocent and pure satisfaction.

Chapter Text

"The hyena failed in his task, my lord. But worry not, for I foresaw the potential consequences of his incompetence and acted accordingly. We'll soon have an Astoran crest shield in our hands, this I promise you."

"Very well. I do not like setbacks, but I trust your judgement. You have never let me down before; I'm sure this time will not be the exception."

"My lord, I am hardly worthy of such kind words. Please, do not waste them so freely on me. I am but your humble servant. Your wishes are my own, and my sword is yours."

"...I believe I have told you many times there's no need for this degree of formality between us. And you do know you are free to call me by my name, do you not? Just like all Hollows do."

"I do, my lord; however, though I'm thankful for your humbleness, I'm afraid I cannot bring myself to obey you in this. For my lips and tongue to pronounce your name would be nothing short of a sin!"

"Fine, fine, adress me as you wish. My lord will do. Humans, your kind has always been so prone to flattery. No wonder the ancient gods became so enchanted with you, at least for a short time. And I think I too have fallen under your spell. It's strange I've realized it now, just when my time—"

"My lord?"

"Ah, pay no attention to me. It's just the blabbering of an old fool. Nothing you should concern yourself with, not when the duty I have bestowed upon you is so important. Go now, and do not fail me. Not now that our time has finally come."

"You can count on me, my lord. As you always have."

"And I always will."

“It’s safe here. Let’s take a rest.”

" No, we must continue.”

Letting their guard down in such place was dangerous. The Hollows had not followed after them, but Oscar knew it would be foolish to think they were free of danger.

They had to keep moving forward until they reached a new bonfire. No place was truly safe unless it was surrounded by the warm protection of the flames.

For a moment, Oscar considered returning to the last bonfire they had lit, right at the entrance of the parish, but he discarded the idea promptly. While not too far away, the road to the bonfire was riddled with the enemies he and Solaire had barely been able to sneak  by.

They had no means to confront so many of them in battle, not with the current state of their weapons.

The fact they had passed unnoticed had been more a matter of luck than of skill. There was no point in going back.

If they were to take the risk, Oscar knew it was better to move forward than to go back.

“Just for a moment.” Solaire insisted, resting his back on the dusty wall. “I merely need a few minutes to catch my breath.”

Oscar looked at him, and a surge of shame made him regret his cold and logical line of thought.

Their battle against the Taurus Demon had taken its toll on Solaire and his equipment. It was to be expected, given that it had been him who had dealt most of the damage to the monster.

Solaire had not bragged about it, and he had praised Oscar’s performance in the battle, even when he had acted as little more than bait during the whole ordeal. It embarrassed Oscar to remember how little he had added to the battle, wielding only a rusted longsword he had taken from a Hollow’s corpse in the Undead Burg.

He had tried to make the best use out of the weapon, but there was only as much damage a wasted piece of metal could inflict. By the time Oscar had decided the coiled sword would perform better, Solaire had already delivered the killing blow.

Yet, while the Taurus Demon had not been gentle to their equipment, it had been the Hellkite dragon at the bridge who had reduced it almost to burnt scrap, Solaire’s shield above all.

Oscar’s crest shield had resisted the dragon’s fire breath decently, but his rusted longsword had been reduced to ashes.

It had been Solaire’s shield, however, which had saved them both from the relentless waves of heat the dragon spat them. Solaire had said nothing to Oscar; he had merely grabbed him by the waist and covered them both under his shield before charging at the other side of the bridge, right towards the parish’s entrance.

How they had survived such a bold and reckless move was something Oscar didn’t know, nor he liked to give it much thought.

They had then rested a while at the bonfire, healing their injuries with the warmth of the flames and replenishing their flask with fresh Estus, but there was little either could do to repair their deteriorated weapons, shields and armor.

Now that he looked closely at Solaire, Oscar wondered if their equipment was the only thing the bonfire hadn’t fully healed.

“Very well.” Oscar agreed. He went to Solaire’s side and helped him sit down.

Once they were both resting on the wooden floor, Oscar tried to take Solaire’s shield away from his arm so he could rest, but he resisted.

“Don’t worry, its weight doesn’t bother me at all.” Solaire smiled at Oscar. “How’s the helmet? Have you gotten used to it already?”

“Yes. You were right, Solaire. The protection it offers is magnificent.” Oscar said, taking the heaume off. Then, before Solaire could reply, he tried again to remove Solaire’s shield.

Solaire opposed him once more, this time with twice the strength.

It was then Oscar knew that his suspicions were correct.

“Your arm.” Oscar’s voice gave no place for contradictions. “Let me see it.”

Still, Solaire was not a man easily intimidated, and he had proven to be quite adamant when he wanted to. While both were traits Oscar deeply respected, they were also a test to his patience.

“I’m fine, Oscar.”

“Then show it to me.”

“No.”

“I’m not going to ask you again, Solaire.”

“Are all elite knights this headstrong, or is it just you?”

“You’re not exactly what I would call agreeable, my friend.”

“Only because you never stop insisting. Once something gets in your head, you can’t let it go, Oscar. Just like it happened back at the Burg, remember? I told you that I could take down that dark knight on my own, but you said no, that I had no chance, that I still was not prepared for such challenge... and there was no convincing you otherwise.”

“And I believe I saved your life by doing so. You’re welcome. Now, for the last time, show me your arm, Solaire.”

“For the last time, no.”

“Then I’ll kill you.”

Solaire turned pale, and while the devastated look in his eyes made Oscar feel like the worst man to have ever existed, he did not waste the astonishment his hollow threat had earned him.

He swiftly removed Solaire’s shield from his forearm.

Solaire winced in pain and clenched his jaw. He tried to retreat his arm closer to his chest, but Oscar held it by its metal bracelet and pulled it closer to himself instead.

The sight of carbonized skin and exposed muscles of Solaire’s hand was difficult to endure, even for a hardened knight like Oscar. The chainmail on his forearm was deformed, as if it had been about to melt and fuse with the skin underneath.

Oscar looked away for a moment. If the mere sight of the burn had left him speechless, how unbearable was the pain for Solaire?

You didn’t say anything. Why?

Overcome with an anger that he couldn’t wholly understand, Oscar quickly took out his Estus flask and poured all the elixir on Solaire’s hand and forearm.

Solaire hissed and threw his head backwards. The muscles on his neck were as tense as the cord of a bow,  and Oscar could only wonder how he had been able to keep himself from screaming at a pain that could have easily reduced any other knight to a sobbing mess.

“Fool.” Oscar said as he continued holding Solaire’s bracelet, allowing the Estus to permeate its healing essence into his destroyed skin. Little drops of Estus mixed with his blood and dripped from his fingers and the edges of his palm. “Of course the dragon’s fire injured you! Look at how it left your shield... you were lucky it didn’t melt it right on top of your head!”

I should have known he was injured. I should have known... but why didn’t he tell me? Doesn’t he trust me?

“You are the fool.” Solaire said, freeing his hand from Oscar’s grasp and holding it close to his chest as he had originally intended. His face was slick with sweat and his eyes were only half-opened. The rhythm of his breathing was quick and uneven. “Wasting your Estus in a dragon injury when you know well it won’t heal it.”

The revelation struck Oscar like a mace.

What Solaire said was true.

Injuries born from a dragon’s fire never truly healed, and they never stopped hurting. It was one of the many reasons why dragons had been so feared in ancient times.

Oscar knew this.

He always had.

It was one of the most basic pieces of knowledge for a knight.

Why then, had he been so sure the Estus would work?

Had the Hollowing tarnished that part of his memory?

Or had his despair at seeing Solaire so heavily wounded clouded his better judgement and driven him to a moment of irrationality?

Oscar hoped the former was the true reason. He could deal with the consequences of his Hollowing, but to endure the fragility of his own bruised spirit was a challenge no less threatening than the fire of the Hellkite dragon.

He forced himself to ignore those thoughts. It was not the time to question his strength or courage. All that mattered was getting Solaire to a bonfire.

Even if neither the Estus nor the fire could heal the wound, they at least could provide more comfort to his pain.

“Let’s get back to the bonfire. Hurry, before the effects of the Estus fade.”

Before Solaire could complain, Oscar returned his heaume to him and placed it on his head. It was him who now needed the protection the most.

Just as he was readying himself to support Solaire’s weight on his shoulders, Solaire stood up on his own, his sunlight sword hanging firmly from his clenched and healthy hand.

Oscar looked at him from the floor. From that angle, Solaire looked not like a jolly knight, but as a powerful and determined warrior, in no way weaker than Oscar, and perhaps stronger in his own manner.

With his burnt hand, he picked Oscar up by the neck of his armor and put him back on his feet.  Then, he picked up his round and half-melted shield and held it firmly in front of his chest.

“There’s no point in going back now, Oscar. If we do, I don’t think we will be able to sneak by all those Hollows again, especially not with that Fang boar keeping guard. No... we have to keep moving. The next bonfire can’t be far.”

“Solaire, you can’t carry on in this state.”

“Of course I can. Don’t worry, I won’t be a burden to you.”

“It’s not about that at all!” Oscar exclaimed. “I just don’t want you to—”

“Die?” Solaire said. Oscar could hear the faint echo of his chuckle, muffled by the confines of the heaume. “That’s odd. Didn’t you threaten to kill me if I didn’t obey you just a few moments ago? I know elite knights tend to be overly strict, but I think you take it a little too far, Oscar.”

Solaire laughed more explicitly this time.

Oscar could not see what was so amusing, just like he couldn’t understand how he could have said that in the first place, regardless of his true intentions.

“I would never.” Oscar said, his words full of regret and distaste for his actions.

Had his tasteless and empty threat broken something beyond repair?

Was his unyielding insistence more than what Solaire was willing to put up with?

I didn’t mean to... I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I’m an idiot.

 “I would never do that to you. I just wanted to catch you off guard so I could take your shield from you.  Solaire, I would never—”

“I know, Oscar. Relax, I’m not angry at you at all.” It was Solaire’s time to be apologetic. “But you were right. I need to die.”

“What the hell are you saying? You are not Hollow, so stop talking nonsense, Solaire.” As incensed as he was distressed, Oscar felt tempted to punch Solaire in the gut to knock sense into him before he could continue with his ridiculous blabbering. “You won’t die, not as long as I’m with you. I’ll keep you alive no matter what, you hear me?”

“Oscar, we are Undead. I have died before; not many times, but this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve experienced death. I’ll just be reborn from the bonfire’s ashes and—”

“I don’t care. Undead or not, I will not let you die.”

“Oscar, my wound will not heal unless I’m reborn. You know this as well as I do.”

“It doesn’t matter! Death is not something to be taken lightly, Solaire. Each time we die, we lose a part of ourselves, a piece of our identity that we can never get back! Death is never trivial, no matter how many times we can come back to life. Besides, you almost went Hollow not too long ago, remember? Just as I did. Our souls and Humanities have not healed from it... and I don’t know if they ever will. If you die again, you may go Hollow instead of being reborn. No Solaire, I won’t let you die.”

 “I won’t go Hollow. My Humanity is strong, thanks to you. It’s yours you should be worried about, not mine. The Humanity the Taurus Demon dropped... you still haven’t used it, have you? Use it now on yourself, Oscar. You need it... you have needed it for a long time. Please, listen to me about this.”

Oscar had not forgotten about it.

He had kept, under Solaire’s petition, the Humanity left behind by the Taurus Demon.

Humanity was rare. Oscar knew they had to treasure every little piece of it they could find and to ration it with twice as much care.

The idea of using it on himself had never crossed Oscar’s mind.

If anything, he had always expected to use that Humanity on Solaire if he ever came close to Hollowing again.

“Oscar, use it. If you die in your state, it is you who will definitely go Hollow. Please, my friend.”

The Humanity, safe inside the leather of his bag, was weightless, but in that moment, Oscar felt as if it was the heaviest burden in the world.

His free hand trembled while the one holding his crest shield tightened his fingers around the metal handle.

I know... but if I use it, what will happen to you? If you ever come close to go Hollow, how will I be able to save you?

Trapped between indecision and the need to hurry, a godsend idea came to Oscar.

The kindling.

While Petrus had been less than reliable and potentially murderous according to Solaire, his statements regarding the strengthening of the bonfire’s effect gave Oscar the hope he so desperately needed.

It was natural that a faintly burning  bonfire couldn’t heal a dragon’s wound, not when it could barely heal normal injuries inflicted by weapons, but if feeding it Humanity made its flame brighter and more powerful, there was a chance it could erase all trace of the Hellkite’s fire from Solaire’s flesh.

Though overly hopeful, Oscar clung to the idea and transformed it into his new and only objective.

He would kindle the next bonfire they found, and it would heal Solaire.

He would not let him die.

Never.

“Oscar?”

“Let’s get going, Solaire.” Feeling his spirit freshly renewed, Oscar quickly wielded the coiled sword in his hand and steadied his hold on his shield. Then, he went to Solaire’s side. “We’ve got no time to waste. The Estus’ numbing effects will not last for long. Can you walk? Do you need me to—”

“I can walk on my own, but I won’t go anywhere; not until you use the Humanity, Oscar.”

“Let’s keep moving, then.” Oscar said before Solaire could continue with his empty threat. “Stay behind me and alert me of any enemy you see. Hurry.”

Oscar did not wait for Solaire’s answer. He didn’t know what made him so sure that Solaire would follow him and not fulfill his threat of staying behind.

When Oscar did not hear his footsteps, he began to believe Solaire had indeed abandoned him, but it didn’t take long for his steps to resonate behind him.

The silence between them was tense and heavy.

Oscar did not dare to look over his shoulder. He did not want to discover how truly furious Solaire was at him for ordering him around as if he was his squire.

It matters not. He’ll understand once the kindled bonfire has healed his wound. I’m sure Solaire will realize I’m doing this for his own good. If I am stern, it’s only because we have no time to lose. Everything will be fine; we just need to get to the bonfire.

After some more thought, Oscar decided that, even if Solaire did not forgive him right away and decided to remain angry at him, it wouldn’t matter. Saving Solaire’s life was Oscar’s priority; he had no time to worry about offended egos or bruised stubborn streaks.

“On your left.” Solaire warned him, his voice forceful but neutral. “A Hollow. Shielded and armed with a lance.”

Oscar reacted by instinct and spread his arm to halt Solaire before he could charge at the enemy.

“I’ll take care of it.” Oscar informed him with the same unyielding voice that always escaped when he gave Solaire an order. “Wait here and stay hidden. Do not forget to watch your back.”

“I can fight at your side, Oscar.”.

“No. In your state, you’ll only hinder me.”

His words sounded brutal, even to himself.  Solaire had never made him feel like a burden; and yet, Oscar had had no qualms about inflicting so much severity against him. He knew he wasn’t lying, and that having Solaire fight at his side in his condition would not end well for either of them, especially for Solaire.

If Oscar wasn’t careful, Solaire could easily be killed. Even a lonely and pitiful Hollow like the one that stood not far from them could defeat Solaire, heavily injured as he was.

Oscar couldn’t let that happen.

“Do as I tell you, Solaire.” He insisted.

Without further warning, Oscar approached the unknowing enemy and stabbed the creature in the back just as it was about to turn around after the metallic echoes of Oscar’s armor reached it. The Hollow cried in surprise and fury as Oscar dug the coiled sword deep into its back until he could feel it crash against the creature’s ribcage.

He removed the coiled sword roughly, making sure to cause as much damage as possible to the Hollow’s insides. When the sword reemerged, it was soaked with putrid blood.

The hit however, had not been lethal, and the Hollow turned around as soon as it touched the floor. It lunged its spear at Oscar, aiming directly at his exposed chest.

The creature’s quick recovery caught Oscar off guard, but his honed senses reacted with no less agility than his body. He put his crest shield before the blade of the lance and himself.

He listened carefully to the screech of the metal as it slid along the surface of the shield. The sound was distressing, but to his ears, it also served as a guide.

He waited, and when the right time came, he repelled the spear with a strong and precise swing of his shield. The successful parry left the Hollow unarmed and completely exposed, and Oscar ended its life with a riposte that destroyed the creature’s neck, almost severing it in half.

The Hollow growled with the last of the breath left in his body. Its limbs twitched one more time before they became stiff with death.

Oscar stared at the corpse and saw how the Hollow’s neck was singed and darkened, as of the weapon that had caused its death had been covered in fire. Oscar quickly looked at the coiled sword, but there was nothing unusual about the weapon.

Its broken ends had no fire in them, only blood.

Oscar inspected his memories, but he couldn’t recall having seen any signs of fire during their fleeting fight.

Had the adrenaline of the moment erased the memories of the fire, or had the coiled sword burned its victim in some other way?

The question kept Oscar distracted for a moment, but he soon removed it from his mind and focused again on the task at hand.

“It’s done.” Oscar announced before turning around. “It’s safe now, Solaire.”

He waited for Solaire to come out from his hiding place behind the wall of the set of stairs.

Nothing.

“Solaire, you can come out now.”

He ignored him again.

Oscar rolled his eyes and went to Solaire.  

Seriously?

He understood Solaire was angry at him, but such behaviors were beyond childish, and above all, unnecessary.

“We have no time for this.” Oscar said as he walked towards the stairs. “Look Solaire, you can ignore me all you want once we get to a bonfire. Until then, I need you to—"

He wasn’t there.

Solaire had either abandoned him or he had Hollowed and perished for good.

The reason made little difference for Oscar.

In the end, only the weight of his reality remained.

Solaire was gone.

Oscar’s words had cut deep.

Solaire’s first instinct had been to feel a burning fury against his friend, but the flame of his anger had perished almost as quickly as it had manifested.

He couldn’t be angry at Oscar, not when he had merely spoken the truth.

In his pathetic current state, Solaire would only be a burden to him in battle.

 Ever since they had entered the Undead Burg, Solaire’s efforts had been divided in only two things: keeping Oscar safe and not being a dead weight to him.

Deep inside him, he had also wished to impress Oscar with his skills. Undead or not, Oscar was still an elite knight of Astora;  the first of the elites  to have ever treated Solaire with dignity and spoken to him as his equal, not as if he was a traveling fool to be laughed at or a pest to be shooed away.

Oscar had saved his life, he had looked after him during his recovery from his failed Hollowing, and even then, he still remained by his side.

He was not only his fellow Astoran or his travelling companion. He was his friend, and Solaire was determined to prove he was worthy of his company.

He would not allow himself to mess things up as he always did. This time, Solaire would perform like never before in his life.

And he had succeeded.

He had killed all the Hollows that stood in their way at the Burg, and not once had any of those foul creatures had the chance to put a finger on Oscar.  

When Solaire killed them, he did so with grace.  He did not wish to appear like a savage butcher, but as a skilled and proud knight. In his mind, Solaire thought he had done well, but Oscar had said nothing of praise for his abilities.

Solaire hadn’t taken it personal. It was only natural it would take a lot more than the killing of a few Hollows to impress an elite knight, especially one as strict as Oscar.

He had thought his chance to truly shine had manifested in the form of the black knight they had found at the Burg, but Oscar had forbidden Solaire to even approach it.

It was the first time Solaire had felt truly annoyed at Oscar’s imperative nature, but he had complied, if only to keep Oscar satisfied.

The Taurus Demon had quickly erased all trace of indignation from Solaire’s mind. The demon’s appearance had been Solaire’s best chance to finally demonstrate Oscar all his skills and his true worth as a knight.

During the encounter, Solaire had lamented the absence of his miracles more than ever. Though more than capable with a sword and agile with his shield, his battle style felt incomplete without the thunderous dance of his lighting spears.

A part of him was starting to worry he would never be able to cast them again. The scar the events at Firelink Shrine and New Londo had left in his faith and heart was profound, perhaps even unhealable.

Yet, Solaire had managed to bring down the beast with the help of Oscar, but not even that victory had been enough to impress him.

Rather than feeling disheartened, Solaire felt thrilled by the challenge the prideful knight presented him. Oscar’s reluctance to acknowledge his skills only made Solaire more determined to prove himself.

His eagerness had seldom been so incensed.

Solaire had thought it would be his second greatest source of motivation during their journey, only behind his long-life wish to find his sun.

Instead, his enthusiasm had blinded him to the reality of Lordran’s dangers, and he had paid dearly for his impetuous arrogance. The Hellkite dragon had been like a herald sent by the gods to punish Solaire for his impertinence.

Solaire had thought his shield and his confidence would be enough to keep himself and Oscar safe from the dragon’s fire.

He had been foolish, and he had learned the hard way of the consequences of underestimating a dragon’s power. The mark of his stupidity was branded on his arm, seared with fire, and cemented by his melted chainmail and shield.

At the very least, Oscar had been spared of the consequences of his rashness, and for that, Solaire had been grateful.

However, his relief and concern for Oscar’s well being had not stopped him from being angry at him when he had dared to order him around so shamelessly.

It was hurtful not only because of the manner Oscar had done so, but also for what it implied about their relationship.

What was Solaire to Oscar?

Did he truly see him as his fellow knight, or as his incompetent squire?

Now, it was not that being a squire was something to embarrassed of, not at all!  But Solaire had not trained so rigorously and overcome so many challenges to be treated as an unexperienced neophyte.

Even if his arm had been destroyed by fire and his head was burning with fever, Solaire was not going to let Oscar think he could order him around.

Solaire was a capable and noble knight.

He would prove it to Oscar once and for all.

“I will.” Solaire said under his breath as he wielded his blunt sunlight sword and his beloved, half melted shield on his arms. He waited for Oscar to attack the Hollow before he made a run for it, right directly towards the corridor that led to the other part of the church.

He would eliminate the remaining Hollows in the area and then return to Oscar. Then, Solaire would smile triumphally at him.

And Oscar would be impressed at last.

And then Solaire would die.

There was no choice.

Otherwise, his wound would never heal.

It was shame death would not cure him of his stupidity.

The same stupidity that had caused him and others so many troubles in the past.

The same stupidity that had made him the target of the ridicule from knights and commoners alike.

The same stupidity that had almost killed him and Oscar.

“Oscar.”

Solaire became suddenly too aware of the agonizing pain on his arm.

The Estus’ effects were starting to fade.

Just like Oscar had warned him.

I must go on.

Solaire clenched his jaw until his teeth grinded against each other.

I must prove myself to him.

Climbing the small set of stairs before him was an odyssey.

I am not a fool.

The floor under his feet felt unsteady. Had it transformed into quicksand?

 There was a Hollow to his right.

The creature attacked Solaire the moment it laid its eyes on him.

Solaire didn’t allow his blurry sight and wavering balance to become obstacles that would hinder his performance in battle.

I am a knight too.

The Hollow tried to impale him with its lance. Solaire knew the best option was to parry the attack, but he had always been a complete lost cause when it came to parrying, and the poor state of his shield would not make it any easier.

Instead, he used his shield to block the incoming attacks until the creature wasted all of its stamina. Then, he would finish it off with a powerful riposte aimed directly into its brains.

It was not the most complex of strategies, but it was effective. Or it would have been, had it not been for the incapacitating pain that invaded Solaire’s arm each time the broken sword clashed against his half-melted shield.

Soilare could only endure two hits before his arm yielded to the pain and lost all its strength. The Hollow gave him no quarter, and before Solaire knew it, it aimed its lance towards his heart and lunged it forward.

Solaire managed to avoid it, and rather than piercing the center of body, the lance hit the surface of his helmet.

Had it not been for the headpiece, it would have been Solaire’s brains and not the Hollow’s which now painted the ground red.

Oscar.

His friend had returned the heaume to him, and by doing so, he had saved his life. And to think Solaire had been about to remove it because of the overbearing heat the steam of his sweat caused inside his helmet.

Oscar... where are you? What am I doing?

The Hollow’s growls were the only thing that kept Solaire focused on his duty. The creature tried to attack him again, but Solaire severed its arm off with a brutal swing of his sword before it had the chance.

The blunt edges of his sword did not do the work cleanly, and the arm continued to hang to the body of its owner by little threads of rotten tendons and flesh. Solaire finished the job by stabbing the Hollow in the chest.

The creature fell to ground as soon as he removed his sunlight sword from its body. It was already dead before it even touched the floor.

“I did it.” Solaire said, collapsing to his knees and then to the floor. He hugged his arm against his chest, increasing the pain by doing so, but also too overwhelmed by the agony to know what else he could do. “I’m a knight... just like you, Oscar.”

A figure casted its shadow on Solaire.

Solaire smiled at the newcomer.

He knew his friend would come just in time to see his glorious deed.

“I killed it. Yes, I did.” Solaire said to him, lying on his back, his entire body shivering. “Did you see it, Oscar?”

Oscar raised his sword.

He would kill Solaire.

Yet, Solaire couldn’t stop smiling at him.

“Did you?”

Oscar never gave him an answer.

Oh, elite knights, they are very hard to please. That they are, that they are...

“Solaire!”

Without thinking it twice, Oscar lunged the coiled sword forward. It clashed directly against the Hollow’s rapier.

The Hollow, this one taller and better armed that the others, forgot about Solaire and directed all his fury and attention towards Oscar.

Oscar reciprocated the stare, his eyes shining with hatred.

“Disgusting freak.” Oscar spat the creature, not caring if it could understand his words or not. “How dare you?”

The Hollow swung his rapier at Oscar. Its movements were fast and much more sophisticated than the erratic slashes of its fellow Hollows.

It made no difference for Oscar.

How dare you attack Solaire?

Rapiers where among the most difficult weapons to parry. Even the most experienced knights thought twice before attempting it, and their chances of failing were always high.

Oscar erased all fear of failure from his mind. He raised his crest shield and waited for the weapon to make contact.

How dare you try to kill my friend?!

It happened in the beat of a heart. No sooner was the rapier repelled than Oscar had already impaled the Hollow’s head with the sharp ends of the coiled sword.

This time, the fire of the weapon showed no shyness, and in a matter of seconds, it burnded the Hollow’s head until nothing but ashes remained.

The headless corpse of the Hollow dropped to the floor. Only the horrid stench of its roasted meat served as the proof of existence of its now disappeared brain.

Oscar, with his teeth exposed in a blood-thirsty scowl, could only come back to his senses when Solaire’s voice reached him from below.

“Oscar. You are amazing...” Solaire rested his healthy hand on Oscar’s boot. “Yes, yes... a true elite knight. I’m proud to be your friend, indeed I am.”

“Solaire.” Oscar swiftly secured his shield on his back and the still warm coiled sword on his belt before kneeling next to Solaire.

He removed one of his gloves and the helmet from Solaire’s head. He rested his palm against Solaire’s forehead. He was burning with fever, and not even his sweat was enough to cool it down in the slightest.

If he continued unattended, a mortal seizure was bound to happen.

“No, I told you I would keep you alive. I’m not going to fail you, Soilare.” Oscar said as he put Solaire’s healthy arm around his shoulders and lifted his delirious friend from the ground.

Solaire was so overcome and delusional with fever that he gave no signs of feeling any pain.

While the lack of awareness of his pain could be merciful for Solaire, it was further proof of how close his brain and body were from shutting down.

“Talk to me, Solaire.” Oscar said as he carried Solaire and moved forward. He did not know where he was going, but any place was better than staying put next to the Hollows’ corpses. “Talk to me.”

“Oscar... your face looks like my shield.” Solaire stuttered, highly amused at his observation. “Where is my shield? Or my sword? And my helmet? Did the thief steal them, Oscar?”

“No. They are safe, Solaire. We’ll come back for them as soon as we find a bonfire, alright? Nothing will happen to them, I promise.” Oscar replied, trying his best to feign joy and light-heartedness even when he was at the edge of despair. “So my face looks like your shield? Why is that, Solaire? Explain it to me, come on.”

Talk to me. Keep talking to me... do not die. Do not go Hollow.

“I...” Solaire’s legs stopped moving, and rather than carrying him, Oscar was forced to drag him. “I don’t know. I— where? Who?

“No, stay awake, Solaire!” Oscar screamed as they both passed a small, half broken bridge of destroyed wood. “Talk to me, my friend. Talk to me.”

Oscar’s desperate pace came to a forceful halt when noticed what waited for them just upfront.

Three Hollows; two armed with swords and shields; and the third, wielding a crossbow.

Oscar cursed his fate and the gods.

Reluctant to leave Solaire behind, but knowing there was no other choice, Oscar gently put Solaire back on the ground, with his back gently resting against a column of stone.

Solaire’s eyes were now tightly clenched, and he hugged his arm while he breathed mouthfuls of air with agitation.

“The sun.” Solaire said amidst the mist of delirium. “My sun.”

Oscar left Solaire’s side and went directly towards the Hollows. His heart wished to stay by his friend’s side and help him endure his moment of pain, but Oscar knew what he had to do.

If he truly wanted to save Solaire’s life, he had to eliminate those godforsaken creatures that dared to stand in their way.

I’ve got no time for any of you!

Oscar thought as he prepared his shield and his coiled sword for battle.

"I'll kill you." Oscar shouted at his enemies. The coiled sword reacted to his latent desire and became surrouned by flames.

The Hollows armed with swords charged at Oscar, while the third one shot the first of the many arrows that tried to end his life.

"I'll kill you all!"

Oscar welcomed their encounter, unafraid and bent on one thing alone.

To defeat the Hollows before it was too late and get Solaire to the safety of the elusive bonfire.

He knew not how he would do it , but he would not fail.

His mind was set on it, and just like Solaire had said, there was no power on earth that could convince him otherwise.

"Hmm, a Hollow attacking other Hollows with a fire sword? Now, that is something you don't see often."

He gazed at the battle scene from the church's roof.

"Hmm, oh...Oh! Wait, he's not Hollow, he's only half Hollow. Should I help him? Maybe I should; then again, maybe I shouldn't. Oh my, this is quite the dilemma."

He removed his helmet for a moment and scratched his chin, as he always did when pondering over sensitive matters.

"Hmm, what to do?"

While the half-Hollow from below continued to fight, Siegmeyer kept thinking.

 "What to do?"

Chapter Text

"The armor was always meant to be a replica, but now, thanks to your incompetence, so will have to be the shield. Thankfully, the original helmet and sword were retreived by a dear friend, a man more capable than you in all aspects."

"Is that supposed to make me jealous? Because it's not making me feel anything in particular, other than boredom. And also a bit hungry, for some reason."

"Silence that insolent mouth of yours! You should be grateful that I, once again, found a way to make up for your mistakes."

"Yeah, I guess you are right about that, luv... then again, I think I'm more grateful to whatever blacksmith crafted this little piece! Just look at this beauty of a shield! It looks nothing like a replica to me! Which makes me wonder, why the hell did you send me to retrieve the original when—"

"It was my Lord's command. He wanted the original sword, shieId and helmet. I do not question his reasons, and if you appreciate your life, neither shall you."

"...Were you always this much of a naggin old hag, or did someone piss in your morning ale today?"

"Enjoy your idiotic jests while you can. You have a mission, hyena. You know what you must do; now, take all this and go. Do not fail me or my Lord again."

"Fine, fine!  I'm going! Bloody hell, I at least hope this poor idiot has a more interesting conversation to offer than you, luv. Unless this fool is a Hollow too! Oh, Hollows... how boring you all are!"

The Hollows had perished swiftly.

Only their carbonized corpses remained.

The fire from the coiled sword burned as fiercely as Oscar’s anger.

One last enemy stood in his way.

The crossbow-wielding Hollow aimed at him and took the shot.

Oscar repelled the attack with his shield, just as he had done with the many arrows that were now scattered on the floor.

His refined accuracy and agility made no impression on the creature; completely unintimidated by Oscar , the Hollow aimed again, unaware that the knight had already started running directly towards it, with his burning fire sword ready to end its miserable existence.

Soon, they were merely a few steps away from each other.

Solaire.

The memory of his friend sharpened Oscar’s senses. He would kill the Hollow with a single blow.

The cut would be quick, clean and lethal.

Then, it all would be over, and Oscar would finally be free to return to Solaire’s side.

The Hollow growled in frustration when the arrow was yet again deflected by the shield.

Perish!

“... you foul creature!” a booming voice roared from above. It shattered Oscar’s focus. He feared the Hollow would seize the chance to end his life, but the owner of the voice destroyed the enemy with the plummeting power of his weight and sword.

The impact the newcomer made when his heavily armored body touched the ground created a tremor that shook the floor underneath.

Oscar barely had time to stop his feet before he crashed against the strange knight. He almost tripped and fell to his knees, but he managed to keep his balance by digging one of his heels on the rocky ground.

“I, Siegmeyer of Catarina, shall not let you hurt anyone else again!” The knight exclaimed, blinded by the frenzy of battle. He retired his gigantic greatsword from the Hollow’s mangled corpse and turned around.

His gaze, slightly hidden behind the slit of his round helmet, fell directly upon Oscar.

His offensive stance didn’t falter.

Oscar needn’t see his eyes to know what the knight’s intentions were. To him, Oscar was nothing but another Hollow, an insane monster that had to be cut down.

Oscar readied his stance.

He wouldn’t escape the fight.

If the knight of Catarina was incapable of keeping his battle instincts in check and see that Oscar was not his enemy, then he left him no choice.

Oscar would kill him too, as mercilessly and quickly as he had done with the Hollows.

There was no other way.

 Every second Oscar wasted in his presence could cost Solaire his life.

Forgive me, but I have to.

Oscar thought, wishing fervently that his hollowed face hadn’t made an enemy out of the proud Catarina knight.

Knights of Catarina were among the most honorable, loyal and brave, and they often proved to be invaluable allies and friends.

I wish our meeting had been different. I do not want to do this, but I must save my friend. I am sorry, knight of Catarina. I truly am.

“Halt!” The Catarina knight exclaimed, spreading his arm forwards with an open hand. “Astoran knight, I do not wish to fight you. Your face tells me you are already half consumed by the Hollowing, but your actions show me that you’re mind remains sane. You fight with an elegance and prowess no proper of a Hollow... but I need to be sure. Do you understand what I’m saying?  Are you still capable of rational thought and speech?”

Slightly taken aback, Oscar felt his battle instincts slowly going numb. The coiled sword lost its engulfing flame and returned to be a scorched piece of metal.

Oscar focused.

He couldn’t let his guard down more than he already had. The Catarina knight may have stopped being an enemy, but Oscar had no reason to believe his intentions were pure.

“I am.” He replied, trying to make his voice sound as normal as he could, but its demonic undertone could not be silenced.

He feared it would scare the knight and turn him hostile against him, but the knight of Catarina gave no signs of being particularly shocked by the abnormal sound of his voice. Instead, he immediately relaxed his stance, leaving himself exposed to any of Oscar’s potential attacks.

“I’m glad! I knew you were not like those creatures. I knew it from the very start... well, maybe it took me some time to get to that conclusion, but now I’m sure of it. It’s a pleasure to meet you, knight of Astora. Perhaps you already picked up my name from my less than discreet scream from earlier, but allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Siegmeyer of Catarina, and I have come to this land to quench my thirst for adventure and—Hey, wait! Where are you off to?”

Oscar didn’t answer. By the time the question reached him, he had already left the Catarina knight behind.

He had no time for idle talk or introductions.

The Catarina knight would not attack him, that was all he needed to know.

Oscar secured his crest shield on his back and sheathed the coiled sword on his belt. Before he knew it, he already was back to Solaire’s side.

Solaire’s eyes were shut, his lips moving softly, speaking a quiet and senseless blabbering that Oscar couldn’t understand. His injured arm was glued to his chest; the blood sprouting from the blistered skin had painted the yellow sun on his tunic into a dirty crimson.

“I’m here, Solaire.” Oscar said soothingly, grabbing Solaire’s healthy arm. “I’m here.”

“Hmm? Oh... Oh! I know this man!”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat and he turned around defensively, his hand ready to remove the coiled sword from his belt and use it to stab the intruder.

His shocked nerves lost their edge when the enemy turned out to be none other than the knight of Catarina. He had followed Oscar all the way back to Solaire; how Oscar hadn’t heard his footsteps and the clinking of his enormous armor disconcerted him for a moment.

Either the knight was incredibly guile and agile, or Oscar had been so eager to return to Solaire that he had become numb to his surroundings.

“Solaire! My friend, it’s good to see you again.” Said the knight of Catarina, Siegmeyer if Oscar remembered correctly. “Do you remember me? We shared some Estus soup on our way here and then—By the lords!”

Siegmeyer gasped in horror. Before Oscar could say anything, Siegmeyer was already kneeling right to his side.

“What happened to him?!” Siegmeyer asked without hiding his concern for Solaire. He leaned closer to him. “A dragon wound! Oh no, no, no. I’m truly sorry, Solaire. I can only imagine the pain you’re in. Here, at least let me help you with this.”

“Don’t touch him!” Oscar snapped at Siegmeyer. He held Siegmeyer by the wrist before he could get his hand closer to Solaire.

“Relax, knight of Astora.” Siegmeyer said. His calmness made Oscar feel some shame for his reaction, but he refused to let him go. “I merely want to pour some Estus on his wound. I have no intention to hurt him. He is my friend as much as he is yours.”

Oscar, regretful of his brashness, released Siegmeyer and allowed him to heal Solaire. It required their combined efforts to separate Solaire’s arm from his chest.

“My sun, my sun!”

“Hold him, knight!” Siegmeyer urged Oscar as Solaire’s erratic trashing almost ended up with his Estus flask shattered on the floor. “Just for a moment more! I’ve already poured half of the Estus!”

“Solaire!” Oscar steeled his body and soul and grabbed Solaire’s wrecking healthy arm and force it to stay still. “You’ve got to hang on! You will be fine soon, I promise.”

“My sun.” Solaire whimpered, his eyes finally relaxing and opening. The blue of his irises was blunted by the blood around them. “My... sun.”

“Easy.” Oscar said, gently putting Solaire’s limp arm down and resting a hand on his agitated shoulder. “Everything will be alright. We are not going to abandon you.”

“There!” Siegmeyer announced. He held Solaire’s injured arm until the effects of the elixir began to show.

Slowly, a semblance of lucidity returned to Solaire’s face.

“Oscar? Is that you?”

“Yes.” Oscar couldn’t suppress a smile. It was however, too soon for celebrations. “Let’s get going. Come on, just one last effort.”

“No... let’s rest for a moment.” Solaire insisted, still quite disoriented by his fever. He hugged his burned arm and closed his eyes. “One minute more Oscar, that’s all I need.”

“I’m sorry.” Oscar said, remorsefully preparing himself to carry Solaire again, no matter how much his friend asked for the opposite. “We can’t.”

Siegmeyer intervened just as Oscar was about to grab Solaire’s arm.

“I’ll carry him.”

“No, I can take care of him.”

“I know you could.” Siegmeyer said, standing up together with Solaire. “But you can’t expect me to stay here and do nothing. It’s obvious you two have endured enough; please, allow me to lend you a hand. Not to worry, I’ll be careful with him.”

Oscar stood up as well. Though genuinely grateful to Siegmeyer for his selfless assistance, he felt uneasy at leaving Solaire under his care.

Despite all their qualities, the knights of Catarina were also infamous for being clumsy and bumbling.

Though it was nothing more than a foolish prejudice born from the constant mockery they received because of their peculiar looking armors, Oscar couldn’t quite silence the fears in his heart.

He then remembered how cleanly Siegmeyer had dispatched the Hollow. There had been little elegance in his entrance, but his movements had been precise and calculated, and there certainly had  been nothing clumsy about them.

Oscar chided himself, and for the first time, he felt a sense of trust towards the Catarina knight.

“Thank you, Siegmeyer.”  

A simple nod was his answer. Then, as if reading his thoughts and sharing his sense of urgency, Siegmeyer started to walk, his steps careful but quick.

“Follow me, Oscar.” He said. “There’s a bonfire nearby. I’ll take you there. There we can heal Solaire.”

Though not used to being the receptor of orders, Oscar didn’t contradict Siegmeyer and immediately did as he had told him.

He went to Solaire’s side and offered him as much support as he could without further injuring his blistered arm.

Solaire was barely conscious, but still he tried his best to keep his feet moving so that Siegmeyer wasn’t forced to drag his limp body. His endurance was outstanding, no less impressive than his strength.

Oscar wondered what had ever kept him from joining the elite knights.

Granted, Solaire’s battle style, from what Oscar had seen, was far from perfect, but his flaws were more the natural results of self-training than the consequences of a lack of skill. Under the right tutelage, his whole potential could have easily been unlocked.

