Warmth.
The sensation of sunshine upon flesh roused the Unkindled One from their slumber. The memory of fire and a far less pleasant burning was in the memory of the former High Priest of Anor Londo as he opened his blue eyes and stared up at a stone lid in confusion. He could see, for sparks danced in the coffin with his body. “I’m alive?” Lionel Arun spoke the question aloud in the stale air, before reaching up to try and push the coffin lid off.
It did not change much, so far as the lighting.
Darkness seemed to have consumed everything around him as the coffin hit the ground near him and he sat up, staring at the world around in some confusion. It was familiar, or at least, the bridge over a river was of a familiar construction…only in his day the river had never frozen over, and the bridge had been in far better condition. ‘But this is home, isn’t it?’
A doll fell into Lionel’s lap.
He picked it up, and stared at it a few seconds. He had one as a child, a gift of birth, and a burial gift for the dead. Back then, it had looked just like him, but now it seemed only like woven black threads in the shape of a human. ‘That’s right…I am dead. I must be undead now.’ He was rather unaware of the differences he would experience from the undead, unaware the doll in his hand no longer had its intended use, and such was the reason he could no longer see himself in it. Still, he tucked it into one of the pockets of his robe, to bring along with him.
His head turned to take in the other graves around him, several coffins pushed towards the surface, lids fallen off of many, names aged on tombstones, and he remembered. “Caelia!” He scrambled over the lip of his own coffin, tripping over his dirtied white robes in the process. His hat fell off of his head, the pointed top with the sun, once gleaming golden – now tainted by time, glinting in the artificial lights that were reflected from the bridge. He grasped it up as he hopped on one leg, getting his bearings, and then went over to the tombstones, trying to read them, trying to find where Caelia was.
Had she woken already?
He didn’t even question the logic of how he ended up in a tombstone, and who knew it was him when he was naught but ash. For he had been ash – the fire at the edges of his robe and the sparks that came off of him told him that. He was ash, and this warmth, this fire within, was his.
It should be hers. Lionel was on time, wasn’t he? They had burned together.
His eyes eventually found the name ‘Caelia Neve’ on a tombstone, and he went to the coffin. He pushed against the lid with all his might – more than necessary, it turned out, as it practically flew off and crashed to the ground, leaving him to stumble forward and into the coffin.
Into ashes.
“No….”
A swell of sorrow choked off further words, tightening Lionel’s throat as a gray stain manifested on his robe, and he gathered himself on his knees in the coffin. The empty coffin. Of ashes. Ashes that were not burning, and familiar armor, familiar rings, things he knew that Caelia would have given her soul to be free of. A familiar sword rested in there, too.
‘Please, do not make me do this alone. Please, Gwynevere, hear me. Gwyndolin. Whoever may be left, I cannot do this alone, whatever purpose you have given me, give to her as well.’ Lionel shut his eyes briefly, hoping beyond hope his prayer might be heard, before he heard a monstrous shriek peel across the sky. His eyes opened, startled, and he saw flame dance across the darkness, illuminating a monstrous visage that made his heart sink.
It looked like a dragon.
It couldn’t be a dragon.
He pulled himself out of the coffin. Whatever it was, however far it was, he supposed he could not linger here in his sorrow.
Even so, he moved about the graveyard, and found a shining stone near one marker. “I am sorry, I need this,” he murmured as he lifted the golden stone from the ground, and then walked back to where the coffin for Caelia was. He brought the stone to his lips and whispered against it, the words enflaming the stone, lighting it internally with a simple message: Find me.
If she woke, she would not need to worry.
He set it down, and turned from her coffin. He intended to cross the bridge, but he heard the clang of bells, a sound he had missed before, but a sound he certainly understood from so many stories.
He glanced back at the graveyard, and he saw sparks in the open coffin.
For what felt an eternity, Caelia Neve had only known the touch of ice. It had pierced through her skin and dove into her bones. Her blood had seemed to freeze, and warmth became a foreign concept as she knew but one thing: move forward. Move towards the fire – the last fire, the first fire, the only fire that mattered. She did not remember the flames, she did not remember the warmth, but she woke – warm.
She woke with a gasp, and a rush of sensation, coughing as she sat up in her own coffin, bewilderment coming across her face as she gathered herself, fist pressed against her own chest.
She barely caught sight of Lionel before the man had thrown his arms around her, and pulled her into a tight embrace.