Your skills could have equaled mine.

Why hadn’t Solaire been given the chance when it had been granted to Oscar?

Was there really a gap so big between Solaire’s skills and his own?

Or maybe it’s just as Petrus said. It was not my skill which got me into the elites, but my birth.

The thought stung more than it should.

Siegmeyer guided them through an open corridor that led to an abandoned building, an old church that paled in comparison with its counterpart.

“We are close now. The bonfire’s downstairs.” Siegmeyer announced.

Oscar reacted at his hopeful announcement, and he immediately abandoned his musings about the customs of his homeland.

How Oscar could allow such trivial and insignificant things bother him when Solaire was in so much pain was shameful beyond belief.

Oscar steadied his hold on Solaire’s shoulder as they entered the old church.

His past was lost and mostly forgotten.

At that moment, nothing mattered except Solaire, and Oscar would not help him by pondering about the injustices that had been inflicted against him back in Astora.

You are a true knight, Solaire.

Oscar though as he stared at Solaire’s growingly pale semblance.

You know this, right?

“Hang in there, Solaire. Your pain will be over soon, you’ll see.” Siegmeyer said as he and Oscar helped him down an old set of wooden stairs.

Solaire gave them no answer, and both knights hastened their steps, both equally worried about their mutual friend.

The stairs seemed never-ending. Oscar thought he would succumb to distress, but the sizzling of the bonfire’s embers burned away his fears.

It didn’t take long for the soothing warmth stored in the room to comfort his body. It offered him relief, but Solaire remained unresponsive and silent.

“Siegmeyer, there you are! I thought you were already gone and that you had forgotten your things here. I served myself some of that soup you prepared, I hope you don’t mind.” A man greeted them. Oscar looked at him from the corner of his eye.

A rough looking, bearded old fellow, muscular and big. He was sitting with his legs crossed right before the bonfire, holding his own Estus flask in his raised hand as if he was making a toast.

“Your friends, I assume? Well, it’s always nice to see new faces around here.”

Oscar could clearly see how the stranger’s smile disappeared as soon as his eyes inspected his face.

“A Hollow!” He stood up and glared at Oscar. His stare softened when he looked at Solaire. “His arm! Siegmeyer, what the hell happened, for Gwyn’s sake?!”

“I’ll explain later, Andre.” Siegmeyer said as he and Oscar gently laid Soilare in front of the bonfire and moved his arm as close to the flames as possible.

It took a moment for Solaire to react again. During that whole time, Oscar could feel Andre’s penetrating and distrustful eyes resting on him.

“Siegmeyer, this man—”

“He’s not Hollow.”  Siegmeyer said. “Oscar’s a brave knight, his heart and mind are sane and pure. You needn’t worry about him at all. It’s this man who now needs our help the most.”

“Aye, that arm of his is in awful shape.” Andre conceded. He knelt next to Oscar, and while he could still sense some level of wariness against him, Andre’s attention was exclusively directed at Solaire. “That damned Hellkite dragon really made a number on him. You pathetic, foolish man.”

“Shut up!” Oscar exclaimed.  Andre recoiled at the sound of his voice and jolted away from him, falling on his back. “I won’t allow you to address him that way. He’s not foolish or pathetic, he is a proud Warrior of Sunlight and a knight of Astora! If you’re not going to help him and you’ve got nothing more to offer other than some petty insults, then step aside and stay quiet.”

“Now, why we don’t we all calm down and—” Siegmeyer started, in a pitiful attempt to keep the peace.

Oscar ignored him. He stood up and stared at Andre, who looked at him from the floor with an astonished expression. Disdainfully, Oscar turned his back on him. He wouldn’t waste his time in that old fool.

Instead, he searched inside his bag for the piece of Humanity that would save Solaire’s life.

“Ah, Humanity!” Siegmeyer observed, his voice still trembling with the lingering shock Oscar’s reaction had caused in him. “Yes, well thought, Oscar. Solaire will need all the Humanity he can get. We don’t want him to go Hollow after he dies and—”

“He won’t die.” Oscar said.

“What are you saying?” Siegmeyer was perplexed. “The bonfire has already acknowledged his existance. He can now be reborn from its ashes. I don’t understand, I thought you wanted to heal his wound!”

“And I will.” Oscar continued, reaching the Humanity closer to the bonfire.

“Wait, what are you—”

“I’m kindling the bonfire. It’ll make the fire burn strongly enough to heal Solaire. This way, he doesn’t have to die.”

“But a dragon’s wound never heals!” Siegmeyer insisted, getting in Oscar’s way. “Oscar, you can’t possibly think this will work!”

“It will.” Oscar said, feeling exasperated at Siegmeyer’s defiance. It may have been well-intentioned and born out of an honest concern for Solaire, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. “Please, move aside.”

“But... but—”

Oscar was about to reinforce his statement with a much harsher and even threatening tone when a hand grabbed him tightly by the shoulder. Oscar turned his head  around right towards Andre; the neutral expression he had been trying to maintain for Siegmeyer quickly turned sour as his eyes became fixed on the elderly man.

Andre didn’t react to his defiant expression, and he merely strengthened his grasp on Oscar.

“Siegmeyer is right, Oscar.” He said, and Oscar didn’t appreciate his name being spoken so casually by a man that did not know him; the same man that had insulted Solaire. “I’ve been Undead for far too long. Trust me when I tell you that, in all my years, I have never witnessed a bonfire heal a wound inflicted by dragon’s fire, no matter how kindled it may be. You’ll only be wasting a fine piece of Humanity, and Solaire’s pain will not be any less agonizing than it is now.”

“Don’t say our names! Besides, I never asked for your advice.” Oscar tried to brush his hand off him, but Andre refused to let him go.

 Incensed by the constant confrontation, Oscar began to suspect the whole situation would descend into chaos and aggression.

He made one last attempt to keep the peace, if only for Solaire’s sake.

“A cleric from Thorolund shared this information with me. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need the guidance of neither of you.”

“You obviously do, you impudent child.” Andre said. His hand on Oscar’s shoulder became heavier, almost oppressing. He forced Oscar to turn around completely and face him. “Do you think you know better merely because some cleric shared the secret of kindling with you? Well, did he tell you that the ritual doesn’t work if it is performed by someone heavily marked by the Hollowing? It’s already difficult for a normal Undead to accomplish it; a half-Hollow man like you has no chance! Well, elite knight? Did he tell you this? Do you still think it’s a good idea? Are you still willing to risk wasting a Humanity on this fool’s errand?”

Oscar’s anger finally exploded, and it found a perfect outlet in Andre. He attempted to deliver a crushing blow to his nose. The blow would blind and disorient him long enough for Oscar to kindle the bonfire without  more of his relentless meddling.

Who did that old fool think he was?

Why did he insist in prolonging Solaire’s pain?

Did he want Solaire to go Hollow?

What made him think he knew better than Oscar?

Petrus.

The cruel and mocking sneer of the cleric numbed Oscar’s senses and changed the course of his thoughts.

What had made Oscar think Petrus had been honest with him?

What had made him trust the cleric’s empty and treacherous advice so fervently?

To add insult to injury and more confusion to his mind, Siegmeyer intervened yet again.

“Oscar, please listen to Andre. I know not exactly what you are trying to accomplish by feeding Humanity to the bonfire, but it will not work. There’s only way for Solaire to heal and you know this as well as we do. He has to die and—”

The word released Oscar from his baffled paralysis.

“No! I won’t let that happen!” Oscar managed to escape Andre’s grasp. He back away from the two traitors, keeping the Humanity close to him in case either tried to steal it from him.

Had that been their plan all along?

Yes... yes of course.

Oscar should have known it was too good to be true. No one would have aided him and Solaire so selflessly without some hidden foul play in between. Oscar had been an idiot for trusting Siegmeyer in the first place, and he had been even a bigger idiot for allowing Andre to make him doubt his judgement.

It was all a trick.

Oscar knew what he was doing. His mind was sane. The Humanity inside him was scarce but strong.  He was a sentient Undead, not a paranoid half-Hollow.

The Humanity in his hands didn’t belong to Siegmeyer, or Andre and especially not to himself.

It was Solaire’s alone.

Oscar would not allow it to be used for any other purpose that wasn’t Solaire’s healing.

“Oscar...”

“Stay back!” Oscar exclaimed just after Siegmeyer tried to take a step closer to him. “I’ll kindle this bonfire and I’ll save Solaire, I don’t care what either of you think. Thieves, you shall confuse me no longer! I will not let you take this Humanity from Solaire... I will not let him die! And if either of you tries to harm him, if you even dare to lay a finger on him, I swear I’ll kill—”

“Oscar!”

 Solaire’s shout was illuminating, and it destroyed the pulsating sense of tension among Oscar, Siegmeyer and Andre.

Without a second thought, Oscar ran pass the two other men without even looking at them. Neither tried to stop him, and they merely watched him kneel next to Solaire.

“I’m here.” Oscar said, without a trace of the anger that had taken over him seconds ago. His dispersed thoughts found a sequence again, but it was difficult to remember, even less understand, why he had allowed his emotions to get out of control in such manner.

The reaction had made sense in the moment, but now that silence and peace had returned to the scene, Oscar felt as if all had been a fever dream, a moment of madness that had been out of his control.

It scared him to think he was not as in control of himself as he had thought.

I just lost my senses for a moment... I am fine. I am sane, my Humanity is strong.

“You are right.” Solaire told him in a voice so low that it could only pass as a whisper. “I believe you, Oscar. I want to kindle this bonfire... give the Humanity to me. I’ll feed it to the fire... and then I can heal.”

“Solaire, you don’t know what you’re saying!” Siegmeyer exclaimed. “For Lord Gwyn’s sake, listen to me for a moment! You need to die, Solaire! I’m aware of how horrible it sounds, but otherwise, you’ll never get better; your pain will eventually make you go Hollow! Use that Humanity if you think you don’t have enough to endure a new death, but please, do not throw it into the fire! Andre, help me with this; make them see reason!”

“I’m afraid,” Andre said. “they already made up their minds. There’s nothing we can do, Siegmeyer. If this is truly what they wish for themselves, so be it. We’ve done all that we can for them. This is their choice, not ours.”

“But...” Siegmeyer didn’t know how else to continue, and the rest of his sentence never materialized.

Oscar, silently grateful to Andre for finally understanding and for respecting Solaire’s choice, smiled at Solaire.

His friend returned the gesture.

 Softly, Oscar picked up Solaire’s healthy arm by the wrist and put the Humanity on the palm of his hand.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. You don’t have to help me kindle the bonfire, Oscar. I can do this on my own... This injury is my responsibility. Let me do what I must in order to heal myself.”

Oscar was about to protest, but Solaire had spoken with so much confidence that to deny him would seem like an insult.

“Can you just... help me sit down? I’ll handle the rest from there.”

“Of course.” Oscar said, letting go of Solaire’s wrist.  Then, he put his hands under Solaire’s back. “On the count of three. One, two...”

It happened in an instant, far too quickly for Oscar to understand what Solaire had done until it was already too late to stop him.

Solaire pressed his hand against Oscar’s chest, right above his heart. The Humanity Oscar had so fervently protected disappeared from sight and fused with the little specks that lingered inside him.

He plunged himself backwards, as if Solaire had stabbed him with a dagger.

But the sensations the act were causing in him couldn’t have been any less painful. His mind was clearer, his nerves were soothed; he felt renewed, more alive... and enraged.

Both at himself for falling for such a trick, and at Solaire for his betrayal.

“No.”  Oscar stuttered, clenching to the silk of his tunic, right were the Humanity had touched him. “What have you done?”

He got back on his feet, his hand still clinging to his chest. He wished he knew of the dark art that allowed Humanity to be extracted. He even wished, for a cursed second of despair, that Petrus was there, so that he could perform the deed and return to Oscar the Humanity Solaire had so carelessly thrown away.

“Why, Solaire?” There was no other thing he could think of other than that simple question. “Why?”

“Because you needed it.” Solaire answered with a smile. “And also... because I want you to remain sane after I die, Oscar.”

Solaire then moved his eyes and stared directly at Siegmeyer.

Oscar felt his heart sink to his feet, and he too looked at the Catarina knight.

“Siegmeyer, I hate to ask, but... please, you know what you have to do.”

“Solaire.” Siegmeyer hesitated. Oscar thought he would reject Solaire’s petition, but his hopes burned to ashes when Siegmeyer nodded and wielded his greatsword, still wet with the Hollow he had killed before. “Very well. Your pain shall be over soon, friend.”

“No! I won’t allow any of this!” Oscar uttered, his hand already holding the handle of the coiled sword.

“Oscar... this is how it must be.” Solaire continued; his words were so weak that they could barely resonate above the sizzling of the embers. “I will be fine... I’ll be reborn. I won’t go Hollow... I promise. I’ll come back with my mind intact. Please...”

“You can’t promise that! You can’t be sure you won’t go Hollow... not after what happened!” Oscar pointed the sword at Siegmeyer as a warning. “Don’t move. I won’t tell you again.”

“Oscar, please...” Solaire said, his huffed panting betraying the level of pain he was in.

Oscar wavered, and felt trapped inside a maze where no matter what road he chose, the destination would always be failure.

“Solaire.” Oscar finally spoke, his entire body trembling. “I can’t... I don’t know what I’m—”

Before Oscar could even reconsider his actions, a couple of muscled arms grabbed him by both sides, restrained him and lifted him.

The coiled sword escaped his fingers.

“Do what needs to be done, Siegmeyer.” Andre spoke, taking Oscar with him downstairs as the knight fought desperately to break free from his crushing grip. “I’ll take care of this stubborn idiot.”

“No! Let me go!” Oscar exclaimed, but no amount of struggling was enough to escape Andre. “Solaire! Solaire!”

Their eyes met one last time.

Oscar sank into a dark, familiar feeling.

It lasted only for a second before Siegmeyer blocked their eye contact with his body, wielding his greatsword in hand, steady and prepared to fulfill Solaire’s petition.

Oscar struggled, uncaring of the damage he could inflict on Andre or on his own body with his brusque, demented movements.

“Enough, elite knight!” Andre ordered him, pressing Oscar against him with his abnormal strength. “There’s nothing you can do!”

Oscar noticed.

He noticed that Andre had not intended his statement to be a threat. Regardless of his rough treatment, Oscar was not ignorant of the heartfelt concern the old man felt for him, for whatever reason.

“This is how it must be.” His words were raw, but not barbed. They had been spoken with sympathy, meant as solace.

Oscar understood, and for a moment, he stopped struggling.

But when the memories of his departure from the Northern Asylum resurfaced, forcing him to understand than Andre’s arms felt no different than the raven’s claws as it carried him away, while the Chosen Undead was left behind to be devoured by the Hollows, Oscar’s unhinged urgency to save Solaire returned.

And any sense of peace was lost.

Death was meant to be meaningless for an Undead. It was its fatality which made it so horrifying for the living, but when such quality was trivialized, what was left to fear?

Ever since the Undead curse had finally appeared on his flesh, Solaire had not given more thought to the subject.

His new ability had fascinated him at first, and more than a curse, it had felt like a blessing.

After his first encounter with Oscar and the events at Firelink Shrine, Solaire could no longer look back at his old self without being overtaken by embarrassment.

Oscar was right.

Death was never trivial, not even for the Undead; but sometimes, it was necessary.

“Are you ready?” Siegmeyer asked. If what he was about to do conflicted him, he did not show it.

Solaire closed his eyes. He was grateful to Siegmeyer for his kindness and bravery.

But Solaire wasn’t ready. He couldn’t; not when Oscar wouldn’t stop screaming his name.

Sometimes, Oscar mistook Solaire’s name for that of his fallen friend, and he cried it with no less grief.

It pained Solaire to witness the effects his stupid mistake were having on Oscar.

Solaire had thought that the Humanity would help his friend see things clearer, that it would give Oscar the strength necessary to endure Solaire’s death, and even overcome his potential Hollowing and permanent death.

He had been an inconsiderate fool.

“Solaire?” Siegmeyer asked again.

Solaire couldn’t answer, not when Oscar’s screams kept ringing in his ears, reminding him of all the pain he had yet again inflicted on those he had tried to help.

“Solaire?”

“Chosen Undead!”

“Enough!”

Andre slammed Oscar against the floor after numerous failed attempts to calm him down with words. All the air inside his body abandoned him, and the impact almost succeeds in knocking him out.

A flashing white light blinded Oscar for a moment, but he regained his sight and senses before it could sink him deeper into unconsciousness.

The first thing he saw when the blurriness of his eyes faded was Andre’s face. He was holding Oscar down, but he did not care.

Nothing mattered for him.

Only Solaire.

The Chosen Undead.

Oscar tried to call their names again, but his voice remained trapped in his throat. One of Andre’s hands clutched to his neck almost with enough force to asphyxiate Oscar.

Oscar snarled at him, exposing his teeth as if he was a rabid dog. He clawed Andre’s arm with his gloved hands.

“Are you Hollow?” Andre asked Oscar, not caring in the slightest about the small injuries he was leaving all over his forearm. “Are you a mindless Hollow?”

The questions made no sense for Oscar, but Andre wouldn’t stop pestering him.

“Are you lost to madness and grief? Was the Humanity Solaire gifted to you useless? Is this how you want your existence to end?” Andre grabbed one of Oscar’s hands when he tried to attack his face. Andre slammed it against the floor, right next to Oscar’s face. “Is this your fate, Oscar?”

Even if Andre’s hand wasn’t pressing his throat, Oscar wouldn’t have answered.

The question broke through his defenses and shattered his delirium.

For the first time ever since he had lost sight of Solaire, a semblance of lucidity enlightened him and casted away the darkness of his grief, both old and new.

“Or are you a knight?” Andre continued. “A knight capable of enduring the burden of the Undead curse. A knight capable of trusting the strength and respecting the decision of Solaire, a proud Warrior of Sunlight... a knight of Astora, an Undead warrior just like you!”

Oscar’s limbs lost all their resistance. Andre kept holding him back against the floor, but Oscar could have sworn he too had relaxed his grip on him.

“You carry an incredibly pain within you. Do you think I don’t notice? I can see it in your reactions, I can hear it in your voice, destroyed by the Hollowing as it is... but you cannot let all this overcome you. You have to be strong and accept Solaire’s choice, Oscar, no matter what the results may be. You are an elite knight; wiser, stronger, more experienced, and I know that, in your heart, you wish for nothing else than to save your friend.”

Andre let go of Oscar’s neck.

His breathing became whole again, but he still made no sound.

Instead, he stared at the elderly man, who looked at him with a soft, almost fatherly expression.

“He is Undead, Oscar. As are you, I, Siegmeyer and everyone else in this land.  Death is our curse, and from our curse we cannot escape. It catches up to us and steals from us, and one day, it will reduce us all to Hollows.”

How cruel of him, to remind Oscar of what he already knew.

“But that’s a future that could still be far away for you if you choose to, Oscar.” Andre continued, his eyes glistening. “Death is our curse, Hollowing is our fate; but right now, being strong enough to endure all this and having faith in Solaire’s willpower is your choice, Oscar... Just as it was Solaire’s choice to give you that Humanity and deciding his own way to heal his broken body.”

Andre took a deep breath before he could continue.

“If you really want to help him, then have faith in him, Oscar. Don’t fall to despair and let old wounds consume you. Trust Solaire and in your own strength. If my long existence has taught me anything, it’s that in this Undead life, faith and hope are no less powerful than Humanity. Hang on to them. Right now, there’s nothing else you can do. And that’s not a bad thing, Oscar.”

The silence that followed was brittle, tense, but also appeasing.

Oscar allowed it to remain unbroken, and when it finally came undone, it was not by his screams, but by the echo of a sword hitting the wooden floor from upstairs.

“You are not Hollow, Oscar. You are an Undead knight, just like Solaire.” Andre said while Oscar’s body and soul reacted to the incident that had just occurred above them. “You are both strong enough to overcome this. I know you are.”

Solaire had wished for it, but a surge of concern surpassed even the pain of his wound once Oscar's screams ceased.

"Do not worry." Siegmeyer told him. "Andre would never hurt him. A kind heart beats underneath that bundle of muscles, I assure you. Oscar is safe, Solaire."

Solaire nodded. His relief eased his soul, but it also allowed for the pain of his arm to be felt in all its intensity.

"Siegmeyer."

He couldn't say more.

There was no need to, for Siegmeyer understood his cue.

"This is not farewell, my friend." Siegmeyer lifted his greatsword.

Solaire felt as if he was seeing death right in the eye for the first time.

"Wait." He said in the last second. "Just a moment, Siegmeyer. Just a moment."

The Catarina knight complied in silence.

Solaire closed his eyes and rested his arms to his sides. His Humanity and heart beat together in unison.

This is not my end. I'll not go Hollow. I'll come back, just like I promised.

Oscar had been right yet again. Solaire had no way to justify his promise, but he trusted he would.

Hope had never felt so weak, but it was all Solaire had left, and he hung on to it.

"I'm ready."

Siegmeyer nodded, and though Solaire couldn't see him behind his eyelids, he did hear the whistle of his greatsword as it was lifted upwards once more.

"I'll see you again soon, my friend." Siegmeyer said. "We all will be waiting here for your return."

That simple image fueled Solaire's soul.

It stayed with him until the blade came down and ended it all.

Chapter Text

To persevere to the very end

To give succor to those in need

To speak the truth at all times

To always keep faith

To live by honor and die for selfless glory

Never to abandon your fellow knights

Never to forsake the defenseless

To despise envy and wicked ambition

And above all, to remain forever strong.

An Astoran elite knight must never falter.

An elite knight is a beacon of strength and bravery.

No matter what tragedy befalls him, an elite knight shall accept and overcome hardship with stoic silence.

He shall never burden others with his grief.

Astorans have long been called sentimental, but this shall only be true for commoners and lower-class knights.

Elite knights must walk a different path.

Elite knights endure, elite knights never yield.

Elite knights accomplish, elite knights succeed, without fear, complaints, or tears.

To fail to do so is to fail as knights and men.

Weakness and vulnerability are luxuries exclusive to the powerless and the meek.

They are not the traits of a true elite knight.

For an elite knight, death shall always be preferable than to succumb to the flaws of one’s Astoran heart.

The rhythmic clinking of the hammer clashing against the anvil had long stopped being unnerving.  It was convenient, in its own way.

If it wasn’t for it, Oscar and Andre would have been immersed in an uncomfortable silence that neither would know how to fill.

While the blacksmith was lost in his craft, Oscar had sought comfort and refuge inside his broken memories, hoping to come across images of better times, but he had only stumbled upon the code of the Astoran elite knights.

Out of all the memories that could have been spared, why had this one survived?

Had he really treasured his status as an elite knight more than his family and friends?

Those who had been dear to him were only faceless silhouettes. They existed somewhere inside his mind, but they had no identity or meaning attached to them.

Yet, the elite knight code had remained; clear, legible, whole. It wasn’t until Oscar remembered it word by word that he realized how rooted its teachings were to the core of his very being.

Even when he thought he had forgotten about it, he had continued to act accordingly to it with blind devotion.

And now that it had resurfaced to the top of his mind, it served as a perpetual reminder of the gravity of his faults and sins.

Oscar had tried to silence his ears to the cruel voice of the code, but it was futile, no less impossible than ordering his heart to stop beating.

How?

Oscar pressed his forehead against his folded arms, resting right on top of one of his knees.

How can I forgive myself when I can’t stop failing?

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes.

I couldn’t even save you, Solaire. And now... I don’t even know if you’ll come back. I promised you I would keep you safe. I was meant to protect you. It was my wish, my duty. You trusted me, and I failed you.

Oscar lifted his head slightly and covered his eyes with his hand.

Just like I failed the code.

His heartbeat throbbed in his temples and throat.

Just like I failed myself.

“Are you alright?” Andre ventured; his voice was briefly preluded by the pause of the ringing of the hammer.

Oscar reacted by looking directly at the blacksmith. His semblance of sympathy and concern nullified Oscar’s grief and worries and transformed them into indifference.

A cold, convincing indifference that would keep his feelings concealed and safe.

“Yes.” Oscar answered dryly, unsure of where exactly he stood with Andre.

Oscar had been unnecessarily hostile towards him and Siegmeyer. He had threatened them and accused them of treason, and he had come close to attack them.

Or worse.

Oscar knew he had only done so to protect Solaire, but that didn’t make his actions feel any more justified or acceptable. 

He had acted like a savage, like the half-Hollow he was meant to be; and for that, he had no excuse.

“Andre.” Oscar swallowed. He knew it was necessary for him to say it; after all he had done, it was the least he could do; it was also what he needed to do the most. “What I said back there, the way I acted...”

Andre, who had been about to continue with his work, put down the hammer on the anvil and stared at Oscar.

“I apologize.”

When the words finally escaped his mouth, Oscar discovered it had not only been his foolish pride which had made the process so difficult.

A part of him had dreaded to hear Andre’s response.

“Yes, well... You did get a bit out of control. I thought you had gone Hollow for a moment. And these scratches you left in me?” Andre said, lifting his right arm. “I’m sure they are gonna leave some scars. Ah, it ain’t so bad at all! It could be a good excuse to finally get my arm tattooed. I’ve been considering it for a few decades, you know?  I just hope I can find a decent Undead artist around here. And if I don’t, I can always ask my dear friend sir Onion!”

He punched his thigh and laughed with all the power of his lungs.  He looked up, expecting to hear a reaction from Siegmeyer from upstairs, but he got no answer.

He then looked at Oscar again, but the knight gave him no reaction other than a puzzled look and an arched eyebrow.

“Oh, sod off.” Andre said as he grabbed his hammer again. “You’re no fun! You know, when someone tells a joke, the least you can do is fake a chuckle, Oscar. Just a tiny snort, or a subtle smile... anything to not make the other feel like an absolute—woah, easy there!”

Andre left behind his weapons and anvil and quickly made his way to Oscar. He managed to reach him just as Oscar’s balance failed him. Though a part of Oscar was grateful for the help, he also resented Andre for his selfless assistance.

Now that he was so close to him, there was no way Oscar could escape to the bonfire upstairs.

“I know you want to stretch your legs, but don’t be reckless, Oscar.” Andre told him as he helped him sit down on the cold stone floor again. “It’s always best to take it easy after being infused with Humanity. It’s not exactly an easy process for one’s mind and soul. Rest for a while more; if my conversation is annoying you, I can be quiet if you want... it’s obvious my sense of humor is not as free of rust as my weapons.”

“That’s not the case.” Oscar reassured the old blacksmith. “But I would still appreciate it if you helped me get to the bonfire, Andre. The closer I am to the flame, the faster I will heal. I thank you for allowing me to remain by your side after all I’ve done, but I think it would be best for both of us if you took me upstairs and—”

“No.” The refusal was so definite and final that Oscar had not time to contradict Andre, and he gave him no chance to do so either. “I cannot let you get close to it, not until Solaire is reborn from its ashes. It’s for your own good, trust me. Right now, you need to rest, and staring anxiously into the bonfire as you wait for Solaire’s return will not do you any favors. Just take it easy for now, Oscar. Clear your mind. Give your soul the chance to heal.”

With that said, Andre simply turned his back to Oscar. He returned to his usual place behind the anvil and continued with his work.

“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Andre.” Oscar told him, unable to contain his tongue. “I was asking for your help. I’m still going upstairs to the bonfire, whether you want it or not.”

He took a deep breath and pressed his back against the wall, preparing his legs to carry his weight.

“Stop it, Oscar.” Andre warned him, adding more power to his statement with a slam of his hammer. Sparks emerged from the clash of the hammer against the sword and the anvil. “I know that elite knights always feel entitled to impose their wills without anyone opposing them, but we are not in Astora, and I care not about your former rank at all. None of that matters here in Lordran, so you’d better cease with this lofty attitude before you get yourself hurt. Or someone else.”

The sharp accusation kept Oscar glued to the floor.

“Go to hell.” Oscar hissed, too angry to listen to reason, and too hurt to remain silent. “You know nothing about me.”

“Perhaps, but I too am Astoran, and I know my fair share about the elite knights. You are all the same. That godforsaken code really transforms the lot of you into something dreadful. Just look at yourself.”

“I do, all the time.” Oscar chuckled with disdain, not directed at Andre, but at himself. “Trust me.”

“Then why do you insist on behaving in such way when it causes nothing but pain for you and others?” Andre exclaimed, punching the anvil with his fist. The impact resonated across the room, with no less intensity it would have done if it had been born from the hammer. “Why do you cling to it still, Oscar?”

“You may be Astoran, Andre, but you are not an elite knight. If you truly knew of our code, you’d see how flawless it is. Strict, yes; but also necessary and pertinent. If it wasn’t for it, Astora would have disappeared soon after the Dark Beast attacked.”

“Spare me the history lesson, child. I was there when the monster assaulted our homeland. I know more of it than you think, just like I know how the codes of the elite knights changed afterwards. And it wasn’t for the best.”

Oscar glared at Andre, as if he was challenging him. The fact Andre was old enough to have lived in the flesh the assault of the Dark Beast had shocked him momentarily,  but Oscar wasn’t going to let Andre think his age made him any wiser than him, especially not when it came to the lifestyle and honor of the elite knights.

Even if Oscar no longer considered himself worthy of being called one, he held a deep respect for his former rank. Elite knights were not perfect, and perhaps they were far from being the heroes they thought they were, but neither were they dreadful nor vile.

“Astora survived because of the strength and courage of the elite knights.” Oscar said, feeling a warm sensation of honor burning in his chest. “They carried the burden others couldn’t. They sacrificed everything to ensure the survival of those who were too frail to defend themselves... and they continue to do so, to this very day.”

“That they do, and for that, I admire them.” Andre replied, softening his voice as if trying to give praise to Oscar.

Oscar didn’t accept it, and he regretted his choice of words. They had made him look as if he was hungry for flattery and recognition.

Am I not?

Oscar’s eyelids rose slightly at the thought.

Wasn’t glory one of the main reasons he had coveted the idea of being the Chosen One foretold by the prophecy?

I’m a different man now.

Oscar frowned, sharpening his eyes before they could betray the moment of doubt that had clouded his mind.

“But the price, Oscar.” Andre continued. “The toll those codes take on all of you, that’s what changes you. I know it well... I know what it demands from you, of how it indoctrinates you to look down at your own humanity as a weakness, as a flaw to be ashamed of, all while forcing you to bear everyone’s burdens as your own. Always strong, always in silence.”

“And we... they do so with pride and honor. It’s their duty and their privilege.”

“And also, their greatest flaw.” Andre finished for him. “Oscar, do you think you are the first Undead elite knight I’ve come across in this land? Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not so special. Now, don’t take what I’m about to tell you as a personal attack. See it as a warning, if you may; as a piece of advice from your much older fellow Astoran.”

“You can talk if you want, but I will not listen.”

“Unless you have mastered the rather strange ability of deafening your ears at will, I’m afraid you have no choice.”

Andre coughed and spat on the floor before he could continue. Oscar looked away, firmly decided to not look at the old fool at all, no matter what he said.

“You are not everyone’s savior, Oscar.” Andre said. “You cannot save everybody; you are not meant to. The deaths you witness, unless they are caused willingly by your own hand, are not your responsibility nor your failures. You are a skilled knight, but you are also just a man... just a pitiful human with a flawed heart; you are not an emotionless god nor an undefeatable hero, and that’s not something you should be ashamed of, no matter what your codes say.”

Oscar remained silent, still not daring to look at Andre.

 If only the blacksmith knew how deeply his words were cutting. He felt as if he had struck him with his hammer, but Andre’s weapon had remained untouched on the anvil.

“Many elite knights never accept this. They continue to play their role, and it doesn’t take long for them to succumb to the horrors of Lordran.”

“Do not talk ill of them.” Oscar said, his face still turned to the opposite side. “An elite knight’s glory and successes are never his to claim... we are all nameless warriors with a single duty: to protect the defenseless and share our strength with others. Nothing else matters to us.”

“Oscar, I’m not mocking the elite knights at all. I am aware that they mean well, and that most of them have pure intentions. I know their sacrifices and deeds are not just meant to impress others and pander to their own egos. They truly think they are meant to be the hero of the people, that they are special, unique... as if everyone’s fates depended on their actions.”

Andre paused for a moment, perhaps expecting Oscar would look at him.  After a moment of fruitless waiting, he continued. “But this is not true, it’s not how the world works, especially not Lordran; so please, do not make the same mistake as those who came before you, Oscar. It will bring you nothing but unnecessary sorrow, and it could make you go Hollow, more than you already are.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” 

Oscar had heard enough. He turned his head towards Andre. He was sick of the blacksmith’s pretentious wisdom; the sooner he demanded a direct answer from him, the quicker he would shut him up.

“Am I meant to just stand still as those around me perish? Am I to admit that nothing I do matters at all? And then what? Do you want me to pat myself on the shoulder afterwards and say ‘it was not my fault, there was nothing I could have done anyway’? That’s too convenient, isn’t it? It almost sounds like the perfect excuse for those too cowardly to try to make a real change in the world, and would rather rot away in their own meaningless pastimes.”

“You twist my words and try to use them against me. I expected better from you, Oscar.” Andre said.

To Oscar’s surprise, he didn’t sound angry or offended; if anything, he sounded disappointed.

"I never said you were meant to remain idle or that you should give up on your own dreams and ambitions. If helping those in need is your real call, then do it, Oscar. Help your friends, aid those too weak to save themselves, be the guide of the less experienced... do anything that makes you feel like you still have a purpose, but don’t be so vain to think you are responsible for everyone else’s happiness or survival. You already did that with Solaire, and it almost ended up with both of you going Hollow; you out of despair for not being able to keep him alive, and Solaire out of the agony that both his wound and your stubbornness caused him.”

“I was helping my friend!” Oscar exclaimed. “Before we arrived here, Solaire almost went Hollow... it happened not long ago, and he still hadn’t recovered completely from it. That’s why I wanted to keep him alive no matter what. I was afraid that if I allowed him to die again, he wouldn’t be able to—"

Oscar drew a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. “You make it sound as if I was a monster. As if I had enjoyed watching him suffer or as if my pride was more important than his life... Andre, I could never do that to Solaire or anyone else. I am not that kind of man anymore.”

“Anymore?” Andre asked. He was not being accusatory, only curious, but Oscar still felt as if he was being pointed out for his past deeds at the Asylum.

Oscar did not find the will to continue. He wanted to leave the question forever unanswered.

But to do so would be cowardly.

“I’ve done horrible things, Andre. And I did them to the person that least deserved it.”

He said quietly with a controlled voice.

“And it scares me, because If I dared to hurt an innocent that was only trying to help me, then what kind of man I really was back in Astora? I can’t remember, but I couldn’t have been good. I just couldn’t. Solaire... he believes I’m a good person, but he’s too blinded by my former status as an elite knight to see the truth. You are right, Andre; I’m not a hero... I’m just a pathetic, selfish man that was given a second chance. That’s why, even if I’m not worthy of being an elite knight, I want to be worthy of the sacrifices others have made for me. I want to be a better man. I want to be the man Solaire and the Chosen Undead thought I was.”

“It’s alright, Oscar.” Andre said mercifully. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. All Undead have a past, and you don’t have to share yours with me if you don’t want to. However, I want you to remember what I’ve told you. Lordran is a merciless place, and we Undead are cursed.  Even if Solaire does come back this time, there will come a time when he won’t. Him, you, me, Siegmeyer, and everyone else that has been branded by the Darksign will one day go Hollow... and there’s nothing you can do about it; but it’s not your fault, do you understand? No one’s fortune is your responsibility or your burden to bear.”

Oscar didn’t react, but he did keep Andre’s words inside him.

A brittle silence followed; while it wasn’t uncomfortable, it felt unfinished, like an abruptly stopped conversation.

Andre once again took the matter into his hands and eased the tension between them with the sound of his hammer.

“I disagree.” The blacksmith suddenly commented, just as Oscar was starting to believe there was nothing left to say.

“About what?” Oscar ventured, with the faint hope that a casual conversation could be born from the question.

“About you.” Andre lifted the sword from the anvil; it was an Astoran straight sword, identical to the one Oscar had lost at the Asylum. He gently put it next to the rest of his finished weapons and then placed Oscar’s crest shield on the anvil, assessing the damage and figuring out the best way to restore it. “I don’t know you, that is true; but from what I’ve seen so far, I find it difficult to imagine you were half as bad as you think you were.”

“Like you said, you don’t know me.” Oscar answered, his voice free of animosity.

“I’ve met some awful people in all my time here, Oscar. The worst of scum.” Andre said, polishing the crest shield. “And you’re not one of them. Not at all.”

Oscar nodded at the assertion. He did so to inform Andre he had heard him, not to imply he agreed with him.

Andre replied in the same manner. He was about to return his attention to the shield on the anvil when the sizzling murmur of the bonfire upstairs intensified.

He and Oscar looked up at the same time.

A thump on the wooden floor followed, together with Siegmeyer’s newly awakened and joyful voice.

“Hmm? Hmm... yes, there’s no doubt about it.” Siegmeyer announced after a long and thoughtful examination. “This shield is indeed half melted!”

Before Solaire could say anything, Siegmeyer handed the shield to him. “Here you go!”

“Thank you.” Solaire grabbed the shield with his now perfectly healed hand. He secured it on his back and smiled back at Siegmeyer.

A foolish gesture, given that his heaume concealed his face from his friend.

“Well, I believe that’s the last of them.” Siegmeyer stretched his back until it cracked. “We’ve already found your helmet, your sword, and your shield... was there something else you left behind, Solaire? Come now, there’s no need to be shy! I swear on my honor as a knight of Catarina that I shall not rest until I have helped you recover all your belongings!”

“No, that was all.”

“Are you sure, Solaire? You sound upset. Hmm... Wait, I know. I was too brusque with your helmet, wasn’t I? Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have picked it up from its feather! I have failed you, I truly have.”

“Oh dear, I’m not upset or angry about that at all!” Solaire quickly said before Siegmeyer could start with one of his overly exaggerated apologies. “I’m just a bit tired from... you know, having raised from the ashes.”

The incident was nothing short of embarrassing for him, and had it not been for his heaume, Siegmeyer would have seen the flush of blood that turned Solaire’s face crimson.

“Oh, yes. Understandable.” Siegmeyer replied, his voice back to normal, free of any dramatic tone. “Well, in that case, let’s head back. Now that we've retrieved all your equipment, Andre can fix it up for you. He can be quite a stingy bastard with his fares, but his work is worth it. Don’t worry friend, your shield will be as good as new soon.”

He gave Solaire a pat on the back before continuing his way towards the old church. He put his greatsword on his shoulder and began to whistle, completely lost in the calmness of his stroll.

Solaire doubted Siegmeyer would have noticed his absence if he had hadn’t called out for him before he got too far away.

“Wait!”

“Hmm?” Siegmeyer turned around. “Oh... Oh, Solaire!”

He ran towards him, his armor pouncing over his body at his every movement.

“What is it? Can’t you walk? Yes, of course. It’s only natural you’re still exhausted. Being reborn is never easy!” Siegmeyer turned his back to Solaire and knelt in front of him, much to Solaire’s confusion. “Hop on, friend! There’s nothing to be ashamed of. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been carried around like this thousands of times, and not once have I felt embarrassed because of it. I’m not sure my wife and daughter share the sentiment, though...”

“Siegmeyer, I don’t want to go back.”

Solaire spoke before he could regret it or lost the courage to say it out loud. Siegmeyer slowly stood up and faced Solaire, his head slightly tilted, his round helmet touching the plate of his shoulder.

He grabbed his helmet and removed the upper part, exposing his face to Solaire for the first time. Solaire didn’t know how to explain it, but Siegmeyer looked just as he had imagined him.

“Why not?” he inquired, his brushy eyebrows joined in a frown. “Oh, I see. Solaire, I assure you that neither I nor Andre think less of you because of your death! By the Lords, we are all Undead here, aren’t we? We wouldn’t be doing justice to the title if we didn’t die every now and then.”

He laughed, in the same boisterous manner so proper of the people of Catarina. Solaire tried to join him, but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle, not without it sounding exceedingly fake. Siegmeyer eventually calmed down after noticing Solaire’s unchanging mood.