Sparks danced around him. “Lionel, you’re burning!” The realization that she was dead, and burning, had not struck her, as she tried to pull away to find something to do about the fire. When he laughed, she thought him mad, especially as he held her tighter, “You’re going to catch me on fire!”
“I did!” He sounded jubilant for that, only stirring more confusion in her.
Thankfully, he pulled away enough to see that, dropping to his knees so he was closer to eye-level with her, as she was still sitting in the coffin.
Caelia stared at him through those amber eyes, seeing the flecks of white in her vision – enough to know her hair remained that horrid shade. “Kay, do you remember making it to the Kiln of the First Flame?” She shook her head, slowly, so he reached out to put a hand on her arm, bare of the armor for once. “We made it. You took down the guardian of it, and we burned.” From the looks of the world, it didn’t look like they did much good, Caelia noted, as she looked away from him to take in the area around, much as he had done before.
This looked like Anor Londo.
A ruined Anor Londo. A frozen wasteland. ‘Sulyvahn….’ She could still remember that freezing agony that had become her life. That she remembered, not the First Flame, not its guardian, not even burning. “If we burned….”
“The bell tolled. I heard it. The fire is dying,” Caelia knew as well as anyone what it meant, and let her gaze drift back, “Perhaps we weren’t worthy of kindling the fire,” he said, gaze shifting down a moment, “but it was right to do. We’re back now. We’re worthy enough to try and save it again, and save our world,” he looked back up, eyes sparkling with tears. Caelia knew it was not quite happiness, or even relief, at having a purpose – there was true sorrow there, for the state of the world. He could not be happy to know such suffering must be occurring, to know how close things were to utter ruin.
Caelia could not say she was happy to learn she had died. She had burned. And she couldn’t remember it at all. Her gaze drifted towards the armor in the coffin, the realization sitting in that she did not have any other armor. “You don’t need it. Not again. We’ll find new armor. Better armor.”
As he spoke, she had reached out a finger to caress it, “Do you imagine the Blades would ever let me have my old armor back?” No, if anything, she was marked by the Blades as a traitor for giving in. Their memory could be long. Velka would not forget her sins. Gwyndolin…her gaze left that hateful armor to look towards the city, “Do you imagine Gwyndolin is still here?”
The place looked so desolate, it was impossible to imagine anyone holy there, anyone divine. Had Pontiff Sulyvahn won? Had he found Gwyndolin and the other Blades?
Did they fail?
“I do not know…,” the moon was no longer visible. “We can…perhaps we can look?” He suggested, and numbly, Caelia nodded. She started to rise, and as she did, a glinting, blue stone began to fall. She caught it in her hand, noting the shape seemed like that of a tear, and even within, the stone seemed liquid. She squinted at the strange object, before another of those devastating roars tore through the sky, followed by the bright blast of fire.
Her eyes widened, “Is that a dragon?”
“No – it must be a wyvern or something related – I’m sure it’s not an actual dragon. Nothing we can’t handle. If we must. I’d rather we not.” As he said it, there was another pause, and then a deep sigh. “Kay—”
“Until we find something else, help me put the armor on.”
“But what if—”
“We’ll deal with it.” Her anger was palpable, but so was her determination. She understood how useless she would be without her armor, and if dragons, wyverns, or whatever the hell were in the sky, then she could not be walking around in mere clothe.
Grudgingly, Lionel began to assist in seeing the armor on her, and finding the rings, dusty as they were, and slipping them back over her fingers.
She tucked the tiny stone into a pouch on the belt of her armor, which aided in strapping the greatsword to her back – a greatsword that felt too light, and too unfamiliar, now. It, too, was warm – she was certain it had once been frozen.
‘Oh well.’
No time to consider for long, as she wrapped her hair up in a bun as best she could and tucked it under the helmet.
The armor felt like a second skin. ‘It is a second skin.’ Caelia ignored that thought as it was all strapped into place, and she gave a nod to Lionel, keeping the helmet’s facial armor up for the time being, so he could see her face – so she could feel some sense of security. It always seemed that when the armor fell over her face, she lost herself to it. “So, into the city?”
“Into the city,” Lionel agreed, and he allowed Caelia to go ahead towards the bridge with its beautiful, artificial, lights.
She could not see the worry reflected in his gaze as he walked behind her.