With a more serious tone, he added, “It’s not about that, is it?”

“No, not really. I’m ashamed for having died a death so unnecessary, but it’s not yours or Andre’s judgement which worries me.”

“I find that a bit offensive... but quite understandable at the same time.” Siegmeyer said, putting his greatsword on the floor together with the upper half of his helmet. He folded his arms. “Hmm... does it have to do with Oscar, then?”

Solaire didn’t answer, but his silence was everything Siegmeyer needed to know he was correct.

“Hmm, yes. I can see why you don’t want to meet him again. No wonder you were so eager to leave the church as soon as you were reborn! Oscar is quite the strict and ruthless man, isn’t he? Now, I don’t mean to be unfair to him, but I too would be afraid of his reaction if I were you.”

“Oh, no. He’s not ruthless at all.  On the contrary, he is selfless and very understanding, if a bit stubborn. Very stubborn, but he is a good man.”

“A good man can still be strict to a fault; but maybe this is to be expected from an elite knight. Judging by the crest on his shield and tunic, he is one, isn’t he?  I must confess I have never been too fond of them. They are so overbearing and relentless. I’m sure they mean well, but— Oh, look at me! Rambling and badmouthing your fellow Astoran! I’m sorry Solaire; my thoughts have a will of their own.”

“You are right.” Solaire agreed, removing his helmet as well. “I don’t have the best of experiences with elite knights either, but Oscar is Oscar.”

“Yes, of course.” Siegmeyer looked down for a second. “Forgive me, Solaire. I should know better than to judge someone’s character for something as irrelevant as their rank. Perhaps I am being too harsh with him. He was a bit out of control, but he was genuinely worried about you, Solaire. I’m glad you managed to find such a loyal a friend in this cruel land... other than me, of course!”

“I am lucky indeed to have found such brave and trusty companions.” Solaire smiled. It wasn’t that he had never appreciated his friends, but it wasn’t until then that he realized how fortunate he had been for having found people like Oscar, Siegmeyer and Andre in a land where people like Patches and Petrus also existed.

“You flatter me!” Siegmeyer said humbly, though Solaire could see how pleased he actually was with the compliment. “In that case, let’s go back! I’m sure Oscar is eager to see—”

“No.” Solaire said, no less affected by the whiplash of his tone. “I can’t go back, Siegmeyer. I cannot go back and face Oscar, not after proving I’m not worthy of his time.”

“What?” Siegmeyer folded his arms again. “Hmm... I can’t say I am understanding what you are trying to say, Solaire. First, you claim you appreciate Oscar as a friend; but then, you say you don’t want to see him again! Because you are not worthy of his time? Such nonsense! Did he ever tell you this?”

“No, but—”

“Did he make you feel that way?”

“No! I mean... perhaps a little, but I know he was just trying to protect me.  I see that clearly now.”

“Then? What’s the real reason, Solaire?”

“I’m an idiot, Siegmeyer.” Solaire replied, with an uncharacteristic harshness in his voice that caught Siegmeyer off guard. “That’s the reason why I died! It was mere luck I didn’t drag Oscar together with me. If I had acted like a real knight in the first place and not like some awestruck squire trying to impress a lord, none of this would have happened.”

“Calm down, Solaire.” Siegmeyer spoke with more authority than before. Unlike Oscar’s, his voice was more tender, but not less imposing. “I won’t be able to understand you unless you explain everything to me.”

He sat down on the floor, the same spot where Solaire had been about to be killed by a Hollow. He crossed his legs and spread his arm forward. “Sit with me and tell me everything. Don’t you worry, I won’t’ fall asleep this time.”

Solaire obeyed, greatly relieved and thankful to Siegmeyer for his willingness to hear him out.

He told him everything; from all that had happened in Firelink Shrine to the moment the Hellkite dragon had almost burned them down to ashes.

Siegmeyer listened in silence, and his occasional comments and question were quick and simple, easily answered with a word or two.

Once Solaire was finished, he felt lighter and more focused, but to his chagrin, he realized his reluctance to meet Oscar again had only slightly diminished.

“Hmm, I see.” Siegmeyer put a hand under his chin and pondered for a long time. “So Oscar doesn’t know you’ve lost all your miracles?”

“No. I wanted to tell him before we left Firelink Shrine, but I couldn’t. I did not want to burden him with my problems. I was meant to be his travelling companion, not a dead weight for him.”

“You were careless, Solaire.” Siegmeyer stated.

It was well deserved and fair, but Solaire still felt a deep sting at the pointing of his mistakes. He said nothing and accepted the reprimand with an absolute and respectful silence.

 “If Oscar is disappointed in you, it wouldn’t be without reason. Not only did you not let him know of your lack of miracles, but you allowed your enthusiasm to blind you to the lethal dangers of this land... just as it blinded you to the other path you could have taken to reach the parish. The lower passage under the bridge. Had you taken this road, the dragon would not have been able to harm you.”

“What?” Solaire couldn’t stop the question from escaping his lips.

“On the right side of the bridge. A set of stairs. You didn’t see them, did you?”

Solaire’s guilt and shame for his foolishness reached a whole new level. Not only his death and the situation he had put Oscar through had been unnecessary, it had also been completely avoidable.

Did Oscar know this? Had he seen the optional path, but had decided to keep silent about it so that Solaire wouldn’t feel like even more of a fool?

That most probably had been the case. Though strict and authoritative, Oscar was not cruel. It would be a lot like him to keep such details secret from Solaire in order to not make him feel incompetent or downright stupid.

Is this why he also never said anything about my skills? It’s not that he’s not impressed by them... but rather that he is so utterly embarrassed by my display that he prefers to say nothing at all?

“And about the fact he has never commented about your skills... that’s not his responsibility, Solaire. Receiving praise is a wonderful thing for a knight, don’t get me wrong, but it shouldn’t be the main reason behind our actions. It’s not a fair thing to do to yourself, either. Do your skills and prowess mean nothing to you unless they are acknowledged by someone else? What about you? Do you really think so little of your own opinion?”

“Oscar... he actually called me an outstanding knight. Sure, it was before he even saw me in a proper fight, but still, he did.” Solaire reminisced.

“And I’m sure he meant it. I doubt he is the kind of man that goes around throwing meaningless compliments to everyone he meets. You have his approval, Solaire. Do you think he would allow you to accompany him otherwise?”

“No.” Solaire replied.

“Then, why—”

“Because no one else had ever said something similar to me before. I never thought I would receive such praise, even less from an elite knight. It felt good, to finally have my skills recognized. And I guess...”

Solaire couldn’t bring himself to finish.  It was unnecessary. There was no doubt Siegmeyer had understood.

It was childish, the whole thing. Solaire had always known it, but now that he had recapitulated everything out loud, it was all the more obvious; still, the need for  further recognition had also been a natural reaction of his heart.

He was vain, in a way all knights were. Solaire had always thought this aspect of his personality was faint and under his complete control; he never would have thought he could be so easily overcome by it, especially not because of a single compliment.

“I was weak. I let it go to my head.” He admitted to Siegmeyer. “What kind of knight am I?”

“Of the kind that makes mistakes. In other words, you are no different than the rest.” Siegmeyer replied even though Solaire had not expected an answer. “Oh my friend, you are being awfully hard on yourself! Yes, you were careless, immature even, but that doesn’t mean you’ve failed as a knight. Just be sure to learn from this and do better next time. It really is that simple.”

“If that’s the case, then why I have not improved after all the mistakes I’ve made?” Solaire asked, his eyes fixed on the floor. “If what you say was really so simple, then I would be the most lethal and skilled of knights by now.”

“I said it was simple, not that it was easy. And again, I think you are being unfair to yourself. If you truly had never gotten better or learned from your previous failures, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Siegmeyer patted Solaire’s head. The gesture made him feel like a child being comforted by his father.

“Keep your mistakes in mind, not as mementos of your failures, but as reminders of how you can do better. I’m sure you already know all this. You are, after all, a full-fledged knight, and a Warrior of Sunlight too! You merely were in need of some chiding... as we all are, from time to time, and I’m no exception. My wife and daughter would agree on this, I’m sure.”

Siegmeyer laughed again. This time, Solaire joined him, only with a subtle chuckle that was easily drowned by the other’s cackle, but that was still genuine and heartfelt

“So,” Siegmeyer said as soon as his laughter ceased.  He put the upper half of his helmet on and picked up his greatsword. He stood up and offered his hand to Solaire, “are you ready to go back now? Andre is eager to meet you.”

Slowly, Solaire raised his hand towards Siegmeyer’s. The Catarina knight grabbed his hand before Solaire could hesitate and helped him up.

“And I know Oscar is waiting for you too.”

The battle was over. The headless demon had been a greater challenge than Oscar had expected, but he had come out victorious.

Yet, for some reason, his victory felt empty and unfulfilling.

He swung his new Astoran straight sword to clean it off from the demon’s disgusting grime. Andre had done a marvelous work. The weapon was light, its edges sharp and strong. It was lethal despite its unimpressive appearance.

It had not been easy for Oscar to convince the blacksmith to allow him to take the sword, but in the end, Andre had agreed to it, but only under the condition that Oscar would also take a shield with him, even if it wasn’t his trusted crest shield.

It was a small condition; one Oscar had no problem in conceding. He had picked a sturdy wooden shield; then, he had gone to face the headless demon in the hall just in front of Andre’s workshop. Though the blacksmith had opposed the idea at first, he had eventually allowed Oscar to do as he wished.

Perhaps he had concluded that keeping a restless Oscar sitting in one place against his will for too long was far more counterproductive than letting him blow off some steam in battle.

Or maybe he had just gotten sick of Oscar’s headstrong manners.

Oscar wasn’t sure, and at that moment, he didn’t care.

He had thought everything would seem clearer after the thrill of battle, but he felt no less flustered and frustrated than before. His mind had found little peace in the defeat of the monster.

Instead, all his thoughts were still fixed in how much Solaire’s reaction had upset him.

After his revival, he had not wished to see Oscar again. Siegmeyer had tried to soften the matter, claiming that Solaire was quite worried about his lost equipment, and that he wanted to retrieve it before he did anything else.

A sensible choice, one that would have deceived Oscar if he didn’t’ know Solaire so well.

It was painfully obvious to Oscar that it was all only an excuse to prolong their meeting. It was also a confirmation of his fears.

Solaire deeply resented him.

Oscar couldn’t blame him.

He had treated him as his squire, not as his fellow knight; and what was worse, he had forced him to endure an excruciating amount pain for far longer than necessary.

It had been only because of Solaire’s strength of will that he had been able to keep the Hollowing at bay. Oscar had not helped the situation in any way; on the contrary, he had unnecessarily complicated everything.

In his blind need to keep Solaire safe, he had almost made him lose his mind to the pain.

Andre was right about everything. Oscar could finally accept it now.

He felt humbled, and for a moment, humiliated, but the latter sentiment quickly faded from his heart; Oscar only wished Solaire would grant him the chance to apologize.

He looked at the dead creature before it faded away into nothingness. It left behind a piece of titanite. Oscar picked it up and wondered if it could serve as a peace offering for Solaire.

I cannot stay here and just wait for him.

Oscar put away the rare material on his bag.

I have to go to him and apologize. I have to take this matter into my own hands... and accept the consequences. If I can’t face my friend, how can I expect to confront the dangers of this land?

It was settled.

Oscar took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it.  

Strange, how he was far more nervous about reuniting with Solaire than he had ever been during his battle against the faceless demon.

He had just regained a sense of peace when the echo of the steps behind reached him.

“Alright, alright.” Oscar said, mentally rolling his eyes. “I’ll go back now, Andre. You don’t have to drag me there yourself. One time was enough.”

“Oh, well... yes, I can see where you're coming from, Oscar. I too would not like Andre to carry me around like a sack of seeds. With those arms of his, I’d be scared he’d snapped me in half by accident.”

Oscar felt as if all his insides were pulled down to the floor. He turned around, and Solaire greeted him with a timid smile. He was playing with his hands, rubbing them endlessly.

“But he’s not a bad guy at all, is he? And he’s from Astora too! What are the odds?”

Solare laughed under his breath. Not unaware of how uncomfortable his friend was feeling, Oscar forced himself to smile. Once a new silence started to brew between them, Oscar decided to keep the conversation alive.

“Did you manage to find all your equipment?”

“Yes. Siegmeyer helped me. Andre is repairing it right now. He said my sword and heaume are easy work... my shield, on the other hand, will take a bit more of time. He also said such work wouldn’t be cheap; but that’s alright. I have enough souls to pay him.”

“He’s not the most generous of blacksmiths, is he? With his fares, one would think he crafts his weapons for the gods themselves. Perhaps we should persuade him to give us a special discount exclusive to Astorans.”

“That sounds tempting, but it wouldn’t be fair for Siegmeyer, would it?”

“Well, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

“Oscar!”

“Alright, alright. We’ll pay him like the honest and rightful Undead we are.”

A shared laughter. Gentle, brief, but also calming.

It was Solaire who spoke again, and Oscar could guess by his expression what he intended to say.

Oscar thought for a second of stopping him, and to tell him that he had no need at all to apologize.

He couldn’t.

He didn’t blame Solaire, but neither he considered fair to deny him the chance to express his regrets.

Oscar would not have liked it if Solaire had played that same card on him; he would have felt as if he was being patronized, not understood.

Solaire was a knight, in no way inferior to him, regardless of the ranks they had been assigned back in Astora. It was about time Oscar treated him as such.

He would hear him out, respectfully and in silence, and only after Solaire had finished would Oscar proceed with his own apology.

Solaire began to talk.

At first, Oscar worried about the outcome that would result from their conversation, but he vanished that fear.

He could only hope it would all turn out fine.

He believed it would.

“Are they ready?”

“Aye. An Astoran armor and crest shield, just like those worn and wielded by the elite knights of old.”

“Marvelous work. Your craft is impeccable, worth every soul you demand for it.”

She spread her arms and waited for the old blacksmith to handed over to her the equipment. The man however, stood idly by, staring at the armor and the shield with a wistful look in his eyes.

“Is something the matter?”

“No... I’m fine. Forgive me, lady.” The blacksmith gave her the garments and the shield. He wiped a tear off his eyes with the blackened thumb of his glove. “I was merely remembering a friend I met long ago, that’s all.”

"Do not be ashamed of your feelings. A prominent sentimentality was, after all, one of Astora's most laudable traits, for both the nation itself and its people. It should not be a source of shame, especially not for a native Astoran such as you, master Andre."

She left before the blacksmith could ask her anything, hoping that her words had been of some comfort for the old man.

A trait born from an abundance of emotion;  an affluence of emotion bred by overflowing darkness. A trait that must not be forgotten.

She clutched the armor and the shield to her breast.

A trait that our chosen has a sharp affinity for.

Chapter Text

“Link… the fire.”

“What are you saying, little Hollow?”

“Gwyn’s fire... I... must link it.”

“How do you know about that? Who told you about it? Was it Frampt? No, it cannot be. That traitor has been sleeping for far too long. The only legacy he left behind before his slumber was that fraudulent prophecy... but it does not mention the linking of the fire. “

Kaathe rubbed his head against the puny being.

“Who was it, little Hollow? You can tell me.”

The restless Hollow shuddered at the contact at first, but the soothing effects did not take long to appear.

Pathetic creature. Are you so deprived of tenderness that you would find comfort in and old snake such as me? Did no one in life showed you affection? Were you really so miserable?

“I promised him.” The Hollow answered, caressing Kaathe’s brow with their only hand. “Oscar.”

“Ah, so it was your beloved Astoran elite knight. I should have known.” Kaathe lifted his head, leaving the Hollow cozily resting in the wraps of his neck. “But how was he aware of this?”

Kaathe’s meditative growl resonated across the abyss. 

He had not thought much of the knight. Kaathe was fully aware of how powerful his memory was for the Hollow, but he had not considered that the knight himself was anything remarkable. 

Not until then.

As if sensing his need for an answer, Frampt offered him another taste of his blabbering sleep-talk.

“Link Gwyn’s fire.” Frampt sung amidst dreams. “Chosen Undead, ring the bell.... Link Gwyn’s fire.”

“Link Gwyn’s fire.” The Hollow echoed in harmony with the primordial serpent.

“Ah... so that’s how it happened. I should have known.” Kaathe’s disappointment was overwhelming, though it was proper of Frampt to make such a stupid mistake. “You should have learned to keep your mouth silent while you sleep, Frampt. I can only wonder how many of your sad potential Chosen Ones you’ve driven to insanity with your ethereal whispers.”

Still... why did it not drive you mad, Astoran?

Kaathe, unconsciously, wrapped the Hollow in a tighter embrace.

How could you listen to the whispers of a primordial serpent and not lose your mind in the process?

“Oscar, elite knight of Astora.” Kaathe mused to the everlasting darkness. He felt the rush of peace the mere mention of the name sent through the Hollow’s body. “Had fate unfolded in a different way... could you have become the Dark Lord that I for so long have waited?”

Kaathe played with the possibility, but only for a moment.

He had a sentient Hollow in his hold, the descendant of the Fourth Lord. The creature had achieved nothing in life and had no outstanding abilities other than their immunity to the madness cause by the Hollowing.

Yet, there was potential in them, no matter how hidden.

Rightly guided, the Hollow may prove to be a greater asset than Kaathe himself could even foresee.

“You are not my Dark Lord.” Kaathe muttered to the Hollow, lowering his head to their level. “But you could be. And you will.”

The ringing of a bell, intrusive and deafening, infiltrated the Abyss. It shattered Kaathe’s undisturbed peace and made him lose his hold on the Hollow. He caught them with his teeth and returned them to the safety of his mouth before they drifted too far away and became forever lost in the unending darkness.

The Hollow said something, as did Frampt.

They spoke it in unison, neither aware of how much the phrase disgusted Kaathe.

“Link Gwyn’s fire.”

“Now!” Oscar gave the order just as the gargoyle was about to breathe a wave of fire.

He aimed his straight sword at the monster’s throat. The blade cut through stone and fur, forcing the gargoyle to choke on its own not-expelled heat. The wound was crippling, but not deathly, just as Oscar had expected.

The gargoyle tried to counterattack by impaling Oscar’s chest with its giant halberd. Oscar did not panic, for he knew the attack would never reach him.

He knew Solaire would do his part and do it well.

His friend did not disappoint him. 

The gargoyle cried out an agonizing and deafening shriek as its arm and halberd fell to the floor, severed cleanly from its body with a single slash of Solaire’s sunlight sword.

With both of its attacking methods neutralized, all that was needed was the killing blow. It was then that Oscar began to doubt the success of his strategy, not because it was intrinsically flawed, rather because he did not trust the man he had put in charge of the final maneuver.

The man from Carim, the prisoner Solaire had freed.

Solaire had trusted him instantly, but Oscar had yet to feel comfortable in the presence of the Carim knight.

Lautrec had given Oscar no real reasons to earn his distrust.

He had remained willingly by their side, even when running away back to the safety of Firelink Shrine would have been the smartest option.

He was reserved, mysterious even, but he had treated Oscar and Solaire with the respect and camaraderie expected among knights of all nations.

And he was a skilled warrior, a valuable fighting partner that had made their journey through the unexplored parts of the parish more bearable.

And yet, Oscar couldn’t trust him.

“Lautrec!” Oscar exclaimed suddenly, feeling how the gargoyle was trying to free itself from the sword stuck in its throat.

Oscar did not want to think of what would happen if it managed to break free.

Though nowhere as lethal as that of a dragon’s, a gargoyle’s fire was not to be underestimated. Oscar had managed to keep the creature and its long-defeated partner from spitting fire at them, but now, Lautrec was about to make all his efforts go to waste with his inactivity.

“Oscar!” Solaire tried to attack the gargoyle again, but the monster kicked him out of the way and sent him flying.

Oscar could only see how Solaire made a precipitated attempt to parry the attack and failed.

The gargoyle moved after Solaire’s unsuccessful attack, hiding with its body whatever fate had fallen upon Solaire.

There was no time for Oscar to rationalize his fury. He could only feel it, burning inside him and turning his sight red.

He hated the creature, but not as much as he hated the cowardly and treacherous Carim knight.

“Curse you!” Oscar hissed, holding the straight sword with a hand, and jolting the other directly towards the handle of the coiled sword on his belt.

“Perfect!” Lautrec cried victoriously from behind the gargoyle. The scratchy murmur of his shotel swords slashing the monster’s rocky back filled Oscar’s ears.

The gargoyle gasped a hoarse and frothy breath. The fire in its throat finally faded from existence. The entirety of its colossal weight rested too abruptly on Oscar’s arm, and he barely had time to free his sword from the corpse and jump out of its way before it crushed him.

The gargoyle hit the ground like a fallen idol, the echo of its collapse being the last thing it ever offered to the world before fading away into nothingness.

“At last. Took you long enough to get that thing into place.” Lautrec snapped at Oscar.  He looked at him, his face concealed underneath the golden plates of his helmet, but even so, Oscar swore he could see his mocking glare and satisfied grin.

There was no time to get aggravated by senseless taunts. Completely ignoring Lautrec’s extended hand, Oscar got up on his own and went directly to the spot where Solaire should have landed after the gargoyle’s attack.

Oscar found his shield and sword, but there was no trace of Solaire.

He kept his fears at bay and immediately inspected the edge of the roof. His patience was rewarded, and he found Solaire hanging from a tile with one hand.

“Solaire!” Oscar immediately held Solaire’s hand before his fingers could slip an inch more. “I’ve got you. Hang on!”

Solaire, though surely overcome with vertigo, instantly reacted to Oscar’s aid and began to pull his body upwards.

“A knight of Carim saving two Astorans.” Lautrec said after clicking his tongue. Oscar looked at him from the corner of his eye. He was kneeling next to him, catching Solaire’s other hand as soon as possible and helping him back up to the roof.  With his help, Solaire made it back to the surface in one piece.  “Given the history between our nations, it’s not the most likely of scenarios, eh? Yet, here we are. I guess Lordran really is a place where anything can happen.”

He laughed.

Oscar paid no attention to him, and instead focused on making sure Solaire was alright. He was injured, but only with the expected wounds of battle; nothing some Estus wouldn’t heal.

When he felt Oscar’s stare on him, Solaire removed his helmet.

“We did it.” Solaire said, putting a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “Oscar, we did it!”

“Is he always like this, or did the gargoyle hit him hard in the head?” Lautrec asked.

His only answer was one of Solaire’s arms around his neck. Oscar shared the same fate, and before either could protest, Solaire had already trapped them both in an embrace.

“My friends... we are victorious!” Solaire laughed. “This is the true power of camaraderie! A might only achievable through jolly cooperation!”

Unlike Lautrec, Oscar found satisfaction in Solaire’s enthusiasm and he reciprocated the gesture. If Solaire noticed Lautrec’s insistent attempts to break free from his grasp, he either didn’t care or was too absorbed in their moment of shared victory.

When he finally let them go, Lautrec pulled himself away from Solaire with so much impetus that he hit the floor with his back.  Visible embarrassed by the whole display, Lautrec immediately got up.

“Apologies by my more than obvious lack of spirit about this whole celebration,” he said, dusting off his armor, “but we Carim knights do not share Astora’s tendency for these... sugary demonstrations of affection. In fact, we find the whole thing rather improper. How about we keep this heartwarming moment of collaboration between us a secret? Surely your Astoran hearts can’t deny a friend this small kindness.”

“Oh dear... I didn’t make things awkward, did I?”

“Don’t worry about it, Solaire. Cultural differences between kingdoms are always bound to create some tension among commoners and knights. I know you meant well.” Lautrec took a step forwards and offered his hands to Oscar and Solaire. “And I must say... you both left me with quite a good impression. Yes, it seems the rumors are true; Astoran knights are as deathly as they are sensitive. I’m glad I’m on your good side.”

“And I’m glad all I’ve heard about the knights of Carim is wrong.” Solaire added, readily accepting Lautrec’s help. “You’re not cruel or untrustworthy, Lautrec.”

“Well, what can I say? There’s much more to a person than his homeland and rank.” Lautrec said, moving his head directly towards Oscar. “Don’t you agree?”

They kept staring at each other for a moment, their eyes equally concealed by their respective helmets.

Andre had crafted for Oscar a replica of the elite knight helmet. Oscar had been most grateful for the blacksmith for his thoughtfulness.

While Oscar had missed the protection it offered, what he had truly longed for was the privacy that only a helmet could offer.

He no longer had to fear his face would scare other Undead; and what was better, he needn’t worry anymore about how his expressions could betray his every feeling and thought.

In the company of friends like Solaire, Oscar knew he could dispose of the helmet without worries; but in the presence of strangers, he knew it was best to keep it always on.

Lautrec fitted in the latter category.

The knight of Carim couldn’t see the ingrained suspicion in Oscar’s eyes as he finally accepted his help.

A part of Oscar wished he could trust Lautrec as blindly as Solaire did, but Oscar still couldn’t find it in his heart to do so.

Whether it was the result of his sharp intuition or merely a misjudgment born from a past prejudice, he did not know, nor did he dwell on it.

“Well, it’s been an honor fighting by your side." Lautrec said, making a small bow. “But this is where we part ways. I have a duty to fulfill, and I must tend to it right away. I thank you again for rescuing me from that cell... I don’t know what would have become of me if you had left me to my fate.”

“Don’t think about it. What matters now is that you are free, friend.” Solaire replied. He snapped his fingers and searched inside his bag. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here, take this.”

He gave Lautrec a small golden medal. Lautrec accepted it, but not without a silence that demanded an explanation.

“It’s a tradition among Warriors of Sunlight.” Solaire said. “To give these to the knights and warriors with whom we share a great victory.”

“Is that so?” Lautrec said, moving his head towards Oscar again.

Oscar replied by taking an identical medal out of his bag, the same Solaire had gifted to him after their victory against the Taurus Demon, while also accepting a new medal for their most recent success.

“How interesting.” Lautrec nodded and continued inspecting the medal. “And what exactly does it do?”

“You offer them to the Lord of Sunlight at one of his altars. Of course, you’ll have to become a Warrior of Sunlight first for it to work.”

“Very useful indeed.”

At first, Oscar thought Lautrec would toss away the medal into the distance with disdain, but he was pleasantly surprised to see him actually accepting Solaire’s gift.

“I appreciate it, I really do. Well, now I must depart. Take care, friends. I’ll be staying at Firelink Shrine for a while; be sure to look for me whenever you’re around.”

“We will.”  Solaire said immediately, a wide smile on his face.

Lautrec gave them a last wave of his hand before he went to the entrance that gave access to the parish.

“Thank you.” Oscar said before Lautrec was gone. “For all your help.”

Lautrec did not stop walking. Oscar thought he had not heard him or had outrightly ignored him, and given how he had treated him, the latter seemed like the most likely option.

“How strange it is, to hear such kind words being spoken by a voice as awful as yours.” Lautrec sneered without turning around. “You are welcome, Oscar.”

Lautrec said nothing else, and neither did Oscar nor Solaire.

Once he was gone, Oscar felt Solaire’s arm resting around his shoulders.

“You did well, my friend. We Astorans have never been in the best of terms with Carim, but we shouldn’t burden ourselves with past prejudices and resentments. I know it was not easy for you, so I’m glad you gave Lautrec a chance.”

Was that truly the reason of his mistrust after all?

Had Oscar only been reacting to an old animosity from his past life?

The possibility was not farfetched, no matter how much Oscar wanted to believe his caution had originated from his intuition instead.

“Do you really think we can trust him, Solaire?”

“I do.  Everyone deserves a chance to show their true character before we thrust our judgement upon them.” Solaire removed his arm and looked down at the floor. “You find this naïve... don’t worry, Oscar. I know how childish all of this sounds.”

“It’s not naïve or childish.” Oscar removed his own helmet and smiled at Solaire. “You are right, Solaire. And if you trust Lautrec, then so will I. You know, at times like this, I start to think you are much wiser than me.”

“Oh, no. No!” Solaire stuttered as he scratched an ear. “I’m just—”

“Why are you turning red?” Oscar said, not able to resists the taunt. “Is the sunlight too strong for you up here?”

“Of course not! We Warriors of Sunlight thrive under the power of the sun!” Solaire quickly put on his helmet again and gestured the famous praising position proper of the members of his covenant. “I do not fear the sun, I praise the sun! Come, praise it together with me, Oscar!”

“I...” Oscar thought fervently of denying the offer, but he felt he owed it to Solaire after the little jab he had thrown at him.

Glad that there were no witnesses around, Oscar stood next to Solaire and joined him in his praising.

It was now his turn to turn red.

“Ah, I had almost forgotten the clarirty some praising gives to the mind.” Solaire sighed after a long moment had passed. “Do you not feel rejuvenated as well, Oscar? The power of the sun does not work only for members of the covenant, after all.”

“Yes.” Oscar answered, feeling no real change in his body or spirit other than the warmth the ray lights had left behind on his armor. “It’s a shame it was all so brief.”

“Don’t you worry, we can praise the sun for as long as you—”

“How about we leave that for later?” Oscar quickly suggested. “I would rather we focused on the matters that are now at hand.”

“Oh, of course!” Solaire agreed, putting down his arms. “Sorry, I can get a bit carried away at times. You’re right... at the moment, there’s something much more important for you to do, my friend.”

They looked at the bell, standing tall at the top of the tower, safely guarded behind columns of stone. To Oscar, it all felt like an illusion, a dream from which he would wake up at any moment. The magnitude of his reality had not settled until that moment; it weighed him down and kept his feet glued to the tiles of the roof.

He clenched his hands, if only to keep his fingers from trembling. His heartbeat quickened to the point where his pulse became painful.

I’m here.

Oscar considered putting his helmet back on to keep his expression concealed from Solaire, but the act would be too unnatural and suspicious to trick anyone.

I really am.

“Are you alright?” Solaire asked him. “Oscar?”

“Yes.” Oscar managed to keep the tears at bay. It was not that crying in front of Solaire would shame him, but to shed tears without a clear reason felt too foolish. “I’m just a little overwhelmed. To be standing here, after all that’s happened... it makes me feel like I’m not worthy of this, as if none of this was ever mine to achieve; and yet, here I am.”

“And you deserve it.” Solaire’s hand was back on his shoulder. “You’ve earned it. You did not steal it from anybody and neither it’s something fate threw freely at you. I know there are plenty of doubts still lingering in your heart, but please believe me when I tell you that you are worthy of being here, Oscar.”

“That’s the strange thing.” Oscar confessed, looking at Solaire, who had again removed his helmet. “Despite everything, I also think this fate is mine to claim. My heart is divided. It doesn’t let me forget my faults nor it lets me forgive myself; yet, it swells with pride at how close I am to starting the fate I always coveted for myself. Solaire, it’s not that I’m not happy to be here nor that I still wish I had Hollowed at the Asylum. To be honest, nothing compares to the joy I’m feeling right now.  It’s just that...”

He knew what he meant to say next. Oscar had long learned that knowing what to say was seldom the problem; it was the how which always proved to be an obstacle.

“Is it alright?” he finished before he got tangled in the webs of indecision.  He looked away from Solaire’s kindly gaze. “Do I have the right to find pride in my actions? Is it alright for me to be contented with my fate, even after all I’ve done? Is it alright, Solaire?”

“It is.” Solaire answered, resting his other hand on Oscar’s free shoulder. “It is, Oscar. It truly is.”

Oscar kept his eyes fixed on the bell, and he only made contact with Solaire once he was sure he would be able to keep his composure. He nodded at his friend and held one of his arms.

Solaire gave Oscar a soft smile before letting him go. He did not insist further on the subject, and Oscar was grateful to him for it.

“Are you ready?” Solaire ventured after a moment of repose. “Take all the time you need, Oscar. The bell is not going anywhere.”

“That would be awfully inconvenient.” Oscar commented dryly but not without good humor. He took a deep breath one last time before putting his helmet back on. Then, he sheathed his straight sword on his belt and secured his crest shield on his back. “Let’s go.”

“Go ahead, my friend. I’ll be waiting for you here.”

“What?”

“The prophecy says only one Undead will ring the bell, doesn’t it? It would be foolish for us to put everything at risk with my interference. Now, now, I can endure a moment of solitude just fine! I’m more used to it than you believe. Oh dear, that didn’t sound too pathetic, did it?” Solaire laughed as he put his own helmet back on and looked at the distant sun. “This is a fine place for a moment of praising. I think I shall continue with it in the meantime. I would not want the Lord of Sunlight to think I have become negligent in my duties as his warrior!”

“Solaire...”

“I will be fine, Oscar.” Solaire told him with a soft voice. “Ring the bell. Once you’re done, I will be here to meet you again so we can continue our journey.”

He turned his back to Oscar and spread his arms up in the praising gesture.

Warriors of Sunlight were similar to the knights of Catarina in how much mockery they received from other knights. Their skills were widely respected, and it was foolish to ignite their anger, but that didn’t stop others from ridiculing them because of their quirks.

Onion knights and sun-praising maniacs.

Oscar had always found both titles tasteless and disrespectful; this he remembered clearly, and he was glad of it, though that hadn’t stopped him from considering both the Catarina armor set and the praising gesture of the Sunlight covenant ridiculous beyond belief.

Despite its many advantages, he would never consider wearing the Catarina armor set, and had it not been for Solaire, he doubted he would have ever praised the sun at all.

But at that moment, when he looked at Solaire so deeply immersed in his praising, Oscar did not find him ridiculous at all. There was nothing foolish nor laughable in the sight of a knight fulfilling his duty with such earnest devotion.

It was admirable. 

Oscar could only wish he had half the dedication and passion Solaire exhibited so naturally.

“Go, my friend.” Solaire told Oscar. He wasn't urging him; he was encouraging him.  “Your fate is waiting for you just at the top of that tower.”

“Hmm...”

“Siegmeyer, you’re moping again.”

“Hmm? Oh! I’m so sorry, I can’t stop thinking about those lads. Do you really think they will be fine, Andre?”

“I don’t see why they shouldn’t be. I made sure to leave their armor and weapons in optimal condition; trust me, they could endure the power of a giant without breaking. And the small toolboxes I gifted to both of them should help them keep their equipment in good state.”

“But will that be enough? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I doubt their skills. Oscar is an elite knight and Solaire is a Warrior of Sunlight, and I’m sure both of their ranks are well earned... but I worry about them still.”

“Of course you do. After all, you onion knights are prone to be protective of others, even of those who mock you.”

“How dare you? Were you not my friend, I would make you pay dearly for insulting my honor as a knight of Catarina!”

“Yes, yes, keep talking.”

“Enough of your insolence! Now we fight! Astora and Catarina are allies no longer!”

Andre took a sip of his pint as he watched how Siegmeyer made a failed attempt at standing up.

Siegmeyer fell to his back and trashed his arms around in an imaginary fight, all while cursing at his poor balance.

“Curses, I have been defeated!” Siegmeyer lamented once he managed to straighten his back again. “Take my life then, Andre, and allow me to die with honor.”

“Yes.” Andre laughed, taking Siegmeyer’s pint away from his hand. “I think you’ve had enough Siegbräu for now.”

“You’re no fun at all, old man.”

“Old man? You... you dare? I mean it’s true, but— Oh, why do I bother? You’re too drunk to even remember my words for more than five seconds. I’ll be sure to let you know what I think of you once you’ve sobered up.”

“You sounded just like my beloved wife.  You remind me of her.”

“Hey, it’s not proper of a knight to insult a lady in such manner, even less if said lady is one’s wife!”

“Oscar and Solaire. They reminded me of my daughter too.  My dear and brave Sieglinde. She is not cursed, but... It’s one thing for an old fool like me to be branded by the Darksign, but to know the curse can affect them as well—”

“Such is the Undead curse, my friend. We cannot keep the young ones safe from it... but we can help them by being there for them, and guiding them in any way we can. They are not innocent children, they are knights; capable of much more than we can imagine. I’m sure of it.”

Siegmeyer hid his eyes behind his hand.

Andre was about to offer more hopeful thoughts to him when the echo of a bell tolling in the distance filled the old church with its song.

Lady Reah had finally arrived, together with her always loyal companions Vince and Nico.

Petrus received them all with a warm welcome he had spent a long time perfecting.

His smile however, broke apart when the toll of the bell reached his ears, exposing for a moment the disgust and frustration he so desperately always tried to conceal when in presence of Reah and her two buffoons.

Who is responsible for this intrusion?

Petrus snarled as he turned his head at the direction of the bell’s tolling.

His frown disappeared and his eyes widened at the answer.

Astorans... how meddling they are!

“I guess he is Oscar no more. I think I should call him Chosen One from now on.”

Lautrec said, tossing the sunlight medal into the air. He caught it and looked at the fire keeper, his grin exposed by his lack of a helmet.

“Don’t you agree?”

The fire keeper gave him no answer.

“You deserve to follow your own fate.”

Solaire did not stop his praising, not even as the tolling of the bell and his own tears made it almost impossible to concentrate.

“And to discover your own sun, Oscar.”

The deed was done.

He had rung the bell.

The prophecy and the dream stopped being promises and became his reality.

Oscar had done it.

He had reached a point of not return, he had taken his first real step into the life and destiny he had always believed would be his to claim.

“I did it.” Oscar collapsed on his knees, his hands firmly holding the old lever. The bell continued to toll above his head, its thunderous chimes resonating in his body and soul. “Chosen Undead.”

He began to cry, his sobs muffled by the tolling bell, his face hidden behind his helmet.

His tears were not born from happiness or grief; their origin was not something Oscar could define down to a single term. After a brief moment, he stopped trying to understand his tears and merely allowed them to flow.

The bell slowly returned to its fixed quietness.

Oscar remained in the same place, the same position.

He would go back to Solaire.

He would continue his journey together with his friend.

He would accept his fate and make sure he was worthy of being its bearer.

He would link Gwyn’s fire.

He would succeed and become the man he wanted to be; a man worthy of all the kindness others had showed to him.

All of that Oscar was determined to achieve; but at that moment, he needed to let go of all the pent-up emotions inside him. It was not a gentle process, specially not for someone like him, so used to always doing the opposite, but he let it happen.

“Thank you.”  The words came out broken by his sobs and disrupted by his voice. “Thank you so much.”

He repeated them until their sound no longer conveyed any meaning to his ears.

But to his soul, they always did.

He saw them walking along the path.

A young Hollow and their loyal companion.

The former was puny and feeble, the latter was big and strong.

They were common, vulgar, completely unimpressive.

"Really? Is this the best candidate you could find? By the Lords..." Patches asked himself as he waited for the two travelers to get a little closer. "Well, I'm here to follow orders. I just hope you know what you're doing, Yuria."

He snickered loudly, forcing the two Hollows to notice his presence and acknowledge his existence.

"Good day!" Patches greeted them, his body rigid in a squat. "What are you doing wandering around this dangerous road all by yourselves, so poorly equipped? Are you seeking death? No, of course you aren't! It jumps to the eye you are both of a different sort. I sense great courage in you, such noble determination, but none of that will keep you safe from the attacks of others, will they? The correct answer is... no! Well, lucky you that you happened to crossways with none other than me, Patches! The world-renowned travelling merchant! No, no, please, hold your applause. Oh, but enough about me!"

He sprung back to his feet and jumped directly in front of the smaller of the Hollows, earning a threatening grunt from their brutish companion.

"What is your name, young traveler?" Patches asked to the confused Hollow, extending his hand towards them. "Come now, don’t be shy! I think we can become good friends... if we give each other a chance."

He dedicated to the two Hollows the best of his smiles.

Oh, right, they are Unkindled now. Oh, who cares? Hollow, Unkindled, Undead... different name, same thing.

Chapter Text

“So, it happens again.”

The tolling of the bell still echoed across the abyss.

Frampt’s snoring became a series of confused growls.

Though he couldn’t see him, Kaathe knew his traitorous brethren had sensed it too, no matter how deep in sleep he was.

Strange, how easily they both reacted to the vibrations and chimes of an old bell, as if their mere being were tied to it with an unbreakable chain.

“A meaningless feat.” He scoffed. “The first bell means nothing, for it is the second which has long remained silent and untouched.”

It was during their journey to the second bell where all of Frampt’s potential Chosen Undeads failed. Sometimes they turned back, overwhelmed by fear; at other times, they simply lost interest and gave up on their quest.