The sensation of sunshine upon flesh roused the Unkindled One from their slumber. The memory of fire and a far less pleasant burning was in the memory of the former High Priest of Anor Londo as he opened his blue eyes and stared up at a stone lid in confusion. He could see, for sparks danced in the coffin with his body. “I’m alive?” Lionel Arun spoke the question aloud in the stale air, before reaching up to try and push the coffin lid off.
It did not change much, so far as the lighting.
Darkness seemed to have consumed everything around him as the coffin hit the ground near him and he sat up, staring at the world around in some confusion. It was familiar, or at least, the bridge over a river was of a familiar construction…only in his day the river had never frozen over, and the bridge had been in far better condition. ‘But this is home, isn’t it?’
A doll fell into Lionel’s lap.
He picked it up, and stared at it a few seconds. He had one as a child, a gift of birth, and a burial gift for the dead. Back then, it had looked just like him, but now it seemed only like woven black threads in the shape of a human. ‘That’s right…I am dead. I must be undead now.’ He was rather unaware of the differences he would experience from the undead, unaware the doll in his hand no longer had its intended use, and such was the reason he could no longer see himself in it. Still, he tucked it into one of the pockets of his robe, to bring along with him.
His head turned to take in the other graves around him, several coffins pushed towards the surface, lids fallen off of many, names aged on tombstones, and he remembered. “Caelia!” He scrambled over the lip of his own coffin, tripping over his dirtied white robes in the process. His hat fell off of his head, the pointed top with the sun, once gleaming golden – now tainted by time, glinting in the artificial lights that were reflected from the bridge. He grasped it up as he hopped on one leg, getting his bearings, and then went over to the tombstones, trying to read them, trying to find where Caelia was.
Had she woken already?
He didn’t even question the logic of how he ended up in a tombstone, and who knew it was him when he was naught but ash. For he had been ash – the fire at the edges of his robe and the sparks that came off of him told him that. He was ash, and this warmth, this fire within, was his.
It should be hers. Lionel was on time, wasn’t he? They had burned together.
His eyes eventually found the name ‘Caelia Neve’ on a tombstone, and he went to the coffin. He pushed against the lid with all his might – more than necessary, it turned out, as it practically flew off and crashed to the ground, leaving him to stumble forward and into the coffin.
Into ashes.
“No….”
A swell of sorrow choked off further words, tightening Lionel’s throat as a gray stain manifested on his robe, and he gathered himself on his knees in the coffin. The empty coffin. Of ashes. Ashes that were not burning, and familiar armor, familiar rings, things he knew that Caelia would have given her soul to be free of. A familiar sword rested in there, too.
‘Please, do not make me do this alone. Please, Gwynevere, hear me. Gwyndolin. Whoever may be left, I cannot do this alone, whatever purpose you have given me, give to her as well.’ Lionel shut his eyes briefly, hoping beyond hope his prayer might be heard, before he heard a monstrous shriek peel across the sky. His eyes opened, startled, and he saw flame dance across the darkness, illuminating a monstrous visage that made his heart sink.
It looked like a dragon.
It couldn’t be a dragon.
He pulled himself out of the coffin. Whatever it was, however far it was, he supposed he could not linger here in his sorrow.
Even so, he moved about the graveyard, and found a shining stone near one marker. “I am sorry, I need this,” he murmured as he lifted the golden stone from the ground, and then walked back to where the coffin for Caelia was. He brought the stone to his lips and whispered against it, the words enflaming the stone, lighting it internally with a simple message: Find me.
If she woke, she would not need to worry.
He set it down, and turned from her coffin. He intended to cross the bridge, but he heard the clang of bells, a sound he had missed before, but a sound he certainly understood from so many stories.
He glanced back at the graveyard, and he saw sparks in the open coffin.
For what felt an eternity, Caelia Neve had only known the touch of ice. It had pierced through her skin and dove into her bones. Her blood had seemed to freeze, and warmth became a foreign concept as she knew but one thing: move forward. Move towards the fire – the last fire, the first fire, the only fire that mattered. She did not remember the flames, she did not remember the warmth, but she woke – warm.
She woke with a gasp, and a rush of sensation, coughing as she sat up in her own coffin, bewilderment coming across her face as she gathered herself, fist pressed against her own chest.
She barely caught sight of Lionel before the man had thrown his arms around her, and pulled her into a tight embrace.