Most of the times however, they went Hollow, either after countless deaths or because of the grief and disappointment they found along their travels.

The little Undead that had rung the bell this time would be no different.

Kaathe was sure of it.

Yet, he was also restless, as if a part of him knew that, this time, the pitiful Undead that had fallen for Frampt’s deceit would be successful.

“This could be... problematic.” Kaathe said. The little Hollow inside his mouth had fallen asleep again.

Such a lazy and irreverent fool.

Kaathe felt the flashing need to scold them for their overly carefree nature, but he was too absorbed in thought to really care about correcting his chosen one’s behavior.

“This Undead, the ringer of the bell.” Kaathe mused to himself, as he always did. “Call it an old serpent’s intuition, but... Little Hollow, you know it too, do you not? This Undead. This man.”

“Oscar.” The Hollow whispered not to Kaathe, but to the dear memories that so constantly invaded their mind and filled their soul with overflowing fondness.

“Indeed.” Kaathe said.

Frampt, no longer as deeply affected by his heavy slumber, tried to speak the name as it resonated across the darkness, but his tongue, so used to his senseless blabbering, could only form the name he had so endlessly repeated ever since the foolish king had defied nature and prolonged his decadent age.

“Chosen Undead.”

“Are you ready?” Oscar asked Solaire.

His fellow knight stood not too far away from him, with his sunlight sword and round shield readily prepared for a fight.

Oscar wielded his crest shield and new straight sword, as decided and bravely as he did when facing an enemy.

“Yes.”

From behind the slit of his heaume, Oscar could see Solaire’s blue eyes gleaming with thrill.

Despite his enthusiasm, Solaire was taking it seriously, and Oscar would not disrespect his diligent disposition.

He would treat him like a worthy opponent.

He would show him no mercy.

“Then let’s begin.”

Solaire did not waste a second and charged at Oscar. The old tiles of the church’s roof were a tricky surface, and one false step could prove lethal, but their battle against the gargoyles had been a good lesson for both Oscar and Solaire on how to keep their pace firm and steady.

Solaire raised his sword, his fist tightly clenched around its handle.

Oscar moved one leg backwards and prepared his shield, readying himself to resist Solaire’s attack.

He calculated his movements, but once the sunlight sword clashed against the shield, Oscar became fully aware of the true magnitude of Solaire’s power.

Solaire had not hold back.

And neither would Oscar.

Despite his impressive display, Solaire’s strength could not defeat Oscar’s technique, and his sunlight sword was effortlessly parried by the blue crest shield.

Stunned and exposed, Solaire could only watch as Oscar plunged a lethal riposte directly towards his chest.

“Wait!” Solaire exclaimed, but Oscar did not stop.

Oscar’s ruthless riposte changed its direction in the last second, and instead of piercing Solaire’s heart, it passed right through the open space right between his arm and body, cutting nothing but air.

Even then, Oscar’s attack did not stop, and he pushed his crest shield against Solaire’s chest and brought him down. Solaire’s back hit the surface with little gentleness, with many of the tiles breaking and shattering under his weight and the pressure Oscar kept putting onto him with his shield.

Oscar’s straight sword stabbed the roof and became stuck in the mixture of broken stone and rotten wood.

“You are dead, Solaire.” Oscar said to his defeated friend, without any sign of sympathy in his voice.  “Or you would be, if I was your enemy.”

Oscar freed his sword from the roof and got back on his feet. Solaire let out a cough once the oppressive pressure of the crest shield departed from his body.

Oscar gave him a moment to catch his breath.

“Alright, demonstration time is over.” Oscar offered Solaire his hand. “Now it’s your turn to try to parry my attacks.”

“By the gods, Oscar...” Solaire said, still not quite recovered, accepting Oscar’s aid to get back on his feet.

Oscar recoiled at his tone.

Had he been too strict in his method?

He was not blind to the severity of his teachings, but Oscar knew well that the deadlier the technique being taught, the harsher the teaching process had to be.

It was not only a good way to show how the technique worked in real combat, but it also served as a warning of the dire consequences it could have if not properly learned or performed.

Oscar had asked Solaire to take their friendly sparring session as seriously as a duel to the death. After some hesitation, Solaire had accepted the condition, but it seemed Oscar had taken it too far.

“I’m sorry, Solaire.” Oscar said humbly as Solaire dusted off his tunic from both sides. “It got out of hand. I did not mean to scare you.”

“Scare me? What are you talking about?” Solaire replied with a jolly tone that put Oscar’s regrets to rest. He held his sunlight sword and shield in one hand and removed his heaume with the other.

The smile he gave to Oscar was as full of admiration as his eyes. “Oscar, that was incredible! The way you moved, how you repelled my sword, your riposte... No wonder you were chosen to be part of the elite knights. I’m in awe, I really am.”

“It was nothing special.” Oscar said, unable to repress a flustered laugh as he slowly removed his helmet.  “Parrying is a technique that requires practice and diligent training, but it’s also rather intuitive once you’ve become familiar with it. You’ll get the hand of it in no time, I’m sure of it.”

“You have too much faith in me, my friend.” Solaire chuckled with poorly concealed diffidence. “Oscar, I thank you for being so willing to teach me how to parry correctly, but I don’t think I have what it takes to learn this. You have seen how poorly the results are whenever I try to parry our enemies’ attacks during battle... I wouldn’t want to waste your time. My skills are simply not up to par.”

“You sound too awfully convinced about this.” Oscar said, and wondered if he had reopened old wounds in Solaire’s heart.

After ringing the bell, Oscar had taken some time before returning to Solaire. He only did so once his eyes no longer felt sore from his crying and his breathing no longer stuttered in bubbling sobs.

Putting himself back together must have taken much longer than Oscar had considered, for when he made it back to the roof, he no longer found Solaire lost in his enthusiastic praising of the sun.

Instead, at some point, Solaire had started practicing the casting of his miracles. Oscar had watched him from afar for a while, not wanting his presence to break Solaire’s focus. He had only intervened once Solaire had dropped to his knees and punched the roof in frustration, leaving behind a hole in the roof the size of his fist.

Oscar had not been harsh in his judgement of Solaire’s anger, and in spite of how much Solaire tried to hide the amount of chagrin the loss of his miracles caused him, Oscar had noticed his distress ever since the moment Solaire had confessed everything about the subject to him.

Warriors of Sunlight often prided themselves in their mastery of powerful miracles, the Sunlight Spear above all. It was their symbol, their pride; to not be able to cast it was an undeniable blow to their honor, and it could hinder them considerably during battle.

Oscar wished his own talent with miracles was greater so that he could help Solaire, but his true skill laid in the mastery of weapons, especially of swords.

He couldn’t give Solaire his miracles back, but he could teach him a technique that would compensate for his loss and give him an extra edge in combat; a technique many knights praised but not many had the patient to perfect.

He had thought the offer would lift Solaire’s spirits too, and perhaps even restore his bruised faith, which eventually would help him with the recovery of all his miracles.

At first, Oscar had thought he had been correct, as Solaire had immediately become childishly excited at the idea of sparring with him.

But now, it all seemed like a big mistake.

Oscar almost became disheartened by the change of mood, but for Solaire’s sake, he couldn’t allow himself to lose hope.

“Why is that, Solaire?” Oscar asked, gently but firmly. “Why are you so sure you won’t be able to learn how to parry? As I said, it’s a difficult technique, and you won’t master it immediately, but eventually, you will. You need only be patient.”

“Oscar, I’m not being self-pitying or falsely humble.” Solaire looked away, directly at the sun. “I’ve got many years of evidence that confirm I’m not capable of this. I’ve tried, I really have, but I’m terrible at it and... trust me, I’m not the only one who thinks the same.”

Solaire tried to laugh the whole matter off, but Oscar stopped him before he could get away with it.

“Who else agreed with you in this, then? The elite knights back in Astora?”

The question was gelid, and it tore apart Solaire’s feign smile and good mood into shreds. When he looked at Oscar again, he looked baffled and embarrassed.

“Yes.”

The answer took Oscar off guard. He knew he had been correct in his suspicions, but he hadn’t expected Solaire to actually confirm it so firmly.

How much harm did we elite knights cause to others?

Oscar thought, his mind equally curious and scaref of the lost memories the Hollowing had taken from him.

Were we saviors or tyrants?

“They often said I would never become a worthy knight, but I don’t blame them. What they said was true.” Solaire continued. “I’m not greatly skilled. I have made the most out of my scarce talent with daily training, even when I was never formally instructed, and I think I have managed to become a decent knight on my own right, but I’m not above average, Oscar. I’m not like you. I know my limitations, and—”

“Drop your sword and shield, Solaire.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Oscar replied, doing the same with his own equipment, together with his helmet. “Put your sword and shield down on the floor.”

Solaire, puzzled as he was, did as Oscar told him. After carefully freeing himself of his weapons and helmet, he waited for Oscar’s next command.

Oscar wasted no time and went to Solaire’s side.

“Lift your arms just in front of your face.” Oscar said while also helping Solaire get his arms in the right distance and position. “Just like this. Good.”

“Oscar, what’s going on?”

“You’re going to try to parry my punches.” Oscar explained, getting himself into position. “If you fail to stop my attacks correctly, I’m not going to stop and I’m still going to hit you. If you manage to parry me, then you must counterattack without hesitating, as if you were performing a riposte. Think of your arms as your sword and shield. Let’s begin.”

“Wait.”

Oscar did not, and his fist aimed directly at Solaire’s face. Solaire reacted, but he only managed to divert Oscar’s attack slightly with his forearm. Oscar’s knuckles touched Solaire’s cheek, not with enough force to leave a mark, but it did make him hiss.

“You half blocked my attack, but it still went through. It didn’t do as much harm as it could have, but neither did you have the chance to perform a riposte or keep yourself free of injury.”  Oscar said before Solaire had the chance to properly react to what had happened.

“Let’s say I had attacked you with a poisoned weapon; the effects would have been greatly reduced. Likewise, if I had shot an arrow at you, you would have repelled it. This is known as a partial parry. It happens when you react too soon to your opponents’ attacks, either because of a miscalculation on your part, or because you were caught off guard and your first instinct was to parry instead of attacking.”

“I... yes.” Solaire, though at first seemingly upset by Oscar’s sudden lesson, was now carefully listening to his every word. “I see.”

“Some say partial parrying is an imperfect version of the real thing, while others argue it’s a complete technique on its own right. Thankfully, we are knights, not scholars, so we needn’t worry ourselves with these sorts of academic debates without an answer, so just keep in mind the consequences and benefits you’d get by performing it during battle. Now.”

Oscar again grabbed Solaire’s arm, the one he was using as his shield, and pressed his elbow with both of his palms.

“Relax. You’re putting too much tension here. You’ll only get your arm tired without reason and you’ll severely hinder your stamina. Parrying is not all about strength, it’s about precision and timing. Trust your body, Solaire. It will react faithfully to your commands; it is your opponent’s reactions you must be worried about. Let’s give it another try; this time, you’ll have a better chance to watch my movements and calculate your reactions before you try to parry me. Are you ready? “

Solaire nodded. He looked slightly overwhelmed, but Oscar was confident that practice would help make the theory easier to understand.

He threw another punch. Solaire repelled it once more, but the results were no different than his last attempt.

A small bruise began to show on Solaire’s cheek, but he gave no signs of being bothered by it. If anything, the look on his eyes betrayed that any disappointment he was feeling in that moment was because of his null improvement.

“That was awful, wasn’t it?” he asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Forget about all that, Solaire.” Oscar told him sternly. “You are practicing the basics. Good, bad, awful, perfect, none of those terms matter right now. I’m assessing your skills and technique to know where you can improve, I’m not judging them to mock you. Stop worrying about what I may think of you or what those fools told you back in Astora. They hurt you, and I can only imagine how despicable they... we could be, but don’t limit your own potential just because of it.”

“It’s hard to further limit a potential that’s already limited to begin with.”

“Stop. Don’t give me that excuse again. I’m more talented than you; you are deprived of any natural skill. Maybe the gods liked me better when I was born, maybe my blood is more refined, maybe I’m just lucky, maybe it’s because of all those reasons.  I’ll agree with you on this, since you seem to believe it with all your heart. So what, Solaire? Even if all this was true, it’s not a good reason for you to not even properly try.”

“I’ve told you, Oscar.” Solaire said, his voice at the edge of exasperation. “I have tried to perfect my parry before. Time after time, but I’ve never been able to make any progress.”

“And just like you’ve said, you’ve never received formal training or lessons. Well, what do you think we’re doing right now?”

Solaire’s expression went blank.

“Oscar.” Solaire put down his arms, his eyes wide open. “Is this the same training you underwent? Is this the training proper of an elite knight?”

“It is.” Oscar replied. “I was wrong, Solaire. The hardest of techniques are not meant to be taught so harshly, they need to be learned step by step. First, we’ll start with your body and reflexes, with no weapons other than our fists; then, we’ll be perfecting the technique with weapons especially made for parrying, such as bucklers and daggers; after that, you’ll have to get used to parrying with your own equipment; all of this you will practice with me. Once you have become used to it in training, you’ll slowly try to implement parrying into your battle style during real confrontations. It’ll take time, but I know you can do this. I mean it, Solaire.”

“But what if I don’t? What if I never get the hang of it? I’m not trying to be pessimistic... but I’m not so naïve as to think that constant effort always leads to success.”

“True, it doesn’t.” Oscar agreed. “Solaire, this is your choice. It’s fine if you don’t want to learn how to parry. We can focus on the recovery of your miracles instead. I’m not an expert when it comes to them, but I’ll do everything in my power to help you. Whatever you choose, we’ll figure it out together, alright? I just—”

Oscar had to bite his tongue to keep the words from flowing.

I don’t want you to lose more faith in yourself.

He looked at Solaire, who was deep in thought, his arms folded on his chest, his eyes fixed on the floor.

I don’t want you to go Hollow.

“Teach me, Oscar.”

The answer filled Oscar with relief and pride alike. Solaire touched the bruise on his cheek and smiled.

“I’ll keep trying to make my miracles work again. I’ll find a way to heal my faith and be the true Warrior of Sunlight I’m supposed to be, but I also would be honored if you taught me more about parrying. To learn from an elite knight like you... no, not an elite knight. You are not just an elite knight to me. Nothing would make me happier than to learn from my friend. Even if it means I have to endure small bruises like this one... You are a tough instructor, Oscar.”

“You can deal with it. Besides, you can get your revenge on me anytime, all you need to do is parry one of my attacks and then you can make me pay for my heartless teaching methods. Huh, this could actually be a good motivation to keep you focused, don’t you think?”

“Normally, I would be against such vengeful motivations, as they go against all I stand for; then again.... you did punch me pretty hard.”

“You can always count on me to keep you inspired, Solaire.” Oscar said with a mocking smirk as he took out his Estus flask and poured some of it on a small piece of cloth.

He pressed against Solaire’s cheek, keeping it in place until Solaire raised his own hand to hold it by himself. “Then it’s settled. Well then, let’s practice some more, but not here. Let’s go back to the old church. The room where I slain the faceless demon would be a perfect place to practice. Besides, I’m sure Andre could sell a dagger and a buckler to us... not to a fair price, of course, but unless you know of another blacksmith nearby, he is our only choice.”

“Oh, don’t try to hide it, Oscar! You want to see him again and tell him all about the ringing of the bell, don’t you? You needn’t be so humble about it. After all, what you just did is nothing short of impressive.”

Solaire exclaimed as he picked up all his equipment and covered his head with his trusty heaume.

“I’m happy for you, Oscar.” Solaire put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad I got to meet you, I’m glad our fates became intertwined. This is not how I planned my journey across Lordran to unfold, but now, despite all that’s happened, I wouldn’t want it to be any other way.”

Oscar did not know what to say in return. How he wished he could see the world and accept his own fate with the same openness as Solaire. He made it seem so simple, and had Oscar been a meaner man, he would have felt envious of his friend’s uncomplicated heart.

But it’s not easy for you, is it? This acceptance is not something you simply feel, it’s an attitude you constantly practice. Daily, dutifully, with all your heart... Solaire, I promise, our training sessions will be nothing compared to this.

“I feel the same, Solaire.” Oscar finally said, putting his helmet back on and retrieving his equipment from the floor. “I really do.”

With that, they were ready to depart from the church’s floor and go back to Andre’s workshop. Though Oscar hadn’t admitted it, a part of him did feel eager to share his moment of glory with the old blacksmith, and with Siegmeyer as well, if the proud Catarina knight still happened to be around the area.

There was satisfaction in the rejoicing of his and Solaire’s victory with others, but there was also comfort in the idea of a small celebration among friends.

Oscar knew it was perhaps too soon to call Siegmeyer and Andre friends, especially after the way he had acted towards them. He had apologized, and they both had forgiven him without a second thought, but he still needed to show them a better side of himself.

A small feeling of impatience burned inside his chest. Suddenly, the idea seemed all the more engaging.

The company of a group of friends, brought together to celebrate their latest victory. Free of tension, free of problems, with nothing but a moment of shared camaraderie, warm food and refreshing brew to share and enjoy together.

Simple pleasures, small pleasures Oscar hadn’t realized how much he truly missed it until that moment, when the shards of his broken memories offered him tiny samples of related memories of his past.

It was ridiculous for an Undead to long for pleasures and luxuries exclusive to the living, but Oscar still did, and he knew Solaire did too. Even if they were no longer alive, they were still human.

His humanity was something Oscar was determined to never allow the Darksign to take away from him, and he would protect that of his friends too.

Andre, I know this curse is bound to make Hollows out of all of us... but I refuse to accept it.

Solaire talked to Oscar during their way back to the stairs. Oscar listened to him, and his resolve only grew stronger.

I will not go Hollow. I will not let Solaire go Hollow. Somehow, I’ll find a way to save all of you. This vow I’ll fulfill, one way or another. Believe in me... I will not disappoint any of you. You have my word.

Solaire made a joke at his own expense, and even that of Lautrec’s. It was an innocent jab, one that still managed to earn a laugh from Oscar.

They were so immersed in their rapport they did not notice a slender figure standing in front of them, right at the entrance that gave access to the church’s stairs.

“Greetings!”

Oscar reacted by instantly preparing his sword for battle, while Solaire lifted his round shield and kept his upper body well-protected against any projectile, be it an arrow or a throwing knife.

“Oh, my apologies, brave knights. I did not mean to startle you. Please, put down your weapons. I assure you, I mean no harm.” The stranger, clad in dark robes, spread his arms in a welcoming gesture that left him in a vulnerable position.

No knight worthy of his honor would attack a man in such state. The stranger, a pardoner judging by his looks, was either too trusting of the morality of Undead knights or had hidden and effective ways to protect himself if things turned sour.

Oscar sheathed his sword. Solaire imitated him, returning his round shield to his side.

“I appreciate it. It soothes my soul to know that noble men still exist across this cursed wasteland.” The pardoner said, keeping his gesture. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Oswald of Carim.  Gentle knights, were you the ones who rang the bell? If this is true, then I would be most honored to offer you my services for free. If you are not, then we can part ways... unless one of you is in dire need of absolution, for sins and confessions are my domain, and the preserving of your Humanity is my duty.”

A loud cackle escaped the pardoner.

While free of malice, it was sinister.

Oscar looked at Solaire and wondered if his face was the same as his under his heaume, and if his thoughts of the stranger were perhaps gentler than his own.

Eventually, Solaire acted, and Oscar’s doubts were answered all at once.

“The bell must toll once more.”

The blind woman reacted to the statement just as Yuria had expected.

Subtle fear, overshadowed by an unyielding sense of obligation that hushed her doubts.

Fire keepers.

Beings both cursed and blessed, trapped in an unrewarding yet vital duty.

Drawers of Humanity, the true eternal watchers of the Abyss.

Yuria respected every single one of them, from the one that was nothing but rotting dust at the pit  of the tower, to the breathing woman standing right in front her.

“Why?” She asked the question shyly. Then, with uncharacteristic boldness, she dared to elaborate. “The ashes have already risen from their graves.”

How ignorant that girl was of her fortune. Were she not protected by her title, Yuria would have been more than glad to remind her of the price of her boldness.

“Not all ashes.” Yuria answered, clinging to a damp bulk the fire keeper could not see. “Ring the bell once more. Not now, not yet. There’s something I need to do first, but when I return, you must do it right away.”

The fire keeper opened her mouth, but any words she planned to say remained forever trapped within herself, as it should be. Satisfied with her obidience, Yuria left the shrine.

The fire keeper directed her sightless stare at the echo of her steps, following them until she could hear them no more.

Chapter Text

“Well, look at you! It fits you perfectly.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course I do! What? Do you think I’m flattering you just so you feel persuaded to buy my goods so I can make profit out of my trade? Dear me, how ridiculous!”

The Hollow chuckled as they kept inspecting how the armor looked on their body.

Their silent and bulky companion was no less fascinated by the Astoran executioner armor he had chosen for himself.

They were like a couple of children eagerly playing with their first gifts.

Given these two Hollows’ backgrounds, Patches knew this scenario was most likely true for them both.

It was a pitiful situation, but all too common for Patches to waste any of his sympathy on them.

“It’s one hundred percent original, you know.” He told the Hollow that went by the name of Anri. “A true relic! It belonged to an honorable and brave elite knight of Astora, one I had the pleasure of meeting personally.”

Patches stretched his smile wide to keep it from twitching at the disgust he felt at the memory of Oscar.

He and that idiot Solaire had proven to be more trouble than Patches had signed up for, but now, he had to put his true feelings underneath an amicable facade.

He didn’t want this Anri kid to be scared or put off by an ugly grimace.

If Patches scared them away, Yuria would never let him hear the end of it.

“You met a real elite knight of Astora?” Anri said, removing the helmet and staring at Patches with their mouth agape. Horace, their quiet comrade, only gave out a soft grunt of acknowledgement. “You must be thousands of years old!”

“I’m going to pretend that didn’t offend me, kid... but yes. I come from an age when Astora was not a tragic memory but a living kingdom.”

“By the lords. Horace, can you believe our luck? We are wearing real Astoran armor! Just like we always pretended to do when we were children.”

Anri said while holding their companion’s arm. The smaller of the Hollows was so excited that Patches was surprised they didn’t start jumping around like a puppy. 

Suddenly too self-aware of how ridiculous their childish enthusiasm was making them look, Anri composed themselves. They gave Patches an embarrassed and apologetic smile as they scratched the back of their head.

 “Forgive me.  I got carried away; I just never thought I’d come across an authentic set of armor from Astora. Horace and I have always admired that kingdom of old. The stories of its elite knights always gave us and the rest of the children of the Undead settlement hope, and—”

Anri’s face, though heavily touched by the Hollowing, still managed to convey a deep expression of longing and sadness.

Horace said nothing, but his silence was all Patches needed to know he was in no less pain than his friend.

“I thank you for allowing us to try out these sets of armor, mister Patches.” Anri said, trying to hand over the helmet. “But I’m afraid we cannot buy them from you. Horace and I have nothing we can give you in exchange. It’s just recently that we both raised from our graves, both of which were pillaged during our slumber. We’ve got nothing of value.”

“Hmm, that is indeed a problem.” Patches sighed as he shrugged his shoulders. “Or it would be a great problem... if I wasn’t gifting them to you.”

“I’m really sorry we made you waste your—what?” Anri was so in awe that the helmet almost slipped from their trembling fingers. “No, how silly of me. I must have heard wrong.”

“You did not, my young costumer.” Patches gave Anri an affectionate pat on the cheek. Horace’s expected menacing growl came immediately after, and Patches made sure to calm him down by resting a hand on his chest. “They are all yours. Free of charge. The swords and the shield too!”

Anri took a step back.

Horace put a hand on their back just in case they were about to pass out. Anri looked at the helmet; they then looked at Patches.

Then, they looked at Horace.

Then, they looked at the helmet again.

Finally, their gaze returned to Patches.

Such an airhead. Oh Yuria, why would you choose this little fool?

“What’s the catch?” Anri asked, a small edge of distrust and caution present in their words.

Patches was taken aback by the sudden confrontation, but he did not allow his surprise to show. He kept his face peaceful and his smile wide.

“You know it’s a sad world,” he lamented solemnly, “when even small gestures of kindness are seen with suspicious eyes.”

Anri changed their attitude in a heartbeat; Horace remained somewhat adamant, but Patches did not care about him at all.

“I did not mean to sound ungrateful or aggressive.” Anri apologized with a small bow of their head. “It’s just that this sort of generosity is rare to come by. And to tell you the truth, that’s not the only reason I would not feel comfortable accepting this armor... Horace, you should keep yours, but I’m afraid I’ll still have to refuse the offer.”

“Now, now, this clearly is a subject that needs to be expressed and talked about.” Patches said with convincing empathy. He grabbed one of Anri’s hands and patted it comfortingly, much to the dislike of Horace. “Come on, you can tell old Patches all about it.”

Anri looked uncomfortable at first, but they quickly succumbed to the offer. They did so naively and naturally, and Patches came close to feeling genuinely bad for them.

Bloody Hollows.

“I’m not worthy of it.” Anri confessed, and Patches suspected that a tear or two would have escaped their eyes if they were not so rotten and dried up by the Hollowing. “If this armor, helmet, sword, and shield were really the property of an elite knight of Astora, then I have no right to own them. It would be an unforgiveable offense for the memory of this brave knight... to have a Hollow such as me to be the successor of his belongings.”

Horace instantly put a hand on Anri’s shoulder and pulled them closer to them, succeeding in both providing comfort to his friend and getting them away from Patches.

“Oh, no. Horace, I’m alright.” Anri soothed the bulky man, as if they could see the nonexistent tears he was shedding behind the helmet. “This does not hurt me at all. I’m merely being honest. I’m not sad, I promise. Cheer up. I may not have earned a new set of armor, but you have! Aren’t we fortunate to have come across such a selfless and kind man?”

And who the hell said anything about giving this brute the armor for free? It’s either both sets or nothing at all, you small palooka!

“My dear and confused costumer,” Patches said, pretending to be moved almost to tears, “your judgement about yourself couldn’t be any more inaccurate. Young Anri, in my long existence, I’ve had the privilege of meeting many Astoran knights, and I can assure you that you show many of the qualities they once possessed.”

“Now you’re just being flattering.” Anri replied in an awkward attempt to make Patches stop.

“I’ve known you for a very short time, but even this small moment we have shared together has been enough for me to see in you the virtues and traits that once were so proper of Astorans, especially among the elite knights.”

Patches added more flavor to his discourse with calculated movements of his arms, as if he was a travelling minstrel telling an epic tale.

“You care about your friend with all your heart; you are noble and try to always follow the righteous path. You are honest in your speech, you are brave in your duty as an Unkindled, and you’re honorable too, for you would rather refuse my gift than to disrespect the memory of a knight long dead; and you are sentimental as well. You are no different from the Astoran knights you so admire from the tales of your childhood. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would think you are Astoran yourself. Anri of Astora! It sounds perfect, it sounds natural, it sounds fitting! That’s what your name should be!”

Patches gently took the helmet from Anri’s hand and settled it on their head, and for a moment, Patches felt as if the Hollow in front of him was no one else than Oscar.

Oh, Yuria. What exactly are you planning to do with this kid? You are a cruel woman... but hey, that’s not my problem!

“You are worthy, Anri.” Patches told the Hollow, and when he heard a soft and emotional gasp filtering through the helmet, he knew they would resist no more. “Take it all, it’s yours now. I’m sure the elite knight that once wore this armor and wielded this sword and crest shield would think the same.”

“Have you not any more sins to confess?”

“I’ve already told you no.”

“There’s no need to be so rude, knight. I’m only trying to help you find absolution.”

“Well, so far the only thing you’ve helped me find is my common sense.”

Oscar stopped kneeling before the pardoner.

He had knwon it wouldn’t work.

Pardoners were all charlatans, though he would be lying if a part of him had not hoped that a confession of his sins would have helped him heal his Hollowed face. This particular pardoner, Oswald, had seemed honest enough, and he had successfully brought some peace to Solaire’s soul.

Solaire had confessed his sins to him in private first. Oscar couldn’t stop wondering what kind of sins a man like Solaire could possibly commit, but he had kept this thought private in order to not rest any value to his friend’s confession.

Solaire had remerged from the session with a clearer mind, and he was now able to slightly cast a weak version of his healing miracle. It was a faint light that was barely powerful enough to heal a flesh wound, but it still was an improvement.

After witnessing the benefits, Oscar had decided to give the confession and the pardoner a chance, despite his many doubts and his unyielding skepticism.

Oswald had been respectful to Oscar even after he had removed his helmet and exposed his Hollowed face to him; in exchange, Oscar had shown utter respect to the ritual, and he had tried to be honest in the confession of his sins.

But after three attempts without any results, Oscar had lost all his patience.

 It infuriated him that he had fallen for the obvious scam, even more so when he had known of the treachery behind the whole thing from the beginning.

Above all, he felt foolish for having shared his faults and his past with the Chosen Undead with a stranger, whether he was a pardoner or not.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Oscar scolded himself as he got up and forcefully grabbed his helmet form the floor, firmly decided to go back to Solaire and tell him they were going back to Andre at once, and that he was not to speak or even look at Oswald again.

“These pitiful displays of childish anger are below an elite knight such as you, wouldn’t you agree?” Oswald said, his spread arms retreating to his chest. “Patience, lad. Sins are seldom easily forgiven, either by the goddess or the offender. Velka is merciful, but her kindness will not reach you if you are so settled on making a victim out of yourself. I suggest you calm down and try once more. Remember, my services are always free for you and your friend, ringer of the bell.”

Oscar had to take a deep breath to keep himself from telling Oswald what he really thought of his sermons and his beloved goddess. He waited for his blood to flow at a gentler rhythm before he turned around and faced the deceitful pardoner.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I will be in need of your services ever again. Farewell.”

“Confessing one’s sins is meaningless if you are not open to forgive yourself first, Oscar.” Oswald said without fear, his fingers joined together in a pretentious gesture that made him look like a wise mentor imparting a lesson. “Don’t you think it’s strange that Solaire found solace in his confession while you find none? Do you really think his sins are any less grave and serious than yours?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well.” Oswald tried to continue with his speech, but he rewarded Oscar with an accepting shrug instead. “You are correct. To be honest, I don’t know if his faults can be called sins in the first place... but I digress. What I’m trying to say is that he was more than willing to open himself to redemption and forgiveness, whether his faults were small or not. You are the opposite, Oscar. You have closed off your heart to Velka and those around you. Keep this up, and the Hollowing inside you will rot your flesh and soul until nothing but a mindless shell remains.”

“Old men around here sure love to give sermons, don’t they?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, just a thought that escaped me.” Oscar, no longer as angry at the old pardoner, decided it was best to part in peaceful and respectful terms.

Oswald may have tricked him, but he had helped Solaire.

That alone was reason enough for Oscar to forgive him.

“It is obvious my services did not meet your expectations.” Oswald said after a heavy sigh. “I sincerely apologize. If you would be so kind to allow me one last chance, I could try and heal your face from the corruption that causes you so much grief.”

I can live with it.

Oscar thought as Oswald searched inside one of the many hidden pockets in the inner side of his tunic.

It is my sins what I wish you could take away.

“Here it is!” Oswald announced, holding a small stone with his thumb and index finger. “A gift from none other that Arstor, the earl of Carim. How did it end up in my possession, you ask? Does it matter? It’s not as if he would come all the way to this cursed land to get it back.”

Oswald gave out one of his chilling cackles. Oscar didn’t know if the pardoner was conscious of how sinister he sounded.

“A purging stone.” Oswald proceeded. “It will work as a surrogate and receive the influence of any curse building up inside your body. If the Hollowing is the worst curse of all, then it should help you fight against it. To be perfectly honest, this is nothing more than a theory of mine, but I see no reason why it shouldn’t work, or at the very least, why you shouldn’t give it a try.”

Oscar hesitated, but he ended up accepting the stone.

He inspected it, and his liking for it diminished when the small skull engraved on the surface stared at him with its empty eyeholes.

Skulls were among the most cursed of runes, no matter how powerful and effective the magic they created was.

“What was the main ingredient for its creation?” Oscar asked, though his question was only rhetorical. “A human being?”

Oswald closed his eyes and nodded at the assertion.

“Greatness is not born without great sacrifices. No land knows this better than Carim... but don’t let the traditions of our homelands get in the way of our discussion. Swallow the stone, Oscar, and if my theory is correct, not only will your face and voice return to normal, your very soul could be healed from the Hollowing that afflicts you. And if I’m wrong, nothing bad should happen; you shall remain the same as you are now. You’ve got nothing to lose and so much to gain, if only you are willing to take the chance.”

Oscar hated himself for it, but he considered the offer.

He knew that the stone had been created with unspeakably cruel methods, and that any being that had been sacrificed for its creation had left the world in agony and despair.

Yet, he continued to consider it.

When his heart and mind finally snapped free from the temptation, his fingers shivering at the mere contact of the square stone.

It slipped from his shuddering fingers and hit the floor with an unceremonious thump, breaking into tiny pieces.

The little skull transformed into scattered ash, and soon there was no trace left of it other than small and useless crumbles.

Both Oscar and Oswald stared at the small mess in silence and lifted their heads at the same time.

“I... I didn’t mean to.” Oscar did not know what he could possibly say to make himself look like any less of a fool. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Oswald said, his smile not wavering in the slightest. “Alas, there goes one of the greatest treasures of Arstor, the earl of Carim. Were I not a pardoner, I would be furious out of my mind right now, but I am a master of forgiveness, absolution and confession.”

Oswald spread his arms and looked up at the roof, as if Velka herself had come down from heavens to listen to her devoted follower.

“As such, I forgive you! I forgive you, sir Oscar of Astora! Brave and righteous elite knight! Ringer of the bell! I forgive you! Let us embrace so that any resentment between us may fade into the wind and be always forgotten! Come to this pardoner’s arms, child!”

“I think I’ve got a better idea.” Oscar replied hastily before the pardoner could even think of coming any closer to him. He searched inside his bag, looking for something to give to the pardoner that could be equal in worth to the stone he had just broken.

There was his Estus flask, of course, but he was not so desperate to repay his offense to the pardoner to give up something so important.  Besides, for all he knew, Oswald himself could be not Undead at all, and what use would a living man have for such flask?

He searched with growing impatience in the other bags on his belt, but he found nothing of true worth.

Until he rediscovered it.

Shivers traveled down his spine when his fingers remerged with the ring, the same the thief had given to him in one of his failed attempts to earn his trust.

Oscar had not thought about it since the thief’s death at the hands of Petrus.

“Is something the matter?” Oswald inquired after it became clear the embrace he had demanded would never come. “Oh, what a curious ring you have there. It’s like none I’ve ever seen... but its essence.”

The pardoner approached Oscar, lured by the ring.

“Do you know anything at all about it?” Oscar said, becoming increasingly nervous at Oswald’s bewitched expression.

“Give it to me.” Oswald ordered.

Oscar complied, more than relieved to get rid of the cursed artifact he had carried with him for so long.

After a long moment of inspecting the curious artifact, Oswald removed one of his black and long gloves.

Before Oscar could try to stop him, Oswald fitted the ring in his index finger.

“No!” Oscar exclaimed; a half of his scream drowned in his throat.

Oswald eyes went blank, but he continued grinning, as if caught in an euphoric ecstasy.

“Oswald!” Oscar wasted not a second and he lunged his entire body at the pardoner, desperately trying to remove the ring from his finger before more damage was inflicted on the pardoner, but none of his attempts were successful.

The arms and hands of the pardoner were rigid and completely immobile, as if they were made of stone and not of flesh and bone.

“Yes, it’s just as I suspected!” Oswald announced, almost succeeding in killing Oscar from a heart attack. His arms moved again with complete liberty. “This ring is no different than the cursing stones!”

Oscar fell to the floor, too shocked and confused to think about anything else other than the pardoner’s state of mind.

Had the ring made him go insane?

His suspicions grew stronger when Oswald looked at him with a deranged grin that made him look like an executioner instead of a pardoner. With an agility that Oscar thought impossible from a man of his age, Oswald seized his arm and freed it from its glove.

Oscar tried to break free, but the pardoner was not only nimble, he was also abnormally strong.

Was he truly a pardoner at all, or some demented criminal that liked to play with his victims?

With one single swing of his hand, Oswald put the ringon Oscar’s finger, skinning his knuckle in the process. Oscar grunted in pain, but he managed to push the pardoner away with a kick directed at his belly.

Oswald gave no signs of feeling the impact, and he kept on smiling even as his body was forced to pull back.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Oscar snapped at the crazy old man.

His mouth dried up and his heart sunk to the floor at the sound of his voice.

The ugliness and monstrous undertone that had plagued him since his awakening at the Asylum was gone.

Oscar no longer sounded like a demon shaped in the form of a man.

His voice was his own again.

Deep, smooth.

Normal.

One of his hands sprung to his throat, and his disbelief multiplied when he felt only soft skin, both from his fingers and neck.

Trembling and feeling weak with disbelief, Oscar removed the hand with the ring from his throat and lifted it in front of his eyes.

A normal hand, with no traces of Hollowing on it.

Does this mean—

He touched the corrupted half of his face, and discovered it was corrupted no more.

He fell to his knees, his mind still unable to accept the changes that had happened in him.

“It’s gone.” Oscar whispered; his voice broken with happiness. “My Hollowing... it’s gone!”

“Not exactly.” Oswald shattered his hopes mercilessly. The pardoner, no longer overtaken with excitement, had returned to his neutral and solemn mannerisms.

He looked at Oscar with curiosity.

“A ring of illusion may conceal your curse, but it has done nothing to cure it. Still, you should be grateful to have this rare trinket with you, Oscar. I do not know how it could be fabricated without my knowledge, as its essence and effects are the result of magic methods known only by Carim’s pardoners... and it’s even more of a mystery how someone could transpose the power of a curse stone into the shape of a ring. Where did you find it, Oscar?”

It was cruel of Oswald to demand information of him after shattering his hopes of being healed from the Hollowing so coldly.

“It was a thief’s.” Oscar answered, removing the ring and watching with overwhelming disappointment how his flesh and voice returned to their previous state the moment the accessory departed from his body. “His name was Patches. He gave it to me.”

“A thief gave something away for free? How ridiculous!”

“It’s true.”

“Then this man you talk about is as skilled as he is unpredictable. I’ll be sure to remember his name, and should I ever meet him, I’ll let him know I am fully aware of his wickedness.” Oswald laughed once more. “For now, you should keep the ring, Oscar. It was my duty as a pardoner to offer you some comfort from your Hollowing, and though the methods used in your confession were rather unorthodox, I believe we can call it a success. What’s this? Why are you not wearing it?”

“I will not wear a cursed artifact created out of the pain and torture of innocents, no matter what benefits it brings to me.” Oscar explained, staring at the ring, and thinking of how he could destroy it, but also too adamant to get rid of it at all. “You said so yourself, Oswald. If this ring is really the same as your curse stone, I do not want it. To wear it would be an insult for the those who suffered and died for its creation.”

“And to throw it away or destroy it would be a better way to make their suffering and sacrifices worthwhile?” Oswald countered. “Oscar, the men and women that died for this ring to come into existence are gone. Your intentions are noble, but they are foolish. If you wish to really give some sort of meaning to their deaths, then use the ring. Gain some benefit from its effects, allow yourself some normalcy into this Undead life you have been cursed with.”

Oswald knelt before of Oscar and gently took the ring from him and grabbed his hand.

He slid the ring back into his index finger, and much to his own chagrin, Oscar offered little resistance.

“You are a good man, Oscar of Astora.” Oswald said to him. “And if by wearing this ring you feel as if you were committing sin, then rest your heart assured and know you are not. Yet, if these dark feelings remain, then come to me any time and I’ll do my best to put your doubts to rest. This pardoner will always be here for you. That is my duty, after all.”

For the first time, Oswald’s smile caused Oscar something other than fear or dread.

He believed him, he trusted him, but his stubborn mind would not allow him to go through with the deception, no matter how persuading the pardoner’s words had been.

“I’m sorry, Oswald.” Oscar said, grabbing the ring with two of his fingers. “But I—”

“Oscar? Is everything alright?”

Solaire’s intrusion had two major effects.

The first and most notable was the jump with which Oswald got back on his feet.

The other was the departure of Oscar’s fingers from the ring.

“It’s just that a long time has passed and I was worried that something—By the gods! Oscar!”

Oswald elegantly moved out of the way so that Solaire could take his place by Oscar’s side. The sunlight warrior dropped so abruptly to his knees that Oscar feared he had sprained a muscle, but Solaire’s whole attention was fixed on his face.

“Oscar.” Solaire said with a faint thread of voice as he traced his fingers along Oscar’s temple and cheek. “Oscar... your face.”

“Solaire, I’m—”

“Your voice!” Solaire gasped and covered his mouth with both his hands. His eyes filled with tears. He gave Oscar no opportunity to say a word and trapped him in a strong embrace that left Oscar out of breath. “Your Hollowing... it’s gone! You’re healed! Oh, my friend, this is a true miracle! Thank you, pardoner Oswald. Thank you!”

“There is nothing to thank me for, Warrior of Sunlight.” Oswald replied.

Oscar watched him from Solaire’s shoulder.

The pardoner had returned to his usual stance, with his arms widely spread in what looked like a welcoming embrace for his invisible goddess.

“You are welcome any time, for it is only human to commit sin.”

His eyes, overshadowed by the edges of his mask, met with Oscar’s, just as the knight remained trapped in Solaire’s overjoyed arms.

“Just as it is human to repent and allow ourselves to change.”

The echo of his sinister cackle resonated across the old church, with the same potency the tolling of the bell had done.

"Oh."

Some of the paint slipped past the line.

Perhaps the stroke of the brush had been too forceful.

It was alright.

There where no mistakes that could be made while paiting, only new possibilities to discover and explore.

Chapter Text

“I wish we had more time in our hands. I would have liked to pick some flowers for the fire keeper.”

“We’ve got a lady to save, and you’re lamenting your lost chance to woo the fire keeper? This is far from being acceptable knightly behavior, Solaire.”

“Oh dear, it’s not like that at all! I just think she deserves a small token of our appreciation. When we left Firelink Shrine, we never thanked her for all the Estus we extracted from the bonfire, we didn’t even said farewell to her. I feel we were unjustly rude to her... I wanted to let her know we are thankful for all her efforts.”

The elevator from the old church descended at a glacial pace, but it was the best and fastest route to get back to Firelink Shrine.

Oscar pondered for a moment on what Solaire had said.

The duty of a fire keeper was not a gentle one, and the hearts of those poor women promptly became jaded and withdrawn. It was a common place for poems and tales to depict them as merciful maidens desperate to find a chivalrous knight to fall in love with, but reality couldn’t be any more different than its fictitious counterpart.

Oscar knew the fire keeper at Firelink Shrine would find no amusement nor comfort in any gift Solaire presented to her.

To give her a bouquet of picked flowers would not make her weep or swoon of gratefulness; and more than a well-intentioned gift, the gesture could pass as cruel, disrespectful mockery.

“Very well. We’ll thank her, Solaire.” Oscar said, still not accustomed to the sound of his normal voice. “But it would be best to leave any sort of gift out of this. I know you mean well, but her duty is heavy and difficult, and the least she needs or deserves is for us to upset her with unwanted presents. A simple ‘thank you’ should be sufficient. I promise you we’ll do this, but right now, you need to focus on our duty.”

“I... I suppose that makes sense. Perhaps I was too naïve in my thinking.” Solaire sighed. “You are right, Oscar. This is not the time to be thinking about this. We have a lady to save. I just hope we aren’t too late.”

“We will save her.” Oscar stated with unyielding determination as his impatience with the slow elevator grew.  “I promise.”

Slowly, the shrine once again became visible.

Only a couple of minutes more before they touched ground again.

But it could take only a couple of minutes for Petrus to harm her.

Oscar knew Petrus was a vile man, but Oswald had confirmed and worsened his perception of the wicked cleric.

The pardoner had mentioned him in a carefree statement that had never intended to send Oscar and Solaire in an urgent quest to rescue a lady from his claws.

“It’s nice to see that good people and honorable knights can exist in this land.” Oswald had said while Solaire was still baffled by Oscar’s presumed healing. “I must admit that when the first person I saw on my arrival was none other than Petrus of Thorolund, my hopes faltered. Though I suppose a man as drenched in sin as him must feel at home in this place, wouldn’t you agree?”

Oswald hadn’t had the chance to laugh, for as soon as he had finished talking, Oscar threw endless questions at him about the cleric.

Oswald, in a forced attempt to act like a professional pardoner that thoroughly respected the privacy of his clients’ confessions, had said nothing to Oscar about Petrus’ faults.

“If you are so interested in his sins, you should go ask him yourself, ringer of the bell.” Oswald had stated with authority, clearly letting Oscar know his insistence was starting to annoy him. “He should still be at Firelink Shrine, in the company of his two fellow clerics and his beloved lady. But I must warn you that to incite the fury of that man would not be a wise move on your behalf. Who knows what he could do to that poor girl in a fit of madness if— Oh my, did I say that out loud?”

Oscar had thanked Oswald half-heartedly; then, he had grabbed Solaire by the arm, urging him to make haste. He had explained everything to him on their way to the elevator. Solaire had not understood everything Oscar had told him, but the fact an innocent lady was in danger was all he needed to know to accept the unexpected quest without questions.

Oscar had also set everything else on his mind aside. All that mattered to him at that moment was rescuing the woman before Petrus dared to put a finger on her.

The memory of Petrus’ disgusting expression when he had talked about the punishment Oscar should have inflicted on the fire keeper made the knight’s anxious heart race against his ribs.

He would not allow Petrus to bring any harm to the innocent woman that was under his false protection; a woman that surely trusted him without knowing of his true nature.

“Our priority is to keep the lady safe.” Oscar told Solaire just as the elevator’s gate began to slide open. “Let’s avoid needless violence for as long as we can, but if at any moment you see Petrus threatens her wellbeing—”

“I know, Oscar.” Solaire replied with absolute seriousness, with a hand resting on the handle of his sunlight sword. His protected face met with Oscar’s, which was also concealed underneath his helmet. “I will not hold back.”

Petrus had always considered himself a patient man, but Vince and Nico never failed to test the limits of his tolerance.

As if waiting for the useless wench to finish her prayers wasn’t infuriating enough, the two jesters she had for bodyguards offered little amusement for Petrus.

Vince was simple, and his dull conversations were as entertaining as watching a windmill’s wheel spin.

Nico was worse; he was too stupid to speak correctly, but also too eager to share his mindless and endless blabbering with the world.

Reah, the pious lady, the irritable witch, the useless harlot, was no better than her two idiotic guards. Petrus knew of some men that would find her pretentious innocence charming, perhaps even exciting, but to him, it was nothing but repulsive. And not unlike her beloved and braindead friends, she was stupid to the point where it was insulting.

This is all your fault.

Petrus thought, resting his back against a wall of stone as Nico and Vince were immersed in one of their meaningless conversations, one Petrus had refused to join with a gentle smile, under the excuse he was a little tired and needed time on his own to rest.

And tired he was, but not of body.

His mind always paid the price for the disgust the company of those fools caused him, as if their mere existences drained him of what little joy he still harbored inside his soul.

And seeing them happy and hopeful, as if they were heroes of legend about to embark on a quest worthy of poems and songs, further rooted Petrus’ hatred for the three dolts.

I am here because of you.

Petrus glared at Reah and rested a hand on his chest, right above where the darksign was branded on his flesh. The girl could not see his stare, trapped in prayer as she was.

Petrus only changed the piercing expression on his eyes when Reah finished with her parting rituals and got back on her feet. When she turned around, she did not see a man whose hatred for her was as deep as it was poisonous, but the kindhearted and noble cleric she had known since she was a child.

And Petrus, too used to his role, played his part well.

“Are you ready to depart, my lady?”

“Indeed. Let us part to the Catacombs at once.”

Reah smiled at Petrus, and he returned the gesture, with a gentleness so convincing that it would have deceived even a god.

“But before we go, I want to thank you all for being here with me. Petrus, Vince, Nico... without your help, my duty would be doomed to failure. It is only because of your support and loyalty that I am able to carry out my holy mission in the first place. You’ve sacrificed so much for me, and even now, you continue to risk your lives to protect mine. My trusted guardians, my beloved friends. Together, we will recover the rite of Kindling and bring some hope to this dark world and honor to our homeland and covenant. No matter what happens, I will not fail you. I give you my word.”

How amusing. As if a woman’s word had any value. Fickle, capricious, and unreliable creatures you are, not unlike the goddesses. And yet, here I am... slavishly serving you, as if I was a damned knight of Carim. I am a high cleric of Thorolund! Unlike those deluded Carim brutes, I was not meant to waste my life away in the service of an ungrateful wench. But still, here I am. And it’s all your fault.

“My precious lady.” Petrus approached Reah before the crying Vince and the sniffling Nico could do the same. He knelt before her and offered her his palm; Reah accepted the gesture and extended her hand to Petrus.

He grabbed it with delicacy, as if he was handling a freshly bloomed rose, and planted a kiss on the smooth surface of her skin.

“We are not worthy of your kind words. I know I speak for Vince and Nico when I say that none of us could ask for a greater honor than being your faithful protectors. Our lives belong to you, my sweet lady Reah. We shall always be by your side, no matter what horrors and dangers we may encounter.”

Vince and Nico echoed his words with their own clumsy promises and oaths to Reah. The idiot girl, always hungry for flattery, rejoiced in the attention.

Petrus stood up and let go of her hand. How he would have enjoyed crushing those slender fingers in his grip, but the small gratification he would have obtained from the act was not worth the inevitable bloody encounter it would have sparked between him and Reah’s buffoons.

You’ll pay for what you did to me.

“Let’s get going, my lady.” Petrus said.

Nico and Vince, already dutifully standing behind Reah, readied their stances to embark on their perilous journey.

Their obvious affection for the wench was sickening.

It would get them killed for sure, but that wasn’t Petrus’ problem. If they were so eager to die for the sake of a woman as useless as Reah, he would not stop them.

But I will not share their fate. My life, cursed as it is, belongs only to me. I shall live, but first, I’ll make you pay. This is the only vow I’ll ever make to you, my lady.

Reah cocked her head slightly, signaling Petrus she was now completely ready to depart. Petrus nodded in response. He turned his back on the three fools and began to guide them onward to the cursed tombs, the place where the rite of Kindling had been lost.

The place where his vengeance would take place.

Their peaceful pilgrimage met an abrupt end before it could properly start when two strangers blocked their way.

A couple of knights.

An elite knight from Astora and a Warrior of Sunlight.

“You.” Petrus said under his breath, recognizing the meddlers instantly.

Vince and Nico quickly put themselves in front of Reah, shielding her with their swords and shields, completely protecting her body from any impeding attack.

Petrus reacted with more subtlety, his morning star firm in his hand and his shield raised in front of his chest.

He inspected the two Astorans movements and stances. Their swords were sheathed, but their hands were stiffly resting on the handles.

The elite knight, the hideous half-Hollow, was composed and calm.

The sunlight warrior, though more tense than his companion, still managed to keep himself in check, but Petrus knew his violence would know no limits if he was provoked.

The memory of his hateful glare sent shivers down Petrus’ spine. For the first time, he felt grateful for Reah’s presence.

The sunlight warrior would not unleash his true strength, not in the presence of an innocent maiden that could get injured in the violent mayhem.

And he was sure that the half-Hollow would be no different.

Such is the price of chivalry and courtly manners you knights so much value.

Petrus had to bite his lower lip to stop his mouth from twisting into a cruel and satisfied smirk.

Let us see how much good either does to you in battle, you meddlesome Astorans!

“What’s the meaning of this?” He asked the question with palpable offense, like a king that had been spoken to rudely by one of his servants. “Nico, Vince! Protect lady Reah at all costs! Do no worry, my lady, I’ll deal with this vile scum!”

“We do not wish to fight you.”

Petrus gasped.

It couldn’t be true.

The half-Hollow’s voice had been monstrous and horrific, like the distorted growl of a demon. But now, it sounded like that of a normal man.

What treachery is this? Did he manage to heal his Hollowing?

Petrus stunned his surprised before it could show on his face.

No, impossible. It was too advanced... it’s must be just a dirty trick. Is his helmet rigged with some sort of enchantment that filters the ugliness of his voice?

“Is that so?” Petrus said, lowering his guard, as if accepting the initial peaceful terms the Astorans had proposed.  “Then explain yourselves at once! My lady Reah has an important mission to fulfill, and your sole presence is an insult to her honor and virtue! Were we in Thorolund, you would be hanged for your impertinence, and the crows would feast on your exposed entrails!”

“My lady.” The half-Hollow, completely ignoring Petrus’ energetic threats, put an arm across his chest and bowed his head to Reah, who was barely visible behind the unfaltering protection of Vince and Nico.

The sunlight warrior reacted the same way.

Petrus seethed with rage at their indifference, and his fury reached its boiling point when the half-Hollow spoke again.

“We humbly apologize for our rude intervention, but we had no choice. This man, Petrus, is a threat for your wellbeing. As long as you remain in his presence, your life is in great danger.”

“Preposterous!” Vince exclaimed, and Nico echoed his offense with a series of stuttering mumblings that evidenced his indignation.

“How dare you speak such blasphemy about my most trusted guardian?”

It was lady Reah’s turn to voice her anger.

Petrus, far from being moved by her support and her total disbelief at the accusation thrown at him, stood tall before the Astorans, his features completely undisturbed by their claim.

“You impudent knights! Rogues! Such crime cannot go unpunished!”

“My lady, please, do not fret.” Petrus said, relaxing his body. “Do not let the empty words of this pathetic man reach you. His offense is great indeed, but he knows not what he is saying. I ask of you to be merciful, for you cannot ask logical thought and sensible behavior from a man whose mind is half rotten with the Hollowing.”

Petrus’ listened to Reah’s horrified gasp. Vince and Nico doubled their efforts of keeping her safe, and their flared tempers radiated a violent energy that filled the air with brittle, explosive tension.

“What are you saying, Petrus? Do you know these men?” Reah demanded after recovering her breath.

“I do. At first, I judged them as noble and brave Astoran knights, but alas, I soon discovered I had been too merciful with them. The elite knight and I shared a small moment of conversation by the bonfire when I first arrived here, while his companion, this Warrior of Sunlight, recovered from a failed Hollowing.”

Petrus watched in delight how the sunlight warrior recoiled at the mention of his pathetic moment of weakness.

The half-Hollow tensed at the jab he had thrown at his dear friend.

Yes, that’s it. Get angry, lose control. Show this harlot the monster you truly are.

“I thought we were getting along well, but this elite knight, this half-Hollow... he began to act in strange ways. He put words in my mouth, claiming I had vile intentions on mind for the fire keeper, and when his companion finally woke up, they both accused me of trying to kill them. They became hostile and irrational against me, even when I did nothing more than trying to help them and offer them comfort from their curse. I was forced to flee from the scene, confused and regretful that a potential friendship had met an end so abrupt.”

“Liar!” The sunlight warrior exclaimed. “Not once did we try to kill you! It was you who tried to dispose of us! You tricked my friend with your farce about the kindling of bonfires... you tried to take his Humanity as you did mine.”

“I ignore how you came to know of the kindling of bonfires, but I had nothing to do with it... And take your Humanity?”

Petrus laughed heartily.

“Are you seriously accusing me of being a dirty Darkwraith? Me? A high cleric of Thorolund? Oh, my esteemed Warrior of Sunlight, I’m afraid the Hollowing damaged your mind, just as it did with your friend’s. Leady Reah, please share some of your indulgence with this man too. He is kind of heart, but his soul is too clouded by the toxic mists of his failed Hollowing. Forgive him, for he does not know what he is saying.”

“I saw you conjure it.” The half-Hollow claimed mercilessly. “The crimson energy, a dark magic that would give you access to our Humanities. You claimed it was a benevolent spell, one developed by generations of Thorolund clerics. I know what I saw, Petrus. My memories are clear and true, unlike your lying tongue.”

The grave accusation did not infuriate Petrus.

True as it was, it was also ridiculous and blasphemous.

Petrus took a light peek over his shoulder.

“Behold! It is I, Petrus, a real Darkwraith in the flesh!” he exclaimed as he looked at his fellow clerics.

Their baffled faces became joyful smiles at the same time.

Vince and Nico laughed out loud, while Reah joined them with a relieved smile, completely incredulous of the foolish accusation thrown at her guardian.

The two Astorans, now reduced to a couple of insane clowns and no longer taken as a serious threat by the warrior clerics and the maiden, endured the ridicule in stoic silence.

Petrus looked at them, his chest puffed with victorious satisfaction.

“I think we need no further proof of the decayed state of mind of these poor souls.” Petrus exclaimed, feigning to feel extreme pity for the two knights. “Thanks for the involuntary amusement, gentlemen. You really have brought some joy to my lady’s heart, as well of that of her companions. Lady Reah, I think we can forget this distasteful incident ever happened and completely disregard the awful accusations of these two morons, can’t we?”

“Of course. These men did offend me, but I cannot blame them for their actions. They meant no harm, and they have done us no harm. I forgive them, and I shall pray they find peace and happiness despite their madness.”

“You are as wise as you are merciful, my lady. And if you forgive them, then so will I.”

Petrus walked towards the Astorans, expecting them to move out of their way now that their credibility had been destroyed.

They didn’t.

“You heard my lady. She harbors no ill will against you. Now move.”

Swiftly, Petrus pushed the Warrior of Sunlight out of the way with a strong slam of his shoulder. The fanatic idiot fell on his back and crashed his head badly against the wall. Had it not been for his helmet, his neck would have likely snapped from his spine like a twig broken in half.

The elite knight rushed to his side. He helped his useless friend sit down, and Petrus felt the urgent need to finish the work and kill them both at that very moment, but the act would only agitate Reah.

The dirty wench, despite her continuous demands for respect and her imposing threats, had a feeble heart that made her weak to real displays of violence. She was all bark and no bite, and if he disobeyed her now and killed the Astorans in cold blood before her eyes, she would take a long time to recover her senses from her hysteria.

Nico and Vince would hate Petrus for putting their beloved lady in such state, as amusing as it would be for the high cleric to see the wench lose control of her emotions.

The push Petrus had given to the sunlight warrior surely had upset her more than necessary already.

She would probably cry in regret about the whole matter later, and Petrus would be forced to apologize and comfort her, all while claiming he’d had no choice, and that he would try to never act the same again.

He brought it upon himself.

Petrus thought as he looked disdainfully at the Astorans, as if they were mangy dogs about to attack.

This is what happens when you defy me. If you are smart, you won’t bother me again.

Petrus must have jinxed his fortune, for the half-Hollow sprung back on his feet as soon as he made sure his companion was out of danger.

Petrus took a step back, surprised by his continuous defiance.

Why did he insist?

Why did he antagonize him so?

Did the half-Hollow really hate him so much only because of the few raunchy jokes Petrus had made at the expense of the fire keeper?

He had done them no wrong.

Sure, Petrus had indeed tried to take their Humanities... so what?

It hadn’t been anything personal, and had either of the Astorans been in his place, they would have done the same thing.

“I won’t let you get away with this.”  

The half-Hollow stated, loud enough for everyone in the shrine to hear.

“You are a vile man, Petrus, and I won’t let you hurt this woman and her guards, not if I can expose your lies! Twist the truth as much as you want, that won’t make you any less free or innocent of the sins you are drenched with. My lady, if you can’t believe me or my companion, then trust the word of a pardoner! The same pardoner that knows of Petrus’ faults and warned us of what fate could befall you if you continued to trust him! Oswald of Carim supports my accusations; he lingers nearby, at the old church. Talk to him; expose Petrus as a threat to your safety and he will be free to tell you all about Petrus’ confessions and sins. Please, my lady... trust me in this. Please.”

Time stopped for Petrus. The weight of the accusations fell heavily on his shoulders, so real and tangible that he swore a statue had crushed him.

He did not dare to look over his shoulder to confirm the effect the half-hollow’s claim had had on Reah, Nico and Vince.

Pardoners, regardless of their origin, were deeply respected by all nations and kingdoms, and their word held a powerful influence that was not easily ignored.

Oswald.

That treacherous snake!

Could it be true?

Was he there in Lordran?

Petrus had caught not a single glance of any pardoner passing through Firelink Shrine; then again, Oswald was known for his guile and slippery movements. He was more shadow than he was a man.

The Warrior of Sunlight stood up and remained by the half-Hollow’s side, but if he thought that was enough to intimidate Petrus, then the cleric had a nasty surprise for them both.

“I am a high cleric. I confess my few sins directly to Allfather Lloyd.” Petrus said, not a single trace of fear or nervousness in his voice. “And even if your encounter with said pardoner was true, it would not surprise me that a pardoner of Carim would try to mud my reputation. We all know how apprehensive people from Carim are of their goddesses and religion, and how little tolerance they show to those who do not share their beliefs. We clerics of Thorolund are no strangers to their petty treatment. I guess it was only a matter of time before some of their venom finally reached me.”

“Death to Velka, the fraudulent goddess!” Vince exclaimed, spitting to the ground. “Hail Allfather Lloyd, uncle of lord Gwyn!”

Nico applauded his claim. Reah begged them both to remain quiet and be respectful, but her approval and favoritism for the acclaimed god was obvious.

“It pains me to see that Astora would show more trust in Carim, their sworn enemy, than they would in Thorolund, their trusted ally.” Petrus proceeded after feeling the growing approval he was getting from his stupid companions. “Aren’t our homelands joined by generations of friendship and goodwill? Do we not share the same religion and traditions? You’d do well to remember who your true allies are, Astoran knights. You wouldn’t want to tarnish a bond as pure and strong as that which ties our kingdoms together, would you?”

“A man’s sins are his alone.” The bloody half-Hollow retorted. “Our places of birth have nothing to do with this.”

“The next time a Carim bastard stabs you in the back, I dare you repeat those same words aloud, you half-baked monster.” Petrus couldn’t stop himself and violently rested his morning star on the lower part of the half-Hollow’s helmet. “Then we’ll see how strong this ideal of yours still stands.”

The Warrior of Sunlight immediately reacted by unsheathing his sunlight sword. With a swift but powerful swing, he repelled the morning star away from the half-Hollow. The force of the attack made Petrus lose his balance, but he recovered after one miscalculated step and faced the Warrior of Sunlight.

Petrus felt his face and neck burning with furious blood.

“Petrus!” Reah’s voice, though touched with trembling anxiety, remained authoritative. “Enough! Please, do no ignite in needless bloodshed. If you are worried that the claims of these knights have changed or distorted my opinion of you, I assure you they have not. Nothing they say could make me think of you as something else other than my loyal guardian. These men are not well, they don’t know any better, but we do! Please, Petrus. Do not harm them. No one here needs to die.”

That’s not true. You do.

“Very well, my lady.”  After a long moment of brittle silence, Petrus’ recollected enough pieces of his common sense to cool down his flaring battle instincts. “I shall do as you command and—”

“Reah, listen to me!”  The half-Hollow exclaimed, his desperation no longer hidden behind knightly stoicism. “Your trust is misplaced! I beg of you, do not continue your pilgrimage with this man. He is not who he claims to be. He is not the man you think he is.”

“You dare to address our lady by her name, as if she was a peasant’s daughter?” Vince spat, and Petrus approved of his disdain for the Astoran. “The gall!”

“Vince, not you too.” Reah lamented, exhausted of the confrontation, horrified at the growing possibility of it becoming a gory encounter.

Obviously, the pampered and weak child has not what it takes to deal with reality. Though to be honest, I am tired of this too.

“It jumps to the eye these knights will not stop with their fraudulent and relentless claims.” Petrus announced, bringing forth a feign but convincing sense of order for everyone involved. “My lady, I respect your decision and I will do as you command me, but as a high cleric, I cannot allow my reputation to remain tarnished by the accusations of these men. Therefore, I shall clear my name in front all of you and prove I am innocent of all sin. I’ll go to the old church and bring here this pardoner, Oswald of Carim, and he will have my permission to recite out loud all the supposed sins he knows me guilty of.”

“Petrus! There’s no need for that. Nico, Vince and I have not been persuaded by the lies of these wicked knights!”

“I know, my dear lady. You have a strong heart, immune to the gossip of lowly scum. If I want to bring this pardoner here, it’s not because I fear you have been poisoned by Astoran lies.”

Petrus pointed his morning star at the Warrior of Sunlight and the half-Hollow.

“My only intent is to prove these snakes that their cruel defamation of me is as false as it is futile, and that I will not be intimated by fabricated scenarios, not now and not ever. Take me then to this pardoner, knights! But first, let me expose the level of deceit and treachery of my accuser, this hideous half-Hollow”

Petrus raised his chin, his defiant eyes not once losing sight of the elite knight.

“Take off your helmet, knight. Let my lady and fellow clerics see your deformed face. Let them hear your real voice; your enchanted helmet may keep your true self concealed, but I know what you really are, just a manipulative half-Hollow! Take off your helmet, look at lady Reah in the eye and dare to accuse me again. Then we’ll see how evident your tricks are, and how foul and dishonest the heart of a Hollow truly is.”

Oscar had never intended the illusion of his falsely healed Hollowing to go on for so long. He had tried to confess to Solaire the truth behind his appearance, but his friend had been so overjoyed about his recovery that Oscar hadn’t had the heart to shatter his hopes.

He had then decided to tell him the truth once they left behind the old church, but their sudden mission to rescue the lady cleric from Petrus’ hands had changed everything.

Oscar had foreseen Petrus’ tactics. He knew he would bring up his incomplete Hollowing and use it against him to undermine the credibility of Oscar's claims.

Thus, the lie couldn’t be broken, not yet. There had been a brief moment of doubt while he and Solaire were on the elevator. Oscar had almost confessed everything to him, but he had refused the idea in the last second.

Solaire was an amazing knight, but Oscar knew he would be an awful liar, even more so if said lie was intended to persuade a cunning man like Petrus.

Solaire would only convince the cleric if he too believed with all his heart that Oscar’s recovery was true.

Solaire did not deserve to be a tool of his deception, but Oscar knew he’d had no choice.

Yet, as much as he liked to believe he had only remained quiet about the ring for the sake of their mission to save lady Reah,  the more Oscar thought about it, the thinner his conviction in this belief became.

Deep down, he did not want Solaire to know the truth.  Oscar knew how much against the idea Solaire would be of him wearing a cursed ring.

A ring Oscar no longer wanted to take off, even less discard.

Even if it was only an illusion, the feeling of normalcy the ring offered him was real.

No longer was he a distrustful half-Hollow for others.

He was a normal Undead.

He was a trustworthy knight.

He was Oscar.

To give up all of it and return to being a half-Hollow, with his corrupted face and demonic voice, was an unfathomable thought, and it became more undesirable the longer he enjoyed of the ring’s benefits.

His thinking had also been pertinent, no matter how deceitful.

And he was about to prove it to Petrus.

“Take off your helmet, knight.”

The cleric spoke to Oscar the same way he had done when they had first met.

Oscar had been too weak back then, with an injured Solaire to look after and a heart that was still tender and bleeding because of the Chosen Undead’s death.

Things were different now.

His body was strong, Solaire was conscious and healthy, and the Chosen Undead, though still a difficult memory, was more a source of inspiration and courage than of grief.

“As you wish.”

Oscar took of the helmet Andre had crafted for him.

Petrus’ expression would have been comical if Oscar’s own guilt for his lie hadn’t dampened his mood.

Still, he stood tall and confident, his face fully exposed to the Thorolund clerics.

Reah stared at him, her hands resting on her chest and her suspicious eyes changing into a dreamy expression that almost succeeded in distracting Oscar.

Vince looked at Reah and grew furious at the noticeable effect Oscar was having on her. In the blink of an eye, he became no less confrontational than Petrus.

“Oh no! He is trying to hypnotize lady Reah with his eyes!” Vince announced, exalting Nico into anger as well. “He is an evil sorcerer!”

“Quiet!”

Vince and Nico cowered in fear of Petrus’ order. Reah comforted her two bodyguards, but Oscar could see that she was no less scared of the high cleric’s temper.

Judging by her expression, Petrus had seldom, if ever, acted in such aggressive manner in her presence.

“Explain yourself, half-Hollow knight.” Petrus demanded, his frown so deeply marked that it looked as if the skin of his temples would tear apart. “How did you heal a Hollowing as severe as yours? How many Humanities did it took? Or are you going to tell me you kindled a bonfire so hard and well that its fire purified you? Lie to me, go on. Trick yourself out of this. It’s all bastards as heavily touched by the Hollowing like you know how to do.”

“I’ve had enough of your slander!” Solaire intervened and spread an arm in front of Oscar. Petrus took a step back, almost tripping over his own feet. “Oscar is a good man, and I will not let you talk to him in this manner any longer. He is a true and worthy elite knight of Astora, the ringer of the bell of Awakening... the Undead of the prophecy! He deserves your respect, cleric, and you will give it to him.”

“Is it true?” Reah ventured. “Astoran knight... Sir Oscar, was it you who rang the bell of Awakening?”

Nico, and even Vince, were in as much awe as her.

“Lady Reah, do not fall for this scoundrel’s trickery!” Petrus intervened before Oscar could even think of what answer he could give to Reah and her companions. “They are trying to distract you from the true subject at hand! Whether this man rang the bell or not, it’s irrelevant to my question. Well then... sir Oscar of Astora, the one and only Chosen Undead of the prophecy, would you kindly tell me how you healed your Hollowing?”

Petrus’ false courtesy did not offend Oscar.

But the title he had called him did.

Chosen Undead.

He became agitated, and though he managed to keep his nervousness from showing on his body, he found not the strength to pronounce words.

Don’t call me that.

I am not.

Or am I?

“What’s the matter?” Petrus insisted with a cruel smirk. “Are you counting all the Undead you turned into Hollows when you robbed them of their Humanity? How many of them suffered so you could be healed of your Hollowing, Oscar? How many innocents did you condemn only to fulfill your selfish means?”

Many.

Northern Asylum summoned him back to the rotten confines of its walls of stone

It was now an empty place; its only residents were a demon and the few Hollows that had survived Oscar’s first and only visit.

The ring on his finger burned his skin.

Too many.

“Oscar?” Solaire put an arm behind his shoulders.

Had it not been for his support, Oscar did not know what he would have done. The weight of his friend’s arm helped him find his place in reality again. Slowly but surely, his arrhythmic breathing and heartbeat regained a gentler pace.

“The weight of your sins is heavy indeed.” Petrus continued. “Just like your lies. Did you see, lady Reah? Only a half-Hollow would lose control of his emotions so easily. Do not be deceived by his appearance or by his friend’s exaggerated claims. This knight’s mind is still afflicted by the Hollowing. What you see on his face is nothing but an illusion, a trick of some sort.”

“You know not what Oscar has been through!” Solaire snapped. “His reaction is not that of weakness or caused by the Hollowing! It’s that of a man that is still healing, of a knight that keeps fighting regardless of his fresh scars. He is—”

“Astoran. Just like you.” Petrus finished for Solaire. “That only makes his Hollowing worse. You Astorans have never been in proper control of your emotions. There’s too much dark inside you... too much darkness in your souls. It is no coincidence the Dark beast attacked your homeland. I’ve never understood why Astorans are so proud of their sentimentality. Just look at what it does to you. No wonder you always make the most horrible and dangerous of Hollows.”

“Petrus!”

“What I say is true, lady Reah. I know you’ve been infatuated with tales of Astoran knights all your life, but you need to see them for what they really are. They are not sensitive, they are unstable. They are not loyal, they are obsessive. They are not noble, they are pretentious... and today, I’ve learned they are dishonest as well, for this elite knight continues to lie to his friend even now. Yes, Warrior of Sunlight. I’m afraid you are another victim of this half-Hollow’s tricks.”

Petrus took a step closer to them.

Solaire’s support in Oscar never wavered.

Oscar knew he would defend him to the death.

Solaire was willing to die for him, to die for a lie.

My friend... I’m so sorry.

“This is your last chance to save what little specks of honor remain in your corrupted heart, elite knight.” Petrus threatened. “I know you are not healed of your Hollowing and that this is all an elaborated trick. You may have deceived your simple-minded companion, but it won’t work on me or my fellow clerics. Confess your lie, half-Hollow. It’s the only decent thing you can do at this point.”

“I am not lying.” Oscar lied, fully aware that accepting his fault would gain him nothing. He couldn’t look at Reah and her bodyguards in the eye as he spoke, and Solaire’s reassuring arm was now a stinging weight on his shoulders. “I am free of the Hollowing that once plagued me.”

“Then tell us how you did it.”

“Pardoner Oswald helped us.” Solaire finished for Oscar. “We made our confessions and he granted us peace of mind. Oscar never stole Humanity from a living Undead, Petrus. Perhaps it’s time you stopped projecting your own sins on Oscar and accepted he is telling the truth, whether you like it or not.”

“Pardoners cannot possibly heal the curse of Hollowing, you hopeless idiot!”

Petrus gained confidence after Solaire’s well-intentioned but careless words.

“By Allfather Lloyd, I cannot believe all this nonsense! Is that what he told you? Oscar, I understand that this fool fell for the scam... but you couldn’t possibly believe none of this was true. Now I am sure this is all false. To be honest, I was just testing my ground before, but now, I am free of doubt. You’ve been tricked, Warrior of Sunlight! By that charlatan of Carim, and by your treacherous friend.”

“The only liar here is you!” Oscar exclaimed, breaking free of Solaire’s protective support.

He had heard enough of Petrus’ manipulative retorts and insults.

Oscar had only one mission: to save Reah.

There was no time to doubt himself or let regret cloud his better judgment. Oscar knew he had to remain strong and confident; otherwise, Petrus would come out victorious with his cheap fallacies and disingenuous claims.

“Lady Reah, for my honor as an elite knight of Astora, for my duty to you as a warrior, I now reaffirm all that I have said about this man, with hope in my heart that you and your brave guards believe my words.”

Reah, Vince and Nico looked at Oscar, a small glimmer of conviction shinning in their eyes.

They were listening to him.

For the first time, they were looking at him and regarding him as an honorable man, not as the insane half-Hollow Petrus had presented to them.

A familiar satisfaction warmed Oscar’s soul, and for a brief but joyful second, a clear memory of his past transported him back to Astora, to the times when utter respect and acknowledgement had been granted to him as naturally and constantly as the air he breathed.

It felt good.

He felt proud.

“Beautiful words. Indeed, proper of an educated and worthy elite knight.”

Petrus’ hand clashed against Oscar’s chest. He had been so drowned in his memory of his past life he had not noticed the moment the cleric had moved his arm.

“Let us prove how much truth there is behind them once and for all!”

A white light blinded Oscar.

The last he heard before darkness swallowed his world were the distant cries of Reah and the anguished voice of Solaire as he screamed his name.

“You did well, Yoel. Without your help, the sword and helmet would have not been retrieved. You are an example of excellence for all Hollows and pilgrims. If only more were half as competent and loyal as you...”

“My lady Yuria, it was an honor to be of service to you and our cause. If there’s anything else I can do for you, by all means, tell me. Nothing brings more joy and fulfillment to this old pilgrim than to do the will of his lady.”

“You flatter me, but Yoel, my dearest friend, I’m afraid there’s indeed one more favor I must ask of you. A duty I would not entrust to anyone else other than you... a sacrifice only a loyal pilgrim can make.”

Yoel clung to his withered staff.

Honor and fear clashed inside his rotten heart.

Lady Yuria, always so merciful and kind, came to him and embraced him.

“My friend.” Yoel whispered as the tears of his lady touched his tattered tunic. “My lady.”

Chapter Text

“By the gods, there he is again. What an annoying prick, though I must say I feel a bit sorry for the moron. Does he really think we enjoy his presence?”

“Of course he does, he’s an idiot. Don’t you feel bad about him! If you ask me, a knight that gets tricked even by some old farmer deserves all the mistreatment he gets.”

The elite knight laughed merrily, the pint on his hand spilling some of the ale on the wooden table. His friend, an elite knight too, joined him.

“What did the idiot do this time? Do tell!”

“Didn’t you hear? It was everyone’s favorite anecdote for days! And the best part is the idiot was completely oblivious of the whole thing; he still is! Every time someone sarcastically congratulates him for his good deed, he says ‘it was nothing! I’m here to help anytime’.”

They laughed together again.

“That man is something else. How he even managed to become a knight in the first place is beyond me.”

“Haven’t you seen him fight? He’s got the strength of a giant! And the brains and grace of one too.”

“You speak the truth, friend! Curses, he’s seen us now. Hurry, tell me of the farmer’s trickery! Quickly, before the idiot gets too close.”

“Apparently, the farmer told the idiot he needed help with his crop field, which had gotten infested with nettles. The farmer said he wanted to get the work done by himself, but that his broken ankle made it impossible. An ankle that was conveniently fully healed the day after. As expected, the idiot immediately accepted the work and began ripping out every single nettle on the field... with his bare hands.”

“Ha! Typical Solaire!”

“And the best thing is that he didn’t even ask the farmer for any sort of payment once he was done. Not that the old man would have been obligated to give him anything for his services. A knight that doesn’t establish a payment beforehand has no right to reclaim it afterwards. Such a relief that rule doesn’t apply to us elites.”

“Hey, don’t be unfair with the fool! You can’t ask him to remember this sort of things; it could make his head catch fire faster than a leaking oil lamp.”

“I think his hands are still swollen with nettle poison. Hopefully not; otherwise, he’ll be of no use to us. What a shame, I really wanted my sword and shield to get polished today. We elites shouldn’t do this sort of menial work by ourselves! It’s below us.”

“I get what you’re saying, but don’t you worry. I’m sure the idiot wouldn’t refuse us the favor even if his hands had been cut off. He wouldn’t want the elites of Astora to resent him, would he?”

“Spoken like a true elite knight! Cheers to you, friend!”

The two elite knights made a quick toast and finished their drinks.

“Hey, Oscar! Don’t you want to get your sword and shield polished for free too?” 

The third elite knight had silently listened to his comrades’ conversation from a nearby table. He stood up and gave them a condescending look from behind the visor of his helmet.

“You want me to entrust my equipment to the same man that couldn’t even properly get rid of some nettles? Please, I’d rather whet and polish my sword with a muddied rock.”

“Properly? Wait, wait! Are you saying the idiot couldn’t even do that simple task right?” one of the elite knights asked him, as prepared as his friend to explode in boisterous cackling.

“I’m not the town crier. Ask Solaire yourselves if you are so curious, he’s already coming this way. Now, if you excuse me, I’ve got better things to do than watching you humiliate the poor bastard.”

“Oh please, as if you didn’t enjoy the idiot’s misadventures as much as the rest of Astora.”

“I couldn’t care less about him. Dress him in a jester’s patched attire and make him dance under the sun for three days in a row if you wish. It’s none of my business.” Oscar told them. “But don’t come crying to me after he leaves your swords and shields all chipped and blunt.”

“Dressing him in a jester’s patched attire... Gwyn’s mercy, that’s genius! Maybe if we tell him it’s some sort of praising ritual for the sun—” the other elite knight snapped his fingers, and he and his drinking partner started planning how to get the idea become reality.

Oscar left them to their machinations, completely uncaring of whether they had success or not.
Solaire then passed trotting next to him. 

“Hello there!” The always jolly knight told him with a gleaming smile. “Do you—"

Oscar was glad he had not removed his helmet at any moment. It granted him the perfect excuse to completely ignore Solaire, just as he always did.

He left the lower-class knight behind, without giving him the slightest sign he had seen or heard him.

Whether he was an idiot or not was something Oscar had given little thought to, but he did agree with something one of his fellow elite knights had stated.

Solaire was annoying, and if he was so gullible, then maybe he did deserve to be everyone’s laughingstock.

Oscar looked over his shoulder one last time before abandoning the tavern, and saw his fellow elite knights talking with an enthusiastic Solaire, praising him for his good deed with the farmer and the crop field.

Solaire thanked them humbly.

Oscar did not feel pity for him, and he had no intention of stopping the cruel jest they had planned for Solaire.

The lower-class knight was not worthy of his time.

“Pathetic.” Oscar grunted disdainfully under his breath. 