Sparks danced around him. “Lionel, you’re burning!” The realization that she was dead, and burning, had not struck her, as she tried to pull away to find something to do about the fire. When he laughed, she thought him mad, especially as he held her tighter, “You’re going to catch me on fire!”
“I did!” He sounded jubilant for that, only stirring more confusion in her.
Thankfully, he pulled away enough to see that, dropping to his knees so he was closer to eye-level with her, as she was still sitting in the coffin.
Caelia stared at him through those amber eyes, seeing the flecks of white in her vision – enough to know her hair remained that horrid shade. “Kay, do you remember making it to the Kiln of the First Flame?” She shook her head, slowly, so he reached out to put a hand on her arm, bare of the armor for once. “We made it. You took down the guardian of it, and we burned.” From the looks of the world, it didn’t look like they did much good, Caelia noted, as she looked away from him to take in the area around, much as he had done before.
This looked like Anor Londo.
A ruined Anor Londo. A frozen wasteland. ‘Sulyvahn….’ She could still remember that freezing agony that had become her life. That she remembered, not the First Flame, not its guardian, not even burning. “If we burned….”
“The bell tolled. I heard it. The fire is dying,” Caelia knew as well as anyone what it meant, and let her gaze drift back, “Perhaps we weren’t worthy of kindling the fire,” he said, gaze shifting down a moment, “but it was right to do. We’re back now. We’re worthy enough to try and save it again, and save our world,” he looked back up, eyes sparkling with tears. Caelia knew it was not quite happiness, or even relief, at having a purpose – there was true sorrow there, for the state of the world. He could not be happy to know such suffering must be occurring, to know how close things were to utter ruin.
Caelia could not say she was happy to learn she had died. She had burned. And she couldn’t remember it at all. Her gaze drifted towards the armor in the coffin, the realization sitting in that she did not have any other armor. “You don’t need it. Not again. We’ll find new armor. Better armor.”
As he spoke, she had reached out a finger to caress it, “Do you imagine the Blades would ever let me have my old armor back?” No, if anything, she was marked by the Blades as a traitor for giving in. Their memory could be long. Velka would not forget her sins. Gwyndolin…her gaze left that hateful armor to look towards the city, “Do you imagine Gwyndolin is still here?”
The place looked so desolate, it was impossible to imagine anyone holy there, anyone divine. Had Pontiff Sulyvahn won? Had he found Gwyndolin and the other Blades?
Did they fail?
“I do not know…,” the moon was no longer visible. “We can…perhaps we can look?” He suggested, and numbly, Caelia nodded. She started to rise, and as she did, a glinting, blue stone began to fall. She caught it in her hand, noting the shape seemed like that of a tear, and even within, the stone seemed liquid. She squinted at the strange object, before another of those devastating roars tore through the sky, followed by the bright blast of fire.
Her eyes widened, “Is that a dragon?”
“No – it must be a wyvern or something related – I’m sure it’s not an actual dragon. Nothing we can’t handle. If we must. I’d rather we not.” As he said it, there was another pause, and then a deep sigh. “Kay—”
“Until we find something else, help me put the armor on.”
“But what if—”
“We’ll deal with it.” Her anger was palpable, but so was her determination. She understood how useless she would be without her armor, and if dragons, wyverns, or whatever the hell were in the sky, then she could not be walking around in mere clothe.
Grudgingly, Lionel began to assist in seeing the armor on her, and finding the rings, dusty as they were, and slipping them back over her fingers.
She tucked the tiny stone into a pouch on the belt of her armor, which aided in strapping the greatsword to her back – a greatsword that felt too light, and too unfamiliar, now. It, too, was warm – she was certain it had once been frozen.
‘Oh well.’
No time to consider for long, as she wrapped her hair up in a bun as best she could and tucked it under the helmet.
The armor felt like a second skin. ‘It is a second skin.’ Caelia ignored that thought as it was all strapped into place, and she gave a nod to Lionel, keeping the helmet’s facial armor up for the time being, so he could see her face – so she could feel some sense of security. It always seemed that when the armor fell over her face, she lost herself to it. “So, into the city?”
“Into the city,” Lionel agreed, and he allowed Caelia to go ahead towards the bridge with its beautiful, artificial, lights.
She could not see the worry reflected in his gaze as he walked behind her.