It was the only thought he was willing to waste on Solaire.

With that, he left the building behind, and he did not think of him again.

The dream shattered into pieces and was replaced by a loud, chaotic reality.

It was as if the shouting had never ceased.

Solaire screamed his name , while Reah’s pleas remained ignored by all.

Oscar’s sight became one with his mind again.
 The first thing he saw was the blurry image of Solaire being held down to the floor by Petrus and Reah’s bodyguards.

The three men, strong and trained as they were, could barely keep Solaire pinned down as he trashed and struggled to break free from them. 

The clerics’ faces were red and sweating of exhaustion. Nico and Vince frowned with frustration as their efforts failed to make Solaire stop, while Petrus smiled in amusement at Solaire’s futile attempts to shake them off.

“Oscar!”  Solaire managed to lift his torso from the ground by stretching his arms.

The energetic impulse sent Nico into the air. The tired cleric fell on his back, exhausted and injured, and hit his head with the floor. Reah ran to his aid, her tearful eyes fixed on her guardians as she begged them to stop.

Vince kept his position on top of Solaire only out of sheer luck. Unlike Petrus, he was not deaf to Reah’s orders, but still he continued aiding the high cleric. 
Petrus, infuriated by Solaire’s defiance, slammed his boot against the back of Solaire’s head. 

The crack his skull made as it crashed against the stone floor froze Oscar’s blood and fully reawakened his mind and body back to his senses.

He was lying on the ground, his back resting against an old stone column, trapped in a position not so different as the one he had held at the Asylum’s old cell, right after the demon had defeated him with a single blow of its giant hammer. 

All that was missing was the ice-cold water filtering through his boots to make the scene a perfect recreation.

Oscar would have sunk into that fateful memory had it not been for the empty dread that was consuming him.

“Solaire.”  He moved his lips, but no sound came from his throat.

“Oscar!” Solaire replied as if he had heard him.
His friend was still alive.

Oscar’s relief returned warmth to his heart and soul, but he had no chance to enjoy it.

Petrus made sure of it.

“Calm down already , you stupid animal!” Petrus ordered Solaire as he pressed his boot deeper into his nape. Vince looked at the high cleric with submissive fear as he tried to keep Solaire’s arms glued to the ground. “How many times do I have to tell you? The half-Hollow is not dead! Are you deaf or are you just an idiot? Answer me, you airheaded clown! You pathetic excuse for a knight!”

Petrus stomped his foot against Solaire again.

And again.

And again.

It didn’t take long for Vince’s disapproval to show on his features, but he made no attempt to stop Petrus.

Only one person did.

“Petrus!” Reah cried, kneeling next to the disoriented Nico, who looked at the demonstration of violence with no less shock than Vince and his lady. “Stop! You’re going to kill him!  Petrus, don’t do this! I command you to stop! Stop!”

“This must be done, my lady!” Petrus exclaimed in an invigorated scream that conveyed nothing but overjoyed satisfaction. “It’s the only way to keep savages like him under control!”

“Solaire.” Oscar repeated, his voice now loud and noticeable enough to be considered a whisper. He drew breath, enraged by the cruel treatment Petrus was inflicting on his friend, and screamed his command for everyone in Lordran to hear. “ENOUGH!”

His roar froze the scene before him and earned him the startled attention of all the clerics. Their fear and disgust did not catch Oscar by surprise; he knew well the reason behind their reactions.

His demonic voice had transformed his scream into the growl of a furious abomination.

Vince’s stared at him and jumped away from Solaire, as if Oscar was a monster about to attack. He quickly ran to Reah’s side and protected her together with Nico, who had also regained his energy just by taking a quick glance at Oscar’s face.

Their bodies kept Reah’s reaction a secret from Oscar, but he knew any benevolent feeling the woman could have felt for him was gone for good.

Petrus reacted too, but unlike his fellow clerics, he did so with a wide grin.

“I knew it.” Petrus removed his boot from Solaire’s head and knelt to his side. “It was all lie.”

“Os... car?” Solaire mumbled.

Petrus, without taking his eyes off Oscar, roughly grabbed Solaire by his untied, mangled long hair matted with blood, and lifted his head so he could look at Oscar directly.

He held Solaire’s chin with his other hand, further firming his injured head so that he would not miss a single detail of Oscar’s exposed deceit.

“Look, Warrior of Sunlight! Look at your friend for what he really is!” Petrus exclaimed. “Just a filthy, treacherous half-Hollow that lied to you... lied to all of us!”

His insults, his words, his venom.

They were only sounds the wind would take away, but Solaire’s incredulous eyes would never leave him. 

They were real, a tangible evidence of the bond Oscar had broken.

“Solaire.” Oscar moved his body forwards. He managed to get his knees under him, but shame did not allow him to get any closer to Solaire or the clerics he had so shamefully deceived. “I—”

“Don’t you move, monster!” Vince roared, the expression on his face now transformed into the most boiling anger, completely different from the childish jealousy he had shown to Oscar before. “My lady, stay behind us! Petrus was right about this man. He’s nothing but scum, and already half consumed by the curse!”

Nico agreed with his friend, and he gave Oscar a look of disgusted rejection. 

Neither would ever trust him again.

They had dared to defy the possibilities, they had even gone against Petrus’ warnings and given Oscar a chance, only to have their trust betrayed.

Shame almost pulled Oscar to the ground, but Solaire’s unrelenting stare kept him still. 

His eyes hurt Oscar, they filled him with cold regret and embarrassment, but he did not dare to look away.

To do so would be to offend the honor of the man that had thought of Oscar as his friend.

The same man Oscar had mistreated in his past life.

The old memory he had mistaken for a dream fused with Oscar’s fresh shame. Together, they created an invisible, unbreakable wall between him and everyone around him.

I ruined it.

Oscar’s body shuddered at the foulness of his actions, both past and present.

I ruined everything.

“I tried to warn you, Solaire.” Petrus spoke, slowly helping Solaire back on his feet. He took out a tattered talisman from a hidden pocket on his armor and casted a healing light on Solaire.

The most serious of injuries that the clerics had inflicted on Solaire during their savage moment of struggle vanished at the touch of the holy light.

Scratches, bruises and dried blood remained plastered on his skin and hair, but they were small wounds a knight could endure without complaints.

“But you wouldn’t listen. Hopefully, you will now.”

Solaire, silent and unresponsive, blinked only once, his blue eyes fixed on Oscar’s as threads of his blond hair hung limply on his face.

“As for you, deceiver.” Petrus continued, putting himself between Oscar and Solaire. “Dirty mistake of fate, blasphemer of righteous men, breeder of lies and tricks.”

He moved to a side, forcing Solaire to do the same by pulling him by the arm. 

Nico and Vince understood the order, and they too moved so that no one stood between Reah and Oscar.

The distance between them was meaningless, and the mortified glittering of the welled-up tears in her eyes was like a dagger for Oscar.

There was no trace left of Reah’s innocent admiration for him. Oscar had taken that poor woman’s expectations and perception of Astoran knights and shaped them into something hideous. 

She hated him; she hated him for his betrayal, for all the chaos and suffering he had caused to her and her friends with his meddling lie.

She hated him for corrupting the peaceful start of her pilgrimage, for burdening her and her guardians with needless violence and tension.

Oscar tried to say something, but words couldn’t mend what he had destroyed.

He wished to tell her how had never intended to hurt her. 

He had only wanted to save her from Petrus’ claws, but Reah didn’t know that; she couldn’t possibly know what Oscar knew, even less believe in his accusations.

And now, she would never trust Oscar again. To her, he would never be anything else other than the cruel, corrupted knight that brought harm to her guardians and broke havoc into her pilgrimage.

A monster that had almost succeeded in tricking her and had left her trust in foreign knights in shambles.

Oscar could not endure it anymore.

He tried to look down and hide his deformed appearance and shameful eyes from her and her bodyguards, but Petrus did not allow him the pleasure.

He held Oscar’s chin in one place with the cold, pricking touch of his morning star.

The metal spikes pierced Oscar’s skin, and a warm and thin thread of blood streamed down the weapon as Petrus forced him to keep his eyes fixed on Reah.

“Tell lady Reah that I’m a vile man. Tell her again all the lies you created in your insane, rotten mind. Tell her, half- Hollow. Look at her in the eye and tell her all of it again, I dare you.”

Oscar opened his mouth. 

An unintentional hoarse, deep growl escaped him.

Reah heard the awful sound, and it finally drove her to tears.

Nico and Vince immediately held their lady in a comforting embrace, shielding her from Oscar’s venom with their bodies.

“Do you see, half-Hollow? Suffering and despair. That’s all abominations like you can offer to the world, no matter how much you hide your true nature behind illusions.”

Petrus blocked Oscar’s field of view again. His morning star departed the underside of his jaw, but Oscar could not move his body.

He remained frozen under Petrus’ shadow.

“Nico, Vince. Get lady Reah away from here. Take her to the lower floor. I’ll meet you there in a moment, after I have dealt with this monster. Be sure to keep her comfortable and safe. My lady, don’t you cry, I promise you I will set things right. Now go.”

Oscar could only listen to the steps of Reah, Nico and Vince as they immediately followed Petrus’ order with absolute trust and diligence.

“Reah... please.” Oscar tried to reach her in one last attempt to warn her of Petrus’ true nature, but Reah only replied with a deep and hateful glare.

Soon, she and her bodyguards were gone. 

Only Petrus and Solaire remained by Oscar’s side.

“It’s amazing how versatile the effects of miracles are, isn’t it?” 

Petrus commented casually, playing with his tattered talisman as he threw it into the air and caught it twice. 

“One single tale can create many variations of the same miracle. Healing for example, can be either instantaneous or continuous. The Force miracle can be used as a harmless defense or as a crushing attack that will reduce the bones of those around you into dust. Fortunately for you, I used the defensive variation of this miracle, half-Hollow... mixed with something else.”

Oscar listened to Petrus but did not look at him. His whole attention was directed at Solaire.

His former friend, the man he had betrayed and failed even before they had properly met in Lordran, looked at him with a vacuous expression that sunk Oscar in the deepest end of shame and despair.

Petrus, noticing Solaire had moved from behind his back and was now standing next to him, pushed him behind again him with unexpected politeness, so that Oscar could have no one to look at other than himself.

“There are messages hidden around us.”

Petrus continued.

“Lordran was once filled with messages of old, left behind by the first of the Undeads... and even by the gods themselves, some may claim.  Time, decay, and the selfishness of those who sought to keep that information to themselves have erased most of these messages, and the few that remain are not longer visible to the eye. They are concealed from us, but with the right miracle, they can come to light again. By chanting a tale of seeking guidance, one may see the messages others left behind and claim their wisdom as their own.”

Petrus’ raised his hand to his mouth and pressed the talisman against his lips. He mumbled two silent tales Oscar couldn’t not understand, and his hand became engulfed with two different lights, one white, the other golden.

Together, they shone with an almost blinding glow that Oscar recognized instantly. It had been the same shine he had seen just before he had drowned into unconsciousness.

“Force to knock you out, and Seeking Guidance to unveil that which you tried to conceal under cheap tactics and illusions."

Petrus said, so proud of himself that he sounded more like a king than a humble cleric.

"An invention of my own, and quite popular among us clerics while dealing with those we know are trying desperately to hide their curse from the world. I left it as my last resource, with the hopes you would be honest with my lady and this Warrior of Sunlight by your own volition. I should have known better than to expect such level of decency from a half-Hollow. “

Petrus smiled at Oscar.

“Sadly, miracles are fleeting, and so are their effects. I unveiled your deceit, but don’t worry, whatever illusion you are using to keep your hideous appearance concealed will soon come back to you. It’s a true shame I can’t say the same about the trust and bonds you’ve broken with your lies.”

Solaire came out from behind Petrus’ back once more. Oscar could not look at him this time.
Instead, he covered his face with both hands and lowered his head. 

He couldn’t put up with Solaire’s gaze, not after the truth had been spoken out loud so cruelly by Petrus.

His face, whether it was corrupted or falsely healed underneath the illusion of the ring, was a nasty offense to everyone that laid their eyes on him.

“I don’t know what exact trick you are using to keep your appearance and voice normal, but I do know that its origins must be dark and wicked, as corrupted and destructive as the Abyss itself! You have sinned, half-Hollow! You are not worthy of being a knight! You are not worthy of being alive!"

Petrus spat at Oscar.

"If you had any respect for the world and the people you have deceived and harmed, you’d go Hollow this instant and take your own life so you could finally spare us of your useless, infectious existence. You are a disease, a freak that has brought only ruin and pain to this land! Ring as many bells as you want, indulge yourself in all the stupid prophecies you can think of; none of it will change what you really are... just an insane, cruel, manipulative, selfish,  worthless and despicable mistake that should have never existed.”

Oscar’s hands stiffened with every word Petrus spat at him. His whole body trembled, and he wished everything could end at that very moment.  

His fingers spread and clung to his skin, desperate to hide completely his face from the world.

“Pathetic.” Petrus continued. “You sad mishap of fate. Allow us to grant you peace and redemption for committing the sin of being alive.”

Petrus scratched his boots against the floor as he changed position.

“Warrior of Sunlight, knight Solaire of Astora... I believe it is you who should deliver judgement upon this beast. I humbly apologize for my treatment of you earlier; I was merely caught in the desperate need to keep my lady safe and restore my honor from the lies of this pitiful creature. I harbor no ill-sentiment against you, and I hope you feel the same towards me.”

Petrus made a small pause, but Solaire said nothing.

“To prove my good faith in you, I shall make you an offer.” He insisted, like a crafty merchant unwilling to allow a sale to escape him. “You may accompany my fellow clerics, my lady and I in our pilgrimage to the Catacombs. Having a Warrior of Sunlight by our side would be an honor for all of us, and I’m sure it will prove to be a quest worthy of your integrity and abilities, unlike being the companion of this vermin.”

Oscar felt how the latent Hollowing stored in his heart began to break its shackles.

His Humanity fought against the menace, but it could not counterattack in all its power without Oscar’s will backing it up.

He heard the characteristic whistle of a sword being unsheathed.

Solaire.

His head fell lower.

His elbows rested and slid along his thighs. Soon, he was so close to the floor that the scent of dirt and old stone reached his nose even through the leather and metal of his gloves.

“Your sword, Warrior of Sunlight.” Petrus said solemnly. “Here, take it. Kill this half-Hollow. Free it of its misery...  don’t worry, by the looks of it, it will go Hollow soon. It won’t be reborn again. Do it, Solaire. Make it pay for all the pain it has caused you. You deserve better than the treatment this thing gave to you, and me and my lady can grant it to you. But first, kill this half-Hollow."

Silence.

Then, the rustle of a sword being handled and the metallic steps so proper of Solaire.

My friend. I don’t blame you. 

The memory of his former indifference and disdain for Solaire struck him like lighting. 

I’m not worthy of you. I was never worthy of your time.

The strike of the sunlight blade didn’t come instantly.

At first, Oscar thought Solaire was taking his time to canalize all of his resentment into a single blow.

He remained in the same position, unable to look at Solaire one last time, like the coward he was.

He heard Solaire’s feet move again. He was ready, and so was Oscar.

Another sound.

The gentle thump of a pair of knees touching the floor.

Then, not a sound, but a touch. 

Solaire’s arm resting on his shoulders and lifting him up. 

Oscar offered some resistance, but Solaire had no trouble in raising his torso back to a straight position.

Oscar pressed his hands against his face with more vigor, as if he wished for them to melt with his features in a grotesque imitation of a mask.

A moment later, Solaire’s forehead rested against the small patch of Oscar’s temple that had remained uncovered by his hands. 

He was warm, unlike the rough touch of Oscar’s leather gloves.

Oscar would have recoiled away from him had Solaire’s arm on his shoulders not kept him locked in one place.

It was a strong but gentle pressure, free of all the violence and harshness proper of a man about to commit vengeance on the person that had wronged him.

It was a strength typical of a friend.

Typical of Solaire.

Bewildered like never before in his life and feeling a painful and continuous squeeze in his heart, Oscar slowly lifted his face from the sanctuary of his gloved palms.

He stared blankly into the distance before him, only gathering enough courage to look at Solaire from the corner of his eye.

Solaire kept him close to him, his own eyes closed, his mouth a silent line that needn’t say anything to make Oscar understand the thoughts fluttering inside his mind and heart.

Why?

Oscar’s jaw clenched, his teeth gnashing and grinding against each other as if they wanted to pulverize themselves. 

How can you?

The emptiness that had been about to spread on his chest was no match by  his empowered Humanity, and it became once more a suppressed energy that existed within him but had no true power, like a dangerous criminal jailed in an underground cell.

Solaire’s forehead departed from his temple, but his arm remained firmly resting on Oscar’s shoulders. 

His sunlight sword produced a soft clinking echo as Solaire placed it before Oscar in a diagonal position. 

A barrier. 

An unyielding protection, a sign of his forgiveness, a challenging gesture for Petrus.

“Fool! Would you seriously refuse my mercy and my offer just for the sake of this useless filth? Are you so stupid as to continue to trust him after his cynical deceit?”

Petrus exclaimed with anger as he pointed his morning star at Oscar.

Solaire answered only by reaffirming his grasp on Oscar and pulling him closer to him, all while tensing his hold on his sword, as a warning to Petrus of the battle that would take place if he did not accept his decision and disappeared from his sight that very instant.

“You cursed Astorans are all the same.”

Petrus said, his voice distorted by a deep growl.

“Idiots, all of you! Always meddling in other people’s affairs, thinking you know better than everyone else; always acting like you were the heroes of the downtrodden and the lost, only to raid and pillage them yourselves once the righteous façade no longer brings you any benefits.  Childish, precarious and hypocritical tyrants, that’s all you really are! I’d be doing the world a favor if I put an end to your—”

“Now, now, this is hardly the way a cleric of your status should behave, don’t you agree?” A newcomer added, the mocking and natural tone of his voice filling the scene with somber tension. “In fact, are you sure you are a cleric? Because you look more like a savage to me.”

He clicked his tongue.

“And this is coming from a native of Carim, a land Thorolund has constantly deemed as ‘barbaric and irrational’. Talk about projecting your complexes and flaws on others... then again, that’s all people from Thorolund know how to do.”

Lautrec.

Oscar never would have thought he would be glad, even less relieved to hear the knight clad in golden armor again.

He and Solaire tried to look at him, but Petrus was too much of a threat to lose him from sight even for a second.

Instead, Solaire strengthened his hold on Oscar and prepared his sword to repel any attack Petrus could throw at them.

But the cleric seemed to have momentarily forgotten about his Astoran enemies, too lured and provoked by the Carim knight that had dared to intrude into the matter so suddenly and so unwelcome.

“Go back to whatever whore you are babysitting, you retrograde brute.” Petrus sneered at Lautrec. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“See? Always projecting.” Lautrec replied with an amused chuckle.

Oscar was sure Petrus would leap at Lautrec and smash his head beyond recognition with his morning star, just as he had done with Patches the thief.

Solaire was not blind to the risk Lautrec was in, but he also was unwilling to leave Oscar’s side. 

Even amidst the chaos, his loyalty and kindness were beacons of comfort.

“You should be grateful to me.”

Petrus said after an uncomfortable pause that only came to an end after Lautrec wielded his shotel swords to let him know he was more than willing and prepared to fight him to the death.

“The death of two Astoran should please a Carim knight greatly. Why then, do you stop me? Unless you want to kill them both yourself? How predictable, how expected from an animal of Carim.”

“Oh no, look what you’ve done.” Lautrec finally stepped in. His golden armor shone like molten gold, with only his exposed face breaking the gleaming harmony.

His shotel swords danced on his hands, their curved, sharp blades cutting the air into small, whistling pieces.

“You hurt my feelings. I may not be Astoran, but I have this small tendency of letting my emotions cloud by my better judgment. And when I do, I leave spilled blood on my path.”

The threat did not reach Petrus at first, but when Lautrec feigned an attack, the fear that struck him was real and absolute.

The cleric backed away from Lautrec, like a cornered mouse trying to escape a cat.

Solaire did not remain idle and he too aimed his sword at Petrus. 

Oscar could only stare at his fellow knights as their combined efforts effectively depleted Petrus’ courage and reduced him to a shivering man that was close to get on his knees and beg for his life.

“Yes, that's what I thought.” Lautrec laughed cruelly at the intimidated cleric. “Get out of here. Go back to that wailing child and those two idiots she has for bodyguards and leave Firelink Shrine at once. If you don’t, I’ll kill you all and rip your hearts out of your corpses and offer them to my lady Fina. I doubt your flesh would be of much value to her, but my lady is resourceful and inventive. I’m sure she’ll find a good use for your putrid chunks of meat.”

“Lautrec!” Solaire exclaimed, no less horrified than Petrus.

The cleric did not wait for another warning and escaped the scene, avoiding Lautrec as much as possible as he passed next to him.

“Don’t forget what I told you, half-Hollow.” Petrus said as he kept running towards the shrine’s stairs. His voice reached Oscar from behind like a treacherous stab. “Creatures like you bring only pain and illness to the world and those around you! You’re a mistake! A sham!”

“Is he serious?” Lautrec sighed, watching how Petrus disappeared from sight. “Hateful bastard. No matter, he is gone now. Hey now, don’t look at me like that, Solaire. You didn’t believe my words, did you? Please, I was just trying to scare him off!  As if I would ever offend my lady Fina with such horrendous sacrifices... I might as well offer her a pile of manure.”

Lautrec laughed under his breath. 

“That was a joke. What? Nothing? Hmm, yes... I had forgotten Astorans have no sense of humor.”

He folded his arms on his chest and inspected them, a mocking grin on the corner of his mouth.

“You look horrible. How did a few clerics and an innocent maiden leave you in this state? You should be ashamed of yourselves. My respect for the two of you has dwindled greatly, my dear friends.”

Just like Petrus, Lautrec left, but unlike the cleric, the words he offered next were free of malice.

“Come to the bonfire. I’ll fetch you some water so you can clean yourselves. Undead or not, we are still knights, and we should look as such, not as battered vagabonds. It will take me some time to get everything settled. Or you can stay there for a while longer if you want; I’ll call you when it’s ready. Oh, and by the way, Oscar... nice face. Who would have thought you were such a dashing fellow? Don’t get too close to the fire keeper, unless you want to steal her heart.”

Lautrec guffawed, in a sinister manner that resembled Oswald. Still, though needlessly taunting, Oscar felt no real hostility on Lautrec’s end.

Solaire did not make a sound, and Oscar could tell by his silence that he had not enjoyed Lautrec’s remarks at all.

It’s alright, Solaire. He means nothing by it. Don’t get angry at him over some silly jabs.

How bold of him to think he could allow himself that level of lightheartedness when addressing Solaire after what he had done.

Oscar hadn’t even turned his head and looked at him in the eye; how did he plan to direct a word to him in the first place?

“Nothing was true.” Solaire stated out of a sudden. 

His few, simple words so  perfectly summarized Oscar’s deceit. Solaire needn’t say anything more.

But Oscar did.

There was so much explaining to do, and not only about the cursed ring.

The memory Oscar had regained during his moment of unconsciousness and what it revealed about himself couldn’t remain unknown for Solaire.

He needed to know.

He deserved to know.

“Solaire.” Oscar muttered, disgusted by the false and normal sound of his voice. He grabbed the gloved finger that wielded the cursed artifact and squeezed it, as if he was trying to break the bone together with the ring. “I am so sorry—"

“Nothing was true.” Solaire repeated, his unruly long hair slightly mingling with Oscar’s as he pulled him closer. “Nothing of what Petrus said about you is true. Not a single word. It’s alright, Oscar. It’s alright.”  

“It’s not, Solaire.” Oscar said, each word a test for his bravery. “I have failed you yet again. I have failed you so many times before... more than you can possibly know.”

“I have never considered, let alone felt, that you’ve failed me in any way, Oscar.”

“But I have.” Oscar hid half his face behind one hand, but there was no escaping from his shame. “I have.”

“Tell me about it, then. Explain it to me. Oscar, I am your friend; I cannot assure you I won’t get upset or even angry at what you tell me, but I promise you that I will listen, I will do my absolute best to understand you. I... I am not a smart man, but even an idiot like me— “

“Don’t call yourself that, not ever again. You were never an idiot, Solaire. Not in here, and definitely not back in Astora. The people who mocked you and took advantage of your kindness, they were the real idiots. And among them, I was the biggest idiot of all."

“Oscar, it’s fine.” Solaire stated reassuringly. “Tell me about it. I’m here, and I will listen. I will listen to everything you have to say, my friend.”

"My lord. You are dying."

"Indeed. Time never stops, not even for us primordial serpents."

"Don't leave me. Please."

"Not yet, Yuria. There's still some life inside me, and while there is, I shall remain by your side. But when my time comes, do not mourn me. All that exists must always come to an end so something new can take its place. Such is the natural course of the world. I may depart soon, but you will remain, as will our church and our people. Guide them, Yuria. Be strong as you have always been, and guide our Lord to their true fate."

"I will, my lord... Kaathe. The world you dreamed of will become a reality.  I'll make sure of it, no matter what it takes."

"I know you will."

Chapter Text

The toll of the bell snuffed out the dream.

He awoke and was welcomed by the heat of the fire.

There would have been happiness and hope too, had he not long forgotten how to feel either.

His mind was slipping away from him.

Soon, it would abandon him completely, and neither the toll of the bells nor Frampt’s comforting whisperings would suffice.

He looked at his hands.

Destroyed, shrunken, rotten, just like the rest of his body.

It was a miracle his dreams had remained with him in his broken state.

He would miss them once they were gone.

The lucidity the toll of the bell had offered him began to dwindle.

How he wished it wasn’t so ephemeral.

How he wished it could last forever.

He clung to sanity like a beast holds its prey, but it continued to escape from him as if it was made of smoke.

The numbing lethargy covered his mind with its dense mists.

Before his senses became lost, he spent his fading moments of clarity remembering the dream he’d had.

Dragons flying above him, showering the earth with deathly firestorms; and in his hand, lighting spears that pierced through scales of stone and brought death to the winged creatures.

The Astorans finally came to the bonfire.

Lautrec watched them in silence, his arms resting behind his head, his back leaning against the shrine’s old tree.

He stretched and yawned. A few seconds more of uninterrupted silence and he would have dozed off, lulled into sleep by the bonfire’s warmth and the peaceful atmosphere of Firelink Shrine.

“Look who’s here.” He said as Oscar and Solaire sat down next to the pots full of water he had prepared for them.  “I was starting to think you would leave me waiting here forever. Glad you decided to show up. Oh, and no complaints if the water is now cold, understood? That’s your fault for taking so long.”

Neither replied.

In absolute silence, they started to wash off the blood and grime from their faces, necks and hair.

They said not a word, not even between themselves.

Lautrec wondered if he had offended them somehow.

Astorans are so sensitive.

He rolled his eyes and shrugged the matter off.

If he had, he would not apologize.

He had already showed them more kindness and consideration than any Carim-born had ever showed to an Astoran. If they had been expecting hugs and coddling, they should have run back to their mothers instead.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Lautrec said, in a vague attempt to get them to speak.

“‘Lautrec lied to us! We were expecting tubs full of warm water, but all we got were some small old pots of lukewarm water and some tattered rags to scrub with!’ Well, this is not a bloody bathhouse. And do you know how hard it is to find clean water in this place? All we have is that room upstairs full of stagnant water... oh, but don’t think me a fool! I boiled it first to cleanse and purify it, of course.”

Nothing.

Eventually, Solaire rewarded him with a simple ‘thank you’.

Much to Lautrec dismay, his gratitude was not sarcastic or patronizing. It was honest and simple, and it added no spice to their boring interaction.

Lautrec accepted the acknowledgement with a nod.

When he had first met Solaire and Oscar after the former had freed him from his cell, they had been a lively and pleasant pair. Oscar not so much, especially not when compared to Solaire, but he had not been half as sullen as he was now.

What had exactly happened between them?

They had spent a very long time talking in the same spot where that hateful cleric had almost killed them. Lautrec had heard the soft murmurs of their voices, but he had not been able to understand their conversation.

Oscar’s voice had been the most prevalent. At some point, it had stopped being normal and had gone back to its monstrous form. 

Solaire had spoken too, and at some moment, he had wept, but not loudly. Lautrec had only been able to distinguish it because of the long pauses he made in between his speech and the sniffling sounds of his nose.

Lautrec had snickered mockingly under his breath at Solaire’s behavior, but it had also been interesting in a strange manner. 

It had been a long  time since Lautrec had heard someone cry, and it had been even longer since he had heard or seen a knight shedding tears.

When he thought about it, Lautrec couldn’t remember having ever seen a knight from his native Carim cry. Surely they did, but never in front of their respective ladies, even less in front of their fellow knights.

Solaire’s behavior was both refreshing and pathetic, but Lautrec felt no need to be overly judging of him. Perhaps he would comment on it later, if the atmosphere between them ever became more casual, but for now he would try to hold his tongue.

The silence looming over them grew thicker, and it was only broken by the tingling sounds of Oscar’s and Solaire’s upper armors and chainmail as they put them back on once they were finished with their cleaning.

Oscar had done so quickly, perhaps too ashamed of the corruption spread all over his torso to expose it for too long.

Lautrec was no stranger to the sight of the Hollowing, and he felt no particular disgust for those heavily touched by it, but there was something unnerving about witnessing a body both Hollowed and healthy in equal proportions.

It felt incomplete and unnatural, and it made Oscar repulsive in a way Hollows weren’t, even if his mind remained sane.

And his demonic voice did him no favors.

Why Oscar had decided to remove whatever illusion he had casted upon himself and go back to this dreadful state was beyond Lautrec’s understanding.

And he would not let his curiosity remain unsatisfied any longer.

“It was a joke, Oscar.”  Lautrec ventured, resting the back of his head on the palms of his joined hands. “The fire keeper will not die of a swooning heart if you show her your normal and handsome face. There was no need to make yourself look so hideous again. Now you’ll kill her of a heart attack if you dare to meet her like this! And if your appearance doesn’t do it, your voice will definitely finish the work.”

Oscar stared numbly at him, with his shield and helmet carefully placed next to him. He had been about to unsheathe his sword with one hand as he held a whetstone he had taken out of a small toolbox in the other, but Lautrec’s interruption had brought that process to an abrupt end.

Solaire reacted too, and he firmly slammed the water pot on the ground. Lautrec’s body tensed at his aggressive movements, but Oscar made sure to ease the tension with an amiable smile.

“That won’t be a problem.” He said,  staring at the bonfire with a poorly concealed sad look on his eyes as he returned his sword into its sheath and put it on the ground. “I wouldn’t dare to show myself before her or any other lady, not even if my face was not half Hollowed.”

“Why is that?” Lautrec insisted, ignoring Solaire’s threatening stare. “You weren’t shy at all with that cleric woman. I swear I heard you addressing her by her name, and by her looks, she was a noble-born. Why then would you be shy with the fire keeper when you weren’t shy with her?”

Oscar closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Solaire’s glare towards Lautrec intensified, but Oscar once again made sure to mellow things behind a casual façade.

“Knights of Carim dedicate their entire lives to protecting one lady, don’t you?” Oscar commented. “I’m sure you more than anyone can understand why a knight cannot allow himself to show his face in the presence of a lady after having acted with so much disrespect and dishonor.”

“Your first statement is true and accurate; the second one, not so much.”  Lautrec replied. “We knights of Carim do not understand chivalry and knighthood as Astorans do. For us, keeping our respective ladies safe is our only priority. A knight of Carim that fails in keeping his lady alive becomes an outcast, a badge of shame for knighthood itself. Most of them prefer to take their lives than to live with the humiliation of their failure; in fact, it is expected for them to do so. They are not mourned afterwards. Their bodies, if they leave any behind, are not given a proper burial, and are left to the crows and dogs to devour.”

The two Astoran knights remained quiet. Their looks became appalled, as if Lautrec had made them forget about their troubles with his retelling of Carim traditions.

“That’s a brutal way to treat your knights.” Oscar said after finally finding his breath again.

“It’s merely Carim’s way.” Lautrec shrugged. “As I said, no kingdom understands knighthood the same way. Look at Catarina, for example. They couldn’t give less of a damn about protecting ladies or being servile to a lord. Their worth as knights is only proportional to the danger of their adventures and with how much bravery they face them. Sure, they might help those in trouble if they feel like it, but if they choose to turn a blind eye to the suffering of others, they wouldn’t be betraying their code of honor.”

Lautrec changed his position and rested an arm on his knee.

“We knights of Carim are not so different from them in this regard. Helping others is irrelevant to us when it comes to our value as knights; all that matters is keeping our ladies safe... but that’s not to say we are bound to the same code of chivalry from Astora and Thorolund.”

Solaire listened to Lautrec with earnest interest, as did Oscar. Lautrec understood their reactions; he doubted they had ever met a Carim-born outside the battlefield, even less talked to one under such peaceful circumstances.

For him, the experience was new too.

The only Astorans he had met before had only spoken to him to beg for their lives.

“We keep our ladies out of harm’s way by any means necessary, and we do not waste our breaths or time with needless courtly manners. Is your lady unable to continue her journey, yet she is still far from being dead? Lock her up in a cell and guard the entrance until she heals or passes away from natural causes.”

Lautrec almost became offended at how Oscar and Solaire looked at him. He continued without mellowing his voice.

“She may resent you for it, even curse your name, but that’s irrelevant. You have kept her safe, you have done all you could to preserve her life; and to us, that’s all that matters. So no, Oscar... I do not understand why exactly you wouldn’t dare to face the fire keeper or any other lady, or why you feel you have dishonored yourself. You were chivalrous to the cleric woman, as expected from a knight to Astora, and you tried to keep her from harm’s way, as a knight of Carim would have done. I do not see how you failed her or how you were dishonorable in your actions.”

Lautrec smiled at Oscar’s change of expression. Solaire, who had become relaxed to the point of crossing his legs and smiling at Lautrec, immediately returned to his defensive mannerisms. Lautrec ignored him and kept his attention solely on Oscar.

“Tell me, Oscar.” Lautrec inquired again, quite enjoying the game of provoking Solaire’s anger while also trying to get Oscar to confess. “What did you do that shames you so, little elite knight?”

“That’s enough, Lautrec.” Solaire intervened firmly.

It was the first time he spoke to Lautrec in any other tone that wasn’t his usual and friendly voice.

Its threatening edge took Lautrec by surprise.

He gazed at Solaire again. His now clean blond hair remained untied, free to hang on Solaire’s shoulders and back as it slowly dried.

It gave him a more savage and threatening appearance, and for a moment, Lautrec felt in the presence of an imposing knight, not an innocent fool he could treat lightly.

“I’m merely curious, Solaire.”

He quickly replied.

“And concerned too. You were such an energetic and determined pair when I met you, but now, you both look as if you were about to go Hollow. It baffles me, really. You rang the bell, didn’t you Oscar? You are following your path with success... but then some clerics throw some insults at you and you are reduced to this pitiful state? Is it that easy to break you?  And the same goes to you, Solaire. You are no less brittle than Oscar. I know you are Astoran, but even a Carim-born like me knows there’s a big difference between being sentimental and being weak, and right now, all you are showing me is weakness and a complete lack of determination. You are knights; behave as such!”

Lautrec didn’t know what exactly had driven him to speak in such manner. He did not care about Oscar’s or Solaire’s fates, and they both could renounce to knighthood and return to Astora as defeated vagabonds for all he cared.

But the sight of two fellow knights, regardless of their origin, looking so utterly sullen and defeated, had sparked something within him, as if the echoes of his own education about what knighthood stood for had forced him to speak out his thoughts.

He felt proud of himself for his confidence and authority, but the satisfaction did not last.

He recoiled at the mere thought of his lady Fina disapproving his attitude.

His beloved lady was not fond of her knight being overly proud of his actions without her permission. She deemed it as a personal offense for him to think his judgement was more pertinent than hers.

He glanced at the metal arms always hugging the chest plate of his armor and felt the soft embrace of his lady.

She was not displeased with him.

She loved him too much to get angry at him over petty matters, and as long as the offense didn’t repeat itself, no harm had been done.

Lautrec apologized to her for his shameful impudence and reassured his devotion by promising her a tribute worthy of her beauty and splendor.

Satisfied, Fina planted a kiss on his cheek with her invisible lips and granted him her permission to feel pride on his behavior.

Fina's ring on his finger, the prove of her love for Lautrec, sent comfort to his entire body, and he silently thanked his lady for all the love and tenderness she showed him.

Oh, how he would have enjoyed to lose himself in the flow of his lady’s love, but Solaire was there to ruin the moment.

“Why do you do this, Lautrec?” Solaire’s sword, which had never left his hand, tilted its tip across the grassy floor covered in ash. “What are you trying to prove? That you are a more honorable knight than us? That Carim’s vision of knighthood is better than Astora’s? You are free to think whatever you wish, but Oscar and I won’t play along. We thank you for the water, but I’m going to ask you to remain quiet, unless you’ve got something else to say other than your immature taunts.”

Lautrec blinked, incredulous that Solaire had been so blunt towards him.

So the Warrior of Sunlight did have fangs, and he seemed to be prone to bare them for the sake of his sullen friend.

Even now, he continued to defend him, as upset and angry as he obviously was with Oscar.

Lautrec had noticed the tension between the two Astorans since the beginning, but he had not considered it to be the true reason behind their sour moods.

For a knight of Carim, an argument with a fellow knight would mean nothing.  They held respect for each other, but it was seldom any sense of camaraderie was ever shared in their interactions. A knight’s only true bond was that which he shared with his lady; everything else was trivial and expendable.

Then again, Oscar and Solaire were Astorans.

Of course. I should have known... How stupid of me.

“I apologize. Sincerely.”

Lautrec said without any mocking intention behind his words. It was all that it took to appease Solaire. Oscar, more reserved than his friend, was harder to read, and remained with his eyes lost in the bonfire.

“I was trying to be amusing, but it’s obvious I came off as spiteful instead. It was not my intention to upset you, my friends. You are right, Solaire. I shouldn’t be causing you more unnecessary grief than the cleric already thrusted upon both of you with his cruelty. I shall say nothing more.”

“Lautrec, that’s not what I meant. I—” Solaire started, so obviously regretful of his previous firmness that Lautrec felt a twinge of pity for the bastard.

Gullible and too kind of heart.

He would go Hollow sooner than Oscar, that was for sure.

“You are right, Lautrec.” Oscar added, earning himself the attention of Lautrec and Solaire. He met their gazes with a gentle smile. “But only about me, not about Solaire. I am the only one here who hasn’t acted like a true knight.”

Solaire looked down, and Lautrec didn’t know what to make of his expression.

“I did fail Reah by not being able to keep her safe from Petrus, but I have truly failed as a knight for having succumbed to temptation; for keeping a cursed artifact created from the pain of innocents... and using it to deceive others.”

Oscar immediately looked at Solaire, but the Warrior of Sunlight looked away.

Oscar did not insist.

He took out a ring from one of the many bags on his belt and looked at with so much hatred that Lautrec thought he would break it into pieces with his fingers.

A ring of illusion? But... I’ve never heard of one able to conceal the marks of the Hollowing. Was that his trick all along?

Lautrec had no chance to voice his questions. Oscar raised his trembling arm, decided to feed the ring to the bonfire.

Solaire stared at the scene, but his hopeful expression became somber again when Oscar could never bring himself to dispose of the trinket.

“Forgive me, Solaire.” Oscar muttered in a soft whisper as he pressed the fist with the ring against his forehead. “I can’t.”

“And you shouldn’t.” Lautrec added.

Startled by the unwanted comment, Oscar looked at Lautrec.

Solaire did too.

“I don’t know the whole story, and correct me if I’m wrong, but if that ring is responsible for the hiding of your Hollowed appearance, then I see no reason why you think you should dispose of it. You said it was created from the pain of innocents? Well, even more reason for you to keep it! Unless you want to make the sacrifices of those poor lambs amount to nothing. That would be a true waste.”

“How can you say such a  thing, Lautrec?” Solaire snapped at him. “No knight... no human being with a heart and a conscience should ever be the wearer of a thing so vile and wicked! It’s monstrous, and I won’t stand for it!”

Oscar hunched his head, enduring the stabs Solaire indirectly threw at him in silence.

“Such a narrow-minded point of view.”

Lautrec sighed with a reproachful nod of his head.

“Proper of a cleric, but not of a knight, especially not an Undead one, Solaire. You want to be a righteous hero that never commits sin? Fine, but do not force Oscar to be the same as you. He is not yours to shape as you wish. And if his decision clashes with your morality, then you two should part ways. It is clear this partnership of yours has met a dead end, so save yourselves the trouble and end this ill-fated friendship before it consumes you. That would the best thing to do, for both of you.”

The reasoning made complete sense for Lautrec, but judging by the despair that distorted Oscar's and Solaire’s faces, the idea was not something either had considered seriously.

Perhaps it had been floating in the back of their minds, but they had not dared to  grab it firmly and put it against each other and say ‘this is an option we could take, this is a path we could choose’, not until Lautrec had done the work for them.

I will never understand them.

Lautrec thought, disappointed that the reason behind their conflict was so boring and foreign to him.

Not as invested in their predicament anymore, Lautrec stood up and walked towards the shrine’s stairs.  He had gotten all the amusement possible from their situation, at least for the time being.

Before he could squeeze some more fun out of it, he needed Oscar and Solaire to talk more about their situation in private.

Talk, talk, talk and more talk.

Talk like the Astorans they were, talk like Astorans always did.

Were they of Carim origin, the could have saved themselves the trouble and just put an end to their differences with a fight to the death.

At least he had offered them an interesting potential outcome, and Lautrec was sure it would brew some interesting reactions from them, and he would return later and witness the results.

But for that to happen, he needed to leave them alone for a moment.

He stopped briefly by their side.

“Think of your own interests. That’s not selfish, it’s smart. That’s how a knight, regardless of his homeland, should always act; otherwise, you are reduced to this condition you are in. Is that what you want? If that’s so... you have a tiring, awful journey before you.”

With that said, he left them behind, hoping that when he returned, one of them had been slain at the hands of the other.

It was a wishful outcome he knew wouldn’t come true, but he still could hope. He felt intrigued by what would become of Oscar and Solaire, and judging by the soft squeeze of the metal arms on his chest, so did his lady Fina.

Betrayal and disappointment.

That’s all Solaire felt for Oscar.

Solaire had promised him that he would do his best to understand his actions, and at first, he had kept his word.

He had forgiven Oscar for the deceit without hesitation. Solaire knew his friend had never intended to hurt him, and he could understand why Oscar had tried to keep his incomplete Hollowing a secret from Reah and her bodyguards.

Clerics were completely distrustful of anyone showing visible marks of the curse, and Petrus had made things worse by lying about what had happened among them during his stay in Firelink Shrine.

Solaire had reassured Oscar by telling him he understood everything and that he forgave him.

Oscar’s second confession had been a bigger challenge, but not because Solaire openly resented his friend for his past and disdainful indifference against him. It simply had reopened a wound Solaire had long considered, if not healed, at least closed.

It wasn’t, not at all, and from it, a flow of painful memories had come sprouting out like blood from a bad wound.

Memories of the relentless humiliation he had received at the hands of his fellow Astorans throughout all his life, be them commoners or elite knights.

It had loosened his tears, and he had not tried to stop them.

Yet, regardless of the pain of his memories, Solaire found himself forgiving Oscar as quickly as the anecdote was over.

It was strange for Solaire too, but regardless of what Oscar had thought of him in the past, or of all the times he had ignored him as if he was a mangy street dog, Solaire forgave him

He forgave his friend with all his heart.

Oscar had sighed heavily, as if nothing but Solaire’s forgiveness could have freed the pent-up air trapped inside his lungs. He thanked him humbly, and Solaire only replied by confirming his words.

They had spent a moment of relieved and comfortable silence together, with Solaire’s arm still resting reassuringly on Oscar’s shoulders.

How Solaire wished the whole thing had ended there, but fate had not been so kind.

And neither had Oscar.

He had taken off his glove and revealed to Solaire the ring responsible for concealing his Hollowing. Solaire had hated the artifact the moment he had fixed his eyes on it, and he felt no less repulsion for those responsible for its creation.

Arstor, the earl of Carim, was a man infamous for his ruthlessness. Solaire had never understood  how a man could  fall so low, and all for what? For the creation of a ring of illusion and some stones that supposedly healed Undeads of their curses?

It was not worth it. Nothing born from the suffering of others was ever worth it. Solaire knew it, and he was sure so did Oscar; he had merely been convinced otherwise by pardoner Oswald.

Though far from approving his usage of the ring, Solaire understood why Oscar had been tempted. His Hollowed face and voice hurt him much more than dared to admit, and it was only natural he had tried to return his appearance back to normal.

All this Solaire could understand and forgive.

What he couldn’t forgive was Oscar’s insistence in keeping the ring.

No matter what argument Solaire gave to him, Oscar had refused fervently to give up the ring.

“I can’t, Solaire.”

Oscar had said, his naked, corrupted hand trembling as it longed to be normal again.

“It is the only way I can keep my Hollowing hidden. Humanity keeps me sane, but it does nothing to heal my appearance... you saw it yourself, back at the old church. Solaire, I don’t want to give this up. I don’t want to be a treacherous half-Hollow that inspires nothing but distrust in others. I’m tired of it; I’m tired of all the trouble it causes us. I don’t want to be this creature anymore. I want to be Oscar.”

“You are Oscar, regardless of your appearance. I’m sure other Undeads will be able to see it too, no matter how you Hollow may look, and if they don’t, then I’ll be there with you to help them see who you really are.” Solaire had said, doing his best to keep his temper from showing.

How could Oscar think any of that?

It was one thing he had used the ring in his effort to save Reah, but to use it just for his selfish means was not something Solaire had thought him capable of.

But he had confirmed to Solaire he was not above that sort of behaviour, and Solaire had almost hated him for it.  

Solaire had given his absolute devotion to Oscar; he had thought of him as a man and knight wiser and better than him in all aspects. He was flawed, but so were all human beings.

Solaire had admired him, and for Oscar to disappoint him in this awful manner hurt more than any humiliation he had received at the hands of the elite knights.

If Oscar chose to keep the ring, he would be destroying not only the pedestal Solaire had put him in,  but also Solaire’s dream of him becoming his fellow Warrior of Sunlight.

The Lord of Sunlight would not accept into his covenant a man willing to use that sort of evil artifacts.

If Oscar didn’t get rid of that cursed thing, he would be shattering all the hopes Solaire had invested in this possibility.

How Oscar dared do this to him?

“No, Solaire. I don’t want you to be my voice on my journey... It would not be fair for you to bear that burden, and I don’t want to hide myself from others, always afraid of what their reactions could be, always silent behind my helmet. I’m sick of it, Solaire. This...”

Oscar had caressed the Hollowed half of his face with his Hollowed hand.

“This is not the real me. This is not who I want to be.”

“Then who are you, Oscar?” Solaire had snapped at him. He had removed his arm from his shoulders coldly, making Oscar changed his solemn expression into one of shock. “Who do you want to be? The elite knight you were back in Astora?”

Solaire had expected an immediate denial, but Oscar had not given it to him. Instead, he had wavered. Then, he had said.

“When Reah, Nico and Vince looked at me with so much respect and trust... I felt like myself again, for the first time in so long."

“Don’t do this to me, Oscar.” Solaire had pleaded, moving away from him and getting back on his feet. “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

“It’s not about you, Solaire. I’m not doing this to hurt you!” Oscar had answered with despair, also standing up, and still holding that damn ring on his fingers. “Please, try to understand why I’m doing this. Try to understand how I feel.”

“Do you think I don’t? Me? The man that has been the laughingstock of everyone he’s met in his life?”

Solaire had declared, his fury unleashed.

“I know what rejection and mistrust feels like, Oscar, especially when it is thrown at you without any reason... but I don’t get why you think that would make me agree with you about keeping that godforsaken ring! There’s no excuse for it! The man you were back in Astora is dead, gone together with most of your memories. That ring and its illusions won’t ever bring him back. All you can do is be the man you are now, no matter how half-Hollowed you are.”

“Is that what you suggest? That I retain this awful appearance that has caused us nothing but grief? How would that be beneficial for our journey, Solaire? You’ve seen how hated those marked by the Hollowing are, even here in Lordran. I had hoped things would be different, but they aren’t. The merchant woman in the bridge, the merchant man at the burg... they did not seclude themselves by their own wills, they did so to be safe from other Undeads! Solaire, please think about it. My Hollowing is a setback, it could make enemies out of potential allies before we even have the chance to approach them.”

“That would be preferable!” Solaire had said by impulse, willingly ignoring the logic of Oscar’s arguments. “Any scenario would be better than you being the wielder of that ring, Oscar.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” Oscar had stated with gelid anger. “And what’s worse, you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not even listening to what I’m saying anymore. You are so married with the idea of getting rid of the ring that you won’t even consider keeping it as an option.”

“You are right, Oscar.” Solaire had taken a step closer to him. Oscar did not back away, and they both had glared at each other for a long while. “I’m not changing my mind about this, no matter how you try to justify it. To me, this will never be right. Benefiting from the suffering of others is never an option, Oscar. It pains me to see you’ve forgotten this. It pains me to see this is who you really are.”

A punch on his belly’s wound wouldn’t have left Oscar more startled.

Solaire had to look away, and he had to bite his tongue to keep his tears  away from his eyes.

He had gone too far.

He too was being selfish, for as repulsed as he was at the mere thought of Oscar using a cursed ring, what really made his heart bleed was that his friend, perhaps the only true friend he’d had, had betrayed his expectations.

“I feel lost. None of this should have happened.”

Solaire lamented, more to himself than to Oscar.

“Solaire, I—”

“You were supposed to be better than this, Oscar. I guess that was all an illusion too.”

He gave Oscar no time to reply.

“Let’s go back to Lautrec. He’s waited long enough for us.”

Drained of all his energy and feeling numb of body and mind, Solare dragged his feet to the bonfire.

Oscar followed him, but said nothing.

Solaire didn’t blame him.

He didn’t know if there was anything left to say between them.

The toll of the bell parted the sea of his madness.

How long had it been since he had been free of those turbulent waves?

He couldn't remember, and he had no time to dwell inside his brilliant mind and look for an answer.

The stormy sea of his paranoia and obsessions became whole again and drowned him in its waters.

There had been so many things he could have thought about in his fleeting lucidity, but he had only imagined an old king that slayed his kin with his spears of lighthing.

Seath smiled, thought he no longer remembered the reason behind his nostalgic joy.

Soon, it was all forgotten, and the memory of the king was replaced by his urgent need of Undead maidens. He sent the order to his Channelers, infecting them with irrational fear.

It was the perfect motivation to make those fools tend to his necessities at once.

As an immortal dragon, he deserved nothing less.

Chapter Text

She could see it now.

The empty grave from which her lord’s chosen would rise from their ashes.  She hurried frantically along the steep ground of the graveyard.

The bundle in her arms was damp and light, and it smelled like her lord.

It smelled like Kaathe.

My lord.

She fought the tears that threatened to escape her Hollowed eyes. If she made haste, she could still return to his side before he passed.

It had not been her wish to leave her lord behind, but she had a duty to fulfill, and sentiment and feelings had no role to play in it.

She hugged the ashes of Kaathe’s chosen tighter to her breast, as if she wanted them to melt inside her body and become one with her.

She reached the open coffin, her masked face sweating in a way only Hollows could. She took a small moment to find peace of mind and body, but the weight of the moment was not so easily ignored.

A part of her wished for her to drop on her knees and weep, but she resisted, unwilling to waste her tears on someone else other than Kaathe.

While he still lives, he shall be my lord.

Yuria slowly came apart of the bundled ashes she carried. She looked at them with a hidden maternal gaze.

But once he is gone, it will be you I serve.

She allowed a moment to pass in silence, then, she put the ashes inside the abandoned coffin. It wasn’t as abandoned or forgotten as Yuria had expected, for she found a small ring carefully placed on the right side.  She took it and inspected it carefully.

An Ashen ring, perhaps gifted to the empty grave long ago by Lothric’s merciful queen. It was an unexpected present, and also unwelcome.

Her future lord needed not the help of the royals.

They would have her to tend to their needs and guide them on their path.

That was her responsibility alone.

That was the duty Kaathe had entrusted to her, and she would not fail him, no matter the cost.

“Bloody hell! Have you become a grave robber, luv? That’s low, even for me. If you’ve gotta steal, steal from fresh corpses, not from piles of rotten dust and bones. Even among thieves there’s a code of pride and honor.”

The Hyena, another unwelcome presence that intruded the moment of privacy Yuria had not wished to share with anyone. She tensed her shoulders and straightened her back.

The Hyena may have surprised her, but she wouldn’t let him see the tenderness that had taken over her soul. She walled her emotions from him, and when he was by her side, grinning mockingly at her like he always did, she acknowledged his existence with an uncaring nod.

“Always so ignorant, always so blind to your own faults. Your attitude would be infuriating if it wasn’t so predictable and boring.”

“Huh? Where did that come from? And here I thought we could start a friendly conversation, but you ruined the moment. Seriously Yuria, you need to relax.”

His dancing fingers touched her shoulder.

“And I would be more than glad to help you with that. I think we both need a moment of rest and joy, don’t you agree, luv?”

“How amusing.” Yuria replied by shrugging off his hand. “I think your last death destroyed your mind more than I’d thought. You sad little man, mistaking your delusions for possibilities.”

“It did destroy my mind, but more in the literal sense. That bloody cleric. He’ll pay for what he did... but that’s something I’ll tend to later. So, since you have rejected my proposition of jolly cooperation, would you at least tell me what are you doing here, luv? And by the lords! What’s that foul smell?

The Hyena gagged, and though Yuria at first thought he was exaggerating to purposefully enrage her, she had to accept his reaction was real when he fell on his knees and cough and drooled like a sick dog.

“Weak.”  She scowled at him, ashamed of the Hyena’s poor capacity to endure Kaathe’s smell that emanated from the soaked ashes. “But also expected. Your nostrils are unworthy of being the receptors of our lord’s scent. Leave, you pitiful fool, but before you do, tell me of the youth I sent you after. Are they now clad in the Astoran armor, wielding the sword and shield we retrieved for them? Not completely, thanks to your incompetence, of course.”

“Yes, yes.” The Hyena slowly stood up. He stepped away from the coffin and Yuria, his mouth and nose covered with both arms. “Them and the brute they have for a friend are now prancing around somewhere, looking very charming, very attractive, very Astoran... but let me tell you, no one will come close to this poor devil if they raise from the ashes smelling like a pile of manure that has been left under the sun since Gwyn’s age of fire! Couldn’t you have given their ashes a quick rinse with plain water at least? You are an awful keeper, Yuria.”

“Enough.” Yuria demanded, more incensed than she was willing to show. As much as she hated to admit it, there was sense and truth in the Hyena’s complaint.

Kaathe’s scent was strong, but to her it had never been foul. It was just how her lord smelled, and she accepted it.

But it was true it would gain her future lord no sympathy, for even the Unkindled were vain and shallow creatures.

“I’ll see that this small setback is resolved as soon as they rise from the grave.” She looked back at the ashes, and after some thought, she returned the Estus ring to the coffin and placed it on top of the dusty pile. “For now, we must leave them as they are and let the bell turn their body to what it once was.”

“Who is this fellow anyway?” The Hyena inquired, showing so little respect to his future lord that Yuria felt tempted to stab his blasphemous tongue with a dagger. With his arms still shielding him from Kaathe’s scent, he approached the coffin and looked inside, as if he was gazing at a newly opened treasure chest. “Why are they so important? Look at these old and deprived ashes. So vulgar, so unremarkable. Nothing of value can be born from this worthless bunch of dust.”

“One’s true value is seldom visible to the naked eye. It is not our role to doubt Kaathe’s will, but to act accordingly to it.”

“That’s your role, luv.”  The Hyena said as he helped Yuria seal the coffin until not a single ray of light could touch the ashes. “Not mine.”

“Hello there.”

Gentle and considerate.

Solaire’s greeting embodied those qualities perfectly, but he still felt he had been too harsh in his approach. It was too late for regrets. He had already spoken the words, and all that was left was to wait for the fire keeper’s reaction.

He froze his smile and hoped his face was not overly red. Perhaps it had not been wise of him to remove his helmet, but he had considered rude and improper to meet the lady that had done so much for him and Oscar with his face concealed behind metal.

Oscar.

He frowned at the memory of his friend, but he did not let it distract him for long. He didn’t want the fire keeper to see him scowling.

He waited, but the woman behind the bars gave him no signs of being aware of his presence. Her chin was glued to her chest, her face completely escaping Solaire’s eyes.

Her hair, as blond as Solaire’s but covered with a thick layer of ash, was the only feature she exposed to the Warrior of Sunlight.

“My lady?” Solaire tried again, but his efforts were in vain.

She was completely undisturbed.

It was almost as if she was deaf.

Oh dear.

Solaire felt a twinge of shame travel from the center of his chest to the rest of his body. No doubt his face was now crimson.

“I am sorry for disturbing you.” He said, continuing to speak only to make the silence more endurable for himself. “I do not wish to intrude. I merely wanted to let you know that my friend and I deeply appreciate your efforts. Without the Estus your bonfire provides, we both would have gone Hollow long ago. Thank you, my lady, from the bottom of our hearts.”

Solaire put an arm across his chest and bowed his head. The fire keeper remained indifferent to him, her slender hands resting on her lap, her slow breathing being the only proof she was still alive.

A deep sadness cut through Solaire.

He had always known the duty of the fire keepers was a burden few maidens wished for themselves, as it was a ruthless responsibility that seldom gained them the gratitude of others.

But he had never witnessed it as crudely as he was doing now.

Oscar’s words rang truer and more sensible than ever.

Solaire’s childish gesture of gratitude really seemed like a mockery of the poor woman.

He turned his back on that thought and steeled his resolve.

What did Oscar know anyway?

Solaire knew what he was doing, and even if it wasn’t turning out as he had expected, he knew Oscar’s alternative wouldn’t have been much better.

With his confidence boosted, he set on the ground before the fire keeper’s cell the gift he had prepared for her. He thought of trying to get it through the bars, but stopped, afraid it could be considered an intrusion.

“Estus flasks shards. I want you to have them.” Solaire announced to the fire keeper joyfully, unwrapping the handkerchief where the remnants of his broken flask now laid. He took one small glassy flake and moved it so that its glitter became more evident. “They are quite pretty, don’t you think? And they have a shine natural to them, even when the sun rays do not touch them. They could make good adornments, or maybe you could try to assemble the pieces back, as if it was a puzzle. A rather difficult puzzle, but one very entertaining indeed.”

He laughed and hoped the fire keeper would look at him at least once.

She didn’t.

Feeling he had overstayed his welcome, Solaire gently put the shard back with the rest and folded the handkerchief. He pushed it a little closer to the bars and left it there.

“I must go now, my lady.” Solaire bowed his head. “My friend and I must continue our journey. We are going back to the Undead burg, to the lower parts of it. Lautrec says that’s where the entrance to the Depths could be... and he is the best lead we’ve got. If he is right, then we’ll be closer to the second bell, if what the crestfallen told me was true. Oscar does not trust Lautrec, but I do. Besides, after what he has done, he has no right to judge him.”

Solaire bit his tongue.

Speaking ill of Oscar behind his back did not make his resentment towards him lessen and it certainly was doing nothing to heal their fractured friendship.

He sighed and hid his eyes behind a hand.

He and Oscar had not dwelled on the matter, not even after Lautrec had given them room to talk things out.

All they had done after he had left them behind was staring at the bonfire, like a couple of children witnessing the flames of a hearth for the first time.

Solaire had wondered what Oscar had been thinking, but his friend was hard to read, and sometimes it was impossible to decipher whether his silence was born from thoughtful meditation or just apathy.

It hurt him to think Oscar was capable of so much indifference, but if he was willing to use a cursed ring, should Solaire really expect any different from him?

He had not worn the ring again since their argument, but neither had he gotten rid of it. For Solaire, it made little difference. If Oscar was so set on keeping that damned thing, it was because he planned on using it later at some point, and for Solaire, that was as unacceptable as if he decided to use it all the time.

If Oscar thought Solaire viewed his sacrifice of a normal appearance as a noble gesture to gain his approval, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Solaire had wanted to tell Oscar all of it, but he hadn’t had the heart to do so. Instead, he had remained as silent as his friend.

Eventually, Lautrec had returned to them and asked them what conclusion they had reached.

When both Oscar and Solaire gave him no answer, he had suggested them to settle their differences once and for all with a battle to the death.

Solaire had immediately refused.

Oscar had looked down but said nothing, and his silence had been like a stab for Solaire.

Lautrec’s presence had not been negative in its totality, as it had also brought a forced but relieving sense of truce between the two Astorans.

They had rested for a long while afterwards, and their lack of a definite answer had led Solaire to think he and Oscar had reach an agreement.

They would continue to travel together, at least for the time being.

But things between them would not be the same.

Gone with their argument was Solaire’s fervent wish for Oscar to become a Warrior of Sunlight.

Their parrying lessons had also been put into a long, perhaps permanent hiatus.

Their banter, their trust, their moments of comfortable silence... all gone, replaced with a brittle and cold regard for each other more proper among soldiers than friends.

Solaire took his hand off his eyes.

He wished he was strong enough to forgive Oscar. There was nothing else he wanted more than to go back to what they’d had before that cursed ring had entered their lives.

But he was a Warrior of Sunlight. A defender of all that was good in the world, no matter how corrupted it was. He had a duty to his covenant, to his morals, and above all, to himself.

And yet, righteous as I am, I can’t bring myself to forgive my friend.

His own rebuke staggered him. He did not like to think about it, just as he did not like to think about Lautrec’s suggestion that he was being narrow-minded and naïve.

He hated to dwell on any of that, so he stopped and got back on his feet.  He said one more farewell to the fire keeper and went back to the bonfire, hoping to escape the thoughts he was trying to evade, but they were like his shadow.

Always following him nearby.

“I’m going to Andre’s.”

It had been the first words Oscar had spoken to Solaire since their unresolved moment of silence by the bonfire.

His shield and whetted sword hung from his back and waist respectively, as did the broken coiled sword.

His Hollowed face remained hidden behind his helmet, as it should be.

Even then, he had not enough courage to look at Solaire as he spoke.

Oscar had pretended to be too busy adjusting the buckles of his belt as he waited for Solaire to say something in return.

“I won’t take long.”

He had tried again, his broken and destroyed voice perfectly concealing his despair.

Had he taken Solaire for granted again?

Had he assumed Solaire would continue to travel with him despite all that had happened?

Oscar began to fear he had, and he hated himself for his cowardice, but he was too trapped in the webs of his own fears and regrets to look at Solaire in the eye and ask him directly if he even considered him a friend anymore.

He knew he didn’t, but as long as Solaire didn’t say it out loud, as long as he remained by his side, Oscar had the chance to believe things could go back to what they were, before he had succumbed to his need to keep the ring.

As long as Solaire was there, he was still part of his life.

Solaire, you don’t deserve this.

Oscar stopped fiddling with his belt and confronted his selfish wishes.

You must be free to follow your own path... even if I’m not part of it anymore. I shouldn’t weigh you down.

He had to let him go.

It was the only good thing left he could do for Solaire.

“Just go and be done with it.”

The unexpected answer shattered Oscar’s resolve.

It had not come from Solaire, but from Lautrec.

The knight of Carim was now a constant presence in their lives. Oscar was grateful to him for the kindness he had showed to him and Solaire, but he couldn’t wait to leave Firelink Shrine behind and be free of him.

There was something about Lautrec that filled the air with poison, as if he sowed the seeds of discord with his mere presence.

Oscar had become more aware of it after Lautrec had suggested a battle to the death between him and Solaire.

Oscar had been so appalled by the idea that he had wanted nothing more than to burst Lautrec’s lip open, but Solaire had reacted first.

He had refused, and he had done so with so much loyalty towards Oscar that he could only sink where he sat and look down, and wonder what he had ever done to be worthy of a friend like Solaire.

“I’d come with you, but I don’t feel like it. And Solaire will be too busy presenting his gift to the fire keeper, so I’m afraid you are on your own in this, Oscar. Don’t worry, you can take care of yourself, you are an elite knight after all. But hey, if things get too complicated, put that ring on and conquer the hearts of Hollows with your Astoran charm.”

Lautrec had laughed. Oscar allowed him to have his moment of amusement.

Solaire had not intervened in his defense.

He hates me.

Oscar took a deep breath and feigned indifference and composure.  It was so natural for him to do so, no doubt a consequence of his past life as an elite knight.

Always a mask, the eternal façade of undisturbed strength.

An illusion, like the rest of aspects about himself.

Like Solaire himself had told him.

“We’ll be waiting here for you.”

Oscar had to muster all his strength to keep himself from looking over his shoulder and gaze at Solaire.

He spoke not with friendliness, but with politeness.

The change in his tone stung Oscar, but he was grateful too.

Grateful that Solaire had replied at all.

“Be careful.” Solaire added before going to the stairs of the shrine, the handkerchief in his hands tinkling in harmony with his steps.

“I will.” Oscar had replied with the last reserve of courage inside him, and then he had parted to the shrine’s elevator.

He could feel Lautrec’s eyes on him as he left, but his sneer could not take away the comfort Solaire’s reply had left Oscar with.

Their silent agreement had not been an imagination of Oscar’s selfish mind, it had been real.

It is. Right, Solaire?

A braver man would have asked the question.

The elite knight Oscar had once been would have done so without shame, and he would have expected an immediate answer.

For he was an elite knight, and he would not have accepted a disdainful or indifferent treatment from anyone, even less from a low-rank knight. And if he was not given the respect he deserved, he would have—

Stop.

Oscar quickened his steps towards the elevator, as if the elite knight had come to life and was chasing after him.

I am not you anymore.

He reached the elevator and slammed the gate closed with so much forced that the hinges creaked and almost snapped from their places.

The elevator went up.

Oscar took off his helmet, desperate for fresh air. He held his forehead and forced his breathing to slow down. His anxious heart slowly calmed down, but the elite knight remained by his side.

He hated him.

He despised him for all he represented.

His past self, his worst self.

And yet—

Oscar’s hand involuntarily traveled to the bag where the ring of illusion rested.

When I become him again, I feel nothing but pride and fulfillment.

His fingers departed from the ring as if it had burned him through the leather of his gauntlet. He didn’t know what disgusted him more, his awful thoughts or his reluctance to get rid of that cursed thing.

He wished he could say he didn’t know where his need to keep the ring steamed from.

 It would have been so easy to blame it all on Oswald, or even on the ring itself, and to claim the trinket was enchanted and manipulated the minds of its users to feel an unyielding sense of affection for it.

But to do so would be a lie.

Oswald had tried to persuade Oscar to keep it, and his reasoning had been the perfect excuse to quell Oscar’s guilt, but the pardoner had not been deceitful or manipulative in his speech, and to blame him would be unfair.

And the ring, cursed as it was, did not force Oscar to be its wielder. It did not fill his mind with orders or empty promises. It was just a thing, without a mind or will of its own.

In the end, no matter how Oscar saw it, the only one he could blame was himself and his petty need to remember how it had felt to be a true elite knight of Astora.

Respected, trusted, praised.

Why? Why does any of that matter so much to me?

The elevator reached the old church. The gate slid open, slower than usual with an awful creak coming from the hinges.

Oscar stepped out the platform, and he felt as if he had entered his reality again. One where he was only a half-Hollow attempting to fulfill an ancient prophecy, the same way a child dreams of defeating a dragon with a toy sword and becoming his king’s favorite knight.

Petrus’ words began to rise from the back of his mind, but Oscar silenced them before they became too clear and deafening.

He cleared his mind and put his helmet back on. It did not work completely, but the task he had at hand helped him concentrate and ignore the rush of doubts that plagued his mind like a whirlwind.

He had to go to Andre and buy the supplies he needed.

At that moment, that was the  only objective he should concern himself with. Oscar sighed one last time and then went on his way.

The echo of his steps reached the top floor from the cathedral.

A pardoner feeding a murder of crows looked at where the sound came. He wondered if he soon would have another poor soul in his presence, eager to confess their sins and find redemption.

“He’s been gone for a long while.”

“Tell me about it. Maybe it was all an excuse and he’s already somewhere else. Perhaps he is now at Darkroot Garden, trying to find his way inside the grave of sir Artorias or— Are you listening to me, Solaire?”

Lautrec watched as the Warrior of Sunlight stood up, his round shield on his back and his sunlight sword sheathed and hanging from his belt.

“Solaire? What are you doing?”

“I’m going to look for Oscar.” Solaire replied dryly, setting the helmet on his head. “I never should have let him go all by himself. The old church is a dangerous place. He could have gotten hurt or—”

“Died?” Lautrec snorted, rolling his eyes. Solaire winced at the suggestion, like the sensitive fool that he was. “So what if he did? If he did die, then he’ll be reborn from this bonfire any moment now, and if he doesn’t... well, such is the fate of a half-Hollow.”

Rather than bringing peace to Solaire, Lautrec’s scenario only exalted his nerves and pushed him closer to leaving Firelink Shrine. He would have escaped the place had Lautrec not grabbed him by one of his metal bracelets as he passed him by.

“It was a joke.” Lautrec told the distressed Warrior of Sunlight. “Oscar will be fine. If you go looking for him and he returns and doesn’t find you, he’ll set out on his own again. The two of you will lose track of each other, and then you could become separated from good.”

“But what if—”

“He’s an elite knight.” Lautrec said firmly, and Solaire remained still as if he had slapped him. “He doesn’t need your coddling. Besides, why are you so worried about him? I thought you two were on bad terms.”

“We are.” Solaire said, managing to free his wrist from Lautrec’s grasp.

“Then why are you so concerned about him? By the lords, have some dignity. It is not very knightly to show so much worry about a fellow knight.”

“Perhaps that’s how things are in Carim, but in Astora—”

“No, don’t give me that crap. Even in Astora knights have their dignity. Oscar didn’t seem that concerned about you, did he? It seems only fair to me that you give him that same treatment. Think about it. Why should you show him kindness when he has seldom showed you any? It is not fair for you, Solaire.”

Lautrec suppressed a smile. He couldn’t see Solaire’s face, but his silence told him his words were having an effect on him.

He had done so partially to amuse himself, but his statement had not been without sense or pertinence. A part of him was also intrigued to witness Solaire’s reaction once Oscar returned, if he did at all.

Had Lautrec stirred Solaire enough towards doubt to make him realize he owed nothing to Oscar, and that maybe a duel to the death was the correct choice after all?

He sure hoped so. It had been a long while since he had witnessed rightful bloodshed between knights, and the many poor bastards he had killed before did not count.

For once, Lautrec wished to be a mere spectator rather than a participant. Oscar and Solaire were skilled knights. A fight between them was bound to be savagely entertaining.

Lady Fina hugged Lautrec’s chest. She too was interested in witnessing the encounter.

Lautrec would not allow her curiosity to remain unsatisfied.

Solaire was already in his hands. All Lautrec needed was to give a small push more and—

“He has been kind to me.” Solaire said to Lautrec, softly, almost like a whisper.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oscar.” Solaire lifted his head and took off his helmet. His hair, now tied into a tidy ponytail, gave him the appearance of a court knight. “He has showed me kindness... and I should not forget it, no matter how angry I am at him. But it is difficult for me, you know? I have been angry at many people before in my life. The commoners that always took me for a fool, the elite knights that mocked me and even endangered my life just for their amusement, my own family that never had any hopes for me; all of them I have forgiven. But I cannot do the same for Oscar. And I don’t know why.”

Lautrec remained with his mouth agape. He was not used to being the receptor of heartfelt confessions, and not once in his life he had been expected or asked to offer advice or comfort to a fellow knight.

Stunned momentarily by the position Solaire had put him in, Lautrec decided to refuse to play the role.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Lautrec shrugged, folding his arms on his chest. “I’m not a pardoner, Solaire. If you want answers, then talk to Oscar. Ah, and speaking of the devil.”

Lautrec nodded, and Solaire promptly turned around to meet the freshly arrived Oscar.

For a moment, Lautrec thought Solaire would welcome Oscar with a bone-crushing embrace, but to his surprise, Solaire simply acknowledged him with a cold ‘There you are’.

Oscar replied in the same manner by uttering a dry ‘Sorry I took so long’.

After that exchange, they both remained silent, leaving Lautrec trapped again in the middle of their unresolved conflict.

He was about to break the tension again with another of his suggestions of how they could resolve their differences for good when Oscar spoke first.

“We can be on our way now, but just give me a moment. I want to talk to the fire keeper first.”

“Why are you two so obsessed with the fire keeper?” Lautrec asked with an arched eyebrow. “I know Astorans always fancy each other, but this is ridiculous.”

“The fire keeper is Astoran?” Solaire asked, his eyes wide with incredulity.

“As far as her appearance tells me, she is. Then again, what do I know? I’m just a knight of Carim.”

“Regardless, I would want a moment to speak with her.” Oscar said, already on his way to the stairs. “I won’t be long.”

“You will, but still, we’ll wait for you here.” Lautrec replied with a sneer and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Go on, we wouldn’t want to waste the precious time of an elite knight as yourself.”

Oscar had visibly winced at the comment, but it was only for a second, and he continued his way before Solaire or Lautrec could say anything more.

“There’s no need for any of that, Lautrec.” Solaire said as soon as Oscar was out of sight. “Oscar does not deserve your disdain.”

“Not disdain, just some knightly mocking, to relieve the stress and ease the tension. It’s not as if this treatment was new to him. From my experience, Astoran elite knights are masters of this art. You know it as well as I, don’t you Solaire? After all, you said so yourself.”

Solaire opened his mouth, but he couldn’t reply.

Not at first.

“But Oscar—”

“Is he different? Really? Are you sure of that?”

Those three questions finally shut him up for good.

Lautrec pretend to close his eyes as he rested his back against a stone column, but he peeked at Solaire from the slit of his eyelids.

A distressed elite knight and a resentful Warrior of Sunlight. Such fight would be one worthy of songs and poems! That’s definitely a duel I would not want to miss, and it would also be so worthy of you, don’t you agree, my lady?

Fina showed her approval by sending him a wave of warmth that made him feel alive.

Of course, the fight would be only the prologue. Your real gift shall be their souls and Humanities, freshly ripped from their corpses. Would that satisfy you, my dear lady? I know how fond you are of Astorans and their dark essences.

Fina pressed her lips on his ear, and with a whisper, she gave him her answer.

Oscar knelt in front of the fire keeper’s cell. A small smile formed on his lips as he glanced at Solaire’s gift.

A broken Estus flask was hardly a practical gift, but for an Undead to give away one of the most important items they could own gave the gesture a special worth.

His mind traveled back to the Asylum, at the moment where he had gifted his own Estus flask to the Chosen Undead.

He had been so broken, both of body and mind.

The memory, while precious to him, was difficult to endure for too long, and so Oscar dispersed it from his mind.

“My—”

He halted.

The fire keeper did not deserve to listen to his awful voice. And in case she lifted her head and looked at him, she did not deserve to gaze at his corrupted face.

Oscar made sure neither Lautrec or Solaire were nearby, and with great effort, he took off his gauntlet and put the ring of illusion on his finger.

Then, he crossed an arm across his chest and bowed his head.

“My lady.”

His normal voice sickened him, but it was the only way to keep the fire keeper unafraid of him.  

The woman did not respond at all.

Oscar hadn’t expected her to.

He continued, with as much respect and tact as he could offer her.

“I know my words are of little comfort, but please, be assured that Solaire and I are not ignorant of the sacrifices you make to keep the bonfire’s flame burning strong. "

A small pause filled with silence.

"When I first arrived here, I was closer to the doors of death than the gates of life. Solaire took care of me, he helped me heal my wounds. It was thanks to him and the Estus you provide that I’m still alive. Yet, we were not kind to you. We’ve extracted so much Estus from the bonfire, and not once did we think of you. We... I was so focused on my own pain and misery, that I never considered thanking you. Solaire did, for he is a better man than me; but now, I am here before you to make up for my selfishness.”

The fire keeper still said nothing.

Oscar lifted his eyes and looked at her. He looked away almost instantly, unable to endure the painful image of the trapped and unresponsive woman.

“Thank you.”

There was nothing else he could say.

He stared at Solaire’s gift again and thought of taking it with him before the fire keeper saw it, but his body froze just as he was about to reach it.

Had it been too harsh of him to think the fire keeper would be offended by such an innocent and well-intentioned present?

Didn’t she deserve small glimpses of kindness as well?

Oscar kept on pondering, his hand retreating to the floor, away from the gift.  Gently, it traveled to the coiled sword on his belt.

He removed the broken weapon and stared at it.

Then, he softly laid it down next to the handkerchief.

He felt like a tactless fool.

What kind of knight presented a weapon to a woman?

Perhaps if it had been well kept, adorned with precious gems and shining bright with recent polishing, it could have passed for a decent gift, but the coiled sword was a scorched and broken piece of metal, unpleasant and unimpressive to the eye.

Still, it was mystical in origin, and for any Undead, it was a symbol of hope and rest. Together with the bonfires, it represented the closest thing they had for a home in Lordran.

Oscar put his hand above the weapon one last time, and for a moment, he regretted even considering giving it away.

Chosen Undead.

They had caused him great damage with the weapon, leaving him with a wound that had tormented him for too long and a scar that had never truly healed.

But they had also saved his life with it, and the sword had proved to be a faithful weapon to its wielder, always keeping Oscar alive during his battles.

It was not a shabby or meaningless present.

Not at all.

“I must be on my way now. But when we get back, we’ll make sure to come see you again.” Oscar said softly. “Be well, my lady. And thank you, for everything.”

Oscar put on his helmet and removed the ring. Then, he returned to the bonfire, feeling a soothing comfort in his chest, not strong enough to make him believe everything would be alright, but it was bright enough to make him smile.

She waited until the knights were gone from Firelink Shrine before she dared to raise her eyes.

The gifts they had left for her were so close and so far away.

She bit her lower lip.

Had they found it amusing?

To treat her as if she was some lady of the court?

To leave gifts for her when she couldn’t move to seize them?

To talk to her when she couldn’t speak?

She was no stranger to the derision and indifference of the travelers that passed through Firelink Shrine.

Some openly mocked her with vulgar insinuations and gestures, others foolishly asked her for directions, others avoided her as if she was plagued with mortal disease, and a few more simply acted as if she was not there at the shrine at all.

But how long had it been since someone had truly spoken to her, even less make her gifts?

How cruel those knights had been.

To act towards her as if she was still a normal woman, as if her existence was not bound to a cursed fate.

They were heartless, evil, monstrous.

They—

Made me gifts.

Two slim threads of water streamed down her face, cleaning the skin of her cheeks from the dust and ash that always covered her.

They thanked me.

She let out a soundless whimper.

Before another manifested, she locked down her emotion before it overcome her.

She had no right to be moved.

She had no right to cry or to be the receiver of gratitude.

I am impure.

She had not the right or time to be victim of such sentiment.

The tears stopped, and she promised herself never again to let them flow.

With that, she continued her duty as a keeper of the fire.

But the memory of the knights never left, and the gifts they had left for her remained untouched outside her cell.

Chapter Text

To all clerics,

We have never been strangers to foreign spies and their malevolent plots to get their hands on our most safeguarded secrets.

I know most of you imagine Carim snakes infiltrated among us, waiting for the right moment to strike and plunder.

If you do, then I highly praise your good judgment, for no kingdom, not the backwater Catarina nor our allied Astora, is free from Carim’s treacherous machinations.

They are foul people, wicked to the core.

One just needs to look at Arstor, their deranged ruler, with his fascination for impalement and the inhumane experiments he carries out on captives and even on his own people when his madness is at its peak.

And his pardoners, so mistakenly regarded as heralds of redemption, when in reality they are nothing but keepers and traders of the most dangerous of secrets.

Do I really need to talk of their knights? Back-stabbing savages, always lusting for blood. Glorified mercenaries, the lot of them. The maidens they guard like rabid dogs are no different; manipulative and seductive harlots, demons capable of twisting a man’s mind with forbidden black magic.

Beware also their children. No Carim child is free of sin, for their blood is tainted from birth by the poison of their fraudulent deities.  

Pity them not.

Such is the punishment that befalls on heretics and their kin.

Death to Velka, the fraudulent goddess!

Long live Allfather Lloyd, uncle of Lord Gwyn!

Forgive my digression, but it is always pertinent to remember the lessons and teachings of our Allfather, he who guides us on the rightful path and sheds light on the way of the white.

With that said, allow me to address the subject of this message.

This last transgression we suffered was not Carim’s doing. The work was too clean, swift and meditated to be product of the minds of those animals.

Carim may be our greatest enemy, but the rest of the nations and kingdoms are no better. Indeed, even our dear ally Astora has been tempted to infiltrate their men among us to spy and gather valuable information in the past, and they still do to this day.

The constant presence of their elite knights in our cities is not a gesture of their good faith, but a subtle way to keep us well observed.  

It is a harsh truth to accept, but Thorolund has no true friends.

And this time, Vinheim has proven how much of a threat they could pose if allowed to remain ignored and underestimated by the world. Their self-imposed reclusion and feign peaceful ways are a mask that hides a potential enemy, perhaps one more powerful than Carim could ever be.

The assassin that poisoned dozens of our guards and casted the spell to make us blind to his deed was, without a doubt, a Vinheimer.

His magic influence still lingers in the air, and some of our own have been rendered insane by that bloody spell. They are beyond help, and will no longer be able to carry out their duties as clerics.

Luckily, the spell has started to lose its strength.

I will be leading a unit of highly skilled clerics in the morning to clear the air from this invisible plague.

I beseech you to keep our beloved lady Reah inside the safety of the palace walls in the meanwhile; we all know how prone she is to wander around the city against her father’s wishes.

As for what secrets and artifacts were stolen by the Vinheimer spy, I’m afraid I can share little information about the matter with you; however, be assured that Allfather Lloyd and I are already working together to lessen any possible consequences.

Please be more cautious than ever in your interactions with foreigners living in our land. Here I present you how to deal with them from now on:

Any Vinheimer is to be exiled immediately, regardless of their age, gender or occupation. If they resist, the use of lethal force is hereby approved by me.

Catarinians, Zenians and those hailing from the Great Swamp are to be carefully observed. They are all strange people, and therefore unpredictable and unreliable. They are allowed to continue living among us, but they are to be exiled at their first infraction, no matter how little it is. If they resist, the use of lethal force if hereby approved by me.

Carim knights, maidens and travelers are not allowed to approach our land, no matter their reason. Threatening them is no longer enough; the use of lethal forced is mandatory.

As for Astorans, they are to be treated as they always have, with hospitality and respect, especially their elite knights. We all know how problematic they can become if their ego is not properly pandered. Still, keep as much distance from them as possible.

These are times of fear and intrigue, my brothers and sisters. Thorolund stands more alone than ever.

Be strong, be vigilant, be smart, and entrust your lives to our Allfather Lloyd, for he shall keep us safe from the envy of our enemies and the injustices of the world.

                                                                                                                        -Petrus of Thorolund, high-cleric of the Royal House.

Oscar aimed and threw the rope.

The rusty hook tied at its end clinked as it hit a bar of the metal stairs, but it failed to get a firm grip and fell limply to the floor.

He hissed a curse.

He had lost count of how many attempts he had made to drag down the stairs resting high on the wall.

According to Lautrec, they were a shortcut that would lead them to the entrance of the lower parts of the Undead burg in no time, and more importantly, without the need to pass through the bridge guarded by the Hellkite dragon.

When Oscar asked him how he knew all this, Lautrec had shrugged, a mocking smile surely painting his face behind his golden helmet.

“We knights of Carim may share information, but we do not share our methods to obtain it.”

Oscar had almost hated him for his annoying mysteriousness; he had only refrained himself from openly confronting Lautrec for Solaire’s sake.

Despite their opposite personalities, they had managed to get along well. Lautrec had proven to be Solaire’s only source of conversation now that Oscar had decided to remain as silent as possible.

He was aware that the least Solaire wanted was to hear his voice.

The less they interacted, the sooner their friendship could start to heal.

Oscar knew he had acted correctly, but he had not expected Lautrec to follow them around on their journey and complicate things further with his presence and endless taunting.

All jest he made was at Oscar’s expense. Solaire was no free of his acidic wit, but the taunts he threw at him were considerably less barbed than the ones he directed at Oscar.

He was relentless, and his last effort had succeeded in widening the drift between Oscar and Solaire.

It had happened right after they had reached the first bonfire of the Undead burg.

Lautrec had informed them of the stairs and the shortcut they had never taken, and Oscar had quickly invested his attention on crafting an improvised grappling hook with a rotten rope and some scrap metal he'd found lying around in the room.

It had taken him some time to get it ready.

Enough time for Lautrec to get bored and start  throwing his poison again.

“It’s not that watching you build little trinkets like a blacksmith's apprentice isn’t amusing, Oscar,” he had said after stretching his arms, “but I’m sure there’s something else Solaire and I could do to kill time.”

Oscar had expected Solaire to say something, but he had remained quiet.

“If you are so easily bored, then whet your swords and check your provisions. If there’s anything you need, go to the merchant nearby and refill your supplies. Otherwise, be quiet.”

“The merchant? Oh, you mean that good old fellow that is as Hollow and ugly as you.” Lautrec had said after pretending to refresh his memory. “Would you not accompany me, Oscar? He’s bound to give a discount to a fellow Hollow.  You may remind him of his lost love, another Undead merchant, just as hideous as him. We may be Undead, but even among us, love must be allowed to flourish.”

“Lautrec.”

“Relax, Solaire. Oscar knows I’m just kidding around.” He had said, giving Solaire a small hit with his elbow. “Right, Oscar?”

“I don’t know what makes you think I’ll dignify that stupid question with an answer.”

“See? He already trusts me enough to counter my taunts. If that’s not the sign of a blooming friendship, I don’t know what is.”

He had laughed again, and to Oscar’s shock, so had Solaire.

Though he knew his friend had only done so because of the fake sense of amiability Lautrec had created among them, it still had stung.

“Enough. If you can’t be useful, then go be idle elsewhere. I thought I was in the company of knights, not a couple of children.”

It had come as harsh as Oscar had intended, and he had not regretted it. But neither he had dared to look at Solaire’s reaction.

He had ceased laughing as soon as Oscar had talked. Lautrec on the other hand, was not so easily hushed.

“Nice personality you’ve got there, Oscar. No doubt you were loved by your fellow elite knights and the Astoran commoners. Did you know him before he became Undead, Solaire? Tell me, was he always like this, or did the Darksign inspired him to become an ass?”

Oscar had flinched, tensing his grip on the rope to the point of almost tearing it apart. The potential chaos that would have followed had only been averted thanks to Solaire.

“There’s a Black knight still roaming around this place.” He had said, ignoring Lautrec’s questions. “I would like to fight him. He would prove a good challenge to keep our skills sharp, and he may drop useful materials or equipment.”

“A Black knight? Huh, I must have missed him when I passed through here.” Lautrec had replied. “Sounds interesting enough. My mind would welcome the diversion, and my swords are always hungry for a good fight; guide the way then, my sunny friend.”

“No.” Oscar had intervened out of impulse, his handmade grappling hook starting to take shape in his hands. “I forbid it.”

“By the lords, you’re annoying.” Lautrec had sighed. “I don’t understand you, Oscar. I thought you wanted us gone.”

“I want you gone.” Oscar had looked at them fiercely from behind the visor of his helmet. Looking at Solaire, he had added, “I don’t want you dead.”

“We already are. We are not called Undead just for the laughs of it. Besides, who do you think you are to forbid us anything and ordering us around? We are not your subordinates; we are your fellow knights, inferior to you in no manner.”

“That I know.” Oscar had quickly added, soothing the authoritative tone of his voice. “I’m not trying to impose my will; I just want to keep you from taking unnecessary risks. There’s no need for you to fight that Black knight. Going to the merchant would be a much more sensible choice. In fact, I am in need of some repair powder, and I’m sure a few firebombs would prove useful.”

“So we are your errand boys now?” Lautrec had not lost his chance to interrupt him. “My, my, you claim you see us as your equals, yet you show so little faith in our skills. Are elite knights always so condescending, or is it just you, my half-Hollow friend?”

It had happened quickly.

Oscar had dropped the rope and gotten back on his feet in a heartbeat. He lunged himself towards Lautrec and pushed him against the cold stone wall. The impact of his armor echoed through the building.

They had remained locked in that position, with Oscar’s forearm pressing Lautrec’s neck as the Carim knight continued to chuckle at his expense with the little breath that could pass through his throat.

Eventually, it had been Solaire who had separated them.

Then, he had stood between them and stared at Oscar, his eyes barely visible through the slit of his heaume.

“I’m going to the merchant.”

Oscar had felt a warm feeling of appreciation for his friend, but it had gone cold instantly when Solaire added, “And then I’m going to face the Black knight.”

Oscar had remained silent, with only Lautrec breaking the quietude with his wheezing breathing as he recovered from Oscar’s attack.

“Do as you wish.” Oscar had finally said, turning his back on Solaire and Lautrec and returning to his former place by the bonfire. He had picked up the rope and resumed his work.

Solaire had left, with Lautrec following him close behind.

Oscar had not worried about them ever since, and he had put all his attention on finishing the grappling hook and dragging down the stairs on the wall.

He picked the hook after his most recent failed attempt and dedicated one fleeting look outside.

No trace of Solaire and Lautrec yet.

Good.

He didn’t need distractions, and his moment of solitude was more enjoyable than he had foreseen.

Still, what was taking them so long?

Oscar buffed and chided himself.

He had no time to worry about them, especially not about Lautrec.

He set the two knights out of his thoughts and prepared another throw. The rope flew as straight as an arrow, and this time, the hook managed to tightly get a hold of the elusive stairs.

“Perfect.” Oscar said with pride at his small success.

He grabbed the rope with both hands and pulled down. It took some effort before the stairs gave in and came sliding down, hitting the floor with a loud chime.

Oscar inspected their stability by climbing them once.

After returning to the floor, he waited for Solaire and Lautrec to return.

With nothing else to do, he took out his Estus flask and drank from it through the lifted visor of his helmet.

He kept on waiting and looked outside again.

Nothing.

Oscar folded his arms and sat down next to the bonfire. The solitude that had felt so delightful a moment ago now seemed heavy and bothersome.

He kept on thinking of Solaire, but his thoughts eventually drifted away from his present and sought shelter in the broken memories of his past.

He took one more sip of Estus.

For a glorious second, it tasted not like the ethereal drink taken from the bonfire, but like the warm and spiced cider of Astora.

It was a simple and trivial delight, but powerful enough to drag Oscar closer to happier old times.

Back to the times where he could enjoy a hearty meal in the company of his fellow elite knights.

Back when he was a respected elite knight, full of vigor and confidence.

The phantom feeling of his memories was as sweet as it was ephemeral, and it faded away before he could dwell on it for long.

Disappointment followed, and it sunk Oscar into a pit of grief that felt bottomless.

The present that welcomed him, the only reality he had left, had never felt as vacuous and meaningless as it did then.

Why had he come back at all?

He wondered, and the more he did, the more he longed to remain lost in the shards of his past.

If his reality was nothing but constant defeats and failures, did he not deserve at least this small indulgence?

With clumsy and fast movements, Oscar put down the flask. His hand bolted to the safeguarded ring inside his bag.

He removed the gauntlet from his corrupted hand and proceeded to put it on.

He hesitated just before the trinket touched his skin. He peeked over his shoulder, like a thief nervous of nearby guards.

Hating himself for his weakness, but also desperate to clear his memories, Oscar slid the ring on his wrinkled index finger. The transformation of his flesh and voice were only the prologue of the effects that followed.

When he had fist worn the ring, Oscar had believed he had imagined the whole thing, but after his encounter with Reah and her bodyguards and the dream he’d had of Solaire and his fellow elite knights , he’d known it was true.

The ring not only changed his appearance back to normal, it also helped him see his memories with greater lucidity and coherence. Many of them remained shrouded in darkness and lost to the Hollowing, but those that lingered were vivid and tangible, like broken pieces of a mirror.

Oscar tried to resist the temptation, but it was a feeble effort, and soon he became completely lost in the same memory that had only teased him with a soft caress before.

There he was, surrounded by a group of elite knights. They were reunited at an empty tavern, or perhaps at the private kitchens exclusive to Astora’s best.

Their faces were free of helmets. They made a toast to celebrate their most recent accomplishment. Then they shared a meal together. They talked, they laughed and mocked each other. And Oscar was there, pretending to be unamused by their rowdy behavior, but still overcome with subtle joy and comfort.

A comfort he had taken for granted and had never truly experienced again since the Darksign had branded his flesh.

No, don’t think of that.

He jumped to another memory before his nostalgia turned it bitter.

This one transported him to a battlefield.

His sword was soaked with the blood of countless enemies.

Carim knights and soldiers.

Oscar had never enjoyed the bloodlust that took over his body and mind during battle, but he had been infatuated with his duty as an elite knight.

When he killed, he killed with pride and honor.

Every creature, every invading knight that dared to threaten Astora met their ends at the touch of his sword.

There was no mercy, no second thoughts, just a dance of swords and a rain of blood.

And yet, no matter how many victories he obtained, his accomplishments would always remain unsung, for elite knights could never claim any glory to their own names. They were sacrifices, admired and respected as a whole, but unknown and insignificant on their own, like the threads of a carpet.

Oscar had once believed his duty was enough, that the love his people gave him as an elite knight was the perfect substitute for the legendary glory he had wished for himself since childhood.

He had thought wrong, and so he had become growingly obsessed with the Undead prophecy with every passing day.

It had reached the point where he had felt almost euphoric when the Darksign—

No, don’t think of that either.

He fled and found another memory.

He was in the company of his fellow elite knights again.

They were a generous number.

They formed a circle.

Together, they witnessed a rowdy show happening at the center.

Bear-baiting perhaps?

Oscar looked closer.

He saw Solaire, covered in blood, with his sunlight sword in hand, surrounded by corpses of Undead dogs as three of those beasts growled and snarled at him. His injuries were serious and he trembled with exhaustion, but he continued to fight.

The elite knights laughed and cheered at him.

Oscar was silent.

He had turned his back on the whole thing and then—

No.

A new memory.

He stood alone, surrounded by the shredded corpses of many of his fellow elite knights. An Undead abomination that had successfully infiltrated Astora. It jumped towards him and managed to land a hit on his shoulder. The stab had pierced Oscar’s chainmail, flesh and bone alike.

I couldn’t save them. Not even one of them.

He fled from that memory as if it was a starved dragon ready to engulf him with its maws agape.

But there was no true escape from the darkness ofhis past.

He had been a fool to believe his past was any less painful than his present.

And yet, every pain it caused him was compensated by a flow of  warmth and satisfaction born from the happiness he’d once known.

He’d suffered, he’d known loss, death and pain.

But he’d also known camaraderie, pride, bravery and fulfillment.

They were not things he could allow himself to forget.

They were not something he could give up.

Slowly, he calmed down.

He focused, determined to be more careful this time while traveling the currents of his broken memories.

He was about to search for one worthy of his time when a distant roar shattered his trance.

He returned to his senses and found himself lying down on the floor, with his face touching cold stone and his forehead soaked in sweat. He remained still, numbed and confused of his surroundings until the distant echo of a clash of swords urged him to react.

Another scream, full of anger and despair.

“Solaire.”

Oscar was back on his feet before Solaire’s voice faded into the air.

The silence that followed sunk his heart to the floor.

“Solaire!”

He picked up his Estus flask, put it away on one of his bags and unsheathed his sword. The cold air of the burg crashed against his face as he ran to where Solaire was.

Injured, agonizing.

Dead.

Either by the sword of the Black knight, or at Lautrec’s treacherous hands.

Oscar’s grief and anger became a single sentiment.  

He would kill them.

He would make them pay for what they had done.

Lautrec had bought ten throwing knives and five firebombs for himself.

He had also bought some strange items the merchant had claimed were ‘from his secret and most exclusive stash, just recently acquired and traded to him by a magician from a distant land’.

Solaire had heard the offer but he had not been interested, and so he had walked away to a corner to inspect his own purchases while Lautrec continued to do business with the merchant.

He had acquired a generous amount of repair powder for Oscar, as well as a couple of firebombs. His most relished acquisition however, had been an orange soapstone, identical to his own except for its color and its use.

According to the merchant, the orange soapstone was made of the same material the first of the Undeads and some of the gods had used to leave behind messages with vital information.

Perhaps the same Undeads and gods Petrus had mentioned.

Solaire had been skeptical at first, but it had taken very little time and arguments to convince him.

Lautrec had mocked him for his silly and useless purchase, but Soilare did not regret his decision.

Though maybe a little test wouldn’t do any harm.

He looked over his shoulder to make sure Lautrec wasn’t looking, and then he wrote down a small message on the wall with the soapstone.

Merchant ahead.

It was not precisely the most original of messages, and it was too obvious to be truly useful to any other Undead, but it was the only thing Solaire could think of.

He was glad to see the letters left behind by the soapstone shone bright and legible. He scrubbed his hands over it, and the soapstone did not fade.

That was good. It proved his purchase had not been a scam.

On the other hand, it was bad, as he had no way to erase or hide his simple message before Lautrec returned to him after finishing his dealings with the merchant.

“It seems we are done here. Shall we go back to Oscar?” He said to Solaire, who was desperately trying to hide his message behind his body. “Are you alright? What are you hiding? Let me see.”

“No.” Solaire spread his arm to keep Lautrec away. Then, trying to sound as calm as possible, he added. “It’s nothing. I was just scratching my back against the wall. You know how difficult it can be to get rid of an itch only with your nails when you are wearing thick chainmail.”

“Yes, that makes sense.”

“Really?”

“No.”

Lautrec then forcefully pulled him away from the wall. Solaire looked away, his face burning red with embarrassment under his helmet as Lautrec laughed as he read the message.

The merchant stared at them, and he too chuckled, though Solaire doubted he knew the true reason behind Lautrec’s laughter.

“Why, Solaire.” Lautrec said. “I didn’t know you were a poet. Do you pretend to be an idiot just to conceal the genius you are underneath? Well, you sure fooled me.”

He continued laughing. Solaire tried to join him, but no sound would escape his chest.

Lautrec indulged a long while in his mockery. When he finally stopped, Solaire’s humiliation had started to border into anger.

“I’m just joking.” Lautrec roughly patted his shoulder. “You know this, right?”

“At times, I’m not sure I do.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You are Astoran, after all.” Lautrec give him a friendly push that only dragged Solaire closer to real anger. “Let’s get going then, before Oscar gets mad at us for leaving him waiting for so long. One whinny Astoran is enough, I don’t need two.”

The silence between them as they left the merchant’s domain was tense, but Solaire felt no need to ease it, and neither did Lautrec.

Solaire didn’t understand what drove Lautrec to be so needlessly taunting and cruel all the time. He tried to justify his endless mockery as ‘knightly diversion’, and while it was true knights commonly regarded each other with a level of rough treatment, it usually was good-natured.

And little of what Lautrec said or did felt like well-intended jests. He spared no mercy on Solaire, but it was Oscar who had been the target of his most heartless observations.

Solaire had not intervened, believing Oscar was indeed used to that sort of treatment after his years among the elite knights. They could be as ruthless as they were selfless, and Solaire knew it better than anyone.

Oscar.

He thought of his friend and of how he had laughed together with Lautrec when he had mocked Oscar about his Hollowing.

Solaire wanted to believe he had done so out of a moment of weakness where he had found Lautrec’s jest amusing, but he knew it wasn’t true.

A part of him had done so only to spite Oscar, to get a reaction out of him.

In its purest form, it had been a childish attempt to get his attention.

His anger for Lautrec paled in comparison to the shame he felt for his treatment of Oscar.

Solaire did not hate his friend. He was disappointed on him, angry even, but he doubted he could ever bring himself to hate him, no matter what happened between them.

But he knew Oscar hated him.

His silence and the absolute indifference he showed Solaire were clear evidence of how much he resented him for having brought discord into their friendship with his pesky morals and self-righteousness.

I am a Warrior of Sunlight. I cannot turn my back on my beliefs.

Solaire sighed.

Oscar... why don’t you get rid of that ring? Do it and everything between us can go back to what it was. Why do you cling to it? Why is your past so important to you? Do you really treasure it more than your present?

It was a concept foreign to Solaire, to look back at one’s past and sigh for it with wistfulness and nostalgia.

“Would you stop moping around like a child that has been denied some sweets? It’s getting on my nerves.” Lautrec said as he stopped and turned around to face Solaire. “I know what’s troubling you, and it’s pathetic. For how long do you and Oscar plan to cry about your little fight, Solaire? If you’re friendship with him is ruined, then it’s ruined. It’s gone, and no amount of sulking will make it right. Besides, I don’t understand why you mourn a friendship as poor as the one he offered you.”

“His friendship is not poor.” Solaire retorted, taking a step closer to Lautrec. “You know nothing of all he’s done for me. He has showed me more kindness than any other person has in my life. I may be angry at him, but I will not be disloyal to him.”

He took one step closer to Lautrec, and the Carim knight backed away slightly.

“And I will not let you badmouth him again, Lautrec. You consider us pathetic for our sentimentality, but I consider you pitiful for mistaking derision with self-confidence.”

“Hmm, yes... I had forgotten how fond Astorans are of their motivational speeches. It’s not as annoying as the Vinheimer tendency to educate others, but it’s not too far behind.”

Lautrec patted Solaire once on the chest, right on the painted sun of his tunic. He walked him by, completely unafraid of the potential attack Solaire could have prepared for him.

“Very well, if my jokes are so hurtful for your and Oscar’s sensitive hearts, I’ll do my best to keep my tongue in check from now on. Please, to try to understand, Solaire. Carim knights live a solitary existence. We have only our ladies to make us company, and friendship is not a concept we openly practice, let alone with other knights. This whole camaraderie we are sharing is new to me. I was in the wrong, and I apologize. When we return to Oscar, I’ll apologize to him as well. What do you say? Are we good?”

Lautrec offered him his hand.

Solaire smiled from behind his helmet, and his anger towards Lautrec faded into nothingness.

“We’re good.” He said as he and Lautrec shook hands.

If only it was Oscar with whom he was so easily reconciliating with and not Lautrec.

The idea twisted his stomach and formed a lump in his throat.

“Still, as your friend, I feel obligated to tell you this, Solaire,” Lautrec continued, “the way Oscar treats you is... demeaning. Well-intentioned, yes, but so very condescending. Now, I may not be an expert on friendship, but I know that nothing good can come from knights that don’t respect each other.”

Just when Solaire had started to think things would run smoothly, Lautrec had to put his finger on the wound.

“But you know this, don’t you? Isn’t it the reason you were so determined to fight the Black knight? To prove to Oscar you don’t his constant coddling?”

The Black knight.

Solaire had almost forgotten about him.

Truth was he had not wanted to fight him, and he had only mentioned him to lure Lautrec away from Oscar for a moment, so they both could cool down their tempers before they harmed each other.

But when Oscar had forbidden them to get close to the Black knight, Solaire’s temper had flared, and he had become determined to fight and defeat the knight, if only to show Oscar he was not bound to his commands and that he was skilled enough to defeat a powerful foe on his own.

He had fumed and raged in silence as he'd left Oscar behind, but his tranquil moment of shopping and his acquisition of his new orange soapstone had cleansed him of his anger and quelled his thirst for foolish battles.

Now that Lautrec had brought it up again, Solaire felt trapped.

“Solaire, listen to me.  Oscar does not respect you. He may hold you in high regard as his friend and as a person, but you are nothing to him as a knight.  Unless this changes, your relationship with him will be doomed to conflict. Knights that don’t respect each other will always end up spilling each other’s blood.”

“He respects me as a knight. I’ve proven my worth in battle each time I’ve fought by his side.” Solaire said, standing tall as the memories of his failures gnawed at his mind.

His death caused by his carelessness and the Hellkite dragon’s fire.

His failed attempts to parry the Belfry gargoyles.

His defeat at the hands of Petrus and Reah’s bodyguards.

All shameful mistakes Oscar had witnessed.

Lautrec’s words no longer sounded deceptive.

But it was foolish.

Was his need to prove his value as a knight worthy of the risk of dying again?

“Defeat the Black knight and bring his head back to Oscar, Solaire.” Lautrec continued, his grey eyes dull and sharp under his golden helmet. “Show him you are not his subordinate or his squire. You are a true Astoran knight, a powerful Warrior of Sunlight. Only then he will respect you, and who knows, maybe then he’ll listen to you and get rid of that ring.”

Lautrec had not been especially interested in fighting the Black knight.  He had played for a moment with the idea while doing business with the merchant, but he would have gladly pretended he had forgotten about it if Solaire made no further mention of it either.

He was always eager and hungry for a good fight, but only if it was against foes and victims that would yield him something of value.

What could a Black knight possibly offer him? Some pieces of titanite and possibly a shabby sword or a shield.

He had no need for any of it.

Besides, he knew he wouldn’t be able to properly enjoy the thrill of battle if Solaire fought by his side.

If they battled the Black knight together, Lautrec knew it would be him who would do all the work. Solaire would only get in his way, and he did not like to fight while worrying about someone’s else sake.

It was not something one would expect from a knight of Carim, but it had been too long since he had last been the keeper of any lady that wasn’t his beloved Fina; he couldn’t remember was it was to protect someone anymore.

Lautrec would have gladly returned to Oscar so they could continue their journey to the Depths, but Solaire had not opted for this road.

He had confronted him, and while Lautrec had felt a new sense of respect for him , Solaire had also made him mad.

Lautrec had not appreciated the words he’d thrown at him.

Not one bit.

“There he is.” Lautrec cocked his head as soon as he and Solaire descended the stone stairs.

In front of them, standing still across a rock tunnel, a tall and imposing figure showed them his immense and armored back, black as a raven’s feather.

The sword he wielded was broad and dull, but Lautrec knew its edges would be sharp enough to cut through chainmail as if it was butter.

Now that he saw the Black knight in person and at such a close distance, he began to have doubts about how high his chances of success would have been if he had battled him.

It was not that he doubted his own skills, but he knew there were times when one had to be bold, and other times when one had the be cautious to survive.

Reckless bravery was as admirable as it was impractical.

It was a shame Solaire seemed to be so ignorant of this piece of basic knightly wisdom.

Then again, that wasn’t Lautrec's problem.

“Go on.” He told Solaire, giving him a small push towards the Black knight. “He is all yours.”

Solaire did not hesitate, and as much Lautrec hated to admit it, there was something laudable in his courage and determination.

For a brief second, he wondered if perhaps he had been overly harsh in his punishment of Solaire.

The poor idiot had thrown some insults at him, and Lautrec had counterattacked by sending him to his death at the hands of a Black knight.

Black knights were merciless, and they were not known for giving their victims a quick and merciful death.  

The narrow space of the rock tunnel would also be a poor battlefield for Solaire.

“I—”

Lautrec shook his head and swallowed the rest of his sentence.

Solaire was already too far away from him and too close to the Black knight.

It was out of his control now. Whatever befell Solaire was not something he could change, and he would not intervene either.

Though the whole thing was little more than a cruel prank for Lautrec, he could tell it was a meaningful test of knightly worth for Solaire.

He would not disgrace the poor bastard by interrupting his fight, and if he was to die, Lautrec would allow him to do so with honor.

That is if he doesn’t go Hollow.

He sat down on the stairs and rested his elbows on his thighs, no half as amused by the whole fiasco as he thought he would be.

What a waste. Watching him fight Oscar would have been much more entertaining that seeing him being butchered like a calf. I did not think this through.

He watched as Solaire purposefully hit the floor with his sword, earning to himself the attention of the Black knight.

Stupid.

Solaire could have backstabbed him and inflicted a considerable amount of damage to the knight; instead, he had opted to fight him under the Astoran code of honor that demanded both knights to be equally prepared before the fight started.

The fool even had the gall to bow his head to the Black knight.

Is he crazy?

The Black knight replied in the only way Lautrec knew he would: by throwing a riposte at Solaire that was clumsily reflected by his round shield.

He had attempted to parry him.

And he had failed.

Meanwhile, Lautrec kept on looking, and soon his mind became so immersed in the savage fight that his faint regrets were forgotten, never to be remembered again.

“Hello?”

He tried to unlock the door, but it would not move.

“Is someone there? Can you hear me?”

Only a Hollow, one that still remember it had been a thief in its previous life, answered by stabbing the door with a dagger.

Griggs gasped and jumped back.

He retreated into a corner.

How could he have been so careless?

Him, a skilled magician, an effective spy and trained assassin, trapped inside an empty and dirty room at the slums of a forgotten Undead city.

“What will I do now?”

He collapsed to the floor.

“Master Logan.”

Chapter Text

At first, I had only nightmares.

Nightmares filled with memories

Memories I wished I could have forgotten.

Memories of the times when I had a name.

I forgot them all.

Now, I have only emptiness and myself.

But who am I?

A nameless Undead, a willing prisoner in a forgotten asylum, a fateless wretch.

And hopefully, a soon-to-be Hollow.

I can feel it coming.

The Hollowing.

It is taking me.

At last, I’ll finally be able to rest and let go of this useless life.

What could be more beautiful than to be free of it?

To mingle with nothingness forever and forget about everything.

I remember some of the other prisoners; how they sought comfort on their pasts or clung hopefully to their future.

I could do neither, but still I tried to imitate them, hoping I would end up as Hollow and insane as they all did, but it was in vain.

Nothing I did ever brought me closer to Hollowing.

What my body so easily achieved, my mind refused to accomplish.

I never saw any results, not even when I copied those that killed themselves time after time on their cells until they woke up Hollow and were killed.

I always woke up at the bonfire with my mind intact.

The guards would then drag back into my cell.

After they left and the outside world abandoned us, I kept trying.

Each time, I returned willingly to my cell.

I still try it sometimes, but not so often anymore.

It doesn’t seem to work.

No matter what I do, I am still here.

Rotten, decayed, but I am.

I don’t want to be.

I don’t want to survive any longer.

How I wish to join the others on their deaths.

At the very least, I want to join them on their Hollowing.

I wonder if they know how lucky they are.

Probably not.

I hope not.

Of course they don’t!

How stupid of me.

Hollows can’t feel or think anything.

Some say Hollows are mad with fear, as if eternally drunk with their darkest emotions; but what do they know?

Hollows cannot speak, and the living cannot understand their actions.

I don’t care what they say, I won’t believe them.

Hollows feel no fear.

Hollows feel nothing at all.

Hollows are insane, cruel and savage.

And they are free.

They have let go.

And soon, I will let go too.

I can feel it coming.

The Hollowing.

My Hollowing.

Nothing will stop it now.

I know I have been saying this for years, but this time, it will finally happen.

I think I should stop writing, if tracing my finger on the dirty floor can be considered writing to begin with.

Hollows do not write.

As a soon-to-be Hollow, I’d better start acting like one.

 -  An invisible message written by a nameless Undead at Northern Asylum, just before a corpse fell from the roof and landed an inch away from their finger.

His blood had painted his body red. 

His shoulder bled no less abundantly, the chainmail broken and tattered there where the Black knight’s sword had landed.

It had been the first hit Solaire had received, right after his parrying attempt had failed. It was a reminder of how close he had been to losing his arm.

It was an awful thought.

He tried to keep it at bay and focus on the battle, but the pain of his wounds and the hopelessness of his situation made it almost impossible.

He had tried to compensate for his shameful initial mistake and turn the battle to his favor with clever tactics, but the Black knight was a powerful and ruthless enemy.

The swings of his dark sword cut cleanly through the chainmail as if it was silk; the bashes of his shield left Solaire breathless, depleted of stamina and barely able to hold his position.

The narrow space of the tunnel gave Solaire little room to maneuver, and it didn’t take long before he was reduced to a fully defensive stance.

He stood his ground and held his shield with all his strength, waiting for the Black knight to exhaust himself so he could counterattack, but the knight’s stamina had not dwindled at all.

Each strike that fell on Solaire’s round shield felt as strong as the first.

His bleeding shoulder exploded in a burst of wet pain at every hit. Underneath his helmet, his face was soaked in sweat, his teeth bared as he struggled to resist the shower of attacks of the Black knight.

Solaire knew he was not the most skilled of warriors, but he was resistant and strong.

It was seldom a foe had ever tired him.

He had employed this talent well and frequently back in Astora. He even dared to say his remarkable endurance was the only quality that had made him worthy of knighthood.

Even when he was unable to kill his enemies, he could distract them for as long as needed until another warrior or knight arrived to finish them off.

But now, it was useless.

No one would help him.

He was alone.

Oscar was not there, and even if he could hear the clash of swords that came from the fight, Solaire doubted he would come to his aid.

Oscar was a kind man, but he was not a fool.

What reason would he have to save Solaire?

He had become nothing but burden to Oscar, a needless source of grief.

Who would want such a useless companion?

Oscar.

The Black knight bashed him with his shield again.

Solaire’s arm, long pushed beyond its limits, finally gave in.

The Black knight’s shield pierced through his defenses and crashed against Solaire’s ribcage.

The chainmail offered him all the protection it could, but it did nothing to stop Solaire’s feet from leaving the floor.

He heard two cracks coming from his torso, right where the ancient dark shield of the Black knight had hit him. A light blinded him, and the pain of his broken ribs and bleeding shoulder became a single agony that made him scream as soon as his back touched the floor again.

His sight went from absolute white to completely black.

He regained his senses and found himself still lying on the ground. He could hear the steps of the Black knight as he approached him.

Solaire took a deep breath, his torso aching each time he inhaled.

Someone other than the knight moved nearby.

Lautrec.

Solaire had forgotten the knight of Carim was still there, witnessing his pathetic excuse for a fight. True to the traditions of his homeland, Lautrec had offered him no help.

Solaire doubted he would offer him any aid now.

He did not resent him.

He did not want him to help him.

All Solaire could feel when thinking about him was shame.

He had made a fool out of himself in front of Lautrec, just like he had done many times before in front of Oscar.

Just like he had always failed in front of the elite knights.

Not this time.

Solaire tried to stand on his feet, but his body remained anchored to the ground by the weight of his injuries, his chainmail, and his weapons.

It had been long since he had felt so utterly betrayed and abandoned by his body.

It had only happened once.

Solaire remembered it clearly, much to his disgrace.

It had happened shortly after he had been awarded knighthood on the battlefield after a bloody battle in which dozens of Carim soldiers and some pyromancers of the Great Swamp had perished at the touch of his sword and miracles.

He had felt so proud of himself, but he had failed to impress anyone else. Being granted knighthood on the battlefield was hardly an honor, as it was often considered a desperate tactic meant to increase the number of knights if many had been recently slain.

It was not an acknowledgement of one’s achievements or talents, only a meaningless gesture where soldiers were randomly picked and made into knights, if just to deceive other nations and kingdoms into thinking that Astora’s forces remained always strong.

Yet, despite the poor glory his knighthood had offered him at first, Solaire had not felt ashamed of it at all.

And it was perhaps that, blinded by his delusion and childish enthusiasm of finally becoming a knight, Solaire had eventually gathered enough courage to try to join the elite knights.

He had waited until he’d had a few victories attached to his name, believing it would make his knighthood seem respectable and legitimately earned to the eyes of the elites.

They had seldom been kind to him, but he had trusted they would be fair on their judgement and give him a chance to prove himself.

But when his so-called test had become just another chance for them to humiliate him and rejoice in his failures, Solaire had realized he had acted like a fool once more.

To them, he had always been nothing but a clown.

But that time had been different.

The elite knights had not only taken his hopes and shaped them into a farce they could laugh at; they had almost ended his life.

The Black knight was only a few steps away from him now. The clinking of his boots came in harmony with the growls of the Undead dogs that resonated inside Solaire’s mind.

His test had been simple.

A couple of elite knights had led him to a circular high-fenced area.

Solaire knew them.

He had carried out small tasks for that pair before, such as polishing their equipment or shoeing their horses. They had always been condescending to him, but that time, they had treated Solaire with respect.

They had explained to him he was to wait there until the rest of the elite knights arrived to witness his performance in battle. If Solaire impressed at least half of them, he would be accepted among their ranks.

Solaire’s heart had been so full of pride and excitement. He had hugged the two elite knights, thanking them for giving him a chance.

Kindly, they had assured him they knew he would perform well, and that they were looking forward to becoming his comrades and brothers in arms.

Once everything was ready and countless of eyes were watching him from underneath their helmets, the test had begun.

Solaire had expected a fair fight against one of the elites, one that would end not with death, but with a shaking of hands and the kindling of a prosperous camaraderie.

Instead, what he’d received were endless hordes of rabid Undead dogs. The elite knights threw the savage and cursed animals at him in large groups, and they gave him no time to rest in between each round.

Solaire had not complained or protested. He would not run away from the chance he had dreamed of all his life.  

Even after his body bled from head to toe because of the bites and clawing injuries, he had continued fighting.

He had lost count of how many rounds had passed, and the initial cheering and laughter of the elites had long faded.

 Solaire, afraid he had failed to impress them and were thinking of putting an end to his test, had demanded more enemies.

It hadn’t mattered that his sword was blunt after so much killing or that the flesh of one of his legs was exposed to the bone after a dog had taken a deep bite.

Solaire had been decided to not give up.

Death had been preferable than to fail so shamefully in front of most of the elite knights of Astora.

Thus, he had managed to stand up and face the only enemy they had in store for him.

One Undead dog.

If he had managed to defeat it, then the elites would have had no reason to refuse him.

He would have joined them.

Solaire would have proved not only to others, but also to himself that all his efforts had been worthwhile; that regardless of the lack of faith everyone had always had on him, he had bloomed into a full-fledged warrior and knight.

He would have, by his own merit, become an elite knight.

But then, someone had intervened.

An elite knight had jumped into the pit and killed the Undead dog before Solaire had had the chance to move.

Enraged by the unwanted help and by the loss of his once-in-a-lifetime chance, Solaire had tried to attack the meddler.

He had taken one step closer to the elite knight before collapsing to the floor.

He remembered the elite knight coming to his side and carrying him to safety while also fiercely scolding his comrades for their despicable behavior.

Solaire had passed out shortly after, and so had ended his final and greatest humiliation at the hands of the elites.

He’d never discovered the name of the knight that had saved his life. 

He knew he should have been grateful, but it was impossible for him to remember the incident and feel something else other than shame and resentment.

Tears of rage stung his eyes.

Solaire clenched his jaw and held tightly the handle of his round shield and the hilt of his sunlight sword.

The tools of a knight and a warrior.

At that moment, he felt like neither.

He had failed and made a fool out of himself again.

He wallowed in his self-pity and only snapped out of it when the Black knight stood tall by his side, his large and dark sword looming over him like a vulture.

The Black knight wouldn’t kill him yet.

Solaire knew it well.

Just like the Hollows and any crazed Undead creature did, the knight would take his time maiming him before finally ending his life.

The Undead dogs had been the same. They had been more eager to make him bleed and taste chunks of his flesh than interested in killing him.

Old humiliation mixed with his present disgrace, and together they became a raw, blinding fury that numbed the pain and gave Solaire a wild lust for destruction.

I can’t let it happen again.

His fingers holding his sword swiftly jolted to the amulet hanging limply on his belting.

The Black knight reacted instantly and sent a powerful stab aimed at Solaire’s arm, but the steel of his blade met with the painted sun of the round shield instead.

Staggered by the abrupt clash and the unmeasured strength of his own attack, the Black knight remained unguarded for a slim moment.

I am not a clown. I’m not an idiot.

Solaire put the talisman close to his mouth and muttered the olden tale of Lord Gwyn and his firstborn.

I am a knight.

A tingling warmth filled his hand, and without thinking it twice, he threw the lighting energy directly at the helmet of the Black knight.

The scorched creature screamed with his inhuman voice.

And for the first time during their battle, he backed away, disoriented as threads of yellow power travelled across his helmet and spread to his body.

I am a Warrior of Sunlight!

Solaire stood up.

His wounds would not forgive him for the harsh and extreme treatment he was giving to his body, and it would punish him with endless pain once the moment of bloodlust had passed.

Solaire didn’t care.